Character Design - Isabella

# This piece, describing the character Bella's life and growth, is my Fiction Writing class project and part of a long novel that I'm working on. It could be regarded as an individual short story or a character design piece. I was trying to practice different writing styles and plot constructions, so this story differs a lot from Alex's POV. More works related will be published in the future!

Listen, Isabella. You must find something - something very important.

…What is it?

You woke up, panting. White mist flowed all around you as you looked around the nothingness. I have to find something, you thought – even though I had no idea what it is. It’s of vital importance and I must start searching immediately. You stepped into the mist, not caring about where it might lead you or if it indicated danger, but walked on and on, hoping to get to at least “somewhere” or remember what that “something” was.

You felt like walking for ten minutes before you saw two figures standing in front of you. The mist had completely shaded their faces, and you approached them, curious. Before you could see them clearly, you heard a familiar voice: “Isabella.”

It was from a young woman, young as you hardly remembered she once was. “Mother?” You whispered.

The mist was fading, and you seemed to catch a glimpse of the couple – your father tall and strong in a dark suit, your mother slim in a blue dress with long golden curly hair falling on her shoulders – neither of them had gray hair or wrinkles. You then realized that they were smiling at you. “Isabella,” they said, “Come to us.”

Without realizing it, you stepped forward like a little girl rushing into her mother’s arms. And at the next instant you fell to the floor. Your arms and legs waved on the ground as you tried standing up again, but it was in vain. Raising your head, your parents were still on the same spot – though you had to look up to see their faces now and even though your mother had kneeled on the ground and held out her arms – and both of them carried that invariable smile. “Come on, Isabella,” they said, “Come to us.”

Slowly, you moved forward. You could not stand up, so your limbs pushed against the ground, and you were squirming, climbing forward. You climbed halfway through the distance before you gained some strength. Now that your legs could support you and you stood up, swaying, and took two steps and you fell again. Luckily, the ground was soft, so you did not feel hurt at all. It took you a minute to recollect yourself and stumble forward – this time you did not kept yourself steady – and later you started running, running into your mother’s arms. It was warm.

“Isabella,” she said, slightly frowning, “be careful. You’re always running so fast.” Your father, still standing upright, looked down at you, nodding.

“Mother,” you said, “I’m looking for something.” “What is it, Isabella?” Your mother asked. “Do you need more toys? Limited-edition Barbie dolls?” Two dolls fell off from father’s arms like apples falling from trees. “Several nice silk dresses?” A bright yellow dress appeared in your father’s hand and flew to the ground. “No Mother I -” “Silver rings, golden necklaces? Just tell me and we could buy anything for you.” Pieces of jewelry clattered as they also appeared from nowhere in your father’s hands and piled on the same spot.

“No mother,” you replied, “I don’t need any of these. I’m looking for something else, but I just don’t remember what it is. It’s very, very important -”

Your father’s phone rang, interrupting your description. You suddenly felt so afraid. He picked up the phone – “Don’t, father, please listen to me,” – unlocked it – “Don’t pick up the phone,” you tried to grab it as you found with surprise that you were now taller, to his chest – pressed the green sign – “I want you to keep me company, dad!” – held it by his ear – “Please I miss you.”

It was too late. Your father had frozen on the spot, his body as cold and harsh as stone. “I’m sorry Isabella,” your mother picked up the dolls, the dresses, and the rings and necklaces and thrust them into your hands. “Be a good kid and we’ll buy you more next time. I’m sorry.” And she held your father’s left arm. Seconds later she turned into a stone, too. No matter what you said or did to them, they never even blinked again.

Eventually, you had to accept that they would not tell you anything – about what you’re looking for, or anything else. So you said bye and walked on – though you turned your head back for several times - they were still there, but the mist turned thicker and gradually you could see nothing.

And you walked on. The surroundings turned dark, and minutes later, you stepped onto a marble staircase, smooth and cold, with the golden banisters glittering under the moonlight. Just as you were about to go up and see what was on there – out of curiosity and of risk-taking that it might be a clue - you heard an old, harsh voice above you: “Who is there?”

You came to a halt. An old man in a gray suit, holding a flashlight, moved down the staircase. His face and hands were full of wrinkles, and he had sharp fangs covered in blood. His greenish eyes glittered and stopped at your sight. “A young lady,” he leered and then started roaring, “A young lady out of bed at night! Disobedience! Lack of courtesy!”

