The Four Horsemen Part 3

They huddled in that upper room for more than a month, almost driven mad with the visions of merciless chaos that their mothers had left them. One morning they found a stack of canvasses, paints, and pens by the door - the door that would remain locked during their stay. Show us, the note on top of the pile had said. Death nodded and picked up a canvas, thankful to finally have something to do with his hands. Hot tears stung his eyes as he began to paint, and the interwoven lives and deaths began to take shape in images and story. Finally, he could see meaning and how he was related to birth and creativity in all of its forms. War and Conquest were slower to join in-they missed going about to the ends of the earth, wreaking havoc, but all of that had been at their mother's bidding. Once they began to draw, ah, they discovered just how blinded and used they had been, thinking all this time they were part of some majestic destiny when really their actions had been dictated by petty human greed and nationalistic pride. But soon all accounts would be settled, for at last the hour is come, the knob turns, and the door opens.

The Four Horsemen, Part 3 - by Nancy Hightower, 2011