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How would you have thought that being swallowed in this ocean there would only be darkness.
He can't see anything; are his eyes closed, or couldn't he see right in front of him? Would it really matter? The darkness welcomed him, swallowed to be digested. It has only started when they were diving him in there in this rusted coffin, when he had touched the first drop, since that moment it has been crawling under his skin, running along his veins. An infection in the water running along the roots, only when it has touched the heart do you realise it, but at that moment it's already too late.
As he had slid through the teeth of the eel, losing control, screaming to himself 'come on, move,' but nothing happened, he felt himself falling.
'If the black box can make it, so do you.' But there's no point fighting back; his body was so heavy. He can't fight anymore; it's over. After everything, that is how it ends. Falling down and becoming one with the seabed.
It's over -
He has felt that monster death cry, yeah definitely hearing it, he had felt the vibration of it, he can't hear anything anymore, except his own heartbeat but even that it had started fading too. Good. One thing done makes it eat its shit back to that monster that played with him, tormented him, he nearly lost his mind.
It would have given him a form of satisfaction to see it being torn open; well, that is how he tried to imagine it. But even that starts to blur on the edge.
Where was that light? Where was it? Was he not close to it? Scratch is that light that has ever existed. Did he ever see one that wasn't the falling light of the dead stars?
There was this strange light; it felt like one, picking up under his eyes, as even if his eyes were close, he could see the red of the blood.
What a strange feeling; he could have swept that he would be warm. That all this blood around here would have been warm, but that wasn't the case. On the contrary, he was cold.
He was freezing, as if blades were piercing him. If he weren't this heavy, this could have woken him up.
He was still heavy but the sensation of being cold insinuated on his clothes, on his skin, down his muscles and bones was missing weight. That is when the cold had started spreading; the pressure was disappearing.
This is a strange sensation; it is nothing as he never knows. His head was killing him. Not long before he couldn't even hear anything, not even his blood in his ears, and now there was this unbearable buzzing that was drilling in his eardrums, right through his brain.
Was he still himself or was he part of the ocean now?
No, no. He won’t let himself be absorbed by this shitty bloodsucker pool. His name was Simon! He was still Simon, not even over his dead body; they would take that from him.
As he is half conscious, he rises up, full of pure spite and stubbornness, only to stumble and fall back on the ground.
As he managed to open an eye, he realised he was face down on a ground made of grey, cold, slippery, of strange rounds … where that peddles. But is he awake? He doesn't feel like he's awake for once because he is dead. There were no other explanations for this. He was lying on a ground that wasn’t red or muddy.
The pain was really real now, all his body screaming the bumbling in the submarine, that monster attack, he had been burned, blown, wrecked, his left arms are still missing and strangely that wasn't what hurt the most.
He just felt the remaining tendrils along his right arm, some crawling weakly and burning under his skin.
So that is how the afterlife is? Still wrecked by the last event before his trespassing, still wearing your stigmas, and you take them with you in the afterlife.
Or was it his punishment for all he had done? He didn’t fail; he tried. How was it fair that even now he has to wear his stigmas and the pain after everything he went through?
He tried to raise again, this time with more caution; his hair was stuck all over his face, sticking with the blood and sweat, but he could look at his surroundings.
Rising his head to see above him there was this strange yellow glow affects the same as when he was in the dome of the last tree.
The sky looks wrong, this is the same ‘night’ sky he had always had above his head, endless dark vastness, with far glow light. But there was something his vision was already blurry but those lights were not as he remembered them - after all there was long that he had seen them, had he forgotten how they looked.
He pushed himself a bit more on his remaining arm, trying to focus on a hill in front of him that was a cubic structure not far right up on it.
How he managed to get to it, he doesn’t know, but now he was climbing those stairs, how have engraved steps on this hill, it was at the same time a curse and a blessing, cursing each step that made him fall down.
But he managed to go up those stairs; he had beaten them. They’re under him now, they won’t stop him. He won’t stop until he decides it.
He passed his hand on his face, pushing away the filth to see better what he was in front of, once, three times.
A door.
That strange thing, he had first thought it was some box, the thought of something similar to a submarine again, but with more shapes, rectangle portholes all around, and most of all it had a door, one with a handle and no lock, smooth and clean.
He put a hand on it testing the material before retracting his hand. The surface wasn’t smooth; there were small grooves all along it, and it was lukewarm, leaving a mark of dark red on it.
While he was strangely fixed by this, he didn’t realise that the door was open.
He drained his feet inside; his visions were blurry again. He started to sway from one side to another, not even releasing himself; he was flying low. He was so low he didn’t even register. He crashed on the ground, taking away with him objects that were disposed of on a low table.
Later, there was a light this time; it was bright but not hurting him. There was also some music playing around him. It was so bright, so warm; was it that light the eels were keeping him away from? It doesn’t feel like a starlight or some celestial one, just a strong bulb that had never seen a film of dust.
All he could feel was a hand on him and a calm voice, trying to reassure him, “I got you, it's going to be ok.”