#4

Dear Frances,
It is the fourth day. The fourth day of pre-insanity. Not only is it the fourth day, but the last.
You see, the Devil gave me five days. But he came today.
I was sitting in my kitchen, silent, with my mother and and Barry and Angela, trying to explain the situation to them without sounding completely off the wagon (or is it on the wagon?), but I couldn't, so I simply remained silent. I don't know if they thought both my mother and I were totally whacked, but regardless of their past ideas, I am quite sure they believe me now, because Satan showed up next to me out of nowhere and started coughing.
It was terrifying and chaotic.
First, I nearly jumped out of my skin, and what with my sudden case of laryngitis, I couldn't scream, only able to gape in horror at the man. Angela decided to start screeching as loud as she possibly could, and Barry yelled, leapt away from the table and huddled in the corner. My mother's eyes were as big as plates and her face as pale.
This freak out was for the reason that Satan had come as himself, rather than the ordinary-looking man he had initially appeared as four days ago. I don't feel up to describing him. Only that Angela's continuous cries were purely justified, as was Barry's hyperventilation.
Anyway, Satan was standing there, gazing at us all, as if it was so unusual that I might have enough feelings fermenting inside of me to want to say good bye to those closest to me. He was unabashed, however. I presume he is used to cries of pain and fear as a result of his presence.
He looked into my eyes, and as much as I wanted to look away, I couldn't. They were the most awful eyes I ever have seen or will see again. They looked like there were flames erupting and distinguishing and erupting and distinguishing endlessly, with small, small pupils. I felt like they were burning my retinas away. As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn't. They will haunt my dreams. They are the eyes of the Devil, and while I know I'm supposed to become the Devil, I hope that my eyes never, never, never become like his.
He told me it was time to go. I continued gawping at him for some time. His eyes flickered around the room. Angela was still screeching as loud as she could, Barry was now rocking back and forth, and I don't know where my mom was. His eyes shot back to mine. He said let's go, and before I could do anything else, we were gone.
I am now sitting in a room and I don't know where I am. I don't want to know where I am. If I know where I am, I will have to come to terms with this whole ordeal. There are so many things that just happened, and that didn't happen. The last I saw of Barry was a horrified, self-stimulating ghost. The last I saw of Angela was an open mouth and sobbing eyes. The last I saw of my mom was but a wisp of a woman, and I don't even know where she was when I left.
I am just so angry! What kind of cruel fate is this? I feel so deserted. I feel so awful. I just don't want to feel at all. I don't think I can feel right now. I refuse to. I'm too outraged to cry. I'm too alarmed to be depressed. I am going to sleep in this bed and be alone and wish the sleep was forever and ever and ever.
I am in Hell, and I want to die.
Becoming the Devil will kill me.