Magna Custode Phari

• Zara Smith, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2018

The sea was crying. The cold, salty tears stung her face as grieving howls flung them at her. Sobs wracked her small frame as she knelt on the cliff, hands clutching the sides of her dress. The shadows of night loomed over the scene, long fingers reaching out to comfort, a vigil of sorts. Even the moon seemed dull. For the first time in over a century, the lighthouse was dark.
Her numb fingers absentmindedly rubbed the polished silver in her lap. With a short, dirty nail she flicked the clasp open, her calloused palm slamming it down before the facsimile of his face was revealed. She sat, finding comfort in the repetition of denial, sinking into his faded, soft green chair. She hoped she could sink forever.
The plates were the first to desert her. Their shattered bones littered the cold kitchen tiles. A glass bottle, a lantern. She wouldn’t need them soon anyway; they were coming for her. She shoved a chair across the room, collapsing in a heaving heap of fury. Black smoke fumed from her, curling and spinning through the small cottage, tearing and scraping at the vulnerable, defenceless furnishings. The smoke formed a misty bridge to him in the endless sea of despair she was drowning in.
The small speckled seagulls were the only witnesses to her panic. Maybe if she could clean it all up. Maybe if she could prove herself to be just like him. The tall shaggy rocks greeted the mangled crockery with roaring waves. Each shard dipped in the blood of her cut hands, almost as if it were a sacrifice to some god of hope. The broken chair was next.
The next day a great curtain of fog closed over the cliff. Thunderous bellows rolled across the sky. The beacon of hope remained silent. She knew she could do it, shine a path for those weathered sailors, brush aside those sweet siren calls with a mere lantern. The large green sea had swallowed her again, however. The silver locket was back in her hands and the repetitive flicks continued until one particular roar shook her from her seat. As the locket scattered across the floor like a mouse, a small yellowed piece of paper fluttered to the ground. She sniffled back tears at his face, choosing instead to flip over the photo. Only then did she realise those words, his last. ‘Stay strong Eliza.’
When the carers came for her, she was ready. A blue suitcase neatly packed beside her, a nice summer dress and a light breeze caught in her hair. She smiled and curtsied as the new lightkeeper tipped his hat. She wondered when he would discover he had no plates. As the sleek black carriage pulled away, she spared one last glance. The glinting sunlight on the glass reminded her of his crinkling eyes, her grandfather. She touched her fingers to her chest, where the locket was kept safely, “I promise I’ll be strong for you.”