The lighthouse keeper
I wake up to the sound of a bell, a melodious tune to my ears. I rub my knuckles into my eyes to drive away the sleep and slowly begin the arduous journey of opening my eyes. As I open my eyes, I notice rays of moonlight are peeking through the gap in the curtain and blinding my vision. I hold up my hands to block the moonlight and walk slowly towards the window. As I am walking towards the window, I look down at the tarnished, weathered oak floorboards. It reminds me of the years I spent on the ship as a hardworking sailor. Walking on the very same floor nearly 20 years. I continue on without hesitation and open the vibrantly coloured curtains to reveal a truly commanding yet elegant view that seemed as it is framed within the window frame.
I begin to contemplate how the sea is clashing vigorously against the cliff face, but then I get distracted by the moon’s effect on the innocent yet impetuous sea water. It was as if the moon has let down feathers of golden light that have cascaded down from the sky and disembarked below the water’s surface. Giving the water an appealing glow. The sound of the moaning wind as it rustled heavily throughout the desolate trees. I look down at my leather-bound wrist watch which is tightly fastened on to my hand and gaze at the many hands that are revolving around the centre. Hear a click. It’s the stroke of midnight.
I realise I am not fulfilling my duty as a lighthouse keeper and caring for the lantern, instead I stand here gazing out of my ancient, weather beaten window. My feet start advancing at an alarming rate towards exit of my weathered house with the though running through my head. In a matter of seconds I find myself awaiting the final orders from my hand to open the matured oak doors that lay between me and the real world. It reminds me of the time I would await orders myself, eagerly looking forward to the captains words. As I gradually open the door, I hear the rusty hinges of the aged door squealing as if fingers scratching the surface of a dusty chalkboard. It floods back countless memories of my childhood youth as a young boy in elementary school. These are priceless memories and will have to be told another day.
The door opens and reveals itself to me. I step onto the coarse ground that occupied a narrow stretch of land adjacent to my house. I hear the ‘scuffing’ of the gravel against my shoes and the crisp air running under my nose. Sensations that I have got accustomed to over the many years of tendering for the gentle lighthouse. I look up at the aged lighthouse that was dominating the landscape and notice the paint peeling off from the outer walls. It alarmed me that I was present when the lighthouse had its first fresh coat of paint applied to its outer wall. It was a truly magnificent day. As I am walking towards the lighthouse, I sense that something is out of place in my daily routine. I tick the boxes in my head and realise that the lantern is no longer on.
My mind is a flurry of uneasy thoughts about the lantern. I try to let positive thoughts fill the untouched recesses of my mind, but doubt reaches it first. I hear a faint voice in my head to ignite the lantern but I put it to one side. I try not to dwell on the past and walk hastily towards the oak doors of the lighthouse. My conscience is nagging me to not light the lantern but I relentlessly ignore it and continue ahead. I reach the lighthouse. The doors of the lighthouse stood patiently awaiting its key. My hand eagerly rummages through the deep pockets of my morning coat until I feel the cold metal of the key. The coldness lulls me into a calming state as it reminds me of the cold nights that I spent onboard the SS Mariner, where everyone was jostling for a position around the campfire. Reality kicks in and I realise my years as a sailor has past and I place the lustrous key into the key hole.

I hear the sound of gears revolving as I forcefully rotate the key into the