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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 92 | volume XVI | September-October, 2013



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SLOVOKULT.DE
KRUG
BALKANI
OKF







                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 92September-October, 2013
Prose

The Tears of the Volcano

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p. 1
Kalina Maleska

I found out about him after an unusual event which was reported in newspapers all over the world last year. The city near the little town where I live is situated on the slopes of a volcano, which some scientists considered dormant, others – even extinct. The volcano has not erupted for centuries, perhaps even millennia. Almost everything that may have been reminiscent of an active volcano in some distant past was now covered with soil and vegetation. Only scarce fissures in the large green precinct, fissures composed of barren rock, substantiated the existence of hot lava thousands of years ago; they were mainly located around the now barely recognizable crater, whose crust, in the largest part, succumbed to the growth of grass and bushes. Several weeks before the strange event, the city on the slopes of the dormant volcano, as well as all other nearby towns and villages began to worry because an acute smell of sulphur dioxide started spreading from the direction of the old crater; the rocks were trembling, the smell was becoming increasingly sharper, and in the last few days black smoke was soaring in the sky.
    Scientists from all over the world came to see and examine this unexpected and ominous miracle, for this was no longer considered to be a volcano, not even a dormant one, but rather, a mountain that – and now there it was: the mountain has turned back into a volcano. Evacuation was planned, but no one rushed too much with it because no one believed that the lava could soon penetrate the rocks, stones and soil deposited for so long after the death of the volcano. And suddenly, before the evacuation even began, it happened – the event that was reported in the newspapers; the event that made me start my research.
    The whole volcano was raging so powerfully that the houses and buildings of the city quivered left and right, ready at any moment to tumble down the slope and roll as if they are engulfed by avalanche, the air heated up, the smell of the elements composing the molten rock, ash and gases that extruded from the magma chamber below became not only unbearable, but also poisonous. The sizzling lava erupted through the volcanic vent, stayed in the air for a second or two, then with remarkable speed set off to surmount the green precinct from the top of






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