Zoé à Pompéi

À l’école, Zoé a dû faire une rédaction sur leur thème du moment : Pompéi. Il fallait raconter la vie de quelqu’un pendant l’éruption.
Bonne lecture !

Dear diary,

my name is Octavius, and I am the richest (the most important) person in Pompeii. Today, I went to buy some groceries at the market. As soon as I stepped out of my precious, colossal apartment, I could hear the birds sing as they were enjoying the warm rays of sunlight. As much as I wanted to lay down in the soft, emerald green grass, I needed to go buy my lunch. When I got to the market, I went to the nearest fish stall and looked at the price. I asked the stall-owner what the most expensive was, and he said:
“Oh, that be this one, sir!”
As he took out the biggest fish of the lot, it was 10,000 denarius. Even I thought it was slightly expensive just for one fish, but he looked, well, un-taught. So I bought the fish, giving the shopkeeper 10 denarius, and he didn’t notice a thing. The thing is, another man did.
“Go away, you’re not welcome here!”
So of course, I replied.
“I’ll sell you if you’re not carefull.”
And this did the trick.

Dear diary,

this is the start of what seems a fantastic day. First of all, I have nothing planned today. This hasn’t happened in years! So, of course, I take a nap in the grass, where the birds sing me to sleep. When I woke up, I just sat and admired the breathtaking view. As the sun went down on the horizon, Pompeii lit up and that felt like the best moment of my life. But something was not right…

The horses were panicking, the dogs were barking, the birds were screeching. Dusty, black clouds of ash were heading towards me. This did not bother me too much, as the clouds of ash made it calming, in a way. Quite suddenly, the ground started to shake, and I did not feel relaxed. It was a sign that the Gods were angry, but I was not sure why.

Just when I thought things could not get worse, boiling hot rocks shot out of the gentle mountain. With the rocks came fire, which looked like a thousand fireflies shooting out of a rocket. To my great surprise, lava started oozing out like the blood that was about to be shed. Cracks started to form in the ground. The city was panicking…

What was happening? Nobody knew. Were we going to die? Nobody knew. But one thing was for sure. I did not want to die the slightest bit. Fortunately, I had a plan. I rushed inside the house, ran down the flight of stairs like a marble rolling down a hill, and locked myself in the wine cellar. Snap! A rope broke, and a whole building fell to the floor. Crash! A house went down with it. I could hear the peopple screaming, children crying. I peeped through a crack in the wall. Giant fire balls shot out of the mountain like meteorites destroying everything in its path. Almost the whole city was on fire now. Apart from — Bang! Sizzle! One of the rocks had reached my precious mansion! Crackle! Crackle! Now my place was on fire. Bang! The trapdoor fell. There was no escape. In desperation, I tried opening the crack, but it was hard as rock. The lava rushed in.


Now, you might be wondering, how can I write my story if I’m dead? Well, it’s simple. I’m in Hell. Alive people would think that it’s horrible and stress, but it’s actually really boring. No, seriously, there’s nothing to do. That is why I wrote my story.

The end