Page 122 of The Darkest Hour

In fact, when I woke up this morning with Onyx in my arms, that thought took root in my mind.

Since she’d been away, the thought had been growing and growing into something deeper.

Adam and Eve—the first man and woman—created in a world untouched by sin.

Untouched by the complexities of civilization. They were the original pair—the blueprint for what it meant to be human.

To truly be together.

As I picked berries for us, I wondered if they ever pondered the vastness of the world around them?

Did they care that they were the only human beings walking the earth, with no one else to share their existence?

Or did none of that matter as long as they had each other?

I imagined them in that garden—a paradise where nothing was missing— nothing lacking except perhaps the awareness of what lay beyond their borders.

Were they happy?

Did they even understand the concept of happiness?

Or was it simply their natural state, a contentment born of knowing nothing else?

They were together, the only two souls in a world that was massive and empty, yet filled with the beauty of creation.

But, did they ever feel alone?

Regardless, I felt a kinship with that ancient story, with the idea of being the only two in an uncharted world.

This island—even with its unknown dangers and cruel mysteries—was our Eden.

The rest of the world was distant.

Irrelevant.

And now all that mattered was Onyx.

Her warmth.

Her scent.

Her presence.

After an hour of exploration, I discovered wild berries and still Adam and Eve remained in my head.

In the story, Eve was created from Adam’s rib, a part of him transformed into something new, something whole and separate, yet eternally connected.

As I picked berries, I couldn’t help but wonder about the symbolism of it all.

Eve carried a piece of Adam within her.

They were different, yet the same.

Two halves of a whole that only made sense when they were together.

Now as Onyx and I sat by the river, next to all the wild berries I’d picked for her. . .I found myself wishing, in a strange, primal way that. . .I could open our bodies up, strip away our flesh and bone to reveal the truth hidden within us.

I wanted to see our ribs.

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