Plastic Sea (PT) — What's Left, Page 18
By Inkroost · Published
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Transcript
Painel 1: Tarde escaldante. Mar vazio e cintilante em todas as direções. Roka, minúsculo na boia circular laranja, grita com todas as forças. Roka: 'BIBER! KABAK!' Painel 2: Ele rema com uma mão, segurando o pato amarelo de Bamya com a outra, enquanto a voz fica rouca. Roka: 'Bamya...!' 'Alguém!' Painel 3: Plano fechado: Roka bate na água, o rosto se contorcendo. Roka: 'Me respondam...'
Image description
Sozinho na boia laranja, num mar vazio numa tarde, Roka grita pelos amigos, rema com o pato amarelo na mão e bate na água enquanto a voz falha.
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.