He rushed down the staircase, his hand almost grabbed your shoulder before you screamed and ran back down the corridor. It was dark and cold; you passed through one and another closed door, and you did not dare to stop because you could hear his footsteps right behind you. Your feet and hands were cold and covered in sweat, your heart pumping, and you started panting heavily with a pain in your chest. You went down two stairs and turned five corners and saw zero other people in this dreadful place and bang! You ran directly into a wall, and a shadow closed in on you. Panicked, you turned around and saw the grin on his face as he stepped closer, his teeth about to reach your neck.

“Good night, Mr. Lawrence. What is it?”

An angel-like voice rang behind him. He froze and released you, though slowly and reluctantly. With the light from his flashlight, you saw a woman in a long print dress, also with long golden hair but in a lighter color than your mother’s.

“Miss Lauren?” You whispered, unbelievably. Your eyes moistened.

“Yes Bella,” she briskly walked over, facing Mr. Lawrence and hiding you behind: “It was me who asked Isabella to come out tonight. We were supposed to learn astronomy – look,” she held up the telescope, “and it had to be carried out on the attic – unless you wanted us to go outside,” she added, seeing the hesitation on Mr. Lawrence’s face. “I’m so sorry to disturb your sleep, but it’s part of the descent education, as Mr. and Mrs. Harrington had commanded of me.”

Mr. Lawrence’s teeth shrank back to normal with her voice and his wrinkles disappeared – only seconds later he was a middle-aged man with a serious face, and he nodded at you two. “Don’t stay long or I’ll report this.” He stared at you and walked away, grunting.

“Let’s go, Bella,” she said lightly and held you by the arm. You embraced her, and she seemed to be surprised. “What is it?” She laughed, stroking your hair. “Anyway, let’s go quick. We don’t have much time.”

“Where?” You asked.

“Where do you want to go?” She smiled mysteriously.

“Miss Lauren,” you blurted out. “I’m looking for something very important. But I forgot what it is. I have to find it.”

“Ah I see,” she replied. “Don’t worry. Follow me. Let’s go to the attic, then. Astronomy lesson, remember?” She blinked.

And you followed her. You had forgotten the way back, but she seemed to know it all very well. You opened one door, then another, and then another as you passed through numerous rooms – the bedroom with starlight ceiling and a globular mirror, cozy armchairs and fireplaces, cheap pastries hidden under a stack of textbooks, a piano room decorated with butterfly specimens, a wide, wooden desk with three piles of books, a large shelf with telescopes, microscopes, glass beakers and pipettes and electronic elements, a small room painted in yellow with notes and handcrafts scattered around, and so many that you couldn’t remember them all. Just as you started to get dizzy, she led you back to the large marble staircase. Now she stood back and gestured to you to go on the stairs.

“Won’t you come with me?” You asked.

“I’ll follow you,” she replied. “Now go on. To the attic.”

So you walked on. It was a very long staircase. It was dark on the top, but Miss Lauren lit up a candle embedded in the golden banister each time she went one more step behind you – and thereby you knew that she was still there and that you could see the blurred figure of the stairs in front of you. “Bella,” she said, “you’re going very fast. Take care, but never stop.”

Seconds later, you pushed the door open. There, in the attic, the moonlight shone on a pile of paper on the floor. You kneeled and picked them up. There were newspaper cuttings, lecture notes, textbook excerpts, and published articles – and as you quickly browsed through them, you noticed the frequent occurrence of “the virus.” The newspapers ranged from the old, fragile, and yellow ones titled “Fetal Virus Breaking Out: Still In Investigation” to the relatively new ones written, “Second-Generation Pills Debut With the Team Led by Dr. Jones”. At the bottom was a picture – a photo taken with the 10-year-old you laughing in front of the camera with Miss Lauren and a white building standing behind you.

“It looked familiar to you?” Miss Lauren kneeled beside you and looked at the picture. “We sneaked out of the house that afternoon, remember? I took you to the research center since you had always wanted to see the place where experimets about the virus was carried out. It was a secret between us; I might get fired for ‘misleading’ you into biology rather than a lady’s etiquette.” She chuckled.

“I was passionate about the virus?” You asked.

“Of course, Bella. We used to wander in different universities and libraries all day – forbidden, of course, but carried out secretly – as you learned through the topic. You had dreamed of becoming a researcher at the white building. But it seemed that you don’t remember, do you, Bella?”

“Could it be at the research center?” You asked abruptly.

“The thing you’re looking for?” She said. “Oh Bella, your mind is always racing, and sometimes I fall way behind you. But you could be right. Let’s say this: remember who you are and where you wanna go. And run for it.”

