Whether or not talent in certain art forms runs in families is a matter of debate. I have no opinion on the subject myself, but I was immensely pleased to learn that my twelve-year-old niece Avery demonstrates admirable aptitude and skill in writing. I was so impressed by a recent story she completed for an assignment in school, I asked her if I could post it on this blog. Thankfully, she agreed. I invite you to give it a read. You won't be disappointed!
A Story by Avery McKinnon
Everyone has voices in their head; some are good and others not so much. But no matter what your voices tell you they have all come from the same place. It is now a place of great evil, corrupted and disgraced. With a name written in a forbidden language that no one on this Earth was able to speak or would dare to. However, it was not always like this. It was once a place of hope and wonder. A land heard of in only folk tales that mothers would tell their children before putting them to sleep. Where humanoid creatures lived happily.
That is where our story begins. In the land where voices walk.
Up on a high hill there lay a small house. The hill was taller than the clouds and a narrow stone path led up to the top. It overlooked a meadow and a swamp that sat on the rims of the tall grass. Flowers swayed calmly in the warm spring breeze that came from the east, and the water of the swamp was glistening from the little amount of sunlight that shone through the thick oak trees that roofed the forest. Far off to the south, the village of trade was visible faintly in the distance. Other than the occasional soliciting visit from one of the villagers, the hill was quiet, which made it the perfect place for the lonely voice of Wisdom to live.
Wisdom was what she was commonly referred to as although she was never given a name by her parents who had wandered off long ago in search of new life. Birthnames are not common is this place for an old legend read “One cannot have the honor of a name without earning it.” The author died in battle centuries ago; however, his words passed on throughout the years and around the age of ten a child would receive a name based off of what they did and how they acted. However, wisdom received her title at the age of five showing superior knowledge more so than the villages elders. Her house was old and a few shingles were missing from the roof. The door was made of dark oak from the forest of the west and was held together by little torn up rope. Although the house was small, as soon as you stepped inside you could get lost in the maze of bookshelves and never come out.
It was not quite like this all over for down below in the meadow there was a fairly sized wooden shelter with ripped and worn red banners placed around the dedicated lot. The open shack was previously used as a lumber mill but not anymore. The banners had ram skulls printed on them in the lowest quality of inks. They meant strength in honor of our second voice. The voice of Power.
Power was strict and ruthless and she never gave into anyone or anything. Down in this shack was where Power lived and would preach to an audience about how they were in danger of other kingdoms attacking. She would go on and on about how the villagers needed to sacrifice their simple lives of farming and trading for a life on the battle field. She would also often give private lessons to the children on weapons and armors and how they were used. She had been doing this for years and she quite liked what she did although she had never had any real combat training herself. (Unless beating an old elm tree with a wooden plank counted.) Everyone knew, however, that her speeches were rubbish and that Power wanted nothing more than to pick a fight. Ever since she was young she had been dreaming of the day she would win a war for her people and gain wealth and honor throughout the land. The rage of war burned fierce in her and it was easily recognizable. So at the common age of ten she was gifted the name Power.
Nonetheless her speeches were entertaining and one particular spring day Power had the biggest audience she had ever had. Somewhere within the large crowd was our third and final voice. The voice of creativity. Creativity was not like the other voices. She was among the voices that were given a name before they were born. This made the lives of voices like Creativity extremely stressful for they had to live up to the expectations of others before even knowing how to walk. Despite this, Creativity lived up to her name and owned it well. She didn’t want something directly in life, but only sought to be free. Creativity was the only one throughout the land to only ever see the good in everything and everyone. Her two goals in life were only to make people happy and to let her imagination flow free. Creativity had no permanent home as she stayed with different friends and family members throughout her life, but she was happy. However, nothing this perfect lasts. No place can ever be perfect.
Civilization did not know that an evil force was brewing off to the west near the forest of dark oak. (The wood of which Wisdoms door was crafted.) This voice could not be named for it is also the name that this land now possess. The force swept the land later that night and not a sound was made. The meadow where Creativity would run free, blackened. The abandoned lumber mill, plagued. The house on the highest hill, empty.
No voice expected this and none managed to escape. None except three. Wisdom, Power, and Creativity were the only voices to escape. Little is known about how these three unlikely companions banded together against the darkness, however it is safe to say the we are glad they did.
