Day Four Writing

As he coughed at the bitterness of the bile on his tongue he remembered the way the tree had felt beneath his fingertips, he remembered the feel of soft skin of the fruit, the sweetness of it’s juice as it ran down his chin; he thought about the radiance of her skin, the curves of her body and how his fingers desired to embrace her. How was what had happened with the tree different than his feelings towards her? He had always loved her, but never had he felt this way towards her. The feeling was as intoxicating as the bark and fruit had been at first. But the aura of the bark dissolved quickly to its core and the pleasant taste of the fruit had been quickly replaced by the burning taste of bile and the painful convulsions of his stomach.

He turned to look at the woman. She sat as she was sitting before, her head turned away from his display of sickness. He wondered if the kisses of her lips would turn cold if he were to bargain for a second chance and kiss her again. But within himself he knew that the chance that her touch might become a mechanical gesture, just as the bark of the tree had become ordinary with the words of the serpent, would not be his main cause for concern. He sat back down beside her and felt her inwardly pull away from him. Her arms clasp around her knees a little tighter and her eyes refused to turn towards him. Her desire to distance herself from him was obvious and foreign to him. It concerned him and he could not understand it.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“I-yes.” She replied, keeping her eyes downcast, her arms clenched tight.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

The lack of communication, the lack of understanding and the confusion that he felt stung his pride. He wanted to know what was wrong. He needed to understand, to hear what she was experiencing because he could make little sense of the things happening to him and she was only causing him more confusion. Her silence and her refusal to talk frustrated him because he knew that something was wrong but he didn‘t know what it was. He wanted to fix things. He wanted to comfort her, to comfort himself. But how could he comfort her if she never said what was bothering her?

“I know something is wrong; what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” She snapped, whipping around to face him, “ I just want to be alone.”

Alone. She wanted to be alone. The irony of that statement rolled around inside his head. He knew alone. In the beginning when God had given him the woman as a help mate, a companion, God had told him that it was not good for him to be ’alone’. He had full heartedly agreed. Now the woman wanted to be alone. Her rejection pierced into him and he felt offended by it. After all it wasn’t his fault that she had eaten the fruit and gotten sick. If anyone was to blame for this it was her. If she hadn’t given him the fruit he never would have eaten it in the first place.

He sat sulking in silence beside her, furiously plucking at the grass and refusing to look her direction. She ignored his tantrum as best as she could offended by his ignorance and inability to assess the situation. Here she sat, her whole body aching and pains in her stomach that threatened to overwhelm her and he had to ask what was wrong! It was obvious what was wrong. She was degraded and indecently exposed. And he was there to see her in her state of disarray. Her face was blotchy with tears, her stomach writhed in pain, her whole body was simply, undeniably, shameful and she felt extremely discontented with it. And his solution to this irreconcilable situation was to kiss her. That was what was wrong. She desired to be hidden with all her might, she desired to be covered. The emptiness she felt left her confused and frustrated and as she strained to place her finger on the cause of her discontentment her mood became more and more unpleasant.

The man had not ceased his violent plucking of grass and she could stand it no longer.

“Stop it!” She snapped.

He grit his teeth and grabbed up another handful of grass, pointedly opening his hand to drop it, then clenched his fist.

“Why?” He asked tersely, his tone conveying his complete annoyance.

She glared at him and said nothing in return.

“Why?” He asked again, purposely reaching for another handful of grass determined to get a rise from her.

The anger she felt towards him, coupled with the distress of the moment, rose within her. She whipped around to face him and indignantly struck his cheek with the palm of her hand. The man jumped to his feet and glowered over her, his temper raging as she stared in shock at the palm of her hand, now stinging with the impact of the blow. She looked up to unite the stinging in her palm with the impact of her actions within his furious eyes and, upon seeing it, covered her face with her hands and began to weep hopelessly.

This display of emotion both frustrated and attracted the man. It frustrated him because he could see no real need for it, just as he could see no real need for her silence. And it attracted him because she was hurting, she was in distress and he honestly wanted to help her. He stood awkwardly for a moment, then sighed heavily and kneeled by her side drawing her to him, holding her close despite her obvious reluctance to yield to his touch.

