I hid away in my house for months on end, barely a thought in my head. All that my mind could grasp was that I didn't deserve this. This life, this place in what to me was an abyss of death and destruction. Mortals already cause more than enough wars, I was just making it worse, but unlike them I couldn't leave. I'd tried, believe me when I say I tried to get out of here. I've seen kings born and die on their thrones, governments build and destroy everything they'd worked for. They'd come and go and I'd just be here. Doing nothing. Surely there's got to be a reason that I'm here on Earth. Or a reason for the changing of the seasons and the dust and the dirt.

Being stuck here is like poison, slowly sickening you until someone drops. All that without the drop. I just keep on living as the time goes by.
Nobody else is here forever, so why am I? What's it worth?

Words: 170
Finished: 18/3/23