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I did not create this universe, this planet, this ecosystem, not I.
I was born when the first bit of life ate another - so long ago - the choice of energy transfer by consumption instead of by mere chemical reaction was a decision made well beyond my pay grade. Perhaps in a universe ruled by entropy, it was always to be.
It was not my decision. Perhaps Gaia being thrifty about recycling decided this was the way to deal with endless replication. So much has changed from those first simple bites, but she does not speak to me much, merely setting me free to do my work for the biosphere.
I wonder at times if she has some plan, some goal. There are times, like when the earth rips open to pour those endless basalt streams and she forces me into overtime, I wonder what her goals are, creating extinction. Is she aware of the havoc she plays on the life dancing across her skin, or is she more entranced by the dance of the land and sea that support it? When I ask, all I hear is the wind and the cries of the dying as I exhaust myself in these paroxysms, cold or heat or poisoned gas. They leave me exhausted.
Don’t blame me if I haunt your dreams – I see how you picture me, carrying the scythe, ready to harvest all. I see how you call me child of Night, but that is a lie. I am the child of Life itself and the tool of Gaia.
Don’t mock. I am a slave of the system. It is what I do. Deathless Death, never ever to escape until a swollen red Sun sets me free to end Gaia’s reign.
Will I rejoice? I do not know. But at last, at long last, I will sleep.