It was by the dull orange sea where I was washing down bread with a coffee ikat-tepi. Boy and a nice woman sat close by on a bench beside me. I glanced at them, briefly, eyeing Boy’s bag—it was previously packed with lunch.
Boy had his head bowed into his book, and was listening to the woman telling a story, a true one, truly to which I will re-tell to you.
The woman was wise. She told him of the great feasts we had before it all ended. I remember those. The clear waters that teemed with life, and a great reef sparkling, iridescent, visible despite the mulling of the white tipped waves above.
“But where are they now?” Boy piqued. He pointed at a picture in his book and gestured at the water’s dull surface. “It says that this is where we see the colours!” He looked close to tears at that point. Bless the Boy’s soul.
As I looked away again to focus on my beverage, the nice woman began unfolding history. She knew. The mass grave lay buried below, right under that very bench.
I listened. I remember her words, words that blossomed into memories rippling just beneath the watery coffee. Squinting one-eyed, I found myself reliving moments when the metal machines gurgled before they sunk into the sea, suck-suck-sucking like a death rattle. They droned for days on end.
“An entire ecosystem! Suffocated from the spewing storms of smooth silted sand regurgitated and heaped back onto the sea floor.” the woman gesticulated wildly. “The human-centric reclamation of land celebrates the demise of a coral city with water bubbling into mud. The great coral reefs glowing, buried, gone.”
Boy looked devastated. I chewed the straw. “Sealed under this great slab of cement and concrete.” the woman concluded. She is indeed a dramatic storyteller.
The mood was depressing. No wonder the poor Boy had his head bowed. I absently stirred as an ant surfaced my coffee. The sea darkened further.
“We like to think that we give life to honour, to love, to preservation.” the woman said softly. She gazed at the amber slivers of water reflecting the setting sun, pointedly avoiding the murky depths below. “But men have been so blind.” The south winds sighed, and the flavescent street-lights flickered on one by one.
Boy looked away, ashamed that tears were trickling down his cheeks. “I don’t understand. Why am I crying?” he hiccupped. The woman pulled him close.
“Be proud, son.” she soothed. “You cry, because you care. Amidst all the deaths my generation has wrought unto this Earth, yours can still give it new life. You won’t fail.”
I gagged, my head stuck in the plastic bag, and began choking as the muddy coffee swirled into my orifices. Frantic, heart hammering, I struggled to flee the scene blind when two hands pulled me free. Boy stared at me, eyes still shining with human emotion.
Dripping delicious brown, I screamed, and quickly flapped away to sea.
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