Plastic Death Count

Exhausted, a small, grey mother bird flies- faltering -to her chick. The shore is littered with unimaginable amounts of garbage, from bottles, packaging and plastic bags to cans, cigarettes and shattered glass. They are all so abundant that it is a wonder any of the coarse, beige sand can still be seen.

She shivers and shakes her cold, damp wings, looking down at her chick. Feebly the chick trembles, barely having enough energy to open its eyes.

"I'm sorry," cries the mother bird. "These are all I could find."
She empties some cigarette ends and scraps of plastic into the chick's desperate mouth.
"I try, so hard for you. But everyday, you get weaker." Tears spill from her eyes. "I'm afraid I'm going to lose you."

Her chick is thin, losing feathers constantly. Looking at at it, you would assume that every second of life is a painful struggle. It looks up, one last time, at its mother and releases a weak, grateful chirp.

The mother holds her child tight as the life leaves its eyes, crying all she has.

She looks down at her dead, beloved child, at the polluted scene and up at the clouded, grey, unforgiving sky.

"I'm so sorry," She weeps. "I let you down."