The Bell Tower is steep and rises high above the building. The stairs are made of rickety wood and go up thirty stories. The bell is so old that the cracks seem almost perfectly set in the iron.
Bell Tower, Inside Church
hermit
peasant
I am poor and dirty. I hate that I am starving to death. I am a hard worker.
Hermit, it pains me to be starving to death. Still, I'll share my last bit of moldy bread with you. You should keep it for yourself. Look out for your own skin. I'll just give it to the dog. It's worthless anyway. Here, take some apples. I've got plenty. Thank you! These will bring me life for another day or two. I thought I was going to die here in this bell tower. Why stay? Why not? The bell rings and it rings me a wee bit of joy in this sad, depressing world. Why are you here? I'm revisiting old ghosts. I have lots of memories of this place. Share with me your best memory. I was probably twelve. She was thirteen. We spent the day up here laughing and carrying on. The world had been golden that day. We never said so, but we knew it was the last one we would have. Sounds like an amazing day for young love. In the old days, we could think of such things. Yes, I'll hold on to that one forever.