Most of you know, or at least get the gist of the history of Pompeii: an eruption of Mt. Vesuvius so catastrophic that it killed thousands and buried an entire civilization, yet also left perfectly preserved molds of the victims of the devastating blow. Many of the bodies left near-perfect imprints in the hardened ash, allowing archaeologists to make plaster casts which can now be seen on display. The terror still etched on many of their faces is haunting.
I was able to visit the display about a few years ago but Iβve been reluctant to talk about it. I canβt explain it or rationalize it, but I can feel with every fiber of my being that I didnβt dream or imagine it. I havenβt told anybody the details, not even my husband. Iβd sound like a fucking lunatic. Despite my fear of being made fun of, I recently decided itβs been long enough that I can share my story with others out there who may have experienced strange or unexplained things. Maybe sharing it with others will help me to not feel so alone. To not feel like Iβve gone batshit insane.
About 3 years ago, I was able to book a trip to Italy with my bestie, Heather. Sheβd been to Italy before, but it was my first time in a European country so she wanted to make sure we saw as much as possible while we were there. We visited the Coliseum, Leaning Tower of Pisa, the Vatican, and of course, many of the restaurants. We made sure to take plenty of pictures and selfies for our loved ones back home and of course, for our social media. As the end of our visit was drawing near, we decided to plan a day trip to visit the Horrea and Olitorium to see the ruins of Pompeii.
We arrived at the area that day feeling super excited but as we walked around the ruins, a sense of overwhelming sadness began to build up in my chest. I did my best to shake it off as Heather and me βoohedβ and βawedβ, taking pictures with our iPhones and making small talk about what it mustβve been like to see such a thing. I stared through the glass at the casts, some of which still had looks of terror on their faces. There was a woman with her child on her lap, a man whose face was contorted in either fear or agony, and there was a dog on its back with its legs in the air, like it had been rolling around scratching its back on the ground. Those are the more famous ones. There were others of people in curled up and recoiled positions.
I wandered around for a bit, looking at the walls and structure of the buildings, wondering what they
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