I'm back ;).
But unfortunately, not quite back with a bang. I saw this incredible video on Facebook and was feeling in a Christmas-y mood, and it inspired me, so I wrote this. But it's not good. It's bad. Personally, I think it's really bad. I haven't written anything for Transformers in so long, so I'm pretty rusty with the dialogue, and I was super tired when I wrote this, so much so that I nearly fell asleep at my computer (you're welcome to send me a review and convince me otherwise, though, cause reviews are love and this story really needs some more and if I don't get many more, I may not keep writing so please please review).
Anyway.
I hope I don't get a lot of shit for this. I'm not so insecure in my projections of tolerance and beliefs that I feel I have to write things a certain way to make other people realize that I love all religions, but I still wish I could have made this a bit more multi-cultural. Oh well. Peace, love, and acceptance to all. My focus was more on the sheer wonder I felt watching this video. There was just something in the purity of everyone joining in and believing in something and uniting together to do something so outside of our cultural norms (caroling together in the middle of a crowded shopping mall, for instance) that I felt like it was just magic and something wonderful about humanity. Something beautiful. I just happened to find it this specific video. Please don't think I'm trying to say that the Autobots are in awe of one belief or anything or that I'm forcing a specific belief on you, I'm not. I'm saying that they're in awe of this wonder and unity that they saw in humanity in this specific moment, the kind their race doesn't have anymore- a lost innocence, almost. The kind you find in every person who believes in something- anything- so blindly, even though they have no proof it exists. So don't flame. But I feel like most of y'all who keep track of this story are pretty chill, so yay! Oh and also IT'S MY BIRTHDAY IM NINETEEN ASJKAFJALSJFR AND THIS IS MY PRESENT TO ALL OF YOU!
Link to the video is at the bottom of this story. Seriously, check it out. Whether you believe or not, the hope and wonder on people's faces and their courage in awe-inspiring.
Merry Christmas!
If Decepticons, traitorous humans, huge explosions, or his mother's wrath when he didn't call once a week didn't one day kill Samuel James Witwicky, Christmas shopping at the National mall two weeks from December 25th would.
The crowds were thick and impenetrable. He had lost count of how much time he had spent waiting in lines, and the amount of times he had gotten wacked with other people's shopping bags or purses were sure to leave bruises come morning. There had been a brawl over the newest 3DS in the gaming section of Target and half of Carly's favorite stores seemed to be cleared out. The list of things he had to get were a mile long. And then there was the matter of actually shopping itself- what do you get your super-model girlfriend who has everything? Seriously, up until a few months ago, Carly had been the breadwinner in their relationship. And then his parents…well, that was whole other bag of crazy. Sam could never predict what his mother would want, and his father preferred classics that were way above his pay grade- even the current pay grade of an alien robot ambassador.
That didn't mean he didn't have any ideas, though. After frantically calling Bumblebee and asking him to hack into Carly's google searches and eBay bid history, he had at last made some progress. That conversation had gone a whole lot better than the one he'd had with his mother asking for advice about extended family shopping.
"Oh, I don't know- get him some of those Busty Beauties magazines he seemed to like giving you so much, Lord knows he could use them after that divorce."
"I-I did not appreciate those magazines but I mean they were a sentimental gift, what was I supposed to do with them? Wait- no- don't answer that."
"Oh please, Sam, we talked about this and if I was okay with 'my special alone time'-"
"I'm hanging up now."
"Oh and make sure to get his daughters something nice to wear, you know, something that's not Daisy Dukes or Victoria's Secret like the rest of their godforsaken wardrobe- although, if you wanted to get that for Carly-"
He was now laden with four gigantic white bags filled with items for everyone from his first cousins to Uncle Charles, and two huge shoe boxes stacked on top of his arms for Carly (though that was just part of her present- after the hell he put her through with Chicago, she was definitely going to need something personal and sentimental, too…he was still working on that one) and was starting to feel less like he was drowning and more like he was treading water.
