This is an incredible compliment. Thank you!

Thank you so much! I loved the prompt so much I had to reschedule an appointment so that I could hop on here and write.

Contrary to what has been predicted, Hell has 139 unique levels of punishment. The rules that apply to these levels are meticulously audited by a rotating panel of Demons. For especially complex scenarios, Lucifer is consulted, though this route is preferred by none involved.

The Karmatic Score achieved during life determines level placement upon death. On occasion there are scores that place a human at the border of two levels, but in these instances the lower level is always applied, as there have to be cutoffs, and exceptions are slippery slopes.

Those placed at the higher levels experience relatively mundane existences. At level 11, for example, residents are allowed to feel contentment, but not true joy or elation. They may request books to read, but they must only be books they have read before, and must be stories they found to just be alright.

At the lower levels, 122 for example, residents must always be in discomfort or agony, though they may choose what provides this experience. One resident may prefer listening to a single bothersome song for eons while only drinking vinegar. Another may choose to be scorched incessantly by the eternal fires.

Most levels allow advancement, but the lower a resident finds themselves the more difficult mobility becomes. The higher levels often see residents advance into the lower leagues of Heaven, though this is a two way street, as residents of Heaven can work their way into being relegated to Hell.

At level 87, a resident can advance to level 86 only if they go without craving pleasure for a determined period of time. Even a single thought of "I sure would enjoy a doughnut" is enough to restart the process.

In one unique case, a resident of level 139 (it is likely you can guess the few individuals that made their way there) made his way all the way up to level 1; thought this was simply a clever punishment, as once he caught a glimpse of Heaven he was immediately sent back down to level 139.

Randall Frig died by slipping on a frozen patch of iced coffee - coffee he had dumped out the day before - while walking to his car. During his 40 years of life he had been mediocre in his cruelty. Once he had kicked his neighbor's dog for digging in his flower beds. Yet, one year prior to that incident, he had successfully raised funds for his grandmother's surgery; though he had then spent a considerable amount of time considering keeping the funds himself. He often cursed out waiters, parked his car in two spaces, threw trash on the ground even though he was nearing a trashcan. Yet sometimes he would give a stranger directions, or smile at a barista and say thank you, or really listen to someones problem without interrupting.

The largest deduction to Randall's Karmatic Score came when he crashed his car into another, injuring the neck of the other driver, then fled the scene. He was never found by police, and never felt guilt, only relief. This significantly contributed to his placement on level 19.

On level 19 he could talk to other residents, but only about work, and never about hobbies or interests. He could listen to music, but only at a volume barely audible. If he felt joy for more than a fleeting moment, he would receive a punishment equal to that experience of happiness.

He had once reached level 16, but was sent back to 19 when he felt prolonged pride and arrogance with his achievement. Randall often tried to think of loopholes, but doing so often brought him enjoyment, which then led to punishment. Eventually, Randall stumbled upon a loophole by accident. Instead of being excited by the potential of a loophole, he began to feel fearful of discovering one. This fear allowed him to think of loopholes more often, which led to his realization that this was itself a loophole.

He began to watch his favorite movies, but would allowed himself to be fearful that enjoying his favorite movies would lead to punishment. This allowed him to enjoy the movie, while simultaneously being terrified that he was enjoying it. He applied this formula to conversations with other residents; eating his favorite foods; procuring sexual experiences he had fantasized about during life.

Randall Frig's system worked for a considerable period of time, but only because the debate surrounding the method by the panel of Demons was arduous. Finally, with consulting from Lucifer, it was decreed that feeling unsatisfied as a means to obtain satisfaction was prohibited.

Though Randall's loophole was sealed, he was promoted to level 11, as a reward for helping the Demons improve upon their systems and procedures.

Thank you! Being interested in a part two is a great compliment, you made my day.

Thank you!

My teacher glares as she passes me the letter. The class is silent, the whistle of the wind loud, as I stand in the center of the circle near the mound of freshly dug dirt. I take the letter from her hands, feeling guilty but unsure why.

