Genesis II: the fair fight

The universe started again with a different god and, this time, I wasn’t so lucky.

First time around, the woman was poorly prepped. “Don’t touch the tree because you’ll die,” means nothing to a fizzy new being with no concept of death. She was still surging with the energy of creation. Imagining death from that standpoint was like trying to picture rainy winter on a hot summer’s day with the sea lapping at your toes and a mojito in hand.

So, my path was easy. Flash a shiny apple, glowing with promise, plant the seeds of doubt, job done.

Humans never learn from their mistakes. History is on a loop; a glitching, repeating loop. But gods aren’t human. This god watched in the wings and learned. How rude!

When the old god died and the whole game restarted, I went to the garden again. Same garden, same tree, so in I swanned, merrily expecting the same response. Humans, as I said, don’t change.

But as I slithered up to her, she raised an eyebrow. “They told me you’d come.”

It all went downhill from there. I stayed with her for hours, using all the tips I’d learned from humans over the years. I tried negging. I tried flattery. I tried neurolinguistic programming. I tried fomenting discord with her husband, about her being made from his rib, and wasn’t that shocking, wasn’t that embarrassing, wasn’t that unfair.

Genesis II: the fair fight

But this god had spoken to her like a grown-up from the start. This god had shown their workings. This god also didn’t make the rib mistake. There’s nothing spare about this Eve, and she knows it. She also, it appears, has learned to swear. If I wasn’t so disappointed, I’d be impressed with the bravura invective she used on me.

So off I went, sulphur tears of frustration in my eyes, promises shoved roughly back in my pocket, to regroup.

Millennia later, I had a new plan. I rose up from the empty firey pit, my leathery wings spread, flapping like the dragon I have been, and knocked on the pearly gates.

“You win,” I said, when they answered.

“Come in,” they said. “It’s been too long. Let’s have a drink.”

“You’ve changed,” I said.

“So have you, old fiend,” they said.

Surely this god can’t ACTUALLY be perfect. They’ll make a mistake. I will be back.

But, god, working out how to make human life fun, and fair, without evil, that WAS a cunning move. Respect.