The Relief Keeper

The launch slaps over black swells, and the island grows out of the dark like a tooth.

You are the relief keeper now. Six weeks alone on Brisling Rock, tending a light older than the maps that name it. You took the posting because the city had too many faces in it, and one of them belonged to your brother, who is not in any city anymore.

Spray stings your mouth. Salt. Always salt.

Ahead, the lighthouse stands black against a paler black, its lamp dark. It should not be dark.