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The ‘What If?’ Series. (Dan-ifying The Biblical Adam & Eve)
I would like to tell you a story.
First off, forget all you think you know about the story.
The Story is set in eternity. I would not dare to add or subtract from The Truth.
But I am compelled to entertain you. I am obligated to open up the eye of your understanding.
As always, embedded in all I will ever write; exist ‘gates’.
If you know, you know.
Once upon a time there was one made in the likeness of the Author and Finisher. (This is how I was told the story began.)
He that was newly created, he was alone. Not lonely.
He traversed the length and breadth of his dominion.
The story says that he had been commissioned to name all things; animals, plants et al.
He was a maverick. He was a pioneer. He was was a (Before Christ) Tarzan.
In short, he was badass!
Original badass!
Now El Shaddai ran a few algorithms. In His brilliance, He deemed it fit to make a Help Meet for Badass.
And then voila! there was this hottie at the whim… The caprices of Badass.
Let us be real for a bit… We are all adults here.
Fellas back me up on this;
A virgin.
Younger than you are.
Totally ignorant and largely naive.
And lest I forget, perpetually naked.
Yes naked.
As was he… Bad-assery!
Keeping it real… This was the first recorded insinuation of sex.
This was also in that year when men lived to be hundreds of years old.
Can you imagine the libido in that dominion?!
The unmitigated and uncensored lust!!
Their eagerness. Their dedication. Their devotion. The love!
They must have tormented the animals incessantly. Their ruckus most likely made primates cover their eyes and ears in embarrassment.
He was whipped
She was dick-matized.
They were in a utopian euphoria of some sort.
Inseparable.
In the version of this story, (the story that was told to me and I am telling you), one day Badass stumbled on the devil weasling around The Forbidden Tree.
Of course he had his bride… woman, queen, sex slave etc in tow.
Hey… She must have been gobsmacked by Badass.
Inseparable.
And then the devil sold his lies convincingly.
And Badass nodded in permission to his Help Meet.
Whereupon she hurriedly picked /collected / harvested / plucked a fruit off of The Forbidden Tree.
Eve? In that era and dispensation? Dare leave her protector / husband / lord / new-found lover??
And dare to strike conversation with any other thing without his say so?
Impossible!
Rubbish!
According to the way that the story was told to me of course…
According to the story, the one I was told, Badass instructed his woman to eat of it. And then he ate.
Help Meet was old-school; loyal, graceful, obedient, wise and respectful. She backed up her man’s story. She did not let him down.
From the sentencing all the way to banishment she refused to snitch.
Of course Tsidkenu knew exactly what Badass was doing. He was not deceived. But He saw them as one. A few centuries later He would allow the ‘untimely’ death of a couple. They lied to an apostle about proceeds from land sold.
Rohe would not interfere in the affairs of man without requisite invitation though. So He did what He had to do. This version of the story agrees with the original one.
No… That was not Freudian. I slipped for a reason.
She lost her home, her comfort zone, her security. She was cursed alongside her man and she served her time with dignity, style and grace.
That woman was certainly ‘ride or die’.
Wife-material!
Ahem! The above is exactly the way the story was told to me of course… Hehehe…
The story goes on to reveal that Help Meet may have been less educated than Badass. And so there exists Badass’ version of this same story that is popular and well accepted. And original.
No… That was not Freudian. I slipped right on point.
And so my friends, I have come to the end of the story that I was told.
If I ever hear another story I deem worth your time, I will tell it.
You may leave your comments on this blog.
Thank you.
WANTED: A SOUL.
Do not read this story out loud at night.
Do not read this story in front of a mirror.
Do not. Never ever. Do these two things at the same time.
The first time it happened, I was about five years old.
My mother was out of town I think. We were left with her beautiful sister. My aunt was a ‘babe’, and so she had loads of distractions. My sister and I were left to our own devices.
It was a safe neighborhood. Mama Carol was a Grey-haired, overweight neighbor. Kept to herself largely, but always had a smile for kids.
I had just been smacked and so I was downstairs weeping. I was seated on the steps waiting to report my aunt to my mother the second she arrived.
Mama Carol shuffled over and consoled me. She pressured me into eating some sweets. She promised me that it would be our secret – secret.
That night I was in a dream. At least I thought it was one. Most of the kids on my block were there. Except for Zoe, my sister.
