A riveting tale of how a mild-mannered man becomes a killer.
After a childhood of severe neglect and trauma - with a Nazi-sympathizing swine of a father and a dimwitted promiscuous mother - Sven grows up to continue the isolation that is the only life he has ever known, plagued by memories from the war, when his father was arrested for collaborating with Danish Nazi-sympathizers.
Self-exiled from human companionship, Sven suffers from a paranoid bunker mentality; he is afraid of everything and everybody. It is not until new neighbors move in next door that his secure isolation, his cherished tedium, comes to an end with results far more tragic than even he had imagined.
"Time passes and goes away somewhere, somehow, until the sight of the dead body, a wet stain spreading in front of his jeans, starts to bore him. It's getting dark. The streetlights are on, reflecting in the window on the landing. He hears the swoosh of car tires on wet asphalt. That means it's raining.
'I killed a man and then I noticed it was raining.' That sums it up. And speaking of sounds, that reminds him. He can't hear the baby crying. Must have have cried himself to sleep, poor little bugger. All alone. Again.
After a childhood of severe neglect and trauma - with a Nazi-sympathizing swine of a father and a dimwitted promiscuous mother - Sven grows up to continue the isolation that is the only life he has ever known, plagued by memories from the war, when his father was arrested for collaborating with Danish Nazi-sympathizers.
Self-exiled from human companionship, Sven suffers from a paranoid bunker mentality; he is afraid of everything and everybody. It is not until new neighbors move in next door that his secure isolation, his cherished tedium, comes to an end with results far more tragic than even he had imagined.
"Time passes and goes away somewhere, somehow, until the sight of the dead body, a wet stain spreading in front of his jeans, starts to bore him. It's getting dark. The streetlights are on, reflecting in the window on the landing. He hears the swoosh of car tires on wet asphalt. That means it's raining.
'I killed a man and then I noticed it was raining.' That sums it up. And speaking of sounds, that reminds him. He can't hear the baby crying. Must have have cried himself to sleep, poor little bugger. All alone. Again.
