Rizzo The Nihilizo

Friday, March 21, 8008

The Eve of Ruina

This is an unfinished short story that is going to be part of the collection, if I decide to do that. Or possibly I'll take this story a lot further, I have a lot of potential ways I can take this already lined up. Tell me your thoughts.

The Eve of Ruina

The Gods called upon him, and to their every whim he must answer them. He is their chosen one, the lone prophet of the true Gods, the true seer of knowledge. His name is Azaziah, his mission is the total conversion of all the peoples of this puny Earth. The world was to succumb to the will of the Gods and their avatar, but first the rituals must be preformed.

Entertainment for the night came in the form an act of Nature and the Gods so powerful and intense that it rocked the most materialistic-atheists and turned them into the Gods-Fearing mortals that they truly are. As Azaziah climbed the Great Hill of Babazola, he was battered with the strong force of the winds, their howls raging against him like a blood thirsty beast. It mattered not to him, he must reach the peak of this mountain before the climax of the storm, or everything would be ruined. Everything must go according to scripture, according to plan, according to the Gods.

The plan that Azaziah had in mind and the plan that the Gods held, though, was to be illuminated as quite different. The trek up the mountain was quickly taking its toll on the weary muscles and ground up bones of Azaziah, and his breath was growing heavy. Although his will for the most part stayed resolute and true, there were a few thoughts in the back of his mind urging him to just quit now, turn back, or even just lie down and die.

"You're an old man, Azaziah, but through the Gods will you shall have an Eternal life of bliss, with no weary muscles or broken bones." The prophet began speaking to himself, becoming delusional and hallucinating - or perhaps becoming incredibly lucid and perceiving reality through more facets than usually available to the human senses. In quite a short amount of time, the old man realized that the words came not from his mouth, but from the mouth of a prodigious Angel - or demon - messenger of the Gods.

"What is it that the Gods desire, O Angel of the most high?" Azaziah managed to speak his words through raspy breaths and coughing fits, continually plagued by the burden of the sand-mountain and the holy jihad of the wind.

"The Gods demand a sacrifice. A blood sacrifice." There was no emotion in the strong voice of the apparent Angel.

"A blood sacrifice? Where am I going to find an animal in time for the climax?"

The Angel said nothing, and Azaziah grew worried. As the grim realization finally dawned over him, his journey acquired a theme that was much more somber and stoic than the ecstatic, sensuous excitement that usually gripped his loins and his heart for this ritual. He knew that his body's leash to physical existence stifled his soul, it dampened the Holy Fire that burned deep within his chest. His body, his brain, his emotions, they all betrayed his true inner nature. By all rights he should be glad to die for his Gods in such a glorious manner, on the eve of destruction!

"Oh glorious eve of Gods waging war

The midnight sky to rage and roar

Much blood to spill and incense to be burned

A prophet shall die and much will be learned."

The Angel quoted from the most holy of Holy Scriptures, the Apocalypse of Babazola! Suddenly, his heart was filled no more with doubt, his will solidified as much as anything can be called solid, and the fire burned within. An unexpected gust of wind blew Azaziah over, causing him momentarily lay in the sand, staring up at the sky. The image that burned straight through his retinas and into the very fibers of his being would be the most profound experience of his life time, which was to end shortly.

In the night sky, a masterpiece of artwork was being crafted with utmost care and delicateness. Contrary to the subtle nature of the artist, the inherent spirit of the art was violent, chaotic, passionate, dangerous, deadly, and powerful. It was geometric, it was pre-historic post modernist, it was an abstract still life, it was a landscape painted as a portrait. It was, in fact, the most beautiful piece of art ever known to man. The title of this piece was, "Nature", the author of it, the Gods.

Dark, brooding clouds swirled around in a decadent display of a Deity’s delight; a cacophonous orgy of the elements hydrogen and Oxygen frozen by the high sky and made beautiful in their unity. The picturesque orgy in the clouds revealed some of the nature of the prophet's ordeal and the ritual of the Gods, the Eve of Ruina. Through the marriage of hydrogen and oxygen and the divorce of life from this Earth, an ecstatic and sensuous exhibition took place.

At the command of the messenger, Azaziah picked himself up off his feet and continued his ascent to the top of the Great Hill of Babazola. Upon reaching the summit, he checked his robes for his incense, but to his great dismay he found nothing. The Gods, however, provide for the faithful.

A strong gust of wind had apparently blown the remnants of some odd plant up the hill, and not to be one to spit in the face of good fortune, Azaziah quickly scampered over and gathered the brush.

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At Wednesday, January 21, 2009 3:40:00 AM, Anonymous genericyst said...


At Sunday, July 11, 2010 9:39:00 AM, Blogger Cody said...

So uh.. I can't find how I'd PM you on this and zoklet is like a tab away.. (pretty far u no?).

So a "friend of mine" found your blog, thought it was me.. and then decided I write poetry about fucking midgets.

Now, being a poet maybe I should do this some justice:

where does your midget live rizzo?
Where is his harbor on this I/O?

I can't seem to find him, nor his story.

I've looked through each horny piece of beetle poetry..

Still he's nowhere to be found. And sadly I'm left with a :(

tell me my love how I can discover the great..


GREAT piece of collaborative thought you may have conveyed. I'm interested in seeing what caused all the dismay


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