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He crouched in front of all his books, ten thousand and a few he looked at his certificates one hundred, none were new. Remembered all his special honours bestowed by envious peers and wondered silently inside was it just smoke and mirrors? Sat on the floor, the crouching hurt and cried a bit, alone it was a shock when it occurred to him that in his bone a nasty parasite had lodged who had an appetite for living tissue as it dodged the killer cells with spite. What a caressing devastation to find that all one knows means nothing in the scheme of things and that it simply shows we humans, dumb and arrogant pretend because we must and turn into a sycophant in desperado frust So Papa started with the first of all the hardbound works and re-awakened his old thirst and thought perhaps there lurks the answer to his desperate plea if not he would be doomed. For many weeks he was engrossed with all his dearest friends he often wandered, became lost and tied up old loose ends. The memories of high school days and then the cruel studies came flooding back with old Hooray's and like a bunch of buddies the authors of so many books who'd passed so long ago had kept their bright and brilliant looks and smiled their stern Hello. And finally, he knew the answer not one of them had lived and many had succumbed to cancer they would have been quite miffed that all their learnings was no use and even frank denial was killing that great golden goose with liquid from a vial. He saw and welcomed his own end stood up and tugged his tie remembering every single friend he then laid down to die.