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Message in a Bottle

by Unknown
Chapter 1
The waves keep time with my pulse.
Slow. Then slower.
I count them until the numbers lose shape.

The radio is cracked,
but I speak through it anyway.
Sometimes it answers
with a sound too human to be static.
Sometimes it laughs,
and I pretend it’s the wind.

This island is wrong.
The trees bend toward the sea,
but the sea never comes closer.
Every path I take folds back,
and the footprints beside mine
are never quite the same size.

The stars are clearer here,
too sharp for comfort.
They shimmer like wet glass
spread out across a dark table.
I cannot name them,
but they know me.

Tonight belongs to my sign,
Corvian, the Crow’s Light.
Those born beneath it
are said to see what should remain unseen,
to call answers from dead air.
The light of Corvian sits over the water,
pale and cold as a lantern in a well,
and it stares until I forget to breathe.

I do not feel alone,
though I have not found another voice.
There is singing in the mangroves,
low, rhythmic,
like a hand drumming on the hull of a ship.
When I stop to listen,
the sea listens back.

I have written this message a hundred times,
each version softer,
each word more afraid.
Paper feels heavier here.
Ink dries too fast.
Salt eats the letters as they form.

If you find this,
do not come for me.
The island will open its arms,
and you will never leave its embrace.
The Crow’s Light will find you too,
and the stars will burn brighter
just before they go dark.

I will keep calling
until the frequency forgets my name,
until the sea learns the words by heart,
until someone mistakes the static for prayer.