A Short Stay in Hell by Steven L. Peck

forty-eight, in area minus three
hundred eighty-eight. There were a number of entries that might
have been contenders for the MST, but when this one was found there
was no question of this year’s winner.”
    Professor Donaldson stood and raised his
hands into the air.
    “Great God, whose heaven we eagerly await. We
are gathered here on the first day of the one hundred and second
year of our time in Hell, to praise you and to honor your memory
and presence. Bless these proceedings that we may find favor in
your sight. That we may be led to our life stories. That the days
of our imprisonment may be short. Bless our efforts. May peace be
had in all our districts. May the search be undeterred. Bless our
university that it may continue to prosper. That its leaders and
councils may be wise in teaching truth to the inhabitants of Hell.
May we be led to be better people by combining our knowledge and
teaching one another the truths gleaned from our lives while on
earth. May …”
    About here I faded out and snuck a peek at
Sandra, who seemed to be sincerely participating in the prayer.
While I would never admit it to the administrators of the
university, I was more than skeptical about trying to pray. What
kind of God lets demons choose such a bizarre Hell? Why put
conscious beings through this? What purpose could it serve him or
us? Was he/she/it worthy of worship? I honestly didn’t know.
    Stew, the finder of this year’s Most
Significant Text, was introduced and given an award (a piece of
soap from the showers carved into an amazing replica of a chicken,
which had been placed in a nest of coconut fiber – it is impressive
what you can get out of the food kiosks. Apparently, if it is
possible to eat, you can ask for it).
    Rachel got up to read the text. She was a
good friend, and we had spent many a day in long talks and
thoughtful conversation about the nature of life, reality, and the
implications of this afterlife. She had been the editor of a
literary magazine before Hell and now held a post in the philosophy
group as Professor of Hell Studies. She received the book she was
handed with great solemnity. She opened it. “Reading from page
eighty-seven, I quote, ‘The bat housed again four leaves of it.’”
There was a deep silence as people pondered the significance of
this passage. Barbara handed the book to Professor Treacle, who
continued.
    “First, note that the text is a complete
sentence. Significantly, it begins with a capitalized article and
ends in a period. Notice the subject, ‘bat,’ and the verb ‘housed’
refers to ‘four leaves,’ and we find out that they belong to ‘of
it.’ Never before have we found such a perfect example of a complex
sentence. Stew Sand is to be highly praised for finding this year’s
Most Significant Text. Its location has been memorized by all here,
and I think there will be many who will want to visit the site of
this book and ponder its meaning. Thank you again, Stew.” Treacle
turned toward him and with a slight bow of his head, began to clap
politely. We all joined in.
    Johannas Back, a food scientist, turned to me
as we clapped and whispered to me sardonically, “I know exactly
what it means, and I don’t have to ponder it much – it means it’s
going to be a thousand years before we find a paragraph that makes
as much sense as this stupid sentence.” I laughed and nodded. But
inside, of course, it disheartened me. We’d been here over a
hundred years. And that was the most significant text this year?
Last year’s was worse – “Can dye dogs riverward.” Everyone was
abuzz about how this year’s sentence started with an article, had a
great verb, and even seemed to make a little sense. But it made me
realize it would be a long time before we found anyone’s story, let
alone mine.
    The proceedings over, the people began to
disband. A few had come from a long way. Some from as far down as
the 12,853th floor and some as far away as 22,889 shelves over.