The Ocean's Call
by Seth Neuffer
The Pacific coast was chilled by the cool salty breeze as the familiar warm sphere sizzled and slowly sank into the endless horizon of the sparkling scarlet sea. The sunburned tourists gradually left their sand castles and packed their tired sandy children into their musty station wagons to depart from a long day at the beach. The beach was soon deserted and gulls filled the sky, feasting on what the humans had left them to snack on. Usually it was a piece of bread they ended up altercating over, or perhaps a cookie or two. I just ignored their piercing squeals as I sat and watched the ocean's ripples gently envelop the sun. The view was great, but I kept getting interrupted by the exploding gulls that were stupid enough to eat the Alkaselzer that the teenagers had left for them. They would fall to the ground and start puking white foam. Though it made me sick to my stomach, I ended up chuckling as I began to walk down the shoreline.
I walked for about ten minutes when I arrived at the rockier part of the beach. The waves were not so gentle here. They violently crashed against the rocks as if they were wild beasts leaping upon their prey. As I picked the sand from between my toes, I noticed a couple kissing on the ledge of one of the large rocks. I assumed they had been there for quite a while considering they were covered in seaweed. I began to laugh so hard my lungs began to throb in pain; I knew what would soon happen. Not long after I caught my breath, a huge wave jumped and crashed onto the rock with the couple on it and dragged the victims into its dark blue belly. I laughed as they were quickly devoured by the ocean's pandemonious wrath. I waited for about an hour until the lifeless corpses floated back to shore. I gathered the remains and fed them to the ravenous gulls. I watched as the bodies were eaten up little by little. At first, the wild birds started to fiercely dig out their eyes with their sword-like beaks, and then . . . well, I won't get into it.
My folks back home always said how I was a morbid and somewhat psychotic kid with a wild imagination. I always wore black and I never combed my hair. I would always lock myself in my room and dissect any living thing I could find. My parents thought I was always doing my homework, but my poor grades in school proved otherwise. At first, they ignored my behavior when I started burning ants with a magnifying glass, but as I grew into my teens I became uncontrollable. My parents began to worry terribly whenever they saw me on the back porch skinning squirrels alive with a stick and staking them to the neighbors' trees. They said I was cruel, but I just laughed and nodded with a wide-eyed grin as I ran off to find more trouble. When my parents noticed my yearning to burn our neighbor's dog, they finally realized I needed some professional help. After many phone calls, my parents found a good psychiatrist and we moved to California.
I really liked California, but no one would ever hang around me at school; I was notorious for carving death threats into other pupils' desks. The only person I saw as a friend was my psychiatrist. He always treated me like a pal. He said I was his "main man." Sometimes during one of my weekly visitations, he would split a candy bar with me before we began the "psychological rehabilitation," as he would put it. At the beginning of each session I was self-bounded to keep my emotions hidden. As we progressed, he would write down everything I said about my hellish desires for bloodshed and watching others suffer. I couldn't believe I told him everything! It was as if he hypnotized me somehow. As we continued for months of appointments, I began to control my emotions. I was able to hide them so well, that the doctor thought therapy was no longer necessary. I was able to con my way through any of the psychiatrists and my parents soon believed I was an angel.
When I finally made it through college, I worked part-time as a street cleaner. Often, I would run over unsuspecting cats and mutilate them with the high-powered brushes of the large truck. After a long day at work, I would always go to the beach and watch the sun set. I don't know exactly what it was about the beach that attracted me so greatly, but I still enjoy the presence of the coast. This was the only place I have ever been that I could feel real peace -- a temporary indescribably peace, as the visions in my dreams go untamed.
I have often imagined myself diving into the ocean and swimming off into the infinite horizon. Waves lapping against my sides so gently as I glide through the rich blue water. Dolphins would sing a passionate song that you can only love.
But as the gulls of the coast squeal with hateful laughter, I feel the rage inside of me burn with bitterness. Waves crash against the rocky coast as I imagine myself shattering against the mammoth waves. They have greeted me with such agony that I can only scream in terror with no hope of escape. Winds of such intensity could crash through any barricade and surely slay a man with such violent whispers.
Suddenly the sun is gone and I feel alone. I am completely surrounded in darkness as I struggle through complete nothingness. The iciness of the soft deadly breezes slowly chill me, even into a state of paralysis. My mind drifting away into a hellish unconsciousness leaves me with absolute emptiness.
When I slowly awake, I would find myself in a place that I have never been before. Taking a moment to look around, I could see something that didn't seem imaginable. It's so beautiful! I could see stars crystal clear and galaxies which I could only reach for. Overcome by the celestialness of the atmosphere, I gaze into infinity with complete awe.
After experiencing all these unusual and indescribable dreams, I searched all over the west coast to find my psychiatrist and friend. Surely, he would know what they mean. After weeks of searching I found him in the cemetery of San Diego. I don't think I could express anything as well as I did with him. Emotionally enclosed, I continued my meaningless life with only thoughts of loathsomeness. Yet, every evening I would visit the coast to see what it had in store for me.
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