Apple and Eve

A serpent watches from the branches, silent and brooding, but she does not fear it. In fact, she invites an audience as she reaches upward. Her slender fingers encase the round fruit, hanging low and fat from a twig. The skin is blush-red, pulled taut across juicy flesh. She jerks; it comes loose with a small snap.

She stares at the apple. Such a tiny thing with such heavy implications. The word whispers in her ears: knowledge. She scoffs.

Her teeth rip into the fruit. It is a savage act and she revels in it, eyes closed and grinning. The skin pops loudly. Juice drips down her chin, onto her neck and chest, sticky. She chews, saliva pouring forth from the glands in her throat, shocked by the apple’s sweetness.

She turns, the apple poised in front of her mouth, and locks eyes with him. The juice tickles its way down her stomach, towards her groin. For now, his innocent eyes do not follow.

She saunters towards him, the weight of her hips swaying rhythmically. The downy hair along her spine stands up with eager anticipation, the thrill of a well-laid plan being realized. She arrives in front of him, holds up the bitten apple on raised finger tips. A mere suggestion.

He is on her before the bite is fully swallowed. Mangled, the apple falls into the grass nearby. She watches it as he mounts her violently, ripping into her as her teeth ripped into the fruit. Odd, she thinks, that God made this so simple. She smiles. He shudders with climax, and it is over.

From her womb, scores of children will pour out into the world, filling it with torment and pain. The histories will write her as weak and ignorant, unable to resist the temptation of the tree. Just a simple woman, fallen from grace, manipulated by evil. They will be wrong.

She is the evil.