The Sun

The sun rose wearily and began its journey across the sky.

Sometimes it wanted to never come up. It was in the sun's self interest.

He had taken the job years ago, intrigude by sounding nobel: making the same tedious journey day after day and year after year to sustain the bold existence of life on earth.

But now centuries later it was tired. It saw how cruel life was down there. Surely the sun was starting to feel difficulty in trotting across the sky every morning.

It was much easier for it to go down at the end of the night, tired from its trek. Quickly it sunk beneath the horizon.

It gracefully enjoyed rest but knew that time was ever-passing. The clock never stopped. The sun would soon have to rise again.

It tried to convince itself it was still worth it. More likely, it was continuing because of routine. Either way, humanity, without acknowledging the thanklessness of the sun's job, contineud its life in vanity.