The Coast

A small story adapted from a piece of English work that I thought needed expanding.


1. The Coast

The unrelenting black tides crash; the chronic beacon of a distant lighthouse strobes across the night sky.

All was still upon that dark, pebbled beach. Great, rusting remnants of generations gone by in fishing, hauling, luxury and war all lay in motionless state; tranquil, yet forlorn.

Bereaved tides lap softly at their yielding kin. A constant, wistful reminder to their children of the golden days of old. When they would boldly stride through playful swells concealing iron dragons deep within, belching out thick smoke from towering funnels and reaching out across the far corners of the world in an age when birds still ruled the air.


Among these gaunt giants of the the past, a shy glow flickers and dances warmly upon decaying iron and worn rivets. A lone tramp lay in his sleeping rags beside an oil drum fire, enticed by the deep black of the pure and unpolluted night sky. saturated by wondrous starlight and blanketed by soft, puffy clouds sweeping gently across the moonlit troposphere to who knows where.


Like a gift from the heavens, all of this is his to enjoy... and his only.

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