Our Parallel Stories

I've been living in the rehabilitation center long enough to be unfazed by the very fact. It's situated right along the coastline so the inhabitants can always look out to the beautiful sea, glimmering different shades of aqua and turquoise in the sunlight. That, and the cool, salty breeze and relaxing atmosphere will supposedly cure us of our mental maladies.

But the carnage at the shore is ironic; death at the door of our safe house.

At least I know this isn't a figment of my imagination.

"Do you think they know what they're doing?"

I look at Mina to find her staring at me with those obtrusive eyes. Behind us, the news channel drones on.

"...USA
14 sperm whale carcasses found off the coast in addition to 11-16 sea turtles spread across the coast tangled in various fishing gear; 6 sea turtles were successfully returned to sea. Remaining were already dead or euthanized due to deteriorating conditions. Necropsy on all revealed severe plastic ingestion and wounds inflicted from plastic debris."

"Who?" I deliberate. She rolls her eyes.

"All those whales and dolphins and turtles, who else? You think they might be doing all this on purpose?"

It's Mina's job to be the bitter survivor. It's my job to be the lost dreamer unperturbed by Mina's thoughts. I shrug.

"Could be anything. Everyone says there's usually no conclusive reason."

"This isn't a coincidence. Animals stranding themselves everywhere around the world everyday? All of them full of plastic?"

"I know," I say, finally glancing out the window. The shore is obscured by rows and rows of dolphins in a depressing ensemble, the neatness sinister. Gulls scream and snatch at the corpses while officials and volunteers garbed in protective clothing swarm the beach, playing undertaker.

"Do you think," I muse, "they're...trying to maybe empty the sea themselves? Maybe...the ones beaching... are trying make it better for the ones left behind."

"Or maybe they're telling us it's too late."

We fall silent, witnessing the carnage.

"You know what I hate the most?" Mina says abruptly.

"What?"

"When they try to make them go back. When people think they know what's best."

I don't look at Mina, don't glance at the ugly, jagged scar on her wrist. I already know the inside of her mind, her story.

"....Australia, USA, South Africa, and 4 others
Multiple cetacean, pinniped and turtle species found stranded off the coasts in various states; global numbers range from 100 to 700 and counting, all species included. Attempts to return them to sea remained unsuccessful; animals either re-stranded or were euthanized. Many were found trapped in various fishing gear; necropsy consistently reveals severe plastic ingestion in the digestive track in all species and wounds inflicted from plastic debris...."

"They're coming in as carcasses now," I hum.

"Guess they learned," Mina says savagely. I don't question her outburst, not because I know her, but because I just know.

We understand the animals, but that's because no one listens to us either.