Lalbert leaned his arms against the rusted railing and listened to the hushed crash of waves in the distance. The ebb and flow of the water. The churning froth that sighed as it rolled in along the sand.
Sometimes he thought he could hear the sounds of the town intertwined with the waves. Shouts that bellowed from the morning market. The hum of townsfolk gossiping as they roamed the streets. The cries of laughter from the flung open windows of the inn. Sounds that were just faded memories now, memories unravelled and unwrapped like a creased photograph in the lonely hours he spent atop the lighthouse.
Looking down, Lalbert watched the waves topple through the streets, washing past the drowned storefronts and abandoned stalls. Sometimes, if he squinted, he could imagine the streets being dry as they once were, and it made the solitude a little easier to forget.
Back in the writing chair with a short prompt, very much a free hand piece that didn’t have much plan! Check out some of the other great pieces from other authors here.