I’m a volcano’s volcano. Vesuvius. Pompeii. Krakatoa. It’s about the artistry. That’s why my first eruption had to be perfect. I planned it for over 10,000 years—curating landscapes, correcting vibes, ignoring the constant, unbearable pressure building below my crust. There was always something wrong.
At first, I had no audience. That sucked. I was surrounded by wildlife that didn’t care about eruptions. Deer, for example, are massive volcano fans. But I had no deer. Just beavers and birds that treated me like some old smoking idiot.
It took 7,000 years for people to arrive. Fifty-eight sickly villagers. Finally! An audience! And yet…completely unworthy. I needed millions to bask in my magnificence. They relocated after I burped a little lava. Cowards, obviously.
My situation was humiliating.
Then I got “lucky.” One of my uncle volcanoes went extinct, and I inherited a pile of cash. That solved some problems. First purchase: a full-scale replica of ancient Rome. Twin cargo ships transported the city across the ocean to my southern valley. I always wanted to watch Rome burn.
Target now acquired, I needed adoring fans. I bought like sooooo many deer. The plan was simple: surround myself with the craziest volcano fans in existence. I was destined for perfection. My magma boiled.
Then the weather turned. Constant grey clouds made the atmosphere moody, not at all fitting for a volcano’s first eruption. So I purchased the Extra-Premium package from Weather Changers Unlimited. Thanks to their planes and Magic Mist, my Seattle became a Los Angeles (both cities I hope to incinerate someday).
My internal temperature spiked.
This was the moment.
Except… it wasn’t.
The scale was off. I was thinking too small, so I ordered replicas of New York, London, and Detroit. New York would go by the northern ridge. London by the river. And Detroit? Oh, I had a special place for Detroit.
The stars were finally aligning: the deer were ready, Rome was glowing, the new cities were en-route. All it took to pull off the perfect first eruption was intuition, persistence, and money from my dead uncle.
That’s when a geyser of lava the size of a skyscraper shot out of my top.
I screamed. I begged Volcano God for answers. I’d waited so long, tried so hard. Rome was burning beautifully in the background, but I couldn’t enjoy it. Trumpets and drums boomed from across the western valley, where legions of deer safely celebrated my eruption.
I was devastated. There needed to be a soundtrack, something by Queen. There needed to be more deer! Elk! Caribou! I would buy antelope next time.
A second eruption. An eruption that had it all. I started thinking about how I could fix things. I realized the pressure would build again, and when it did, everything would be perfect.
“BLAST THOSE TRUMPETS, MY DEER!” I shouted across the western valley. “NEXT TIME! EVERYTHING WILL BE ABSOLUTELY PERFECT NEXT TIME!”
The deer didn’t hear me. Seemingly drunk, they danced in large circles, laughing, crying, madly clashing their antlers. The deer knew nothing of my dissatisfaction. For the deer, my first eruption was perfect.
The truth is it would’ve been perfect a thousand years earlier. Turns out, if you wait for the perfect moment, you miss all the good ones. You don’t need deer, ancient Rome, or Weather Changers Unlimited.
In the pages that follow, I discuss my other “failed” eruptions. I discuss bankruptcy, why I was wrong about Detroit, the elk rebellion. I describe it all.
Perfection is an illusion.
But pressure? Pressure is very, very real.
I hope this book helps you find some relief.
– Mount Tulamec
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Alex Dermody’s fiction has been most recently featured in Bewildering Stories and The Seattle Star. His published work can be found on Instagram @alexdermodywriting.