#lighthouse gothic

[bones-n-gold]

Types of People As My Favorite Sailing Superstitions

Whistling is bad luck/brings a storm: rope burns, cupboard doors rattling, you checked out a bunch of books about ghost stories from your elementary school library and never turned them back in (you crave meaning, you crave the weight of things that matter), old dogs, grey skies and choppy waves, double checking your window latches, blisters that become callouses and scars that become stories, spilled candle wax

Touching someone’s collar will keep them safe at sea: remembering a childhood lullaby, you go back to the places of your growing up sometimes (you want desperately to be able to look at the world without seeing the cracks, you are trying so hard to relearn faith) good luck charms, picking up milk bottles at the door, comparing hand sizes and mending broken things, dried flowers from a loved one’s garden, clean laundry

Killing an albatross brings misfortune: penance to the watchful sea, nickels and a whetstone, the horrible lurching feeling of waves hitting the broad side of the hull, vertigo (you are reeling, you are dizzied by the substance of the the world), promises, bleached out scallop shells on the high tide line, biscuits and lard and the reflection of your sole in a puddle, sand fleas, rotting seaweed, why must everything feel so solid but so empty

A ship’s cat sneezing means rain is on the way: the scent of a fish market, fiddle music and distant laughter, bright smiles, conversations with a stranger, you live and breath stories (you hope the world loves you back, you hope you can be a story someday too), learning to write with your off hand, rain on an aluminum roof, holes in your socks and mud on your shoes, picking up every penny you find on the ground, you are not ashamed to bleed

Cormorants are the spirits of those lost at sea: oil slicked feathers, clouded skies, bone dice in your pocket to see into tomorrow (you hunger to understand, to know more than this corner of space and time), carcasses washed up to shore, tide charts, bits and pieces of a conversation overheard, the lines mooring a ship to port, dead languages, lax sails, the sound of splashing water on a quiet night, flotsam

[bad-luck-to-kill-a-sea-bird]

Lighthousecore Gothic #??

There's a storm tonight. Heavy rain and howling winds claw at the outer walls of your cabin, while you sit at the dining room table, staring out the kitchen window. After every growl of thunder there's a spark of lightning, bright enough to dull the tower's passing light. In the distance looms a shape. Indescribable; gargantuan among the sheets of rain and boiling waves. You watch it through the window above the sink, only catching glimpses every time the lightning sparks. The fog horn sounds off, cacophonous when pitted against the booming thunder. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, it's watching you back. The longer you look, the harder it is to focus your eyes. Your head feels heavy and fills with whispers, too many for you to understand what they're saying. The fog horn rattles the cabin windows. Your head gets heavier. You're walking into the waves. Your head gets heavier. Your lungs are filling with water. Your head gets heavier.

You wake up at the dining room table, the rain outside a light drizzle now. In front of you lies a paper, indecipherable scribbles mark the page.

In the distance, closer now, looms a shape. Indescribable; barely visible in the corner of your eye. You stare out the window at an empty and limited foggy sea. Nothing stares back. The fog horn rattles the windows. You are alone.