The four horsemen of the apocalypse are War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. Needless to say, these horsemen are all men. Since women are also quite capable of destruction, there ought to be at least one among the apocalyptic ranks.
War. Definitely War.
Since I am still on the rampage about my haircut that I HATE so much I can completely identify with this. I feel like I could be War right now. Hell hath no fury like a woman who hates her damn haircut. Especially if she is to blame. Self-loathing is a powerful weapon when unleashed upon innocent bystanders.
War is not fair, it doesn’t care whose feelings it hurts or the collateral damage it causes along the way.
All war cares about is itself.
That’s me right now.
Me and my hair, dammit!
My poor tortured husband will attest to this (maybe not in my presence). He has to take the brunt of my mood swings brought on by my daily hair-hate. To top it off, he has beautiful long, ONE LENGTH luscious locks that grow at a rate of knots. I hate him. (Not really babe, I love you, but you know what I mean). I’d cut those babies off while he sleeps if I didn’t love them on him so much.
Written in response to this Writing Challenge.
Illustration by me.