Any Road Will Take You There

Through the depths of your slumber, your alarm sounds. From the small speakers in your phone you hear: "(link: "The Times They Are A-Changin'.")[ (set: $song to "The Times They Are A-Changin'") (set: $lyrics to "Come writers and critics Who prophesize with your pen...") (go-to: "Alarm")]" "(link: "Here Comes the Sun.")[ (set: $song to "Here Comes the Sun") (set: $lyrics to "Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here...") (go-to: "Alarm")]" (set: $escape to it + 1)

It's 6 a.m. It's still dark. It's always dark. You wonder how long it has been since you've woken up on a weekday to the sun. Even on the weekends, you have a hard time sleeping in. You're getting older. Most days, by the time you drive home, the sun has already set. You reach over and grab your phone. "$lyrics" You hit the [[snooze button.]] You swipe the red 'X,' [[wake up<-turning off the alarm.]]

You wonder if five minutes more of sleep will actually make you feel any better. You look at the clock on the far side of the room. It appears to show 6:04. Yet your mind drifts back to sleep. You [[dream of your dead wife]], alive again. You [[dream of that beautiful student]] you had last year in your CRE 551 grad seminar.

There's Letty. She's in the kitchen. The kitchen is your kitchen; you understand this implicitly. But it does not look like your kitchen. The floor is a kitschy blue, checkered linoleum. It is the kitchen from your first childhood home. You aren't sure why you don't question it, but you don't. Your dead wife, now alive, is speaking to you. You do not hear words, but you know what she is saying. She is angry at you. You [[dead wife continued<-did not do the dishes]] before she got home. You [[dead wife continued<-did not have dinner ready]] before she got home. (set: $distraction to it + 1)

You are speaking with your student Jessica from last semester. You are in the coffee shop you frequent on the edge of campus. It does not look like that coffee shop, but you understand it *is* implicitly. Jessica is charming. She is mature. She embodies the qualities of your wife in her youth: fiercely independent, terrifyingly brilliant. You respect her as an academic. You look in horror as Jessica sneaks underneath the table. The table is now the coffee table in the living room of your childhood home. Jessica undoes the zipper on your pants. You will yourself to [[wake up]]. You let [[Jessica continue]]. (set: $distraction to it + 2)

You turn off "$song." You stare at the ceiling for just a moment longer, watching the green blinking of the smoke detector. You remember as a kid how you used to think it was a robot winking, watching you. The thought would both frighten and exhilarate you. You get out of bed, groaning audibly. Everything hurts: your neck, your shoulders, your back. You stretch upwards, puffing out your chest. It doesn't help. You put your legs over the side of the bed. You sleep on the [[out of bed<-right side next to the window.]] You sleep on the [[out of bed<-left side closer to the door.]] (set: $distraction to it - 1)

Jessica takes your prized possession out from your pants and blue-gray boxers. She opens her mouth. You wince guiltily. From out of her mouth, you hear your alarm song. You [[wake up]].

Letty opens her mouth to berate you. You always felt you were a constant disappointment to her. Instead of a lecture, you hear the melody of "$song." You [[wake up]].

You are a tenured track professor of fiction and it's the season of applications; you're absolutely swamped with submissions. While you're unafraid to scoff at anything that isn't "literary," you allowed one individual to submit an unusual tale. That email has finally arrived. You open it up. It's an HTML file. It reads: "Any Road Will Take You There" By Evan Barber (text-style: "italic")[Who the fuck submits a "Choose Your Own Adventure" story for their grad school application?] you wonder. [[This is bullshit]]. [[Actually, this is kind of novel.]] (set: $title to "Any Road Will Take You There") (set: $book to "|book>[book]") (set: $Book to "|book>[Book]") (set: $books to "|book>[books]") (set: $Books to "|book>[Books]")

You attempt to throw the applicant's story in the trash, but you can't; it's digital. You decide not it's not worth trashing your entire laptop. You click through to the [[HATE The Beginning<-first page]].

You turn excitedly to the [[The Beginning<-first page]].

You never got a new bed after you lost your wife. You run your hand over her side. It still has her indent in the memory foam mattress she fought so hard for. It's almost like she knew - that it would leave a perfect cast of her shape, ready to be filled in with mud. A golem made to protect you instead of nag you. You thought the nagging would kill you. But it killed her. She's in [[a better place now]]. She's buried in [[Okay.<-a cemetery in her hometown]].

Of course she is. [[No, really, she is.]] [[Okay.<-You're right. I doubt it.]]

[[Okay.]]

You take a shower. You brush your teeth. You look in the mirror. You hate how [[hair<-gray]] your hair is. You hate how [[hair<-bald]] you are.

In your youth, you used to wear it long - never to your shoulders - but it encroached hippy territory. After the accident, it never seemed to be the same, like a forest slowly recuperating after a wildfire. You realized quickly how much our identity is comprised of our looks, even for those who'd desperately argue against their shallowness, and how much our looks are comprised of our hair. You once overheard a student say you look like a [[ready to leave<-serial killer]]. You once overheard a student say you look like an old [[ready to leave<-Krusty the Klown]].

You don't have time to eat breakfast. You rarely do. It's always made your stomach sick anyway, eating this early, exacerbated by age. Before you go, you leave food out for your faithful companion. His name is [[Argos chosen<-Argos]]. His name is [[Tock chosen<-Tock]].

(set: $dog to "Argos") You never feel good about leaving your dog at home for so long. $dog is true to his name, faithfully waiting for you after each day. But with no Penelope, he gets your full attention. He's an old dog, but a good one. You named him after the *Odyssey*, which you had to read in 9th grade. You hated the story. You asked to go to the bathroom after Odysseus's dog attempts to get up to greet him, laying wasted in manure. You cried in the bathroom. You often have wondered if this is when, subconsciously, you decided to become an English professor. You pat him on the head as you [[exit the door]].

(set: $dog to "Tock") You never feel good about leaving your dog at home for so long. $dog is true to his name, faithfully watching over the home you leave behind each day. No one has ever robbed you. He's old, but still a hulking mass of a dog. You named him after the first $book you ever loved. Your father said you were too old to be reading kid's $books. You read it in secret. You thought that if you had a dog like the one in the $book, you'd never feel scared again. You often have wondered if this is when, subconsciously, you decided to become an English professor. You pat him on the head as you [[exit the door]].

You lock your door. Your feet crunch under the dense snow on your steps. [[You are in a hurry.]] [[You take your sweet time.]]

