I’m sorry to disturb your nice day at the beach, but wait! Don’t toss this back into the ocean! I know what you’re thinking: “A message in a bottle? How clichéd." Just give me a moment of your time, and then you can get right back to boogie-boarding.
Admittedly, my story is not unique. I’m the survivor of a plane crash on a desert island, just like the authors of many other messages in bottles you’ve likely read today. And fine, many of those other messages in bottles were probably wittier, or more poetic, or more inspiring than mine. But I’m tired, and I'm hungry, and my legs are still trapped under some shrapnel, so this is the best I could do.
My penmanship? Fine, I don’t have the best handwriting. But it’s hard to write on a piece of scrap paper that’s caked in blood. Plus, this pen doesn’t really work that well: it’s one of those ones with the button on top that you press to make the tip pop out, instead of a nicer pen with a cap. Unfortunately, it was the only one I could find in the charred suitcase that crash landed in the sand next to me. All the other luggage fell a few feet away and I can’t reach them because of the chunk of metal that I’m buried under, and also because I’m not very flexible. I took an aerobics class last year, but I didn’t like the instructor, so I quit after one lesson. I promise that after I get rescued, I’ll start working out more. It’s just so hard to find the time.
I’m going to get so sunburned laying out here. Or should that be “lying” out here? Please ask the search party to look that up before they look for me.
I wish there were other survivors so I’d have people to talk to. Preferably survivors from other sections of the plane, not anyone who was sitting near me. I was in a window seat next to a rude old man who kept snoring while he napped. When I tried to squeeze past him to use the bathroom, he woke up and seemed really annoyed, so I ended up holding it in for the entire flight, and now I really have to go. Don't get me started on the baby in the seat behind us.
Also, why couldn’t the plane crash 20 minutes later? I was watching the in-flight movie, and now I may never know how it ends.
Maybe it’s for the best: I didn’t really enjoy the movie anyway, because I had to listen to it on those crummy airplane headphones that they give out. Anyway, I couldn’t focus because I had to worry about maintaining my armrest position. I know that I said the rude old man was asleep next to me, but every time I stopped paying attention and then looked back, he was taking up more space on the armrest between us. When we hit turbulence, I had nothing to hold on to. He took the entire armrest for himself.
I should have bought one of those pillows that they sell on the plane. Then I could at least be comfortable while stuck under this wreckage. Once the plane started going down, I asked the flight attendant if it was too late to buy one, but she just ignored me.
I’m sorry if this is starting to ramble... I probably shouldn’t have chugged all the liquor in this bottle in order to make room for my message. But anyway, I should tell you where I am so that you can send help. This scrap paper is very small, and I’m running out of room to