Anomiac

2025-Nov-17 • Eliza Souers Valle

And I am Eve, reaching for the fruit. Not even yet do I know who Death is.

Aloof woodcocks whistle and faraway vultures whine, and I remember when I named them, and not for a moment do I consider what they eat. Not for a moment do I consider what writhing worms beneath my feet have already spoiled themselves on the succulence I grasp in my left hand, decadent and supple. And not for a moment do I consider how many Eves before me spit out the fruit’s tender flesh and skin at the taste of the truth.

I only consider presenting this forbidden indulgence to my beloved so he, too, may eat and be wise to the unseen and bloody carrion the vultures feast on; the eternal separation the worms sustain as price for their morsel, a ceaseless slicing and regenesis; and the watery graves and graves of Eves before me who pitched themselves to the rapacious sea as the initial understanding of iniquity penetrated their minds, invasive and punitive, smelling of rue and fennel.

Not even yet had the juice slithered down their throats before they chose deadened silence to the deluge of everything they would be expected to do, to be, to endure.

Eliza Souers Valle

Eliza Souers Valle is a writer living in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. Though she writes mainly short fiction, her work often blurs genre lines, includes hybrid elements and experimental formatting, and focuses on themes of nature and humanity. Her work has appeared in various journals. When not writing, Eliza drinks coffee and plays piano.