Last Morning in Pompeii

6:58 AM, 79 AD – 10 Minutes to Explosion

As soon as I see the sparks, I know our time has come.

The mountain has been rumbling for weeks; deep, steady vibrations from the core of the earth. It’s imposing silhouette watches over us, predating even the first of my ancestors. It is a jagged cut of rock against an endless sky, so ginormous in size we believe only a god could ever touch its snowy peak.

Out of both fear and respect, we have always worshipped Mount Vesuvius.

The elders still insist we pray to it weekly - at minimum - and leave a ripe basket of offerings, from our last wheat grains to our best jewelry, every new moon. These sacrifices are meant to protect us from the darkness the mountain supposedly holds inside, that could overtake us at any moment. The legends explain that an immortal beast sleeps beneath it, who will one day wake and destroy us all.

Most people don't take these stories with reverence anymore, disbelieving that there is a truly rageful evil at the heart of the mountain. There has always been doubt about how the elders know what they do, but these days, it is stronger than ever. But I have always believed; always feared the possibility that one day we might anger the God's enough to warrant its wrath, either through disobedience or negligence.

It's early fall, and the morning is cold and still. The sun is barely over the hillside, the sky morphing from deep violet to soft yellow; but I have never been a strong sleeper, so I've already started on my day, cleaning the floors and tending the garden. I'm on my knees in the plot of dirt outside our house when I first feel the rumbling through my fingers. I watch a few moments as the leaves of my plants rattle against each other.

Sitting back on my heels, I wipe the sweat from my forehead and look towards the skyline. I already know deep in my bones what I will find. The earth has been shaking more violently than ever over the past few weeks, waking us in the middle of the night to pottery vibrating off shelves and moving walls around us. Still, no one will admit that this is any more than the usual, occasional earthquakes.

After all, they wonder, how can a tragedy play out in slow motion? How could this evil wake so slowly if it can ruin us so quickly? To their credit, the mountain has stirred before, but those felt more like occasional, stifled yawns from the belly of a beast. This is different, more urgent and closer to the surface, like the beast is awake and crawling out of his grave. Each earthquake longer and more intense than the last.

As soon as I see the bright, orange sparks spitting out of the mountains tip, I know that whatever we have been offering, it will not be enough to spare this outburst.

For some reason, even though I know exactly what’s happening, I cannot get myself to move. I watch in slow motion, maybe willing myself to realize I’m wrong. Maybe I hope that if I stay here, still and frozen, the mountain will get bored and lull himself back to sleep. Still, the lava splashes against the horizon, like a toddler spitting up. Watching magma drool down the steep black rock brings me back into my body.

I run into the house screaming for my family, almost slipping on the mosaic tiled floors as I do.

"What is it, Pia?" My father is still wiping the sleep out of his eyes after I banged restlessly on his door. I turn to the other room to rouse my brother from his bed, flipping off his woven blanket and earning his ire.

"The mountain! It's erupting! We must go!" I am frantic and urgent, looking for a shawl to wrap around my shoulders for the trip. There is hardly time to even pack a bag, but I can’t help but grab a canvas pack and begin tossing in stray fruits from the table. The rest of my family stares at me like they're just now seeing my second head.

"Pia, my dear," Father strains to keep his voice gentle, "it is just a rumble. They have been happening all month," Just as he says it, the earth stops vibrating, coming to a halt so suddenly still I almost fall over. "See? It will pass. I know your grandmother believed in these things, but you cannot live your life in fear."

He's frowning as I ignore him, rushing to the window, just in time to catch more sparks being flung against the sky. I wave them over to see. My brother is no more convinced. "I can barely see anything, sister. Just let it go. I want to sleep."

He is fifteen now, three years younger than me, and perpetually tired now that he's a teenager. My precious, baby brother, with wide hazel eyes and chubby cheeks; he is one of the only things I have left of our mother since her illness took her years ago. I love him so much I'm sometimes afraid the love will claw its way out of my chest just to make more room for itself. I often lay awake at night, wondering how best to shield him from the horrors of this world; but suddenly I have the strongest urge to slap and shake him, to impress upon him just how urgent this is, to show him just how close we are to losing everything - including each other.

"Lucius, this is real. I know you don't believe, but something terrible is coming. I can feel it. You must believe me. This stillness… it is not a good sign. It is a bad omen. If we don't leave now, we might never make it out alive.”

After a beat of silence I add, “Please.”

Still adjusting to waking life, they share confused looks with each other. I waste no time taking this as an acceptance. "Grab a coat and get the mules ready," I yell over my shoulder, "We are leaving. Now."