You practically sprint towards your car, which is parked outside your modest home. There is too much shit in your garage. [[slip<-It's filled with your wife's old clothes and other things you didn't have use for.]] [[slip<-It's filled with arcade cabinets from the 80's you haven't played in years.]] (set: $distraction to it + 1)

You slide gracefully across the ice to your car, unlock the door, and get in. (set: $distraction to it - 1) (link: "You turn the key.")[ (go-to: (either: "Doesn't start", "Doesn't start", "Engine starts")) ]

In your rush and reverie, you hit that ice patch right after the first and only step to your front door. Underneath the packed snow, it's nearly invisible. This is not the first time you've slipped. You have fallen on this exact spot [[3 times]] before. You have fallen on this exact spot [[8 times]] before.

[[No, it has to be more than that.]]

You fall backwards. Time slows momentarily. A thought races through your mind: *Am I going to be one of those single men who dies alone? Should I have remarried?* [[You've never been interested in anyone since your wife.]] [[There was that one girl]].

[[Well, okay, over 5?]]

[[Maybe, like, 8 times?!]]

[[8 times<-That sounds about right.]]

The back of your head hits the ground. Yeah, you fought. A lot. Maybe more than was healthy. But you stuck through it all with good reason. You loved her. You just occasionally forget how to show it. You'll never forgot your favorite date. [[You walked the beach of Lake Michigan in the winter.]] [[You ate tapas and drank wine in Seville.]]

She used to work at your university. She worked in a different department but in your same building. Her office was upstairs, the third one, one up from your own. You found more excuses to go up there in the year she was there than you ever had in your five years working there. You had seen her in the hallways passing by. You introduced yourself briefly. Since your passed, you felt like any time you spoke to a woman that was both attractive and relatively in your league you may as well have been rolling the die. (link: "Roll the die.")[ (go-to: (either: "Smooth", "Overly Professional", "Creep")) ]

Your boots sunk into the snow. The sun gleamed atop the endless stretch of icy horizon. She leaned in close, hugging you for warmth - she was always colder than you, no matter what. She kissed your cheek. You had never been warmer in your life. It was a slug of whiskey to the pit of your stomach. You told her you loved her. You told her you were going to marry her some day. She leaned in and [[whispered.]]

"Are you okay?" It is a man's voice. You touch the back of your head. You're bleeding, but not much. You have a headache. You slowly come to. It is your neighbor bent down near you. He's a good guy. About your age. He has lived here longer than you. His name is [[neighbor<-Ned Flanders.]] His name is [[neighbor<-Cosmo Kramer.]]

You don't get to name your neighbor after your favorite TV Show. His name is George. George Ramirez. You have had the guilty thought that George Ramirez is a philistine. He's a simple man. He drinks Busch Light. He mows the lawn more frequently than you. You get the idea that he doesn't quite understand what you do. You're pretty sure he has voted Republican for the last five or so decades. George is a good dude. "Are you okay?" [["I think so."]] [[I hit my head pretty good.]]

You give her your name. She gives you hers. You ask her what department she's working in. She says: [["Children's Lit."]] [["Lit. theory."]] (set: $distraction to it - 1)

You introduce yourself and shake her hand, welcoming her to the university. [[Polite<-"Nice weather for the first day, eh?"]] [[Polite<-"What do you think of the town?"]]

You give her your name and don't stop talking until she slowly backs away from the "conversation." Flatly, she says it's great to meet you. You see her every so often in the hallways for that year. You wave to her occasionally when your eyes meet. She gives you a half-smile and a wave that looks more like she's lazily swatting a fly near her hip. Eventually, you realize that you're probably better off just ignoring her. The half-hearted interaction becomes a drag even on you. Besides, it's always been easier to write when you're sad and alone. Every so often you go out to the bar with your colleagues. Increasingly, you catch yourself staring at nothing in particular, not listening to the conversation around you. One day your colleague says, [[whispered.<-"Hey..."]]

She says she's teaching a course on Harry Potter. You feel something inside your chest. It's not a burning blaze. It's more like a trickle of water freshly melted. You smile, briefly touch her shoulder. You tell her a joke: [[Joke lands<-"It's no Hogwarts, but I think you'll like it here."]] [[Joke lands Quidditch<-"You know, I like to play Quidditch."]]

She cracks a smile and [[whispered.<-says...]] (set: $distraction to it - 1)

"Oh, really?" she says, raising an eyebrow. [[Joke lands<-"Yeah, I'm a keeper."]] (set: $distraction to it - 1)

She says she's teaching a course on Marxist theory. You feel something inside your chest. It's not a burning blaze. It's more like a trickle of water freshly melted. You smile, briefly touch her shoulder. You tell her a joke: [[Joke lands<-"Well, that's good. I heard everyone in the building has to share the same office."]] [[Joke lands Marxism<-"Oh, I was wondering why they put a big 'X' on the new map, did you see that?"]]

"What?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. [[Joke lands<-Yeah, 'X' *marks* the spot.]] (set: $distraction to it - 1)

She says it's great. Her smile knocks you out. [[whispered.<-She says...]]

It was your honeymoon, technically, a year too late. It took the death of an in-law to fund this excursion. You used to be more impulsive or, at the very least, more susceptible to others' impulsivity. She sparked a fire in you to get out and explore the world. Without her you would have had no material to get your first collection of short stories published. Your favorite short story in the collection was loosely based on your father's naval snippets he'd share. You were home from college one week for Christmas. He was sharing a beer with his neighbor. He didn't usually share many details with you, but once he said: "The waitresses in Madrid, you give a little extra money and you could kiss 'em. I was sweet on this one named Carmen Rey. We kissed for awhile, but then I went to take a leak. When I came back, she was kissing some other guy." He told the story as if it were a joke. But something in his delivery always made you think that Carmen was really the one that got away. That your father's heart was crushed that day, he'd never love again, and therefore, he didn't ever truly love your mother. [[You never saw them kiss, anyway.]]

In the tapas bar, your third one of the night, you slurped *chocos* and *ortiguillas* and more wine than you've ever consumed until that point and since that point. "We're married," she said with a slur and a smile. "I know," you told her. "I don't know if you know, but it's been a year." She laughed. With coquettishness, and sloshing glass in hand, she leaned in and [[whispered.<-whispered in your ear.]]

The engine groans to no avail. You try again, praying to any deity who'll accept your plea. (link: "You turn the key once more.")[ (go-to: (either: "2nd Engine Fail","Engine starts")) ]

The engine turns over. As you back out of the driveway, you fiddle with the radio as you pull out and begin driving. [[You turn it off.]] You play the CD already in: Harrison's [[Brainwashed<-*Brainwashed*.]] [[You look for another CD.]]

You press the power button on the stereo, but it seems to be jammed. The opening track begins to play. "Give me plenty of that guitar," a British voice says through the stereo before the song begins playing. A slick slide guitar melody sits above the acoustic cheer of the backing band. [[Leave it.->Skip to track 1.]] [[Skip to track 2.]] [[Skip to track 3.]] [[Skip to track 4.]] [[Skip to track 5.]] [[Skip to track 6.]] [[Skip to track 7.]] [[Skip to track 8.]] [[Skip to track 9.]] [[Skip to track 10.]] [[Skip to track 11.]] [[Skip to track 12.]]

