Gary and His Light

Gary was atop the light house tower, looking over the calm seas and white sails that drifted over the deep waters. The lighthouse rested upon a small treeless island surrounded by outcroppings of rocks and sandbars. It was nearly three miles from shore, but the mountains from mainland were still visible. During dense fog though, the island became lost to the world, and it could remain like that for weeks if the wind didn’t blow in. Gary had lived there for a majority of his life, since his father bought the rights to renovate the old sea light. When it was finally finished, his father asked to live there and look after it, and so Gary continued in his fathers legacy when he passed away.

Gary’s mind was fixed on one particular boat floating dangerously close to the sholes outside the island. He stayed still against the railing, hoping that the tiny vessel would realize the danger, so that he wouldn’t be cleaning up wreckage tomorrow and housing mainlanders. He never cared for anyone from the mainland, because he believed that no one but sailors, light house men, and fish really cared for the ocean. On one occasion, he fired his rifle at a Green Peace boat for “interuppting the daily happenings of the ocean life.” But generally, people stayed away from the island, because of the dangers of the surrounding rocks.

The boat rocked back and forth against the waves, as if the ocean was in control of the ship. Gary stared down to see if he could catch a glimpse of the owner of the ship, but no one appeared to be behind the wheel. He pushed himself away from the rusting rail, and moved himself inside the lighthouse mainroom. He glanced around the cluttered room of old sea charts and weather navigation systems, looking for a foghorn. When he finally found it, he walked back to the railing and stared down to the boat. It had still yet to depart from it’s dangerous course towards the islands rocky coast, and so he sounded the foghorn. No one appeared on deck, and so he sounded it again.

“Hello. Is anyone on board?” he yelled down. He imagined that even if someone was there, the wind had stolen his words. Gary buttoned his coat, and hugged himself as a cold wind suddenly rushed in. The sail below caught the same wind, and the boat brushed against a good sized rock, cracking the side of the vessel. Then suddenly, as if by some other worldy force, the boat seized another great wind and flew on land, smashing against the rocks on shore.

“Oh god,” Gary whispered anxiously. He quickly grabbed a rope and some supplies from inside, and descended the stairs that wrapped around the light house. He reached the ground and started at a running pace towards the remains of the ship, watching as some pieces were being retrieved by the sea. He knew that if someone on board was still in the water, they would be sucked under the water and tossed around from boulder to rock under the waters surface. It was a death sentence being in the water on a windy day.

He finally reached the wreckage and began digging through planks and beams. Suprisingly it was smaller than what he thought it was. It looked as if it could hold maybe five people, but not one person was found. Not a body or soul to be seen anywhere in the water or on the beach. He stared around in wonder, and found the hull of the ship, a tear running down it’s side. Slowly he pulled it apart with his bare hands, splintering his fingers. Gary peered inside and found nothing but a blanket. He pulled out the blue fabric and layed in out on the beach next to the broken ship. In yellow stitch the words,” You Are the Light of God,” were sewn in the middle.

“What the hell,” he thought. He found no logical conclusion for the blanket, and so he slid it under his arm and continued searching, forgetting about the text.

Gary was on the beach for several hours, scoping for more clues. He gave up on his search for survivors when he had at last taken apart the entire ship. By this time, the clouds above had turned grey, and were quickly melting into black on the horizon. The sun had trecked across the sky and was now making its final decent into the ocean. He stared out for several minutes, all his thoughts and questions put to rest.

Night had fallen, and Gary was resting atop his lighthouse once again, feeling a strong cold wind against his face. He was covered with the blanket he had found at the wreckage, holding it to his cold body. The glow from the lighthouse painted him yellow, while he sat staring out into the black air where he knew the ocean was.

He heard a patter on the roof, and then another, and another and suddenly realized that it was raining. He rose, dropping the blanket to the floor, and shut the glass doors to the light room, so the eqipment wouldn’t get damaged. He regained his seat underneath him, and leaned forward to gaze at the rain hitting the window. He lost his thoughts again, and suddenly he was asleep.

“My son, I call onto you to shine your light tonight, for you shall be the Welcomer of all good things on earth, the Grower of peace, and the Patron of light. You will change history this eve, and by that, my will be done. I call to you to rise up, and strike your name. Gary is not your chosen name, oh, but The Light of God shall be yours to keep. Listen to my words, and you will keep your eternal promise to me. You will be The Light of God. You are the Light of God. Wake up”

Gary jumped from his seat as a loud thunder clap rattled the tin roof. The rain had grown considerebly louder, and he was wondering how much the light house could really take. His thoughts still held a bit of the dream he had just awoken from.

“That was strange,” he said aloud. He pulled the blanket up to his chest and began to nod off again. Suddenly he remembered the text. He stripped the blanket off him and held it in the air in front of him. The text, “You Are the Light of God,” was still stitched plainly yellow on the blue fabric. His thoughts were shooting blanks, as he was trying to find a reason for what was happening. He came to a conclusion that he had just rememberd the blanket in his dream, and he was making things up.

“That’s probably it,” he whispered to himself. Then from the corner of his eye, he caught a dark object sillougheted by the glow of the light house. He turned all his attention to the ocean, trying to make out what it was as the light swung back over where he had seen it before. A boat was bracing the waves near where the vessel this morning had crashed, and he began to worry again. He grabbed the fog horn and the blanket, and clambered outside into the raging storm.

The metal walk was slick from all the rain, and he began to wonder if this was worth it, trying to save a misguided ship that obviously had no clues of the perils of boating in a storm. He regained his anxiousness though, and sounded the horn across the wind and rain. He sounded it again and again, everytime pushing his arm farther and farther beyong the railing, so that maybe the ship would hear his warning. A clap of thunder, and the walk beneath him shook so that he crashed into the railing with fright. He lost his air and footing, tumbling over the rail onto the rocks below. The rain kept coming, and waves washed over his body, trying to claim him to the bottom of the ocean. The lighthouses light still floated over the ocean, until finally it lost power and the ocean was dark. Gary lay between two rocks, his arm bent in an awkward position over his head and the rest of his body curved over a small boulder.

He lay like that for several minutes, drifting in and out of conciousness, until finally his eyelids descended and he was lost to dreams.