u/Stories_By_Jiggy

They were taking it down. I didn't care. I sat in my old bow back chair on the balcony, watching the men removing all the interior parts of the lighthouse. The old lighthouse had stood in that spot for more than a hundred years , watching the shoreline. I sat as his replacement, a brand new lighthouse, only up for just over two years now. I wasn’t the first watchman, a man had taken the job before me to guide the sailors, operate the light, those sorts of duties. I had only manned the station for about a month before I was informed of the plan to remove the remnants of the first one. I had grown quite fond of the view, the bleak horizon just above the sea seemed a little more peaceful with the large statuesque building filling the corner of my view. I had noticed in that short month the bricks beginning to crack and fall into the sea, how the larger waves made it shudder more and more with each impact. I came to the balcony every day now for the past year, enjoying my glass of hot tea, flipping through my novel, and every once in a while, glancing up to see my acquaintance. In my time operating the lighthouse I had never seen a man working in the abandoned lighthouse, but I’ve been told of a time when a man stood guard in there, apparently he was a man of legend. He never took days off, he guided three ships away from the shore before crashing, even helping the USS Titan avoid a major crash when their radar and navigation system crashed unexpectedly. The town treated it as a monument, as a guardian to protect our home. I never saw that. It was just a lighthouse to me.

I had awoken in the night, a large crackling sound shattered my ears and rang throughout the hollow chasm below me. Getting up, I saw it. The tower no longer encroached on my view. Its lean had increased, now tilting maybe fifteen degrees to the side, but he stood standing. I descended down my lighthouse steps to reach the small cabin nearby, shoved under the door was a note. The construction company had left me a message saying the old lighthouse was unsafe, and that they would have to take it down in a controlled manner but on a much quicker schedule. They had been making slow progress, and were just now beginning to rush the project, in the cold darkness of December. It seemed odd to me. My sleet covered feet trudged back into my lighthouse under heavy remorse. I had not wanted to go back inside, maybe I wanted to watch the old lighthouse. In my mind, it deserved to stay, how could it not. I’ve seen how people look to the old lighthouse. Maybe I had felt something of it too. It was not my nature to be full of such sentiment and yet, something, had me.

That same night I awoke again, but this time it was not of a shock but a petal. I felt the peony petal slide off my nose. As I stood up I was not cold, despite my thin garments. The window was dark other than a faint glow. As I opened the door to the balcony, once more I saw it shine. The light of the Old Lighthouse rang out into the night. I wasn’t shivering, I wasn't even cold. The light illuminated the whole shore, even the town several miles from here. It wasn’t a beam like a regular lighthouse too, it was a glow irradiating from the crest of the house. It began to shrink, the light slowly fading from within it. As the light faded from my lighthouse the cold began to bite once more. I rushed inside to return to my slumber. The next day at dusk I set off. I took the overgrown trail up to the top of the large hill, the biggest hill on the shore. There, the Old Lighthouse stood. Standing there now, I had realized that my lighthouse stood quite a bit taller on my hill than the old one. I had always assumed the Old Lighthouse stood on the highest hill on the shore. A hole had emerged among its base not larger than a meter long and had caused the recent tilt. The brick around it was worn and tired. My boots pressed against the soil beneath me as I stood under him. My fingers wrapped around the cavity and I hoisted with all my might, trying to see the building stand tall once more. As I heaved, a single drop fell upon my shoulder. I froze. The rain began to pour as I ran back to my lighthouse. The tower had wept for me, as did I for him. The coming weeks had passed without much notice. I sat upon my balcony sipping my bittersweet coffee, watching as the construction crew began tearing down the highest bricks. The Old Lighthouse was now half of what it once was. My view was clear, the orangish pink horizon before me was clear, and yet what I once viewed with such bright brilliance felt desolate in my eyes. That weekend, I set my heart to resurrect the Old Lighthouse. I sat in my cot for hours, listening to the men at work and setting machinery up for its destruction. I had my jerrycan waiting. When the construction men left, I set out, around 2:00 in the morning. I splashed the gasoline over their equipment, making sure to ward off any further plans they made. I was proud of myself, standing before the flames, watching them dance beneath the Old Lighthouse, no, my Old Lighthouse. The flames played before me, a kindling of warmth I had once felt before. My journey back was arduous, but the journey I had endured had not bothered me, as I knew what I held in my hands was safe again. I was in bliss, I was in denial.

Two weeks had passed since I had burned their equipment. The tower stood wilted in my view, and the sky remained bleak. I did not care, my Old Lighthouse stood, and I could not need anything else. My Saturday had come down to an end, I sat in my chair, sipping my drink. My novel had come to a close, the good men won, as had I. I set the book down on my glass table, watching the sky move over the horizon. Then, as the clouds faded, the crash began. The thunderous crash swept over the sky and enveloped the silent night. My eyes flashed open to see the Old Lighthouse come crashing down upon itself. The smoke and debris filled the sky and drowned the forest below it. I saw it fall, my porcelain cup spattering onto the floor as it rolled towards the edge. I could not save my Old Lighthouse. As I dragged myself to the balcony edge I struggled to face its falling. My feet balanced shakily atop the guardrail and I stood tall on it to see everything before me. The horrible screaming and aching of my Old Lighthouse had dissipated, but replayed in my heart. I could not move my feet, for I had not the strength. I could only lean into the abyss. The wind blew by my ears like kisses, kisses I had not known the origin of but felt a familiar touch. My body trembled through the air, tracing a stream into the shoreline. Before I could land, a gust of dust-ridden air had caught my hands, bringing me to the shoreline. I fell to my knees in agony, I could not open my eyes. I felt a warmth in front of me I had felt that night I saw it. When my eyes flickered open the lantern sat in front of me. The burning flame was indistinguishable.