That didn't mean being here was any easier, though. And he kept wondering if at any moment someone might recognize him from the Fallen's broadcast or his medal ceremony- although officially, Sam Witwicky wasn't publically recognized as alien ambassador just yet. It was always like this- the worst was after Mission City. He kept wondering if people could see the experiences in him as if he were wearing them on his skin, in the fading scrape on his cheek or the scars on his left hand or the look in his eyes. Is this was soldiers felt like every time they came home from a tour and went out in civilian clothing, as if they had done so much and seen so much that a part of them was still there, wrapped up in their memories, separate from all the souls around them?
But no- you're not a soldier. You're just the messenger, remember?
The thoughts would fade. They always did, although spending so much time around the Autobots and NEST afterwards this time seemed to have prolonged the experience a bit.
Sam is interrupted from his musings as he squeezes suddenly through a crowd of older women and, unable to see his feet due to the boxes, in true Sam Witwicky fashion (cause this would never happen to anyone else), the hero who had helped save the world three times trips spectacularly over an unseen step.
He went down in a flash of white plastic with the sound of rustling bags and an unmanly yell. The left bag, full of clothes, cushions the fall of his left arm, but the right, which holds a lot more, has probably bruised his ribs. The point of a box was digging painfully into his side, and his knees sear with the collision onto the hard ground. The shoe boxes have gone flying out of his hands.
Groaning, Sam starts to get up, ignoring the snickers and stunned stares of the people parting around him like a river.
"You need some help, son?" drawls a sudden voice- a voice that he has heard before. On a radio. Coming from…
Sam's head snaps up. "Bumblebee?" he demands in a hoarse voice.
The blond person in front of him smiles and nods. Stunned, Sam accepts the offered hand and allows Bee to pull him to his feet.
"What are you-?" Sam breaks off when he sees that Bee isn't alone- there are two young men behind him, one that is Italian-looking and older with a suspicious glint in his eyes, and the other a black-haired jock that is a bit taller than Bumblebee.
Both are smirking at him.
"Um…"
"Don't look so stunned, Samuel," drawls the older one in a heavy Italian accent.
"Dino?"
"Hey, that was nothing compared to the tumble he took in Giza. I don't think I've ever seen a human summersault that many times in one leap."
"Sideswipe?"
Sideswipe holds up the shoe boxes. "Hey, Sam. I think I should hold on to these for a little while, kay? Kay."
"And it's Mirage," adds the other in a slightly snobby voice. "I figure I can trust you humans enough with my real designation now."
Sideswipe snorts. "I still can't believe you did that."
"It was a necessary precaution," is the defensive reply.
"What difference would your real name have made?" demands Sideswipe. "We still got boarded up on that rocket, didn't we? And of all the names you could give, you picked Dino?"
"Can we settle down, now?" Bumblebee drawls again. His mouth didn't move- where was that voice coming from?
"Eh, fine, Bumblebee," grumbles Di-Mirage.
"He still hasn't told them he can disappear," mutters Sideswipe.
Mirage smacks Sideswipe on the shoulder. "Don't tell!"
"Sam won't tell anyone. He had half the Allspark in his head and he didn't spill the oil. Right, Sam?"
"What are you guys doing here?" demands Sam, deciding now is as good a time as any to break in and not think about the warehouse or Megatron or the probe-bot shoved up his brain. He shuffles his bags indignantly.
"See? Kid's practically an Autobot."
"My disdain for your impetuousness knows no bounds."
"Base was getting boring," says Sideswipe to Sam. "We figured we'd head out and see what all this Christmas fuss was about."
"We sensed Bumblebee's spark signature in the area and met up, but we couldn't convince him to leave the bloody parking lot."
"That's because he's my guardian," snaps Sam- though he isn't really that annoyed, especially when Bee takes half of his bags for him. "Does Lennox know you guys are out here?"
"What he doesn't know won't kill him," says Mirage. "At least- not in this case. Cause we all know that-"
"Don't" interrupts Sam. "Don't say what I know you're going to say in public. Don't."