Word Count: 4707

(Yay! Just about 5000. And with the time change it's only 10 now, early.)

Love Always,
Cole.

Day Three Writing

Perhaps it was as the first pains that began to enter their stomachs or the distinct feeling of distortion which their rapid and laboured breathing had stimulated that initiated their feelings to discontent and realization of guilt. Either way as they lay, feeling the cool earth beneath them fully conscious of the beating of their hearts, the realization of what they had done began to make itself real to them.

The sticky juices covering their bodies had caused dirt, grass, pieces of bark and leaves to fasten to their skin and it caused them great discomfort. They began attempting to remove the unseemly mess only to discover with great dismay that it would not remove itself so easily. Their agitation because of the juices now covering their bodies was only magnified by the discomfort of their stomachs and the burning awareness at the back of their throats demanding that they purge themselves of that which they had eaten with such veracity.

Lifting herself off the ground, the woman rolled onto her knees, her hand extended to keep herself from falling and retched. Closing her eyes, her body visibly shaken by the effort she attempted to calm herself as her stomach once again convulsed within her, this time bringing with it the burning remains of the fruit. She remained like that, staring at the remains of the fruit through tear filled eyes, coughing as she tasted the burning at the back of her throat begin to rise once again. Never had she been so fully aware of her body. In an attempt to curb the churning of her stomach she placed her hand upon it. Negatively noting for the first time the way that her skin rolled together. She looked down at her body; her breasts spilling forward, her legs folded beneath her and she felt as she had never felt before. She glanced to the man and seeing his eyes closed, his hands grasping his stomach, felt momentary relief. Shakily she got to her feet and, keeping her back to him, moved to the other side of the tree to appease the new found discomfort she now felt.

The man opened his eyes and sat up as she lowered herself on the other side of the tree. He wasn’t sure what to think or feel. He felt trapped in his skin. The torment in his stomach made him certain that, just as God had warned, they were dieing. And he felt terrible. All of the pleasure and desire he had felt towards the tree before was now replaced by sorrow, regret and anger. What was going to happen to them now? He could hear the woman crying from the other side of the tree and he went to join her there.

She was sitting, her back against the tree, her arms wrapped around her knees hugging them to her chest as her forehead rested against them. She was the same as she had always been before, but somehow as he looked upon her she was different. He had always loved her, had always found the curves of her body, the lively look of her eyes to be pleasing; but as he cast his eyes upon her now he found within her to be a creature of temptation. He rested his hand on her shoulder and discovered with morbid delight that the touch of her skin felt just as the bark had felt beneath his fingertips at his first encounter. He let it remain there, fearful yet delighted, soaking in her features in a way he had never imagined them before. The softness of her hair, the pleasing shape of her breasts, her long legs, delicate hands, the carefully chiselled features of her face, the dainty way her body was knit together; he wondered how he had missed it all before.

She looked up at him, her face stained purple by the salt of her tears, and he saw her lips. They had kissed before, many times before, but now as he looked upon them they appealed to him with a strength that nearly overwhelmed him. He kneeled beside her, holding her gaze and kissed her softly upon the forehead, upon her cheek, her ear, her neck feeling a surge within his body as he did so giving him courage. And then, softly, he placed his lips upon hers and found within himself a hunger for them. She attempted to turn her head from him, scared by what was happening between them and he caught her face in his hands and leaned against her pushing her against the tree. He wished the embrace would never end but even as he did so he pushed away from her, his stomach churning and fell upon his knees, as he heaved forth the remains of the fruit.

Word Count: 3733

Day Two Writing

They groped the tree in amazement, desiring that the sensation spreading through them as they touched it should remain when they removed their lustful fingers and turned away. Intoxicated by the pleasure of what they were feeling neither of them noticed the steady eyes of the serpent watching the frenzied desperation of their embrace.


It was his cold calculated laughter which broke their stupor and caused their eyes to widen in stunned surprise while their hearts pounded in their ears. They stood silently watching while the serpent casually approached and tenaciously curled himself around the base of the tree, his tongue flicking in and out he faced them with a carefully placed look of satisfaction and lifted his head upwards to scrutinize the actions of the man and the woman God had blessed with his favour.


