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If We Break Before the Dawn

Tags: storm
I took the old road, looking down from the high cliffs at the tide as it rolled in. Night was falling, swallowing everything, devouring hearth and home; everything and everyone I loved. In the distance I could hear the sound of static, growing louder with every passing moment. Early warnings of what was to come. Pausing, I turned slowly, looking for the sun, trying to pin down a compass point one last time before everything grew dark. Such a futile gesture. Giving up, I decided to focus on the swollen tide pools honeycombing the beach below. Soon, they would be underwater, scrubbed clean by the fury of the coming storm.

I felt the first drop of rain upon my cheek. Wet and warm and strangely comforting. Despite my fear, I felt a spark of joy burrowing into my thoughts, followed by one of desperate ecstasy, bringing me to my knees. I moaned, my face upturned as the droplets turned to a cascade, thankful, for once, that it was joy, and not fear, that dug its claws into me, blossoming in my quivering flesh, leaving me moaning until the intensity of climax took me.


The first unearthly storm had swept over the coast one otherwise unremarkable Easter, not so much as blotting out the sun as simply erasing it. Panic, of course, had been my response. All of our responses. Terror born of too many late night tales of alien invasion gripped my mind while Colin had wept openly at God’s wrath as he cleansed the earth of all sinners which, to him, meant every single living being.

We’d survived, Colin and me, although it had nearly driven us mad. Others had not been so lucky. Chaos reigned around us. Madness, paranoia, hatred, fear; the vilest of what mankind had to offer. Worst of all, you couldn’t just see it - you could feel it. While the inexplicable darkness itself would remain forever a mystery, it was the aftermath that caused true terror. Whatever the source, it had stripped away all barriers, taking the raw and naked feelings of everyone it touched, and spreading them like a plague of locusts. In essence, we each felt every single emotion of those around us vividly.


Someone was near, that much I knew. And they were lost in the throes of passion. Fucking, I thought as I cried out again, lust burning through my brain, translating into physical sensations. For a moment I felt violated, but only for a moment. It had been so long since I had felt anything as pure and uplifting as this. My instinct had been to seek them out and put a stop to what they were doing. That had been my first thought. As a feeling of arousal and love washed through me, I became aware of the desire to fall on my knees and thank them, perhaps begging them to continue. I would have, too, had I not been overcome with such vast pleasure that I was left laying senseless on the muddy track, barely able to breath until, final, the sensation began to fade.


Many had thought that the significance of the event occurring on Easter had meaning. That was quickly put to rest the when it repeated itself in the middle of the following June. Madness once again took hold as neighbor slew neighbor in a vain attempt to silence the thoughts and feelings that passed through us all like arc lightning. And then, again in September. Watching the news, we knew that our quiet little town on the Western Isles hadn’t been isolated in this event. All over the world the unnatural night had fallen, enveloping the planet all at once. We had, in fact, been lucky. The larger cities hadn’t done nearly as well. While many here had succumbed to violence, we were a small enough community to protect ourselves. The death rate in cities such as London, however, had been sobering. By the time the fifth such event had occurred, we had lost all contact with the outside world, each paranormal storm growing worse. And by the seventh, our small town of barely 300 had shrunk to a mere dozen.


As it always did, the darkness evaporated as quickly as it had taken root, leaving me laying on my back, soaked to the skin as I stared up at an unnervingly normal sky, the sun sinking slowly towards the horizon with one over-riding need; seek the intruders whose presence had driven the despair I had grown used to and replaced it with pleasure.


Colin had taken his own life shortly after the fifth storm. It had been a relief, frankly, to have him gone. Had I known how ugly his thoughts had been, I would never have married him. I remember looking down from the cliffs at his broken body upon the rocks, imagining how freeing it must be. The sea had been silent, as if poised, waiting for me to join him. Instead, I turned my back and stumbled back to what was no longer home; it was simply a house in which I existed. Little did I know that, within a year, I would be one of a few dozen survivors, guilt etched in my soul as we waited each other out, hoping that, with every fall of night, another would stand upon the cliff’s edge, freeing the rest of us from the turmoil within them when the next storm struck.


