The bell ringing is both an act of kindness and of cruelty. It sounds out the close of each hour to give the tired souls some sort of frame to their existence, but it also rings as if to say, _another hour gone where no one came to rescue you._

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It was the last anchor to life as we knew it. I remember that rotting bench on the cobb overlooking the water’s edge. The sea would lap against the grim beach as calmly yet relentlessly as it did back in the land of the living. It was the first spot I eyed when I arrived in this place. I took my shoes off and dug my toes into the sand. I tried to run out to the sea - at the time, the tide was out. But I never got there no matter how long I walked. I spent a lot of my time on this bench - what time, if I had none left? When the sea chose to creep forward, I’d watch the foamy waves splash against the sand and rocks. It would spray me if I was sat on this bench but I felt no wetness nor cold.

I didn’t want to explore the city, you see. It was full of the dead. I preferred the edge, as some others did. I believe there were rugged hills and dark forests for others to take refuge from their stark reality. It makes sense. What could be wrong with me if I still see trees planted in the earth, a sky of clouds above my head? But the bell still gently called, reminding us of time. I still preferred nature’s hold to the chaos of humanity’s suffering. Inside the buildings and on the streets, people of varying degrees of regret and sadness shouted, wrestled, played, whatever you can think of. Anything to distract them.

Nothing forces you to leave this place. Though there is a train. Now and again figures would shuffle to the station and get on board. They never came back having made the choice to progress, or halt progress, however you may look at it.

I was wandering down the beach when a crow called my name. I barely remembered it but the bird cried the word enough that it sparked my consciousness. It took me to the arch that everhone revered. Hands grabbed at my clothes and ghosts begged for me to take them with me. Some tried to claim my name as their own. But I was flanked by crows with sharp beaks and glinting eyes. I walked through the arch and into a light so blinding. I felt the weight of a thousand land on my shoulders. I thought surely my legs would buckle. The air became thicker - I felt something punching the inside of my chest, blood surging through my limbs, an agonising headache.

I opened my eyes and I was hit with a wave of nausea as I took in my surroundings - so vivid yet so colourless. A woman I did not recognise nurse stood over me looking both shocked and overjoyed. With a stabbing pain as my brain formed a thought, I realised she was a nurse.

That is how I escaped from the city of the dead. Time is what I needed after all. My body needed to tick away until it was strong enough. Would I call it hell? I don’t know. I know I’m not going back there, to the in-between.

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I spend my days gently. I like the small things. The scent of my coffee. The song of wind chimes. A cooling breeze. The warmth of flames. I always take time to feed the crows.