Raindrops compose rhythmic, pitter-patter music as they caress my skin. They leave a brackish tang on my tongue and the scent of springtime in my nose.
Bathed by soothing mist and ambient light, I lie upon warm dirt. Flowers sprout between my fingers, tickling. Newly formed petals nod their colorful heads as they bloom—lilac, indigo, cerulean hues.
I am rain. I am sun. I am earth.
I cannot move.
Vines spiral, serpent-like, around my cock. They squeeze and pulse until I am erect and jerking with lust. I’m flooded with desire, shame, and fear.
My mind, desperately struggling to make sense of things, turns to the Garden of Eden, Heaven, and Hell—concepts once scoffed at. Perhaps I have lost my mind.
Am I dead?
Selfish and aggressive, I’d been a commanding man, wielding my power like a sword, often hurting others self-righteously as I climbed to the top of the heap.
Even as rain and flora begin to work together, stroking me into an exquisite, surreal orgasm, I feel sure death looms and decide I must be in hell.
“Jack! I can’t do it!”
Blinded by pummeling rain, Jack swallowed anger.
Autopilot attached—hating to leave the helm in the storm—Jack fought his way to the bow, where his wife struggled with the tangled emergency parachute.
The storm had struck fast, the seas forming deep valleys their sailboat seemed desperate to cast itself into, suicidal. Any larger and they’d become huge waves, unleashing deadly amounts of energy as seawater crashed down. They’d be crushed unless the chute was in the water to dissipate the ocean’s power.
“Move! You’re totally useless!” Jack pushed Diane away, ignoring her familiar, wounded expression.
Hell is sunny, yet rain always falls. The sky is cloudless, brilliant blue.
I know I am no longer alone. Untangling myself from sensuous brambles, I walk naked to meet my judge, crushing violets under my feet.
I am surprised to see a woman. She sits as if meditating in the verdant field—legs folded, palms filling with rain. Her hair is long and brown, her face hidden.
She is motionless.
I walk endlessly, but she remains out of reach.
Am I dreaming?
Tired, I curl upon the ground—a human snail among the otherworldly vegetation.