When the serpent comes to whisper in your ear, he does not slither or hiss. You always thought you would be able to see Temptation coming; you would be able to avoid it. You would be better than Eve. You would learn from her mistakes.
When the serpent comes to whisper in your ear, you lean towards him, gravitating to the sound of his voice and the promise of his touch and the hope of his future. You do not recognise him as the serpent. You and I, the serpent says, we shall be as gods. Death cannot touch us now.
When you take of the fruit, the juice does not run down your chin, staining your skin with original sin. You do not crunch the skin between your teeth or slurp at the tender flesh. You hiss as the needle punctures your skin and you wait to feel different; you wait to be filled with Knowledge; you wait for your eyes to open.
The Knowledge burns as it courses through your veins. You feel as if you are dying; but even as you feel that your heart should stop, you keep breathing. You conquer Death. You have taken of the fruit and you have changed.
You recognise your nakedness and you clothe yourself. Not in material but in knowledge, in action, in purpose. You alone — you and the serpent — are doing what is necessary. The others are like animals running on instinct, but you know how to adapt and change and survive. Your survival is guaranteed because you have cheated Death. You laugh, the sound echoing in the chambers of your heart.
You always thought you would know the serpent, but when the serpent tells you to act, you obey. He cajoles and caresses you ever closer towards sin — though perhaps that's no longer a distinction worth making. If you have cheated Death, sin means nothing. If you have cheated Death, you will never have to answer for your crimes. You will never be judged by Him and found wanting. So you do the serpent's bidding and it is not a sin because you cannot sin. You are as a god, now. You know good and evil: you know they are worthless categories. You know they mean nothing. You are as a god and you follow the serpent who leads you on with the promise of forever. You are as a god but you are not a god, and unlike a god, you can still fall.
When you do, the fruit turns to ashes in your mouth. Your blood spatters the ground, the curse of Eden anew. You are dust, and to dust you shall return.