The lonesome figure stood; looming, watching, waiting. The muffled ruffle of the foaming waves in the background, filling the foggy silence. The dark flurry below, slowly creeping up the rocks; it's defeated sighs echoing when it can no longer withstand its grip, and splashing back down once more. The figure mounted on the rocks, a lighthouse, with its weary gaze upon the rumble below. An ever so diminishing light, once guarding the mortals. The mortals who rode the wooden beasts through the waves, on a constant search for adventure. They could move and talk, play and laugh; everything that he couldn't. No wonder they left. This place, this land, him; all abandoned like unwanted toys discarded on the ground. No longer desirable, no longer loved; nothing but drifting memories of a past life. He now stands, still waiting, hoping that one day the mortals may return to revive this dead expanse. With buckling knees and creaking bones, the lighthouse continues to stand, his remaining hope fuelling his strength.
