Two men stood in a very small line and eventually a slightly harried Angel come striding over carrying a set of scales which, when he arrived, he put down on the ground and then looked up at them and with a slight look of bemusement and said "Yes, this is the VIP entrance and admittedly it doesn't get used as often as the main entrance and we usually wait for a few more before we come and sort you but you two, well, I think you might understand."
The two men looked somewhat bemused themselves and this statement really added nothing, or even subtracted from, this entirely obvious look of bemusement they then, all three men, shared.
So by now you might realise they stood at the entrance to Heaven and that these two were recently deceased... the mention of the Angel, St Peter incidentally, might have given this away, and hopefully the shared bemusement, but if it hasn't I've cleared it all up by stating unequivocally where we are so that's that sorted.
But who are these two men? Actually it matters more that it doesn't matter as at this stage, and even needing this stage, is more about there no longer being an identity then there ever was a matter of it being somehow of regard.
The first man though remembers the story, as it is forever passing down to us as worthy of at least some contemplation, and so reaches into his chest and grabs the heavy stone that is his heart then crouches down and places it on the scales against the feather on the other side. "Indeed' says Peter, " and you might be wondering why we place the scales on the ground here at this entrance but you sir seem to understand so it bodes well."
At this point then a warm but somewhat smelly mixture of tidal effluent comes meandering around their ankles and is popping and hissing and the stone heart which has made the second man smile somewhat in his bemusement starts to melt and crumble at which the second man's smile fades somewhat whilst the firsts scowl becomes a wide toothy grin. "Well done fine Sir" says the Saint present as they all watch the scales slip back to balance and the feather slowly wafts off.
Then even before the second man reaches into his chest to what he knows is a feather they all hear the rumble of the incoming tsunami of grief.
"Yup" say our Angel. "Not too many of you see that one coming.' and gives his own wings a bit of a flick and hands, from nowhere it seems, the first man an already inflated life preserver.