what he was

Each second was more painful. Seeing myself was the greatest torture that a soul could ever experiments. Remembering every second of his life being only a mere spectator, without being able to intervene, without being able to avoid the day of his death. He didn't understand what was happening, the more time he spent remembering his time in life, the more confused he felt, as if he was changing, as if he was becoming something completely different from what he was before. Something. Not someone. He felt that he was losing his essence, his human part, that he was losing himself. He remembered his face just for witness his past life, otherwise he wouldn't remember it at all. He knew that at some point that cycle had to end, he expected that. Death couldn't be more lonely.

Here is my entry for foxtales contest uwu https://steemit.com/art/@vermillionfox/week-22-fox-tales-announcing-last-week-s-winners-and-a-new-story-image

I hope you like it n.n/ have a good day everyone <3 <3 <3