Famine

“Behold, the days are coming,” declares the Lord God, “when I will send a famine on the land— not a famine of bread, nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the Lord. - Amos 8:11

†

Michael walked down the street, the cold country air turning his cheeks pink and making his nose run. His hands were stuffed down into his deep purple overcoat. Despite it being late December, there had been little to no snow. Frost coated the fields and streets, but as for the soft whiteness of the sky, they hadn’t seen much.

He walked past the Lott’s farm, the horses out on the pasture. Near the fence was a black horse, his ribs sticking out further than they should. The horse snorted and neighed pitifully at Michael. Michael sighed and crouched down to pluck a small handful of nearly dead grass from near the base of the wooden post. He offered it to the horse, and the horse greedily ate it. The horse neighed at him again, sticking his nose through the fence for more.

“I have nothing else for you”, Michael told the horse, pulling his hand away and continuing down the path. As he walked, his mind focused on the feeling of the horse's grasping lips. Michael had noticed the change in the town long before any of them would. The greed had sunken in, for he had seen the secretives of the townspeople. The cashier pocketing the money from the register when she thought no one was looking. The man who ordered three cheese burgers in just an hour. The child who took the toys from the other children.

He had seen it slowly seeping through, bleeding into this once picture-perfect town. Michael had always stayed out of things, only doing as told, but his curiosity had won this one out. Even now, as he was getting closer to town, he could almost feel the shifting in the air. It was almost as if the land itself had been infected with a sickness.

The town itself was nothing to boast about. With almost all of the buildings falling apart and the roads cracked and worn down, this would be a town you would want to rush your family out of if you stopped there. There was even something about the people, from the sour looks they gave newcomers, that made you want to turn tail in this town. Michael hadn’t been here long, but it managed to make even him slightly uneasy.

His footsteps changed to soft clicks as he stepped onto the sidewalk, the wind making old newspapers and food wrappers softly rustle in the wind. The streets were quiet - no one was out today. No one really had been. The town had almost looked as though it had been abandoned. It was cloudy today, making the buildings look grey and flat.

Michael wandered through the small streets, looking for any sign of life. While walking on the main street, a cat ran across his path. It scurried off into a small alleyway between two small shops. Curious, Michael followed it.

He found the cat bent over something, fervorously eating it. Michael slowly crouched down as he approached the feline, trying to get a better view of what it was eating. His shoe crunched loudly under him, causing the cat to snap its head up and hiss at him. Michael frowned as he saw the carcass of another cat in front of the other.

He stood and turned away.

Michael continued down the street, his fingers reaching up to gently touch the white cross that hung on his neck. He trailed over the wood to feel the roughness and ground himself.

Taking a deep breath, he continued down the street.

He understood now, the ache that was coming from this town. It was hungry. It wanted consumption, falling prey to greed and conforming into gluttony.

He followed the street down into the square, even the trees and flowers looking wilted and dead with malnourishment. That's where Michael saw him.

The man sat on a bench by himself. He was old, wearing a checkered sweater and brown slacks. His hair was grey and thin, his face gaunt and pale. He was skinny, painfully so, and his veins bulged out from his waxy skin. In his hands, he held a small silver scale with wheat and barely in one of the small cups, weighing it down.

Michael slowly approached the man, keeping his eyes on the elder the whole time. He sat down next to him on the bench, not saying anything. Not yet.

The old man's breathing was shallow and strained. Michael could hear the crackling in his lungs with each inhale. His stomach growled and made other sounds of discontent. The smell radiating off of him was that of decay and death.

The old man took in a deep breath before he croaked out a single word, “Michael”

“Hello, Famine”, Michael greeted him. “Last I heard you were in Sahel”

Famine let out a crackling, grating chuckle. “And you walk the earth again for the first time in thousands of years”

“Times are changing”, Michael stated simply. “You’re here before your brothers”

“Pestilence has done his work. The plague wasn’t as effective as we had hoped… but it worked well enough”, Famine sighed.

“And war?”