I began to take the old road regularly, hoping to either catch sight of whomever it was I’d felt that night, or better, to experience it once more as the night came crashing over me once again. For months I made the trek, until I had started to believe that I’d gone mad and imagined it. During that time our dozen had been trimmed to less than half that. Whether it had been suicides or murders that had culled them, no one was too eager to investigate. In fact, it was rare that we even indulged in contact with each other these days; the danger of being too close when a storm hit was enough to create hermits of us all. Whether real or imagined I had decided to keep this perplexing secret to myself.


And then there were three. Winter passed, and with it, the turn of a new year. It seemed to me like the occurrences were happening less regularly now that I had actually begun looking forward to them. As spring replaced winter, followed by a gloomy summer, I began to harbor thoughts of suicide. It had been months since I’d seen Archie or Baines. For all I knew, they might be dead, leaving me in sole possession of our morbid little town. Not that it was a cause for rejoicing. I paused, gazing out over the sea, able to see the dark mass that was Ireland. One single step, I thought. Just do it. Get it over with. You’re already dead, your body just doesn’t know it.

“Why not?” I mused, steeling myself.

And, just as I’d made up my mind, the world around me was erased, plunging me into the most vibrant ecstasy that I’d ever experienced.

This time it wasn’t simply passion that crashed through me. I could feel them physically. A warm wet mouth on my nipple, teeth brushing against tender flesh as it suckled, another at my throat, tongue tracing over the hollow and then along my collar bone. I shivered, so lost in sudden ecstasy that I nearly didn’t recognize my own moan of pleasure.

“Please, don’t stop,” I groaned, helpless to do more than pray as I felt fingers tangling in my hair and a warm, wet mouth against mine, tongue pressing between my lips. And laughter. I felt, rather than heard the unmistakable sounds of laughter. Not mocking me, like I expected, but gentle, joyful, even loving.

More sensations danced over my naked flesh, like the feet of a thousand butterflies dancing upon me. A part of me wondered at that, not recalling having removed my clothes. It didn’t matter. I accepted it, letting myself drift along with the tide, eager to find out where it carried me, gasping at the sudden blossoming of love that tore through me. My own thought or theirs, or perhaps all three combined? It made no difference. It was welcomed, as were the fingers that teased me open, and the hands that stroked my thighs, gently spreading them. I could feel myself growing wet with hungry arousal. Desire flooded my thoughts, erasing everything else. For the first time since the initial storm, I wasn’t repulsed by the touch of another being. I felt sweetness flooding me, and tenderness and warmth. Writhing, I reached out, unable to touch, but oh, so able to feel as I felt myself penetrated, gently at first, and then with a need that matched my own. It seemed to last forever, for which I was thankful for. I had never once, in my life, been fucked that hard, nor as gloriously. My screams of passion were muffled by a feminine mouth upon mine, our slick tongues dancing primitively within our mouths, fighting for breath as she fucked my mouth with as much vigor as he fucked my pussy. I felt myself overloading with passion, my body trembling and shaking until I thought I might truly expire. Fucked to death… oh, if only, I thought and then, all thoughts fled as I climaxed, an explosion blossoming within me and tearing me apart over and over, not with pain, but with unbearable pleasure.


The storms still come. Strangely, though, I am immune to them. Perhaps that is because I am truly alone. Or perhaps it is because of what is growing within me. Sighing, I stroke my belly, amazed at how much it has grown over the last few weeks. By my count, it has been eight months since that fateful day. Eight quiet months, where fear has been vanquished by hope. I feel it kick, my breath hitching, smiling despite the discomfort. He, or she, is going to need to be healthy and strong. Looking westward, I ignore the cold rain that pelts against my face, unable to hide the joy that is etched permanently upon my weather beaten features.

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©2010 Sprite. The stories linked to this online profile may not be reproduced in any manner, without the express permission of the author.

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