Rhiannon watched him as he sipped his coffee. He looked uncomfortable in this setting. He wasn’t used to being in a coffee shop. The distaste he felt at drinking his beverage was barely noticeable, but it was definitely there. She liked that she was able to observe these things, rather than merely knowing them. She ruminated on how odd it was for a god to enjoy feeling “human”. She took her eyes from him, glancing out of the window as she played with an empty sugar packet in an absent-minded fashion. She watched people outside. She knew everything there was to know about every single one of them. Even things they didn’t know themselves. But those things might as well be mere pages of statistics or numbers on computer printouts. It was the act of watching them that made them people. Talking to them and actually knowing them turned lists of characteristics and deeds into flowing prose that described lives that were spectacular, even at their most mundane. She watched as a girl walked by, her mind telling her that she was a dancer before going on to list all the styles she knew. She longed to actually watch her dance. She wanted to watch her legs bend as something more than data.
“Tell me a god story.”
“A what? What do you mean a ‘good story’?”
“No no, a god story. A story about some other god you know.” Julian leaned in, feeling conspirational. “I know it’s not all good deeds and whatnot. I’ve read some Greek myths.”
“Ah, I see.” Rhiannon leaned back and smiled. “You want some dirt! Well, I’ve got some great stories. Obviously I technically know all the stories about everyone ever. But the best ones I can tell are about the gods I knew. My favourite would have to be Wooly (at least that’s what we called him after this). He was the god of sheep for a while. Decided to gather some followers by helping out with a poor family’s harvest. All their sheep had died, but he made sure they still produced wool, so they could sell their wares.”
“That’s a pretty dull story…”
“It is. Until you get to the part where the sheep died because the family were too lazy to look after them. All they wanted was the meat. They proceeded to hack up all these sheep, despite all the wool they were still growing. A lamb chop that grows fur while you’re trying to eat it isn’t exactly appetising. And it definitely doesn’t make you praise the god that made it happen.”
Rhiannon stood at the bank of the river. She watched the ripples as the body sank, weighed down by bricks. She knew, in time, the ropes would decay and the body would float to the surface. There’d be a lengthy police investigation. Julian would have a go at her when he read it in the paper (the free one he got on the bus, he definitely wasn’t the type to pay to have opinions blithered at him). She’d tell him that she’d been there and had seen it happen and he’d demand to know why she had done nothing. She’d point out that she took a stance of non-intervention (though she sometimes did intervene, when it suited her) and he’d sigh and look indignant. He’d ask why she didn’t at least help the police catch the killer and she’d have to remind him that gods don’t exist when it comes to the British legal system. Someone who doesn’t exist can’t give evidence. She chuckled at the cynical joke he’d make in the future about swearing to herself to tell the truth. She’d actually sworn at “God” once. He’d refused to acknowledge that he’d spilt her drink and therefore definitely wasn’t going to buy her another one. It was quite a spectacular feat of linguistics. Only someone who knows (practically) every god in existence personally could blaspheme quite so forcefully and with such finesse.
“So, if you’re God, where does that leave everyone else?”
“I’m a god. There’s a fair few of us.” Rhiannon corrected him.
“Oh yeh?”
“Yep. There’s obviously the big players like Yahweh, Jesus, Allah…”
“Wait,” Julian interrupted, “are you saying that everyone’s right?”
“In a way, yes. All gods exist because people believe they exist. Some are more effective than others though. I mean, I’m sure a certain number of people believe that their lives are being controlled by small fuzzy bears, but they don’t exactly count for much.”
“So all the gods are man-made?”
“In a way. You made us and we made you. The same way that we created the universe yet exist within it. It’s like pulling a sock inside-out. No matter which way you go, you still have a sock and you can still stick your foot in it. It’s a perpetual cycle type thing. No end and therefore no beginning.”
“But you have such power! Surely that doesn’t come from simply being an idea…”
“Again, we have the power because you expect us to. You expect us to have the power because we do. You can’t ask whether the chicken or the egg came first, because the chicken is within the egg; from the moment it exists. And a chicken doesn’t come to be without starting off in an egg.”
Rhiannon was quite beautiful. Her face seemed ageless. She could easily be a girl in her early twenties, with a way of holding herself that suggested maturity. Or she could be a well-preserved woman in her thirties or forties (he dared go no further, for fear that she’d read his thoughts and feel insulted, though obviously that age would be a drop in the ocean compared to the actual time she’d spent in existence). Her hair was a deep auburn that glinted red when it caught the light, which it seemed to do at every possible moment. The frame of her hair made her pale green eyes seem even more piercing than their colour alone would suggest. Her body was just a toe over the line separating “slim” from “curvy” and though her plain white dress was loose and airy, it accented her curves perfectly. She was perfect in every way. But not a supermodel kind of perfect. She was a kind of ordinary perfect. The kind of girl who wakes up in the morning, rubs her eyes, and chucks on a hairband and you have to drag her back to bed because she’s too damn gorgeous to let go. Julian wondered if it were some sort of religious faux pas to find a deity attractive, let alone sexy. An internet search would probably turn up a fair amount of people who didn’t care, but he didn’t feel the need to find them.
