The Bell's Toll

I wasn't quite sure how one sound could be so infuriating.

The bell had chimed before, twice a day when the clock struck twelve, however now the clock appeared to be mocking me as it welcomed a new day. I was never particularly fond of the bell's toll before, but now it was simply an insult. He—the man who I was expected to love but never could—turned to me and asked if I would leave with him, from this place.

Oh, if only I was not a lady; his voice was nearly as aggravating as that cursed bell. I politely declined, and he glanced at the rectangular shape of dirt, sighing as he always did.

His frail, almost skeletal hands found their way to his coat's pockets, and he turned to me, looking at me with disappointment as if I were some spoiled child. He always had to say the last word—“Then I suppose I shall see you tomorrow, you stained woman.”—before disappearing and finally leaving me at peace to watch over the plot where his body lay as the twelfth chime rang out.