"So we parked, and the three of us figured we'd take a challenge," continues Sideswipe. "See how far we can project our holograms."
"So technically you could consider this a training retreat," adds Mirage slyly.
These Autobots are like teenage kids Lenox had told him. They like to sneak out of the house every once in a while.
"And how far can you project them?" Sam asks, curious in spite of himself. "You're not just going to fizzle out on me and have the security tapes end up on national T.V, are you?"
"So far, so good," were the comforting words he got in response.
"Now come on," comes the voice from Bee again. "Let's go see- what is the true meaning of Christmas?"
Sighing, but slightly lifted in spirits, Sam hefts his bags and dives back into the crowd. "Follow me."
After about an extra hour of walking around, they had gotten into the philosophical argument of the century. Mirage insisted that Christmas was about consumerism, Sideswipe said it was for the 'femmes in Santa outfits' and observant Bumblebee pointed out the children with their parents and surmised it was about making others happy. It was actually pretty entertaining.
"It's not that simple," argues Sam, enjoying himself in spite of his mounting stress levels. "It's kind of all three- but Christmas has kind of evolved over the years."
"I still say it's about the girls in the Santa outfits," deadpans Sideswipe as they make their way around the monstrous line for Santa.
"I see none of those femmes here," Mirage points out.
"You wouldn't," says Sam. "It's a mall. With kids."
"How does a 'Santa outfit' appeal to the male species, anyways?" asks Mirage in confusion. "Ratchet said that exposed skin elevates human pheromone levels." He points at the Santa in the kid's section with a set of twins in his lap. "That doesn't look very attractive. Why would any female want to impress a male by wearing the same outfit as an old overweight male with an unhealthy interest in diabetic foods, reindeer and children?"
While Sam chokes at Mirage's words, Sideswipe rolls his eyes. "It's not the same Santa outfit, 'Raj. It's shorter, you know? Like the kind they wear in Mean Girls."
This declaration is followed by five seconds of stunned silence.
And then Bumblebee plays, in the voice of that turtle from Finding Nemo, "Serious thrill issues, dude."
And Sam lost it. He was laughing so hard Bumblebee had to hold him up.
"You've seen Mean Girls?" he manages to get out.
"Who hasn't seen Mean Girls?"
"I am so telling Will. And Simmons. And anyone else on the planet who will listen."
"Then tell us, oh enlightened one," growls Sideswipe, "What is the true meaning of Christmas? You're the human here."
Sam pauses for a thoughtful moment. "It's a lot of things, really," he says. "Some would argue it's about the religious aspect of the holiday, which is its origin. But I think it's evolved to be a little more than that. I don't know. Something about Christmas is just…"
But before he can say anything more, something happens.
A powerful young voice rings out through the mall, over the crowd and up onto the open second floor and over the noise of all the chatter, catching everyone's attention. It's a beautiful voice, a strong voice, that belongs to a young Hispanic-looking woman standing near Santa's little ring and is singing.
"Joyful, joyful we adore thee
God of glory, lord of love,
Hearts unfold like flowers before thee
Opening to the sun above."
All of a sudden this lone woman is joined by others- rising from the tables, stepping out of the crowd, obviously rehearsed and quickly catching everyone's attention. People stop walking to stare, looking around in confusion, and this part of the mall goes surprisingly quiet.
"Giver of immortal gladness
Fill us with the light of day."
As the song goes on, the voices quickly attract a crowd. People begin the press around the edges of the singers- there's a lot of them, and they're everywhere, so no lines are clearly defined. People being clustering around the balcony on the second floor, eager faces peering down. Some are laughing in astonishment, and then all the phones and cameras start coming out. Sam pulls out his own and starts recording.
The first song ends, and then four men rising up on the escalator start singing "O come all ye faithful." Laughter rings out. And then something amazing happens- everyone that is clustered around starts joining in. These people dispersed throughout the crowd aren't the only voices- they are rising up all around from normal people in the usually passive crowds, and then everyone starts clapping together.
