The Fruit of Ouroboros

Many would say that the land was dead. Others would consider it to be sleeping. The fact that remained was this: for miles, there was nothing to be seen. The day was dim, for it was day because night was darker than dim. Gray clouds crowded the horizon and choked the world from precious sunlight. As a result, the world presented appeared suffocated. Deep grumbles of thunder boomed and drummed from within the gray clouds. Silently, the world waited for water, even a single drop, to fall from the heavens. Unfortunately, none came and the ground thirsted as it always did. Over time, the ground had grown accustomed to its great thirst. Cracks created jigsaw patterns through the ground. What was rich and dark brown soil had slowly withered to the soft gold that was sand.

            The world was quiet, as if it had paused to take a breath. It waited for something. Through the harsh and dry sand waded a pair of small and gentle feet. At first, the feet could have appeared to belong to a child. They were as dainty and as delicate as those of a child. Attached to the pale feet rose the stalks of slim and strong legs that naturally cocked inwards at the knees, the hallmark of a woman. She could have been apart of the sand. Her flesh was the soft gold of the sand and had formed the calluses of time by walking without cover. Her strong and sand-colored legs held a slim abdomen and erect head and shoulders. The woman’s dark eyes watched her feet slide through the sand, feeling how the tiny rocks making it up grated against her skin. Long and dark hair fluttered out behind her. Her lithe form was free of the restraints of human clothing. Though she wore nothing, she was not ashamed. One with the world, the woman slid along through the sand as if it were her sole purpose in life.

            Suddenly, the woman halted and her dark eyes widened. In the lifeless landscape around her, a blooming plant stood before her. The plant’s main body consisted of a strong green stalk that rose up to meet the sky. Its body branched out into smaller branches, some of which bore deep green leaves and others bore fresh blossoms. The blossoms were pale pink at their centers and transitioned from pale pink to pink, pale red, red, and, finally, deep red. As her eyes scoured the plant, the woman noticed the slight bobbing of one of the branches. At the end of the branch, surely where a blossom had previously been, hung a deep red fruit. The fruit was round, full, and supple, and it contained a sheen on its surface despite the dimness.

            The woman stood entranced by the fruit’s beauty for a few moments. Then, she reached out a hand and plucked the fruit from its branch. The red fruit fit perfectly into her hand; her fingers fit all the way around the fruit. The woman raised the fruit to her eye level and examined it. Her eyes ravenously consumed the fruit’s appearance. Nothing quite so extraordinary existed in the world around her. A growling hunger stirred in the pit of her stomach, where no hunger had existed before. The woman lifted the red fruit to her lips and pierced its soft but firm flesh with white teeth. The taste floated across her tongue and down her throat, ambrosia to the gods granted to a mere mortal.

            At the same time she took that bite, a small and green snake slithered from around the base of the plant. It stopped, fixed its blind eyes on the woman, and watched her. 

Author's Note

The Ouroboros is a symbol of the beginning and the end or rebirth.

Reviews

[Ignacious Lamont Crowle..]

Very good. Made me think of Eden.

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

She was eating the fruit of the serpent who swallows its own tail......this story is fascinating and I for one would like to read more