"Cain"

Here's the first half of chapter one...let me know what you think! This is just a rough draft, so any opinions, even negative ones, would be welcome.

Chapter One: Fear of Burial

There is a depth in cruelty, an emotion few are brave enough to discover, something I feel every time I peel the wings off a butterfly. An offshoot of the Tigris flowed at my feet as I pinned one of the little insects between my thumb and forefinger and pulled gently, slowly, at one of his colorful little wings, peeling it back until it popped off with a little snap.

As its juice flowed over my fingers, the little bug wriggled like mad, flapping its one wing as it fought desperately for its freedom. A voice called through the forest where the miniature struggle was taking place, waking me up to what I was doing, kneeling in the grass and torturing a helpless bug.

“Cain!” It was my eldest sister, Zillan. Fearful at the possibility of being discovered, I quickly dumped the struggling bug into the flow of the river and wiped my hands off on my tunic.

The cruelty wasn’t something I talked about, but something I hid, deep and secret like the stones at the bottom of the river. The crumpled butterfly was now by the gently tossing waves, and the cruelty was hidden now by the mad shuffle of my thoughts as I prepared to answer her.

Mother and Father couldn’t find out. No matter what. I didn’t mind if my younger brothers and sisters knew, but not mother and father. I felt a stab of guilt as I glanced about the forest, a green sea of trees that blotted out the sun to mere dabs and shadows. I was ashamed of my cruelty, and I wanted it buried.

Father had told me about burial. The first death in human history had been an infant. One of my sisters had died in childbirth, breaking my mother’s heart. Father had buried her, wrapping her tiny, fleshy body in blankets and digging her a deep hole, a deep, dark, gaping, black mouth that had swallowed the baby whole and licked its lips, jaws of earth clenching its teeth over her forever.

“Cain!” a voice interrupted my thoughts, a face breaking through my vision of the dead baby’s grave. Angry green eyes glared into mine. Zillan. After Abel, my younger brother and I, she was oldest.

“Quit dozing, Cain. Father needs your help. Another of Mother’s babies is going bad.” She grabbed my wrist and gave it a sharp tug, leading me out of the forest.

“I wasn’t dozing.” I insisted stubbornly as the quiet nine year old dragged me out into the brilliant sunlight of the fields beyond the trees. And yet, I knew better than to tarry in whatever Father asked of me. He was short on patience for his cruel firstborn son.

As we neared the modest, one room cabin that all humanity currently called home, thoughts of that gaping grave came to mind. I almost wanted it to happen again, craved it with all the darkness I hid from my family.

As in the forest, darkness blotted out the light inside our tiny house and relegating it to whatever slats and cracks would abide its passage. Mother was perched upon a simple bed Father had once said angels had taught him how to build. She was groaning in pain, her dark hair plastered to her face by perspiration. Even then, she still managed to look beautiful. For a moment, my cruelty was unwoven like a rope fraying into its individual fibers, unmade by a simple, childlike love for my mother.

Father stood at her side holding her hand, face a picture of loving concern. Still holding my wrist, Zillan dropped it very suddenly and gasped, holding her hands to her mouth in horror.

The sheets and blankets of the bed were stained red with blood. I was rarely taken with a desire to pray, but right then and there, I wanted to drop to my knees for Mother and pray to God to take away the pain that tortured her so. I felt suddenly and unreasonably like it was all my fault. I the monster had been inflicting pain on the beautiful, and now mother was hurting for it, almost as if she were somehow the butterfly.

Adam, Father, released Mother’s hand when he saw me. He walked across the room and knelt so that our faces were inches apart. Zillan began to bustle here and there, attempting uselessly to busy herself in helping Mother.

“We’re losing another one.” He whispered quietly, as if Mother didn’t already know, weren’t already mourning the dead body bleeding inside her. As if Mother weren’t a living grave for the snatch of time before she gave “birth”.

I didn’t speak, merely waiting. He had a command for me. Father never spoke to me unless he had a command.

“Fetch me a blade,” he growled under his breath.