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Scrolls of the Fallen

Chris W. Lee

Copyright © 2017 Chris W. Lee

All rights reserved.

Book design by Chris W. Lee

Cover design by John Holland / JHGraphicDesign

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief quotations used in critical reviews, or other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

For permission requests, contact chrisleebooks@gmail.com.

This book is a work of fiction based on the Biblical story of Adam and Eve. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are adapted from the Bible for fictitious use. Any resemblance to actual persons in the modern world, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


To Heaven’s Lamb


List of Creatures

Year 928

Scroll one: The Scroll of Blessings and Curses

Creation Year

Year 2

Year 3

Year 4

Year 5

Year 8

Year 9

Year 11

Year 25

Year 26

Year 27

Year 30

Year 32

Year 37

Year 38

Year 39

Year 43

Year 44

Year 49

Year 101

Scroll 2: The Scroll of Families

Year 105

Year 130

Year 150

Year 157

Year 158

Year 164

Year 174

Year 176

Year 183

Year 187

Year 190

Year 192

Year 195

Year 201

Year 203

Year 222

Year 233

Year 234

Year 235

Year 276

Year 278

Year 284

Year 286

Year 297

Year 300

Year 929

The Author

List of Creatures

Ancients’ Name & Modern Name

argen-sauro - argentinosaurus

auroch - cattle

chasmo - chasmosaur

croco - crocodile

horso - horse

iguanod - iguanodon

kanga - Kangaroo

longtooth - smilodon

megathero - megatherium

megalo - megaloceros

paracerath - paraceratherium

pteranod - pteranodon

quetzalco - quetzalcoatlus

rapto - utahraptor

sarcus - andrewsarchus

sauro - sauropod

short-faced bear - arctodus simus

skin-wing - pterosaur varieties

stego - stegosuarus

titanoboa - titanoboa

tricero - triceratops

tyrano - tyrannosaurus

white bear - polar bear

Year 928

Family of Mankind, my name is Scavus. My father was Ledach, son of Jadal, son of Cain, son of Adam, created son of God.

I am the scribe of Adam and Eve, who were made not born.

One year plus seven ago, Adam studied the stars and moon and saw that he and Eve had lived for nine-hundred plus twenty years. The next morning, he asked me to collect all the words he has written on cliffs and caves and rocks and animal hides.

“Creator said I am cursed to turn back into the dust I was made from. It may happen before I turn one-thousand-years old. If you collect all the words I have written, then my story will be remembered, even after worms dig their homes in my dust.” Adam told me.

Eve was sitting beside Adam in the heat of the fire when he said those words. She narrowed her eyes and looked sideways at him, then she turned her face to speak to me.

“You should write my words also, Scavus. They are written differently than Adam’s, but I will teach you how to read them.”

Adam sighed and shook his head.

“Write them with garment dye on strips of lambskin.” The first Man said.

The idea seemed good to me. The Family of Mankind will want to know the private words of Adam and Eve when the first humans no longer breath the air of this world. Their story is already told around hearths in every city. Many of you make pilgrimages to see the father and mother of all people. You visit the cave and sit at the hearth where the fire always burns, even in summer when everyone is hot except for the oldest people in the world. You look at their grey hair and wrinkled skin, and some of you grimace or shudder. You look at Adam’s belly and try to see a belly scar hidden in the lose folds of skin. He doesn’t have one. The sons and daughters of God ask about the Creator and angels, and the Garden of Eden when it was perfect. Some ask Adam or Eve why they disobeyed God and caused all the death and pain in the world. The sons and daughters of man ask if Adam or Eve can prove there is only one God and not many gods. The children of all generations not yet born will want to know answers to their own questions, just like most of you do now. The words written to God by the first parents may help.

I told the parents of mankind I would write for them.

“Alright. I will write all your words. I will call my work a scribe, and the writing on lambskin a book.”

Adam frowned.

“I like the word, umm, …. scroll instead of book, but you should use the word scribe. That is a good one.” He said.

Eve rolled her eyes, then she leaned against Adam and rested her grey hair against his arm. She spoke in a whisper.

“I am tired of new words, Man. They fill me like the first meal of watercress after we starved on our journey here to the Valley of Mankind. I ate so much it made me sick.”

“I will call that, fed up.” Adam said.

Adam and Eve chuckled.

Since that day, I have searched the Valley of Mankind for all the written words remaining here. I have travelled with a guard of Nephilim all the way to the land of Nod in the east of Eden Garden, and then south to the Cave of Starvation and Bear Wounds in the land of Havilah. I have found words written on rocks and cliffs and in caves. I have discovered words written by Seth and Cain also. Some were written eight or nine-hundred years ago. In many places the words were too faded, or rocks that were created smooth have cracked and crumbled, so the words are lost to me. Other words are only part readable now, or Mankind has dug cave homes so only a few words remain around a door. I copied every word that I could read onto leather, woven cloth, or even tree bark, whatever I could use, then I brought them back to the Valley of Mankind. Adam, Eve, and Seth can remember most words they wrote, so I will ask them to help when words are missing. I am writing them all again in order. I am using the writing invented by Seth, because it is the easiest to read and to teach. I will not leave anything out.

These are the Scrolls of the Fallen.

