Nothing changed about him.

His eyebrows were always locked up, his expression was always
grave the same lifeless emotion he carried on his face when he was alive. All his life he had
been exploring the microscopic world of protons and neutrons. Chemical experiments
consumed his life, like a demonic suction tube draining away his passion, eating away his
health, destroying his relationships. He lied silently in a wooden casket; a thick layer of dust
accumulating along the rim.

He must be so fortunate to rest here, under the round dome of the Pantheon, surrounded by
statues of the ancient Roman deities. He devoted every second of his life to strive to become a
scientific giant, like Marie Curie and Einstein. Now he is one of them, buried in the same
architectural masterpiece, receiving the same heavens light that falls through the opening in
the dome except he would soon become just a speck of sand in historys desert. No one
visited him when he was alive, no one will remember him now that hes gone.

Ive never had students before, I remembered him speaking, But you are an exception, I
can see your passion for knowledge. Together well be great.

I recalled the dimly-lit laboratory that I performed my doctorate degree experiments in. The
walls of the laboratory pressed against me, the pungent ammonia odour suffocated me. For
him it was a paradise, for me it was a prison. We almost never talked. His apathy would
always extinguish the ecstasy I got from the occasional pop or the purple fume that arose
from my test tubes. But we have a common pursuit: to synthesise the most powerful element
in the periodic table the exitium. It could be a boundless energy mine, but could also
establish a new age of nuclear war.

If you are here to do amateur science, then Im afraid this is not the place for you, he
always spoke with a sheer acerbity, May I remind you, sir, that science is power.

But the foul power turned itself against its owner. The highly radioactive elements eventually
caused mutations in his genes. I remembered clenching onto his icy cold hand, sitting next to
his sickbed in a desolate oncology unit, begging him not to leave me. The moment his breath
was taken away, I collapsed onto the floor like a crumbling mud wall. I bursted into tears
perhaps Im next. His shadow haunts me and lives in me as I undertake the same life
pilgrimage as him. I could feel death approaching, like an invisible hand grasping tighter and
tighter onto my neck.

I will wait for you, until you come back. These were the last words from my wife before I
left my home in London five years ago, in pursuit of a high profile scientific career.

I recalled the last time where my wife and I fused into each others presence. She stared at
me, her eyes glittering with melancholy love. Her hands grasping onto mine, the tips of our
lips melted into each other, united under the nostalgic afternoon sunlight. We loitered through
the golden carpet of evenly mown lawn of Hyde Park, as if its the last journey together in our
lives.
I remembered my son clutching onto the corner of my shirt, asking me to not leave as tears
flowed out from the corner of his eyes. My wife took up the burden to nurture the two
children and my elderly parents. She has done so much for me, but what would I repay her in
return? The love and time that I owe her, my duty as a son, husband and father, combats with
my burning desire to find the exitium.

To live with the people you love or to die with dignity? I pondered as I glanced around at the
Pantheon. Its truly a place of Gods, with marble tile ground, limestone pillars and exquisite
inscriptions on the walls. It would be every scientists dream to be buried here. But is this
really worth for me to abandon my wife and children just to rest in this architectural splendour
which I will never catch a glimpse of?

At the corner of his coffin laid a black-covered book always sealed in his drawer when he
was alive. It was the only book that he possessed unrelated to nuclear chemistry. I slowly
lifted it up and flicked open the first page, a small line of writing caught my sight:

Science is intrinsically either moral or immoral, though it is more prone to immoral use
than most weapons Albert Einstein

I frowned as I continued scrolling through the pages. It recorded his participation with the
Manhattan Project which Einstein was heavily involved with. There were images from
Hiroshima captured by American helicopters: villages collapsing into ashes, dead mutilated
bodies lying around, people running frantically with distorted expressions. All these
destructive consequences arose merely from Einsteins equation.

My hands trembled as I gazed at the poor innocent villagers horrified countenance. A burning
anger of injustice and disappointment kindled in my heart. Scientific advancements should
aim to improve the quality of human life. But for the Japanese citizens, scientific invention
has become an apocalyptic monster. Science should be a tool for peace and development of
the society, not for revenge and destruction!

I dropped the book heavily on the ground and hastily ran out of the Pantheon. The marble
staircase beneath my footstep was glittering gold under the sunshine as the gloomy cloud
dismissed ahead of me.

I dialled my wifes number. To hear the nave daddy from my children was more satisfying
than any of my research on exitium. I bought a plane ticket back to London, with a plan long-
etched in my mind defying glory, embracing life and happiness.