ON THE 8th DAY
—Sam Barbee, Winston-Salem, NC
The serpent lay in Eden’s high grass, despondent after the previous judgments. Now without arms and legs, his only choice was to slowly slither between stones and through dry thatch. After a few hundred yards, his belly became sore, and he also realized he was hungry. He watched the hawk chasing prey; the monkey yanking fruit; the alligator snapping fish. The serpent shouted, “What shall I eat now, Lord?” There was no response.
He petitioned once more. There was no response. The serpent tried to crawl again, but his belly was too tender. “I know you’re a little upset with me, but I was just joking around with the woman and, well, I did not think she would be so easily enticed to taste that forbidden fruit.” Still silence. “The monkey had snatched some too. I saw him. He still has his arms and legs and that tail he hangs with. . . . And I confess, I nibbled a rind myself.” Still silence.
“You are my Father, too. We’ve always been able to talk. . . . How was I supposed to know you told them not to eat from that tree? And what’s all this ‘Knowledge’ stuff? I had never heard of ‘Knowledge’ before yesterday. Is it bad. . . . this ‘Knowledge’ stuff?” Still silence.
“Now I must dodge the lamb and the lion alike, any hoof or paw can crush my head. . . . That would be on you, if I were to be trampled.” Still silence.
“You are my benevolent Father, so how will you live with yourself if I were to perish?”
Finally, his Lord answered: “You will pay an eternal penalty for sullying my most perfect creation and defiling the perfect garden.”
“Oh, come on. That’s not fair, is it?”
“You shall slink through all my gardens, know the midnight’s chill and noon’s swelter. Your fall from grace will be complete and without pleasure, only pain.”
“But you love us all, my Father. Should one of your creations starve? I ask again, is that fair?”
The God was silent.
The serpent was silent.
The God was silent for an hour, and finally the serpent spoke again, “I can now touch neither fruit nor flower. . . . What about me? Your humble creation hungers. . . .”
“All right. I will help keep you alive as the living example of my wrath, for all in the garden to see.”
“And?”
“I will create another set of beings for my garden. I will call them ‘Insects.’”
“Insects?”
And it was good. . . . The God was silent.
After a while, the serpent asked, “Will they live in the grass, and sleep under stones, as I must now do?”
“Yes, but they will be quicker than you, and will hop and fly from you to increase your labor and anguish.”
“Wait a minute! I need a better chance than that to eat.”
The God was silent.
The serpent was silent.
The God was silent.
“Don’t think I do not appreciate these ‘Insects’. I suppose even a slight chance at food is better than no chance.”
The God was silent.
The serpent was silent.
“All right. Beside the ‘Insects’, I will create ‘Worms’.”
“What is ‘Worm’?”
“It will be like you: without arms, without legs, destined to crawl, live under rocks, and will feast on the bodies of the living.”
“The living? Like me?”
“Okay, okay. . . . The living and the dead. But they will be quick and flee from you.”
“Hop and fly?”
“No. . . . just quick.”
“Can you make them slow, so I will be able to catch them? You know, after all, I’m just learning to crawl myself.”
“All right then, slo-o-o-w,” He boomed. “And it will look like you. When you consume it, it will remind you how you have destroyed yourself.”
“That seems a bit cruel, don’t you think?”
The God was silent.
A wind rose, as if nature sighed.
“Will it be easily fooled like your most-perfect woman creation?”
“Woman is no longer perfect, thanks to you. . . .”
A stronger wind rose, as if nature was angry.
“Thank you, Father.”
The God was silent.
The serpent blinked and crawled around the garden until he found this new thing named “Worm.” With his forked tongued, he touched it. Circled his body around it. Then slurped it past his new white fangs. Worm was cold and had no taste, but, with his belly now full, the serpent smirked. He would live within this new covenant he had struck with His god. . . .
And it was good. . . .
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Sam Barbee’s prose-poem today is a tête-à-tête between God and the Viper the day after the Fall of Eden. It borders on flash fiction, and will be included in his new collection of flash and conventional fiction entitled The 8th Day.
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—Medusa
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