Do you hear that?
The bells.
The sound of the crowd.
Weeping.
She's lost they said...
She's gone.
She's dead.
Here I am standing. In a place God knows where. I stand alone. Quiet. Then that sound has pierced me again.
The bells.
Oh the bells...
The bells, they sing again. They shriek those piercing cries, again and again...over the person on the casket, over the person who died.
But who is that person?
For whom do we cry?
Tell me.
Do you know?
Do you know who just died?
She sleeps. The woman, with all the flowers around her. She who was given a garden full of roses this day. She finally found her peace. Yet I wonder. These people around her. These people who never cared. These people who've done nothing but break her down...dissect her bit by bit. I wonder. Why do they weep?
Do you know her story?
Well do you?
And if you did...then tell me?
Why didn't you?
Why didn't you take that knife away from her?
Why didn't you stop the flashes she was seeing?
Why didn't you stay with her when she was bleeding?
Why?
Why?
Why...
Today someone died. Wonder. Who is it that died? These bells keep calling...these bells keep on crying. Asking. Begging. Please. Not her.
All of us are living. But her? She's really trying.
Today the bells toll. But not for her...no. She did not die. She never has and she never will. She's alive, right here. The beauty of her creativity has moved many hearts. Including mine.
She may have written to keep on living. But all she has written has kept me going. She is beautiful. She is emotion put into paper. She is all the heart and soul that a writer will always yearn for. She is everything beautiful that this world could offer.
She may not be able to write again. Those hands may not move anymore. But I'll be her pen. I'll write the words. No. I'll bring her to life. Through the same thing that kept her alive. I'll use the pen and paper. I'll plunge into the unknown. I'll keep on writing for her.
Let the world mourn. Let the crowd cry. But I know deep down, that you will never die. You are a writer. You are immortalized by what you have put into paper. You live by all the souls that you have touched. One heart may stop pumping. One heart may stop beating. But every other will keep on going. Breathing the life you gave them.
Don't ask why the bells toll. Don't ask. Nobody died. She is alive. She is with me. She is with us. The world may try to kill her, but she will never die.