A Letter From My Dead Future
Language: en
A week before the National Studio Placement Exams, Larry and I went down to the Cape to clear our heads, and that was when we found the bottle. It was half-buried in the wet sand, a vintage glass container sealed with a weathered cork. Inside was a piece of parchment, yellowed and damp. The looping handwriting claimed she was me, writing from ten years in the future. At seventeen, the world still felt malleable, suspended in a state of endless possibility. I thought it was a beautiful, elaborate prank. Grinning, I took a pen from my pocket and scribbled my teenage hopes and burning…