Two Good Men and the Four Horsemen

(WP) Two Good Men and the Four Horsemen

               “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Bob,” A voice emerged from the darkness, mild and gentle.

               “It’ll be all right, Fred. There was a reason that we came here.” Another voice soothed, and for a while, they were only accompanied by the hoarse croaking caw, caw of the crows.

               Then a bright, blinding golden light split the quiet, and the portal widened as four figures emerged from it, all of them astride horses.

               Two men and two women, an even split. And in response, the men waiting in the dark stood up, ready to meet them.

               “We know who you are,” Bob said, his tone as friendly and affable as before. “But I’m afraid we cannot let you pass, friends.” He smiled at the newcomers, and then he pulled a plastic palette from his pocket, as well as a set of old, weathered paintbrushes.

               Fred Rogers smiled at them, standing up and pulling out several puppets from inside of the bag he’d set before him.

               “You are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, aren’t you?” He asked, surveying the biblical threat that stood before him. “I’m Mr. Fred Rogers, and that fine man over there is Bob Ross. And we’re going to send you straight back to the pages of the Good Book, where you belong.”


               For their part, the Four Horsemen looked at one another, baffled.

When they’d been freed by the breaking of the seals, the last thing they’d expected was opposition, even if this was a very odd sort. These men were quite foolish if they thought they were going to escape this unscathed.

The second horseman, astride a reddish, proud roan with flaming golden eyes, stared at the men, eyes narrowed.

“You must be joking. Paintbrushes and puppets? Hardly weapons that are ready for battle.”

He laughed, tossing his proud head, the sound rich and melodic. He was tall and muscular, with cold gray eyes and dark curls, as well as a silvering goatee. He was clothed in red armor, and in one of his hands, he held a deadly, wicked sharp halberd.

“I am War, the Red Horseman, and you are merely two foolish mortals. What hope do you have at stopping the Apocalypse, which has been written in the Holy Book long before your kind ever drew breath?”

Much to his surprise, instead of being intimidated, the two men just laughed.

“We may be humans, Mr. War,” Bob said gently, smiling, his eyes crinkling up kindly at the edges, “But we are some of the best of them. And we aren’t going to let the whole of humanity be swept away without even a fight.”

Fred laughed, and the sound was like a clear, sweet tolling of a bell.

“You really shouldn’t underestimate the good in people. There’s a lot of bad things in this world, that’s true. But we know better than most that the good outweighs any evil that this world can cook up.”

“We’re the proof.” Bob said.

The two men looked at each other, nodded, and readied themselves for battle.