message in a bottle

It's been raining a lot here recently. Today Matt and I went on a walk in the rain to the Passaic River which is right by his house. We walked along a trail for a while, commented on how high the banks of the river had risen—it covered some of the path it was so high—and explored the nearby woods for a while. In our explorations we found 3 glass bottles that we decided were destined to be reused, so we took them back to Matt's house and, after picking up Garrett at the high school after some kind of audition or something, went back to Matt's house and wrote letters to people unknown to put in the bottles which we planned to then throw back into the river to be carried away to who knows where. Granted, probably not the most environmentally friendly thing to do, but definitely fun. Who hasn't wanted to write a real message in a bottle at least once in their lives?

My bottle was the green one, Garrett's was the clear one (we found it in the mud still partially full of vodka—sorry hobo man who maybe lives under the bridge, but it was for the greater good!), and Matt's was the brown one. Also the tallest. Here are the notes we wrote, in the same order as above:

To: You.
Subj: Message in a bottle

This bottle was found on the banks of the Passaic River in Summit, NJ. Who knows how far it has already traveled in its journey to get to me, or how much further it will go before you find it. Perhaps the swollen river will carry it far out to sea where it will be lost among the waves and sea weed and never be read by human eyes, but instead eaten by a hungry sea creature where it will stay in its digestive system until its untimely death. Whatever its fate, I hope that by the time it reaches you, gentle reader, its life will have been a full one.

***

This is a message to any courageous adventurers who braved the elements to procure this message in a bottle. I have a tale to spin as long as a spider's web. This tale is of a young shrub named Larry. Larry loved to rock out on his Gibson his mom got for him, but all was for naught when he learned that his mother was eaten by flesh-eating monsters called zombies. Devastated by his realization about his mother's death he set out on a mission of glory and fame, but most of all, revenge on the zombies that killed his lovely mother. Using all of his powers of rock he is out there somewhere slaying zombies until his last chord.
*If you are a zombie you have been warned.

***

To Whom so ever comes upon this message,

Congratulations!

By doing a good deed, picking up litter, you have gained access to a secret. Passed down from generation to generation, only transmitted by mystical brown bottle, it is none other than the secret of all life. By gaining access to this secret you will become one of the twenty chosen of the sect of the wise, charged with guarding the wisdom of humanity for the rest of your life.

By the very fact that you found this bottle I know that you were predestined to discover this, and therefore I know that the wisdom is already within you. Nothing more needs to be said. Trust yourself, and go in peace.

***

We rolled the papers up and wrapped them in plastic wrap (to protect them from getting wet), then tied them with minty dental floss, stuck some corks in the tops of the bottles, and headed out. The three of us marched down the street, now in the growing darkness, and hiked down to the banks of the river, Matt and I for the second time that day, Garrett for the first. We each said a few profound words that I've forgotten now, and tossed our bottles into the rapidly running river, with only our hopes of them finding another soul to guide them.

On our way back to the house Matt said, "I really hope that like a ten year old kid finds mine. I bet it would make his week." We all nodded.