Gravity, Petunias, and the Grim Reaper

Gary, the Grim Reaper (he really preferred 'Gary,' found 'Lord of the Underworld' far too… showy for his civil service gig), sighed. A non-existent breath misted his polished scythe, a habit picked up from watching too many human dramas. Another soul, another last-minute, utterly predictable exit. This one, a Mr. Bartholomew 'Barty' Finch, had opted for skydiving at ninety-three, an endeavor he’d evidently interpreted as 'parachute-optional.' 'Amateur,' Gary muttered, polishing a speck of something indistinguishable from his bone-white knuckle.

Barty’s soul, still vibrating slightly from the abrupt meeting with a particularly unforgiving tarmac, blinked. 'Where am I? Is this… the waiting room for… extreme pilates?'

'Close,' Gary deadpanned, consulting a tablet that glowed with an otherworldly light. 'Though our queue moves significantly faster. Welcome, Mr. Finch. Bartholomew Finch, DOB 1930, DOD… oh, about thirty-seven seconds ago. Cause of death: gravity, assisted by a critical misunderstanding of recreational aviation principles.'

Barty gasped. 'I’m dead? But I had so many things left to do! My memoirs! My prize-winning petunias! My overdue library books!'

Gary rolled his spectral eyes. 'They always do. You know, for beings so utterly obsessed with extending life, humans are remarkably bad at actually *living* it. And then, at the last gasp, it’s all 'regrets' and 'unfinished business.' Sir, with all due respect, you were 93, attempting a high-altitude dive without a parachute. What did you expect, a vigorous game of badminton with cherubs?'

Barty puffed out his translucent chest, a gesture more pathetic than proud. 'It was on my bucket list!'

'A bucket list, Mr. Finch,' Gary retorted, tapping a boney finger on his tablet, 'is meant to be completed *before* you kick the bucket. Not *while* you’re actively kicking it. Now, if you’ll just step this way. No, not through the gift shop. That’s for the newly deceased who think they can bribe their way back with duty-free spirits. You’d be surprised how many try. Especially the ones who discover they're heading in the other direction.'