Gods, Dads, and Daughters

Ezra Azra

Copyright 2023 by Ezra Azra

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

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?

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.


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?


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?


Explore returning?

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?


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.

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