Page 6 of Satan's Son

Dad.

He would be missing me. He would be mourning me! I was dead. He’d lost his daughter. Why hadn’t I thought of this earlier? I. Was. Dead!

My friends, my family, everyone would think I was dead. Well, I was dead but…

“Why have you stopped?” Ethan was a few paces ahead of me, his arms crossed, looking at me with complete and utter annoyance. As if I was a fly that kept buzzing around his head that he couldn’t kill.

I supposed thatwaswhat I was like.

“My family will be mourning me right now,” I muttered. “Everyone will be.”

“You weren’t that popular,” he scoffed. “And no, they won’t be.”

“I’m dead; people mourn the dead.” I was slightly taken back by his reference to my lack of popularity.

“They did mourn you when you died, which…” he looked down at a thick-banded watch, “was about two years ago, give or take a few days.”

“You mean two hours ago.” I hadn’t been dead for that long. Did I look stupid?

“You have been. Now stop thinking. You are wasting time, which isn’t yours to waste.” He turned his back to me.

This turning the back thing was becoming a habit of his.

“I’m allowed to think,” I told him.

“No, you’re not.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I can and I am.” He shook his head. “Stop talking.”

“Stop talking, stop thinking!” My voice rose to a higher pitch. “Do as I say, do not mock me. Keep up with me… blah blah blah blah.”

“I curse the day I met you,” he muttered under his breath and took bigger strides.

“Which was today,” I pointed out. “Or, according to your clock, could have been last year.”

“Whatever you say,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m not talking to you.”

“Why do people always say that?”

He made a grunting noise, as if he knew the reason. Rolling my eyes, I moved my legs faster, trying hard to keep up with his pace. Was he serious about me being dead for two years? Or was it some sort of joke? I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye; he didn’t look like the type who would lie.

But then again, he didn’t look like Satan’s son. He looked more like the son of a god, with those devilish good looks.

“Stop looking at me,” he snapped.

“Thought you weren’t talking to me?”

He huffed and then pushed the corridor door open with such force that it made a dent in the wall behind it.

“Someone has a temper,” I muttered as we entered a large empty room.

The room was entirely empty other than a large painting of the world that covered the wall in front of me.

“That’s massive,” I said in awe. “I have never seen it painted that big before.”

Ethan didn’t answer. Instead, he strolled toward it. I quickly ran up behind him and accidently encountered his back when he stopped suddenly.

---