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I can tell you what the apocalypse looks like, and let me tell you, the end will not be borne by four horsemen. Rather, ushered in by a lone horseman, riding upon a chariot of smoldering steeds, a vulture circling over his bronze helmet as he approaches, a spear brandished in his hand. He does not let it fly, yet holds it ever at the ready to strike. But there is no one to strike; no one left to die, save myself. But he will not kill me, no, I have nothing to fear from this man, if he is indeed a man. Ari, he goes by, “the Leader of Righteous Men.” Unfortunately for Ari, there are no righteous men left; I am left, but I in no way can be considered remotely righteous, nor a man. I can’t even be considered a woman, no, I am a girl, a girl eternally alone.
I watch as Ari’s chariot descends, bright against the red sky, his descent graceful and yet violent at the same time. Hot hooves crash down onto smoldering asphalt but fail to remain still upon landing, they keep moving, constantly prancing upon the air; the vulture stops flapping its wings, though doesn’t land, instead it just hovers. Ari looks toward the horizon, devoid of humanity and beauty, at the ruins of a civilization that had been in decline since the very moment it sprung into being. He removes his bronze helmet from his head, worn and dulled with years of use, and turns his dark eyes to regard me. He smiles a devious smile, his teeth startlingly white, contrasting his dark eyes and hair.
“Still here I see.”
I shrug. “Nowhere to go.”
“Yes, well I suppose this world has gone a bit downhill hasn’t it? Not much to do, not much to accomplish. Although-,” he pauses, “Although, it is Saturday, shouldn’t you have a party to go to?”
I shrugged again; I seemed to do that often with Ari around.
“I’m not in the mood, and there’s no one left besides me anyway.”
Ari frowned and glared at me, not a real glare, a playful one, and devious, always devious.
“Well what the hell am I then? And what about all these lovely people?”
He gestured to the thousands of statues standing about the city square, or what had previously been. Some were individuals I knew, others were not. There stood a statue of my mother, about fifteen feet away, in a bed full of stone, and empty glaze over her eyes. Even here, not much has changed. Scattered about elsewhere were people I claimed to know and likewise who claimed to know me. Whether in reality any actually did is debatable.
“They’re not real,” I answer, “and as for you, I’m not sure. You’re an anomaly.”
“An anomaly you say? Hell, I sound like a science experiment. And I’ve always hated science. Sometimes I wonder whether I hate you as well.”
He looks at me blankly as he places his helmet back over his head. His steeds, raring to go, eagerly leap forth into the red sky and fly toward the even redder sun. The vulture stays a moment longer, blinking at me, questioning. Then, it too leaves, and I am left alone among all the red, ruin, and statues. This is the world post mortem, and I must admit, I hardly find a difference from how it was before.