Dear God,

How’ve you been? All good up there? Is it too cold? It’s a furnace down here. I mean I knew about the temperature and all that, but trust me, nothing prepares you for how hot it actually is.

Things here are pretty boring. Lots of hours are spent picking stones (of course, they are like a hundred degrees!) here. Sometimes ‘He’ (Don’t wanna take names coz they read all our communication before it’s sent out) shoves those red hot stones down my throat. It burns and I scream. I don’t have something that could naturally be called a throat now.

The leg irons have begun to hurt. Initially I felt they were cool. You know the Con-Air / Face-Off Nicholas Cage kinda cool. But now they are such a hindrance. Cannot walk without them grinding against my skin. The marks they’ve been making are getting pretty dark.

Some of my friends are here. But they don’t know me. They look and then walk by as though we never met. I tell them of the good times and they just don’t remember. What’s weird is sometimes they come up to me and ask me if I know them and then I just cannot remember. It’s weird. I know. Must be the gas that flows in this place. That must be doing weird stuff to us. Don’t you think so?

Right then, God. Will end this now as I have to go for something called a Lotion-Bath. No clue what it is, but I can bet it’s something gruesome. Just the thought is unsettling.

Thank you for everything and forgive me for all the wrongs. Don’t worry too much about me.

Lots of love,
Me.
From: HELL

Varun Rajagopalan.

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