Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Prologue

  ⚠️trigger warnings: mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts and depression⚠️

  The streets were very busy. They always were. Hundreds of people on a single street, no less. Or at least that's how it seemed. The sun was dipping below the horizon gently as the people made their way home from their office jobs. Everyone was exhausted. No one wanted to deal with anything more. The feeling of getting home and resting their minds was all they could think of as people shoved through the crowds.

  The office assistant wanted the exact same thing. She wanted to go home and wipe off her makeup and remove her heeled shoes and redistribute the blood throughout her calloused feet. She wanted to remove the uncomfortable pencil skirt and the recently wrinkled white shirt. She wanted to throw her ID card on a pile and never look at it again. She wanted to remove the uncomfortable tights because the elastic around her stomach had been pressing into it all day. She wanted nothing more than to stay in her room. Sit there all day and sleep the days away because everything was better when the world faded away.

  She grew decreasingly interested in the promotion she'd previously been so excited to get. She stopped working as hard. Her head thrummed and felt heavy as she scanned the crowd of people. And then she suddenly couldn't help but wonder if she mattered in the grande scheme of things. So many people on the single street, yet it still wouldn't be less crowded if she was gone. Somehow though, it grew more crowded because she was there. Her pace slowed and she clutched the strap of her handbag to her side, looking down at her ID card, the only sign of her individualism, for every other woman on the street wore the same garments as she did. They had their hair styled the same. They wore the same makeup. They had the same job. Oh, how easy she would be to replace. Anyone in her life could have their choice of any woman on the street and they could fulfill her duties better than she could.

  This was not the first time she had thought of this, although this time it had grown worse. Why was it worse? She was taking her medication like she should be. She had talked to her therapist recently. She was a functioning member of society. Why was it getting worse. The frustration that built inside of her made her want to cry, but to do so would be to cause a scene. She bit her lip and took a breath and pressed on, pushing past people in attempt to reach her apartment faster.

  She was paying so little attention that she barely realized when one of the clips on her purse snagged someone's bracelet and the beads exploded all over the pavement. The person knelt down to pick them up, but after one glance backwards, she pressed on again. She knew it wasn't the polite thing to do. She knew she was wrong. Instead of turning back to do the right thing, she just headed for her home, no longer able to stay on the crowded streets.

  When she got home, she changed, just as she desired. She thought she would feel relieved, but somehow, she felt more miserable. Her tears caught up with her, soaking her cheeks that weren't thoroughly cleaned of makeup.

  Every day was a routine. Every day she would wake up and put the same makeup on and the same outfit and she would go to the same place for the same amount of time. She would do the same monotonous tasks and see the same people and she would leave work at the same time and come home and remove her makeup in the same fashion, missing the same spots and she'd eat the same meal in the same spot watching the same show.

  When would it change? Would it ever? If it did change, would it get worse? Could it ever get better? Years, she was working at that office job for barely liveable wages. Sometimes she wouldn't be able to afford her antidepressants and those times would be the hardest. If those times were the hardest, then why was she considering it right now? Why was she considering ending it all?

  That seemed to be a familiar question, one asked many times.

  'My medication is losing it's effect. It's starting to become ineffective,' she thought, digging through her bag to pull out the medication bottle that specified the dose she was to take. Also in her hand was a bead from the bracelet that had seemingly slipped into her bag. She tossed it on the floor beside her as she popped another pill, hoping it would have some effect. Nothing happened. No peace of mind. No calm in the eye of a hurricane. No rest. It was as if the storm of thoughts swirling around her head got worse and she couldn't stop it. No matter what preventative measures she took, the storm raged on. After some time of staring at the wall in front of her, desperate for some results, she popped another one, and another and another until the entire bottle was gone. Her stomach ached worse than any ache she had felt before. She was dizzy and her brain was foggy. She was cold. Her heart beat fast and erratically.