[ WP ] You 're in hell , your punishment is to read a book that is infinite , every 1000 years the bookmark you placed in it vanishes forcing you to start from the beginning .

``... And in the farthest depths of the Pacific ocean exists portals to the other places; Orion, the great black holes of bigger galaxies, the feeding grounds of many wild and intelligent creatures. The doorways are but a wisp of light on most eons, with a random door opening every so often to expel a monstrous force from the other side. There is usually enough energy dispelled to perpetuate the'ring of fire' that plagues the land around the Pacific.'' 
 
 David had been through this sentence at least ten times. A relatively young sentence. Only ten times in the last ten thousand years. The book was small and impossibly flat, and the paper was weathered but thick with words. He would turn the pages and eventually come to the middle, where the book remained, no matter how many times he leafed on through to the back. He could find no author. No title or chapters to discern one subject from the other. There were only words, appearing rapidly in the middle when he blinked. Sometimes he would stop and flip through the pages just to catch up with the words. And every time new information would appear, he would rip a scrap of paper from the back of the blank pages to use as a book mark. But every day, the book mark would disappear, and the page he was on would be lost to centuries of words that appeared in only hours. 
 
 Sweat formed in David's eyes, despite the chill wafted through the open window of his small room. He squinted and rubbed the moisture and fatigue from his face. Outside, dead trees and a cloudy sky dominated his vision. The ground was blighted and coursing with old, black blood. It smelled of vomit and refuse. `` So this is Hell,'' he had whispered to himself when he awoke from the decaying bed for the first time, `` This is Hell.'' 
 
 The walls were also decaying, peeling off like flayed skin on most of the surface. The floor, however was polished concrete and remained immaculate, no matter how much of a mess he made. There was a small table, that which held the book when he first laid eyes upon it. Everything was the same, always. It was maddening but some semblance of David's sanity remained after soon realizing he held the knowledge of the Universe in his hands. He could not share it with anyone; no one came to visit him, at least not when he was awake. Nor did anyone come to torture him like the stories in his old bible he so tenderly saved throughout the years of his failed marriage. 
 
 *What had gone wrong? Was it getting lost in books? Was it because I was forgetting to eat or bathe at times just to get away from his wife? * He had lost his job, his car and had to file bankruptcy just to earn enough to pay the mortgage. His wife stuck around to keep him grounded, motivated more by guilt than love. His health had been failing him but he had impeccable health insurance and long-term disability but even that was no match for death. It came to him, like a thief in the night. There was the feeling of floating, being encumbered and chained, and he was blind for time. When he regained his vision, he could see where claw marks and needles had pierced his arms and legs. There were scars, big and small. He did not remember what it was like to be hungry. 
 
 *Perhaps I passed through hell, to get to purgatory. * 
 
 But the book, oh the knowledge that keep him attached to his body, it would not relent spilling the secrets of U.S. ambassadors, or the inner workings of interstellar ships. The bookmarks stopped making sense; the book never changed size. It was easier to scroll through the middle until the pages were blank. Then he would wait for the words to appear; proof that life really did exist. 
 
 *** 
 
 Amanda sat with David as he painstakingly wrote in cursive; words almost too small to decipher. He used every scrap of the paper and would cry out in agony when he realized he left too big a space between the sentences. He would start all over again, and write over the previous words. The pages became black with ink; a dark abyss on every page. Only David could read the stories within the darkness. Amanda sighed, as David peeled off another piece of the wall to use as a bookmark. Every ten days, while he was asleep, his room was sanitized and purged of all filth. He was force-fed, and given an IV. David would fight in his sleep, clawing at nothing and at himself. But every ten days he would begin again, and sometimes read from the beginning but mostly started in the middle. He would mutter to himself, trying to finish the book he started all those years ago before the dementia had settled in. 
 
 `` David, can you look at me? Sweetheart, can you stop for a minute?'' 
 
 There was nothing she could do. David would look out at the trees and sigh but smile at times. There was naught she could do.
