In a darkened room a man commits murder- a bullet through the head. An act of madness that left him emotionally crippled with guilt and paranoia. He sits there weeping, splattered with blood, haunted by the echoes and images of his violence. Beside him a dead body lies face down on the bed, blood staining the white bed sheet. In this canvass where the smell of incense mixes with scent of blood and a crucifix peers accusingly out of a half-drawn drawer, the man struggle to hide his crime and cleanse himself with water. But it seems the dead body has its own agenda. Haunting him again and again, taunting him. A cycle of guilt, paranoia, shame and fear cut through the man’s senses, driving him closer and closer to grieving madness. In that maggot infested sanctuary, where shards of broken glass and a dead fish lies eerily on a blood-smeared floor, a man struggles, hopelessly to atone himself of sin of violence to no avail.