Disclaimer - I don't own Kurt or his parents...Marvel does. The monk is my own creation. Also, 99.7% or so of the prayer is a real Catholic prayer, unaltered from the flyer I once found in a church.
~ ~ A Window ~ ~
After lessons were over, the monk smiled benevolently at Kurt and asked, "So, what are you hoping to get for your birthday?"
Kurt looked up distractedly from his English language book. "Birthday?"
A mask of exaggerated shock flitted across Brother Johan's crinkled face. "'Birthday?' What kind of boy forgets his fifteenth birthday?" He smiled again at his student. "It's in a week, Kurt."
The blue-furred lad grinned weakly and shrugged. "I guess I forgot."
"You can expect to receive a little something from me. Nothing that should be very interesting or extravagant, but I hope you'll like it all the same."
"Thank you, Brother," he murmured, shutting the book and staring down at its embossed cover with what seemed to be great concern.
Brother Johan's brow furrowed slightly, and he sat down on a chair next to the large desk the two had been working at. "What's the matter, Kurt?" he asked gently.
"Nothing..." the boy mumbled, fingering the tome's fancy gold lettering.
"My child, I have been your teacher for ten years now; I know you. Tell me what's wrong."
Kurt sighed. "It's just that...well, there is something I want for my birthday. I want it more than anything in the whole world! But I really can't see my parents giving it to me." In a sudden, fluid movement, he shoved the book into a desk drawer and banged it shut.
The monk smiled crookedly and glanced around the room. "Kurt, I doubt there's anything to worry about. Your parents spoil you! Look at this room...a television, stereo, computer...nothing you've wanted has ever been denied to you. Surely your parents won't start being miserly after all this time."
His student closed his eyes, frowning slightly, and shook his head. "I don't think so."
The brother gently placed his gnarled hand on Kurt's arm as a very probable idea crossed his mind. "Kurt...is what you want something your parents can give you?"
Confusion filled the boy's features before the realization of what the old man was asking dawned on him. "Brother, I know better than to ask for them to make me normal looking or something; I know they can't possibly give me that. What I want, they could give...but they won't."
"What is it you want, child?"
He turned his face away. "It's stupid," he muttered.
"You don't think it's stupid."
"There's no point in even thinking about it anymore."
"Fine, fine. You don't have to tell me." Brother Johan rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. "Kurt, I know you've never been there, but do you know the name of the church in the village?
"St. Jude's."
"And do you know what Jude is the patron saint of?"
"Yes," he whispered inaudibly.
A sad smile further creased the lines in the old monk's face. "Hopeless causes. We pray to St. Jude when all hope is lost." He stood up slowly and gathered up Kurt's homework papers. "Remember that, my boy," he called affectionately as he left the bedroom.
***
Kurt waited until he could hear his parents begin to snore quietly before he got up. Crickets chirped aimlessly in distant corners of his room, but when he flicked on the lamp on the side table they stopped instantly. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, placing himself in a sitting position, and looked around. The lamp illuminated his many possessions: his huge TV, the most high-tech stereo system and computer, beautifully framed pictures on every wall, nice clothes, and so much more. Despite the many hours that had passed, Brother Johan's words still echoed in his mind. Doubtfully, he crouched down on his knees, set his elbows on the edge of the bed, and clasped his deformed hands together. In a furtive whisper, he began:
"Most holy apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the Church honors and invokes you universally, as the patron of hopeless cases, of things almost despaired of. Pray for me, I am so helpless and alone..."
An involuntary sob escaped his lips, but he closed his eyes tightly and continued shakily:
"Make use, I implore you, of that particular privilege given to you, to bring visible and speedy help where help is almost despaired of. Come to my assistance in this great need that I may receive the consolation and help of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations, and sufferings, particularly..."
A single tear rolled down Kurt's cheek. He opened his eyes and looked around his room again, the completely enclosed cell, the tragic illustration of his parents' desperation to keep their beloved son safe.
"...particularly my lack of windows..."
