My internet speed’s at 35 kilobytes a second. This really is Hell.

A little wick of flame flickers from where I’d assume my eyebrows would be. In the reflection of my monitor, that lovely question-marked face stared back at me, the fire trickling up from around my temples subsiding a bit as the thread finally loaded.

Just the usual low-quality discussions. Now how can I make everyone mad?

Despite ending up here, doomed to languish in Hell for all eternity, I’m able to continue my favorite pastimes from when I was still alive. Which was, of course, making people angry online. Well, “people” is a bit of a stretch when it comes to here.

My name’s Anon Y. Mous. Just “Anon”, since that’s what everyone’s called me since forever. I ended up in this dump in the Pride Circle only a little bit ago. Time kind of flies when all you do is shitpost on dial-up internet while putting up soundproofing foam on your walls to drown out the various arguments, domestic violence, and the fornication occurring above, below, and around me in the adjacent apartment rooms.

God, the fornication. Seems to rotate in a cycle similar to the one I mentioned above. It’s what I have to deal with considering I’m broke as shit and can’t afford to live somewhere nicer in Hell, as nonsensical as that sounds. Therefore, I’m surrounded by imps.

“Damnit, Laster! Where the fuck have you been?! The rent’s due!”

“Oh, will you shut the fuck up, woman! I was in the bloody mines for fourteen hours today!”

Ah, seems the cycle has reset for the couple above me. Guess Sinsmass really is a temporary bandage to patch up relationships before everything goes back to normal.

Regardless, the racket was beginning to become more annoying than usual for my tastes, so I turned my attention back to the thread.

Seems the thread refreshed. Let’s see… what to post… ah! Here we go.

Some keystrokes later, and my face contorted into whatever smile it could perform since my hellish transformation.

hellhounds
not having an STD

Pick one.

Post

That oughta get some replies.

Satisfied with my work for the day, and wanting to evacuate the apartment before the inevitable domestic violence stage breaks out, I kicked off my blanket and prepared myself to head outside. Despite being Hell, it was damn cold outside. Apparently the seasons worked here too. Who knew?

Some places were likely to give some deals on stock they hadn’t moved for Sinsmass, so that’d be my indicator to get some cheap booze. At least I could have some NEETish fun before I’d have to consider looking for a job down here. Nothing really seemed appealing considering I’d have to work with the denizens of Hell. Despite me being a “Sinner”, a human who died back on Earth and is now damned to suffer here for eternity, I’m considered higher on the social ladder than most denizens here.

Sure didn’t feel that way. Probably because I’m too fucking lazy to make use of it.

Opening the door, and a potent breeze carrying the scent of brimstone and piss battered my body, making be breathe out a “fuck”.

Walking along the sidewalk and whipping out my phone, I scrolled to the thread I posted in. Sure enough, there were about twenty or so responses to my little joke varying from slurs, accusations of me being an imp, and a few saying “based” or something along those lines. I honestly didn’t get much satisfaction. Baiting hellborn was just too easy compared to humans back when I was alive.

I pushed open the convenience store’s door, and trudged inside, flipping down my hood. Immediately, I’m met with a tragic sight. The shelves are almost entirely devoid of alcohol.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…” I muttered under my breath as I scanned the store for any potential culprits for this grave infraction on my wellbeing, considering I recently passed by this place and saw stock in the window before.

Sure enough, some hellhound was at the counter with two bags filled to the brim of the booze that was supposed to be mine. Between the cold and the escalation of violence that would eventually turn to fucking in the apartment above mine, I exhaled out my nose, and began to search around for any liquor that had been spared by this mutt’s shopping spree.

Probably going through a breakup or something.

I heave an exasperated sigh as I clutch a single six-pack of Infernal Lite, the shittiest brand of beer that I’ve ever had the misfortune of stomaching down. Figures it was the only thing left.

I stepped in line as the cashier was ringing up the hellhound’s purchases, one by one. Her right ear flicked as I planted myself behind her, and she craned her neck to catch a glance at the sinner who had to settle for less. The huge flow of messy silver hair flopped down against her back, and piercing red eyes adorned with eyeshadow and eyeliner briefly met my face before snapping down at my pathetic little bundle of beer, then back up at my face.

