The ancient lighthouse stood in a bed of rocks just off the coast of Brighton. It needed a good paint; you could hardly see the once bright stripes. Every so often, you could almost hear the paint slowly peeling off the rusty building. It had no use. No boats came into the harbour. It was just a historic building, one that had been there since Edwardian times. You would have expected it to be deserted but no; a single man lived there, a grouchy fellow who hated happiness, thrills and fun.
The old, dusty stairs creaked as the elderly, grumpy man hobbled up to the top of the lighthouse. His wrinkled face was twisted in an ugly grimace, his back was bent and his clothes were like something from the Victorian era.
His name was William. It was his job to turn the light on at the top of the lighthouse. He did nothing else. He hadn’t been outside for 16 years. He hated children. Sometimes he would look out of the window and see children splashing around in the clear blue sea; he’d sneer at them, thinking they were no good “things”.
William reached the landing. A draft came in from the open window, blowing the half melted candle out. William, lost in thought about how pointless his job was, struck the match and lit the candle again. He slowly shifted over to the open window and used every ounce of his strength to close it. It made a deafening “thud” that echoed around the nearly empty room.
William walked up another flight of stairs. This time they were steeper, and he dragged himself up using the handrail that broke nearly every other day. When he reached the top, he shuffled over to the big light and turned it on. The sea lit up a glorious blue that every sane being on earth would enjoy but, being the man he was, William hardly noticed it.
The old, dusty stairs creaked as the elderly, grumpy man hobbled up to the top of the lighthouse. His wrinkled face was twisted in an ugly grimace, his back was bent and his clothes were like something from the Victorian era.
His name was William. It was his job to turn the light on at the top of the lighthouse. He did nothing else. He hadn’t been outside for 16 years. He hated children. Sometimes he would look out of the window and see children splashing around in the clear blue sea; he’d sneer at them, thinking they were no good “things”.
William reached the landing. A draft came in from the open window, blowing the half melted candle out. William, lost in thought about how pointless his job was, struck the match and lit the candle again. He slowly shifted over to the open window and used every ounce of his strength to close it. It made a deafening “thud” that echoed around the nearly empty room.
William walked up another flight of stairs. This time they were steeper, and he dragged himself up using the handrail that broke nearly every other day. When he reached the top, he shuffled over to the big light and turned it on. The sea lit up a glorious blue that every sane being on earth would enjoy but, being the man he was, William hardly noticed it.