The tide crashed against the jagged edges of the rock, showering him in a fine, salty mist. There were clouds in the horizon, but neither numerous nor big enough to block the last shimmer of the setting sun in the distance.
How long had it been already? A year? Ten? He couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of his anguish when he first set eyes on what was meant to be his prison. Time, he found out, meant so little here.
A couple of sea-hawks were calling it a day and heading back to their nests, smooth aerodynamic shadows against the blue-grey sky. It was getting cold, and it would soon be dark. He turned away from the sea and headed back to the ancient stone building.
The old generator made soft groaning noises as he purposefully cranked it up. He made sure all the right switches were in place, and let the light shine into the night.
He paused for a moment to catch his breath at the top of the one hundred and fifty-four step climb to the observation deck (he had counted each step and even given them nicknames during the first month of his stay), and opened the creaky iron door.
The battered chair was there, as usual, facing the western window. The sweeping light from the tower was clearly visible as a sparkling beam stretching away into the mist.
He slowly sat facing the sea, opened the thermos, and sipped some tea.