surfer

I feel at peace when I__ on the water, we all do. It__ like in that moment, nothing else matters except the wave and our boards,_ Jason said, watching her expressions as he explained. __e have all vowed that since the ocean gives us something so amazing, we should give something back. I guess it__ just our way of __oing good_.

Time did exist here, in small amounts (well some of the time) _ and there were feint eddies and currents of time here, things that were barely tangible. Feint forces of the universe they were, nearly indiscernible from the nothingness like a warm breeze on a hot summer night. How long he had been here, he knew not _ but he was slowly learning to master these barely tangible waves like a new surfer with one foot on the sandy beach and the other on a shiny new board of Hatred. Revenge splashed around his feet like the cold waves of the ocean of Time. Nearby, two other inmates collided with each other, bounced apart spread-eagled and spiraled off into the distance in infinite slowness. The Wetsuit of Insanity clung to his spiritual body, isolating him from the timelessness that seemed to exist here. A wind of Change blew at him from behind and he pushed off from the beach with iron determination and a mental clarity hereto before unknown to him. Something in the microcosm that didn__ even have a name went __ling_ and against all the laws of probability, Brad Xyl opened his eyes.