Scroll One: The Scroll of Blessings & Curses

Creation Year

Creator, I am Adam.

I have left the Woman you made for me. She who brought the ruin of your creation dwells outside your Garden. She moans and begs the cherubim day after day to raise the sword of flame and let her back into Eden. In the dusk of the first day outside the Garden, Eve asked me to help her.

“Adam, the Creator made us rulers of this world, but the cherubim do not obey me! Order them to lower the sword!”

I stood as close to the sword as I could. The heat blackened the skin garment you covered me with, and my beard and eyebrows too. The smell was evil in my nostrils, and the heat on my skin taught me what pain is.

“I am Adam! Open the way into the Garden!” I called to the nearest cherub.

The creature looked at me from the angel features of its four faces. The human face spoke no words, but the lion face roared, and the eagle face opened its beak and screeched. The cherub glowed with the glory of creatures in Paradise. The many eyes that cover its body and wings and wheels opened and turned to watch me like small glowing suns. Hands under the two wings pointed the sword toward me, so I was driven back by the heat. I used a roar like the longtooth tiger and picked up rocks from the barren ground to throw at its angel face. The cherub flicked some away with its broad wings, others it blocked with the sword so they turned orange and splashed onto the ground like water. Some rocks hit the wheel that intersects a wheel that is part of the creature, but doesn’t touch its body. The wheels did not roll in any of the four directions they face, so the way into Eden Garden remained closed. I threw rocks until I grew tired, then I sat with the Woman on the ground.

“The cherubim won’t obey. They are not from this world. They are from the world of the Creator.” I told the Woman.

The night hid the ravine cliffs leading to Eden’s entrance, and the hill in the south, but I could see Eve’s face in the light of the flaming sword. Her skin was the color of the dust I was made from, but had no light of its own. I remembered how we shone with glory in the Garden. Drops of water fell from her eyes. I named them tears. The sounds from her throat I called wails. They caused me pain inside my soul like the heat of the flaming sword had caused on my skin.

“This is your … fault!” I told her.

“You … disobeyed the Creator too! We share the … blame.” She told me.

I walked into the night and lay alone, away from the heat of the huge flaming sword. The cool of the night mist bit my skin so sleep was broken like our world. In the morning, I began my search for you, Creator.

“I will leave this place.” I told the Woman. “Perhaps I can find another way into Eden Garden, or another garden where the Creator will walk with us again. Come with me.”

The Woman shook her head so her long hair waved like willow branches had in an Eden breeze.

“No. This is the only Garden, and this is the only way into the Garden. I will wait for the Creator to remember us. He is kind and will cover our evil deed like he covered our nakedness with garments of skin.”

I followed the cliffs and chasms south, and then west, for six days, but the Garden of Eden is closed to man. I followed the Pishon River downstream away from Eden. I journeyed until I reached water that cannot be crossed. It is the sea that you told me about in Eden Garden, Creator. I walked every step alone. I found little food and my body became thin. I am here now in a deep hole that you made in the stone bank of the river. It is called a cave, and it is dark in shadow like a life removed from Paradise.

You no longer visit me, Creator. The breeze blows the heat of day and cool of night onto my skin, but no longer does your peace waft through my soul wherever I am, like it did in Eden. I am dead to you. I hunger for food, but fruit and seeds are rare. Sometimes I find enough berries to make a meal, but some have made me void my stomach empty again. I have called that vomit. There is so much new to name in this ruined world, but none is glorious.

New words for a fallen world are moan, beg, pain, blame, tired, tears, wail, fault, broken, burn, vomit, weak, cave.

I have spoken a multitude of words to you and whispered through the cold of forty nights, but my words fall to earth unheard and unanswered no matter how loud or long I shout. These words are for your eyes. I call them writing. There is a mark for each of the sounds of the words you gave me. I am scratching them for your eyes to find on the soft stone of the cave. They will last longer than my speech, perhaps long enough for you to forget our disobedience and return Adam and Eve to Paradise. We long for you, great and wondrous Creator. Hear our pleas and remember our suffering.

Creator, I am Adam.

I have killed a creature. A fish that swam downstream from the Garden. It was the one I named salmon when you showed it to me in Eden. I chewed the flesh and eyes. Some parts were inedible. The soft parts in the stomach almost made me vomit again. I have called those parts entrails and their effect a gag. The white parts inside are hard. They break in my teeth and become too sharp to swallow. I have called them bones. Bone is the word you used when you took a rib from my side to make the Woman from my flesh.

I killed the salmon because my body is dying, like my spirit did when I ate the forbidden fruit in Eden Garden and became separated from you. The land is mostly barren outside Eden. You made hills and valleys and plains, with springs and streams, but little grows, even where the soil is thick like it is in Eden Garden. Plants along the river are young. I searched for seed and berries every day until I became too weak to walk far from this cave. I don’t just eat berries and seeds now; I have eaten some of the plants and leaves that you gave animals for food. Some taste foul or make me gag or vomit. My stomach causes pain all day and night now. It is hunger that never leaves. I have called it starvation.

