Mrs. Seahorse

My entry for the NationalGeographic  #PlanetOrPlastic challenge. Enjoy!

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Mr. and Mrs. Seahorse were very happy during their usual morning stroll.

The water around them was clear and calm, the sun's rays filtered through the surface and heated their body. Every algae looked a different shade of green, every fish was a tad more colorful than the one they had just passed by. They could, had it been possible for them, have smelled the Caribbean scent of the sea. Everything was well, in this new breeding period.

When a delicate flow of cool water brushed along their skin, making them shiver, Mr. Seahorse had the sense of nudging his head in direction of their actual home: if the current was approaching, they better had to secure themselves to a safeplace.

Conscious that her partner was holding their babies, and would be slower than usual to make his way back, Mrs. Seahorse reluctantly resigned herself to stop their excursion toward a farthest part of the coral reef. Where they would be safe.

It was very important to find another home, as soon as possible. Lately, a lot of bizarre new creatures had come to set where they lived: strangely shaped individuals who, Mrs. Seahorse was sure of it, did not breathe and did not eat, but certainly moved and deranged the community a lot. She did not want her offsprings to grow suffocated by those strangers of all shapes and sizes, who seemed to have no respect for the elders of the marine life.

The way to their part of the reef did not take the couple more than fifteen minutes; but they wished it had lasted longer: the water in this part of the coral reef was grayish and troubled. They were not happy anymore.

Mrs. Seahorse gently pushed her partner forward, and dodged one of those big, semi-transparent new jelly-fishes, of those that did not have strings but still looked very dangerous. She had heard that Mr. Tortoise had had some serious issues with one from this specie. A sideways glance reminded her that Mr. Tortoise was not, anymore, present in the reef. Mrs. Seahorse swam faster forward.

She reached her partner just in time, and rapidly curled her tail around a solid protuberance to anchor herself.

Too late did she realize it was not coral.

The current swapped over them; Mrs. Seahorse started to float away at an alarming speed, under Mr. Seahorse's panicked stare. She moved her fins as fast as she could, but the tide was too strong. She lowered her stare, looked at that stupid stick her tail still wrapped: didn't it see that they were moving away from home? Couldn't it help her to swim back there? But the white head, the pink body, of the cotton-bud, could do nothing to answer.

As she was being dragged away from her family, Mrs. Seahorse just had the time to catch a glimpse of the clean, translucid water that surrounded the other side of the reef.

There, where they could have been safe.