For years they wandered around several different dimensions searching for a home greater than their last. But it was not found untill they came to Earth and spent their lives trapped inside the head of a twelve year old girl. To guide her until her days come to an end, then and only then they would be truly free.
A Story by Avery McKinnon
Everyone has voices in their head; some are good and others not so much. But no matter what your voices tell you they have all come from the same place. It is now a place of great evil, corrupted and disgraced. With a name written in a forbidden language that no one on this Earth was able to speak or would dare to. However, it was not always like this. It was once a place of hope and wonder. A land heard of in only folk tales that mothers would tell their children before putting them to sleep. Where humanoid creatures lived happily.
That is where our story begins. In the land where voices walk.
Up on a high hill there lay a small house. The hill was taller than the clouds and a narrow stone path led up to the top. It overlooked a meadow and a swamp that sat on the rims of the tall grass. Flowers swayed calmly in the warm spring breeze that came from the east, and the water of the swamp was glistening from the little amount of sunlight that shone through the thick oak trees that roofed the forest. Far off to the south, the village of trade was visible faintly in the distance. Other than the occasional soliciting visit from one of the villagers, the hill was quiet, which made it the perfect place for the lonely voice of Wisdom to live.
Wisdom was what she was commonly referred to as although she was never given a name by her parents who had wandered off long ago in search of new life. Birthnames are not common is this place for an old legend read “One cannot have the honor of a name without earning it.” The author died in battle centuries ago; however, his words passed on throughout the years and around the age of ten a child would receive a name based off of what they did and how they acted. However, wisdom received her title at the age of five showing superior knowledge more so than the villages elders. Her house was old and a few shingles were missing from the roof. The door was made of dark oak from the forest of the west and was held together by little torn up rope. Although the house was small, as soon as you stepped inside you could get lost in the maze of bookshelves and never come out.
It was not quite like this all over for down below in the meadow there was a fairly sized wooden shelter with ripped and worn red banners placed around the dedicated lot. The open shack was previously used as a lumber mill but not anymore. The banners had ram skulls printed on them in the lowest quality of inks. They meant strength in honor of our second voice. The voice of Power.
Power was strict and ruthless and she never gave into anyone or anything. Down in this shack was where Power lived and would preach to an audience about how they were in danger of other kingdoms attacking. She would go on and on about how the villagers needed to sacrifice their simple lives of farming and trading for a life on the battle field. She would also often give private lessons to the children on weapons and armors and how they were used. She had been doing this for years and she quite liked what she did although she had never had any real combat training herself. (Unless beating an old elm tree with a wooden plank counted.) Everyone knew, however, that her speeches were rubbish and that Power wanted nothing more than to pick a fight. Ever since she was young she had been dreaming of the day she would win a war for her people and gain wealth and honor throughout the land. The rage of war burned fierce in her and it was easily recognizable. So at the common age of ten she was gifted the name Power.
Nonetheless her speeches were entertaining and one particular spring day Power had the biggest audience she had ever had. Somewhere within the large crowd was our third and final voice. The voice of creativity. Creativity was not like the other voices. She was among the voices that were given a name before they were born. This made the lives of voices like Creativity extremely stressful for they had to live up to the expectations of others before even knowing how to walk. Despite this, Creativity lived up to her name and owned it well. She didn’t want something directly in life, but only sought to be free. Creativity was the only one throughout the land to only ever see the good in everything and everyone. Her two goals in life were only to make people happy and to let her imagination flow free. Creativity had no permanent home as she stayed with different friends and family members throughout her life, but she was happy. However, nothing this perfect lasts. No place can ever be perfect.
Civilization did not know that an evil force was brewing off to the west near the forest of dark oak. (The wood of which Wisdoms door was crafted.) This voice could not be named for it is also the name that this land now possess. The force swept the land later that night and not a sound was made. The meadow where Creativity would run free, blackened. The abandoned lumber mill, plagued. The house on the highest hill, empty.
No voice expected this and none managed to escape. None except three. Wisdom, Power, and Creativity were the only voices to escape. Little is known about how these three unlikely companions banded together against the darkness, however it is safe to say the we are glad they did.
For years they wandered around several different dimensions searching for a home greater than their last. But it was not found untill they came to Earth and spent their lives trapped inside the head of a twelve year old girl. To guide her until her days come to an end, then and only then they would be truly free.
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