“Fire in the mountain, run, run, run! Fire in the mountain, run, run, run!”
Some people never get tired of celebrating.
Dodging some kids playing and chanting, I hurriedly made my way to the end of the street when I heard someone calling me.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, before even looking at him.
It was Flavius, running towards me to catch up. “Shall I walk you home?” he offered.
It was getting late; almost sundown. My mother would reprimand me for being so late. But with Flavius escorting me, she was almost lenient.
I meekly nodded, and he fell into step beside me.
“Did you enjoy Vulcanalia?” He asked.
I turned and lifted my head to see him. A small smile played on his lips. He knew how much I enjoyed.
“I did,” I said. I remembered the moment that happened yesterday, when he pulled me aside before leaving, and we lit a candle in honour of the God of Fire, Vulcan. I remembered the way the fire danced in his eyes, his warm brown eyes that had momentarily turned into a shade of dark red and looked like a Roman God himself. I loved it.
We walked quietly for a while, up until the street that led to my house. His arm kept brushing mine, and I didn’t want that to end.
When we finally reached my house, my mother was outside, watering the plants, cursing under her breath, undoubtedly the Festival of Fire, which had dried up all her plants.
He couldn’t stay longer, even though I wanted him to. He held my hand in his, with a hope in his eyes. “Aurelia-”
I never knew what he was going to say because just then, the Vesuvius erupted. Smoke and ash fell all around us and on us, undoubtedly very hot. But there was no where to run.
It seems the god Vulcan was not happy with Pompeii’s sacrifices.