Work Text:
Simon wanted to stay on the island. He felt like he had a purpose there. But now, he was sitting in his bedroom, staring down at the wooden desk he sits upon of. He couldn’t return back to the island, it was destroyed and scorched.
Simon carefully hopped in his bed and shut out his light, he pulled the thin blanket just to his neck and rested. Lately Simon had been feeling nothing but aching from the wounds he had gotten on the island. That was the only time there he didn’t want to relive.
It took Simon a while to drift off, his ragged breathing shallowing and coming to a steady rise and fall of his heavily bandaged chest.
As he slept he entered a dream. He was in choir and it was going okay. Singing voices around him settled him. He turned for a second and he was on the plane? A strange ease overcame him and he shut his eyes as the other boys screamed.
They landed on the island and Simon was gathered with the rest of the choir. He looked down to his hands and felt heat. It was as intense as a fire. The salt filled his nose. All the boys lined up and walked. Simon felt out of place in a place he was supposed to belong.