#1083

The lighthouse fell years ago in a thunder of cannon fire and crumbling stone. Its scattered skeleton sleeps in the shallows now, though some say that at night if the moon is right you may glimpse its ghost rising from the fog, milky and insubstantial, sweeping white light a beacon to the lost ones still. I cannot speak to the truth of this but if you venture the shore at low tide and plunge your fingers into the thick wet sand you can dig up word fragments buried by the restless sea. Step carefully, though, lest you cut your feet on the shards of glass hidden amid the ruins. Every storm uncovers another layer of slivers so hard no amount of time and waves’ caress can smooth their edges, so shattered the bulb may never be pieced back together.

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6 thoughts on “#1083

  1. Loved this.

    Particularly perked up “word fragments” because it felt like a reference to your username (“only fragments,” I reminded myself) and “so shattered the bulb may never be pieced back together” because made me think of the bulb as a symbol from Humpty Dumpty. lol, weird right? Unless that was intentional…

    Overall, though, I thought it was very well-written, like a passing ghost story. :)

  2. Pingback: #1202 | Only Fragments

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