So here is something I wrote a few years ago.
And on the fourth day he said,"Let there be temptation."
And there it was.
One the fifth day, all trouble broke out.
The town drunk was the only one that saw it coming. He said he saw snakes falling from trees into the water and silently slithering away without splashing. But we thought he was hallucinating.
Then the fever started. We shivered in the dreaded ecstasy of the cold. We mopped around the house and whined. Our noses were blocked and eyes turned red. Our sexual organs, that had seen all the activity that feverish temptations bring, coiled in slumber like dead serpents and our semen froze in fear.
We were tired. We were unhappy. We desired the comfort of warm bodies and deceitful promises. Except, all the women had forked tongues that coiled around their mouths when they opened their mouth.
"What did you do to our women," we asked them in alarm. They hissed in casual indignation.
We wanted to feel better. Not be cold and tired. We wanted to speak up again and drink wine and whiskey in cherry-wood paneled bar rooms and wanted to work up casual banter while fantasizing.
But we could not raise our voices and our limbs were tired. The bar stools stayed vacant waiting for our arrival.
We dreamt of making love.
But there was no love to be made. There was only silence. Our love bubbled in our souls like hot ointment in summer and poured out of us like the wasted reminder of lose.
We went to churches and prayed. We lighted candles and offered our penances through tears. But God had already left for the day. Behind the altar, we saw blood spots. Purple tongues surrounded us in anger.
Can we get better? Can we tell our old stories?
Who knows?
For now, I am waiting for my eyes to open.
