He knew about us, the ones who would walk forever. He could hear everything that we did, see everything we saw. For centuries, he had been watching. And now he was watching us again. As we walked through the city streets, we passed countless statues of him. His statue, as always, seemed larger than life. We were no different. All the statues that stood against the evil of our enemy. Every time we stopped and stepped away, He looked at us with an empty stare. With one hand he held up his hand, pointing, in the direction of Hell. "You would die there. There is no place for you here. No heaven, nothing." He said. And he looked sad.

But there was one day he would not. That day, there were too many of them. Too many, for humans to even see. So, like a ghost, his body disappeared, falling to earth, at a place where the only thing left was the spirit of this creature that lived.

For years I watched the statue every single day, wondering what his face looked like, if he breathed, slept. Or smiled. What I understood was that the last thing he saw, before vanishing forever, that face was mine. In that moment, I felt a part of something much bigger than myself. An entity that had once been my soul.