There was no holding in his emotions any longer. Kurt began to sob painfully, pressing his face into the mattress in an attempt to muffle the noise. It really was a hopeless wish...they would never put a window in his room; a portal to the outside world would jeopardize his safety. As his whimpers died, he unemotionally finished the prayer:
"...and that I may praise God with you and all the elect forever. I promise, O blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, to always honor you as special powerful patron. Amen."
He turned off the light and crawled back in bed.
***
The Wagners gave their son a DVD player, expensive clothing, a lava lamp, and some Beatles CDs for his fifteenth birthday. He feigned excitement over the numerous presents; they really were nice, after all.
"You like them, Kurt?" his mother asked as they sat at the dining room table after supper.
"Of course, Mom, I love them."
His parents exchanged a look. "Good," his father said finally. "And now...we need to talk."
"What's wrong?" he asked as Mrs. Wagner began to cry quietly.
"Nothing," Mr. Wagner assured him. "On the contrary, it's a good thing, really. Kurt, we've been contacted...there's a school. A school for people with...abilities like yours, to teach you how to deal with them. They would like to give you a full scholarship."
"W-What?" He stared at the table, absolutely stunned.
His mother gave him a small smile as the tears coursed her face, and she patted his hand. "It's a godsend. We want you to go, son."
"Will, will I still live at home?"
Her face immediately distorted with grief; she said nothing. His father answered for her:
"No. The school, it's in America, Kurt. You'll live there."
"America?" their son murmured. He looked up at them sharply. "When will I leave?"
"In three days." Mr. Wagner smiled sadly. "I guess our boy is going to see the world."
As all of this information futilely coursed through Kurt's mind, he could only completely grasp onto one thought - his hopeless birthday wish had been listened to and answered, though in a different way than he'd initially meant.
St. Jude had granted Kurt a window.
THE END
Author's Note - I didn't use accents. Why, you ask? Am I just a lazy good-for-nothing? No! OK, that's part it, but I really have a reason. This whole thing is translated from German. When Kurt speaks German, he doesn't have an accent, he's speaking it with correct pronunciation. So I wrote the fic with correct English pronunciation. Make sense? I doubt it, but that's how it is! Also I realize that in "Shadowed Past, the Wagners appeared to be simple peasant folk, but there's no reason why they couldn't be affluent people vacationing in the countryside.
~ ~ A Window ~ ~
After lessons were over, the monk smiled benevolently at Kurt and asked, "So, what are you hoping to get for your birthday?"
Kurt looked up distractedly from his English language book. "Birthday?"
A mask of exaggerated shock flitted across Brother Johan's crinkled face. "'Birthday?' What kind of boy forgets his fifteenth birthday?" He smiled again at his student. "It's in a week, Kurt."
The blue-furred lad grinned weakly and shrugged. "I guess I forgot."
"You can expect to receive a little something from me. Nothing that should be very interesting or extravagant, but I hope you'll like it all the same."
"Thank you, Brother," he murmured, shutting the book and staring down at its embossed cover with what seemed to be great concern.
Brother Johan's brow furrowed slightly, and he sat down on a chair next to the large desk the two had been working at. "What's the matter, Kurt?" he asked gently.
"Nothing..." the boy mumbled, fingering the tome's fancy gold lettering.
"My child, I have been your teacher for ten years now; I know you. Tell me what's wrong."
Kurt sighed. "It's just that...well, there is something I want for my birthday. I want it more than anything in the whole world! But I really can't see my parents giving it to me." In a sudden, fluid movement, he shoved the book into a desk drawer and banged it shut.
The monk smiled crookedly and glanced around the room. "Kurt, I doubt there's anything to worry about. Your parents spoil you! Look at this room...a television, stereo, computer...nothing you've wanted has ever been denied to you. Surely your parents won't start being miserly after all this time."
His student closed his eyes, frowning slightly, and shook his head. "I don't think so."
The brother gently placed his gnarled hand on Kurt's arm as a very probable idea crossed his mind. "Kurt...is what you want something your parents can give you?"
Confusion filled the boy's features before the realization of what the old man was asking dawned on him. "Brother, I know better than to ask for them to make me normal looking or something; I know they can't possibly give me that. What I want, they could give...but they won't."
"What is it you want, child?"
He turned his face away. "It's stupid," he muttered.
"You don't think it's stupid."