I sat in my old bow back chair once more. The horizon remained cold and gray for the remainder of my time as the new lighthouse keeper, but the warmth of the lantern behind me on the wall kept me safe from the coldest of blizzards. I did not know the Old Lighthouse, I never knew of what the townspeople saw in that Old Lighthouse, a guardian of the shore. I had nothing of those old legends to see, but now I held the Old Lantern that gave the lighthouse power. I could see what it had created today. I will see the power it gives that now barren shore, I will see if its light can extend beyond the wave crests before me. The Old Lighthouse speaks to me at night. Its warmth pressed against my flush cheeks during my winter nights. Its soft brilliant light would always shine upon my skin. Though I was not protected by its blaring gaze in its time, I had felt it, I had seen the Old Lighthouse protect me, as my guardian.

They were taking it down. I didn't care. I sat in my old bow back chair on the balcony, watching the men removing all the interior parts of the lighthouse. The old lighthouse had stood in that spot for more than a hundred years , watching the shoreline. I sat as his replacement, a brand new lighthouse, only up for just over two years now. I wasn’t the first watchman, a man had taken the job before me to guide the sailors, operate the light, those sorts of duties. I had only manned the station for about a month before I was informed of the plan to remove the remnants of the first one. I had grown quite fond of the view, the bleak horizon just above the sea seemed a little more peaceful with the large statuesque building filling the corner of my view.  I had noticed in that short month the bricks beginning to crack and fall into the sea, how the larger waves made it shudder more and more with each impact. I came to the balcony every day now for the past year, enjoying my glass of hot tea, flipping through my novel, and every once in a while, glancing up to see my acquaintance. In my time operating the lighthouse I had never seen a man working in the abandoned lighthouse, but I’ve been told of a time when a man stood guard in there, apparently he was a man of legend. He never took days off, he guided three ships away from the shore before crashing, even helping the USS Titan avoid a major crash when their radar and navigation system crashed unexpectedly. The town treated it as a monument, as a guardian to protect our home. I never saw that. It was just a lighthouse to me.

I had awoken in the night, a large crackling sound shattered my ears and rang throughout the hollow chasm below me. Getting up, I saw it. The tower no longer encroached on my view. Its lean had increased, now tilting maybe fifteen degrees to the side, but he stood standing. I descended down my lighthouse steps to reach the small cabin nearby, shoved under the door was a note. The construction company had left me a message saying the old lighthouse was unsafe, and that they would have to take it down in a controlled manner but on a much quicker schedule. They had been making slow progress, and  were just now beginning to rush the project, in the cold darkness of December. It seemed odd to me. My sleet covered feet trudged back into my lighthouse under heavy remorse. I had not wanted to go back inside, maybe I wanted to watch the old lighthouse. In my mind, it deserved to stay, how could it not. I’ve seen how people look to the old lighthouse. Maybe I had felt something of it too. It was not my nature to be full of such sentiment and yet, something, had me.

That same night I awoke again, but this time it was not of a shock but a petal. I felt the peony petal slide off my nose. As I stood up I was not cold, despite my thin garments. The window was dark other than a faint glow. As I opened the door to the balcony, once more I saw it shine. The light of the Old Lighthouse rang out into the night. I wasn’t shivering, I wasn't even cold. The light illuminated the whole shore, even the town several miles from here. It wasn’t a beam like a regular lighthouse too, it was a glow irradiating from the crest of the house. It began to shrink, the light slowly fading from within it. As the light faded from my lighthouse the cold began to bite once more. I rushed inside to return to my slumber. The next day at dusk I set off. I took the overgrown trail up to the top of the large hill, the biggest hill on the shore. There, the Old Lighthouse stood. Standing there now, I had realized that my lighthouse stood quite a bit taller on my hill than the old one. I had always assumed the Old Lighthouse stood on the highest hill on the shore. A hole had emerged among its base not larger than a meter long and had caused the recent tilt. The brick around it was worn and tired. My boots pressed against the soil beneath me as I stood under him. My fingers wrapped around the cavity and I hoisted with all my might, trying to see the building stand tall once more. As I heaved, a single drop fell upon my shoulder. I froze. The rain began to pour as I ran back to my lighthouse. The tower had wept for me, as did I for him. The coming weeks had passed without much notice. I sat upon my balcony sipping my bittersweet  coffee, watching as the construction crew began tearing down the highest bricks. The Old Lighthouse was now half of what it once was. My view was clear, the orangish pink horizon before me was clear, and yet what I once viewed with such bright brilliance felt desolate in my eyes. That weekend, I set my heart to resurrect the Old Lighthouse. I sat in my cot for hours, listening to the men at work and setting machinery up for its destruction. I had my jerrycan waiting. When the construction men left, I set out, around 2:00 in the morning. I splashed the gasoline over their equipment, making sure to ward off any further plans they made. I was proud of myself, standing before the flames, watching them dance beneath the Old Lighthouse, no, my Old Lighthouse. The flames played before me, a kindling of warmth I had once felt before. My journey back was arduous, but the journey I had endured had not bothered me, as I knew what I held in my hands was safe again.  I was in bliss, I was in denial.

