The next soul to arrive was... different. A woman in her late 40s, dressed in a mismatched ensemble of vibrant colors — a neon green sweater, a red polka-dotted skirt, and bright yellow boots. Her hair, an explosion of curls, was dyed in streaks of blue and pink. She held a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a kazoo in the other.
"Whew! That was a wild ride," she said, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt. "One minute I'm feeding pigeons in the park, the next minute — BAM — heart attack! Guess that's what I get for adding extra cheese to my sandwich. Worth it, though. Oh! Hi, you must be Death! Love the cloak — very 'mysterious reaper' vibe. Classic choice."
The Angel of Death blinked. "You... seem remarkably upbeat."
"Well, what's the alternative? Cry about it?" she said with a grin. "Name's Judy, by the way. Judy Picklebaum. Yeah, it's a weird name, but you never forget a Picklebaum, right? Anyway, I had a pretty good run — ran a cupcake shop, joined a unicycle club, and taught my neighbor's cat how to high-five. Oh, and I once won second place in a regional yodeling contest. Pretty sure that's why my ex left me, but hey — his loss."
The Angel of Death tilted his head, unsure whether to be amused or bewildered. "Your life sounds... unconventional."
"Unconventional is just 'normal,' but with better stories," Judy replied, winking. "You know, people always said I was a bit too much — too loud, too weird, too... Judy. But honestly? Life's more fun when you're a walking exclamation mark."
The Angel of Death found himself almost smiling. "Do you have any regrets, Judy?"
Judy tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... maybe that time I tried to juggle flaming torches after three margaritas. Singed my eyebrows right off. Oh! And I never got around to learning how to breakdance. Always wanted to spin on my head like a human top."
"Those aren't exactly regrets in the traditional sense," the Angel remarked.
"Yeah, well... I never liked 'traditional' anyway," Judy said with a smirk. "Look, Death — can I call you Death? — I figure life's a bit like an unfinished painting. You can spend forever trying to make it perfect, or you can slap on a bunch of colors and call it a masterpiece. I picked the second option."
The Angel of Death nodded, finally understanding. "You lived unapologetically as yourself. That's rare."
Judy laughed. "Well, someone's gotta do it. Might as well be me. So… what now? Do I get wings or something? Oh, wait — do I get to haunt people? I've got a list."
The Angel of Death extended his hand, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. "It's time to move on, Judy Picklebaum. But I think the world will remember you — and your colors — for a long time."
Judy took his hand, giving it a hearty shake. "Alright, let's go. I hear the afterlife has a karaoke bar, and I'm dying — no pun intended — to belt out some Bohemian Rhapsody."
As she disappeared into the light, the Angel of Death stood there for a moment longer than usual, feeling the lingering warmth of her presence. The world, he realized, might have just lost a little bit of its color.
But somewhere, in some corner of the living world, a cat was probably still high-fiving someone — and that felt like a legacy Judy Picklebaum would be proud of.
---
The next soul appeared in a flurry of confusion — a man in his mid-20s, wearing a suit that looked two sizes too big, a tie hanging loosely around his neck, and one shoe missing. His hair stuck up like he'd just rolled out of bed, and his face was a mix of panic and disbelief.
"Wait, wait, wait — this is a mistake!" he blurted. "I'm not supposed to be here!"
The Angel of Death tilted his head. "Your name?"
"Kevin. Kevin Langston. But seriously, I think there's been some kind of mix-up. I was just delivering a pizza!"
The Angel checked his list, his expression neutral. "Kevin Langston… cause of death: accidental fall."
Kevin stared, dumbfounded. "No, no, no, see, I didn't fall! I tripped a little — but I got back up! I swear I was fine! I even handed the pizza to the guy. He still owes me a tip, by the way."
The Angel of Death raised a brow. "The report says you tripped on the stairs, fell backward, hit your head, and… well, here you are."
Kevin blinked. "No way. That's not what happened. I tripped, sure — but I landed on the bushes! My pants got caught on the railing, and I was dangling upside down when the customer came out. He thought I was doing some kind of prank and just took the pizza. I yelled for help, but he shut the door!"
The Angel stared at him for a moment, then checked his list again. Slowly, his eyes narrowed. "Oh. I see the problem. You're Kevin Langston from 12th Avenue… I needed Kevin Langston from 21st Avenue."
Kevin's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? I died because of a typo!?"
