I am afraid of the power in which I possess. It is golden and bright. Soft and steady. With it, I can create wondrous worlds. In these worlds, soft, warm sandy beaches can stretch for miles along the deep blue, salty sea which glows orange with the setting sun. Or maybe there's a cool deep forest, with spongey, damp moss covering every inch of the earthen floor. Trees with their rough bark tower into the sky, their lush canopy creating a cover from the blazing sun. Peaceful are the worlds I can create. But this power is also dull and gloomy. Harsh and unpredictable. With it, I can take these peaceful worlds and destroy them as easily as a piece of paper torn from an old notebook. The sand turning ablaze, burning to the touch. The sea can turn feral, wave crashing into the shore, ripping whatever it grabs back into the ravaging tides. The trees could burn, turning the forest into nothing but sickening ash. Or maybe they get cut down, having been deemed more useful for something other than protecting the forest floor which has turned brittle, dried up in the harsh sun that has been let loose. I must cage up my power. Despite the good and bad. If I create too much, who's to say I won't destroy just as much, or maybe more. I must have control, but it is so tempting to release. to see what I can build, just to tear it down. This boredom swirling around me is starting to thicken. The soft whispers are getting louder. Creation is starting to sound like destruction. When the fog clears I wonder which one I will have chosen. To create. Or to destroy.