FICTION365

A simple premise; a bold promise
To present one story per day, every day—providing exceptional authors with exposure and avid readers with first-rate fiction.

The Messenger

I found a message in a bottle, once.  Not on a beach, in the woods, in a dark amber bottle with a piece of cork stuck on top.  Inside there was something hand written on old yellow ruled paper.  I opened the cork.  It had been in for years and didn’t come out easy:  there was a pop, almost a small explosion.  I gently reached my smallest fingers in the bottle and maneuvered the folded paper out the narrow opening – much easier to get in than to remove.  I unfolded it, there in the woods, while the wind blew and the leaves rustled and a small spider with long legs crawled down the tree next to me.  I had to turn the paper right side up, and blinked three times before I could make the two words out.

They said “You’re it.”

I put the paper back in the bottle, stuck the cork back in, and carried it with me back to my Corolla in the parking lot.  I drove out of the park, and I got on to the highway, and I drove past my exit.  I drove 30 hours, only stopping for gas, until I came to this field outside of Minneapolis – the last place I’d ever felt young.  I walked out, into the rising soy beans, and I dropped the bottle down, onto the ground.

Then I walked back to my car, drove to a hotel, and checked in.  I called the office to let them know I was taking personal time.  I drank at the hotel bar, met a woman, bought her whiskey, almost brought her back to my room, and fell asleep very late, very tired, and very delusional.

That was the last time, I think.  Yes, that was the last escape for me.

—–

Benjamin Wachs has written for Village Voice Media, Playboy.com, and NPR among other venues.  He archives his work at www.TheWachsGallery.com.

Read more fiction by Benjamin Wachs

—–

To comment on this story, visit Fiction365’s Facebook page