Saturday, December 31, 2022

The New Year’s Pre-Party

“Let’s ride,” War said, emptying his cup into the fire. “We’ve got work to do.”
     “I’m still peckish,” Famine said. “Let’s finish the wheat before we head out.”
     “If we do, there won’t be any for Lebanon . . .” 
     All four horsemen laughed raucously. 
     “Mind if I bring another ‘friend’ this year?” asked Pestilence.
     “Bah! Your friends always wimp out.”
     “This one’s a finisher.”
     War rolled his eyes as he climbed onto his horse; there was an immediate rumble in far-off Ukraine.
     “Guys! Wait up . . .” 
     Death hadn’t even saddled his horse yet! Typical, thought War. He’s always the last to the party. 

Image by Bryant Arnold, Inspired by Black Swans and, well, the newspaper.

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