[ CC ] Some lonely prompts

[ IP The Final Watchtower ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3jj0zf/ip_the_final_watchtower/ ) 
 
 It's been eighty years since the last stand. At least, that's what it feels like. The ships of our enemy came from the west, tore through our last fleet and shattered this old watchtower. It was almost like we did n't exist. The ruins of the ships sinking below the waves are burned into my mind, fresh as a bleeding wound. I can still imagine the reports from both countries to this day: `` Crushing Victory in the East!'' `` Last Hope Lost!'' `` Total Victory Imminent!'' `` Mandatory Evacuation of the Seaboard!'' 
 
 The only thing that could have gone worse was the utter destruction of this tower. I managed to survive the bombardment after my cannon deflected an incoming shell and came off the trunnion, crushing my leg. I huddled behind the fallen cannon in pain and watched as the tower and our ships were reduced to rubble. The tower, for all of the holes punched through that night was stable enough to survive this amount of time. The others fell to the constant cannon fire, the crumbling of stone, and the shattering of wood. 
 
 After that fateful battle, I discovered that I was not alone in that tower. We were three strong, survivors of the wrath of the empire, alone in that tower, alone with no chance of escape. The tower was constructed on a reef, miles from shore. It was supposed to stand as a beacon, a guiding point that said, `` This way lies freedom.'' And yet, here we are, slaves to the whims of storms and sea. We braced my leg, and patched up some other minor injuries. One of my mates lost his hand. We devised a plan to survive until we spotted a ship that could save us. 
 
 The tower stores were at the base, protected by the rocks of the island we constructed. Most of the stores were intact. Enough food to last us for four weeks, enough water to last two. We were running low on lantern oil and medical supplies, but had plenty of gunpowder. We created fishing rods out of the pieces of crates and barrels shattered in the battle. We had just enough rope to fasten a crude harness to lower the lighter mate to the water to scoop up seaweed floating in the shallows. We also scored a tattered scrap of a sail that tore free from one of the doomed ships. We create whatever tools we need: the scraps of seaweed and sail were enough to rig up a fishing net. As for water, we were stuck with what we had: two weeks of fresh water, then seawater and rain. Definitely an acquired taste: raw fish and seawater. 
 
 As we do n't have anything spare to burn, the nights get dark. We live during the day, sleeping after it gets too dark to see the horizon. Strong storms lash the tower, sending us huddling into the lower level of the tower for shelter from the wind and driving rain. Hiding deep in the dark corners, protected only by the meager, tattered sheets from our beds, only illuminated briefly by the occasional burst of lightning. Those storms give you plenty of time to think about your miserable life, what would happen if you were to just surrender to the seas, and what is happening to our families back on the mainland. But we fight through it. Eventually, a ship will show itself and we shall be saved. 
 
 Our watch for the enemy has never ended. Once, we watched for enemy ships to raise the call to arms, now we watch for any sign of civilization. A barrel, a raft, a corsair that would be our doom if we signaled it. Anything that would give us hope that our people are alive and well. Anything which would bring us back to humanity. We have one sighting of a galleon right at the horizon, but our crude signals with a cannon went unheeded. To them, we were just an island on the horizon, abandoned to all life. But we do n't give up. Eventually, someone will notice us. 
 
 The seas are not gentle. They have claimed my two mates, leaving just me in this cruel prison of the seas. Disease took one about three years after the battle; the other was swept off the tower in the largest storm I have ever seen. It's just me on this godforsaken rock that I call a home. Meanwhile, the seas have beaten the tower to the point where it has started to crumble. I was almost killed when a rock fell while I was sleeping. It landed about 6 inches from my head. I do n't know whether to call myself lucky or cursed. I now have to watch out for walls that might topple and ceilings that might become floors. 
 
 But I am not alone anymore. I have no clue how you got here, but welcome to my lonely world. I have n't seen any ships or debris, but get ready, kid. I could use the help, and we've got a long wait ahead of us if we want to get back to shore.
