From Hell: With love

My dearest Lyanna,

It has been 35 years since I last saw you. You might think they were purely joking about the whole ‘eternal damnation’, it is with a heavy heart that I write this for I am weary. It is not just because of the syringe of liquefied talking anal centipedes injected into my rectum every sabbath day, but also because of the barriers of life and death that separates us. There are no days or nights in Hell, and Prince of Darkness happened to be quite demanding in his infernal punishments. With the worst of us taking unscheduled dips into the Lake of Fire, I had begun to suspect that Satan isn’t a fan of rules.

The agony of perdition is long and I have moments when I fear I’ll never see you again. If only because you’re a better cheat and an even more shameless liar than I could ever claim to be, to cheat Saint Peter out of a spot in heaven from those Irish Catholics (whom I have nothing against and personally think are just delightful people. Really, some of my best friends are Irish Catholics)

With sorrow, I must say that the demons aren’t terribly great conversation partners. The closest I had managed to a coherent conversation had being a five hour evening service co-hosted by an ex-youth pastor on the glory of the eternal kingdom and how everyone had been one Snapchat filter away from being offered the eternal ticket. We’ve now been assigned routine constructions of border walls that are routinely knocked over by low-flying pygmy owls and the occasional swarm of pigeons. It was either that the Lord of Darkness had a sense of humour and enjoys Greek Mythology or pigeons go to hell: take your pick.

Owing to the many reports which has been put in circulation by the heretics and by the naysayers against our Glorious Leader Lucifer, so far as I have such facts in my possession, I have come to the conclusion that the idea of the place was about torture, though I might be wrong. It reminded me so much of the early days of our beautiful marriage. Do you remember that day when we were married? Our parents disowned us, our friends sent a thug with a cricket bat to go down collect our debts, and everyone told us that it will never work, that it will be a disaster. But that didn’t stop us, now, did it? Our monthslong identity theft scam paid off, and we borrowed a long-term parting gift of two and a half million dollars from our friends to start a new life under a new name.

It has been so long. How I miss those days of holding you next to our wall because we had been newlywed homeless millionaires. As I sit here late at night writing this with the blood of the lamb on papyrus scraps, my thoughts interrupted only by the occasional beatings of wings of fifty thousand pigeons excreting their faeces onto our backs. I ache to again hold you, darling dearest, and to spend the night near our wall, safe in the knowledge that our friends will no longer try to kill us until next Thursday when we murder their entire family.

I will write again soon, unless Satan changes his mind about down time between eternal damnation and the Second Coming. Tell the children, Joseph and Nathaniel, I love them and hope that we will be able to correspond with them again when we’re reunited. They are really silly nitwits, but I love them with all the unconditional love of a pigeon towards french fries.

Now, I shalt dream, yea, and writhe painfully on the ground in immense spiritual and metaphysical pain as the talking anal centipedes starts whispering Coldplay songs into my spiritual abscess. I will dream of you when I sleep, dearest wife, assuming I am not shat on by the imperial army of pigeons which now patrols the night sky looking for those who dare to open their mouth.

To conclude with the primary purpose of my letter, happy Valentines Day, my love, for I sincerely wish for you to have a terrible time. Now, I shall conclude in loving memory of the time when I could still remember the joys of opening a private offshore bank account with you in some desolate tax haven that we’ve never been to.

 

All my love, forever,

— Toby