We Don't Talk About the Future

I - The Chamber

It's cold out. Always is around this time. Wouldn't seem to be the case, considering such a southern location. Summers fiery, winters cool, and the autumns frigid, strangely enough. Spring? Spring's off the table. Doesn't exist.

Evil. It rages like wildfire here. Hatred, too. You shouldn't be surprised. Those attributes are what make this place what it is. Where could you find more hate than in Hell? Nowhere, probably. That's what they say anyway. That's the rumor you've likely heard. 

It's getting chilly around here. Autumn comes after Winter here. Winter is what'll prepare you, get you going and ready for the coming Autumn. Almost like a little tease. The Throne Room is warm, warm enough anyway. Not many are permitted in there, though. Not for long, anyway. There are the servants, meant to tend to every need the occupants may have. Soon as they've done what they do, it's back into the pit. There are the messengers, angels sent to inform the occupants of the latest news from upstairs. There's Lucifer, permitted anytime he likes. And then, there's the horsemen.

The horsemen have straightforward jobs. They sit on their thrones, and the universe continues to function properly. However, each horseman does possess special, personal traits. There's War, as long as he exists balance and ideologies of war do too. Famine, who brings hunger to prevent overpopulation and to help speed the movement of natural selection. Conquest, who coexists with illness, to inspire research and give creatures reason toward death. And then, the big one, Death themselves. 

Death is their own entity. They keep to themselves fairly often. Typically, the siblings all enjoy an occasional bash, but Death still sat upon their thrown, pondering. "Whatcha thinking about?" a ginger-haired, largely built War would often ask, leaning his giant, built arms against the side of Death's throne. Often, the question would go unanswered, almost as though War never existed. Other times, Death would look him in the eye, tilt their head, and say, "the end."

What was this "end"? Who knows. Nobody, not even Death, really. Something they pondered for eons, yet never even knew what they were thinking. How crazy is that?

The Throne Room, otherwise referred to as "The Chamber", was quite dim and bland. Other than the large thrones, set side by side, there wasn't quite much else. The entire room was constructed from a dark purple stone, only found real deep in Hell. A kind of stone with no name. It was too strong for any kind of spirit or tool to get through, other than tools of divinity. In the bare room, a very large, empty shield-shaped frame hung high on the wall, several hundred feet in the air. Nobody knew what it was for, and nobody bothered to find out. 

In front of the thrones, there was a large metal door. Over 70 feet high. There was no handle or knob, only three large keyholes just above one another. Everything about the room, including the thrones, was so large compared to the horsemen, all standing no more than six feet tall. 

Death didn't like Winter much. They figured the temperature ruined the classic scare of Hell. Winter's like a vacation for these damned souls. Then Autumn; some speak of Autumn to be worse than the fiery summers. Autumn's pretty damn cold.

The three brothers gathered around a small table War had spawned. They planned on playing blackjack, and then maybe some Go Fish, but were interrupted rudely. For the first time in years, they heard Death say more than two words in a single sentence. "What're you doing with those," Death questioned in a deep, steady voice. War looked up from the table, and his two brothers in front of him turned around. Death stood, completely still, chin held high. They looked down at them with almost no emotion. 

Death's gallant, dark purple robes covered their entire body, hiding their crossed arms. The cuffs of the shoulder rose to a point at the height of their neutral mouth. Their messy purple hair seemed almost frozen as it rose into high, pointed curls. Their skin glowed paler than ever.

"Death," War answered, "Arrius, we're only gonna play a few card games."

"Yes. I see that," they replied, tilting their  head slightly, "but they belong to me."

War inhaled deeply in disappointment as he placed the two halves of the deck together. He reached toward the middle of the table, placing them back in the ebony locket box, padded with a velvet surface. He let out his exaggerated breath and slid the box across the table toward Death. A sleeved arm emerged from Death's robe as they grabbed their sealed deck of playing cards. "They're only cards, Arrius. What's the worst that could happen?" War asked, all three brothers staring at them in a frustrated curiosity as Death turned away from the table. Hidden from the brother's view, Death widened their eyes, breathing in deeply, "Hell on Earth."