Ash.
Thick, black ash staining the heavens.
It was all she could see as she peered into the upper atmosphere. Her eyes had been sore all day, exhausted from the terrifying conditions and crying from fear for days on end. A bright blue sky seemed like a faraway dream to Livia Vespillo now.
Strolling down the streets in Rome, she couldn’t help but be haunted by the constant fear pricking in her heart. With the dark shadow blanketing the sky, Livia felt her mood and emotions changing with the firmament. Her happiness had slowly disappeared along with the sun. Her smile faded to grey just as the sky darkened. 
Miss Vespillo wondered if others felt the same way. If their minds were fogging over like the air around them.
The once beautiful villas and spas were soon buried in ash. The elegant houses, paved streets and bathhouses were put to rest in the back of people’s placid minds.
Livia could hardly breathe as the ash continued to fall, clogging the air.
Events from the past few days settled in her mind, and she watched scenes of children scurrying out of collapsing buildings, fear and panic smeared all over their ash-stained faces and reddened cheeks. What scared Livia the most was seeing those who had given in and succumbed to the darkness.
It pained her heart to see those who so desperately clang to hope as well. When she would walk home from her daily job and see people of all ages, praying with everything they had left. Praying to the Gods. Begging for mercy and wishing they could be saved.
There were delusional ones. Rambling on about the end of the world. Preaching that this was God’s work – that this was the end for them all. This was Hell, and this was eternal darkness for the damned souls.
Some prayed to have their lives end in fear of death itself.
Fear and insanity drove them to keep going. Those people all had reasons – purposes.
Livia envied them.
She was one of the few who had completely given up. She knew she had nothing left, so she didn’t let anything show. Her eyes, glazed over and empty, stared at the ash-filled sky and welcomed death.
Her lungs had been burning for days, but she didn’t show her pain.
She had cried all her tears, and she was empty.
So on her final day, she sat.
Her face placid as her lungs stopped. Her eyes clouded as her body shut down. The ash fell, but she didn’t let any tears slip. Her body fell limp as the ash filled her lungs, and the pain ended when her heart stopped beating.

Years later, many tourists still visited Pompeii. This is especially true for that of the name of Tarquin Ryley. He gripped his camera, staring out with mesmerization at the vessels of the pyroclastic surge’s victims. His heart ached for the loss of each one as he scanned their faces, snapping pictures of the fear and pain permanently plastered in the hardened ash.
“Hey, Tarq!” His friend called out to him from the other side of the exhibit. Tarquin turned, tucking on the back of his beanie to keep it from falling off. He nodded to his friend, skipping to catch up.
“Yes. Just a moment, I’m coming!” Their British accents echoed through the Roman remains as they caught up to the tourist group.
He and his friend hurried along to the next room. Tarq immediately stopped when he felt a strong pang of sadness wash over him. Standing still as his friend moved along with the group, Tarquin slowly turned around to look in the room, walking somewhat leisurely back. Scanning over the ashen cocoons he had been taking pictures of just seconds ago, he felt the sadness grow, consuming his chest. Then he saw her.
Sitting calmly in the corner, the remains of Livia Vespillo stared back at him.
Tarquin gazed curiously at her features, Livia’s face burning into his mind.
He found his feet shifting; stepping closer.
The closer Tarq got, the more he could see. However, the more he saw, the more he was convinced that there was nothing there.
She sat so calmly, but didn’t appear to be peaceful. She wasn’t screaming, or crying. She didn’t even look afraid or frightened. It was as if . . . she had died before her heart stopped.
Tarquin continued to stare at the remains of the girl. A tear slipped down his left cheek, and for a brief moment, he was certain he was feeling her emotions. Yet . . . there were none.
He felt completely empty.
More shattered tears cascaded down his cheeks, and he understood her pain.
Shaking hands lifted the camera as Tarquin stared at the girl, and she stared back. Raising the lens to his tear-filled eye, he squinted, bringing his finger down, and taking an everlasting photograph.