Ginger, my self-esteem, had just turned two. It was a gloomy day with rain and storm and Ginger was not happy. Ginger had the slightest notion that she had brought the bad weather upon herself. She was in a crabby disposition to begin with.
“This cannot be happening…”,she thought. “My hand hurts on my birthday.”
Now most people would consider a hand-ache not to be a distraction from a great celebration like a birthday but not this family. Ginger’s family, the Fingers, had a secret they held among themselves. The most obvious of which was that all of them had delicate hands. The slightest of paper cuts would induce a banshee-like shrill from the butchest of males. Most of them held their tongues and kept exclaims of pain inside because they understood the pain was the side-product of great greatness. The Fingers, literally held in their hands, the greatest power in the world. The power that could make the Kings weak and the Princesses weap. But not Ginger. She resented the power and did nothing to keep that thought to herself.
to be contd… Part 3 is here.