Cain & Abel

Genesis 4: 1-10

God prefers Abel’s sacrifice of meat over Cain’s crops. This story explores economic insecurities.

Cain waited in their tree’s shade, staring at enough of its shadow to know his brother was late. He filed his nails on his boulder seat. He used smaller pebbles to scrape black soil out from underneath. He sifted through some rocks for possible tool parts. He found sharper ones to shave off calloused blisters.

Abel would say Cain was early, but no. Abel was tardy. Always late. He was late to call on friends and family. Late to receive them. Late to write; late to respond. Late with parties, gifts, meetings, work, prayer, obligations, deals, and their follow throughs. Late to find a wife. Late to defend the family honor. Late to discuss how to nurse aging parents. Late to admit their senility. Late to apologize. Too late for people to forgive him.

Abel’s tardiness was annoying but what actually bothered Cain was his little brother’s laziness. Lateness is a product of laziness (I guess), but Abel always avoided his duty. Sometimes late, sometimes lazy. Abel worked with animals, but hated roosters. Why? Because he couldn’t be bothered to wake up if the house was burning down, let alone sunrise. . . Too lazy for an honest day’s work.

Work was more than a job. It was their career. It was their life. It was their duty. God commanded manual labor. This was their fate. Adam and Eve lost Eden, and the two sons must atone. “Toil the earth,” He commanded. Yet, Abel only toiled in his head, daydreaming and dodging work by fantasizing fruitless fancies which “tired him out.”

Today the little brother’s indolence manifested as lateness. Expected, but still suboptimal. Another person could be annoyed or insulted (or any caliber of frustration in between that colors brotherhoods), but Cain couldn’t genuinely get upset. He knew his little brother better than anyone. Why be upset about things you cannot change? Why let an expected, regular inconvenience bother? That’d be weak. Men don’t do that. They reserve emotions for when it really matters. Cain’s wife told him he “bottles it up,” but she just wants him to feel more than Cain can. Or at least lie about feeling things.

Cain kept a secret, almost masochistic joy in this. Well, it wasn’t necessarily a secret, but more just private. If someone insightful enough asked, he’d explain his philosophies.

Handling burdens without complaint: it worked for him. His reputation was a man. . . capable, responsible, punctual, reliable, diligent, generous, understanding, and resilient. He says he heard “wise” once. Cain was a man that people knew they needed. A man that didn’t need thanks or flattery. A man that didn’t need what men shouldn’t desire: attention. Also, he knew that they knew he was content without admiration. His private pride didn’t hurt anyone, and his work fed people daily. Win, win.

Cain’s thankless service to his family, the community, their parents, his brother: it was his purpose. It showered him with dignity. He loved it. He relished this sort of pride. It started young. Abel and he had their chores. Cain would pick up his younger brother’s slack. He’d prove he was capable of more than what elders expected of him, even if only proven to himself. He never outed his little brother’s loafing off. Abel would spend the whole time talking about how to get the job done instead of actually doing it! Abel’s character flaw was his laziness (and his attempts to justify it!). The little brother would mask his sloth with elaborate excuses: mental gymnastics of word plays and sophistry.

The worst they could say about Cain was maybe “arrogance”? But, again, he never bragged because it’d reveal his secret pleasure. He didn’t want the public spectacle. This was his walled garden, his attempt to emulate the paradise his parents lost. God destined humans to toil the earth, work, and suffer since the fall of man. Some thought they could recreate Eden. Cain knew this impossible, yet he labored his body to the max dutifully. He accepted man’s fate. His work was an example to all God’s loved children who must prove their love of God. It was this devotion, determination, resolve, and success that showered him with serenity. It slumbered him quickly. It woke him rested. He knew life was nowhere close to heaven on earth, but he was happy and alive.

Maybe his flaw was a sort of shyness or an aversion to risk or emotional coldness? Stoic tools to prevent negative emotions (with his brother, wife, parents, in-laws, crop failures, miscarriages, sicknesses, depressions, deaths, etc.) can leak into positive emotions. Some say it can dampen joy. If you don’t go low, you can’t get high. But, this critique of Cain is kinda’ reaching.

So, Cain sat watching the sundial-ed shadow grow minutes into an hour. Jabs, advice, and criticism of/to his brother pitched through the mind only for him to bat them away cleanly. No cheers needed; another day at the office. He played a couple innings of this mental baseball until he heard his brother in the distance.

