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Don't ask me how I knew it was going to happen. I couldn't tell you. Maybe I've just developed a feel for these kinds of things after so many years with the foundation.

Or maybe, I'm just attuned to when an outbreak of violence is going to happen. Either way, it was the worst possible time.

The museum was full.

There were kids everywhere, their teachers and chaperones trying to keep them together,

as they made their way from exhibition to exhibition.

I had been in the back, in the employee area, when a sickening feeling took hold

in my stomach. So I rushed out of the back, not quite running, but still moving fast.

I was wearing my janitor's uniform, because that's what I was to anyone concerned. A janitor.

A couple of museum guests gave me brief looks, but

they probably thought a kid had thrown up somewhere, and I was on my way to clean it up.

As I rounded the corner and looked at the Pompeii exhibition, I knew. There was something

in the air, and the people around one of the exhibits seemed to sense it too.

The kids all got quiet, and the adults looked around in confusion, unable to make sense of their intuition.

All these kids, I thought, there's so many. There were four rock and ash-en- encased statues in the exhibit, all in different positions

of repose.

One of them was curled up in the fetal position.

Another two were faced down, their heads resting on their hands as if they didn't want

to see the wall of death coming down on them from the volcano.

The fourth figure was sitting back, its hands in front

...