Sunneith and I are writing short stories (6 each) that will be used as blueprints for lyrics to the next Bhayanak Maut album.
It's simple math : 12 short stories = 12 songs
I've written two stories. What follows is Sunneith's first short story.
It's titled 'Eden'.
You’ve waited twenty years for this. It always is a while before the perfect specimen comes across. The hospital is particular about sex-determination data. Even the doting parents are never told. Lest they abort the baby. There is secrecy. There is paperwork. But things have always fallen in place for you. The way has always been paved for you. With a bodies cleared away, putrefying at the side.
Woman – 19
6 months pregnant
Boy and girl
“Perfect”, you say to yourself.
After you pin the report on the wall, you turn around to admire your study. A multitude of books adorn the wall on the right. The table in the center holds a glass case with your most prized possession. It is a version of the Holy Bible that no one has. Your version. Twenty years in the making. It has taken you a long time to get here. The deed must be done.
You look to the left and glazed eyes meet yours. You walk over toward the eyes. There is a smile on your face.
“It must be done. Yes. Fifteen years it has taken. I have loved you. I have nurtured you. I have watched you become what you are today, Lilith. You will make me proud. Or I will feed on you. Bathed in your blood. Wrapped in moulded leftover bread.”
The girl lies on the bed you’ve laid out in your home. A single bulb lamp hangs over her resting body. Her skin glows. It has been a humid month. Fine beads of sweat form on her forehead and cheeks. You close your eyes and imagine the squeaking it might cause if you rubbed your palms on her belly.
Her bump is very much visible. The fact that she holds twins makes it even more so.
She is beautiful. Her hair used to be long and flowing. It would gently brush against her cheek bone; and she would pull it back behind her small, lobe-less ears. Her jaw line forms a shadow on her neck, and you wonder what secrets might be hidden in that darkness. She has no tattoos. Not this one. She is clean. And her husband was her first.
You’ve managed to shave off every bit of hair on her body. You dipped her in a tub laced with bathing salts and gentle cleaning-alcohol. It might have stung her a little. But morphine is a good friend in times of heartache and skin trauma.
She comes to. Her eyes are wide. She looks at you bent at the foot of the bed. She pulls in air to scream. She launches into a full-blown shriek. Not a single sound is made.
The Hindus use a particular kind of powder during their religious celebrations. They mark their foreheads with this red powder. They call it kum kum. It is a mix of turmeric and powdered calcium hydroxide.
With a fistful of kum kum coating the inside of your throat, you can barely breathe, let alone say the good name of the lord.
All that comes out of her are frail, harsh hisses.
“You’re beautiful. Perfect. You know, you’re very lucky to be holding twins. That too one of each.”
She didn’t know. Now she does.
“When god made Adam and Eve, he put them in the perfect place. With everything they could ask for. Much like your body.”
She thrashes. But her arms are tied to the bed. As are her legs. Parted for good reason. She is stark naked.
“I will call you, Eden.”
She now starts to cry.
“You know. Humans have always tried to defy the will and act of god. We blaspheme, only so that we do not conform to the ways of the higher power. We blaspheme to convince ourselves that we are, indeed, the sculptors of our fate. But what if it was God’s will for you to Blaspheme in the first place? Ever thought of that? What if, the serpent was the left hand of god?”
She starts to move her bare buttocks across the bed. That is when she notices that something is terribly wrong with her body.
“So I must create a symbol of god’s doing. I must re-enact the events of the garden. I must bring upon man, the wrath of the higher power. I must, alas, become god.”
Her muscle memory takes control. She tries to squeeze her bare thighs to contract her vagina. She notices the discomfort that she feels there.
“Oh don’t worry. The apple has been introduced. One of your twins has been baited. Much like the curious Eve.”
Her jaw drops. She tries to thrust through her vagina. You’re happy to know that she knows exactly what comes next.
“This must be done. You are merely a host to the mould of man. And I am merely God’s image. The serpent is my tool.”
You open the glass cage lying at your feet. You stare into those glazed eyes again. You take the left hand of God and hold it in your arms.
“Lilith. Make me proud.”
The head of the Burmese python matches the contracted radius of the human vagina.