The waves churned, pulling away from the beach, pulling away more of the stone foot. Sophie stared, captivated by this last little redoubt of land, bitten away by the sea. Red-walled and open to the elements, a cascade of stairs tumbled to the beach, inviting her in.
Up she climbed.
The little house creaked and moaned, in counterpoint to the howling wind that seemed to carry her mother’s voice along with it. She imagined cold nights and monstrous waves, the clean smell of salt drying and the filth of seaweed rotting, heard the calls of gulls and saw the silent movement of fish in the cold water. She felt that loneliness, of the lighthouse keeper, of the exile, and though she was too young to understand that vast, empty feeling she ran as the tide advanced again.
Her mother was waiting at its foot, and pulled her close. “Sophie, honey, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…”
“Whatever, Mum…I’m fine.”
Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers photo prompt, as well as for the Trifecta Writing Challenge! Comments and criticism always welcome!