yesterday you died

<video width="600" controls> <source src="yesterday_intro.mp4" type="video/mp4"> Your browser does not support the video tag. </video> On Monday, you meet Death. It's stupid, the way you almost die - you're wearing a scarf on a rollercoaster and you nearly hang yourself. Death is a girl in a black hoodie, a comically oversized sunflower perched in her dark hair. "Don't worry about it," she says. "'Almost', 'nearly' - those are all words for 'not'." You think, then, that's it's not your death that is full of 'nearly's but your life that's full of 'not's. [[start]]

<img src="bedroom.jpg" width="600" alt="bedroom-image"> You wake up. It is your first day out of the hospital, and your room feels strange and alien. It's not an unusual feeling; you've always been sickly. [[Go to work]] or [[Sleep in]]

<img src="scarf-at-door.png" width="600" alt="scarf-image"> Best to get back into the swing of things. Your body aches as you get ready. You're about to head out when you see your red scarf hanging by the door, the scarf that nearly killed you. You stare at it. [[Pull it on and go to work]] or [[Stay in]]

Wake Up 2: Revenge of the Sun. You wake again when the morning light sifts through your Venetian blinds, arcing across the floorboards till it lands on your face. Blink. Groan. You ghost through your own house with the vague idea of breakfast. You see a newspaper lying flat on the floor before your front door, ROLLERCOASTER RUCKUS emblazoned across the front page. [[Read it]] or [[Leave it]]

<img src="boarding-bus.jpg" width="600" alt="boarding_bus"> You pull the scarf on, over the bandage around your neck. You tread on something soft as you exit the front door but you're too distracted to take much notice of it. You keep a hand tucked under your scarf, a barrier between it and your neck, even as you board your bus. You sit in the only available seat next to a girl who seems... familiar. You try not to think about it, but then she glances up at you. [[Ignore her]] or [[Start a conversation]]

The scarf feels like a ward. You swallow, neck bandage bobbing, and retreat, stepping on something soft as you do. (click: "something soft")[It's a newspaper lying flat like a doormat, ROLLERCOASTER RUCKUS emblazoned across the front page. [[Read it]] or [[Leave it]]]

<img src="newspaper.jpg" width="600" alt="newspaper"> You lay the newspaper out on the kitchen table with a vague sense of dread. The paper, you note, is dated the day after the accident. <center>ROLLERCOASTER RUCKUS</center> Fun Fun Funland was rocked yesterday by a tragic accident: the death of a passenger on their flagship rollercoaster, the Funny Bone. The victim, the 25-year-old Dorothy Yu, was flung out of the car with a malfunctioning safety bar when her scarf snagged a pylon. "I couldn't tell if she was struggling or if it was just the scarf bouncing her body around," Whitney Ess, 42, said. "You know? It's kind of hard to see from all the way down here. The human body is surprisingly small when you put it into perspective." [continued on page 6] [[Flip to page 6]] or [[That's enough]]

You don't really want to relive the accident. You leave it limp on the floor and slump down on your couch, tired. Then you notice you can't find your cellphone. You look around the house and you call it from your landline but it doesn't ring. [[Whatever]] or [[Call the hospital]] or [[Search the house some more]]

<img src="death-on-bus.jpg" width="600" alt="death_on_bus"> You indulge in the age-old pastime of avoiding eye contact and fixedly watching people's legs. The girl gets off at the stop before yours. The bus moves on. [[Get off at your stop]]

<img src="death-on-bus.jpg" width="600" alt="death_on_bus"> "That flower," you say because it's the second thing that comes to mind. "Going to a fancy dress or something?" "No," she says. "It's just for work. I'm kind of a workaholic" Black hoodie, big bright sunflower. It disturbs you that you know what work outfit that's for. "Don't worry," she says, seeing the look in your eyes. "You're not work. And I don't hold grudges." "Great...?" Grudges? For not dying? You should hope not. "You have my word!" she says, looking upset at your drawn-out answer. "However much that counts for. You know what, come with me. I'll show you how I work. You'll see that I really don't discriminate." Not as much of a comfort as Death seems to think, really. [[Yes]] or [[No->Get off at your stop]]

You work in database management. Cool stuff. A fairly solitary job, which suits you, which also means you don't know many of your co-workers (`read:` none, except Ray who brings cookies every Wednesday, no doubt for some eldritch ritual unfathomable to you). Still, you recognise someone who isn't meant to be there. Because they are in your cubicle. [["Who are you?"]]

Dead? You turn away from the paper, shaking. You were in the hospital. You were carried there, presumably, on a stretcher and then an ambulance. You remember the doctors and nurses - hazily, sure, but you do. How could they - the paper? The world? - mistake you for dead? It must be reportorial incompetence. There is one easy way to find out, documentation of your continued existence: [[your hospital bill]].

