Chameleon Magazine

A Bedtime Story from Big G to small “J”

“Alright little man, where did we leave off?” Big G asks, kicking back and tossing a pillow cloud behind his head.

“You made everything,” says small “J.” “Then you chilled.”

“Right,” Big G nods. “Seventh day. The big rest. The original Sabbath. I’d created the entire cosmos in six days flat—sky, land, jellyfish, mangoes, time itself—and on day seven, I officially clocked out.”

He stretches.

“I blessed that day. Called it sacred. No work. Just vibes. A reminder to humanity: even if you’re running the universe, take a day off. Burnout is real, J.”

small “J” nods solemnly. “Self-care.”

“Exactly.”

Now, here’s where the camera zooms in. Forget galaxies for a minute—we’re going hyperlocal. The Earth was still a work-in-progress. No rain. No farmers. Just a mist gently floating up like Earth was trying to humidify itself.

But I had a vision, kid. I wanted someone on the ground. Someone to walk the fields, name the cows, and maybe write poetry about sunsets.

So I got my hands dirty—literally. I scooped up some dust, shaped it into a man, leaned in, and breathed life right into his nostrils.

small “J” grimaces. “That sounds gross.”

“It was divine CPR, buddy. Trust the process.”

And just like that—bam—he sat up. Eyes wide, blinking. First breath. First heartbeat. First human. I called him Adam.

Now, I wasn’t gonna just leave him on some empty stretch of land, so I built him a home: Eden. Lush, green, private-garden-core with zero mosquitos. I planted every tree you can imagine. Some for food, some just pretty to look at. In the middle? Two very important ones:

The Tree of Life and

The Tree of Knowing Stuff You Might Not Be Ready For Yet.

(Okay fine, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil—but you get my point.)

I set up a river flowing out of Eden like a natural sprinkler system. Then I split it into four fancy streams.

One wrapped around this golden land called Havilah.

One flowed through Ethiopia.

One ran by Assyria.

And one was the Euphrates, because I love a good dramatic name.

Anyway, Adam moves in. I hand him the keys. “This is your spot. Take care of it. Prune the trees. Talk to the birds. You can eat from any tree here… except that one. The knowing-too-much one. Trust me, it’ll mess you up.”

small “J” squints. “But you knew he’d eat it, right?”

Big G sighs. “Free will, remember? You give someone choice, you gotta let ‘em choose—even if it’s a mess.”

Now, here’s the thing. Adam was solid—great at naming animals, strong work ethic—but lonely. No one to laugh with. No one to share grapes with. Just him, and a parrot who repeated everything.

So I said, “It’s not good for him to be alone.”

But first—I gave him the pet parade. Lined up every animal and had him name them.

Horse. Dog. Llama. Mosquito (regrettable choice).

He was on fire. But none of them quite matched his energy. No spark. No partner.

So one night, I hit him with a divine nap.

Deep sleep. Dreamless. Peaceful.

While he was out, I did a little divine surgery—took a rib, closed him up, and from that rib, I crafted her. The Woman. First of her kind. Built different. Radiant. Smart. Bold.

When Adam woke up and saw her?

Kid went full poet.

“This is it. Bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh.”

Translation: “Finally. Someone like me—but cooler.”

I introduced them. No awkward dating phase. No apps. No ghosting. Just soul-deep recognition.

They were naked, by the way.

“Still?”

“Still. But they didn’t care. No shame. No judgment. Just realness.”

And that, my boy, is how humanity got its first couple. Two hearts, one garden, and a rule they really, really should’ve taken more seriously.

small “J” yawns. “What happens next?”

Big G leans in, voice low.

“Well… there’s a snake. A lie. A bite. And everything changes.”

“Tomorrow?”

“You bet. Same time, same cloud. Night, little one.”

Big G tucks him in with stardust. Somewhere in Eden, the breeze gently rustles the trees—still innocent, for now.