Author's Note: I'm noot trying to cram religion down anyone's throat here, but
as I was raised Catholic, it was easiest to set this fic in a Catholic church
with familiar icons. I'm aware this fic is a bit pithy, but I wanted it up
by Christmas. PLEASE REVIEW!!!!
Disclaimer: If I were Michael Chriton, I would publish this, since I'm not,
its copyrite infringement. I love Luka too much to care. Don't sue me.
Angels We Have Heard on High
The church was too familiar, almost too sepulchral in color and dress.
The air smelled of heavy incence and the polished wood gleamed in the dim
light. Everything seemed calm, still, waiting. Perhaps ready to recieve the
Savior. Luka genuflected briefly as he slid into the pew, his eyes on the
Virgin Mary. The eerie candle light tossed about, giving the cold stone an
ethereal glow. The statue bothered the man, with her outstreched arms and
pleading eyes, and it took him a moment to realize why: It was a staple of
all Catholic churches, even small, run down parishes in Vukovar.
********************
Jansa was nearly jumping out of her skin with excitement. In only
a few minutes, her pageant would start- there was no containing her.
"Omiljen, calm down," Chided Luka, his voice far from serious.
He laughed gently.
With a graceful twirl, Jansa looked at him, grey eyes shining.
"Do I make a good angel, Da?"
"The most beautiful angel ever," he replied, scooping up the small
girl. He looked up to see Danijela walking towards him.
"Lukka, let's go get a seat," she said, nodding towards the pews,
"Your son keeps getting heavier." As if on cue, the small bundle in her arms
gurgled playfully. Luka smiled, and sat Jansa down.
"Good luck," he whispered, kissing her on the forehead.
He wrapped an arm around Danijela's waist and lead her to a pew,
where all around gleefull parents chattered in expectation.
Luka bounced Marko on his knee, as the children filed in, and began
their depiction of the Nativity. A few clever ad-libs later, the play had,
apperently to some senior cast members annoyance, departed greatly from the
Biblical version. Never the less, Luka was enraptured by the acting of a
certain dark haired angel.
The minute Mass was over, Luka swept Jansa up in his arms.
"Jansa, you were the most beautiful of all," he laughed, but the
girl's eyes widened.
"No I'm not." Jansa pointed a chubby finger at the crumbling Mary
statue by the alter. "She's the most beautiful of all."
Luka followed the girls line of vision and nodded. "Yes I
suppose she is," he murmered, looking at the Church of the Immaculate
Conception's patron saint.
"I'm going to be with her one day, Da," she whispered with shocking
sincerity.
Luka was troubled by Jansa's words, but in retrospect, they were apt.
Only a few weeks later he had crumpled to the floor in front of the statue,
offering everything he had, including his life, to save them, but it had been
too late.
Now Luka sat in Chicago's crowded Saint Francis De Sales parish,
waiting for the five o'clock mass, and realizing there was a children's
pageant that night. He felt the back of his throat tighten and tears sting
his eyes. All around were memories. Young men glowing with pride as they
held their small children, little girls wearing angel's wings giggled near
the manger, and young families beamed at one another. And he had lost all
of it; or rather, it had been stolen from him.
A tear slipped down his cheek, and for a moment Luka thought he would
lose the last of his resolve. Someone squeezed his hand reassuringly. Luka
looked up to see Abby sitting next to him.
"Hey," she whispered over the organ, "I got your message." She
looked around with vague recognition.
"Maggie used to get us all dressed up for church on Christmas Eve,"
she muttered, "But after a while she started going into these deep
depressions on Christmas where she wouldn't even get out of bed."
Luka watched Abby as she spoke and saw how her eyes seemed to hunt
for some intangible beacon just beyond the walls, something that would make
it all be alright.
She smiled at him then, a cool, bitter smile.
"But that's Christmas, huh? We tend to forget the good and cling to
the bad."
Luka looked at her and realized she was right. He wrapped an arm
around her, his gaze returning to Mary. Perhaps she wasn't a thief, but
a guardian, watching over his wife, son and daughter. Guarding over all
the precious memories, too easily forgotten in the pain. He pulled Abby
closer too him. They both had their demons, but it was never too late
to create some happier memories.
as I was raised Catholic, it was easiest to set this fic in a Catholic church
with familiar icons. I'm aware this fic is a bit pithy, but I wanted it up
by Christmas. PLEASE REVIEW!!!!
