Planet or plastic

Plastic

Laps of water shoved at the debris littering the surface. Each piece as out of place as a turtle would be in a garbage truck. Yet that is how the the turtle felt as its head broke the surface with a stuttering gasp. Out of place. Broken. Unloved. 

He had watched his siblings attempt to hunt. They had choked on the jellyfish wafting by.

He had watched as shoals of fish caught themselves in rings of iron, only to fall apart as their flesh was torn to smithereens.

He couldn't do anything. He could only go where the sea guided him, hoping he wouldn't have to fall prey to such wicked creatures as the others. 

Beneath the surface, away from the scattered monsters that hurt his friends, he sought refuge. Only to find their corpses, pretty shiny things wrapped around their necks. Brown lumps protruding from their mouths as if their tounges had changed, not only shape, but texture too, as if it had been urged to kill its body. Bulging stomachs covered the seabed, and the baby turtle wondered what it meant to be full, for he did not dare eat for fear of consuming the wrong thing.

 So his shell was dull, his breaths short, rasping and his stomach sagging as his fins flopped heavily, barely keeping him moving. Before finally, he landed on the belly of a larger turtle. Her body had long since fallen to pieces, so he fell through what should have been her stomach and landed in something sharp. But as the sea began to fill with his blood, he could not find it in himself to care. Nobody else had cared. Why should he?