Abel’s one-man entourage was impossible to miss. The singing, shouting, and chanting grew in volume. Abel’s dancing, spinning, sashaying would remain vivid in Cain’s memory forever. It was undeniably his little brother arriving, a bit offputtingly, to what Cain had told Abel was a “somewhat serious” talk.

Here we have Abel jigging around his older brother, pounding a stone against wood, metal, and leather. His smile was a little too otherworldly. He kept yelling gibberish of a song only he knew, ending with one legible word: lightning. “Uhnuh, uhuh, dun’da’da. Lightning. Light! Ning!”

Cain’s eyebrows rose. His smile was large but lips closed. All to communicate the fraternal, All right, tone it down. Good job, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Cain asked, “New song?”

Abel’s eyes had to work to focus on his brother. His teeth showed, and his grin became feral. Not threateningly, but more like a dog’s sweet spot scratched. “Yea, bro! Thinkin’ of calling it ‘wood’ or. . .”

“Rock,” interjected Cain.

“Yea! I was gonna’ say that. I’ll call it rock.” Abel almost lost his balance.

“Sure, ok bro. . . You’ve been drinking?”

“Yea, it’s a long walk here man,” justified Abel.

Cain rolled his eyes.

Abel said, “C’mon, not much, I promise. I know you wanted to talk, so I kept it kosher. It was just a little. Honestly, it was my new song that got me riled up. I’m good. Sorber enough [sic]. Why you so early?”

“Even if today was for resting, you shouldn’t be drinking. You know what mom and dad say.”

Did Abel have a mental condition? What we may call bipolar, manic, histrionic, petulant, dependent, immature? Their parents thought so. On the good days, they’d reframe Abel’s deficiencies as some sort of endearing personality quirk. When it was bad, he was the helpless little brother Cain had to care for. They froze him in time as a child forever. His babyface probably didn’t hurt the impression.

Cain never really bought into the mental illness, or, at least, the severity their parents claimed. Cain believed Abel abused his weird “subordinate but gets his way from pity” position. He always had. There were, indeed, intense times when Cain considered his brother a two-faced, deceitful, sliver-tongued manipulator who must be delirious or psycho in some way because if he weren’t. . . that’s just evil. However, for the most part, Cain attributed it to laziness. Abel would smile, self abase, laugh, play the idiot, and seduce to get out of anything. Indolence. His brother traded his honor and reputation to avoid obligations. He never grew up. Too dishonest for an honest day’s work.

Maybe their parents needed a man-child-son to still feel vital in their aging years. Maybe Abel’s bipolar antics worried their parents. Maybe Abel needed this coddling. Maybe Cain was the stronger sibling. Well, this one wasn’t a maybe, both physically and mentally. More like: maybe only he, Cain, was mature enough, secure enough, and resilient enough to handle life, its demands, and its setbacks. Maybe it was Cain’s virtue to caretake his family forever.

Abel rolled his eyes at his brother’s paternalistic mental health jab. “C’mon, I know you know that’s BS.”

Cain smirked. All’s fair in fraternal fun. “Yea, just messing. What’d you mix?”

“Mostly blackish berries with some spores of that purple mushroom? I forgot its name. You know the one. Not a lot though, that shit kicks!”

“Yea, I forgot the name too. Dad would know—”

“Dude, I swear mom and dad harp on about my mental health [Abel drawled this out derisively] because dad’s got like OCD or something. Who could actually name everything! Some sort of complex or syndrome or something. Which means I gotta’ have one too. Pssh.”

“You are a bit like dad though,” said Cain teasingly through chuckles.

“Ah, shut up. You’re like mom—”

“Yeah? How so?”

Abel smiled sardonically. “You know, like, all silent and contemplative and whatever. The noble thinker. Never argues or stands up for yourself, well not really, but you know. You totally would’ve taken the fruit even without a snake or whatever.”

“Dude, too far.”

“My bad, my bad” said Abel genuinely. “I’m just so stoked! You saw it! I sold out at the market. They loved me! Orders for the next three seasons too! Who would’ve guessed! I finally did it. I finally beat you. People love your fruits and veggies, but looks like they love some good meat too.”

Abel’s ecstasy stung Cain. Cain said, “Yea, congrats man. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah! Did you see how fast He ate it? Was asking for seconds before finishing your dish. It’s crazy. Who would’ve guessed! I feel. . . fuck, I don’t know the word. I feel on top of the world!”