Two weeks had passed since I had burned their equipment. The tower stood wilted in my view, and the sky remained bleak. I did not care, my Old Lighthouse stood, and I could not need anything else. My Saturday had come down to an end, I sat in my chair, sipping my drink. My novel had come to a close, the good men won, as had I. I set the book down on my glass table, watching the sky move over the horizon. Then, as the clouds faded, the crash began. The thunderous crash swept over the sky and enveloped the silent night. My eyes flashed open to see the Old Lighthouse come crashing down upon itself. The smoke and debris filled the sky and drowned the forest below it. I saw it fall, my porcelain cup spattering onto the floor as it rolled towards the edge. I could not save my Old Lighthouse. As I dragged myself to the balcony edge I struggled to face its falling. My feet balanced shakily atop the guardrail and I stood tall on it to see everything before me. The horrible screaming and aching of my Old Lighthouse had dissipated, but replayed in my heart. I could not move my feet, for I had not the strength. I could only lean into the abyss. The wind blew by my ears like kisses, kisses I had not known the
 origin of but felt a familiar touch. My body trembled through the air, tracing a stream into the shoreline. Before I could land, a gust of dust-ridden air had caught my hands, bringing me to the shoreline. I fell to my knees in agony, I could not open my eyes. I felt a warmth in front of me I had felt that night I saw it. When my eyes flickered open the lantern sat in front of me. The burning flame was indistinguishable. 

I sat in my old bow back chair once more. The horizon remained cold and gray for the remainder of my time as the new lighthouse keeper, but the warmth of the lantern behind me on the wall kept me safe from the coldest of blizzards. I did not know the Old Lighthouse, I never knew of what the townspeople saw in that Old Lighthouse, a guardian of the shore. I had nothing of those old legends to see, but now I held the Old Lantern that gave the lighthouse power. I could see what it had created today. I will see the power it gives that now barren shore, I will see if its light can extend beyond the wave crests before me. The Old Lighthouse speaks to me at night. Its warmth pressed against my flush cheeks during my winter nights. Its soft brilliant light would always shine upon my skin. Though I was not protected by its blaring gaze in its time, I had felt it, I had seen the Old Lighthouse protect me, as my guardian.

They were taking it down. I didn't care. I sat in my old bow back chair on the balcony, watching the men removing all the interior parts of the lighthouse. The old lighthouse had stood in that spot for more than a hundred years , watching the shoreline. I sat as his replacement, a brand new lighthouse, only up for just over two years now. I wasn’t the first watchman, a man had taken the job before me to guide the sailors, operate the light, those sorts of duties. I had only manned the station for about a month before I was informed of the plan to remove the remnants of the first one. I had grown quite fond of the view, the bleak horizon just above the sea seemed a little more peaceful with the large statuesque building filling the corner of my view.  I had noticed in that short month the bricks beginning to crack and fall into the sea, how the larger waves made it shudder more and more with each impact. I came to the balcony every day now for the past year, enjoying my glass of hot tea, flipping through my novel, and every once in a while, glancing up to see my acquaintance. In my time operating the lighthouse I had never seen a man working in the abandoned lighthouse, but I’ve been told of a time when a man stood guard in there, apparently he was a man of legend. He never took days off, he guided three ships away from the shore before crashing, even helping the USS Titan avoid a major crash when their radar and navigation system crashed unexpectedly. The town treated it as a monument, as a guardian to protect our home. I never saw that. It was just a lighthouse to me.

I had awoken in the night, a large crackling sound shattered my ears and rang throughout the hollow chasm below me. Getting up, I saw it. The tower no longer encroached on my view. Its lean had increased, now tilting maybe fifteen degrees to the side, but he stood standing. I descended down my lighthouse steps to reach the small cabin nearby, shoved under the door was a note. The construction company had left me a message saying the old lighthouse was unsafe, and that they would have to take it down in a controlled manner but on a much quicker schedule. They had been making slow progress, and  were just now beginning to rush the project, in the cold darkness of December. It seemed odd to me. My sleet covered feet trudged back into my lighthouse under heavy remorse. I had not wanted to go back inside, maybe I wanted to watch the old lighthouse. In my mind, it deserved to stay, how could it not. I’ve seen how people look to the old lighthouse. Maybe I had felt something of it too. It was not my nature to be full of such sentiment and yet, something, had me.

That same night I awoke again, but this time it was not of a shock but a petal. I felt the peony petal slide off my nose. As I stood up I was not cold, despite my thin garments. The window was dark other than a faint glow. As I opened the door to the balcony, once more I saw it shine. The light of the Old Lighthouse rang out into the night. I wasn’t shivering, I wasn't even cold. The light illuminated the whole shore, even the town several miles from here. It wasn’t a beam like a regular lighthouse too, it was a glow irradiating from the crest of the house. It began to shrink, the light slowly fading from within it. As the light faded from my lighthouse the cold began to bite once more. I rushed inside to return to my slumber. The next day at dusk I set off. I took the overgrown trail up to the top of the large hill, the biggest hill on the shore. There, the Old Lighthouse stood. Standing there now, I had realized that my lighthouse stood quite a bit taller on my hill than the old one. I had always assumed the Old Lighthouse stood on the highest hill on the shore. A hole had emerged among its base not larger than a meter long and had caused the recent tilt. The brick around it was worn and tired. My boots pressed against the soil beneath me as I stood under him. My fingers wrapped around the cavity and I hoisted with all my might, trying to see the building stand tall once more. As I heaved, a single drop fell upon my shoulder. I froze. The rain began to pour as I ran back to my lighthouse. The tower had wept for me, as did I for him. The coming weeks had passed without much notice. I sat upon my balcony sipping my bittersweet  coffee, watching as the construction crew began tearing down the highest bricks. The Old Lighthouse was now half of what it once was. My view was clear, the orangish pink horizon before me was clear, and yet what I once viewed with such bright brilliance felt desolate in my eyes. That weekend, I set my heart to resurrect the Old Lighthouse. I sat in my cot for hours, listening to the men at work and setting machinery up for its destruction. I had my jerrycan waiting. When the construction men left, I set out, around 2:00 in the morning. I splashed the gasoline over their equipment, making sure to ward off any further plans they made. I was proud of myself, standing before the flames, watching them dance beneath the Old Lighthouse, no, my Old Lighthouse. The flames played before me, a kindling of warmth I had once felt before. My journey back was arduous, but the journey I had endured had not bothered me, as I knew what I held in my hands was safe again.  I was in bliss, I was in denial.

