He looked her up and down.
“So. Did you do everything you wanted to? Achieve all your dreams, use all your talents? Say all you could’ve said, been all you could’ve been?”
He examined her more closely, with narrowed eyes. “And those natural gifts nobody has but you. Did you use them?”
She shook her head. “I was too afraid—I didn’t want to force things—I knew I’d have a long time to try.”
“Mm.” Death lit a cigarette and nodded. “And now? Now do you have time?”
“It’s just that, I’ve been waiting around for things to happen for me, I think— give me another decade—I’ll do everything I’m supposed to—I’ll fulfil my purpose.”
Death scoffed. “A decade?” He puffed smoke into her face. “Nah. I’ll give you a year.”
“A year? What can I possibly do in a year?”
Death shrugged. “Make it count. I rarely give extensions.”