A fly buzzed in Cain’s ear. He swatted at it and hit his ear. Cain wriggled his jaw to pop away the pain. “Nice. . . nice. Any plans to double down on the success? Expand the flock? New cuts or dishes? I ask because many people let one small win get ahead of them.” Cain closed his eyes, touched his temple, and hummed. He continued, “One ecstasy can blind us from staying grounded, dutiful, rooted, analytical, dispassionate enough to plan and serve He who—”

“Ooo, so profound,” teased Abel a bit maliciously. “So wise! Can’t you just be happy for me? We’re celebrating! Well, I am. Why you always so serious?”

“I am happy for you. I’m happy you’re happy. I want this happiness to last. I don’t want you to crash. . . again.”

Everything collapsed into seriousness in Abel: his eyes, their brows, his smile, his chest, his cheeks. He sternly said, “To answer your question, yes. And I’ll stop myself from being nasty and saying you wouldn’t understand.”

“Chill, Abel. You’re all over the place. Why are you angry with me? I’m just looking out for you.”

“I never asked you to look out for me,” sniped Abel. He regathered himself with a deep breath. He exaggerated a smile. “How can I be of service? You wanted to meet about something.”

Cain tried to lighten the mood with half smiles and half chuckles. “Well, now it’s gonna’ sound vindictive haha, but I just wanted to know when you’re gonna’ pay me back. I’m getting a bit strapped now, especially after the festival.”

“I can pay off the loan,” said Abel defensively.

“You don’t even know how much—”

“What is it then?”

“Just over 12 half stones. . . But we’ll just call it twelve.”

“Ok, uhh, remind me how you’re counting that?”

“We are counting—” Cain’s head shook away semantics. “What I gave you—plus 3 knots a day.”

“Over how long? When did you first give it to me again?”

“Seven years ago.”

“Yea, that adds up. 3 knots a day is pretty steep, but simple.” Abel winked. For what, Cain did not know. “The original principle—that’s what we’re calling it now—was a generous 9 half stone—thank you again by the way—”

Compassion made Cain proud. “Abel, it’s ok if you need more time. Just be real with me.”

Abel laughed, but not out of frustration. “I can pay it all today. Just thinking out loud. You know how I do. . . Really, I can.” His older brother’s doubt made Abel angrily cocky. “I’m flush now. What? You don’t believe me?”

“It’s just you’ve said this before.”

Abel forced out a sigh. He stared prophetically into the sky which worried his brother with the usual concerns. Abel proclaimed, “It’s all so clear now. I found this new system. Remember those greasy haired guys about a year and a half ago? Remember we did some ad-ventures together? Anyway, we’ve figured out a way to work less and get paid more!” His bloodshot eyes manically locked onto Cain’s.

Cain couldn’t hold eye contact. “Dude, that’s ridiculous. Don’t get lost in lah-lah land. C’mon, man. You’re being manipulated.”

“What would you know? You spend all your time in your field,” said the little brother dismissively. He became excited here for both Cain and himself. “Listen! Ok, so if you double the number of crops you plant, how many more do you have to harvest?”

“Double.”

“Yes. But, if I double my herd how much will it grow by slaughter season?”

“Double also.”

“Wrong! More than double! Think of it from how many new lambs at birthing season. Let’s say 100 new are born. Next birthing season, they’re adults with the others and there’ll be 110 births. It compounds!”

The smallest kink in Cain’s neck tensed. He didn’t speak. He considered the arithmetic but found no immediate realization.

Abel said, “You said you’re strapped for some stone. I got you now. I can help you now finally!” Abel jabbed fingers at Cain’s belly. Cain flinched and deflected. Abel bounced in bliss. “I can help! I can finally help my big brother! But, here’s the thing. We won’t do knots per day like you did. Every month we add 2 knots per every 100. Trust me it gets interest-ing. But, at the end of the month, we add the owed knots to the original loan which I said earlier was the principle. Then, 2 per 100 of the new owed total. This is the new principle. Deal? Good.”

Cain stayed silent. Abel kept talking. “This is good. It’ll click when you actually work it out. You’ve always had to learn with your hands. Everyone always made fun of my wild thinking, but it actually bore fruit haha.”

