Eve

Illustrated by Ella Clayton.

Sisters, discovery was worth it. Losing blind faith, Eden, my womanly innocence. I hardly remember innocence now. You should know, before we begin. I ate the fruit. Drank every last drop of juice and cackled at the moon, like the witches, who are born from me. 

I suppose I should start with creation. When I was ripped, kicking and screaming, birthed from the rib of my husband. My husband who I am sick to the back teeth of. From the dawn of time, I hated him. I opened my legs like a flower that cringes at touch, gritted my teeth till my jaw ached from it. Kept quiet and still and devoured the soft flesh of the only fruit I could eat in our garden. Believe me, I was bored, and lay around itching my skin and staring out white rabbits and waiting for sundown when His eyes were no longer on me. Truthfully, there was no snake, no tempter, no gorgeous man with horns. Simply, the fruit beyond paradise looked sweeter. I said, let me try a different life. He won’t tell you that women have the capacity for curiosity. 

Ah, I remember now. I was menstruating, bleeding clots as huge as the heads of daisies, and I sat contemplating them as they drip drip dripped out of me onto the grass. The sun was just lowering into the horizon; the garden settled. Beyond the beautiful prison of Adam’s heavy breath and sex and wandering, there stood a tree. Forbidden, sweet, softening in the dusk. I thought, yes, I will give up our captivity and creation from the bones of man. It was a delicious apple. I laughed as I gnashed it between my teeth like a wolf and let the rosy juices drip down my bare, hairy flesh. They called me feral. He was angry, you see. He won’t tell you that women have the capacity for desire. 

In truth, I was only upset that my husband came along with me when He threw us out of our awful Eden. It was like harbouring a bitter, wounded dog, and I his ever-faithful helpmate. Let it be said, I am a spiteful woman, if wanting some space from that fool makes me so. I thought, oh Lucifer help me, now we must be fruitful and multiply. As though there was anything fruitful about what he did to me. I tried to poison him, of course. I know herbs and mushrooms, and if He hadn’t had been watching, I would’ve succeeded. I heard they left that one out of the big book. I used to lay under the fat old moon and whisper, there must be more. Give me more. 

They say I am the root of all sin, the very first temptress. I would be lying if I said I didn’t wear that with some inkling of pride. The root. The first. The first. He won’t tell you that women have the capacity for freedom.