Skip to main content

Flash Fiction: The Fall - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu


'Not again, please. Must you do this everyday?' Adam protested.

'I'll make it snappy, my lord. I hear rumours of new creatures'

His stomach rumbles. He gives in. She stoops beside him, her breasts brushing his ribs.

One... two…
ten... eleven…
thirteen...eighteen...
She counted until she got the last rib.

'Aha! Complete' She affirmed. Satisfied.

Adam exhaled, shook his head and requested for his meal.

'Under the mango tree, my love... fruit salad today. I bet you'll love it'.

Famished and weary of her now increasingly annoying jealousy, he sprawled on the grass, ready to shove ‘em fruits down his throat.

'How long will this continue? Ehn?'

He grumbles and picks a slice of cucumber. Takes a bite and munches care freely. Fragments sprinting off his mouth as he grumbles on...

'Must she count my ribs every day?'

He wondered why Eve’s this jealous? There ain't no other female human for godsake. He could bet Eve counts his ribs everyday to see if another woman have been created.

He picks a green slice of apple and munches.

I'm weary of this. Ogini di?

Munching...

'Hmmm...This fruit tastes...hmmm... honey, your culinary skills improved overnight?'

Munching... It tastes different. Sweet. Unusual.

'yummy. What fruit is this?’ Adam queried.

'Eat, my lord' She whispered with a wry grin.

Adam munches on. Adam looks down... on his plate. Blinks twice. Wipes eyes.

'Jesus!'

He pulls grasses over his groin.

Eve is startled. 'Adie, you scare me. What's it?'

Adam turns to her... His eyes widened. He notices her bare breasts for the first time.

'Jesus! EVE!'

=================================


Meanwhile few trees away, the Serpent is having a good laugh.

'Perfect! They ate it!'
He wagged his tail in lusty excitement, middle finger in the air.

The End.

-Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu
#Pengician
#SSA

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.  "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies"  "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"  After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"  "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....