he sits in his one-bedroomed house, red shirt maroon with sweat, black tie loose around his neck, staring at the rough rope dangling daringly from the ceiling. his only resort. he can hear the birds chirp cheerfully. he can hear the school kids returning home, laugh lightheartedly. life. he can smell what he didnt realize was his – his own body odor. what would happen tomorrow. who will live in this space tomorrow. will my spirit return here tomorrow. who will take care of the family tomorrow. can i watch them, when they come, when i am gone. they will be here any minute – his family. he had wanted to do well for his family. but he wasnt bright. he had wanted to do well for his family. but his papers werent right. he had wanted to do well for his family – so he did what he thought was bright and right. he had called all of them to come to his house – he wanted all of them to experience the shame together. the shame of a life that has imploded because he dared to play god. sitting on the bed, the sweat breaks again, he feels like screaming. he cannot see any way out – to live would be to die slowly with shame. prison is tolerable when you have no prise on life. he had also been warned they will kill him if he talked – the ones who certified his imminent future. lords in the citadel of knowledge. lords who cared less what you knew. lords who didnt care the worth of a paper except that that lines their pockets. he stares at the rope – his only resort. he gets up, he will do it now, to save them the shame and memory of seeing him open up, when they come.