Agamemnon,
supreme General of an army engaged in a war, was on the brink of
losing the war, far away from his homeland where his wife and
children lived.
In
suicidal desperation, he offered his Daughter, Iphigenia, his
firstborn, as a holocaust living burnt offering to his goddess, in
return for a military victory.
His
non-righteous goddess accepted his offer.
Agamemnon
deceived his wife into sending their Daughter to him.
The
Daughter was sacrificed, and Agamemnon's army won the war. He felt
safe that his wife would never find out his evil heinous lie. He
returned home, a war hero.
In
another land far away, some years later, another Dad, Jephthah,
supreme General of an army engaged in a war in defence of his
homeland, found himself at the head of his army on the brink of
defeat. He accepted that suicide would have been an heroic option
were his defeat to happen far from his homeland.
In
hopeless desperation, he prayed to his god; he offered his Daughter,
his only child, as a holocaust living burnt offering at an altar to
his god, in return for a military favor. His non-righteous god
accepted his offer.
Jephthah
won the war. He sacrificed his Daughter, being somewhat thankful that
her Mom, his wife, had died of natural causes many, many years
earlier.
In
an afterlife Dimension of Ultimate Reality, sometimes known as
Crimea, somewhere in infinite Eternity, the two Daughters met at an
annual dance party celebration attended by the countless Daughters of
willingly evil Dads who made Daughter-holocaust-deals-for-favors
with non-righteous goddesses and gods.
The
annual Festival was for not only Daughters who were sacrificed in the
Past, but also for those Daughters who are being holocaust-sacrificed
by their Dads, at Present; and who will be in the Future.
Down
the road around the corner in that Ultimate Reality venue in Crimea,
was an empty dance hall waiting for its first celebration of a Son
yet to be holocaust-sacrificed by a Dad to a non-righteous deity in
return for a military victory.
So
far, it had been an eternity that second hall had not yet had its
first Festival celebratory dance.
Our
two Daughters sat a table, to rest, and sip fruit juice, between
glorious waltzes on the dance floor to the music of such timeless
greats as Petra Ilyana Tchaikovsky, and Joanna Strauss II.
I
have not seen you here before. First time?
Yes.
You?
Centuries.
Really?
You don't look a day older than thirteen. Like me, in a few weeks.
Twelve
and a bit. In all those centuries at this annual, I have not met
anyone older than thirteen.
Explains
why there's no alcohol to drink around here.
Nor
anything to smoke.
Mind
you, it's not that I really care for alcohol. I just have a soft spot
for it for having knocked me out so utterly that I did not feel a
thing while being holocaust-cooked.
Did
you like the taste? Of alcohol?
I
was not given the chance to acquire a taste. My Dad took me on a
vacation into the mountains to practice getting falling-down drunk
without vomiting. He said vomiting on the altar while I was being
holocaust-cooked, would disgrace the family name.
Did
it work?
Absolutely.
It must have. When I got up here, I did not recall any altar
holocaust fire terrors or pains. When I awoke here, I was freezing.
My
Dad did not think of numbing me against the altar fire. I was lucky
that his goddess snatched me away at the last moment and whisked me
to here.
They
sat in silence for seconds, letting the soft music in the distance,
take their gentle time to linger through them, mingled with the
laughter and giggles and screams and shrieks of delight of multitudes
of pre-pubescent Daughters, in countless languages.
So?
Have you joined any Clubs, yet?
No.
I do not know of any, yet.
All
right, then, I am inviting you to join ours. There are, virtually,
countless Clubs. Every Club engages in arranging their own sports
events, parties, and other fun events. Everybody is a member of more
than one Club.
Great!
I'm in.
Good.
You want to guess which event is the most popular with all the Clubs?
It
does not matter to me what's most popular now, because I know the
event I am going to make the most popular.
What?
Creating
and staging plays about stories about gods and Dads hurting one
another.
You're
a natural. Every Club is going to want you to join.
Seconds
of uncontrollable wild somewhat blasphemous laughter from both of
them.
I
cannot shake the fear that all this is too good to last.
You
said centuries, so far?
Uh-huh.
So?
Why the fear?
Gods.
Unpredictable.
They're
here?
I
don't know. Haven't heard of any, so far.
If
they are here, you think they could stay out of touch for centuries?
Why
not? Perhaps they are not here by choice. After all, there are no
males here.
Oh,
good. Right?
Iphigenia
raised her glass of fruit juice in a toast. Jephthah's Daughter
raised her glass, too, in agreement.
Forever
and forever.
They
laugh in their insecure hope.
Do
you think about your Mom?
All
the time.
Me,
too.
Seconds
of silence.
If
this place is about fairness, our Moms should be here, shouldn't
they?
Yes.
Definitely.
It's
been centuries. No Mom.
Seconds
of silence.
Care
to dare to think?
What?
Explore
returning?
What!
This
place, clearly, does not follow the rules we know. Perhaps, there's a
way.
Go
back? To achieve what?
To
rescue our suffering Moms from our clueless evil low-IQ Dads.
Hah!
I know my Mom. Warrior, Queen Clytemnestra. My Dad deceived her into
sending me to him on the promise I was to marry Achilles the famous
warrior. If Mom ever found out my Dad deceived her, she would not
hesitate to murder him. She would not need rescuing from him. Rather,
he would from her.
Then
let's return to tell her of his treachery, and to see her chop him
up.
They
look at each other, wide-eyed in their mutual concurrent total
enjoyment of the wicked thought of revenge.
I'm
glad I do not have sisters to go back to save from Dad and his god.
You? Sisters?
No
sister. Did your Mom know?
My
Mom had died so long ago, I could never remember what she looked
like.
A
silence of long seconds.
Let's
start right away investigating possibilities.
I'm
so glad I've met you. In all these centuries, it never occurred to me
to think of trying to return.
Seconds
of hopeful silence.
In
all your centuries you've seen only Daughters?
Yes.
However, let me be the first to admit I cannot be certain I have met
everyone here.
Wow!
Centuries of just us girls, huh?
Uh-huh.
I
could so live happily forever after in this Crimea Ultimate Reality.
Seconds
of silence pass.
Do
not freak out.
About
what?
Well,
uh, if we get to return to where our Dads are, there might still be
obnoxious almighty gods around.
Contact
Ezra (Unless
you
type
the
author's name in
the subject
line
of the message we
won't know where to send it.)
