Who puts reply forms in a message bottle?!
Jul 6, 2015 9:37:47 GMT
Post by UNOwn on Jul 6, 2015 9:37:47 GMT
I don't even know why I'm filling this out. I guess it's more interesting than listening to the adults squabble again.
Seriously. Whoever wrote that letter really should have seen that coming.
Actually, it turns out that there's a current that comes in from the mainland, brushes past our shore, and then eventually comes back in twenty miles north. So in theory if someone was willing to search every beach for ten miles and then drive forty more to send another bottle, you could communicate this way.
Very, very slowly.
Whatever. I'm going to bed, I think I'm waking up Maria.
-------------
Whoever's reading this, if this even ever gets to anyone - there's really not a lot I can tell you. I still have no idea what happened here.
I can't even tell you who the killer was. It - there's no way it was one of us. Yeah, we don't get along, but - well, maybe - but no way, her son got stabbed in the foot and left to bleed out, who even does that - I -
- I have no idea what happened here. So I guess this is a pretty useless message.
It wasn't me, Ange. (Publish this, will you? Whoever finds this thing. We're rich and famous, or we were, I'll just bet some gossip rag is begging to cover our spontaneous murder suicide or some bullshit like that, you can get good money for this.) It wasn't me, and I was with George and Jessica all night. I'm so sorry. Good luck.
... heh. I mean. Ideally I'll say that in person. But if I didn't do it, then there's still someone on this island who wants me dead. And so far, they've been getting what they want.
So I'll leave it at that. Here goes-
(message ends)
Seriously. Whoever wrote that letter really should have seen that coming.
Actually, it turns out that there's a current that comes in from the mainland, brushes past our shore, and then eventually comes back in twenty miles north. So in theory if someone was willing to search every beach for ten miles and then drive forty more to send another bottle, you could communicate this way.
Very, very slowly.
Whatever. I'm going to bed, I think I'm waking up Maria.
-------------
Whoever's reading this, if this even ever gets to anyone - there's really not a lot I can tell you. I still have no idea what happened here.
I can't even tell you who the killer was. It - there's no way it was one of us. Yeah, we don't get along, but - well, maybe - but no way, her son got stabbed in the foot and left to bleed out, who even does that - I -
- I have no idea what happened here. So I guess this is a pretty useless message.
It wasn't me, Ange. (Publish this, will you? Whoever finds this thing. We're rich and famous, or we were, I'll just bet some gossip rag is begging to cover our spontaneous murder suicide or some bullshit like that, you can get good money for this.) It wasn't me, and I was with George and Jessica all night. I'm so sorry. Good luck.
... heh. I mean. Ideally I'll say that in person. But if I didn't do it, then there's still someone on this island who wants me dead. And so far, they've been getting what they want.
So I'll leave it at that. Here goes-
(message ends)