This hierarchy nature has set: the seagull will get first bite, whoever fished, whatever was fished. Its menacing mew distances two black crows, left with a minor, resigned twang. They do stay, though. In the sand near the shore, something glistens and sparkles. Seagull swoops down, crows stand back; seagull grabs half of it – a crackling, snapping sound – and flies back up; crows can approach now, get whatever’s left. The sky responds by being blue; lapping waves give rhythm to a natural occurrence. It was plastic. It was plastic. It was nothing more than a piece of unadulterated plastic.
In response to: https://carrotranch.com/2018/04/26/april-26-flash-fiction-challenge/
PaperShots 
The curse of our plastic pollution. Well done.
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Thank you Norah. Yes, a sad reality…
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Tonight I went for a hike up the hill, following the now bare snowmobile trail, and saw the plastic top from a six-pack I made a note to pick it up on my way back, but then I heard a crow. It reminded me of your story which I had read earlier. I didn’t wait but picked up the plastic. The crow flew off.
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❤ thanks for doing that. So glad my story stayed with you after reading it and had such positive influence. I will never understand why people leave garbage around, plastic in particular, but any kind really. I will never understand that.
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