The Angel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No, you didn't actually die. This was an administrative error." He paused, then muttered under his breath, "Third one this week."
Kevin exhaled in relief. "Oh, thank God. So, what now? Do I just… go back?"
The Angel nodded. "Yes. I'll send you back. Though…" He glanced at Kevin's disheveled appearance. "You might want to rethink your career choices. It says here you're late to your shifts 80% of the time, and you once delivered a vegetarian pizza with pepperoni by mistake."
Kevin groaned. "Oh, come on! That wasn't my fault — the boxes were labeled wrong!"
The Angel gave him a dry look. "You also accidentally proposed to your ex-girlfriend while trying to hand her a breadstick."
"That was a misunderstanding!" Kevin blurted, his face turning red. "The restaurant was too loud — I said, 'Do you want marinara dip,' not 'Do you want to marry up?'"
The Angel sighed again but couldn't hide the smallest smirk. "You seem to attract chaos, Kevin Langston."
Kevin rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, story of my life."
The Angel waved his hand, a soft glow surrounding Kevin. "Go back. And maybe… try to stay upright this time."
Kevin gave a sheepish grin. "Yeah, I'll work on that. Thanks, uh… Mr. Death?"
"Just go, Kevin."
In a blink, Kevin disappeared. The Angel of Death stared at the spot he left behind, then glanced back at his list.
"...Next soul. Please let this one be less complicated."
---
The next soul arrived with a pop! — quite literally, like someone had uncorked a bottle of fizzy soda.
A boy, no older than 14, stood there, wide-eyed and grinning from ear to ear. His hair was a mess of sandy brown spikes, and his clothes looked like they belonged to a junior explorer — a dirt-streaked jacket, cargo shorts, and a backpack that looked like it was stuffed with everything but the kitchen sink.
"Whoa... so this is it? The afterlife?" he blurted, barely pausing to take a breath. "This is awesome! Are you Death? You look way cooler than I imagined. I thought you'd have, like, a scythe and a skull face and stuff — oh man, do you ride a skeleton horse? Please tell me you do!"
The Angel of Death blinked slowly. "I… do not ride a skeleton horse."
The boy's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Dang. That would've been epic."
"Your name?" the Angel asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track.
"Finn. Finn Harper. But my friends call me Finn the Fearless — well, okay, I call me that, but it's still cool, right?" He grinned, unfazed. "So, what happens now? Do I get a quest? Or superpowers? Is there, like, an afterlife theme park? Oh, wait — do I get to haunt people? I know exactly which one of my cousins deserves a good ghostly prank."
The Angel of Death tilted his head. "You seem… unusually excited. Most souls aren't this enthusiastic."
"Well, duh," Finn said, bouncing on his heels. "It's an adventure! I mean, sure, I didn't expect to die falling off a zipline into a lake full of rubber ducks — but hey, that's a pretty funny way to go, right?"
The Angel blinked again, slowly. "Rubber ducks?"
"Yeah! It was for charity. 'Extreme Duck Derby' — raise money, have fun, maybe win a prize. I was in the lead, too, but then the line snapped and — whoosh! I belly-flopped right into the ducks. Pretty sure I set a world record for 'Most Unintentional Quacking.'"
The Angel sighed but couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching upward. "That's… certainly unique."
Finn laughed. "Unique's just a fancy way of saying 'legendary.' So, what's next, Mr. Reaper? Do I get a sword or something? Ooh — a ghost sword! That would be awesome."
The Angel of Death exhaled slowly, shaking his head with a faint chuckle. "No swords, Finn the Fearless. But… perhaps you'll find the next leg of your journey to be an adventure all the same."
"Cool!" Finn said, punching the air. "Do I at least get a sidekick? I've always wanted a talking animal companion. Maybe a sassy ferret. Or a wise-cracking parrot!"
The Angel extended his hand, a soft glow surrounding it. "You'll find out soon enough. Time to move on, Finn Harper."
Finn stared at the glowing hand for a moment, then grinned wide and shook it with both of his. "Alright! Let's go. I hope the afterlife has mountains to climb and dragons to ride — or at least more rubber ducks."
The Angel of Death watched as Finn disappeared in a burst of light and laughter. For a moment, the quiet space felt a little warmer, a little brighter.
He glanced at his list for the next name, but paused.
"Finn the Fearless," he muttered under his breath. "I think you're going to make the afterlife a lot more interesting."