Decades ago, the wooden planks creaked beneath the hurried steps of fishermen heading out to sea. Now, silence reigns, only interrupted by the distant echoes of water lapping against rotting beams. Ghostly silhouettes of small boats once bobbed in the tide, tethered by memories of midday sun and salt-kissed laughter.
Where did everyone go? The plans hung on walls in the council office, promises of progress. But the tide came in, and the tide went out, taking dreams along with it.
Local rumors speak of hidden treasures beneath the waves.
Derelict Pathways
Once vibrant with the footsteps of market-goers, the streets now lie bare beneath the overgrowth. Cobblestones peek through soil's grasp, asking silently who else has walked here in years past. Somewhere, a child's laugh echoes, caught in the wind, displaced in time.
Old maps still tell of these roads, though any signs of life seem lost to the pages of history. A world apart, yet so familiar, it calls forth an ache of nostalgia for a past that dwells just out of reach.
Its beam no longer pierces through the veil of night, the old sentinel stands against the cliffs, battered but unyielding. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of brine and rust, echoing the days when light guided souls away from perilous seas.
Anachronistic whispers swirl amidst the shadows, tales of ships unseen and journeys untaken. The lighthouse keeper's watch remains, though the watchman has long since departed.
Time, relentless and indifferent, has laid its hands upon this place, yet it stands—an edifice of solitude.