As the days went by I found that I was unable to break my usual habit of waking early and began going on early morning walks. I had found myself most often drawn to walk down by the shore. The tide was in, the waves swept up onto my toes as I stood there staring in to the great beyond. The sky was streaked with peach, pink and yellow, the early morning rays of sunshine. I breathed in the refreshing cool air, and then turned to wander down the beach. I tromped through the thick damp sand, hoping to find some new treasure washed up upon the shore, something from far off mysterious lands or from some ancient sea wreck. Although usually all I found is garbage and left over coals from the party that was on the beach the previous night, once in awhile I could find an interesting shell or a fossil of sorts. Still, my hope remained that something else, something interesting, would be discovered here.
Once I had been wandering here, when I found an old dirty bottle with a treasure map inside of it. The map was quite poorly drawn. However, I could make out the stretch of beach and the forest that was a few kilometres down from where I stood. I knew that this was more than likely was from some child who was having a grand time pretending. But having nothing but time on my hands, I followed it anyhow. By barely determining landmarks and the certain number of footsteps, I discovered the spot, and the treasure. I found a broken plastic toy; a child had no doubt obtained from some fast food joint, with which they had become bored with within hours of begging their parents for it. Some say that one mans junk is another mans treasure, suggesting our perspective changes everything; my perspective told me that the toy was a piece of crap before it was broken. Strange how we fill ours lives with useless clutter because some form of media or another has told us its what we need. If its what we need why do to continuously need more? If we are so confident in our answers, then why do we still search?
It was on that beach that the strange chain appeared. Made of large and thick metal links, it extended far into the water that slapped at the shore. I would like to think that I had found this, like I had found the other things, but that is what was so strange. It was as though the chain found me, it did not follow me, it was more like it knew I was here, and would continue to come back here. A feeling crept over me that I was being watched. But I shrugged it off, resolving that these early morning walks with solitude must have been going to my head.
The chains' links were clean and smooth, which made it easy to grip. I tried tugging on it, but tugging proved useless for it did not give way; I thought it must be grounded to something solid. Curiosity tempted me to follow the chain, tempted to me to see where it could go. But everyday was the same: not today, not now, maybe tomorrow. I walked away in search of unanchored treasures to take home with me, but the next day I knew I would see it again. And so it was the same every day, the chain lay there and there it stayed, except my occasional visits, for I would usually try and tug on it, to see if maybe whatever it clung to would release it.