One-shot Wonders
The Fires of Pompeii
*Note: The characters in this diary are fictional; any resemblance to peoples living or dead is purely coincidental. Story involves death, and as this insight to the eruption of Vesuvius could not possibly have survived, it is merely a personalized portrayal of how such a natural disaster would affect the populace.
A.D. 79 Early Morning
The tremors have started again today, larger than before. The ground shaking beneath our feet affects some in the city worse than others, those who no longer have houses because of the shifting cobbles and cracking marble. Some living in Pompeii believe the gods are punishing us, and are sacrificing animals as penance. But there are those of us who have heard of such events before, from foreign countries and far flung places. The Roman wise-men have theories, outlandish theories of a living mountain, spewing forth liquid fire and bringing a deadly perpetual night, obscuring your vision and clogging your throat. I am leaving today, leaving behind the Way household to burn in all probability. I have said my farewells, and am merely awaiting my brother’s return.
A.D. 79 Late Morning
We are walking hurriedly down the street, pushing past the panicked market goers, hawkers rushing to pack up their wares. The smell of stale sweat permeated the unusually hot, dry air, mixing with the rot of cramped living conditions and spilt food. Dust and rubble has started to crumble from the buildings of the walled city, the garrison that had been erected by the gates under the jurisdiction of Rome was unmanned, the soldiers mingled among the civilians. Since this morning, the quaking of the earth had increased along with the alarm of the simple folk, resulting in riots and terrified mobs. Looming above the metropolis was Mount Vesuvius, omitting a continuous ominous rumbling. The citizens of Pompeii were congregating at the Temples, falling in desperation to the ground and begging and pleading for Isis to save them, despair seemingly etched permanently upon their features. Wide eyes and mouths open, screaming.
A.D. 79 Early Noon
The sun is currently glaring off the rocky outcrop we have taken shelter on, coarse grass and splintered stone digging into our flesh. The rays of light reflect off the black cloud of smoke and ash issuing from the mouth of Vesuvius, lending the atmosphere a ghastly hue. The cloud hasn’t been here long but is already blocking out much of the sky, turning the world as black as night, a night without stars. The sun just disappeared; I can barely see my own hand. We fled Pompeii, my brother and I and escaping the disintegrating homes, the pavement splitting in huge rifts under our feet as the land shook violently. A young child had stood amid the throng shrieking for his mother, face twisted in terror and desperate loneliness, his filthy smock in tatters and fingers clawing bloody scratches down his cheeks. We left him. An ungodly stench has just become known to us, I surmise that the gases emanating from the peak of the mount are poisonous. From our vantage point above and behind the city I can clearly tell that the sinister cloud is headed our way shockingly fast, the smoke billowing out and down and is soon to be winding uncontrollably through the streets of my home, suffocating the people I love, and yet did little to save. The weight of my guilt is almost as unbearable as the heavy layer of dust and fine stone, settling over the rooftops and courtyards before me, muffling and cloying the attempts of the 20,000 men, women and children struggling to survive.
A.D. 79 Late Noon
The convulsions have grown even worse. The black cloud towering far, far above Pompeii is dwindling into the distance and resembles a dense, opaque column streaming into the sky, as if being pushed at a great speed and force. We have retreated further back from the outcrop, but I fear we left to late. An unnatural red liquid fire has begun running nightmarishly down the slopes of Vesuvius, consuming all before it like a greedy unstoppable parasite. The vast expanse of flatland surrounding the metropolis heaves and twists as the Mountain vomits a fine spray of fluorescent crimson, and the poisonous cloud above our heads must reach at least XII milliarium high. The stifling air is rent with the wails of fleeing figures becoming engulfed in flame or encased in stone, everything above the level of the ash and pumice catching alight, and burning.
A.D. 79 Nightfall
Pompeii is obliterated, buried beyond any hope of salvation. We have heard tales already of the great destruction caused by Vesuvius, stretching further than any surrounding towns and villages, and has caused even the sea to retreat in fear. Close to 20,000 people perished in the fury of the Mount, frozen forever in their final moments of life, their stories forgotten.
