Cold Break (standard:other, 1681 words)
Author: kickboxrko	Added: Sep 06 2004	Views/Reads: 3330/2171	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
California...the ideal hotspot. Warmth, pleasure...and death?

So I've always wondered why do Priests pray? Well not priests per say,
let's say monks instead. I mean, they sit around in the monastery with 
like, their old musky robes and just sing and walk and be just boring 
old guys. What's the point of that? If they love God so much why don't 
they just go out and do holy deeds, or something chivalrous like that? 
How come, I've always asked myself, aren't they out there saving 
damsels in distress or rebuilding villages in Africa, or helping out in 
some border camp in Zimbabwe? 

Then again, this has always been the way I think. Probably since....well
actually I can't remember since when. I think I used to be different at 
some time. I should probably introduce myself; you'll have to excuse my 
manners. Name's Richard Nowel. I'm a freshman at New Paltz in New York. 
I don't think I'm special or anything, but that's a different story. 
Well maybe not, I'm sure you'll find out something interesting about me 
throughout the course of what I'm about to tell you. Just now realizing 
I have yet to start the story; it'd probably be a good idea to speak 
the beginning. Once again, excuse my professionalism; I kind of forget 
little things like that. 

I grew up in Cali. What a place that was! Even if you weren't a surfer
or anything, it was still a great place to grow up. Without a doubt. 
The waves....oh wow the waves were something alright. You could just 
watch em' anytime, anywhere, and just zone out. Sure they were 
romantic; and trust me, I've gotten laid plenty of times by being all 
romantic and shit with girls at the beach. They're suckers for crap 
like that. So as I was saying, it started in Cali. 

I was out surfing with some bud's at the local water spot, Coral Point.
A little part of the Southern coast which no one outside town knew 
about, and would also never find out. My bud Kale just grabbed a killer 
tunnel when he lost control and bailed out. It didn't look too bad, 
least from where I was surfing. So I didn't really worry. A mistake I 
would never forget was paddling away and continuing to surf. About half 
an hour later, I paddled back to the beach. Running up to our towel, I 
grabbed a Coke and started to look into the water for him. At the time 
I decided that he had probably drifted a little to the west, the path 
of the current, and was out lost somewhere. No worries I thought. 

Six hours later I was in tears. By then the lifeguard had come and gone,
the coast guard had combed and consoled. My father gave me a reassuring 
hug, my mother was distracted. Kale was gone and no one cared I 
stoically decided. They searched of course, as was the law, but Kale 
wasn't exactly known for his charm, or as Marx would say, “social 
importance.” He was just another surf junkie; had no parents, no real 
family. He was a drifter, and he had died a drifter... Later, in my 
hallucinogen induced state of mind, I myself drifted back into past 
memories of my now forgotten friend, Kale. If only I knew how low I'd 
sink in the next few weeks. It sucks though, it would've been helpful 
if I knew that my cheaply paid for drugs were actually laced. As I fell 
into my oxygen-deprived coma, my thoughts no longer mattered.... 

Biting, numbing cold. I cannot explain this cold. I awaken and wish I
was dead. Why am I so cold? I don't know. I look around my room and 
search for a blanket or more importantly, the source of the cold which 
is assuredly out of place in Southern California.  I rise to my feet 
and nearly stumble on something my floor. Glancing down, the image does 
not register in my mind. Then I understand. Kneeling down, I wipe the 
spit and foam off my lips, and softly lower my eyelids. 

Chapter 2 

Things are different when you don't exist. Perspective changes, needs
shift. I no longer crave sex, food...warmth. It's not that I don't miss 
warmth, or companionship...it's more that it no longer has meaning in 
my life. It's difficult to explain, since you all are human; flesh and 
blood, emotions and reality. I no longer have that, and I accept it. 
It's silly though, that all my expectations of death were 
disillusioned. The concept that I had was that there was a process; an 
event. I didn't believe in heaven or hell, just a next phase of some 
sort. That didn't happen unfortunately. 

I do miss the concept of time though. When you're alive, you live by the
clock. There are always things to do, or nothing to do. You had the 
option, you could squander your time as you saw fit. Now, time has no 


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