Disclaimer: If I were Michael Chriton, I would publish this, since I'm not,
its copyrite infringement. I love Luka too much to care. Don't sue me.
Angels We Have Heard on High
The church was too familiar, almost too sepulchral in color and dress.
The air smelled of heavy incence and the polished wood gleamed in the dim
light. Everything seemed calm, still, waiting. Perhaps ready to recieve the
Savior. Luka genuflected briefly as he slid into the pew, his eyes on the
Virgin Mary. The eerie candle light tossed about, giving the cold stone an
ethereal glow. The statue bothered the man, with her outstreched arms and
pleading eyes, and it took him a moment to realize why: It was a staple of
all Catholic churches, even small, run down parishes in Vukovar.
********************
Jansa was nearly jumping out of her skin with excitement. In only
a few minutes, her pageant would start- there was no containing her.
"Omiljen, calm down," Chided Luka, his voice far from serious.
He laughed gently.
With a graceful twirl, Jansa looked at him, grey eyes shining.
"Do I make a good angel, Da?"
"The most beautiful angel ever," he replied, scooping up the small
girl. He looked up to see Danijela walking towards him.
"Lukka, let's go get a seat," she said, nodding towards the pews,
"Your son keeps getting heavier." As if on cue, the small bundle in her arms
gurgled playfully. Luka smiled, and sat Jansa down.
"Good luck," he whispered, kissing her on the forehead.
He wrapped an arm around Danijela's waist and lead her to a pew,
where all around gleefull parents chattered in expectation.
Luka bounced Marko on his knee, as the children filed in, and began
their depiction of the Nativity. A few clever ad-libs later, the play had,
apperently to some senior cast members annoyance, departed greatly from the
Biblical version. Never the less, Luka was enraptured by the acting of a
certain dark haired angel.
The minute Mass was over, Luka swept Jansa up in his arms.
"Jansa, you were the most beautiful of all," he laughed, but the
girl's eyes widened.
"No I'm not." Jansa pointed a chubby finger at the crumbling Mary
statue by the alter. "She's the most beautiful of all."
Luka followed the girls line of vision and nodded. "Yes I
suppose she is," he murmered, looking at the Church of the Immaculate
Conception's patron saint.
"I'm going to be with her one day, Da," she whispered with shocking
sincerity.
Luka was troubled by Jansa's words, but in retrospect, they were apt.
Only a few weeks later he had crumpled to the floor in front of the statue,
offering everything he had, including his life, to save them, but it had been
too late.
Now Luka sat in Chicago's crowded Saint Francis De Sales parish,
waiting for the five o'clock mass, and realizing there was a children's
pageant that night. He felt the back of his throat tighten and tears sting
his eyes. All around were memories. Young men glowing with pride as they
held their small children, little girls wearing angel's wings giggled near
the manger, and young families beamed at one another. And he had lost all
of it; or rather, it had been stolen from him.
A tear slipped down his cheek, and for a moment Luka thought he would
lose the last of his resolve. Someone squeezed his hand reassuringly. Luka
looked up to see Abby sitting next to him.
"Hey," she whispered over the organ, "I got your message." She
looked around with vague recognition.
"Maggie used to get us all dressed up for church on Christmas Eve,"
she muttered, "But after a while she started going into these deep
depressions on Christmas where she wouldn't even get out of bed."
Luka watched Abby as she spoke and saw how her eyes seemed to hunt
for some intangible beacon just beyond the walls, something that would make
it all be alright.
She smiled at him then, a cool, bitter smile.
"But that's Christmas, huh? We tend to forget the good and cling to
the bad."
Luka looked at her and realized she was right. He wrapped an arm
around her, his gaze returning to Mary. Perhaps she wasn't a thief, but
a guardian, watching over his wife, son and daughter. Guarding over all
the precious memories, too easily forgotten in the pain. He pulled Abby
closer too him. They both had their demons, but it was never too late
to create some happier memories.