The Ritual of Chud

“Money is the root of all evil.”
–Common Saying

         
         The Ritual of Chüd began, more or less, when corruption decimated a lowly, unsecured town in the land called Honah Lee.
         Honah Lee was a good land, fair and bright. I went sailing there long ago, when it was possible to travel by ship, in the days of the machines. Now, during these times, Honah Lee is unnoticeable. It can’t be detected by radar, and it can’t be seen with man’s naked eye. It only appears to those who wait. And if went detected, it is said, the island would explode, never to be discovered again. Most notable by modern scholars, it is likened to El Dorado, the legendary city of gold, of which the Spanish conquistadores searched long, and hard, for.
         And they found nothing.
         I visited Honah Lee while on vacation in Hawaii, during the summer season. It was there that I learned of its origins, its people, and its horrific destruction. I, fortunately, wrote down a manuscript of this event—which the Hawaiians called “The Ritual of Chüd”—a truly apocalyptic destruction, hard to tell, but a very fascinating story.
         I shall now relate the events that happened, as told to me by Hawaiian scholars of magnificent importance.

         The town of Chüd, the capital of Honah Lee, was a large, circular village, built in a clearing. The circle has a road made of bricks, colored a brilliant gold, of which stems many intersections into unknown areas. In the center of this village road, there is a tower, also made of golden brick. This tower, it is said, is so large that it can touch the heavens. Its stories, if I remember correctly, are about two-hundred or more. The tower had many appendages, from which red flags waved in the wind.
         Surrounding the circular realm were many wooden houses, of the poorest quality. They were colored beige, with red, thatched roofs and wooden doors. Surrounding the outer perimeter of these houses were several oak trees, possibly leading into a forest of some sort. Above the tower, at least, over or covering the peak, the sky was bright blue; clear, despite a few lingering clouds.
         The residents of Chüd were polytheistic, and worshiped two main gods. One was a dragon, said to live in the sea, and the other was Sol, a sun god, who is said to ride a golden chariot, equipped with four golden horses. This chariot is said to ride across the sky during the early-morning, and bring sunlight to the island. The chariot repeats the course when the moon wishes to be awaken. Sol’s course begins west, and ends east.
         The town of Chüd is governed by a king. This king is said to be arrogant and ineffective. He also regularly practiced the sin of Covetousness, which led him to be a tyrant rather than a holy monarch. To describe him is rather offensive, but for the sake of argument, I shall anyway. His body is rotund; literally, for his whole body was completely egg-shaped. He wore a purple robe laced with white fur, possibly from an animal. His pants were red, tightly wrapped around his slick abdomen, covering his relatively thin legs (reader, I also must mention that his appendages were thin, and not proportional to his body).
         His countenance was made to scorn, for he wasn’t a handsome fellow, but he always smiled. He bore a mustache and heavy, black eyebrows. His nose, of exquisite importance, was red like a cherry, oval-shaped with large nostrils. The glaze in his dark eyes was noticeable; his eyes made the countenance, and anyone feared to look at them. He had no hair upon his head. The tone in his skin was very pinkish, very pig-like.
         Upon his head was a golden crown, also laced with white fur, made of the purest gold. His hands were covered with brown gloves, and he wielded a golden staff in his right hand. And since this king was so highly regarded by the residents of Chüd as “heavenly,” he called himself King Apollo, even though his birth-name was Eggbert Humperdoodle.
         Now this king, even though excessively covetous already, wanted more. He wanted more gold things of the highest desire. He long wished to be a companion of Sol, to ride in his shining, golden chariot. In fact, this king wanted Sol’s chariot, and even preached the matter to the residents of Chüd. And when such occurrences happened, the tower’s many rooms—I shall say the many thousands of them—erupted in a tumultuous uproar, thereby ignoring the greedy king. Therefore, King Apollo ordered every room to be shut, every window to be closed, with the aid of a wooden plank and a nail.
         With the obsession of Sol’s chariot thus engaging his brain, King Apollo determined himself to climb his tower, reach the heavens, and speak with the sun-god himself. Every resident, however, regarded him now as morbidly obese, and would laugh if he only got himself a foot of the road, and fell to within an inch of his life.
         Regardless, the obese king made his obsession a reality, and as every resident had their eyes glued upon their hapless king, the sun glowed brightly, exuberating a brilliant day; every resident watched in excitement, like it were a reality show, where no one actually wins.
         So the covetous king began to climb his tower, and when he reached only a foot off the ground (as purposefully prophesied), he said to the residents of the town of Chüd:
