The Apologies of Eve

         I don’t know what I was thinking… maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. I remember what I did, though.
         I remember a slight tremor climbing my spine when I looked up into the tree and saw the glitter in his eye. I’d never felt such a thing—it was thrilling, and terrifying, but only for a second, and then it was gone. He flew to my shoulder and Adam and I continued our walk through the garden, until we came to the Forbidden Tree. I bent to stroke a young wolf who had wandered over to us, and the serpent on my shoulder whispered in my ear.
         Everyone knows what he said, how the conversation went. And the things he offered—Oh! To know what God knows, to be on His level, to be able to converse with Him as if I were His equal! To have an in-depth conversation with he who made me! It was a thing I yearned for, a thing that compared to no other in the beauty of its prospects. I wanted to know Him like He knew me. There was a moment that I hesitated, that I wondered why now, after these years of wonder and beauty in this place, we were just hearing about this, and why God would keep such a thing from us. It was only for a moment that I hesitated, but I wish that I had held that moment longer. Perhaps it would have changed things.
         I’ll admit it was naïve of me to think that I could know the entirety of God, but the idea that maybe, just maybe I could know God was so enticing, so unbelievably wonderful to me… and the fruit so ripe to the eye…
         I took it; I brought it to my lips; I sunk my teeth into it. It was so sweet, so perfect; I gave the fruit to Adam—why should I alone know God? And as the fruit slid down my throat, a bitter taste filled my mouth and my stomach began to moan in agony. I saw Adam doubled over in pain, but I could only concentrate on his nakedness. We both blushed; I looked away, though I could still feel Adam staring, and I knew I was no longer loved for my intellect.
         In a storm of worry, embarrassment, and shame, we hid. We both knew this wasn’t the way we were meant to be. I wove leaves and branches together to cover ourselves with. The covering itched and the branches dug their way into my skin, but I could not stand Adam’s staring.
         We heard the dancing of the trees and the happy tremble of the earth and knew that God had come. He knew what we had done, what I had done. It broke my heart that my just and wonderful God would be disappointed in me. All I had wanted was to know him…
         Now, years after that horrible day when I hurt my God and doomed my children, I write this, my story, to apologize.
         I’m sorry.
         -Eve, daughter of God.