Dec. 23 - written by Christopher Rohan

Week 3

12-16-21 - Prompt: Lobster (confession: I know nothing about this entry’s subject matter)

Winter hits coastal Maine with a stiff back hand. Fridged winds turn the waves to chop and hides the shoals, but that never stops the ships. They keep coming and I keep watching. Tending a lighthouse  often seems mundane to those that don’t take it seriously, but for me, I’m anxious most days. I’ve seen one too many wrecks and had one too many morons helming ships that don’t heed my warnings.

It was last year when I just about lost it as one small lobsterman was making his way back ashore. He must have lost his instruments or more likely had one too many, because his radio worked just fine. He was nearly run aground before he answered and altered course.

One of the odd things about lighthouses is that they tell you where land is, but not in relation to where you are. If you are a bit wayward, you may think you’vde got the proper heading, but it may not be the case. Communication with those on shore is paramount for making it to safe harbor.

We work on a rotation, me and Jerry. He covers the first half of the week, Saturday evening through Wednesday morning, and I cover the second. It gives me time with my kids as they haven’t quite begun school, though Russel will start next fall. Jerry’s kids are long grown up and moved off here and there. He has grandkids, but can’t see them much. He would always say that he may have kept the house in the divorce, but he didn’t keep the relationship with his kids. I’ve wanted to invite him over to the house, but when I’m not working he is, and we can’t leave the lighthouse unattended. 

The weather turns so fast. 


12-17-21 - Prompt: Cream

“Hon,” John shouted from the mud room, “have you seen my keys?”

“What?” came a reply bounding down the stairs and through the hall.

“I can’t find my keys. Have you seen them?”

The click-clack of hard-soled flats were heard on the floorboards, then turning the same flats gracefully carried Sally’s slender form. 

“Do you mean these keys?”  she asked.

John glanced up from rummaging through a bin of the boys’ puffy snowsuits.

“I think we need a better system for these,” he distractedly began explaining, “they’re soaked from yesterday.”

“They left them wet?” asked Sally, “those boys know to hang them up, but I’ll remind them. Anyway, I found your keys.”

“What?” said john, realizing that he’d completely forgotten the task at hand, “Oh yeah.” He dropped the wet winterwear, and turning he saw his lovely wife, done up the way she liked—and he didn’t mind either—in a long, flowing dress, floral printed and shapely.

“Wow!” he inadvertently said out loud, “Honey, you look amazing!”

“Uh, thank you, but here are your keys.”

“Oh, right,” said John, shaking the dazzle from his eyes. He pried his eyes down to his wife’s outstretched hands. A little ball of fur, calicoed grey and white, was curled up then began to unravel and stretch. Four little paws, two pointy ears and one big, pink yawn. 

“My goodness, where did this little guy come from?” John asked.

Gal, dear.” Sally corrected, “Not sure. I found her balled up in the laundry. She had her mouth clamped tight around your keyring, but I think she’s done with them now.”

“Sure enough,” John said as he scratched the little critter’s noggin and grabbed his keys from where the ball unfolded.

“Off with you now! I need the hors d’oeuvres to be ready before our guests arrive. I’m gonna get some milk for this little thing.” said Sally as she rubbed noses with the little kitten.


12-20-21 - Prompt: Fascination

The neck of a bulbous, glass decanter was pinched in a stand that held it a few inches above the counter. In this, a young barista poured water, just off the boil, from a goosenecked kettle. The smooth stream of water hit the inside wall of the bulb, swirling and churning. He stopped pouring an inch below the vice and steam fogged the void looking for escape. A hiss was followed by a click-click, then the roar and blue flame of a butane burner was slid just beneath the bulb of water. The barista turned to the sink and the faucet squeeked on.

The water began to roll and dance as the barista returned holding a cylinder of glass that had what looked like a white cloth at the bottom and out of the bottom came a glass straw with a rubber collar where the straw and cylinder were joined. The straw was slid into the rolling water of the bulb and nearly touched the bottom opposite the licking butane flame. Very carefully, the barista secured the rubber collar within the neck of the bulb making a perfect seal.

Preassure mocked gravity as the boiling water forced its way up the straw and into the cylinder. Quickly the barista checked the water with a thermometer then turned again. The violent grinding of coffee produced that intoxicating aroma. With a quick thud and clink, a tin was produced and pouring its contents, the barista concocted a beautiful slurry. A quick stir soaked the lot, as the beeps of a timer were heard.

“Ron!” shouted his wife, shocking the man out of his trance, “Ron, are you listening?”

“Huh?” replied Ron dumbfounded, “What was that, sweetie?”


12-21-21 - Prompt: Seized

The wretch’s hands were bound in iron, the cost of stealing an apple. It was a very high price, but when you have nothing, all things cost the same. To take and refrain both mean the end, and it isn’t risk if it’s the only thing that will save you.

She was skin and bone wrapped in tattered burlap. She must have lifted some potatoes. Her feet were bare but for the cold mud, as were her hands, but just above her newly adorned wrists was a mark, an image. Splotched in filth, as it was, the marking could still be seen. Three rings, the leftmost with an arrow through the center, the right was held by a fist, and the middle was adorned like the sun, rising in the winter sky towards a crown above the rightmost ring.

The ruthless guards pulled her by a rope around her neck and it was all she could do to keep up. The girl was no more than twelve and was already headed for the hangman. A simple crime was all it took to end a simple life.

A cold shadow shifted on the wall as she passed through the gates to the square. The young girl looked, but all passers by went about their route. Her shackles were nothing new to them, and downcast eyes never see hope.


12-22-21 - Prompt: Peanuts

Ralph’s giant, seven year old eyes nearly overflowed with tears of excitement. The gate’s creak was met with a cheer from the amassing crowds around the ballpark. His dad scooped him up with a laugh and set him on his shoulders. From there Ralph could see hundreds of people, covered in green and white, and beginning to sing “Gather on Main Street”, the fight song of the Trailblazers baseball team. Ralph and his dad joined in.


“Gather on Main

The apples and grain

And light the torch before the rain

For a treacherous feat

Till death we meet

We gather on Main, we take to the street.”


Ralph had no idea what the song was about, but he sang it with all his might. His dad taught it to him when he was very young, and they’d sing along to the radio broadcast. This was his first game however, and from his father’s broad shoulders, he sang and he pumped his fists until he couldn’t shout any more.

They made their way through the gates and his dad handed over two tickets to a nice lady that gave Ralph a button that said, “Today, I blazed my first trail!”. As they made their way inside the song from outside died away to a muddle of business. Ralph went quiet with wonder and awe as he saw great pillars holding up massive stands. There were food vendors everywhere. Everything was green and white. In shear excitement, he began to sing all over again, and his dad joined in. They started another round and the crowd and venders all sang along as they made thier way toward their section.

“Ralphy!” shouted his dad, “let’s grab some grub before we find our seats.”

“Okay!” 

“How do Cracker Jacks sound?”