Two weeks had passed since I had burned their equipment. The tower stood wilted in my view, and the sky remained bleak. I did not care, my Old Lighthouse stood, and I could not need anything else. My Saturday had come down to an end, I sat in my chair, sipping my drink. My novel had come to a close, the good men won, as had I. I set the book down on my glass table, watching the sky move over the horizon. Then, as the clouds faded, the crash began. The thunderous crash swept over the sky and enveloped the silent night. My eyes flashed open to see the Old Lighthouse come crashing down upon itself. The smoke and debris filled the sky and drowned the forest below it. I saw it fall, my porcelain cup spattering onto the floor as it rolled towards the edge. I could not save my Old Lighthouse. As I dragged myself to the balcony edge I struggled to face its falling. My feet balanced shakily atop the guardrail and I stood tall on it to see everything before me. The horrible screaming and aching of my Old Lighthouse had dissipated, but replayed in my heart. I could not move my feet, for I had not the strength. I could only lean into the abyss. The wind blew by my ears like kisses, kisses I had not known the
 origin of but felt a familiar touch. My body trembled through the air, tracing a stream into the shoreline. Before I could land, a gust of dust-ridden air had caught my hands, bringing me to the shoreline. I fell to my knees in agony, I could not open my eyes. I felt a warmth in front of me I had felt that night I saw it. When my eyes flickered open the lantern sat in front of me. The burning flame was indistinguishable. 

I sat in my old bow back chair once more. The horizon remained cold and gray for the remainder of my time as the new lighthouse keeper, but the warmth of the lantern behind me on the wall kept me safe from the coldest of blizzards. I did not know the Old Lighthouse, I never knew of what the townspeople saw in that Old Lighthouse, a guardian of the shore. I had nothing of those old legends to see, but now I held the Old Lantern that gave the lighthouse power. I could see what it had created today. I will see the power it gives that now barren shore, I will see if its light can extend beyond the wave crests before me. The Old Lighthouse speaks to me at night. Its warmth pressed against my flush cheeks during my winter nights. Its soft brilliant light would always shine upon my skin. Though I was not protected by its blaring gaze in its time, I had felt it, I had seen the Old Lighthouse protect me, as my guardian.

They were taking it down. I didn't care. I sat in my old bow back chair on the balcony, watching the men removing all the interior parts of the lighthouse. The old lighthouse had stood in that spot for more than a hundred years , watching the shoreline. I sat as his replacement, a brand new lighthouse, only up for just over two years now. I wasn’t the first watchman, a man had taken the job before me to guide the sailors, operate the light, those sorts of duties. I had only manned the station for about a month before I was informed of the plan to remove the remnants of the first one. I had grown quite fond of the view, the bleak horizon just above the sea seemed a little more peaceful with the large statuesque building filling the corner of my view.  I had noticed in that short month the bricks beginning to crack and fall into the sea, how the larger waves made it shudder more and more with each impact. I came to the balcony every day now for the past year, enjoying my glass of hot tea, flipping through my novel, and every once in a while, glancing up to see my acquaintance. In my time operating the lighthouse I had never seen a man working in the abandoned lighthouse, but I’ve been told of a time when a man stood guard in there, apparently he was a man of legend. He never took days off, he guided three ships away from the shore before crashing, even helping the USS Titan avoid a major crash when their radar and navigation system crashed unexpectedly. The town treated it as a monument, as a guardian to protect our home. I never saw that. It was just a lighthouse to me.

I had awoken in the night, a large crackling sound shattered my ears and rang throughout the hollow chasm below me. Getting up, I saw it. The tower no longer encroached on my view. Its lean had increased, now tilting maybe fifteen degrees to the side, but he stood standing. I descended down my lighthouse steps to reach the small cabin nearby, shoved under the door was a note. The construction company had left me a message saying the old lighthouse was unsafe, and that they would have to take it down in a controlled manner but on a much quicker schedule. They had been making slow progress, and  were just now beginning to rush the project, in the cold darkness of December. It seemed odd to me. My sleet covered feet trudged back into my lighthouse under heavy remorse. I had not wanted to go back inside, maybe I wanted to watch the old lighthouse. In my mind, it deserved to stay, how could it not. I’ve seen how people look to the old lighthouse. Maybe I had felt something of it too. It was not my nature to be full of such sentiment and yet, something, had me.

That same night I awoke again, but this time it was not of a shock but a petal. I felt the peony petal slide off my nose. As I stood up I was not cold, despite my thin garments. The window was dark other than a faint glow. As I opened the door to the balcony, once more I saw it shine. The light of the Old Lighthouse rang out into the night. I wasn’t shivering, I wasn't even cold. The light illuminated the whole shore, even the town several miles from here. It wasn’t a beam like a regular lighthouse too, it was a glow irradiating from the crest of the house. It began to shrink, the light slowly fading from within it. As the light faded from my lighthouse the cold began to bite once more. I rushed inside to return to my slumber. The next day at dusk I set off. I took the overgrown trail up to the top of the large hill, the biggest hill on the shore. There, the Old Lighthouse stood. Standing there now, I had realized that my lighthouse stood quite a bit taller on my hill than the old one. I had always assumed the Old Lighthouse stood on the highest hill on the shore. A hole had emerged among its base not larger than a meter long and had caused the recent tilt. The brick around it was worn and tired. My boots pressed against the soil beneath me as I stood under him. My fingers wrapped around the cavity and I hoisted with all my might, trying to see the building stand tall once more. As I heaved, a single drop fell upon my shoulder. I froze. The rain began to pour as I ran back to my lighthouse. The tower had wept for me, as did I for him. The coming weeks had passed without much notice. I sat upon my balcony sipping my bittersweet  coffee, watching as the construction crew began tearing down the highest bricks. The Old Lighthouse was now half of what it once was. My view was clear, the orangish pink horizon before me was clear, and yet what I once viewed with such bright brilliance felt desolate in my eyes. That weekend, I set my heart to resurrect the Old Lighthouse. I sat in my cot for hours, listening to the men at work and setting machinery up for its destruction. I had my jerrycan waiting. When the construction men left, I set out, around 2:00 in the morning. I splashed the gasoline over their equipment, making sure to ward off any further plans they made. I was proud of myself, standing before the flames, watching them dance beneath the Old Lighthouse, no, my Old Lighthouse. The flames played before me, a kindling of warmth I had once felt before. My journey back was arduous, but the journey I had endured had not bothered me, as I knew what I held in my hands was safe again.  I was in bliss, I was in denial.

