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WritingPrompts_binarized

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[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	This would be like a TV game show where after you accept the shitty payout (and defeat), they show you that if you trusted your gut and didn’t choke, you’d have left with at least 3 xs what you’re pessimist ass is now going home with.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	The tome lay heavy in my hand. Immaculate penmanship neatly filled every page even as the number of pages stretched and warped to fit perhaps an infinite number within the leather-clad bindings. Death, for who else could it have been, stood silently within the hooded robe concealing his face. "This," I started to say, wanting to make sure I understood what I had been given. "This contains the stories of all the possible decisions I could have made, all my choices and their consequences... from birth all the way to my inevitable deaths?" "YES." I stared at the book. My whole life, no, all my possible lives. Every selfless and selfish decision, all the heroic and villanous moments, with the opposite paths laid out to show what could have been. What never had been. I closed the book, feeling an anger rising from within. "Take it." "WHAT?" "Take it," I said again, holding the book out to his skeletal fingers. "Burn it." Empty sockets stared at me as the tome, page still open to perfect parchment, was lifted from my hands. Death paused then asked, "WHY?" I glared back at the skull. "I lived my life. I made my choices. Good and bad, they were mine. The consequences were mine and I'll own those forever. Being brave enough to believe in the fantasy of love and then working hard to make it a reality? Mine. Choosing to be a father to a child who's sad fate seemed already written and holding her close as she died? Mine. Dealing with betrayals and pain? Mine. Moments of weakness, cowardice, and of laziness? Mine. What may have been is meaningless." With a growl I pointed at the book. "That isn't real. That isn't true. My choices made me who I am. All the way to when you fished me out of the wreckage my body had become. There's no point in either wallowing in over how much better things could have been, or letting myself swell with pride over how things could have been worse. What was, was. And I am who I am. So burn that, throw it away. I don't want it." With a loud snap, Death closed the book. As I watched, it burst into flames and quickly became ash flowing away in the ethereal wind. I felt a tension in my soul ease and I asked, "Now what?" Behind the dark figure a light had begun to shine. "NOW YOU ARE READY FOR WHAT COMES NEXT." He moved aside. And I walked forward.	The book about my life will indeed be full of adventures with all the right and wrong decisions I have ever made. There will be part of the book that will mention my decision to marry a guy who would eventually abandon me and my son but it will also mention that out of that wrong decision, the outcome was the best thing that ever happened to me, my son.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I was smiling as I read the first hundred pages or so. Those were the early days of my life. When I was still young and was playing terrible make believe games with my brothers and sisters. The multitude of choices here never amounted to anything significant. Decided to agree with sisters; Page 539 Decided to agree with brothers; Page 540 No real differences that amounted to anything bigger. That was fine. I was actually sort of relieved at that, relieved to know that those choices could never really affect what happened later on. "You're stalling," He said. The tone wasn't accusatory nor was it complacent. It just sort of was. Pissed me off a bit actually. "Yeah, I am," I scoffed turning to him. "These were the better days. Can't I enjoy them?" "You can't leave unless the book is done. Those are the rules," He answered. Again, you couldn't get anything out of his voice. It just sort of was. "Is there a problem if I don't go?" "No. The schedule can be changed." "Than let me read at my own pace, okay?" I called as I turned to the book again. "'Sides, I'm not going to read all of it." I wasn't lying. One of my many faults. I wasn't going to waste my time reading every single one of the outcomes that could have occurred if I had chosen a different path. Just the cliff-notes of 'em. I turned back to the index to look up what I believed was the big turning point of my life. When I was finally able to see that the cogs weren't alright. The fight at the bar; Page 12,443 I threw the pages until I found what I was looking for. I was actually surprised when I saw that there weren't many choices for this point in my life. Through a knock-out punch; Page 12,511 Through a punch; Page 12,444 Both scenarios had me fighting which was odd. I thought that maybe there would have been a choice that didn't have me fighting. Guess that wasn't in my path. I turned to the end of the fight, knowing that if this wasn't origin point of what I become, than the end of the fight would have been. Lo' and Behold I was right. Go back to drinking; Page 12,677 Scare his mates; Page 12,788 Glass his mates; Page 12,877 Finish the fight; Page 12, 554 That was it. The point where my life started. I flipped forward a bunch of pages to see what my choice where at another point. I actually laughed out loud when I saw that there were only three options. Join; Page 23,111 Ignore; Page 23,311 Rat them out; Page 24,555 "Zeus be damned, I was set up from the start," I said as I continued to read down the path I had taken. Burn the church; Page 25,666 Burn the Government Building; Page 25,776 Execute the Bishop; Page 25,987 Let the crowds handle him: Page 26,001 Throw the Molotov Cocktail; Page 27,244 Use the flamethrower; Page 27,300 Hang the Arch-Bishop; Page 34,101 Behead the Arch-Bishop; Page 34,180 Fire the first shot; Page 35,188 Call in for a Volley Fire; Page 35,201 Blow up the Parliament Building; Page 36,333 Storm the Parliament Building; Page 36, 389 I continued to read down the path I had chosen, only occasionally glancing at the other possible outcomes of the action I could've taken. My smile never faded as I continued to read down the list of the methods of torture, the people killed, the lives thrown into chaos, the bodies that drowned in the wake of the choices I made. When I was satisfied with what I read, I loudly slammed the book. Just I was began to reach into my pocket, he called over, " Ready to go on?" "Give me a sec," I said, as I pulled out my trusty friend. Without a second thought, I flick it up and let the flames lick at the edges of the book. It was only a couple more second before the book I was holding in my hands had caught fire and was burning with a strangely calming orange flame. After I felt satisfied with the results of my actions, I walked over the him, throwing the book over my shoulder. "It will not be destroyed." "Figured as much. The place seemed to Holy and shit," I answered with a smile. "So, did I get to pick the ride or it just an instantaneous thing. I always figure that singing 'Highway to Hell' while headin' to hell would always be funny as hell." "You don't have any qualms about your actions?" The only time I could tell there was an emotion or a hint of something human. "No. I was broken from the start. Besides, I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't chosen the revolution, I would have been a lot less justified in my doings. Maybe some good came out of my actions. Maybe some didn't. I don't really care. I know where I was headed the second, I start on my path. I just hope you guys do your worst."	The book about my life will indeed be full of adventures with all the right and wrong decisions I have ever made. There will be part of the book that will mention my decision to marry a guy who would eventually abandon me and my son but it will also mention that out of that wrong decision, the outcome was the best thing that ever happened to me, my son.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	First time, and typed on a phone in the middle of the night. Please be gentle... The book, if you could call it a book, was handed to me with an air of indifference that I did not believe was befitting of my life. A cross between what I understood as a hard drive and a chose your owb adventure, all of the billions upon billions of versions of me were stored upon this one device. I looked up. The thing that had handed me the device was gone. All that was left was the burning curiousity and the fright that I had wasted my life. I skimmed through my life. Love, loss, success, failure. From my first kiss to the death of my father, every moment. I relived it all, just as realistic as if it was the present. I stopped. I had lived my life. Time to see the path of an alternate me. School gymnasium, 1998. Final year of school. I chose differently. No longer did I ask for Angela's number after the exam. Instead, I sat in anticipation, waiting to feel the difference of my life without her. Without my Angel. Ready to see if I could bear my life without her. I waited, slumped, head down at my desk. My life, lost, in a moment. I wasn't sure if I was ready to see if I could live without her. I hear feet approach my desk. Somewhere, outside the gymnasium, she would be saying her goodbyes. Where I was, those 20 years ago. My life had been short, but it had been worth it with her. "Hi". I looked up. She had waited.	The book about my life will indeed be full of adventures with all the right and wrong decisions I have ever made. There will be part of the book that will mention my decision to marry a guy who would eventually abandon me and my son but it will also mention that out of that wrong decision, the outcome was the best thing that ever happened to me, my son.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I died alone. Missing my children and wife after the car crash 30 years ago. I had had a few drinks that night and though technically sober, I always felt like it was my fault or wondered what I could have done better.. In my grief, i left the home we built together and all friends we had made over the years would write and call occasionally, but would always want to start talking about how I had to buck up or move on. I had tried to date, even had a few great dogs to keep me company over the years but it was never the same. I decided to get over my fears by helping others. I joined AA, I helped build parks and named the playgrounds after my children. I even named a bench for my wife and ate there every Sunday for nearly 30 years. When I finally died and went to heaven, I was given a book. It was strange though. I got to read about the lives of all the decisions s that never happened because of that one day. I got to see pictures of my children going to prom. I got to see my wife get old. I couldn’t believe it but I was supposed to have twins! St Peter looked at me and asked me a single question. “Would you do things differently now that you know what you lost”? I heard later other people waited decades before answering, but I knew my answer immediately. “No. I have made mistakes, many of them in my lifetime. However, if this is heaven, my wife and kids are here and already know that I never stopped loving them and went on with my life helping others each day while thinking of them”. St Peter smiled and said “welcome back to your family”.	The book about my life will indeed be full of adventures with all the right and wrong decisions I have ever made. There will be part of the book that will mention my decision to marry a guy who would eventually abandon me and my son but it will also mention that out of that wrong decision, the outcome was the best thing that ever happened to me, my son.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	The book about my life will indeed be full of adventures with all the right and wrong decisions I have ever made. There will be part of the book that will mention my decision to marry a guy who would eventually abandon me and my son but it will also mention that out of that wrong decision, the outcome was the best thing that ever happened to me, my son.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Heaven's a great library, and everyone has a library card. Even those destined for hell have a library card. I was alone, sat in a room with a large book. It's cover was dusty, as if waiting for me. I knew as soon as I opened it that time would stand still. God told me that. God told me everything that wasn't in this book. I could have been a painter, a truly great painter like Rembrandt. The book had all these illustrations I drew, every single one. From doodles on napkins to a mural I could have painted in a Roman cathedral. My real life, the one that ended much sooner than this chapter was a good read. I saw all my decisions at once. I always seemed to take the destructive path, the immoral path. I knew what I had achieved in life, but to see it all on paper is something else. A long list of every life I had touched, had maimed, had been in the presence of. The book had no end, there was an infinite number of pages. More of them dedicated to my possibilities of being a world class artist. By comparison, my real life was miniscule and short. "Do you regret any choices you've made?" asked God. "No." I lied. "Well, maybe the suicide." "Of course" said God, "we all regret our death. If we had just one more day, we could rule the world." "I did rule the world, once." I said. "Once." God led me up from the chair and down a set of stairs. A long and winding staircase. The heat was unbearable by the time I got to the last step. "Adolf, my son, this is your room." said God.	The book about my life will indeed be full of adventures with all the right and wrong decisions I have ever made. There will be part of the book that will mention my decision to marry a guy who would eventually abandon me and my son but it will also mention that out of that wrong decision, the outcome was the best thing that ever happened to me, my son.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	The book about my life will indeed be full of adventures with all the right and wrong decisions I have ever made. There will be part of the book that will mention my decision to marry a guy who would eventually abandon me and my son but it will also mention that out of that wrong decision, the outcome was the best thing that ever happened to me, my son.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	C.S. Lewis was apparently wrong, when he put the words, “'To know what would have happened, child?' said Aslan. 'No. Nobody is ever told that',” into the mouth of his character. Because I had a book in front of me that purported to tell just that. 'Dale Irving, 1927 to 2018, 18 Choices and Their Consequences.' “18? That's quite good, the average is 10 you know,” The angel who had handed me the book said reading it's title over my shoulder. “10 what?” Its eyes were very kind and its voice was calm and soothing, “10 Choices, the average person Chooses 10 times.” “What?” I asked, and then because I could tell from the look of nearly infinite patients in it's eyes that it was going to explain the exact same thing using slightly different words, I clarified. “The average person makes thousands of choices. Probably thousands a day. You can choose to snooze the alarm or turn it off, then you choose to get up or go back to sleep. You brush your hair first or your teeth. There are several routes you could take to work or you could just drive in a random direction until you don't know anyone and no one there has ever seen you before.” “Those are just reaction,” the angel said. “Chemicals in your brain combine, it sets off cascades through your nerves, and eventually your bodies move. You don't Choose.” It was an argument I'd heard before, of course. Everyone has. We're just meat machines. Wires and gears. I started to make the argument that had worked in life, “Quantum...” The angel cut me off it's voice filled with a well of kindness deeper than the sea. “Certain quantum scale reactions aree stochastic in character. But a coin flip isn't a Choice either.” I looked down at the book. “But they do exist?” “You have Free Will.” For the barest instant, wrapped around the word 'you' I got the impression of sadness in the angelic voice. I wonder if perhaps there wasn't a book out there with it's name on it. “It's HIS proudest accomplishment. It pulls you up off the plane of reality and in that instant You Choose free of all else.” I was still looking at the book. Perhaps 18 wasn't so bad a number after all. I had lived an extraordinary life. I had invented incredible things, made a vast fortune, then pumped it back into making the world a better place. “So now I read this and learn what they were? What would have happened if I'd Chosen something else?” “Yes.” “And then?” The angel smiled, a warm golden expression, “And then you learn more about Choosing and how to do it more often.”	The book about my life will indeed be full of adventures with all the right and wrong decisions I have ever made. There will be part of the book that will mention my decision to marry a guy who would eventually abandon me and my son but it will also mention that out of that wrong decision, the outcome was the best thing that ever happened to me, my son.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	The tome lay heavy in my hand. Immaculate penmanship neatly filled every page even as the number of pages stretched and warped to fit perhaps an infinite number within the leather-clad bindings. Death, for who else could it have been, stood silently within the hooded robe concealing his face. "This," I started to say, wanting to make sure I understood what I had been given. "This contains the stories of all the possible decisions I could have made, all my choices and their consequences... from birth all the way to my inevitable deaths?" "YES." I stared at the book. My whole life, no, all my possible lives. Every selfless and selfish decision, all the heroic and villanous moments, with the opposite paths laid out to show what could have been. What never had been. I closed the book, feeling an anger rising from within. "Take it." "WHAT?" "Take it," I said again, holding the book out to his skeletal fingers. "Burn it." Empty sockets stared at me as the tome, page still open to perfect parchment, was lifted from my hands. Death paused then asked, "WHY?" I glared back at the skull. "I lived my life. I made my choices. Good and bad, they were mine. The consequences were mine and I'll own those forever. Being brave enough to believe in the fantasy of love and then working hard to make it a reality? Mine. Choosing to be a father to a child who's sad fate seemed already written and holding her close as she died? Mine. Dealing with betrayals and pain? Mine. Moments of weakness, cowardice, and of laziness? Mine. What may have been is meaningless." With a growl I pointed at the book. "That isn't real. That isn't true. My choices made me who I am. All the way to when you fished me out of the wreckage my body had become. There's no point in either wallowing in over how much better things could have been, or letting myself swell with pride over how things could have been worse. What was, was. And I am who I am. So burn that, throw it away. I don't want it." With a loud snap, Death closed the book. As I watched, it burst into flames and quickly became ash flowing away in the ethereal wind. I felt a tension in my soul ease and I asked, "Now what?" Behind the dark figure a light had begun to shine. "NOW YOU ARE READY FOR WHAT COMES NEXT." He moved aside. And I walked forward.	"Die." That is what was written on the cover of my book. "Die." No, I tell a lie. I wasn't holding a book in my hands, but a simple cardboard sheet that bore only that simple word. "Die." I remember that much, though I didn't know the word at the time. I felt my body torn apart. I felt pain. I screamed howls that no-one ever heard. All around me, everyone else, it seemed, had books of adventure. Mystery, options. I ... I had a mother who did not want me. I had no choices in my life. No pages. A life of no memories. "Die."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I was smiling as I read the first hundred pages or so. Those were the early days of my life. When I was still young and was playing terrible make believe games with my brothers and sisters. The multitude of choices here never amounted to anything significant. Decided to agree with sisters; Page 539 Decided to agree with brothers; Page 540 No real differences that amounted to anything bigger. That was fine. I was actually sort of relieved at that, relieved to know that those choices could never really affect what happened later on. "You're stalling," He said. The tone wasn't accusatory nor was it complacent. It just sort of was. Pissed me off a bit actually. "Yeah, I am," I scoffed turning to him. "These were the better days. Can't I enjoy them?" "You can't leave unless the book is done. Those are the rules," He answered. Again, you couldn't get anything out of his voice. It just sort of was. "Is there a problem if I don't go?" "No. The schedule can be changed." "Than let me read at my own pace, okay?" I called as I turned to the book again. "'Sides, I'm not going to read all of it." I wasn't lying. One of my many faults. I wasn't going to waste my time reading every single one of the outcomes that could have occurred if I had chosen a different path. Just the cliff-notes of 'em. I turned back to the index to look up what I believed was the big turning point of my life. When I was finally able to see that the cogs weren't alright. The fight at the bar; Page 12,443 I threw the pages until I found what I was looking for. I was actually surprised when I saw that there weren't many choices for this point in my life. Through a knock-out punch; Page 12,511 Through a punch; Page 12,444 Both scenarios had me fighting which was odd. I thought that maybe there would have been a choice that didn't have me fighting. Guess that wasn't in my path. I turned to the end of the fight, knowing that if this wasn't origin point of what I become, than the end of the fight would have been. Lo' and Behold I was right. Go back to drinking; Page 12,677 Scare his mates; Page 12,788 Glass his mates; Page 12,877 Finish the fight; Page 12, 554 That was it. The point where my life started. I flipped forward a bunch of pages to see what my choice where at another point. I actually laughed out loud when I saw that there were only three options. Join; Page 23,111 Ignore; Page 23,311 Rat them out; Page 24,555 "Zeus be damned, I was set up from the start," I said as I continued to read down the path I had taken. Burn the church; Page 25,666 Burn the Government Building; Page 25,776 Execute the Bishop; Page 25,987 Let the crowds handle him: Page 26,001 Throw the Molotov Cocktail; Page 27,244 Use the flamethrower; Page 27,300 Hang the Arch-Bishop; Page 34,101 Behead the Arch-Bishop; Page 34,180 Fire the first shot; Page 35,188 Call in for a Volley Fire; Page 35,201 Blow up the Parliament Building; Page 36,333 Storm the Parliament Building; Page 36, 389 I continued to read down the path I had chosen, only occasionally glancing at the other possible outcomes of the action I could've taken. My smile never faded as I continued to read down the list of the methods of torture, the people killed, the lives thrown into chaos, the bodies that drowned in the wake of the choices I made. When I was satisfied with what I read, I loudly slammed the book. Just I was began to reach into my pocket, he called over, " Ready to go on?" "Give me a sec," I said, as I pulled out my trusty friend. Without a second thought, I flick it up and let the flames lick at the edges of the book. It was only a couple more second before the book I was holding in my hands had caught fire and was burning with a strangely calming orange flame. After I felt satisfied with the results of my actions, I walked over the him, throwing the book over my shoulder. "It will not be destroyed." "Figured as much. The place seemed to Holy and shit," I answered with a smile. "So, did I get to pick the ride or it just an instantaneous thing. I always figure that singing 'Highway to Hell' while headin' to hell would always be funny as hell." "You don't have any qualms about your actions?" The only time I could tell there was an emotion or a hint of something human. "No. I was broken from the start. Besides, I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't chosen the revolution, I would have been a lot less justified in my doings. Maybe some good came out of my actions. Maybe some didn't. I don't really care. I know where I was headed the second, I start on my path. I just hope you guys do your worst."	"Die." That is what was written on the cover of my book. "Die." No, I tell a lie. I wasn't holding a book in my hands, but a simple cardboard sheet that bore only that simple word. "Die." I remember that much, though I didn't know the word at the time. I felt my body torn apart. I felt pain. I screamed howls that no-one ever heard. All around me, everyone else, it seemed, had books of adventure. Mystery, options. I ... I had a mother who did not want me. I had no choices in my life. No pages. A life of no memories. "Die."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	First time, and typed on a phone in the middle of the night. Please be gentle... The book, if you could call it a book, was handed to me with an air of indifference that I did not believe was befitting of my life. A cross between what I understood as a hard drive and a chose your owb adventure, all of the billions upon billions of versions of me were stored upon this one device. I looked up. The thing that had handed me the device was gone. All that was left was the burning curiousity and the fright that I had wasted my life. I skimmed through my life. Love, loss, success, failure. From my first kiss to the death of my father, every moment. I relived it all, just as realistic as if it was the present. I stopped. I had lived my life. Time to see the path of an alternate me. School gymnasium, 1998. Final year of school. I chose differently. No longer did I ask for Angela's number after the exam. Instead, I sat in anticipation, waiting to feel the difference of my life without her. Without my Angel. Ready to see if I could bear my life without her. I waited, slumped, head down at my desk. My life, lost, in a moment. I wasn't sure if I was ready to see if I could live without her. I hear feet approach my desk. Somewhere, outside the gymnasium, she would be saying her goodbyes. Where I was, those 20 years ago. My life had been short, but it had been worth it with her. "Hi". I looked up. She had waited.	"Die." That is what was written on the cover of my book. "Die." No, I tell a lie. I wasn't holding a book in my hands, but a simple cardboard sheet that bore only that simple word. "Die." I remember that much, though I didn't know the word at the time. I felt my body torn apart. I felt pain. I screamed howls that no-one ever heard. All around me, everyone else, it seemed, had books of adventure. Mystery, options. I ... I had a mother who did not want me. I had no choices in my life. No pages. A life of no memories. "Die."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I died alone. Missing my children and wife after the car crash 30 years ago. I had had a few drinks that night and though technically sober, I always felt like it was my fault or wondered what I could have done better.. In my grief, i left the home we built together and all friends we had made over the years would write and call occasionally, but would always want to start talking about how I had to buck up or move on. I had tried to date, even had a few great dogs to keep me company over the years but it was never the same. I decided to get over my fears by helping others. I joined AA, I helped build parks and named the playgrounds after my children. I even named a bench for my wife and ate there every Sunday for nearly 30 years. When I finally died and went to heaven, I was given a book. It was strange though. I got to read about the lives of all the decisions s that never happened because of that one day. I got to see pictures of my children going to prom. I got to see my wife get old. I couldn’t believe it but I was supposed to have twins! St Peter looked at me and asked me a single question. “Would you do things differently now that you know what you lost”? I heard later other people waited decades before answering, but I knew my answer immediately. “No. I have made mistakes, many of them in my lifetime. However, if this is heaven, my wife and kids are here and already know that I never stopped loving them and went on with my life helping others each day while thinking of them”. St Peter smiled and said “welcome back to your family”.	"Die." That is what was written on the cover of my book. "Die." No, I tell a lie. I wasn't holding a book in my hands, but a simple cardboard sheet that bore only that simple word. "Die." I remember that much, though I didn't know the word at the time. I felt my body torn apart. I felt pain. I screamed howls that no-one ever heard. All around me, everyone else, it seemed, had books of adventure. Mystery, options. I ... I had a mother who did not want me. I had no choices in my life. No pages. A life of no memories. "Die."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	"Die." That is what was written on the cover of my book. "Die." No, I tell a lie. I wasn't holding a book in my hands, but a simple cardboard sheet that bore only that simple word. "Die." I remember that much, though I didn't know the word at the time. I felt my body torn apart. I felt pain. I screamed howls that no-one ever heard. All around me, everyone else, it seemed, had books of adventure. Mystery, options. I ... I had a mother who did not want me. I had no choices in my life. No pages. A life of no memories. "Die."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Heaven's a great library, and everyone has a library card. Even those destined for hell have a library card. I was alone, sat in a room with a large book. It's cover was dusty, as if waiting for me. I knew as soon as I opened it that time would stand still. God told me that. God told me everything that wasn't in this book. I could have been a painter, a truly great painter like Rembrandt. The book had all these illustrations I drew, every single one. From doodles on napkins to a mural I could have painted in a Roman cathedral. My real life, the one that ended much sooner than this chapter was a good read. I saw all my decisions at once. I always seemed to take the destructive path, the immoral path. I knew what I had achieved in life, but to see it all on paper is something else. A long list of every life I had touched, had maimed, had been in the presence of. The book had no end, there was an infinite number of pages. More of them dedicated to my possibilities of being a world class artist. By comparison, my real life was miniscule and short. "Do you regret any choices you've made?" asked God. "No." I lied. "Well, maybe the suicide." "Of course" said God, "we all regret our death. If we had just one more day, we could rule the world." "I did rule the world, once." I said. "Once." God led me up from the chair and down a set of stairs. A long and winding staircase. The heat was unbearable by the time I got to the last step. "Adolf, my son, this is your room." said God.	"Die." That is what was written on the cover of my book. "Die." No, I tell a lie. I wasn't holding a book in my hands, but a simple cardboard sheet that bore only that simple word. "Die." I remember that much, though I didn't know the word at the time. I felt my body torn apart. I felt pain. I screamed howls that no-one ever heard. All around me, everyone else, it seemed, had books of adventure. Mystery, options. I ... I had a mother who did not want me. I had no choices in my life. No pages. A life of no memories. "Die."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	"Die." That is what was written on the cover of my book. "Die." No, I tell a lie. I wasn't holding a book in my hands, but a simple cardboard sheet that bore only that simple word. "Die." I remember that much, though I didn't know the word at the time. I felt my body torn apart. I felt pain. I screamed howls that no-one ever heard. All around me, everyone else, it seemed, had books of adventure. Mystery, options. I ... I had a mother who did not want me. I had no choices in my life. No pages. A life of no memories. "Die."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	C.S. Lewis was apparently wrong, when he put the words, “'To know what would have happened, child?' said Aslan. 'No. Nobody is ever told that',” into the mouth of his character. Because I had a book in front of me that purported to tell just that. 