I was sitting outside the bakery eating jam and bread. I looked up and saw a black sky. Far away I saw the outline of a mountain. Black smoke was rising from that mountain into the air.
I paid little attention to it. Behind me I saw my friend. He warned me that the smoke was an omen from the gods. He believed that it meant our city was to be destroyed. He wanted me to run away with him to a neighboring country, to escape certain death.
I laughed at that ludicrous statement. Our glorious city was not about to crash and burn. Plus, the idea to run away from a life of beauty and leisure to live as a peasant was horrifying. I refused to go with him. He left with a sad look on his face, as if he was picking out my coffin.
A few hours later the smoke became thicker. It was then that I realized that it was not smoke but ash. When I drew in breath my lungs filled with it. I began to run and then I looked back, lava was flowing from the mountain. Death was near.
How foolish of me not to listen to my friend! He was right about everything. As the lava became closer and the ash thicker, I knew that I was doomed. I tripped on a brick and fell to the ground. Struggling for breath I crawled towards the city gate. Soon the ash suffocated me and I fell on my fiery bed of ashes.