And then we were no more.
We are waiting for the boats to arrive that will take us away from Herculaneum, my father, my mother, sister, and me. Here they had said, we will be safe here at the waterfront sheltered by the strong stalls that held goods from other lands. We’ll be safe there my mother whispered to us children as she dressed us while father bundled up our gold and silver. Take only what you can carry they said with that serious, stern expression that usually preceded a more serious than normal punishment for some childhood transgression. I could see the smoke rising up from Vesuvius and heard the whispering of our neighbors and my parents as they talked about whether to stay or to run. And if we run, I heard my mother say to my father, where will we run to? To the sea he had responded, to the sea. We’ll be safe there he said – his whisper joining a 1,000 other whispers as that single word – “safe” – bounced off of walls and careened around corners. And so here we sit