'Dale Irving, 1927 to 2018, 18 Choices and Their Consequences.' “18? That's quite good, the average is 10 you know,” The angel who had handed me the book said reading it's title over my shoulder. “10 what?” Its eyes were very kind and its voice was calm and soothing, “10 Choices, the average person Chooses 10 times.” “What?” I asked, and then because I could tell from the look of nearly infinite patients in it's eyes that it was going to explain the exact same thing using slightly different words, I clarified. “The average person makes thousands of choices. Probably thousands a day. You can choose to snooze the alarm or turn it off, then you choose to get up or go back to sleep. You brush your hair first or your teeth. There are several routes you could take to work or you could just drive in a random direction until you don't know anyone and no one there has ever seen you before.” “Those are just reaction,” the angel said. “Chemicals in your brain combine, it sets off cascades through your nerves, and eventually your bodies move. You don't Choose.” It was an argument I'd heard before, of course. Everyone has. We're just meat machines. Wires and gears. I started to make the argument that had worked in life, “Quantum...” The angel cut me off it's voice filled with a well of kindness deeper than the sea. “Certain quantum scale reactions aree stochastic in character. But a coin flip isn't a Choice either.” I looked down at the book. “But they do exist?” “You have Free Will.” For the barest instant, wrapped around the word 'you' I got the impression of sadness in the angelic voice. I wonder if perhaps there wasn't a book out there with it's name on it. “It's HIS proudest accomplishment. It pulls you up off the plane of reality and in that instant You Choose free of all else.” I was still looking at the book. Perhaps 18 wasn't so bad a number after all. I had lived an extraordinary life. I had invented incredible things, made a vast fortune, then pumped it back into making the world a better place. “So now I read this and learn what they were? What would have happened if I'd Chosen something else?” “Yes.” “And then?” The angel smiled, a warm golden expression, “And then you learn more about Choosing and how to do it more often.”	"Die." That is what was written on the cover of my book. "Die." No, I tell a lie. I wasn't holding a book in my hands, but a simple cardboard sheet that bore only that simple word. "Die." I remember that much, though I didn't know the word at the time. I felt my body torn apart. I felt pain. I screamed howls that no-one ever heard. All around me, everyone else, it seemed, had books of adventure. Mystery, options. I ... I had a mother who did not want me. I had no choices in my life. No pages. A life of no memories. "Die."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	The tome lay heavy in my hand. Immaculate penmanship neatly filled every page even as the number of pages stretched and warped to fit perhaps an infinite number within the leather-clad bindings. Death, for who else could it have been, stood silently within the hooded robe concealing his face. "This," I started to say, wanting to make sure I understood what I had been given. "This contains the stories of all the possible decisions I could have made, all my choices and their consequences... from birth all the way to my inevitable deaths?" "YES." I stared at the book. My whole life, no, all my possible lives. Every selfless and selfish decision, all the heroic and villanous moments, with the opposite paths laid out to show what could have been. What never had been. I closed the book, feeling an anger rising from within. "Take it." "WHAT?" "Take it," I said again, holding the book out to his skeletal fingers. "Burn it." Empty sockets stared at me as the tome, page still open to perfect parchment, was lifted from my hands. Death paused then asked, "WHY?" I glared back at the skull. "I lived my life. I made my choices. Good and bad, they were mine. The consequences were mine and I'll own those forever. Being brave enough to believe in the fantasy of love and then working hard to make it a reality? Mine. Choosing to be a father to a child who's sad fate seemed already written and holding her close as she died? Mine. Dealing with betrayals and pain? Mine. Moments of weakness, cowardice, and of laziness? Mine. What may have been is meaningless." With a growl I pointed at the book. "That isn't real. That isn't true. My choices made me who I am. All the way to when you fished me out of the wreckage my body had become. There's no point in either wallowing in over how much better things could have been, or letting myself swell with pride over how things could have been worse. What was, was. And I am who I am. So burn that, throw it away. I don't want it." With a loud snap, Death closed the book. As I watched, it burst into flames and quickly became ash flowing away in the ethereal wind. I felt a tension in my soul ease and I asked, "Now what?" Behind the dark figure a light had begun to shine. "NOW YOU ARE READY FOR WHAT COMES NEXT." He moved aside. And I walked forward.	I held the book, Felt its weight. Hefted it, Like a lodestone on my future. I looked near the beginning, Where the jumps were large, The changes so drastic, The choices heavy. I turned to the back, It read like a novel, Each decision short, Small, Meaningless. Ah, the old maxim was true, With age all choices grow small, And a man can choose, Only what he must. I closed the book. It was taken from me, Freed from the questions, Uncaring of the answers, I continued to walk.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I was smiling as I read the first hundred pages or so. Those were the early days of my life. When I was still young and was playing terrible make believe games with my brothers and sisters. The multitude of choices here never amounted to anything significant. Decided to agree with sisters; Page 539 Decided to agree with brothers; Page 540 No real differences that amounted to anything bigger. That was fine. I was actually sort of relieved at that, relieved to know that those choices could never really affect what happened later on. "You're stalling," He said. The tone wasn't accusatory nor was it complacent. It just sort of was. Pissed me off a bit actually. "Yeah, I am," I scoffed turning to him. "These were the better days. Can't I enjoy them?" "You can't leave unless the book is done. Those are the rules," He answered. Again, you couldn't get anything out of his voice. It just sort of was. "Is there a problem if I don't go?" "No. The schedule can be changed." "Than let me read at my own pace, okay?" I called as I turned to the book again. "'Sides, I'm not going to read all of it." I wasn't lying. One of my many faults. I wasn't going to waste my time reading every single one of the outcomes that could have occurred if I had chosen a different path. Just the cliff-notes of 'em. I turned back to the index to look up what I believed was the big turning point of my life. When I was finally able to see that the cogs weren't alright. The fight at the bar; Page 12,443 I threw the pages until I found what I was looking for. I was actually surprised when I saw that there weren't many choices for this point in my life. Through a knock-out punch; Page 12,511 Through a punch; Page 12,444 Both scenarios had me fighting which was odd. I thought that maybe there would have been a choice that didn't have me fighting. Guess that wasn't in my path. I turned to the end of the fight, knowing that if this wasn't origin point of what I become, than the end of the fight would have been. Lo' and Behold I was right. Go back to drinking; Page 12,677 Scare his mates; Page 12,788 Glass his mates; Page 12,877 Finish the fight; Page 12, 554 That was it. The point where my life started. I flipped forward a bunch of pages to see what my choice where at another point. I actually laughed out loud when I saw that there were only three options. Join; Page 23,111 Ignore; Page 23,311 Rat them out; Page 24,555 "Zeus be damned, I was set up from the start," I said as I continued to read down the path I had taken. Burn the church; Page 25,666 Burn the Government Building; Page 25,776 Execute the Bishop; Page 25,987 Let the crowds handle him: Page 26,001 Throw the Molotov Cocktail; Page 27,244 Use the flamethrower; Page 27,300 Hang the Arch-Bishop; Page 34,101 Behead the Arch-Bishop; Page 34,180 Fire the first shot; Page 35,188 Call in for a Volley Fire; Page 35,201 Blow up the Parliament Building; Page 36,333 Storm the Parliament Building; Page 36, 389 I continued to read down the path I had chosen, only occasionally glancing at the other possible outcomes of the action I could've taken. My smile never faded as I continued to read down the list of the methods of torture, the people killed, the lives thrown into chaos, the bodies that drowned in the wake of the choices I made. When I was satisfied with what I read, I loudly slammed the book. Just I was began to reach into my pocket, he called over, " Ready to go on?" "Give me a sec," I said, as I pulled out my trusty friend. Without a second thought, I flick it up and let the flames lick at the edges of the book. It was only a couple more second before the book I was holding in my hands had caught fire and was burning with a strangely calming orange flame. After I felt satisfied with the results of my actions, I walked over the him, throwing the book over my shoulder. "It will not be destroyed." "Figured as much. The place seemed to Holy and shit," I answered with a smile. "So, did I get to pick the ride or it just an instantaneous thing. I always figure that singing 'Highway to Hell' while headin' to hell would always be funny as hell." "You don't have any qualms about your actions?" The only time I could tell there was an emotion or a hint of something human. "No. I was broken from the start. Besides, I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't chosen the revolution, I would have been a lot less justified in my doings. Maybe some good came out of my actions. Maybe some didn't. I don't really care. I know where I was headed the second, I start on my path. I just hope you guys do your worst."	I held the book, Felt its weight. Hefted it, Like a lodestone on my future. I looked near the beginning, Where the jumps were large, The changes so drastic, The choices heavy. I turned to the back, It read like a novel, Each decision short, Small, Meaningless. Ah, the old maxim was true, With age all choices grow small, And a man can choose, Only what he must. I closed the book. It was taken from me, Freed from the questions, Uncaring of the answers, I continued to walk.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	I held the book, Felt its weight. Hefted it, Like a lodestone on my future. I looked near the beginning, Where the jumps were large, The changes so drastic, The choices heavy. I turned to the back, It read like a novel, Each decision short, Small, Meaningless. Ah, the old maxim was true, With age all choices grow small, And a man can choose, Only what he must. I closed the book. It was taken from me, Freed from the questions, Uncaring of the answers, I continued to walk.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Heaven's a great library, and everyone has a library card. Even those destined for hell have a library card. I was alone, sat in a room with a large book. It's cover was dusty, as if waiting for me. I knew as soon as I opened it that time would stand still. God told me that. God told me everything that wasn't in this book. I could have been a painter, a truly great painter like Rembrandt. The book had all these illustrations I drew, every single one. From doodles on napkins to a mural I could have painted in a Roman cathedral. My real life, the one that ended much sooner than this chapter was a good read. I saw all my decisions at once. I always seemed to take the destructive path, the immoral path. I knew what I had achieved in life, but to see it all on paper is something else. A long list of every life I had touched, had maimed, had been in the presence of. The book had no end, there was an infinite number of pages. More of them dedicated to my possibilities of being a world class artist. By comparison, my real life was miniscule and short. "Do you regret any choices you've made?" asked God. "No." I lied. "Well, maybe the suicide." "Of course" said God, "we all regret our death. If we had just one more day, we could rule the world." "I did rule the world, once." I said. "Once." God led me up from the chair and down a set of stairs. A long and winding staircase. The heat was unbearable by the time I got to the last step. "Adolf, my son, this is your room." said God.	I held the book, Felt its weight. Hefted it, Like a lodestone on my future. I looked near the beginning, Where the jumps were large, The changes so drastic, The choices heavy. I turned to the back, It read like a novel, Each decision short, Small, Meaningless. Ah, the old maxim was true, With age all choices grow small, And a man can choose, Only what he must. I closed the book. It was taken from me, Freed from the questions, Uncaring of the answers, I continued to walk.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	I held the book, Felt its weight. Hefted it, Like a lodestone on my future. I looked near the beginning, Where the jumps were large, The changes so drastic, The choices heavy. I turned to the back, It read like a novel, Each decision short, Small, Meaningless. Ah, the old maxim was true, With age all choices grow small, And a man can choose, Only what he must. I closed the book. It was taken from me, Freed from the questions, Uncaring of the answers, I continued to walk.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	You open to a random page, read the words "you are now a handsome billionaire, loved by all, especially your harem of gorgeous women." and frantically try to reverse engineer what series of events got you to this outcome. You realize you deviated from the path due to a seemingly inconsequential choice you made because it was funny, and are now miserable for eternity.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	I closed the book. “What is this?” I asked. “I thought it pretty self explanatory. Its a book about the decisions you made and what the outcomes could’ve been” said the angel. “Well yes, but why? Why would I want to read about the possible outcomes now that I am deceased?” The angle sighed, as if they were annoyed by my inquiry. “Some people like to see where they could have been and if a different decision was made, how their life could have been.” I paused for a moment, still holding the book in my hand. The leather quality was nice. I quickly paged through it, noting that varying in age of the ink as someone had written each section after each possible decision. The ink in the back pages still seemingly fresh and not aged. If the angels were writing these by hand, I felt bad for those that had to write this stuff out for people with severe ADD. My questions continued. “But why? The decisions I made through my life were not ones I can or could change. Why would I want to see what I could have done when I am here now. Isn’t that what matters?” The angel changed from annoyed to curious. “Are you saying you wouldn’t change any of the decisions you made? Aren’t you curious about that the one girl you never asked out, or the day you took that phone call?” Of course I was always curious. Those simply decisions would crop up in dreams or when I saw someone more successful than I. The decisions I made and how maybe I could have done better. “Well, sure. But the outcome could only be relief if I had done worse or heartache if I could had done better. Certainly I had regrets about things I didn’t get to do or opportunities I missed out on but they are only mild regrets. The things I did do gave me meaning and fulfillment in their own way.” The angels curiosity continued. “You say had… meaning you don’t have them anymore?” “Why would I have them now? If I am deceased, there is nothing from my living life that came with me other than my memories so why would that matter here? I tried to live a positive life and do the right things when possible. Why would I worry about that life now?” The look on the angles face shifted to a mild sense of superiority. “What if I told you it did matter?” “Well then we are back to my original point: the decisions have been made and I can’t go back to change them. If I am going to be punished for any one of the decisions, why would I want to dwell on them? If I were to be rewarded, then so be it.” The angel was quiet for some time as if they were conferring with someone telepathically or simply being decisive about lunch, it was unclear. I pressed on. “So if I am choosing not to read this, what’s next?” The angel disregarded my question. “What if I told you this is your only chance to read this? You will never get a chance to learn this information again.” I chuckled in anxious amusement. “Why are you so adamant that I read it? Is there something you aren’t telling me about why I should?” “None. My purpose is provide you with the book. Just like your mortal life, the decision is your own. I will say however that your decision not read it follows quite clearly with your choices for meaning rather than self indulgence.” I paused at the angels words. Was this a compliment or an insult? I handed the book back to them. The angel nodded and took the book from my hands. They continued. “Even those that find that kind of wisdom later in life still tend to want to read it. Usually out of indulgence. The wisest however recognize that reading the decisions themselves are more knowledge despite the fact there is nothing that can be done.” The angel gently held the book up towards me as one last gesture of opportunity. I smiled and pushed their hand away. “It sounds like I still have quite a bit to learn then.” “Very well” said the angel. “I must ask though, aren’t you curious about the decision that ultimately led you here?” I let out a huge laugh as if someone had told funniest joke in the world. “Nope. I knew that decision would come back to get me one day.” The angle smirked, trying to contain their own sense of laughter. “Very well. Follow me.”
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I remember a line from a TV show that was like, "I had hundreds of plans in my life, and only one of them got me killed!" That's--that was--my life, and apparently that is this book. Jesus Christ, there's a lot of death in here. It's a miracle I lived as long as I did. Flipping through page after page, I remember the ridiculous things I used to do, with my friends, with Jake, on my own, everything. All these things that I thought to myself, "how bad could it be?" and here I am looking at how bad it could have been. But I guess if there's all that bad, maybe... Jake. Jump over to October 15th, 2004. The last of the BBQ Fridays of the season. Select "let Jake crash on the couch." Play. It turns out Jake turns into a real asshole sometime in the late 2000s and even in what would be now, nobody in my family barely speaks to him. I don't care, I get to see him grow old. It's like when I first discovered Wikipedia, walking down all these what-ifs and different timelines and seeing how they bounce off of one another. February 18, 1985. "Choose Mom." Play. Jake's less of an asshole there, somehow, and apparently I never stopped talking to that Jake. October 31, 1988. "Let Jake be Batman." Play. Doesn't change much, but it's great watching him run around and exasperate either parent in the timelines. August 12, 2002. "Accept job in Alaska." Play. Long-distance calls makes keeping in touch with family difficult, but we ICQ from time to time. He's still alive there. It's Asshole Jake, but he's still there. I die earlier, though. October 15th, 2019. "Don't drink." Play. ...well, I continue living, I guess. Not much of a life at this point, but it's something. Think I'll keep watching these other timelines instead.	Before I die, I want to make sure that the book of my life will be worth reading. That I have lived a full life without stepping on someone's toes. That though there may have been peaks and valleys, I have served my purpose and that I was able to inspire others.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	First time, and typed on a phone in the middle of the night. Please be gentle... The book, if you could call it a book, was handed to me with an air of indifference that I did not believe was befitting of my life. A cross between what I understood as a hard drive and a chose your owb adventure, all of the billions upon billions of versions of me were stored upon this one device. I looked up. The thing that had handed me the device was gone. All that was left was the burning curiousity and the fright that I had wasted my life. I skimmed through my life. Love, loss, success, failure. From my first kiss to the death of my father, every moment. I relived it all, just as realistic as if it was the present. I stopped. I had lived my life. Time to see the path of an alternate me. School gymnasium, 1998. Final year of school. I chose differently. No longer did I ask for Angela's number after the exam. Instead, I sat in anticipation, waiting to feel the difference of my life without her. Without my Angel. Ready to see if I could bear my life without her. I waited, slumped, head down at my desk. My life, lost, in a moment. I wasn't sure if I was ready to see if I could live without her. I hear feet approach my desk. Somewhere, outside the gymnasium, she would be saying her goodbyes. Where I was, those 20 years ago. My life had been short, but it had been worth it with her. "Hi". I looked up. She had waited.	Before I die, I want to make sure that the book of my life will be worth reading. That I have lived a full life without stepping on someone's toes. That though there may have been peaks and valleys, I have served my purpose and that I was able to inspire others.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I died alone. Missing my children and wife after the car crash 30 years ago. I had had a few drinks that night and though technically sober, I always felt like it was my fault or wondered what I could have done better.. In my grief, i left the home we built together and all friends we had made over the years would write and call occasionally, but would always want to start talking about how I had to buck up or move on. I had tried to date, even had a few great dogs to keep me company over the years but it was never the same. I decided to get over my fears by helping others. I joined AA, I helped build parks and named the playgrounds after my children. I even named a bench for my wife and ate there every Sunday for nearly 30 years. When I finally died and went to heaven, I was given a book. It was strange though. I got to read about the lives of all the decisions s that never happened because of that one day. I got to see pictures of my children going to prom. I got to see my wife get old. I couldn’t believe it but I was supposed to have twins! St Peter looked at me and asked me a single question. “Would you do things differently now that you know what you lost”? I heard later other people waited decades before answering, but I knew my answer immediately. “No. I have made mistakes, many of them in my lifetime. However, if this is heaven, my wife and kids are here and already know that I never stopped loving them and went on with my life helping others each day while thinking of them”. St Peter smiled and said “welcome back to your family”.	Before I die, I want to make sure that the book of my life will be worth reading. That I have lived a full life without stepping on someone's toes. That though there may have been peaks and valleys, I have served my purpose and that I was able to inspire others.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Like countless times before I pick up the book of my life, filled with all the decisions I did and could have done, it was more of an e-Book really, displayed on what looks like a Kindle, changing the contents of the page based on what I told it would be my decision. Today I tried my luck with yet another unexplored path, choosing to take the job as a programmer after my studies had concluded. And there I sat, reading for what had to be days upon days about what life would have entailed, always making the decision that seemed the most natural to me and then often going back a step and trying the other routes life could have had in store for me. When I finally finished I had a smile on my face, no matter what I had chosen, no matter what path I went, it always ended in a miserable and bitter life, just like the countless times I had done this before. I had yet another hundred paths that all support my final decision, the decision that had been bothering me for many years prior to my death and the more stories I read, the more I got to know about what my life could have been, the more it became clear, that the one correct decision I took in life, was to take it.	Before I die, I want to make sure that the book of my life will be worth reading. That I have lived a full life without stepping on someone's toes. That though there may have been peaks and valleys, I have served my purpose and that I was able to inspire others.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	Before I die, I want to make sure that the book of my life will be worth reading. That I have lived a full life without stepping on someone's toes. That though there may have been peaks and valleys, I have served my purpose and that I was able to inspire others.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Heaven's a great library, and everyone has a library card. Even those destined for hell have a library card. I was alone, sat in a room with a large book. It's cover was dusty, as if waiting for me. I knew as soon as I opened it that time would stand still. God told me that. God told me everything that wasn't in this book. I could have been a painter, a truly great painter like Rembrandt. The book had all these illustrations I drew, every single one. From doodles on napkins to a mural I could have painted in a Roman cathedral. My real life, the one that ended much sooner than this chapter was a good read. I saw all my decisions at once. I always seemed to take the destructive path, the immoral path. I knew what I had achieved in life, but to see it all on paper is something else. A long list of every life I had touched, had maimed, had been in the presence of. The book had no end, there was an infinite number of pages. More of them dedicated to my possibilities of being a world class artist. By comparison, my real life was miniscule and short. "Do you regret any choices you've made?" asked God. "No." I lied. "Well, maybe the suicide." "Of course" said God, "we all regret our death. If we had just one more day, we could rule the world." "I did rule the world, once." I said. "Once." God led me up from the chair and down a set of stairs. A long and winding staircase. The heat was unbearable by the time I got to the last step. "Adolf, my son, this is your room." said God.	Before I die, I want to make sure that the book of my life will be worth reading. That I have lived a full life without stepping on someone's toes. That though there may have been peaks and valleys, I have served my purpose and that I was able to inspire others.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	Before I die, I want to make sure that the book of my life will be worth reading. That I have lived a full life without stepping on someone's toes. That though there may have been peaks and valleys, I have served my purpose and that I was able to inspire others.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	C.S. Lewis was apparently wrong, when he put the words, “'To know what would have happened, child?' said Aslan. 'No. Nobody is ever told that',” into the mouth of his character. Because I had a book in front of me that purported to tell just that. 'Dale Irving, 1927 to 2018, 18 Choices and Their Consequences.' “18? That's quite good, the average is 10 you know,” The angel who had handed me the book said reading it's title over my shoulder. “10 what?” Its eyes were very kind and its voice was calm and soothing, “10 Choices, the average person Chooses 10 times.” “What?” I asked, and then because I could tell from the look of nearly infinite patients in it's eyes that it was going to explain the exact same thing using slightly different words, I clarified. “The average person makes thousands of choices. Probably thousands a day. You can choose to snooze the alarm or turn it off, then you choose to get up or go back to sleep. You brush your hair first or your teeth. There are several routes you could take to work or you could just drive in a random direction until you don't know anyone and no one there has ever seen you before.” “Those are just reaction,” the angel said. “Chemicals in your brain combine, it sets off cascades through your nerves, and eventually your bodies move. You don't Choose.” It was an argument I'd heard before, of course. Everyone has. We're just meat machines. Wires and gears. I started to make the argument that had worked in life, “Quantum...” The angel cut me off it's voice filled with a well of kindness deeper than the sea. “Certain quantum scale reactions aree stochastic in character. But a coin flip isn't a Choice either.” I looked down at the book. “But they do exist?” “You have Free Will.” For the barest instant, wrapped around the word 'you' I got the impression of sadness in the angelic voice. I wonder if perhaps there wasn't a book out there with it's name on it. “It's HIS proudest accomplishment. It pulls you up off the plane of reality and in that instant You Choose free of all else.” I was still looking at the book. Perhaps 18 wasn't so bad a number after all. I had lived an extraordinary life. I had invented incredible things, made a vast fortune, then pumped it back into making the world a better place. “So now I read this and learn what they were? What would have happened if I'd Chosen something else?” “Yes.” “And then?” The angel smiled, a warm golden expression, “And then you learn more about Choosing and how to do it more often.”	Before I die, I want to make sure that the book of my life will be worth reading. That I have lived a full life without stepping on someone's toes. That though there may have been peaks and valleys, I have served my purpose and that I was able to inspire others.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Right this way, Mr. Muller "Right where?" Right here, follow my voice I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them. Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead! said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. See! "But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes. Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha! As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books. Welcome to the eternal library The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand. Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair. You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin? "Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?" Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller. "Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel." Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book. Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands. In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791" "Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me." It doesn't need to. Start reading. The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277. I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months. Do you remember? It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I remember? Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died? "Of course I do, I was hit by a car." And? I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure. "Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident." A tense silence. And? "I fell off a ladder." And? "I was stabbed by my wife" And? This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more. "Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?" I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around. My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room. Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792. Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793. Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794. You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands. Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me. The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point. "This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?" He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen. It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later. Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling: Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library	Before I die, I want to make sure that the book of my life will be worth reading. That I have lived a full life without stepping on someone's toes. That though there may have been peaks and valleys, I have served my purpose and that I was able to inspire others.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I remember a line from a TV show that was like, "I had hundreds of plans in my life, and only one of them got me killed!" That's--that was--my life, and apparently that is this book. Jesus Christ, there's a lot of death in here. It's a miracle I lived as long as I did. Flipping through page after page, I remember the ridiculous things I used to do, with my friends, with Jake, on my own, everything. All these things that I thought to myself, "how bad could it be?" and here I am looking at how bad it could have been. But I guess if there's all that bad, maybe... Jake. Jump over to October 15th, 2004. The last of the BBQ Fridays of the season. Select "let Jake crash on the couch." Play. It turns out Jake turns into a real asshole sometime in the late 2000s and even in what would be now, nobody in my family barely speaks to him. I don't care, I get to see him grow old. It's like when I first discovered Wikipedia, walking down all these what-ifs and different timelines and seeing how they bounce off of one another. February 18, 1985. "Choose Mom." Play. Jake's less of an asshole there, somehow, and apparently I never stopped talking to that Jake. October 31, 1988. "Let Jake be Batman." Play. Doesn't change much, but it's great watching him run around and exasperate either parent in the timelines. August 12, 2002. "Accept job in Alaska." Play. Long-distance calls makes keeping in touch with family difficult, but we ICQ from time to time. He's still alive there. It's Asshole Jake, but he's still there. I die earlier, though. October 15th, 2019. "Don't drink." Play. ...well, I continue living, I guess. Not much of a life at this point, but it's something. Think I'll keep watching these other timelines instead.	