Captured in Glass by A.J. Van Belle

I can’t remember when I moved into the lighthouse. Or why the beacon’s never lit.

Model ships of glass, perfect replicas, sit on every surface in my circular kitchen.

The nights are deep and the surf wild on the shoreline rocks.

A storm whips sea foam against the windowpanes. The outline of a schooner tosses in the dark, looking unreal through rippled glass.

When its splintered wood joins the rest of the wreckage in the coastal waters, another glass schooner model appears on my rotting wooden table. I caress it with ghostly fingers.

I have been here a long time.