The call to write runs in my family. I got it from my Dad who got it from his Mom and so on and so forth. Each generation of the Donaldson line produces a writer. Consequently, the new generation has given the world another "Donaldson writer" in the form of my 12 year old nephew, Jack. With a notebook always in hand, Jack looks for any chance to sit down and write a story. His stories are short, to the point, sarcastic, and witty, as you will see in the following short tale. This story was written just a little over a week ago when Jack spent the night with us. He'd been asking me all about my adventures in Italy, specifically questions about my trip to Pompeii and Mount Vesuvius. This inspired him to write a story about a volcano that was anything but an ordinary volcano. So, without further ado, I introduce a new young writer who will one day take the world of fiction by storm! "Perilous Calling" ~ Jack Donaldson There is a place in the world called Center City. Within the walls of Center City there lies a huge castle that is built around a volcano that hasn’t erupted in a thousand years. This volcano is called “the Rocky Hill of Terror”. The population was huge. There lived as many as a million people there. There was a king called King James who lived in the castle. He was about 60 years old.
One day, the volcano filled up with lava. It said something. Each time the volcano talks, the lava boils. It said, “I’ll take a bite out this land This will be great!” At 6:00 in the morning, the volcano said something again, “Rise and shine everyone! This is the last day.” King James was shocked and drew his sword. Suddenly, a huge rock hit him. HE fell to the ground before the mountain, barely alive. The pyramid of rocks hissed at the unfortunate king and his unfortunate city. But…The prince showed up. He drew his sword and trembled any rock getting ready to hit him. The volcano erupted. The castle was being destroyed. The prince had no idea what to do. He just kept swinging his sword. Finally, the volcano gave up. It started screaming. Black smoke came out of the volcano. But it was pitch black. Did the king die? Did anyone survive? We’ll never know. The spirit must be waiting to tackle its prey…
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AuthorWriter, student, mother, musician, world traveler, and connoisseur of the written word. Archives
March 2021
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