Stupid bar. Stupid rum. I didn't mean to break the bottle, but Louis, ah Louis, brûle en l'enfer. He just would not shut up, and one thing led to another. Of course, I got all the blame, and now I've been tossed in this hole to sober up and wait it out. At least Pelée has stopped her shaking, but I'd still like to check on my sister west of town. Nothing to do now but sleep. Sleep and hope they let me out tomorrow.
I wake up, and it should be daylight, but it is still so dark. Maybe it is just because I'm in this dark cell. There is barely any light or air coming through the tiny window. Yelling has never worked with the guards here before. I'll just wait. Again. I guess Louis must have been furious about his bottles since I'm still in here. It's not like there isn't plenty of rum to -- mère de Dieu! The mountain!
I start to scream, "LET ME OUT!" The shaking just goes on and on. No one is coming.
I don't want to die. I don't want to die here. I don't want to die because of a bottle of rum. Oh god, no, why is it so hot? I'm going to boil like an octopus in a pot. This cell will be my tomb. I take off my shirt and try to block off the tiny window that was letting in the hot air. It's not working. Why is this not working? I feel as if the very air is on fire. I can wet my shirt - liquid and fire don't mix. I can't breathe. My hands are burning. Why did I fight with Louis? I wish I had never come back to Saint Pierre.
I'm still alive. I know I'm still alive because of the way my body feels. I can't feel my back or my arms. My face feels like it is on fire. I want to yell for help, but my voice sounds like the croaking of a frog. There must have been a fire when Pelée went, or maybe some of the lava came close to town. Surely the jailers will come for me soon. I'll just sleep a while longer. I'm so tired.
I think it has been days now. Pelée is still shaking the ground, but the heat has not returned. No one has come for me either. The pain in my back is incredible now. If starvation doesn't kill me, the pain might. Why has no one come for me? Where are the jailers and the other prisoners? I feel like the last man left alive on earth. I think I'll go to sleep again. Maybe this time I won't wake up. I don't want to hurt anymore.
I heard a noise. Maybe someone else is alive. I have to get up. I have to make my own noise. I don't want to die in this hole if someone else is out there. I will get to the window. I will call out as loud as I can and pray that someone hears me.
Header Image information: Frame from Georges Méliès's film Éruption volcanique à la Martinique (1902).