The World River

My name is not important, I have been here so long that, some days, I forget that I even had a name. What is important is that, for whatever reason, I have been chosen as a conduit for these messages.

Each morning I wake in my shack constructed of the flotsam and jetsam that became stuck in this eddy of the World River, and I search the foam for treasure. Some days there may be a box of strange, unidentified, fruit; others it may be a broken branch that I can add to my carefully rationed pile of firewood. On rare, wonderful, days, I receive a message; sometimes funny and uplifting, sometimes filled with despair. They come to me from other lands, other times. On those days, I carefully open the bottle and retrieve the message, and then sit down to read.

Once read, I add the letter to my waterproof chest, promising that, one day, I will launch the whole collection upon the World River. My hope is that it may reach some city, some town, a place where the messages can be shared with all whose hearts may profit from what they contain. But, like all that travels the World River, that will be at the whim of the Gods ...

World River 3a Small

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