Two weeks had passed since I had burned their equipment. The tower stood wilted in my view, and the sky remained bleak. I did not care, my Old Lighthouse stood, and I could not need anything else. My Saturday had come down to an end, I sat in my chair, sipping my drink. My novel had come to a close, the good men won, as had I. I set the book down on my glass table, watching the sky move over the horizon. Then, as the clouds faded, the crash began. The thunderous crash swept over the sky and enveloped the silent night. My eyes flashed open to see the Old Lighthouse come crashing down upon itself. The smoke and debris filled the sky and drowned the forest below it. I saw it fall, my porcelain cup spattering onto the floor as it rolled towards the edge. I could not save my Old Lighthouse. As I dragged myself to the balcony edge I struggled to face its falling. My feet balanced shakily atop the guardrail and I stood tall on it to see everything before me. The horrible screaming and aching of my Old Lighthouse had dissipated, but replayed in my heart. I could not move my feet, for I had not the strength. I could only lean into the abyss. The wind blew by my ears like kisses, kisses I had not known the
 origin of but felt a familiar touch. My body trembled through the air, tracing a stream into the shoreline. Before I could land, a gust of dust-ridden air had caught my hands, bringing me to the shoreline. I fell to my knees in agony, I could not open my eyes. I felt a warmth in front of me I had felt that night I saw it. When my eyes flickered open the lantern sat in front of me. The burning flame was indistinguishable. 

I sat in my old bow back chair once more. The horizon remained cold and gray for the remainder of my time as the new lighthouse keeper, but the warmth of the lantern behind me on the wall kept me safe from the coldest of blizzards. I did not know the Old Lighthouse, I never knew of what the townspeople saw in that Old Lighthouse, a guardian of the shore. I had nothing of those old legends to see, but now I held the Old Lantern that gave the lighthouse power. I could see what it had created today. I will see the power it gives that now barren shore, I will see if its light can extend beyond the wave crests before me. The Old Lighthouse speaks to me at night. Its warmth pressed against my flush cheeks during my winter nights. Its soft brilliant light would always shine upon my skin. Though I was not protected by its blaring gaze in its time, I had felt it, I had seen the Old Lighthouse protect me, as my guardian.

They were taking it down. I didn't care. I sat in my old bow back chair on the balcony, watching the men removing all the interior parts of the lighthouse. The old lighthouse had stood in that spot for more than a hundred years , watching the shoreline. I sat as his replacement, a brand new lighthouse, only up for just over two years now. I wasn’t the first watchman, a man had taken the job before me to guide the sailors, operate the light, those sorts of duties. I had only manned the station for about a month before I was informed of the plan to remove the remnants of the first one. I had grown quite fond of the view, the bleak horizon just above the sea seemed a little more peaceful with the large statuesque building filling the corner of my view.  I had noticed in that short month the bricks beginning to crack and fall into the sea, how the larger waves made it shudder more and more with each impact. I came to the balcony every day now for the past year, enjoying my glass of hot tea, flipping through my novel, and every once in a while, glancing up to see my acquaintance. In my time operating the lighthouse I had never seen a man working in the abandoned lighthouse, but I’ve been told of a time when a man stood guard in there, apparently he was a man of legend. He never took days off, he guided three ships away from the shore before crashing, even helping the USS Titan avoid a major crash when their radar and navigation system crashed unexpectedly. The town treated it as a monument, as a guardian to protect our home. I never saw that. It was just a lighthouse to me.

I had awoken in the night, a large crackling sound shattered my ears and rang throughout the hollow chasm below me. Getting up, I saw it. The tower no longer encroached on my view. Its lean had increased, now tilting maybe fifteen degrees to the side, but he stood standing. I descended down my lighthouse steps to reach the small cabin nearby, shoved under the door was a note. The construction company had left me a message saying the old lighthouse was unsafe, and that they would have to take it down in a controlled manner but on a much quicker schedule. They had been making slow progress, and  were just now beginning to rush the project, in the cold darkness of December. It seemed odd to me. My sleet covered feet trudged back into my lighthouse under heavy remorse. I had not wanted to go back inside, maybe I wanted to watch the old lighthouse. In my mind, it deserved to stay, how could it not. I’ve seen how people look to the old lighthouse. Maybe I had felt something of it too. It was not my nature to be full of such sentiment and yet, something, had me.

