The Day The Bell Rang In Blood Episode 2

The scream did not end it multiplied. One scream turned into many, echoing across the school compound like a warning bell that refused to stop ringing. For a few seconds, everyone stood frozen, confused, trying to understand what was happening. Then we heard the sound that changed everything: angry shouts, the clash of metal, and footsteps running in panic.

“Run!” someone shouted.

That single word broke the spell.

Students scattered in all directions. Bags fell. Shoes were abandoned. The orderly school environment dissolved into pure chaos. I grabbed my friend’s hand, but within seconds we were pushed apart by the rushing crowd. I called her name, but my voice was swallowed by screams and noise. Fear wrapped tightly around my chest, making it hard to breathe.

As I ran, I saw things I wish I could forget. Senior boys wielding dangerous weapons. Faces twisted with rage. Blood staining the dusty ground. A boy fell near the science block, crying out in pain, clutching his leg. No one stopped not because we didn’t care, but because fear had taken control of our bodies. Survival became the only instinct.

Teachers tried to intervene. I saw one shouting orders, telling students to lie down, to move toward the staff room, but his voice sounded small against the violence. Some teachers ran too not out of cowardice, but because the situation had gone far beyond control.

My legs trembled as I ran past the library. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I had to keep moving. My heart beat so fast I thought it would burst out of my chest. My eyes burned with tears, but I refused to stop. Every sound behind me felt like danger chasing me.

Then, suddenly, I hit a dead end.

I stood there, trapped between two classroom blocks. Ahead of me was nothing but a locked door. Behind me were the sounds of fighting growing closer. My hands shook violently as I pressed myself against the wall, my back cold with sweat. My school uniform, once a symbol of pride, now felt like a target.

I thought of my parents. I thought of my mother’s face that morning, calm and trusting as she watched me leave for school. A terrifying thought crossed my mind: What if I never see her again?

My knees buckled, and I slid down to the ground. That was when I realized how powerless I was. I was only fifteen a child caught in a war I did not understand and did not choose.

With tears streaming down my face, I whispered a prayer, my voice barely audible.

“God, please help me. Please don’t let me die here.”

The noise outside grew louder, closer. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for whatever would come next unaware that help was already moving toward me.

Continue reading Episode 3