Chapter 21 #3
through the Roman Forum and stop by the Umbilicus Urbis hoping that Vulcan or Aggie might notice her lingering at the railing
that separated the tourists from the brick structure. They didn’t, despite the prayers she whispered: Please, don’t let them take the Colosseum.
Reluctantly she left and decided to head up to the Campidoglio overlook next to the Palazzo Senatorio, Rome’s city hall, one
of the best views of the site. The fading sunlight cast a warm golden hue over the sprawling landscape. From her vantage point,
the grandeur of the Roman Forum stretched out before her, its ancient stones glowing amber in the dying light. Beyond the
Forum, the iconic silhouette of the Colosseum stood majestically against the horizon, shadows deepening between its weathered
arches. She took a few photos, hoping they wouldn’t be her last. Then she stood there, a dull ache inside her rising while
she endeavored to memorize every part of the view, burning it as much as she could into memory.
A strange rumble shook Aida out of her reverie.
At first, it was a sound like a jet plane coming closer, or the heavy murmur of a subway moving below.
Then the ground began to shake violently beneath her, the ominous rumble growing until it became a deafening roar.
She watched in horror as the Colosseum, that iconic symbol of Rome’s enduring legacy, began to crumble.
“No, no, no, no, no!” she screamed. “No!”
The tallest part of the structure, the imposing outer wall that had stood for millennia, groaned. Stones that had weathered
countless battles and earthquakes for thousands of years now cracked and split. Chunks of the ancient limestone tumbled from
the upper arches, where she had stood less than an hour before, cascading like rain onto the tiers below. Dust and debris
filled the air in a choking cloud, swirling through the last rays of the daylight sun.
Aida’s hand clamped harder on the railing, her knuckles white, unable to tear her eyes from the ruin unfolding before her.
This wasn’t just stone falling. The world was breaking apart, history being stripped away by invisible hands.
The topmost arches, once the crown of Roman ingenuity, buckled as their keystones dislodged, collapsing into the void beneath.
A thick crack snaked its way down the length of the wall, sending shudders through the massive structure. The distinct rumble
of shifting earth, once distant, now became an unbearable crescendo as the outermost edge of the Colosseum crumbled away.
The collapse was slow at first but then faster and faster as entire sections of the ancient monument caved in, sending rubble
crashing to the ground with sickening finality. Although the Colosseum had closed, Aida was sure there must have been some
workers who died in the wreckage. The thought stabbed into her heart.
The rumbling stopped, and the sound of sirens cut through the eerie quiet.
Aida’s phone vibrated in her pocket. Shaking, she pulled it out. It was Felix. She hastily responded that she was okay.
Then she ran.
But there was too much distance to cover, and by the time she got close, emergency crews had already blocked off the street and weren’t letting people get any closer.
Aida gripped the wooden barrier that had been erected, her fingers curling against the rough surface as the reality of the
scene sank deeper into her chest. The crowd around her was a strange chorus of silence and sound—murmurs of disbelief, stifled
sobs, the occasional gasp as people tried to make sense of the impossible. The air was thick not just with dust, but with
something heavier: a collective grief that rippled outward from the rubble, much like the collapse itself.
A woman to her left whispered prayers under her breath, clutching a rosary as though it were the only thing keeping her tethered
to the earth. Beside her, an older man stared at the ruin with hollow eyes, his lips trembling as he shook his head, over
and over again.
The weight of their grief pressed into her, intertwining with her own. It was the pain of every Roman who had grown up in
the shadow of this monument, every visitor drawn to it as if seeking something timeless. The Colosseum had been more than
stone; it had been a constant reminder of resilience through the centuries. And now, it was a broken thing.
She glanced around at the faces in the crowd, all caught in the same disbelief. A group of teenagers, too young to fully grasp
the depth of the loss, held each other in stunned silence, their eyes wide, still searching the horizon as if the Colosseum
might reappear, as though this were some terrible mistake that could be undone.
Aida’s own tears were quiet, slipping down her cheeks as she blinked back the dust, trying to focus. She couldn’t remember
the last time she’d cried in public. But here, surrounded by strangers whose hearts were breaking alongside hers, it didn’t
matter.
A man in a red scarf lifted his phone to record the wreckage, his hands shaking so badly that Aida was sure the image blurred.
He wasn’t alone—others raised their phones, trying to capture what remained, but it felt pointless.
No picture could contain the depth of this loss, and no video could explain what had been taken from them.
Aida wiped her face with the back of her hand, the tears mingling with the grit of dust and ash. The sirens grew louder as
more emergency vehicles arrived, but the crowd stayed rooted, unwilling to turn away from the fallen monument as if by watching
they could somehow keep it with them a little longer.
“Aida!”
It was Felix, who had come back and somehow managed to find her. She collapsed into his arms, and they held each other tight,
their tears mingling. She knew what no one else around them could understand.
She had made this happen.