Write about an object that’s been passed through the generations in your family.
I sat in this hideous floral chair, fidgeting and nervous. When I got the call from my grandmother that she wanted me to stop by and have a "talk," I immediately got anxious. Did she know? Or at least suspect what I could do?
I mean, my powers had to have come from somewhere right? I don't remember getting bitten by a radioactive spider or given a magical green space ring and I'm pretty sure I'm not an alien. Maybe I'm a mutant! Or maybe this is a family trait that skipped a generation. Or maybe...
I was spiraling again.
When she greeted me at the door, she smiled like she didn't have a single care in the world.
"You want some lemonade, baby? I'll whip some up real quick," she said, taking my jacket and hanging it up.
"That'd be awesome. Thanks, big mama." I said, with a nervous laugh.
She gestured to the living room and I took a seat, while she went into the kitchen. She's been in there for 10 minutes and I keep sweating. Pretty soon this ugly chair will be drenched in my sweat.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetie," she said, walking into the living room with a pitcher of lemonade.
"No worries," I responded, watching her pour the juice. "I just hope everything's okay. Not that anything is wrong, just that I always see you on Sundays so this kinda came out of the blue, but it's fine because I love seeing you..."
She watched me ramble on and on with a pensive look on her face. Eventually, I stopped babbling and looked at her shyly.
"Do you know what a Grimoire is?" She asked.
"Um, like a book of magic?" I asked. I felt stupid saying it but whatever I watch TV. I've heard the term.
"Yes, my dear. The time has come for me to pass it on to you," she said. "Now that your powers have manifested."
"What? Am I...a witch?" The words came out of my mouth but it didn't compute.
She reached over to the end table, pulled open the drawer and took out a very old, large, black book.
"This has been in our family since 1492. Our ancestors were slaves and revolted against their masters, who were sacrificing slaves for their dark magic rituals. One of the rebellious slaves, Hatil, found the Grimoire and took it, right before burning down the castle. It's since been passed down from generation to generation to whoever could wield its abilities," my grandmother said, quietly.
I'm not sure when my mouth fell open but I eventually closed it and looked down at the book she was currently holding out to me.
"How did I get these abilities? Does mom have abilities? Do you?" I asked, with my fists balled tightly in my lap. Somehow, it felt like accepting that book would completely change the course of my life and I wasn't ready for it.
"No, we haven't had a mage in the family since your great-great-great grandfather. After Hatil fled with the Grimoire she used it quite often, one of the last spells she ever performed was to make sure her descendents would never feel a white man's boot on the back of their necks. Since then, the abilities would manifest randomly throughout our family tree," my grandmother explained.
She was still holding the book out to me. I breathed in deeply and took it.
"You have a lot to learn," she said. "Your powers manifested for a reason."
"For what reason?"
She smiled and shrugged. "To protect our family."
I looked down at the Grimoire in my hands. I could almost feel it purring under my touch. Things were about to get really weird.