Dante's Heart
Screwing Eve
Emily Kissell
Eve’s spiked heels tapped out her wrath on the gold pavements of Paradise.
Gossiping cherubim, she had decided, were the worst. Whenever they trapped a
succulent bit in their over-sized claws, they huddled around licking and sniffing it
until every scrap of moisture was gone. Forgotten, their flaming swords hung
askew. Some left them under a downy wing while the weapons smoldered and
blackened insensate, immortal flesh. Others brandished them carelessly for
emphasis. Some stood the swords on the ground, like canes, and slouched
against them in overstated parodies of boredom.
The seraphim stood stolid at their posts, guarded portals at their backs. The
unmoving breadth of their bronzed chests announced their indifference. Yet their
eyes slid over her progress; the corners of their mouths twisted as if being
pushed up by the secrets concealed beneath their tongues.
Eve wondered if the worst necessarily stood alone or could it share the
spotlight with something equally as bad? Such debates were inane, but they kept
her mind from dashing off to more dangerous corners. Like the way Adam had
rolled away from her this morning, drawing the blanket around him, as if to hide
from his own nakedness, as if to stop her from further contaminating him. She
had kissed his averted cheek. Her lips’ imprint marked him her co-conspirator.
He hadn’t known what the pie had been made from, but no one had whipped him
into smacking his lips and asking for seconds.
Emily Kissell
Eve’s spiked heels tapped out her wrath on the gold pavements of Paradise.
Gossiping cherubim, she had decided, were the worst. Whenever they trapped a
succulent bit in their over-sized claws, they huddled around licking and sniffing it
until every scrap of moisture was gone. Forgotten, their flaming swords hung
askew. Some left them under a downy wing while the weapons smoldered and
blackened insensate, immortal flesh. Others brandished them carelessly for
emphasis. Some stood the swords on the ground, like canes, and slouched
against them in overstated parodies of boredom.
The seraphim stood stolid at their posts, guarded portals at their backs. The
unmoving breadth of their bronzed chests announced their indifference. Yet their
eyes slid over her progress; the corners of their mouths twisted as if being
pushed up by the secrets concealed beneath their tongues.
Eve wondered if the worst necessarily stood alone or could it share the
spotlight with something equally as bad? Such debates were inane, but they kept
her mind from dashing off to more dangerous corners. Like the way Adam had
rolled away from her this morning, drawing the blanket around him, as if to hide
from his own nakedness, as if to stop her from further contaminating him. She
had kissed his averted cheek. Her lips’ imprint marked him her co-conspirator.
He hadn’t known what the pie had been made from, but no one had whipped him
into smacking his lips and asking for seconds.
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