I was dead...at the moment I was born. It was too late because I'm already dead. I've been given a name, a country, a religion, a skin color and assigned sex. Everything was decided for me and they all expect me to fight for it. And this book...as thick as crackers of a biscuit. At the last page... Page 50. "Went outside to find the perfect view to be run over by a car. You could have live this time but the world is too cruel. The car left seeing that no one saw the incident. You were left there to die. How do you feel old soul?" I wasn't able to do what I want...what did I even want to do with my life? "There's no use fretting over that now, right?" "Yeah, It's too late." The voices in my head went...they argued and argued but all of that is white noise to me. Standing in the purgatory, reading my 50 pages book. "Maybe...just maybe, In my next life...I will get it right!" - I mumbled as I start to grabbed in, this newly found determination that came from a pitifull pit of my unsatisfaction with life. Afterall, this isn't the first time I lived and wrote my life's story in a book. Afterall, there is always a second chance for everything. Maybe, Afterall these lives...I'd find her...my other half. "Come on! I have my next life to live." - I said to the voices... "Wait for me." "Well, if I have any? Who knows? She might have gave up living at this point." Tap Tap Tap Creeeekk... Title: "Shortest Life in the Library of Lives."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	First time, and typed on a phone in the middle of the night. Please be gentle... The book, if you could call it a book, was handed to me with an air of indifference that I did not believe was befitting of my life. A cross between what I understood as a hard drive and a chose your owb adventure, all of the billions upon billions of versions of me were stored upon this one device. I looked up. The thing that had handed me the device was gone. All that was left was the burning curiousity and the fright that I had wasted my life. I skimmed through my life. Love, loss, success, failure. From my first kiss to the death of my father, every moment. I relived it all, just as realistic as if it was the present. I stopped. I had lived my life. Time to see the path of an alternate me. School gymnasium, 1998. Final year of school. I chose differently. No longer did I ask for Angela's number after the exam. Instead, I sat in anticipation, waiting to feel the difference of my life without her. Without my Angel. Ready to see if I could bear my life without her. I waited, slumped, head down at my desk. My life, lost, in a moment. I wasn't sure if I was ready to see if I could live without her. I hear feet approach my desk. Somewhere, outside the gymnasium, she would be saying her goodbyes. Where I was, those 20 years ago. My life had been short, but it had been worth it with her. "Hi". I looked up. She had waited.	I was dead...at the moment I was born. It was too late because I'm already dead. I've been given a name, a country, a religion, a skin color and assigned sex. Everything was decided for me and they all expect me to fight for it. And this book...as thick as crackers of a biscuit. At the last page... Page 50. "Went outside to find the perfect view to be run over by a car. You could have live this time but the world is too cruel. The car left seeing that no one saw the incident. You were left there to die. How do you feel old soul?" I wasn't able to do what I want...what did I even want to do with my life? "There's no use fretting over that now, right?" "Yeah, It's too late." The voices in my head went...they argued and argued but all of that is white noise to me. Standing in the purgatory, reading my 50 pages book. "Maybe...just maybe, In my next life...I will get it right!" - I mumbled as I start to grabbed in, this newly found determination that came from a pitifull pit of my unsatisfaction with life. Afterall, this isn't the first time I lived and wrote my life's story in a book. Afterall, there is always a second chance for everything. Maybe, Afterall these lives...I'd find her...my other half. "Come on! I have my next life to live." - I said to the voices... "Wait for me." "Well, if I have any? Who knows? She might have gave up living at this point." Tap Tap Tap Creeeekk... Title: "Shortest Life in the Library of Lives."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I died alone. Missing my children and wife after the car crash 30 years ago. I had had a few drinks that night and though technically sober, I always felt like it was my fault or wondered what I could have done better.. In my grief, i left the home we built together and all friends we had made over the years would write and call occasionally, but would always want to start talking about how I had to buck up or move on. I had tried to date, even had a few great dogs to keep me company over the years but it was never the same. I decided to get over my fears by helping others. I joined AA, I helped build parks and named the playgrounds after my children. I even named a bench for my wife and ate there every Sunday for nearly 30 years. When I finally died and went to heaven, I was given a book. It was strange though. I got to read about the lives of all the decisions s that never happened because of that one day. I got to see pictures of my children going to prom. I got to see my wife get old. I couldn’t believe it but I was supposed to have twins! St Peter looked at me and asked me a single question. “Would you do things differently now that you know what you lost”? I heard later other people waited decades before answering, but I knew my answer immediately. “No. I have made mistakes, many of them in my lifetime. However, if this is heaven, my wife and kids are here and already know that I never stopped loving them and went on with my life helping others each day while thinking of them”. St Peter smiled and said “welcome back to your family”.	I was dead...at the moment I was born. It was too late because I'm already dead. I've been given a name, a country, a religion, a skin color and assigned sex. Everything was decided for me and they all expect me to fight for it. And this book...as thick as crackers of a biscuit. At the last page... Page 50. "Went outside to find the perfect view to be run over by a car. You could have live this time but the world is too cruel. The car left seeing that no one saw the incident. You were left there to die. How do you feel old soul?" I wasn't able to do what I want...what did I even want to do with my life? "There's no use fretting over that now, right?" "Yeah, It's too late." The voices in my head went...they argued and argued but all of that is white noise to me. Standing in the purgatory, reading my 50 pages book. "Maybe...just maybe, In my next life...I will get it right!" - I mumbled as I start to grabbed in, this newly found determination that came from a pitifull pit of my unsatisfaction with life. Afterall, this isn't the first time I lived and wrote my life's story in a book. Afterall, there is always a second chance for everything. Maybe, Afterall these lives...I'd find her...my other half. "Come on! I have my next life to live." - I said to the voices... "Wait for me." "Well, if I have any? Who knows? She might have gave up living at this point." Tap Tap Tap Creeeekk... Title: "Shortest Life in the Library of Lives."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Like countless times before I pick up the book of my life, filled with all the decisions I did and could have done, it was more of an e-Book really, displayed on what looks like a Kindle, changing the contents of the page based on what I told it would be my decision. Today I tried my luck with yet another unexplored path, choosing to take the job as a programmer after my studies had concluded. And there I sat, reading for what had to be days upon days about what life would have entailed, always making the decision that seemed the most natural to me and then often going back a step and trying the other routes life could have had in store for me. When I finally finished I had a smile on my face, no matter what I had chosen, no matter what path I went, it always ended in a miserable and bitter life, just like the countless times I had done this before. I had yet another hundred paths that all support my final decision, the decision that had been bothering me for many years prior to my death and the more stories I read, the more I got to know about what my life could have been, the more it became clear, that the one correct decision I took in life, was to take it.	I was dead...at the moment I was born. It was too late because I'm already dead. I've been given a name, a country, a religion, a skin color and assigned sex. Everything was decided for me and they all expect me to fight for it. And this book...as thick as crackers of a biscuit. At the last page... Page 50. "Went outside to find the perfect view to be run over by a car. You could have live this time but the world is too cruel. The car left seeing that no one saw the incident. You were left there to die. How do you feel old soul?" I wasn't able to do what I want...what did I even want to do with my life? "There's no use fretting over that now, right?" "Yeah, It's too late." The voices in my head went...they argued and argued but all of that is white noise to me. Standing in the purgatory, reading my 50 pages book. "Maybe...just maybe, In my next life...I will get it right!" - I mumbled as I start to grabbed in, this newly found determination that came from a pitifull pit of my unsatisfaction with life. Afterall, this isn't the first time I lived and wrote my life's story in a book. Afterall, there is always a second chance for everything. Maybe, Afterall these lives...I'd find her...my other half. "Come on! I have my next life to live." - I said to the voices... "Wait for me." "Well, if I have any? Who knows? She might have gave up living at this point." Tap Tap Tap Creeeekk... Title: "Shortest Life in the Library of Lives."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	I was dead...at the moment I was born. It was too late because I'm already dead. I've been given a name, a country, a religion, a skin color and assigned sex. Everything was decided for me and they all expect me to fight for it. And this book...as thick as crackers of a biscuit. At the last page... Page 50. "Went outside to find the perfect view to be run over by a car. You could have live this time but the world is too cruel. The car left seeing that no one saw the incident. You were left there to die. How do you feel old soul?" I wasn't able to do what I want...what did I even want to do with my life? "There's no use fretting over that now, right?" "Yeah, It's too late." The voices in my head went...they argued and argued but all of that is white noise to me. Standing in the purgatory, reading my 50 pages book. "Maybe...just maybe, In my next life...I will get it right!" - I mumbled as I start to grabbed in, this newly found determination that came from a pitifull pit of my unsatisfaction with life. Afterall, this isn't the first time I lived and wrote my life's story in a book. Afterall, there is always a second chance for everything. Maybe, Afterall these lives...I'd find her...my other half. "Come on! I have my next life to live." - I said to the voices... "Wait for me." "Well, if I have any? Who knows? She might have gave up living at this point." Tap Tap Tap Creeeekk... Title: "Shortest Life in the Library of Lives."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Heaven's a great library, and everyone has a library card. Even those destined for hell have a library card. I was alone, sat in a room with a large book. It's cover was dusty, as if waiting for me. I knew as soon as I opened it that time would stand still. God told me that. God told me everything that wasn't in this book. I could have been a painter, a truly great painter like Rembrandt. The book had all these illustrations I drew, every single one. From doodles on napkins to a mural I could have painted in a Roman cathedral. My real life, the one that ended much sooner than this chapter was a good read. I saw all my decisions at once. I always seemed to take the destructive path, the immoral path. I knew what I had achieved in life, but to see it all on paper is something else. A long list of every life I had touched, had maimed, had been in the presence of. The book had no end, there was an infinite number of pages. More of them dedicated to my possibilities of being a world class artist. By comparison, my real life was miniscule and short. "Do you regret any choices you've made?" asked God. "No." I lied. "Well, maybe the suicide." "Of course" said God, "we all regret our death. If we had just one more day, we could rule the world." "I did rule the world, once." I said. "Once." God led me up from the chair and down a set of stairs. A long and winding staircase. The heat was unbearable by the time I got to the last step. "Adolf, my son, this is your room." said God.	I was dead...at the moment I was born. It was too late because I'm already dead. I've been given a name, a country, a religion, a skin color and assigned sex. Everything was decided for me and they all expect me to fight for it. And this book...as thick as crackers of a biscuit. At the last page... Page 50. "Went outside to find the perfect view to be run over by a car. You could have live this time but the world is too cruel. The car left seeing that no one saw the incident. You were left there to die. How do you feel old soul?" I wasn't able to do what I want...what did I even want to do with my life? "There's no use fretting over that now, right?" "Yeah, It's too late." The voices in my head went...they argued and argued but all of that is white noise to me. Standing in the purgatory, reading my 50 pages book. "Maybe...just maybe, In my next life...I will get it right!" - I mumbled as I start to grabbed in, this newly found determination that came from a pitifull pit of my unsatisfaction with life. Afterall, this isn't the first time I lived and wrote my life's story in a book. Afterall, there is always a second chance for everything. Maybe, Afterall these lives...I'd find her...my other half. "Come on! I have my next life to live." - I said to the voices... "Wait for me." "Well, if I have any? Who knows? She might have gave up living at this point." Tap Tap Tap Creeeekk... Title: "Shortest Life in the Library of Lives."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	I was dead...at the moment I was born. It was too late because I'm already dead. I've been given a name, a country, a religion, a skin color and assigned sex. Everything was decided for me and they all expect me to fight for it. And this book...as thick as crackers of a biscuit. At the last page... Page 50. "Went outside to find the perfect view to be run over by a car. You could have live this time but the world is too cruel. The car left seeing that no one saw the incident. You were left there to die. How do you feel old soul?" I wasn't able to do what I want...what did I even want to do with my life? "There's no use fretting over that now, right?" "Yeah, It's too late." The voices in my head went...they argued and argued but all of that is white noise to me. Standing in the purgatory, reading my 50 pages book. "Maybe...just maybe, In my next life...I will get it right!" - I mumbled as I start to grabbed in, this newly found determination that came from a pitifull pit of my unsatisfaction with life. Afterall, this isn't the first time I lived and wrote my life's story in a book. Afterall, there is always a second chance for everything. Maybe, Afterall these lives...I'd find her...my other half. "Come on! I have my next life to live." - I said to the voices... "Wait for me." "Well, if I have any? Who knows? She might have gave up living at this point." Tap Tap Tap Creeeekk... Title: "Shortest Life in the Library of Lives."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	C.S. Lewis was apparently wrong, when he put the words, “'To know what would have happened, child?' said Aslan. 'No. Nobody is ever told that',” into the mouth of his character. Because I had a book in front of me that purported to tell just that. 'Dale Irving, 1927 to 2018, 18 Choices and Their Consequences.' “18? That's quite good, the average is 10 you know,” The angel who had handed me the book said reading it's title over my shoulder. “10 what?” Its eyes were very kind and its voice was calm and soothing, “10 Choices, the average person Chooses 10 times.” “What?” I asked, and then because I could tell from the look of nearly infinite patients in it's eyes that it was going to explain the exact same thing using slightly different words, I clarified. “The average person makes thousands of choices. Probably thousands a day. You can choose to snooze the alarm or turn it off, then you choose to get up or go back to sleep. You brush your hair first or your teeth. There are several routes you could take to work or you could just drive in a random direction until you don't know anyone and no one there has ever seen you before.” “Those are just reaction,” the angel said. “Chemicals in your brain combine, it sets off cascades through your nerves, and eventually your bodies move. You don't Choose.” It was an argument I'd heard before, of course. Everyone has. We're just meat machines. Wires and gears. I started to make the argument that had worked in life, “Quantum...” The angel cut me off it's voice filled with a well of kindness deeper than the sea. “Certain quantum scale reactions aree stochastic in character. But a coin flip isn't a Choice either.” I looked down at the book. “But they do exist?” “You have Free Will.” For the barest instant, wrapped around the word 'you' I got the impression of sadness in the angelic voice. I wonder if perhaps there wasn't a book out there with it's name on it. “It's HIS proudest accomplishment. It pulls you up off the plane of reality and in that instant You Choose free of all else.” I was still looking at the book. Perhaps 18 wasn't so bad a number after all. I had lived an extraordinary life. I had invented incredible things, made a vast fortune, then pumped it back into making the world a better place. “So now I read this and learn what they were? What would have happened if I'd Chosen something else?” “Yes.” “And then?” The angel smiled, a warm golden expression, “And then you learn more about Choosing and how to do it more often.”	I was dead...at the moment I was born. It was too late because I'm already dead. I've been given a name, a country, a religion, a skin color and assigned sex. Everything was decided for me and they all expect me to fight for it. And this book...as thick as crackers of a biscuit. At the last page... Page 50. "Went outside to find the perfect view to be run over by a car. You could have live this time but the world is too cruel. The car left seeing that no one saw the incident. You were left there to die. How do you feel old soul?" I wasn't able to do what I want...what did I even want to do with my life? "There's no use fretting over that now, right?" "Yeah, It's too late." The voices in my head went...they argued and argued but all of that is white noise to me. Standing in the purgatory, reading my 50 pages book. "Maybe...just maybe, In my next life...I will get it right!" - I mumbled as I start to grabbed in, this newly found determination that came from a pitifull pit of my unsatisfaction with life. Afterall, this isn't the first time I lived and wrote my life's story in a book. Afterall, there is always a second chance for everything. Maybe, Afterall these lives...I'd find her...my other half. "Come on! I have my next life to live." - I said to the voices... "Wait for me." "Well, if I have any? Who knows? She might have gave up living at this point." Tap Tap Tap Creeeekk... Title: "Shortest Life in the Library of Lives."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Right this way, Mr. Muller "Right where?" Right here, follow my voice I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them. Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead! said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. See! "But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes. Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha! As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books. Welcome to the eternal library The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand. Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair. You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin? "Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?" Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller. "Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel." Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book. Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands. In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791" "Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me." It doesn't need to. Start reading. The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277. I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months. Do you remember? It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I remember? Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died? "Of course I do, I was hit by a car." And? I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure. "Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident." A tense silence. And? "I fell off a ladder." And? "I was stabbed by my wife" And? This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more. "Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?" I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around. My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room. Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792. Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793. Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794. You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands. Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me. The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point. "This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?" He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen. It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later. Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling: Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library	I was dead...at the moment I was born. It was too late because I'm already dead. I've been given a name, a country, a religion, a skin color and assigned sex. Everything was decided for me and they all expect me to fight for it. And this book...as thick as crackers of a biscuit. At the last page... Page 50. "Went outside to find the perfect view to be run over by a car. You could have live this time but the world is too cruel. The car left seeing that no one saw the incident. You were left there to die. How do you feel old soul?" I wasn't able to do what I want...what did I even want to do with my life? "There's no use fretting over that now, right?" "Yeah, It's too late." The voices in my head went...they argued and argued but all of that is white noise to me. Standing in the purgatory, reading my 50 pages book. "Maybe...just maybe, In my next life...I will get it right!" - I mumbled as I start to grabbed in, this newly found determination that came from a pitifull pit of my unsatisfaction with life. Afterall, this isn't the first time I lived and wrote my life's story in a book. Afterall, there is always a second chance for everything. Maybe, Afterall these lives...I'd find her...my other half. "Come on! I have my next life to live." - I said to the voices... "Wait for me." "Well, if I have any? Who knows? She might have gave up living at this point." Tap Tap Tap Creeeekk... Title: "Shortest Life in the Library of Lives."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	The tome lay heavy in my hand. Immaculate penmanship neatly filled every page even as the number of pages stretched and warped to fit perhaps an infinite number within the leather-clad bindings. Death, for who else could it have been, stood silently within the hooded robe concealing his face. "This," I started to say, wanting to make sure I understood what I had been given. "This contains the stories of all the possible decisions I could have made, all my choices and their consequences... from birth all the way to my inevitable deaths?" "YES." I stared at the book. My whole life, no, all my possible lives. Every selfless and selfish decision, all the heroic and villanous moments, with the opposite paths laid out to show what could have been. What never had been. I closed the book, feeling an anger rising from within. "Take it." "WHAT?" "Take it," I said again, holding the book out to his skeletal fingers. "Burn it." Empty sockets stared at me as the tome, page still open to perfect parchment, was lifted from my hands. Death paused then asked, "WHY?" I glared back at the skull. "I lived my life. I made my choices. Good and bad, they were mine. The consequences were mine and I'll own those forever. Being brave enough to believe in the fantasy of love and then working hard to make it a reality? Mine. Choosing to be a father to a child who's sad fate seemed already written and holding her close as she died? Mine. Dealing with betrayals and pain? Mine. Moments of weakness, cowardice, and of laziness? Mine. What may have been is meaningless." With a growl I pointed at the book. "That isn't real. That isn't true. My choices made me who I am. All the way to when you fished me out of the wreckage my body had become. There's no point in either wallowing in over how much better things could have been, or letting myself swell with pride over how things could have been worse. What was, was. And I am who I am. So burn that, throw it away. I don't want it." With a loud snap, Death closed the book. As I watched, it burst into flames and quickly became ash flowing away in the ethereal wind. I felt a tension in my soul ease and I asked, "Now what?" Behind the dark figure a light had begun to shine. "NOW YOU ARE READY FOR WHAT COMES NEXT." He moved aside. And I walked forward.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	The tome lay heavy in my hand. Immaculate penmanship neatly filled every page even as the number of pages stretched and warped to fit perhaps an infinite number within the leather-clad bindings. Death, for who else could it have been, stood silently within the hooded robe concealing his face. "This," I started to say, wanting to make sure I understood what I had been given. "This contains the stories of all the possible decisions I could have made, all my choices and their consequences... from birth all the way to my inevitable deaths?" "YES." I stared at the book. My whole life, no, all my possible lives. Every selfless and selfish decision, all the heroic and villanous moments, with the opposite paths laid out to show what could have been. What never had been. I closed the book, feeling an anger rising from within. "Take it." "WHAT?" "Take it," I said again, holding the book out to his skeletal fingers. "Burn it." Empty sockets stared at me as the tome, page still open to perfect parchment, was lifted from my hands. Death paused then asked, "WHY?" I glared back at the skull. "I lived my life. I made my choices. Good and bad, they were mine. The consequences were mine and I'll own those forever. Being brave enough to believe in the fantasy of love and then working hard to make it a reality? Mine. Choosing to be a father to a child who's sad fate seemed already written and holding her close as she died? Mine. Dealing with betrayals and pain? Mine. Moments of weakness, cowardice, and of laziness? Mine. What may have been is meaningless." With a growl I pointed at the book. "That isn't real. That isn't true. My choices made me who I am. All the way to when you fished me out of the wreckage my body had become. There's no point in either wallowing in over how much better things could have been, or letting myself swell with pride over how things could have been worse. What was, was. And I am who I am. So burn that, throw it away. I don't want it." With a loud snap, Death closed the book. As I watched, it burst into flames and quickly became ash flowing away in the ethereal wind. I felt a tension in my soul ease and I asked, "Now what?" Behind the dark figure a light had begun to shine. "NOW YOU ARE READY FOR WHAT COMES NEXT." He moved aside. And I walked forward.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	I was smiling as I read the first hundred pages or so. Those were the early days of my life. When I was still young and was playing terrible make believe games with my brothers and sisters. The multitude of choices here never amounted to anything significant. Decided to agree with sisters; Page 539 Decided to agree with brothers; Page 540 No real differences that amounted to anything bigger. That was fine. I was actually sort of relieved at that, relieved to know that those choices could never really affect what happened later on. "You're stalling," He said. The tone wasn't accusatory nor was it complacent. It just sort of was. Pissed me off a bit actually. "Yeah, I am," I scoffed turning to him. "These were the better days. Can't I enjoy them?" "You can't leave unless the book is done. Those are the rules," He answered. Again, you couldn't get anything out of his voice. It just sort of was. "Is there a problem if I don't go?" "No. The schedule can be changed." "Than let me read at my own pace, okay?" I called as I turned to the book again. "'Sides, I'm not going to read all of it." I wasn't lying. One of my many faults. I wasn't going to waste my time reading every single one of the outcomes that could have occurred if I had chosen a different path. Just the cliff-notes of 'em. I turned back to the index to look up what I believed was the big turning point of my life. When I was finally able to see that the cogs weren't alright. The fight at the bar; Page 12,443 I threw the pages until I found what I was looking for. I was actually surprised when I saw that there weren't many choices for this point in my life. Through a knock-out punch; Page 12,511 Through a punch; Page 12,444 Both scenarios had me fighting which was odd. I thought that maybe there would have been a choice that didn't have me fighting. Guess that wasn't in my path. I turned to the end of the fight, knowing that if this wasn't origin point of what I become, than the end of the fight would have been. Lo' and Behold I was right. Go back to drinking; Page 12,677 Scare his mates; Page 12,788 Glass his mates; Page 12,877 Finish the fight; Page 12, 554 That was it. The point where my life started. I flipped forward a bunch of pages to see what my choice where at another point. I actually laughed out loud when I saw that there were only three options. Join; Page 23,111 Ignore; Page 23,311 Rat them out; Page 24,555 "Zeus be damned, I was set up from the start," I said as I continued to read down the path I had taken. Burn the church; Page 25,666 Burn the Government Building; Page 25,776 Execute the Bishop; Page 25,987 Let the crowds handle him: Page 26,001 Throw the Molotov Cocktail; Page 27,244 Use the flamethrower; Page 27,300 Hang the Arch-Bishop; Page 34,101 Behead the Arch-Bishop; Page 34,180 Fire the first shot; Page 35,188 Call in for a Volley Fire; Page 35,201 Blow up the Parliament Building; Page 36,333 Storm the Parliament Building; Page 36, 389 I continued to read down the path I had chosen, only occasionally glancing at the other possible outcomes of the action I could've taken. My smile never faded as I continued to read down the list of the methods of torture, the people killed, the lives thrown into chaos, the bodies that drowned in the wake of the choices I made. When I was satisfied with what I read, I loudly slammed the book. Just I was began to reach into my pocket, he called over, " Ready to go on?" "Give me a sec," I said, as I pulled out my trusty friend. Without a second thought, I flick it up and let the flames lick at the edges of the book. It was only a couple more second before the book I was holding in my hands had caught fire and was burning with a strangely calming orange flame. After I felt satisfied with the results of my actions, I walked over the him, throwing the book over my shoulder. "It will not be destroyed." "Figured as much. The place seemed to Holy and shit," I answered with a smile. "So, did I get to pick the ride or it just an instantaneous thing. I always figure that singing 'Highway to Hell' while headin' to hell would always be funny as hell." "You don't have any qualms about your actions?" The only time I could tell there was an emotion or a hint of something human. "No. I was broken from the start. Besides, I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't chosen the revolution, I would have been a lot less justified in my doings. Maybe some good came out of my actions. Maybe some didn't. I don't really care. I know where I was headed the second, I start on my path. I just hope you guys do your worst."