A.D. 79 Early Morning
The tremors have started again today, larger than before. The ground shaking beneath our feet affects some in the city worse than others, those who no longer have houses because of the shifting cobbles and cracking marble. Some living in Pompeii believe the gods are punishing us, and are sacrificing animals as penance. But there are those of us who have heard of such events before, from foreign countries and far flung places. The Roman wise-men have theories, outlandish theories of a living mountain, spewing forth liquid fire and bringing a deadly perpetual night, obscuring your vision and clogging your throat. I am leaving today, leaving behind the Way household to burn in all probability. I have said my farewells, and am merely awaiting my brother’s return.
A.D. 79 Late Morning
We are walking hurriedly down the street, pushing past the panicked market goers, hawkers rushing to pack up their wares. The smell of stale sweat permeated the unusually hot, dry air, mixing with the rot of cramped living conditions and spilt food. Dust and rubble has started to crumble from the buildings of the walled city, the garrison that had been erected by the gates under the jurisdiction of Rome was unmanned, the soldiers mingled among the civilians. Since this morning, the quaking of the earth had increased along with the alarm of the simple folk, resulting in riots and terrified mobs. Looming above the metropolis was Mount Vesuvius, omitting a continuous ominous rumbling. The citizens of Pompeii were congregating at the Temples, falling in desperation to the ground and begging and pleading for Isis to save them, despair seemingly etched permanently upon their features. Wide eyes and mouths open, screaming.
A.D. 79 Early Noon
The sun is currently glaring off the rocky outcrop we have taken shelter on, coarse grass and splintered stone digging into our flesh. The rays of light reflect off the black cloud of smoke and ash issuing from the mouth of Vesuvius, lending the atmosphere a ghastly hue. The cloud hasn’t been here long but is already blocking out much of the sky, turning the world as black as night, a night without stars. The sun just disappeared; I can barely see my own hand. We fled Pompeii, my brother and I and escaping the disintegrating homes, the pavement splitting in huge rifts under our feet as the land shook violently. A young child had stood amid the throng shrieking for his mother, face twisted in terror and desperate loneliness, his filthy smock in tatters and fingers clawing bloody scratches down his cheeks. We left him. An ungodly stench has just become known to us, I surmise that the gases emanating from the peak of the mount are poisonous. From our vantage point above and behind the city I can clearly tell that the sinister cloud is headed our way shockingly fast, the smoke billowing out and down and is soon to be winding uncontrollably through the streets of my home, suffocating the people I love, and yet did little to save. The weight of my guilt is almost as unbearable as the heavy layer of dust and fine stone, settling over the rooftops and courtyards before me, muffling and cloying the attempts of the 20,000 men, women and children struggling to survive.
A.D. 79 Late Noon
The convulsions have grown even worse. The black cloud towering far, far above Pompeii is dwindling into the distance and resembles a dense, opaque column streaming into the sky, as if being pushed at a great speed and force. We have retreated further back from the outcrop, but I fear we left to late. An unnatural red liquid fire has begun running nightmarishly down the slopes of Vesuvius, consuming all before it like a greedy unstoppable parasite. The vast expanse of flatland surrounding the metropolis heaves and twists as the Mountain vomits a fine spray of fluorescent crimson, and the poisonous cloud above our heads must reach at least XII milliarium high. The stifling air is rent with the wails of fleeing figures becoming engulfed in flame or encased in stone, everything above the level of the ash and pumice catching alight, and burning.
A.D. 79 Nightfall
Pompeii is obliterated, buried beyond any hope of salvation. We have heard tales already of the great destruction caused by Vesuvius, stretching further than any surrounding towns and villages, and has caused even the sea to retreat in fear. Close to 20,000 people perished in the fury of the Mount, frozen forever in their final moments of life, their stories forgotten.
Notes
Yeah, the only fan part of this fiction was 'Way household' but I kinda liked the story. Again, my homework, but this time I wrote it last year.
That winged guy scares me. But i'd read the story anyway, until the nightmares start.
4/30/15