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"The Bell Ringer"

An Original Story By BaddTeddy

Edited By BaddFroggy,  and Eleni8202

This Story Is Dedicated To 

Bell Ringers And Charity Workers Around The World For All Your Good Deeds

No! Please, No! Please don't let that be the sound of bells ringing. Oh, how I have learned to dread that sound. I hear it often, and yet each time I feel guilt, shame and anger without reason. It's like being sentenced and punished without ever having truly committed a crime. Each time I hear that ringing, it makes me feel as though my head will explode at any moment.

There are others like me, I know. You can see it in their eyes, they hate that little bell too. The way they roll their eyes while standing inside, guilty looks exchanged while silently trying to decide when it might be safe to venture out.

I can't believe it, that is a bell ringing. Am I to be surrounded by bell ringers? This was the fourth one I had to hide from today. Were they taking over the world? Wasn't there any place that was safe from them anymore? Was I being paranoid, or did it seem that the bell ringers were out to get me? How could it have come to this? The world is full of bell ringers taking the joy out of the Holidays. I remember as a child how we used to love to hear the bell ringers, back in the days when the Holidays meant something, back in the days when we dreamed of Santa Claus, reindeer and presents under the Christmas tree. It seemed then that the bell ringers were like angels, standing out in the cold ringing their bells simply to tell the world that Christmas was coming. The sound of bells used to be the happiest sound in the world.

Now the bell ringers have become something to avoid as they stand there smiling, and waving their arms up, down, and then up and down again. With each movement of their arms, you hear the most hideous noise known to mankind, the sound of bells. Ask not for whom the bell tolls, I feel it tolls for me.

Yes, that definitely was the sound of a bell. This bell ringer was really laying it on. Her arms were going up and down, up and down with that little bell of hers. How does such a little bell make such an uproarious sound? Ding, Dong. Ding, Dong. Ding, Dong. No wonder Santa lives in the North Pole, he's hiding from the bell ringers.

Don't the bell ringers understand? I am a good person, a very good person. I don't normally act like this. I'm good, kind and caring. I'm not a cheapskate. I give to charities all year long. I give at the office. I give to people in need on the street. I give to little girls and boys who are selling cookies I will surely never eat. I give left and I give right. I am a generous person. I know I am. But when the holidays come around I feel that familiar fear. The fear that I will have nothing left to give. Of course I give to the first bell ringer, and the second, even the third. But they seem to be forming a line. They are everywhere I go, people ringing bells and holding out a little tin cup.

I knew it was for a good purpose. I knew it was for a good reason. I gave until I had nothing left to give.

Okay, the coast was clear. The bell ringer was distracted, talking to some children. If I could walk by really fast, and keep my eyes averted, she would probably never even notice me entering the mall. Good, the kids were laughing and smiling. I think I'm going to make it. Yes! Faster, faster! No, don't run, you are almost there. Oh no! The kids are leaving, she's going to turn around at any second, and then I will be caught. Why couldn't I have thought to keep at least a little change in my pocket, just in case?

When she turns I will feel such shame. She won't know about all the others I have helped. She won't know that I already gave to the other bell ringers today, or that my cabinets at home are full of cookies that I may never eat. She won't know that I gave at the office, by mail and on the streets. All she will know is what she sees, someone so cheap that they tried to walk by without giving to help those in need. But she doesn't turn, and I make good my entrance.

I could now shop safely for a few hours, before having to make one last attempt at an escape. I decided to sit and rest on a bench, my heart still fluttering. It felt like it was going to explode when those kids left and I thought the bell ringer was going to look at me, never saying anything, but there would certainly be a look in those eyes. It was nothing mean. Perhaps it would be a sad look, which would reflect sadness that people like me didn't care enough to help others. Of course I would be shamed to the very bottom of my soul, even though she would never say a word. She would simply smile at me and continue to wave her bell up and down.

There I was, totally safe from the bell ringer. I could still hear her ringing that bell, and I watched others prepare to attempt their escapes. A few good souls, who had not been completely tapped out, simply walked by and put a little change in her cup. Other people seemed oblivious to the fact that she even existed, and I wondered if it was an act or they just didn't care. Then, there are those like me, who hesitate before leaving, who seem to be looking everywhere but at the bell ringer while secretly timing her every move. I observed how one after another turned up their collars, averted their eyes, seemingly interested in examining the tops of their shoes as they walked past the bell ringer.

One after another, people made their escape, some with gifts for the poor, others with eyes averted and guilty consciences. But never once did the bell ringer say anything unkind. In fact, after an hour of watching her, I had convinced myself that she intentionally looked away and pretended to be busy when one of us walked by. Why would she do that? We are being very cheap. We aren't giving anything. Instead, we are trying to find ways to avoid her eyes and her little bell.

As I continued to walk around the mall for hours, no longer interested in buying anything, my mind was full of one thing, and one thing only, and that was the bell ringer. Suddenly, I began to understand. The bell ringer must have known that some of us felt guilt and had nothing to give. She knows we felt ashamed and tried to avoid her. She was simply making it easy for us to escape that feeling of guilt. But what about her? Could this lady, whom I have characterized in my mind as the devil himself, actually be an angel in disguise? How does she feel when people won't look her in the eyes? Does it hurt her feelings? Does the bell, that noisy little bell, drive her crazy too? Could anyone like the sound of that bell? If she doesn't like the sound of the bell why does she volunteer day after day to ring it? What kind of person is she, this bell ringer?

As I walked along with my thoughts on the bell ringer, I think I finally understood. I finished my shopping, or lack of it, and headed for the front of the mall towards the exit. Only this time, I would not hide. I had nothing to give, instead I was going to do something I had never done before. I was going to talk to the bell ringer. I approached this smiling lady who was ringing her bell, and I said something I never thought I would have the courage to say. I said, "I walked past here earlier, but I hid from you. I was ashamed that I had nothing left to give. I have given all year long and now there is nothing left for me to give. I want to apologize for avoiding you. That wasn't the right thing to do. You stand out here in the cold helping others and my actions are something I am ashamed of. I don't have anything left to give, but I would like to do something nice for you."

Well, the bell ringer looked at me with surprise in her eyes, questions and answers failing to surface from her lips. Before she could say or do anything, I continued, "There are two things I would like to do tonight. The first is to say "thank you" to every bell ringer for his or her kind act of charity from the heart. The second thing is, I have noticed your arms seem to be tiring from ringing that bell, and I would like to ring it for you the rest of the evening."

We sat there, my new friend the bell ringer and I, and I finally understood what it meant to give. Giving is not about money, it's about giving of yourself. It's about showing people that you truly care. That night, I felt like a kid again because, as I stood there ringing that bell, I knew in my heart that Christmas was soon to arrive.

THE MORAL OF THE STORY

Charity and human kindness begin in the heart, not in the pocket. Give of yourself. You can make a difference in someone's world, and that world may turn out to be your own.

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