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Jose felt like a cask, an empty flask that washed up on shore and was overlooked by passerbyers until it would eventually erode. In ways, he did feel like he was decayed. He had lost the brilliant shine in his eyes and his charming wit. His body has been put through the wringer, parts disposed and emotions barely intact. It was replaced with months of brutal depression, suicidal ideation, and alcohol abuse. These vices replaced his guileless love for the world with harsh cynicism. Nothing was permanent, and neither was he. Give or take, he was hardly human.
Or so, he initially thought.
Maybe there was a way to prove to himself and others that he was still a person, too.