His Daughter

His Daughter

"A Novel"

By

Caryn M. McGill

I pray for her happiness through my tears.

And for her smiles despite my years of sorrow.

And if there must be pain in parting

Let it be mine and mine alone.

For all this, I pray.

And if you see fit to enter the horror of my heart,

And save my shattered soul,

Please, please, please come in person,

Do not send your son,

For that is no place for children

Charles Blustain

Father and I have been at it again. He yells, I scream. I call him old-fashioned and narrow-minded. He calls me reckless, impulsive and naïve. He wants me to take a shot at saving the planet, but I'm not interested. It's not my mess to clean up.

I've grown weary sitting in the garden. Don't get me wrong, it's a magnificent garden with flowers in every shade of the rainbow and even some colors that aren't. Tall blooms and tiny blossoms fronded with brilliant green foliage. Buzzing bees and silent butterflies in the brightest of hues try to amuse me. And then there are the birds...birds that would humble a rainforest. Furry little creatures abound, and long-legged insects climb giant gnarly tree trunks and there's even a swing, one that Father gifted me on my third birthday.

But I sit here all day, every day. Just me and my brother. With nothing to do but watch humankind hurt each other, kill each other. Most in the name of religion, which morphed into incomprehensible acts of terrorism.

I've argued with Father about this forever. I've even blamed my brother for going to Earth and starting this whole mess in the first place, birthing Christianity and starting what I consider a cult. A cult in direct opposition to other cults...aka religions. My brother tells me to stay home, reminding me it's too dangerous, humans are untrustworthy.

This last argument with Father went entirely too far and he left enraged, hurling a few lightning bolts and roaring like thunder. A cliche—I know, but Father is the original cliche. Nobody's seen him since...not my brother, or an angel—a saint or a prophet. Not a soul—dead or alive. I have no inkling as to where he's gone. Father never goes to Earth, so I can't imagine he went there. And I'm too pissed off to care. Maybe it's my fault the planet is doomed. Yet...I still think mankind will be better off without me.

I have considered going to planet Earth. Technically, I would need Father's permission but since he's MIA, I could probably get away with it. My brother can't go again because he shot his one load on an earthly voyage over two thousand years ago and Father only allows us one mortal life each. JC, as I call him—although his God-given name is Thaddeus—used up his turn during a time when Earth was still primitive. I'll give him credit for improving some aspects of society, and I know his intentions were admirable, however the Earth might be in better shape if he'd stayed home.

But I wouldn't do it the way he did: naked, alone and refusing to use his God-given powers. If I did it, I'd have a better plan to rehabilitate mankind. Not like Father's lame attempts: floods, pestilence, earthquakes, paltry attempts to intimidate humans. I always considered them more practical jokes than anything. He liked to call it 'putting the fear of the devil in them'. Although we all know there's no such thing as the devil. No snake in The Garden. No hell.