Message in a Bottle

January 1896, Ireland

A small frame of a 12 year old girl stood on the beach of and her green eyes watched a bottle with a written letter in it drift away. She had always wanted to do it; send a message in a bottle. She didn't know where it was going, but she wished to find it one day. She had pulled the white ribbon out of her curly blonde hair and placed it in the bottle. It was her favorite ribbon and she would find it.

She ran home hoping to make it before her father came home. No such luck. Her father was sitting at the dining table with a bottle of rum in his hand.

"Where have you been Annaline?" he asked calmly, but Annaline saw his grip tighten on his bottle.

"Papa." She squeaked out covering the cuts on her wrist.

"Answer me!" He threw his bottle at the wall and it shattered.

"Papa please…" she walked backwards until she hit the wall.

"You were at that Patrick's house again weren't you?!"

"Pa-"

"You're nothing but a little whore!" he pinned her against the wall. "You're gonna act like a whore. You're gonna be treated like a whore" he sneered in her ear.

April 1896, Brooklyn

A thirteen year old newsie called out his fake headline to sell his last pape before heading to the docks. It was after dark and no one was out at the docks anymore. He took off his newsie cap and threw it onto the crates that 'belonged' to the leader of the Brooklyn newsies, the one and only Blood. The boy didn't care if he would get reprimanded, Blood was fading fast from illness, he couldn't do any harm.

The boy ran a hand through his dirty blonde ink-stained hair. And let his ice blue eyes wander across the water. They landed on a small bottle just in reach from the edge. He quickly grabbed it and opened it up. A white ribbon fluttered out and he picked it up and stuck it into his pocket. He pulled out a letter that was rolled up and set the bottle down next to him as he sat down to read the letter.

To: whoever may find this, wherever you are.

Hello. You can call me Cutter, I'm twelve right now, but I'll be thirteen in May. My friend Patrick calls me Cutter because of the cuts on my wrist. My papa drinks a lot. When he drinks he beats me, and other things too. But Patrick says I'm brave and strong. He's younger than me so he can't help, but he's nice to talk to. In April I'm going to run away from Ireland and make it to New York in America. I hear it's amazing. I'm going to be there for my birthday. Well anyway if you are reading this, I ask you to save this letter and the ribbon, it's my favorite ribbon and I want to find it one day, and you. Well hopefully I'll meet you soon.

Sincerely yours, Cutter.

I looked down at the words New York. Maybe I'll meet her. Maybe, just maybe. I slipped the letter back into the bottle along with the ribbon and hid it under a crate.

"Spot! Spot!" it was Birdie running from the lodging house. "It's Blood he wants to see you." I nodded. "He doesn't look too well Spot."

"It's okay Birdie, it's okay."

May 1896, Manhattan

"Oops sorry." The blonde ran into someone. "Sorry sir." She said as she bumped into another man. She tripped over her feet and fell onto a vendor stand, knocking a few things over. She bent to pick them up and return them but the vendor called out.

"Thief! Thief!" she heard a police whistle and bolted.

She ran into a boy taller than her in newsie clothes. "Hey! Watch it!" the boy yelled. The police whistle got closer and she looked at him with pleading eyes. He rolled his ice blue eyes and pulled her into a sprint through allies, around corners and down busy streets.

He pulled her against an alley wall and covered her mouth. The police officer ran right by the alley and then the boy leaned on the opposite wall from the girl.

"Thank you…" she trailed off hoping for a name.

"Spot." He said.

"Well thank you Spot." She said brushing her hair out of her face.

"That's great. Now I gotta go take care of Brooklyn so see ya around…" he said.

"Cutter. The name is Cutter, or Annaline." He smirked at her. "Umm. You don't know where I can stay do you."

"Besides the refuge?" he asked. "No." he lied straight through his teeth.

She could tell this but desided that she didn't really want to challenge him. "Oh okay then." He turned to leave. "Bhí sé deas bualadh leat. Beidh mé tú a fheiceáil arís?"

"What did you say?"

"It means, it was nice meeting you. Will I see you again?"

"I have a place where you can stay for a while. It's in Brooklyn."

"With you?"

"Ach más mian leat a ghrá." (only if you want to love.)

"nach bhfuil mé do ghrá" (I'm not your love.)

"Fine ansin, teacht ar Annaline. Táimid níos fearr a fháil ag dul sula bhfaigheann sé dorcha." (Fine then, come on Annaline. We better get going before it gets dark.) with that he walked out.

"Fanacht liom Spota!" (Spot wait for me!) she rushed after him her hair flying out behind her.

And they met. Spot didn't know that Annaline had sent a message in a bottle four months ago, and Annaline didn't know that Spot was the one who had found it. But all in due time.

Hey this is just a one-shot but I'll make it into a story if I get about two people to review with that request. But I do love to talk in Irish and always put a translation just in case.

Fodhlíthe, beannacht grá. Hugs agus póga. (Bye, bye love. Hugs and kisses.)

xoxo Cutter