The flakes swirled on an invisible breeze and blew past like the first snow of winter. Faint sunlight shimmered through a mist of particles, some reflecting the light in sparkles that twinkled in a myriad of colors.
Then, at last, a ghostly figure emerged from the haze, slowly gliding on ancient wings, as the artificial snow swirled around its wake in the Pacific ocean. I could see it now, that rarest of sights to behold, a lone Pacific Manta Ray. It moved effortlessly through the debris field of plastic waste. I floated motionless in the water with my guide, my flash issued a low, dull pop as I recorded the image of what might be the last of the species. Only the eerie turbulence of bubbles from our regulators disturbed the somber moment. I felt I was watching the last of the dinosaurs as it trekked through a littered wasteland after the extinction event from the meteorite that destroyed nearly all life on earth, over sixty million years ago. But this was no natural disaster. This one was man-made. And instead of a sudden end, this one came with many warnings from what scientists called "indicator species." The first had been fragile bird eggs, then dwindling amphibians, then the larger species, and finally mammals. There had been many opportunities to stop this disaster, but we listened instead to denials from those who had the most to lose in profits.
I watched this last dinosaur drift past in the haze of the plastic particles. I could just make out several dark lines trailing under the ray. It was a tether of tiny, twisted bits of plastic that had anchored to the creatures' gills. I wanted to help clear it away, to set it free, that it might live out its remaining days free from what we humans had discarded and forgotten. But, it was too late, the ray drifted into the haze and slowly vanished.
I drew a deep breath from the regulator. It's all too late, we should have done something sooner
My pictures would only document what once was and evoke sadness. How I wished they had been taken years ago and evoked anger and action.
My mask had begun to fog up. I tilted my head down and shook the pool of water in my mask to wash away the fog, but it remained. I realized I was crying.
YOU ARE READING
Silent Storm
General FictionA fictional account of a photojournalist on assignment to capture the last picture of a soon to be extinct species. This is an entry in the #PlanetOrPlastic contest hosted by National Geographic and Wattpad. This story's intent is to show one human'...