One song fades into the next, this time led by a blond woman with an angelic voice, singing "o Night divine." The song, like a lot of Christmas music, slows and takes on an enchanting, mysterious melody, beautiful and drawn out.
"Oh hear
The angel voices…."
And everyone is singing. Even the teenagers with their phones standing off to the side. Even the middle school boys up on the balcony.
All of the original singers slowly sink to one knee, kneeling, looking up at the sun through the skylight. And so do some other people- a few families, a woman here or there, an old man who looks like he could barely get back up. They're bowing.
Sam is not a religious person. He's never been to church in his life, actually. But the scene before him…there's something in it. Something about the way everyone joins in to the song, something about the bravery of these people for singing here in front of such a crowd where awkwardness is very much a possibility. There is awe in the way people are kneeling together…the way many of them seem to believe in something as one. There is magic in their awe-filled eyes and in the calm tolerance in the faces of others. It is awe-inspiring and it is beautiful.
The very last line of the song is carried by that single, angelic voice, high and alone.
"Oh night…oh night divine."
The singers swiftly rise and make their way out of the crowd. The spell is broken, and applause rises up all around, but the singers are already gone.
Smiling, shutting his phone off, Sam turns to his companions- and pauses. All three of them are dead silent, staring at the empty center of the crowd. Holograms aren't as expressive as their real faces, but something in their expressions tells Sam that something serious is going on inside of those processors of theirs. He can see stunned shock, amazement, pain, awe…even vulnerability.
"You guys okay?"
Bumblebee turns to him and gives him a soft, gentle smile- the kind that Sam can tell is a lot deeper felt than it seems.
"I think," Mirage says quietly, "we just found the true meaning of Christmas."
"Baby Jesus?" Sam asks in shock.
"I find it in the human reception of the concept," Mirage says thoughtfully. He glances at a menorah in a nearby window. "Or perhaps in many concepts. I'm not sure what just happened, but…it was in the awe and reverence in their eyes. And in the unity as they all joined in, whether all of them have faith in one specific belief or not." He turned to Sam. "I understand that singing isn't something most humans will do boldly in front of a crowd. But in spite of all the faults of humanity…I don't think I have ever heard something so enchanting as when you raise your voices as one." He sighed wistfully. "To believe in something so innocently and whole-heartedly again…"
Sam can read between the lines and nods silently, afraid to break the moment. They never talk about Cybertron, or what they were like before the war.
Bumblebee nods in agreement, adding, "He's a bit of a- such a bleeding heart," and finishing with "100% agreement!"
"Prime's going to hate that he missed something like that," says Sideswipe. He glanced at Sam. "Send me that tape, okay? And let's get out of here. I'm sick of carrying your femmes' shoes."
They make their way out of the mall in thoughtful silence. Sam suddenly starts when next to him, Sideswipe mutters, "I think I get it now."
He glances at him curiously. "Get what?"
The warrior shrugs. "What Prime sees in humanity," he says quietly. "Or at least a piece of it. There's still something…pure about your species, even if you have Decepticons of your own. Something we can never have again."
He turns suddenly and hands Sam the shoes. "We're being called in. Don't trip again. Tell anyone I saw that movie, and I'll get you back personally." With a cocky grin and a wink, he vanishes from sight.
Mirage turns and looks at Sam, a frown on his face. "This wasn't an isolated incident, was it?" he asks.
"No," replies Sam. "That kind of stuff happens a lot, all around the world, in every culture. It just happens here a lot at this time of year."
"Hm," says Mirage. And then he, too, vanishes.
Sam glances at Bee. "Well…think you can bring the car around?"
This is the link to the video. My description did it absolutely no justice. If you have any clips of something similar from other religions or cultures around the world, please email me the links. I would love to do a follow-up on this chapter where Mirage looks into other cultures.
watch?v=i0xy9sq9oWQ