The lighthouse keeper flicked his cigarette to join the rest of the litter on the rocks and ice. Rusty cans, metal containers, and broken bottles, as well as a frayed rope and net, were mixed in with the debris from the wreckage.
The ashen-faced woman on her knees beside him laid her dead infant in a shallow grave in the frozen ground.
“How much longer do we wait?” Her voice was hoarse from crying and the cold.
“As long as it takes,” he replied, staring beyond the line of graves at the bleak horizon that hadn’t yielded any hope in weeks.
A powerful pice, Kudos.
Poor souls. Desperation well portrayed.