Semper Fidelis

By Rebecca Morgan

I’m late.

My sandals slap against the cobblestones as I hasten to my post. Scents of olives, fish, and fresh bread assault my nostrils. My stomach rumbles.

I stop at Clelia’s stand, a simple board set atop old barrels. She has the best takeaway food of anyone in the city. And of course, the line is long.

I seriously don’t have time for this.

Clelia gives me a wink when I finally step up. “The same?”

“The same,” I reply shortly, tossing the money on the table. Ignoring the way her face crumbles. I feel like a rat, but I’ll have to ask her forgiveness later. I’m in too much of a hurry today. She quickly layers the food on the flatbread, folding it tightly together before handing it to me.

The ground shakes, pitching me sideways. I let my spear fall, trying to save the food as it slides from my hand into the muck of the street. I steady myself, cursing.

Around me, people gather scattered belongings. Clelia looks around in dismay at the shattered jars and ruined food that litters the ground.

The tremors have been going on for days, and we’ve long grown used to them. But it didn’t make them any less annoying.

After making sure everyone is well, I continue on my way. Past vibrant frescoes depicting the gods. Street girls waving demurely.  Graffiti proclaiming elections and love notes that poor souls cannot say aloud. This is my Pompeii. Caressed by the Bay of Naples. Protected under the dominating shadow of Mount Vesuvius.

“Feel that tremor?” Linus asks when I arrive. “Maybe whoever has angered the gods will seek penitence soon.”

I wince, thinking of Clelia. I’ll make an offering later. “Yes, felt it. All’s well?”

“All’s well. Find you later?”

I nod, ignoring my hollow stomach as I take a quick look around the square.

Nearby, a man utters a wisecrack and his friend laughs.

Two children chase each other with sticks.

I smile. My Pompeii. Ever the same.

Always here.

Boom. A harsh thunderclap shatters the air. The impact of the sound slams me against the wall. My ears pop. The ground beneath me quakes with greater velocity.

The world spins as I try to right myself. Around me, people scream as confusion reigns. Shouting, pointing to a plume of smoke that pours from the mountain, growing greater and greater as the mass stretches over us, hungrily eating the sky.

Day one minute.

Night the next.

Thick, cloying darkness, lit only by flaming balls of fire that illuminate the heavens.

One strikes the joking man across the street. I can hear the impact against his flesh. He crumbles to the ground, unmoving.

Rooted with horror, I roar as one lands on me, searing my arm. I choke on the scent of my own burnt flesh.

This is Hades. The gods have finally punished us.

What is happening to my Pompeii?

Ash falls like rain, smarting like hundreds of ant stings. I inhale, crying out as it burns my throat. My lungs. I’m dying from the inside.

I let my spear fall. A useless weapon against an unstoppable enemy. My fingers claw at my armor, frantic to rid myself of its cumbersome weight. The clang of metal on stone is lost amongst the turmoil. Linus rushes past me, calling for his wife. The lighthearted children playing moments ago stand now with ash-covered faces and blistered feet. Wailing for their fathers. Mothers. Siblings. Aunts. Uncles. No one responds to their pleas.

I fall into motion. Flee. One of the children is lost in the melee. I scoop up the other and run down the winding streets that lead to the bay. I push along blind beggars. Pull people out of doorways. Some wrench out of my grasp, darting into their homes. Leave them be.

Ships sway in the turbulent waters as sailors battle to steady their vessels. People wrestle for passage. I don’t stop to see if my charges board. I plunge back into the fray.

Up streets and down alleys I cajole people to leave the safety of their houses. I run to the docks and back again. I will not leave my Pompeii.  But I don’t recognize her anymore. Ash lies in heaps. Burning piles of rock. Destruction. Nearby, a roof collapses. Screams are cut short.

I stumble. Fall. Knees crack on cobblestones. Clelia’s empty eyes reflect in the fires that surround me. A money purse in her limp fingers.

Regret weighs on my heart.

I never said I was sorry.

I can barely breathe. My head spins as nausea rolls around my gut.

Weariness and despair fill me as the truth I already knew takes root.

I can’t save them all. The people of my Pompeii.

Panting, I pull Clelia against me, lungs aching for sweet, clean air. Gently I close her eyes with my blackened hand. My tunic hangs in scorched tatters on my frame. Blisters bubble in patches on my skin.

The rocks fall with intensity. Around me. On me.

Bodies litter the path. Discarded toys. Jewelry. Metal work. Gold coins. How insignificant money and power seem when death comes knocking. How little value it holds when compared to life and love.

My heart withers. I pull Clelia closer against me.

Her hair reeks of smoke.

I choke back a sob.

Time in its essence has stopped. And I cannot turn it back for one chance more.

A dome tops the volcano. All becomes still before it collapses, and a gray cloud races down the mountain, consuming everything in its path.

There is no escaping it.

May the gods guide those I led to safety as they carry me into eternal rest.

There are still people here. Their cries coming through the darkness as they lament their fate.  Others pray to the gods for safety, still hoping this nightmare will pass.

But all is lost.

Pompeii is lost.

Semper Fidelis, to you, my Pompeii.

Semper Fidelis.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rebecca Morgan began her writing journey by scribbling on a page—and being incredibly proud of her “stories.” Years later, she has had several works of short fiction published with Havok Publishing. Rebecca aims to write stories that show healing through the power of story and help the brokenhearted. Besides writing, Rebecca loves the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, cooking, blue oceans, salsa, and all things apothecary.

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