Canyon, Anchored, Shortwaves
The sailboat swayed and rocked over the waves of a now calm sea. Water splashed at the sides and the whistling wind made the wood creak. The sun beat down on the still-damp surface of the boat, the only thing in the sky now. No clouds anymore, just blue-on-blue.
The boat was a tiny thing, and it practically flew over the waves at times during the previous storm. Its painted white surface shone in the morning light, and though there wasn't a leak anywhere water could be heard sloshing about where it shouldn't be. The strange, or rather unfortunate thing, was the vessel was now empty. The only sound on it was made by a radio still on and tucked away.
The thing either couldn't find a decent frequency or was waterlogged beyond repair, because it was nothing but a crackling cacophony of sounds, static, and a voice. Sometimes music, but it sounded garbled and would occasionally let out a sharp screech of feedback.
It was a few hours before the thing washed up on the shore of a small island. It was a few months until nature started claiming it as its own. Vines tangled around it. Shrubbery and fungus grew on it. Animals nested in it. The radio had long since turned to rust, batteries probably long since exhausted.
Strange thing though, three years later it was found.
And it's still running.
YOU ARE READING
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