Like any expectant mother, the moon hung low and full, glowing proudly in anticipation of the imminent birth.
Below, the anxious father paces, waiting, driven back and forth by the nervous energy like a caged animal despite the expansive space surrounding him. For the first time in his life he feels truly alive, like a current of electricity is coursing through his body, igniting every nerve. The brush of fabric against his flesh triggers sparks of pleasure so intense as to be almost painful. The sensory overload becomes more than he can bear and he pauses in his pacing long enough to strip out of his clothes. He stumbles as a cramp ripples through his core. He takes another couple of steps and his muscles spasm. He rides it out, gritting his teeth through the pain. The sharp stabbing in his gut ebbs, the twitching in his limbs subsides. He resumes his pacing. He feels warm, flushed. Sweat slips from his pores, streams down his body. The chill night air caresses his fevered flesh and he shivers.
The shivering intensifies, reaching bone deep and leaving him unable to move. The cramping starts again, and this time it is not confined to his stomach. His arms and legs cramp, his stomach, back, and neck. His bones start to pulse with a throbbing ache and his skin starts to crawl with an itch so deep as to induce madness. He cries out against the pain, but what comes out is not his voice. Not entirely.