The tiniest shit-eating grin grew across her muzzle.

“Ya snooze, ya lose.”

Letting my souring mood get the better of me, I was about to do something along the lines of calling her a “mutt”. That usually got them angry. But… something else was up. This wolf girl seemed to be in way too good of a mood for all of this shit to be going towards coping over some shitty event. In a rare moment, curiosity took over.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” I first deflected from her previous tease before looking back towards the stock of alcohol still being run up by the cashier, “What’s the occasion?”

The hellhound glanced back at her horde being processed before blowing a strand of her hair from her face, “Party at Bee’s. New year, all that bullshit. Just another excuse to trash the place. Aren’t you going or something?”

Before I could speak up, the hellhound’s eyes narrowed and she sniffed the air. She instantly recoiled backwards.

“Holy fuck, you reek of being terminally ill with ‘fuck-all going on in their life’. Maybe that’s the kind of people Bee’s been trying to drag into her parties,” this flea-ridden beast squished her nose in disgust.

“Sinners aren’t invited to Beelzebub’s parties, last I heard,” I replied.

“They aren’t. But I guess she’s had a change of heart since she started going on and on about how some could fuck shit up with their parties back when they were alive, so ‘like, they gotta come this time around, and this party will be fucked up’,” the hellhound immitated the valley-girl accent of the Sin of Gluttony that plastered ads on my streaming services before I began to pirate, “But… looking at you, I don’t think you got that message.”

Oh, fuck you, you god damned overgrown flea circus.

“Oh yeah, that. I was tuned out from those flyers because some bitch was buying the booze I was going to bring over to Queen Bee’s party,” I lied without a shred of integrity, “And now you’ve doomed me to showing up with fuckin’ Infernal Lite.”

Obviously, the hellhound didn’t buy my fib, and I was hit with an utterly brutal verbal beatdown, “Hey, I couldn’t give two shits. But y’know what I’d love to see? You going to that party and making an absolute dumbass clown of yourself. I mean, I know that you were going to just go back to whatever shithole you live in and drink that piss in a can while jackin’ off alone, but please, and I actually am begging you to come so I can get some killer Sinstagram reels of you doing some pinhead dipshit crap.”

Her chest was rising up and down as she sought to get air back into her lungs after she expelled it all at me. Those little quippy one-liners had been replaced by an entire essay on insulting my ego, and my manhood. Though replaying it briefly in my head, something seemed off. Was it projection of some kind?

Hang on.

Not bothering to respond, I took out my phone, causing the mutt in front of me to perk an eyebrow up in annoyance and anticipation. I tapped on the Sinstagram app, and scrolled down a fair amount. The wolf girl seemed to catch on to what I was doing, but was powerless to stop the pure unbridled strength of my scrolling thumb as it landed on a particular post of this same wolf girl in question blasting vomit out of her mouth in a disgustingly glorious spray on bile, obviously from having too much to drink at a previous party. Her lips quivered back into a scowl as a low growl emanated from her throat. I looked at the post, then back up at her.

I smiled warmly and chuckled, “Nice to meet you, Loona.”

“Argh! Fuck you!” the hellhound named ‘Loona’ grabbed her bags that had finished being scanned in a huff, slammed down cash on the counter, and arm-checked me out of the way before shouting back, “At least I didn’t get offed in a previous life!”

“Jokes on you, fleabag. I ain’t got a clue how that shit happened!” I realized my mistake in letting that detail fly out of my mouth too late, but the only response I received was the universal finger gesture of “go fuck yourself” as Loona turned the corner out of the store. Nevertheless, I gave a smirk, and plopped my shitty beer on the counter.

I realized too late that the imp behind the counter was filming the whole encounter.

“Hahah… this oughta get some likes,” the little piece of shit cackled as he scanned my beer with one hand, and posted the reel on Sinstagram with the other.

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Pub: 18 May 2025 18:04 UTC
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