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	I remember a line from a TV show that was like, "I had hundreds of plans in my life, and only one of them got me killed!" That's--that was--my life, and apparently that is this book. Jesus Christ, there's a lot of death in here. It's a miracle I lived as long as I did. Flipping through page after page, I remember the ridiculous things I used to do, with my friends, with Jake, on my own, everything. All these things that I thought to myself, "how bad could it be?" and here I am looking at how bad it could have been. But I guess if there's all that bad, maybe... Jake. Jump over to October 15th, 2004. The last of the BBQ Fridays of the season. Select "let Jake crash on the couch." Play. It turns out Jake turns into a real asshole sometime in the late 2000s and even in what would be now, nobody in my family barely speaks to him. I don't care, I get to see him grow old. It's like when I first discovered Wikipedia, walking down all these what-ifs and different timelines and seeing how they bounce off of one another. February 18, 1985. "Choose Mom." Play. Jake's less of an asshole there, somehow, and apparently I never stopped talking to that Jake. October 31, 1988. "Let Jake be Batman." Play. Doesn't change much, but it's great watching him run around and exasperate either parent in the timelines. August 12, 2002. "Accept job in Alaska." Play. Long-distance calls makes keeping in touch with family difficult, but we ICQ from time to time. He's still alive there. It's Asshole Jake, but he's still there. I die earlier, though. October 15th, 2019. "Don't drink." Play. ...well, I continue living, I guess. Not much of a life at this point, but it's something. Think I'll keep watching these other timelines instead.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Heaven's a great library, and everyone has a library card. Even those destined for hell have a library card. I was alone, sat in a room with a large book. It's cover was dusty, as if waiting for me. I knew as soon as I opened it that time would stand still. God told me that. God told me everything that wasn't in this book. I could have been a painter, a truly great painter like Rembrandt. The book had all these illustrations I drew, every single one. From doodles on napkins to a mural I could have painted in a Roman cathedral. My real life, the one that ended much sooner than this chapter was a good read. I saw all my decisions at once. I always seemed to take the destructive path, the immoral path. I knew what I had achieved in life, but to see it all on paper is something else. A long list of every life I had touched, had maimed, had been in the presence of. The book had no end, there was an infinite number of pages. More of them dedicated to my possibilities of being a world class artist. By comparison, my real life was miniscule and short. "Do you regret any choices you've made?" asked God. "No." I lied. "Well, maybe the suicide." "Of course" said God, "we all regret our death. If we had just one more day, we could rule the world." "I did rule the world, once." I said. "Once." God led me up from the chair and down a set of stairs. A long and winding staircase. The heat was unbearable by the time I got to the last step. "Adolf, my son, this is your room." said God.	I remember a line from a TV show that was like, "I had hundreds of plans in my life, and only one of them got me killed!" That's--that was--my life, and apparently that is this book. Jesus Christ, there's a lot of death in here. It's a miracle I lived as long as I did. Flipping through page after page, I remember the ridiculous things I used to do, with my friends, with Jake, on my own, everything. All these things that I thought to myself, "how bad could it be?" and here I am looking at how bad it could have been. But I guess if there's all that bad, maybe... Jake. Jump over to October 15th, 2004. The last of the BBQ Fridays of the season. Select "let Jake crash on the couch." Play. It turns out Jake turns into a real asshole sometime in the late 2000s and even in what would be now, nobody in my family barely speaks to him. I don't care, I get to see him grow old. It's like when I first discovered Wikipedia, walking down all these what-ifs and different timelines and seeing how they bounce off of one another. February 18, 1985. "Choose Mom." Play. Jake's less of an asshole there, somehow, and apparently I never stopped talking to that Jake. October 31, 1988. "Let Jake be Batman." Play. Doesn't change much, but it's great watching him run around and exasperate either parent in the timelines. August 12, 2002. "Accept job in Alaska." Play. Long-distance calls makes keeping in touch with family difficult, but we ICQ from time to time. He's still alive there. It's Asshole Jake, but he's still there. I die earlier, though. October 15th, 2019. "Don't drink." Play. ...well, I continue living, I guess. Not much of a life at this point, but it's something. Think I'll keep watching these other timelines instead.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	I remember a line from a TV show that was like, "I had hundreds of plans in my life, and only one of them got me killed!" That's--that was--my life, and apparently that is this book. Jesus Christ, there's a lot of death in here. It's a miracle I lived as long as I did. Flipping through page after page, I remember the ridiculous things I used to do, with my friends, with Jake, on my own, everything. All these things that I thought to myself, "how bad could it be?" and here I am looking at how bad it could have been. But I guess if there's all that bad, maybe... Jake. Jump over to October 15th, 2004. The last of the BBQ Fridays of the season. Select "let Jake crash on the couch." Play. It turns out Jake turns into a real asshole sometime in the late 2000s and even in what would be now, nobody in my family barely speaks to him. I don't care, I get to see him grow old. It's like when I first discovered Wikipedia, walking down all these what-ifs and different timelines and seeing how they bounce off of one another. February 18, 1985. "Choose Mom." Play. Jake's less of an asshole there, somehow, and apparently I never stopped talking to that Jake. October 31, 1988. "Let Jake be Batman." Play. Doesn't change much, but it's great watching him run around and exasperate either parent in the timelines. August 12, 2002. "Accept job in Alaska." Play. Long-distance calls makes keeping in touch with family difficult, but we ICQ from time to time. He's still alive there. It's Asshole Jake, but he's still there. I die earlier, though. October 15th, 2019. "Don't drink." Play. ...well, I continue living, I guess. Not much of a life at this point, but it's something. Think I'll keep watching these other timelines instead.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	C.S. Lewis was apparently wrong, when he put the words, “'To know what would have happened, child?' said Aslan. 'No. Nobody is ever told that',” into the mouth of his character. Because I had a book in front of me that purported to tell just that. 'Dale Irving, 1927 to 2018, 18 Choices and Their Consequences.' “18? That's quite good, the average is 10 you know,” The angel who had handed me the book said reading it's title over my shoulder. “10 what?” Its eyes were very kind and its voice was calm and soothing, “10 Choices, the average person Chooses 10 times.” “What?” I asked, and then because I could tell from the look of nearly infinite patients in it's eyes that it was going to explain the exact same thing using slightly different words, I clarified. “The average person makes thousands of choices. Probably thousands a day. You can choose to snooze the alarm or turn it off, then you choose to get up or go back to sleep. You brush your hair first or your teeth. There are several routes you could take to work or you could just drive in a random direction until you don't know anyone and no one there has ever seen you before.” “Those are just reaction,” the angel said. “Chemicals in your brain combine, it sets off cascades through your nerves, and eventually your bodies move. You don't Choose.” It was an argument I'd heard before, of course. Everyone has. We're just meat machines. Wires and gears. I started to make the argument that had worked in life, “Quantum...” The angel cut me off it's voice filled with a well of kindness deeper than the sea. “Certain quantum scale reactions aree stochastic in character. But a coin flip isn't a Choice either.” I looked down at the book. “But they do exist?” “You have Free Will.” For the barest instant, wrapped around the word 'you' I got the impression of sadness in the angelic voice. I wonder if perhaps there wasn't a book out there with it's name on it. “It's HIS proudest accomplishment. It pulls you up off the plane of reality and in that instant You Choose free of all else.” I was still looking at the book. Perhaps 18 wasn't so bad a number after all. I had lived an extraordinary life. I had invented incredible things, made a vast fortune, then pumped it back into making the world a better place. “So now I read this and learn what they were? What would have happened if I'd Chosen something else?” “Yes.” “And then?” The angel smiled, a warm golden expression, “And then you learn more about Choosing and how to do it more often.”	I remember a line from a TV show that was like, "I had hundreds of plans in my life, and only one of them got me killed!" That's--that was--my life, and apparently that is this book. Jesus Christ, there's a lot of death in here. It's a miracle I lived as long as I did. Flipping through page after page, I remember the ridiculous things I used to do, with my friends, with Jake, on my own, everything. All these things that I thought to myself, "how bad could it be?" and here I am looking at how bad it could have been. But I guess if there's all that bad, maybe... Jake. Jump over to October 15th, 2004. The last of the BBQ Fridays of the season. Select "let Jake crash on the couch." Play. It turns out Jake turns into a real asshole sometime in the late 2000s and even in what would be now, nobody in my family barely speaks to him. I don't care, I get to see him grow old. It's like when I first discovered Wikipedia, walking down all these what-ifs and different timelines and seeing how they bounce off of one another. February 18, 1985. "Choose Mom." Play. Jake's less of an asshole there, somehow, and apparently I never stopped talking to that Jake. October 31, 1988. "Let Jake be Batman." Play. Doesn't change much, but it's great watching him run around and exasperate either parent in the timelines. August 12, 2002. "Accept job in Alaska." Play. Long-distance calls makes keeping in touch with family difficult, but we ICQ from time to time. He's still alive there. It's Asshole Jake, but he's still there. I die earlier, though. October 15th, 2019. "Don't drink." Play. ...well, I continue living, I guess. Not much of a life at this point, but it's something. Think I'll keep watching these other timelines instead.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Right this way, Mr. Muller "Right where?" Right here, follow my voice I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them. Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead! said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. See! "But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes. Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha! As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books. Welcome to the eternal library The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand. Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair. You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin? "Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?" Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller. "Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel." Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book. Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands. In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791" "Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me." It doesn't need to. Start reading. The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277. I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months. Do you remember? It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I remember? Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died? "Of course I do, I was hit by a car." And? I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure. "Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident." A tense silence. And? "I fell off a ladder." And? "I was stabbed by my wife" And? This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more. "Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?" I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around. My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room. Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792. Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793. Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794. You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands. Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me. The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point. "This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?" He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen. It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later. Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling: Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library	I remember a line from a TV show that was like, "I had hundreds of plans in my life, and only one of them got me killed!" That's--that was--my life, and apparently that is this book. Jesus Christ, there's a lot of death in here. It's a miracle I lived as long as I did. Flipping through page after page, I remember the ridiculous things I used to do, with my friends, with Jake, on my own, everything. All these things that I thought to myself, "how bad could it be?" and here I am looking at how bad it could have been. But I guess if there's all that bad, maybe... Jake. Jump over to October 15th, 2004. The last of the BBQ Fridays of the season. Select "let Jake crash on the couch." Play. It turns out Jake turns into a real asshole sometime in the late 2000s and even in what would be now, nobody in my family barely speaks to him. I don't care, I get to see him grow old. It's like when I first discovered Wikipedia, walking down all these what-ifs and different timelines and seeing how they bounce off of one another. February 18, 1985. "Choose Mom." Play. Jake's less of an asshole there, somehow, and apparently I never stopped talking to that Jake. October 31, 1988. "Let Jake be Batman." Play. Doesn't change much, but it's great watching him run around and exasperate either parent in the timelines. August 12, 2002. "Accept job in Alaska." Play. Long-distance calls makes keeping in touch with family difficult, but we ICQ from time to time. He's still alive there. It's Asshole Jake, but he's still there. I die earlier, though. October 15th, 2019. "Don't drink." Play. ...well, I continue living, I guess. Not much of a life at this point, but it's something. Think I'll keep watching these other timelines instead.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	First time, and typed on a phone in the middle of the night. Please be gentle... The book, if you could call it a book, was handed to me with an air of indifference that I did not believe was befitting of my life. A cross between what I understood as a hard drive and a chose your owb adventure, all of the billions upon billions of versions of me were stored upon this one device. I looked up. The thing that had handed me the device was gone. All that was left was the burning curiousity and the fright that I had wasted my life. I skimmed through my life. Love, loss, success, failure. From my first kiss to the death of my father, every moment. I relived it all, just as realistic as if it was the present. I stopped. I had lived my life. Time to see the path of an alternate me. School gymnasium, 1998. Final year of school. I chose differently. No longer did I ask for Angela's number after the exam. Instead, I sat in anticipation, waiting to feel the difference of my life without her. Without my Angel. Ready to see if I could bear my life without her. I waited, slumped, head down at my desk. My life, lost, in a moment. I wasn't sure if I was ready to see if I could live without her. I hear feet approach my desk. Somewhere, outside the gymnasium, she would be saying her goodbyes. Where I was, those 20 years ago. My life had been short, but it had been worth it with her. "Hi". I looked up. She had waited.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Heaven's a great library, and everyone has a library card. Even those destined for hell have a library card. I was alone, sat in a room with a large book. It's cover was dusty, as if waiting for me. I knew as soon as I opened it that time would stand still. God told me that. God told me everything that wasn't in this book. I could have been a painter, a truly great painter like Rembrandt. The book had all these illustrations I drew, every single one. From doodles on napkins to a mural I could have painted in a Roman cathedral. My real life, the one that ended much sooner than this chapter was a good read. I saw all my decisions at once. I always seemed to take the destructive path, the immoral path. I knew what I had achieved in life, but to see it all on paper is something else. A long list of every life I had touched, had maimed, had been in the presence of. The book had no end, there was an infinite number of pages. More of them dedicated to my possibilities of being a world class artist. By comparison, my real life was miniscule and short. "Do you regret any choices you've made?" asked God. "No." I lied. "Well, maybe the suicide." "Of course" said God, "we all regret our death. If we had just one more day, we could rule the world." "I did rule the world, once." I said. "Once." God led me up from the chair and down a set of stairs. A long and winding staircase. The heat was unbearable by the time I got to the last step. "Adolf, my son, this is your room." said God.	First time, and typed on a phone in the middle of the night. Please be gentle... The book, if you could call it a book, was handed to me with an air of indifference that I did not believe was befitting of my life. A cross between what I understood as a hard drive and a chose your owb adventure, all of the billions upon billions of versions of me were stored upon this one device. I looked up. The thing that had handed me the device was gone. All that was left was the burning curiousity and the fright that I had wasted my life. I skimmed through my life. Love, loss, success, failure. From my first kiss to the death of my father, every moment. I relived it all, just as realistic as if it was the present. I stopped. I had lived my life. Time to see the path of an alternate me. School gymnasium, 1998. Final year of school. I chose differently. No longer did I ask for Angela's number after the exam. Instead, I sat in anticipation, waiting to feel the difference of my life without her. Without my Angel. Ready to see if I could bear my life without her. I waited, slumped, head down at my desk. My life, lost, in a moment. I wasn't sure if I was ready to see if I could live without her. I hear feet approach my desk. Somewhere, outside the gymnasium, she would be saying her goodbyes. Where I was, those 20 years ago. My life had been short, but it had been worth it with her. "Hi". I looked up. She had waited.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	First time, and typed on a phone in the middle of the night. Please be gentle... The book, if you could call it a book, was handed to me with an air of indifference that I did not believe was befitting of my life. A cross between what I understood as a hard drive and a chose your owb adventure, all of the billions upon billions of versions of me were stored upon this one device. I looked up. The thing that had handed me the device was gone. All that was left was the burning curiousity and the fright that I had wasted my life. I skimmed through my life. Love, loss, success, failure. From my first kiss to the death of my father, every moment. I relived it all, just as realistic as if it was the present. I stopped. I had lived my life. Time to see the path of an alternate me. School gymnasium, 1998. Final year of school. I chose differently. No longer did I ask for Angela's number after the exam. Instead, I sat in anticipation, waiting to feel the difference of my life without her. Without my Angel. Ready to see if I could bear my life without her. I waited, slumped, head down at my desk. My life, lost, in a moment. I wasn't sure if I was ready to see if I could live without her. I hear feet approach my desk. Somewhere, outside the gymnasium, she would be saying her goodbyes. Where I was, those 20 years ago. My life had been short, but it had been worth it with her. "Hi". I looked up. She had waited.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	C.S. Lewis was apparently wrong, when he put the words, “'To know what would have happened, child?' said Aslan. 'No. Nobody is ever told that',” into the mouth of his character. Because I had a book in front of me that purported to tell just that. 'Dale Irving, 1927 to 2018, 18 Choices and Their Consequences.' “18? That's quite good, the average is 10 you know,” The angel who had handed me the book said reading it's title over my shoulder. “10 what?” Its eyes were very kind and its voice was calm and soothing, “10 Choices, the average person Chooses 10 times.” “What?” I asked, and then because I could tell from the look of nearly infinite patients in it's eyes that it was going to explain the exact same thing using slightly different words, I clarified. “The average person makes thousands of choices. Probably thousands a day. You can choose to snooze the alarm or turn it off, then you choose to get up or go back to sleep. You brush your hair first or your teeth. There are several routes you could take to work or you could just drive in a random direction until you don't know anyone and no one there has ever seen you before.” “Those are just reaction,” the angel said. “Chemicals in your brain combine, it sets off cascades through your nerves, and eventually your bodies move. You don't Choose.” It was an argument I'd heard before, of course. Everyone has. We're just meat machines. Wires and gears. I started to make the argument that had worked in life, “Quantum...” The angel cut me off it's voice filled with a well of kindness deeper than the sea. “Certain quantum scale reactions aree stochastic in character. But a coin flip isn't a Choice either.” I looked down at the book. “But they do exist?” “You have Free Will.” For the barest instant, wrapped around the word 'you' I got the impression of sadness in the angelic voice. I wonder if perhaps there wasn't a book out there with it's name on it. “It's HIS proudest accomplishment. It pulls you up off the plane of reality and in that instant You Choose free of all else.” I was still looking at the book. Perhaps 18 wasn't so bad a number after all. I had lived an extraordinary life. I had invented incredible things, made a vast fortune, then pumped it back into making the world a better place. “So now I read this and learn what they were? What would have happened if I'd Chosen something else?” “Yes.” “And then?” The angel smiled, a warm golden expression, “And then you learn more about Choosing and how to do it more often.”	First time, and typed on a phone in the middle of the night. Please be gentle... The book, if you could call it a book, was handed to me with an air of indifference that I did not believe was befitting of my life. A cross between what I understood as a hard drive and a chose your owb adventure, all of the billions upon billions of versions of me were stored upon this one device. I looked up. The thing that had handed me the device was gone. All that was left was the burning curiousity and the fright that I had wasted my life. I skimmed through my life. Love, loss, success, failure. From my first kiss to the death of my father, every moment. I relived it all, just as realistic as if it was the present. I stopped. I had lived my life. Time to see the path of an alternate me. School gymnasium, 1998. Final year of school. I chose differently. No longer did I ask for Angela's number after the exam. Instead, I sat in anticipation, waiting to feel the difference of my life without her. Without my Angel. Ready to see if I could bear my life without her. I waited, slumped, head down at my desk. My life, lost, in a moment. I wasn't sure if I was ready to see if I could live without her. I hear feet approach my desk. Somewhere, outside the gymnasium, she would be saying her goodbyes. Where I was, those 20 years ago. My life had been short, but it had been worth it with her. "Hi". I looked up. She had waited.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I don't want it," I said, pushing the book away. Although standing in a white room, pain free and healthy, despite being 93, I knew what this book meant. "We give you the option-" "I understand," I responded crisply, "but angels don't understand some of the pains humans go through." "Your abusive past-" "Will remain that way," I tell him, looking down, "I can't relive it, and I can't see what would of happened had I not gone out that night. Or, had I ended it. If I told my parents no that one time. So no, I won't read it." "Very well," he said, the book disappearing, "follow me please, God is waiting. He knew you were going to turn it down."	I died alone. Missing my children and wife after the car crash 30 years ago. I had had a few drinks that night and though technically sober, I always felt like it was my fault or wondered what I could have done better.. In my grief, i left the home we built together and all friends we had made over the years would write and call occasionally, but would always want to start talking about how I had to buck up or move on. I had tried to date, even had a few great dogs to keep me company over the years but it was never the same. I decided to get over my fears by helping others. I joined AA, I helped build parks and named the playgrounds after my children. I even named a bench for my wife and ate there every Sunday for nearly 30 years. When I finally died and went to heaven, I was given a book. It was strange though. I got to read about the lives of all the decisions s that never happened because of that one day. I got to see pictures of my children going to prom. I got to see my wife get old. I couldn’t believe it but I was supposed to have twins! St Peter looked at me and asked me a single question. “Would you do things differently now that you know what you lost”? I heard later other people waited decades before answering, but I knew my answer immediately. “No. I have made mistakes, many of them in my lifetime. However, if this is heaven, my wife and kids are here and already know that I never stopped loving them and went on with my life helping others each day while thinking of them”. St Peter smiled and said “welcome back to your family”.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Heaven's a great library, and everyone has a library card. Even those destined for hell have a library card. I was alone, sat in a room with a large book. It's cover was dusty, as if waiting for me. I knew as soon as I opened it that time would stand still. God told me that. God told me everything that wasn't in this book. I could have been a painter, a truly great painter like Rembrandt. The book had all these illustrations I drew, every single one. From doodles on napkins to a mural I could have painted in a Roman cathedral. My real life, the one that ended much sooner than this chapter was a good read. I saw all my decisions at once. I always seemed to take the destructive path, the immoral path. I knew what I had achieved in life, but to see it all on paper is something else. A long list of every life I had touched, had maimed, had been in the presence of. The book had no end, there was an infinite number of pages. More of them dedicated to my possibilities of being a world class artist. By comparison, my real life was miniscule and short. "Do you regret any choices you've made?" asked God. "No." I lied. "Well, maybe the suicide." "Of course" said God, "we all regret our death. If we had just one more day, we could rule the world." "I did rule the world, once." I said. "Once." God led me up from the chair and down a set of stairs. A long and winding staircase. The heat was unbearable by the time I got to the last step. "Adolf, my son, this is your room." said God.	I died alone. Missing my children and wife after the car crash 30 years ago. I had had a few drinks that night and though technically sober, I always felt like it was my fault or wondered what I could have done better.. In my grief, i left the home we built together and all friends we had made over the years would write and call occasionally, but would always want to start talking about how I had to buck up or move on. I had tried to date, even had a few great dogs to keep me company over the years but it was never the same. I decided to get over my fears by helping others. I joined AA, I helped build parks and named the playgrounds after my children. I even named a bench for my wife and ate there every Sunday for nearly 30 years. When I finally died and went to heaven, I was given a book. It was strange though. I got to read about the lives of all the decisions s that never happened because of that one day. I got to see pictures of my children going to prom. I got to see my wife get old. I couldn’t believe it but I was supposed to have twins! St Peter looked at me and asked me a single question. “Would you do things differently now that you know what you lost”? I heard later other people waited decades before answering, but I knew my answer immediately. “No. I have made mistakes, many of them in my lifetime. However, if this is heaven, my wife and kids are here and already know that I never stopped loving them and went on with my life helping others each day while thinking of them”. St Peter smiled and said “welcome back to your family”.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	I died alone. Missing my children and wife after the car crash 30 years ago. I had had a few drinks that night and though technically sober, I always felt like it was my fault or wondered what I could have done better.. In my grief, i left the home we built together and all friends we had made over the years would write and call occasionally, but would always want to start talking about how I had to buck up or move on. I had tried to date, even had a few great dogs to keep me company over the years but it was never the same. I decided to get over my fears by helping others. I joined AA, I helped build parks and named the playgrounds after my children. I even named a bench for my wife and ate there every Sunday for nearly 30 years. When I finally died and went to heaven, I was given a book. It was strange though. I got to read about the lives of all the decisions s that never happened because of that one day. I got to see pictures of my children going to prom. I got to see my wife get old. I couldn’t believe it but I was supposed to have twins! St Peter looked at me and asked me a single question. “Would you do things differently now that you know what you lost”? I heard later other people waited decades before answering, but I knew my answer immediately. “No. I have made mistakes, many of them in my lifetime. However, if this is heaven, my wife and kids are here and already know that I never stopped loving them and went on with my life helping others each day while thinking of them”. St Peter smiled and said “welcome back to your family”.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	C.S. Lewis was apparently wrong, when he put the words, “'To know what would have happened, child?' said Aslan. 'No. Nobody is ever told that',” into the mouth of his character. Because I had a book in front of me that purported to tell just that. 'Dale Irving, 1927 to 2018, 18 Choices and Their Consequences.' “18? That's quite good, the average is 10 you know,” The angel who had handed me the book said reading it's title over my shoulder. “10 what?” Its eyes were very kind and its voice was calm and soothing, “10 Choices, the average person Chooses 10 times.” “What?” I asked, and then because I could tell from the look of nearly infinite patients in it's eyes that it was going to explain the exact same thing using slightly different words, I clarified. “The average person makes thousands of choices. Probably thousands a day. You can choose to snooze the alarm or turn it off, then you choose to get up or go back to sleep. You brush your hair first or your teeth. There are several routes you could take to work or you could just drive in a random direction until you don't know anyone and no one there has ever seen you before.” “Those are just reaction,” the angel said. “Chemicals in your brain combine, it sets off cascades through your nerves, and eventually your bodies move. You don't Choose.” It was an argument I'd heard before, of course. Everyone has. We're just meat machines. Wires and gears. I started to make the argument that had worked in life, “Quantum...” The angel cut me off it's voice filled with a well of kindness deeper than the sea. “Certain quantum scale reactions aree stochastic in character. But a coin flip isn't a Choice either.” I looked down at the book. “But they do exist?” “You have Free Will.” For the barest instant, wrapped around the word 'you' I got the impression of sadness in the angelic voice. I wonder if perhaps there wasn't a book out there with it's name on it. “It's HIS proudest accomplishment. It pulls you up off the plane of reality and in that instant You Choose free of all else.” I was still looking at the book. Perhaps 18 wasn't so bad a number after all. I had lived an extraordinary life. I had invented incredible things, made a vast fortune, then pumped it back into making the world a better place. “So now I read this and learn what they were? What would have happened if I'd Chosen something else?” “Yes.” “And then?” The angel smiled, a warm golden expression, “And then you learn more about Choosing and how to do it more often.”	I died alone. Missing my children and wife after the car crash 30 years ago. I had had a few drinks that night and though technically sober, I always felt like it was my fault or wondered what I could have done better.. In my grief, i left the home we built together and all friends we had made over the years would write and call occasionally, but would always want to start talking about how I had to buck up or move on. I had tried to date, even had a few great dogs to keep me company over the years but it was never the same. I decided to get over my fears by helping others. I joined AA, I helped build parks and named the playgrounds after my children. I even named a bench for my wife and ate there every Sunday for nearly 30 years. When I finally died and went to heaven, I was given a book. It was strange though. I got to read about the lives of all the decisions s that never happened because of that one day. I got to see pictures of my children going to prom. I got to see my wife get old. I couldn’t believe it but I was supposed to have twins! St Peter looked at me and asked me a single question. “Would you do things differently now that you know what you lost”? I heard later other people waited decades before answering, but I knew my answer immediately. “No. I have made mistakes, many of them in my lifetime. However, if this is heaven, my wife and kids are here and already know that I never stopped loving them and went on with my life helping others each day while thinking of them”. St Peter smiled and said “welcome back to your family”.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Heaven's a great library, and everyone has a library card. Even those destined for hell have a library card. I was alone, sat in a room with a large book. It's cover was dusty, as if waiting for me. I knew as soon as I opened it that time would stand still. God told me that. God told me everything that wasn't in this book. I could have been a painter, a truly great painter like Rembrandt. The book had all these illustrations I drew, every single one. From doodles on napkins to a mural I could have painted in a Roman cathedral. My real life, the one that ended much sooner than this chapter was a good read. I saw all my decisions at once. I always seemed to take the destructive path, the immoral path. I knew what I had achieved in life, but to see it all on paper is something else. A long list of every life I had touched, had maimed, had been in the presence of. The book had no end, there was an infinite number of pages. More of them dedicated to my possibilities of being a world class artist. By comparison, my real life was miniscule and short. "Do you regret any choices you've made?" asked God. "No." I lied. "Well, maybe the suicide." "Of course" said God, "we all regret our death. If we had just one more day, we could rule the world." "I did rule the world, once." I said. "Once." God led me up from the chair and down a set of stairs. A long and winding staircase. The heat was unbearable by the time I got to the last step. "Adolf, my son, this is your room." said God.	Like countless times before I pick up the book of my life, filled with all the decisions I did and could have done, it was more of an e-Book really, displayed on what looks like a Kindle, changing the contents of the page based on what I told it would be my decision. Today I tried my luck with yet another unexplored path, choosing to take the job as a programmer after my studies had concluded. And there I sat, reading for what had to be days upon days about what life would have entailed, always making the decision that seemed the most natural to me and then often going back a step and trying the other routes life could have had in store for me. When I finally finished I had a smile on my face, no matter what I had chosen, no matter what path I went, it always ended in a miserable and bitter life, just like the countless times I had done this before. I had yet another hundred paths that all support my final decision, the decision that had been bothering me for many years prior to my death and the more stories I read, the more I got to know about what my life could have been, the more it became clear, that the one correct decision I took in life, was to take it.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	You set down the book, having read every possible outcome. With tears in your eyes, you look over to your wife, who had died 3 years before. She smiles at you, and hugs you. As you sit there, you know that you made every decision correctly, and wouldn't change a thing.	