That same night I awoke again, but this time it was not of a shock but a petal. I felt the peony petal slide off my nose. As I stood up I was not cold, despite my thin garments. The window was dark other than a faint glow. As I opened the door to the balcony, once more I saw it shine. The light of the Old Lighthouse rang out into the night. I wasn’t shivering, I wasn't even cold. The light illuminated the whole shore, even the town several miles from here. It wasn’t a beam like a regular lighthouse too, it was a glow irradiating from the crest of the house. It began to shrink, the light slowly fading from within it. As the light faded from my lighthouse the cold began to bite once more. I rushed inside to return to my slumber. The next day at dusk I set off. I took the overgrown trail up to the top of the large hill, the biggest hill on the shore. There, the Old Lighthouse stood. Standing there now, I had realized that my lighthouse stood quite a bit taller on my hill than the old one. I had always assumed the Old Lighthouse stood on the highest hill on the shore. A hole had emerged among its base not larger than a meter long and had caused the recent tilt. The brick around it was worn and tired. My boots pressed against the soil beneath me as I stood under him. My fingers wrapped around the cavity and I hoisted with all my might, trying to see the building stand tall once more. As I heaved, a single drop fell upon my shoulder. I froze. The rain began to pour as I ran back to my lighthouse. The tower had wept for me, as did I for him. The coming weeks had passed without much notice. I sat upon my balcony sipping my bittersweet  coffee, watching as the construction crew began tearing down the highest bricks. The Old Lighthouse was now half of what it once was. My view was clear, the orangish pink horizon before me was clear, and yet what I once viewed with such bright brilliance felt desolate in my eyes. That weekend, I set my heart to resurrect the Old Lighthouse. I sat in my cot for hours, listening to the men at work and setting machinery up for its destruction. I had my jerrycan waiting. When the construction men left, I set out, around 2:00 in the morning. I splashed the gasoline over their equipment, making sure to ward off any further plans they made. I was proud of myself, standing before the flames, watching them dance beneath the Old Lighthouse, no, my Old Lighthouse. The flames played before me, a kindling of warmth I had once felt before. My journey back was arduous, but the journey I had endured had not bothered me, as I knew what I held in my hands was safe again.  I was in bliss, I was in denial.

Two weeks had passed since I had burned their equipment. The tower stood wilted in my view, and the sky remained bleak. I did not care, my Old Lighthouse stood, and I could not need anything else. My Saturday had come down to an end, I sat in my chair, sipping my drink. My novel had come to a close, the good men won, as had I. I set the book down on my glass table, watching the sky move over the horizon. Then, as the clouds faded, the crash began. The thunderous crash swept over the sky and enveloped the silent night. My eyes flashed open to see the Old Lighthouse come crashing down upon itself. The smoke and debris filled the sky and drowned the forest below it. I saw it fall, my porcelain cup spattering onto the floor as it rolled towards the edge. I could not save my Old Lighthouse. As I dragged myself to the balcony edge I struggled to face its falling. My feet balanced shakily atop the guardrail and I stood tall on it to see everything before me. The horrible screaming and aching of my Old Lighthouse had dissipated, but replayed in my heart. I could not move my feet, for I had not the strength. I could only lean into the abyss. The wind blew by my ears like kisses, kisses I had not known the
 origin of but felt a familiar touch. My body trembled through the air, tracing a stream into the shoreline. Before I could land, a gust of dust-ridden air had caught my hands, bringing me to the shoreline. I fell to my knees in agony, I could not open my eyes. I felt a warmth in front of me I had felt that night I saw it. When my eyes flickered open the lantern sat in front of me. The burning flame was indistinguishable. 

I sat in my old bow back chair once more. The horizon remained cold and gray for the remainder of my time as the new lighthouse keeper, but the warmth of the lantern behind me on the wall kept me safe from the coldest of blizzards. I did not know the Old Lighthouse, I never knew of what the townspeople saw in that Old Lighthouse, a guardian of the shore. I had nothing of those old legends to see, but now I held the Old Lantern that gave the lighthouse power. I could see what it had created today. I will see the power it gives that now barren shore, I will see if its light can extend beyond the wave crests before me. The Old Lighthouse speaks to me at night. Its warmth pressed against my flush cheeks during my winter nights. Its soft brilliant light would always shine upon my skin. Though I was not protected by its blaring gaze in its time, I had felt it, I had seen the Old Lighthouse protect me, as my guardian.