You clutched the photo tightly and stood up. Shocked, you found that she had vanished. A note fell onto the floor: Farewell, Bella. We may reunite when you beat the epidemic, but for now, I must go back home to take care of my mother. I look forward to seeing you again. Good luck.

You picked up the note and the other files. I’ll go to the research center and see, you thought, life’s an adventure.

You pulled the door open and walked down the staircase.

The bright light made your eyes burn. Frowning, you gradually saw what had happened. Your father and mother, all in full dress but older, were sitting at the table with a huge birthday cake decorated with gold foil. “Happy Birthday, Isabella!” your mother said. “Now you’re 15, and we shall congratulate you on becoming an adult.” “More responsibilities will you take on now, so think twice before doing anything,” your father added, “and never, ever run so fast as if you were still a child.”

You walked over. Your heart was beating as you gazed at them, half nervous, half expectant. “Mother and Father,” you said, your voice slightly hoarse at first, “Can I make a wish? Will you support me to fulfill it?”

“Of course, dear,” your mother said.

You deeply breathed and it came out: “I want to go to the research center. I’m looking for something and it was just there. It’s of vital importance to me. How do you like it?”

Your eyes fixed firmly on them as your voice fell. You saw their eyes turn red, and they both stood up, staring at you coldly. “No research center.” Your mother said in a flat voice. “No biology.” Your father said. “No virus.” “Stay at home and get married.” “Go to your bedroom.” And they held up their arms, coming for you, their eyes shining in red light.

“Please give me more respect, mother,” you tried to wake them up. “I know you love me, but I have the right – and freedom - to choose my own path. The research center is really important to me. I have to go there. I can make my own money and work. Let me go, please?”

But they did not stop; they were about to catch you.

Again, you had to run. Their footsteps, right behind you, were mingled with their repeated voice: “Disobedience.” “Abnormality.” “Heart-breaking Rebellion.”

You ran through the corridors and into the garden. You went over to the tall, black gate, but damn it! It was locked. Your parents – now along with Mr. Lawrence and many other faceless people - chased near, and you had to go back to the house, thinking hard about where the keys could be. You dashed forward and turned into a dark corner, holding your breath until they had lost clues about you and had to scatter around to find you. Finally, when they started searching on the next floor, you sneaked into Mr. Lawrence’s room and found the key.

The sky turned dark again. It had started raining.

Without a second thought, you ran down the garden, stepping into the water pit along the way. You opened the gate with the key, rushed out, and slammed it closed with a loud bang. Looking back at your home for the last time, you saw your parents standing at the French window on the second floor, silently watching you. You bowed at them, and you saw a drop of tears running down your mother’s cheeks.

You ran along the dark street. The rain was even heavier; lightning struck across the sky, and you heard dull thunder. As if you had run for the whole century, you finally saw the familiar silhouette of the white building. One window was still alight, and through the window, you saw a man – a young man with black-framed glasses and in a white coat cleaning up a beaker.

Another lightning and another thunder. Alarmed, he raised his head and looked – unexpectedly - into your face, covered in rain and mud, gazing at him by the window. He stood up with his eyes widened and strode towards you.

And now that there was only a layer of glass between you that you could even see the dark circles under his eyes, you recognized this face.

“Brandon!” You screamed. “Help me, Brandon! I’m looking for something very important and it’s just in this building! Open the door and let me in!”

But instead, he stepped back and took a gun. Your heart froze. He opened the door a crack, and the gun peeked through. “Now,” he warned, “Hands up. Five steps backward.”

You slowly raised your hands and obeyed him.

Now the door was fully open, and he looked at you, the gun pointing at your chest. His face was cold. “Who are you?” He asked.

“Brandon, it’s me, Isabella! Help me in – I really need to find something!”

“Do you even have the slightest idea where this is, girl?”

And you said that you knew perfectly, and you told him how you escaped from your parents’ house to get here. He looked suspicious initially, but when you finished, he looked appalled. So you didn’t dare to repeat that you were looking for something in the building – something important that you didn’t even remember yourself – so that he would not regard you as crazy. Instead, you told him you wanted to be a biologist, but your parents didn’t permit you to do so, and that was why you escaped.

But the gun did not move away. “Leave here,” he said coldly, “or I’ll shoot. The research center is not a place where you can simply enter because you want to. Besides, you silly girl,” he sighed, “cherish your parents when you still have a family. Leave. Go back home.”