"There's no point in even thinking about it anymore."
"Fine, fine. You don't have to tell me." Brother Johan rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. "Kurt, I know you've never been there, but do you know the name of the church in the village?
"St. Jude's."
"And do you know what Jude is the patron saint of?"
"Yes," he whispered inaudibly.
A sad smile further creased the lines in the old monk's face. "Hopeless causes. We pray to St. Jude when all hope is lost." He stood up slowly and gathered up Kurt's homework papers. "Remember that, my boy," he called affectionately as he left the bedroom.
***
Kurt waited until he could hear his parents begin to snore quietly before he got up. Crickets chirped aimlessly in distant corners of his room, but when he flicked on the lamp on the side table they stopped instantly. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, placing himself in a sitting position, and looked around. The lamp illuminated his many possessions: his huge TV, the most high-tech stereo system and computer, beautifully framed pictures on every wall, nice clothes, and so much more. Despite the many hours that had passed, Brother Johan's words still echoed in his mind. Doubtfully, he crouched down on his knees, set his elbows on the edge of the bed, and clasped his deformed hands together. In a furtive whisper, he began:
"Most holy apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the Church honors and invokes you universally, as the patron of hopeless cases, of things almost despaired of. Pray for me, I am so helpless and alone..."
An involuntary sob escaped his lips, but he closed his eyes tightly and continued shakily:
"Make use, I implore you, of that particular privilege given to you, to bring visible and speedy help where help is almost despaired of. Come to my assistance in this great need that I may receive the consolation and help of heaven in all my necessities, tribulations, and sufferings, particularly..."
A single tear rolled down Kurt's cheek. He opened his eyes and looked around his room again, the completely enclosed cell, the tragic illustration of his parents' desperation to keep their beloved son safe.
"...particularly my lack of windows..."
There was no holding in his emotions any longer. Kurt began to sob painfully, pressing his face into the mattress in an attempt to muffle the noise. It really was a hopeless wish...they would never put a window in his room; a portal to the outside world would jeopardize his safety. As his whimpers died, he unemotionally finished the prayer:
"...and that I may praise God with you and all the elect forever. I promise, O blessed St. Jude, to be ever mindful of this great favor, to always honor you as special powerful patron. Amen."
He turned off the light and crawled back in bed.
***
The Wagners gave their son a DVD player, expensive clothing, a lava lamp, and some Beatles CDs for his fifteenth birthday. He feigned excitement over the numerous presents; they really were nice, after all.
"You like them, Kurt?" his mother asked as they sat at the dining room table after supper.
"Of course, Mom, I love them."
His parents exchanged a look. "Good," his father said finally. "And now...we need to talk."
"What's wrong?" he asked as Mrs. Wagner began to cry quietly.
"Nothing," Mr. Wagner assured him. "On the contrary, it's a good thing, really. Kurt, we've been contacted...there's a school. A school for people with...abilities like yours, to teach you how to deal with them. They would like to give you a full scholarship."
"W-What?" He stared at the table, absolutely stunned.
His mother gave him a small smile as the tears coursed her face, and she patted his hand. "It's a godsend. We want you to go, son."
"Will, will I still live at home?"
Her face immediately distorted with grief; she said nothing. His father answered for her:
"No. The school, it's in America, Kurt. You'll live there."
"America?" their son murmured. He looked up at them sharply. "When will I leave?"
"In three days." Mr. Wagner smiled sadly. "I guess our boy is going to see the world."
As all of this information futilely coursed through Kurt's mind, he could only completely grasp onto one thought - his hopeless birthday wish had been listened to and answered, though in a different way than he'd initially meant.
St. Jude had granted Kurt a window.
THE END
Author's Note - I didn't use accents. Why, you ask? Am I just a lazy good-for-nothing? No! OK, that's part it, but I really have a reason. This whole thing is translated from German. When Kurt speaks German, he doesn't have an accent, he's speaking it with correct pronunciation. So I wrote the fic with correct English pronunciation. Make sense? I doubt it, but that's how it is! Also I realize that in "Shadowed Past, the Wagners appeared to be simple peasant folk, but there's no reason why they couldn't be affluent people vacationing in the countryside.