It was early in the morning, when the sky was still dim. I was walking on the beach by myself with my sandals off, feeling the grainy sand that comforts my feet as I walked across the shore. The tide hit the shore, making the spray of water splash on my skin. The salty air blowing on my face felt wet and cool as it passed by.
The beach was very quiet, there was no sound of men, but the seagulls peacefully chirped as they soar overhead, singing, and searching for food. The howling wind whistles through the beach like an arriving train (too strong a simile) as the crash of the waves thunder through my ears.
As I looked back, the footprint I left showed my path. Suddenly, a tide struck the shore, wiping away the mark I had left, and then disappeared. Looking far away, I saw nothing but the deep blue sea.
Just then I saw something glistening in the vast watery blue. I walked over and picked it up and it was a bottle which had a brownish paper which was ripped from all four sides.
March 15 1492
it is now almost dusk. The shoreline of Spain is slowly slipping away; soon it will fade into the horizon and disappear completely from view. It will not take us long to reach the end of our map, the edge of all. We will be the first to go beyond this point. I have no idea what awaits us once we leave the edge of the map, but I am ready for whatever may come.
I fold up the paper and put the lid over it. I throw it back into the ocean and watch it slowly drift away. I slowly...