Mama Carol and a few other adults were in charge there. They taught us to be rambunctious. They taught us spells I grew to recognize them as curses. They taught us to basically terrorize our families.
There was a premium on blood and death. Big bonuses were promised if anyone died by our hands.
I always woke up tired in the morning. I found it stressful.
They stopped bringing me into their meetings when I asked why we could not drink a cola or Kool-Aid as opposed to blood.
The second time was in my freshman year.
Of all the fraternities to join, I ended up being tapped by one neck-deep in wars and battles. You could get shot or stabbed by these people for anything (real or imagined) ranging from a fart to your height. They were just so… Bloodthirsty! Their bloodlust was bananas!
A lot of brothers died. But Bello took a shine to me and protected me. Prior to his graduation, he oversaw my initiation ceremony. It was performed by the banks of a large river. I saw and heard things that I cannot talk about. Let me at least say that there are many entities on earth that are not human.
One day I deflowered the woman who would become my wife. I love her. While she slept, I felt nature ‘call’ me. Afterwards, when I stood up to flush, I was astonished to see the cistern filled with bolts, nuts, keys, chains, padlocks, a small bearing and all sorts of metal.
Suffice it to say that I wisely avoided getting shot at or stabbed after that incident. I was hitherto impervious to death.
The third time was when I was contesting for public office.
Whilst on campaign, I visited with my constituency. It was a townhall meeting.
The oldest indigene attended and requested to meet with me. At the end of that meeting, I foolishly allowed him to lay his hands on my head and pray in a dialect I did not understand. My sycophantic team kept screaming ‘amens’.
I won in the general elections.
I always win.
Even when I play chess online, I win. And I do not play chess! The game or prize does not matter. If I competed for anything, it was mine.
But people around me seemed to die every couple of months. Like clockwork. I have been attending more funerals than ever in the last four years.
And so I have taken to telling everyone of my experiences.
Uhmmm, no. This snitching is not allowed. It is an offense punishable by death in every coven.
I teach people how to break free of; blood oaths, selling of their souls, demonic possession, enchantments and divinations… I set free an average of twenty five souls every month. For the last year or so.
Then just last night, the fallen one shows up offering ‘my soul’ back to me… Lol…
Really?
Really?!
I am having too much fun with this rogue behavior. He can keep ‘it’.
I up and accepted Jesus into my life a while back. Lol…
I have a better deal with God.
Do not read this story out loud at night.
Do not read this story in front of a mirror.
Do not. Never ever. Do these two things at the same time.
Nah Woman No Cry
If you can manage it
Except when you make love to her
Do not make her cry often.
In retrospect I suffer wisdom
Because I learned the hard way
Tears make up your love in her heart.
Every time you make her cry
You deplete her love for you
Happy tears though, fill love back up.
They get ‘cried – out’ sir
Then they feel nothing
Indifference is the opposite of love.
Inevitable
There is a quota
It will be met one way or another
By you or another
This need must be met.
Said quota is a desire
Arguably a burning need
Disagree all you want
This need must be met.
It mostly sets the sexes askew
They become inept umpires
Regulating psychological needs
This need must be met.
The woman must talk
The man must have sex
Each at moments deemed ludicrous
This need must be met.
Oh Love!
Bleak ice-blue walls thickening still
All frosty; naught moist nor turgid
So cold. So polite. Desolate…
I have left her
I should be with you
Yet we are bereft…
It should be you here
It was all for us
Pyrrhic this victory.
Bleak ice-blue walls thickening still
All frosty; naught moist nor turgid
So cold. So polite. Desolate…
Till Death Do Us Part…
Have you ever seen someone die?
Random stranger? A loved one?
I mean in real time, right before your eyes?
I saw my husband die.
It is not pleasant.
Especially when they die by a knife. The look… That realization that they are dying. The shock. The disbelief. The insecurities show in those final moments… Their lives laid bare for everyone discerning…
Oh, and the pain! He died via stabbing. I physically felt his pain. Good Lord! It was horrible!
I should feel no pity for him considering all the hurt he put me through. But, in retrospect, no one deserves to die like my husband did.
I am way ahead of myself…
Good morning. How are you doing today? Have you eaten? I hope your family is doing well? I do not know you, but I love you. Yes I do… These days my love is shed abroad.
