Creative Writing Challenge - Task #7 - Without Excuses - The Man Who Lived in the Lighthouse at the End of the World

To the lighthouse at the end of the world:
I’m being released on Friday. Just thought you should know.

You know, before you go inside you think thirty years is a long time—a life sentence—but it really isn’t a long time. It’s all the time there is. It’s every damned second you own and then some. But I’ve survived. I’ve thrived. And just in case you haven’t worked it out yet, I’m coming for you.

Yours faithfully,
Franz

⁂

Staring out to see was one of the favorite pastimes of the man who lived in the lighthouse at the end of the world. Out there was possibility. Out there was hope. He laughed and the sound was shredded by the shriek of the gale. The wind stole the sound from right out of his throat and flung it at the walls of the lighthouse. That same wind whipped the the sand dunes into miniature tornadoes that bobbed and spun like dervishes until their power was finally spent and the sand fell lifeless once more.

The man who lived in the lighthouse at the end of the world sighed and gripped his crutches tightly as if doing so could make the metal splinter. His running days were gone now that his legs were no longer doing his bidding. It made living in the lighthouse all but impossible with all its stairs. He tried another laugh but it came out as a high-pitched cackle. Millions in cash and here he was, living at the end of the road, with nowhere left to run.

⁂

To the lighthouse at the end of the world:

You’ve been lonely I guess. I know I have. It’s the loneliness of success, you know. The loneliness of envy. We had it all, you and I. We strode tall and the others bowed down to us, because let’s face it, they could never do what we had the balls to do. We owned this city. We ruled over it with the combined strength of our wills and with gunpowder and steel. And then you lost your way. You thought you’d like to try running alone. “For a while,” I think you said. Well, your short while turned into a lifetime, didn’t it?

I’m closer every day. You can feel it, can’t you? Let me know what you’d like for your last meal. Thai curry, perhaps? You were always partial to Thai, weren’t you? I’ll fix you some before you go. I’ll make it right. That’s a promise.

Yours faithfully,
Franz

⁂

The man who lived in the lighthouse at the end of the world lay his crutches on the rocky shore. Behind him the endless desert stretched to the horizon, before him the endless dark sea. Beside the crutches he placed his panama hat and a black briefcase.

The case was old, but so bereft of the marks of age that it appeared brand new. He glared at the case as the wind and the gulls screamed and his hair and beard whipped around his craggy face.

⁂

To the lighthouse at the end of the world:

I watched you today. You limped like a wounded bear carrying that old briefcase, the one you’d never let out of your sight. You looked old, and tired. That’s all for now.

Your faithfully,
Franz

⁂

Morning came gray and grim. Even the cries of the gulls were subdued, lost in the fog that coated everything in wispy white. Last night he’d been too tired and sore to climb the stairs. He’d spent the night with his back to the oak door, listening to the wind batter against the wood. Now in the dull light of morning the world seemed somehow less than it had the day before.

He placed the briefcase beside the largest stone at the base of the lighthouse at the end of the world. His fingers caressed one of the clasps and he shivered. Then clutching the briefcase to his chest, he staggered to the ocean.
Swells rolled and crashed against ancient rock. The sea was a mass of black anguish coated in wisps of froth. It would be so easy to open the briefcase. He gasped as salt spray slapped against his face. As the wave retreated he pushed the briefcase from him. It spun in the froth for a moment, then submerged.

The man who lived in the lighthouse at the end of the world smiled for a moment, then limped back to the lighthouse. It would have been too easy and some things should never be easy.

⁂

To the lighthouse at the end of the world:

I saw you again today. Watched you stare at that case like it was plated with gold. But you see, I know what you keep in there. You thought it was a secret, didn’t you? Well, it’s not. I opened that case once. Just the once. I saw what you keep in there, that snub-nosed .38. You thought for a moment you could outrun me, didn't you?

I’m still coming for you. You’ll just never know when.

Yours faithfully,
Franz

This is my FICTION entry for the Creative Writing Challenge - Task #7 - The Objects courtesy of @steemfluencer. The details of the challenge are as follows:

Take a look at the objects below and write a story based on a predefined idea.
(see link above)
Here's a list with all predefined ideas:

Without excuses: write about someone who never gave up until he has achieved a certain goal.
Old memories: a fictional essay about someone who's sharing his most exciting story from his youth.
A Tree of Life: a non-fictional essay about life, compromises and self-awareness.

Some of the best writers and creative writing teachers point out the need to write about objects. They criticize the idea to >use too many abstract ideas, and actually believe that writing about any objects is the key to explain an idea in an excellent >way.

Thanks for reading.