Phoenix Whip

You try to remember exactly how you died, but just as you have always tried, everything becomes confusing and strange, as if something in your brain prevents you from remembering.

But the person you once were does not stop quietly walking, as if the alleys of the pleasure's neighbourhood belonged to him. It's strange how from this perspective, you can see so many details that you previously overlooked. The beautiful harshness of the bloody moon, which sinisterly shining, appearing above the pollution clouds of the megapolis.

All feels so unreal; the more you observe what happened from the outside, the more you perceive the falsehood of the city that was your home for years, probably more than millennia, taking into account the infinite respawns.

Am I in a video game? Am I just a set of scripts and variables reciting each time a different dialogue following the capricious choices of a player?

A fatalistic feeling settles in your soul while your former self is heading towards his death.

If I'm just a glitch in a videogame why not enjoy it and forget about moralistic jaws and enjoy the trip. After all, I am locked here.