In his thirty years living by the beach, he'd never found a message in a bottle, despite stories telling him this was common.
The day after his thirty-first anniversary of moving in, he found one. Sealed with red wax, the glass bottle mottled and covered in seaweed. He took it to his shack, cleaned it off, and opened it carefully.
He wasn't sure what he expected. He hoped for a treasure map, or something historically significant.
He didn't expect it to be addressed to him, by name.
And date.
He almost didn't notice that it was from his future self.
No comments:
Post a Comment