A Day of Lamentation by Padme Nijiri
The somber flicker of candlelight pierced the darkened church. No lights were on tonight. The harsh new-age technology would have been a cruel mockery of the events, too cheery with their false glow.
Women wore black veils over their hair, lamenting the loss of their leader. Men kneeled gravely next to them. Even the smaller children sat still and babies uttered no cries. Several priests were scattered around the chapel to help the mourners through the hard time. It was a harsh day for the faithful.
The light from the setting sun barely penetrated the dreary atmosphere. Christine's last class of the day had just ended. She needed to express herself, the emotions inside her. It wasn't every day that a Pope died.
She had met him once when, her highschool choir had traveled to the Vatican city to sing at one of the masses he said. Christine had been a senior at the time and had a solo during the reflection after Communion. She had been so nervous, but the voice of her tutor in the back of her head calmed her. Afterwards, the pope had shook hands with everyone in the choir but had particularly complimented her on the way she sang the Ave Maria aria. She remembered breathing a sigh of relief and thanking god for sending her Erik.
Christine walked slowly to the middle of the church, feeling self-conscious about her uncovered blond curls. They seemed to bright for the events of the day, too springy. She wavered a little before finalizing on a place to say her own prayers for the pontiff's departed soul. A strange emptiness had settled over her when she learned he had died earlier that afternoon. It was different than the knives that cut her heart when her father died of cancer. But it still hurt.
Genuflecting, the young woman chose a spot a quarter of the way into the row. She pulled down the kneeler and went on her knees. Taking the crucifix from its place under her shirt, Christine clasped it between her hands. The blonde's bright curls fell on either side of her as she rested her head on her hands to start her reflection.
A rustle of fabric from the center aisle caught her attention. Glancing to the side, she saw her friend Meg dressed in a fashionable velvet sweat suit over her leotard. She had just ended her dance class. The dark-haired girl rubbed Christine's back and patted her shoulder before mimicking Christine's position, sans the crucifix. The blonde smiled weakly at her friend.
"We all die sometime," Meg whispered in reply.
A door opened and shut in the back of the church, a few minutes alter the opening chords of"How Great Thou Art" echoed from behind them. Glancing at the balcony, Christine thought she saw the flash of a dark-clothed figure. Her tutor was here. His playing took on the innundation of grief that filled the atmosphere; sobs renewed themselves on people's lips
Christine smiled and continued to pray for the soul of a great man. Until Meg poked her and told her to sing. "Go to him, close your eyes and pretends no one's here."
Christine nodded at her friend and stood to make her way to the balcony. Erik was hidden in shadows in the corner of the gallery, his white half-mask absorbed the gray.
The opening chords of "Amazing Grace" picked up where "How Great Thou Art" ended. Erik looked at her through his uncovered eye, the corner of his mouth lifting briefly before he closed his eyes in concentration. Taking the cue, Christine sang, her voice floated down to the mourners in the back, and the flowed up to the front. It was soft and fitting, not overdone. It was just right, just enough.
Author's Note: This is my tribute to today's events. I am Catholic, however I don't know that much about music, so I hope I did a descent job of everything. I figured that if Christine were alive today, she'd be mourning the passing of the Pope like a good little Catholic girl. I know the story is slightly non-realistic in the sense that people don't just start playing music and singing, but. . .hey, I'm the author, so yeah.