James U. Rizzi
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I cant wait to see what I can create here.
Achievements (1)
Stories (53)
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Harbinger of Despair
Who was he but just a man? To feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, he was no Atlas. Yet his bowed stance and tender neck suggested otherwise. It came to him in a dream: the absent stoking of an everlasting flame. A gnarled finger pointed towards an inevitable end, a sign that couldn't be ignorantly shaded; recurrence made sure of it. He didn't remember how long it had been going on; time didn't matter at this point. He just knew it was long enough to be petrified to fall asleep.
By James U. Rizziabout an hour ago in Fiction
A Love Forboding. Top Story - January 2026.
The chipped stone slope caused unbearable footing. I slid, skirting on my heels. I cast my shield, relinquishing my guard to stay upright. Left with my double-edge and a prayer to the maker, I skated toward my objective. The earthly stubble gave way to solid ground. I found myself restored, a trail of dust in my wake.
By James U. Rizzi2 months ago in Fiction
Flying Feathers. Honorable Mention in Leave the Light On Challenge.
Dear Journal, I know I've neglected you as of late, but in all fairness, it's been a hectic summer. That being said, I have time now, and an ideal freshness of the events that took place that fateful summer night. Before the most prominent memories fade and become footnotes to a nostalgic memory, I'd like to document the incident that occurred in the final days of our time at sleep-away camp. To the best of my ability, the following is the complete recollection of the greatest pillow fight ever to exist (probably), complete with (hopefully close enough) dialogue from my comrades and a first-person point of view of the carnage that befell the hollowed campgrounds.
By James U. Rizzi7 months ago in Fiction
Butterflies in the Winter
Grace: "They say grief never goes away, it only changes." I can't tell you how many times I've heard that line. Even as I repeat it back to myself in times of spiraling affliction, it does nothing to calm the discourse. It only halts the inevitable chain of thought —a cycle that returns when I stub my consciousness against a distant memory. Even as the doctor desperately tries to help me navigate my loss, that proverbial saying is pointless, because nothing has changed.
By James U. Rizzi8 months ago in Fiction
Dear Family
James Rizzi In-house Expert TO: [email protected] EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY: I am writing to formally inform you that I am resigning from my position as an in-house expert. Through the years I have acquired an assortment of speculatory acquisitions. These acquisitions would see me as the family go-to representative for a plethora of questions in a selective number of expertise. However, by no means am I qualified or knowledgeable enough to answer any of the asked-about subjects. Below I have listed the particular expertise that I plan to relinquish with feedback included for the sake of future working conditions, or for new potential employees (most likely my brother).
By James U. Rizzi10 months ago in Journal
Party Foul. Top Story - March 2025.
“Who is this person again?” I calmly asked as I adjusted my unruly boxers for the twentieth time. “A friend from college, I told you, a sorority sister. We went to their wedding, remember? The one in Italy?” Of course, how could I forget? Star-crossed lovers from the Midwest opted out of a thirty-minute drive to their local church so they could force three hundred people to buy a 1500-dollar plane ticket, yeah I remember. “And Jason remember, her husband, you and him hit it off?” We in fact did not hit it off. I clocked Jason from a mile away, slick-backed hair, Oakleys hanging from his pastel color shirt. Speaking with him only affirmed my assumptions: trust fund baby with a high seat at his daddy's company table. I was shocked he could even talk with that silver spoon in his mouth.
By James U. Rizzi12 months ago in Humor
Touching Grass. Top Story - January 2025.
“You know... You know, Marjorie, the ironic thing is that if people had access to their social media, they’d realize that the Sensitive Data Act is the biggest threat to American freedom since the Fake News Bill of 2042. An absolute infringement and desecration of our rights.”
By James U. Rizziabout a year ago in Futurism
Disarmament . Top Story - April 2024.
They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzi2 years ago in Fiction
