The Day The Bell Rang In Blood Episode 3

Time lost its meaning as I sat there, pressed against the cold wall, my body shaking uncontrollably. Every second felt stretched, heavy with fear. The sounds of the fight echoed through the corridor shouts, footsteps, the terrifying clash of weapons. I could hear my own breathing, fast and uneven, as if my chest was struggling to keep up with my heart.

I tightened my grip on my school bag like it could protect me. My mind raced with thoughts I was too young to be having. Is this how people die? In school? I had always believed death was something distant, something that happened to old people or in faraway places, not to students in uniform who still struggled with homework and punishments.

Footsteps suddenly rushed past my hiding place. I held my breath. My ears rang. I imagined someone spotting me, dragging me out, ending everything in one violent moment. My eyes were tightly shut, but fear forced them open again. The corridor was still empty, but danger felt close so close I could almost touch it.

Then, out of nowhere, a strong hand grabbed my arm.

I screamed.

“Quiet! Don’t shout,” a voice whispered urgently.

It was a teacher one of the female teachers I recognized but never really knew well. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear, yet there was determination in them. She pulled me up quickly and motioned for me to follow her without making a sound. My legs felt weak, but adrenaline pushed me forward.

We moved fast, bending low, avoiding open spaces. The noise followed us, but the teacher did not stop. She opened the door to a small office near the staff room and pushed me inside. Two other students were already there, crying softly. She locked the door behind us and placed a chair against it.

“Sit down. Don’t make a sound,” she said, her voice shaking.

We sat on the floor, backs against the wall, listening. Every shout outside made us flinch. At some point, I stopped crying. Fear had drained all my tears. Instead, I prayed silently, repeating the same words over and over: God, please let me go home. Please let me see my family again.

Minutes passed maybe hours. I didn’t know. Then, faintly at first, we heard a different sound. Not shouting. Not screaming.

Sirens.

Hope flickered in my chest.

The chaos outside slowly faded. The fighting sounds reduced, replaced by heavy footsteps and commanding voices. Eventually, someone knocked on the door. The teacher opened it cautiously. It was security personnel.

“It’s over,” one of them said.

My legs gave way as relief washed over me. I was alive. I had been spared. At fifteen years old, I learned the meaning of mercy.

As we were led out, I saw the aftermath broken windows, abandoned shoes, blood-stained corridors. The school I once knew was gone.

And deep inside me, something else was gone too: my innocence.

But one thing was clear I did not survive by chance. That day, between life and death, I was saved by God.

Continue reading Episode 4