My flesh has shrunk, and the bones inside my body press out under my skin. I have called the shape bones make in a man and a fish a skeleton. My ribs form lines, like hills and valleys, across my chest and sides. Some are long and some are short. I count them and find twenty-three. I would like twenty-four again. If I had twenty-four, then I would still be in Paradise where I walked and talked with the Creator who formed me. I would not know pain or hunger, or ever see a skeleton, because nothing could die. You know I would not have broken your command if the Woman had not done so first. It was a simple thing not to eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. There were thousands of trees to eat from. The Woman ate first and offered it to me. I have called that temptation. Because of her, I chewed my way into doom. You told me before you made the Woman that it was not good for the Man to be alone. It turned out worse to have her company. She has ruined the whole world, and here I am lonely and dying.

I am telling you what I did to the salmon so you will know the reason I took the life from one of your creatures. Remember you killed the first creatures. When Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, we opened our minds to evil and we saw our nakedness. The glory of Paradise departed our bodies. We made garments of fig leaves, then hid from you, but you found us. You told us the curses that we had brought onto the world. Afterwards, you killed two of your creatures and made garments from the skins to hide our naked flesh.

I ask you to stop the cursed world from punishing the Man. I can suffer no more. Hunger and loneliness darken my days. I no longer know joy or peace. In the nights, my own mind fights against me telling me what is good and what is evil. It is called a conscience, and it causes pain named guilt inside my head when I remember how I followed the woman into disobedience.

New words for an empty world are: entrails, gag, bones, barren, starvation, skeleton, temptation, doom, worse, lonely, dying, punish, fight, conscience, and guilt.

Creator, I am Adam.

I write my last words so you will remember that Adam lived in the world you made for him. I lie on the cave floor all day and night now. My mouth is dry and my tongue swollen, though the river is close. My strength is gone, but so has my hunger. My thoughts wander like swallows. I have watched the stars and moon and counted my days like you taught me. I will never see four seasons become a year. I remember your smile when you formed me from the dust of the ground and breathed life into me. My mind awoke filled with knowledge of Paradise and the Creator. My spirit was warmed with your love and peace. I saw your glory. You were brighter than a thousand suns and my eyes desired to see nothing else, ever.

I will remember you until I become no more.

I have lost everything.

It is called grief and it swims in a broken soul filled with ten-thousand tears.

Please care for the Woman, Creator. She did not know what she did. I have named her need forgiveness.

Creator, I am still Adam.

The seraph you sent has brought me food. The creature poured water from the river into my mouth. Strength returned to me.

“Eat small portions and grow strong, Man.” The seraph told me. “You must return to Woman.”

“Take me back to Paradise, seraph!” I whispered.

The creature turned its back to me. It walked to the cave entrance, then it stretched its six wings wide and flew away from my command, up into the sky.

I have eaten well for five days and can walk again for short distances. There is enough seed and nuts to last Adam more than three months of moons.

The world is still cursed. Pain and weakness bind my body. I am alone, but I do not want to see the Woman. The feeling is called anger. Sometimes it grows brighter than a cherub’s sword so it needs another name:


Do not punish her, Creator, but do not bring her to me. She ruined our world.

Thank you for remembering the Man you made.

Creator, I am Adam.

The brown bear you sent has torn and broken my body. Your punishments are too numerous for me to bear.

The creature came in the night. I woke at first light while it was eating the last of my food. I commanded it to leave.

“Bear! Leave my food and this cave now!” I ordered.

The creature did not obey. It looked at me, but made no reply. I ran at it and pushed it on the shoulder toward the cave mouth. I felt the bones of its skeleton, so I know it was hungry and dying. It staggered and fell onto its side. It roared, but I could not understand its meaning like I could in Eden Garden. The bear stood up, and I pointed a finger at the cave entrance. It disobeyed again. It stepped toward me, growling and showing all its teeth, then it hit my side with its paw. I was knocked far into the cave, Creator. My skin was torn, so red liquid escaped and formed a pool. I saw the same red liquid when I killed the fish, and when you made the garments for the Woman and I. You called it blood. I have called my torn skin and broken ribs wounds. The bear finished the last of my food. It growled and snarled so I felt my scalp crawl and my stomach tighten. I have named the feeling fear. It grew so strong it shivered my limbs like the cold does, so I renamed it terror, then the bear left the cave.

I deserve your punishment, Creator. I killed a fish. You wanted me to return to the Woman also, but I could not forgive her, so I stayed until the food was almost gone.

My wounds have stopped bleeding, but the pain is as restless and strong as the waters of Eden river. I have named it agony. In Eden Garden nothing could break or suffer wounds. I trod on a multitude of bugs, but none died or was broken, not even the smallest. You held your creation in perfection by your mighty power. Now the physical world is separated from the spirit world. You have taken your hands from this world and it is grievous, Creator. Today my body is broken and I cannot walk. I am hungry again and soon I will die. You made me from the dust of the ground. I know my curse is to return to dust. I write these words so you might see them and remember Adam when I am no more.

New words in a cave of pain are: attack, wound, blood, fear, terror, agony, grievous.

Creator, I am Adam.

I have received the food. The seraph would not talk to me this time. My belly is full, but my body is still torn and broken. My side hurts with every breath. I cannot walk more than a few steps. I make sounds called groans. I cannot return to the Woman. This cave will be my home and I will live broken and in pain.

It is what I deserve.

Forgive me as I would forgive the Woman, if I could see her again.

