Her Mouth Was Home to the Giants

I always thought of Mount Vesuvius like a silent guardian, her prominence in the sky both menacing and comforting. Her mouth was sacred, home to the Giants. She offered prosperity for our people, protection. Until she betrayed us.

The morning started like any other, the streets filled with the sounds of merchants and children playing. I was tending to my small garden, enjoying the warmth of the sun, when the ground beneath me trembled. It was subtle at first, like the heartbeat of the Earth, but it soon pounded with abandon.

People poured into the streets, confusion etched on their faces. Then, at once —a deafening roar, as if the gods themselves were declaring war.

She erupted. Panic ensued.

The cries of children’s laughter quickly quelled, replaced by cries of agony as the skies rained fire.

Her mouth opened wide, and swathes of liquid Earth spewed from her lips. She painted the landscape bright orange, turning men into stone.

The Giants had escaped.

Even the most stoic of men trembled in her wake.

The ash began to fall, blanketing the city in a coat of delicate powder. It was the first time it snowed in Pompeii, a chilling mimicry of winter’s grace. Our people, our cities, were left in ruins. Those who remained could only hope that the thaws of spring would bring new life to our land and the joys of laughter to our streets. Until then, we would say our silent prayers that it would not snow again.