In Search for Serenity

In Search for Serenity

By Brayden Girata

Strong, continual gusts of wind practically rip apart the foundation of a centuries-old brick lighthouse. In the lamplight, Ezra clutched his espresso as if it anchored him into reality. The radio beside him burst to life, piercing the midnight silence. It had been so long—how many years now? He didn’t know anymore. 

“Mayday… Mayday…” 

The faint voice, distorted by the storm, was unmistakable. Ezra’s heart quickened as he sprinted to the receiver, frantically twisted the dials, and strained to make sense of the static. “This is the Serenity caught in the storm… coordinates…” 

Ezra’s heart stopped, the ship’s name shooting a chill through his spine stronger than any gale could muster. It couldn’t be. His wife, Sarah, their children, Evie and Charlie—lost with the ship months ago. But now, here it was, yearning for help. 

His breath hitched in his throat as his mind churned. It can’t be real. They’re gone. Aren’t they? But the voice on the radio sounded eerily familiar, too familiar to ignore. He stumbled out of his lighthouse refuge, rain lashing at his face as he scaled the steps to the beacon. He threw the tower doors open and latched himself to the luminous lens, slowly realizing its beam was the only thing that might reach them before it was too late. 

His eyes strained against the dark, desperate to see something, anything. There the Serenity loomed, impossibly there, its silhouette barely visible. 

Ezra blinked hard. The storm… hadn’t it been worse just a moment ago? Now the wind seemed softer, the waves calmer. The ship wavered in and out of view, its form shifting, the edges melting away before his eyes. 

“Sarah?” His voice cracked, a mix of hope and dread. “Sarah, is that you?”

The radio hissed to reveal a voice faint and broken. “Ezra… we can’t…” Evie’s voice on the radio stabbed through his grief like a knife. His mind reeled. Surely he’d seen this ship wreck before? The memory twisted. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe they’d been drifting out there all this time. 

Ezra cranked the light, forcing it to cut through the fog with desperate intensity. He could see them, picture them—Sarah holding his niece and nephew close, their faces drawn in terror amidst the violent swells. He had to save them. He couldn’t lose them again. 

The ship edged too close to the rocks. Just like before. The horror was inevitable, history written in water and stone. 

But then—just as the ship seemed poised to crash—it vanished. Gone. The sea was calm. The storm had passed. Ezra dumbfoundedly fixated on the water. There was no ship. No voices. No storm. Only the stillness of the sea. 

He stumbled back inside, collapsing into the chair. His mind raced, grasping for something concrete, something real. Had any of it ever happened? 

The radio crackled softly beside him, a faded voice piercing through his disjointed thoughts. 

“Mayday… Mayday…” 

Ezra stared at it, hollow. He didn’t know what was real anymore. But still, he waited. He always waited.