Like countless times before I pick up the book of my life, filled with all the decisions I did and could have done, it was more of an e-Book really, displayed on what looks like a Kindle, changing the contents of the page based on what I told it would be my decision. Today I tried my luck with yet another unexplored path, choosing to take the job as a programmer after my studies had concluded. And there I sat, reading for what had to be days upon days about what life would have entailed, always making the decision that seemed the most natural to me and then often going back a step and trying the other routes life could have had in store for me. When I finally finished I had a smile on my face, no matter what I had chosen, no matter what path I went, it always ended in a miserable and bitter life, just like the countless times I had done this before. I had yet another hundred paths that all support my final decision, the decision that had been bothering me for many years prior to my death and the more stories I read, the more I got to know about what my life could have been, the more it became clear, that the one correct decision I took in life, was to take it.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	C.S. Lewis was apparently wrong, when he put the words, “'To know what would have happened, child?' said Aslan. 'No. Nobody is ever told that',” into the mouth of his character. Because I had a book in front of me that purported to tell just that. 'Dale Irving, 1927 to 2018, 18 Choices and Their Consequences.' “18? That's quite good, the average is 10 you know,” The angel who had handed me the book said reading it's title over my shoulder. “10 what?” Its eyes were very kind and its voice was calm and soothing, “10 Choices, the average person Chooses 10 times.” “What?” I asked, and then because I could tell from the look of nearly infinite patients in it's eyes that it was going to explain the exact same thing using slightly different words, I clarified. “The average person makes thousands of choices. Probably thousands a day. You can choose to snooze the alarm or turn it off, then you choose to get up or go back to sleep. You brush your hair first or your teeth. There are several routes you could take to work or you could just drive in a random direction until you don't know anyone and no one there has ever seen you before.” “Those are just reaction,” the angel said. “Chemicals in your brain combine, it sets off cascades through your nerves, and eventually your bodies move. You don't Choose.” It was an argument I'd heard before, of course. Everyone has. We're just meat machines. Wires and gears. I started to make the argument that had worked in life, “Quantum...” The angel cut me off it's voice filled with a well of kindness deeper than the sea. “Certain quantum scale reactions aree stochastic in character. But a coin flip isn't a Choice either.” I looked down at the book. “But they do exist?” “You have Free Will.” For the barest instant, wrapped around the word 'you' I got the impression of sadness in the angelic voice. I wonder if perhaps there wasn't a book out there with it's name on it. “It's HIS proudest accomplishment. It pulls you up off the plane of reality and in that instant You Choose free of all else.” I was still looking at the book. Perhaps 18 wasn't so bad a number after all. I had lived an extraordinary life. I had invented incredible things, made a vast fortune, then pumped it back into making the world a better place. “So now I read this and learn what they were? What would have happened if I'd Chosen something else?” “Yes.” “And then?” The angel smiled, a warm golden expression, “And then you learn more about Choosing and how to do it more often.”	Like countless times before I pick up the book of my life, filled with all the decisions I did and could have done, it was more of an e-Book really, displayed on what looks like a Kindle, changing the contents of the page based on what I told it would be my decision. Today I tried my luck with yet another unexplored path, choosing to take the job as a programmer after my studies had concluded. And there I sat, reading for what had to be days upon days about what life would have entailed, always making the decision that seemed the most natural to me and then often going back a step and trying the other routes life could have had in store for me. When I finally finished I had a smile on my face, no matter what I had chosen, no matter what path I went, it always ended in a miserable and bitter life, just like the countless times I had done this before. I had yet another hundred paths that all support my final decision, the decision that had been bothering me for many years prior to my death and the more stories I read, the more I got to know about what my life could have been, the more it became clear, that the one correct decision I took in life, was to take it.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Right this way, Mr. Muller "Right where?" Right here, follow my voice I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them. Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead! said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. See! "But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes. Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha! As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books. Welcome to the eternal library The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand. Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair. You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin? "Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?" Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller. "Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel." Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book. Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands. In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791" "Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me." It doesn't need to. Start reading. The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277. I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months. Do you remember? It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I remember? Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died? "Of course I do, I was hit by a car." And? I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure. "Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident." A tense silence. And? "I fell off a ladder." And? "I was stabbed by my wife" And? This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more. "Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?" I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around. My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room. Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792. Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793. Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794. You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands. Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me. The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point. "This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?" He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen. It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later. Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling: Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library	Like countless times before I pick up the book of my life, filled with all the decisions I did and could have done, it was more of an e-Book really, displayed on what looks like a Kindle, changing the contents of the page based on what I told it would be my decision. Today I tried my luck with yet another unexplored path, choosing to take the job as a programmer after my studies had concluded. And there I sat, reading for what had to be days upon days about what life would have entailed, always making the decision that seemed the most natural to me and then often going back a step and trying the other routes life could have had in store for me. When I finally finished I had a smile on my face, no matter what I had chosen, no matter what path I went, it always ended in a miserable and bitter life, just like the countless times I had done this before. I had yet another hundred paths that all support my final decision, the decision that had been bothering me for many years prior to my death and the more stories I read, the more I got to know about what my life could have been, the more it became clear, that the one correct decision I took in life, was to take it.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	C.S. Lewis was apparently wrong, when he put the words, “'To know what would have happened, child?' said Aslan. 'No. Nobody is ever told that',” into the mouth of his character. Because I had a book in front of me that purported to tell just that. 'Dale Irving, 1927 to 2018, 18 Choices and Their Consequences.' “18? That's quite good, the average is 10 you know,” The angel who had handed me the book said reading it's title over my shoulder. “10 what?” Its eyes were very kind and its voice was calm and soothing, “10 Choices, the average person Chooses 10 times.” “What?” I asked, and then because I could tell from the look of nearly infinite patients in it's eyes that it was going to explain the exact same thing using slightly different words, I clarified. “The average person makes thousands of choices. Probably thousands a day. You can choose to snooze the alarm or turn it off, then you choose to get up or go back to sleep. You brush your hair first or your teeth. There are several routes you could take to work or you could just drive in a random direction until you don't know anyone and no one there has ever seen you before.” “Those are just reaction,” the angel said. “Chemicals in your brain combine, it sets off cascades through your nerves, and eventually your bodies move. You don't Choose.” It was an argument I'd heard before, of course. Everyone has. We're just meat machines. Wires and gears. I started to make the argument that had worked in life, “Quantum...” The angel cut me off it's voice filled with a well of kindness deeper than the sea. “Certain quantum scale reactions aree stochastic in character. But a coin flip isn't a Choice either.” I looked down at the book. “But they do exist?” “You have Free Will.” For the barest instant, wrapped around the word 'you' I got the impression of sadness in the angelic voice. I wonder if perhaps there wasn't a book out there with it's name on it. “It's HIS proudest accomplishment. It pulls you up off the plane of reality and in that instant You Choose free of all else.” I was still looking at the book. Perhaps 18 wasn't so bad a number after all. I had lived an extraordinary life. I had invented incredible things, made a vast fortune, then pumped it back into making the world a better place. “So now I read this and learn what they were? What would have happened if I'd Chosen something else?” “Yes.” “And then?” The angel smiled, a warm golden expression, “And then you learn more about Choosing and how to do it more often.”	I thumbed through the pages to see no penned illustrations. I flipped back to the first page of the book to see who authored this piece, expecting to see my own name. "Greasy Greg" is certainly not my name nor a handle I've ever used. I flipped to the back to read the ending of whatever route was on the last page. It said, "but damned if you do, damned if you don't, and now Croatia is underwater." "Ugh, creative non-fiction isn't really my thing," I said as I passed back the book.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I stared at the corner, where two walls joined. The thing about eternity, is that small fragments of time cease to mean anything. When you're twenty, a year goes by like a month. When you're 50, they seem to fly by like days. I was lucky enough to leave that concept behind before I got too far beyond 50. I had been staring at the wall for a very long time. I flexed my hand, feeling the immaterium of my projected consciousness stretch and contort, ghosts of tendons displacing veins and muscle, which only existed for as long as my attention span. It was translucent, but only because I knew what was inside. I returned my blank gaze to studying the wall. I knew what kind of Nothing was inside that too. The Room constituted Everything. The sum capacity of my new universe was 15ft by 15ft by 15ft. And the Book. I felt another well of discomfort, rising in a throat that didn't exist, anxiety flooding through my body, imaginary hormones riding blood that dried up centuries ago. Centuries? Centuries. Probably. Those things hadn't meant anything for a while. At first I had obsessively kept track of time, guessing and reguessing and estimating and correcting. That mania overtook me about twenty years in, but after a while, I realised that time only meant something when it was heading somewhere. There was only This. There was only Now. There was only the Book. And there was The Wall. Steven studied the wall. It was smooth, and grey, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could see the swirls in the fabric of reality, compounded and solidified into this glorious, perfect monument, exact, square, and _solid_. If he peered in, deeper, hot, white clusters pulsate, flitting around each other in a flirtatious dance, twining themselves in strands of ether, never quite touching, until, rejected, they collapse, retreat, and form a new dance. Or maybe they didn't. He reached out to touch the wall, and found that his fingers met substance. He felt the distal phalange of his index finger squish through meat, straining to make contact, to reach through the wall and join the cosmic dance. A tear that didn't exist rolled down a face that had never been seen. One was joined by others, which became None as soon as they left his face. He stroked the wall with five finger tips, and let his hand find the corner. He hadn't moved away from the corner for a very long time. He hadn't looked at the Book for even longer. A while ago, he switched corners, but that was just because he came to know all of the white specks on that side. He predicted a year's worth of their movements, and after that he got bored. He had laughed when he first woken up with the book, and spent a year studiously ignoring it. To acknowledge it would be to give power to whatever put him here. And anyway, he was never much of a reader. But sooner or later, he had thumbed it open. Later, in this case. As his thoughts on time shifted, Later ceased to exist. The thing about eternity is, you'll do anything to fill the now, to push Later out of your mind. Later isn't something that you want to exist. The Book was a thing of beauty. The cover was plain, and uninteresting, but it was so unassailably _real_, that it felt like it carried the sum total of everything inside. Maybe it did. Despite the number of pages, they never ran out. You flick 10,000 pages to find out where one option takes you, and still find yourself in the middle. That's part of the problem. It was entertaining for a while. Steven saw where his life led, and then the life of somebody almost like him. And then somebody slightly further away, a distant, less Steven, Steven. In fact, Steven had read, lead, visualised and been defeated, loved, lost, murdered, been killed, died of diabetes, killed himself, killed the president, _loved_ the president, a million times over. A billion. It was like an eternity of films. In fact, Steven had lived so many lives, so many Reals that were so different from his own, that Steven no longer remembered which was his own. In fact, the only concrete thing that Steven had left, was the fact that his name was Stephen. His tears dry by themselves, eventually, and he turns his head to the center of the room, to look at the Book, drawing everything Real into it, like a black hole drawing in light. He stands, and stretches out of habit, feeling muscles sliding over rib bones, feeling lungs expand with un-air. He turns the rest of his body, and begins to place one foot in front of the other. The corner that he was sitting in, and two pieces of wall attached, slowly disperse back into the immaterium.	I thumbed through the pages to see no penned illustrations. I flipped back to the first page of the book to see who authored this piece, expecting to see my own name. "Greasy Greg" is certainly not my name nor a handle I've ever used. I flipped to the back to read the ending of whatever route was on the last page. It said, "but damned if you do, damned if you don't, and now Croatia is underwater." "Ugh, creative non-fiction isn't really my thing," I said as I passed back the book.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Once I had acclimatised, they led me into an office. Wood-panelled, decadent, I thought, for this place - but I supposed they moved with the times here as well. There was a man at the desk dressed in a white-grey suit. Subtle. They had told me about this man, when I had calmed down. He would show me all my significant choices, walk me through them, help me come to terms with them. He would enlighten me and discourage my false beliefs about myself, to cleanse me. I sat. He gently placed a large, red leather-bound volume on the table. It looked like a Victorian bible, but brand new. I touched the closed leaves of the volume: The pages were going to be petal-like, delicate, just the same as bibles. This book meant something. “All the choices you have ever had,” said the man in white. “Try it.” I reached out my hand, hesitated, and looked to him. He exuded authority. He smiled serenely. “I’ll explain it all. Go on.” I opened the book. The first few chapters were uneventful, filled with childhood stories and corrections to memories I had reconstructed in my elderly mind. I remembered my mother and father here- I was smiling. No choices as yet, but I’m only, what, six? Six, that’s.. quite old. I looked up. The man had been sitting in silence, smiling- at me, or to himself? He sensed my worry. “Significant choices, my friend. At this point, your life is controlled by your parents and you have little perception of wider choice.” I continued. In year two of school, I was confronted with a choice. Little Jenny was being teased for her broken leg. The other children looked to me. ‘Do you a) join in with the children teasing Jenny or b) tease Jenny along with the children? for a) go to page 265 or for b) go to page 265. What? I looked to the man across the desk. “Your brain factored in being alienated by your peers against hurting Jenny. This one was a dead cert.” He smiled kindly. Satisfied, if still slightly perplexed, I turned my eyes back to the book. “Jenny was always a sick girl. She hanged herself after the same kind of bullying in her thirties”. My eyes shot up, staring. The man seemed to look away, since as it to chastise himself. “Of course you can’t be blamed for any of this. You had no choice.” Shaken, at length I went back to reading. A pattern began to emerge. As I read further, my “significant choices” became more and more frequent. To watch football with the others? To steal some cool pieces of Lego from my friend? To question the nature of my father’s illness...? And each time, each option is the other, rephrased as if to give some illusion of choice. As I read further, greeted with what could only be described as amused patience from the man in white, all the pages led to the same place. “What is this?” I asked, finally, battling through the dread of the answer. “Have you ever heard of determinism? All of us, pawns, players in some shitty game. And you’re here-“ “Here..?” “-and it’s not about responsibility, it’s about balance. And now you know- this eternity? It’s all gonna be electrical impulses.” The man in white paused strategically. He had done this many times before. “They said you would help me come to terms with my choices!” The man in white leaned forward, smiling more explicitly now. “I am. You have none. Submit. These are your terms.” “...who are you?” He paused, and then leaned back onto his chair. “Think of yourself as lucky. They live in blissful ignorance up there. Us? We know the nature of things.”	I thumbed through the pages to see no penned illustrations. I flipped back to the first page of the book to see who authored this piece, expecting to see my own name. "Greasy Greg" is certainly not my name nor a handle I've ever used. I flipped to the back to read the ending of whatever route was on the last page. It said, "but damned if you do, damned if you don't, and now Croatia is underwater." "Ugh, creative non-fiction isn't really my thing," I said as I passed back the book.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Right this way, Mr. Muller "Right where?" Right here, follow my voice I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them. Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead! said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. See! "But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes. Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha! As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books. Welcome to the eternal library The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand. Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair. You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin? "Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?" Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller. "Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel." Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book. Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands. In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791" "Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me." It doesn't need to. Start reading. The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277. I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months. Do you remember? It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I remember? Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died? "Of course I do, I was hit by a car." And? I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure. "Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident." A tense silence. And? "I fell off a ladder." And? "I was stabbed by my wife" And? This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more. "Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?" I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around. My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room. Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792. Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793. Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794. You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands. Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me. The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point. "This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?" He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen. It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later. Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling: Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library	I thumbed through the pages to see no penned illustrations. I flipped back to the first page of the book to see who authored this piece, expecting to see my own name. "Greasy Greg" is certainly not my name nor a handle I've ever used. I flipped to the back to read the ending of whatever route was on the last page. It said, "but damned if you do, damned if you don't, and now Croatia is underwater." "Ugh, creative non-fiction isn't really my thing," I said as I passed back the book.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"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. 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 fucking 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 as 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 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."	I thumbed through the pages to see no penned illustrations. I flipped back to the first page of the book to see who authored this piece, expecting to see my own name. "Greasy Greg" is certainly not my name nor a handle I've ever used. I flipped to the back to read the ending of whatever route was on the last page. It said, "but damned if you do, damned if you don't, and now Croatia is underwater." "Ugh, creative non-fiction isn't really my thing," I said as I passed back the book.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I stared at the corner, where two walls joined. The thing about eternity, is that small fragments of time cease to mean anything. When you're twenty, a year goes by like a month. When you're 50, they seem to fly by like days. I was lucky enough to leave that concept behind before I got too far beyond 50. I had been staring at the wall for a very long time. I flexed my hand, feeling the immaterium of my projected consciousness stretch and contort, ghosts of tendons displacing veins and muscle, which only existed for as long as my attention span. It was translucent, but only because I knew what was inside. I returned my blank gaze to studying the wall. I knew what kind of Nothing was inside that too. The Room constituted Everything. The sum capacity of my new universe was 15ft by 15ft by 15ft. And the Book. I felt another well of discomfort, rising in a throat that didn't exist, anxiety flooding through my body, imaginary hormones riding blood that dried up centuries ago. Centuries? Centuries. Probably. Those things hadn't meant anything for a while. At first I had obsessively kept track of time, guessing and reguessing and estimating and correcting. That mania overtook me about twenty years in, but after a while, I realised that time only meant something when it was heading somewhere. There was only This. There was only Now. There was only the Book. And there was The Wall. Steven studied the wall. It was smooth, and grey, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could see the swirls in the fabric of reality, compounded and solidified into this glorious, perfect monument, exact, square, and _solid_. If he peered in, deeper, hot, white clusters pulsate, flitting around each other in a flirtatious dance, twining themselves in strands of ether, never quite touching, until, rejected, they collapse, retreat, and form a new dance. Or maybe they didn't. He reached out to touch the wall, and found that his fingers met substance. He felt the distal phalange of his index finger squish through meat, straining to make contact, to reach through the wall and join the cosmic dance. A tear that didn't exist rolled down a face that had never been seen. One was joined by others, which became None as soon as they left his face. He stroked the wall with five finger tips, and let his hand find the corner. He hadn't moved away from the corner for a very long time. He hadn't looked at the Book for even longer. A while ago, he switched corners, but that was just because he came to know all of the white specks on that side. He predicted a year's worth of their movements, and after that he got bored. He had laughed when he first woken up with the book, and spent a year studiously ignoring it. To acknowledge it would be to give power to whatever put him here. And anyway, he was never much of a reader. But sooner or later, he had thumbed it open. Later, in this case. As his thoughts on time shifted, Later ceased to exist. The thing about eternity is, you'll do anything to fill the now, to push Later out of your mind. Later isn't something that you want to exist. The Book was a thing of beauty. The cover was plain, and uninteresting, but it was so unassailably _real_, that it felt like it carried the sum total of everything inside. Maybe it did. Despite the number of pages, they never ran out. You flick 10,000 pages to find out where one option takes you, and still find yourself in the middle. That's part of the problem. It was entertaining for a while. Steven saw where his life led, and then the life of somebody almost like him. And then somebody slightly further away, a distant, less Steven, Steven. In fact, Steven had read, lead, visualised and been defeated, loved, lost, murdered, been killed, died of diabetes, killed himself, killed the president, _loved_ the president, a million times over. A billion. It was like an eternity of films. In fact, Steven had lived so many lives, so many Reals that were so different from his own, that Steven no longer remembered which was his own. In fact, the only concrete thing that Steven had left, was the fact that his name was Stephen. His tears dry by themselves, eventually, and he turns his head to the center of the room, to look at the Book, drawing everything Real into it, like a black hole drawing in light. He stands, and stretches out of habit, feeling muscles sliding over rib bones, feeling lungs expand with un-air. He turns the rest of his body, and begins to place one foot in front of the other. The corner that he was sitting in, and two pieces of wall attached, slowly disperse back into the immaterium.	A bookcase floated before me. I had taken a cursory glance over the first of the matching volumes to discover the old instructions of a choose your own adventure novel that I hadn't seen since elementary school. I flipped through several pages of nonsense before catching sight of something about a lemon that I recognized from an old story mom would always tell about me. It occurred to me immediately what these volumes were. So now I've just been floating here with it. Not reading yet. Still lamenting that I did end up being doomed to spend eternity in an afterlife after all. But also trying to compile all the what ifs I had been asking myself over the years. This system was rather inconvenient. I didn't want to work my way from the beginning, I just wanted to know outcomes of certain scenarios, and I wouldn't remember the steps I took to get to those decisions in the first place. I tried to sleep on a strategy. Not sure it worked, or how much time passed while my eyes were closed, but when I opened them, there was now a computer and only one book. I glanced down at the book, lying open, and saw a recounting of a rather tender moment, but was also able to verify that I did indeed know a certain someone at that point, despite having forgotten that I had ever spoken to them not a decade later. I move over to the computer monitor and am greeted with a lovely file system organized by year. Excellent. Glad to see that the bookcase does have the capacity to shift forms. I greedily open up the folder for grade 7, am greeted with more folders, this time listing categories. Click into the romance folder, and I'm now given a series of multiple choice questions in a new window. I see all the situations are written in purple text, and the choices I had made originally were underlined in purple. I find the first question of curiosity, the first secret love letter I got. I change the response to "keep quiet" and notice that some scenarios vanish, with new ones in green appearing in their place. A flutter attracts my attention to the book in time to see it rest on the page in question as some of the text fades and is replaced. Excitedly I check to see if I called her out on it when she said she heard I got one. And true to my original choice, I remained quiet. No worries, I can change that choice too. I glance at the screen...and no choice exists. I flip through the book in confusion, only to discover that I was just to naive to put two and two together in the first place. Lovely. I hit restore defualts and proceed to run experiments. First, each change of decision introduces new colours. This gets complicated past 10 changes trying to keep track of which shades came from which choices, but whatever. Also, the book now flips to the stage in life that will answer whatever question I had. Efficiency. Two girls I could have dated. Both of which I was too hesitant due to my own lack of knowledge. Both of which fell into drugs in high school. I test what happens with each. One of them, we dated for a bit before she broke up with me and ended up in drugs anyway. That's a relief I guess. Other one, oh yikes, I ended up in drugs too. Wasn't expecting that to happen. Tried making decisions to lead me down more creative endeavours than I had actually chosen. Mixed results. Seems I was never really satisfied there. I'd get lots of better things accompanied with worse things. Sometimes the book would noticeably shrink too. It got even more harrowing when I started playing around with the choices during university. About half of them resulted in the book shrinking. Particularly any choice that moved towards parental dependence. I mean, I joked about that a lot after moving out, but I don't think I ever realized just how much potential for it actually existed. Tried out different cities for when I left my hometown. Ultimately still ended up in the same place no matter my choice, but it was interesting how things during that intermediary period got altered. Seemed that I had picked the middle path in terms of happiness and success for my late 20s. Finally with the most what ifs out of the way, I took a breath and set out on the last of these projects, the one I was saving for last, because I knew it would take the longest. I find my way to the day my university girlfriend broke up with me. I change the response I gave just before then, check out the book... ...and start working backwards.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Once I had acclimatised, they led me into an office. Wood-panelled, decadent, I thought, for this place - but I supposed they moved with the times here as well. There was a man at the desk dressed in a white-grey suit. Subtle. They had told me about this man, when I had calmed down. He would show me all my significant choices, walk me through them, help me come to terms with them. He would enlighten me and discourage my false beliefs about myself, to cleanse me. I sat. He gently placed a large, red leather-bound volume on the table. It looked like a Victorian bible, but brand new. I touched the closed leaves of the volume: The pages were going to be petal-like, delicate, just the same as bibles. This book meant something. “All the choices you have ever had,” said the man in white. “Try it.” I reached out my hand, hesitated, and looked to him. He exuded authority. He smiled serenely. “I’ll explain it all. Go on.” I opened the book. The first few chapters were uneventful, filled with childhood stories and corrections to memories I had reconstructed in my elderly mind. I remembered my mother and father here- I was smiling. No choices as yet, but I’m only, what, six? Six, that’s.. quite old. I looked up. The man had been sitting in silence, smiling- at me, or to himself? He sensed my worry. “Significant choices, my friend. At this point, your life is controlled by your parents and you have little perception of wider choice.” I continued. In year two of school, I was confronted with a choice. Little Jenny was being teased for her broken leg. The other children looked to me. ‘Do you a) join in with the children teasing Jenny or b) tease Jenny along with the children? for a) go to page 265 or for b) go to page 265. What? I looked to the man across the desk. “Your brain factored in being alienated by your peers against hurting Jenny. This one was a dead cert.” He smiled kindly. Satisfied, if still slightly perplexed, I turned my eyes back to the book. “Jenny was always a sick girl. She hanged herself after the same kind of bullying in her thirties”. My eyes shot up, staring. The man seemed to look away, since as it to chastise himself. “Of course you can’t be blamed for any of this. You had no choice.” Shaken, at length I went back to reading. A pattern began to emerge. As I read further, my “significant choices” became more and more frequent. To watch football with the others? To steal some cool pieces of Lego from my friend? To question the nature of my father’s illness...? And each time, each option is the other, rephrased as if to give some illusion of choice. As I read further, greeted with what could only be described as amused patience from the man in white, all the pages led to the same place. “What is this?” I asked, finally, battling through the dread of the answer. “Have you ever heard of determinism? All of us, pawns, players in some shitty game. And you’re here-“ “Here..?” “-and it’s not about responsibility, it’s about balance. And now you know- this eternity? It’s all gonna be electrical impulses.” The man in white paused strategically. He had done this many times before. “They said you would help me come to terms with my choices!” The man in white leaned forward, smiling more explicitly now. “I am. You have none. Submit. These are your terms.” “...who are you?” He paused, and then leaned back onto his chair. “Think of yourself as lucky. They live in blissful ignorance up there. Us? We know the nature of things.”	A bookcase floated before me. I had taken a cursory glance over the first of the matching volumes to discover the old instructions of a choose your own adventure novel that I hadn't seen since elementary school. I flipped through several pages of nonsense before catching sight of something about a lemon that I recognized from an old story mom would always tell about me. It occurred to me immediately what these volumes were. So now I've just been floating here with it. Not reading yet. Still lamenting that I did end up being doomed to spend eternity in an afterlife after all. But also trying to compile all the what ifs I had been asking myself over the years. This system was rather inconvenient. I didn't want to work my way from the beginning, I just wanted to know outcomes of certain scenarios, and I wouldn't remember the steps I took to get to those decisions in the first place. I tried to sleep on a strategy. Not sure it worked, or how much time passed while my eyes were closed, but when I opened them, there was now a computer and only one book. I glanced down at the book, lying open, and saw a recounting of a rather tender moment, but was also able to verify that I did indeed know a certain someone at that point, despite having forgotten that I had ever spoken to them not a decade later. I move over to the computer monitor and am greeted with a lovely file system organized by year. Excellent. Glad to see that the bookcase does have the capacity to shift forms. I greedily open up the folder for grade 7, am greeted with more folders, this time listing categories. Click into the romance folder, and I'm now given a series of multiple choice questions in a new window. I see all the situations are written in purple text, and the choices I had made originally were underlined in purple. I find the first question of curiosity, the first secret love letter I got. I change the response to "keep quiet" and notice that some scenarios vanish, with new ones in green appearing in their place. A flutter attracts my attention to the book in time to see it rest on the page in question as some of the text fades and is replaced. Excitedly I check to see if I called her out on it when she said she heard I got one. And true to my original choice, I remained quiet. No worries, I can change that choice too. I glance at the screen...and no choice exists. I flip through the book in confusion, only to discover that I was just to naive to put two and two together in the first place. Lovely. I hit restore defualts and proceed to run experiments. First, each change of decision introduces new colours. This gets complicated past 10 changes trying to keep track of which shades came from which choices, but whatever. Also, the book now flips to the stage in life that will answer whatever question I had. Efficiency. Two girls I could have dated. Both of which I was too hesitant due to my own lack of knowledge. Both of which fell into drugs in high school. I test what happens with each. One of them, we dated for a bit before she broke up with me and ended up in drugs anyway. That's a relief I guess. Other one, oh yikes, I ended up in drugs too. Wasn't expecting that to happen. Tried making decisions to lead me down more creative endeavours than I had actually chosen. Mixed results. Seems I was never really satisfied there. I'd get lots of better things accompanied with worse things. Sometimes the book would noticeably shrink too. It got even more harrowing when I started playing around with the choices during university. About half of them resulted in the book shrinking. Particularly any choice that moved towards parental dependence. I mean, I joked about that a lot after moving out, but I don't think I ever realized just how much potential for it actually existed. Tried out different cities for when I left my hometown. Ultimately still ended up in the same place no matter my choice, but it was interesting how things during that intermediary period got altered. Seemed that I had picked the middle path in terms of happiness and success for my late 20s. Finally with the most what ifs out of the way, I took a breath and set out on the last of these projects, the one I was saving for last, because I knew it would take the longest. I find my way to the day my university girlfriend broke up with me. I change the response I gave just before then, check out the book... ...and start working backwards.