“Don’t let me stop you.” He sneered as he turned from them and made his way up the trunk of the tree to embrace a heavily laden branch. He rubbed the side of his head against a luscious piece of fruit, closing his eyes and breathing deeply he inhaled it’s scent and began to sink his teeth into it.


A strained sound was released from her mother‘s throat, “Stop!” she screamed, “Stop! Don’t eat it!”


The serpent stopped and slowly turned towards her, examining her face. Her wide eyes were full of alarm and her features were a portrait of panic and astonishment. Genuine concern and naivety appeared in the design of her face, innocence mingled with curiosity and a thirst she would not recognize, a greed. Hatred for her large doe eyes and unaffected stature rose up within his heart. This creature who stood before him now, dumb and powerless, was the creature God had designed to rule with him. Unbelievable. Slowly the serpent shook his head.


“Why?” He asked.


The silence that met his answer was the effect he had desired to retrieve.
“Be-because…” She stammered. “God instructed us not to eat of the fruit. If we eat it we will die.”


The serpent morphed his countenance into one of deep thought and concern.
“What is,” He began then shook his head, “What is ’dieing’?”


The woman was silent. Her carefully formed lips pursed themselves into a cautious frown and she cast her eyes downwards. The serpent could see the depth of her confusion and he fed off it, sucked in it’s essence. This torment he was initiating was sweeter than the fruit itself. The taste of vengeance on his lips tasted more intoxicating than the cool bitterness of the fruit ever could. This was beautiful deception. Beautiful. And he relished every minute of it. The woman turned her eyes towards him once again, victory revealed in the ignorance of her confusion.


“I don’t know.” She finally admitted, casting a glance to the man, who shrugged in agreement.


The serpent looked coyly at them. “Then why are you afraid to eat the fruit? How terrible could it be?” The woman began to argue then stopped short and stood still, silent.


He could gauge her thoughts, they unfurled before him in all their innocence and foolishness and they irritated him as much as they delighted him. She was fighting to make sense of the confusion, attempting to understand. The man was different. He stood silently. Watching with little expression, hearing with minute care. His fingertips were no doubt tingling, preoccupied with the desire to continue stroking the tree. He did not want to stop and question, he wanted to allow his senses to guide him. He wanted to make up his own mind, he wanted to exercise his power and choose the tree. Choose death. The conscience of the woman was louder. She enjoyed the sensations of the tree but had withdrawn her hand at the guilt that it provoked. Had argued with the urge to lash herself to death, countered it with what she knew to be true, God had told her not to eat or even to touch the fruit. Now she was faced with a decision and an uncertain consequence. She required convincing. She desired to hear the serpent speak what she now found burning inside of her. To voice the excuse, the annulment of her fears, that she could not speak aloud herself.


“God does not want you to eat the fruit because you will die.” The serpent scoffed, “God does not want you to eat the fruit because he knows if you do you’ll be just like Him!” he hissed. They looked up at him, faces visibly reflecting their astonishment as the thought slowly processed.


“Here.” the serpent said, knocking a luscious piece of fruit to the ground at their feet. “It’s better than bark.”


They watched as the snake lowered himself from the branches of the tree and confidently left them to their own devices and then, silently, they stood side by side, feeling the sting of what the serpent had suggested. Suddenly the electric aura of the tree felt tainted and dull. The man reached out his hand once more and fulfilled the craving of his finger tips. The rough bark of the tree no longer held the same appeal to him as it had before. The intoxicating power which had seeped through his fingertips into his veins had become nothing more to him than a vile bitterness. He stared at his fingers, his carefully fashioned fingers against the rough hewn bark. Stared hard at them, willing himself to engage the rush of emotions he could not reconcile as they began to rise up within him.


The woman studied his face, noting the tightening of his jaw as he clenched his teeth, the furrowing of his brow and the wild look of his eyes, a look that resonated within her own soul with force. She shared his sentiments, she felt what he was feeling. She glanced from the darkness of his face, to his hand against the tree. His fingers were spread wide, his palm pushed flat and she determined that the magic of the tree had receded to it’s core. They were trapped on the outside of the tree, unable to enter into it, unable to push through the bark and feel that which they now craved to feel.


