[ IP ] The Incoming Storm

Their hoof-beats were like thunder, booming through the air. Their nostrils snorted fire as the contrails lit up the night. High above, in the blue-black skies, these horsemen rode dutifully delivering parcels of death and destruction to the doorsteps of the unfortunate. Through the stinging rain and blistering winds, through bare light and pitch of night, the horsemen carried on. Nothing stopped their onslaught. I remember trembling at the sound of them, the thoughts that crept in my head. No more. In this land of perpetual night, where the smoke and ash hangs heavily in the air, I welcome them. 
 
 Each time they roar past, I look to the skies and close my eyes, arms open wide. They remain far from reach. I can see it in the others as well. We look up as one looks to God. We're seeking our salvation, an exit from this miserable existence, even with a fiery end. The darkness, the loss, it wears on you. Its the little things that I miss most. All I can do is scavenge for scraps of metal and food to pass the time. We've lost track of the days since the sun was snuffed out. Every day it seems to get colder. When our legs are too weary, we huddle together for warmth. Not out of a closeness, but of necessity. I do n't even know their names. I doubt I could hear them anyway. 
 
 Our masks are clogged with the debris of the dead and dying, our visors permanently tinted black. I can even feel it leeching into my memories. I'm surrounded by a slew of survivors, but I've never felt more alone. I used to have a home, a family, friends. I could complain about long hours in the office or when traffic was moving too slow. Even if I complained now, I do n't know that they'd listen. That my complaints would even matter. As I sit atop a smoldering pile of concrete and steel, I can see where the wheat once grew. Entire fields draped in yellow and gold now sits barren. The only things we cultivate now are loneliness and despair. 
 
 With nothing to look forward to, no semblance of our past, we continue traversing these war stricken lands. When the skies light up and their hooves storm, I'll turn my head upwards in search of my prize. All I can do is wait for the day that my deliverance comes, the day that we're saved. I pray to you, horsemen of the modern world, that our rescue be as swift and painless as your aim is tried and true. 
 
 -333
