Geneva paddled. Far, far and away, until the gallery lights were nothing but a flickering star on the edge of the earth.
Then, she stopped.
It was over. No more running. No more terror. No more knives to necks. She was free. Free as some wild sea bird. That was what freedom was. Being lost in possibility. Or simply being lost. Was it not the same thing? No one there to tell you where to go, or what to do. No one around to help you, and likewise no one to ignore you. Weightless, connectionless, boundless living. Not a person in sight. That was it. It was everything she imagined it would be. Loneliness.
And when one was alone, they were by themselves. All they had was themselves, and everything inside. All the pain, all the dreadful memories. Every last word they had ever heard, every feeling they had ever felt, it was all amplified, magnified, until the whole surrounding world looked just like their insides. The ends of the mind were boundless. Wherever one went, they only found themselves, and they found nothing else. That was the point, wasn't it? That was the goal, all along. She wanted manumission, liberty, deliverance; and now she had it. She was undeniably, inescapably free.
She leaned over the edge of the boat. The water was black and deep. It was endless. Just how far could she venture? How much could her body take? When would she finally die?
"Why did you do this to me?" she whispered into the darkness.
The waves did not reply.
"Why did you bar me from death?"
All of time seemed to slow to a lifeless stop.
"Why did you make me so alone?"
She didn't know which god she was asking. Any god that would listen. Whatever god had made her this way. Whatever god that cursed her to perpetual loneliness. Whatever god allowed her to be immortal and invincible.
"The world hates me. Did you know that?"
The waves lapped quietly against the hull, pushing her aimlessly through the blackness.
"Every new world that is born despises me. Every man on this earth wants to have me only to kill me. And they die trying. It doesn't end. It never will.
"So tell me,
"Why should I give up my life for a world that doesn't care?
"Why should I watch every life go in a cold rush
"And leave me behind?
"Why should I witness that?"
Soundlessly, she was curled up, underneath the seat of the rowboat. Every time she woke up, she couldn't see anything at all. There was no light at all, not even from the stars. She must have slept for days. But the night wouldn't end.
She finally sat up. Out into the darkest waves, her gaze persisted. There was nothing out beyond the night. But she stood up anyway. Written across her eyes was some quiet glow.
She breathed.
"It is said that Christ,
"Son of God,
"Could walk on water.
"Am I not the daughter of Calypso?
"And is Calypso not the sea?
"Then, harken to me now.
"Either I will walk on water, all the way to my olden home by the sea,
"Up the side of the walls which bar the sea from the land,
"To the deserted home of my kin and parents
"Where no one will be left to welcome me;
"Or I will drown.
"Either is an end for me.
"So, to me,
"It does not matter any longer."
And she stepped over the rail.