Bell

The past week had flown by like the wind, and Emanuele didn't know whether that was good or bad.

She was now sitting at the hastily made wooden desk in Johnny's room, carefully reading the polite but formal e-mail, which said many things; among them that the girl was fired.

Running her hand through her now-dyed-black hair, Emanuele sighed heavily.

Her freedom to come and go, her home, and now her job. Even after she was dead, her mother was still the source of all her problems.

She tried to cry from sadness and revolt. But so many tears had been shed in the past few days that now the reservoir was empty.

As if fate itself was scripting the events, the girl's cell phone began to vibrate with the arrival of a text message.

Emanuele didn't even come close to checking her cell phone.

Instead, she snuck over to the window, taking care not to leave her face exposed. When was the last time the girl had left her boyfriend's apartment?

The world seemed more or less the same. Children played, a