From my current, flat conworld (relevant: it is an open space between two layers of "stone", i.e. there's a ceiling, and you can touch it):
...the Yellow looked over his latest work and declared it complete. The Red looked over his work and deemed it entertaining but ultimately insufficient, incorrect, and wrong. She did not tell the Yellow, but merely smiled.
The Yellow godman, full of himself, took the Red godwoman to his bed, and there were started the first humans.
These first humans grew and grew endlessly in paradise, where all is wide and open and empty. They grew until they were also like gods, and then they also looked over the Yellow's work. So impressed were they that they entered it. It was there that they first spied the sky and the sea and the land, the plants, and the animals. They learned from the sky and the sea and the land, the plants, and especially the animals, and here were started the second humans, who never grew to quite the same size.
The Yellow saw this happen, in his work, and he quickly closed the book in disgust, never to open it again.
If you look up, even now you can see the top of the world and the height of our shame. One prays the Red could start a fire more quickly.
This is basically the happiest religion ever. Ask the god who does literally nothing, it'll tell you. Or not.
