In a lush vineyard on Mount Vesuvius, on the 12th day of the 12th month at 12:00 o’clock a baby girl cried for the first time; her name was Sylvia.
“Come on Sylvia, you might like Pompeii.” Encouraged Sylvia’s mother, “No, I don’t want to go. I like the vineyard, I like the mountain, and I don’t want to go.” Yet another fight was raging in Regina home. Sylvia was of course the reason for it; she never left her home on Mount Vesuvius, it was like there was some wired link between her and the Mountain and she had never left it. Her parents despaired of her, how would they find her a suitable husband if she would not go to the towns of Pompeii and Stabia?
Then the day of reckoning came, and Vesuvius erupted. Sylvia’s parents were quick to act and jumped up at the first tremor, but Sylvia was sleeping in her room and the door was immovable. Her parents pushed and pulled but the door wouldn’t move; in the end Sylvia’s parent thought it must be the will of the Gods and they ran for their lives.
In the safety of the fishing hut, where many refugees were hiding, a silent tear ran down Sylvia’s mothers cheek as she watched lava envelop their Vila. Suddenly a voice chirped beside her “Mum, you were right; I do like Pompeii!” It was Sylvia...