All living beings in hell

Chapter 1 My Name is the Writer
My name is the writer, I am a human being, and I am an errand in hell.It's not a great job, it's the same as what I do in the world, writing and doing some paperwork, but the clients are different.

This errand is not for the living, but for the ghosts.The hell is noisy, the sea of ​​blood is tumbling, and the beings who fall here are going around in the shadow all day long. The stories of their lives are the scars on their bodies. If the opportunity comes, they can bleed again at any time.

When I opened my eyes, I was already in this firm.The office is not big, and the distance from the door to my copywriting wooden desk is only seven steps.There is a complete set of pens, ink, paper and inkstones on the table, and there is also a lotus lamp with half a candle in it.

I just glanced at the half of the candle, and the wick started to burn, and the dim candlelight just illuminated the size of a piece of rice paper.Behind the wooden table is a wooden bookshelf. The scars on the bookshelf are so shocking that I can't guess what it has experienced before.

I looked down at my body again—the shirt and jeans I used to wear at work were gone, replaced by a fuchsia official uniform.The fabric of the official uniform is hard, as if a hanger that is bigger than his body is covered on the outside of his body.I wear a black gauze hat on my head, and my long hair is tied up in it.

This office is a little farther away from the sea of ​​blood, at the edge of hell, under the cliff, this address is also in line with my liking - for one thing, I don't like the smell of the sea of ​​blood; The sound made my eardrums hurt.

Working in hell, although it is cloudy and cold, most of the time, it is crazy.But thinking about my life in the world, thinking about the boss's disdain and Party A's face, thinking about the daily crowded subway and hopeless future, I would rather sit in this hellish small office.

Lonely ghosts who wander in hell and suffer, I hope someone can listen to their past lives.Too much stuff is suffocated in their rotting hearts.The heart can't beat anymore, but the resentment, hatred and love are still there, just like themselves, wandering around in this sea of ​​hell and blood, unable to find a place to go.

"What should I do?" I looked around the office, thinking silently.

"Your pen is where they go." A deep voice sounded, and a blue writing brush appeared on the table.I hold this brush in my hand, the body of the brush is slightly cool, like a piece of blue jade.There are tiny cracks in the jade, if you look closely, every fine crack is emitting a faint green light.

The deep voice sounded again: "Write down the stories of the sentient beings in hell, their obsessions, and their thoughts. Express affection between sentences, and the paper will be safe. Your words make everything have a place to go."

There is a red kerosene lamp on the left side of the gate, and the red kerosene lamp will be on as long as it is business hours.Probably the light of this kerosene lamp is too conspicuous in this dim hell.

The office had just opened, and as soon as the kerosene lamps were lit, beings from hell with different looks gathered from all over hell with light or heavy steps, crowding around the office.

Because of the particularity of the work, I can only record the story of the next person at a time, so I had to send them a number list.By the time all the sentient beings in hell at the gate of the office received their number slips, they were already ranked 161st.

The red kerosene lamp was lit, and the firm welcomed its first client.

(End of this chapter)