Death By Plastic

• Jordan Mcgovern, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2019

Reduce. Reuse. Recycle. The old sign hung limply from its rusted hinges, pieces of plastic scattered all around it. The only sound that could be heard was the steady crash of nearby waves and the crunch of rubbish under my bare feet. A thick, grey cloud of smoke covered the bare sky, the phantom squarks of seagulls would not be heard. Withered trees and bushes stood frailly behind me while the soft, evening breeze blew my dirty hair into my face. Sand mingled with dirt squished uncomfortably as I continued to make my way across the beach. It had been years since I had last been here. In just that time, the place had been almost unrecognisable. The sparkly, blue water had been replaced with the grimy, black colour of soot and mud. The air was so poisoned with pollution that it caused my eyes to water, running long streak marks down my filthy face. When had I last had a shower? Used soap? Seen another living soul? All these questions I did not know the answer to. A sudden wave of sickly smog-filled my nostrils causing me to retch in disgust. I needed help, but no one was coming for me. I was abandoned while the rest of the residents of Earth were evacuated to Mars. Abandoned in my hospital bed. My doctors said I was going to die anyway so there was no point in me coming to Mars. I was in Stage 4 cancer, my days were drawing to a close. For the past months, I have scrounged everywhere I could to find any kind of scraps of food so I could somehow survive. But I found next to nothing. Everywhere I looked was plastic. The oceans, the trees, the roads, the forests, buildings. Earth was swallowed up by it. I was starved, cold and alone. At nights, I would look up into the night sky, wishing that perhaps tomorrow wouldn’t come. But tomorrow did come. It always came. I continued my way up the beach, the cool waves lapping against my toes. I squinted towards the horizon, very small traces of the pinkish-orange sun rays could be seen through the dark cloud of smoke. The night was drawing near, which meant it was time for my daily fishing trip. Lately, I have gone nights hungry as the fish continued to decrease every day. I wasn’t hopeful that tonight would be any better. Although, as I reached down to grab the discarded fishing net I use, I lost my footing on a nearby can of soda. My reflexes caused me to throw my arms in the air, causing the net I was holding to tangle itself around me. I landed facedown, the cracking noise confirming that I had just broken my nose. This was the least of my worries. I was underwater. The fishing net pinned my arms by my sides, stopping me from turning on my back. My head throbbed from lack of oxygen as I struggled uselessly against my bonds. This was my time. My days were finished. Death by plastic, I thought, before I finally got my sleep I deserved.