The opening track begins to play. "Give me plenty of that guitar," a British voice says through the stereo before the song begins playing. A slick slide guitar melody sits above the acoustic cheer of the backing band. [[Leave it.->Skip to track 1.]] [[Skip to track 2.]] [[Skip to track 3.]] [[Skip to track 4.]] [[Skip to track 5.]] [[Skip to track 6.]] [[Skip to track 7.]] [[Skip to track 8.]] [[Skip to track 9.]] [[Skip to track 10.]] [[Skip to track 11.]] [[Skip to track 12.]]

You reach your hand into the pouch behind the passenger seat but all you find are used tissues, a mostly faded Burger King receipt, and a tin of Altoids. [[Grab the used tissues.]] [[Grab the receipt.]] [[Grab the mints.]] [[Forget it.]] (set: $distraction to 1)

The engine groans to no avail. You try again, praying to any deity who'll accept your plea. (link: "Please, not today.")[ (go-to: (either: "3rd Engine Fail","Engine starts")) ]

You slam your fist onto the steering wheel, accidentally sounding the horn. The neighbor's dog starts barking. $dog follows suit. You rest your head on the cold wheel. [[Engine starts<-Why?]]

(set: $track to it + 2)The CD begins skipping. Interspersed between the skips and static you barely make out the words: G̸͎̺͍͍͕̕a̳͈̫̬̦z̼̗͙e̵̛̹̺d̶̸͕͔͚͇̱ ̴̹͢ͅa̠̯̬̝͖͎̯̼̼͘͡t̸̛̞͎̮̤͓͟ ͕̙̼̞͜t̴҉̨̲h̰̗͇e̶̡̬͍̣͓͍̹͈̗ ̖̥̣͓͝c̷̛̱̜͙̜e͈̮̥̹̬͜ì̷͈̘͎̲l̨͠͏̱̤͓͇i̥̦̥̮͝ͅǹ͙̳̞g̨̬̱̗̟̗͚̟̩̕͞ͅ ͢͏͎̬͙f͇̩̘̗̜̖̭ͅr̵̲̤̥͙̼̻o̱̦̥͍̼̮̖̥̞͡m̷̹̯͞ ̹̩͈̪̣̝͘b̩͚͠e͏̦̤̳̱ĺ̛͏̝̫̫͙̭ơ̧͔ͅw͇̞̣ͅ ̬̦̭̪̥̯̞̀A̹͈͍͜ ̢̛͍̫̱s͖̟͢͞p̨̮͡l͉̮͙̯̱e̷̸̬̭͚̹͕n̯͙̖d͙̪̱̬̯͕͎̬̀͜í̵͚̤̰͓̰͘ͅd͏̮͉̞̦̣͚͚ ̖̯̼͖́͜͞M̢͕̞̫͜ì̝̱̳͖̺̕c͏̛͔̥͘ͅh͙͙͖̤̲̕ͅe͍̬̘̦ͅl̨̹a̛̺͙n̪̰̳g̛͙͍͎̫̮̱̩̻͠e̗͖ͅl̷̢̠̯͔͙͎̝̤͝ͅo̡͖̥̝̦͉͙͇̱͟ͅ ̷͎͖̰͍͖̕͝F̻̞͚̼̞̟͜ͅḭ̘͢͡l͉͖͎͚͜͠l̴̡̮̼͔̙̖͔e̙͕̬͡ͅd̢̳̙̯͉́ ̪͉̦͙͍̜̰͜m̷̷̴͉̮̥y̭̖̲͉͚͉͙͉ ̦h̢̠͙e͉͓̳̳͙̮͠ạ̢̹͈̟̱r͏̷͈̗̥̕t̸̗͍͎̝͎̠͜ ̭w̪͚͜͞í̪͇̮͎̪̼̺͖͡t͏̲̹̣͈̫͖̹̙h̷̢̞͇͇͔͇̭̦̬̩ ̢̳͎̘͈̻̤͝d̨̼̙̻̦̝̙͠ę̵͙̟̦ĺ͇̭̲͚̠̙͘i̧͏̣̣̺̺̮̬̞̰g̨̛̦̲̲͍̕h̳͈̙̱͕̹̼͔ṯ̠̘̫́̀ ̴̡͚̤͍̥̤̀ͅL̸̼̝̤͕͙͙̥͘a͏̮͕̰̹̀͞s̵̭̪̹̹̖͔̘̖̀͜t̰̩͙̗͘ ͍̺͔̗͈͖̦́͞S͙̤̗̪̰͎̫͈a͇̹͚t̵̡̜̪̠̭͔̲̺̙u̟͔͓̠̜ṟ̵̬̮̺͞d̶̫̟a҉͈̪̠̰͇͔͖̤͠y̘̫̜̜̫̦̣̣̦͜͠ ̳n̹̙̜̖̙͜i̡͔̖͕͟g̢͍̩h͍̙̝̬̦̀͠t͙̹̹̳̦̭̟͈͟ (set: $distraction to it + 1) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[Skip to track 3.]] ]

((set: $track to it + 3))The CD player does not want to play this track. It automatically skips to the next one. (set: $distraction to it + 1) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[Skip to track 4.]] ]

(set: $track to it + 4)While heavily garbled through static, you can make out the occasional word. <img src="http://i.imgur.com/rI20PAF.png"> (set: $distraction to it + 1) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[Skip to track 5.]] ]

(set: $track to it + 5)The track skips for a moment for a buzzing bee of a slide guitar plays. "On the street of villains taken for a ride, You can have the devil as a guide, Crippled Crippled Crippled Crippled Crippled Crippled Crippled" The song continues to skip, repeating the last word. [[Let it go.->Rising Sun Skips]] [[Smack the top of dash.->Rising Sun Skips]] [[Skip to the next track.->Rising Sun Skips]] (set: $distraction to it + 2)

(set: $track to it + 6)Your CD player emits a loud hiss. It is very unpleasant. (set: $distraction to it + 1) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[Skip to track 7.]] ]

(set: $track to it + 7)This track sounds kind of like the ocean. It's oddly soothing, but it's not supposed to sound like this. (set: $distraction to it - 1) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[Skip to track 8.]] ]

(set: $track to it + 8)This track sounds like a biblical swarm of locusts. (set: $distraction to it + 1) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[Skip to track 9.]] ]

(set: $track to it + 9)Nothing happens. (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[Skip to track 10.]] ]

(set: $track to it + 10)No sounds plays. (set: $distraction to it + 1) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[Skip to track 11.]] ]

(set: $track to it + 11)This tracks sounds like triangles. It is unsettling. (set: $distraction to it + 1) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[Skip to track 12.]] ]

(set: $track to it + 12)Your CD player won't even let you skip this far. You are extremely frustrated you wasted all this time. (set: $distraction to it + 1) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[It skips back to track 1.->Skip to track 1.]] ]

(set: $track to it + 1)The opening track begins to play. The chorus has always stuck with you: "But, oh Lord, we pay the price With the spin of the wheel, with the roll of the dice Ah yeah, you pay your fare And if you don't know where you're going Any road will take you there." (set: $distraction to it + 1) [[Continue listening.]] [[Skip to track 2.]]

