Mike sat at the end of the table with a plate of meat with rice on the side, holding the knife and fork in which he is about to cut the meat. He looked closely and carefully as he slid his fork into the meat which he yet is holding it and placing the teeth of the knife gently as he held it firmly. Slicing the cooked meat surreptitiously, his palms sweat through a long journey of slicing it carefully, perfecting the even slice in thirds while it is yet pending to cut it.
Months later, Mike hanged himself in college, specifically in the janitor's closet when he asked his professor to go to the nurse's office. He was founded by an influx of students who were stupidly curious of what is inside, shocked and bewildered by the ugliest awe in the history of their school. But why did he do it?
Because he wasn't perfect.
