Celestial Council

         He was asleep now, in the hospital bed. Machines monitored his vital functions. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time, and probably not much of that. It was the middle of the night, so the six figures that surrounded the bed were not usual visitors.

         Of course, you could tell that from the way they dressed, in flowing white robes. The pale alabaster glow from their eyes would also tip one off. But perhaps the clearest indicator that these were not grieving family and friends was when the nurse came in to check on the patient's IV. She paid them no notice. In fact she did not even register that they were there. If all this was not enough, the white feathery wings that were wrapped around each of them would certainly give them away.

         They looked down upon the man, and one of them spoke in a soft voice. The nurse, just leaving the room, heard nothing, but felt a strange sense of calm wash over her, as if her mother were singing a lullaby.

         "We must decided what is to be done with this one. I have been elected to present the facts of his life. His name, given to him by his parents, is Colin, and he has gone by no other. His death will come soon, so the choice must be made."

         "He dedicated much of his life to caring for others in ways both big and small. When his mother spent all those years sick, he did what he could to make her life easier, be it going out to buy something for her, doing her Christmas shopping, or just playing a game with her when she was bored."

         "In his education, he focused on paths that would let him be there for those who needed him, first through psychology, then in teaching. But his true love was writing."

         "Even in this, he cared more for the sucess of others than himself. He paid to take a course on how to write better, then shared his knowledge with others for nothing. He did what he could to support other writers that he knew, again in ways both large and small. He was never too busy with his own work that he could not take time out to critique another, always as gently as he could."

         "His art, and his compassion were highlighted on a website, Writing.Com. Here, he joined groups dedicated to helping others. He put off his own writing to be where he felt he was needed. He felt no greater joy than to answer a question or offer advice for improving a story. He offered his time for nothing, never asking for payment, or even thanks. Yet, his work was appreciated by many."

         "He lived with his father, first in the father's house, then in his own. Once he was able to support himself, it never occured to him to do anything else. His father had supported him, and he saw it as both his duty and his pleasure to do the same in later life."

         "He was never married, and never bore children. When his father died, his home was empty save for him. And yet, it was never truly empty for his friends were many, and they cherished him."

         "No one lives to carry on his name. But when the time for his service comes, the funeral hall will be full. And not just by those who are near. People will come from far away to bid him a final good bye. And his name will be remembered."

"The question before us now is this. What shall become of him in the after life. Will he go on to paradise and eternal rest, or will be inducted into the rolls of the Host? We know his story, now we must decide on the shape the next chapter will take. What say we all?"

         Their heads bowed for a moment, then rose again. One by one, each said two words. "The Host."

         The first spoke again. "It is decided, and unanimous. He has been chosen to ascend to the Host. He will be a guardian to writers, both muse, silent advisor and confidant. He will spend his eternity as he spent his life."

         Then, the man on the bed stiffened, and the heart monitor went crazy, then the line fell to a uniform flatness, and the machine hummed. A soft light emerged from the body, and the six surrounded it, and escorted it to it's new place in Creation.