Fish Woes

The fish seemed to know that death was coming.

It swum lazily around a colorful yellow thing floating in the depths of the ocean. The yellow thing was bathed in a small patch of sunlight filtering in through the water of a dark ocean, with only a few spots of sun peeking through here and there. It was almost as if the fish was the star of a famous show, the spotlight shining on her in a dark theater.

The truth was that the sun was blocked out by an island - a great big island like none other. It was peculiar, especially since the 'island' wasn't really an island at all. Instead of soil and rock, it was made of many odd and different things, a lot of them looking a lot like the yellow thing that the fish was swimming around. They came in different colors, shapes, and sizes. Many fishfolk that the fish knew  - she was an Anchovy, but that wasn't to say other fish families weren't affected too - had eaten the things that made up the strange island.

Plastic, it was called. A dangerous and deceptive thing. The sun and saltwater broke the plastic down into tinier bits that looked like food, and even smelled like food (for her, the tiny things smelled like yummy krill).

But it wasn't food.

The fish continued its weary swim around the plastic bag. Plastic is made of poison and death. She learned that the hard way.

The fish had eaten some of the tiny bits of plastic some time ago. Microplastics, they were called. Not as big, but equally - if not more - fatal.

The anchovy was feeling strangely full, even if she hadn't eaten for some time now. She continued swimming around the yellow plastic, now covered in shadow by the island.

It was more of a deadly soup than an island. It was called The Great Pacific Garbage Patch, and was one of five plastic-filled gyres in existence.

Plastic is colored death, the anchovy thought, finally leaving the yellow plastic, swimming away into oblivion, soon to die.

Elsewhere, a girl with dark hair walked across a beach littered with trash. She made no sound as the pages of the magazine she held fluttered in the wind. She had read about the anchovies, and all the creatures on land, air, and water - victims of plastic.

The magazine had mentioned a rule that one must follow: "Refuse, Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle, in that order." In fact, it had mentioned a lot of other things that, she decided, the world needed to hear.

An image of a seahorse, its tail wrapped around a cotton bud, flashed through her mind. She couldn't exactly pinpoint where she had seen it, but her soul seemed to flare in indignation.

Something has to be done.

She began to walk away from the beach, already planning the things she could do to help.

I need to act now, she decided.
There is no Planet B.