Work Text:
The last few moments of life are sticky. Burning, also.
Simon thinks, sloshing, of his mom. Prays to her. Eden would like him to pray to the Tree. He misses that Tree. Misses his mom more.
The glow of the life vest—a ship—with the black box. It's a star. Not dead, newborn. Simon misses his mom. His lungs burn; his skin, also. The alien smothers him, mouth tacky, tasting bloody. Simon? The alien?
Yeah.
The explosion is a welcome burn; fast, also. It flashes, cutting through blood like x-rays, lights bleeding behind his eyes, more stars, before
dark.