“Quickly,quietly,quickly,quietly,” Martin muttered to himself as he walked through the rows of food in the grocery store.

“Quickly,quietly,”he chattered as his cart's one damaged wheel squeaked in a grating high-pitched tone through the isles of soups, cereals and pickles.

As he approached the lines for checkout, he cursed under his breath about overpopulation and suggested some rather graphic ways of solving it.

“Excuse me?” the woman in front of Martin said, turning from her fashion magazine to face him. “She had heard me,” Martin though. “But silence is all she will receive from me. Her insolence stains my purity.”

Martin shrunk down into his long black jacket, his dark greasy hair helping to form what appeared to be a void where a man's head would normally be.

The woman simply shrugged and turned back to her magazine while Martin uttered death and pain to the interfering woman and her interest in such rubbish that was the content of glamor magazines.

Later, as he drove home in his dented and rusting blue car, he took great pleasure in watching a young boy's dog run into the street. The child watched with fear forming in his eyes as Martin gunned the engine and aimed his vehicle at the animal, his lips curling into a sneer that showed his yellow,crooked teeth. As the small car came closer and closer to the oblivious pet he began to cackle with glee.

Martin braced himself for the satisfying sound and feeling of flesh and bone being ripped and scattered, but it never came. Glancing in his rear view mirror he saw that the dog had apparently moved just in time to avoid its impending doom. Sullen, Martin continued his drive to his home without further incident

As he pulled into the driveway of his poorly kept house, the one with the blue paint peeling and the shrubs in serious need of trimming, he spotted an young man knocking on his door. The man turned to face the car as it pulled up and Martin smiled when he spied the religious pamphlets in the gentleman's hand.

Exiting his car, he forgot all about the groceries that he had left in his trunk. He walked quickly around the front of his car and in front of a bumper peppered with the blood of last week's drive time entertainment, and put on his most amicable face and extended his hand to the man.

The man for his part flinched slightly at the sight of Martin who's smile most resembled a grimace of pain from a gorilla. The man hesitantly took Martin's pale, sweaty hand in his own and introduced himself as Jeremy.

Martin shook is hand vigorously and said in his most pleasant tone “And what can I do for you today, my boy?”

“I am here to ask if you have the time to let me tell you why you should accept the lord Jesus Christ as your personal savior,” Jeremy responded.

“Ah yes,” Martin replied, his voice sounding more like a person speaking through an annoying ache rather than one who was truly interested.”Do come in and tell me more.”

Martin smiled as Jeremy hesitantly nodded his acceptance. He unlocked yellow and chipping front door to his home and bade his visitor enter.

Inside the house, Jeremy was directed to a couch that looked like it had been made in the early sixties and was coved in a thick plastic. The outside of the house belied the almost obsessive attention to cleanliness of the interior, though a strange odor hung limp in the air.

Martin offered his guest a drink of water and when his guest declined and begin to speak, he fained interest as the man preached of Jesus and the second coming.

After about ten minutes, Martin excused himself for a drink and he scurried into the kitchen behind where the man sat. He could hardly contain his glee as he grabbed what he needed and shuffled back into the living room.

As he reentered the room and begin to pass the couch, he smashed a solid metal pipe into the back of Jeremy's head. Martin heard the satisfying crunch of skull being buckled as Jeremy's limp body toppled sideways onto the plastic of the couch.

Jeremy's head thumped down the steps as Martin dragged the limp form by th feet into the basement. The rent skull dribbled a viscous liquid. Martin muttered “I must remember to clean that,” to himself as he dragged the inanimate form across the room.

Later that night, Martin, clothed only in a loincloth, knelt before a crucifix and, raising a golden chalice over his head, begin to pray fervently “I drink the blood of your sheep , my Lord, that you might forgive me of my transgressions and renew my covenant with you!” As he drank the hot, thick liquid, he knew he had been forgiven. For who among the masses deserved salvation if not him? Had he not shown himself devout to the Word ten times over? Was he not a living testament to the word of God?

Nailed to the crosspiece in mute witness to the horrific act was the corpse of Jeremy, the last of its blood dribbling from its battered and slashed body down furrows carved into the wood that lead to a bowl set at the foot of the cross. Next to the bowl sat an empty golden plate, a fork, and an electric carving knife.