The beer can wobbles. Twists. Then scuttles in the surf. The crab is making its way out of the sea and onto the strange blue and orange sand.


High above the beady eyed gulls clock their next meal. The beach stretches steeply towards the thickets of lush reeds and trees that encircle the island.


There’s nothing geological about it. No volcanic heart. No well worn rock. This huge flat island is something new. It drifts slowly in tow of the the moon.


Once it was meerly a soup of plastic. A nest of straws, bottles and broken things. But nature has found its way. The mass of chemically birthed plastics is slowly being knitted and woven with the most vigorous of plant life.


Flies and insects were amongst the first to make their home. Birds followed. Modt Died choking on ring pulls and carrier bags but from their bodies grew more life. A dozen generations of choked and poizend creatures gave their bodies for soil.


Seeds sprouted. Tiny leaves wriggled towards the light. Life began to adapt. The island locked and wove itself together. Coke red and pepsi blue were smothered by green. 

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