Superficial Sacrifices Read online

SUPERFICIAL SACRIFICES

  Written by D.K. Steffey

  Copyright 2011 D.K. Steffey

  Cover image: creatOR76/Shutterstock

  All rights reserved.

  All names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental.

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  Contact at: [email protected]

  Special thanks to Lisa/Adam/Sharon/Eric

  Table of Contents

  Superficial Sacrifices

  About D.K. Steffey

  Other titles by D.K. Steffey

  A hot, burning sun rose over the distant pyramids, signifying the onset of the religious ceremony. Ornately decorated in full gold metal costume and matching jewelry, the high priest majestically exited the temple mound onto its elevated terrace with both of his arms reaching for the sky. His face was adorned with bright colorful paints, highlighted by his black-rimmed eyelids. He approached his stone altar, where a white-cloaked woman lay tethered by the limbs to a waist-high sandstone slab. She had been chosen months ago to be sacrificed to Ra, the Egyptian Sun God. This primitive, gruesome ritual would ensure a timely wet season, which provided the vital nutrition for the Kingdom of Egypt. This was Egypt’s most important religious ritual during the earth’s revolution around the sun.

  Egypt was in the midst of its Golden Age with unprecedented construction and wealth. It’s most successful ruler, The Pharaoh Ramses II, flanked the high priest to his right and would serve a major role in the ritual’s human sacrifice. Egyptian nobleman sat behind the altar in four rows of six reed-sewn chairs. There was just enough room for nearly fifty of Egypt’s most prosperous merchants. The chosen merchants were considered blessed to witness the sacrifice from short range. Such privilege was believed to secure them continued prosperity during the coming year and fruitful, son-bearing wives. The rest of the expected tens of thousands of worshipping onlookers would experience the event from the temple mound’s base, which stretched for miles into the open desert.

  The woman on the altar, the virgin human sacrifice, quivered and wept in anticipation of her grizzly demise. In any other situation, she would have flailed and screamed until unconscious. Instead, she posted a brave front, knowing that anything less would curse the Kingdom of Egypt and bring timeless shame onto her family.

  The high priest began his chant before looking up from the restrained woman. “Ra,” he cried, “on this day, a virginal human sacrifice has been prepared in your honor on behalf of the people of Egypt. Wait, wait, wait, is this everybody?” he said in shock, abruptly interrupting his prayer. “Where is everybody? There’s only like fourteen or fifteen people down there. What gives?”

  Only a few scattered worshippers looked on from the huge and vast empty square at the temple’s base. The square could accommodate thousands upon thousands during religious rituals but today looked no different than the barren desert that surrounded it.

  The high priest searched his entourage for an explanation, as the surrounding Egyptian noblemen sheepishly bowed their heads to avoid eye contact. “Do you know anything about this?” he sternly questioned The Pharaoh, who was dressed in his typical nemes headdress, trimmed with a fearsome cobra diadem. “Only fourteen worshippers came to see me perform the most sacred religious moment in the Egyptian calendar?”

  “Thirteen,” cried someone from far back behind the altar.

  The high priest quickly turned to catch the informant with his golden jewelry garishly clanking during the motion. “Thirteen? Who said thirteen?” Again, every last nobleman either looked away or peered down at his sandals. There was only silence, and so he returned his attention to The Pharaoh. “Ramses II?” he insisted.

  The Pharaoh focused his attention on a loose piece of sandstone and rolled it in a circular pattern underneath his sandal. “Well, technically, outside of all of us, there are thirteen others who showed up to see todays’ ritual. Joe Akhenaton is the fourteenth, but he’s been down there since Thursday.”

  “To be as close as possible to my magical, religious workings?”

  “No, his horse kicked him, on his way to trade in the market,” said The Pharaoh. “Really, someone should check on him.” He turned to the nobleman. “Would someone please make sure a guard, or some type of medical person, check on Joe Akhenaton after this is over?” he asked, as he scratched his nose.

  The high priest then challenged in a huff. “So thirteen people showed up today to see Egypt’s most meaningful and essential religious ceremony? Ha, the Gods will love this, especially Ra.”

  Only a swirling brisk wind could be heard whisking against the temple’s stonewalls.

  The Pharaoh continued apologetically, “Look, earlier in the week there was a lot of talk of rain for today, and I think that may have kept some people home. Farmers are fickle about the weather.”

  “Raining? In the desert? During the dry season?” hollered the high priest. He stamped his foot. “That’s the whole point of this sacrifice. The rains won’t come without this ceremony.”

  “The thing is last year we had a lot of complaints about the acoustics,” The Pharaoh explained. “People thought your performance was harder to ‘get into’ last year because they couldn’t hear your lines very well. Plus, you said it yourself, ‘this is a ritual.’ They’ve all seen it before. The whole pomp and circumstance is a bit stale at this point.”

  Dejected, the high priest sat down on a stone block set off to the side. He dropped his dagger to the sand and rested his head in his hands. The Pharaoh reached for and gently patted the virgin’s hand. “We’ll be right with you, sweetheart. I promise. You’ve been a doll for being so patient, just a doll.” He mimed an exaggerated kiss in her direction and then joined his high priest on the stone. She reluctantly forged a smile back.

  “What happened, Ramses II?” asked the high priest.

