Before Me Was a White Horse

As I slid into my white Ford Mustang, I wondered if I should start wearing a glove over my left hand. I would spend less time in annoying conversations and more time ridding the Earth of the damned. My performance to date had not been stellar.

There are those who would call me Pestilence. Though I prefer the term “Conqueror” – the result is the same. I wanted to be Famine, but they gave that to a morbidly obese man, given in to irony as they are. They said I was suited for the Conqueror, and frankly I was okay with that, because it’s a catchy title, and I get to wear the crown and carry the bow.

I delivered death and pain to the damned via disease from my left hand. Sometimes their end would come quickly, but sometimes it was a long and painful demise.

Most people misunderstood the Horsemen. We were always meant to be merely the tools of delivering God’s Judgement to the damned. I had to be better.

I pulled into the front of the elementary school just as the final bell rang and the children poured out.

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