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Right this way, Mr. Muller "Right where?" Right here, follow my voice I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them. Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead! said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. See! "But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes. Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha! As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books. Welcome to the eternal library The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand. Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair. You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin? "Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?" Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller. "Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel." Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book. Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands. In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791" "Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me." It doesn't need to. Start reading. The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277. I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months. Do you remember? It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I remember? Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died? "Of course I do, I was hit by a car." And? I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure. "Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident." A tense silence. And? "I fell off a ladder." And? "I was stabbed by my wife" And? This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more. "Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?" I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around. My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room. Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792. Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793. Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794. You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands. Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me. The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point. "This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?" He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen. It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later. Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling: Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library	A bookcase floated before me. I had taken a cursory glance over the first of the matching volumes to discover the old instructions of a choose your own adventure novel that I hadn't seen since elementary school. I flipped through several pages of nonsense before catching sight of something about a lemon that I recognized from an old story mom would always tell about me. It occurred to me immediately what these volumes were. So now I've just been floating here with it. Not reading yet. Still lamenting that I did end up being doomed to spend eternity in an afterlife after all. But also trying to compile all the what ifs I had been asking myself over the years. This system was rather inconvenient. I didn't want to work my way from the beginning, I just wanted to know outcomes of certain scenarios, and I wouldn't remember the steps I took to get to those decisions in the first place. I tried to sleep on a strategy. Not sure it worked, or how much time passed while my eyes were closed, but when I opened them, there was now a computer and only one book. I glanced down at the book, lying open, and saw a recounting of a rather tender moment, but was also able to verify that I did indeed know a certain someone at that point, despite having forgotten that I had ever spoken to them not a decade later. I move over to the computer monitor and am greeted with a lovely file system organized by year. Excellent. Glad to see that the bookcase does have the capacity to shift forms. I greedily open up the folder for grade 7, am greeted with more folders, this time listing categories. Click into the romance folder, and I'm now given a series of multiple choice questions in a new window. I see all the situations are written in purple text, and the choices I had made originally were underlined in purple. I find the first question of curiosity, the first secret love letter I got. I change the response to "keep quiet" and notice that some scenarios vanish, with new ones in green appearing in their place. A flutter attracts my attention to the book in time to see it rest on the page in question as some of the text fades and is replaced. Excitedly I check to see if I called her out on it when she said she heard I got one. And true to my original choice, I remained quiet. No worries, I can change that choice too. I glance at the screen...and no choice exists. I flip through the book in confusion, only to discover that I was just to naive to put two and two together in the first place. Lovely. I hit restore defualts and proceed to run experiments. First, each change of decision introduces new colours. This gets complicated past 10 changes trying to keep track of which shades came from which choices, but whatever. Also, the book now flips to the stage in life that will answer whatever question I had. Efficiency. Two girls I could have dated. Both of which I was too hesitant due to my own lack of knowledge. Both of which fell into drugs in high school. I test what happens with each. One of them, we dated for a bit before she broke up with me and ended up in drugs anyway. That's a relief I guess. Other one, oh yikes, I ended up in drugs too. Wasn't expecting that to happen. Tried making decisions to lead me down more creative endeavours than I had actually chosen. Mixed results. Seems I was never really satisfied there. I'd get lots of better things accompanied with worse things. Sometimes the book would noticeably shrink too. It got even more harrowing when I started playing around with the choices during university. About half of them resulted in the book shrinking. Particularly any choice that moved towards parental dependence. I mean, I joked about that a lot after moving out, but I don't think I ever realized just how much potential for it actually existed. Tried out different cities for when I left my hometown. Ultimately still ended up in the same place no matter my choice, but it was interesting how things during that intermediary period got altered. Seemed that I had picked the middle path in terms of happiness and success for my late 20s. Finally with the most what ifs out of the way, I took a breath and set out on the last of these projects, the one I was saving for last, because I knew it would take the longest. I find my way to the day my university girlfriend broke up with me. I change the response I gave just before then, check out the book... ...and start working backwards.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"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. 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 fucking 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 as 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 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."	A bookcase floated before me. I had taken a cursory glance over the first of the matching volumes to discover the old instructions of a choose your own adventure novel that I hadn't seen since elementary school. I flipped through several pages of nonsense before catching sight of something about a lemon that I recognized from an old story mom would always tell about me. It occurred to me immediately what these volumes were. So now I've just been floating here with it. Not reading yet. Still lamenting that I did end up being doomed to spend eternity in an afterlife after all. But also trying to compile all the what ifs I had been asking myself over the years. This system was rather inconvenient. I didn't want to work my way from the beginning, I just wanted to know outcomes of certain scenarios, and I wouldn't remember the steps I took to get to those decisions in the first place. I tried to sleep on a strategy. Not sure it worked, or how much time passed while my eyes were closed, but when I opened them, there was now a computer and only one book. I glanced down at the book, lying open, and saw a recounting of a rather tender moment, but was also able to verify that I did indeed know a certain someone at that point, despite having forgotten that I had ever spoken to them not a decade later. I move over to the computer monitor and am greeted with a lovely file system organized by year. Excellent. Glad to see that the bookcase does have the capacity to shift forms. I greedily open up the folder for grade 7, am greeted with more folders, this time listing categories. Click into the romance folder, and I'm now given a series of multiple choice questions in a new window. I see all the situations are written in purple text, and the choices I had made originally were underlined in purple. I find the first question of curiosity, the first secret love letter I got. I change the response to "keep quiet" and notice that some scenarios vanish, with new ones in green appearing in their place. A flutter attracts my attention to the book in time to see it rest on the page in question as some of the text fades and is replaced. Excitedly I check to see if I called her out on it when she said she heard I got one. And true to my original choice, I remained quiet. No worries, I can change that choice too. I glance at the screen...and no choice exists. I flip through the book in confusion, only to discover that I was just to naive to put two and two together in the first place. Lovely. I hit restore defualts and proceed to run experiments. First, each change of decision introduces new colours. This gets complicated past 10 changes trying to keep track of which shades came from which choices, but whatever. Also, the book now flips to the stage in life that will answer whatever question I had. Efficiency. Two girls I could have dated. Both of which I was too hesitant due to my own lack of knowledge. Both of which fell into drugs in high school. I test what happens with each. One of them, we dated for a bit before she broke up with me and ended up in drugs anyway. That's a relief I guess. Other one, oh yikes, I ended up in drugs too. Wasn't expecting that to happen. Tried making decisions to lead me down more creative endeavours than I had actually chosen. Mixed results. Seems I was never really satisfied there. I'd get lots of better things accompanied with worse things. Sometimes the book would noticeably shrink too. It got even more harrowing when I started playing around with the choices during university. About half of them resulted in the book shrinking. Particularly any choice that moved towards parental dependence. I mean, I joked about that a lot after moving out, but I don't think I ever realized just how much potential for it actually existed. Tried out different cities for when I left my hometown. Ultimately still ended up in the same place no matter my choice, but it was interesting how things during that intermediary period got altered. Seemed that I had picked the middle path in terms of happiness and success for my late 20s. Finally with the most what ifs out of the way, I took a breath and set out on the last of these projects, the one I was saving for last, because I knew it would take the longest. I find my way to the day my university girlfriend broke up with me. I change the response I gave just before then, check out the book... ...and start working backwards.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Once I had acclimatised, they led me into an office. Wood-panelled, decadent, I thought, for this place - but I supposed they moved with the times here as well. There was a man at the desk dressed in a white-grey suit. Subtle. They had told me about this man, when I had calmed down. He would show me all my significant choices, walk me through them, help me come to terms with them. He would enlighten me and discourage my false beliefs about myself, to cleanse me. I sat. He gently placed a large, red leather-bound volume on the table. It looked like a Victorian bible, but brand new. I touched the closed leaves of the volume: The pages were going to be petal-like, delicate, just the same as bibles. This book meant something. “All the choices you have ever had,” said the man in white. “Try it.” I reached out my hand, hesitated, and looked to him. He exuded authority. He smiled serenely. “I’ll explain it all. Go on.” I opened the book. The first few chapters were uneventful, filled with childhood stories and corrections to memories I had reconstructed in my elderly mind. I remembered my mother and father here- I was smiling. No choices as yet, but I’m only, what, six? Six, that’s.. quite old. I looked up. The man had been sitting in silence, smiling- at me, or to himself? He sensed my worry. “Significant choices, my friend. At this point, your life is controlled by your parents and you have little perception of wider choice.” I continued. In year two of school, I was confronted with a choice. Little Jenny was being teased for her broken leg. The other children looked to me. ‘Do you a) join in with the children teasing Jenny or b) tease Jenny along with the children? for a) go to page 265 or for b) go to page 265. What? I looked to the man across the desk. “Your brain factored in being alienated by your peers against hurting Jenny. This one was a dead cert.” He smiled kindly. Satisfied, if still slightly perplexed, I turned my eyes back to the book. “Jenny was always a sick girl. She hanged herself after the same kind of bullying in her thirties”. My eyes shot up, staring. The man seemed to look away, since as it to chastise himself. “Of course you can’t be blamed for any of this. You had no choice.” Shaken, at length I went back to reading. A pattern began to emerge. As I read further, my “significant choices” became more and more frequent. To watch football with the others? To steal some cool pieces of Lego from my friend? To question the nature of my father’s illness...? And each time, each option is the other, rephrased as if to give some illusion of choice. As I read further, greeted with what could only be described as amused patience from the man in white, all the pages led to the same place. “What is this?” I asked, finally, battling through the dread of the answer. “Have you ever heard of determinism? All of us, pawns, players in some shitty game. And you’re here-“ “Here..?” “-and it’s not about responsibility, it’s about balance. And now you know- this eternity? It’s all gonna be electrical impulses.” The man in white paused strategically. He had done this many times before. “They said you would help me come to terms with my choices!” The man in white leaned forward, smiling more explicitly now. “I am. You have none. Submit. These are your terms.” “...who are you?” He paused, and then leaned back onto his chair. “Think of yourself as lucky. They live in blissful ignorance up there. Us? We know the nature of things.”	I stared at the corner, where two walls joined. The thing about eternity, is that small fragments of time cease to mean anything. When you're twenty, a year goes by like a month. When you're 50, they seem to fly by like days. I was lucky enough to leave that concept behind before I got too far beyond 50. I had been staring at the wall for a very long time. I flexed my hand, feeling the immaterium of my projected consciousness stretch and contort, ghosts of tendons displacing veins and muscle, which only existed for as long as my attention span. It was translucent, but only because I knew what was inside. I returned my blank gaze to studying the wall. I knew what kind of Nothing was inside that too. The Room constituted Everything. The sum capacity of my new universe was 15ft by 15ft by 15ft. And the Book. I felt another well of discomfort, rising in a throat that didn't exist, anxiety flooding through my body, imaginary hormones riding blood that dried up centuries ago. Centuries? Centuries. Probably. Those things hadn't meant anything for a while. At first I had obsessively kept track of time, guessing and reguessing and estimating and correcting. That mania overtook me about twenty years in, but after a while, I realised that time only meant something when it was heading somewhere. There was only This. There was only Now. There was only the Book. And there was The Wall. Steven studied the wall. It was smooth, and grey, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could see the swirls in the fabric of reality, compounded and solidified into this glorious, perfect monument, exact, square, and _solid_. If he peered in, deeper, hot, white clusters pulsate, flitting around each other in a flirtatious dance, twining themselves in strands of ether, never quite touching, until, rejected, they collapse, retreat, and form a new dance. Or maybe they didn't. He reached out to touch the wall, and found that his fingers met substance. He felt the distal phalange of his index finger squish through meat, straining to make contact, to reach through the wall and join the cosmic dance. A tear that didn't exist rolled down a face that had never been seen. One was joined by others, which became None as soon as they left his face. He stroked the wall with five finger tips, and let his hand find the corner. He hadn't moved away from the corner for a very long time. He hadn't looked at the Book for even longer. A while ago, he switched corners, but that was just because he came to know all of the white specks on that side. He predicted a year's worth of their movements, and after that he got bored. He had laughed when he first woken up with the book, and spent a year studiously ignoring it. To acknowledge it would be to give power to whatever put him here. And anyway, he was never much of a reader. But sooner or later, he had thumbed it open. Later, in this case. As his thoughts on time shifted, Later ceased to exist. The thing about eternity is, you'll do anything to fill the now, to push Later out of your mind. Later isn't something that you want to exist. The Book was a thing of beauty. The cover was plain, and uninteresting, but it was so unassailably _real_, that it felt like it carried the sum total of everything inside. Maybe it did. Despite the number of pages, they never ran out. You flick 10,000 pages to find out where one option takes you, and still find yourself in the middle. That's part of the problem. It was entertaining for a while. Steven saw where his life led, and then the life of somebody almost like him. And then somebody slightly further away, a distant, less Steven, Steven. In fact, Steven had read, lead, visualised and been defeated, loved, lost, murdered, been killed, died of diabetes, killed himself, killed the president, _loved_ the president, a million times over. A billion. It was like an eternity of films. In fact, Steven had lived so many lives, so many Reals that were so different from his own, that Steven no longer remembered which was his own. In fact, the only concrete thing that Steven had left, was the fact that his name was Stephen. His tears dry by themselves, eventually, and he turns his head to the center of the room, to look at the Book, drawing everything Real into it, like a black hole drawing in light. He stands, and stretches out of habit, feeling muscles sliding over rib bones, feeling lungs expand with un-air. He turns the rest of his body, and begins to place one foot in front of the other. The corner that he was sitting in, and two pieces of wall attached, slowly disperse back into the immaterium.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Right this way, Mr. Muller "Right where?" Right here, follow my voice I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them. Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead! said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. See! "But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes. Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha! As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books. Welcome to the eternal library The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand. Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair. You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin? "Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?" Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller. "Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel." Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book. Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands. In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791" "Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me." It doesn't need to. Start reading. The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277. I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months. Do you remember? It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I remember? Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died? "Of course I do, I was hit by a car." And? I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure. "Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident." A tense silence. And? "I fell off a ladder." And? "I was stabbed by my wife" And? This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more. "Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?" I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around. My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room. Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792. Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793. Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794. You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands. Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me. The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point. "This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?" He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen. It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later. Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling: Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library	I stared at the corner, where two walls joined. The thing about eternity, is that small fragments of time cease to mean anything. When you're twenty, a year goes by like a month. When you're 50, they seem to fly by like days. I was lucky enough to leave that concept behind before I got too far beyond 50. I had been staring at the wall for a very long time. I flexed my hand, feeling the immaterium of my projected consciousness stretch and contort, ghosts of tendons displacing veins and muscle, which only existed for as long as my attention span. It was translucent, but only because I knew what was inside. I returned my blank gaze to studying the wall. I knew what kind of Nothing was inside that too. The Room constituted Everything. The sum capacity of my new universe was 15ft by 15ft by 15ft. And the Book. I felt another well of discomfort, rising in a throat that didn't exist, anxiety flooding through my body, imaginary hormones riding blood that dried up centuries ago. Centuries? Centuries. Probably. Those things hadn't meant anything for a while. At first I had obsessively kept track of time, guessing and reguessing and estimating and correcting. That mania overtook me about twenty years in, but after a while, I realised that time only meant something when it was heading somewhere. There was only This. There was only Now. There was only the Book. And there was The Wall. Steven studied the wall. It was smooth, and grey, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could see the swirls in the fabric of reality, compounded and solidified into this glorious, perfect monument, exact, square, and _solid_. If he peered in, deeper, hot, white clusters pulsate, flitting around each other in a flirtatious dance, twining themselves in strands of ether, never quite touching, until, rejected, they collapse, retreat, and form a new dance. Or maybe they didn't. He reached out to touch the wall, and found that his fingers met substance. He felt the distal phalange of his index finger squish through meat, straining to make contact, to reach through the wall and join the cosmic dance. A tear that didn't exist rolled down a face that had never been seen. One was joined by others, which became None as soon as they left his face. He stroked the wall with five finger tips, and let his hand find the corner. He hadn't moved away from the corner for a very long time. He hadn't looked at the Book for even longer. A while ago, he switched corners, but that was just because he came to know all of the white specks on that side. He predicted a year's worth of their movements, and after that he got bored. He had laughed when he first woken up with the book, and spent a year studiously ignoring it. To acknowledge it would be to give power to whatever put him here. And anyway, he was never much of a reader. But sooner or later, he had thumbed it open. Later, in this case. As his thoughts on time shifted, Later ceased to exist. The thing about eternity is, you'll do anything to fill the now, to push Later out of your mind. Later isn't something that you want to exist. The Book was a thing of beauty. The cover was plain, and uninteresting, but it was so unassailably _real_, that it felt like it carried the sum total of everything inside. Maybe it did. Despite the number of pages, they never ran out. You flick 10,000 pages to find out where one option takes you, and still find yourself in the middle. That's part of the problem. It was entertaining for a while. Steven saw where his life led, and then the life of somebody almost like him. And then somebody slightly further away, a distant, less Steven, Steven. In fact, Steven had read, lead, visualised and been defeated, loved, lost, murdered, been killed, died of diabetes, killed himself, killed the president, _loved_ the president, a million times over. A billion. It was like an eternity of films. In fact, Steven had lived so many lives, so many Reals that were so different from his own, that Steven no longer remembered which was his own. In fact, the only concrete thing that Steven had left, was the fact that his name was Stephen. His tears dry by themselves, eventually, and he turns his head to the center of the room, to look at the Book, drawing everything Real into it, like a black hole drawing in light. He stands, and stretches out of habit, feeling muscles sliding over rib bones, feeling lungs expand with un-air. He turns the rest of his body, and begins to place one foot in front of the other. The corner that he was sitting in, and two pieces of wall attached, slowly disperse back into the immaterium.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"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. 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 fucking 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 as 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 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."	I stared at the corner, where two walls joined. The thing about eternity, is that small fragments of time cease to mean anything. When you're twenty, a year goes by like a month. When you're 50, they seem to fly by like days. I was lucky enough to leave that concept behind before I got too far beyond 50. I had been staring at the wall for a very long time. I flexed my hand, feeling the immaterium of my projected consciousness stretch and contort, ghosts of tendons displacing veins and muscle, which only existed for as long as my attention span. It was translucent, but only because I knew what was inside. I returned my blank gaze to studying the wall. I knew what kind of Nothing was inside that too. The Room constituted Everything. The sum capacity of my new universe was 15ft by 15ft by 15ft. And the Book. I felt another well of discomfort, rising in a throat that didn't exist, anxiety flooding through my body, imaginary hormones riding blood that dried up centuries ago. Centuries? Centuries. Probably. Those things hadn't meant anything for a while. At first I had obsessively kept track of time, guessing and reguessing and estimating and correcting. That mania overtook me about twenty years in, but after a while, I realised that time only meant something when it was heading somewhere. There was only This. There was only Now. There was only the Book. And there was The Wall. Steven studied the wall. It was smooth, and grey, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could see the swirls in the fabric of reality, compounded and solidified into this glorious, perfect monument, exact, square, and _solid_. If he peered in, deeper, hot, white clusters pulsate, flitting around each other in a flirtatious dance, twining themselves in strands of ether, never quite touching, until, rejected, they collapse, retreat, and form a new dance. Or maybe they didn't. He reached out to touch the wall, and found that his fingers met substance. He felt the distal phalange of his index finger squish through meat, straining to make contact, to reach through the wall and join the cosmic dance. A tear that didn't exist rolled down a face that had never been seen. One was joined by others, which became None as soon as they left his face. He stroked the wall with five finger tips, and let his hand find the corner. He hadn't moved away from the corner for a very long time. He hadn't looked at the Book for even longer. A while ago, he switched corners, but that was just because he came to know all of the white specks on that side. He predicted a year's worth of their movements, and after that he got bored. He had laughed when he first woken up with the book, and spent a year studiously ignoring it. To acknowledge it would be to give power to whatever put him here. And anyway, he was never much of a reader. But sooner or later, he had thumbed it open. Later, in this case. As his thoughts on time shifted, Later ceased to exist. The thing about eternity is, you'll do anything to fill the now, to push Later out of your mind. Later isn't something that you want to exist. The Book was a thing of beauty. The cover was plain, and uninteresting, but it was so unassailably _real_, that it felt like it carried the sum total of everything inside. Maybe it did. Despite the number of pages, they never ran out. You flick 10,000 pages to find out where one option takes you, and still find yourself in the middle. That's part of the problem. It was entertaining for a while. Steven saw where his life led, and then the life of somebody almost like him. And then somebody slightly further away, a distant, less Steven, Steven. In fact, Steven had read, lead, visualised and been defeated, loved, lost, murdered, been killed, died of diabetes, killed himself, killed the president, _loved_ the president, a million times over. A billion. It was like an eternity of films. In fact, Steven had lived so many lives, so many Reals that were so different from his own, that Steven no longer remembered which was his own. In fact, the only concrete thing that Steven had left, was the fact that his name was Stephen. His tears dry by themselves, eventually, and he turns his head to the center of the room, to look at the Book, drawing everything Real into it, like a black hole drawing in light. He stands, and stretches out of habit, feeling muscles sliding over rib bones, feeling lungs expand with un-air. He turns the rest of his body, and begins to place one foot in front of the other. The corner that he was sitting in, and two pieces of wall attached, slowly disperse back into the immaterium.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"The rarest of tomes," the angel spoke, his hands trembling as he carefully placed a piece of paper in my hands. "How so?" I asked, puzzled. "This piece of paper chronicles your entire life. Every good decision, every bad decision, every good moment, every bad." The paper had under "actions" my date of birth, the words "the calling," and the date of my death. Under "outcome" it simply stated, "unchanged." I sighed. Having amounted to quite literally nothing in life it was no surprise that even in the afterlife I would have to be reminded of what a failure my life was. "Ah, yeah, that, I am a failure of epic proportions that much is true," I admitted, handing the paper back. The angel looked shaken by such an outrage. Holding the paper up he stated, quite simply, "There are few mortal men who are divine saints without knowing it. You spent literal decades without affecting anyone. A saint in a monastery with a completely celebrate pledge doesn't put so much effort into such a display of purity." "So what now?" I asked, trying not to cringe about the obvious implications of my "purity." "You will of course join the rest of the purest saints in state as we wait for Armageddon. I think you're a fan of Issac Newton?"	Was this perhaps the cruel joke of some omnipresent force? Before me sat a brown, leatherbound tomb that measured out to be a similar height to my fully standing figure. Save for the dimly lit area around me there was only an unrelenting void. There was no distinguishable source for the light and the only other defining characteristics of my 10x10 foot purgatory was the enormous book and a simple wooden chair adorned with a single teal cushion. The cold embrace of the surrounding abyss offered no explanation as to my situation so I turned my attention to the book. Your life read the title. I fliped open to the first page, leaving the cover dangling helplessly over its own mass. There I find a detailed account of my own birth. The following several pages offer nothing more; they all simply describe the mundane life of a not-yet-conscious infant. I flipped mindlessly ahead until I reached a header that said "first memory" that proceeds to describe my first conscious moments involving my mother dressing me in coveralls along with... A prompt? To cry, turn to page thirty seven thousand. To make a pathetic attempt as expressing happiness, turn to page four hundred thousand three hundred and seventy six This made no sense. I traversed my way as quickly as I could to the end of the book. The binding of the book made a sizeable arch as the pages flipped madly. On the second to last page I read You die in your sleep, old and alone. You immediately find yourself in a void with nothing but a large book and a chair. To explore the unknown, flip back three pages. To seek information from the book before you, return to page ninety six My skin feels clammy at the stress of my returning memories. The shock of death must have stopped me from understanding immediately that I was dead. I expct my heart to be racing yet I am met only with the cold nothingness of a heart-stood-still. Surprisingly though my skin has narry a wrinkle on it. There is nowhere for me to see a reflection, but this is definitely not the body I had previously. It seemed I was restored to a younger state to experience whatever damnation had befallen me. I considered the strange choose-your own adventure book of what has been snd what could have been before gazing back into the deep nothingness that surrounds me. Its shrouded haze made me feel like a small fish swimming in the vast expanse of infinity. I know nothing of the existence I find myself in other than what I remember from a life now gone. I was always a fan of reading. I decided to try and find the page where I went to high school prom. I wonder what would have happened if I kissed that young lady instead of being overpowered by fear? Yes, that sounds nice. What else is there to do but relive the mundane? After all, even the banal seems pleasant when the infinite expanse of darkness is my alternative. Edit: feedback is appreciated.