Adamma slept behind the wall of enmity between the other wives and her. Okonkwo hated her because she couldn't give him a son.

"Don't I give you children? Why do you hate me?" Adamma would ask. "Why...?"

And a slap would interrupt her. "What children? Give me men, warriors," Okonkwo will say amidst beating the woman. "Men, not weaker vessels."

Okonkwo felt like a man whenever he beat Adamma until that morning, his lifeless beside the stream. The chirping of the birds announced his death. Though his stomach was bloated, the village women couldn't tell what killed him; they only waited for the Ifa Priest.

On the night of Okonkwo's death, Adamma was seated outside when the cries of an owl was heard from her rooftop. It didn't take long for the people to know; while the other wives mocked at her, the villagers accused her of poisoning her husband. Punishment was by death.

It was too late. By the time the Ifa Priest finished the cleansing rituals at the stream, he was greeted by the hanging body of Adamma on a tree beside her house. Whereas Okonkwo died from drowning, the villagers killed the wrong person.

You must have heard of the story of a beautiful woman; whose full beauty was never noticed nor seen until the juice from an Apple bite became the education of good and bad. So you must have heard the story of Eden. But you have not heard all. Not the part told by imagination. The tale of chaos in Eden.

The hairs of Time were now grey with age. The Sun was becoming a little bored of drawing circles. Generations of time had raced on, stopped, and begotten more time and more time. Many tales were now dust, dead with the characters that lived them. Crushed under the action of new tales edging out for survival. But the tale of Eden still lived on; in Adam’s journal. Passed through countless minds and hands. Adorned in the beauty of the tatteredness of time. In it was Adam’s plan on how to re-enter Eden and get to the tree of immortality. So a new tale had begun. A continued tale rather; for the quest for immortality had been a long journey that stained the very fabric of time. But this time around, the stain itself was the power-hungry Aain and his group of shady figures. And after many years, the only thing standing between Aain and Eden was the missing Adam’s journal. Stolen nights ago from his abode.

The sky was deeply breathing night. Flace pulled his gaze unto a clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. He closed the almost shredded journal he was reading. It was covered in the rust of time. How long? He knew not. But he could guess it was very valuable. For in just two days, the nameless old book about a man and some weird garden had shattered his jolly life. He had missed a date with his dream girl, had almost gotten killed, and was now hiding in an old house he knew nothing about. If only he knew what made the journal valuable; he could earn some cool cash from selling it. Tired, he carefully wrapped the journal in a fold of cloth and placed it underneath the hard pillow he was going to use. He then laid down with half-opened eyes, expecting trouble before morning.

The specks of sunrise gradually coloured Flace through a window caked in a layer of dirt. He closed the journal again for the fifth time that morning. Those dark figures that chased life out of him two nights ago could not have done it over just an ordinary journal. The voice of the bleeding old man kept ringing in his head. The same old man that gave him the journal and signaled his death with two words, “protect it.” Flace had been on the run since then; trying his best to know more about this mysterious tree mentioned in the journal. A sudden shattering bang at the door threw Flace from the short nap he was beginning to drown in. In an instant, he found himself standing before four hefty men significantly missing the tiniest hint of a smile. Cornered in total surprise; his heart beating furiously as though it wanted to flee from him. He grabbed the journal and made a sudden dash for the open window. A clean dive through it and Flace found himself in the waiting arms of another hefty guy. Held tightly by his jacket, he was unprepared; but getting caught was not part of his plan. He slipped right out of his jacket and dashed away from danger, and away from the journal he had placed in his jacket.

Aain's quest was finally becoming a success. The most sort after journal had been retrieved from Flace’s jacket. Their desperation was finally paying off for the journal contained directions to Eden itself. By the next day, the location of Eden’s entrance had been found, hidden in the heart of nowhere. All that was left was to follow the directions on the Journal’s map. The paranoid group journeyed for days under the guidance of what Aain could decipher from the journal. They were armed to the teeth, ready for whatever resistance would be in Eden.

Meanwhile, Flace had watched and followed closely from a safe distance since his last encounter with Aain’s men. Days had passed; days of preparing himself for the perfect moment to strike. The journal was his to protect; a task he had failed at already. But he was not going to let Aain get anywhere near whatever treasure the tree in the journal had to offer. He watched closely at the roaming men; like a herd stomping behind Aain. They had stopped suddenly and were now trailing in a single file behind Aain. It was just a normal trail of weird-looking people until Aain varnished. And then the guy behind him at the same point where Aain had. And then the next, and another and another; continuously like they were walking into an invisible cave. “It must be the entrance,” Flace said to himself racing from his hiding place as the last of them varnished. He saw nothing unusual at the spot apart from series of footprints that all ended at the same point. Flace followed the footprints and soon found himself stuck in what seemed to be an unending shock of amazement. Before him, was the beauty he could not describe.