My eyes rove back and forth across white-capped waves and rocks strewn like coals from a long-abandoned fire. The moon looks on as my gaze shifts left, then right, left, then right over the shoreline. Everything slick from the breath of the sea, violent exhalations from the waves crashing at my feet.
I do not move, cannot push beyond the stone that encases everything but my eyes, whose work is never-ending. Rigid in body and form while my gaze sweeps like a pendulum through spray and foam, snagging on albatross wings and silver scales. Piercing through the darkness. Unbending before the storm. Vigilant against threats unknown, ghostly armadas and tentacled beasts just beneath the surface.
But it is only the sea’s constant sighing that keeps me company. A rhythmic pulse atop rushing water. If I listen closely enough, it almost sounds like she’s begging me to rest, to sleep, while she takes the next watch. But we both know her pleas are pointless.
Come morning, I will be here still, eyes wide against the sunrise, standing guard against an enemy who will never come.
Thanks for reading! Look at me, staying consistent with weekly microfiction (just for 2 weeks, but still an accomplishment!). This was a fun exploration of seaside scenery and descriptions. I suppose I’ve had lighthouses on my mind recently as a symbol in my writing (based on one of my latest publications), so this one came about as a metaphor for OCD, if you can believe it. I came up with most of it in my head while driving to work, and had to hope I’d remember enough of it to write it down once I arrived. I think I managed to capture most of it in its original form, with just a few additions/tweaks as I edited!