I have made a word for your ears and eyes– it is called sorry.

I am sorry for everything, mighty Creator.

In Eden Garden I saw your form and felt your love. It was enough to last a thousand seasons. I have called it treasure. I carry it in my memory while I live the days in a broken body under your anger.

Creator, some of the animals do not obey their ruler!

I am Adam.

Animals and birds are leaving Eden Garden. A pair of argen-sauros drank from the river near the sea where I dwell in the cave. I was happy to see them. They are one of the largest pair of the sauro creatures. You remember in Eden how I rode on their backs across the vast distances. I rode with the Woman after you took a rib from my side to make her for me while I slept. We looked down from high on the argen-sauros backs and I showed her all the multitudes of creatures roaming and eating in Paradise. I taught Eve all the names I had given each new creature that she saw. Now one pair of the sauro kind have left Paradise. Their hides no longer shine. Their eyes are dull like the bear’s eyes were when it attacked me.

Argen-sauros!” I called out to them from the cave mouth this morning. “Take me to the Woman at the entrance to Eden!”

The male argen-sauro raised his head and swung his long neck over the river to look at me. I sat in the pain that never leaves while I smelled his breath and felt the wind of it blow on my face. His grey lips were stained green with the plants he had been chewing. He rumbled in his throat so the air shook around my head, but I could not understand his meaning. He had a look on his big head as though he could not understand the meaning of my words either. I have called the look confused.

“Turn your tail across the river and let me climb along it up onto your back.” I told him.

The argen-sauro raised his head and rumbled toward the sky, then he lowered his mouth to drink more water. The female lifted her head high and looked around the land.

“Sauros! I am ruler of all the creatures of this world. Obey me!” I shouted.

The sauros ignored me, just as the bear had until I pushed it. They finished their drink and plodded away into the east. I told my body to walk after them, but it could not.

Creator, I thought the bear did not obey me because you sent it to attack me as punishment. Now I see that the animals no longer recognize that I am their ruler, nor are their minds open to my words. The whole earth is turned upside down because the Woman ate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. It is called a mistake, and it follows the Man from that day to this, because now I need words like confused and ignore.

Count my groans and see my suffering.

I am Adam. I am sorry.

Creator, I am Adam.

You are kind as I remember. My body is becoming whole again. The wounds closed slowly and my side is less painful when I breath or move. The broken ribs no longer move under my skin. I have called it healing. You do it so slowly so I cannot tell how, but soon I will be strong enough to leave the cave.

I will return to the Woman.

It will be difficult, but I will forgive her.

Remember us and open the Garden so we might rejoice in the company of our Creator again.

Creator, I am Adam.

These words are scratched on a large outcrop of stone you placed in the empty lands outside Eden. The rock is quite hard and the marks are faint. You hide your presence from me, and you close your ears to my voice, but if you ever remember Adam with favor, you might consider these words.

I have walked for many days through the land you told me is called Havilah. I followed the sun and stars for direction, like you showed me in Eden Garden when you taught me about the circle of the earth you made. The sky is vast and beautiful, but the land is soil and rocks except for places where young plants and trees have sprouted. I would die of thirst if springs did not bubble from the earth to make pools and streams, or if you did not send mists to water the land in the nights. When I drink water pooled on rocks, I like to think you care for me still.

My journey is lonely, Creator. I have seen birds fly overhead, and many cherubim and seraphim high above carrying bundles or other creatures away across the land, but mostly the land is empty. Ten days ago, I saw the pair of lions. They were only two hundred paces away, eating leaves from a small bush. I could see their rib bones, so I knew they had not found many bushes and were hungry like the Man. I called loudly, so they turned and saw me. They ran toward me with mouths open and fangs bared. I waited, hoping to enjoy even animal company, but then you sent a cherub that flew down and landed its wheels on the ground between us. It turned its angel face toward me, while its lion face looked at the lions and roared. It placed a pile of fruits and forage on the ground for the lions to eat. When I approached, it spread its two wings wide, so I could not see the lions as they began to eat. It pointed a finger into the north and spoke words from the mouth on its human face.

“Man, leave this place now!”

It is wrong for a creature of the angel kind to command the Man, Creator; but the cherubim are mighty and glorious creatures with great power. My power is all gone except for the strength of my limbs. Fear visited me and became terror, so I obeyed. In Eden Garden the same cherub had obeyed Adam and Eve. Outside Eden I fled the angel and did not see the lions again. Your wrath must be great, Creator, to deny me the company of lions, and to make a servant cherub speak a command to the Man.

I grew hungry again; clover and asparagus do not give the Man strength like the fruits of Eden Garden. Today I found a single meal of fruits and nuts on this boulder. It is the highest place for many days walk. I saw no seraph bring the food this time. Perhaps the meal was for another creature, not for the Man. From this place, I can see into Eden Garden. It is vast and lush with multitudes of the large trees and plants that you created fully grown, like you did the Man and the Woman and all the creatures of land and sky and sea. Eden river winds through the distance, blue and inviting in the heat of the day, but the Garden no longer glows with the vivid glory of Paradise. Only one tree shines, huge and far away. I know it is the Tree of Life. Why did Eve not eat that fruit and live forever? Why did she think the knowledge of good and evil more desirable?

