The Spirit by Mario Ramirez

Dear Holder,
Blast, the Spirit just crashed-my crew mates are nowhere to be found
and the lifeboats, well they have all been aground for ages. Her prow
and mast are smashed yet she remains unabashed-thus we write this
message in this bottle. Life's current, well it isn't smooth and it's
rising fast, and then we hear that drum roll of thunder.
Snap.

Oh how the sky illuminates right before the fall.
It's that anchoring feeling of dismay and despair that has me swimming
up the river, against the tidal waves that cave in around whenever my
head bobs up for air. For those of you who can relate, we know that
it's a crash and not a splash. Like in Super Mario 64, my colorful
life gauge reflects my temperamental standing- but my face is oh so
pallid. Deeper down we dive-I dive, and it begins to deplete slowly,
beeping, indicating that your time is coming to an end; so swim up. I
am not a pro, at swimming I mean, but laps around the pool were
essential to every shitty apartment complex visit; every foaming wave
tempted me to dive under it. The sounds of the ocean are whispers to
me, echoing with the rage of angels, with the rage of demons and
righteously so drowns out the cries of the humans.
This time around however, it isn't the siren. I've muted her sound so
it isn't the melody that keeps me grounded-surely I am confounded.
It's this damn anchor, rooted in the abysmal trenches of depression
fettering my feet, my arms, my soul dragging me back into the
whirlpool... If I had it my way, I'd let the Maelstrom do with me what
it will; I would have it send my frenzied Spirit up into the air if
only to crash back down into the ocean. O' Poseidon, summon the
typhoons and send me back to the shores of Man in the form of an
iminami, let me devastate and obliterate all those who dare call
themselves Kings. The Divine Right is mine, and this sadness, this
stormy surge shall sunder the land and purge the inconsistencies of my
life. That's just me, for now, I'm still the Captain of my Spirit , no
matter how tattered she is and I will fight the waves until they take
my life or they destroy my boat. This is my last bottle, and my last
piece of parchment, please respond with one of your own lest the
anchors drag us down to oblivion...
Sincerely yours,
El Capitan