They were taking it down. I didn't care. I sat in my old bow back chair on the balcony, watching the men removing all the interior parts of the lighthouse. The old lighthouse had stood in that spot for more than a hundred years , watching the shoreline. I sat as his replacement, a brand new lighthouse, only up for just over two years now. I wasn’t the first watchman, a man had taken the job before me to guide the sailors, operate the light, those sorts of duties. I had only manned the station for about a month before I was informed of the plan to remove the remnants of the first one. I had grown quite fond of the view, the bleak horizon just above the sea seemed a little more peaceful with the large statuesque building filling the corner of my view.  I had noticed in that short month the bricks beginning to crack and fall into the sea, how the larger waves made it shudder more and more with each impact. I came to the balcony every day now for the past year, enjoying my glass of hot tea, flipping through my novel, and every once in a while, glancing up to see my acquaintance. In my time operating the lighthouse I had never seen a man working in the abandoned lighthouse, but I’ve been told of a time when a man stood guard in there, apparently he was a man of legend. He never took days off, he guided three ships away from the shore before crashing, even helping the USS Titan avoid a major crash when their radar and navigation system crashed unexpectedly. The town treated it as a monument, as a guardian to protect our home. I never saw that. It was just a lighthouse to me.
I had awoken in the night, a large crackling sound shattered my ears and rang throughout the hollow chasm below me. Getting up, I saw it. The tower no longer encroached on my view. Its lean had increased, now tilting maybe fifteen degrees to the side, but he stood standing. I descended down my lighthouse steps to reach the small cabin nearby, shoved under the door was a note. The construction company had left me a message saying the old lighthouse was unsafe, and that they would have to take it down in a controlled manner but on a much quicker schedule. They had been making slow progress, and  were just now beginning to rush the project, in the cold darkness of December. It seemed odd to me. My sleet covered feet trudged back into my lighthouse under heavy remorse. I had not wanted to go back inside, maybe I wanted to watch the old lighthouse. In my mind, it deserved to stay, how could it not. I’ve seen how people look to the old lighthouse. Maybe I had felt something of it too. It was not my nature to be full of such sentiment and yet, something, had me.
That same night I awoke again, but this time it was not of a shock but a petal. I felt the peony petal slide off my nose. As I stood up I was not cold, despite my thin garments. The window was dark other than a faint glow. As I opened the door to the balcony, once more I saw it shine. The light of the Old Lighthouse rang out into the night. I wasn’t shivering, I wasn't even cold. The light illuminated the whole shore, even the town several miles from here. It wasn’t a beam like a regular lighthouse too, it was a glow irradiating from the crest of the house. It began to shrink, the light slowly fading from within it. As the light faded from my lighthouse the cold began to bite once more. I rushed inside to return to my slumber. The next day at dusk I set off. I took the overgrown trail up to the top of the large hill, the biggest hill on the shore. There, the Old Lighthouse stood. Standing there now, I had realized that my lighthouse stood quite a bit taller on my hill than the old one. I had always assumed the Old Lighthouse stood on the highest hill on the shore. A hole had emerged among its base not larger than a meter long and had caused the recent tilt. The brick around it was worn and tired. My boots pressed against the soil beneath me as I stood under him. My fingers wrapped around the cavity and I hoisted with all my might, trying to see the building stand tall once more. As I heaved, a single drop fell upon my shoulder. I froze. The rain began to pour as I ran back to my lighthouse. The tower had wept for me, as did I for him. The coming weeks had passed without much notice. I sat upon my balcony sipping my bittersweet  coffee, watching as the construction crew began tearing down the highest bricks. The Old Lighthouse was now half of what it once was. My view was clear, the orangish pink horizon before me was clear, and yet what I once viewed with such bright brilliance felt desolate in my eyes. That weekend, I set my heart to resurrect the Old Lighthouse. I sat in my cot for hours, listening to the men at work and setting machinery up for its destruction. I had my jerrycan waiting. When the construction men left, I set out, around 2:00 in the morning. I splashed the gasoline over their equipment, making sure to ward off any further plans they made. I was proud of myself, standing before the flames, watching them dance beneath the Old Lighthouse, no, my Old Lighthouse. The flames played before me, a kindling of warmth I had once felt before. My journey back was arduous, but the journey I had endured had not bothered me, as I knew what I held in my hands was safe again.  I was in bliss, I was in denial.
Two weeks had passed since I had burned their equipment. The tower stood wilted in my view, and the sky remained bleak. I did not care, my Old Lighthouse stood, and I could not need anything else. My Saturday had come down to an end, I sat in my chair, sipping my drink. My novel had come to a close, the good men won, as had I. I set the book down on my glass table, watching the sky move over the horizon. Then, as the clouds faded, the crash began. The thunderous crash swept over the sky and enveloped the silent night. My eyes flashed open to see the Old Lighthouse come crashing down upon itself. The smoke and debris filled the sky and drowned the forest below it. I saw it fall, my porcelain cup spattering onto the floor as it rolled towards the edge. I could not save my Old Lighthouse. As I dragged myself to the balcony edge I struggled to face its falling. My feet balanced shakily atop the guardrail and I stood tall on it to see everything before me. The horrible screaming and aching of my Old Lighthouse had dissipated, but replayed in my heart. I could not move my feet, for I had not the strength. I could only lean into the abyss. The wind blew by my ears like kisses, kisses I had not known the
 origin of but felt a familiar touch. My body trembled through the air, tracing a stream into the shoreline. Before I could land, a gust of dust-ridden air had caught my hands, bringing me to the shoreline. I fell to my knees in agony, I could not open my eyes. I felt a warmth in front of me I had felt that night I saw it. When my eyes flickered open the lantern sat in front of me. The burning flame was indistinguishable. 
I sat in my old bow back chair once more. The horizon remained cold and gray for the remainder of my time as the new lighthouse keeper, but the warmth of the lantern behind me on the wall kept me safe from the coldest of blizzards. I did not know the Old Lighthouse, I never knew of what the townspeople saw in that Old Lighthouse, a guardian of the shore. I had nothing of those old legends to see, but now I held the Old Lantern that gave the lighthouse power. I could see what it had created today. I will see the power it gives that now barren shore, I will see if its light can extend beyond the wave crests before me. The Old Lighthouse speaks to me at night. Its warmth pressed against my flush cheeks during my winter nights. Its soft brilliant light would always shine upon my skin. Though I was not protected by its blaring gaze in its time, I had felt it, I had seen the Old Lighthouse protect me, as my guardian.

They were taking it down. I didn't care. I sat in my old bow back chair on the balcony, watching the men removing all the interior parts of the lighthouse. The old lighthouse had stood in that spot for more than a hundred years , watching the shoreline. I sat as his replacement, a brand new lighthouse, only up for just over two years now. I wasn’t the first watchman, a man had taken the job before me to guide the sailors, operate the light, those sorts of duties. I had only manned the station for about a month before I was informed of the plan to remove the remnants of the first one. I had grown quite fond of the view, the bleak horizon just above the sea seemed a little more peaceful with the large statuesque building filling the corner of my view. I had noticed in that short month the bricks beginning to crack and fall into the sea, how the larger waves made it shudder more and more with each impact. I came to the balcony every day now for the past year, enjoying my glass of hot tea, flipping through my novel, and every once in a while, glancing up to see my acquaintance. In my time operating the lighthouse I had never seen a man working in the abandoned lighthouse, but I’ve been told of a time when a man stood guard in there, apparently he was a man of legend. He never took days off, he guided three ships away from the shore before crashing, even helping the USS Titan avoid a major crash when their radar and navigation system crashed unexpectedly. The town treated it as a monument, as a guardian to protect our home. I never saw that. It was just a lighthouse to me.