"It seems Suhphy has played a joke," she says loud enough for the class to hear. "Looks like you'll be staying after school to explain how you did it, to myself and your mother."

I nod, embarrassed, then step back into the circle while staring at the standard envelope with my name written across the front in my own handwriting.

"Who would like to come and pull another item from the capsule," my teacher says, "it has been here a hundred years, let's not allow Suhphy's bad behavior to ruin the occasion."

Richard steps forward to pull the next item, seeming nervous, and I look back to the letter. I open it slowly, aware that those on either side of me are watching. Taking out the paper, I unfold it carefully, bending it at the middle in an attempt to hide the words.

Suhphy, this is me...you...again. We should have listened, but we didn't so please listen this time. Do not for any reason go into the school basement. It seems that once we wandered there in curiosity, and now we are stuck in this cycle. I went thinking l could break what I was told I would find. Before me, we went at the direction of a teacher. I am sure there are more stories that were not passed along, because I am not passing along every one I was told. So I will keep things simple. Just stay out of the basement.

There is a scribble, as though the writer had begun to write another line before stopping suddenly. Rebecca is standing in the center of the circle holding a wrinkled pack of cigarettes above her head, the teacher reaching for them with urgency while the other students laugh.

I throw away the letter after reading it again, not because I don't believe it, because I want to even though it feels silly to do so, but because I don't want others to read it. I sit through the after school interrogation. I shrug and remain quiet. My mother allows the questions to continue until my teacher shows unreasonable frustration, at which point my mother stops her and asks to see the letter. The look on my teacher's face appears to be anger, but I know it is embarrassment. She tells us to leave.

Six years later I am a senior, at my Homecoming dance held in the middle school since the gymnasium is brand new and the high school's is worn and musty. I dance with my friends, and allow Essa to dance closer to me, until we risk being scolded by the chaperones.

Essa and I sneak away, finding the stairs to the basement and walking down them, struggling to not allow our giggles to betray us. I remember the letter, but it feels more surreal now, the makings of a child's confused mind. A year after I read it the gym teacher had asked me to go to the basement to get supplies, and I refused. Thinking about this sends a ping of anxiety through me, until Essa takes my hand to lead me.

Our footsteps echo through the corridors. We pass a long hallway, almost running, and I think I see a distant light. Stopping, I return to the intersection, but when I look down the hall it is dark.

Essa leads, making us take three more turns, before stopping and pressing me up against a metal door. We kiss, and time slips away. Essa opens the door, guiding me through it, and we search for a light. I find the switch, and the moment the room brightens I see the figure behind Essa.

I'm not sure what the man uses as a club, but Essa is laying on the floor, and I am backing away further into the room. He has on a janitor's jumpsuit, but one that looks ancient. I expect him to pursue me, but he remains at the door. Blood is trickling from Essa's head, who lays just inside the room near the man's feet.

He takes a step back and closes the door. The room shakes, like an old engine starting up. The light brightens, and continues to brighten, until it becomes almost blinding. I run to the door but it is locked. A humming sound, deafening, fills the room. I pass out.

When I awaken, Essa is dead, and I am cold and disoriented. I try the door again, and it is open. After long terrified minutes I find the exit and escape back up into the school. The halls are empty, and as I near the main entrance I begin to realize the school looks strange. Outdated. Hallways ended where they should have continued, and there was no staircase to a second floor.

In the vestibule I see the time capsule. Looking out the small glass window on the door I see the buildings across from the school are shorter, and built with wood and brick. A long car, with an extra wheel on the side and a canvas roof, eases down the street.

Next to the capsule I see paper, pencils, and envelopes. I try to remember the letter I received years ago, now in the future, and begin to write my own.

I near the end, ready to sign my name, when I hear footsteps. I turn and look back into the building through another small window. The man is walking toward me, his outfit now suited to his surroundings.

I fold the letter and place it in an envelope, writing my name quickly on the front. I drop it into the capsule. Anxious, I try the door, fearing it is locked. It is not. I burst into this old world, running hard away from the school, uncertain what comes next.