In the beginning, there was God. This we all know. What we do not know, however, is that he could be a bit of a dick sometimes. In heaven where the angels dwell, where the souls of the righteous come to rest, this tale does begin, and in hell where the souls of the wicked are damned, it does end: for this is the story of an angel with a shotgun, who fell in every sense of the word.
Before Eve came from Adam's rib, Lilith came from the same dirt that he did. It is probable God did not approve of such equality between them, but whatever his divine reasoning, he cast her out. She was abandoned, alone, and bitter; knowing not her crime, purely her punishment. But Lilith did not harbour a grudge, for she was a child of god and as such she trusted in heaven. But all the same, being cast from paradise is not an experience unlikely to change a person. In her mind there lurked a seed of worry that, fed by her questioning thoughts of why she was not good enough for Adam, grew into a monstrous weed of self-loathing and worthlessness. It was as if there were something missing from her, and all those that she grew close too could sense it. As a result she never found love, despite never acting cruelly nor failing to love with all of her soul. Of course, in her mind there was no one to blame but herself, and her feelings of worthlessness only grew. No one ever loved her. No one ever could.
Until the eye of heaven came to rest on her once more. The archangel Lucifer looked down to earth and saw her soul, her suffering, her loneliness, and how she never let it turn her into something dark, despite how hard she often found it to hold onto the light. He thought she was the most beautiful creation he had ever seen, and he knew he had to help her, make her pain go away. Had to show her there could be light again. In his mind a plan took form to show her she was loved. So he waved a hand and next to her house grew an apple tree, hung with the sweetest fruit outside of Eden. When Lilith saw, the roots of her depression began to wither at the ends, and for the first time since she could remember she was truly happy. Someone out there believed she was worthy of paradise. Her hands reached out for the lower branches, and she pulled herself higher into the tree. Gripping the thinning limbs, she climbed ever higher, until she broke through the canopy of leaves and stood high above the world. Turning her head up to the clouds, she thanked heaven for her little miracle.
The snakes had come on the third week, making them the sixth miracle. First had come the apple tree, which was still bearing fruit, then the spring that had somehow opened up just a stone's throw from her house, then the wildflowers, then the amber, the pheasants, the chamomile, the shellfish; and now this. Lilith had screamed when she first saw the two sinuous, iridescent green grass snakes winding across the uneven stone floor of her house; each of them as long as spear shaft and with rich golden eyes slit with midnight black pupils darting left and right as if searching out prey. But after a few hours of perching terrified on top of her shakily constructed wooden table, Lilith realised that these reptiles were not a threat, but the latest in a series of gifts. As if to prove her point, the left snake had struck out with lightning speed and engulfed the pebble-sized spider that she'd been too scared to remove from the corner by the bottom of the door. Lilith clambered carefully down from her retreat, her bare feet nervously touching down on the cold stone. The snakes raised their arrow shaped heads to look at her and bowed in unison, then slid rhythmically out of the door. Lilith poked her head over the threshold to see where they had gone, but they had disappeared into the sun drenched grass. Gazing up into the clouds, Lilith wondered if they'd be coming back. In the meantime, she had to go find something to sell. On days when she was running low on supplies she would set up a stool with a crate on it in the village and sell a portion of the food she had in exchange for things like firewood, clothes and other things she didn't have the knowledge (or axes) to come by herself. It wasn't fun, but she got by. She hated going to the village. The place was small: A beaten dirt track divided the clusters of thatched, mud brick shacks; which in turn were split by rickety wattle fences; all of which was blanketed with a mild stench of animal dung. But before the monotonous hours of vending began, she had to stop by the stream to catch enough crayfish to sell along with her apples. Once she had almost a basketful she would take that, a crate of apples and her rickety wooden stool
Cool water washed over Lilith's hands, soothing the thin red cuts on her fingers. Catching crayfish was painful: If you grabbed them wrong, their muscular claws bent backwards and sliced your fingers. If you grabbed them right, you could still cut yourself on their razor edged shells. Since Lilith a) didn't have any land to farm and b) was incompetent at most kinds of foraging and hunting, she was used to either bartering for food from the villagers (who all avoided her) or going hungry.
