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He is me. I am him. We are one... |
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I stand on my porch the phone in my hand. On the other end is the crying voice of my lover. She says that she loves me, she says that she wants it all to end. Putting the phone back to my ear I swallow hard trying to dislodge the lump in my throat. I tell her I love her, that I always will and that we'll be together in the afterlife. I hear her crying on the other end and it almost drives me to tears. I tell her to be calm, I tell her to accept what's comming, and then the line goes dead.
I toss the phone inside and walk out from my porch onto the concrete. It's warm even though the sun is not out. The air is humid and hot, my throat is parched. Swallowing nothing I stare into the sky which has turned the colour of blood and I watch as the blackened clouds swill around.
You hear this day comming, 'The End', from people on the streets. But you never know when it will come or how it will come. Now it has finally come. The end of all humanity, the end of the world. In my hand I hold a book, my only weapon. It was givin to me by my friend, my Christian friend, who is now dead on my porch. He was struck down by Ebola, yet I remained immune to it. I stare at this book, the book he called my 'weapon'. The Holy Bible is it's name, the tales of Jesus and what might happen at the end.
I shake my head and toss it back onto my porch. I am not a religous man, not by far. But I know when something cannot be beaten, when something is undefeatable. I close my eyes and wait for the end when I hear it. The screeching of horses.
Above me rides four. One on a horse of white, another on a horse of black, another on a horse of red and the last riding a horse the colour of sickly death. They seem to fly overhead and kill all that they see.
The one on the horse of white rushes in front of them all, conquering and wanting to conquer. He carries with him a bow and on his head is a crown that was given unto him. He flies like a man on a mission, a mission to overthrow, a mission to destroy and a mission to conquer.
Behind him the horseman on the red. He is large, amazinglly large. In all this chaos I still make a note to wonder why such a giant man could sit on a horse such as that. And so I watch as the horsemen on the red swing his giant sword, decapitating and causing destruction throughout the world. With him flies the power to disrupt and destroy the peace of the world, to kill and to have others kill.
The next to fly is the horsemen on the black. He is small, and he carries a pair of balances in hand. He flies overhead causing others under him to starve and wither away to nothing. I watch the starving squirm and look towards me asking me to feed them, to help them. I don't, and my stomach churns at the sickness inside me.
And finally the last man on the horses. The one riding the pale horse, the horse of dead flesh. And with him he carries a scythe. I remember him, I've seen him in movies and read of him in books. He is the bringer of death, he is the one that cleanses the sick of the pain.
He turns and stares at me. My throat tightens as I look into his face. I know that face. I know who this rider is. I nod and accept my fate. I accept what I am, who I am. I accept what I must do.
...I ride the pale horse of death and I clense the earth of it's life. I stand in front of the burning rubble that is the world I used to be part of. Closing my eyes I feel a tear roll down my cheek before I accept my new life. Standing in front of the seal that we were released from we are sent back to the hell we came from. For we are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. And I am Death.
 Eskeshehir · Tue Mar 14, 2006 @ 09:08pm · 2 Comments |
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