She crouched down, and eyed the fruit laying on the ground. The arguments which had burned so furiously before and now cooled severely and she found herself strangely serene as she extended her hand to retrieve the fruit from its fallen state. She picked it up gingerly and cradled it within her hands reflecting on its pleasing form and attractive colouring, noting with confidence that she had not changed yet. The fruit now lay within her hands but she herself was not ’dead’. Tentatively she raised the fruit to her lips and closed her eyes as her teeth encompassed the sweet flesh of the fruit inspiring tangy nectar to run freely down her chin and neck. A pleasurable groan escaped from her lips and she raised her face, grinning triumphantly to meet the eyes of the man who now watched her with great curiosity. She offered up the fruit to him, nestled pleasantly within her hands, and beckoned him to receive and to taste of its goodness for himself with her shining and joyous eyes.


The man hesitated only a moment before accepting her offering and sinking his teeth into the flesh of the fruit. His face lit up in amazement and the woman laughed merrily at his astonishment as he swiftly downed the rest of it’s goodness. When all that remained was the wet sticky juices covering his face and hands, he met the eyes of the woman and declared the desire they both harboured inside of them, “More!”


They raided the heavily laden branches of the tree, seeking the fruit of the juiciest appearances and richest colouring. They ate feverously stuffing fruit in faster than they could swallow it down. With faces, neck and chest stained with the wet juice of the tempting fruit, their stomachs distended and aching, they dropped to the ground exhausted and ill.

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But her womb was full now. She scarcely believed it to be so, but she knew that it must be because she could feel the presence of the child inside of her. When she spoke to him, he answered. When she prayed for him she could feel his joy. From within her womb he advised her, teaching her and preparing her heart for the coming labour and birth. He prophesied to her. He called her to repentance and he called forth that which was detestable within his sight to be held accountable.


Word Count: 2927

Love Always,
Cole.

The Beginning - November 1st.

Her womb was full. She felt the change immediately. Something, like the first slivers of daylight at dawn, had awakened inside of her. Hope edged her cold heart, sliced into it smoothly creating a sensation that was impossible to overlook. She was old and she was barren. Her child, the child promised to her in her youth, the child spoken of and destined to grow within her womb had never been conceived within her. His appearance was always a mere illusion. She could feel him, she could see him, she could hear him and observe his countenance within her minds eye but such a child was not meant to grace her arms in the flesh. He was a creature of spirit. His character and integrity intact and heroic, he was a spirit being dwelling in a spirit realm. And he would remain there, the offspring of angels, not of mere woman. She knew this to be so, while suspecting it to be false.


She, herself, was a maiden of detestable roots and grew eating of the fruits of her mothers bad taste and her father’s ill favoured shame. Raised on the traditions of guilt and of restitution she paid her allegiance to the God of the promise; the father of the spirit child who had never graced her womb with his presence. This God whose favour graced her brow and who, because of his love for her, had determined within his heart to pour himself into her womb and give her, her promised child was a God of justice and of love. A God whose spoken word called forth both life and death, a God to be feared, to be revered and to be loved. He, in his majesty, had created from earth the body of her father and breathed his own breath into his nostrils setting him in a position of authority above all but himself. Finding the creation of her father pleasing to Himself and desiring to complete the expression of his glory He took a rib and fashioned her mother.


Together as companions dwelling side by side they had lived and prospered as the intimate companions of the God of the promise. They felt no shame and were not shackled by bondages. There was no fear within them, there was no hatred, no hurt, no lack of joy or peace. They lived a life of abundance in the paradise they called home free to remain so long as they were loyal to their Almighty God and obeyed his commands. However, her parents had not remained loyal to the command of their Almighty God and they did the one thing that he had warned them would spell their death sentence and banishment from his bosom.


Within paradise sprouted and grew a tree with twisting fibrous trunk and thick seeking branches extended to catch the bounty of the overflow of heaven. God watered this tree with wisdom and with tears and the fruit it bore were large and round and full of the bitter sweetness which the knowledge of good and evil inspires. It was a quiet tree, short in stature and dignified. Birds did not land in it’s branches to build their nests, nor did any of the animals eat of it’s fruit or frolic beneath it’s canopy. It was respected and reserved for God Almighty, the Promise God.


