Natalie Stewart poured the remains of her Coke onto the sand, shaking out the last few drops. She pulled out a pen and some note paper. She leaned against her book and began to write. The wind ran through her hair, making it go any which way, her blue eyes focussed on the page, filled with worry.
Dear Someone,
I'm not really sure how to write a note in a bottle. I've read the Nicholas Sparks book, and seen movies where it's all about a ship sinking, and SOS. What I have to tell you is different. I love my little sister. When we fight I say mean things but I never, ever hate her. When you love someone, you cry when they do. You stand by them. In which case, I've cried a lot these few days. The school bus she was travelling on to go on a school trip to the zoo crashed. Nobody died, and some kids have been injured worse than Ivy. Ivy's broken her leg, wrist and she's lost a lot of blood. The doctors and nurses say that she'll pull through, no problem. That doesn't change the worry you feel when you see her get checked out, see her cry out in pain.
Everyone has to suffer, I know that. My parents and I, as well as her friends that weren't hurt visit regularly. After she got bandaged up, after transfusions, we were there with flowers and teddies. At night, when we have to go home to our comfortable and familiar homes, Ivy falls asleep in a cold, unfamilar bed in a hospital, surronding by the beeping that makes her sad and the smell that makes her nervous.
I'm writing this not to pull on heartstrings, but to get my feelings out. Writing it down is easiest, but I have to tell somone how I feel, or I may as well keep it bottled up. So thankyou Someone, for reading this, I feel much better now.
With gratitude,
Natalie.
Natalie rolled up the paper and stuffed it in the bottle. She tightened on the lid, and climbed up to the jetty, where she walked out as far as she could. Clinging onto a rail with her right hand, her left hand flung the bottle out as far as she could. She ran down the jetty, to her house a few blocks away, thinking of what poor Ivy would be doing now.
It was two o'clock on a Saturday. Daytime TV. Probably Oprah or something like that. Not what an eight year old watches. Not even fourteen year old Natalie. Ivy's not big on reading, only EJ12 and Magic Kitten. She doesn't have a mobile phone, and her DS is still at home.
Natalie flopped onto her bed and glanced at her textbook, whixh contains yawn-inducing maths homework. How could she want to do homework at a time like this? She looked at her bookshelf, her mobile, her textbook, then back to the phone. She was going to call Ivy.
"Hello?" Ivy answered, "this is Ivy."
"Ivy, it's me, Natalie. How are you?"
wrote:Natalie Stewart poured the remains of her Coke onto the sand, shaking out the last few drops. She pulled out a pen and some note paper. She leaned against her book and began to write.
