The Four Horsemen of Apocalypse

It's time. They are here.


11. -Why

Why all of the starving? Why the lack of food? Why is it now, why not later? I'm young, so they tell me. I need food to live. Otherwise I'll starve, before I reach adulthood. That's what they tell me, but I've stopped feeling hungry. My ribs are visible almost the whole time now, my once fitting clothes baggy over my frail frame. I don't want to die, but I feel as though my end is near.

A young boy ran through the streets, bare feet flying over the warm pave stones. People stopped and stared at his ragged clothes, his visible ribs, his gaunt face. He didn't really care.

The city was large; the perfect choice. So many hundreds of thousands, just waiting. Just waiting for him. He almost laughed as people offered him food- why would he need it? Why would he, of all people, need it? Sure, he looked starved, but inside he was as full as he could be. The whole time.

He held his scales, weights swinging from where they hooked onto the thin metal bar. Lots of people stopped him, curious about why he held such an ancient method of weighing. He simply smiled at them, and said a few simple words. "Ancient? This is modern compared to me."

He ran through the whole city, searching. Looking. Waiting. He found himself in a dead end. The boy frowned, before pelting at full speed towards the wall in front of him. His feet changed orientation, and he ran up the side of the building. He jumped just before the lip of the roof, rising upwards and landing softly on the roof. Then, he continued his journey on the rooves. He leaped between the gaps, flying over the city of London below. No matter how far, he always made it to the other side. None of the weights fell from the scales.


He came to a stop in the suburbs, dropping down swiftly into the street, bare feet digging into the soft earth beneath. A house was in front of him, an old house. Smashed stone was underneath one of the over hangings. Hoof prints were singed into the tarmac beneath. The boy smiled a knowing smile, before setting off again. She was nearby.

The boy rounded a corner, to be met by a house aglow with human lights. It glowed an orange-yellow. He stepped up into the porch, before knocking on the door. He waited a few moments, hearing footsteps within, and something dragging along the floorboards. He was met by a tall red-haired woman, with a scowl on her face. War held the sword behind her, resting it on the floor. The scowl evaporated as she saw who had made themselves known, and she motioned for the boy to enter. He did so, holding his scales close to him.

"So, Famine. What brings you here?" War asked, sitting herself down on one of the sofas, crossing her legs. How ladylike. The boy- Famine, looked up.

"Have you been noticing anything strange going on, recently?" He asked, his face looked aged, and not quite so boyish. War tilted her head, hair falling to the side. She regarded the older spirit with interest.

"Define... Strange?" She glanced around, smile at some sort of private joke. That or, Famine thought, she was just being herself. Probably the latter.

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