“I was a Welsh god back in the day.”
“You don’t have an accent…”
“Neither does Anthony Hopkins; what’s your point?” Julian shrugged and she carried on “Anyway, I was only Welsh back then. I’ve moved on now, so obviously I’ve dropped the accent. Same as the whole horses thing. Though feel free to play that up if you’re trying to recruit any equestrians.”
“So, what kind of goddess are you now?”
“God. Not goddess. I’m only female because I choose to be.” Rhiannon looked wistful “I’m not sure what kind I want to be yet. I don’t think I could be a vengeful god. I think I’m much more on the Jesus end of the scale. I’m all about not being a dick to people so they’re not a dick to you, rather than because of some divine threat hanging over you.”
“Karma?”
“You could call it that. I’d more call it common sense. I’ve always thought sensibility was a much better way to lead rather than fear. People don’t forget sensibility when you’re not around; they can forget fear.”
“Well, you’ve definitely got the look down pat.” Julian nodded in the general direction of her loose white dress and sandals.
“Oh hush, it’s summer.”
“So, why did you help him? I mean, her.”
“Because she would’ve died otherwise!”
“No, I mean why help her as opposed to any number of animals that needed help?”
“I wanted a cat.”
“That’s it? You wanted a cat? Not out of some altruistic impulse to help others?”
“I’ve told you before, I’m not here to fix the world.” Rhiannon sighed “I wanted a cat, so I got one. It’s the same as if you went to an animal shelter. You want a cat, so you get a cat. You don’t adopt them all simply because they need help. Where would you put them?!”
“But you could help them all! You could help everyone and everything in the world!”
“And what would that achieve? I fix everything and then leave you all to your own devices and you mess it all up again. It’d be like adopting all those cats, only to set them free to live on the streets.”
“So you’re saying we’ve got to help ourselves? That seems a bit of an easy out to me.”
“I suppose it does, but it’s pretty much the only option. Freewill means deitic intervention has to be kept to a minimum. If we do one major thing for you, we might as well do everything else.”
“Hmmmm. So why am I now looking after her?”
“She peed in my sandals.”
The female counterpart to God made a bet with me the other day. It was only something simple; a dice roll, but the stakes were high. She offered me answers in exchange for worship. I lost, of course, and I succumbed to praising her. I began to follow her teachings and to blindly gamble with the souls of others. I set up a church in honour of her. I created traditions and iconography and I declared war on non-believers. Over time, I became fat and complacent and began to forget why I was doing such things. I no longer remembered that this had begun as a quest for answers. I lost my will and drive to understand. Instead it was routine and repetition I lived for. My religion became a footnote on my personal profile. I paid simple lip service to my promises of worshipping this deity I’d gambled with. But still each day, I gambled some more. More souls flocked to my cause and bolstered my church’s numbers. I do sometimes wonder if she’s still listening. I wonder if she remembers our bet. I’m sure she doesn’t remember the exact result, at least. It’s possible that lip service prayers and feigned devotion are all she needs.
I’m not sure who, or what, God is to me these days. I’ve always seen Him as the great reason behind things. Not as benevolent or anything, but just a reason. Just a reason that decided things like the speed of light, the fundamentals of life, the composition of elements, and other such things. I happily accept science and reasoning behind things. I don’t hold on to outdated ideas or take the Bible as holy law. I know that pi is 3.14… rather than simply 3. But why is it even that? Why not 3.15…? Why is mathematics so elegant if it has no apparent creator? I can understand that humans evolved to where we are via natural selection, but who decided to instigate that? I feel being religious these days is sometimes derided as unfashionable or (more worryingly) unintelligent. The idea of needing a superior being to instigate forces that are fundamental to nature is simply preposterous. Maybe it’s a slightly romantic notion to want there to be more than what is readily apparent to us, even in this advanced stage of our understanding. Maybe it’s foolish to care and to believe that the grand unified theory might be more than just an equation.
-Alice
I created a girl with no hands. I’m not sure why I did it really. It wasn’t because I forgot to include them or anything, it was very definite. I just decided not to give her hands. No palms or fingers. No knuckles or nails. She can’t pinch or scratch. She can’t use chopsticks. But then neither can a lot of people with a perfectly working set of hands. I’m not sure if I intended it as some sort of punishment or some demented experiment. Did I choose her hands because they’re the most useful? Or are they? Maybe her mouth would’ve been more of a hindrance to lose. Or perhaps her eyes. Maybe I should’ve removed everything but her hands. But then she wouldn’t really be able to live due to her lack of heart and brain and any kind of digestive system. I wonder if she misses them. I wonder if she can miss using things she’s never had. I wonder if she misses the little things the most. Things like clicking your fingers or tapping them against a wooden desk. I’m not sure if she even cares. But then, why should she? She’s just a cartoon.
-Alice
