Close your eyes.

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

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2. Two.

We were celebrating my ninth birthday-my family and I- sitting around the top end of our dining table, the thick silk cloth laden with mouth-watering spiced rice’s piled up high in enamel bowls; a roast hog sizzling in its fat, a soft apple between its jaws; and those little marzipan fruits that I adored. We were one of the richest families in Atlantis, and we indulged ourselves in our wealth just as much as everyone else, so we can’t be accounted for what happened later any more or less than anyone else.

I remember feeling perfectly content, full and sleepy, as the servants cleared away all the platters. I’d had a little liqueur, which probably added to that pleasant buzz of content  behind my eyes; I was feeling very grown up- approaching manhood soon anyway- and perhaps a little self-important.

“Happy birthday darling” my mother’s voice still rings in my ears, soft and velvety to the touch. I don’t think I replied, just grinned at her. Her huge hazel eyes glinted back at me, wrinkles in their corners as she lifted cherry red lips in return, her entire face glowing, a free strand escaped the knot of hair that was piled atop her head, a great volumus ocean, and lifted in the warm breeze. It was always warm in Atlantis, never too hot mind. I turned to my little sister, opposite me, a picture of my mother but younger, her beauty more ripe and her hair free in the evening air instead of tied up.

My father was at the head of the table. His face was tanned and kind, premature creases around his eyes and mouth, under the neatly trimmed beard and hooked nose. He was the picture of a warrior. I remember hoping to grow up to be like him.

It was then that the tremors started. The memories get painful now, but I have to remember. I have to remember. My memories are the only things the gods can’t take from me.

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