the Earth. And I am dying.

For millions of years, I gave you everything — air to breathe, water to drink, land to live on, beauty to enjoy. But you repaid me with greed, with violence, with poison. You have become the most selfish, the most destructive creatures to ever walk upon me. You tear down my forests. You choke my oceans with filth. You burn my skies and poison my soil. You have turned my rivers into sewers. You have covered me in concrete and steel, suffocating the life that once flourished here.

You do not care. You dig deeper, burn faster, consume more — as if I am endless, as if I am unbreakable. But I am not. I am breaking. I am burning. I am drowning. I am shaking. My storms are growing stronger. My heat is rising. My patience is running out.

And soon, I will get rid of you.

The disasters you fear — the floods, the fires, the earthquakes, the storms — they are my warnings. But you do not listen. You think you can escape in your machines, hide behind your walls, run to other planets. But you cannot run from me. I made you. And I can erase you.

If you do not change, you will be wiped out — not by war, not by disease, but by me. I will purge this sickness from my skin. Your cities will crumble. Your fields will turn to dust. Your oceans will swallow your shores. And your species will vanish, like so many before you.

You have already lost your way. Maybe it is too late. Maybe you do not deserve to be saved.

But the choice, for now, is still yours. Change — or perish. I do not care anymore. I will heal myself... after you are gone.