[full story is 1,647 words]
It was a dark day in Paradise. Dank air stifled what used to be the purest location… Grace dusted herself off before rising to realize her own nudity. Her hands touched gently the soft breasts which she had always taken for the norm….that was before the fall. They were fallen angels, and they knew not where they were, only the beauty from which they were thrust. She looked around slowly. It was a sad place, this earth…
Tremendously aware of her own nudity, she wandered cautiously to the side of a small tidepool and looked down. There is a difference between being naked, and knowing you are naked…almost like a baby discovering his ears…he could always hear, and yet he knew not how… Grace gazed for a few moments at her own figure, devoid of wings, staring into her own eyes. As her eyes traveled downward, so did her hands.
She let her hands cup lightly her milk-white breasts as her fingertips explored her hardened nipples. She then let her hands slip downward, caressing her stomach and thighs. She then let her hand rest at the triangular patch of hair below her belly button. She rubbed it gently and felt something she had never felt before. It was a mixture of nausea and elation. She moved her fingers inward and felt her own wetness. A cool breeze swept over her body, braising her hair over her shoulders and across her breasts…she closed her eyes.
When she reopened them, she was not alone. Staring into the tidepool, she saw another fallen one at her side. She turned to face him, then seeing his bareness, Grace tried to shield her eyes with her hand.
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Author’s Note: This was written for a girlfriend of mine many years ago. She chose the motif for me to write about. All flames should be directed towards her. Alas, I know not where she is.
Her eyes adjusting to the faint glow of the monitor’s lights, she awoke. Every inch of her skin was cold, but that was to be expected after ten years in thermo freeze. The room was not as she remembered it. Once shiny metal cabinets were now covered with dust; debris littered the floor. She glanced over at the three other thermo tanks in the room, there lights were out. This meant that her companions had already evacuated or more likely that they were dead.
Slowly, she lifted herself off the bed on which she lay, ducking her head to avoid the glass cover which had protected her for the last ten years. She walked stiffly over to the next tank. Commander Barton’s body was still inside, while her pulse and respiratory indicators showed her to be dead. The other two tanks, which were reserved for the two men of the crew, also contained bodies with no detectable respiration or heartbeat. She was the only surviving member of her squad.
There were nearly a hundred squads of four in isolated control rooms like this. They were separated by several hundred miles. The rational behind this was that when the bombs started to fall at least one-third of the control rooms were expected to survive. After the nuclear winter had eliminated all human life the chosen ones would emerge from suspended animation and start over; at least those who survived would.
Her name was Jessica Martin, an architect, art historian, construction engineer and most important a fertile female. By her acceptance into the Savior’s program, she had agreed to become the mate of one of the members of her squad. He was a loathsome man with a genius level I.Q. This requirement had almost made Jessica reject the program’s offer, but she had wanted to survive the holocaust. It was almost a relief that his life support system had failed. Unfortunately, the only two other members of the Saviors program who could help her were also dead.
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