They are tissues, balled up, mortared by mucous, veritably ancient. You wonder for a moment if they were your wife's; she used to sit back there when you'd have guests in the car. No one has sat back there since. [[You put them in your cup holder to be tossed later.->Backseat Pouch]] [[You sniff them.->WTF DUDE]] (set: $distraction to it + 2) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ]

The writing is nearly illegible. You think the total says $31.13. [[You put it back.->Backseat Pouch]] (set: $distraction to it + 2) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ]

You shake the tin. A lone tinkling sounds from within. [[You eat the mint.]] [[You put it back.->Backseat Pouch]] (set: $distraction to it + 2) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ]

You look back at the radio. [[You turn off the radio->You turn it off.]] You leave the CD in: Harrison's [[Brainwashed<-*Brainwashed*.]]

[[Grab the receipt.]] [[Grab the mints.]] [[Forget it.]]

What is your problem? You decide they're better left alone. [[You put them in the cup holder.->Backseat Pouch]]

You pluck the mint out and examine. You think it's the right color, but you cannot be sure. Maybe somewhat faded. [[Put it in your mouth.]] [[You decide it's best to put it back.->Backseat Pouch]]

It melts in your mouth, but not in a good way, and tastes somewhat tinny. [[What else is back there?->Backseat Pouch]]

Crippled Crippled Crippled Crippled Crippled Crippled Crippled Crippled [[Turn down the volume.->Rising Sun Skips 2]] (set: $distraction to it + 1) (if: $distraction is 8)[CRASH]

CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled CrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippledCrippled (set: $distraction to it + 1) (if: $distraction >= 8)[ [[CRASH<-"Ah, fuck!"]] ] (if: $distraction < 8)[ [[Skip to track 6.]] ]

"Ah, fuck!" you exclaim. You do not see the patch of black ice barely visible in the rising sun reflecting off the country road. You swerve off the road into a tree; your head hits the steering wheel. [[D&D Dream<-Make a saving throw.]]

"One. That's a critical miss." "Nooooo!" the men around the table chorus. You look at them, your college buddies sitting around a table in a drab apartment building. "You swing your mace right past his head, slip on the slimy cavern floor, and hit your head on a stalagmite." "Whaaaat!" chimed the chorus. "You take 4 damage." As they wait for their turn, your friends take sips of cheap beer. You remember this moment, yet you notice this is not a memory; it feels like a lucid dream. (link: "You wave your arms around in the air.")[*Your friends give you a concerned look.*] (link: "You slap your friend sitting next to you.")[*"What's wrong with you, dude?"*] [[You try grabbing something.]]

You wave to him as you get in your car, unlock the door, and get in. (link: "You turn the key.")[ (go-to: (either: "Doesn't start", "Doesn't start", "Engine starts")) ]

George hands you an icicle and says to hold it against your head. [[You grab the icicle.]] [["I'll be fine, George. Thanks."->No icicle]]

You place it on your head for a bit. George waves goodbye as you unlock your car and get in. The icicle is a bit dirty. You toss it after George leaves as not to be rude. It did help a little. (link: "You turn the key.")[ (go-to: (either: "Doesn't start", "Doesn't start", "Engine starts")) ]

You wave to George, unlock your car, and get in. You don't want to be late. (link: "You turn the key.")[ (go-to: (either: "Doesn't start", "Doesn't start", "Engine starts")) ]

This is quite possibly your favorite song. You belt the lyrics at the top of your lungs. The only good part about your wife being dead is being able to turn the stereo up as loud as you want without her recourse. You get way into it. [[CRASH<-You close your eyes and sing into an imaginary microphone.]] [[CRASH<-You clap your hands above your head to the rhythm of the music.]]

You look down in front of you and grab the piece of paper. It's *Dungeons & Dragons* character sheet. In the top right corner you read: (link: "Tootles Sprinklebottom, the Gnomish Thief")[ (set: $class to "thief") (set: $race to "Gnome") (set: $DDname to "Tootles") (set: $attack to "sneak attack") (go-to: "D&D Battle")] (link: "Farthril Windbreaker, the Elven Mage")[ (set: $class to "mage") (set: $race to "Elf") (set: $DDname to "Farthril") (set: $attack to "Meteor Swarm") (go-to: "D&D Battle")] (link: "Fokya Mahtehr, the Half-Orc Fighter")[ (set: $class to "fighter") (set: $race to "Half-Orc") (set: $DDname to "Fokya") (Set: $attack to "weapon") (go-to: "D&D Battle") ]

You are $DDname, the $race $class. It is your turn. Your party members lay incapacitated on the cavern floor around you. You try to remember what creature it was that posed such a threat. (link: "You look on the table for a clue.")[*You guys were too poor for maps and figures. The game is in your head.*] (link: "Ask the DM.")[*He raises an eyebrow. "What number beer is that, man?"*] (link: "Peer behind the DM's cardboard.")[*He slugs you on the shoulder as everyone else laughs.*] [[Remember harder.]]

You furrow your brow. It kind of looks like you have to poop. [[Think harderer.]]

You fart a little, but something's coming back to you. You ask the DM, [["What do I know about this creature's weaknesses?"]]

"Make a knowledge check," he tells you. (link: "You grab your D4")[*"Wrong one."*] (link: "You grab your D6")[*"Nope."*] (link: "You grab your D8")[*"How long have we been playing this game?"*] (link: "You grab your D12")[*"Honestly..."*] [[You grab your D20.]]

"19," you tell him. "You don't really discern any new weaknesses, but you..." (link: "realize it's strange for a winged beast to be down in a cool cavern such as this. Did I mention she's livid and wants to eat you?")[ (set: $monster to "gynosphinx") (go-to: "Gynosphinx Battle")] (link: "sense that if you're not careful, this thing will eat your brain.")[ (set: $monster to "mind flayer") (go-to: "Mind Flayer Battle")] (link: "distinctly recall someone warning you they travel in packs.")[ (set: $monster to "displacer beast") (go-to: "Displacer Beast Battle")]

You creep toward the displacer beast at the end of the cavern. It hasn't spotted you yet. [[You ready your $attack.]]

