‘Today we will be talking about the first god, Nevah,’ the religious history teacher Estovia said, sitting at the head of the oval shaped circle of desks, facing the projection equipment inside the circle. The school had a standard core curriculum, but frequently appended with niche subjects in between to stave off the monotony and keep the accelerated class engaged.
She peered down at the device in her hand, and with the press of several buttons on her remote the lights lowered, projector flaring to life and a starry figure of the god projected up into the air over the tables. ‘Does anyone know what Nevah’s primary responsibilities are?’ Elske yawned, it was going to be a long class, this guest speaker clearly hadn’t taken the modifier accelerated to heart in developing her curriculum.
He hadn’t always disliked gods. He remembered a time when he was enthralled with them, when they were a fascinating puzzle to solve. They had been so mysterious, they had so many different properties and abilities. Something otherworldly and above the mundanity of his life. He had been particularly intrigued by the celestial gods, the ones that came from outer space and engaged with the fabric of spacetime itself. Nevah had been one such favorite, but that all had faded with his epiphany that the gods didn’t offer anything to humanity most of the time, and even acted to their detriment. There were occasions when some minor miracle occurred, but too often it could just as easily be attributed to some more mundane source.
It wasn’t that gods had to be performing miracles to be interesting, or that they had to be engaged in human’s lives. He imagined that the short lives of a mortal seemed to be of little intrigue to a being that lived for hundreds of thousands of years. And he himself didn’t find humans particularly interesting either. Adults especially, all the creativity came from being a child, in adults it just seemed to be sapped away with the bewildering process of puberty. He could recognize other children’s imagination even without their acceptance during play. But he had the best of both, the intellect of an adult and the creativity of a child. He was more than other humans. Special. He sighed. He knew he was being a bit egotistical, but he also knew that what he thought of himself wasn’t entirely false either.
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The teacher droned on, now talking about a lesser known god, Oongx, from a city far off, down the river in a land just recovering from a god-created apocalypse. Another instance of their disruption to human lives. It was interesting to hear about the stories and the rites of different people, a bit more interesting than the gods themselves. Maybe he would become an anthropologist, he daydreamed, half listening, researching all the ways that people were failed by their gods. They could be so cruel, disproportionately cruel compared to the benefit they delivered. They had so much power at their disposal and they were unwilling to contribute fully to their followers. If he had such ability he certainly wouldn’t be withholding.
‘Can I be excused from the classes,’ he asked privately, approaching Estovia after the session was over, ‘I could do a self-study instead?’ He was rather eager to escape, hearing about things he already knew was so incredibly dull, and he could barely stay awake when the lights went down. ‘Hm. What sort of self-study were you thinking?’ Elske perked up, glad she at least wasn’t dismissing the idea out of hand. ‘I could interview people on their interactions and experiences with gods,’ he offered, trying his best to come up with something quickly that the teacher might accept, and that wasn’t too mundane for his interests. Estovia cocked her head, glasses glinting under the sterilizing lights. Fluorescent was never flattering. ‘Why don’t you write up a full proposal, including an interview list and then we’ll talk.’
Elske toiled over his list, ‘what about Darstu?’ Uso offered, looking over her oldest son’s shoulder, his pencil tapping on the near empty section he had designated to listing potential interviewees. ‘I suppose she is a good candidate,’ Elske replied slowly. Darstu was their local librarian, she had traveled pretty widely in her youth and would be the perfect candidate, actually, but unfortunately for Elske she talked incredibly slowly. His list ended up being topped with Darstu, including as well some of the oldest generation, a few immigrants from other societies that had traveled to their city and simply never left, and a smattering of people that had experienced the so-called miracles. He also included some of the older kids from the class above. A treat for himself, a way to talk to people more close to his own age.
The religious history teacher herself was an immigrant, and seemed particularly flattered when she noticed she was on his list, signing off on the project rather quickly. ‘Let me know when you're ready for my session, alright?’ she said cheerfully, with a flourish of her feathered pen on the self-study form.