Regret is another new word. It is a starving creature born from Mankind’s mistake; it roams my soul eating all joy from life.

I ate until my stomach hurt, but inside I am empty and broken. Paradise is destroyed and I am kept from the Tree of Eternal Life. I am shunned by angels and beasts. My Creator rests a heavy hand on me. Once, I saw the smile of divine pleasure, now I need a word called displeasure.

The sun is setting in the west. Tomorrow I will reach the eastern boundary of Eden. I will see if the cherubim still guard the entrance, then I will search for the Woman. In the nights when the cold keeps sleep from me, I think of her. I lay in the damp mists, but sometimes I glimpse the stars in their multitude. They remind me how her brown eyes shone with life. I am still angry, but I would like to feel her skin warm against me and hear her laughter sprinkle the air with joy, like it did so often in Eden. I find myself smiling now when I remember her. Do you smile when you think of me, Creator? If you do, you might open the Garden to me and make it perfect again. Restore and recreate are words for that. Can you not see that Adam belongs in Paradise? The Man should not know pain and fear, nor suffer until his body lingers near death.

I thank you for sending the food, Creator. The fruit of Eden Garden sustains my body… but the memory of that place breaks my soul. I have called it sorrow.

Creator, I am Adam.

I found the Woman. She has been dwelling in the ravine near the entrance to Eden Garden. I saw the cherubim guards before I found her. I tried to walk past the cherubim up the long path into Eden, but a cherub pointed its sword at me, so I felt the heat burn my skin again.

“Let me past!” I commanded.

“Eden Garden is closed to you, Man!” The cherub roared from its human face.

“Low creature! Lesser beast!” I shouted.

I stepped back then picked up rocks and threw them up at the cherub’s head again. It swatted the rocks with its sword and stared at me with many eyes glowing all over its body and wings and wheels.

“Adam!” I heard behind me. “Adam, my love!”

I turned and watched Eve run toward me. Her eyes and mouth were wide in smile. You made her very beautiful, Creator, even when her body no longer shines and a garment of skin hides her nakedness. She held her arms outstretched and sprang from the ground into my embrace. I held her body so I felt her skin warm and soft, while her toes pressed against my shins. She kissed my lips, then pressed her head against mine. I heard her laugh, and the sound was like I had remembered in the cold nights; it trickled into my soul and filled the emptiness.

“I thought you were dead, like the two animals the Creator killed to make us garments.” She said to me.

“I have journeyed far.” I told her. “I grew hungry, then the male brown bear opened the side of my body. Injury and wounds and damage are the words I made. Death climbed into my bones, but the Creator sent a cherub with food. He also made my body whole again, although it took a long time, and I don’t know how he did it. I call it healing.”

I could have held the Woman off the ground all day and night in Eden, but my arms grew tired outside Paradise, so I put her down. She took my hand and led me toward a jumble of boulders away from the cherubim.

“I have nuts and fruits to eat. A seraph brings food to me from inside Eden.” She told me. “There is a spring just outside the ravine to drink from.”

We sat side by side in the shade of Eden’s cliff. Eve has also learned how far her disobedience has ruined Paradise. She has called it disaster, and she told me some of it while we ate.

“The animals don’t understand me anymore, and they won’t obey my commands. The cherubim warned me to stay away from the big beasts and all the serpents that leave Eden, or they could harm me.” Eve said.

I nodded and showed her my side. It is marked with bumps where the ribs were broken, and thick lines where the skin was opened. I have called the lines scars.

“You must listen this time, Eve. The bear did this to my body. Our bodies can be opened by animals. I call it danger. It is there because you ate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.”

She frowned at me. A frown is when a smile falls down a face because all happiness is gone. Only the angel Satan used frowns in Eden Garden. That creature was the chief of the angels, and garmented in jewels and glory, but it used no smiles.

“Yes, we damaged the world by disobeying God, Adam.”

Eve’s lips tremored, like a rattlesnake tail shivering in Eden Garden, but she made no pleasant sound like those creatures did. She leaned against me and wept. Her body heaved with sobs, and soon she wailed. I embraced her, Creator. She wet my garment on my shoulder with her tears. I could not look in her eyes. We did not talk again until the cool of dusk brought bumps onto our skin.

“We will be warm if we sleep close to the cherub’s sword.” Eve told me.

I lay with the Woman on the dusty ground in the light and warmth of the flaming sword. I held her while the cherubim watched us with unblinking eyes crowding their bodies and wheels and wings, like the stars crowd the night sky. When Eve slept, I walked away into the misty dark. I cannot remain in the gaze of the cherubim. The glowing eyes are as painful as the bear paw that opened my flesh, or the guilt that visits my head when I remember eating the forbidden fruit with Eve. I have called the feeling condemnation. It weighs as heavy as a boulder inside my soul.

It is a new day. I have not yet returned to Eve. Guilt fills my soul like a thick mist, and I do not want to see the Woman’s downcast face or hear her cries. It is called delay. I write this on a tall sandstone rock out of sight of the cherubim guarding Eden Garden. I must thank you for keeping Eve alive, Creator. It was not good to be alone. It is not all good to have company either, but you have shown me in the Woman’s smile and the touch of her body that the ruined world still holds goodness and love. Perhaps if I live close to her we will yet see joy return to this world you made.

