The Coven

A word expert is generally a lie expert too. I am one of them. My character was not always like that and has improved, at least in most situations. I know this is probably the worst possible introduction for a leading lady, but this is not a hero versus villain type of story, is a human tale, with its many grey areas.  One of the countless traditions in my family is telling the story of my birth, every year on the party they organize to celebrate the occasion; it was the day of my mother’s professional exam from medical school; my parents had five years of marriage and about six months of separation already, as I understand, my father sent a very big flower arrangement to my mother at the hospital, in recognition of her production of a baby girl. However important this anecdote might be, to be born is not the awakening to life; there is another instant when it happens, first, you are an empty little boy or girl until a specific moment when suddenly you begin to exist. How do I know this? Simple, I remember when it happened to me. I woke up to this life when I was still a little girl as if the veil covering my eyes disappeared in a heartbeat; you acknowledge yourself as a person, discover the separation and loneliness of being, and, at the same time, the ecstasy of inhabiting a body. Luckily, when that occurred I still had some supervision and care of my maternal grandparents, tasks that have been given to them since I was born and that they had to fulfil until my seventh birthday, at that point my mother took me away from them and my hometown, leading me to live in a forsaken place, where somehow, I became the single parent of the relationship. I can't say that was not enjoyable at the time, the independence that she gave me turned me into a tiny adult, is ironic how important I used to feel taking care of her, considered myself as an indispensable person. For years I told the big lie of being needed, of how she could not survive without me.  The little town where we lived for eight years was the very definition of hell, the worst part of my life happened there, between primary and secondary school, surrounded by the same little bastards year after year; the first months were the most terrible because I did not know how to defend myself after my happy infancy with the protective grandparents, so when Silvestre started calling me “greasy ball”, all I could do was cry; and when Linda took it as a hobby to fix my daily sandwich adding a portion of sand and forced me to eat it in front of the entire laughing class, I taught myself to throw up. I could not have known back then, but the reason for all this hate was simple enough, I found out years after when finally had the courage to see myself in the pictures… I was the tallest, blonde and beautiful girl that lived in that town. I was everything they will never be.  Is unbelievable how the external factors can change and disturb your psyche, what others tell you to feel and think about yourself just because you are different and you challenge the idea of life that they have. All of them taught me to be cold, to think less of the suffering people, believing that the answer to life was to ignore the emotions and consider them inferior to rationality.  The years passed like that, they doing all the bullying, and me all the receiving; until one day, when I was eleven years old, there was this little kid in my grade, sadly don’t even remember his name, but I do recall that he was missing a finger and that he used to call me “yellow fat fart”, or “fat yellow fart”, not sure which, so, this random day I reply to this, saying: “at least I am complete, you fingerless creep”. He went completely crazy, screaming and crying in the middle of the schoolyard; of course, the teachers got involved, and soon after the father of this kid was in front of me, talking about the consequences that insults could bring into a young person’s life; my teacher was a young self-called “open-minded hippie”, I knew she always hears when this kid and others throw their insults to my face, and she never intervened, but she didn’t like it when I stopped being the victim, because the son of her friend was the offended part; a new understanding came to me, adults are just children in a bigger costume, and there and then I lost every sense of respect that I ever had for them, and found the courage to defend my case.   “For the entire year, your son has called me names like, greasy fart, yellow fat fart, or whatever comes into his mind, today I had enough, and I will call him fingerless creep until he learns to say my name,” I said, pointing my finger directly to the boy’s nose.   The father looked ashamed of the kid and giving a meaningful look to him, he said: “I think he learned to respect you already, and if he didn’t, I authorize you to call him that until he does; now if you excuse us, I’ll have a word with your teacher”.  Ever since I became the perfect bully, but my newly discovered abilities were never used against the weak, and hardly ever to mess with other children my age, instead I start manipulating adults.