You creep toward the mind flayer at the end of the cavern. It hasn't spotted you yet. [[Mind Flayer Battle 2<-You ready your $attack.]]

You wonder if the raging weather outside forced the $monster down into the cavern. (link: "You notice the lion-like claws on her feet.")[*Sure you do.*] (link: "You notice feathery texture of her sprawling wings.")[*How chivalrous.*] [[You notice her boobs.]]

"The very molecules of the beast vibrate in such a way that you can't quite tell where it was actually standing, sort of like trying to spear a fish." "So?" you find yourself asking. "Your $attack misses." "What?" "It's the displacer beasts turns now," says the DM. "Beasts?!" your party choruses. The first beast charges you. Your imagination becomes clear. [[Roll to become $DDname.]]

You become $DDname. This is probably not a good thing, you realize, as the midnight blue fur of the beast shines in the faint glimmer of your parties' torches. It charges, claws and fangs beared. You need to get out of here. Your party is near death. You feel the already inflicted wounds of former battle in the cavern. You remember that displacer beasts hate blink dogs. The teleportation would be handy right now. [[Roll to become a blink dog.]]

This is no longer a game. You are still a $race. The displacer beast wraps its thorned tentacles around your throat. A second and third beast appear from behind, contricting your parties' throats as dark blood oozes like oil down their necks and underneath their armor and robes. [[You see darkness.]]

[[Open your eyes.]]

"The mind flayer's skin is the color of a purpling bruise, and its tentacles look like a ready-to-burst blood blister. It droningly mutters words that sound less like language and more like its choking on its own tongue." "And?" "Your $attack misses." "What?" "It's the flayers' turns now," says the DM. "Flayers?!" your party choruses. The robed creature turns and lumbers towards you. You remember it cast a spell on you. Your imagination becomes clear. [[Mind Flayer Battle 3<-Roll to become $DDname.]]

You become $DDname. This is probably not a good thing, you realize, as the creature mutters its arcane tongue at you. The tentacles around its maw of a mouth rise and writhe. You hear its hideous whispers inside your head. You begin to ready your $attack on yourself instead. It has a tight mental grip on your brain. [[Roll to not have a brain.]]

This is no longer a game. You definitely have a brain. You are still a $race. You are still $DDname. You attempt to fight off the domination spell, but it's too much. [[You kill yourself->You see darkness.]]

Her hulking breasts remind you of bagged cantelope your mom used to have you bring inside from the car. Her loping speech snaps you from your very specific reverie. "$DDname, should you and your company like to make it out this cavern alive, there is something I require of you." [[You ask her what it is she requires.->Gyno 3]]

"I shall let you choose...would you like to unravel a riddle? Or would you like to lavish me with language?" [[Unravel her riddle.]] [[Lavish her with language.]]

"The cock crew, The sky was blue: The bells in heaven Were striking eleven. ‘Tis time for this poor soul To-" [[Gyno 4<-"Oh, fuck you and your *Ulysses* bullshit, Gary."]]

Then what is it you'd like to share? You search your bags but find only a strange scroll titled, "$title." [[Lavish 2<-You hand it to her, unsure.]]

"Who is Gary? Surely, tisn't me. Regardless, your answer remains satisfactory. For this, I shall devour you." With a coquettish grin, she reveals her lion-like fangs and leaps at you. You watch in horror as her fangs sink into your stomach, spilling its contents on the cavern floor. [[You see darkness.<-Your body slumps to the hard rock below.]]

After reading the first page, she roars. "What is this trite text you have gifted me?" With a anguished grin, she reveals her lion-like fangs and leaps at you. You watch in horror as her fangs sink into your stomach, spilling its contents on the cavern floor. [[You see darkness.<-Your body slumps to the hard rock below.]]

[[Sir<-"Sir?"]]

"Are you okay?" Your colleague looks at you, concerned. Your eyes begin to focus. You notice: [[her worn and loose-fitting black leather jacket.->Margaret]] [[Margaret<- her hair, which sticks out like the limbs of a leafless tree (in a good way).]]

It's Margeret Lively: professor in fiction; rockstar. You tell her you're sorry. [[Margaret 2<-You're just really tired.]] [[Margaret 2<-You've got a headache.]]

"We've got one more submission to discuss: Lee Baragrotus," she says. "The choose-your-own-adventure story you...we...allowed." [[You thought it was unique.->unique]] [[You thought it was hokey.->hokey]]

"Yeah, it's a bit on-the-nose, isn't it? I think it's funny how he thinks he knows what it's like to be a professor. Not even close." She passes the $book to you. Its feels like a small moleskine note$book, about 80 pages long. The author must have put something between the leathery cover and the cardboard that sticks up like thick veins. [[You don't like touching it.]] (set: $escape to it - 1)

"That's one way to describe it. The only hard-copy submission we allowed." She passes the $book to you. Its feels like a small moleskine note$book, about 80 pages long. The author must have put something between the leathery cover and the cardboard that sticks up like thick veins. [[You don't like touching it.]] (set: $escape to it + 1)

"It's a little dark and a little funny at times, but I highly doubt this kid has any serious writing chops beyond this misdirected satire." "Don't you find it just a little bit threatening that all the graduate professors in his story get killed?" Ethan Barker, the younger version of you, says. "I mean, I think this Lee Bara-whatever is seriously unhinged. This belongs with the FBI." [[Reject<-You offer that it should be rejected.]] [[Accept<-You suggest it belongs in the next round.]]

(set: $escape to it + 1) "Dr. $ddname, I respectfully disagree." "Same." [["What'd you call me?"]]

All faculty agree. "Let's go with the one where the wife has to choose between her husband or her horse instead," Ethan says. "I like the one that glorifies depression and suicide better," Margaret says. They argue the merits of each story further. When their heated debate hits a wall, they turn to you. You're in charge here. [[Ethan's choice - STORY VARIABLE SET<-"Ethan's right. The horse in that story is so much more than a horse, you know?"]] [[Margaret's choice<-"I'm with Margaret. The suicide one is really Bell Jar meets Infinite Jest but with its own refreshing perspective."]] [[Seniority<-"You two fight it out."]] [[Both of those sound insufferable. How are those the only two options left for the program's final slot?->bad options]] (set: $escape to it - 1)

Ethan looks at you, his face contorted in confusion. "I didn't call you anything. I just said I disagree. This thing is, well, where do I start? It uses second person, for one. Who is 'you'? Do they mean me? Or do they mean a character they've created? Neither makes sense." He seems frustrated. He pulls at his thick head of chestnut hair. Even when he lets go, it sticks up fashionably. You say: [[Actually, you're right. This is not complex. This is just convoluted.->Reject]] [["In a second-person story you, the reader, gets to roleplay. It's fun!"->The nightmares]] [[It's that exact dissonance that makes the story so delightfully eerie.->The nightmares]]

Through the depths of your slumber, your alarm sounds. From the small speakers in your phone you hear: "(link: "The Times They Are A-Changin'")[ (set: $song to "The Times They Are A-Changin'") (set: $lyrics to "Come writers and critics Who prophesize with your pen...") (go-to: "Alarm")]" "(link: "Here Comes the Sun.")[ (set: $song to "Here Comes the Sun") (set: $lyrics to "Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here...") (go-to: "Alarm")]" (set: $escape to 0)

"Sure, but does it fit into our program's ethos?" Margaret asks. She shifts toward the far end of the office, averting her gaze from the $book. "That and last night, after I took it home to read over..." Ethan starts but can't seem to finish the thought. Worry furrows his brow. His chest rises and falls faster than usual, like he's just got back from one of his morning runs. [["What is it, Ethan?->The nightmares 2]] [[Ignore his ramblings. Accept the $book.->Send the email.]]

