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Something Beautiful Jason Quek 18 April 2002 I ought to be working, but it is fleeting, and it escapes me. Another hot afternoon with not a single breath of wind, I look at the distant incinerator tower and see the smoke rising straight up in a slowly expanding column of vertical grey. A tornado sitting, silent and still, on a chimney. It lasts, but a while. The winds quickly pick up, and I run before it. I run from the curtain of rain that chases tirelessly after me. There is no way I can win. A vortex of wind, rain, leaves and screams spins around me, threatening to sweep me away. I spin inside of it. And I try to breathe it all in. I am the eye in the storm. I am a master magician. I am the rain king. I am a god. Night. I sit alone in my darkened room, staring at the wall, trying to keep my emotions in check. Trying very hard not to cry. Where do you draw the line between keeping a promise, and protecting yourself? Where do you draw the line. And how? I wished, now, more than ever, that I had the answer. I have found out, over the past week, that one of the hardest things to do is to be honest with myself. And even writing this out is so difficult. What does it feel like to hold something so beautiful in your hands, and now having to let it die... My, oh my. 7224 page views

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