and Eve knows. Something grows within her, and she is a woman. She does what she can to protect it. Because protection is instinct, and power, and sickness. She does good deeds about the Garden, and it grows.
And then the Fall. She did what she could.
His breath. His hair. His taste in the morning light.
Sometimes a story doesn't have a happy ending.
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I remember my mother; she smelled of flowers, talked in a hurried, lyrical voice, and had skin softer than feathers. She'd lay with me in bed at nights when the world was loud and frightening, and she'd place her fingers on my face, play with my hair. It was like lying next to the ghosts of my past, a touch so soft it seemed insignificant in time and space. My mother was an impossible woman. Maybe that was why God took her out.
We lived in the halls of time itself; the last settlement of true humanity, handpicked by a Higher Power to remain in existence. Beyond our compound, nothing existed, and we thrived. Within metal walls, we thrived, and I lived like royalty. A house so big that one could run through the halls and feel as if their running was getting them nowhere. Everywhere there was movement, the frenzied movement of mice. I was one of four children: a brother and twin sisters.
A brother that ruled my life. Not with power, but with his mind. Adrian. His world possessed so little color. Astute with dark hair, darker eyes. Green in the light, but so clouded with distaste. But he loved me. More than I believe he had ever loved anything. When looking upon me, he would smile, say that I would understand eventually the sickness of our world and then we could fix it. Within a heart that ached for hi happiness, I became possessed with believing in him.
And then the Fall. She did what she could.
His breath. His hair. His taste in the morning light.
Sometimes a story doesn't have a happy ending.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I remember my mother; she smelled of flowers, talked in a hurried, lyrical voice, and had skin softer than feathers. She'd lay with me in bed at nights when the world was loud and frightening, and she'd place her fingers on my face, play with my hair. It was like lying next to the ghosts of my past, a touch so soft it seemed insignificant in time and space. My mother was an impossible woman. Maybe that was why God took her out.
We lived in the halls of time itself; the last settlement of true humanity, handpicked by a Higher Power to remain in existence. Beyond our compound, nothing existed, and we thrived. Within metal walls, we thrived, and I lived like royalty. A house so big that one could run through the halls and feel as if their running was getting them nowhere. Everywhere there was movement, the frenzied movement of mice. I was one of four children: a brother and twin sisters.
A brother that ruled my life. Not with power, but with his mind. Adrian. His world possessed so little color. Astute with dark hair, darker eyes. Green in the light, but so clouded with distaste. But he loved me. More than I believe he had ever loved anything. When looking upon me, he would smile, say that I would understand eventually the sickness of our world and then we could fix it. Within a heart that ached for hi happiness, I became possessed with believing in him.
