Some traditions demand more than loyalty.
Monday morning fell on the office, just like any other. Jamie and his colleagues gathered, chattering excitedly among themselves.
The Team of the Week would be honoured with the chime of a big brass bell.
The bell.
Huge.
Brass.
Gleaming.
It tolled.
Not chimed.
Tolled.
They sat, voices escalating. Jamie’s team looked forward to this week’s ceremony; a plaque and gift vouchers awaited. Promotions awaited. The Team Leader and Project Manager stood to address the different company departments.
Then, his colleagues’ voices started to blend.
Oddly.
Almost a chant.
“Together…
Together..” The Project Manager rang the bell. It responded.
Slowly.
Pedantically.
Longer chimes than it should have.
For what, or whom, Jamie didn’t know.
The voices started syncing in a more urgent, faster rhythm.
“Together….
Together…”
Jamie looked about the table, his confusion rising. Everyone sounded too–
Synchronised.
TOGETHER.
The Project Manager launched his pedantic, customary pep talk. Jamie’s eye fell on an old staff photograph.
He went over the people in it, squinting.
Counted the numbers in the different departments. His eyes lingered on the picture.
Then —
A familiar face, not present. He had spoken to it before. The brass bell gleamed.
For the permission to toll.
Jamie’s eyes went over the photographs again.
He counted the employees meticulously, trying to remember each name.
His missing colleague’s.
A familiar face whose name simply refused to appear.
He spoke to other colleagues, pointing to the photograph.
“Hey, who was this?”
They shot him blank stares.
“As far as I know,the department has always had the same number of people.”
Robert seemed genuinely surprised by Jamie’s question. He had been with the company for a good three decades.
Jamie’s eyes scanned the office for a previous staff member.
An extra access card, hanging on it an unclaimed lanyard, caught his attention.
He looked at Robert.
Who quickly looked away.
Other colleagues returned quickly to their seats.
Then, a familiar tolling.
His colleagues glanced at the brass bell.
Almost reflexively.
Project Manager David took centre stage.
“Whoever closes the next contract gets a permanent place in this company.”
The promise was too —guaranteed.
The winning team gathered around the bell.
Each member placed his hand on it, as tradition dictated.
A toll.
Low.
Heavy.
Then Rita’s silhouette lost its legs.
Arms.
Jamie stared, open- mouthed.
Rita was no more. She was in the company’s memory.
Not her own.
Jamie stared at the photograph.
No more Rita.
She had sacrificed—
For the team.
Sacrifice. A deceptively simple word.
He stared at his own feet.
Slowly disappearing.
He was becoming part of the team.
The bell tolled.
Mirrors of the Mind by Michelle Liew is a collection of psychological and supernatural short stories that explore the quiet unease beneath ordinary moments. These are not tales of spectacle, but of subtle fracture — where memory distorts, silence speaks, and the self is not always singular. In these stories, what is unseen often carries the greatest weight, and what lingers is not what is shown, but what is felt.