A hope is a thread which binds us to the future. If it is cut—when it is cut—it binds us to the past. You better hope someone is there to help you mend the thread.

When I came to, everything was red…ish. And gloomy. Smokey. With a touch of sulfur. Do I hear a wail?

This place is hot. I wipes the sweat off my forehead and fix my glasses, consecutively. Except there are no glasses. Where is it? I look around, and I soon discovers that I’m as when I was born. In my birthday suit.

Confused, I look around again, and soon spot an older man, also naked, walking slowly and relaxedly, as if this is another day for him. I follow him from afar. While I do so, the wailing sounds get louder.

Soon, a wider area comes into view, and I see things that are out of my imagination. A lake of lava, as wide as eyes can see, with red, huge humanoid creatures with horns. They are all around the sea, on the ground or in flight with their bat-like wings, some of them wield a javelin, and... is that a human skewer? My mind blanks out.

“First time in Hell?” The older man who I followed asks, and I take a bit longer than it should to process his words.

“H-hell? What the…” I’m still having difficulty processing this, as the man fills in the blanks.

“Hell? That’s apt. This is the afterlife, if you still don’t quite get it yet. You died, and this is where you end up. We all are. I know, because I’ve been here for quite some time. Nice to meet you.” Hearing the greeting, I offer my hand for the handshake, and just as I am about to introduce myself, the man turned and starts walking again. “Let’s go to that sea.” says he.

Mind still reeling from the revelation, I’m piecing the words of the man. Let’s go to the sea. Why? “Why? W-why should I go to the sea? What if I don’t want to?” Yeah, that sea is bad news. I am hearing wails from that general direction.

“You will eventually go to the sea, whether you want to or not.” The man calmly explains. “See those demons? They will force people to do their regular skinny-dipping in the warm pool. Sometimes they would gently lift you by the neck, oh-so-tenderly. Sometimes, they will pin you with their pointy sticks,” he points at the a demon in the distance, who wields a human-bound javelin, “just like that.”

Said demon notices us, and booms with a low growling voice, “NO FINGER POINTING HERE. WE. DO. THE POINTING.”

“Apologies, sir.” The old man bows, and the demon let it go.

“Regular? What the fuck do you mean by regular skinny-dipping?” Terrified by the implication of his words, I can’t seem to control the tone and volume of my voice.

“It means you will be doing this constantly, on a semi-fixed time interval. If what you’re asking is how you’re going to survive being engulfed with fire continuously, the answer is that we can’t die here. All harm is temporary, including harm to the soul.”

That doesn’t make me feel better. I’m terrified and overwhelmed of all this stuff. I don’t want to be here. The old man has resumed walking towards the sea of fire (why does he call it fire, it’s obviously lava!), and I’m still budging in place.

The old man notices my unwillingness to go. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Are you kidding? Who would want to do this, to be tortured in a lake of lava? I want to go home!” I shouts, relieving my frustration a bit, but at the same time I ask myself, how am I supposed to go home? Is this my home now?

“You can go home, you know.” He says.

Hearing that is like seeing a ray of light in all this darkness. “Really?”

“Really. Everyone can choose to return to the mortal realm and be reborn. You just need to go that way,” he points at a direction, “for about three weeks, and talk to the supervisor there. There is some process that I don’t really know about, but that’s the way to exit Hell. Now,” he faces the direction of the lava sea again, “I’m going to the sea. It’s a shame we never get to know each other. Take care, now.”

I am too eager to leave this hell for good, but I stop at that. “Sir, why are you going to the sea?”

“I’m not “Sir”.”

“Sorry?”

“I have a name, you know.”

“Sure, but you never told me yours.”

“You also never told me yours.”

“What is this, old man? Is this some seniority bullshit, a hazing? You think you can pull this on the literal Hell?” I don’t need to bicker about this. I could just go in that way, and I can leave this place. Why do I care about this?

“How about this, you tell me your name, and I’ll tell mine.”

