Organic Thoughts, Uncategorized

Revelation 6

Under a sun-drenched palm, tally marks carved deep into its core, four horseman sit stranded. 

A black horse stands beside a pooling of grass. Inside, Famine weighs each blade against each other with his scale. He can't seem to come to a logical conclusion.

"Should the flourishing sections of growth mean any more than the dried up spots where the sun doesn't shine?"

Crouched down, and consumed in thought, a thudding echo shakes the green and tan strands, fluttering them from his fingertips.

Snarling in the shadows, excited hooves under fiery red crackling hair, stomp the ground. Aside his steed, War squares his stance, facing the earth, to punch his way through the sand.

"I will make you feel this. I do not deserve this purgatory."

Enraged, he slams his fist into the shifting soil, creating a crater that stretches a mile wide, and yet, in an instant it envelops back to where it was, the place where his longest knuckle met the first particle of sand.

He smiles as sweat beads down his brow,

"You bastard, I'll make you remember me."

He continues to pound his soul into the surface, feeling his strength diminish, watching the earth explode, only to be returned to its softest point, as if he'd never fed it in the first place. 

Approaching on the shoreline, growths of vegetation begin withering away in an instant wave. A colorful array shrunken to gray as if the leaving in life had washed over them. 

Walking alongside his pale mare, with Hades dragging his feet and hanging his head in follow, Death walks the perimeter of the island, from day to night. The vibrant landscape erases just enough in the distance for him to see a horizon of bountiful bliss, but never close enough for him to gain focus as his presence saps life from all.

He chooses to stare at the sand.

As he reaches his tortured brethren, a light emerges through the foliage that encompasses and encases the island's center.

Upon his horse, The White Rider, black droplets of oil dripping from his crown, engulfs his trail with flame and seedlings.
Approaching in the wake of his conquests, he towers over his fellow figures.

He stutters,

"It is time."


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