You just got out of the hospital. Yesterday, you were dangling by the neck 400 feet off the ground. You deserve some rest. Slump on the couch. Fiddle with your books. An hour passes of you doing absolutely nothing, without even the assistance of a phone. The newspaper sits there, nagging at you. [[Okay, now you're ready->Read it]] or [[Eh]]

Bored receptionist, bored you. A true meeting of the minds. You introduce yourself and the dates you were in the hospital, and did I leave my phone there? (if: (history:) contains "your hospital bill")["Name?" he says. [["D - Vera Lee."->"Vera Lee. Try that."]]] (else:)[The receptionist keys your details into the system. "No record," he says. (link-reveal:"<q>Like, of my phone?</q>")[ "Of you." You spell your name for him again. Still nothing. You're super sure this is the hospital you were checked into. "One sec," you say and fish out your hospital bill. At least you assume it's your hospital bill. Instead of your name, the sheet says the patient was 'Vera Lee'. "Ma'am?" [["Vera Lee. Try that."]]]]

You search high and low, and nothing. The only new thing you find is two sunflower seeds on your bedside table. You're not sure where they came from. You sweep them into your bedside drawer, which has a small number of them already. Also, you are missing your IDs. [[Call the hospital]]

[cont. from page 1] The cell phone of the victim claimed another, falling from the Yu's pocket onto an innocent passerby's head. Paul Mann, a 37-year-old father of two, died on impact. Witnesses say... <img src="reading.jpg" width="600" alt="...dead?"> You stop reading. [[Investigate your own death]] or [[Leave it alone]]

You find your hospital bill easily enough, atop a stack from previous visits. You skim this newest one. It doesn't have your name on it. Administrative incompetence, then. You read it more closely. The patient - you - was keyed in as 'Vera Lee' - not you. Your eyes boggle at the numbers but it's all been paid for and not - this is getting to be a trend - by you. Who the hell is Mary Weathers? (if: (history:) contains "Go home")[The woman Death brought you to - how does she know you?] Your first impulse is to Google her but you have no phone. You could use your laptop but (if: (history:) contains "Investigate your own death")[your phone's actually the perfect cover for pursuing another lead:](else:)[there is one action that could help you with both these problems:] [[Call the hospital]].

Keys clacking. "There you are," he says. I wish, you think. You verify your identity with a series of numbers and dates which constitute your identity and somehow also match the name that is not your own. "You were checked in as a Jane Doe with no identification on you," he says. "No items but the clothes on your back. No phone. Then a Ms. Mary Weathers came in and ID'ed you, Ms. Lee." Verily, you think humourlessly, I am not she. (link-reveal:"<q>Can you give me Mary's number?</q>")[ "Isn't she your emergency contact?" he says, sounding way too suspicious for someone who'd just happily disclosed private patient information over the phone. (link-reveal:"<q>Lost my phone, remember?</q>")[ He reels off the number - oh, incompetence, satisfying and worrying in equal parts - and you thank him and hang up. (if: (history:) contains "Continue on")[[[[You have had enough to do with Mary Weathers. You have her number, you know her address, but if all roads lead back to her and her sunflower seeds, you'd give them both back. So here your journey endeth.->stop here]]](else:)[ [[Call the elusive Mary Weathers]]]]]

The world wants to play ball. You want to play dead. The clarity you felt on the edge of death feels so far away now that you're so soundly back in the land of the living. Rest, that's the key. A nice, relaxing life, preferably lived out within the walls of your home. A long life, ensured by its self-confinement. You don't go to work. You don't call in. You don't read the papers. You don't look for your phone. You don't use your landline. You don't. And no one comes looking.

You follow Death out at her stop. You walk past the graveyard on Grove, where a funeral seems due to start, past a grocery store, a dental office, and into the florist's. You half-expect the flowers to wilt in Death's wake. They do not. Death buys some seeds. "Mementos," she says. "Of what?" you say. She seems surprised. "Of me. I hold no grudges but I like to keep count." [[Continue following Death]]

The stranger looks up. "Uh, I'm Taylor? The database admin?" He rattles off a job description. (link-reveal:"<q>That's my job. It's been my job for the past two years.</q>")[ "Um," Taylor says. "I'm a new hire?" Meaning: It's my job now. What the hell? You're hospitalised for a week and suddenly you're replaceable... [[Go to your boss]] or [[Continue questioning Taylor]]]

Your boss squints, as though she's trying to recognise you, and then pales. "You - you're -" (link-reveal:"<q>I'm what?</q>")[ "How are you here?" she says, shaking. "How on earth...!" (link-reveal:"<q>Get to the point,</q> you say, feeling panicked yourself. Panic is prone to osmosis.")[ "They said - I thought - But -" (link-reveal:"<q>The point!</q>")[ "Aren't you... Aren't you dead?" [["...Huh?"]]]]]

Taylor stammers out some answers, nothing interesting. He doesn't know anything about this; something and someone else is at work. [[Go to your boss]]

You have been declared legally dead, apparently, from that rollercoaster accident. "It was all over the news," your boss says. She still looks stunned, like she's not entirely convinced you're not a hallucination. Must have been a hell of a news story. [["Well, I'm not dead. Let's sort this out."]] or [["Right, right... Let me sort this out."]]

