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Simon felt light. Lighter than he had felt in a long time. Yet he also felt heavy, like his bones were forged of steel and weighing him down like an anchor. Maybe it was some kind of sickness, the deep churning in his stomach that made him want to scream in agony with each movement. But he had to keep pushing through—he had to make it out alive. He would earn his freedom. That was final in his mind.
He stepped away from the front console for a moment, going over to the camera to get a look his surroundings. Standard routine; move, take a picture, mark it on the map, repeat. That was the easy part, but actually moving his body was proving to become significantly more difficult. He tried to take a step towards the button, but as he moved everything got a little slower, the corners of his vision got darker and he started to stumble. “Weird…” he thought. “I’ll be fine.”
He of course, was not fine.
Simon collapsed onto the floor as he pressed the button, the flash of the screen disorienting him further as his head hit the metal grating. Fuck, that hurt. He tried to get up, but no matter how hard he tried not even his hands would push him up. He laid there, eyes drifting shut. He hoped he wasn’t dying, this couldn’t be the end for him. There was a light that vaguely shone behind his eyelids, but he figured it was just the camera. But wouldn’t it have faded by now? Maybe it was a malfunction. Just one more thing he had to deal with, of course.
Then he saw it. A bright light coming from that screen when he opened his eyes. A glittering red, like thousands of little stars clustered together and the silhouette of something—no, someone standing in it. They stood on what looked like a ship of some kind. The beauty was almost blinding, like he was a lowly sinner staring up at a gateway to heaven. And the silhouette—oh how he hoped it was an angel—stepped forward out of the screen. He could see now that it was a man, with short blonde hair that went every which way and blue eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul. He wore glasses (did angels wear glasses?), adjusting them upon seeing Simon.
“You poor soul…” The figure said, kneeling down to Simon and gently cupping his cheek. The Convict felt almost obligated to lean into the touch, relishing the human warmth it provided. “What are you doing down here?”
“I don’t know.” Simon muttered. “They sent me down here to die, I think.”
There was a certain divinity about the man before him, something in his mind that just screamed “angel”. Maybe it was the golden hair, or the faint halo the light provided by reflecting behind him. He had to be an angel, right?
The angel hummed in thought, carefully examining the man’s form. “You look tired.”
Simon let out a quiet sigh. “I am tired.”
“I can fix that.”
Simon seemed suspicious of that, trying to scoot away just a bit as this golden man inched closer. The angel pressed a small kiss to Simon’s forehead, to which he immediately felt the pain in his abdomen begin to fade. The churning was gone, and so was the strange feeling in his bones. He stood up, the angel helping him as he went, his legs finally feeling strong enough to hold his weight.
“He really is an angel, isn’t he?” He thought to himself. What a fool he was to doubt him.
The light from the screen still had yet to fade, and the angel began guiding Simon towards it, hand clasped in his own like a grounding force. Simon paused before they were about to step through, something wasn’t right.
“Wait.” Simon said, causing the blonde to turn and face him. “I don’t even know your name.”
The angel smiled warmly. “Oh, of course! Silly me. My name is—“
Simon woke up, still on the floor. The ache was still there, the churning was still present in his gut. He felt bile bubble up in the back of his throat, coming out in a disgusting retch as he turned over to vomit. He looked up at his surroundings, there was no angel. There was no bright light. The screen was dark. He wondered how long he’d been out for; ten minutes? Twenty? Maybe an hour? He didn’t know. God forbid he know anything. He took a moment to gather his bearings, then pressed the button again. There was the familiar flash, one that faded as normal. Thankfully there was no sign of weird alien shit out there, Simon hoped it would stay that way.
He continued that routine; move, take a picture, mark it on the map, repeat. At this rate it was starting to feel like torture. This was hell, and Simon knew that even if he died, he was never going to see heaven.