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  • Writer's pictureIona Stuart

March 2020 - Short Fiction

Updated: Jun 3, 2020

My name is Adam, like the first man. And you can be my Lilith.


The air was cold and still, I could feel the crispness as it nipped at my uncovered fingers and nose; the smoke as I blew it out in gradual gray waves seemingly the only thing to hold life. And my mind was somehow full and empty all at once.

My hazy irises jumped from the swirling clouds of polluted breath to a streetlight as it flickered over the sidewalk it was supposed to be keeping sentinel. And I couldn’t help but wonder if it knew how it had failed.

On. Off. On. Off. Off. Get off. Get off. Please get OFF!

I blinked hard and shook my head. My eyes flew open again; the light was back on. But I’m not sure I wanted it to illuminate the parts of my brain I’d spent the past 24 hours trying to hide among the darkness.

Like the first man.

The words ricocheted around my brain, the memory of his beard bristling against my Cupid’s bow. But how wrong Cupid had perceived this situation.

The taste of blood still flooded my mind as it had my mouth when my teeth descended into the soft flesh below in some futile attempt of salvation. Of defiance. Of protection.

The wetness of the tears in the freshness of new Spring shocked my skin as they fell and chilled my cheeks. With an ice cold hand, I wiped them away to no avail as more dripped forth from the freshly opened wound that had never had the time to heal.

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