The Lighthouse

The old man took a deep breath as he stood at the bottom of the lighthouse stairs. He’d walked up the same stairs every day for the past thirty years and he still found them just as daunting. The past few years had been especially difficult. He found it harder and harder to make the climb up to the top. But someone had to do it. He had to do it.

So tonight, battling extreme exhaustion, he attempted the trek up to the top. He grabbed the handrail to steady himself and picked up his left foot. He moved slowly, exhaling deeply with each step. He recalled the days when he would race to the top and try to beat his record from the previous day. When he got to the top he’d be panting and covered and sweat but the view was worth it. He’d look out at the ocean and feel the cool breeze surround him and he’d be happy.

When he first saw that the lighthouse was for sale all those years ago he immediately sent in a bid. His parents thought he was crazy. Live in a lighthouse? Who did that? They discouraged him but he’d always been one for adventure. Why would he live in a boring house in the suburbs when he could wake up to the ocean every morning? It just seemed like the perfect opportunity.

His parents came to visit once after he moved in. They told him it was too small and dingy. He though he recalled his mother using the word “unsightly” as well. It was just like his mother to use a word like that. Sure, it was nothing special. His whole house was just one small, circular room, but it was his own. He’d worked hard for it and now it was his. Why couldn’t his parents see that?

A few months after he moved in, he started a routine. Every afternoon right before dusk he would climb up to the top  and check for oncoming boats. He’d sit up there and watch the ocean for hours. Sometimes he brought a book to keep him company. He had a copy of Moby Dick that he’d read so many times it was practically in pieces.

Tonight was just like all the rest. He slowly ascended the stairs and periodically stopped to catch his breath. He knew that the end was near. He’d lived a long and happy life. He wasn’t afraid of death anymore. At this point, he was almost ready for it. He was slowing down. He barley had energy to get up in the morning. He thought about selling the lighthouse so someone else could take care of it after he was gone. He even had a few potential buyers that were prepared to offer him a hefty sum of cash. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He refused every one. He wanted to die in the lighthouse. It was the perfect place. It was peaceful and quiet and just the place where he had imagined dying.

Panting and dripping in sweat, he finally opened the door to the top of the lighthouse. The wind blew in his face and cooled him down a little, but it took him almost twenty minutes to fully catch his breath again. Once he was finally breathing at a steady pace, he turned to face the ocean.

There was a boat about five hundred yards from the shore. He walked to the edge of the lighthouse and squinted his eyes. It was a small fishing boat. They probably lived somewhere nearby. He watched them as their boat floated closer and closer to the shore. There were two men sitting across from each other in the boat. They looked to be older gentlemen, probably in their sixties. He watched as one of the men set down his fishing pole and stood up. He carefully unzipped his pants and proceeded to pee off the side of the boat and into the water.

The old man frowned. Why was he polluting the water? The shore was so close. He couldn’t wait until they reached the shore? The old man grew angrier as he watched them. They were being impolite. The boat rocked back and forth and a beer can fell out into the water. The other man that was still sitting in the boat leaned over and spit. Why were they polluting his water?

He couldn’t take it anymore. He hobbled over to the wall of the lighthouse and grabbed his gun that was hanging on the wall. Although he had grown old, he was still a good shot. After all, he’d had plenty of practice. He wedged the barrel of the gun in between the fence that surrounded the lighthouse. Shutting one eye, he aimed at the man that was standing.

Once they were both dead, he started to make his way back down the stairs. He was getting hungry anyway. He’d have to make some room in the freezer, but he was sure that both of them would fit.