The bells are tolling (Weekly Writing Challenge: Starting Over)

“You can never go home again.”


That’s probably the most depressing news I have heard in my whole life. The thought of having to stay in this small room with its white walls and melancholy atmosphere is almost too much to bear. I am dying, for saying out loud. I would at least appreciate the comfort of home. Then I realize the carillon of the nearby church is tolling, announcing yet another death. Who is it? The baker from Rose St. who makes delicious apple pies? The owner of the bed and breakfast on Foxglove Avenue who let me sleep there once for free? The real estate agent of my house on Daisy St.? Perhaps the bells aren’t tolling at all, perhaps it is all in my head. They ring too often these days that I couldn’t tell the difference. The ringing of the bells are probably coming from my own mind-a premonition-telling me that soon, the bells will toll for me.


I started to remember my first day in this town. Blossom had seemed appealing especially after spending almost ten years in the city. I had begun to get tired of all the cars and buildings and people. I wanted a change in atmosphere, a streak of light in an otherwise boring life. I wanted to start over. A friend told me about Blossom and not long after, I found myself walking through the town’s dirt roads. It was raining and the puddles on the road were beginning to fill with water. That was the night I slept in the bed and breakfast and as I walked on the next morning, I passed by the bakery and the smell of freshly-baked apple pie filled the air. I bought two pies, one for myself and one for my real estate agent.


She went through all the things I should know about the town when I bought the house, and as time went by, I realized she was right. The people here always had time for simple pleasures like reading, singing and dancing, those things I rarely saw in the city that seem so important here. They were busy, but they always had time for a good conversation. Families always went out to the local diner or to the park and children enjoyed the cool, fresh air. Lovers would often watch the sunset at the harbor, which glows at night because of its little twinkling lights.


I started over in Blossom and rebuilt my old self, who seemed to be buried deep in the ground. I had a lot of amazing experiences and made happy memories here. I learned many things about life, met many great people, and had a wonderful time. It was more than everything I ever hoped for.


I feel the numbness slowly creeping in on me. I start to see the light coming from the other side.


“You can never go home again.” the nurse repeated.


“I know.” I whisper. “But I will take home with me.”


The bells are tolling again, and I hear them calling my name. I am not afraid, I shall come…





For more of Starting Over, check out Weekly Writing Challenge: Starting Over.


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