Even if they don't believe me, they are startled by my ferocity. I'm not usually this way, panicked and demanding. They see it in my eyes, the fear and adrenaline, and decide that neither is strong enough in his convictions to deny me. They quickly start strapping on their boots and grabbing whatever useful belongings might fit in their tunic pockets.

I allow myself only two non-essentials, to save space for supplies; my favourite scroll (a long, epic tale to keep me company on the trip), and our mothers gold bracelets, slipped onto my wrists - the only other things that will keep her with us. I spare one final, pained look at the house, unsure how long – if ever – it will be until we return, and then I leave out the front.

I find my brother and father waiting for me, finishing adjusting the saddles and mounting them. They turn to me. My father, with his salt and pepper hair, still messy from sleep, and my brother, lanky and tan from long nights of playing under the sun. We share a silent look, one of acceptance and fear, of love and confusion, all at once.

This lasts only seconds before the shaking returns, stronger than I have ever felt, like something deep below our feet is stirring. The donkeys become restless, and clay crumbles from the walls of houses. Around us, neighbours begin coming out to see what the commotion is all about; to reassure themselves it's nothing but a simple earthquake, and I barely have the heart to rip this fantasy from their fingers, though I know I must.

I slide in front of my brother, taking the reigns as I look around at us, the village now flooding with people craning their necks to the skyline, to the enormous expanse of rock that has peacefully looked over us for centuries. When I follow their eyes, my heart stops.

A thin plume of smoke crawls out of the volcano like an extinguished candle. The quaking never stops; it only gets worse. Oxen whine around us and mothers hold their children tightly to their chests. Everyone's faces the same blend of horror and disbelief. Already I am trying to memorize their faces, to convince myself that I am not standing in a future graveyard.

"Run! Run!" I scream until my throat is raw, straining to be heard over the commotion. I look at the children and grandparents and shopkeepers around me, the community I have known since birth, who stand still as statues, frozen with shock.

"We don't have much time! You all must go! We must--"

But then I hear the explosion and suddenly it’s too late. We are in the eye of the storm; the depth of the valley where smoke and fire will reign. A deafening boom slams against my eardrums so harshly that for a few moments I can hear only their ringing. With it, the mountain coughs up the worst of itself; a giant, dark cloud of charcoal unlike anything I have ever seen. It reminds me of a mushroom in shape, quickly dissolving outwards and overtaking the early October sun.

To this day, I cannot forget the firm look in my grandmothers’ eyes as she shared her warnings during my childhood, "Don't ever let them tell you you're overreacting, Pia. When that giant wake’s - and make no mistake, he will wake - you take everyone you love, and you run. And you don't look back."

Already I have broken her rule. I feel as if I can only look back, frozen in time as the black clouds drown out screaming voices and replace them with ash and sulfur. The eruption happens in seconds - milliseconds, maybe - but in my mind, it lasts an eternity. It's my father who brings me back to life with two simple words.

"Let's go."

Suddenly, slow motion is over, and everything is running at triple speed. People are screaming and crying. Homes are collapsing. Blue skies are replaced by dust and falling rocks. The ground is shaking so hard I can no longer distinguish the mules’ hooves beneath me. I urge them on quicker. Behind us, I can feel the steam and dirt rushing to meet us, threatening to knock the animals from their feet. I feel Lucius tighten his grip on me.

We keep racing until we reach the village's edge, where there is nothing but empty grass lands and sparse trees. Being so close to the end, reality catches up with me, and I picture our lives so far from where we were born. There is no telling where we will go, if we can find even the barest shelter, let alone a new community to accept us. I wonder if the nearest village, Herculaneum, would take us, before I realize that they are even closer to the blast than we are, and they are likely already gone. The thought makes my chest hurt.

I break the rule one last time and look over my shoulder just in time to see the dark cloud sweeping into the village, hot wind mixing with sand until all that’s left is smoke and dust where our home used to be. Whatever was left of my people has just been buried.

I know that there is no telling if we will be fast enough to outrun the cloud, or if it’s even possible. I suddenly consider than it might continue with it's blast until all the empire – all the world - is dark, too. But I also know that we must try. I turn to my father, a rocky haze around us now that the sun has been masked. I can still see him, though, and he nods, as if to say, ‘we can make it.’

Despite my fears, I believe him. Nodding back, I flick the reigns, barreling even faster into the unknown.

In my head I hear the same words, now in my mother’s voice. “Run, Pia - and don’t look back.”

And this time, I listen.