Todd the lightkeeper lived a dull life.

He wakes up at five in the morning, before sunrise. He would go downstairs to turn on the power generator, then go upstairs to raise the flag and tend to the lamp’s rotation mechanism. He would scrub the windows and polish the bulbs, making remarks to himself about the weather as he did so. He heads outside to check if a delivery from the shopkeeper has arrived; then, he removes clumps of wet sand from the base of the lighthouse. After that, he would heat up a can of tomato soup for himself and cook porridge for Old Sam.

By seven o’clock, he would be in the “work seat”, wearing a denim-colored uniform, with the radio on, looking out at the sea. The sun would be up by then.

Todd would stay in the seat until one in the afternoon; then he would have lunch while Old Sam began his shift.

In Todd’s memory, Old Sam had always been old. He was old and frail during Todd’s first childhood visits to the lighthouse, and now he was older and frailer. Old Sam was so old, it seems, that time has run out of creativity on how to make him older. There were no more teeth to remove; they had disappeared long ago. There was no more whiteness to be cast upon his hair; it was already as pale as bone. There were no more wrinkles to append to his skin; it was as creased as the bark of a senile tree. The only thing time achieved was making him even more fragile; if Old Sam had been paper, now he would be dust.

During his shift, Old Sam would remain eerily inanimate, his eyes reduced to two narrow slits. Todd often suspected that Old Sam was asleep, so he developed the habit of taking a stool from the mess room, putting it next to the “work seat”, and going on duty alongside the old man.

The residents of Red Crag Harbor rarely saw the lightkeepers. Old Sam was as frail as a dandelion in the wind, so they found it understandable for him to stay in the lighthouse. Todd’s behavior, on the other hand, was quite peculiar to the townspeople. Todd was never present at the town’s monthly meetings, and he never attended the annual crab festivals. In fact, he only goes ashore twice a year to pay the shopkeeper for her food deliveries.

Rumors were spread from the shopkeeper to her friends, and from her friends to her friends’ friends. Soon, it was a consensus that years of isolation has driven Todd mad, rendering him incapable of human interaction.

The Red Crag Lighthouse never received any visitors, and decades have passed since the last storm. Fog signals were rarely used. On most days, ships were able to enter the harbor even without the lighthouse’s assistance. Some argued that the lighthouse was hardly necessary, but the townspeople, reluctant to abandon the time-honored building, kept the lighthouse functional. By the time Todd became a lightkeeper, the Red Crag Lighthouse was more of a monument of tradition than an aid for navigation.

Hence, the majority of Todd’s time within the lighthouse was spent staring idly at the sea.

The ocean that enclosed Red Crag Harbor was an expanse of immaculate, golden, underwater sand stretching into the horizon. There were no rocks, no gravel, no corals; there was only endless, spotless sand, which formed smooth, delicate dunes as they neared the shore.

In the morning, the water would be knee-high above the dunes. Beneath silky waves that sparkled in ripples of cyan and gold, shoals of silvery fish danced rhythmically amidst beige-colored sand. The water would steadily recede, and by mid-afternoon, the dunes were completely exposed to the sunlight. A few crabs could be found scavenging for food. Occasionally, the shriveled corpse of a Dune Dragon emerged from the sand; sun-burnt rifts on its tattered amber scales would expose a gargantuan spine bristling with pale, thorn-like ribs. The fish would have vanished by then. As dusk replaced day, subtle waves from far away would journey into the dunes and gently lap onto the harbor’s shore. By midnight, the waves would be waist-high under an ivory-colored moon.

Todd took pleasure in watching ships drift in and out of the harbor as the tides rose and fell. There were vessels of all shapes and sizes, full of faraway peoples with exotic goods. There were trappers in fur hats, steering their modest canoes into the pier to unload bundles of bizarre pelts. There were slender dhows guarded by robed warriors, whose hulls were filled to the brim with pearls. There were cloaked figures upon colossal carracks, escorting barrels of costly spice.

He would look at the ships, then at the horizon where they came from, and wonder about the worlds that lie beyond the harbor and the sands; watching the ships come and go freed his imagination from the confines of his dull lightkeeper duties…
       It was a foggy night in late July. The time was around eleven, and as usual, Todd was on his stool next to Old Sam, trying to keep himself awake while the waning moon cast its milky light upon him.

In a shock that raised him from his drowsiness, he saw it…it was a lone speck of light, affixed below the moon…it was minute, but brilliant…distant, but impossible to ignore…and at that moment, like a star in the night sky casting its reflection upon the surface of a still lake, that distant speck of light cast a flicker of an idea within his mind, causing a desire deep inside him to burst into flames.

He wanted to journey.

He wanted to journey far away, to lands free of the sands, in search of the distant light.

What had caused this desire? Perhaps it was the monotony of being a lightkeeper, or perhaps it was the ships that came from far away; even Todd himself could not be certain. Anyhow, it no longer mattered to him, for he now believed in a world beyond the horizon, a world he yearned for.

Todd dreamt of that world. In his dream, he would see the light atop a slender spire, encircled by lofty towers shrouded in mist. The light would rain its radiance onto the mist, sending forth streaks of orange and gray; the streaks struck the towers, setting their peaks aflame with a fey, golden luster.

The next morning, Todd awoke later than usual, feeling dazed and groggy. The dreams last night befuddled him; nonetheless, he managed to heave himself from bed and went about his daily routine.