So, my hubby.
I married him when I turned eighteen. He was always my friend. Strange fragmentation of words I know. Even Microsoft Word advices that I consider rephrasing… Nah… He was always my friend.
He was already an adult when I met him. He watched me grow. He was a family friend and a mentor. I told him everything! He provided counsel appropriately. He was my first. My best. And my life.
Was…
He was…
Was, because he started cheating on me. The signs were there, I did not see them until the very end.
He is very secretive. That enigmatic ‘introvert-ion’ started to reek of infidelity. I could not touch his mobile devices. I was constantly on eggshells around him. He seemed to be hiding everything all the time.
Luckily I had friends. Women who were older and wiser. Single moms, spinsters and fellow married women. Their advice was unanimous.
“He was up to no – good”
That revelation provoked me to the point of insanity. I loved this idiot! I had given him my virginity, my substantial inheritance and my heart. I had sacrificed everything I was, just to be with him.
Ene, my friend had a story like mine. In her case though, she had ‘arranged’ for her deviant husband to suffer a fatal misadventure. She had been his next-of-kin, and so she had full custody and control of his estate.
And so the seed was planted in my heart. Who was my husband’s side chic? Who was he sleeping with apart from me?
Unfortunately, he was a taciturn man. He never volunteered information. I was running mad with anxiety.
To further rub salt in my festering sores, I started to chance upon evidence. Some of my friends confessed that he had either propositioned them or had slept with close friends of theirs.
And in a blind rage, I contacted Ene.
Ene ‘fessed up and hinted that my husband had (at some point) behaved inappropriately toward her! She had been flummoxed until now she whispered sadly.
I was livid!
I immediately transferred the required amount of money to her and set the date for his painful death two weeks from that day. I confess that I tossed in an additional fifty grand for his painful demise.
Idiot!
He was home uncharacteristically early for his appointment with death. He was in a good mood. He must have made some money because he arrived with a large grilled salmon and expensive white wine. He was flirtatious throughout dinner and had even done an online bank transfer of a little under a million dollars in my favor ‘just because’.
Too much, too late.
I placed my hate on ‘simmer’ and fucked him senseless that night. He was snoring lightly when I got dressed an hour later.
At about 12:55 am, I opened the door at the back of our home and sure enough the door handle turned in confirmation. The door opened a fraction of an inch and stayed slightly ajar.
I returned to his side and must have fallen asleep.
I awoke to sounds I could not place. I jumped out of bed when I did not see my husband in it.
As I emerged out of the narrow corridor into our spacious living room, I witnessed the contract killer drive a long blade from behind my husband right through until the first three inches popped out of his torso.
This scene was pure coincidence. There was no set plan as to where or how my husband was to be murdered (at my behest).
However, therein lay the assassin’s dilemma I presume. I had seen his face.
As my husband crumpled lifelessly to the floor, the man’s eyes latched upon me.
In a flash he was upon me. I am not playing, from approximately three meters away, he suddenly had my throat in his left hand. Squeezing tight.
I was going to die too. I kept clawing at his face and iron-like forearms.
“But I paid you…! This was not the plan!!” I managed to get out repeatedly.
His brutish features were marred even more by bloodlust. He was hissing involuntarily. Specks of spit garnished his blackened lips. His breath was fetid. His eyes were out of focus and almost seemed ecstatic.
This sick, degenerate wanker loved to kill!
Our bodies are only a vessel. I started to step out into the ‘unknown’ when suddenly I was released. I fell to the cold marble tiles dragging air through a bruised trachea into tortured lungs.
I could only hope that the knife would make it quick…
But the pain never came.
I think I suffered a mild stroke when a hand touched my face. I went into a seizure when I saw my husband’s face.
Literally. The seizure I mean.
Was I dead like he was?
It is ancient history that my husband did not die.
He survived the assassination attempt and arose to drive the assassins own blade through his own temple.
And I am here living in hell…
You see with my husband you can never tell. Did he hear my conversation with the hired killer?
My husband is a bastard. I think that he did. He heard everything I said. And all else in between.
Then he decided not to die.
Then got up and killed our killer.
And then decided to keep his peace as usual.
Did not matter if I died in apprehension.
It has been a five years since. He has never broached the topic.
Not. Even. Once.
