The Lighthouse

The Lighthouse stood on a craggy cliff overlooking the storming sea. It was the most famous landmark in the small coastal town of Townebysea. How old was the Lighthouse? Nobody knew. Who had built it? Different people believed in different origin stories. Some vouched that the town’s founding hero had it constructed as part of her massive building program. Yet others claimed that the Lighthouse was much older than her. The Lighthouse was what inspired settlement in this remote corner of the world, the story went. Who put it there then? The answers were varied: some unknown ancient civilization, the Sea God to protect his sailors from meeting a grisly end among the pernicious rocks that adorned the cliff’s many faces, distant angels responding to the heartfelt plea of a merchant asking to return home safely during a storm. Over time the people of Townebysea stopped questioning the origins of the behemoth altogether, for it led to unnecessary strife. It could be put there by helpful garden fairies for all they cared if it was going to stop the incessant quibbling.

The Lighthouse was operated by an elusive old man. Rumors were that he was none other than the Old Man of the Sea guiding his protegees home safely. There was no way to verify or deny these claims, so they nested comfortably in the minds of the townsfolk. But one fact was indisputable, every night for five centuries, the Lighthouse would activate its powerful beam and look out to sea. It would gaze out over promontory like one eagerly hoping that every little movement out at sea was a ship bringing their beloved back home. On especially foggy nights, a deep bellow would echo from the depths of the Lighthouse announcing to travelers that land was near. 

For five hundred years, people lived and died in its shadow. The Lighthouse was one constant in the lives of thousands of Townebysea folk. When babies were born, the Lighthouse looked over them. It gazed upon them as they took their first steps and when they finished school. And when they died, it was the Lighthouse that swore to never forget them for the lives of people are fleeting, and collective memory fickle. The Lighthouse was the only object that brought together the town’s past and its present. It was what connected the curious child looking at it in wonder to the old woman beholding it like a dear friend, four hundred years later. The Lighthouse cast its protective penumbra over them all. 

Now as the rumble of bulldozers and dump trucks echoed over the humble huts of the villagers, the full ramifications of this occurrence became apparent to them. Tomorrow the sun would rise over a plain cliff, and the sea would beat against an unadorned precipice.