Perception of Eternity

New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven.

You know, Eternity is a long time. The human mind was never intended to comprehend eternity. Medium-sized numbers of medium-sized objects moving at medium speed, that's what we understand. An apple in your hand. A flock of birds crossing the sky. The length of a day. A year. Those are things I understand. But at some point numbers just fade.  
They're just numbers. My first thousand years in heaven I spent with my loved ones. It felt like an eternity already and I still had ninety-nine trillion, nine hundred ninety-nine billion, nine hundred ninety-nine million nine hundred ninety nine thousand years left.  
I learned all I ever dreamed to learn and more, saw every place in time and every place in the universe a million times over. I spent a billion years asleep and still my vacation had only just begun.  
 
And now I sit in my cell. There is not much else in here except me, but I guess Hell is not supposed to be comfortable. There is only a pillar, really. The pillar in the middle of the room and on top of it sits a bowl. I can't reach it, but I can smell the soup. It never goes cold, never goes stale. It smells better than anything I ever smelled in Heaven. Just out of reach. So close.  
 
No idea how long I've been here. I've counted to 100 Trillion twice. I have forgotten everything I've ever learned, I can't remember what my family looked like.  
I only remember that one question they asked me after I died.  
Should have taken the spoon.