Cain began to feel his heartbeat in his head. He pinched and pulled his garb to circulate cooler air. He attributed his loss of tranquility to Abel’s usual antics. But this was expected. Cain thought of his prescription: It is not virtuous to withhold truth. It is not “helping” by always “yes-and’ing” the delusions of troubled peoples. He’s going to lose it all to strangers. Dangerous strangers. Furthermore, a man must stay humble. Abel’s flaunting and bragging is destined to make enemies. If your brother can’t give you the hard truth, who will?

But Cain only articulated a slow “No.”

“Good!” popped out of Abel. “You do get it! I knew you would. You would’ve owed like 35 half stone after seven years. It starts small it seems, then it just explodes!” Abel’s arms flew open. He jabbed and grabbed at clouds in the air.

Insulted at his brother patronizing him; unable to calculate with just talking; absent of a counterargument; anxious for a family member, and desperate to prove his brother hysterical (if not simply wrong); Cain gripped his own thighs tightly enough to leave marks. He yelled, “I’m not talking about the money. I’m telling you to stop! I’m not taking any of your money that you probably don’t even have. You’re once again making up new, stupid reasons to avoid work, and I’m tired of it! Get out of fantasy land already! Have you forgotten our duty?! I always have to carry your ass—

“—I never asked—”

“Let me talk! Fuck. . . I don’t want anything from you. Actually, what I want is for you to calm down. You’re way too full of yourself. That’s what’s worrying me. You’re bragging over one victory. One! Whoop-dee doo. And, you do, indeed, have something you can build. But fuckin’ build it! Don’t waste it. Don’t ruin it and make me clean it up and nurse you through another stupid privileged depression again. Grow up.”

Abel started laughing. “I see now. I get it. You just can’t stand losing to me. Loser. You’re the loser now. How many times have you called me that!” Laughter seized his body. It convulsed his stomach. Abel worked to recompose his bent sternum, but his convulsive chuckling rattled his hair in Cain’s face. Abel struggled to articulate words until his laughter transformed into aggression. “You think you’re so much better than me. I fucking work my ass off and deserve what I get. And you call it luck?! Here you are saying, ‘You won’t be so lucky always.’”

“You working? Working your ass off? What a joke! You just nap under a fuckin’ tree while your herd lugs around eating. A goat goes a little far. Oh no! What a joke. You don’t fuckin’ work. You never have.”

“You’re lying, and you know it. Kinda’ pathetic. Not my fault people want meat over broccoli. Even kids have figured that out. I saw the opportunity. I took the risk. There was a window, and I jumped! I have the balls.”

“You’re delusional! You’re off, and you know it. You got lucky! You didn’t do shit. You don’t work. Really. I work. Not you. Look at my hands! A man’s hands. Yours are softer than a woman’s! Every day I break my back over our crops—which by the way your herd eats because you’re too fucking lazy to corral them. That or you’re just ok breaking the law and stealing from me, your own brother!—I have to plow every inch of soil. I have to plant every seed. I have to chase birds away. I have to harvest before they spoil. You just sit there and watch your asse(t)s get fat and multiply. You don’t truly produce anything. You really don’t. You just point to water and they scramble all over each other for a sip. You make them do your work. Irrigate a trough for them already.”

“So what,” dismissed Abel.

“So what?! Are you that stupid—” Cain gathered himself. “I don’t want to fight. I’ll admit: I’d like some appreciation for what I do. Your herd can’t exist without my first, you know, setting the foundation. So, yeah, I’d like that recognition. But it’s not about me. I’m trying to help you! I’m just giving advice, man.” Cain concluded a bit facetiously.

“Why would I listen to your advice?”

Cain had no answer, not from the difficulty of the question, but from his little brother’s arrogance and dishonesty. The answer was obvious. Cain simply shook his head, tired of trying to get through to a (mad?) man whom he loved and frustrated at life’s inability to control love.

The older brother kept moping, so Abel continued, “Seriously. You have this childish view of the world. It’s pretty funny. ‘Cain, the kid who couldn’t grow up fast enough.’ Quick to marry. Quick to work. Super ironic that you have such a useless, childish world view. I may act fun, young, carefree, or whatever, but at least I understand value. You think people will respect you for your ‘hard work.’ Nobody fucking cares. They just give you lip service and that’s enough to get your dick hard for the night. Anyone can do what you do. They’re just happy you do it for them and think it’s ‘good’ in itself or whatever loser philosophy you think is too profound to explain. It’s not that there’s no words. It’s just wrong thinking. That’s why you’re so quiet about it.”

“You could never do what I do, you lazy mooching fuck.”