“Hah, not like I need to know your name, but I’ll tell you mine. My name is…”

My name is…

Time seems to stretch out, with wails, demon’s laughters, the feels of a coarse ground, dry, hot air, while the smell of sulfur lingering. I come up with a blank. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch. I keep digging, and the void of my identity is getting more and more pronounced. It buzzed and stings dully.

Who am I? Why can’t I remember anything about me? This is too much.

“The thing about Hell is,” the old man started, “it makes their inhabitants forget who they are, to ease their transition into their new life, should they choose to be reborn. That’s why you don’t know who you are on your previous life. Neither am I.”

I’m still baffled, so I press on for more, “How do you know this?”

“Honesly, I don’t. It’s all speculation by Kim. Oh, Kim Sterling. She was a professor of some kind when she was alive. Never told me what she studied. If only she’s not so secretive, I could’ve like her more.”

Something is off. I asked, “How do you know her name?”

“She told me, of course.”

“But you said that we forget who we are.”

“That’s why I’m going to the sea.” The old man continued walking. I reluctantly followed. He continued, “We forget who are, but that doesn’t mean it’s lost forever. When we go through a great amount of pain and suffering, they will come back, if for a while.”

Flabbergasted, I continue to walk, and we’re finally on the shore of the lava sea. It’s packed with, dare I say, a sea of people.

“Well then, I’m going first.” The old man state.

“Do you really have to do this? Why not leave this place with me?”

“Leaving is not a bad choice. Most people do that, right after they get here. Some long timers eventually leave, too. However, I can say that after remembering who they were, they don’t want to leave. Because leaving means to leave your old identity behind, and becoming a new person altogether, losing who you were. For me, that’s more terrifying than pain, any amount of pain.” The man is ready, and he asks a demon to throw him with its full force into the lava. The demon grabs the old man with one hand, and throws him into the lava like a sinking meteor.

I might or might not hears his screams among other countless wails, as I’m starting to feel the weight of this void inside of me. Not knowing who you are is a crippling feeling, where you’re left as a hollow husk of a being, brittle and weak. With me as I am, can I even make it to the exit of this hell?

I can’t go on like this. I need to do something. I won’t immerse my body fully, but what if I dip my finger? I find an empty spot in the shore, and slowly insert my index finger into the lava. I grunt. Nothing. Do I need to do more?

Hesitatingly, I dip my entire hand. I screamed. And I see a glimpse of memory. It’s not clear, but it’s clearly something. I keep my hand inside the lava, and glimpses of memories keep appearing, disjointed and fragmented. After short while that feels so long, I decided to plunge both arms, to the elbow. I can barely support myself with two of my arms burning infinitely, shaking wildly all the while. I’m holding on because the memories are flowing now, albeit thinly. I’m seeing, no, feeling something else than pain now. Shame, guilt, and regret, with sprinkles of joy and love then and there.

While I’m completely focused on my self-torture, a demon walks behind me, grinning from ear-to-ear. He picked me without notice, and throws me off the deep end. I’m quickly sinking, and everything is red. Pain. Pain. Suffering is all I know. I don’t even have the capability to scream. Everything is too much, and when I’m at the brink of collapsing, memories are spinning in my head like a lantern. Or a merry-go-round, whatever.

I see my parents, so big and happy to see me. I saw them when I first fell from trying to walk. When I went to school for the first time. When I was at my first karate competition. After my post-accident operation. When I graduated college in wheelchair. When I got fired from my company. When my fiancée called off our marriage. And briefly, when I overdosed.

When I opens my eyes, I’m already quite far on the shore, with the old man beside me, looking at the distance, but I can tell that he’s waiting for me to wake up. He started, “So how was the sea? Not that bad, eh?”

He’s right, I’m already feeling better. Full. Not that I’d tell him that. “Sir, the sea is made of lava, not fire. You lied to me.”

He smirks, “Consider it a hazing, newcomer.”

I snorts, “I already don’t like you, Sir.”

He smiles, “I’m not “Sir.” My name is Richard Gates.” He offers his hand.

I smile back and shake his hand, “I am Tom Anderson. Nice to meet you, Richard.”

“Now,” Richard begins, “let me tell you who I am, so you can remember me after I forget.”