"YOU TOLD ME THIS PLACE DIDN'T EXIST!!" I shouted in a similar voice to his own.
The eyes of this man who once told me that to get ahead in life was to take care of your family by amassing a great fortune and sticking it to the other guy before he sticks it to you were now filled with the flames of hell itself. I suddenly felt the urge to feel my own face. To my shock, my eyes could see, even though the places in my skull where they once were, was as vacant as those of the man I stood before.
We spent some significant time, after that, tearing at each other like wild dogs. Imagine, ceaseless energy, fueled by hate, driving two (*)(*)(*)(*)ed immortal souls to endless combat. The more I tore at him, the more enraged he became and the more he tore at me in response. In this place, hate causes the pain to lesson, when you channel that hate onto another person, you find even more release from your afflictions. The only thing is, the other or others you fight, have equal incentive and the brutality you inflict on one another is a different pain, more intense, yet not as lingering as the constant searing you feel when not focusing your hate on some one.
At times I would see writhing balls of forms barely recognizable as humans, ripping and tearing at each other with extraordinary ferocity. Feeding and being fed on by their fellow inmates, full of torment, and whaling and gnashing their teeth on the bones of their kinsmen.
Eventually, I discovered that the constant searing is more bearable then the "hair balls" of vengeance that grow less frequent with those who have been here for a while. Most find their own little corner and sit, and focus on managing their grief in solitude. I found this to be predictable, at least. Fortunately for me, most of those I influenced for the bad, my wife influenced for the good and didn't have me to hunt down and attack like I did, my father.
So I am writing you this letter in hopes that you will see the errors in my words and deeds and avoid coming to this place. Not for the sake of you, because I hate all the living for their slim but ever present hope that they will not come here. I write this letter for my own sake, for your hatred of me for leading you here could only rival my own hatred for my father, for sharing his fate with me.

Father...

Epilog:

TO THE PRINCE OF THE AMERICAS:

The inmate author of this letter to the living, managed, over the last two terrestrial centuries, to etch out the above letter in the rock inside his cell block. Since his father was transferred to a lower level, due to legions of inmates interned here as a result of his work for us, Bob Jr. no longer has any who seeks to torment him, it is therefore demanded of the ruler of this realm that he be transferred to solitary where he will spend the remainder of his sentence.


TO THE CAPTAIN OF THE FIRST LEVEL GUARDS:

Ensure that he does have some company. I put a bucket of lava worms on the next train, see to it that these keep him awake in his new home.

__________________
"I know no method to secure the repeal of bad or obnoxious laws so effective as their stringent execution." March 4, 1869, Grant's First Inaugural Address