He sat looking around the tiny kitchen.
A room, like the rest of the house, only too familiar to him. He hated it. He had never known any other. He was living at home with his parents up until they passed on, one at a time, within only a few months of each other. This should have been a long awaited time of peace and seclusion for him, but it wasn’t. He had met her. Or had she met him?
Of course, they moved in. The house held no happy memories for him, but they moved in. A readymade home she had said. Just another bad decision; no, two; the house and her.
He reflected on the likelihood of his lifelong obsession being behind it all. The never-ending craving to meet Him. Ever since he was a small boy he had wondered what Satan actually looked like. It was a compulsive feeling that lay in the darkest recesses of his mind for almost all of his life. Then, one night they had both been drinking, he opened his heart to her. Why not? Lots of people had strange obsessions, some a lot stranger he thought. But of course, she just laughed. She laughed a lot that night.
This was not that long ago now, and ever since then he knew they were destined to go their separate ways. His hatred for women had always been there of course, but after that night; after sharing his most intimate desire with her, after the laughing, his loathing for her simply grew and grew.
At least he could sit and think about it now. The meeting; the final quelling of the powerful desire to come face to face with… the Lord of the Flies, the Prince of Darkness, Satan. He knew it would be soon.
As he gulped down the last of the whiskey, memories came flooding back of how his father would stagger home drunk, then beat him. He would lay into him as though he would never stop, until he finally tired from the exertion of pounding on his son and simply fall over, to be left where he lay until the next day.
The worst thrashing he ever received was when his father discovered a book of Satanic Rites in his bedroom. He knew for certain then that if he ever found out that he was a member of a Satanic Order, his father would surely kill him. After the book incident the beatings came less and less often. He was sure his Master had a hand in that.
Ah! His Master! They would be meeting soon. He felt sure that He was waiting for him. He could feel him waiting. He looked up at the clock; not long now. Only a matter of minutes.
He held the empty brown bottle in his hand. Empty now of all those little orange pills he had been saving up for the occasion. As he stared at what was left of the original label he felt his eyes lose focus. Yes. It was starting. Not long now. He felt a strange coldness running through his limbs. Not long. He made the effort to look down at her for one last time. He could just make out the patch of red that had billowed out around the kitchen knife.
Beyond the increasing pain that now racked his body, he was overcome with joy of finally knowing; finally meeting… any moment now!
