Chapter 1

Hey there!

I've been writing some more of The Lighthouse Keeper (always with The Islander as background "noise") and I wanted to post here the "new" version of Chapter 1.

I also would like to have your true, honest opinion: can you feel for Jonah? I really, very rarely write novels in the first person and I was wondering if it had enough "active scenes" or too much "introspection" stuff. I know, it's only the first chapter and so far, not much is happening, but anyway. You know what I mean. :P
Does it make you wanna read more or does it all just sound... boring?

Happy reading! :P

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(Novel excerpt)

CHAPTER ONE

            I was told to keep a journal.

            Old Gregory said it would help fight loneliness and seclusion. I guess giving it a try now is not worse than anything else.

            My name is Jonah and I live in a lighthouse on a remote island. Oddly enough, I have never felt the need to keep a journal before. I guess loneliness and seclusion never really struck me.

But today, everything’s changed…

***

            I washed ashore on this island some nine years ago with very little memory of my past. I was about ten years old. And whereas the sea had rejected me, old Gregory took me in and raised me as his own son. He taught me to speak, read and write English. He taught me some world history and geography. Of course, most importantly, he taught me how to survive on the island and how to keep the lighthouse active.

He used to call us “the last lighthouse keepers”. I often wondered what he meant by that since he had showed me pictures and handed me stories of lighthouses and their keepers from all around the world. Clearly, there were others! But he kept on calling us that… I guess now it is too late to ask him.

            The island itself is quite small. Walking on its shore, one could circle it in a single day. However, the center of it has remained a mystery to me for it is always shrouded in the thickest fog and old Gregory has forbidden me to ever enter it.

            “I don’t want you to get lost, boy, and leave me alone again with the burden of this job,” he used to say. “I’m not getting any younger, you know, and I need your strength.”

            Funny thing, though, is that I cannot recall old Gregory asking for my help in any situation; he was incredibly strong in spite of his age. “An old salt” I think is the expression that best described him.

Because of his warning against the center of the island, I often suspected he knew something was hiding in the fog but whenever I brought up the subject, old Gregory would sweep it under the rug.

            “Nonsense, boy! If something lived there, I would know it by now, wouldn’t I?”

            Precisely. Nevertheless, if we truly were the only inhabitants of this island, then why is the lighthouse surrounded by an iron gate which old Gregory locked tight every night?

            He was an odd man, old Gregory, but I liked him all the same. He truly was a father to me. And we got along fine which is a good thing, you know, if we indeed were the only ones here, him and me.

            Now don’t go asking where exactly is “here” because I don’t have a single idea. Old Gregory did teach me geography but the only answer he has ever given to the “where are we?” question is “somewhere, at the end of the world”.

            Some days, I believe him…

            Today is one of those days. For you see, old Gregory has disappeared.

I am all alone now.

***

Emerging from the fog, the old man’s small boat accosted on the white sand shore. A tall woman approached him, concealing her features and her long brown hair in the darkness of her hood. Recognizing the woman, the old man bowed.

“My Lady,” he greeted.

“My dearest friend. I hate to be the bringer of bad news. He knows.”

“I know. He paid me a visit.”

“Oh! My poor friend. I hope he has not been too hard on you.”

“The punishment is yet to come, my Lady.”

“I am so sorry to have put you in the middle of this, dear friend.”

“Think nothing of it. There are more pressing matters. For instance, what will you do now?”

“I must admit I do not know. I truly dread his wrath.”

“But he loves you, my Lady.”

“Oh! You do not know him the way I do, my friend; I fear him.”

She clutched at her long autumn-red coat, tightening it around herself in a shiver. The old man frowned; had he really just guessed the Lady’s intentions hidden behind her words?

“Are you… demanding to cross, my Lady?” he stuttered.

“I’m afraid I must, old friend.”

“But… it is not the time!”

“I am aware of that, but I am at wit’s end. Mother will know what to do…”

Without another word, she embarked on the small boat.