Creator, I am Adam.

If your eyes search for the Man and the Woman after I have written these words, you will not find us anywhere near the entrance to Eden Garden. We are leaving this place. You will find the cherubim guards, and perhaps creatures of the animal kind, but not the Man kind. I could not live in the gaze of the cherubim. Their many eyes condemn the Man and the Woman, and our eyes see glorious creatures that suffer no curses and can leave this place to see you in Paradise. It is called jealousy, and it burns like a flaming sword inside the two souls of Mankind.

These words are scratched on the cliff five hundred paces south from the entrance to Eden. Nearby you will find the home the Man and Woman built to keep the cool mists from biting our skins through long nights. The meaning inside the build word is when Mankind makes something new from what you already created, Creator. We built the home below the cliff where many stones lay doing nothing. It is near the spring that you created in this place. We dug into the ground and stood tall slabs of stone upright in two rows, like the plates on the back of a stego. We laid long, flat stones across the top of the two rows. The night mist found many holes, so we covered the outside and top with dirt, and filled gaps with smaller stones. The Man and Woman, who you made to dwell in Paradise, slept inside a low mound of dirt. It was warm in the night lying in the small space close together, but the dust dirtied our skin and our garments. We breathed it inside our bodies until we coughed and spat mud.

We waited for you from one month of moons to the next, then again. You did not visit. Cherubim and seraphim flew many creatures away across the world, while other animal kinds walked or crawled or slithered from the entrance to Eden Garden, but Mankind sat watching from high on the hill alone, or we hid in our mound home from creatures with fangs or claws, like panthers and tyranos, while they journeyed out into the world.

“There must be food growing out in the empty lands now, Eve. Tyranos and megatheros and mastadons have left Eden Garden. Those kinds all need more food than Mankind.” I told the Woman one day.

Eve sighed and frowned.

“Perhaps Man, but many cherubim and seraphim still fly from Eden with food. The angel kinds will be feeding all those big creatures.”

A seraph flew food to us that evening. It stirred the air around us with its wingbeats, then it landed gracefully beside Eve. It placed a palm leaf bundle on the ground.

“Will you tell the Creator we wait to talk with our God?” I told the angel, like I had many times before.

The creature did not answer, except with eyes glowing glorious condemnation. It never did speak to us. I thought of how that creature had bowed its head when Eve or I passed by in Eden Garden. Now it stretched its six wings and flapped wind against my face while I watched its beautiful feet rise from the ground. The wind opened the palm leaf so we could see dates and pomegranates, pecan nuts and oranges.

Eve did not eat. She wept.

“Wonderful God is glorious and good. The Creator made a perfect world for us. Now this world is dead to the spirit world and cursed, and we are ruined by sin. I long to dwell in God’s smile again, but can the Creator of stars and birds walk with us again? Would our curses dirty our God like the dust of our home fills our mouths in the nights? I would not want it, because then wonderful God would suffer, and it would be because of you and I, Man.”

I had words ready to fall from my tongue, but the meanings inside guilt and fault do not stop the Woman’s tears. I remembered how I worked in Eden Garden, ordering angels to see food harvested and plants tended so this herb grew there, and that vegetable there.

“I want to pick my own food, Eve. I want to see a seed sprout and grow until we can eat its fruit.”

Eve looked at me with wide eyes. Tears had dug tracks of sorrow through the dirt on her cheeks. She nodded.

“We can remember Creator no matter where we are. Let us leave this place. Take the seeds you have collected. Perhaps the world is big enough to escape our curses somewhere.” She said.

And so we are gone. You will need to look south, then west past the Pishon River to find us, Creator. We would like to see you again, to laugh and rejoice in your company, but we have had enough of cherubim who only speak condemnation with their eyes, and of a small dusty home inside a mound of dirt.

Creator, I am Adam.

I write words for your eyes on the rock outside Man and Woman’s new home. It is a cave in the cliff below Eden Garden. You made this cave far away from the cherubim guarding the entrance to Eden. Mankind spent more than a month of days walking south then west over a world where plants are small and rare. We rested one day out of every seven, like you did after you created the world and everything in it.

In the empty lands, Eve and I sometimes saw cherubim or seraphim flying back and forth from Eden, but none brought us food. Sometimes we found fruits and nuts fallen from tree branches that overhang the high cliffs below Eden Garden, but not often and not enough. I told Eve that when hunger lasts longer than a month it is called starvation. I could see the bones of Eve’s skeleton under her skin in all the places where her garment does not cover. It became very hard to walk even short distances each day.

We journeyed across the land of Havilah then into Cush. Just when I thought death was near again, we found another of the four rivers that flow out of Eden Garden. It is the Gihon. We followed the water upriver to the high cliffs of a narrow gorge. The water was deep and flowed slowly. We swam and waded toward Eden until the gorge widened into a valley. The riverbanks became flat, and the land broad on either side of the water. There were fields of green plants among rocks and young trees. Small feather-wing birds flew from plant to plant feeding. Eve climbed out of the water and stood on a beach of pebbles. She held her knuckles to her lips and jumped up and down. Her hair shed water drops that glistened in the sunlight, so I remembered how everything shone with vivid color in Eden Garden.

