Jeremiah 24

The figs were soft and plump against my palms, my fingers painted by their purple skins. "These are those whom I have sent away". I push their seeds against my tongue, feel their sweetness on my lips. Later, I place my palm against the rotting green that lies beneath the trees. "And these are the ones who have stayed". No lips will ever taste their smashed skins; their tiny seeds tremble against the ground. I wish that I wanted to touch them. "Before you were born...". Rotted, before these fruits began to flower. There is something poisonous about their loneliness. Their soft splitting makes them seem needy. I reach down, and rub the blackening seeds on my lips.

 "Are you annointing yourself now?" her tone is bemused. I can smell the rosewater on her breath. My ancestors once annointed themselves in oil, before going to smoke sheep for the Temple. The only thing I've ever smoked is a bag of hashish, once, when I grew bored with tending the cattle. The night was cold, and in the haze of the smoke, I thought I could see angels. "You must have been dreaming", my mother said, when I told her. My brother told me he wasn't wasting another bag of hash on me if I saw angels. "When I get high, I see women with tits the size of watermelons."
 "But I hate watermelons!"
 "Dude, that's totally not the point."

Her fingers are on my cheeks. "I could annoint you, if you'd like."
"How much extra for the role-play?"
"A basketful of wool."
"I have no money."
"Then get out of my fig-grove."

Of course - how silly of me to think that this could be pristine. "What did you expect Jeremiah? We live in a post-modern universe." God was smoking his pipe, explaining to me that things had gone down-hill ever since the potters left to mold royal bowls for the king to use in exile. "Have you seen the dishes Zedekiah uses? I wouldn't feed my cat from those things." I nodded. I was kind of tired and wanted to go to sleep, but how do you politely excuse yourself from the Divine Presence? There just isn't any protocol for that. "Did you know last night your brother dreamt of women with tits the size of watermelons?" "No? Really?" "Yeah. Imagine how dissapointed he was when he woke up and discovered his wife's tits were the size of apples." God allowed Himself a laugh. I yawned. "I supposed you'd better sleep - you have a long day ahead of you, what with predicting the return of the captives and the captivity of the royalty, and all that. Here, take some figs on your way out." They feel soft and plump against my palms, my fingers painted by their purple skins. I push their seeds against my tongue, feel their sweetness on my lips. Why did I send her away? I fall asleep dreaming of her rose-water breath and her brown hair - her tits are the size of apples:

 I want to bite in.