Please remember this is fiction.
Content Notice ~ This story – When Lightning Comes From The East – includes themes that some readers might find sensitive.
It contains a few ideas joined together – like a jigsaw. If you choose to read then do so carefully.
Inspired by a conversation with Darling Near Miss. We were talking about the virus and she said to me – “I do hope people will be nicer to each other when all this is over.”
The Tale of Diddly Squat
The year before the lock-down society was descending into a narcissistic pool of people who herded together, intent on bullying others, with a total disregard for anyone’s feelings or opinions.
Then came the airborne disease. The government made the decision that people had to stay home. For many this new life seemed pretty dire. But for some, who feared the gangs, it was almost a welcome relief. And the winds seemed to be getting stronger everyday.
I lived alone by choice. I could have gone back to my parents but I had Monty, my German Shepherd, for company. Besides, they lived in the city. The countryside seemed a far safer option.
Luckily my profession as a freelance graphic designer meant working from home was a valid option. Immediately, the TV’s changed to 24/7 news and old movies. I liked the films but refused to be bombarded with the constant propaganda from newsreels. The media were collectively attempting to turn the nation into a panic-stricken mob who could not, and would not, think for themselves. I have to admit at first I was scared. But I used that energy to look for more work.
I relied a lot on my computer. As did many of the free thinkers who hadn’t yet been forcefully dragged off to the infirmaries – regardless of their health.
Then one morning I got up and Google was the only page on the net. Worse still, the search had been replaced with a list of categories. The free web had been shut down.
I lived opposite the village pub which used to be handy but since the lock-down it stood only as a reminder of what life had been.
Supplies were brought into Diddly and a box left outside everyone’s door. Rations. I always took mine straight in but never heard of any looting. Maybe it was simply a matter of time. The parcel always included a jar of a malty night-time drink. I tried it a few times, but felt very sleepy the following morning. My mind fuzzy for most of the day. Everything else included was pretty standard.
Weeks turned into months and the parish of Diddly Squat – consisting of Upper, Lower and Diddly – was finally declared disease free. But we had to remain in self isolation until the adjoining counties were also in the clear.
I only went out when it got dark. Monty needed his walks and a girl’s got to exercise. I would put on my trainers and together we’d go for a run, whatever the weather. Which was getting increasingly horrid by the day. Mostly I got drenched.
It was on my return one night that I noticed the glow of a dim light coming from the back of the pub. The owners lived above so I thought I better check it out. Putting Monty on his lead we walked around to the garden entrance and I peered in through the window.
Inside there was a small gathering of villagers, sat talking by the light of a single lamp shining from a corner table. I tried the door and as the handle turned they all turned with it and fell silent. I looked in again and saw one guy pointing in the direction of my cottage. He nodded. Another came and opened the door.
“Ah hello Maddie. You found us. Come in and have a seat.”
Without a word I walked over to a spare chair, all the while keeping Monty close to my side.
The small group of about ten resumed their conversation.
“Lightning that comes from the east, and flashes to the west, will signify the second coming.” Bert the butcher spoke with authority.
“And the weather is deteriorating daily,” replied Anne the mobile hairdresser.
“Where do you stand on this Maddie?” Asked the Reverend.
“Eh, I wouldn’t use the night-time drink if I were you.”
It was the first thing that came into my head but felt relevant.
“Ah, yer not wrong there.” Steve, the landlord, nodded.
The Reverend took the lead and explained the importance of strength and faith. We were sure to be saved. After all – it was written.
They all got up and patted each other on the back (hugging or shaking hands was still against the law) and agreed to meet two days later.
I wasn’t sure I understood what was happening but instinctively knew that people getting together for any kind of discussion which didn’t involve name calling was positive. On Friday night I returned.
The door was locked, once again, by a digital keypad. But when I knocked they let me in. There were two more new recruits: Carl from the old post office and Mrs Philips who lived by the stream.
This time we were all handed half a lager before the meeting began. As I sipped the amber fluid it certainly felt as if things were looking up.
