The Lighthouse

One. Two. Three.

The aged, warped man tallied the steps. It required an elongated period to boost his leg against the glossy white plane of the subsequent step, holding on forcefully to the balustrade to keep his balance. Each day, the steps appeared to raise taller, farther apart. He peered up into the spiral, his daunting task laid out before his eyes.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

He was making progress more rapidly than accustomed on this day. He was buoyant about tonight. He had to believe that his son would return one day.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Two.

The reverberation of his boots made a booming sound on the cement steps, drumming up and down the stairwell. The noise was so habitual by now; the man scarcely heeded it at all.

Fifty-Nine. Sixty. Sixty-One. Sixty-Two. Sixty-Three. Sixty-Four. Sixty-Five.

The further he ascended, the quicker he paced himself. His breath was diminutive and he had to respite on the sixteenth step, taking in his surroundings for the thirty-one thousandth time. The stony cage was his fortress and his prison, holding him with a hopeless faith.

Sixty-Six. Sixty-Seven. Sixty-Eight. Sixty-Nine. Seventy. Seventy-One. Seventy-Two. Seventy-Three. Seventy-Four. Seventy-Five.

His mind raced back to whilst he was a much younger fellow. His valiant son decided to take to the seas and left his father to tend to the lighthouse in solitude. His son pledged him before he left that he would return and take over his father’s job of lighting the beacon every night so that his father could die in tranquility.

Seventy-Six. Seventy-Seven. Seventy-Eight. Seventy-Nine. Seventy-No. Wait.

His mind was fading and fragile. He was at the concluding stages of his life and he willed his son back to take over for him so that he could pass away and stop his suffering.

Eighty. Yes. Eighty-One. Eighty-Two. Eighty-Three. Eighty-Four. Eight-Five. Eighty-What? Six. Yes. That was it.

He stumbled, falling against the steps. He heard a snap in his chest as one of his ribs bent and broke, fracturing into his vitals. He got up slowly at first and was filled with a last stitch of determination.

Ninety-Five. Yes. Ninety-Six. Ninety-Seven. Ninety-Eight. Ninety-Nine.

Daily, he counted those steps. Every night, he would wind his way up to light the beacon so his son could find his way home.

One Hundred.

The beacon shimmered out across the crashing waves of the dusk-ridden ocean. Far out at sea, a youthful sailor spotted the glint in the distance. A thin smile spread across his lips and he directed his crew to head for the lighthouse.

By the time the sailor reached the place he was born and raised, the man was near death. He reached out to the sailor, his eyes smiling. The sailor shut off the beacon and crouched down beside the man, tears bubbling to his eyes.

“Father, I have returned. You may rest now.”

His old eyes shut as if he was falling into a deep sleep at the base of the beacon and his soul rested for the first time.