[ WP ] The Apocalyptic Horsemen 's time is nigh . Riding across the globe from the four compass points , the region of your residency is where they are predicted to intersect .

Forgive me if I misunderstand the format of the writing or comments, this is my first time. 
 
 It had always felt so distant, the Apocalypse. Always, when I erred, I knew there was time, but looking at the scarlet hued sky above me, my thoughts had been religiously altered for me. There was not a thing man or creature alike could do now except bow down and find whatever solace still held true in a world on the brink of collapse. 
 
 Amidst a roaring rumble which pervaded the fragmented Heavens, I noticed a veering ranger beaming across the sky. Each of the cardinal directions held a representative, one more factor to ensure the demise of my civilization, and what a place. Oh, how the universe had revolved around me in those selfish times with friends, family, and loved ones, and sweet irony has placed its deleterious disintegration squarely upon my home. I began to laugh as Nero did. 
 
 The first man bore pestilence; locusts and typhoons and swarms rose and diminished in his path. A black swirl accustomed itself to the horseman ’ s maneuvers. Behind this entity, lotus flowers shriveled and decayed instantaneously. As he swept down from hundreds of feet in the air, I felt how as if a helicopter settled itself mere feet from me. Wind blew into my face, but forcefully. Something aurally weakening this being held. He set foot on my driveway in front of me, his horse a mere skeleton with fiery and rancid breath. Peering past the now stationary figure, a shaded distortion of my previously known horizon existed: one which left the warm, empyrean existence of life behind. This titan bore a pitch robe and coat of arms across his torso, a black snowflake-shaped icon. 
 
 Others scrambled equally to his side, sternly under those opaque hoods I would imagine. I thought about my readings, my faith, and most importantly, my family as I stood there without fear, but simply in paralyzed ambiguity as I tried to make sense of this. This could not be a prank, and was not a hallucination. It was actually happening, the End of Times. But whose hand guided this? Thoughts flowed through my head at miles per second, as I had simulated thought and conversation after thought and conversation, though these figures just stood staring down at me from four eight-foot statures. I didn ’ t look at my watch, and I certainly dared not step away. It could have been seconds, minutes or hours. A sentiment of Shakespeare came to mind: something wicked this way comes indeed. 

