Death in the City

was satisfied to know that work seemed to have fled their minds. And as they all stopped in a park to enjoy the nice weather and greenery, Death looked up to see the golden dome of city hall hovering over the surrounding buildings. He thought that they would need one last bit of convincing to retire to city life.
“I have an idea,” said Death, breaking the others’ concentration on the lovely pond full of ducks in front of them. “My friend told me about this great bakery across the bridge. We all have a little money left; what do you say we get some of their world famous croissants?”
The others agreed, Famine enthusiastically so, and Death led them to the PennPenny Bridge.
On any given day, Death knew the bridge to be swarming with people, but on this particular late Saturday afternoon, the bridge was not even visible through the throng of tourists and busy locals. Death laughed at the sight of Famine’s wide eyes and Pestilence’s hanging jaw (out of which a few dozen moths idly drifted). War fixed his hat to center upon his head and held both of his lapels.
“Wow, man,” said Famine, his eyes following a woman who had to climb up a large hulking man and go over the pack of people in a crowd surf. “This is ridiculous.”
“Isn’t it?” said Death. “Well, the bakery is on the other side there. See the white building just overhead? Famine, you try it first, you’re the skinniest of all of us.” Famine nodded and slowly trudged through the crowd. As he went, he left in his wake people of all colors and creeds falling over, clutching their stomachs and heads. Grown men whimpered and elderly women shook all over. Children clung to their parents’ legs as they struggled for survival, and rapidly everyone began losing weight until they looked positively sickly. As they all laid in agony, some with arms outstretched and some with glazed and sleepy looks in their eyes, Famine called from the other side of the bridge.
“Made it, you guys! Come on over!”
Pestilence crossed next, and the people, if not made miserable enough by the previous crossing, were plenty dejected by the coughing, gagging, convulsing, and delirium caused by this next trek. Some rolled over, writhing in absolute agony. Others coughed until they passed out. Many openly wept. Luckily, Pestilence had an easier time crossing than Famine because the crowd was more or less lying down. But the diseases spread easily and effectively, for, after all these years, Pestilence was still the best at what he did.
War crossed next without bothering to avoid contact with anyone. The instant he set foot on the bridge, a gaunt man seemingly on the verge of disintegration stood up and sucker punched an elderly woman who was leaning against one of the jewelry shop windows. She crumpled to the ground, out cold, and mayhem erupted across the PennPenny. At first most people jumped on the man, whose action was seen as outrageously unreasonable, but then they all began attacking each other. And suddenly it was an every-man-for-himself battle.
Death crossed last. The crowd was in such havoc that it immediately swallowed him. He emerged effortlessly from the other side when it split into two piles of reaped bodies. Death arrived at the other side of the bridge and looked back at the mass of tangled corpses. “Oh, damn,” he muttered.
The Four Horsemen walked into the bakery and each chose a different type of croissant so they could try them all. Death thought Famine definitely got the best one, which was filled with raspberry jam. And when the sun set and cast a deep swirling orange-red hue across the sky, the four found themselves sitting on a bench in the park by the river, marveling at a natural scene they never quite had the time to observe before. A large generator that was presumably pumping electricity throughout the city hummed loudly in the center of the park behind barbed-wire fences, but the four friends seemed not to notice.
“Well boys,” said Death, leaning back with his hands behind his head. Pestilence had a few dollars to buy a cheap cigar, which was now casting plumes of smoke above their heads in its last few dimly-lit breaths. “What do you think?”
“I have to admit,” said War, his words deliberate and calm. “This is quite a life.”
“Welcome to retirement,” said Death, closing his eyes and feeling a gentle breeze cross his face.
“Wait, what?” asked Pestilence. Death opened his eyes and sat up, straightening out his lapel. Famine and War sat up too, and suddenly there was tension in the air. “Death, buddy, we can’t just quit like that.”
“Yeah, no way,” said Famine.
“But…but you guys had a great time,” said Death. He wanted to sound like he was not pleading but he found it to be difficult. “What about all this great food, Famine? And you could get cigars every day, Pestilence.”
“Well, that could be nice,” said War, and for the first time in Death’s memory he sounded sincere. “But we have jobs to do. We can’t just back out like that.”
Death sighed and covered his eyes with his fingers. He felt very hot and apprehensive. “Just give it a few more days. Take time off till Monday.”
“No, no,” said Pestilence calmly, blowing whirling grey smoke into the cool evening air. “Today was one of the nicest days I’ve had in a while. But it’s back to work for me.”
“Agreed,” said War. “I have a conflict in central Africa to take care of. Lord knows they’re nearing a peace treaty by now.”
“But…” started Death. He felt completely hopeless. “Okay,” he conceded.
“Ah, come on buddy,” said Famine, patting his hand on Death’s shoulder, gently pushing him back and forth. “You’ll see your way clearer, too. I hope you will, anyways. It just isn’t the same without you.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” said Pestilence. “Really hope you’ll come back.” War nodded in agreement. “We’ll get together again soon.”
Pestilence put