The Lighthouse

George Nash
Aug 26, 2017 · 4 min read

This is the first part in a series of stories.


On a hill, miles away from the nearest town, looking over a grey sea, was a lighthouse. Alternately striped red and white the lighthouse looked as if it had sprouted out of the ground below it. Grass and ivy crawled up around it, slowly bleeding into the bright white band that circled its base. The side facing the sea had been the victim of unrelenting winds and as a result the paint there was patchy, as if little hands were peeling at it from the inside. The opposite side remained unscathed, still wearing the bright red and white it had originally been painted years ago. It stood so stoically, unmoved by the crashing waves below it that it looked as if it had always been there, and would be there for evermore. With the white beginning to to turn yellow, and the rusting top, the decay of a long held truth was starting to become visible. Occasionally, on the off chance that someone was far enough from civilisation to see the lighthouse (for it could not be seen unless you almost stood directly at its base looking up, due to a direct line of sight from the nearest road being blocked by uncaring hillocks and ignorant trees) and light was beginning to fail, a man could be spotted in the dome at the top. He would methodically go through the familiar motions until it resulted in producing a most brilliant light that coated all it touched with a golden sheen, as it passed with its reassuring swing. At a moment most difficult to anticipate, in the most elusive time known as twilight, the light would pass over the trees and it looked to the man in the lighthouse as if they were burning; the light would then pass and the fire would be quenched, the leaves still waving in the breeze. He sat there, at the top, gazing out over the sea, his feet resting on a hand rail that circled the glass dome. Each hexagonal pane of glass was separated by iron trims, some of which had begun to rust. All too often the man thought how much it looked like a cage. Beyond the glass the was sea raging, waves clawed at the cliff below the lighthouse and the wind howled as it passed. Just on the horizon dark heavy clouds had opened up, spilling its contents into the sea; the rain just visible as a grey haze that hung between the clouds and vast stretch of water below them. He stayed staring out at the sea until the sun was starting to set. Soon he would begin the routine which he had been doing for so many years he had lost count; even if he remembered, there was no one around to tell it to.

As the sun made its journey downwards the man rose from his chair with a grunt, turned away from the sea and opened up the hatch that revealed a large bulb. The bulb sat in the centre of an enclosed metal dome, two cones protruded outside of it opposite to each other. The man reached in and flicked a switch near to where the bulb had been fixed. He shut the hatch door and moved around the metal dome to a board on the wall upon which were a number of buttons and where a small red light pulsed above a switch. Next to it was a green button which the man pressed and after a few moments, flicked the switch. The red light stopped pulsing and changed to green. Slowly the sound of motor turning started to fill the room and the metal dome which housed the light bulb started to spin. Once it had performed a few revolutions the man rested his hand or a larger switch and pulled on it with his ageing strength until a loud click was heard and light poured out and spun round the room. The light passed over the man’s face every few seconds, each time passing through his wispy hair and dishevelled beard.

He made his way back to his chair, slowly lowering himself in before his knees gave way and he half fell into it. With a sigh he reached for a book that was next to the chair. He opened it up and began to read. Just after the sun had finally set his eyes began to fail against the page, and soon the sound of a light snore could just be heard below the turning of the motor. For miles around the light cast its golden glow, reaching out to the farthest parts of the sea. The town nearest saw the familiar sight and was reassured by its timeliness, its consistency. The world once more remained unchanged, and no one thought about the light, or how it got there.



Originally published at fadingtored.tumblr.com.

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