Cain
Thought I would give this a shot.
Spoiler! :
In the deep dark of a moonless night, huddle five figures around a dimly burning fire. An ancient man sits amongst these members. Upon a log sits he, staring into the swirling flames with eyes clouded by old age. A white beard grips his chin. The length of it reaches down his torso and comes to rest in his lap where he twirls the end idly. His appearance was one of tranquility. How far from the truth it is.
It has been a long time, too long. He speaks the words in his mind as he has done before on many occasions.
Let me take you back. To my youth. He addresses the group in his mind. Dare he speak these words aloud?
I had a brother back then. He pauses on this thought. Yes, I had a brother and his name was Abel. And a righteous man was he. My brother tended to the sheep and I to the crops in the field. When the time came to offer up our gifts to the Lord, Abel gave to God his firstborn sheep and the fat of his flock. I gave fruits from the ground. Because of the selflessness of Abel’s gift he was respected by the Lord but I was not. A terrible anger besieged me. “Why,” spoke the Lord, “are you angry? If you do well, will I not accept you?” His words offered no relief. Abel, I thought. He has done this to me. I have lost the favor of the Lord because of Abel. The old man pauses again to clear his mind.
You see, I had abandoned reason. An unholy fury had gripped my heart and was pulling me to a terrible resolution. Behind the old man’s eyes welled tears that threatened to break his ruse of tranquillity.
I killed my brother Abel. From his eyes broke free droplets of tears and down his face they slithered.
Why do the righteous suffer at the hand of the unrighteous? It is I, not he that should be dead.
“Father.” The sound frees him from his waking nightmare. “Why do you cry?”
Through blurry eyes he spots the figure that spoke. His son Enoch.
“No reason son,” replies the ancient man. He returns to idly twirling his beard still free from the thought of his dreadful tale.
To ashes turns the wood of the fire, the only sign of the fleeting time. Soon his opportunity would be spent.
Will I remain silent another night? He lets the question weave its way around in his mind. Do they not deserve to know that I am no righteous man? He comes to a decision.
“Let me take you back. To my youth,” begins the ancient man. He recites from memory as he has done many times before, only this time he speaks aloud.
It has been a long time, too long. He speaks the words in his mind as he has done before on many occasions.
Let me take you back. To my youth. He addresses the group in his mind. Dare he speak these words aloud?
I had a brother back then. He pauses on this thought. Yes, I had a brother and his name was Abel. And a righteous man was he. My brother tended to the sheep and I to the crops in the field. When the time came to offer up our gifts to the Lord, Abel gave to God his firstborn sheep and the fat of his flock. I gave fruits from the ground. Because of the selflessness of Abel’s gift he was respected by the Lord but I was not. A terrible anger besieged me. “Why,” spoke the Lord, “are you angry? If you do well, will I not accept you?” His words offered no relief. Abel, I thought. He has done this to me. I have lost the favor of the Lord because of Abel. The old man pauses again to clear his mind.
You see, I had abandoned reason. An unholy fury had gripped my heart and was pulling me to a terrible resolution. Behind the old man’s eyes welled tears that threatened to break his ruse of tranquillity.
I killed my brother Abel. From his eyes broke free droplets of tears and down his face they slithered.
Why do the righteous suffer at the hand of the unrighteous? It is I, not he that should be dead.
“Father.” The sound frees him from his waking nightmare. “Why do you cry?”
Through blurry eyes he spots the figure that spoke. His son Enoch.
“No reason son,” replies the ancient man. He returns to idly twirling his beard still free from the thought of his dreadful tale.
To ashes turns the wood of the fire, the only sign of the fleeting time. Soon his opportunity would be spent.
Will I remain silent another night? He lets the question weave its way around in his mind. Do they not deserve to know that I am no righteous man? He comes to a decision.
“Let me take you back. To my youth,” begins the ancient man. He recites from memory as he has done many times before, only this time he speaks aloud.
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