CYOA: Interactive Story

Prologue

[A/N]: This is an experiment of writing for me, since I've never done one of these in a book format, and it's been a while since I've written anything. Comments are appreciated!

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You're dying.

It's never been more apparent as you stare at the hateful glares thrown your way, down below from the blazing stake they mounted you on - the smell of your own burning flesh filling your nostrils.

Though, in retrospect, this whole situation did start with you. Whether it was your fault, depended on who you asked - though, you doubted your sacrifice would help anyone now - hundreds already below the dirt.

It started with a simple cold, thinking nothing of it, you simply ignored it until the symptoms became non-existent, going about your regular routine. It was only when the large blisters started to form that it became concerning for you, and everyone around you.

Specialists, doctors, shaman - no one could figure out what it was and how to treat it, and as weeks went by the blisters filled with blood and became more and more unbearably painful. You eventually became weak with fatigue, slowly losing the will to even leave your home.

Unbeknownst to you, the town held their breath as they waited for you to wither away, hoping that this mysterious illness wasn't contagious. Unfortunately luck wasn't on their side.

The first to catch it was your neighbor, Mr. Dertl, cranky old man as he was, his immune system was already very weak and he died a agonizing death - as he made the mistake of trying to drain multiple blisters at once -his screams of pain echoing in the night, as your sickly, prone figured laid awake from your own pain.

The next victim was a young girl, who's name you didn't know - surprisingly, she lasted the longest out of all the infected that started to pop up in the following months, her death marked the end of your life.

Understandingly upset, it didn't take long for her parents to rally the already on-edge town, storming into your home and carrying your feeble, malnourished, weak body into the town square.

Which is where you are now.

You chuckle and close your eyes, too tired from trying to fight the illness that ruined your life, to see your end.

Cowards.

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"Now that we've gone over the syllabus, I expect you to have all your supplies by the end of next week. If you don't have it by then, just email me, just so that I have some sheets printed out for you. Well! I think that's it, see you guys next Wednesday!"

Grabbing your backpack off the floor, you quickly make your way to the front of the class and catch your teacher's attention. "Hey, miss...for the three essays we have to do - is it alright if we turn them in all at the same time?" You ask, shifting your backpack strap nervously.

She smiles at you. "You can just call me Mrs. J - and yes, it doesn't matter when you turn them in, just make sure they're in before our final exam."

Grabbing the remaining syllabi, she then puts them in her desk drawer before continuing, "By the way, I don't think I caught your name? I'm trying to put names to faces this semester, it's always something I struggle with." She chuckles, holding out a hand for you to shake.

You hesitate for a second, only to then reach out and shake her hand - every fiber in your being yelling at you to do the opposite. "I'm [Y/N]."

Quickly pulling back your hand, you let it fall by your side. "Well, uh - thanks for the info. I'll see you next week." You reply, quickly backtracking out of the classroom and closing the door.

Trying to act natural, you walk to the restroom, which turns into a full jog when you get close enough to reach and yank open the handle.

Wasting no time, you quickly open your backpack and pull out sanitation wipes and hand sanitizer. Putting a generous amount on your hand you scowl as you vigorously rub it in.

Disgusting.

If you could have gone the rest of your life not touching humans, that would be great. They were all dirty in your opinion and you could never know where they've been or what they had.

The only reason you hadn't become a recluse in the outskirts of civilizations, was because their hygienic productions had become better in the last decade. That, and the internet.

Feeling that you're thoroughly disinfected, you feel the phone in your backpocket vibrate. Sighing, you pull it out, only to see that it's your friend Jennifer - asking how your class went and if you wanted to have lunch with her later in the afternoon.

You respond with a simple, "yea, it went fine", before mulling it over in your head if you wanted to meet up later.

On one hand, it has been a while since you've last seen the lanky werewolf. It would be nice to catch up with her, see what's she's been up to since the last time you saw her.

Plus, she would probably want to come by the bookstore and you could use an extra hand - especially since the day before a mother and her rowdy kid had disorganized a whole section of books. And they didn't even buy anything!

But. On the other hand, "going to lunch" always meant going back to your studio apartment above your bookstore later and having sex. And you didn't know if you were up for it today...

(A) Take a raincheck on lunch with Jennifer.

(B) Go to lunch with Jennifer.