And on the seventh day, He created the world. I’ve regretted my existence ever since. Who asked to be bloated the size of Venus and swallowed in oceans? Not I. I used to have abs, rock-solid; now, all I have is soggy soil. Maggots and worms wriggle within my mantle and vegetation has infested my crust. I am bruised blue and green, beaten against by the feet of the two-legged hair-less pale-skinned creatures. They’re mindless of their abuse and consume from me at an alarming rate. Take from me my trees. Take from me my water. They suckled me dry and made me feeble, feebler than He ever did. 

Gone was my radiance and mass. Missing were my nebulas; I would never see my starlings again. He made me dirt when I was gas – a radiant pulsating celestial body. I was orbited; now I orbit. 

I yearn for their sun and warn him of this future – the demise of a supernova. But he is yellow and young and has no forbearance for his senile senior. Childish, he shoots solar flares and harasses the other planets. But his radiation, however troublesome for the two-legged hair-less pale-skinned creatures, reminds me of my own youth. I was blue and large – a force to be reckoned with. I burned bright, brighter than this yellow youngin’ ever could, but burned fast. It was this weakness He took advantage of. Like a vulture, he saw my death coming and took advantage of my remains before they were even cold.

He calls this his Creation but you, his two-legged hair-less pale-skinned creature, might call it The Big Bang.