The Fate of Goats

The goat made frantic noises and pulled against the ropes that held him.

He knew all about what happened to his kind when they were part of a ceremony.

Goats and virgins, he thought. I wonder why all these heathenistic gods and goddess hate us so badly. Or, what is it we have in common that they like us so much.

The goat tugged again, and harder. Still no budge. He let out a bleat of frustration.

Now the priest had a blade and knelt before him. Someone else pulled back his head.

In the end he never felt the cut, and was rather shocked to wake in a white place.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are,” a bodiless voice answered.

“Who are you?”

“We are the god. We are the goddess.”

“What is this place?”

“A room of waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For the time when you can move on to your next life.”

“So, I am to be reborn?”

“Yes.”

“As a goat?”

He really hoped he wasn’t going to be a goat again. Ending one life as a ritual sacrafice was enough for him.

“Before you died, your last thought was that the fate of goats was unjust. We will not place you back into that life.”

“That was decent of you.”

“We are a kind and just diety.”

The goats mind swam with grand visions of what he new life might be.

“I have one more question.” He said.

“Yes?”

“What will I be in my new life?”

“You will be a maiden of pure virtue.”

The goat was aghast.

“You don’t mean…?”

“Yes.”

“You have to change it!”

“It has been written. It cannot be changed.”

“I’m going to be a virgin!” the goat wailed.

The voice did not answer.