Back in the beginning, Eve snatched an apple from a branch and tore her teeth into that red sphere. Yet when Adam swallowed the southern hemisphere,
a chunk happily lodged itself next to his larynx. She peered down to the fruit yelling fuck you — the first fuck ejected in the history of humankind.
An arm around her shoulders, Adam leaned into Eve as they quickened their heartbeats to the neighborhood hospital run by esteemed squirrels and rabbits. With his brain searching for oxygen like a roofless man searching for a bed, Adam shoved in a free-of-charge twig. The chunk screamed. He kept on jabbing until he wheezed out words to a beaver mother whose son’s tail got ripped off by a bear.
Up at the timber desk, Eve pleaded with a squirrel receptionist who consumed his gaze on stashing lunch acorns away. So she slapped down a Customer Dissatisfaction Survey onto
the employee’s tongue smeared with sap.
Between waiting room logs, Adam collapsed, his blue-sky face gaping up at apathetic clouds. His body flung over the desk by a heave of estrogen strength, they cracked the solitude of Dr. Furry Rabbit who lit his rolled smoke in an ascending dusk.
Hey are you the new bipeds everyone’s talking about?
Yes and this apple won’t let Adam breathe.
Well have you tried my fire?
A match flicked inside scorched his heart black. After she spat out that destruction, Eve thought of her two hearts born flush from the Earth. Once she paid a quarter lung co-pay, Dr. Furry Rabbit stitched-up the transplant with threads plucked from his fur.
Snug in the circle of waxing moonlight, Adam pressed his palm over his female pulse.
They shambled back toward the soil of our genesis, but they couldn’t enter the garden. Its gate was locked; the tree’s ripeness burned to the ground.