Plastic Sea (IT) — What's Left, Page 18
By Inkroost · Published
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Transcript
Panel 1: Pomeriggio rovente. Mare vuoto e scintillante in ogni direzione. Roka, minuscolo nel salvagente ad anello arancione, grida con tutte le sue forze. Roka: 'BIBER! KABAK!' Panel 2: Rema con una mano, tenendo nell'altra l'anatra gialla di Bamya, mentre la voce gli si fa roca. Roka: 'Bamya...!' 'C'è qualcuno!' Panel 3: Primo piano: Roka schiaffeggia l'acqua, il volto contratto. Roka: 'Rispondimi...'
Image description
Solo sul mare arancione, in un pomeriggio deserto, Roka grida chiamando i suoi amici, rema con l'anatra gialla in mano e schiaffeggia l'acqua mentre la voce gli si spezza.
About this chapter
In the dark at the bottom of the sea, something is counting. On Candyreef, a candy-coloured island of floating trash, Roka wakes to a water bag in the face from his street crew, lifts breakfast from the old woman who would have fed him anyway, and tells the kid who follows him that he doesn't owe anybody. Then the gulls lift all at once, and a Maw eats half the island. A day and a night alone at sea later, the Garden Ship fishes him out and orders him to walk its treadwheels for fish heads. Roka is nobody's slave, so he goes looking for something to steal instead, and breaks into a barnacled case dredged from the seabed. The silver dust inside climbs into his arm and says hello. It is polite. It is curious. It wants every human dead. And it has just started counting again.