Writing Honorable Mention: “The never ending treasure hunt”

by Andrea from El Porto

I sit here drenched in the salty bowels of the nightly, ocean wind with a pen in one hand and a dimming flashlight gripped in the other. As I write, my hand sways along with my cabin. Outside a tempest angrily rips at my boat. It is only a matter of time before I sink.

If there’s a God, in this day and age where holy deities are scarce, I pray… I pray for two things: that someone will find this, contact the Coast Guard, the Navy, anybody, and that they will spread the word to never reach this Godforsaken place. It is too late for me; I accept it. But may my death not be in vain.

The date is January 16 of 1963. My name is Peter Garvey. Perhaps you’ve read about me in a local news blip. In fact, you will probably uncover some information concerning my time in the war, as well as my impressive list of nautical accomplishments throughout the years, including the uncovering of a silt ridden cargo vessel off the coast of South America back in 1924… but I digress and the topic at hand is too important to stand the weathering of my long winded explanations.

Understand this, for it is the reason behind my choosing to be terrifyingly lost, when only three weeks ago I was like you, calling the beautiful coasts of California my own, with sand in my pockets and burning in my eyes for one last adventure.

I wanted to find my buried treasure. The sting of finding a silt ridden ship haunted me throughout me life. Thus, with the dream of a thousand sunken ships carving out fresh in my mind, I took my old sailboat, that I hadn’t mounted in 30 years, I took my old diving suit and tank, I bid farewell to my beautiful wife and four grown children and began my journey to find my true buried treasure.

And as fate would have it, three days later found it.

Now reader, I hope I have your attention! I hope you relish the weight of this knowledge, if only for a moment, that you too are possibly less than a weekend’s journey from unimaginable riches and luxury.

Cast those thoughts away. I urge you to stay away from this temptation. Save yourself from certain death. Read on, poor unknowing reader, and come to understand the cruel fate that has befallen me.

Only 50 miles off the coast of Malibu, buried beneath an inexplicably shallow blue ocean is an equally inexplicable deposit of thousands upon thousands of pieces of unreasonably priced jewelry.

Please do not crumple up my words, for they are possibly my last. It is imperative that you continue to read and fully understand the vastness of the fortune below these waters!

I tell you this with utmost certainty: the entirety of Harry Winston’s empire is swirling around the bottom of the ocean worthlessly, not 50 miles from Malibu!

Precious stones, cut in every shape and form dating back to god knows when encrust the slimy bottoms of manta rays like a coating of well cut, flawless ice. Tiffany’s heart-shaped charms float on the necks of hundreds of young corals just coming of age. Angry young swordfish amble about with a dozen golden earrings on their noses skulk about with angry expressions on their privileged faces. I’ve even seen a Cartier platinum tiara on a lobster, who, might I add, snapped at me when I tried to examine the specimen further and then rudely walked away with her friends…like I was a common ruffian.

The adult specimens behave even more incredibly. I’ve seen the wicked faces of angry eels guarding their golden palaces, their contorted faces frozen in place and contrasting vastly with the beauty of their surroundings. I’ve even seen seals open their mouths to display caps of platinum, gold and silver, in a way that would make any dentist unsheathe a drill defensively.

I’ve seen tiger sharks, mostly from afar, adorning their fins in Rolexes and swimming about dangerously fast in the waters. If you look closely you can see cleaner fish leeching off their underbellies, swimming along for whatever ride they can catch.

Now dear reader, I must admit the following. I have procured this curse upon myself! This entire treasure is mine to keep, but at the price of my life. I cannot leave this area. Countless times, I have filled my boat to the brim with the overpriced loot only to sail right back to where I’ve started. It is an endless cycle I cannot break because of the curse I have upon my head. Should I make use of the motor, I simply ride in place, never budging an inch. Should I have the courage to swim to shore, my arms give way after half a mile, but upon turning my head to go back I see my boat not five feet away. My curse is real, terrifying and apparently eternal. I shall never see my wife again, nor my four wonderful children…

Reader, my lamp has long given way and I cannot elaborate further without falling into deeper depression. I am going to send this message in a bottle tomorrow morning and hope to God that someone happens upon it soon.

I leave you with a piece of my own priceless wisdom, the only bit of worth I have to expense in the world.

Never throw your life away in the pursuit of unworldly treasures or you will find yourself going around in circles, surrounded by bottom dwellers with too much money.

x Peter ER

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