Six years ago, when I was about nine, my primary school class studied ancient Greece. We did the usual stuff- the scientific contributions, the art, the mythology. One afternoon we had a lesson on the gods, which I very much enjoyed. I was thinking about how cool and badass Zeus was with his lighting bolts and toga, and in came the local reverend to tell us a story from the Bible. (In retrospect, this should never have happened and I should have used my seat on the pupil council to prevent this and the Christian songs in assembly from ever happening ever again, but I didn’t really notice at the time.) I paid little attention to the reverend, thinking about Zeus and Hermes and Aphrodite and Hades and Poseidon and how much better they were than this capital-G ‘God’ that the reverend was talking about. But I still knew that they were the wrong gods and the one in the bible was the right one, the real one. After all, if he was just another story like Apollo and Ares, why would we sing his praises every Monday and pray to him every day before lunch? It was then that it hit me. The god that the Reverend was talking about was just another story. He was no different from Zeus and Poseidon: just as false, just as much a story. That is when I became an atheist.