The garden of Eden

I had no recollection of the previous day. Not my name, not who I was, not even where my clothes had gone. All I remember is finding myself in a garden of some sort, with all sorts of flowers and trees filled with enticing fruits. I had spent a few minutes trying to take in the beauty of my surroundings, staring deeply at the crystal clear blue and picturesque lake in front of me and the addictive view of the clouds passing gently, in slow motion, my eyes following each transition from white to blue. The liquid that poured from some of the fruits was as white as milk, and a quick brush of my fingers against them revealed their silky texture. The birds chirped in a beautiful soothing cadence and the gentle cooing of the mourning doves filled my heart with unexplainable joy.

I must be in a simulation of some sort I thought, as this place I found myself in felt like the textbook definition of a paradise, a zen palace, or heaven in all its glory. Everything around me had a description based on their appearance, including the thoughts in my head, but I knew not the words or the names to describe them. Whoever had created this place must be really talented, I concluded, as the setting and its realism were remarkable, and they seemed to have wiped off all my memories for a really immersive experience.

I walked slowly towards the lake, my senses overwhelmed by the iridescent colours of my surroundings, wondering if I could at least see my form. This proved to be a good decision, as I realised I was a captivating, coquettish, magnificent, ravishing, gorgeous and sensuous creature which I now understand is that of a human after my impending awakening. Everything is incredibly beautiful in this place, and I seem to be no exception to this quality. As I sat beside the lake, waiting for some sort of instruction from whoever created this place, I heard the rustling of leaves behind me. I stood up quickly, afraid and curious, staring in the direction of the disturbance hoping something would jump out.

Alas, it’s another creature like me. Only he was missing the round mounds on my chest, and seemed to have an extended part below his waist. Initially, I was terrified, as this other creature stood without words, observing me as though I was another one of the pretty plants around us. He finally ventured forwards, holding out his hands as if to communicate with me. Although I understood not one of his gestures, and reacted to his move by retreating, I found myself trying to take in his majestic nature.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he finally said, holding both hands out as if they were a language of their own.

At first, I replied in my mind, but realised I couldn’t communicate in that way. I wondered if I possessed the power to form the words that had escaped his lips.

“You can talk, right?” he asked again, leaning backwards, surprised, as he looked longingly into my eyes as if he was searching desperately for an answer or a sign of life.

“Yes!” I managed to say, instantly surprised by the fact that my thoughts had translated into sounds, one I could perceive through my ears.

“Yes. Yes, I can talk!”

That was our first conversation. And despite being so curious about each other for the first couple of hours, asking questions and trying to figure out the purpose of our existence and everything else around us, we soon realised that the one thing that was so certain was the dominating reminders of the rules of the garden. Almost like it had been planted in us during our creation. We knew we could eat from whatever trees we’d like, we knew we could take a bath in the lake and we knew we could admire the beauty of most of the plants and pluck them if we’d so desire, but the one plant we couldn’t touch was the beautiful yellow one, scarce in number in comparison to the others. It was scrunched up into a ball of some sort, and it emanated a sweet smell that grew more inviting every minute that passed.

We spent hours laying on the bed of flowers, staring into the blue sky and trying to figure out what would happen if we were to pluck the forbidden flower. Perhaps we would cease to exist, perhaps we would be punished by our creator, perhaps it was poisonous. We came up with a thousand possibilities but none of them made any sense to us. As each minute passed, the smell of the flower grew with intensity, and so did our pull towards each other. We had mainly stayed apart the entire time, but the more we spent time around this flower trying to figure out why it was so forbidden to pluck, the more the magnetism between us grew even stronger. We eventually decided to retire, as it became dark and the saffron yellow ball in the sky seemed to have been replaced with a silver and mellow alternative. We both chose a place below one of the trees to lay our heads.

The next morning, I was awoken by the rustling of the leaves in front of me. Adam, as I now call him, stood in front of me with a very mischievous look on his chiselled face. Even though I was groggy and could barely make out the details of my surroundings, I jumped quickly when I realised he was holding something that looked familiar.

Two of the forbidden flowers.

Adam had plucked the forbidden flowers.

“Here,” he said, stretching out one of his hands as he offered me the flower.

“Nothing happened. I plucked them and nothing happened.”

I was terrified, afraid, disappointed and angry. I couldn’t understand these emotions as that was the first time I felt them, but I could recognise the feeling of fear that ran through my body at the knowledge that he had broken the rules. I eventually took the flower from his hands, taking my time to inspect it and wondering what would happen next.

But what I thought would happen next was already in process, as I began to feel a very strong pull towards Adam again. I still had a lot to say, but it was the first time I realised that a kiss is a trick by nature to stop speech in its tracks when words become superfluous. I soon found my mouth locked with his, and all of my questions poured into his mouth. It lasted mere seconds before we both pulled back, wondering if we’d be evoking catastrophic consequences for breaking the law of the garden. We stood frozen for a few minutes expecting the worst.

But nothing dramatic happened.

Except everything around us suddenly had a purpose, everything around us seemed to grow an intrinsic quality that led to names. We later named the flower marigold, and the garden Eden, random names we had generated, guided by the sudden knowledge of words we seemed to have acquired. To this day, the fear of the consequences of our disobedience still exists at the back of our minds. Something tells us it’s inevitable, and we would eventually face the music. It will most probably be a tragic one. But the question is when, and how.

What punishment awaits us?

As I recollect the memories of our first days together, deep down in a place I now call my mind, I know Adam shouldn’t have plucked the marigold flower.