There is no dawn today for we have done our work, all is black today and we sit here and smirk. If I may introduce us to my right is War, a very loud young lad enamored much by gore. He lures in his victims with patriotic word and song, smiling and with quick step they gladly march along. For their love of country, for family and friends, like lemmings off a cliff they march toward their ends. And those who sent them into this ring of fire, just what is their goal in this muck and mire? That goal cannot be found among the shattered limbs, false hopes of power betray and so the sunlight dims. To my left is Pestilence, a quiet sort of chap, ever stealthy in the dark he seeks man’s strength to sap. Like a wraith among the crowds with a sudden tag, you’re it, he anoints another acolyte with the cloak of death he knit. Men will be oblivious and pass his cold touch on, one to another and again until they all are gone. Understated, this thing Disease but quite the match for War, for every man killed by the sword this feather of death will take more. And me, oh yes, I must myself divulge, in case you want to know, I am the devil’s gardener I make evil grow. Satan gives me orders. his lust for blood to sate, I don’t do the work, I plant the seeds, and you may call me Hate. Hate for your neighbor with the different colored skin, or who speaks a language different than your kin. Hate for those above you, hate for those below, hate for all around you, hate for all I sow. War and Disease hold power more than we understand, but I infect all of you, and mine is the upper hand.
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