Browse our categories:

Adventure
Collections
Contemporary Literature
Crime
Fantasy
Gay & Lesbian
Historical
Horror
Humour
Medical
Mystery
Paranormal
Psychological Thriller
Romance
Science Fiction
Thrillers
War
Young Adult
Non Fiction
Poetry - sole authored collections
Poetry - multi authored collections

Coming Soon

BeWrite Book Excerpts

Author Biographies

About BeWrite Books

Events

Free Download

BeWrite Books Blog

Contact Us

FAQs

Prologue

The surfboard cut cleanly through the water. Behind him, above him, the wave curled, its edge breaking up as it started to enclose him. His outstretched left hand caressed the wave face.
      His whole body resonated with the power of the ocean as the wave embraced him in a tube of blue-green water. Ahead, he could see the opening at the end of the tube; behind he could hear the roar of the collapsing wave. On his tanned back he could feel the jet of spray that accompanied the breaking of the wave. He crouched, leaning in towards the wall of water beside him.
      Suddenly he was out of the tube. He shot forward, spray exploding over him as the wave crashed down, releasing the pent-up energy gained in its thousand-mile journey across the Indian Ocean.
      From the beach, he could hear the calls and cheers of his mates as they applauded his ride. Deliberately, he had stayed in the water for this last ride; he knew it was coming. As if it were preparing itself for just this moment, he could feel the water. He basked in the fleeting adulation of his newfound comrades, waving a salute to them.
      The ocean is a fickle mistress. She demands her due respect; so as the strong, bronzed young man accepted the accolades, she dumped him.
      He was new to this beach; he had only been surfing its break for a couple of weeks, so he missed the telltale curling lip of the wave ahead of him. It dropped on him as he was starting to pull out for the paddle back into shore.
      With all the power and untamed savagery of the open sea, he was hurled down; his board sent spiralling above the rolling water. Beneath the surface, he was battered and tossed by the churning water as he fought to regain his balance. Desperately, he clawed his way to the surface, his lungs bursting. He had no idea which way was up as he was thrashed around like a rag-doll worried by a dog. His body protested as he bounced around in the wildly churning, foaming water.
      Finally, his head broke the surface and he took a deep, shuddering breath. From the beach, he could hear that the cheers of moments ago had turned to laughter.
      Such is life.
      The thought had barely formed in his mind when he felt the next wave lift him as it gathered itself in the final upsurge before it broke. With practised ease he ducked beneath the towering wall of water. As he often did, he turned and watched the wave from underwater as it crashed away from him. He marvelled at the beauty and power of the breaking wave.
      As his head broke the surface again, his only thought was: Where's my board? He looked around. Finally spotting the white and red board some distance away, he started swimming after it with strong, even strokes.
      The young surfer reached his board easily, climbed on it, and then started the long paddle back to the shore.
      By the time he reached the white sands that edged the mouth of Margaret River, he was exhausted. Instead of picking up his board and dashing up to where his mates were packing their gear and preparing to head back to their campsite, he laid back on the sand and stared up at the sky.
      It was late afternoon, sometime in January, or February, he wasn't quite sure. It had been one of those magnificent days in the south-west of Western Australia; temperature in the mid-eighties, clear blue skies, light off-shore breeze, with the promise of another day just like it after a wonderful night. He could feel the night coming on. It would be still and clear; there would be a million stars above him; the Milky Way would stretch from horizon to horizon; a few shooting stars to wish on. One of the guys had a guitar, so there would be some Simon & Garfunkel songs, maybe a Dylan or two, a bright campfire and a few cold beers. Then a long, comfortable sleep, then tomorrow, with more waves like the last one. Life was pretty good.
      "Hey, Neil man. Ya okay, mate?"
      He looked up at one of his mates who had wandered over to check on him.
      "Yeah, no worries. Just thinkin', that's all."
      "Jeez, mate. Ya don't want to do too much of that. It'll stuff your brain for sure, man. C'mon, we're packing up."
      "Yeah, right-o." Neil rolled over, picked up his board, and with a quick look at the horizon that was preparing to greet the sun, he dashed off up to join the rest.
      Their campsite was in Prevelly Park. It was still mostly bush and there were plenty of cosy, partly hidden nooks where groups like Neil's could set up camps and enjoy privacy and make as much harmless fun as they cared to. 'Prev Park' was the kind of place that urban legends were made of.
      They walked back, laughing and joking. There were ten of them, all about the same age, all wearing the uniform of the young surfing set; long hair, shorts, neck-chains, and bare feet. They all carried their boards under their arms. By the time the boys had made their way back, the girls had the fire going and a meal happening.
      They were a good bunch of girls, thought Neil. He quite fancied one or two, but he wasn't sure he was ready for that sort of hang-up at this stage.
      Later, as he settled himself in for a good long night of easy friendship; a few songs, a few beers, a couple of sausages cooked over an open fire, and a warm girl at his side, his mind started to drift. He had made good his escape, his money was holding out, but still he wanted more. There was a deep, gnawing emptiness in his soul. Above him, the stars beckoned. Beside him, the girl, whose name he recalled was Lisa, had snuggled in for a doze. He looked fondly at her. She smiled back.
      There had to be more. When he first escaped, there seemed to be nothing more important than his freedom. Now, he found himself wondering about the future. Not just his own, but generally. A feeling of lostness, coupled strangely with a sense of personal value, of purpose took hold of him. While not an epiphany, it was certainly a moment of import. He sat up, disturbing Lisa.
      "Hey," she protested sleepily.
      "Sorry, Lise," he said, absently. "I just had a thought."
      "Good. Write it down," she said. "Now lie back down, I was just getting comfortable." She reached up to pull him back to lie beside her on the cool grass.
      He acquiesced, reluctantly. As he lay back, his arms behind his head, he stared up at the sky. A shooting star, as if hearing his thoughts, streaked across the velvet night sky. The chemical engineer turned surf-bum smiled at the heavenly messenger.
           "Yeah, that'd work," he whispered.

All electronic books supplied in Adobeï™Acrobat™format. 
Refunds will be given at the discretion of the Company Management. 
Copyright © 2002 BeWrite Books. All rights reserved. 
Comments to: The BeWrite.net team