The call came in at 1:45 A.M.
My mother was dead.
My aunt had driven up there, not exactly what I would call sober, but close enough. She watched as my mother took her last breath. She held her hand as she passed into the afterlife.
I was awake, clinging to the phone, waiting for the call.
"She passed," was all my aunt said.
I didn't even know what to say.
That meant a week was taken off from school for the funeral, visitation, visits from family, most of the time was used for personal grieving.
I was an orphan.
YOU ARE READING
The Chapel
Ficción GeneralMaxwell, a teenager in a world of hurt, discovers that something greater is taking place than what meets the eye in his own homelife, school, and neighborhood. He and his new friends team up with a stranger to fix up the old Chapel building near his...
