[WP] “Look, it’s not like I asked to be the Antichrist.”

"Look, it's not like I asked to be the Antichrist. It's not as if I summoned Satan in a pentagram with the corpse of my mother, begging him for power and influence. It's not a fucking choice.....

I've had it since birth. Understand? I never had the chance of a normal life. A normal upbringing. Happiness. I'm a god damn vessel for whatever sick game the Devil wants to play and I can't control it. As a kid, my friends would fall down stairs if they were near me. My pets would die, sometimes in a day, sometimes in a month. I once had a puppy, Indigo, she lasted two. Then I went downstairs one morning to find her strangled by her own lead. A crazy accident Mum and Dad said. Not my real Dad of course.....

I tried to keep a low profile growing up. Keep myself to myself. It worked after a fashion. I was deemed a loner and attracted the bullies. They stopped soon enough after the first one went to hit me, slid on some ice into the path of an oncoming car. Whether they knew it was me, what I am, or whether I just wasn't worth the hassle, who knows. But they stopped.

I had a girlfriend once. Juliet. Like the play. I tried to avoid her, tried to scare her off but she was persistent. Sweet. We would sneak out and go for walks. I was careful to not get too close to her. To walk with a gap between us. One day by the river, she leaned in close and something in me ached so fierce I let it happen. They found her body two days later, bloated and blue. I had to leave town after that one....

The Church has been chasing me since birth. They know what I am, what I was forced to be. They hunt me from city to city, screaming their sermons with a holy fury. I asked one once "Does your God not preach forgiveness? Second chances?". He laughed in my face and said there was no forgiveness for demons."

I turn from the wall, covered in newspaper cuttings. The man tied in the centre of the room tries to scream but the gag holds firm. I step forward and rip the cross from his neck, staring as the metal burns into my palm and the room begins to smell of burnt flesh. I drop the crucifix, stamping on the heavy gold as I hold the knife to the fleshy folds of his throat.

"The reason I'm telling you this Father is that you may be locked in this small room with a monster. But its a monster you made".