Angels Are Bright Still, Though The Brightest Fell

Leon Van Damme was crashing, he was careening out of control, his reserves empty of the energy created between moving bodies. After the ghost of his father had resurfaced, and the reality of the life lived as a depraved apartment loner smacked him in the face, he felt himself folding into the only unbiased comfort he knew – the Church.

As he strode towards the statutes of his childhood, Leo attempted to imagine the first time he entered the sanctuary religion provided. He must have been only an infant, cradled in a woman's arms- curled up somewhere loud. He felt like it must have been a plane, the woman and the baby pressed against the window in the rear of the cabin. The roar of the turbines filling both mother and child with the cleansing sensation of total deafness. The flight felt natural to Leo, as a child he always felt as if he’d been displaced; a foreigner from the opposite coast. He couldn't understand the motives of his mother to bring him across the country to the church of Monsignor Van Damme. He also failed to grasp the intentions of the Monsignor when we took the child in under his wing, giving Leo his name, and raising him as his own. Leo figured that the Monsignor couldn't possibly be his father, the vow of celibacy held at too high a regard for a man in his position. However Leo was raised as his son, motherless and quite easily fatherless. The weight of the ever-loving church adding power to every syllable the Monsignor uttered. Despite the obvious facts, the Monsignor was a father to Leo, and the only one he knew – the one he grew up fearing, respecting, and trying to escape.

It was barely light out, the sky ever so slowly shifting from the color of pitch to the color of water only slightly above the sea floor. Leo hadn't slept since he’d ingested the words of the 23^rd Psalm. Since his eyes had followed the eerie timeless curves of his father’s cursive. He could not rid himself of the heavenly ghost of the Monsignor and the devil that pervaded his own soul. In his attempt to rectify the echoes of his past, he would have to return to the source of his conflict; the great-hallowed walls of the church.

He reached the steps, hesitated only slightly before raising his arms towards the heavens to heave the great doors open. Before his fingers could press against the withered wood, they parted in front of him. Magically the seam between the doors widened. Leo was awe-struck. No doubt was it his father opening the great doors to his healing – welcoming him back to the belief that everything above us is gold and important - covered in miles of plush carpet. Leo Van Damme stood, mouth agape before the church, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He blindly stumbled forward, ever so ready to fill his stores with light and the warmth that seeps through the pores of accepting people. Leo closed his eyes and fell through the doors.

“Outta my way, fucker.” said a gruff voice.

It was all a sham apparently.

Leo in his rush of good-intention had fallen onto the muscular shoulder of a washed-up guitarist. One of the lonelier sad-saps to inhabit one of the sardine-can floor plans of Castle Apartments, Leo recognized him, but forgot what color he went by. He pushed his way past, unperturbed by the moment he had interrupted, lost in his own problems.

Leo reeled and collapsed to his knees. He hung his head and laughed. A devout laugh that percolated within his marrow and refused to dissipate. The gravely chuckle reverberated between the arched walls of the sanctuary and were carried skyward. Tears spilling down his face his got to his feet, strode towards a young nun who stood terrified by his ruckus and kissed her heavily. He felt like the soldier in that picture, holding her around the waist and leaning over her admirable figure.

Finally Leo felt divine

He left the nun where he found her, shell-shocked, but surprisingly not agitated. Leo practically skipped home; again with his heartbeat in his ears, he felt the roar of the engines and the sensation of flight.