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ROBERT'S RENEWAL

Robert sat at his desk in the study with a bottle of scotch near one hand and a bottle of sleeping pills near the other. He was already drunk and was feeling very sorry for himself. He had decided to commit suicide.

He was in his late thirties, ambitious, and self-motivated. He had an extravagant home, a picture-perfect wife, a son, a maid, a butler, and few scruples. In neither business nor pleasure had he allowed fairness or conscience get in the way of what he wanted. Every aspect of his life always went according to plan.

Until recently. His position at his company was in serious danger.
He had used every means open to him to work his way up the corporate ladder and had hardly been aware of the heads that he had stepped on as he forged his way to become the president's fair haired boy. Now, with the economy of the country on shaky legs, the company was on a fast down hill slide, and Robert was going down with it.

He glanced at the pictures on his desk. A blond young woman of sophisticated beauty looked out from a silver frame at him, and next to her was a serious looking boy of seven. Clarise and Steven.

Tonight, Clarise had quietly informed him that she wanted a divorce. She had stood in front of his desk, and, cloaked in that cool as ice manner of hers, had told him that she no longer wanted to be his show piece and symbol of respectability. She said that she didn't believe he was overly concerned about Steven nor did Steven feel Robert cared about him.

He took another drink.

"I don't need any of you," he said to the closed door.

He glanced at the sleeping pills. They would all feel badly when they found him in the morning. Even that snippety black butler that his wife was so fond of.
Look at all he had given them.
Anything his family wanted they could have because of him. They needed him.

He picked up the bottle of pills. Let the company fall. He wouldn't be there to see it. Let Clarise and Steven have their freedom, but he would be the first to leave.

He began taking the pills and washing them down with the scotch. When he had taken the last pill, he leaned back and patted his stomach.
It was too bad he couldn't be around to watch their reactions when they found him.

He envisioned the responses to his death. In his mind's eye, all were shocked and overcome by grief. He was himself emotionally affected by his imagined scenario, and his eyes brimmed with tears of self sympathy.

He began to feel sleepy and physically heavy. He laid his head on the desk,

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