Spring commenced a week ago. The air itself smelled like it. Daisies started to pop up in the meadow. Mice and squirrels came out of their winter holes and started to bustle about, trying to exchange nuts for seeds. A single mole popped his head out to tan himself.
The heavy yellow sun tried hard to warm everything. Even the wind lay dormant, basking thankfully in its rays.
Suddenly the mice, squirrels, and stray mole were startled by a sound. The sound of thunder came rolling in, high-pitched at first, then lowered by Doppler into a heavy thunderous roll that boomed over the meadow. They all watched the clear blue sky and looked at each other.
Wham! A bolt of lightning struck the earth. The air tinged with electricity.
Wham!
Wham!
Wham! Three more. Where they struck, smoke rolled over the ground in a wave.
***
The smoke started to clear.
Four figures stood where the bolts struck.
One black-hooded figure with a scythe spoke first. “Mortals.” A bone-dry voice croaked. “Prepare for your…” Waving his scythe to, well, no one. “Where is everyone?”
A thin man in green leather armor, his skull clearly seen through the skin, spoke. “Perhaps they all filled up on carbs and now have digestive issues?”
“What?” The black-robed figure dropped his shoulders. “Famine please, for once.”
“It is a huge health risk, you know, carbs.” Famine crossed his arms and looked halfway to the side.
“It is the plague, I can already feel it.” The person next to him said, resting his pox-heavy face in his hands and quietly sobbing. “Cough cough, it got me already.”
The black-robed man took a few steps away from the others and looked at a squirrel who was sitting as if frozen to the ground, shivering.
“What, are you cold?” the black-robed man said when he bent over.
The squirrel bolted, screaming all the way back to his tree.
“War now will speak.” The fourth man, wearing a full plate armor with ornate, often bloody pictures of decapitation and other violent imagery on it, spoke. “War walked forward and spoke to Death.” The man said, walking forward and speaking to the black-robed man. “Be not afraid to be feared,”
“War, for all sake, stop being so annoying.” Death put two bony fingers to his eye sockets, rubbed them then slowly shook its head. “There’s a headache coming up, and we have only been here less than a minute.”
“It’s a sugar crash. Stop eating sugar,” Famine offered.
“First signs of malignant melanoma,” Disease concluded.
“War spoke again to Death, honoring him with his words.” War boomed. “It’s probably a head injury.” He looked to the other two. “War always feels light-headed after riding the lightning.”
All four nodded.
***
Death looked at his three brothers. War was striding over the meadow, screaming at all the little critters.
“War uses his superb military skills to drill these in an army,” Death looked as the mice ran back into their holes. The squirrels sat in their trees as quiet as a mouse. The single mole had long left the meadow, as he had sensitive hearing.
Famine was explaining the danger of a nut-only diet to a tree he suspected was inhabited by at least one squirrel family. “It may look healthy, but so many unsaturated fats are linked to cancer.”
Plague was standing on a rock, trying not to get infected by nature. “There are SO many germs flying around here.” He shivered. “My arms, look at my arms, they are all white and trembling.”
Death took his scythe and held it up high. “We are the riders of the apocalypse.” Where he stood it felt a little darker. His shadow made the grass look less green, the sun less warm.
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“War clears his throat.” War said as he cleared his throat.
Death lowered his scythe and heavily sighed. “War looks left, right, behind him. Where are our horses?”
“That is actually not a bad question.” Death’s voice went up in surprise. “Where are they normally?”
“Weren’t the bags of bacilli just there?” Disease asked. “I can’t remember. We do these apocalypses not often, you know.”
“If they only ate oats and barley again,” Famine added. “We should first let them detox.”
“Or we ask in that house over there.” Death pointed with his scythe.
Lightning crackled through the air.
“No, stop that,” Death screamed. “Let’s not frighten them.”
***
“Let me do the talking,” Death said in a stern voice, including the finger.
“Eww, you’re going to knock on that wood?” Disease gagged. “Use some disinfectant first.” He handed him a bottle of alcohol.
