Tale of two lives

The house is filled with a deceitful silence.

     Maybe it's because Komfort is allowed to live in every room of his house. He is granted access to the country kitchen, to the living room with the marbled fireplace, the attic with the boxes filled with photographs of long forgotten movie stars, the shed with the rusty mountain bikes.

     Except the basement.

     He's not allowed to go down to the cellar. And actually, he doesn't mind. Why worry about secret places? Why curious about things that are ostensibly there but are not able to reach? To enter?

     Komfort loves the life his lives. On his own. In the morning his drinks mocha flavoured coffee, in the afternoon he reads Kafka's The Castle, in the evening he calls his old school friends and tells them that he is considering buying a painting of Henk Helmantel.

     At night he dreams of being a famous banjo player.

     He would have lived the perfect life, wouldn't it have been for the screams.

     At the beginning, de didn't pay attention to the noise. Komfort just turned the music louder. The screams seemed to merge gently with the shrilling guitar riffs and the droning bass tones.

    Later on, the music wasn't able to comfort him anymore. Or the screams became louder and more intense. Or the songs on the radio weren't nimble enough to disguise the expressions of the fierce emotions. He even tried to play death metal to obscure the yelping.

    But also Dark Tranquillity wasn't able to restore his rest.

    At first, he only noticed the howling during daytime. But more and more he woke up in the middle of the night. And knew what was going on. The eerie sound crawled through to house, finding his way to his ears, to his head, his mind, his soul, his life.

    Then he knew the day would come. To go to the basement. And indeed, one morning in October - the day that Red Bull admits that the drink didn't give any wings - he goes to the catacombs of his house. By then, the screaming is almost unbearable. Komfort presses his hand against his ears. It doesn't help.

    It appears that the door isn't locked. When Komfort opens it, he sees a boy. How old is it? Twelve? Thirteen? Komfort switches on the light.

    'What, what are you doing here?' stammers Komfort.

    The boy closes his eyes to slits. He has difficulties to get used to the light. But after a few seconds his face looks bright and calm. As he has waited for this morning. As if he is prepared. For what?

    'You locked me up in here...'

    'I did? I try to hide you in this basement?' The voice of Komfort sounds brittle. He looks at the boy. He's dressed in jeans, a blue greyish T-shirt, red wine coloured sneakers.

    'But why, why...' Komfort sinks to the ground. As a disappointed sun.

    'You told me once I was too lively, too animated. The only thing I did was disturb you structure, your system, your composition.'

    The moment Komfort closes his eyes, the boy seizes the opportunity. He runs, climbs the stairs, sings, yells, begs for pizza's, watches TV, dances with the future.

     The house is filled with a honest turmoil.