As the moon offered all the splendor it had borrowed from the sun to the night, a warm breeze began to move through the darkness. This night was warmer, quieter, and more still than any ordinary summer night. The breeze, which might have offered relief, turned its back on those in need of cooling. Unlike other days, many people had already left the shore, returning to their hotels or their tents hidden among the trees.
Those who remained filled the beach in fragments: some gathered in groups, playing games; others danced with the reckless energy of a famous DJ, as if nothing in the world concerned them. While the lingering crowd passed the time despite the suffocating humidity, the scene among the rocks at the far end of the shore was very different.
Blood seeped from the young woman's left wrist as she sat on one of the large rocks, her eyes vacant, as though they had lost their field of vision. The artificial lights across from her were no longer flickering but blurring into one another. Her large, dark brown eyes slowly drifted shut, like a child resisting sleep. She felt the wind issuing commands to her body, sensing it more deeply as goosebumps rose on her skin.
But it was not the wind that ruled her body.What brushed against her skin, raised those shivers, and claimed authority over her flesh was death's private ceremony, prepared just for her.
It was time for her next move.
Summoning the last of her strength, she stood on trembling legs and took a few steps toward the edge of the rocks. I'm escaping, she thought. She tried to let the words slip from her lips, but failed. As her eyes grew heavier, she surrendered her body to the darkened waves moving in rhythm with the air.
As she sank beneath the surface, the woman who had believed all her life that she must remain silent now felt she should scream, and wished, even if too late, to give voice to it. But there was an obstacle. Death had captured the wind, feeding on the blood flowing from her wrist. It was death that stood in the way.
Belatedness, unlived moments, and silence became her end. The ringing in her ears was the sign that she was free.
As her blood met the water and dissolved into the darkness between the waves, her skin, her heart, and her soul began to go numb. Her thoughts faded one by one, as if keeping pace with the diminishing blood in her veins. Each wave that struck her fragile body carried her further away. Where the vitality in her cells had once driven her toward numbness, now her mind was fully dulled. Death, disguised as wind, traveled from her drained veins to her mind, tearing her thoughts loose.
Her ability to think weakened steadily. As moonlight slipped through the waves and reflected onto her one last time, she looked up at the moon and the blurred light scattered around it. She wished she could possess the moon. Immediately after, the absurdity and impossibility of that wish struck her as the waves crashed against her face. Her body was tossed between the unruly currents.
Then she felt something placed into her palm. From the sharp edges pressing into her skin, she understood that the waves had left a starfish in her hand.
The moon, she thought, is a miracle that commands a magnificent light, illuminating humanity.
Her final thought echoed in her mind moments later:
And I am nothing but a pitiful starfish with a mortal soul.