  The Pharaoh conceded, “It’s no secret last year was a rough year for this ceremony. Even after accounting for concessions, Egypt took a bath on it. It was the first year the city of Thebes had operated in the red.” He leaned in closer and spoke in a whispered tone. “You know a lot of the nobleman and merchants felt you were just going through the motions during last year’s ceremony. They thought you cut out the theatrics to wrap it up early. Between you and me, you’ve been lacking that passion for several years now.

  “Plus, the critics’ reviews were really biting last year. They had an axe to grind with everyone because their department budget had been slashed. ‘Cutting limestone in a quarry offers more thrills.’ Remember that one?” The Pharaoh slapped his knee.

  “You told me not to worry about the reviews. You said ‘nobody reads the reviews.’ ”

  “Well, personally, I don’t, but…”

  The high priest took a deep breath in and then confessed. “Last year was a bad place for me. The ceremony was in the middle of my audit. Remember? We had just built the new house. And we were having trouble selling our old home in Giza. Our daughter was going away to school to one of those expensive liberal arts colleges and had no career plans in mind. I’m paying premium tuition prices for her ‘to find herself.’ I’m talking huge stacks of gold just for boarding.”

&nbs
p; “Hey, who do you think called off the audit?” reminded The Pharaoh. “And I have over one hundred children of my own, you know.”

  “I know. I know. You’re a true friend. Honestly, I’ve noticed like everyone else that the numbers for these shows had been dwindling over the years. I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

  “It’s not all you. People are different these days. There are too many new forms of entertainment to compete with.”

  “Like what?” questioned the high priest.

  “Well, there’s making mud bricks. There’s animal husbandry and hieroglyphics. Oh, and now there’s riverboat gambling on The Nile, which my wife, for one, loves. You know, my wife so wishes she could have been here today and all, but she had those reservations for months now and—“

  “On with the Show.” A faint holler from below interrupted.

  The Pharaoh casually waved his hand, dismissing the request and continued rationalizing. “Heck, if you believe the newspapyrus, a lot of Egyptians are now Unitarians. Unitarians don’t practice human sacrifice. It’s considered a much safer religious alternative. And believe it or not, Egypt has a strong contingent of Methodists, too. You can’t take these things personally.” He rambled on, “For example, right now they’re working in record numbers to help complete my sacred tomb. Contractors tell me the enthusiasm and spirit among the slaves has never been higher, and they’re far ahead of schedule.” The Pharaoh looked away in the distance and admitted, “I still don’t know how I feel about that. Kind of ironic you know, but if it results in the best tomb in The Valley of the Kings, why question it?”

  The high priest joined The Pharaoh’s gaze deep into the desert. He counted endless rolling hills of sand, but the only sign of life he could gather was a new Starbucks. The coffee shop was experiencing heavy morning traffic, which reminded him of the days when people would crowd the square for his religious performances like herds of cattle. The high priest remembered the theatrics, the pageantry, the spectacle, the showgirls. He remembered how the adrenaline streamed through his veins from the power rush. Those were great days, and he definitely had the passion back then.

  Despite its dwindling audience, the ritual and its significance hadn’t changed. His performance had lead the way for the Nile delta floods every year, and Egypt had continued to flourish as an empire. They were in their Golden Age. Whether fickle Egyptians attended his ceremony or bred the family goats, his impact still promoted the survival of the Egyptian people.

  “Hey, can I use the lady’s room?” abashedly asked the sacrificial virgin. “I mean, if you guys are going to be much longer then...”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” muttered the high priest.

  “Who?” questioned The Pharaoh.

  “No one. Never mind,” he said, quickly dismissing the subject.

  “So what do you say? Let’s do this thing.” The Pharaoh slapped the high priest on the back for encouragement.

  The high priest took a deep breath in, and they helped each other up from the stone and embraced. “Thanks, Ramses.”

  “Please, Ramses was my father. Call me ‘Ramses, the second.’ “

  The high priest stood over the sacrifice and again raised his arms to the sky. He returned his focus to the crowd, which had now dwindled to a picnicking family of four plus three homeless Hittites. He swallowed his pride, took in a deep breath, but his attention was captured by a large wooden billboard fixed atop Starbucks. The billboard pictured a debonair high priest in full costume and on the altar before him was a beautiful female model, smiling in a gold sequined dress. Give the people what they want. On with the show he decided. The high priest returned his focus to the ceremony and repeated his transcendent chanting to Ra. He raised his dagger high over the sacrificial virgin, and whispered to himself, “The road back to success is always paved with sacrifice. Thank God it’s hers and not mine.”

  ###

  About the Author

  D.K. Steffey is an emerging, struggling Chicagoland writer with an emphasis in struggling. After practicing in health care for more than a decade diagnosing irritable bowel syndrome, he has been writing a collection of short and quirky satirical stories that most often deal with important, current issues set in farcical situations. The story lines frame the issues within a presumably intriguing and entertaining context for awareness and discussion.

  The stories are always short in length, designed to fill and enrich the rare free moments in today's busy working schedule--easily downloaded during a train ride, at a bus stop, or during the lunch hour. They benefit people in the modern world who often don't have time to dive into a full length novel, who often face repetitive distractions and obligations in the home, the workplace, and in between. Meanwhile, his offbeat humor is intended to lift readers from the gravity of their own troubles, even if just for a few moments.

  Other titles by D.K. Steffey include:

  -THE DEVIL’S IN THE RED

  -REAL ESTATE WITH REAL ATTITUDE

  Contact at: [email protected]