She spent a lot of her time hungry.
But ever since the apple tree had appeared, things had changed. A few days after her miracle; a flock of pheasants had flown over the village, and those with a good aim (or without) flocked to claim a bird for dinner. Miraculously; every arrow loosed brought down a pheasant directly over her house. By the time the confused hunters had given up and gone searching the woods for their felled prey, Lilith had gathered them all inside and already started plucking them. She'd eaten well for two weeks. Soon after her supply of dried meat ran out, the stream became home to a nigh on empire of crayfish. They were everywhere, and more appeared with every day, of all shapes and sizes. They were easy to catch, too. If "easy" means slicing your fingers to pieces... But they made good eating, especially when stewed up with herbs. Lilith had filled a basket of them in the first evening alone. Today she had about seven. Holding her fingers in the current for one more blissful second; she lifted her basket of crayfish and her crate of apples and left for the village to sell what she could. It was only a short walk until the first of the thatched, mud brick houses that compiled the village came into view. The warm stench of the livestock rolled in lazy waves off the wattle-fenced gardens. She hated it here. To much noise, too many people. There had to be around a hundred families in total, living in intolerable proximity and calling it "community".
Lilith hated small spaces, especially small spaces filled with people. If she felt cramped in her own house, how must these people feel with five kids and a partner in one room? She didn't get it. It was probably one of the reasons why she lived alone. Half the girls her age were married already, some of them even had kids. She guessed family life just wasn't for her. Or maybe it's because you're such a freak no man would touch you with a ten- foot spear. There they were again. The voices in her head. It had gotten better after the apple tree, but they were still there. You're a madwoman. You talk to yourself. You can't be around people. You're seeing things. A guardian angel sending you miracles? What better proof do you need that you're delusional? 'Shut up.' Talking to yourself again; at least you aren't doing it out loud this time. Come on, we all know the real reason no one wants you. You're mad; you're wrong, you aren't worthy of love. 'No. I am. The angel thinks I'm worthy. He sent me the miracles.' Case in point. You're addled in the mind. Lilith tried to blot them out. She tried to focus on something else. She tried to tell herself they were lying. She tried, but it didn't work. Copper coloured dust clouds drifted from her footprints on the dry road through the village, she found a spot next to the other vendors and set up a stool with her baskets of apples and crayfish to sell. If she could only manage to avoid- crap. There they were. A group of teenagers about seven idiots strong was headed her way.
"Dear me, Lilith," that was Stanly. The worst thing about him was that he knew he was funny. "I never expected you to get this desperate." She couldn't ignore him. He didn't work that way. Sighing resignedly, she took the bait.
"What do you mean, 'desperate'?"
"You know. I mean, we all knew you were mad, lonely and incompetent; but I for one never expected you to turn... To witchcraft," a volley of shameless sniggers chorused from the assembled fools.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're on about: I sell apples. I don't summon darkness," she changed her mind. The worst thing about Stanly was how he never mocked her directly; he only ever sounded falsely sympathetic. Like he was sad she turned out such a disappointment.
"Hello again. I was going to thank you for the snakes, they killed a couple of rats earlier on that were rooting around in the chamomile. I'm sure they're going to be useful to have around. If you're listening. Which you probably aren't. Curse it, you probably aren't even real. I think heaven was done with me a long time ago," Lilith sat in her apple tree and laughed a bitter laugh at the crimson sunset. "If you are up there, there's one thing I don't understand: Why are you doing this? Am I part of some kind of plan? Ordinary people don't just receive miracles at random. But the. I suppose I'm not 'ordinary'. Not to the villagers anyway. They think I'm mad, they think I'm a witch, they think I'm a widow who killed her husband. Probably my fault for talking to myself- well, to you. But they don't know that," Lilith laughed again, but there still was no humour in the sound. "But anyway; am I ever going to know? What I'm needed for? Why you're doing all this for me? I suppose I'll have to wait and see."
…
This story is written collaboratively by the three of us. Different chapters are written by different people. An updating schedule is not guaranteed as we all write at different paces. In the words of Chuck - writing is hard!
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