Death Rides A Pale Horse
by:
Sailor Seraphim

"To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;"

They are sheep, afraid of that which they do not understand. Do they not know that Death comes for us all? Whether from natural causes or the swipe of a Glaive, it takes us all. They may wail. They may cry. They may beg. But my hand will be unyielding, my stance will be firm. I will bring the End with a drop of my Glaive. And they will be no more.

I try to shake these melancholy thoughts from my mind, but it is of no use. I, the girl who cherishes life, even in my innocence. Who am I to debate life and death? I am only a girl. Ever present, ever vigilant, the seductive voice whispers in my ear. I cannot be forced to forget my station. I am ever reminded of my position in the dance of the stars.

Petty, innocent children, all of them. They cannot comprehend the power I wield, nor the curse that burdens my soul. To be trapped here, in a sleep that is not a sleep. To dream of the events that flow as normal time for them. I am trapped here, and so are you. But I will come someday, they day when I am most needed. The day when my power will be called for once more. And I will wake... I will stand... I will drop my Weapon of Death... and I will sleep again... waiting...

But these are not my thoughts. These are not my dreams. They are the callings of the person I used to be.

Aren't they?

"For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,"

I try to remember the happiness I have now. The life that is so different from the one before. But what is this persistent voice in my mind? Why does it speak of horror and terror? Why does it speak of indescribably sadness and despair... and why does it speak of hope? Haruka-papa. Michiru-mama. Setsuna-mama. Do you even know of these thoughts and whispers that race through my mind? Do you hear the niggling calls of the other person within yourself? Do you long for the freedom of release as I do?

But Death is there. Waiting for us all. I am the Silence and the End. I am the Messiah of Silence who will bring the destruction of the world. My dark powers eclipsed only by one shining light. Can you not see why I forced to be asleep? Why I must never wake? I bring only nothingness. The beautiful, simple, silence of Death. It calls me... draws me to it... and I am helpless to resist. It controls me and I control it, and there can be no compromise when I wake from my slumber.

"But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!"

Who are you? This dark shadow of myself? I am simply a small girl, with nothing of interest to you. Why must you haunt my thoughts and disturb my dreams? I want my simple happy life. I want my innocence and freedom. I want to live as if I had not worry in the world. I want my own mind and body. I want to be happy and carefree.

"The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd."

But there is no want in Death.