Dust and Stone by Amaranta DeBrefny

           If Daddy had mentioned my lack of finesse and highlighted that stumble I took into the pothole, I think I’d have screamed. Not that I was a screamer. But a girl could learn. As it turned out, he’d long since left me wandering the ruins on my own. My real walking shoes, along with the mini first aid kit I would have used to clean my grazed knees and that bump on my temple, were in his backpack. The pothole, you see, was more of a gash in the ground, like the ha-has we’d seen last year on those landed estates all over Britain. One minute I was walking along and studying the map of the amphitheatre ruins in Pula, and the next I’d slipped into the gash, fallen forward, and hit my hit against a rock-hard earth crust. This never would’ve happened in Britain.

            Daddy must have fled when the first screams erupted. As I said, I’m not a screamer. It was one, or a dozen more likely, of those Euro-tourists; Daddy didn’t scream. When I’d turned around he was just...gone. He’d wanted to stay in Zagreb, but I’d wanted to see the ruins. I wasn’t surprised he was one of the first to disappear.

            The bump on my head didn’t break the skin and the scrapes on my knees weren’t too bad. Folding the map, I took tentative steps over the cracked and split earth. If another gash opened up, I didn’t want to lose my footing again. Even though most of the tourists had now gone, it would still be an embarrassment I didn’t want to subject myself to. Also, I still had to find a way to get to the katerdrala and the triumphal arch. They were on the list, see. I didn’t like my chances with the screaming lady. She had stopped screaming, but being on the chunky side like Nanna, hadn’t run with the rest. She was pacing around the arena. She wouldn’t be much help at all. My best chance was to walk away from the chaos and through the city’s old quarter.

            The katerdrala and basilica were erected over former Roman temple sites. There were still ancient temple ruins to see—some with their columns and lintels still standing. I thought about that, about the temple sites, as the carved stone of the arena groaned and shifted. Little pebble pieces fell from the structure as I continued on my path. As the stone crumbled and split, the dust of a hundred million abrading rock particles flew upward and clouded the view of the bright blue sky. It was a shame too because everyone knew the Mediterranean Riviera had the bluest sky this side of the Adriatic.

            I left the pacing lady in the arena. I didn’t know what happened to her, and I didn’t want to. Her hyperventilating was worse than her screaming. Out from under the dust cloud, the hot sun beat down on the top of my head. Had it been earlier, or later, I would have been in the shadow of the amphitheatre and each step wouldn’t have felt like such a labor. Without Daddy here I had to carry my own backpack too. Glancing downward at the hard-baked ground, I noticed pebbles skittering. A moment later, a rumble sounded and I felt the earth move through my soles. I halted. Without warning another gash opened up a few feet from where I stood. Each side of the former wholeness gnashed against each other until the gash was the size of a small swimming pool. It was as if Pula’s plates were shifting. I’d never seen anything like it so I stopped a moment to watch.

            Then, quicker than I had time to process, something slammed into my shoulder. I spun around to see a familiar face pleading with me. It was a guy from the old quarter. He’d pestered me during our whole trip, like most of the local boys, to buy me pistachio gelato, da? and ride me around on his Vespa. The Vespa turned out to be an old bicycle, so I never found out what the gelato would have been. No. My Western appeal wasn’t lost on these people; But what was this dust and stone all about?

            Pulling the items out of my pack, I unfolded a trinket wrapped in newspaper and scanned the headline. APOKALIPSA DOLAZI! Huh. So the apocalypse was here at last. If Daddy had bothered to read the paper maybe he would have stuck around to see the action. After all the delays, or rather, miscalculations by the so-called experts, I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. After all, if there’s one thing we Westerners expect, it’s our money’s worth, and we paid good money for our tickets. The rest of the article said midday, I think. That was in a few minutes’ time. There was no way Daddy’d make it back.

            After I found the chunky lady, I tugged at her sleeve. Her wild eyes settled when I smiled at her. That was nice, I guess. She wasn’t my first choice, but I’d have to make do. I tugged her back toward the ruins and gesticulated as I enunciated, “I’m Katherynne Lee Child, ma’am. Kath-errr-ynne.”

She whimpered when some of the columns teetered, but I held on to her and tried my best to assure her she wouldn’t want to miss this.

            “Do you think,” I said to her in English, “this will be as good as the katerdrala?”

            The skies parted, and as she opened her funny little mouth to say something, I shushed her.

            “Sorry, not now, ma’am,” I had to say. “It’s starting. The end...it’s beginning.”      

Author Bio:

 Amaranta DeBrefny writes flash thrillers and spec fic for discerning readers on the go. Free reads, including her latest publication, "Dark Justice," are available at http://www.amarantadebrefny.wix.com/author.