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.