Make Your Own Path: Shape Your Destiny

Ordeal Encounter #2

My parents are moving out of my childhood home, and they messaged me the other day to come by and take anything I wanted to keep, as they’ve been on a Marie Kondo kick lately and plan to toss everything else. I had a few things in their attic that I couldn’t quite bring myself to let them throw out. Like my Pokémon cards (some are rare now according to the internet, and I planned on seeing what I could get for them), my SNES, and a few other personal items.

As I was collecting said items, I stumbled across something I vaguely remember purchasing from the Book Fair at my elementary school back in the 90’s. A book titled Make Your Own Path: Shape Your Destiny by the author J. P. Delilah. The book was still in the shrink wrap, so I knew I’d never read the thing. I wish I would have left it that way. Unopened. But my nostalgic curiosity got the best of me, and I pulled back the cover, which featured a campy mid-century illustration of a man standing before a sign at a fork in the road.

Inside, there seemed to be only a single white page, but this wasn’t the strangest part. In the center of the single page was red lettering that read, “Option 1: Take this book home with you. Option 2: Close this book and walk away (closing this book will confirm your choice).”

I thought it was just a dumb novelty book with a great sales tactic for kids, albeit a lazy one: A kid sees it on the shelf at the bookstore, opens it up, and they immediately have a call to action. The kid is, of course, going to beg their mom to let them buy it and take the book home so they can “shape their destiny” by making the obviously intended choice.

I googled the author and the book title, but surprisingly, I didn’t find a single mention of this book or the author anywhere. How could that be? Not even a resale on eBay or anything? I decided this book must be a rare find like my Pokemon cards, and maybe I could get a bit of change for it, so I guess I technically chose Option 1 without even realizing I had made a choice.

I closed the book and threw it in the box with my Pokémon cards and SNES and left for my apartment. When I got home, I went to pull the items out of the box but accidentally dropped the book on my bed, where it opened to the single page. But now, the red letters read: “Option 1: Lose a finger. Option 2: Lose a friend. (If option 1, complete task before closing book, or option 2 will be confirmed.)”

I had to be losing my mind, right? There were no other pages, and I know what that page said before I took it home. No kid’s book would say something that messed up. I wish I would have believed the feeling in my gut that something wasn’t right, though. I closed the book.

Not a second sooner, my iPhone began ringing in my pocket. It was my best friend Brian, but it wasn’t him on the line when I answered. Instead, it was a voice I didn’t recognize. A woman crying.

“He-hello? James…?” the woman’s voice said, drowned by what sounded like noises from a busy street in the background.

“Yes… this is him… who is this? Why do you have Brian’s phone?” I asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know Brian. I just witnessed a car accident, and your contact was the last person he called… There’s an ambulance on the way. I don’t know who he is to you, but I’m so sorry. I don’t think… I don’t think he made it…” her voice came through in muffled sobs.

She was right. Later that day, I met Brian’s parents at the hospital where he was pronounced dead on arrival. The two people I had considered my second parents from the time I was eight years old stood crying into my shoulders as I held them. I had to comfort them, knowing they would never see their son again. Knowing I would never see my best friend again.

And it was all my fault. But it couldn’t be my fault, right? It was just a horrible, fucked-up coincidence. There’s no way that a book I got in the fourth grade somehow gave me a choice that ended the life of someone I considered my brother. It just couldn’t be real.

I went home, snatched the book from my bed where I’d left it, and ran to my fireplace. I sprayed lighter fluid over that campy cover—one that now seemed far more ominous—and hurled it in with the force of the anger and confusion building inside me. When it hit the grate, the cover fell open.

I didn’t want to see what it said, but I knew now how this evil book played its games. Whether I read it or not, once the book was opened, its game began. I reluctantly pulled the book from the fireplace, scanning the single page.

“Option 1: Burn the book, end your destiny and end the game. Option 2: Keep the book, end her destiny (Close the book to confirm option 2).”

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As is obvious by me posting this for you to read now, I chose option 2. This was yesterday. In just two days, I lost my best friend and then my wife.

The maintenance team was behind schedule for inspections, and there was a loose cable on the elevator at the office building where Samantha worked as an entry-level accountant. She fell fourteen stories. There was little left of her according to the news anchor at the scene. It almost sounded like he was mocking my pain.

I should have ended my destiny. Why was I so weak? I thought I would have done anything for her, but it turns out I’m just a coward. We shared our finances. I’ll be out of home in a month or so, and I can’t even tell anyone what’s happened. I mean, who’s going to believe me anyway?

I have nothing left now. Nothing but this book. I’ve decided I’m going to play its game until it finishes me off. But now, the “End my destiny, end the game” option never seems to appear on the page. It’s always options that are far worse than death.

I don’t know how much longer it’ll make me play, but I have no way out anymore.

Notes for the reader from the Mayor’s Assistant: If you ever stumble across a book by J. P. Delilah, choose option 2.