Sunlight on Plastic Waters

Sunlight On Plastic Waters

by Isabelle Porter

The city spills over into the ocean and gives birth to a new tumor. The trading posts. There are treasures to be brought up from the deep, from the city. Trail a net through the sea, and it’ll come up full. Full of plastic. The river is dangerous and swollen with toxic waste. It snakes through the city, and trash crawls into it from the dry land. This dilutes into the ocean, an almost manageable level of poison. There’s a steep drop, right from the coast, and that’s where my grounds lie. The land ends in a cliff, one that continues down under the surface. Waste collects on its face in pockmarks. The ones who built the city mined from it, hundreds of years ago. Now, the ocean has reclaimed its land, and the builder’s marks stay there. Divers travel down, to hunt for the materials that collect in the caves. I am solitary, but packs move through the cliffs, so avoiding them is the best choice. I can hold my own ground well enough, but the odds aren’t good against a group. The cliff dips down, and then drops. The Deep. A solid rock wall that extends further down than anyone goes. The undercurrent is too strong for most divers, so it stays barren. I search here. I am at an advantage, as I am of an aquatic species. The cliff holds pockets, places to breathe. They’re hidden well, but I know these lands. I can withstand the pressure four leagues down. I haven’t tried to go further. The water starts to clear past five hundred feet, and monsters survive the deep. Away from polluting cities, they grow in darkness. I’ve heard stories of creatures one hundred feet long, washing up on the beaches of the south, filled with waste. Immortalized in fear, reality is worse than mystery.

When the sun comes up, the cliff face under the surface turns to diamond. Plastic embedded into the walls by the waves catches sunlight, and lets it go. The tide batters the cliff face, and smooths over the pockmarks left by scavengers, pulling the trash out of the walls. It doesn’t sell for much, other than a pretty trinket to a traveler, come to see the city encased in a shell of its own making.

The ocean stretches towards heaven and encases the creatures of hell. A black monster, never smooth. Choked with churning grey foam and islands of garbage. It’s dotted with fires, sparked when a storm rolls up from the meeting of sea and sky, dripping with acid and smoke. Lightning strikes down, screaming its revenge on those who sharpen it. The sky is calm today.

The waves rage against the stone, pushing and dragging dirty foam with them. My weight packs anchor me to the rock. I step forward, careful not to let my paddles catch on the cliff face. A popular launching area, sure, but no one likes to dive at night. Especially when they can use the sunlight to see. Pollution fog rises from the sea, choking those who breathe above the surface. Waist deep, the waves push and tug at me with stronger arms. I’ve never seen snow come down any other color than grey. Sometimes I hear stories of the north, with its white snow, and frozen lakes. I hear stories about the west, with golden fields reaching for the stars, and clear lakes surrounded by stacked cities. Up to my chest, I overcome gravity. I have never seen this side of my world, so I know the stories are lies. I take a final, deep breath, more than an hour’s worth, and submerge.

I start my climb in the air, feet first, descending. Once I reach the ocean, the sky will be at my feet, and the earth will turn. I will be climbing upwards, into the depths. The turning of the earth is important, it fools the body that seeks air. I must climb upwards to go down. To ascend, I climb towards the ground. Descending is easier, ascending kills. Decompression sickness takes many, but the most careful divers can avoid it. To descend requires a pull greater than that of the sky. Rocks aid some, until weight packs can be traded for. These allow controlled descension.

A swaying movement, through a cloud. I dip into the cave to rest and turn to see it. Rhythmic undulating pierces the oil, moving slowly. Something long and dark follows it, as the cloud clears. That isn’t plastic.

I’ve not been as careful as I should have been, but they don’t usually come up this far. Thankfully, I’m still in my pocket of air, so I’m safe if it doesn’t see me here. I have my light, which might scare it off, but that will alert it to my presence. Hopefully, it leaves soon, and I can ascend. It’s up to three hundred feet, when monsters usually stay towards five, if not eight hundred. That means it’s lost or starving, both of which make it dangerous.

It’s bigger than me, three feet longer, with a sinuous tail and two arms. I can make out the rippling of its fins as the water pushes it. It’s floating still, completely still. I hope it stays oblivious to my presence. I can stay in this pocket for a while, but I’ll have to go back up eventually, if not to sleep, then to eat or drink. I won’t last more than a few days in the cave.

It floats motionless. I do too. It will have to leave soon, the water is too polluted for it to breathe, if that’s what it even does. I anchor myself to the rock face and wait. I’ve never seen a creature from the deep this close before. Its fins gently trail through the water, moving when the creature is motionless. Mimicking the strings of plastic that float at the surface. It’s beautiful, in a way. Its eyes face away from me, but it’s hearing must be better. Dark blue scales are hard to spot in the almost-darkness. The sun should be coming up now, on the surface. Other divers might swim this way. It’ll catch one of them, and I can go free.