         “Dis be the gweatest day ov mine life  Here be I clim-bing my gweat tower, in dearch ov the gweat soon-god, Sow  Iv I fall to dweath, please do not cwy for me  For mine life is gweat and tewwible  Mine Voyal Coun-cil vill sabe me from dweath ”
         And off the scoundrel went.
         Even though his impeccable speech was not interpretable, he sounded resilient and childish. The residents of Chüd felt virtually sorry for the poor fellow. All the staring eyes watched him—never moved, never blinked—as the king climbed higher and higher.
         Higher and higher he climbed  It is such an improbable feat for a normal human being to accomplish  However, there he went, the king, higher and higher up his golden tower—never tiring, never slipping  It was an almost perfect scale of the tower  And, from what I was told, the king did have an elevator within the tower, but he refused its aide, for to better fulfill his divine purpose to talk with the deity.
         After about forty days and forty nights, King Apollo—formerly Eggbert Humperdoodle—climbed the full length of his golden tower.
         The residents, as I am told, were flabbergasted, for the king never ran out of a single breath went he reached the improbable summit. And strange it was or a morbidly obese king  It is said that he jumped repeatedly in excitement, for joy had overcome him, for he could finally meet Sol tête-a-tête. He clapped his hands joyously, waved his wand with all his might. And when all was said and done, the mighty king raised his hands toward the sky, and said:
         “Cvome to me, oh gweat Sow  I vish to speak wit do ”
         Nothing happened. No thunderous voice, no golden chariot. This angered the king, and he stamped his feet angrily. The residents down below grew utter disappointment, and shut themselves up within their petty houses. As for the king, he grew so angry that his eyes boiled and his skin turned a darkened red.
         He lifted himself upon a golden appendage, and leaped onto the steeple. He wrapped his frail arms and obese body around the thin, steel bar, and warped his happy face into a one of pure anger and terror. He waved a cocked fist toward the sky, and climbed again.
         This time, when he reached the summit, he balanced himself perfectly upon the sharp point of the steeple. He sat his fat tush upon the sharp point—and, as I was told—it didn’t bother him at all. Then this king, in a fit of rage, waved his fist again, and shouted a slur of impeccable gibberish in his naive tongue. With all the force possible, he grabbed his staff with both of his hands, waved it like a sword, and brought it to the surface of the sky.
         That was a very big mistake.
         For was the king’s wand touching the surface, it stuck there, immovable. And as this greedy king was angered more, he clung to his golden staff, and the sky released its grip, leaving a large, gaping hole in the heavens. He fell onto is pushy-tush, and a booming voice rang out:
         “DO YOU DARE FACE THE WRATH OF THE GODS? OH MIGHTY KING OF THE LAND OF CHÜD, YOU ARE APPALLING TO THE GODS, AND YOU WILL BE PUNISHED FOR YOUR SINS, BY THE WRATH OF THE MIGHTY SOL; FOR HIS GOLDEN CHARIOT SHALL NEVER SHINE AGAIN ”
         With those words of the gods, King Apollo lost his balance upon the edge of the golden tower. He circled his arms, trying with all his might to regain his position. Then thunder ensued, causing a great wind. The thunder was loud, and it hurt his ears. He surrendered, apparently, for the great wind pushed him off the edge of the tower.
         And he fell. He fell for infinity, it seemed. He screamed bloody murder, his mouth wide open, his dreadful eyes shut tight. All the residents watched. They watched and waited for the impact. Like the ascension, the declension was for forty days and forty nights.
         King Apollo fell for all two hundred stories.
         The landing impact was gruesome. He landed with such a tumultuous impact that the road created a miniature earthquake. The blow was hard and devastating. Dust rose all around. Every resident watched in amazement. When the dust cleared, they saw their king. They saw him broken into two distinct, separate pieces. One half was his head, the other his abdomen. Blood was sprayed everywhere, from the base of the tower to the many blotches on the houses. His head had many lines carved into it. His final countenance was full of sorrow and sadness, his brows forming a blade, yet he had a sinister smile upon his ugly face. He existed no longer.
         And as the residents of the town called Chüd celebrated in glorious excitement—at the death of an unruly tyrant—thunder ensued once again. And as the quiet little town rejoiced, again, thunder boomed, and rain fell in hard, drenching sheets. All the residents, after their monotonous dancing, locked themselves within their homes. Then a great quake followed, screams accompanying its arrival.
         Then the quiet little town of Chüd, the capital of the island called Honah Lee, was destroyed with humongous bolts of devastating electricity and being eaten by the roar of an angry fire. It was a big, bright showcase of electricity and fire—a brilliant display of phenomena. Balls of fire continuously bombarded the town in various volleys; the bolts of lightening booming with each strike, followed by the quaking of the sky.
         Then the ritual of the gods ended, and it rained for a hundred years. Sol never rose again, and the golden chariot ceased to exist