Famine laughed again. “He never truly left”, he answered, “Haven’t you seen the state of the world recently? The Middle East, Russia…”

Michael nodded. He knew of the ever persisting conflicts and the world-wide pandemic, yet he had not guessed the reason for their sudden insensitivity had been because of the horsemen.

“And you?”, Michael asked, nodding his head towards the small scale.

“Farmers are going out of business simply because they cannot make enough”, Famine told him. “Gone grocery shopping recently?”

Michael frowned and looked away, back towards the empty street.

“You know why I am here”, Michael said after a moment. He outstretched his hand in front of him, and his sword - flaming, gorgeous - materialized in his palm. He laid the burning blade across his lap, the point fixated towards the frail old man.

“Of course I do”, Famine agreed, “But I know a weakness of yours”

Michael couldn’t help but scoff. “I fear you're wrong. I am the Chief Commander of God’s heavenly armies”

“Is that pride I hear, St. Michael?”, Famine chided, “You sound like your brother”

“I am nothing like Lucifer”, Michael spat, his grip on the hilt tightening, “I stuck him down, just like I will to you”

Famine shook his head. “Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t”

Michael had to bite back further words. Despite his old age - and Famine was very old - he had the sass of a modern day teenager. Michael didn’t like it at all.

“What is this ‘weakness’ you speak of?”, Michael asked instead.

Famine was quiet for a moment, almost as if he hadn’t heard what Michael had said. Michael opened his mouth to repeat himself when the old man spoke again.

“Every town I stop in, people fall to my power. They hunger, but it's not just for food”, Famine explained to him.

“Yes, I know”

“Some hunger for other things. Money. Power. Touch”

“Your point?”

Famine shifted his body to look over at Michael. The old man was smiling, his teeth rotting and gums bleeding. “You angels think you’re all high and mighty. That you are… immune to everything that can be thrown at you. But you’re not”

Michael turned his head to look at him. His brow furrowed as his frown deepened. “What do you mean?”, he asked.

“Even you, Saint Michael, leader of God's army, are affected by my power”, Famine told him.

Michael shook his head. “No, I am not. You are mistaken”

“Am I?”, Famine asked, “I can feel it in you. It’s buried deep, but it's there”

“Oh, is it?”, Michael snapped back, “What is this thing then? My hunger?”

“Knowledge”, Famine told him. Michael tilted his head, confused. “While you may be the obedient leader, the trusting son… you want to know”

“Know what?”

“Why isn't your father here”, Famine stated simply. “Why he isn’t intervening in all the suffering of humankind, why he wasn’t there to give you your orders. You haven’t seen him since… well, since God knows when”

Michael looked away. His hand gripped back onto the hilt of the sword, raising it slightly.

“It doesn’t matter. When He comes back - and it is when - He will set everything right”, Michael said, “He will give His faithful peace on earth”

“And will you be there to see it?”, Famine asked him.

Michael gave him a confused look. “What? Of course I will”

“Lucifer will not back down this time. However, he does not want to fight you, Michael”

Michael looked back to Famine. “I know. I wish to not fight him either. He is my brother”

“You could always join him”, Famine suggested.

“No, I could not”, Michael said sadly.

Famine sighed. “Well, then I suppose we are at a stand still”

“Yes, we are”, Michael agreed. Then, raising his sword, he drove it through the old man's chest. Famine gasped and choked as black blood spittled out of this mouth.

“See you next apocalypse”, Famine laughed between breaths before he practically melted down. The goop seeped between the benches wooden beams and down onto the pavement. Michael stood and dissipated his sword, brushing his overcoat off.

Michael turned his face up towards the cloudy sky, feeling troubled. He disliked how Famine had been right. He was hungry for knowledge. He desperately wanted to know where God was. Why He hadn’t come back when everything started. He had left long ago, leaving Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel to command and organize heaven. Part of him was angry. Where was He? What was so important that He had to leave His children?

Michael let out a breath and closed his eyes. He recollected himself and stood from the bench. He walked down the still empty street, glancing around for anyone. He saw none.

Michael spread his wings out, the tips reaching all the way across to the buildings on the sides of the street. The white feathers radiated off the pale light, brightening the street. Michael lifted his wings to set back off to the heavens.

He had no time for doubt.

Death was coming.