But you couldn’t. You were cold and wet and exhausted and hungry and you couldn’t go home, or they would kill you or lock you in the house forever. But before you could say anything else, you fainted. You were too tired.

When you opened your eyes you found it to be daytime again. You were wearing a white coat, sleeping on a sofa. Brandon walked in and smiled at you. “You’re up?” he said gently, “You must be so exhausted. Come on, the party is about to start.”

“What party?” You followed him, confused.

“The party for our success, of course.” He looked back at you, now bewildered himself. “Don’t you remember? The third-generation pill. I have to admit that even though sometimes you were risk-taking and careless and disobedient but you were smart and passionate as a scientist. But I do hope you could learn to be more secure.”

“Thank you,” you said blandly, “But I need to look for something. It’s in the research center, in this place, but I just forgot what it was. Do you have any ideas?”

“What are you talking about?” He looked more bemused and stared at you seriously through his glasses. “Focus on your work. Don’t let those ridiculous thoughts jump around, as you always do.”

So you shut up and followed him to the party. You didn’t dare to ask him again but silently watched your colleagues excitedly cutting the cake. Later, a discussion broke out about your next-step plans. “What do you think, Brandon?” A woman was asking. Everyone fell silent, gazes locked to him.

Brandon thought for a while and replied: “I would say continue with the pill. Increase its effective period and make the production line more efficient. Until everyone taking one pill could sustain for a lifetime – but it’s still a far, far dream now.”

“Nice saying, Brandon,” several people cheered.

“But the pill is only effective to Stage I and II patients.” Stood up a young man. “Once they started the mutation, there’s no way to save them but to kill them. Don’t we have any other ways?”

“How about the vaccination?” You blurted out. You just jumped to the idea when listening to them – perhaps the books you read with Miss Lauren did help you.

“The pandemic could erupt once again before we even figured out the correct way to make the vaccine,” Brandon said coldly. “What if a new type of monster were produced right when you’re having the trials? Can you take responsibility for that kind of epidemic? For disrupting the stability that we had paid so much to build for this world? The pill is the most secure method.”

The young man sat down, contemplating. But you were not convinced. “But if we could really make it, it would save us all! No more pills needed!”

Brandon stared at you for a while and said: “Well, I have no right to interfere with your decision. But I will stick to mine, and here’s a warning: don’t kill us all in your all-or-nothing gambling.”

Even with his attitude, you had become excited – it’s a huge game! And suddenly you had an instinct that it must be right – you’re looking for the vaccine! It must be, and that’s why it’s so important. But the point is, you still did not know where it is. It looked as if no one had created any vaccines so far.

But at least you knew what you were looking for. The vaccination for the virus, just in this building! You strode outside with everyone staring at you, shocked. When the door closes behind you, you heard someone saying: “You hurt her feelings, Brandon, didn’t you?”

You hurried along the long corridor, your mind racing. You walked back to the laboratory. If it does exist, this is the first and most possible place you thought it could be. You started looking around, checking every glass or plastic container and opening the fridges and drawers. But there was nothing; you searched the lab for three times but you didn’t get anything.

Brandon walked in. “Give it up, Isabella,” he said gently, watching you. “The pill had made another milestone. Join our group. You’re a great scientist. Forget about that unrealistic goal.”

And you shouted at him that he knew nothing, that he had no idea how important it was. “It was just here!” You screamed, “I knew it was! Please I could find it in any moment!”

“Bella,” he said. “Calm down. If you really think you’re doing the right thing, I suggest you take a trip to the other states. Visit the hospitals and universities and laboratories – and villages, towns, schools, theaters, and museums. See what everyone else is doing, listen to how they live and how they think of the pandemic. Go out and see the world. I have ordered a ticket for you – it will take off tomorrow.”

You hesitated. Were you actually wrong, that the thing you were looking for was not the vaccine at all – as such an idea was merely some sort of your brainwave, your impulse (though you believed in it deeply)? Eventually you said yes and left the lab, and again you entered the mist. Once again you were curious about where it would lead you to.

You walked through streets and alleys, cities and forests. You saw children running past you, thrusting masks into their pockets with the adults scolding them from afar. You heard people singing and clapping hands around the crackling bonfire with the wind rushing through the wheat field. You walked into a small town and asked the residents how they thought of the vaccine, receiving both applauds and curses. Self-driving cars streamed through the highway and past tall buildings. A tall, dark-haired woman held out her hand and said: “I’m Ella. State Governor. We’re all waiting for your good news,” and you shook her hand and hugged her. A middle-aged man in the dining car handed you a sandwich and you took a bite – it was cold – but you finished it anyway. An elegant lady with silver hair was standing in front of a row of houses painted in pink, yellow, blue and orange, and told you that “The days are getting shorter in winter, so we paint them bright to accompany us through the long night.” A boy climbed on a tree in the jungle and threw down a pink, juicy fruit; you caught it and handed it to a little girl shaking in patched clothes by the road. You walked and walked and gradually you forgot about time; you were not exhausted at all but just watched.