As he shoveled clumps of wet sand away from the lighthouse, Todd saw a shoal of fish frolicking amidst the sand and wondered where they would go when the tides recede.

It would be a world where there was always water. He thought. Where the water was deep, where the fish would swim free in a bottomless abyss…He marveled at the notion of such a world…A world without sand! A world where the waters were truly fathomless! A world where there were towers, towers that shone golden in the distant light!

Todd saw the small, wooden rowboat anchored to the sand, and thought of leaving. He would just have to do some repairs to the boat, and then he would be free! Free from the lighthouse, from Red Crag Harbor, from the endless sand!

But then he glanced at the lighthouse towering above him and saw Old Sam, who was watching him through the window. He felt a sudden pang of guilt and fear, for the old man’s cheerless, foggy eyes seemed to stare into his soul, unearthing the desires he had.

He knows. Todd thought. He knows that I will set off and never return.

Todd couldn’t do it. The lighthouse has been here since before he was born, and Old Sam had taken care of it for decades. If he left, Old Sam (frail and elderly as he was) would never be able to maintain it. Todd shuddered at the image of Old Sam, sorrowful and forlorn, forsaken in a lighthouse that has fallen into disrepair.

But I want to be free! His heart cried. We must decide! His mind urged. But Todd was frightened, frightened by the decision he must make.

Someday, I must decide whether to leave the lighthouse or not. He concluded. But that day will not be today…

Weeks passed by, and through the scrubbing of windows, the polishing of lightbulbs, and the dusting of furniture, Todd’s longing for the distant light slowly diminished until it was but a faint flicker in his heart…

Old Sam died of a heart attack on the first day of September. The funeral was held at Red Crag Church The will was read. Todd was granted full ownership of the Red Crag Lighthouse.

The townspeople began calling him Old Todd.

The death of Old Sam rekindled that distant light. For Todd, it no longer mattered if the lighthouse fell into ruin, the only person who cared about the lighthouse had met his end. The final chain that bound him to Red Crag has shattered. His decision was made. He would leave the lighthouse and journey into the horizon until he has reached the world home to that distant light.

The day after the funeral, Todd headed to the harbor to repair his rowboat and pay the shopkeeper for her deliveries. He then bought 20 cans of sweet corn from her and bundled them up in cloth. Afterward, he returned to the lighthouse and took an oil lamp, a compass, plastic wrap, a brass cooking pot, and a tin cup from the living quarters. All of these supplies were brought into the rowboat.

Todd set off the following morning, riding the riptide away from the harbor. The townspeople did not notice his departure until a loquacious fur trapper remarked that no light came from atop the lighthouse when he entered the harbor. By then, however, Todd and his rowboat had already become a mere, brown speck on a canvas of yellow and blue…

Under the searing afternoon heat, a man lay sprawled on his rowboat; besides him was an empty bundle of cloth and a few scattered cans.

For the past nine days, he had been paddling tirelessly. He would travel in his rowboat throughout the night and continue till noon when the tides would have receded. In the afternoon, he would eat a can of sweet corn, then begin collecting water. He would fill his brass pot with seawater, place his tin cup in the pot’s center, and ensure that the seawater doesn’t flow into the cup. Then, he would cover the pot in plastic wrap. As the afternoon sun evaporated the water, the vapor would accumulate on the plastic wrap. When dusk came, the temperature would fall, and the vapor would condense and accumulate inside his cup, providing him fresh water. He would use this time to sleep.

The tide had come in earlier than usual that afternoon, while he was still snared by slumber; waves struck the rowboat, and it started to rock to the rhythm of the tide. As the water rose, the boat began rocking more and more intensely. Suddenly, an immense wave crashed onto its side, hurling the boat into the sea alongside everything in it.

He awoke violently to a flood of water. By the time he was able to orient himself, the cup, the pot, the plastic, and most of the cans were already swept away.

Sprawled over the boat, a pang of despair swept over him. The remaining food could support him for maybe a week, but without water, he would never make it that long. It seemed like an inevitable death.

In his distress, he did the only thing he was still able to do, and began to paddle once more…

Soft sounds of swashing broke the silence of the still midnight sea as his paddle pushed gently against water the color of the night sky. It was the eleventh night of his journey, and the thirst was starting to register. The harbor, which had been a faint cluster of lights in the distance but a few nights ago, was now nowhere to be seen; there was only the moon, the rowboat, and a bare, noiseless void.

The darkness in all directions gave no clue of his whereabouts, and it was only the ceaseless, mechanical paddling that saved him from accepting that he was utterly, hopelessly lost.

A remote, orange glow appeared to his left, beckoning him. A spark of curiosity and hope streaked through him, and he paddled closer.

Curiosity turned into awe, for as he approached the glow, it took the shape of a distant light! A light atop a spire, surrounded by towers shrouded in mist!

Seeing the world from his dreams emerge into reality aroused a strange feeling within him, one he had never felt before. The light was where he belonged, and as the boat traveled closer and closer, Todd felt like he was going home.

Todd paddled with renewed strength. He knew that when dawn came, that light would fade into the sun and the blue sky. He knew that his death was inevitable. But he has seen the light, he has seen that it was real…and the mere possibility that, before his end, the waters beneath him would not be of sand, but an endless abyss where the fishes swam, was reason enough.