Far beyond the city, in the middle of nowhere, sat a tiny chapel. No one knew who built it, why it was in the middle of nowhere, or why any traveler in need would always find the light on – but I know these things. I am alive because of Father Chris and the little chapel in the middle of nowhere.
I just turned eighteen and was so sure of myself. I knew everything I ever needed to know – at least I thought I did. I was an adult and didn’t need anyone’s permission to leave. So I did. I left home the morning of my birthday with a few clothes and what little money I had stuffed in a backpack. Mom and Dad weren’t up yet, which made it a little easier not having to listen to Dad ask why or listen to my Mom cry and ask me to stay. No, it was better the way I did it. At least it seemed that way at the time.
I boarded the Number 3 bus heading out of Jasper and …
To be continued
To start us on our journey to the little chapel and Father Chris, I am tagging Morpethroad.
- Copy the story as it appears when you receive it (and the rules please)
- Add somehow to the story in which ever style and length you choose
- Be sure to pingback or comment on the original post please. Please use the tag THWFTS.
- Tag only 1 person to continue the story
- Have fun!