I’ve always wanted to find one, but never have…
“Where did you get those, Grandpa?” He started to count them.
“Washed up on the beach.” Grandpa sighed deeply, his craggy face sagging with memories.
“Why keep them?” He’d reached thirty-two.
“These were the ones with messages.”
Paul’s widening eyes reflected in the curvature of the glass. “Messages, from whom?”
“Lost people.” He picked up a green bottle. “This one arrived thirty years ago. Tiny scrap of paper, almost didn’t see it.”
“What did it say?”
Grandpa shrugged. “The usual. Rescue me.”
How many didn’t make it to the shore? “Do you think they were rescued?”
Grandpa didn’t answer.
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