“Spare me already! Anyone can do anything they choose. We’re free! Who’s stopping us? We were made masters of the earth! What’s wrong with more wealth—”

“Stewards! It is only ours to steward.”

“Save that holier than thou shit for your mistress! Dude, you’re just mad you couldn’t see what I saw. Mad that you invested in measly little crops, limited to your plot. I can go anywhere! Even your kids hang around my pastures because they know that’s where the future is. You don’t even see the disservice you’re doing them.”

“Keep my family out of your mouth—”

“Our family! You said it. We’re brothers. If I don’t tell you who will?”

Cain would’ve been paralyzed in introspection if the conversation stopped here. Had he missed something fundamental in human nature? Economics? Time management? A wise man indeed doubts. Skepticism, at its heart, is a philosophy. A noble man admits wrong. But every (anti) hero has their flaw. Few humans can handle one disillusionment at a time, let alone many. Imagine multiple from your younger sibling who, through your whole life, had only ever won arguments with emotion, pity, flattery, jokes, or sophistry. Now, he’s making sense and hitting where it hurts.

Unfortunately, the new self-appointed educator Abel had his own flaws too. He let himself get carried away. “Me, stupid? You’re the idiot. Replaceable. God made us to think! Or mom or dad’s fruit or the snake or whatever. Doesn’t matter! Don’t hate me for using His gift while you work like an animal instead of taking risk. Not my fault you can’t scale your miserly operation. Brooding away in your mud fields, thinking of ways to flatter your miserable, self-chosen life. Like you’re some worker-philosopher. But you’re a slave. You think it’s our destiny to be slaves?! You call it stewardship or duty or a garden or whatever, but it reeks of shit even though I have the zoo! Whatever. keeps you chugging along, though. You’re just envious. . .”

I’m not envious! screamed in the older brother’s head.

“. . . And it’s pissing me off,” continued the little brother. “You’ve never told me ‘good job, Abel.’ Never! You love to think I need you. No one needs you anymore. You can’t accept that your little brother might pass you. No, not envy. Jealousy. Jealous of your position—whatever that is! You have to be number one. That’s your sin. Right at your door of your pathetic shack of a home.”

“Your sin is sloth. So lazy you convince yourself your laziness is good.”

“Still harping about good and bad, right and wrong and missing the point. What I do works! My ‘non work’ works. Your work isn’t working. Everyone loves what I bring now. And mine grows on its own. I had the idea. Me! Abel, not the ‘perfect Cain.’ Not so perfect anymore. Stop gaslighting me with phony concerns about me or my future. There’s nothing to be concerned about! It’s growing like crazy! You’ll see.

“And, AND! You didn’t even learn or discover shit. Mom and dad’s garden had all the plants you grow. You just grafted a couple branches and think you’re the most important backbone of society. Apologize and maybe I’ll take you with me into the future. Why can’t you be proud of your little brother? Why do you always have to cut me down? It’s a problem man. I’m worried about you Cain, seriously. I see how stressed you are. All those tough hours on the body with no thanks from anyone. I felt bad He barely acknowledged you at the feast. I really did. I worry for your health. I don’t want you to die early. It can’t be good for your body, on your knees all the time.” Abel laughed. “Like a woman. You look at my hands, but I see your cowardice! Bitch coward. You’re a slave, and you’ve destined your family to be slaves.”

A giddy, ravenous smile formed on Abel. His face turned as crimson as his eyes. Saliva spat out with his words. “But, you need not worry much longer. I’ll buy you all as my slaves. You can be a steward, my steward. I’ll be the master. I’ll take on your slave kids. You may take offense at the liberties I take, but I’ll whip your slave minds back to the place you love: obedience! Pussy.”

“Shut up,” was all Cain could produce.

Abel’s mouth spilled drool, and he sucked it up. “I’ll take good care of your daughters. People might think it vile at first—but remember! You’re slaves, not humans anymore. You’re work dogs now. My dogs. It is my destiny to own and your duty to obey. Work dogs! Work!” Abel barked. “Slaves. You’ll lap up the shit I give you. Your wife will serve mine, and me! I’ll give you what you always wanted: toiling for God—no! Thinking you toil for God. Ha. Ha! It’s too easy! You can toil to your heart’s content. You can think of your goodness while I live in greatness!”

