Gone | (#PlanetOrPlastic)

#PlanetOrPlastic

There was a seahorse I saw once. A beautiful seahorse.

         The colors of its skin changed from orange, turquoise, gray, and rose-red, as it drifted along the ocean floor—clinging onto whatever anchor it could find.

         The seahorse was small, about the size of a baby's foot, dancing in the ocean's deep.

         The water was clear when I saw the seahorse. It's tumbling waves were like crystals, sparkling in the sun, and dashing back into the sea.

         But it's been a while since I saw the seahorse. The multi-colored seahorse. I miss it's tail curling in and out as it swims through the ocean. I miss the way it gracefully swayed with the water's current.

         The water used to be clear, as fresh as a rose. Now it's clouded with dirt, drained of beauty.

         Plastic bags that mimic jellyfish pollute the ocean now, freely wandering about. Poor turtles gag on the plastic, few fish are lured in the trap.

        There are tin cans floating above the deep, paper wastes basking in the sun on the surface. Never did I see something so horrific.

        The ocean was silent—not a sound disturbed the stillness.

        I searched far and wide, looking for my friend. Looking for the camouflaging creature.

        I dashed across the beach, the sand swirling beneath my feet.

        Splashing into the bay, I squinted against the sunlight, searching...searching. But the seahorse was nowhere to be seen.