There Is An Island Off The Coast Of Washington Where A Religious Cult Operates A ‘Colony’

Flickr / James MK
Flickr / James MK

The wind whipped around the corner of my little sanctuary on the outside deck of the ferry so hard it blew out my cigarette.

“Dammit,” I yelled, but could barely hear myself over the screaming wind.

I thought about trying to salvage the remaining stem of what would probably be my last smoke for at least six months, but I had already pressed my luck enough. It was only a matter of time before someone spotted the 17-year-old sucking on the contraband he had stolen from his stepdad’s truck and alerted the proper authorities.

Too late. My killed stub hadn’t even hit the frothy waves by the time I saw the teenage blonde girl pointing her phone at me from over by the heavy porthole-style door that led out to the deck.

“Oh you gotta be shitting me,” I groaned before the girl took off into the ferry and slammed the heavy steel door behind her.

I hadn’t even made it to Eden yet and I was already getting kicked out for being a fuck up.

I trudged back into the warmth of the ferry cabin expecting Coach Raphael to be waiting for me there with my last straw in one hand and a return ticket to the mainland in another. Instead, the blonde girl who had spotted me was waiting for me inside.

At a closer vista, two things became instantly recognizable about this girl.

She was trouble.

She was beautiful.

About the author

Jack has written professionally as a journalist, fiction writer, and ghost writer. For more information, visit his website.

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