An Ocean of Plastic

My ancestors told stories of a time where water flowed through the vast majority of the earth. Beautiful creatures lived in harmony, flowing effortlessly through these areas they called, oceans. They also spoke of the times when they would venture into the water to observe these creatures in their natural habitat. In all of their stories, the words tranquil, serenity and alluring were always used to describe the creature's way. Stories of summers spent on the beaches, laughing, playing, kissing your one and only love, and growing closer as a family, were all passed down through the years.

Now the only time I see anything resembling what was once described as a body of water is when a puddle forms on the ground from the raindrops that fall from the darkened sky. It's hard for me to imagine a world where I could walk into a vast sea of blue, the crystal clear water glimmering as the sun shines down on it. The thought of swimming alongside these creatures as they go about their own lives was fascinating. I wish I could observe them as they gracefully move through the oceans.

However, I sit here now, not in a sea of beautiful water but amongst a sea of sand and plastic items that are strewn about carelessly. There is no water glistening in the sun's rays, but only pure white sand that flows through the air with each gentle breeze. I now walk where marine life once lived, and sit where sea animals once roamed.

There are no memories to be made in this desolate land. In fact, the only memories that are here are the ones passed down through generations of people who were too preoccupied with their own lives. They didn't understand that they were sacrificing something so pure because of their careless actions. And now I stand here, trying to piece together what exactly an ocean looked like, but all I can picture is the ocean that lies in front of me. An ocean of waste. An ocean of stories. An ocean, of plastic