When the Heat Kicks In

Rooms were 10 by 10 by 10. Each of us stood in our square foot, trying not to touch fellow occupants. We’re not told how many cubicles there are like this. “Thousands,” I speculated. My neighbor to the right laughed and said, “Millions.” A fellow in background grumbled, “Billions!”

Who knew?

We stood for minutes, hours, days.

“Ready?” a voice asked from outside the walls. “Soon,” another voice whispered.

“Soon?” I pondered. “How soon?”

Then I wondered, “How soon for what?”

Each of us began to sweat. Beginning at the brow. Eyes burned from

body-salt. Underarms generated streams of drip-drops. Chests, too.

Body heat from 100 naked men and women warmed up the room. Humidity gave weight to the air. Our nostrils twitched. Throats gagged. Stomachs churned. Knees buckled. Legs ached.

“Ready!” the voice declared.

“Acknowledged,” the other voice whispered.

Temperatures rose. Sweat increased. Discomfort transitioned into pain.

“I knew it’d be hot, but not like this!” someone in the corner joked.

Several people laughed. Some giggled. Not me. Why? As a youngster, my job had been to stoke the furnace at our old stone house. I’d watched as slumbering embers got oxygen and fuel. Hot coals burst into flame and spikes of dancing fire reached brutal heights. Heat would nibble at my eyebrows and turn my cheeks red.

“Fire away!” the voice shouted.

Hell was open for business—and we were its first customers.