The Fort Essay

Three fort message containers removed. One remained. I opened the tin and pulled out the messages. They were rolled like a drug dealer’s roll of grimy cash. I peeled them away and read them all. It took half an hour, and the continuous reading revealed a fascinating narrative of sorts. No, strike that. It was more of an essay that emerged from the responses to the same prompt: leave a fort message.

The earliest message was dated by in March. I sensed people were somehow coming alive with this brief act of leaving a message in a driftwood fort. That coming alive meant joy, wonder, giving thanks or reflecting on something painful. The simple act of anonymously written expression seemed to invigorate the writers.

But the containers always go missing at some point. I think the litter zealots bear responsibility, although I can’t confirm this suspicion.

So I put three more out, in a couple of new forts I built or repurposed. I await the expression that I know will invariably come. I changed the prompts up. New ones for the new containers. I always like fresh reading material.