The heavy smell of sulfur wasn’t the only thing hanging in the air that morning in 79 AD. I was standing in the middle of the forum, watched by a crowd of confused Romans in togas, and I knew it was time.
I held the note for three minutes. The ash encased me in a permanent, singing pose—a masterpiece of vocal commitment. Thousands of years later, archaeologists found me. They didn't find a person; they found a legend frozen in a mid-belt "Eh-he-oh."
I took a deep breath, ignored the rumbling of Mount Vesuvius in the distance, and began.
“Eh-he-oh, he-oh!” (Bass) “EH-HE-OH, HE-OH!” (Soprano) “eh-he-oh...” (A very breathy, dramatic whisper)
