The cold air beat against the man, as he wandered through the winter night. His red scarf resisted the power of the wind, desperately grasping onto his neck for survival. The night was frigid, but the man didn’t care. He knew it would be worth it in the end. After 5 more minutes of painful steps, he finally caught sight of his target. The lighthouse. The light on top burnt through the opaque fog, and into his vision. It was like candy to the eye.

Once the man had shut himself in, a warmth radiated inside. He spread open his arms, and embraced the comforting heat. His gloved hand held the handrail firmly, and he began to traverse the spiralling staircase.

Once he made it to the top, he caught sight of the heart of the lighthouse. The beacon shouted into the night, with its powerful gaze of light. He noticed the light was starting to fade. Eventually, the once powerful illumination was nothing but a dead beacon, consumed by grey and black. The man turned around, and saw it.

A large transparent boat, sailed across the dark ocean. It cut the dark blue water, almost seeming to soar above it. It seemed to be a ferry, humble in size, but not in beauty. Its streamline body perfectly navigated the waters, savoring its last moments of flight. Jagged rocks stood in front, acting as a rough boundary between the soft land, and the gentle water. The sea was so peaceful that night, but it would all change very soon.

Screams and commotion were heard from the boat, as the front was bashed into a pulp by the merciless rocks. The boat began to capsize, as people fell into the cold, clammy embrace of the ocean. The screams intensified, as the boat began to split and crumble. The boat took people down with it, cutting through their flesh while doing so. People frantically tried to swim for land, but were consumed by the temperature of the ocean. From the lighthouse, the man’s eyes widened, as he put up a hand to cover his mouth. The screams eventually muffled, as once again the night was quiet. The ghostly figures of the boat and corpses faded away, like a blurry vision. He looked to his left, and spotted the cause of it all.

A figure, cloaked in dark shadows walked from the lighthouse, holding a crowbar. However, there was one undeniable feature that the figure possessed. A red scarf. It was him. Past him. As the ghostly memory faded away, the man looked down, and pulled out his scarf. His lips curved into a smile, as he caressed the fabric.


Burning Light

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