At first there was a lot of what I can only describe as religious talk. But that made a kind of sense. We needed to have hope, faith and believe that something or someone could help us get through this global crisis.
Later we discussed other news. Jake revealed he’d found a way of bypassing the constant google page to search the net on his mobile phone.
Just as I was leaving the Reverend took me and the other two newcomers aside and gave us the code to the front door –
“4189 – don’t write it down – keep it in your heads.” He whispered tapping his nose.
Word spread and the group grew larger with every passing week. A few came over from Upper Diddly, and the Reverend talked a lot about…
Take heed that no one deceives you…
…the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night, the heavens will pass away with a great noise, and the elements will melt with fervent heat!
Many in the group would cheer but most, like me, were only there for the beer! And the helpful other news at the end of the meeting. But I have to admit, after such a long period of isolation, the opportunity for social interaction buoyed us all.
I’d been attending for a few months when I met Joshua. He must have walked up from Lower Diddly.
Joshua looked a similar age to me, 28, and as most of the others were older we naturally gravitated to each other. He was nice looking too. His family possibly came from Greece or similar. My blond hair and sharp blue eyes enchanted him from the start. But to be honest, although enigmatic, he soon charmed everyone, including me.
Occasionally, even though it was technically breaking the curfew, he would come back to my cottage. We would sit up late chatting and he’d finally steal off at dawn, leaving me wet between my legs from wanting him so much. It had been over a year since I’d had any real sexual action. My vibrator was tired and I was certainly bored of its predictable repertoire.
One Friday I decided not to attend the meeting. It was getting a little repetitive. Lots of waffle about false prophets and a great deception before the Second Coming. Not enough beer and certainly not enough hands on from Joshua.
I took Monty for a run and arrived back just as a storm was breaking. Thunder practically shook the ground and lightning flashed in strips across the sky.
After a hot bath I brought Monty to sleep upstairs with me instead of his usual bed in the utility room. He hated storms.
Monty cowered under the bed as I sat trying to read. Giving up, I had just switched off the bedside lamp when the bedroom door crashed open. There, illuminated by a flash of forked lightning, stood Joshua. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest.
I opened my mouth to scream. But he rushed over. Putting his hand around my lips telling me,
“Oh my god, Joshua… I thought you were… a thief,” I stammered.
He started to stroke my hair and as thunder once more shook the house he reached under my night shirt, prised my legs apart and pushed two fingers into my cunt.
I could hardly breath with excitement and leaned back, head on the pillow. He took my wetness as consent and kneeling between my legs unzipped his jeans and steered his already throbbing cock between the heat of my thighs. Another burst of lightning framed the scene and I watched as, with ease, he slid in and out of my sex, muttering something about temptation before exclaiming his imminent climax. Mine followed and we lay holding each other, shaking from the intensity.
Very quickly we fell asleep. Side by side. Only to be woken before dawn by another storm, even more foul than the last. It really did seem as if the day of reckoning was upon us.
Joshua went in for round two. Tearing open the buttons of my nightshirt and fiercely latching on to a nipple. I offered no defense. It seemed he liked sex quick, raw and passionate. Fucking again, our rhythm perfectly matched.
Then – as he began to come for the second time – there was a crash of thunder and the room was flooded with light. Feeling my own orgasm rushing to the surface, in the heat of the moment, I shouted out his name…
Falling beside me, satiated, he grinned and said, “I keep meaning to tell you. It’s not ‘Josh-oo-ah.’ My name is pronounced Yeshua.”
Strange name. But what happened after was even stranger.
Yeshua left and I never saw him again. Nobody ever really figured out where he’d come from. But more importantly, spring finally arrived. Infection slowed, the curfew ended and the world started to return to what it had been. Yet better. People seemed to have learned from spending so much time alone and now treated others with respect, opening their minds, willing to listen and accept each and every individual.
When the internet returned to normal the first thing I did was look up the strange name of my sexy thief in the night.
Image from pixabay.
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