The Scotto Grotto (org)

Him That Hears The Voice of Big Nuknuk gazed worriedly into the sky for the tenth night in a row.

How had he displeased Big Nuknuk? The rituals had been followed and the sacrifices made following the dreams: The dreams that had shown great destruction and hardship and strife for the tribe.

He had gathered the tribe before Big Nuknuk, and for a day and a night chanted and drummed and made offerings to Him, so that He might show them favor, show them mercy. Him That Hears The Voice of Big Nuknuk had spent days prostrate before the idol, forsaking food and water that he might hear the Will of Big Nuknuk more clearly.

But still Big Nuknuk was silent, glaring balefully down at him from the night sky.

Each night a little more brightly, more full of rage and menace.

Coming closer.

*pan to sky*

Were the meteor possessed of intelligence it would have known of its imminent death, drawn to its doom by a force it could not comprehend.

Were it possessed of will, it would have raged, frustrated, pulled from its flight by a force it could not control.

Possessed of humor, it may well have appreciated the irony that it’s own death would bring about life.

Possessed of emotion, it would have drawn malicious pleasure from the chaos this new life was to unleash.

But it wasn’t.

Simply:

The meteor fell.

It burned.

It crashed.

And from its impact ripples coursed, as it bounced and twisted and tore its way across the land. Plates shifted and the land bucked and heaved. Cracks and fissures clawed their way across plains and through forests tearing asunder all in their path and allowing fire to fountain forth from deep in the wounds they left.

And as it finally rolled to a stop, all was still.

For a while.