The horsemen are here

I have my own personal horsemen. They are harbingers of doom - of my private apocalypse

• Famine rides in as the last of the xmas rations is nommed. I may have to cook. Shield yourselves.
• Pestilence follows soon behind. Yes, that's right, snot funny at all - the lurgy is returned and this time it means business.
• War is next as I do battle with several centuries worth of cardboard boxes 'stored' in the garage. Centuries, weeks, they are very similar timescales. Which brings me on to my last horseman:
• Death of time... someone has set the dogs on time. Someone has set it running faster, so fast it can never be stopped. The corpses of dead, desiccated hours litter its path. Seconds scream as they die minutely. Or secondly. Time is gone. Mourn its loss. Even list making cannot save you...

The harbingers of doom. They are here. Flee, you fools.

Or at the very least, make another list.

See you next time! *checks list*

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