“I heard you were back ;) wanna meet up at the spot for old times sake”

Your heart races. They remember you? Of course, you remember them — you remember the spot. How could you forget? All those hours spent talking, sharing, laughing… And the following Friday they were in the arms of someone else. You haven’t spoken in years, and why would you? You saw the wedding photos on Instagram and, even worse, the honeymoon. And yet, as you type your reply, you know that you can’t say no. You still think of those fleeting moments spent together when you close your eyes at night. You also wonder what would have happened… You were the closest of friends and then, one day, they just disappeared. Until now.

You grab your trusty flask– just in case — and head for the door, heart pounding. 

You take off your boring winter coat and throw on your thinner, sexier jacket. Your cool jacket. Then again, you can hear the wind howling outside, and it was a chilly walking in. That said, you’ll definitely need to look cool. Which do you grab on your way out?

A) Stick with the warm, winter coat.

B) Grab the thinner, sexier coat.

Take out your own flask and offer it in exchange

Like clockwork, you procure your own flask, swap, and both take a long pull. You smile, the familiar burn of alcohol on your tongue — Templeton Rye — the same exact thing that’s in your flask. The same thing you’ve drunk ever since that first night together so long ago. They smile that big, wide grin that melts your heart to pieces even now. You couldn’t leave if you tried.

“Long time no see”

“That’s all you’ve got to say”

You re-exchange flasks, noticing yours is quite a bit weightier.

“You have plans for the evening?” you ask.

“If I had any, do you think I’d be here?”

You smile, falling right back into the same old comedic rhythms. But there is something you need to know. Something pressing. “So you’re married?”

“Was”

“Was?”

“Was”

“Divorced?”

“Dead”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be”

You offer your flask as a sign of condolence. It is greedily accepted.

“It was me”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t cancer or some tragic accident, it was murder, and it was me”

The moonlight reflects off of that manic smile, the one you thought was hot as hell just a minute ago.  You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Can this be true? Why? How? Do you even care? You’ve trusted them with everything before, but this feels different, somehow.


A) Run

B) Stay and hear the rest of the story

Stay and Listen to the Story

Look– they’re one of your oldest friends. And no matter what happened (or didn’t happen) between you romantically, you never thought they were a psychopath. They just weren’t interested in you like that. With a deep sigh, you look them right in the eye, give a smile you hope looks supportive, and ask, “what happened?”

The story that spills out isn’t pretty. Their partner was a real piece of shit — abusive, needy, and, in the end, murderous. And yet, your best friend was ready. They were never one to go down without a fight. And as they get to the climax of their story, you see a fire in their eyes that you’ve never seen before. A passion and drive, not just for life, but for you.

Their story is over, and there is no sound but your shared breathing, heavy and passionate. Their eyes are practically all you can see in the moonlight. Into you. They look at you in you that jacket. You can see their eyes running up and down your body. Can see their lips just starting to curl into a smile. 

“I knew I could trust you with this.” They say, their breathing calm. “I needed to get it off my chest. And you’ve always been there for me.”

“Yeah…” you say, shifting closer.

“Always…”

They leap at you and, like that, you’re both tumbling through the grass — laughing, smiling, loving. It’s the only thing you’ve never done together, best friends finally becoming something more. Who cares that they murdered their last partner. Red flags are for suckers, and, for the first time in your life, that’s not you. Right?

YOU LIVED!

Try again?

Credits

 

Stay and Listen to the Story

Look– they’re one of your oldest friends. And no matter what happened (or didn’t happen) between you romantically, you never thought they were a psychopath. They just weren’t interested in you like that. With a deep sigh, you look them right in the eye, give a smile you hope looks supportive, and ask, “what happened?”

The story that spills out isn’t pretty. Their partner was a real piece of shit — abusive, needy, and, in the end, murderous. And yet, your best friend was ready. They were never one to go down without a fight. And as they get to the awful climax of their story, you see a fire in their eyes that you’ve never seen before. A terrifying vengefulness. The beginnings, you realize with a deep unease, of a monster.

Their story is over, and there is no sound but your shared breathing, heavy and passionate. Their eyes are practically all you can see in the moonlight, the whites shining but the pupils dark. Staring right at you. Into you. They look at you in your dumb, frumpy winter coat, their lips curling into the slightest snarl.

“I knew I could trust you with this.” They say, their breathing suddenly calm. “I needed to get it off my chest. And you’ve always been there for me.”

“Yeah…” you say, starting to stand.

“Always…”

They leap at you, hands tightening around your neck with impossible speed and power. You can barely fight back, your arms stiff in the thick winter coat. And it’s in this dumb, ugly coat, neck snapped, that the rescue team finds you in the morning, all alone in the glen, a hand stuck luridly down your pants. They’d rule it an accidental suicide.

Tough one. Try again?