“Adam, we have found a way back into Eden!” She called to me.

I climbed out of the river and stood beside her. I did not recognize the place, but thought she did.

“We will find more food than we can ever eat!” I told her.

“We can eat from the Tree of Life and never die!” She said.

She held my hands and skipped a circle around me. Her laugh climbed into my ears like it did in Eden Garden before she disobeyed your only command, Creator. The sun warmed our wet skin. I walked with Eve into the valley. We found watercress growing in the clear water of a stream that flowed into the Gihon River. We filled our stomachs until Eve vomited, then we walked further upriver. After perhaps ten-thousand steps, the river wound west around a high cliff of chalk and we saw the great cliff. The trees of Eden grow along the top. Some are spotted with the colors of their fruits and flowers, but none shine. The river falls from amidst the tall trees high above the valley. It tumbles down the cliff in white surge like the tears of Paradise destroyed. I would like to climb the cliff, or swim up the waterfall and bathe again in the headwaters of Eden River, but I cannot. It is called a wish, and it swims in a river of disappointment in the land of impossibility.

The cave is far below the overhanging trees of Eden, but high on a slope. It keeps us dry when the night mists water the earth. We sit outside in the early morning sun, warming our bodies after the cool of the nights. In the east, the Gihon River rumbles and roars where it falls from Eden, while the cliff of chalk shines white in the west. The valley is enclosed by cliffs all around, so I know the brown bears cannot steal our food or bring danger to Eve while we sleep in the cave.

There are many food plants growing in this Valley, more grains and herbs and vegetables than we have seen anywhere in the empty lands, but only one plant kind here, another there. We spend our days gathering and trying new leaves and seeds to eat. We are learning which plants make us sick, and which keep hunger away and our skeletons hidden. The fruits and nuts fallen from the trees of Eden far above are usually broken or mushed, but we scrape some off the boulders and stones. We hunger still, but we save a little food each day and store it in the cave for winter. Seeds keep well, though leaves and fruit often do not. Some will dry in warm sun, but others change color and become foul to eat. I have called it rot.

These words are to thank you, mighty Creator. We broke the perfection of this world, yet you have given us a home. There is hunger and pain, yet goodness and love has not all been destroyed. Last night, I sat with Eve at the cave entrance. We looked up into the night sky as patches of mist formed on the valley floor.

“The stars remind me of the Creator’s glory in Eden.” Eve whispered to me.

She leaned her head against my chest and I held her in my arms. I did not reply. I have taught her some of the names you gave to stars, but I did not name any more for her. The memory of your glory flooded my mind like the Gihon waterfall thunders with power down from Eden Garden. I shut my eyes and let my mind travel back to those days. I saw your smile and heard your voice. Eve cried beside me, so I know she too was remembering all we have lost. Eve spoke past her sobs.

“It was wrong to disobey God, Adam. Through every day and every breath, I want to change that day, but I can’t.”

Her voice shook, like leaves when a sauro rubs against a tall tree trunk. I held her tightly in the dark.

“Do you remember how the creator looked at you after he made the garment for you.” I asked her.

Eve wiped her eyes beside me.

“Yes, I named it sad. It pained my soul, and I cried my first tears.”

“Creator did not end the lives of the Mankind, Eve. He killed animals instead. I think he felt like you do now.”

Eve shifted in my arms and looked up at my face in the starlight.

“It was love that made Creator sad… we wounded God’s soul… but divine love for us did not die because we sinned.” She whispered.

I did not condemn Eve, though she deserves it. I have forgiven her, and I treasure her smiles and laughter. I kissed her lips, slowly and gently to fill her mind with pleasantry not sadness. It is called to distract, and it is a pleasant spring in a vast and dry land. We caressed each other under our garments. Soon, our passion hid our sorrows, like the flowers of a smoketree bloom so brightly they hide the leaves and branches for a season. We lay together, Creator, there under the stars you call by name above the circle of the earth. We became one flesh again, and for a while it was like being in Eden Garden again.

The pair of fantail birds are flying here and there around the Woman and I. They twit every now and then. I think the scraping of my rock on the cliff while I write must sound like another bird in their ears. Eve is sitting at the cave mouth watching me. She is running a stick through her long brown hair to keep it straight. She calls it tangled. She calls mine matted, but I don’t let her straighten it. Her eyes are the color of almond nuts sitting on white petals of magnolia flowers. They are beautiful even without Eden’s glorious light. I like it when she keeps her eyes on me.

She frowned just now.

“Why do you make marks on the rock, Man?” She asked me.

“I make words for God’s eyes to find. It is called writing for the Creator to read.” I told her.

She closed one eye above her frown and tilted her head.

“I will call that crazy.” She told me.

We both laughed, so the birds flew away.

Read these words, Creator. Know your children have found love and smiles. We thank you for all the good that remains in your world.

Year 2

Creator, I am Adam.

I write these words to ask help for Eve. She is to be a mother. Her belly is growing large. She calls it pregnant. She is afraid, and today she told me why.

“Creator gave me some knowledge of childbirth, Adam. I long to hold our child, but my body is no longer invincible. I will suffer great pain birthing this child.”

“Childbirth cannot hurt more than bear wounds.” I told her, and showed her my scars.

