"But I'm not dead!" you protest.
"Ahem," says Death, gesturing with the foot of his scythe to your form sprawled out on the ground below you.
You note that light is shining through your body, or you should say, your spirit.
"I don't believe in this!" you cry. "I don't believe in any of this!"
There's a sound of bells and clicking abaci stones, and suddenly an old Victorian gentleman with a notepad and fountain pen appears, a halo over his head. "I'm afraid that belief has very little to do with it," he says regretfully. "You would not believe the stupid things I've seen people do."
"Saint Peter?" you cry. "I'm not even Catholic!"
"Neither is he," says Death. "May I introduce Saint Darwin?"
"Charles, please," Saint Darwin says and you note the DARWIN fish on his lapel. "I don't much hold with this business of being a saint, even though apparently some secular humanists have elevated me to cult status." Charles Darwin glances over at you. "I'm called upon for the matter of the Darwin Awards, which in this cosmic metaphorical way means that I've been assigned the duty of seeing what particularly foolish people are reincarnated as."
"What?" you cry. "Can't I go back to my body?"
Saint Darwin gives you a stern look. "Do you mistake me for Baron Samedi? I can somewhat deal with reincarnation as it has something in common with the plain facts of evolution, but zombies? Please. I am a man of science, and you, it appears are a silly goose."
He glances over to Death. "That, in fact, is a good idea. You will find an unhatched egg in those rushes over there. Put this silly soul in that and we can be done."
Saint Darwin looks at you kindly. "I know it's not what you might be hoping for, but on the plus side, the geese at this pond have been selected to be resistant to the toxins which killed your human form. Evolution can at least promise that."
Death sweeps his scythe straight through you, but oddly, it's not painful. But it does knock you straight into the rushes where you find yourself trapped inside something very moist and dark.
You struggle, struggle to break free, chipping with the egg-tooth on your beak, until the at last you break through and shake your wings free of the mess, looking at your reflection in the pool.
You are now not just a silly goose, but a newly hatched gosling!