The angel was not what Mr Allan had expected. His half-remembered Sunday School teachers had told him of beautiful beings with ethereal wings of light. The angel in front of him was distinctly more Old Testament in its appearance - looking more like a Möbius strip made of knotted flesh and eyes. It was very disturbing. So, Mr Allan tried to ignore what his eyes were telling him, and to concentrate on the creature's voice instead.

"I'm sorry," Mr Allan said. "But I didn't quite catch what you said."

"Yes," the angel replied. Its voice was a chorus of celestial harmonies. "You were asked if you could help us. There is a lack of information in your record." It was true. The roll of parchment that the angel had given Mr Allan was small and mainly blank. "If you could please provide some personal insight," the angel continued. "Some trumps, some catastrophes. Then we could ascertain whether you are a sheep or a goat."

It took a moment for Mr Allan to decipher the angel's metaphor. "Yes. I see." He tried to think of something he had done in his life. However, while alive, Mr Allan had not been one for introspection or self-examination. Being dead had not improved his faculties. "Well," he said, "I was an altar boy."

"But you are no longer a believer," the angel replied.

Mr Allan tried another approach. "I graduated high school with honours, and I go a good degree from college."

"That was only done to keep your father and your mother from being disappointed in you," the angel said with a sigh like a chord from a celestial pipe organ. "Surely you must have done some deed that was worthy in itself?"

"I raised a good family!"

"And then abandoned them when your adulterous lusts became too much for you to resist."

Mr Allan tried to avoid the angel's gaze. It was impossible.

"Have you not been an influence on the lives of others?" the angel asked. "Have you changed a life for the better? Or for the worse?"

"I tried - ." But the words stuck in Mr Allan's throat. The more he thought about his life, the more obvious the truth became. "I'm sorry," he said. "You are right. My life has been pointless. I have wasted so many opportunities to be something."

"Ah." There was a note of something - Joy? Satisfaction? - in the angel's voice. "You are contrite. Perhaps there is hope for you."