I had awoken in the night, a large crackling sound shattered my ears and rang throughout the hollow chasm below me. Getting up, I saw it. The tower no longer encroached on my view. Its lean had increased, now tilting maybe fifteen degrees to the side, but he stood standing. I descended down my lighthouse steps to reach the small cabin nearby, shoved under the door was a note. The construction company had left me a message saying the old lighthouse was unsafe, and that they would have to take it down in a controlled manner but on a much quicker schedule. They had been making slow progress, and were just now beginning to rush the project, in the cold darkness of December. It seemed odd to me. My sleet covered feet trudged back into my lighthouse under heavy remorse. I had not wanted to go back inside, maybe I wanted to watch the old lighthouse. In my mind, it deserved to stay, how could it not. I’ve seen how people look to the old lighthouse. Maybe I had felt something of it too. It was not my nature to be full of such sentiment and yet, something, had me.

That same night I awoke again, but this time it was not of a shock but a petal. I felt the peony petal slide off my nose. As I stood up I was not cold, despite my thin garments. The window was dark other than a faint glow. As I opened the door to the balcony, once more I saw it shine. The light of the Old Lighthouse rang out into the night. I wasn’t shivering, I wasn't even cold. The light illuminated the whole shore, even the town several miles from here. It wasn’t a beam like a regular lighthouse too, it was a glow irradiating from the crest of the house. It began to shrink, the light slowly fading from within it. As the light faded from my lighthouse the cold began to bite once more. I rushed inside to return to my slumber. The next day at dusk I set off. I took the overgrown trail up to the top of the large hill, the biggest hill on the shore. There, the Old Lighthouse stood. Standing there now, I had realized that my lighthouse stood quite a bit taller on my hill than the old one. I had always assumed the Old Lighthouse stood on the highest hill on the shore. A hole had emerged among its base not larger than a meter long and had caused the recent tilt. The brick around it was worn and tired. My boots pressed against the soil beneath me as I stood under him. My fingers wrapped around the cavity and I hoisted with all my might, trying to see the building stand tall once more. As I heaved, a single drop fell upon my shoulder. I froze. The rain began to pour as I ran back to my lighthouse. The tower had wept for me, as did I for him. The coming weeks had passed without much notice. I sat upon my balcony sipping my bittersweet coffee, watching as the construction crew began tearing down the highest bricks. The Old Lighthouse was now half of what it once was. My view was clear, the orangish pink horizon before me was clear, and yet what I once viewed with such bright brilliance felt desolate in my eyes. That weekend, I set my heart to resurrect the Old Lighthouse. I sat in my cot for hours, listening to the men at work and setting machinery up for its destruction. I had my jerrycan waiting. When the construction men left, I set out, around 2:00 in the morning. I splashed the gasoline over their equipment, making sure to ward off any further plans they made. I was proud of myself, standing before the flames, watching them dance beneath the Old Lighthouse, no, my Old Lighthouse. The flames played before me, a kindling of warmth I had once felt before. My journey back was arduous, but the journey I had endured had not bothered me, as I knew what I held in my hands was safe again. I was in bliss, I was in denial.

Two weeks had passed since I had burned their equipment. The tower stood wilted in my view, and the sky remained bleak. I did not care, my Old Lighthouse stood, and I could not need anything else. My Saturday had come down to an end, I sat in my chair, sipping my drink. My novel had come to a close, the good men won, as had I. I set the book down on my glass table, watching the sky move over the horizon. Then, as the clouds faded, the crash began. The thunderous crash swept over the sky and enveloped the silent night. My eyes flashed open to see the Old Lighthouse come crashing down upon itself. The smoke and debris filled the sky and drowned the forest below it. I saw it fall, my porcelain cup spattering onto the floor as it rolled towards the edge. I could not save my Old Lighthouse. As I dragged myself to the balcony edge I struggled to face its falling. My feet balanced shakily atop the guardrail and I stood tall on it to see everything before me. The horrible screaming and aching of my Old Lighthouse had dissipated, but replayed in my heart. I could not move my feet, for I had not the strength. I could only lean into the abyss. The wind blew by my ears like kisses, kisses I had not known the origin of but felt a familiar touch. My body trembled through the air, tracing a stream into the shoreline. Before I could land, a gust of dust-ridden air had caught my hands, bringing me to the shoreline. I fell to my knees in agony, I could not open my eyes. I felt a warmth in front of me I had felt that night I saw it. When my eyes flickered open the lantern sat in front of me. The burning flame was indistinguishable.

I sat in my old bow back chair once more. The horizon remained cold and gray for the remainder of my time as the new lighthouse keeper, but the warmth of the lantern behind me on the wall kept me safe from the coldest of blizzards. I did not know the Old Lighthouse, I never knew of what the townspeople saw in that Old Lighthouse, a guardian of the shore. I had nothing of those old legends to see, but now I held the Old Lantern that gave the lighthouse power. I could see what it had created today. I will see the power it gives that now barren shore, I will see if its light can extend beyond the wave crests before me. The Old Lighthouse speaks to me at night. Its warmth pressed against my flush cheeks during my winter nights. Its soft brilliant light would always shine upon my skin. Though I was not protected by its blaring gaze in its time, I had felt it, I had seen the Old Lighthouse protect me, as my guardian.