Among Us - Update 1
Each morning they rose to ravish the land and each night, before repose, they ravished one another. Eve’s belly grew wider, her voice deeper as she cried out in pain. He had witnessed birth countless times among the creatures of this world, but none of them were as animal as this. Her body was a temple of sweat and blood. Her fragile neck and painted mouth released bellows that shook the leaves from the trees. Screams and suffering. And then, in a pool beneath her body, racked with cries of agony and ecstasy, a stubby root squirmed in the mud. She grasped its lifeline and tore through it with her teeth, spitting as she went and splattering the earth with the carnage of life.
The baby was lifted from the dirt and, as it was, it began to scream. The trees shuddered at the sound. The lions bowed their heads. Eve scrubbed the boychild clean in the waters of a lake. Pink flesh peaked out from below the squalor of birth. The child glowed with its newness. As she was bathing him, He approached cautiously. The baby stared, glassy eyed, at what it could not yet see. Eve glared as He grew nearer, holding the baby closer to her chest, not for protection, but possession. He held out his hands, hoping to touch the child, hoping to let it know that it was loved.
But then Adam came. He was dressed in the skin of an ox and he held aloft a similar garment for his bride and his son. He glowered at his Father and turned his head away in shame.
“You do not hide your carnality.” Adam said, indicating the loincloth at his waist.
He looked down at his body, at the dancing muscles and the coarse black hairs that drifted and curled across the landscape of his skin. “What is there to hide and who from? We are all of one place, each creation a consequence of the last.”
But His children did not answer. He realized that night, as He watched them revel in their physical forms, that it was from themselves that they hid. The burning within them frightened them as much as it fascinated Him, and so they covered it up, with skins and cloths and words.
The young man tilled the field in the silent midmorning sun. The earth was his wife, his plowshare her lover. He toiled in the light but his thoughts were cast in shadow. Some distance away, the bleating of lambs pierced his flesh like a dagger. Abel waved to his somber brother from the hilltop where he stood watch over his flock. Cain could not abide the gesture of familiarity. He turned away and continued his work in the field.
In the thatched home they shared that night, Adam praised the work of his youngest son as the drippings of the tender meat dribbled down his chin. The barley sat in the corner, untouched. When the lure of flesh was present, why would anyone need the fruits of the earth? These were the thoughts Cain had as he fingered the bare bones left on the table. Abel was aglow in the warmth of praise. It was nigh on time to present a sacrifice to the Almighty God and receive his blessings in kind. Abel had slaughtered a calf and laid it before the family’s altar. Cain placed a woven basket of roots and apples.
The next morning the stench in the house was palpable. The fruit had rotted and was crawling with insects. The lamb, resting as though in sleep, remained pristine. In the hush of the dawn a blade was drawn. A death passed silently into the morn. Abel lay, broken, silhouetted in blood.
As Cain fled across his beloved fields he spotted a man approaching him. The man’s arms were outstretched, palms open. The two faced each other, Cain panting, the man sad-eyed and questioning.
He only spoke one word. “Why?”
Between the shrilling of his lungs as they strained for air, Cain spoke in a breathless whisper. “What must I do? What must I do for love? Am I cursed?”
A chill descended on the earth. Even the wind was silent. He could feel His throbbing heart crumple in His chest as He saw in Cain the warped and wronged vision of Himself. The young man staggered away from Him on shaking legs, his body wracked with wretched sobs.
The baby was lifted from the dirt and, as it was, it began to scream. The trees shuddered at the sound. The lions bowed their heads. Eve scrubbed the boychild clean in the waters of a lake. Pink flesh peaked out from below the squalor of birth. The child glowed with its newness. As she was bathing him, He approached cautiously. The baby stared, glassy eyed, at what it could not yet see. Eve glared as He grew nearer, holding the baby closer to her chest, not for protection, but possession. He held out his hands, hoping to touch the child, hoping to let it know that it was loved.
But then Adam came. He was dressed in the skin of an ox and he held aloft a similar garment for his bride and his son. He glowered at his Father and turned his head away in shame.
“You do not hide your carnality.” Adam said, indicating the loincloth at his waist.
He looked down at his body, at the dancing muscles and the coarse black hairs that drifted and curled across the landscape of his skin. “What is there to hide and who from? We are all of one place, each creation a consequence of the last.”
But His children did not answer. He realized that night, as He watched them revel in their physical forms, that it was from themselves that they hid. The burning within them frightened them as much as it fascinated Him, and so they covered it up, with skins and cloths and words.
The young man tilled the field in the silent midmorning sun. The earth was his wife, his plowshare her lover. He toiled in the light but his thoughts were cast in shadow. Some distance away, the bleating of lambs pierced his flesh like a dagger. Abel waved to his somber brother from the hilltop where he stood watch over his flock. Cain could not abide the gesture of familiarity. He turned away and continued his work in the field.
In the thatched home they shared that night, Adam praised the work of his youngest son as the drippings of the tender meat dribbled down his chin. The barley sat in the corner, untouched. When the lure of flesh was present, why would anyone need the fruits of the earth? These were the thoughts Cain had as he fingered the bare bones left on the table. Abel was aglow in the warmth of praise. It was nigh on time to present a sacrifice to the Almighty God and receive his blessings in kind. Abel had slaughtered a calf and laid it before the family’s altar. Cain placed a woven basket of roots and apples.
The next morning the stench in the house was palpable. The fruit had rotted and was crawling with insects. The lamb, resting as though in sleep, remained pristine. In the hush of the dawn a blade was drawn. A death passed silently into the morn. Abel lay, broken, silhouetted in blood.
As Cain fled across his beloved fields he spotted a man approaching him. The man’s arms were outstretched, palms open. The two faced each other, Cain panting, the man sad-eyed and questioning.
He only spoke one word. “Why?”
Between the shrilling of his lungs as they strained for air, Cain spoke in a breathless whisper. “What must I do? What must I do for love? Am I cursed?”
A chill descended on the earth. Even the wind was silent. He could feel His throbbing heart crumple in His chest as He saw in Cain the warped and wronged vision of Himself. The young man staggered away from Him on shaking legs, his body wracked with wretched sobs.