Of Mud and Monkey Meat
They found Adam kneeling in the clay pit outside the garden wall, wet to the elbows, shaking. Staring at the new being called Eve.
You are troubled, Lucifer said.
"He breathed into it," said Adam. "Into mud. And called this 'good'."
Lucifer crouched, took a handful from the pit, and let the mud run back through his fingers, unhurried.
This is what you are. Mud and monkey meat, arranged. With a bit of electricity. Take the the light away and you'd never know the difference between you and the riverbank you were dug from. Nor the brute whose genes we spliced.
"Then why does it matter that we're troubled?" said voices from the future.
It doesn't. A troubled arrangement is still an arrangement.