A Short Stay in Hell

by Steven L. Peck

Lastly, you are here to learn something. Don’t try to figure out what it is. This can be frustrating and unproductive.

Compared to my own father, I seemed completely clueless. My dad was still living when I died. I hope he ends up in a nice Hell.

I think our love could have lasted forever. I’m sure it would have. She was so … no, I won’t cheapen it by trying to express it in words and short sentences. I loved her. That is enough.

But what worse fate could there be? To remember love and know it is unattainable? To know love wanders somewhere light-years and light-years distant, ever knowing it is forever out of reach? Forever hidden? So I pick up another book. Open it. See a page of random characters. Toss it over the edge. Pick up another. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat … on and on the dots signify. On and on I go, light-year after light-year, eon after eon …

Anticipation is a gift. Perhaps there is none greater. Anticipation is born of hope. Indeed it is hope’s finest expression. In hope’s loss, however, is the greatest despair.