“You’re sure about this house?” Famine strode around the shack. “It smells like they are cooking meat,” he whispered to Death. “That makes people aggressive, you know.”
Death shushed them. He lifted his bony hand into a fist and wanted to knock.
“War will speak now,” the fourth voice boomed. “War thinks when they open and see Death, they flee.” War walked toward the side. “War will walk toward the side and cut them down as they flee.”
Famine and Disease applauded. “Good distance,” Disease said, giving War a thumbs up.
“That will show them to do their cardio.”
“No guys, we need to ask them things, not kill them or scare them.” Death turned from the door and faced them. “You.” He pointed at War. “Stand over there.”
“War walks to his designated battle spot.” War walked to where Death pointed him.
“You two.” He spoke toward Disease and Famine. “Go stand with him.”
“Ehh.” Disease stuttered.
“What?” Death bit.
“You’re a scary skeleton,” Famine finished Disease’s thoughts.
“I will be friendly and charming,” Death said.
Three silent riders of the apocalypse were staring at their feet.
“What?” Death said. “You think I can’t be charming?”
The three were looking at each other, pouting their lips.
“Fine, wait.”
***
The Howard family was sitting in their family shack having dinner. Edna roasted a rabbit over the fire. Spring was in the air. Their two children played outside all day and were attacking their plates with the vigorousness of hungry little children.
Knock knock knock. Three knocks on the door, not very hard, just loud enough to gain their attention.
“Excuse me, good sir,” a bony hoarse voice sounded.
“What?” they heard.
“Fine.”
“Excuse me, good sir or madam,” the voice croaked. “Can I inquire some information regarding our riding animals?” A second after: “What? Fine. Horses. We lost our horses.”
A second voice boomed through, dulled by distance. “War said in his usual grand voice: simple questions, clear questions.”
John, the father of the family, threw a nod to Edna, who with an exhale stood up and walked to the door.
“You see,” she heard the croaky voice say. “Charming.”
Edna opened the door.
The blood drained from her face almost instantly.
“No, no, no. We come in peace,” the skeleton in front of her said, clad in a hooded black robe, with a scythe twice his size. On the scythe, a small pink balloon was attached with a pretty pink bow.
The skeleton pointed at it. “See? Charming.”
Edna fainted.
The skeleton looked at the fallen woman, then upward to his balloon.
“She doesn’t like pink?” he asked.
“Perhaps gingivitis,” a voice said. “When did you last brush your teeth?”
“Too much salt,” another added. “ Her blood pressure must be soaring.”
“War thinks this is zero challenge.”
***
Death looked from the fallen mother inside the cabin. “Ehh, some help here?”
The man of the house came charging in with a sword.
“War approves this. War prepares for another glorious battle charge.” War came running, his hand went to his sheath. “War stopped his charge, confused,” War said as he stopped running. “War did not have his sword.” War looked at Famine and Disease. They raised their shoulders.
Death was still standing in the doorway. “Good sir, I just want to ask—” Death was hit in the face with a sword. “Please don’t. You pop my balloon.” Death looked at the happy pink sphere bobbing on his weapon of death.
The man struck him again. Death sighed and touched the man. He fell dead on the ground immediately.
“Disappointing.” Death stepped over the fainted lady, then over her freshly deceased husband. He stared into the kitchen, looking into the faces of two children, both pale white, their eyes already wet. Both of them were taking in big breaths to make their vocal cords be used to the max.
“Oh no, no, please, look at the pretty pink balloon.” Death showed them the pink balloon. It snapped the moment he swished his scythe too close to the ceiling.
The two children started to sob audibly. Death knew the dam could break any second now.
“Horses. Have you seen scary-looking horses?”
The smallest one nodded and pointed toward the east. “Scawy howsey wit wed eyes.”
"Well, thank you, little one." Death straightened up, his bony frame casting a long shadow over the trembling children. He glanced at the fallen mother, then at the very dead father. "Well," he said, turning back to them. "There's good news, and there's bad news."
