The Lighthouse of Echoes
(V-12: Minimalist Realism) The island was a tooth of black basalt jutting out of a grey, indifferent ocean. There was nothing on it but a lighthouse, a small stone cottage, and the wind. Arthur had been the keeper of the light for forty years. He was a man of few words and fewer friends. His life was a sequence of repetitive motions: polishing the lens, trimming the wick, recording the weather...
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