In Love with Death

Chapter 2: To Become a Horseman

"No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold

Nothing satisfies me but your soul..."

~ Jen Titus, O' Death

***

Chapter 2

Anna stood quietly as she stared at the spot where Mr. Mortimer had disappeared into the woods, clutching her burned hand gently to her chest. She was deep in thought. Why had this Strange Man been so nice to her? Why had his lips burned a mark on her hand when he bestowed a kiss? Why was he dressed in black? Questions like these were going on an endless loop in her head. But, these questions were producing more queries and she wasn’t getting any closer to finding her answers.

She had no idea where to start nor which question to start with.

As she looked down at the lip-shaped burn on the surface of her hand, she started her ‘research’ with the impossible. Could he possibly be some sort supernatural being?

Maybe he’s my angel, Anna thought to herself. Wait, angels don’t hurt people with bare skin… do they? Okay, maybe the angels I’m thinking about are out of the question. Maybe a Dark Angel? Dark Angels… people avoid them, I think. Yes, maybe he’s a dark angel, fallen from the Heavens. But what could the nice Strange Man have done in order to have fallen?

Thoughts like these were reeling through her head as she continued to stare at the spot where Amos had vanished into the woods. She was determined to find more about what he was, even if it took her entire life.

***

“You always have a choice, Amos,” God spoke, his voice deep and grated like gravel against Amos' ears.

The man with dark, slightly greying hair, and a hooked nose, also known as Amos, looked around at the others presented with the same choice.

To become a Horseman of the Apocalypse.

There stood Pestilence, the disease ridden fool. Where once had been a handsome young man of thirty, now stood a man with rotting skin, scabbing burns and browned teeth. His clothing consisted of all shades of the earth, from a mud-colored tunic to trousers the color of dying grass and the stench that followed him was nearly overwhelming.

Then there was War, a man of over ninety with pure white hair that stretched down to mid-back and a white beard that looked made of the most coarse horse hair that could be found. He wore a white roman toga, crinkled along the edges with frayed hems. Both the clothing and his hair were matted with dried blood, and he had an easily distinguished war-induced gaping hole in his midsection.

Famine was a thin boy, barely over the age of sixteen. He was all skin and bones with pale lips, blonde hair and eyes as dark as night. His clothing was much too large for his small frame. His cheeks were gaunt, showing off his high cheekbones, and his skin was tightly stretched across his body. His bones were easily seen poking through the skin, looking as if at any moment, they would tear right through the thin barrier.

And then there was Amos. He wore dark clothing, as dark as possible, in fact. He had a slightly hooked nose, shallow, pale skin and an obsidian gaze. Easily the most handsome out of the four, for many reasons, but he wasn't sure of his choice and couldn't decide as quickly as the other three had.

If he became a Horseman, never would he be able to come into contact with a living, breathing organism again without scarring it, or even possibly killing it. He would forever be surrounded by these four men. The All-Mighty God, War, Pestilence and Famine. If he so chose to not become a Horseman, then he'd be sent to Earth, able to lead as normal a life as any of the neanderthals below.