Cause A Scene - 1 July 2026

Prompts: 

• Character Dimension - Older, Nonbinary, Cynical, Vain

• Time - Modern, Dusk

• Place - Lighthouse

• Theme - Redemption

• POV - Unreliable

• Conflict - Betrayal

---

I want to be clear that I did not go looking for what happened that night. It found me, the way the wind up there finds you. The way it takes the words right out of your mouth before you've decided whether you meant them.

*******

Val's boots left wet prints on the iron steps. One after another. It was careless in the way she'd always been careless, and I remember thinking that she really should learn to wipe her damn feet before coming inside my lighthouse. It's not a difficult thing to do. Common courtesy really. The floor up there is original wood, older than either of us will ever be, and I have kept it beautifully maintained for thirty years without a single person's help. That’s the way it’s been my whole life and the way it’ll likely remain. Just me. I can count of myself. 

"You weren't supposed to come tonight," I said gruffly. She was a day early bringing the supplies to the remote bluffs. Months ago, I grew irritated with the townspeople and the way they look at me. Trying to figure me out like I’m one of those puzzles that you can stare at until the image emerges from the nonsense. I’m no puzzle. I just am. Always have been. That's probably one of the reasons that at the age of twenty-three I took this job all those years ago. I wasn’t pushed out. The isolation is what I wanted. When I didn’t come back for the usual supply run, the general store’s owner sent Val out to – I don’t know, make sure I wasn’t dead or something? So, this woman who can’t be past her mid-twenties, brings me food, medical supplies, books, and other things I don’t need twice a month.

“Relax, G. There’s a big storm blowing in later tonight and I wanted to make sure you had enough batteries. It’s been a while since I brought you some. I’m gonna check. Be right back.” 

“Take off your boots next time, will ya?”

She laughed at that, the way she always laughed at me — like I was something she'd already seen through, already finished with. I have never liked that laugh. I don't think anyone would like it, if they were honest with themselves, so I don't see why I should be blamed for disliking it either.

Val bounced back down the stairs finding me planting in the same spot she’d left me. 

“Looks good, G. You doing good?”

I didn’t answer her. I just glared. She’d cut her hair.  It was about six inches shorter now.

“Why’d you cut your hair?” I didn’t even know why I asked. What did it matter?

Val smirked and waved for me to follow her. “I’ve got a new boyfriend and we’re going on a date tomorrow night,” she said. “Just trying a new look. You like it?”

No. I didn’t.  

When I don’t answer she doesn’t seem fazed but continues on to her truck and lowers the tailgate. The wind was starting to pick up, and I watched as Val’s hair whipped around her face until she tucked it into the collar of her Carhartt jacket.

She kept talking as she unloaded boxes of canned goods and a pallet of bottled water. Fresh fruits and vegetables, meats, some milk. I don't think she really believed I was listening or interested. I wasn’t. But she talked anyway. 

What did I have to say? She wouldn’t have listened to me anyway.

People rarely ever truly listen. They've already decided what kind of person you are by the looks of you. They aren’t interested in what you have to say. They just wait for you to stop talking so they can hear themselves droll on about stupid boyfriends and town gossip.

I almost missed what Val said, lost in my own thoughts. “Is that ok?” 

“What?” I snapped.

“Next drop off, Dennis is going to come instead of me. I’m going on a trip with Garrett. But I’ll be back for the next one.” She smiled as she slammed the tailgate closed.

I felt the familiar and unwelcomed cold chill run up my spine. Just another person who can pass me off to someone else when I become an inconvenience to them. What else is new? I should have known better than to believe that I was maybe more than a scheduled delivery for Val. 

She probably laughed with her friends. Made jokes at my expense. Her books and notes and little cakes and gifts were all just bullshit.

A gust of wind ripped through the air and a loud crack pulled both our attention to the cliff. An old, rotting limb snapped under the pressure of the wind kicking up off the ocean and was hanging precariously from the old bald cypress that grew on the edge. Far from any other trees, the copper leaves whipped and fluttered in the air, beckoning anyone caught in their trance to the edge of the cliff, like a siren’s song.

“Better get that branch down before it causes some real damage,” I said. “Come on, help me before you go.” 

I followed her to the downed branch. She was standing too close to the edge. I had fussed at her about doing that more than once — just like I had about her boots. But she never listened. There was a gust, a strong one, the kind that comes off the water without warning this time of year unless you lived here for decades and felt the air around you breathing as much as you felt your own lungs inhale and exhale. 

I put my hand out. 

I want that on record. When she fell, I extended my hand to her. But she didn't take it.