My musings, my rambles and I welcome you.
|Message in a bottle
The bottle was ordinary glass and in the shape of an old soft drink. I found it bobbing along in the surf. Clearly the bottle had been in the currents a long time as the drink’s name was almost smoothed out. Hmm. A note inside the bottle with a cork stopper? How cliché. Do I read it or toss the bottle in the recycle bin?
The bottle is old and the notepaper looks faded. Whoever wrote the message has probably been “rescued” or had their laugh. I dunno. I guess I’m not as romantic as I thought I was or have been. The idea of someone sending a message like “Help, I’m trapped on a desert island”, seems farfetched. GPS not to mention worldwide communication toys are everywhere. “Not likely,” is what I think. Of course, someone could be studying the currents and tide. That person might like to know that his bottle ended up here in my little section of the Low Country. If the study is still going on now.
I almost toss the bottle into the bin when a little girl runs up to me. She is about nine years old and dressed for a blustery day at the beach.
“Are you going to open it?” she asks breathlessly.
I smile at her question. I offer her the bottle.
“Would you like to?
“You found it. You should open it.” She replied.
“Okay.” I remove the cork and drop the note into her waiting hands. I can see the excitement on her face as she read the words.
“You’ve won three wishes!” she shouts.
“You can have them,” I tell her as I start to walk away.
“I don’t think it works like that,” she says with a pout. “You found the bottle, you opened it, and they ‘re your wishes.”
I take the note from her and it reads: “To the bearer of this note, three wishes will be granted. Just say your desires out loud to receive.” No company logo, no ads just simple handwritten script. As I flip the note over and look at the paper, the little girl says
“See, all yours. What will you wish for?”
“I dunno. I need to think about it.” I hear a voice in the distance.
“Damn, it’s my mom. Gotta go. Wish for something good,” she says and starts to run toward a small figure on the horizon.
Wish for something good. What would a nine year old consider good I wonder.
“A day on a Hawaiian beach verses this in like Lamb out like Lion March weather would be good,” I think to myself. To be thinner would be nice. And to be a better writer would be awesome. These are the things that run through my brain. I shake my head ruefully. Wishes that are self-centered and obtainable with just a little effort on my part. I don’t need these wishes or this bottle. I replace the note and cork. With a might heave, I toss the bottle just past the surf. Maybe my little friend will find it next time. What was her name?
Meanwhile further up the beach:
“She threw the lure back. We cannot ensnare her now,” says the second in command of the mission.
He is speaking to his commander who is now morphing back into his original form. The nine year girl disguise has worked well in the past but not today.
“I suppose we cannot expect everyone on this miserable planet to be selfish,” he replies “Set the trap up for someone else.” The troll for souls never ends.