Tim stood in his little room, there wasn´t much inside, a bed, a chair, a little black wardrobe like a big oppressive box, no carpet, no pictures at the wall, no plants on the windowsill. Friends who had come years ago thought he must become crazy in such a ruinous atmosphere or commit suicide. Well, he wasn´t crazy any more, he once had to stay in a psychiatric clinic for several weeks but that was because of different reasons and definitivly not because of the room´s tristesse. On the contrary, when Tim thought back he always had a queer feeling of familiarity and coming into calm seas by returning at home. It was his home and what others thought or said was nothing.

Tom entered his penthouse in the richest quarter of the town, took a glass of champagne and a spoonful of caviar, kissed his love Corinna and arranged the last grapes on the buffet. His friends would soon arrive, it was his birthday-party and he was extremely excited and a little nervous, too. Although he was really extremely rich and the son of high-born old families he never felt as a "bird in a golden cage", he thought it a stupid phrase just to make oneself interesting. He had friends, real friends and a lovely girl he was passionately in love for nearly 3 years now. There was no reason to blow the pipe of sadness.

Evening, 8 p.m. springtime and bright in the little room. Tim had come home from a long working day at hospital. He helped there for nearly nothing, just a pocket-money. He saw people die there because of cancer after short or long periods of treatment, strong therapies which weaken the patients and brought them near death. He saw their struggle, their hopes, their tryings of escape from the illness, but often, to be honest nearly in every case, death won and took them with him. Old people between 60 and 80 or even older and young people of 30, 20 or just children.

The first guests arrived with loud shouting, singing "happy birthday" and laughing. They congratulated Tom heartily and went into the party-room for dancing or in the other rooms for talking and eating. It was a light and relaxed atmosphere and Tom and Corinna went on dancing a calm blues, embracing each other and gliding away in the upper sphere of lover´s heaven. Normally he felt responsible for his friend´s comfort and offered drinks and food all the time but today he knew that it wasn´t necessary, they were his friends no strangers or business-men, he never had felt it more deeply and it made him blissful. There was Corinna in his arms, her body, her hair, her smile and her eyes, he couldn´t help being thankful, what a privileg, what kismet.

10 p.m. Tim had learned for his studies, he would have most of the exams in several months and the stuff to learn and to know was a lot. He hate himself for being so unconcentrated, lazy and without motivation. He studied jura for getting a job later and being able to earn money, but it wasn´t what he liked. He felt like denying his inner and burning down his dreams and visions. Everyone he thought in such moments have a special ability and he is sent on earth to let it grow, like in the bible the story with the talents you mustn´t bury. Sadness heavy as stone fell over him.

Tom had slept with Corinna in one of the little secret rooms, he was somewhat drowsy and dizzy from the champagne. Corinna slept beside him, he looked at her and seing her smile became all of a sudden soft and melancholic. What had life more to offer than love and beauty and what else could he demand. He was even at the beginning of his life but he felt quite old and experienced. Life had given him mor of its sweetest fruits than others but was there anything he could give back in return? What were his qualities and abilities to give him the right to see all this?

Tim painted a picture, his way to flee sadness and find a way out of thoughts of suicide and despair. Out of the colours grew a man in a garden, it was a lovely garden full of green and sunshine and other people reading or talking together. And in this idyllic scene he killed himself with a revolver.

Tom was found next morning. The music high above in the penthouse was too loud to hear the pang of his revolver. The garden was flooded with morning sunshine.