Buried

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

Quintus, uncomfortably warm, found himself staring blankly at the frescoes on his wall of intertwined naked ladies and men. Startled out of his daydream when the floor shook and the walls cracked, he ran through the atrium to the front wooden door and opened it. People scrambled the streets, colliding into one another screaming in terror. Mount Vesuvius had erupted into fiery lava, ash and pumice.

Quintus ran, but the roof collapsed and buried him in a pile of burning rocks. With shallow breathing, and his lungs collapsed, he bid farewell to Pompeii as the sound of dying screams faded.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Daydreaming

Morning. Walking to the shops in a daydream, hungover. My mind wanders and takes me somewhere else....

I am sitting at the bar in the Wolf Dog Tavern with John. I ask the landlord to sub me a fifty. The landlord moans, 'go and cut some lawns and make your own money.' I tell him that I will have money next week. John was going to cut his lawn by the fish factory.

A lady snaps me out of my reverie, I must have be talking aloud and waving my hands.

'You alright?' She asks assuming that I am mad.

From Guest Contributor Declan Kelly

Declan lives in Mayo, Ireland. He is a big fan and follower of Irish heritage, culture, and beer.