Fact: I wasn't dead. After I realized this, I left my quarters. The lightscreen provided had informed me when and where official meals were taking place, but I hadn't bothered to acknowledge the invitations. It hadn't seemed relevant, somehow, given that I was still reeling over the explosion, the deaths of my crewmates, and the rescue. I've heard there are a number of stages of grief and shock; I guess I was working my way through them. Food was delivered to my quarters. Initially, I couldn't figure out why—I hadn't requested any be sent. Then I realized, someone must have noticed I hadn't left, and was nice enough to send food my way. The accompanying bottle of wine was a nice touch. I must have consumed it, too, because later on, the plates and the bottle were both empty. I spent a lot of time lying on my back on the bed, staring up at the little etched swirls in the ceiling, or slumped in the old-fashioned armchair, staring out the windows at the stars. I did a lot of staring and not moving. Man, was it good to be done with that stage. It was time to find out what hell looked like. 
What question would one ask from this paragraph?
What the person couldn't figure out?
Jag var inte död. När jag insåg det här, lämnade jag mitt rum. Ljusskärmen hade informerat mig om när och var officiella måltider ägde rum, men jag hade inte brytt mig om att erkänna inbjudningarna. Det hade inte verkat relevant, på något sätt, med tanke på att jag fortfarande rullade över explosionen, dödsfallen av mina besättningskamrater, och räddningen. Jag har hört att det finns ett antal stadier av sorg och chock; jag antar att jag arbetade mig igenom dem. Maten levererades till mitt rum. Inledningsvis kunde jag inte lista ut varför – jag hade inte begärt att någon skulle skickas. Då insåg jag, att någon måste ha märkt att jag inte hade gått, och var snäll nog att skicka mat åt mitt håll. Den medföljande flaskan vin var en fin touch. Jag måste ha förtärt den också, för senare var tallrikarna och flaskan båda tomma. Jag tillbringade mycket tid med att ligga på rygg på sängen, stirrande upp på de små etsade virvlarna i taket, eller sned i den gammaldags fåtöljen, stirrande ut genom fönstren mot stjärnorna. Jag stirrade och rörde mig inte. Det var bra att vara klar med den scenen. Det var dags att ta reda på hur helvetet såg ut. Vilken fråga skulle man ställa sig från denna paragraf?
I wasn't dead. When I realized this, I left my room. The light screen had informed me of when and where official meals took place, but I had not bothered to admit the invitations. It had not seemed relevant, in any way, given that I was still rolling over the explosion, the deaths of my crewmates, and the rescue. I have heard that there are a number of stages of grief and shock; I suppose I worked my way through them. The food was delivered to my room. Initially, I could not figure out why – I had not asked for anyone to be sent. Then I realized that someone must have noticed that I hadn't gone, and was kind enough to send food in my direction. The bottle of wine included was a nice touch. I must have consumed it too, because later the plates and the bottle were both empty. I spent a lot of time lying on my back on the bed, staring up at the little etched whorls in the ceiling, or slanted in the old-fashioned armchair, staring out the windows towards the stars. I was staring and I wasn't moving. It was good to be done with that scene. It was time to find out what hell looked like. What question would be raised from this paragraph?
Vad kunde personen inte lista ut?
What couldn't the person figure out?