Another Chance

by Thought-Captor Leo

Two parent's of a single child's anticipation for an inevitable disaster reach it's peak on December 25, exactly when it was predicted by doctors that the parent's daughter might die. Inspired by a true story. Rated T for the mentioning of death and the discussion of mature topics. This is literally the first story I have ever wrote, so please do not butcher it.

Another Chance

A Short Story Written By

Thought-Captor Leo

Think about the last time you received what you desired on Christmas morning. That particular day, December twenty-fifth, happens to be Jesus Christ's day of birth. This joyous day occurred over two thousand years in the past and was celebrated by many a Catholic family in the light of our Lord's incarnation. Now, Christmas is socially unacceptable to discuss publicly and the idea of discussing the truth regarding Christmas's origins to our youths is generally frowned upon and instead replaced with an upbringing that insinuates a blind notion of materialism. Unfortunately, the story you are about to read is set in a time, in America, whence these conditions are very well practiced, despite the fact that the story occurs almost sixty years ago. In my opinion, this particular timeframe was one of the peaks for society in America, and not just because the true meaning of Christmas was not fully lost. But enough about that. Let's rock and roll.

Another Chance

December 25, 1953

A dark colored boot concealing a very cold foot stepped into a puddle of dirty half-frozen water, it's grimy contents splashing up unto the boot's owner's leg, who in turn scowled. "Why does Christmas have to be in such a cold month? Those were good pants!" A rough voice complained. "Shut it, Samuel. It's cold because you're not wearing adequate clothes." "Bother my adequate clothes, Monica!" Samuel retorted, shivering. "It's bad enough that this day won't be cheery at all, but this retched walk to the hospital doesn't exactly help."

"Look, it just might be our daughter's last Christmas. Do it for her." Monica said, not wanting to argue. "That's the only reason I dragged myself outside today." Samuel replied a lot more calmly, seeming to have blown a lot of steam from his little outburst. "This stupid rule about us not being able to visit our daughter still aggravates me, though." Samuel said, justifying his mood slightly. "You wouldn't want to get sick too, would you? You heard the doctor, this disease can kill you!" Monica said, wondering why her husband had said something like that. "Look, I really couldn't care less how sick I get as long as I get to be with my girl." The two had reached the doors of the hospital.

"Besides," Samuel started to say, holding the door open for Monica. "We're all going to die anyway, and I don't see a point in, well, abandoning our daughter. For Christ's sake, she hasn't even been hugged in the past four years! And to tell you the truth," Samuel paused, "- I don't even think that our daughter's problem is a disease at all." There was an awkward silence. "Look, this has been hard enough on me already, and I don't need to be sent another letter saying someone else I love is going to die." Monica said with a crestfallen expression.

"Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont!" greeted a smiling receptionist. "Room 223?" she asked with an untroubled expression, holding out the keys to that room. "Yes, ma'am." Monica said, not even looking at the woman as Samuel took the keys wordlessly. "Is something wrong?" The receptionist asked, genuinely without a clue. "Yes," replied Samuel, storming towards room 223 with an agitated expression.

"My apologies." Monica said to the receptionist, who looked hurt. "We're going through a lot, so could you please forgive my husband?" "Of course." The woman replied, easing up a little. "Whatever you're having problems with, I hope you can cope with them. Merry Christmas."

Monica hurried down the hospital's hallway, and up the stairs. She then found Samuel inserting a key into a door of a room that was labeled Room 223: Sharon Beaumont.

"-aron. Shaaaron. Heellooo. Wake up." Sharon's eyes fluttered open, revealing the nine year-old's gray eyes. "Hmm…" Sharon said, seemingly half conscious. "Was the rice cold or something?" She asked nobody in particular. "No, sleepy!" Monica said, chuckling. "It's Christmas!" That got Sharon's attention. "Mom?" She asked. "I'm here." Monica replied. "Dad?" Sharon asked, voice hopeful. "Hello to you too, sweet pea." Samuel said, smiling. Sharon tried to sit up, but fell back. Only Sharon knew it, but Sharon's heart was racing way too fast for the possibility of unnatural rhythm to be caused by the excitement of the unexpected visit of Sharon's parents. "I thought they said you couldn't visit!" Sharon exclaimed, clearly excited. "Don't worry over it." Samuel said.

The reunion was a melancholy one. Sharon didn't know that her parents were expecting her to die soon, or even that day. Sometimes her heartbeat reduced to an unnatural low pace. It put up an uneasy mood for the whole family, which to Sharon, at times, felt a little awkward. "Why are you so quiet?" She often asked. "No big reason." Her parents would always reply.

Sharon's parents stayed the whole day, savoring every minute, until…

"Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont, I'm sorry, but the hospital visiting hours are over, and you both need to leave," a man that worked at the hospital said. Samuel and Monica got up. "Hey! Where are you going?" Sharon asked. "We're leaving. The hospital staff says we can't stay any longer." Her parents said. "Why?" she asked.

There was a long silence. "Don't worry about it. We're coming next weekend, though." Sharon's parents said. "But I want you to stay!" Sharon said. "We're sorry, but, like we said, we have to go." Just then, Sharon started coughing so hard, even the man in the room that told Sharon's parents that they had to leave looked uncomfortable. "Goodbye, Sharon. We'll see you." Those where the last words her parents told her before they left.

