Variable

Apassionatta

The light swept the horizon, on and off and on and off, a bridge between moments of bright hopes and dark fears. For a split second, Tom thought he had seen something in the horizon, as the light brushed through the waters. There were only more shadows and more light, and the occasional seagull. They told him never to look, never to try to understand, never to ask questions. Here he was, looking and trying to understand. But there was something in the horizon. First a small dark dot, then a growing shape that became a ship followed by a thick fog. It would drop something close to the coast. That something would be picked up by dark figures running from the rocks and disappearing again. The next morning, he couldn’t help it. He asked Peter, the guy who had the day shift, if he knew what was going on. He shook his head. He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t understand and he didn’t look. Two days later, Peter saw an ad at the local café about a job for a lighthouse keeper. He had seen a few go through the night shift, but he was still alive and keeping the day shift for himself, no matter what. There was something about the night that made people want to ask deadly questions.

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