I had the strangest dream last night. I was walking through the forest, marveling at the wondrous creatures that strode before me, and then suddenly my path was blocked, and a great mist descended upon my eyes, till I could see no more. So I felt around with my hands, and I came up to a tree where I knelt and awaited the return of my sight. And suddenly a small voice was at my ear, laughing in a most uncharacteristic manner. It was high pitched and squeaky, and I immediately thought it belonged to a creature I was yet to meet. Again it laughed, and it felt so close I could almost feel the warm breath against my neck. Then it called my name, bringing out the last syllable in an annoying drone. And I felt as though I knew exactly what was calling me, as though I had known all along. I stretched out my arms in the direction of the voice, reaching towards the unknown. And as the fog lifted, an outline became more and more distinct…a shape, getting clearer, moving into focus…until a sudden pain in my side forced my eyes shut and my arms to withdraw, and then I was awake, sweat streaming down my body, the memory of the dream still with me.
And when I was composed again, I looked around, premonition guiding me, and saw the most beautiful thing. No longer just an outline, the creature moved forward slowly, gracefully, demurely, and I knew without knowing how that this lovely creature was mine.
The strange creature has barely said two words to me. I think her strange because I do not understand her at all, and because she has a very baffling effect on my body. I have still not gotten over her beauty, and I often find myself staring at her from afar, drinking in the charm that seems to pour from her. She is very similar to me, and yet very different. She has eyes, and a nose, and lips, but hers were molded from the softest clay, with the lightest touch, and the effect is breathtaking. Once, I thought her body was like mine, but now I know I was woefully wrong. Hers is the epitome of beauty. I have seen all of nature, and I do believe she is a gem among sea stones. She possesses such gentle curves, such tender skin, that the mere sight of her sends me into fits of emotion, and I think I will weep from joy. Heaven save me.
Strange, this creature, the way she walks and talks. Her voice is high pitched and urgent, and sometimes musical. She uses the strangest words, and accompanies them with equally strange gestures, most of which involve twisting and swishing her hair, or swaying on the spot, averting her gaze and making indentations on the ground. And she walks as though on uneven ground, with a constant jutting motion of her hips that I cannot fathom. I find it incredibly difficult to speak with her, because for some reason, whenever we stand close, my body turns into a smoldering inferno; a fiery haze falls over me, and I lose all control of my body. Whatever could she be doing to me?
Eve! That God- forsaken woman has vanished again. Where could she possibly have gone to? To pick more flowers, I suppose, and then spend the whole day looking at her reflection in the pond. Or to squash more strawberries onto her lips then trap me with odd questions about her appearance. Or maybe she just went fig leaf hunting. Apparently the fig- leaf bra that was God’s gift to her is too modest. Either way, she is off somewhere regretting our current accommodations. As if it is my fault that she got us expelled from Eden. Oh, I said the E-word. If she heard me I would be sleeping in trees for a week. Ah, there she is. And just as I thought, she expects to feed me those ridiculous pineapples for supper, the crazy woman. God give me patience.
Yesterday was a very interesting day. I was woken up abruptly in the wee hours of the morning, and the sight of my wife standing over me holding what looked like half a tree trunk drove all sleep out my eyes. Just to ensure I had her undivided attention, that gentle woman swung the tree trunk furiously, landing it with a dull thump between my legs. “Who is Leona?” she barked in a voice I had never heard before, and then planted one arm on her waist. I had no idea what she was talking about, and I am sure it showed, because she asked again, more firmly, adding, “You were muttering her name in your sleep. WHO IS SHE?!” It took an hour to calm her down. Leona was a name I had been thinking of giving to the female lion; when I pointed this out to my better half she gave me a sheepish look and stalked away without another word. Something told me not to bring up the fact that it was silly, being jealous when she was the only woman in the world.
I have lost count of the days, and I am losing motivation for my record keeping. I know it is vital, but I realize now that there is really no need for it. We are the first men; our story shall resonate through time. Every man alive shall know our names, shall know that we lived and loved, and every one of them shall owe their existence to us. All I want known now is this; I have the most amazing woman for a wife. Her beauty is a constant riddle, and her existence is all I could ever have wished for. For as long as she is here, I am content. And now I must go. Her belly grows distended, and I have a premonition she will want to announce it to me in the most dramatic manner possible. But do I love that woman.