Outside the Lighthouse
Out across the sea, the beam of light sweeps, searching… guiding… waiting for someone to see.
The rain pelts the windows, hammering in sheets and droves.
The storm rages.
His coffee… different… a slight hint of salt and iron.
He had emptied the last of his bottled water yesterday, so he was using water from the tap.
His chair—comfortable. In fact… more comfortable than he could remember.
The rain rolled across the glass in waves, like people at a ball game, or a concert perhaps.
It slid across, methodical, then pelted the glass unevenly for a while, only to once again roll across.
The tea kettle started squealing—loud, but with varying pitch as the ancient stove elements heated, then cooled in slow succession.
Struggling, he worked his way out of the overstuffed chair and stood.
A sip of coffee. Good… real good… warm and slightly metallic.
Another quick sip, ill-timed with his breath, caused him to cough… the warm coffee spewed across the room.
He looked around in mild disgust as he headed for the stairs in search of a towel.
A towel… and to turn that incessant squeal off.
He followed the spiral staircase, feeling a bit unsteady. He grasped the handrail and longed for the comfort of the chair.
In the kitchen, he felt his way through the darkness to the stove.
The window, outlined in flashes of light through and around the shutters and curtains, occasionally lit the scene.
He turned off the stove and reached for a towel.
The rain murmured outside. The light outside the window, somehow, was steady and bright.
He looked down at the coffee cup in his hand as he brought it up for a sip.
As he shifted the curtain and flung the shutters wide, he coughed again, spewing coffee.
Something slammed into his chest, and he coughed again, then filled his lungs with air as he looked out…
…into the face of the paramedic, now dripping with blood as his cough sprayed him again.
“Welcome back,” the paramedic grinned in satisfaction.