JoP: The Afterlight Tower

The Afterlight Tower

(Hey! Thanks for clicking on my story! I will preface this story by telling you upfront that I made this to honour my grandfather, who passed away in July. He was a man of the sea by profession and I hope that, with this story, I at least did him some justice. I tried to keep it as close to the truth as I could while still sprinkling in some fantasy- it's what I do after all. 
So again, thank you for reading. 
 I'll miss you, grandpa.)

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A circling stream of white light shone through the cloudy black of the storm. The tide rose and sank as the waves violently clashed against the stones of the shore. One massive, tall, and solitary tower stuck like a candle, perched atop the rocky cliffs, its light a beacon of hope and guidance to any wayward ships near shore.

Then the sky rumbled, and the earth shook, and the waves responded as if they heard the beckoning call of a shepherd's girl. They seemed to dance and part, deeper into the sea, until foamy white bubbled and spattered when there, in the distance, a strange, dark-green mound of giant, writhing things rose from who-knows where.

Then the sea danced like it usually did, the stream of light now shining onto the glistening dark emerald of rotting clams and seaweed. The mound rose until it was about the size of a small ship, and then it lay still.

But the sea would not be as it always was.

He had drifted on the chunk of flotsam a whole while ago. He was cold, hungry, dizzy and tired.

And wet, most of all wet.

He had warned the people on the boat about carrying too much goods. He had warned them before about steering too close to the rocks. And he had warned them so hard of him not wanting to man the wheel, but did they listen? No, of course not.

So here he was, drifting in the endless blue with gulls circling about, wondering why he had ever wanted to go on a fisherman's boat in the first place.

It reminded him of why he didn't like going in the water.

But there, in the distance, a speck of something. It was grey and, as he approached, a line of bright red became visible, with a white top. He saw sand and rocks and more gulls.

But even more close by he saw an island. It was greener, and he saw a low mangrove as an entrance and more foliage growing over it. Terribly cold and hungry and at the end of his wits, he paddled over and, once he finally had solid ground under his feet, he fell into the sand and coughed up all the water he'd swallowed. He tapped on his clothes to feel if he still had his things, and readjusted the strap of his crossbow out of pure relief.

"Faun-dung." exclaimed Ayan, "this is the last time I'm going fishing at sea!"

He searched the beach but found nothing to eat. He searched the mangrove but found nothing to drink. Not even further on the island, on the green top of the hill at the centre, did he find anything. Overgrown with green plants as this island was, it was bare of everything else.

Until he heard a rustling in the bushes.

In a split second Ayan pulled out his crossbow and, by lack of alternative, snatched a stick from the ground and broke it to use as a makeshift, haphazard arrow.

He was tired, incredibly so, but still ready to defend himself if need be.

A green little lizard slithered out of the bushes.