A crumpled cheeseburger wrapper flutters angrily across the open expanse of the beach before resting in a murky, stinking pile of kelp that has gathered in a slimy heap. A nearby seagul comes to investigate, searching the trash for any cheeseburger remnants left behind. He turns away, dissapointed, and distracted now suddenly by a whole flock of seaguls gathered and fighting around a half eaten box of french fries. They tear and claw at it ferociously, helping themselves greedily to someone’s lunch.

Nearby, atop the rotting, stinking corpse of a decapitated seal, another seagul is perched. It watches the other seaguls fight to the death for trash. The bloodshed, fierce and deadly. But it does not long for glory, instead, it steadily watches the slow death of a little washed up starfish drying up in the clouded sunlight.

One of its apendages has been torn, and it hangs limply by its side. But it will not die. The tide will wash it back into its open arms, and it will grow back. Into two new starfish.