Yesterday while I was waiting for the bus, you were walking around. Dressed in scruffy clothes, you looked a bit dazed, a bit confused. Never one to willingly interact with people I don't know, I kept silent and was listening to the up-beat rock that was flowing into my head, courtesy of my headphones. You started addressing people, telling them who they were, what they were and how damn awful they should all feel. But you were only addressing the woman, you disregarded the men as if they were not there, as if they were not worthy of your time.
One woman was Satan's whore. Another was Satan's bastard daughter. Satan's wife, Satan's cousin, Satan's mistress, Satan's slut.
One by one you labeled the women as you walked around. You would stop in front of each one and tell them exactly who they were in your mind. And then you stopped in front of me and just smiled, almost cheerfully as if you hadn't been insulting the woman before me and as if you weren't going to be insulting the woman two people away from me.
"Satan's master," you called me.
And to be honest, I didn't mind it very much. My friends and I have an on going joke that I rule hell. And, well, as Satan's master that's exactly what I'd be doing. So thank you for being the first one out of my circle of friends to acknowledge all that evil, pent-up power that I have. It certainly made my day and made me smile. I said thank-you and you moved onto the woman after me in the line up for the bus.
Thank you for being honest,
Satan's Master
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