This is the beginning of a novel about demigods and Greek mythology. This is also not the end of the chapter.
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History is much more interesting when your teacher’s immortal, especially if he can easily smite you for any misbehavior at any given time, despite the omnipresent threat of a lawsuit. We all thought it was a bit suspicious how a particularly awful thunderstorm always seemed to victimize the families that were going to sue, but the weatherman just wrote it off as global warming and/or the fact that our county was right on the border of Tornado Alley. He was a very effective threat, but really—who would have the audacity to fire a god?
Oh, wait. I was the only one who was aware that he was a god, because he was my uncle, and one of the key components of an increasingly dysfunctional extended family.
“Ah, the Visigoths.” he started class dreamily one day, with such fondness that it was off-putting. My classmates visibly relaxed and leaned back in their chairs, because they knew that he was in a relatively good mood. Of course, it was only for the reason that the Visigoths destroyed the Roman Empire, which I was force-fed by my father to hate. It was bizarre how a group of sweaty, dirty, pillaging thugs could make a man so happy. “Is anyone aware of the importance of the Visigoths?”
He pursed his lips in disappointment from the lack of response, shifting his narrowed gray eyes. This was a simple and common reaction, and yet, it was his most dangerous. I raised my hand, nervous and self-conscious. He nodded his head in my direction. “Miss Papadakis?”
“The Visigoths,” I began with a cautious, movie-esque gulp, “were the band of thugs that destroyed the Roman Empire and led to the Dark Ages, right?”
He nodded again. “I’m glad one of you is smarter than the average fish.” He smirked in my direction. My face flushed, blood boiling over the cryptic and subtle insult.
“Thanks.” I told him curtly. He smirked again and moved on, talking to the rest of the class like they were a group of educationally challenged third graders, and he was some sort of genius when really, he taught sophomore world history.
I leaned back in the hard, blue plastic chair connected to my desk and crossed my arms, confirming to myself that he was, in fact, the most smug person I’d ever met in my life. Usually, excuses were made for him (“Klytie, old habits die hard. People never change.”), but today, I was pretty pissed that their petty sibling rivalry had gone as far as insulting the newer generations on a daily basis. Even the usual thrill of being the only one who knew the right answer was gone. I bit down hard on my lip until I could taste the metallic, copper-tasting first traces of blood.
“Basically, the Roman Empire was self-destructing with the help of the Visigoths. This made the Dark Ages start,” he chuckled.