Rage shot Cain’s fingers into the dirt, breaking nails on stony underearth. He roared like a bear and scattered the songbirds above. He ripped up the earth into dust, squishing worms and beetles. He thrashed bystanding baby flowers, severing them from their Mother Earth. He heaved his boulder-seat up to his face and threw it at the tree trunk. Leaves rattled, and Cain’s fury fell birds’ eggs that shattered at his feet. “Pagan! You are no brother of mine!”

Thoughts scurried through Cain’s head like invasive cockroaches chittering one awake in the dark of night. Every time he’d bring light near one, it’d scatter to a new dark corner. He couldn’t hear himself think, let alone understand an inner voice. All he could hear was his mother’s shriek: “He’s sick, get them out!”

Cain prayed, and God heard, but I don’t know who answered.

Inspiration came to Cain. It was as clear as seeing future farmland in a native valley. Deforest the trees; excavate the stones; master the river. It’d demand work, backbreaking work. Punishing labor. But this was his purpose. This was his cursed destiny, but it was finally clear again. This inspiration, unasked for but his nonetheless, exterminated the pestilent evasive cockroach-thoughts.

Meanwhile Abel spasmed erect. His limbs stretched; his fingers curled. His jaw shot out and open, bulging blue veins from his neck. His eyes twitched; his lips trembled. Abel’s distorted face looked like he was having a stroke or seizure, but he snapped back. He slapped his own head and groaned the pain out gutturally. He stared at Cain first with deferential fear before his face quickly jumped to bewilderment. It concluded into embarrassment, the most painful of regret.

Cain immediately exonerated his brother’s sinful slander. He didn’t find words for this here (nor need to), but it is telling to summarize Cain’s instant, magnanimous conclusion: His brother was sick. What Abel said was unforgivable regardless of its feasibility or ill inducement. It called for a duel to the death! But this is his brother. His baby brother! And he’s sick. Could it be “unforgivable” only in the short term? Cain could imagine reconciliation after decades long banishment, contrite apologies, and regular, regulated medication. This was still his baby brother! Hysterical, hurting, deluded.

However, what was legible in Cain’s head was his confidence in what must be done. His determination. This was bigger than his brother and he now. Cain had the fate of mankind on his back. Cain worked it, through doubt, through fear, through struggle, through resistance. . . because it was all clear now. It was clear and quiet, his sanctuary, and, therefore, a holy gift.

The thoughts that compounded clearly were this. Anxiety over the inevitable power imbalance was there, sure, but it wasn’t this that scared Cain. It was that Abel was now his nemesis! Original sin destined them to “toil the earth”, and this was good! All penance to God is good! Now, Abel thinks he can lead an opposite way? Abel?! Lazy Abel; careless Abel; silver tongued Abel; Abel who danced for his food and farted smellier than dad to make him laugh! Even if Abel led, he’d fail, dooming us all.

But, it’s worse. He’s claiming we need not labor for life. That the sins of the father have been absolved by human math.

Lord, give me strength; it’s even worse! He’s saying the serpent’s knowledge isn’t even a sin! Blasphemy! My brother isn’t crazy, he’s possessed! He’s become a second serpent. He’s fallen to temptation and become a serpent himself! And with his fuckin’ mouth, it’s inevitable to spread. He can’t help himself. He can’t. He’s corrupted. Mom didn’t squash hers, but I won’t fail us again! I cannot. I will not! Blight must be ripped from the earth!

Tears came to Cain’s eyes, and Abel saw. Abel’s head twitched before he settled his vision on the ground, and fiddle-kicked rocks to deescalate. “Listen man, I—”

As his little brother couldn’t see, Cain grabbed a fist size rock. His shaking, goose bumped arm was overdosed with painful adrenaline. His aching grip bled his fingers. He hoped for a devil’s advocate, but the serene silence of a sure mind only solidified his resolution. Of course, Cain didn’t want to “toil and suffer”, but he must. This was his most important duty. His test. God would punish if left undone. He swung.

The first bash reset Abel’s eyes. He looked at his older brother as helplessly as he did when growing up. Cain wailed after each smash. He choked on his breath. “I’m sorry I failed you!” Tears. “It’s my fault.” Snot. “I left you!” Sobs. “I made you think it was a race.” Cain’s tears rained onto Abel’s bleeding face; blood spattered on Cain’s as warmer, redder tears. “You probably just wanted to say hi!” Ticklish pain collapsed Cain on top of his brother’s corpse. “Forgive me!”

Cain euthanized his troubled brother, but Abel’s idea still cries out from his shallow grave.