First came the sound.
It was both delicate and monstrous at once,like the roar of a territorial lion and the gentle pop of dying bubbles combined.
Then came the water,glistening much brighter than it should have in the small light of the stars,blacker than night. It was terrifyingly beautiful,although none of it's victims took notice of that when it swept into their midst in one mighty wave. After all,when death comes after you,you cower and hide,not admire it's aesthetic value.
In a matter of minutes,the entire town was demolished. Nothing was left of it. The water had destroyed everything,even what used to be the largest houses were now nothing but liquid. There were no survivors.
Actually,there was one.
The teenage girl stares out into the silent night,a lone figure standing almost inhumanly still. Black hair whips her face and her threadbare coat, long and straight.
There,far to her left lay what was left of her house. The remains of her cousin adorns the front door,easy to recognize,because of the washed out bead necklace she had spent hours helping her make.
Simple things sit there,half-solid,mocking her with memories. Her father's traditional guitar,which she had been thought on herself,although she had never been as good as her brother,whose body was nowhere to be found. Her mama's baking pan,which had been the maker off all the best pastries in town,as she and her cousins had known as they were always the first to sample them,while they were still hot from the oven. Her uncle's red boots,which he had kept promising his wife to replace,but had been too lazy to anyway.
She had only survived because he had sent her out of town to get him new ones,finally giving in her aunt's constant nagging. When she'd come back to town,the remaining water had burned her shoes then her feet,causing her to run back out.
Hatred forms in her chest,raw and painful. Not for the water.
For the people. Her ancestors. Their friends. Anyone who ever threw one piece of synthetic material into the ocean.
It doesn't matter that they could have been ignorant. That they meant no harm. Each and every single one is responsible for her entire family's death. None of them had deserved to die like this. Her parents,her brother,her aunts and uncles,her cousins,the oldest had been a year younger than her.
The boots that should have been on her uncle's feet,are now on hers,stuffed with cloth from her t-shirt to fit her. The burns on her feet relatively healed. She's ready to leave her safehouse,a small camping site with higher ground that the water hadn't reached. There had been talk of a refugee camp up north.
She'll find it.
One person must have started this,she thinks bitterly. One plastic bottle.
A thousand lives.
