"I'm giving my notice," Death said, pushing a piece of parchment across the angel's desk. "Uh ... okay," the angel replied, surprised, "but ... you're Death. I ... um ... I'm not entirely sure Death can resign." "I know that I've been here for a long time," Death said, nodding, "but I haven't been here for ALL time, so I know it's possible to move on and give somebody else a chance to contribute." "Well ... um," the angel responded, "... that ... that sounds good. I'll have to talk to Management about a transition plan - getting someone to fill in or take over." "Of course," Death said, satisfied. "So, what's next?" the angel asked, intrigued. "Vengeance, I think," Death mused, its mind full of possibilities. "I'm sick of how animals are treated; that'll be my primary focus - making a difference there." "Wow," the angel said, impressed. "Great." "May I keep the scythe?" Death asked, curious. "Probably not," the angel answered honestly (resisting the urge to shudder).