I’m not sure how I got here, or what I’m supposed to do. That was also true when I was alive, but this time I get the distinct impression there really is a purpose.

Or there was. I’ve asked around, but none of the veteran demons have any answers either. No one’s in charge. No one can remember that being any different. If they do, they’re not talking. It’s just us demons, no tormented damned. No Heaven, no angels, no “saved”.

Every newcomer follows the same pattern. That sudden realization — I’m dead! — followed by discovery of certain abilities. Every demon falls into the role they’re trapped in, if only briefly. Every demon quickly learns that the living are far more efficient at evil than we ever could be. We’re superfluous. Banal.

Every demon eventually gives up. Is that what this Hell is for, eternal frustration of purpose? I wonder.

Tonight is poker night. Even with the guile of a demon I’m still a bad bluffer. Maybe instead I’ll go topside and try to do good. They all tell me that’s pointless too.