geneva; raven beacon!
The ocean was no panacea.
There was no elixir for his thoughts. It was like a disease had overcome him, like the world had suddenly crashed down again just as it had with Iskata's sudden and untimely death he'd never even said goodbye to. Kids. He had kids. No amount of walking, whether three- or two-legged, could put his mind at peace. There was no paternal pride, no eagerness to see his children grow and strive and live like a normal parent would have. How many times had he told himself that he could have never been a father because he simply had never known how?
His own son had tried to attack him. Had the other two joined in, the one-eyed monster wasn't sure he could have fended them all off; he could have died. Jefferson was still wary of the concept of children, still trying to disbelieve that they were even his own flesh and blood--but it was no use. The fury that glowed in their eyes were recognizable; they were spawns of his sin, sin he could not even remember. Sins he had never fathomed himself to commit. It was true: he'd gone mad. Somewhere along the line, he'd gone mad... it was why he couldn't remember. It was why faces were a blur. It was why he couldn't sleep at night since the realization was forced into his head.
But the three of them... they were his. Apparently, he'd killed their mother, along with countless other blurred faces in his mind. The cyclops had a vague recollection of the woman they'd described; it wasn't long after he'd woken up to sanity. He'd adopted the name Jefferson a short time before, having no memory of who he was or what he'd done... and he'd just been wandering, trying to remember, trying to ease himself out of the fog and mist that rendered him incapable of remembering a thing. She'd seen him and attacked him first. Right? ...The fight itself had been performed in a blind rage. He remembered her face, and he remembered it dead. He remembered leaving. That was all.
The ocean's rippling waves and sharp, blustery breeze soothed nothing. He sat three-legged in the sand, listless green eye a thousand miles away. The temptation within the cruel sea called to him, but the cyclops did not yet move. Just a rock against the wind: solid and silent, waiting for nothing at all. There was nothing left worth waiting for. His crimes were his own, the doubts he'd always wondered suddenly a reality. He was a criminal... a monster. The sea was calling. He stood, eye thinning from the twisting pain within his chest, and limped a few feet into the water. Cold, bitter... and tempting.