Sometimes you would walk into a hospital. All of them were divided into four sections according to the Union’s provisions. You walked past Section I – patients sleeping serenely in beds – Section II – some bit nails and looked around anxiously – Section III – several red-eyed and long-nailed human drooling, tied by chains – second IV – a white sheet over a bump.

“Hello?” A man’s voice echoed on the empty, silent corridor of Section IV. “You’re not supposed to be here. It’s too dangerous. Follow me to the hall.”

“How did it feel to work here? You asked him.

“Awful,” he said, “watching them get executed. You know once entering section III only God or luck may lead you back to sunlight.” And you told him that you were looking for the vaccination, that you had searched for it long before you got here, and yet you found nothing.

“It’s okay,” he replied. “It is already a noble thing to try working on it. I know it carries great danger. Also, don’t push yourself too hard. Life is not just about running forward and finding. Take your time; I believe in you.”

“Do you want to come with me?” You asked abruptly. For a second he looked surprised, then he said yes, and you together walked past the white, glaring walls of the hospital and onto a stone bridge with gentle night breeze and soft streetlights. You kissed; his name was Noah.

You walked down the bridge and found yourself back at your parents’ house. You watched as your mother and father stared at the TV screen in the familiar large, empty house, watching you and your colleagues’ faces the day you were interviewed, and you silently put down a bouquet of flowers next to them. You wandered around the city, but you did not find Miss Lauren. Eventually, you returned to the research center. You had traveled through a circular world.

But what did I get from the journey? You asked yourself. I didn’t find the vaccine. I didn’t find anything. But I seemed to feel…happy. Just happy. And Peaceful.

You entered your lab and saw the familiar apparatus. Should I still work on the vaccine? You asked yourself. And you answered yes, but not so urgently. I could also help with the pills. I could go out and visit my parents and Miss Lauren (if I could find her). Maybe that important thing was not the vaccine at all.

But what was it then? You wondered. What was the thing that I had been so determined to look for for the whole lifetime, since I opened my eyes in this absurd – yet beautiful world?

This time, you decided that you would figure it out by yourself, but maybe slowly, gradually, not in a hurry, no risk-taking - but just exploring, since you still had lots of time. You walked into Brandon’s office and told him that you would be happy to help with his project. He smiled and poured you a cup of tea. You bought some gifts for your parents and knocked on that heavy, tall, black gate. Hours later, you walked back home and saw Noah taking care of baby Andrew, your son, who chuckled and sucked his fingers, his bright blue eyes turning in your direction with curiosity. You held him up and placed him on your shoulder. He screamed with excitement.

And then you walked out of the house back to the lab. You turned on the light and started working. The wind was hollowing, and heavy rain droplets were beating your window, the same rain as your first night escaping from your parent’s house.

In the rain, you seemed to hear a gunshot – or was it a thunder? You stood up and walked to the window to see more clearly. And maybe because you were just so tired – you had had a very, very long day, after all – you slipped onto the floor, your legs weak and your mind in a mess. With difficulty, you turned your body around and moved and squirmed and climbed towards your desk - on which all your notes had scattered and your photo with your parents – who had gray hair now – smiling at you. You hadn’t finished half the distance before your eyelids started falling off, and you had to put all your strength to keep them open.

Did you find it, Isabella? The voice rang in your ears.

But I haven’t found anything. I haven’t found the vaccine – or anything.

You struggled. I need more time to look for it, you said desperately to that voice. But you were just so tired. The lab fell dark. For the last time you opened your eyes, and you saw stars - the rain had ceased. The stars glittered, and the numerous light bulbs from houses far away also glittered, same as the night you and Miss Lauren had spent in the attic, counting the stars. And you knew that little Andrew would do the same – or perhaps he was doing it now, with his father. For the last time your mind rippled and you pictured more people you’ve seen during the journey - people reading, writing, weeping, kissing, fighting, doing the dishes, knitting a sweater, laughing with friends – under those tiny glittering lights.

I have found life. You replied.

Your eyes closed and you fell into darkness.

Good night, Isabella.