Colin Lacy

A tiny silver spoon — so tarnished it doesn’t catch the light at any angle — won’t bring you luck. Jesus never held it, never ate from it. It’s not a family heirloom in any sense. My sister would laugh at me if she saw it. My mother would be heartbroken. Because they both knows where it came from. Not because of what it is, but what it represents. It might be my earliest memory — being handed that spoon, as I arrived at my great aunt’s house.

Cast out of the garden. And with it, obscurity, Naked, but no one watching, so they fuck, and now there are children, the way they used to. Because free will was given to them as a gamble, the way they were obviously going to lose. who let the snake in? Because having kids is just the thing to do, and with kids comes the responsibility of making sure those kids stay alive. that would never have grown had it not been for an apple so let’s all thank Eve and that goddamn snake.

I huffed, and wiped a layer of snow from my eyes. “Well, thanks for coming with me. This snowstorm is the worst I’ve ever seen.” She said no, but I didn’t believe her. The snow was oppressive, a swarm of white maggots nibbling at her hat, her raven-black hair, her colorful clothes. I kept brushing it off of me, but she just let it fall.