Beneath The Surface- A #PlanetOrPlastic Short Story

Beneath The Surface

I pick up plastic trash near the water's edge for money.

It's the same trash that other people throw away. 

Every day, I go outside, my eyes scanning the mounds of plastic- some recyclable, some not- that have built up over the years, all of it never rotting. Almost all the plastic that we have ever made still exists today. 

My eyes also scan the filthy, murky waters that are filled with floating bits of plastic bottles, containers, and other scraps. It's an eyesore. 

The path I walk along every single day is lined with plastic litter. Plastic packaging, as well as muddy, dirty plastic bottles is the common sight around here.

Our little town is basically a plastic dump.

A small group of people here, including me, sell recyclable plastic that has been thrown away by others to the junk store a couple of blocks away, who then bring it to a recycling plant. 

I get around one hundred and fifty dollars a month. 

The people around here say it's quite a lot. I know many others who would say that's nothing. 

My bare feet squelch in the dirty sand as I move along the water's edge. It rained yesterday, making today's plastic picking up disgusting and slimy. 

My fingers curl around a couple of plastic bottles, shaking out the water. These will be shredded, then sold to the recycling plant. I push my lanky hair back from my face and look at the next pile of junk with dead eyes that haven't cried in years. It's all the same, the endless bits of plastic. I can't live my life like this. I can't pick up rubbish while the beautiful ocean I've lived next to for fifteen years of my life turns into a rubbish dump.  As if it hasn't already. I remember one time I went swimming and ended up watching a seahorse ride the current with a plastic cotton bud instead of seaweed. 

I can't. I need to do something else, something people will actually notice. 

Think about the money, Lacey. You can't save the oceans. Accept the fact that you'll never be able to do anything else but pick up junk. Pick up that plastic cup now. Do it, Lacey. Do it now. Reach out your arm and pick it up, goddamn it!

I can't. I can't make my fingers curl around the rim of that dirty plastic cup. For the first time in years, tears threaten to leak out of my eyes. 

When I hear a truck trundling down the dirt road, I blink and turn. Others are staring too.

It's a television production truck.  

What is it doing here, in our filthy, plastic town?

The man who steps out has the answer.

 "I want to let the world know what you do for a living. I want to spread the word about what is happening beneath the surface, what is happening right now that people still don't know about: plastic littering in the oceans."