[[Write an acceptance letter.->Letter sent]] [[Write an acceptance email.->Email sent]]

"Nothing, sir. It's dumb." Ethan rubs the back of his neck, looking just past you, out the window at the dead snowy campus. [["You can tell me, Ian."]]

Shock and awe cross Ethan's glowing face. "Yes! That's what I've been saying this whole time but Margaret won't listen." Margaret, with a look of ire, says, "The narrative depth is shallower than a Lifetime original. And its plot structure is...well there *is* none. [[Horse Accepted<-"Naught but a god may see the structure of our entropic world."]] [[Horse Accepted<-"I just like the horsey."]] [["I see your point, Dr. Lively. Maybe something else?"]]

"Glad you saw the light," Margaret says. You click through the files on your computer and find the suicide story. "Ideation" it's called. The author's name at the top says: (link: "Lexie Brushthwick.")[\ (set: $student to "Lexie")\ (go-to: "STUDENT SET")\ ] (link: "Levi Baklar.")[\ (set: $student to "Levi")\ (go-to: "STUDENT SET")\ ] (link: "Laurel Butte.")[\ (set: $student to "Laurel")\ (go-to: "STUDENT SET")\ ]

Ethan and Margaret argue for some time. Fists slam desks; $books fly threw the air. It's no surprise to you Margaret makes it out on top. "I have seniority anwyay," she says. Ethan looks to you with pleading eyes. "Sir?" [[Margaret's choice<-You give Ethan a resigned shrug.]]

"I'm sorry, is your name Helen Zell?" Margaret asks, turning on you. (link: "Is it?")[*It's not.*] (link: "Yes.")[*No, it really isn't.*] [[Margaret mad<-"No..."]]

"For our final slot, we can go with the suicide one," Margaret says. "It's tasteful, I promise." Ethan snorts derisively. [[Stick with the horse one->Horse Accepted]] [[Go with the suicide one->Suicide Accepted]] [[Actually, that choose your own adventure one is sounding pretty good.->Accept]]

"Somehow you two manage to be imbeciles and elitists simultaneously," Margaret says. "But if I'm outvoted, go ahead and send the email to...what was her name?" You click through the files on your computer and find the horse story. The author's name at the top says: (link: "Lexie Brushthwick.")[\ (set: $student to "Lexie")\ (go-to: "STUDENT SET")\ ] (link: "Levi Baklar.")[\ (set: $student to "Levi")\ (go-to: "STUDENT SET")\ ] (link: "Laurel Butte.")[\ (set: $student to "Laurel")\ (go-to: "STUDENT SET")\ ]

"Oh right, $student," Margaret says. You send the acceptance email, which your department hand-crafted to contain the perfect amount of suspense for the MFA hopefuls reading. The first sentence entirely ambiguous, the second one hinting at success yet open to interpretation, the third finally stating acceptance. [[The $book<-You championed the idea. Life imitates art.]] [[The $book<-You found it a bit cruel but your colleagues insisted.]]

"Gods, I'm glad that's over," Margaret says. "Early lunch?" Ethan says, pointing at Margaret. "Early lunch?" Another finger aimed your way. "It's only ten," Margaret says. The idea sounds good to you. You have a strong sensation to leave this stuffy dungeon of an office. But there's something still left to be done. (link: "Drink the rest of your coffee.")[*It's too cold to finish.*] (link: "Check your email.")[*598 unread emails. The latest, from $student, contains ''a lot'' of exclamation points.*] [[Something else.->the $book]]

The $book. It's waiting for you on the desk. [[Burn it.]] [[Tear it apart.]] [[Take it home with you.]]

You reach reflexively into your blazer's inner pocket. [[You haven't smoked in almost two decades.]]

You pick up the $book in both hands, half its pages in each hand. With a grunt, you pull as hard as you can. "Don't you think we should send it back to its owner?" Ethan asks. "No return address," Margaret says. [[The $book will not tear.]]

You tell your colleagues you'll take the $book home with you. "Not ready to give it up, huh??" Margaret asks. "We don't have the budget for another candidate," Ethan says. "Just get rid of it. There's no return address." He pauses, swallows. "Besides...last night, after I took it home to read over..." Ethan starts but can't seem to finish the thought. Worry furrows his brow. His chest rises and falls faster than usual, like he's just got back from one of his morning runs. [["What is it, Ethan?->The nightmares 2b]] [[Ignore his ramblings. Accept the $book.->Go home.]]

One of your other colleagues must smoke. You've smelled it before despite the campus' zero tolerance "No Smoking" policy. (link-goto: "Determine the smoker.", (either: "Must be Someone Else", "Margaret Smokes", "Wrong about Ethan Smoking"))

You perform what you think is an extremely inconspicuous sniff test and determine no one in this office smokes. It must be someone else. You decide burning the $book is impractical. [[I'll tear it apart instead->Tear it apart.]] [[I'll just take it home.->Take it home with you.]]

You perform what you think is an extremely inconspicuous sniff test and determine it has to be Margaret. You're pretty sure she's French or lived in France. Or somewhere in Europe once. It's probably her. [[Ask her for a lighter.->Margaret Lighter]] [[Forget the lighter. Just tear it apart.->Tear it apart.]] [[Grab the $book and take it home instead.->Take it home with you.]]

"A lighter?" Ethan asks, raising an eyebrow. "I don't smoke; my body is a temple." "You get Dunkin' Donuts literally every morning," Margaret says. "I don't know what sugary cesspool you slurp down but I know it can't be healthy. I can hear it from my office." "Okay, fine, it's a temple for my daily Dunkin' but other than that..." [[Forget the lighter. Just tear it apart.->Tear it apart.]] [[Grab the $book and take it home instead.->Take it home with you.]]

