I am a mere fraction of my former self. I remember when my physique was perfect. My infancy was volatile: full of animosity. My internal structures were oozing and churning, poking through to my charred skin. Then I matured. My fizzy crust hardened. I was alone for the longest time. Nobody to talk to, or to listen. I could scream to my heart's content, but the blackness enveloped me. Frigid everywhere, but my inner strength kept me going.

My first friends were quiet, and much smaller than I. So I waited. I watched them grow. The duration was interminable. In my loneliness, my acrid tears submerging almost all of me. I was passing time, when I encountered the first visible friend I could call mine. Then he brought more with him. They were small and green to begin with. Using my tears and flaming patriarch, they grew. Oh, it took time, but they grew.

Eventually, my friends were able to move, and live, mellifluously. They would grow using each other, using me. We loved each other. They were robust, but mostly in part to me. I gave them what they needed. In their might, individuals still must die; it is the way of life. When they did, they would give back to me what I had given. Their bodies became part of me, my blood. Sometimes, the cycle broke, but our bond was strong, we would always go back to what worked. A rock pummeled me at one moment, and killed some friends, but they grew strong. I went through a rebellious stage, and grew away from my father, but without him, I grew cold. I regretted my decision when more of my friends died. But they always grew back. There was no end to this cycle, or so I thought...

I have lived a long life, but not long enough. I still have more time left than you can perceive. But very recently, I made my first enemies. I knew it was too perfect. I was at the pinnacle of the apex of the vertex. My friends were vigorous, as always, and getting better in ways I could not understand. With my aid, and their expansion, the sky was the limit. But then there was my enemy. He was my best friend. Not the strongest, but certainly the smartest. And he betrayed me. He burned my skin, for his benefit. I have used fire in the past, as a means to bring life. Destroy some, sacrifice, for the greater good. That is not how he uses it. No, he does it for himself. His own warmth and energy; he never sacrifices for the others. Then he discovered my true power.

Over billions of years, my father has made me who I am. He has given me the fire to live. I took that fire, and made it my blood, with the help of my friends. My body pulsed and surged with power, no restraints. Then this young, dastardly fiend discovered it. Since he discovered its potency, he can't get enough. Like a drug addict, itching for more, or a kid with a soda near-empty, who just keeps sucking his straw. My wells have dried up, but he keeps digging and scratching into my skin, taking my life-blood with a dirty syringe. He plundered, and he still siphons blood from me. It hurts, oh it hurts. I try to breathe, but I sputter and cough. When I can inhale, it feels like the weight of the world on my chest. My vision is blurring. My friends are withering, and my nemesis grows stronger. His garbage surrounds me.

What he doesn't realize, is I will survive. No matter what he does, he cannot kill me. If he stays true to his course, he will succeed in killing himself. I may lose friends, but there are others like me, and in time, I will recover regardless. Unwittingly by his own hand, he will die. If he does not regain my trust, he will fade away, like a morning mist; my power will grow once more. This era will become a blip on my life record. His life record will simply end. He can drag others down with him, but not me. He cannot even gain harmony within himself; how can he ever reconcile with me? If I regain my power, I will try again to foster intelligence, and perhaps the next fruition will be successful. I don't want to cry, to drown in my own tears, painfully alone due to my adversary. I want to die peacefully, naturally, with friends by my side. Ne humanus crede.