Toll of the Bells

Prose by Trisha Kate V. Escalante

All my life I’ve always shared everything with my sister—silk clothes, personal attendants, wide bedrooms, haughty circle of friends, and even grandiose birthdays.

Lola would always dress us up the same way, exactly to the tee. She even braids our hair with the same number of knots, pin the same dainty golden ornaments on our hair, and give us an equal number of kisses when bedtime strikes.

“Both of you will make us proud and continue the family legacy.”

She would always whisper to us under the dim lamp light, with the sound of dangling pearls and diamonds on her neck.

She whispers with such sincere intent that my sister and I would look at each other, puzzled about the legacy she fervidly wants to pass on. A cryptic smile is all we get whenever we ask her about it.

All my life I’ve always shared everything with my sister—the privilege, the power, and even the chance to marry men from the same social stratum. Men with loyal goons and a string of towns and cities to govern over.

My sister and I wanted to get married within the same week. We did not want to further delay the destined unification of powerful families, the manifestation of our legacy.

“Getting married within the same year is a bad omen. Bad luck will plague your younger sister, and your fates will be loomed with disaster.”

I never did mind sharing things with my sister, we’ve been doing it our entire lives. Sharing half the devil’s luck is not an exception, even if the wedding bells tolled the tunes of death.

What can bad luck do in the faces of those powerful enough to change the fate of others and their own?

All my life I’ve always shared everything with my sister—hobbies, types in men, and even academic standing. We loved country hopping, riding on jet planes, and splurging on jewelry. We also loved our fair share of high-profile personalities, legislators, statesmen, the usual.

Our Lola always told us to enjoy our life to the fullest because not everyone is handed with the same deck of cards as us, so why should we deny ourselves these simple pleasures?

We weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed but everyone told us our family name could carry us through the thick and thins of life. Our family is self-sufficient, if you consider public service and diplomacy to be exactly that.

My sister and I reveled in the power our family name held, we were a dynasty of political royals sitting on ivory thrones, and people of this country bow at the mere mention of our moniker. I guess this is the legacy Lola was talking about.

“Only marry men like your grandfather and father to continue our legacy.”

For the first time, my sister and I did not share the same circumstances. As I watched the television flash splotches of red from the scene of the crime, my blood ran cold and my breath was caught in my throat.

“A newly-wed, suspected, narco-politician was caught in a crossfire on what seems to be a planned drug raid after husband reports her drug deals.”

The news report blasted through the speakers like the ringing of sirens in bomb shelters. Something was out of place. My sister was an angel, she would never dare do this. Unless…it was all staged.

I never really believed in silly superstitions, but when the ominous toll of the bells started syncing with every drop of my sweat, I was pushed into a panicked state. I was next.

The metal sound of a cocked gun silenced the bells. It was behind me.

Is this the end of my legacy?