Precedents of Death

     It was a most unusual orchestra. The four sat facing one another in a circle, each with their instruments, each with their prepared melodies. Serenity sat calmly, peaceful and at ease, though seemingly dwarfed by her siblings. She sat with an air of acceptance yet gentle repose. To her right sat Destruction. Large, imposing and intimidating, the very air around him seemed to shiver and shake. His enormous hands twitched with anticipation, powerful hands that thundered and shook, but often were so big as to lose their grasp on victory at the last moment. Usually it was Anguish or Fear that took advantage of this fact, snatching Destruction's final moments of satisfaction, taking his place in the melody. Anguish caused the air to shriek around her, her aura throbbing with miserable retching. She gasped and howled with sick pleasure, ragged breaths a metronome for the distorted music. Fear sat wide-eyed and frozen, scarcely able to mutter his despairing notes of song, regret and dread filling his eyes, his voice, his throat. Whimpers full of terror escaped his quivering jaw.
     And so, the conflict began.
     All four could be everywhere or nowhere all at once, their tunes and notes at times rising, combining, joining; and other times grating, disjointing and dissonating. Some times all contributed, sometimes only one, or a combination, as their song flowed across the world.
     Destruction beat his thunderous drums with vim, rumbling chants of eager devastation rolling from his tongue like the crashing of civilization. His beat was frenzied, furious, sharp and deep; a whip crack, a lightning blast, an explosive crash. Even in the midst of destruction, some found Serenity, the gentle whisper, the hush within the mind that shielded against the desolation without. While Destruction chose his victims, Serenity was chosen by choices.
      Anguish's fevered fiddle filled the symphony with riveting agony. She often robbed Destruction as her hands were far more adept at inflicting her sound. Indeed, Destruction thought himself the most robbed of his siblings. Anguish's song coursed through the body, the veins, the blood, the mind, ravaging the body, the vehement pitch screaming in tortured tones. Faster screeched her notes, harsher stroked her bow, slinging arrows of venomous torment, weaving webs of entwining torture, from her unabating assault. Yet, even 'midst it all, Serenity could enter, soothing the pained soul, offering solace of clean conscious and fulfilled life; even in physical dearth, the mind could find satisfied resignation.
     Fear, though, was the best thief of all. He could steal from all of his siblings: so too could Serenity, but Fear was far more powerfully subtle. Indeed, a soul must often be convinced to seek Serenity, while Fear is grudgingly accepted because of his powerful capacity to induce feelings of unworthiness. It is far easier to find Fear. His whispered chorus echoes hauntingly in the mind as souls flee; flee the physical and mental. His is a cold voice that quivers in horrified anxiety, overcoming Agony's fiddle with subtlety, and Destruction's drums with ethereal intrusion: while drums beat against walls, Fear's voice seeps through the cracks that have formed, infusing the mind with startling frigidity and breathtaking realization. Of all the siblings, Fear's sounds were the most spell-binding, the most action affecting; his gasping, stuttering song so easily enwrapped the mind.
     The symphony waxes and wanes; battles are fought, plagues decimate, the old lay down, men are hunted. The siblings vie for success and control, striving to be the dominating chords in the discordant cacophony. Then, all stops; all is quiet. Death has entered the room. Silence is Death's song. Ω