The Colour Grey

In a world of black and white, anything that adds colour is a welcome presence. This is especially true within the depths of loneliness. When the only light accentuates grey and hides the natural hues of life itself, one can easily become lost in the mind. This was very much true of Gerard. As a lighthouse keeper, it was his job to be alone. This was the time of year when it is more so than usual.

The tides are strange. For six months of the year he was cut off from the mainland. He had, so far, not given in to the crippling feeling of alone thanks to a telephone connection. This was severed a week previous and he admitted to himself that cabin fever may be setting in. This became apparent when he heard the door bell ringing a few days ago. He was in bed, and the tide was at its highest point so he presumed it was either the wind or his imagination.

Tonight was his weekly trip to the top of the lighthouse, to make sure the lamp was in perfect working order. His trips to the top had become less frequent recently as his knees weren't as young as they used to be. The accent made him wheeze and splutter like an old motor car. His mind was made up to retire to a nice cottage inland.

He completed his climb to find the lamp still working. Thankfully he had kept a copper kettle and gas heater up here. He filled the kettle from his canteen, set it on the heater and let the water boil for a nice cup of tea before his trek back downstairs.

While the water was heating he glanced out the window. The seas were calm, but there was a figure in the distance. He decided this was a reflection from the lamp. His mind was changed, however, when the figure didn't disappear when the lamp moved. He tried to look more carefully. There was an ethereal glow to it. a light blue reaching out to him in the dullest of grey nights. Nothing had colour in this pace.

An hour passed and he found himself still staring out the window. The bluish figure was advancing slowly. The kettle continued to boil away, now forgotten. The figure became clearer as it grew closer.

He heard it speak to him. He tingled as the sound drifted through his being. It was musical but instructive, soft but firm. Before he knew what was happening he was sprinting down the stairs to the door. She was in trouble, she needed him.

He almost slipped on the stairs. He was thankful he hadn't. If he couldn't get there to help her, no one could. His knees ached more than ever but he kept going. Down the last flight, through the front door and out onto the rocks. Here he was not as sure footed and he slipped and fell. His neck snapped on the rocks and no more colour was in his eyes. But he managed to see something other than grey one last time.