The sign outside of the Blood Bought Church is the closest Louis has ever gotten to the edge. Curiosity was a quick-fire way to earn strikes, and Louis has been clean since he was seventeen, so he'd never dwell for too long. But changing the marquee was a only letter-by-letter process, that went at a letter-by-letter pace - especially with longer announcements - so he got away with getting a good scope of the area, even though there was never much to see: trees, Cliff Road, the gravel parking lot, and an occasional deer-in-the woods, or goose-on-the-lake. Sometimes, cars passed by, but the traffic was never what Henry, the accountant, called "bumper-to-bumper." Louis had a hard time even imagining that in his head.
The cars that drove between the cliff and Shareburg Lake were usually lonely, except for service days. When eggs flew out of the window, that typically indicated the first day of Summer.
They had brown shells this time, and one managed to land right on the corner of the marquee. The eggs came out of an old, red 4x4, driven by a freckled boy with dark hair and sunglasses. He and the girl sitting next to him looked like they were in too much of a hurry to yell the usual profanities. Louis still had a faint red line on his back from the last strike he got, when he asked Pastor Roland what "Fucking cult!" meant.
The cars that drove between the cliff and Shareburg Lake were usually lonely, except for service days. When eggs flew out of the window, that typically indicated the first day of Summer.
They had brown shells this time, and one managed to land right on the corner of the marquee. The eggs came out of an old, red 4x4, driven by a freckled boy with dark hair and sunglasses. He and the girl sitting next to him looked like they were in too much of a hurry to yell the usual profanities. Louis still had a faint red line on his back from the last strike he got, when he asked Pastor Roland what "Fucking cult!" meant.
