The Coven (a story writing practice - part 2)


The night air was crisp as it crept through my open bedroom window. My loosely-fitted Campus t-shirt shifted in the slight breezes. Sitting cross-legged on my bed with a TV show on my laptop, I twirled another cigarette in my fingers, knocking of the empty ash into the cup on my bedside while sipping hot chocolate. I was so engrossed in the show it had gone simply cold chocolate milk.  At that moment, the door gently swung open as Charles appeared and strolled in.

“How many times have I told you to not do smoke inside,” he said.

“It's my bedroom, I'm allowed to do what I want in my bedroom. And how many times have I told you to piss off and leave me alone? I’m watching American Horror Story, here. These two lads are about to start screwing,” I said with a smile. “Also, did your mother ever tell you it’s impolite to barge into someone's room? I know you’re old but, come on,” I said. I took a drag of my cigarette. One trait I like in people is basic manners, which he seemed to lack.

“I own this house, Alex. While you’re under my roof, you live by my rules.” I rolled my eyes. Pausing the episode on my laptop, I turned to him and stared him out.

“Get out of my room.”


“You can walk out, or leave my way, I don’t care which. Although I’d prefer the latter.” I said. His expression brushed off the advance and he sat in my desk chair.

“I’m not happy with the way you uhm, dealt, with Mr Jordin.” he said, picking up my grandmother’s old hair pin: an heirloom, made of gold with a crystal encrusted flower at the head, dotted with purple, green and clear white gems.

“And I’m not happy with you touching my shit but you’re doing it.” He looked at me and back down on the desk. “And I fed off him, disposed of the body the way you told me to, and job done. What more can you be displeased with, other than your shitty clothes?” I stubbed my cigarette out and rolled a fresh one.

“He’s been found.”

“Oh good, give the investigator a reward, they actually did their job.” I said sparking up. Charles’ nose wrinkled at the smell just the way I liked it.

“They found fingerprints.” I knew he was expecting me to feel a bang of fear but, no. I felt nothing.

“And?” His mouth curled up and he dashed over to my bed like lightning, fingers wrapped around my throat.

And, the problem is, you were sloppy! This is you, every time,” he pressed his lips against my ear, “you’re stupid. Why I got you as a son, I’ll never know.” My vision began to go blurred very quickly. When I pushed his arm away, he flew straight into the bookcase, crushing it. I brushed a few loose fringe hairs out of my eyes with my finger, and smoked.

Thank you for coming in,” I said, “do close the door on your way out.” I pressed play on my episode and he growled at me.

“Great,” he said, climbing to his feet, “now I have to pay for this. You have to learn,” he pointed his finger at me.

“For me to learn something, you have to actually teach something.” And with that, he stormed out, cursing under his breath. “Close the door, you dick!” I rushed to my feet and slammed it. He is such a loser. For a moment, I heard some muffled conversation in the hallway through the closed door, then Elle knocked not he door before swinging it wide open. “I’m sorry, Alex, but I wouldn’t barge in if it wasn’t absolutely necessary…” her long black hair was in disarray, strands falling onto her face. Something was wrong.

“What?” I asked.

“We need to get to Queensgate Market, now."


  • Author: Niall (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 10th, 2018 10:09
  • Comment from author about the poem: an addition to part 1
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 38


  • Tony36

    Great write

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