It's Better Red Than Dead!

It’s Better Dead than Red!

“ROLL CALL!” The time was 1:30 PM. Always 1:30, and always every Thursday. The reaper of souls liked to keep his schedule in check and on time. The black cloaked figure that was death sat upon his onyx throne, steel spikes, bones and misery seemly oozing out. The rest of the conference room was actually pretty nice. Soft mellow pigments of beige and cream plastered the interior of the room. Safe, plastic green plants in pots laid on the four corners of the huge amberwood table. Victorian designs seen everywhere from ceiling fixtures, cases, chairs to doors, and chandeliers. On one wall, across from Death, laid a beautiful memorial in rock hard marble. It read, “The Fallen Horsemen” and was etched with things that used to strike fear in the hearts of many. Things such as Change, Black People, Homosexuality, Gum, Asians, In-juns, Tomatoes, and the Satanic Styles of Bing Crosby. However, to quote, The more things change, the more they seem to stay.

“Famine!”

Ever since there was life, there was death by starvation. Famine could have been a very lovely girl, were it not for the fact that she was currently doubled over the room’s stainless steel sink.

“Famine, get your head out of there! We don’t have enough money for another sink!”

She raised her head from the sink while wiping a dribble of bile from her pale chin. Her complexion was a sickly white, her eyes bloodshot with millions of red veins, blonde dead hair rotting at her scalp, her face almost as boney and lifeless as Death’s.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here,” she said sluggishly as she slumped to her throne, engraved with the images of various foodstuffs, and a built in metal bucket.

“Wa-,“ Before Death could finish, the oak double doors swung open and a bright light cascaded in, causing everybody in the room to shield their eyes except death because, well he doesn’t have eyes. The figure was clothed in full golden armor, his red stallion screaming at its highest pitch, sword unsheathed, glimmering in the sun! Death wasn’t impressed, as he was yawning and carelessly rolled his boney white fingers.

“War, I told you to-,“

“THIS IS SPARTA!!!!!” War screamed valiantly, swinging his blade violently.

“Fine War, I’ll humor you. Our arrows will block out the sun.” Death said passively.

“Then we will fight in the shade,” sneered War, a wicked look carved into his face.

“Okay, fine. Now sit.” Death commanded. War heeded and sat across from Famine.

“WE SHALL DINE IN HELL!!!!”

“Death groaned as he placed a hand on his skull. “I wish you can stop bragging about that. I’ll have you know I have a reservation tomorrow with a very lovely succubus named Anna Smith. Now can we just to business and… Where’s Pestilence?

The lazy one. Famine takes time, War takes time but Pestilence can just make someone sick and then he thinks he can doze off. He was off somewhere with AIDS or bird flu or bubonic plague and stuff.

“Susan!” Death yelled, calling to one of the many young interns that died from an STD, or drunk driving, or a case of suicidal crazy bitch. A few moments later Susan came, a spriteful young redhead clothed in a black cloak similar to Death’s.

“Yes, Mr. Death? Another Earl Grey?”

“Oh no, no, no,” Death said calmly, “I already had too much, but I need you to go grab Pestilence for me, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing, Mr. D!” Susan said cheerfully, skipping off to the doors.

“You’re sleeping with her right?” Famine said.

“She’s here because she was a prostitute before. She’s just doing what brought her to the dance.”

A wave of silence flowed over the room until a high-pitched female scream broke it.

“WHAT WAS THAT VILE DEATH!!!” War screamed, still in his “300” stage.

“SHUT THE HELL UP WAR! We are in flippin hell(there's some weird thing that prevents you from saying cuss words in hell, except for well hell)! You would think there would be screams of pain and agony here.

A few more seconds passed until the door creaked open and came a person that pulled off the combination of a black formal suit with pockmarked rotted skin.

“Pestilence! Where in the Hell were you?!” Death screamed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was coming here but I had to make a quick stop in Africa. Then I had to kill that vampire.”

“Vampire? What Vampire?”

“The one outside. This one.” With that, Pest went outside and came back dragging a body behind him.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Is that… Susan?” Indeed it was Susan, now only with a flurry of pus filled boils covering her face and body.

“Smallpox?! Of all diseases Smallpox?!”

“I-I was startled. I d-didn’t know what else.”

“Okay so this month you have killed Susan, Robbie, Don, Kelly, Alex, Andy, Amy, Bo, Willy, Mandy-Sue, Clark Kent, John Paul…

~10 Minutes Later~

“…Bonnie, Josh, and Steve. Why?”

“They were all vampires so I had to kill them.’

“What made you think they were vampires?”

“They were redheads.”

Death just stared on with a shocked glance. ‘What?”

Pest tried to explain more carefully. “They were vampires, and their victims RED blood stains their hair.”

“You do know you sent them to sub-Hell.”

“Oh come on! It not that bad isn’t it?” Pest questioned.

“It’s like watching ‘Celebrity Cooking Showdown’ for all entirety.” After Death said this, the remaining color on Pest’s face drained instantly.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Now sit down.” Pest walked over Susan’s carcass and sheeply took his spot beside Famine.

“Okay,” Death started, “The 665th meeting of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse will begin.” But it didn’t.

“Uh, excuse me,” Famine said with an outstretched white hand, “I have a problem with that name. I think it should be…”

“You’re fat,” Death said bluntly. Almost on instinct, Famine grabbed the steel bucket and shoved two acid eroded fingers in her throat.

“It works every time,” Death cackled.