Credits

 

DK House Text

You have no idea who this is from. But you can’t ask NOW! They already invited you. Besides, it’s 8:30. And it’s DK house! You know DK house! For christ sake, those were the days. Carefree, halcyon, days. You’re going. As you walk out the door, you catch your reflection in the mirror. You fix up your hair, practice a smile or two, and check out what you’re wearing. It’s not much, but it’s practical. It’s cold outside, and it started to snow. Then again, this is the famous, fashionable DK House. It’s not even that far away. Besides, you brought your nice jacket, too. And you look good in it, even if it is a lot less warm. So what’ll you wear?

AABA) Stick with the warm, winter coat.

AABB) Grab the thinner, sexier coat.

Run!

Even before you take your first step, you feel the blade slip between your shoulder blades, sliding smoothly out between your ribs as you gasp up a bit of blood.

“Darling, that’s no way to catch up with an old friend. I have so much to fill you in on.” They slip the blade out of your body, cradling you to the ground. As the world goes dark,  you remember that they were once a Pre-Med major, and a good one, too. They haven’t killed you — not in the slightest. In fact, they’re the only one who can keep you alive.

And keep you alive they do. For a long, long time. Long after you’d wished they wouldn’t. But isn’t this how it’s always been — a long, excruciating string of heartbreaks? Emotional masochism? Letting them walk all over you, knowing you’ll come salivating back for more as soon as they stitch you back up?

Try once more?

Credits

Hang out here

You know this spot, and it is a bit of a walk to get here so why leave so soon. The flask is again offered to you. The warmth of the whiskey is starting to spread down your fingertips. As you look up a few snow flurries fall between the pines. You break the silence.
“So you’re married?”
“Was”
“Was?”
“Was”
“Divorced?”
“Dead”
“I’m sorry”
“Don’t be”
You offer your flask as a sign of condolence. It is greedily accepted.
“It was me”
“What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t cancer or some tragic accident, it was murder, and it was me”
The moonlight began reflecting off of that manic smile.  Your heart is racing. Can this be true? Why? How? Do you even care? What do you do?


A) Run

B) Stay and here the rest of the story

Take out your own flask and offer it in exchange

Like clockwork, you procure your own flask, swap, and both take a long pull. You smile, the familiar burn of alcohol on your tongue — Templeton Rye — the same exact thing that’s in your flask. The same thing you’ve drunk ever since that first night together so long ago. They smile that big, wide grin that melts your heart to pieces even now. You couldn’t leave if you tried.

“Long time no see”

“That’s all you’ve got to say”

You re-exchange flasks, noticing yours is quite a bit weightier.

“You have plans for the evening?” you ask.

“If I had any, do you think I’d be here?”

You smile, falling right back into the same old comedic rhythms. But there is something you need to know. Something pressing. “So you’re married?”

“Was”

“Was?”

“Was”

“Divorced?”

“Dead”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be”

You offer your flask as a sign of condolence. It is greedily accepted.

“It was me”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t cancer or some tragic accident, it was murder, and it was me”

The moonlight reflects off of that manic smile, the one you thought was hot as hell just a minute ago.  You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Can this be true? Why? How? Do you even care? You’ve trusted them with everything before, but this feels different, somehow.


A) Run

B) Stay and here the rest of the story

Take the flask and drink it

This time, you’re going to be decisive. You’re going to show them that you aren’t the timid, boring person that you once were. You’re a risk taker now — a maverick.

You grab the flask and eagerly knock back a shot. The sharp burn of alcohol is the same as the cheap whiskey you used to drink, but something lingers just a bit longer than it should, coating your throat with a sticky, sickly feeling. Soon, your legs go weak. Your heartbeat, once racing, slows to a crawl. As you sink to the ground, the world starts to drift away. A snow begins to fall. And, in your ear, a familiar vocie begins to whisper…

“You’re even more desperate than I remember.”

When you awaken, you’re naked, lying alone on a cold metal table. The room is dark and nearly empty, except for a small table beside you. And on it is a silver platter, like the one you see at the dentist. All it contains are scalpels.

Panicked, you try to stand. Thick leather straps rip you back onto the table. You try to scream, but your mouth is filled with gauze, your cries muffled. A hard, sharp light turns on overhead, blinding you. It is only then, as you fight against the straps you will never break, that finally remember their major– Pre-Med. And then, most horrifyingly of all, you remember why you stopped hanging out in the first place. Because they failed it.

 

Want to try again?

Credits

 

Wear the sexy, thinner jacket

You put the thinner, sexier jacket and bound out the door. Are you really going to let them see you in that frumpy old thing? First impressions matter.

You weren’t sure you knew the way, still, but your feet have minds of their own. Left at the science building, right at the top of the stairs, three hundred steps past the clock tower that lorded over the campus. Then it was straight into the forest, directly to the left of the old oak, looking older than ever, it’s branches twisted and gnarled.

And suddenly you’re in the same old clearing, The stream trickles in the distance, the wind howls through the trees. A hooded silhouette looms in the center, barely visible in the quickly fading daylight. As you approach them, a hand slips out and extends a flask.

A. Take the flask and drink it

B. Take out your own flask and offer it in exchange