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Once I had acclimatised, they led me into an office. Wood-panelled, decadent, I thought, for this place - but I supposed they moved with the times here as well. There was a man at the desk dressed in a white-grey suit. Subtle. They had told me about this man, when I had calmed down. He would show me all my significant choices, walk me through them, help me come to terms with them. He would enlighten me and discourage my false beliefs about myself, to cleanse me. I sat. He gently placed a large, red leather-bound volume on the table. It looked like a Victorian bible, but brand new. I touched the closed leaves of the volume: The pages were going to be petal-like, delicate, just the same as bibles. This book meant something. “All the choices you have ever had,” said the man in white. “Try it.” I reached out my hand, hesitated, and looked to him. He exuded authority. He smiled serenely. “I’ll explain it all. Go on.” I opened the book. The first few chapters were uneventful, filled with childhood stories and corrections to memories I had reconstructed in my elderly mind. I remembered my mother and father here- I was smiling. No choices as yet, but I’m only, what, six? Six, that’s.. quite old. I looked up. The man had been sitting in silence, smiling- at me, or to himself? He sensed my worry. “Significant choices, my friend. At this point, your life is controlled by your parents and you have little perception of wider choice.” I continued. In year two of school, I was confronted with a choice. Little Jenny was being teased for her broken leg. The other children looked to me. ‘Do you a) join in with the children teasing Jenny or b) tease Jenny along with the children? for a) go to page 265 or for b) go to page 265. What? I looked to the man across the desk. “Your brain factored in being alienated by your peers against hurting Jenny. This one was a dead cert.” He smiled kindly. Satisfied, if still slightly perplexed, I turned my eyes back to the book. “Jenny was always a sick girl. She hanged herself after the same kind of bullying in her thirties”. My eyes shot up, staring. The man seemed to look away, since as it to chastise himself. “Of course you can’t be blamed for any of this. You had no choice.” Shaken, at length I went back to reading. A pattern began to emerge. As I read further, my “significant choices” became more and more frequent. To watch football with the others? To steal some cool pieces of Lego from my friend? To question the nature of my father’s illness...? And each time, each option is the other, rephrased as if to give some illusion of choice. As I read further, greeted with what could only be described as amused patience from the man in white, all the pages led to the same place. “What is this?” I asked, finally, battling through the dread of the answer. “Have you ever heard of determinism? All of us, pawns, players in some shitty game. And you’re here-“ “Here..?” “-and it’s not about responsibility, it’s about balance. And now you know- this eternity? It’s all gonna be electrical impulses.” The man in white paused strategically. He had done this many times before. “They said you would help me come to terms with my choices!” The man in white leaned forward, smiling more explicitly now. “I am. You have none. Submit. These are your terms.” “...who are you?” He paused, and then leaned back onto his chair. “Think of yourself as lucky. They live in blissful ignorance up there. Us? We know the nature of things.”	Was this perhaps the cruel joke of some omnipresent force? Before me sat a brown, leatherbound tomb that measured out to be a similar height to my fully standing figure. Save for the dimly lit area around me there was only an unrelenting void. There was no distinguishable source for the light and the only other defining characteristics of my 10x10 foot purgatory was the enormous book and a simple wooden chair adorned with a single teal cushion. The cold embrace of the surrounding abyss offered no explanation as to my situation so I turned my attention to the book. Your life read the title. I fliped open to the first page, leaving the cover dangling helplessly over its own mass. There I find a detailed account of my own birth. The following several pages offer nothing more; they all simply describe the mundane life of a not-yet-conscious infant. I flipped mindlessly ahead until I reached a header that said "first memory" that proceeds to describe my first conscious moments involving my mother dressing me in coveralls along with... A prompt? To cry, turn to page thirty seven thousand. To make a pathetic attempt as expressing happiness, turn to page four hundred thousand three hundred and seventy six This made no sense. I traversed my way as quickly as I could to the end of the book. The binding of the book made a sizeable arch as the pages flipped madly. On the second to last page I read You die in your sleep, old and alone. You immediately find yourself in a void with nothing but a large book and a chair. To explore the unknown, flip back three pages. To seek information from the book before you, return to page ninety six My skin feels clammy at the stress of my returning memories. The shock of death must have stopped me from understanding immediately that I was dead. I expct my heart to be racing yet I am met only with the cold nothingness of a heart-stood-still. Surprisingly though my skin has narry a wrinkle on it. There is nowhere for me to see a reflection, but this is definitely not the body I had previously. It seemed I was restored to a younger state to experience whatever damnation had befallen me. I considered the strange choose-your own adventure book of what has been snd what could have been before gazing back into the deep nothingness that surrounds me. Its shrouded haze made me feel like a small fish swimming in the vast expanse of infinity. I know nothing of the existence I find myself in other than what I remember from a life now gone. I was always a fan of reading. I decided to try and find the page where I went to high school prom. I wonder what would have happened if I kissed that young lady instead of being overpowered by fear? Yes, that sounds nice. What else is there to do but relive the mundane? After all, even the banal seems pleasant when the infinite expanse of darkness is my alternative. Edit: feedback is appreciated.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Right this way, Mr. Muller "Right where?" Right here, follow my voice I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them. Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead! said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. See! "But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes. Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha! As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books. Welcome to the eternal library The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand. Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair. You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin? "Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?" Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller. "Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel." Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book. Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands. In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791" "Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me." It doesn't need to. Start reading. The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277. I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months. Do you remember? It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I remember? Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died? "Of course I do, I was hit by a car." And? I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure. "Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident." A tense silence. And? "I fell off a ladder." And? "I was stabbed by my wife" And? This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more. "Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?" I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around. My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room. Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792. Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793. Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794. You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands. Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me. The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point. "This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?" He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen. It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later. Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling: Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library	Was this perhaps the cruel joke of some omnipresent force? Before me sat a brown, leatherbound tomb that measured out to be a similar height to my fully standing figure. Save for the dimly lit area around me there was only an unrelenting void. There was no distinguishable source for the light and the only other defining characteristics of my 10x10 foot purgatory was the enormous book and a simple wooden chair adorned with a single teal cushion. The cold embrace of the surrounding abyss offered no explanation as to my situation so I turned my attention to the book. Your life read the title. I fliped open to the first page, leaving the cover dangling helplessly over its own mass. There I find a detailed account of my own birth. The following several pages offer nothing more; they all simply describe the mundane life of a not-yet-conscious infant. I flipped mindlessly ahead until I reached a header that said "first memory" that proceeds to describe my first conscious moments involving my mother dressing me in coveralls along with... A prompt? To cry, turn to page thirty seven thousand. To make a pathetic attempt as expressing happiness, turn to page four hundred thousand three hundred and seventy six This made no sense. I traversed my way as quickly as I could to the end of the book. The binding of the book made a sizeable arch as the pages flipped madly. On the second to last page I read You die in your sleep, old and alone. You immediately find yourself in a void with nothing but a large book and a chair. To explore the unknown, flip back three pages. To seek information from the book before you, return to page ninety six My skin feels clammy at the stress of my returning memories. The shock of death must have stopped me from understanding immediately that I was dead. I expct my heart to be racing yet I am met only with the cold nothingness of a heart-stood-still. Surprisingly though my skin has narry a wrinkle on it. There is nowhere for me to see a reflection, but this is definitely not the body I had previously. It seemed I was restored to a younger state to experience whatever damnation had befallen me. I considered the strange choose-your own adventure book of what has been snd what could have been before gazing back into the deep nothingness that surrounds me. Its shrouded haze made me feel like a small fish swimming in the vast expanse of infinity. I know nothing of the existence I find myself in other than what I remember from a life now gone. I was always a fan of reading. I decided to try and find the page where I went to high school prom. I wonder what would have happened if I kissed that young lady instead of being overpowered by fear? Yes, that sounds nice. What else is there to do but relive the mundane? After all, even the banal seems pleasant when the infinite expanse of darkness is my alternative. Edit: feedback is appreciated.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I woke up on a clean white bed. I remembered last night, remember my heart stopping after a long battle, but it all felt like a dream. Where ever I was, it was a place I didn’t want to leave. I got up off the bed, expecting the familiar creak of my seventy year old knees, but I instead found myself young again. Odd. As I opened the door to the small room I had awoken in, I was greeted by a library. Not just any library, but the library of me. The library of Leo. “What is this place?” I asked the air. “Your life story.” The air answered. “I suggest you start with book 17 page 1253.” I was trapped in the two rooms, so I figured I would follow what the voices in my head said. When I opened the book to the recommended page, my breath stopped. In it was the recorded history of the most important day of my life. The day I decided to conquer the world. I had always wondered what would have happened if I had just quit. What would have happened if I moved to the middle of no where in some random country and had opened a little shop. What would have happened if I married, had kids, had grandkids. But I had made my choice that day. I chose to conquer the world through a bloody campaign of war and genocide in the name of the American Empire; for the good of the people. In the end I lay dead with the world in ruins. “To decide not to destroy the world, go to book 57, page 106. “ I found the book, and opened to page 106. It was a cheery little tale. About being an artist, settling down, living happy. The problem was, it ended the same. It still ended with the me dead and the world in ruins. It couldn’t be right. I grabbed another book. I became a new age hippie, traveled the world, died in a pile of rubble. Another. Local senator, ideal family, shot in the head by raiders at the end of the world. ANOTHER. I was a professor. I taught the next generation, lived content, and was murdered in an explosion. I slid to the floor, tears in my eyes. It didn’t matter, it had never mattered. I was the biggest monster in human history, yet it all ended the same no matter what. If I didn’t destroy the world... someone else did. Every. Time. I suppose monsters are a dime a dozen.	Was this perhaps the cruel joke of some omnipresent force? Before me sat a brown, leatherbound tomb that measured out to be a similar height to my fully standing figure. Save for the dimly lit area around me there was only an unrelenting void. There was no distinguishable source for the light and the only other defining characteristics of my 10x10 foot purgatory was the enormous book and a simple wooden chair adorned with a single teal cushion. The cold embrace of the surrounding abyss offered no explanation as to my situation so I turned my attention to the book. Your life read the title. I fliped open to the first page, leaving the cover dangling helplessly over its own mass. There I find a detailed account of my own birth. The following several pages offer nothing more; they all simply describe the mundane life of a not-yet-conscious infant. I flipped mindlessly ahead until I reached a header that said "first memory" that proceeds to describe my first conscious moments involving my mother dressing me in coveralls along with... A prompt? To cry, turn to page thirty seven thousand. To make a pathetic attempt as expressing happiness, turn to page four hundred thousand three hundred and seventy six This made no sense. I traversed my way as quickly as I could to the end of the book. The binding of the book made a sizeable arch as the pages flipped madly. On the second to last page I read You die in your sleep, old and alone. You immediately find yourself in a void with nothing but a large book and a chair. To explore the unknown, flip back three pages. To seek information from the book before you, return to page ninety six My skin feels clammy at the stress of my returning memories. The shock of death must have stopped me from understanding immediately that I was dead. I expct my heart to be racing yet I am met only with the cold nothingness of a heart-stood-still. Surprisingly though my skin has narry a wrinkle on it. There is nowhere for me to see a reflection, but this is definitely not the body I had previously. It seemed I was restored to a younger state to experience whatever damnation had befallen me. I considered the strange choose-your own adventure book of what has been snd what could have been before gazing back into the deep nothingness that surrounds me. Its shrouded haze made me feel like a small fish swimming in the vast expanse of infinity. I know nothing of the existence I find myself in other than what I remember from a life now gone. I was always a fan of reading. I decided to try and find the page where I went to high school prom. I wonder what would have happened if I kissed that young lady instead of being overpowered by fear? Yes, that sounds nice. What else is there to do but relive the mundane? After all, even the banal seems pleasant when the infinite expanse of darkness is my alternative. Edit: feedback is appreciated.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I closed the book, and didn't move. "Well," the angel said, "- how did you like it?" Even though I was dead, I still felt nauseated. "Every single one. Every single decision I ever made was the wrong one. THE WRONG. FUCKING. ONE." The angel grimaced. "Wow. That's...my goodness! That's actually quite impressive in a depressing way. I mean the odds are astronomical when you-" "Is this hell? Is this some sort of Twilight Zone shit and my punishment is to know how awesome my life could have been or something?" "Alright, settle down. You know, I think you're going to very much enjoy finding out why we show you all this...you more than most in fact." The book suddenly disappeared, and two normal looking doors appeared. "Um, ok?" The angel gestured to door one. "Behind this door is a new story, with all new choices. A whole new life for you to experience. "He then pointed to the other door. "This door, however, is the life you just had... however, this time you'll make different decisions. So normally, most people make bad decisions roughly 50% of the time. You, however, made bad decisions 100% percent of the time, which means-" My jaw dropped as it dawned on me what the angel was saying. "Which means that this time I would make 100% of the right decisions?" The angel nodded. "That's right. Of course, you could always choose to start a new life if-" I ran towards door two and threw it open. Things were finally going to go my way.	Was this perhaps the cruel joke of some omnipresent force? Before me sat a brown, leatherbound tomb that measured out to be a similar height to my fully standing figure. Save for the dimly lit area around me there was only an unrelenting void. There was no distinguishable source for the light and the only other defining characteristics of my 10x10 foot purgatory was the enormous book and a simple wooden chair adorned with a single teal cushion. The cold embrace of the surrounding abyss offered no explanation as to my situation so I turned my attention to the book. Your life read the title. I fliped open to the first page, leaving the cover dangling helplessly over its own mass. There I find a detailed account of my own birth. The following several pages offer nothing more; they all simply describe the mundane life of a not-yet-conscious infant. I flipped mindlessly ahead until I reached a header that said "first memory" that proceeds to describe my first conscious moments involving my mother dressing me in coveralls along with... A prompt? To cry, turn to page thirty seven thousand. To make a pathetic attempt as expressing happiness, turn to page four hundred thousand three hundred and seventy six This made no sense. I traversed my way as quickly as I could to the end of the book. The binding of the book made a sizeable arch as the pages flipped madly. On the second to last page I read You die in your sleep, old and alone. You immediately find yourself in a void with nothing but a large book and a chair. To explore the unknown, flip back three pages. To seek information from the book before you, return to page ninety six My skin feels clammy at the stress of my returning memories. The shock of death must have stopped me from understanding immediately that I was dead. I expct my heart to be racing yet I am met only with the cold nothingness of a heart-stood-still. Surprisingly though my skin has narry a wrinkle on it. There is nowhere for me to see a reflection, but this is definitely not the body I had previously. It seemed I was restored to a younger state to experience whatever damnation had befallen me. I considered the strange choose-your own adventure book of what has been snd what could have been before gazing back into the deep nothingness that surrounds me. Its shrouded haze made me feel like a small fish swimming in the vast expanse of infinity. I know nothing of the existence I find myself in other than what I remember from a life now gone. I was always a fan of reading. I decided to try and find the page where I went to high school prom. I wonder what would have happened if I kissed that young lady instead of being overpowered by fear? Yes, that sounds nice. What else is there to do but relive the mundane? After all, even the banal seems pleasant when the infinite expanse of darkness is my alternative. Edit: feedback is appreciated.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"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. 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 fucking 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 as 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 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."	Was this perhaps the cruel joke of some omnipresent force? Before me sat a brown, leatherbound tomb that measured out to be a similar height to my fully standing figure. Save for the dimly lit area around me there was only an unrelenting void. There was no distinguishable source for the light and the only other defining characteristics of my 10x10 foot purgatory was the enormous book and a simple wooden chair adorned with a single teal cushion. The cold embrace of the surrounding abyss offered no explanation as to my situation so I turned my attention to the book. Your life read the title. I fliped open to the first page, leaving the cover dangling helplessly over its own mass. There I find a detailed account of my own birth. The following several pages offer nothing more; they all simply describe the mundane life of a not-yet-conscious infant. I flipped mindlessly ahead until I reached a header that said "first memory" that proceeds to describe my first conscious moments involving my mother dressing me in coveralls along with... A prompt? To cry, turn to page thirty seven thousand. To make a pathetic attempt as expressing happiness, turn to page four hundred thousand three hundred and seventy six This made no sense. I traversed my way as quickly as I could to the end of the book. The binding of the book made a sizeable arch as the pages flipped madly. On the second to last page I read You die in your sleep, old and alone. You immediately find yourself in a void with nothing but a large book and a chair. To explore the unknown, flip back three pages. To seek information from the book before you, return to page ninety six My skin feels clammy at the stress of my returning memories. The shock of death must have stopped me from understanding immediately that I was dead. I expct my heart to be racing yet I am met only with the cold nothingness of a heart-stood-still. Surprisingly though my skin has narry a wrinkle on it. There is nowhere for me to see a reflection, but this is definitely not the body I had previously. It seemed I was restored to a younger state to experience whatever damnation had befallen me. I considered the strange choose-your own adventure book of what has been snd what could have been before gazing back into the deep nothingness that surrounds me. Its shrouded haze made me feel like a small fish swimming in the vast expanse of infinity. I know nothing of the existence I find myself in other than what I remember from a life now gone. I was always a fan of reading. I decided to try and find the page where I went to high school prom. I wonder what would have happened if I kissed that young lady instead of being overpowered by fear? Yes, that sounds nice. What else is there to do but relive the mundane? After all, even the banal seems pleasant when the infinite expanse of darkness is my alternative. Edit: feedback is appreciated.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Once I had acclimatised, they led me into an office. Wood-panelled, decadent, I thought, for this place - but I supposed they moved with the times here as well. There was a man at the desk dressed in a white-grey suit. Subtle. They had told me about this man, when I had calmed down. He would show me all my significant choices, walk me through them, help me come to terms with them. He would enlighten me and discourage my false beliefs about myself, to cleanse me. I sat. He gently placed a large, red leather-bound volume on the table. It looked like a Victorian bible, but brand new. I touched the closed leaves of the volume: The pages were going to be petal-like, delicate, just the same as bibles. This book meant something. “All the choices you have ever had,” said the man in white. “Try it.” I reached out my hand, hesitated, and looked to him. He exuded authority. He smiled serenely. “I’ll explain it all. Go on.” I opened the book. The first few chapters were uneventful, filled with childhood stories and corrections to memories I had reconstructed in my elderly mind. I remembered my mother and father here- I was smiling. No choices as yet, but I’m only, what, six? Six, that’s.. quite old. I looked up. The man had been sitting in silence, smiling- at me, or to himself? He sensed my worry. “Significant choices, my friend. At this point, your life is controlled by your parents and you have little perception of wider choice.” I continued. In year two of school, I was confronted with a choice. Little Jenny was being teased for her broken leg. The other children looked to me. ‘Do you a) join in with the children teasing Jenny or b) tease Jenny along with the children? for a) go to page 265 or for b) go to page 265. What? I looked to the man across the desk. “Your brain factored in being alienated by your peers against hurting Jenny. This one was a dead cert.” He smiled kindly. Satisfied, if still slightly perplexed, I turned my eyes back to the book. “Jenny was always a sick girl. She hanged herself after the same kind of bullying in her thirties”. My eyes shot up, staring. The man seemed to look away, since as it to chastise himself. “Of course you can’t be blamed for any of this. You had no choice.” Shaken, at length I went back to reading. A pattern began to emerge. As I read further, my “significant choices” became more and more frequent. To watch football with the others? To steal some cool pieces of Lego from my friend? To question the nature of my father’s illness...? And each time, each option is the other, rephrased as if to give some illusion of choice. As I read further, greeted with what could only be described as amused patience from the man in white, all the pages led to the same place. “What is this?” I asked, finally, battling through the dread of the answer. “Have you ever heard of determinism? All of us, pawns, players in some shitty game. And you’re here-“ “Here..?” “-and it’s not about responsibility, it’s about balance. And now you know- this eternity? It’s all gonna be electrical impulses.” The man in white paused strategically. He had done this many times before. “They said you would help me come to terms with my choices!” The man in white leaned forward, smiling more explicitly now. “I am. You have none. Submit. These are your terms.” “...who are you?” He paused, and then leaned back onto his chair. “Think of yourself as lucky. They live in blissful ignorance up there. Us? We know the nature of things.”	"The rarest of tomes," the angel spoke, his hands trembling as he carefully placed a piece of paper in my hands. "How so?" I asked, puzzled. "This piece of paper chronicles your entire life. Every good decision, every bad decision, every good moment, every bad." The paper had under "actions" my date of birth, the words "the calling," and the date of my death. Under "outcome" it simply stated, "unchanged." I sighed. Having amounted to quite literally nothing in life it was no surprise that even in the afterlife I would have to be reminded of what a failure my life was. "Ah, yeah, that, I am a failure of epic proportions that much is true," I admitted, handing the paper back. The angel looked shaken by such an outrage. Holding the paper up he stated, quite simply, "There are few mortal men who are divine saints without knowing it. You spent literal decades without affecting anyone. A saint in a monastery with a completely celebrate pledge doesn't put so much effort into such a display of purity." "So what now?" I asked, trying not to cringe about the obvious implications of my "purity." "You will of course join the rest of the purest saints in state as we wait for Armageddon. I think you're a fan of Issac Newton?"
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Right this way, Mr. Muller "Right where?" Right here, follow my voice I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them. Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead! said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. See! "But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes. Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha! As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books. Welcome to the eternal library The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand. Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair. You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin? "Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?" Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller. "Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel." Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book. Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands. In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791" "Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me." It doesn't need to. Start reading. The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277. I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months. Do you remember? It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I remember? Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died? "Of course I do, I was hit by a car." And? I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure. "Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident." A tense silence. And? "I fell off a ladder." And? "I was stabbed by my wife" And? This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more. "Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?" I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around. My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room. Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792. Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793. Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794. You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands. Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me. The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point. "This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?" He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen. It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later. Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling: Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library	"The rarest of tomes," the angel spoke, his hands trembling as he carefully placed a piece of paper in my hands. "How so?" I asked, puzzled. "This piece of paper chronicles your entire life. Every good decision, every bad decision, every good moment, every bad." The paper had under "actions" my date of birth, the words "the calling," and the date of my death. Under "outcome" it simply stated, "unchanged." I sighed. Having amounted to quite literally nothing in life it was no surprise that even in the afterlife I would have to be reminded of what a failure my life was. "Ah, yeah, that, I am a failure of epic proportions that much is true," I admitted, handing the paper back. The angel looked shaken by such an outrage. Holding the paper up he stated, quite simply, "There are few mortal men who are divine saints without knowing it. You spent literal decades without affecting anyone. A saint in a monastery with a completely celebrate pledge doesn't put so much effort into such a display of purity." "So what now?" I asked, trying not to cringe about the obvious implications of my "purity." "You will of course join the rest of the purest saints in state as we wait for Armageddon. I think you're a fan of Issac Newton?"
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"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. 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 fucking 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 as 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 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."	"The rarest of tomes," the angel spoke, his hands trembling as he carefully placed a piece of paper in my hands. "How so?" I asked, puzzled. "This piece of paper chronicles your entire life. Every good decision, every bad decision, every good moment, every bad." The paper had under "actions" my date of birth, the words "the calling," and the date of my death. Under "outcome" it simply stated, "unchanged." I sighed. Having amounted to quite literally nothing in life it was no surprise that even in the afterlife I would have to be reminded of what a failure my life was. "Ah, yeah, that, I am a failure of epic proportions that much is true," I admitted, handing the paper back. The angel looked shaken by such an outrage. Holding the paper up he stated, quite simply, "There are few mortal men who are divine saints without knowing it. You spent literal decades without affecting anyone. A saint in a monastery with a completely celebrate pledge doesn't put so much effort into such a display of purity." "So what now?" I asked, trying not to cringe about the obvious implications of my "purity." "You will of course join the rest of the purest saints in state as we wait for Armageddon. I think you're a fan of Issac Newton?"
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Right this way, Mr. Muller "Right where?" Right here, follow my voice I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them. Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead! said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. See! "But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes. Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha! As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books. Welcome to the eternal library The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand. Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair. You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin? "Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?" Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller. "Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel." Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book. Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands. In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791" "Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me." It doesn't need to. Start reading. The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277. I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months. Do you remember? It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I remember? Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died? "Of course I do, I was hit by a car." And? I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure. "Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident." A tense silence. And? "I fell off a ladder." And? "I was stabbed by my wife" And? This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more. "Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?" I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around. My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room. Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792. Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793. Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794. You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands. Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me. The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point. "This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?" He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen. It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later. Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling: Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library	Once I had acclimatised, they led me into an office. Wood-panelled, decadent, I thought, for this place - but I supposed they moved with the times here as well. There was a man at the desk dressed in a white-grey suit. Subtle. They had told me about this man, when I had calmed down. He would show me all my significant choices, walk me through them, help me come to terms with them. He would enlighten me and discourage my false beliefs about myself, to cleanse me. I sat. He gently placed a large, red leather-bound volume on the table. It looked like a Victorian bible, but brand new. I touched the closed leaves of the volume: The pages were going to be petal-like, delicate, just the same as bibles. This book meant something. “All the choices you have ever had,” said the man in white. “Try it.” I reached out my hand, hesitated, and looked to him. He exuded authority. He smiled serenely. “I’ll explain it all. Go on.” I opened the book. The first few chapters were uneventful, filled with childhood stories and corrections to memories I had reconstructed in my elderly mind. I remembered my mother and father here- I was smiling. No choices as yet, but I’m only, what, six? Six, that’s.. quite old. I looked up. The man had been sitting in silence, smiling- at me, or to himself? He sensed my worry. “Significant choices, my friend. At this point, your life is controlled by your parents and you have little perception of wider choice.” I continued. In year two of school, I was confronted with a choice. Little Jenny was being teased for her broken leg. The other children looked to me. ‘Do you a) join in with the children teasing Jenny or b) tease Jenny along with the children? for a) go to page 265 or for b) go to page 265. What? I looked to the man across the desk. “Your brain factored in being alienated by your peers against hurting Jenny. This one was a dead cert.” He smiled kindly. Satisfied, if still slightly perplexed, I turned my eyes back to the book. “Jenny was always a sick girl. She hanged herself after the same kind of bullying in her thirties”. My eyes shot up, staring. The man seemed to look away, since as it to chastise himself. “Of course you can’t be blamed for any of this. You had no choice.” Shaken, at length I went back to reading. A pattern began to emerge. As I read further, my “significant choices” became more and more frequent. To watch football with the others? To steal some cool pieces of Lego from my friend? To question the nature of my father’s illness...? And each time, each option is the other, rephrased as if to give some illusion of choice. As I read further, greeted with what could only be described as amused patience from the man in white, all the pages led to the same place. “What is this?” I asked, finally, battling through the dread of the answer. “Have you ever heard of determinism? All of us, pawns, players in some shitty game. And you’re here-“ “Here..?” “-and it’s not about responsibility, it’s about balance. And now you know- this eternity? It’s all gonna be electrical impulses.” The man in white paused strategically. He had done this many times before. “They said you would help me come to terms with my choices!” The man in white leaned forward, smiling more explicitly now. “I am. You have none. Submit. These are your terms.” “...who are you?” He paused, and then leaned back onto his chair. “Think of yourself as lucky. They live in blissful ignorance up there. Us? We know the nature of things.”
