A slim crack in the wall invites the whimpering storm into the living room, and little round drops are falling into each other down the windowpane, until the finally agree to collect themselves into a big, wet puddle. Up on the ceiling decorated with angels a chandelier is swaying with one candle light, melting and running down the light and the chandelier; dripping from the wall down onto the red, Persian carpet, covering the whole of the floor — underneath the patterned arm chair, the oblong coffee table and continuing to the big mocca brown and wide-open main door. The door squeaks as it opens. The bulky, wrinkled hand supporting on the door handle, is shaking, while looking for the walking stick. A staggering body moving slowly across the room. Emty footsteps, quiet sighs and sound of an active pipe come trembling from the odd creature. Some time has passed, and the unknown creature is standing on the other side of the living room, not fare from the fore place. Above the fire place there is a shef full of black and white photographs of depicting happy little girls, unique items from ecsotic countries and a darkly coulored box, laden with a heap of heavy books. The creature lifts its shivering hands up to its face, and takes the pipe out of his mouth. Wets it’s thin, dry mouth and clears its throat lightly. Puts the pipe on the mantelpiece, seeking support from the wall, allowing a deep sigh slip, while carefully inspecting these familiar items. The hand hovers over the items, touching all the pictures, trying out the foreign objects, and stopping, when reaching the box. The books are too heavy to lift with the weak arms. Dispirited the hand falls away, seeking support from a wall. The creature is using the lonely time in the living room to reach the patterned armchair. The chair lets out sounds, as the creature approaches, and the seat becomes “óviðkvømur”. Time is passing. The fire is fading away. The crack in the windowpane is slowly falling into silence. The creature can hear its own breathing. The breathing escalates into heavy panting, as the living room is getting darker. The hands start to shiver even more, clutching the armchair. The creature’s heart is beating, and the eyes seek out the box on the mantelpiece. A small sound escapes its mouth. The sound soon develops into a laughing fit, resembling that of a young girl. She stops laughing — hissing at a squealing male voice. The creature is twisting and turning in the armchair, and the breathing becomes heavier than before. The back hair rise, and the cheeks are wet with tears. The male voice intensifies. Curses, violent movements and an intense groaning subdue the sad begging and sobbing from the child. The sound continue until the girls’ voice has gone quiet, and the dominant male voice has had its way. Then all is quiet. The creature in the armchair is not moving, and the pulse is dwindling. The crack in the wall yet again starts to let out sounds.
