To Whom This Bottle of Jack Reaches, Flashy

Flashy Fiction on the Tuesday photo prompt by Walt


To Whom It Reaches (Even If Not Concerned At All)

Hi, there! Wondering how many more bottles of Jacks I have to dry to keep this mailer thing going… And nobody coming to the rescue, either. Ah, sorry if my speech is broken, it’s all the Tennessee stuff I been gulping lately. Speech, did I say? Meaning spellin, I was. Wait til I get sober.


OK, ignore the above. I mean the mistakes. Otherwise the message is correct. I’m stranded here, no one’s coming to take me away. This is my 24th message and they are all nearly identical. First I lay on the beach all day, but then I got hungry. Not very clever of me, as I didn’t have any power to swim to the ship. Then night came and I was still wondering what to do. Hunger kept sleep away. Next day I felt indifferent, so I managed to get to the boat. All I got was a casket of smoked meat and several caskets of Jack Daniels’ bottles, full of the original stuff, as far as I can judge. Oh, I also found the ship’s log. Our captain was not very diligent, it seems. I read all and couldn’t recognize a thing. And I am supposed to have been onboard there, you know. Maybe this log holds the records of his parallel world sailing, I don’t know. I believe all that whisky was for him alone. Well, it’s mine now. Or, rather, it WAS mine, as this is the last bottle I’m using to mail this. Still got lots of paper, though. Not using it much. No need for paper here… Nope. None whatsoever.

So, somebody, anybody, just please, do bother yourself/ves and come over here to ship me away. This piece of goods is ready for free shipping. Come before it gets stale and unfit for use or whatever.

Yeah, “whatever”! That’s the word that’s been plaguing me all around.

Honestly yours,

Maroon, or Moron (I don’t really remember now – ocean water washed some of it away)


© Mariya Koleva, 2012