December 5, 2015

The sky is angry that night, water pouring from unseen heights, cut through with spears of light and a thunderous drumming that shakes her to the core.

From that moment on, she becomes adept at concealing herself, at stealing away through the trees upon the man’s approach. The snake helps with this, keeping vigil at night while she rests, the full moon looking on. The garden, a dark and treacherous place where each rustle of leaves or snap of a branch seem to portend her discovery and the new pain it would bring, feels foreign, unkind, and she is reminded of the visions she had seen upon eating the forbidden fruit. Time, however, the great healer that it is, works its magic in her tender heart. Her physical wounds heal, the pain only the fain...

November 28, 2015

Under the light of the full moon looming close in the sky, she takes a single, delicate bite of fruit.

Nothing happens at first. And then everything happens. The garden fades away from sight and in its stead she sees unfathomable flashing lights, images that pop and crackle and mushroom, great flying beasts, nightmares terrifying the skies, a river of blood, bodies, bodies that look like her own, except much smaller, and she can hardly comprehend what monstrosity she is seeing, so she closes her eyes to banish the display. But the sounds continue, the whirring and growling and droning of some strange beasts, cries and screams and moans, and she is falling to the ground, depleted, hands striving to block her ears against the battering assault...

November 21, 2015

It is warm, and damp, and dark when first she becomes aware, when first she has a self to become aware of. Then pain, burning and stinging, engulfs her awareness. Light, she hears the whisper, and she winces eyes new to sight. Slowly, so slowly, the excruciating brightness fades and she recognizes then the cold. Air, pressing close to her, caressing, sends her to shivering. A figure gradually comes into focus before her. Man, the helpful voice supplies. Mate. The man stoops over, clutching his side, the place she came from. She feels a little perturbed by the strangeness of this, but then acknowledges that all is strange to her now, so she can’t really say.

Turning from the man, she looks around her. Trees, and flowers. Dirt. A garden, s...

Please reload

Featured Posts

Into the Trenches with Pitch Wars

November 8, 2019

Please reload

Recent Posts

June 11, 2019

July 5, 2018

August 20, 2017

Please reload

Search By Tags
Please reload


  • Facebook Social Icon
  • Instagram Social Icon
  • Twitter Social Icon
  • Pinterest Social Icon

© 2017 by Meg Gaertner. Proudly created with