A short story
Eve considered the effort involved in the propagation of an apple tree. She rolled the tiny seed between her fingers and contemplated the monumental task of grafting, layering, modifying the species for the proper juice and then waiting for it to bud. How many seeds they would need and the generations it would require to cultivate it before it could be a food? Well, that would simply take too long.
Her daemon, slithered past silently smirking, climbing the olive branches and hiding among the leaves. It was best, she thought, to leave it for man to decide. He would surely find a way to entertain himself with it. She tossed the seed into a pot, covered it with rich, fertile soil and went to do whatever women did best.
The genetic code in that appleseed quickened cracking open and sparking an earth altering shift in agriculture. Little did anyone know, under this new moon, the unfortunate fall of mankind trembled upon the whimsical and deceptive fate of…
A small leaf became a weathered trunk and reached just above 3 feet. From one branch, a small rust colored sphere grew. Crafty and cunning, she led him to the dwarf shrub. He followed her amused that she had declared a newly found “fruit” she had called it. How outlandish that woman think anything under his sun was “undiscovered”. She must have a wild idea in her head, floating around without any boundaries at all. None-the-less, his curiosity was reckless and he stumbled behind her, tripping over a snake gliding by.
Imagine the mouth seizure as he bit into the skin, crunching past the bitter, acerbic and inedible flesh. Surely, he believed a woman capable of allowing him to eat such a disgusting mouthful was an evil sorceress indeed. What kind of plan could she have concocted to so effectively poison every man upon the earth? It must have taken the span of numerous lifetimes to plot with such meticulous precision. This “fruit” grows on a crooked branch, marked with insignificant color, nothing special at all to offer; it was the perfect cover.
But, just then, another idea struck him in the head. Adam was an intelligent lad, not one so easily duped by the savage and volatile folly of woman. This is not a food, therefore cannot be called a fruit, but it can be made useful.
And so, Cider was a success across the land!
Man perfected the fermenting, watched the weather for the best moment to harvest. They roamed the hills and dropped seed upon all the villages. And they drank. And they wrote many words for many moons, bellies full of apples sharing with each other the uncanny ways of the female beast.
When they stumbled, they pointed their fingers at woman for having led them to such a toxic tonic. They filled stone slabs scratching out stories about the heathen women responsible for pulling them from the grace of God. They cursed her for being an evil seductress, overtly coy in her dancing in the moonlight. They laughed at her imagination and degraded her for the blood that flowed from her body; that kept the women huddled together beyond his hunger each month. They preached their great many visions and awoke in puddles of putrid waste, their heads throbbing from the booming voices of angels.
Or were they prophets?
Or was it God that spoke to them, the chosen few, while their brains swam in the nectar of apples?
One by one, the men fell.
To their knees.
To be saved from the grip of the shapeshifting witch that gave them such poison.
The women? They did not fall. They baked bread flavored with olives and rosemary. They sank back into the shadows knowing what they had all along… that Figs would never have been so marketable. This testicle looking fruit would have sent Adam’s homosexual alarms right off the richter. Being the preferable sweet delicacy that abundantly dotted the hills where this legendary cosmic tear in humanity took place, figs were abundant and belonged to woman. The harlot responsible for disgracing the lives of all mankind roamed her kitchen without threat of running low on ingredients.
Many moons passed and man’s desire for knowledge ran amok, wild with fever across the map like a wildfire it scarred the destiny of girls- claiming them like chattel. It marked manhood with the head of a snake and declared all things owned, lorded and taxed.
It was woman’s vile trickery that chased the puritanical ribbons of medicine back to the sacred tombs of the temple, forcing man to hide it from the fickle minds of the peasant. Adam, the first man to ever fall prey, his brain stem substantially satisfied with this clever plot twist had warmed them.
That snake in the leaves, she had spoken to him.
She had whispered low “Eve led you here to show you to yourselves. Choose your own adventures and may The Goddess bless your fall.”
They were wrong about apples.
They were wrong about us too.