This forbidden tree, its branches heavy with fruit, was an object of speculation for her parents. They reasoned that the fruit must be the food of God; but this answer did not satisfy them for they had feasted on the fruit of the other trees with God and had never seen him approach the tree to pluck fruit from it’s branches. They wondered as to the purpose of the tree and skirted it respectfully, all while discreetly lifting their eyes to view it’s reaching branches in a way that made their spines tingle with a feeling they could not put a name to.


The issue of the tree became prominent within their thoughts. Their desire to know the purposed secret of the tree burned within them, distracting them from their work and causing their eyes to wander and rest upon the tell tale sight within the middle of the garden. They began to work within close proximity of the tree, preferring its silent sturdiness to the hum of life sustained within the rest of the garden. The closer they worked to the tree, the closer they desired to be to it. The appeal was nearly overpowering and it distracted and grew within them until their curiosity had become an over whelming force to be reckoned with. The intake of air brought with it the frustration of suspense and a straining of their will that wore upon them making relief impossible to attain. When it could be tolerated no longer they walked, their feet tense, their foot falls springy and uncertain, darting between trees, feigning the casual picking of fruit, voices high and surreal as they teased one another as they might have done ordinarily, both knowing that what they were doing was completely out of the ordinary. Until they were there, not more than thirty paces from the tree and silent stillness overtook them. They gave their eyes free reign to stare up at it’s branches, to trace the lines of it’s trunk, to discover themselves tantalized by the appealing shape of the fruit and they found that what they saw was even more lovely, even more majestic than they had imagined it to be before.


Mesmerized they stood, delighting in the magnitude of the tree, enjoying it’s appeal, desiring it’s company until her father had instinctively stepped forward his hands extended to stroke the rough texture of the bark. Alarmed but not compelled to fear, her mother had reached out and touched his arm the words of God alive in her ears only to be reassured by her fathers declaration that, "They would not eat the fruit. They would just sit beneath it's branches." Satisfied by this reply her mother had taken her father’s hand and together they walked to the tree and extended their hands to embrace the bark. The sensations which played across their skin as they embraced the ancient trunk were intoxicating and wonderful, never before had they felt something so lovely.

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She served him. But the voices of the other gods were not entirely lost to her. She heard their hearty declarations. Witnessed the revelry and freedom of their servants and knew the apparent weakness of her God for his desire to fill her womb full of a life such as the one she had been promised. The delay in her pregnancy, her obvious lack of youth and the oppression of her body demanding that she maintain a hollow womb collided with the handsome faces and illicit tales of the deeds performed by the gods lounging with laughing faces and drunken merriment around her. She imagined the child to be one of these gods. He had refused to enter her womb. He had demanded his rightful place among the gods and he would maintain it. He would not enter the womb of a woman. He would not be so undignified as to stoop so low. Why should he? Why should he volunteer the power and strength of his form to redeem the life of a heavily aged woman? In no way did it make sense. In no way was it logical, reasonable or tolerable.


She had given up hope, had denied it an audience with her. After all, how long was she expected to keep hope in this promise child? This child who refused to fill her undignified womb. How could she continue to hope for him? How could she as the mother of such a child desire to see him born knowing the demeaning status his birth would shackled him with? If such a child were to fill her womb she might be better off, for the sake of the child, to kill him immediately, to toss him away from herself in horror and refuse to nurse him. To end his humiliation and to end her own.


Yet the promise came faithfully. Every month her womb would weep blood and her abdomen would ache as though anticipating the travails of childbirth. The blood of her promised redemption would drain from her body, foreshadowing the birth of her warrior son whose sword would be stained red by the blood of her enemies. His loins would be girded with truth and justice and he would wield a flaming sword against that which had shamed her for so long. The promise came, but with it the continual emptiness of her womb. Her discouragement and her doubt hardened her heart against the conception of the child.


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Fragments wrote today. Word Count: 1482


So far I'm calling it, Israel.

Love Always,
Cole.