Close your eyes.

For the 'Inspired by a song' contest. Inspired by Pompeii- Bastille.

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4. Four.

A wave of pure force radiated from the crack, and we were all thrown to the ground. That explained the tremors, at least. Someone was one the other-side of the wall, punching their way through with brute force. Behind us the power lost momentum and slowed down, flattening everything in sight for a distance, only the buildings beyond that distance left standing. That leaves over half of Atlantis, my home, our beloved city, two dimensional.

I looked back to the wall, and saw that the crack had transformed into a gaping hole, the bricks littered around it from where they had tumbled. Although the hole was relatively small (only a small person could fit through it-not an army or anything) it’s was as if the wall had been punctured, and now stood bleeding and broken, the splendour and majesty gone.

And then a small person did slip through the hole. I double took. How can someone of such a normal size hold that much power inside them?

She picked her way across the ruins and stood up straight before us. She filled up my whole vision, but not by getting any bigger, and it’s around about then that I realised she was not human. Could not be.

The goddess stood, her posture betraying her authority and anger. Her feet were bare, and her flame red dress caught in the breeze that had caressed my mother’s hair only minutes ago. I had accepted that my mother was now most likely dead.

She wore jewels laced around her neck and all up her arms, thousands of huge ruby red, amber and scarlet eyes fastened upon us, twinkling in the final golden rays of the sunset. When she spoke, it was not in a language I knew, but my soul understood her exactly. Her voice was amplified all over the island, her tone full of disgust and ridicule.

“People of Atlantis, you have betrayed your gods. You have turned from us in your personal quests for luxury. You have replaced your love and loyalty to us with materialistic treasure, attempting to live as gods yourselves. Our shrines stand empty and unthought-of  in your houses. Your sins shall be washed away.” She halts with finality: we were all going to die.

Some idiot threw himself at her feet. He begged for mercy: “At least for the innocent” he said “spare the children”.

She gave no sign of having even heard him.

She threw out her arms in an impressive gesture, balled her hands into fists and pushed her chest out. Behind her the sea grumbled in its ascent. A mountain of water gathered behind her, a wall of liquid steal, piling up and up, stretching to the sky. The sun was finally blotted out.

“Close your eyes, son” my father advises, placing a protective hand on my head. Gone is the optimistic man. Soon his body will follow him.

As I did, a wave of déjà vu washes over me, almost as real as the water, and I realised that something like this happened before. Pompeii was recently annihilated, a result of the gods anger too.

 But they burned. We will drown.

And then it all went black and cold as I was swept away by the wave, my lungs crushed and my body broken, father’s hand far from my reach.

 

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