Crawling up this rocky hill, I wonder if I will fall in the hands of the pyroclastic clouds. I wonder when I will be able to breath air again! Air that isn't ridden with chemicals from deep within the earth's core. I hear a noise. And this time I'm not so sure it's the earth's anger. Could it be help? A motor vehicle? Or just the mountain fooling me, playing with me, teasing me like a cat does to a small rodent before he mercelessly claws it's life away. I can feel the wind from the rotor blades. Some people are saying things but I can't understand them. I lose conciousness. As I am lifted away from this hellish place, I turn my head slightly to the left. Through the closed window on the helicopter. There I can see the smoke. The devil rising out of the mountain, which I used to call home.