A few minutes after they left, Sharon really felt alone. She thought that she was going to have to wait a whole week to see her parents again, and the only company she'd receive during said week would be the strange men with the masks as her heartbeat would be a constant, sloppy mess. Little did she know, though, that she was going to see a real special person that night.

Because that night, Sharon suddenly felt really dizzy, went through cardiac arrest, and she died.

But, Sharon didn't remember dying. She just remembered having a really strange dream. "Hello Sharon." Someone said. Sharon was on top of the hospital's roof. Even stranger, she was standing. "What…?" She said out loud to no one. The voice repeated itself. "Hello Sharon." Sharon whirled around to see an angel.

But not any angel. This angel was massive. He stood about seven feet tall, and wore armor over a wool toga. He had ginormous wings, too, it's wingspan might've been around twenty feet. Another thing Sharon noticed was that he carried a four foot sword at his waist. It suddenly dawned on Sharon who this was. "Saint Michael?" She asked, bewildered. She usually didn't dream about things of this sort.

"That's me." The archangel smiled, offering Sharon his hand. Sharon took it, and too her surprise, they took off at the speed of a fighter jet. For some reason, holding on to Saint Michael's hand wasn't difficult, despite the twosome soaring past clouds faster than the speed of sound.

"Saint Michael!" Sharon called. "You needn't yell. I'm right here." Saint Michael said calmly. "Who are you taking me to see?" Sharon said, this time more quietly. "I'm taking you to heaven, Sharon. You'll see Jesus there." Sharon racked her brain to try to remember anything that day that might have been inspiration for this peculiar dream.

After a few minutes, Saint Michael finally announced that they had arrived. "Don't worry if no one comes for a little bit." He told Sharon as they touched down on a beautiful marble platform. "And by the way," he added, "Merry Christmas." And with that, Saint Michael flew away.

Sharon sat down on the marble floor, which for some reason was warm. She examined the intricate design of the marble, which almost resembled bathroom tiles, though the biggest "tile" wasn't even the size of her thumb. She wondered when she would meet Jesus.

Sitting by herself and her thoughts, Sharon heard a door being opened. She instantly felt this indescribable warmth that made her, well, happy. In fact, this feeling made her so happy, she even forgot about the upcoming week without her parents.

Wondering where this amazingly sweet feeling was coming from, Sharon looked behind her and saw, Jesus Christ. Sharon just sat on her spot, dumbfounded, until she remembered her manners. "Oh! I forgot! Happy birthday!" She said, remembering what day it was while, getting the same excitement as she did when she saw her parents the night before.

Jesus laughed. And it wasn't one of those fake laughs that the doctors would always use when Sharon was excited about something. No, it was a real, genuine laugh that made you want to smile. "Thank you!" He said in a pleasant voice. Sharon smiled. "But," He said, "I didn't forget about your prayer." Sharon looked a little troubled. "You mean my Christmas wish?" "Certainly." Jesus said. "You wanted to be with your parents, yes?" Jesus asked. Sharon nodded. "Well, good news. That can be arranged." "But…" Sharon looked a little sad. "The doctors said that they couldn't come or else they'd get sick." "You're not sick." Jesus replied, extending his arm to Sharon's shoulder. Sharon noticed that there was a hole-shaped wound on his wrist.

"Wait a minute…" Sharon realized. "Am I dead?" "This doesn't feel like a dream…" She asked. "You're not dead." Jesus said. A bright, ethereal blue light started shining around the two. "You're just sleeping. Now, arise, child." Before Sharon could say anything, she felt some kind of…pulse.

December 26, 1953

When Sharon awoke, she saw a man standing over her. "Some dream." She thought, as the man opened a drawer and set a heart defibulator inside. "Hello." She said, feeling stronger than usual. The man, whose nametag read Jésus de Nazareth, only smiled and walked out the door. Sharon noticed he had the same wrist wound from her dream.

"Wait!" Sharon called. She flung herself out of the hospital bed and ran out the door of room 223, but found no one. Sharon ran down the stairs of the hospital, jumping over the last four and landing in a run. Sharon darted around a shocked woman sliding a sign that read "Open" into a windowand flung the door open to the lobby, brutally startling the receptionist who had the night shift.

Outside the hospital, a few minutes earlier:

"…I still hate this weather." "Be quiet Samuel. The hospital opens in a few minutes. You can wait." Ironically, Samuel and Monica were unable to even wait the night, and they had been at the hospital entrance doors for quite some time now. "I hope Sharon is okay…" Samuel said. "I do too…"

Just then, in the window, a sign that said "Open" was pushed in. Samuel and Monica tried the doors, and as the sign said, they were open. "Oh my God…" Samuel exclaimed as Monica held her breath. "Mom! Dad!" Sharon yelled and almost tackled the two parents, whom, well, let's just say they were happy.

After recovering from the sudden mixture of shock and joy, Samuel and Monica asked who was responsible for their daughter's health. "It was Jésus!" Sharon said, pronouncing Jésus "Hay-zoose."

This was news to the receptionist. "Jésus? We don't have a Jésus. Your daughter might be delusional."

"Nah…" Samuel started, looking at the clouds.

"I think I know."