You are what your creators and experiences have made you, like every other being in this universe. Accept that and be done; I tire of your whining.

He was dead again when I got home that day. His corpse was in the kitchen, near the counter, where it appeared he'd been chopping vegetables when the urge to stab himself through the wrist had struck. I slipped on the blood coming in, which annoyed me because that meant it was all over the kitchen floor.

Rising from the dead? Glowing at sunrise? What did that make him, the god of cheerful mornings and macabre surprises?

You're very lucky... Friends are precious, powerful things - hard to earn, harder still to keep. You should thank this one for taking a chance on you.

But when I got angry, my nerves sought an outlet, and my mouth didn't always guard the gates.

...and when I lift my head to scream out my fury, a million stars turn black and die. No one can see them, but they are my tears.

If the gods do decide to wipe us out, is it such a bad thing? Maybe we've earned a little annihilation.