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Do Not Ring The Bell


I wouldn't open my eyes for anything. I just couldn't. My arms have this chills whenever I hear the bell, the sound that gave me an awful trauma; something that my ears beg not to hear, even for a day.


It's past six in the evening and half the dishes aren't washed yet. I've been working all day and my bones are ready to break down, my legs almost prepared to kiss gravity, my back ready to pause for a moment, and my eyes just ready to shut still; but I couldn't. I wouldn't dare work another half of my life for step mother the way I did nine years ago, when I was seven. Back then I was boiling the pot for Anastasia's bath but I was preparing Grizella's laundry. I was confused with my priorities that I broke the China set father gave to step mother. And for that, a debt twice of my lifetime punishment has been ever given to me. I remember them yanking every credit I made; I remember all the arrows of blame that pokes at me at the expense of their, or even my own mistakes. 


Never mind the bruises at my palms; ignore the wounds at my arms; disregard the paleness frown I have when I turn to them. It's not that I'm used to this but because I couldn't escape to this. However, this doesn't mean that I intend to accept this life, embrace this savagery I have. No! Not today. Something special happens today.


Time is ticking and I haven't finished my chores. Step mother promised that if I accomplished every bit of today's task, I would have been allowed to go to the ball. All eligible women are invited to the Prince's Ball. All my life I've wanted to meet him. I've designed a dress ever since I was a kid, in the hopes that I will wear them when we meet-tonight, hopefully! But I still haven't sewn the dress. Oh I need a miracle now. My work amplifies much more to my list. A list only minimal checks you can see. 


I rub the dishes, rinse them up one by one, wipe and store; I sweep the floor, I wipe the windows. The load in my heart deteriorates as I finish one task at a time, brimming instant joys every time. Even if I inhale the dusts at the cinders, even if I awaken the animals at the farm even if they're supposed to sleep by now, even if I know it is impossible to make it, deep within me I can feel destiny awaiting.


Her bell rings and the distasteful voice cracks up wide in the open. "Cinderella!" The cruel, sardonic, full voice of the wicked has spoken; spelling all the happiness into a curse that can be broken when unsaid. Her footsteps begin to roar louder as the succeeding creeks begins to reek my ears. I can imagine her long dirndl dress in dark maroon, her hair in an up-bun, her wrinkled skin, her darted eyes, and her long fingers that aims to grab me.


"CINDERELLA!" And she yells again, abdicating trouble. 

In sigh I replied, "Coming."

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Do Not Ring The Bell Do Not Ring The Bell Reviewed by Michelle Tan on 9:26 PM Rating: 5

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