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One-Minute Writer Day 2: Fiction Friday, write about a bottle.She couldn’t believe her eyes. Could it really be true? She leaned out the window, straining to see. Yes, yes it was there, coming closer and closer; a ship. So he had come for her.

Her eyes wandered over to the empty bottle sitting on the bottom shelf of her bookshelf; she couldn’t look away. She couldn’t figure out why she still had it, she hadn’t had any trouble burning the message it had once contained. The bottle should’ve gone with it, but for some reason, when she saw the burnt remains of the message lying amongst the embers in her fireplace, she immediately regretted disposing of it. Now the bottle was all she had to remember it by, and so it had stayed, an unhappy reminder of all that she was missing.

Although she had only read the message once before throwing it in the fire, she remembered it word for word, as if she herself had written it. Perhaps if she had kept the message, answered it, help would’ve come, but she was to stubborn for that. She had gotten into this situation herself and she didn’t want him waltzing in and saving her again. He had done it many time before, and it wouldn’t happen again. And yet, here she was, still stuck.

She supposed it wasn’t necessarily the worst place she could be stuck. She was treated well, she loved the sight of the ocean outside her window, and yet, yet she was always plotting her way out. Why then, didn’t she send for help?

Her grandmother would’ve scolded her until her ears burnt, had she known about her intentions to destroy the bottle. “Magical articles such as this are to be cherished, girl, not shattered!” She would’ve said. “Has your mother taught you nothing of the treatment of antiquities?”

But grandmother didn’t understand what that bottle signified. It signified him, every note she had ever received in it had been from him. The bottle was bewitched to always find its note’s recipient, no matter where in the world that person may be. So wherever she went to escape him, his notes always found her. She just couldn’t keep thinking about him. It wasn’t healthy.

She was still gazing at the bottle, wondering how much he had missed it. Maybe, she had thought to herself so many times, I could just send him a note, letting him know I am alright. He always worried about me so much. But she had always come back to the same answer. No! She would shake her head vehemently, because then he would have the bottle again, and would start sending more messages.

She twiddled her thumbs, looking out the window at the sandy ground below. It stretched out a few hundred feet to the waterline, which was a clear blue in the early afternoon sunlight. She gasped. Where had the ship gone? She could see nothing but water, no matter how far she looked.

She sat down on the floor, deflated. He wasn’t coming for her. How could he, when she hadn’t told him where she was. All this time she’d been accepting of her situation, but when she had seen escape on the horizon she’d known that she needed to get out. Now, with that opportunity taken away, her desire to leave was inescapable. She was not one to be coerced into anything. She would take her freedom. She looked at the bottle again, standing up with renewed determination. “I’m coming.”

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