Project 52 – 2015: Write Every Week For A Year – Week 3

WEEK – 3

Prompt for week 3: 19th January – 24th January, 2015


Does your protagonist even believe in magic? Does it clash with firmly-held religious ideas? Does his/her new power scare or delight? Why? Will he/she use this power for personal gain or for the common good? Is the extent of this power known? Could it be used to bring about World Peace, find a cure for cancer, end hunger on this planet or to pass the bar exam without studying?


In 500 words or less, describe someone, an ordinary person of any culture, era, age or station, discovering that he/she has some magical power. Your protagonist could be a head of state, a homeless person, a child, a grandmother, a crook — the possibilities are endless.


In your critique look at whether the author presents a situation that seems possible or one that definitely in the realm of fairy tale. Or is it a novel definition of magic. Tell us whether or not the character is changed by this new power. If not changed, why? If changed, how and why? You might observe the order in which things happen in the plot and comment on how that affects the story.

Looking forward to reading some good scenes.

Here is my take… 🙂


Sibling Rivalry

Samurai came home from the hospital. I was the least excited in the crowd awaiting him at the door. I wanted to burn down the decorations and the Welcome Sami poster in the hall. I was the princess of the house for six years and he can’t barge in on me and snatch that away. I ran to a corner of the room and sat sucking my thumb, recoiled, contemplating my next move. Only, this time no one came running after me to pacify.

Everyone was busy with preparations for the cradle-ceremony; no one noticed I’d skipped school for three days.

Finally, the D-day arrived.

Guests appeared dressed in their best looking like manikins walking out of a jewelry store, took a look at Sami in the cradle; showered him with blessings – smiles, toys, clothes and money. None of them had any for me. Not even Mala Atta, Dad’s sister. Since she arrived she hadn’t spent ten minutes with me. The family dynamics shifted. The boy-child took precedent and I ceased to exist.

That night I broke down. I hugged Mala Atta and wept. Amidst my sobs said, “Throw Sami… away… I hate him… None of you love me.”

Atta drew me into a tight embrace. Planting love on my forehead said, “Amul… Sweetie… We love you. You know Sami is so little; he can’t do things on his own. He needs help.”

Unconvinced, I stood pouting and sniffing.

She picked me up and as she rocked me to sleep on her shoulder said, “You know why Grandpa named you Amulya? You know what it means? It means precious. You are precious, every girl-child is.”

Next morning I woke up to Sami’s wails in his cradle. I pulled the covers over my head trying to drown the reminder of his presence. He increased his volume. I reluctantly got out of bed; walked towards his room, looking around, wondering where everyone was.

I went straight to the cradle, dragged the foot-stool closer, got on to it and leaned in. I saw the cherubic child for the first time. He looked ugly like an alien with no teeth, turning blue from crying. I plugged his mouth with a pacifier. As I pivoted, his eyes sparkled and he grabbed my little finger.

The cosmic-connection from the magic touch traveled through my being filling me with joy.

I bent down; kissed him on his cheek and said, “You’re my brother; I’ll help you.”

 (412 words)

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