CHOOSE YOUR OWN LIFE

"Is this some kind of joke?" You ask, barely making any effort to conceal your frustration. You know better than to go off on the first guy you stumble across in the afterlife, but this is growing remarkably tedious.

The man behind the desk doesn't even meet your gaze and seems quite irritated by the disturbance. "I don't know what to tell you, friend. I don't read each book that comes across my desk. Do you have any idea how many people die a day? I just hand them out."

You plop back down and let out a sigh. Up until this point, the book you hold in your hands has only gone in chronological order. Many pages only end with one choice. Even the ones with multiple paths have zero impact on the "story".

to pursue a career as an electrician, turn to page 3,283.
to pursue a college education, turn to page 3,283.

You find that if you had gone to college, you merely would have dropped out in less than a semester and become an electrician anyway. Your "choice" amounts to nothing more than an additional paragraph at the top of the page.

You had no real say in any of it. Were all your decisions really so inconsequential?

You don't entertain the thought for long. You know what is to come. You know the moment everything fell apart.

This time you'll turn right.

The day comes. You skim through most of it, you remember the day well. You don't forget a goddamn thing on a day like that. You begin your drive home. You are lost. You're in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It is raining quite hard which obscures your vision. Your GPS on your phone is not responding. You don't remember the way back.

to turn left, turn to page 48,458.

Your heart drops in your chest. This couldn't be right. Only one choice. Only one choice.

You slam the book shut. You refuse to relive that. You choose indecision. It seems to be the only other you have, and you'll be damned if this book is going to take that from you.

Hours pass. Days. Weeks perhaps? All the while, the man sits at his desk, reading quietly to himself. He glances up occasionally only to return to his book.

You know the rules. You must finish the book before you can leave this room. Your hands trembling, you resume where you left off.

to turn left, turn to page 48,458.

It all happened so fast that it barely registered. All the text captures are the fuzzy details you retained. The briefest glimpse of a bicycle in your headlights. The sudden impact. The sound of a person's head very rapidly meeting the pavement. A sound no amount of whiskey will ever drown out or water down. The blood. So much of it. What seems to be an impossible amount of blood.

The woman screaming. The pleas for help.

The therapy. The guilt. The anger. Bewilderment. The copious amounts of alcohol and the many fights that come along with it.

to tell your wife you understand her decision, turn to page 872,862.
to beg her to stay, turn to page 872,862.

For the next 500 pages or so, your choices are very limited. More often than not there is only one option. This is starting to seem like a sick joke. Eventually, there is one alternative that shows up every now and then that grabs your attention.

to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.

Forgive yourself? You will do no such thing.

to buy another bottle, just turn the page.

to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.

to browse through that young boy's memorial page on Facebook again, just turn the page

to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.
to try slicing down the wrist this time, just turn the page
to try to forgive yourself, turn to page 2,567,873.

You just continue turning the page.

to pull the trigger, close this book now.

You crumble to the floor and begin to sob uncontrollably. This is the only option you have left. The man sees his cue and walks over to scoop up the book.

"What....what was the point of all that? To torture me? Have I not done that to myself enough?" You didn't realize you were steadily raising your shaking voice as you spoke, but the man remained unfazed.

He turns back, your book tucked under his arm. "You've done that more than enough, my son." He speaks gently for the first time since you began the book.

You slowly stand on legs that barely prove to hold you, desperately hoping he will continue talking.

"You had no choices because you made no choice. You were only ever prepared for moments that had already passed. What you could have done differently. You couldn't choose your adventure because you were so fixated on changing it."

You look at the floor, unsure how to respond.

"The path you took is the path that was. Alternate endings are merely an author's fantasy."

You look him in the eyes and nod apprehensively.

"Are you ready to try to forgive yourself?"

"....I can try."

He hands the book back to you.

"You know what to do."