Free Extreme Fiction

Because She Was Rain

     I can't say that I went out of my mind that night, although, on the other hand, it's impossible to say that I was "normal" either. That word certainly didn't have much meaning for me anymore. My parents had just died, after all, within three weeks of each other, dad from brain cancer, mom from cancer of the lungs. I'd buried my mother that morning, as a matter of fact, and it'd rained all day, and now it was night, and I was twenty-six-years old, and I had no brothers and sisters or hardly any friends to speak of, certainly no one close enough so that I would feel comfortable calling them to discuss the immense emptiness and pain I felt. There was nothing on TV, and I didn't feel like renting a video, so there I was, alone and nude in my ground floor apartment staring out at the rain. Why hadn't I put on some clothes, at least a robe, after I'd come out of the shower after the funeral? Why hadn't I turned on any of the lights in my apartment so that now it was so dark I couldn't move two feet in any direction without stubbing my toe? Was I crazy? No. I was hyper. Hyper-alive. Hyper-sensitive. It was as if I could hear the dust floating in the air, could see the darkness, see it, see the shapes of black nothingness. The vibrations of the universe made me vibrate, made my skin tingle.
    The way I was feeling that night, it seemed perfectly natural for me to want to step naked out onto the patio at the rear of the apartment, in spite of the fact that it couldn't have been more than forty degrees outside and that it was still raining so heavily that the air itself seemed nothing more than rushing water, and I saw nothing clearly because of the water in my eyes, and everything I heard reminded me of the tinkle-slap of rain. Someone whispered in my ear, and the whisper was the whoosh of rain. Someone touched the tips of my fingers, and it was the cold, soft touch of falling rain. I saw someone standing with me on the patio, and I blinked, and I thought, no, that couldn't be, that's just the rain, and then she was gone because it was a woman that I saw, a lithe loveliness of flowing water, and then I blinked again, and there she was again, and I came to her and kissed her, and her kiss was cold, her lips were rain, and she smiled at me, and her eyes were vibrant and gray and flowing, and her hair flowed, cascaded like a waterfall down her naked back, and I tried to embrace her but couldn't because of the flowing, because she was rain.
    The patio started to flood because it rained so hard, and she sank into it, into the water at our feet, and I sank with her, and I didn't care that it was cold, I didn't care that I could hardly breathe, I just wanted to be with this woman and love this woman and make love with this woman. She laughed the laughter of rain, and she caressed me with her coldness. Her fingers of rain ran through my hair, down my chest. She massaged every part of me with rushing water and smothered my face with kisses of rain. I reached out to touch her, to cup one of her massive flowing breasts in the palm of my hand, and came back with a handful of water. She laughed, and I reached for her again, gently this time, so very, very gently, and this time I held her breast, felt the taut nipple, and I kissed her nipples and I sank myself between her legs, and now she was so real that I could embrace her, as real as love, as real as sex, as real as a dream. I could love her with every part of myself, with my entire being, and I couldn't sink myself into her deep enough, no matter how deep was my thrust I could still thrust deeper, and I dissolved into her, and I became water, I became rain, and when I climaxed it was like I'd jumped off a twelve-story building to cannonball into the rain, and the splash was an explosion, and the explosion was love, a scream of love, and then it was over, and I cried, "No! No! Please don't leave me! Please don't go!" and I reached for her with my hands and eyes and soul and heart but she was nowhere to be found. She had returned to the water, flowed away with the rain, leaving me once again alone, stomach down in the flooding water, sobbing and grasping for something that was no longer there and would never return again.
    And now, years later, a happier man, a happily married man, I look back on that night and I wonder, was she real? And then I think, if God is real than she was real. I only know this for certain: For the most part we just roll through our lives. We go to our jobs. We return home to our families. We pretend that our beliefs and our perceptions of reality are founded on solid bedrock. But then something happens, both of our parents die within a month of each other of unrelated causes for instance, and suddenly everything we know and everything we believe is up for grabs, and we realize that nothing is stone solid and never will be, that everything, in fact, is as flowing and as liquid as rain, and I believe that it is at these times, these moments of hyper-sensitivity, that we are closest to God. Did you get that? Do you hear what I'm saying? I know this sounds crazy, but I am convinced that the woman I encountered that night saved me from going out of my mind and perhaps committing suicide, and I'm saying that when I looked into her loving, smiling face of rain that night, I am convinced, I am utterly certain, that I looked into the face of God.           
    
    
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