Yvonne and the Magical Window

Needing to be seen Yvonne finds her special place. Writer's Cramp Winner!

Yvonne was the youngest of seven children in the Luke household, a boisterous, loving African American family where jazz spilled from the radio on Sunday mornings and the smell of coconut oil and sweet cinnamon toast clung to the air. Her mother Justine, a pediatric nurse with a sharp wit and tired eyes, often joked that Yvonne was their "bonus blessing," arriving five years after the sixth child. Her father Joseph, a long limbed man with a quiet strength and calloused hands from years of working in HVAC, adored all his children but often found himself outnumbered and outpaced.

Yvonne was small, soft spoken, with thoughtful brown eyes that seemed to take in more than a five year old should. She was often overlooked, not out of malice, but because the household was always buzzing; homework deadlines, sports practices, school pickups, and dance rehearsals. When the spotlight swung from one sibling to another, it rarely paused on Yvonne long enough to catch her stories or hear her imaginary songs.

But Yvonne had one thing the others didn’t: a quiet magic all her own.

One sticky summer morning, the kind where the ceiling fans spun lazily and everyone was in a half doze, her parents had already left; Mom in scrubs, Dad in navy work pants and a company tee. Cynthia and Joe Jr. were “babysitting,” which in reality meant they were slumped on the couch, phones in hand, thumbs dancing across screens, ears filled with music.

Drawn by a strange, tingling feeling, she padded down into the cool, dim basement; normally a place she was warned to stay out of. But today, something was different.

In the corner, where there had once been only dusty boxes, old paint cans, and a forgotten treadmill, stood a window.

Framed in ornate, golden wood, it glowed as though it were kissed by sunlight, though no light touched that part of the room. The frame shimmered faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Yvonne blinked.

The window wasn’t mounted to the wall it floated, tall and upright, humming with soft energy.

She approached it, small toes curling against the cold floor, and as she drew near, the window opened like two tall doors parting to reveal an impossible world.

Beyond it lay a paradise.

Lush trees arched skyward, their trunks silver and smooth, branches heavy with jewel toned fruit; scarlet mangoes, golden bananas, plum colored apples. A wide river flowed beneath a crystal clear waterfall, the water catching the sunlight like broken glass. A rainbow shimmered just beyond the spray, and in the grass, flowers bloomed in dizzying colors she had no name for. Hummingbirds zipped overhead, and somewhere deeper in the forest, soft drums could be heard a rhythm, alive and calling.

Without a second thought, Yvonne stepped through.

She landed on cool, springy grass. The sun in this place was warm but gentle. The air smelled like honey and earth. Small creatures emerged from the bushes; round, fluffy things with button eyes and mischievous grins. They chirped and wiggled in delight, circling her feet before guiding her through the meadow.

In the clearing ahead, a picnic was laid out on a woven mat. Sliced fruit, tiny cakes with swirls of pastel icing, sweet tea in carved glass pitchers. Everything felt made just for her. Like the world itself had noticed she was missing and built a place to remind her she was never truly forgotten.

It became her secret.

Each time the house swelled with noise or the older siblings snapped, “Not now, Yvonne,” she’d slip away. The window would be waiting, faithful and glowing in the corner of the basement, like a loyal friend.

In that world, she made companions: an owl with spectacles who told riddles, a grinning fox who taught her how to climb trees, and Nimbus, a soft, puffy cloud with big eyes who followed her around and made pictures in the sky to make her laugh.

The world grew with her.

As Yvonne aged, the window revealed more: glowing coral reefs beneath sapphire oceans, libraries carved from stone and filled with singing books, deserts under violet stars where constellations danced to jazz played on invisible horns. Each journey was an adventure, but also a lesson, bravery, kindness, wonder, and the quiet kind of power that blooms in forgotten places.

By the time she turned thirteen, she had grown tall and steady, her locks falling past her shoulders, her voice soft but certain. She still visited the window, though less frequently. Her life was fuller now; friends, school, even moments when her siblings really saw her. Still, the window remained, waiting.

When she turned eighteen, the night before she left for college, Yvonne crept into the basement once more. The house upstairs buzzed with packing tape, last minute advice, and her mom’s teary smiles. She wasn’t sure what pulled her down there, just that she had to say goodbye.

The window was there.

Glowing. Still. Gentle.

She approached, heart full, and placed a hand on the frame.

This time, it didn’t open.

Instead, a soft light shimmered below the glass, and a plaque appeared. The words carved into it glowed in elegant script:

“For the child who needed to be seen.
For the girl who found wonder.
For the woman who will now carry it into the world.”

Then, slowly, the window faded; its golden frame dissolving into a swirl of light.

In its place lay a small, golden key.

Yvonne picked it up.

She pressed it to her heart and smiled, knowing the magic wasn’t gone. It lived in her now in her kindness, in her joy, in the way she noticed things others didn’t. She would carry it with her, into dorm rooms and friendships, into future classrooms, into her dreams.

And one day, when she had a child of her own; quiet, thoughtful, maybe even overlooked she would kneel beside them, hand them the golden key, and whisper:

“Let me tell you a story about a magical window...”

Written for: "The Writer's Cramp" 
Prompt: Please write a story or poem that has the title:

"Magical Window"


Also, please select "Fantasy" as one of your genres.