Petrus

Pompeii seemed like a paradise to Father when we moved here from Rome two years ago. I was named Petrus from a friend who was crucified. Someone apparently mistook him for the heretic who founded the sect called Christianity.  

At any rate I lived in Pompeii, and we lived in the richest and best house of this town. I was seven and had curly black hair and light brown skin like my mother. She had a lovely smile and Grecian nose with brown eyes, like mine. An artist painted a fresco of her on the east facing wall so when the sun arose in the morning her beauty was enhanced tenfold. The harvest moon was waning this night when we all heard a tremor and then the eruption, awaking us all from our slumber. The great mountain called Vesuvius had bellowed and coughed and sputtered these many days and no one paid it an attention. The shaking earth was more a nuisance than cause for concern. We ignored them. 

This evening though a snowstorm of ash fell from the sky, sounding an alarm amongst the residents. Father, a noble and brave man of great stature and large muscled form appeared as determined by this event to remain and defend his house at all costs. 

“Claudius, shouldn’t we at least pack our belongings and leave before the next eruption?” Mother asked. I prayed to our deity, Venus for guidance. 

“No, Julia, we will be safer here in our house. I do not trust the Napoleones. They will come and rob and plunder if we dare leave.” He hugged me close to his chest after lifting up effortlessly. “You are not afraid of this volcano, are you Petrus?” 

I looked at him in the eyes, a kind hazel that had copper flecks in the irises. “If you aren’t afraid, Father, neither am I,” I replied with pride, though inwardly my stomach was tied in knots of fear. 

“You run along and play. You will be fine. Julia, prepare our breakfast. I am hungry.” He set me down on our tiled floor and I ran outside. The sun was up but the ash cloud made it seem as dark as night. I caught sight of the volcano bursting with the anger of Jupiter as fire and smoke billowed from its chimney. 

“You don’t scare me!” I screamed at the mountain. I coughed at the inconvenient ash that fell like fine snow, creating a blanket that was hot on my bared feet. The ash felt too hot, and I ran back inside, still coughing. 

“Are you alright Petrus?” Mother asked with genuine concern in her voice. 

“Stop cuddling him! He is fine. Why are you back inside?” 

“The stuff that’s falling from the sky, it’s very hot and was burning my feet. And it’s burns my throat and it’s hard to breathe, Father.” 

“Oh, very well, go into your room and play then. It is your fault that he is so weak he can’t even go outside with having a slight sting. Julia, where is my morning meal? I am hungry!” 

“On the way,” I heard her complacent reply as I ran to my room The glass that covered my window had become gray. I played my legion soldiers made of clay. I pretended father was the centurion and we invaded the Carthusians. I thought about what Father said to Mother. I didn’t think she spoiled me any more than any of the other boy’s mothers I had befriended over the last couple years. 

Day never materialized and it all seemed as if the world was ending just as the Christian heretics kept proclaiming. The darkness settled on us like a suffocating blanket. I stayed in my room but could hear my parents’ coughs becoming worse. 

I fell asleep and though I thought it was still day, my mind must have decided I was night and needed to sleep. 

“Oh, by Jupiter!” I heard Father’s curse. It awoke me and I ran out the room and before my eyes I saw a horror that was as unspeakable as it was terrifying. Mother and Father had their naked bodies pressed against the door, but it didn’t stop this flood of hot gray flow, of what, water, mud, fire? I screamed at this living nightmare. The door disintegrated, burning through the heavy wood and this flow overwhelmed them. I was next…