Quiet

Golgotha was quiet, and had been for a day.  The guards and the onlookers had long since departed.  The two dead thieves still hung from their crosses, mouths open as though still in a weary plea for mercy.

Only one desperate soul remained on the hill.  Incensed.  Seething.  Muttering hatefully.

"This isn't over... this is not over...."

But he knew it was.  He knew it was over the moment Jesus said it was.  Finished.  Done.  The moment Jesus cried out and took it all.

Had they seen?  They had to have seen him.  The moment he realized that it wasn't his plan that was coming to pass.  That single moment of shock.

When all the sins of the world piled onto God's only son.  When the hideous blackness descended, and was still not enough to block the Glory blazing out from him.  When Jesus breathed his last, and took it all with him.

When all Satan's work fell apart before his very eyes.

He stared at the ground where the cross had been driven.  There, he caught sight of a stone, spattered with blood.  The blood.

Satan roared.  He then took a long, long moment to steady himself.

"This is not over," he snarled, and stormed from the hill.