The Four Horsemen of Apocalypse

It's time. They are here.


3. --Are

Are they crying? Are they sad? I do not know. All I know has been surrounded by death. Everything I was has gone. My family has disappeared. I am alone, ready to be consumed by he who comes for all. He or she, that is. Who knows what the world will present to us. All I know is that it is presenting me to Death.

She wandered through streets, winding between roads. Everyone parted to let her through. Mothers stood protectively in front of their children. Fathers protected their families from her. Death smiled with satisfaction. People, humans, should fear Death. Everyone should fear her. The Grim Reaper, some called her.

She turned down one last street. The city was dwindling now, along with the day, light and sun. The shadow of the moon was in the sky, hanging in the sky like a ghost. Whistling, she moved into a garden. The house in front of it was said to be haunted- perfect for her to use for herself.

No one dared live there, and so Death could leave things there quite freely without people stealing them. After all, the fact that she visited kept most away, and reinforced the fact that there might be ghosts there.

A faint galloping could be heard, growing louder and louder, before a shadow appeared. Death looked with satisfaction as the ghastly figure cantered down the street, giving off a sickly green glow. She lowered her hood, revealing the long black hair beneath, braided in a plait at the back. Her blue eyes twinkled. The skeletal horse stood before her, rearing whilst letting out a horrible, screeching bray. She rested her hand on the horse's skull, feeling the sharp scars in the bone. He was much older than her, he had been with every Death. Everyone who had assumed the role. After they had received the... curse, he would find them, but not before staying with the old Death.

Death herself frowned, thinking of her life before she 'took' the 'job'. Faint memories came to mind, swirling in her head and, as she tried to grab for them, swirled back into the dense fog of her mind. She felt cool bone against her ear and looked up to find her horse nuzzling her, and heard the faint voice in her mind.

"One must not think of the past. It clouds the judgement."

'Voice' was a loose way to put it. The horse's voice was more like many, joined together to form one. He had once told her that he was the gatekeeper of the human's heaven, and that she was for their hell. The truth was that there was only one gate. He was the gatekeeper, while she collected the strays. Occasionally, at the more important deaths, like that of a king or something, or even a simple murder or suicide, Death would attend. She looked up at the horse, which had been with her for the last hundred-and-fifty-odd years. "Why don't you tell me your name?"

"I, we, do not have a name. Simply refer to me, us, as he or you."

"That's what you always say to me." She said, climbing onto his back. He snorted into reply, and ran off, fading as he did so with his rider.

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