My name is Coven - at least, that is what I call myself presently. What I used to be known as is immaterial. Very recently, I evaluated myself and discovered that I am able and agile by physique and for lack of a better term, deranged by nature. Twisted, weird and sometimes ugly - yes; I never considered myself evil, though. You see, to be evil - you have to judge… you have to judge everything that appears on your path; and not just the countenance, the very insides - the deep caverns of whatever it is. On the contrary, judgment is the one thing I have always been against.

My thoughts run in an unsound and unusual manner - or so I have concluded - and at this point, I hope you will not confound this conclusion with judgment. No, I don’t attribute my thought patterns to anything I read, watch or listen to. The fact that I agree with most of it is not the cause but the effect of the way I think.

A coven is a group of witches - or more appropriately, a gathering of witches for some witchly event. At regular intervals, a group of witches gather together around a campfire where my thoughts burn the timber of my brain. Decisions are made - which, in turn, turn into laws - laws which I must stand by and obey at all times. The slightest deviation means mutiny on my part - a grave crime against myself.

My family were and are filthy rich. I, the brilliant scholar, had a lot of expectations to fulfill - none of which were my own. The world wanted me to serve in its ways and flow along the river of blissful ignorance. It wanted me to murder the artist that resided inside my body. Thus, I blocked it out. I turned to my family and discovered that they wanted the same; so, I blocked them out as well. It had been a longing of mine to leave my habitat behind and move to isolation. However, matters of practicality held me back.

That, of course, did change. As the world saw her almost as my soul mate, I suppose it still cannot comprehend why I stole her soul. The fact of the matter was that she - to me - was the enemy. She was filth. She was scum of the universe. I had every right to rip her heart apart, as I did. As her blood rushed down my forehead to my cheeks and to my throat - and was partly absorbed by flickering tongue, something no less intense than a lightning bolt hit me. The coven had spoken.

“As we speak, you shall listen. From this day on, you are Coven - follower of our code. You no longer have any power of judgment. Your mission in life - desecration of the pitiful and deplorable human race. Start with the ridding of all of her countenance, and of her psyche, who shall be unfortunate enough to fall on your path. Obey - and thy name shath be sacrosanct. Defy - and you shall face eternal damnation.”

With ease I moved to isolation, stealing and robbing to keep my body running. In a matter of three months, I delivered fourteen souls to the coven. After that, I stopped counting. The bloodstains on my limbs are my proof of labor - and my only protector against eternal damnation. The artist in me could never have been happier. Now I realize that this is the life that I had always longed for.

Fourteen and more filthy souls now stand horrified before the coven. As their fates are being decided, I sit upon a rock made up of my memories. I ponder. I analyze - but bear in mind - I do not judge. I cannot judge. I look at my palms soaked with sweat. I cannot help but admire them for how they were able to choke the lungs, slit the throats and gouge the eyes of those who deserved it; for how they could asphyxiate, mutilate and dismember their bodies and rid the world of their puny existence.

I laugh at the authorities, thanking the coven for their incompetence. Free as anything I roam the streets, bloodstains all over me. Moments ago, the coven ruled that the time has come for my soul to ascend to the heavens. Thus, one final time, I asphyxiate myself. I feel my soul float. As I rise, I feel bliss - bliss as it was described in those worthless little books of religion preached by men, but bliss nonetheless. My work shall not die, for the coven shall find a new home in the minds of those unborn.

I am Stormbringer. I am Doom. I am Terror. I am Coven.

NOTE: This is a work of fiction. I wrote this about six years ago when I was reading a lot of Edgar Allan Poe. Recently, I came across it, and thought it would make for a cool read.

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Posted by Heretic in Fiction on October 16th, 2006  |      954 Views     Share This     Print This Post