"A lighter?" she asks. "I don't own a lighter." [[She does. Press her.]] [[Apologize.->"Oh sorry."]]

You hold out your hand, giving her a knowing look. Exasperated, she sighs, reaches into her purse on the chair, and hands over a lighter. "Happy?" she says with a roll of her eyes. You thank her and flick the lighter on. [[burn the $book<- Set the flame underneath the $book.]]

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Don't worry about it," she says with a knowing smile. You still think you're right but you decide to drop it. Instead... [[Forget the lighter. Just tear it apart with your bare hands.->Tear it apart.]] [[Grab the $book and take it home.->Take it home with you.]]

You take the $book and hold it over the garbage can, the lighter in your other hand. (link: "Flick")[(t8n: "dissolve")[(link: "Flick")[(t8n: "dissolve")[(link-goto: "Flick")]]]] the wheel of the lighter to burn the $book.

The skin of your hands burns with the effort but no matter how hard you pull, the $book remains intact. "What is that thing made of?" Ethan asks. "Let me see it," Margaret says. [[Hand it over.]] [[Tell her, no, this is a sign.->accept]]

She takes a crack at it. So does Ethan. Neither of them can manage to destroy this $book. The paper itself seems to be stronger than leather. "You're the program director," Ethan says. "It's your problem. I'm taking an early day off. I don't feel so great." He holds his head. "Yeah, I'm feeling wiped," Margaret says. "Let's go home." "Alright," you say. "See you both tomorrow." (link: "Take the $book and go home.")[(set: $bookhave to 1)(goto: "Go home.")] (link: "Leave the $book and go home.")[(set: $bookhave to 0)(goto: "Go home.")]

"No, it's not," Margaret says. "We don't have the reputation to pull in the best stories. We get what we get." Ethan chuckles at you. [[Ethan's choice - STORY VARIABLE SET<-"I'm going with Ethan's story then. At least the horse in that story is so much more than a horse, you know?"]] [[Margaret's choice<-"I concede, Margaret. The suicide one is really Bell Jar meets Infinite Jest but with its own refreshing perspective. Let's go with that"]] [[Seniority<-"I'll not have this blood on my hands. You two fight it out."]]

"Did you just call me Ian? You know I hate that. That's my idiot brother's..." Ethan's droning fades away as you look at your desk. Something feels off. You shift your keyboard just so and tidy stacks of papers, aligning the corners perfectly. (link: "Sorry, I...")["It's fine. Forget it.] [[Write an acceptance letter.->Letter sent]] [[Write an acceptance email.->Email sent]]

Since the story has a lot to do with aging, one thing the $book could do if not in its rightful place is destroy the memories of the protagonist. photos get destroyed. hard drives get wiped. dreams get vague. monstrous vague versions form outside. nightmares form from good dreams. if and when the $book gets accepted. it destroys the voices of his classmates. but his lectures are amazing and he feels alive again in the classroom. female grad students flock to him. he realizes he must destroy the $book. but the player feels happy and can't do anything about it. they keep clicking through the same scenario until finally something pops up if they do the right thing which finally gives them the option to burn the $book. you have to team up with one of your grad students instead of sleeping with them. only they can burn the $book. you cannot do it. end - destroy the $book and the file corrupts corruption *click* corruption...you keep clicking and nothing really happens accept mumbo jumbo. then you're back in your car for the epilogue. you punch in the track number code correctly (where does he get this info?) and the CD comes out finally. Game Over.

You type up the letter to one Lee Baragrotus, print it out on official letterhead, and seal it an envelope. [[Mail it yourself.->mail letter]] [[Leave it for your assistant.->assistant]]

You send the acceptance email to Lee Baragrotus. which your department hand-crafted to contain the perfect amount of suspense for the MFA hopefuls reading. The first sentence entirely ambiguous, the second one hinting at success yet open to interpretation, the third finally stating acceptance. [[Hit send.->no email address]]

The email goes through. The selection is over. You have your MFA candidates ready for the coming semester. (link: "But wait.")[(t8n: "dissolve")[(link: "Something isn't right.")[(t8n: "dissolve")[(link-goto: "The email...")]]]]

It was a physical submission. The applicant provided no email. You wonder what email address you even typed in. [[Check your sent folder.->what email]]

You click your sent folder, then the latest sent email. The address reads: {(live: 1.5s)[$monster](live: 1s)[$track](stop:)(live: .05s)[@(either: "yahoo.com", "gmail.com", "aol.net", "rocketmail.com", "hotmail.com", "outlook.com", "icloud.com")]} {(live: 4s)[[[Squint your eyes.->squint]]](stop:)} {(live: 6.5s)[[[Shut down the computer.->lee chosen]]](stop:)} {(live: 8s)[[[Unplug it from the wall.->lee chosen]]](stop:)}

Your eyes focus. The address in the "To" field reads: $monster $track@(either: "yahoo.com", "gmail.com", "aol.net", "rocketmail.com", "hotmail.com", "outlook.com", "icloud.com"). The longer you look, the more your head hurts. You whince as you hold it. Suddenly you become self-conscious and look up at your colleagues, but they aren't there. It doesn't matter. The decision is made. [[Go home.]]

The screen flickers, then goes blank. Your head hurts. You whince as you hold it. Suddenly you become self-conscious and look up at your colleagues, but they aren't there. It doesn't matter. The decision is made. [["What now?" you ask. "What about the $book?->almosthome2]]

With a last lick and the press of a stamp, you take the letter outside to the postal box and slip it in. A thick morning haze lingers in your mind. A flash of letters and numbers flood your sight. What address did you send that letter to? (live: 5s)[Lee Baragrotus](stop:) (live: 7s)[(live: .04s)[(random: 0, 9)](live: .12s)[(random: 0, 9)](live: .36s)[(random: 0, 9)] $Monster (live: .04s)[(either: "St.", "Ave.", "Road")]](stop:) (live: 9s)[(live: .12s)[(either: "Mount", "St.", "Black", "Crested", "Grand", "Green", "New", "Red", "San", "Fort")] (live: .24s)[(either: "Park", "Ridge", "Butte", "City", "Springs", "Village", "Lake", "Ford", "Cliff", "Creek", "View", "Falls", "Heights", "River")] 8(live: .04s)[(random: 0, 1)](live: .04s)[(random: 0, 9)](live: .04s)[(random: 0, 9)](live: .04s)[(random: 0, 9)]](stop:) (live: 13s)["What now?" you ask. "What about [[the $book->almosthome2]]?"]

You don't have an assistant any more. (set: $agencap to (either: "they", "she", "he")) Not that long ago, $agencap... [[died.]] [[quit.]] [[disappeared.]]

