The Bell-By Scarlett Wansbrough
Charlie was a gentle child, she never hurt anybody, she was filled with everlasting kindness, her long luscious rapunzel hair complimented her eyes as deep as the blue ocean at dusk. It was a quiet morning in the isolated village of gaveldon, the air was crisp and the trees stood still as wind was nowhere to be found, the mountains covered in snow stretching miles and miles.
Get Scarlett Wansbrough’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
We had lived in the same family home since birth, it was in an empty cornfield covered in piles of tremendously cold snow. As I sat down on my fathers old rocking chair, I glared out the fogged up window trying to find something to distract myself from the boredom of my life. Until I could start to hear faint footsteps coming from down our creaky old stairs, and a jingling sound. I knew it was Charlie, her bag had always had the same rosy red bell keychain on it since forever.
It was from our parents, who had passed away from a deadly virus supposedly incurable. “Good morning!” Charlie squeaked, her voice little and small. She was only five years old, starting her first day at Gaveldon academy. As I finished my toast, crumbs everywhere, plate empty, I stared at Charlie. Her smile was contagious, and her blazer hung down to her knees. I smiled back at her as she jumped in excitement while explaining how happy she was to go to school.
PART 2 COMING SOON.
