When Cain spoke to his brother Abel in the field, of what did he speak? Did he speak of the fruit that he had brought forth from the ground and then offered to the Lord? Did he speak of its bountifulness, its succulence? Did he speak, too, of his brother’s own offering, the firstlings and the fat thereof? Did he then also speak of his utter confusion at their respective receptions? Did he ask Abel, Why such respect for you but none for me? Did he ask, Are not fruits and firstlings equal wonders?

Perhaps he did. Almost certainly he did, actually. How could he not? Such capriciousness begged for an explanation. And what, do you think, Abel said before what came to pass between them thus came to pass? Do you think that, maybe, knowing full well that Cain would note the echoes of the Lord’s own words, he asked, with a hint of smirk on his lips, Why art thou wroth, brother?

I do, in fact, think that this is what Abel said—because Abel was the first ever second-born and thus the first ever to resent the unearned privilege granted an older brother. Surprised by this unexpected victory, Abel just couldn’t help himself: he lorded, never having had an opportunity to do so before. But Cain, being the first ever first-born, was unfamiliar with fraternal mockery, seeing as how they were the first brothers ever, and so he slew Abel then, in a hot rush of impetuous blood. 

It’s been said since that Cain committed this act with the jawbone of ass, which makes a certain amount of sense, seeing as how he was only the third human ever and no one had yet carved a branch into a spear or forged a knife from jagged flint, but no jawbone is mentioned in Genesis. A stone is an excellent possibility, too, but because the first fratricide took place in a field, it must have been Cain’s field, the field in which he had grown the fruit that he then offered to the Lord, and such a bountiful field as his would have likely harbored no stones of murderous size in its rich soil. Cain would have seen to that, certainly.

This is why I prefer to believe that Cain used his own two hands to throttle the throat of Abel. Imagine this. Such an intimate manner to both deliver and receive death, especially between brothers. Staring into each other’s eyes, the light of one’s spilled into the other’s. And then, after it was finished, Cain must have simply loosened his grip, thus allowing his brother’s body to fall to the ground, from which Abel’s blood then cried unto the Lord. Upon hearing this cry, the Lord then asked Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? 

What’s best remembered, of course, is Cain’s petulant reply to the Lord’s question: Am I my brother’s keeper? But what about the question itself? Why would the Lord ever need to ask such a thing? Is he not, after all, all-powerful, all-knowing? So, in this, the very first instance of true human need, where in God’s name was He while Cain slayed Abel?

He had turned away, so as to ignore the first of so very many atrocities.

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Kevin Grauke has published work in such places as The Threepenny Review, The Southern Review, StoryQuarterly, Fiction, and Quarterly West. He is also the author of Shadows of Men (Queen’s Ferry), winner of the Steven Turner Award from the Texas Institute of Letters. Bullies & Cowards will be published by Cornerstone Press in 2026. He teaches at La Salle University and lives in Philadelphia.