by Kyle Plosky
"Too young to die, too young to die," I whispered my mantra as I ran.
The grass, which had blown gently in the wind just yesterday, stood completely still. The once-blue sky was black and starless. The only light was the fires that burned endlessly in the remains of our town. The volcano had burned our buildings, darkened our skies, clogged our throats, and now it threatened to kill. Mater was long gone, killed by the coughs brought by the ashes. Pater was somewhere back there, grabbing our few possessions from the villa.
Perhaps, I thought, he's already dead.
I pushed onward through the brush, avoiding the nettles and small patches of burning reeds. These were my only light as I traveled. Every now and then, I could see or hear a small pack of Pompeiians nearby, running. Some were lucky enough to have lanterns, while others trudged on in darkness. Many took the main via, which was bustling with people leaving the city, and many opted for the wilds, which were more work but not as crowded.
Suddenly, my foot hit something hard. I tripped and fell into the mud, scraping my knee on whatever object I hit. A moment later, a sharp pain came into my leg. In the dim light, I thought I could see something dripping from just above my shin. I licked it, to confirm what I already knew. Ita. Definitely blood. I hugged my knee, trying to figure out what to do next. I was in no state to continue.
I took off my tunic and tied it around my leg to stop the blood. While I was doing so, I noticed the object I had tripped over. At first, I thought it was just a large rock. I traced the ridges with my fingers to calm myself down. Then I realized what it was. Crawling around it for a better look, I noticed that it was a rock, but in it were engraved a few words.
Hic vir erat Decimus Marcus Italus.
This man was Marcus Italus the Tenth.
Flammas interfeci eum.
Flames killed him. Just like they are going to kill me. I shuddered, wanting more than ever to get up and run.
I tried to stand up, but found it too painful to proceed. After a moment, I resorted to crawling in the dry grass. Still painful, but bearable. The night was even colder against my bare chest. I tried to stay close to the ground for warmth, but gave up after I poked myself with a piece of straw. All around were more graves. Some were tall as statues, while others were just plaques in the dirt. I avoided reading them, avoiding anything that would provoke thoughts of my demise. Every few minutes, I would try to stand, but wince and fall back with agony.
Suddenly, I heard a blood-curdling shriek from behind me. I spun around, and not thirty feet behind me was the figure of a person. Their skin looked pure white against the pitch black sky. I could make out shoulders, but the rest of the person was shrouded in shadow.
An umbra. A ghost.
I sprang to my feet, ignoring the pain in my knee, and ran. My heart felt like it was trying to break out of my chest. The ghost screamed again. I fought the urge to look back, but finally gave in and saw that the ghost was following me. I could see the folds of the ghost's toga streaming out behind it. The toga seemed to glow, as if the seams were laced with flames.
Flammas. Flammas interfeci eum.
Flames killed him. Marcus.
I ran until I could run no longer. My legs were sore, and my knee felt even worse than before. My rudimentary bandage had fallen off, and I could imagine the blood dripping out, leaving a warm trail for the ghost of Marcus to follow. In the distance, I spotted a cluster of trees that could provide me with refuge while I recovered my energy and tended my wound.
I crawled the short remaining distance to the trees, but found myself too tired to care for my injury. I curled up under the nearest tree and fell asleep in seconds.
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I awoke to a gentle poking on my cheek. I turned my head to see who or what was poking me, and found that my head was in somebody's lap.
"Qui, quod? Who, what?" I spluttered, trying to look the person in the eyes. Then I shrieked. The ghost of Marcus. He had caught me.
"Shhh, you're okay," the ghost of Marcus said. He tried to wrap my shivering body in his toga, which I pushed away. He was trying to tie me up in those horrible folds, and burn me alive.
"No," I squirmed, trying to escape the ghost's impeccable grip. "Don't burn me."
"Why would I burn you?" the ghost asked kindly. "Why would I burn my friend?" The ghost looked me in the eyes.
His eyes were brown, not the haunting white I had imagined.
"You're not a ghost," I declared. "You're Spurius."
Spurius laughed. "Of course I'm not a ghost. I saw you get hurt in the cemetery, and I tried to follow you and help. Why did you run away from me?"
"I thought you were a ghost," I reiterated. "I ran because I was scared."
I relaxed, and allowed Spurius to bandage my leg while I slept.