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	A dark room. A pedestal in the middle, illuminated by a pillar of light, upon which sat a thick book, pages uneven and frayed at parts. As I took it into my worn hands, I could feel the density of it. The importance. All of the sadness, the fear, the excitement, anxiety, joy, love, ambition, heartache, fulfillment, failure... This was me. Fingering the spine with one hand and the edges of the pages with the other, I closed my eyes, and opened to a random page. Child. Love. Graduation. Immense joy. To another page. Pride. Overcoming. Achievement. Another. Misfortune. Selfishness. Greed. Passion. I opened my eyes. The pages wordless. All of them. I turned to the first page. Emptiness. Stillness. This was the beginning. I understood. I thumbed a part of the page where I thought I might find her. The one beside me who never made it out. Never saw light, felt the coldness of the world. Never experienced love, grief, joy... I focused on her. I saw her. She was radiant. Beautiful. We had the same eyes. I turned ahead. There she was. She was so pure, innocent. Even at a young age, she emanated compassion and kindness. I flipped to around the halfway mark. She was a scientist. No, a philanthropist. No, a political activist. No... she was all of it. I turned several pages more. Peace. So much happiness. Not only within her, but wherever she went. Pure, innocent. Joy. She was good. The world was good because of her. Not better. Good. It was then that I knew that she was the key to bringing the world together. If only she had been born... How many others had this happened to? How better off could the world be...? I could at least help. I closed the book, laying it gently back down onto the pedestal. I looked up to the source of the light. Its warmth flooded over me. I knew that I could bask in it forever if I chose to. Instead, I gazed one last time at the book, as I backed into the shadows from where I had entered this room. The world needs Her. And I was unborn, She in my place.	I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I woke up on a clean white bed. I remembered last night, remember my heart stopping after a long battle, but it all felt like a dream. Where ever I was, it was a place I didn’t want to leave. I got up off the bed, expecting the familiar creak of my seventy year old knees, but I instead found myself young again. Odd. As I opened the door to the small room I had awoken in, I was greeted by a library. Not just any library, but the library of me. The library of Leo. “What is this place?” I asked the air. “Your life story.” The air answered. “I suggest you start with book 17 page 1253.” I was trapped in the two rooms, so I figured I would follow what the voices in my head said. When I opened the book to the recommended page, my breath stopped. In it was the recorded history of the most important day of my life. The day I decided to conquer the world. I had always wondered what would have happened if I had just quit. What would have happened if I moved to the middle of no where in some random country and had opened a little shop. What would have happened if I married, had kids, had grandkids. But I had made my choice that day. I chose to conquer the world through a bloody campaign of war and genocide in the name of the American Empire; for the good of the people. In the end I lay dead with the world in ruins. “To decide not to destroy the world, go to book 57, page 106. “ I found the book, and opened to page 106. It was a cheery little tale. About being an artist, settling down, living happy. The problem was, it ended the same. It still ended with the me dead and the world in ruins. It couldn’t be right. I grabbed another book. I became a new age hippie, traveled the world, died in a pile of rubble. Another. Local senator, ideal family, shot in the head by raiders at the end of the world. ANOTHER. I was a professor. I taught the next generation, lived content, and was murdered in an explosion. I slid to the floor, tears in my eyes. It didn’t matter, it had never mattered. I was the biggest monster in human history, yet it all ended the same no matter what. If I didn’t destroy the world... someone else did. Every. Time. I suppose monsters are a dime a dozen.	I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I closed the book, and didn't move. "Well," the angel said, "- how did you like it?" Even though I was dead, I still felt nauseated. "Every single one. Every single decision I ever made was the wrong one. THE WRONG. FUCKING. ONE." The angel grimaced. "Wow. That's...my goodness! That's actually quite impressive in a depressing way. I mean the odds are astronomical when you-" "Is this hell? Is this some sort of Twilight Zone shit and my punishment is to know how awesome my life could have been or something?" "Alright, settle down. You know, I think you're going to very much enjoy finding out why we show you all this...you more than most in fact." The book suddenly disappeared, and two normal looking doors appeared. "Um, ok?" The angel gestured to door one. "Behind this door is a new story, with all new choices. A whole new life for you to experience. "He then pointed to the other door. "This door, however, is the life you just had... however, this time you'll make different decisions. So normally, most people make bad decisions roughly 50% of the time. You, however, made bad decisions 100% percent of the time, which means-" My jaw dropped as it dawned on me what the angel was saying. "Which means that this time I would make 100% of the right decisions?" The angel nodded. "That's right. Of course, you could always choose to start a new life if-" I ran towards door two and threw it open. Things were finally going to go my way.	I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I turn to the indicated page. It's the same result. I go back to where I'd held my finger between the pages and follow the other prompt to read what could have happened. The same ending again. I pick a random page, and follow the first option, reading for a few pages before looking over at the librarian incredulously. &nbsp; "Jesus Christ! Did all of my choices lead to me dying?" &nbsp; He smiles at me, with infinite patience for a question constantly asked and gives me the only answer he ever had, and ever would need: "Of course. How could they not?"	I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"I know the page number you want. 14508." I looked to God expectantly. He did, I suppose, know my heart. Gingerly, the pages flicked between my fingertips as I searched for the correct page. So many years had passed, wondering. Two marriages and two divorces, too. No children because I couldn't imagine myself having them with anyone else. My heart sank when I saw your name. I would finally know. There was so much death. It was difficult to follow any alternative decisions because my life ended shortly thereafter. Every path, it seemed, was cursed. "Turn to 26756." I glanced up, and he wasn't even looking at me. My attention turned back to the book; it was large enough to smell like a bookstore all by itself. I love that smell. A sigh escaped my lips as I realized where the text had taken place. It was the day I asked you to marry me. The last day we ever spoke. Unlike the rest of the book, this didn't have my alternative choice; I suppose I never had one. Instead, it was yours. What would have happened if you had said yes? Tears dripped off my chin. I don't think I stopped reading that book for days. The day you came out to your parents. The day we got married, both of us clad in white wedding dresses. The day I graduated with my doctorate degree. The day I found you convulsing after downing an entire bottle of pills. The day I had to admit you to the psychiatric ward for the fifth time. And the sixth, seventh, and eighth. It went on for thousands of pages; for every decision we made that kept our lives going, there were five where either you or I died. It was such a delicate life that we could have had together. I reached the final page of our potential lives together. Both of us sat cross-legged, foreheads touching, and a gun in hand, held to the temple of the other. Wherever you wanted to go, I followed. It was finally time. No alternative choices. I closed the book. "She didn't want this life for you." "It shouldn't have been her choice."	I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"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. 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 fucking 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 as 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 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."	I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Please let me know what you think! The book looked oddly delicate for something so big. The plain, black covers were frayed and the pages within soft and thin, tearing away from the spine in some places. It looked like a book that had been shelved, and re-shelved often, loved and read over and over again. My name was written on the first page, not in some curlicued calligraphy, but with a plain, steady typewriter font. I couldn't help finding that oddly appropriate. I had expected some novel, some plain and staid recounting of my life. But the contents had belied the plain cover. "You have a choice," I read. "Do you choose to accept Malcolm's proposal?" I had turned him down. In reality, I had decided to leave him behind, to forge my own career, rather than support his. What would have happened, I wondered, if I had chosen to stay? I had heard someone say that, for every choice we didn't make, there was another universe, where we did make that choice. Had some other version of me made the decision to stay? What had her life been? Almost of their own volition, my hands turned the page. I only caught a glimpse of the words at the top of the page. 'Yes,' you cry, tears streaming down your cheeks. 'I'll marry you.' My fingers brushed over the words, and suddenly they were words no longer. I was standing in front of a grinning, jubilant Malcolm, as he slid the ring over my finger. A lifetime flashed through my mind, or perhaps it was only a few minutes. It was hard to tell the difference. A wedding, in some garden, laughter and joy as I walked down the aisle. Standing behind Malcolm at a rally, clapping and cheering as he talked. Even to my own eyes, I seemed young and idealistic. I lived through the birth of one child, then another, watching them grow and mature. Bittersweet tears ran down my cheeks. I could have had that. I could have had a life and children and a loving husband. I had become involved in various charities, making a real difference in real lives. And then, as abruptly as the barrage of images had started, they stopped, with no clear ending. "What happened?" I asked. The dark figure who had brought me here, to this library said nothing. But I realised that it didn't need to answer. "I died first," I said numbly. "The other me, the one who chose to marry him, outlived me. Her story's not done yet." I wiped the tears away. "Good for her. I know she'll make good choices." There was a soft question, so quiet that I almost missed it. "Do you regret not marrying him?" I thought of my quiet life, and my cat. I thought of the occasional dates I had and the solitude of my home. I thought of my sister and her brilliant, vibrant family. I remembered my niece, and my nephews and their adoration of their slightly insane aunt. I thought of my promising career, and of dying young. My life may not have been exciting, but I had been content. And I thought of the other me, who had married a man she had loved and had had children who surprised and amazed her. I remembered her tiredness and frustration with her routine life. But, in the end, she had been content with her life, too. I laughed, "No, I don't regret it. I don't regret making my choice. No life is perfect." A shadowy hand flipped through the pages and I saw yet another choice on the page. I settled down to read, to watch the lives I could have led and the people I could have been. /r/YarnsToTell	I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I had fun reading the book until I got to page 428. I mean, my life was pretty great. I married Jodie, the love of my life. We had three beautiful children that I loved with all my heart. I got to meet my grandchildren, and even one great-grandbaby before I passed away at the ripe old age of 92. But then I turned to page 428: "Maybe we should see a doctor," you say. "We've been trying for a year, Jodie, and nothing. Nothing at all." "No, no, let's just try a little longer," she says, pulling me into a kiss. "I've been drinking this herbal tea. It's supposed to make me more fertile." Do you go to a doctor? Turn to page 537. Or do you listen to Jodie and leave it alone? Turn to page 619. In real life, I'd chosen the second option -- and a few weeks later, Jodie was pregnant with our first child, Michael. Curious what the other option led to, I flipped to page 537. You walk into the doctor's office. "Have a seat," he says, his face grim. "David... we got the test results back." "What do they say?" you ask, feeling your stomach tighten with worry. He puts a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry. You're sterile. There's no way you will ever have children of your own." You drive home, miserable. When you walk in the house, you feel the tears burning the corners of your eyes. Jodie, however, is beaming with joy. "Guess what?!" she says, leaping into your arms. "I'm pregnant!" The book falls out of my hands and clatters to the floor. r/blairdaniels	I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I had spent several chapters already reading without seeing a choice. The book was long, but only like, lord of the rings long, I had gotten pretty far at this point.Maybe the title is a lie. No. Angel's don't lie. Do they? Maybe they aren't angels. Maybe you're in hell. I stopped reading on the last thought. With considerable effort I pushed it away and kept reading the incredibly boring story of my infancy. Blah blah blah I ate mashed peas. Blah blah I hated them. Another spoonful is coming. And thats when I saw it. You chose to close your mouth and turn away. To follow that path, go to Library Seraph, Wing Delta, Row 82, Shelf 7, Book 22, Page 83. To knock the food out of your mother's hand, go to Library Saint, Wing Alpha-Omega, Row 2, Shelf 1, Book 30, Page 872 To accept the food, go to Library Heart, Wing Epsilon, Row 110, Shelf 3, Book 4, Page 220 Yeah, I was going to be here a while. Edit: Formatting.	I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I woke up on a clean white bed. I remembered last night, remember my heart stopping after a long battle, but it all felt like a dream. Where ever I was, it was a place I didn’t want to leave. I got up off the bed, expecting the familiar creak of my seventy year old knees, but I instead found myself young again. Odd. As I opened the door to the small room I had awoken in, I was greeted by a library. Not just any library, but the library of me. The library of Leo. “What is this place?” I asked the air. “Your life story.” The air answered. “I suggest you start with book 17 page 1253.” I was trapped in the two rooms, so I figured I would follow what the voices in my head said. When I opened the book to the recommended page, my breath stopped. In it was the recorded history of the most important day of my life. The day I decided to conquer the world. I had always wondered what would have happened if I had just quit. What would have happened if I moved to the middle of no where in some random country and had opened a little shop. What would have happened if I married, had kids, had grandkids. But I had made my choice that day. I chose to conquer the world through a bloody campaign of war and genocide in the name of the American Empire; for the good of the people. In the end I lay dead with the world in ruins. “To decide not to destroy the world, go to book 57, page 106. “ I found the book, and opened to page 106. It was a cheery little tale. About being an artist, settling down, living happy. The problem was, it ended the same. It still ended with the me dead and the world in ruins. It couldn’t be right. I grabbed another book. I became a new age hippie, traveled the world, died in a pile of rubble. Another. Local senator, ideal family, shot in the head by raiders at the end of the world. ANOTHER. I was a professor. I taught the next generation, lived content, and was murdered in an explosion. I slid to the floor, tears in my eyes. It didn’t matter, it had never mattered. I was the biggest monster in human history, yet it all ended the same no matter what. If I didn’t destroy the world... someone else did. Every. Time. I suppose monsters are a dime a dozen.	A dark room. A pedestal in the middle, illuminated by a pillar of light, upon which sat a thick book, pages uneven and frayed at parts. As I took it into my worn hands, I could feel the density of it. The importance. All of the sadness, the fear, the excitement, anxiety, joy, love, ambition, heartache, fulfillment, failure... This was me. Fingering the spine with one hand and the edges of the pages with the other, I closed my eyes, and opened to a random page. Child. Love. Graduation. Immense joy. To another page. Pride. Overcoming. Achievement. Another. Misfortune. Selfishness. Greed. Passion. I opened my eyes. The pages wordless. All of them. I turned to the first page. Emptiness. Stillness. This was the beginning. I understood. I thumbed a part of the page where I thought I might find her. The one beside me who never made it out. Never saw light, felt the coldness of the world. Never experienced love, grief, joy... I focused on her. I saw her. She was radiant. Beautiful. We had the same eyes. I turned ahead. There she was. She was so pure, innocent. Even at a young age, she emanated compassion and kindness. I flipped to around the halfway mark. She was a scientist. No, a philanthropist. No, a political activist. No... she was all of it. I turned several pages more. Peace. So much happiness. Not only within her, but wherever she went. Pure, innocent. Joy. She was good. The world was good because of her. Not better. Good. It was then that I knew that she was the key to bringing the world together. If only she had been born... How many others had this happened to? How better off could the world be...? I could at least help. I closed the book, laying it gently back down onto the pedestal. I looked up to the source of the light. Its warmth flooded over me. I knew that I could bask in it forever if I chose to. Instead, I gazed one last time at the book, as I backed into the shadows from where I had entered this room. The world needs Her. And I was unborn, She in my place.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I closed the book, and didn't move. "Well," the angel said, "- how did you like it?" Even though I was dead, I still felt nauseated. "Every single one. Every single decision I ever made was the wrong one. THE WRONG. FUCKING. ONE." The angel grimaced. "Wow. That's...my goodness! That's actually quite impressive in a depressing way. I mean the odds are astronomical when you-" "Is this hell? Is this some sort of Twilight Zone shit and my punishment is to know how awesome my life could have been or something?" "Alright, settle down. You know, I think you're going to very much enjoy finding out why we show you all this...you more than most in fact." The book suddenly disappeared, and two normal looking doors appeared. "Um, ok?" The angel gestured to door one. "Behind this door is a new story, with all new choices. A whole new life for you to experience. "He then pointed to the other door. "This door, however, is the life you just had... however, this time you'll make different decisions. So normally, most people make bad decisions roughly 50% of the time. You, however, made bad decisions 100% percent of the time, which means-" My jaw dropped as it dawned on me what the angel was saying. "Which means that this time I would make 100% of the right decisions?" The angel nodded. "That's right. Of course, you could always choose to start a new life if-" I ran towards door two and threw it open. Things were finally going to go my way.	A dark room. A pedestal in the middle, illuminated by a pillar of light, upon which sat a thick book, pages uneven and frayed at parts. As I took it into my worn hands, I could feel the density of it. The importance. All of the sadness, the fear, the excitement, anxiety, joy, love, ambition, heartache, fulfillment, failure... This was me. Fingering the spine with one hand and the edges of the pages with the other, I closed my eyes, and opened to a random page. Child. Love. Graduation. Immense joy. To another page. Pride. Overcoming. Achievement. Another. Misfortune. Selfishness. Greed. Passion. I opened my eyes. The pages wordless. All of them. I turned to the first page. Emptiness. Stillness. This was the beginning. I understood. I thumbed a part of the page where I thought I might find her. The one beside me who never made it out. Never saw light, felt the coldness of the world. Never experienced love, grief, joy... I focused on her. I saw her. She was radiant. Beautiful. We had the same eyes. I turned ahead. There she was. She was so pure, innocent. Even at a young age, she emanated compassion and kindness. I flipped to around the halfway mark. She was a scientist. No, a philanthropist. No, a political activist. No... she was all of it. I turned several pages more. Peace. So much happiness. Not only within her, but wherever she went. Pure, innocent. Joy. She was good. The world was good because of her. Not better. Good. It was then that I knew that she was the key to bringing the world together. If only she had been born... How many others had this happened to? How better off could the world be...? I could at least help. I closed the book, laying it gently back down onto the pedestal. I looked up to the source of the light. Its warmth flooded over me. I knew that I could bask in it forever if I chose to. Instead, I gazed one last time at the book, as I backed into the shadows from where I had entered this room. The world needs Her. And I was unborn, She in my place.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I turn to the indicated page. It's the same result. I go back to where I'd held my finger between the pages and follow the other prompt to read what could have happened. The same ending again. I pick a random page, and follow the first option, reading for a few pages before looking over at the librarian incredulously. &nbsp; "Jesus Christ! Did all of my choices lead to me dying?" &nbsp; He smiles at me, with infinite patience for a question constantly asked and gives me the only answer he ever had, and ever would need: "Of course. How could they not?"	A dark room. A pedestal in the middle, illuminated by a pillar of light, upon which sat a thick book, pages uneven and frayed at parts. As I took it into my worn hands, I could feel the density of it. The importance. All of the sadness, the fear, the excitement, anxiety, joy, love, ambition, heartache, fulfillment, failure... This was me. Fingering the spine with one hand and the edges of the pages with the other, I closed my eyes, and opened to a random page. Child. Love. Graduation. Immense joy. To another page. Pride. Overcoming. Achievement. Another. Misfortune. Selfishness. Greed. Passion. I opened my eyes. The pages wordless. All of them. I turned to the first page. Emptiness. Stillness. This was the beginning. I understood. I thumbed a part of the page where I thought I might find her. The one beside me who never made it out. Never saw light, felt the coldness of the world. Never experienced love, grief, joy... I focused on her. I saw her. She was radiant. Beautiful. We had the same eyes. I turned ahead. There she was. She was so pure, innocent. Even at a young age, she emanated compassion and kindness. I flipped to around the halfway mark. She was a scientist. No, a philanthropist. No, a political activist. No... she was all of it. I turned several pages more. Peace. So much happiness. Not only within her, but wherever she went. Pure, innocent. Joy. She was good. The world was good because of her. Not better. Good. It was then that I knew that she was the key to bringing the world together. If only she had been born... How many others had this happened to? How better off could the world be...? I could at least help. I closed the book, laying it gently back down onto the pedestal. I looked up to the source of the light. Its warmth flooded over me. I knew that I could bask in it forever if I chose to. Instead, I gazed one last time at the book, as I backed into the shadows from where I had entered this room. The world needs Her. And I was unborn, She in my place.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"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. 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 fucking 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 as 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 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."	A dark room. A pedestal in the middle, illuminated by a pillar of light, upon which sat a thick book, pages uneven and frayed at parts. As I took it into my worn hands, I could feel the density of it. The importance. All of the sadness, the fear, the excitement, anxiety, joy, love, ambition, heartache, fulfillment, failure... This was me. Fingering the spine with one hand and the edges of the pages with the other, I closed my eyes, and opened to a random page. Child. Love. Graduation. Immense joy. To another page. Pride. Overcoming. Achievement. Another. Misfortune. Selfishness. Greed. Passion. I opened my eyes. The pages wordless. All of them. I turned to the first page. Emptiness. Stillness. This was the beginning. I understood. I thumbed a part of the page where I thought I might find her. The one beside me who never made it out. Never saw light, felt the coldness of the world. Never experienced love, grief, joy... I focused on her. I saw her. She was radiant. Beautiful. We had the same eyes. I turned ahead. There she was. She was so pure, innocent. Even at a young age, she emanated compassion and kindness. I flipped to around the halfway mark. She was a scientist. No, a philanthropist. No, a political activist. No... she was all of it. I turned several pages more. Peace. So much happiness. Not only within her, but wherever she went. Pure, innocent. Joy. She was good. The world was good because of her. Not better. Good. It was then that I knew that she was the key to bringing the world together. If only she had been born... How many others had this happened to? How better off could the world be...? I could at least help. I closed the book, laying it gently back down onto the pedestal. I looked up to the source of the light. Its warmth flooded over me. I knew that I could bask in it forever if I chose to. Instead, I gazed one last time at the book, as I backed into the shadows from where I had entered this room. The world needs Her. And I was unborn, She in my place.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	I had fun reading the book until I got to page 428. I mean, my life was pretty great. I married Jodie, the love of my life. We had three beautiful children that I loved with all my heart. I got to meet my grandchildren, and even one great-grandbaby before I passed away at the ripe old age of 92. But then I turned to page 428: "Maybe we should see a doctor," you say. "We've been trying for a year, Jodie, and nothing. Nothing at all." "No, no, let's just try a little longer," she says, pulling me into a kiss. "I've been drinking this herbal tea. It's supposed to make me more fertile." Do you go to a doctor? Turn to page 537. Or do you listen to Jodie and leave it alone? Turn to page 619. In real life, I'd chosen the second option -- and a few weeks later, Jodie was pregnant with our first child, Michael. Curious what the other option led to, I flipped to page 537. You walk into the doctor's office. "Have a seat," he says, his face grim. "David... we got the test results back." "What do they say?" you ask, feeling your stomach tighten with worry. He puts a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry. You're sterile. There's no way you will ever have children of your own." You drive home, miserable. When you walk in the house, you feel the tears burning the corners of your eyes. Jodie, however, is beaming with joy. "Guess what?!" she says, leaping into your arms. "I'm pregnant!" The book falls out of my hands and clatters to the floor. r/blairdaniels	A dark room. A pedestal in the middle, illuminated by a pillar of light, upon which sat a thick book, pages uneven and frayed at parts. As I took it into my worn hands, I could feel the density of it. The importance. All of the sadness, the fear, the excitement, anxiety, joy, love, ambition, heartache, fulfillment, failure... This was me. Fingering the spine with one hand and the edges of the pages with the other, I closed my eyes, and opened to a random page. Child. Love. Graduation. Immense joy. To another page. Pride. Overcoming. Achievement. Another. Misfortune. Selfishness. Greed. Passion. I opened my eyes. The pages wordless. All of them. I turned to the first page. Emptiness. Stillness. This was the beginning. I understood. I thumbed a part of the page where I thought I might find her. The one beside me who never made it out. Never saw light, felt the coldness of the world. Never experienced love, grief, joy... I focused on her. I saw her. She was radiant. Beautiful. We had the same eyes. I turned ahead. There she was. She was so pure, innocent. Even at a young age, she emanated compassion and kindness. I flipped to around the halfway mark. She was a scientist. No, a philanthropist. No, a political activist. No... she was all of it. I turned several pages more. Peace. So much happiness. Not only within her, but wherever she went. Pure, innocent. Joy. She was good. The world was good because of her. Not better. Good. It was then that I knew that she was the key to bringing the world together. If only she had been born... How many others had this happened to? How better off could the world be...? I could at least help. I closed the book, laying it gently back down onto the pedestal. I looked up to the source of the light. Its warmth flooded over me. I knew that I could bask in it forever if I chose to. Instead, I gazed one last time at the book, as I backed into the shadows from where I had entered this room. The world needs Her. And I was unborn, She in my place.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"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. 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 fucking 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 as 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 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."	I woke up on a clean white bed. I remembered last night, remember my heart stopping after a long battle, but it all felt like a dream. Where ever I was, it was a place I didn’t want to leave. I got up off the bed, expecting the familiar creak of my seventy year old knees, but I instead found myself young again. Odd. As I opened the door to the small room I had awoken in, I was greeted by a library. Not just any library, but the library of me. The library of Leo. “What is this place?” I asked the air. “Your life story.” The air answered. “I suggest you start with book 17 page 1253.” I was trapped in the two rooms, so I figured I would follow what the voices in my head said. When I opened the book to the recommended page, my breath stopped. In it was the recorded history of the most important day of my life. The day I decided to conquer the world. I had always wondered what would have happened if I had just quit. What would have happened if I moved to the middle of no where in some random country and had opened a little shop. What would have happened if I married, had kids, had grandkids. But I had made my choice that day. I chose to conquer the world through a bloody campaign of war and genocide in the name of the American Empire; for the good of the people. In the end I lay dead with the world in ruins. “To decide not to destroy the world, go to book 57, page 106. “ I found the book, and opened to page 106. It was a cheery little tale. About being an artist, settling down, living happy. The problem was, it ended the same. It still ended with the me dead and the world in ruins. It couldn’t be right. I grabbed another book. I became a new age hippie, traveled the world, died in a pile of rubble. Another. Local senator, ideal family, shot in the head by raiders at the end of the world. ANOTHER. I was a professor. I taught the next generation, lived content, and was murdered in an explosion. I slid to the floor, tears in my eyes. It didn’t matter, it had never mattered. I was the biggest monster in human history, yet it all ended the same no matter what. If I didn’t destroy the world... someone else did. Every. Time. I suppose monsters are a dime a dozen.
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	"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. 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 fucking 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 as 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 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."	I closed the book, and didn't move. "Well," the angel said, "- how did you like it?" Even though I was dead, I still felt nauseated. "Every single one. Every single decision I ever made was the wrong one. THE WRONG. FUCKING. ONE." The angel grimaced. "Wow. That's...my goodness! That's actually quite impressive in a depressing way. I mean the odds are astronomical when you-" "Is this hell? Is this some sort of Twilight Zone shit and my punishment is to know how awesome my life could have been or something?" "Alright, settle down. You know, I think you're going to very much enjoy finding out why we show you all this...you more than most in fact." The book suddenly disappeared, and two normal looking doors appeared. "Um, ok?" The angel gestured to door one. "Behind this door is a new story, with all new choices. A whole new life for you to experience. "He then pointed to the other door. "This door, however, is the life you just had... however, this time you'll make different decisions. So normally, most people make bad decisions roughly 50% of the time. You, however, made bad decisions 100% percent of the time, which means-" My jaw dropped as it dawned on me what the angel was saying. "Which means that this time I would make 100% of the right decisions?" The angel nodded. "That's right. Of course, you could always choose to start a new life if-" I ran towards door two and threw it open. Things were finally going to go my way.

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