Knives cut quietly.

It starts like this…
As you wake up on a sunny sunday with no plan on mind.

And the phone rings. Who can call on such a pleasant day, early as seven ish?
Barely conscious, not really awared of what’s going on. Is it the phone? The door bell? Are you day dreaming? For sure you would have wished that you were only day dreaming when you pick up the phone and the voice that you hear is full of sorrow, fear, sadness, or something that you can not just describe before you listen to what the voice sadly says. You take a deep breath.
The words go like this:

He is dead.

The line cuts.
Who is dead? Who was that mysterious person?
Oh well.
You don’t really know if you have to worry, if it was a wrong number or a prank call.
For sure, your day starts wierd.

You chose to let go this call and start your sunday as it was suposed to be started.
Shower, coffee, eggs and bacon and Chopin as well.
What more relaxing and perfect on your first day off since two weeks. You are such a workoholic.

Something’s missing though.

Newspaper.

You slowly put on your bathrobe, tie your hair, light a cigaret.
As you open up the front door, you look right toward you.
No cloud, the sun shines like it never did before.

Your eyes change direction.
They look down on the balcony.
There is a knife and the daily newspaper.
You look under the newspaper.

He is dead.

The cat.

Is dead.