She cried, Creator. Then she hurried to our food piles. She picked up the walnuts that fall from Eden, then she threw some at me. Walnuts do not melt when they hit a man, like rocks do when they hit the cherub’s sword. They hurt, just a little. It is called sting. I let the Woman hurt me so I could show her it will be alright.

“See!” I told her when the walnuts were all scattered. “It is just pain, Eve. It will end!”

Coconuts hurt more than walnuts, Creator.

I am doing most of the food gathering alone now. It is hard work. The word is exhausting. I walk through different areas of the valley each day. I know all the ground and where plants grow with food, but there is never enough, especially when the Woman vomits in the morning and I must do most of the gathering work. It is winter and we do not have enough food stored, so we eat only a little each day. Eve divides the portions. She calls it rationing, but it is just starvation stretched out over more days.

I caught another fish yesterday. I hit it with a rock when it was in the river shallows. It was one of the catfish. I did it so Eve would fill her stomach and not worry. Eve would not eat any of the fish.

“God will punish you for killing the fish, Adam. God gave us fruit and seeds to eat, not fish. It is called stupid. The world needs two catfish for them to breed!”

“I think they have already bred, Eve. There are many small fish in the river. You should eat for the baby. You need to be stronger. I can see too much of your skeleton, and your face is thin.”

I said that to show concern, but Eve cried again.

“Go away!” she told me very loudly. I have called it a yell. A yell is like a shout, but it has more anger in it.

I don’t understand the Woman. Her moods change for no reason at all. When I tell her how to end a problem, she ignores me. Perhaps you could visit just to smile and comfort her. It would help her if you could send a seraph with food from Eden Garden…or perhaps a cherub could carry the Man and Woman up the cliff and return us to Eden Garden. There is more food there. We would vow not to eat from the Tree of Life.

Please read these words, Creator. See our hardships. Perhaps you might remember we only ate one fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. It wasn’t even very big.

Creator, I am Adam.

The stars and moon show me I am one-year and ten-months old today. It is a long time. In Eden Garden, time did not seem the same. It was always now. There was nothing to fear and food grew everywhere. I saw you many times and walked in the wind of your joy and peace and love. I did not need words like worry, hurry, danger, pain, or starvation. I did not fear that one day I will die and my body become dust again.

Cherubim have been flying into our valley. They have brought chickens and sheep and aurochs. It is nice to have animals on the field outside the cave, but you made more of those creatures than others. I don’t know why. They are eating the plants I grew from seed and the food plants growing wild in the valley, Creator. I gather all day, but we cannot eat many kinds of the plants, like the grasses, so we barely have enough. I cannot count the number of your punishments. Will our suffering ever be enough?

Eve has a very big stomach. We sat at the cave mouth when the sun was setting last night. She put my hand on her skin.

“Do you feel the baby, Adam?” She asked me.

Something bumped my hand from inside her. I nodded to her.

“It is hitting you, Eve. It must be angry at you. It knows you ruined the world.”

Eve opened her eyes and mouth so they were all as round as the spring sun shining warm on our skin. She made a sound I called a gasp, then she hit my cheek with her open hand. I call it a slap.

“It is angry at both of us, Man! I will hit you every second time it hits me! That is called a promise!” She told me.

A promise is just another name for vow, so that meaning has two words now, but I didn’t say we shouldn’t use it.

The Woman woke me up three times in the night with slaps on my shoulder. The baby must be very angry at her, Creator. I know Eve is angry at me. I call it wrong. I am not angry at her. Her hand hurts much less than a brown bear paw, and it must be exhausting having an angry baby in her stomach. She held me tight and cried in the dark after each slap.

If you read these words, perhaps you will take the animals somewhere where they can eat their own food. It would be good if you could comfort Eve somehow. She does not listen to me.

Creator, there are three humans in the world now.

I am Adam.

Eve pushed the baby from her body. She did it at the cave mouth in the night. She squatted in the moonlight and I watched her pain. It was great like you warned her after she ate from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. No dark could hide her suffering because she groaned and made a sound that I named scream. I sat beside her and held her hand. I rubbed her back when she asked, and I stood behind her to hold her weight under her arms when the baby was coming out. It was dawn when she held the baby. It is a man, but it is very small. Eve calls it a boy. I have named it Cain.

“Hello, baby.” I said.

It cried and would not talk. It cried a lot. Probably because it was frightened by the Woman screaming all night. There was a slippery cord running from its belly back into the entrails that came out of Eve after the baby.

“You need to cut the cord and tie it with the vine I told you to get.” Eve told me.

The baby’s cord was tough. I could not break it with my hands, so I chewed it with my teeth, then I folded the stump and tied it closed with strong vine. The cord stump looks wrong. A belly should be flat and smooth all over like Eve’s, or rippled like mine.

I gave Eve fresh watercress for the baby to eat, and river water in a coconut shell for it to drink. She used the water to wash the baby, then she fed it from her breasts. I was very surprised that her body can make food for the baby. Eve knew about that, but she did not let me know beforehand. She told me it was caused by shy. The baby drinks from her nipples. Eve named the food milk. I thought you made her breasts just for me to enjoy when we lie together and become one flesh. I suppose the baby can share.

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