The City of Bones

by Liane McCarthy (Ireland)

I didn't expect to find Italy

We arrived in Rome early that morning, and spent the day dragging our feet through a tour of the city beneath the feet of this one. Exhausted, we pushed ourselves onwards, determined to make the most of our weekend away. We arrived at a boring looking church, slightly disappointed. Wr didn't expect to find the most humbling and fascinating place we would ever see. Through the door, we see a carivaggio painting, and in a city full of beauty and colour, this gritty depiction of religion caught us off guard. We started to feel as though our initial perception had been wrong. We wandered closer inside. We stepped through the doorway and froze in shock. From floor to ceiling, the room was draped in bones. We faced directly towards the skeletons of three children, and my blood ran cold. I felt the grip of my own mortality wrap around my chest, like something was squeezing the life from me. The mummified remains of cloaked friars filled me with dread. Chandeliers made of human pelvis tumbled from the ceiling like words from a desperate mouth. Despite the feeling of coldness in my chest, it felt weiry surreal. I couldn't believe this was real. Then our tour guide began to speak about the believes of the Franciscan Monks, and how they embraced death, and didn't fear their time running out. They spoke about accepting your inevitable faith, and walking hand and hand with the grim reaper when your time runs out. We observed the clock made of human bones, and the heart of a lady who dedicated her life to the monks. I stood there, facing death head on, and I was dowsed in an unfamiliar calm. I felt comforted by the phantoms of the past, centuries after they left their message. Rome is a city of bones itself, its very foundations built on top of the skeletons of a time gone by. It weaves history with more history, never to mourn what came before it. Names of lovesick teens from centuries before carved into walls centuries older. It's a mass grave that never lets you forget how small you are, yet makes you feel grateful you get to experience it. In that room, covered in bones, we read "I once was what you are now, you will one day be what we are now." I carry that with me, whenever I lose sight of my fortune, whenever I forget to be grateful for what I have. When I don't take advantage of the time I have, and when I'm frightened of what's to come. I repeat those words quietly in my head, and it gives me strength.