Everyone he has ever known is gone.

The gods have abandoned him. The men are dead. Penelope is dead. Telemachus is dead.

The boat is all he has left.

He spends his days on the ship, keeping it tidy, keeping it neat. He rolls up the ropes to keep them out of the way. He mends small tears in the sails. He catches fish and pulls up seaweed, roasting them both for his meals. The world is quiet without love. Only the wind whispers in his ears. Only the ship creaks as it bucks along the waves. Only the water laughs as it splashes the sides of the wood. It has been like this for years.

Odysseus stares out at the horizon, where never-ending blue meets never-ending blue. His old and calloused hands brace themselves on the railing of the ship. He is concentrated on nothing in particular, mind wandering as it ought to do. There is a crack beneath the ship. It jitters. Odysseus looks down into the dark sea.

Rocks. He hadn’t seen the rocks.

“No!” He cries out. He races around the ship, trying to fix what is broken. But he never could. And he never will.

Another crack, another jump. Water begins to flow steadily into the bottom of the ship. Odysseus just sits there, his tunic beginning to soak. This is how it ends.

Then there is another ship on the horizon, and Odysseus prays like he never has before.

He jumps to his feet, waving his arms. He calls for help. He screams until his throat peels. He is crying. He is scared. The water is up to his ankles now.

“Hello!” Odysseus calls out to the other ship. “Please help me!”