Adam and Eve Ten years later

July 11, 2008
By
Adam and Eve Ten Years Later

It was sunset
The sun had just began to bleed out of the sky
Staining the canvas red.
A lone shadow could be seen in the distance
A dark silhouette pressed against the dry earth.
All of the familiar felt strangely unfamiliar;
His gaze caught nothing,
his eyes hanging loosely from his face.
Among all of the tangible objects
he felt oddly disconnected.
He opened his mouth, cursing everything
But his words were inaudible.

In the distance, Eve lay lethargically upon a bank
Shaded by a cluster of trees.
She lifted her drooping head and peered curiously
at her reflection in the still water.
A pang of fear jolted through her as her eyes
caught the fragmented reflection.
A coquettish glint returned to her eyes for a brief moment
before being snuffed immediately out.
Her face was more drawn than in previous years,
Her disheveled hair had lost its golden luster
And the traces of a smile had completely disappeared.
Eve swung her hand at the water,
The reflection scattered into disjointed shards
Before the water rippled outward
Sewing the pieces back together.
Her mouth opened, tracing the shape of invisible words
Her voice inaudible like Adam’s.

Adam put down the plow
and attempted to brush the dirt from his hands
but it was to no avail; the dust clung to his skin.
He sighed and began walking back, his steps slow.
Night had fallen by the time he returned.
Eve was asleep.
Her head lay perched on the edge of the bank
And her hand hung in the cold water.
A momentary light danced across Adam’s face
before disappearing back into the dark
that surrounded them.
Adam moved forwards, his steps tentative;
then he hesitated and stopped.
He retraced his steps
Backing further away from the sleeping body.
On the other side of the thicket
Adam sat waiting for morning.





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