My entire existence is predicated upon the fact that I will one day explode. It is the reason I was created, and the reason I live - so that I will die, hopefully taking another's life with me. Unlike others, my being is made for killing, not living. I am nothing but a weapon - and not even a decent weapon, rarely able to do more than shrink my opponent. If I were to take my own life, I would be doing the world a great favor - for no one else would need to fear harm due to my presence.
Not all who rest on clouds live in Heaven - I am a shining testament to this. As others shuffle below me, bound to the Earth, I fly above them in the skies - hurling my children to the ground which I so fear. Hurling my innocent, confused children towards an enemy who has given me no reason to hate him so. Watching in horror as my precious offspring walk into pits, as they have no reason to understand the dangers of the ground that they have found themselves upon. I am more executioner than father.
One chance. I am given once chance to perform my duty of smashing Mario with the weight of my body. Should I succeed, I will merely reduce him from Large Mario to Smaller Mario, or (should he already be Smaller Mario) I will remove one of his many lives. However, if I should miss (and this is the far more likely scenario, as I am a bit overeager, and often drop myself before I should), he will run past me and I will be left to rot in this castle. I am incapable of lateral movement, and thus if I fail in my one task, the rest of my existence will be a Kafka-esque nightmare of nothingness. I will hover, touching the ceiling, with no reason nor ability to ever move again. I would kill myself, but I have no means by which to do so.
I have no choices in my life. I am loaded into a cannon and fired - where I hurtle through space in a straight line, typically towards some plumber. I am an instrument of death, given sentience in some cruel, cosmic joke. Is there need for me to be alive? Does my consciousness add to my effectiveness? No - I have been imbued with a soul purely to know that my life is pointless and I cannot change anything. I have been given life so that I might watch as my being takes life away from others. I am helpless, trapped in this body, made a tool for others to manipulate. Even though I am always moving, I feel eternally trapped.
I am not thin-skinned - I am no-skinned. There is no protective layer separating me from the harsh world that I am exposed to on a constant basis. Perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible - but my brittle bones that comprise the entirety of my being cannot be crushed. My life cannot be ended. I can be decimated by simply being stepped on by a middle-aged plumber, but my unnatural body will simply reform itself. I have died a thousand deaths in my "life" (if one can even call it that), yet I persist. I long for nothing but for these tired bones to be put to rest once and for all.
Whoa, hold up a sec - are my ovaries in my mouth?
That shit is fucked up.