“Kind of sad, really,” Oliver said, wincing at the cheap watered down whiskey in his glass.

“Sorry for the drink,” Death rasped. “It’s the only whiskey left in the world.”

Oliver gave a wry grin. “Not your fault, old chap. We’re the ones who mucked everything up.”

The two looked out of the living room at the expanding mushroom cloud.

“Any time you’re ready,” Oliver said.

“Not quite yet. You’ll be the last, you see. Extra staff is taking all the other souls. With everyone leaving at once, it’s caused a bit of havoc.”

“I’m the last?” Oliver said. He loosened his tie. Hard to breathe all of a sudden.

“You have the honor of being the last human to breathe on Earth. Then my job will be over. Forced retirement, you see. No one left to chaperone to the Other Side.”

Oliver’s body had already collapsed into a pile of glowing bones. The ashes blew away in the radioactive wind.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Oliver’s soul said. “What are you doing post-retirement?”

“I’ve no idea.”