AN: As it is that time of year, I found myself watching one of my all-time favourite Christmas films; It's a Wonderful Life. Yes, I know it's dreadfully sappy and old-fashioned, but it's an old habit or tradition, if you will, that will never fade away for me. I found myself pondering the movie, and found that there was a Jack story, lurking within. Actually, it was more that I thought it could be interesting to rewrite the story from the point of view of Jack. And yes, there is definitely an Irina version/sequel waiting offstage! I plan to post about every other day, in the least bit. Without further ado, It's a Wonderful Life, Jack Bristow!
Oh yes, and please review this!
It's a Wonderful Life, Jack Bristow
Chapter One:
Night fell over the bustling city of Los Angeles. The darkening skies marking the passage of yet another day. But this day, is quite unlike others; it is Christmas Eve. The warm California air deceives visitors to the city, the weather providing a very different feeling during the holiday season. While life went on, the approaching night began to bring people together. Families sit next to their Christmas trees, reading stories and singing carols, men and women finally relax after many long days of work, and people come together for a night of joy.
However, amidst the native noises of city life and the sounds of warm, happy homes, full of life, a great number of voices rise up in prayer.
I owe my life to Jack Bristow. Help him, dear Father, says a young reporter as he sits with his two best friends, sipping at mulled cider.
Umm, God, if you're there, that is, well maybe I should call you your Holiness. Wait, that's what you call the Pope. Well, what I mean is, God, there's this guy I work with, Mr. Bristow, and he didn't look too happy when he left the office. Actually, he doesn't ever really look happy, but he looked especially not happy like the time he accidentally used one of my prototypes that I hadn't quite worked the kinks out of, and it didn't, ummm, work so well. So God, I'd really appreciate it if you could help Mr. Bristow. Maybe you could pull a Obi Wan Kenobi and like sort of tell him... blabbers another man, as he kneels by his bed, his mother watching him from the doorway.
Another man, skating around an empty ice skating rink, tells the Almighty, He never thinks about himself, mon Dieu; that's why he's in trouble.
A bald-headed man mutters to himself, Jack's a good guy, even if he is a crazy son of a b****. Give him a break, God.
From the inside of a small glass walled cell comes the words, I love him, dear Lord. Watch over him tonight.
Please God. Something's the matter with Daddy. Please bring him back safely, prays a young woman, her brown eyes clouding with unshed tears.
As the numerous prayers were heard, the heavens twinkled with the conversations of angels. One deep voice boomed, Hello Joseph, trouble?
Another man's voice responded, a star flashing, Looks like we'll have to send someone down--a lot of people are asking for help for a man named Jack Bristow.
Jack Bristow, said the first voice, Yes, tonight's his crucial night. You're right, we'll have to send someone down immediately. Whose turn is it?
That's why I came to see you, sir. It's that inventor's turn again, said the man called Joseph, grumbling.
Oh--Milo. Hasn't got his wings yet, has he? boomed the first. We've passed him up right along.
Joseph pulled out a bunch of papers. Well that's because you know, sir, he's caused all sorts of trouble up here with his various machines and creations, he said, glancing through the numerous reports detailing the mishaps of the angel-in-question.
Yes, but still, he's got the faith of a child--simple. Joseph, send for Milo.
A small star flew in from the eastern part of the sky, and stopped. Twinkling, another voice began to speak.
You sent for me, sir? he said.
Yes, Milo. A man down on earth needs our help, said God, as he revealed himself to be the booming voice.
Splendid! Is he sick? Does he posses unseen marks?
No, worse. He's depressed and discouraged. At exactly 10:45 PM tonight, Earth time, that man will be thinking seriously of throwing away God's greatest gift to him.
Oh, dear, dear! Not his hair!
No, Milo.
Oh, you mean his life! Then I've only got an hour to dress. What are they wearing now?
Joseph smirked, planning to personally clothe the irritating angel in the latest trends.
God shook his head. No, you will spend that hour getting acquainted with Jack Bristow.
Sir...If I should accomplish this mission--I mean--might I perhaps win my wings? I've been waiting for over five hundred years now, sir--and people are beginning to talk, whined Milo.
Ignoring this, God asked, curiously, What's that book you've got there?
Harry Potter. It's supposed to be the latest rage down on earth.
God raised his eyebrows. Well, Milo, you do a good job with Jack Bristow, and you'll get your wings.
Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you.
Poor, poor Jack, mumbled Joseph under his breath. Sit down, Milo.
Sit down? What are... he started.
If you're going to help a man, you want to know something about him, don't you? said Joseph in a patient, patronizing voice.
Blissfully ignorant to the annoyance he was being, Milo answered, Well, naturally. Of course.
Well, keep your eyes open, Joseph said, rolling his eyes.
TBC