Wounded Beacon

Chasing Waves

The crash of the waves against the shore, the tinge of bitter salt in the air, and the crunch of broken seashells in the sand under foot brought an instant sense of relief. It was faint, but the warm sun on my skin excited me as well. We made it. What thrilled me the most was that Aiden was true to his word. He simply could've done like the others wanted to do and led me back to camp with me none the wiser, unaware until too late.

But he didn't.

I dropped to my knees and raked my fingers through the warm, soft grains. Again, I attempted to open my eyes. The brightness from the rising sun alone blurred my vision, but my sight was sharper as I made out a flock of birds soaring beneath the clear blue sky ahead. I learned if I didn't blink so much or move my eyeball around under the lid, the pain was bearable. It took intense concentration to use my other senses to perceive my surrounding, walk a jagged terrain, and remember not to blink or move my eyes, but I enjoyed the diversion.

"Look," Aiden said. "There's an old lighthouse way up there. We can make it in, I don't know, thirty or forty minutes if we keep the pace." His voice had risen an octave, and his words came out rushed and nearly slurred. He sure was excited about an old lighthouse. "It's beautiful," Aiden went on as I stood to grab his shoulder. "The tower's tall, off-white color like a pearl or something. Have you seen this lighthouse before?" Something in his gentle voice made the corners of my mouth twitch until I smiled. There was a childlike awe and wonder in his tone. It transferred to me. The sense of strolling the beach on a great summer day, reminiscing good times with loved ones, came over me.

"No," I said. I'd never been to this beach. But some of the people from the camp had because they used to bring back what shellfish and fish they could catch, which wasn't much. Blaming Mother Nature and her disaster and seeing it as a sign of the water's health, they eventually stopped trying.

At camp, everyone had jobs; some were responsible for hunting, like Santos and his friend. They were naturals. Others gathered vegetation for consumption and medicinal purposes. Then there were those responsible for washing clothes, helping look after and teach the children, or making things that would come to use like dishes, clothes, and my blade.

I always felt safer near camp, keeping an eye out, setting guidelines, organizing and the like. People respected me. They trusted me. They had no reason not to. I saw it in the way they came to me with questions, suggestions, and concerns. They rarely questioned my motives, always sure that whatever I did was for the betterment of the camp. But now? Now I just gave them a reason to never rely on me again. My throat ached.

"Damn, it's fucking beautiful," Aiden went on, yanking me from my guilt. "It's tube-shaped but like an upside down cone. The balcony's small compared to the rest because the tower's huge!"

My imagination took me there. The inverted cone tower perched high on the tallest rock cliff, like a guard protecting the shores with its presence. The lens filthy and unkempt but intact. Without the presence of a bright beacon of light, it screamed abandoned, used and wounded in my mind.

"I really wish you could see this." Aiden's pace slowed with each step until we finally stopped.

I stood, listening, assessing, and waiting for something to happen. The sun's light behind my lids was eclipsed and the light touch of his palm on my chest brought my attention back to him.

"Wha― what's going on?" I asked.

"I'm just gonna take a look at your eyes." His voice was low, soft, and close. Then gentle fingertips grazed my cheekbone, his palm rested against the side of my face, and my breath hitched. "I'll be gentle," he whispered.

The heat in the pit of my stomach rose to nestle in my rib cage. Feelings stirred that I had believed I would never experience again, ones that I had wanted too bad for so long that in time I had learned to forget.