In a car crash. The local paper said $agencap'd been distracted, trying to change the CD in the stereo. [[Mail it yourself.->mail letter]] [[On second thought, an email would be easier.->Email sent]]

On their last day you cursed yourself for not buying a gift. To your surprise, $agencap gave you something instead. Harrison's //Brainwashed,// the CD still stuck in your car; $agencap must've remembered you complaining that you couldn't listen to your records in your car. [[Mail it yourself.->mail letter]] [[On second thought, an email would be easier.->Email sent]]

Before $agencap went missing, they gave you a CD. Harrison's //Brainwashed,// the one still stuck in your stereo. It was a gift given after you complained that you couldn't listen to your records in your car. [[Mail it yourself.->mail letter]] [[On second thought, an email would be easier.->Email sent]]

(if: $bookhave is 1)[You take the $book with with you. Its texture makes your skin crawl. After wishing your coworkers well, you head [[home.->ACT 3 BEGINS]]] (else-if: $bookhave is 0)[You leave the $book on your desk. You wish your coworkers well, and head out. As you leave the building, you can't shake the feeling that something watches you from the windows above as you pull out of the parking lot and head [[home.->ACT 3 BEGINS]]]

"Fine," Ethan says. "But you'll never hear the end of this when the Lifetime original airs and it's based on that story!" "I think it's best we're not associated from that disgustingly sexist channel," Margaret says. "Go ahead and send the email to...what was her name?" You click through the files on your computer and find the suicide story. The author's name at the top says: (link: "Lexie Brushthwick.")[\ (set: $student to "Lexie")\ (go-to: "STUDENT SET")\ ] (link: "Levi Baklar.")[\ (set: $student to "Levi")\ (go-to: "STUDENT SET")\ ] (link: "Laurel Butte.")[\ (set: $student to "Laurel")\ (go-to: "STUDENT SET")\ ]

"Nothing, sir. It's dumb." Ethan rubs the back of his neck, looking just past you, out the window at the dead snowy campus. [["You can tell me, Ian."->nightmares 3]]

"No, it really isn't," Margaret says. "You already informed our candidate," Ethan says. "There's no turning back." [[Your eyes wander toward the $book.->almost home]]

"You're the program director," Ethan says. "It's your problem. I'm taking an early day off. I don't feel so great." He holds his head. "Yeah, I'm feeling wiped," Margaret says. "Let's go home." "Alright," you say. "See you both tomorrow." (link: "Take the $book and go home.")[(set: $bookhave to 1)(goto: "Go home.")] (link: "Leave the $book and go home.")[(set: $bookhave to 0)(goto: "Go home.")]

With a third rotation, the lighter ignites. The fire wavers. You place the flame to the $book. (mouseover-append: "the $book.")[ But it doesn't want to (link-reveal: "burn.")[ Even the pages refuse to catch (link-reveal: "fire.")[ [[What is this ungodly thing made of?]] ]]]

"Must have some kind fire retardant," Margaret says. "They must be very protective of their work. Strange there's no self-addressesd envelope. Or a return address of any kind." (link-reveal: "Margaret glances over at Ethan.")[ (link-reveal: '"What are you gawking at?"')[[[ "I didn't know you smoked!"->burn sequence end]]]]

"Not the point," Margaret says. "And only when I'm drinking..." "You drink?" Ethan asks. "Not everyone is a teetotaler." "If it's good enough for Shaw, it's good enough for me." (link: "I'm more of a Lovecraft.")[(set: $alcoholic to 0)(goto: "No Drink")] (link: "I'm more of a Hemingway.")[(set: $alcoholic to 1)(goto: "Yes Drink")]

"Sir, I didn't know you were a racist," Margaret says with a coy smile. Ethan's face crumples with incredulity. "It was a different time!" "Oh please, stop," Margaret says, with a hand raised. "I was only kidding and I refuse to relitigate this." Ethan huffs. [[Weigh in.]] (link-reveal: "Not touching this one.")[ [[Time to decide what to do with this $book.]]]

"If you decide to take a shotgun to yourself, just do it at home," Margaret says. "Did you know that Hemingway had severe liver problems, depression, and dementia?" (link: "Yes")[Or that he received electroshock therapy twice and thought the FBI was watching him? [[Yes.->Hemingway facts]] [[Nope.->Hemingway facts]] ] (link: "No.")[Yep. And did you know that he received electroshock therapy twice and thought the FBI was watching him? [[Yes.->Hemingway facts]] [[Nope.->Hemingway facts]] ]

You say some sort of drivel about separating the art from the artist. Margaret's eyes roll. Ethan chimes in, "You can't deny his influence on the horror genre. And pop culture in general." Margaret lets out the most exhausted sigh you've ever heard. "Sure, but maybe writers could start creating their own cosmic horrors instead of revamping Cthulu for the thousandth fucking time." [[Everyone's eyes settle on the $book.]]

Ethan chimes in, "You can't deny his influence on the horror genre. And pop culture in general." Margaret lets out the most exhausted sigh you've ever heard. "Sure, but maybe writers could start creating their own cosmic horrors instead of revamping Cthulu for the thousandth fucking time." [[Forget burning it. Just tear it apart with the hands God gave you.->Tear it apart.]] [[Grab the $book and take it home.->Take it home with you.]]

"Yeah," Ethan continues, his face beaming with excitement. "And actually, oddly enough, he was. I think it had something to do with his involvement in Cuba or something. I forget." [["I guess I'll watch what I drink then."]] [["Oh well. I wanna go out with a bang."]] [["Is that all?"]]

A smug smile creeps across Ethan's face. "So about the $book?" Margaret asks. [[Forget burning it. Just tear it apart with the hands God gave you.->Tear it apart.]] [[Grab the $book and take it home.->Take it home with you.]]

"I'm probably forgetting something," Ethan says. "Let me pull up his Wikipedia page." "No," Margaret says, "Stop. Please spare us. We need to figure out what to do with this $book. Sir?" [[Forget burning it. Just tear it apart with the hands God gave you.->Tear it apart.]] [[Grab the $book and take it home.->Take it home with you.]]

Ethan shakes his head, equal parts smugness and sympathy. "Glad someone here knows how to live," Margaret says, cheersing an invisible draught. "So about the $book?" [[Forget burning it. Just tear it apart with the hands God gave you.->Tear it apart.]] [[Grab the $book and take it home.->Take it home with you.]]

"Speaking of," Margaret says, "what are we doing with the necronomicon here?" [[Forget burning it. Just tear it apart with the hands God gave you.->Tear it apart.]] [[Grab the $book and take it home.->Take it home with you.]]

(live: 1s)[Act Three coming soon.] (live: 4s)[Thanks for playing!] (live: 7s)[Feel free to leave feedback in the comments.] (live: 10s)[Ignore Lee. He's a dick.] (live: 13s)[If you'd like to play again, I recommend you close out of the window and come back to this page to reset any variables.]