Page 185 - Hymerian_2017_18
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a pool, but a grey mountain range with foam on every peak. Crack! I need to find cover. I start galloping towards the boarded up door of the lighthouse, my only refuge. I stop dead in my tracks. My eyes burn as a beam of light spans across the island making me feel disorientated and physically sick. This was not lightning anymore. That supernova came from the lighthouse. The decommissioned lighthouse that no longer shines its beacon. Until now. I give myself whiplash as I jar my face upwards, only to be flooded in a sea of yellow as the light sweeps around again. Having restored
my vision, my eyes focus on a figure bent over in the light. The energy from another electric bolt of lightning reflects off the white teeth that are staring at me from the heart of a not too friendly grin. Blinded again, I feel adrenaline coursing through my body as my heart slams at my rib cage, trying to leap out of my heaving chest. I try to run, but terror has weakened my legs to pathetic piles of skin. Another beam of light exposes me in the darkness. “Get a grip,” I mumble. There isn’t anyone else here, ghosts don’t exist. The stories aren’t real... Are they?
air around me. Like a hurricane I spin round, nearly losing my footing, to face the direction the laugh came from. Standing before me is the man from the top of the lighthouse, sneering as he feeds off the panic radiating from my body. How did he get here so quickly?
“És hora que vagi ara,” he smirks before adding: “ximple”. The translator in my mind decodes the ancient tongue - ‘Time to go, fool’. Normally I would make some clever comment like ‘Time to die, old man,” but that didn’t seem appropriate right now. I go to push him out the way but my hand shoots through him.
His smile says it all. I must escape. Bounding up the rocks, their knife-edges slicing at my heels, I dive, not so gracefully, to my impending death. The cold liquid consumes my body and drags me through the waves, zig-zagging me to the horizon. The lighthouse stops beaming, the stars stop shining and the moon covers its face in shame as the darkness drowns me.
Mocking my thoughts, a sinister laugh penetrates the
Isabelle Horrocks, Year 11 I 185

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