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Salient: Victoria University of Wellington Students' Newspaper. Vol. 32, No. 6. 1969.

The Suicide

The Suicide

The sea and sky were one—sombre murky pitch black, but the lights like propaganda signs broke the peace. Here on the rock she was removed, detached. He was gone. They always left, Moved on, She was used to ii now. They all moved on, A light went out—a couple going to bed? But single beds. Yes, They were probably about fifty, fourty, thirty, twenty? Did it matter? She turned around shutting the thought out. Hut yonder, far away in the dark there were more lights. Those were different lights. These ones represented blood, death— citory? The spray caressed her face. It was a beautiful fae. 'This had been told her many times. But what is beauty? She spun round, A light was on, Someone coming in. Drunk? No, perhaps he was bringing home a surprise, a . . . the light went out—like life, quickly without really having shone at all. The crashing of the sea had soaked her clothes. They clung to her, outlining a perfect body. A desirable body. But beauty and desirability were all they ever say, "It's what's inside that matters"—she shouted—but the lights, the dark, remained aloof, unanswering. The sea was now a lake around her. It was cold but she didn't feel it. She was a warm vibrant being, Sitting up the water Formed little drops. They trickled down her arms as water tails from taps that are supposed to be turned off. Like one she had seen that day in the Station. Somehow they reminded her of life. One couldn't turn it off, with is births and deaths, christenings marriages divorces and funerals. It kept on dripping. Suddenly her desire to turn off the dripping, changed. The death-lights seemed to call her. He suddenly needed her. She stepped into the water. It was ominously cold bringing her to her senses. Tomorrow would he just another today. It wouldn't he different. Why should tomorrow offer something new. Miracles don't happen. A leopard doesn't change its spots. The words whirled around inside like washing on a line. It was another illusion. Just one more to add to the collection. She laid back. The water was around her now like a blanket and with a pitiful sigh she cuddled into it. Tomorrow brought change. The sky was a cloudy grey, The lights ceased to exist. Instead, one could see houses, trees, all soils of interesting tilings between sky and sea, while law away a missile carrier was slowly having the harbour. And the sea, now a glassy blue lapped gently—content. One more person had realised that it and it alone could show true appreciation. The rock was hare.

M.D.