Reading about your own death is one thing, but the stuff on page 6? The man you killed? You don't want to deal with that. With anything. And hey, you're dead already. You don't have to deal with that. All you can summon up now is [[one big shrug->Eh]].

You need answers. You were in the hospital. You were carried there, presumably, on a stretcher and then an ambulance. You remember the doctors and nurses - hazily, sure, but you do. How could they - the paper? The world? - mistake you for dead? You don't even want to think about the second victim. Your victim. [[Check your hospital bill->your hospital bill]] or [[Track down Paul Mann]]

Paul Mann, former father of two. The guy you killed. What a way to go, death by falling phone. That's almost on par with a cartoon piano. [[Check the phonebook]] or [[Check the obituaries]]

Mann, Paul. There's a number. It is a phonebook. [[Call it]] or [[Chicken out]]

You find him easily enough. And what a stroke of luck - the funeral is today. [[Crash it]] or [[Chicken out]]

You sit down and call the credit card companies, your landlord, reporters, people. Each call feels like a tie to the real world till finally you are enmeshed in a network of new contacts and information. People want to hear your story: I was Legally Dead And Here's How It Happened. (if: (history:) contains "Go to your boss")[(The story being: I woke up and went to work, and then I sorted everything out. You aren't a very good storyteller.)] That feeling you had, on the edge of death? That feeling of lost moments, of 'not's? Well, you feel like someone now, reborn from death. You can live in this world. (if: (history:) contains "Go to your boss")[And if your hospital bill is mysteriously paid and other unsavory news catches up to you - well. You'll pay your dues.](else:)[And if Mary Weathers is one person who will remain forever out of your reach? Well, you have your own life.]

She nods, still shell-shocked, as you walk out of the room. It occurs to you that you don't have to do anything at all. You're legally dead. That's pretty freeing, all things considered. So - [[embrace legal death and all its legal liberties]] (if: (history:) contains "Continue on")[or [[investigate further]]?]

It's as they say: leave no stone unturned, especially if it's your grave's. You pull out your cell to Google your own death. Then you realise you can't find your phone. You must have left it [[at home]].

You're legally dead - that's death without any of the... dying. Death with all the perks! A fresh start. No responsibilities, no consequences to answer to. Isn't that all you'd hoped for, hanging by the neck on that rollercoaster? The only mystery you retain from this whole ordeal is the name that is not your name on the hospital bill, which you take as your own. (if: (history:) contains "do something else")[Sometimes you visit the cemetery. When you feel the wind, when you see snow, you think of your parents.] You live a new life and no one comes looking.

You look around the house but it's not there. You call it from your landline but nothing rings. Maybe you left it at the hospital. [[Call the hospital]] or [[Search the house some more]]

Click. "Hello?" A woman's voice. A widow's voice, you're willing to bet, and you swallow. (link-reveal:"Hi. I... I'm...")[ "I'm sorry we're running a bit late," the woman says. "It's just... Everything's a bit late, everyone's a bit. Well. The funeral's still on, ha. 30 Grove. We'll be right there. Tell the others not to worry." Dial tone. Well. [[Crash the funeral->Crash it]] or [[Do nothing->Chicken out]] ]

No, you can't face this. You have no right to anything to do with Paul Mann - no. You have no right to anything to do the family he's left behind - no. Tell it as it is. You have no stomach for it. [[So here your investigation ends]] (if: (history:) contains "Track down Paul Mann")[or [[Look into your own death]]]

You wonder how your funeral went. If there was one. Who would have hosted it? Distant relatives, maybe. Your immediate family have had their funerals already. You're not even sure who your emergency contact is. You see your red scarf, the one from the accident, hanging by the door. You pull it on over the bandage around your neck and head out. You take the bus. This funeral is full, packed like its body. Paul Mann was a family man. You hang by the gates, watching. You hear snatches of the eulogies and catch snatches of tears. [[Approach the Mann family after]] or [[Wait, unnoticed, till everyone leaves]]

Here endeth your investigation. You go on with your life legally dead because to do otherwise, to reveal your continued existence, would mean a tie to Paul Mann. You go on with your life, leaving the mysteries easily behind you but pulling the shadow of another person's death with you, to think on at night, which is half the time, or when you feel the wound around your neck, which is often, or when you are alone, which is all.

You want nothing to do with Paul Mann but you can at least try to solve the first half of the mystery: yours. [[Step one: Check your hospital bill->your hospital bill]]

People leave in droves - not in an eager way, just in a way that suggests pack animal behaviour. Warding off death with numbers - no, warding off grief. Alone, you approach the gravestone. You aren't sure what to say, though it occurs to you that, ironically, this is the one of the few times you are seeking out a connection with another and he is dead. Silence. This is not a mystery, you realise. This is only a consequence. A result of life - no, of bad safety mechanisms and disregarded phone safety, of absurdity. [[You go home.]]

"I am - I am so sorry - " you blurt out, guilt eating at your insides. "For my loss?" Mrs Mann says. "Thanks. Thanks." She chokes something back. "No, I'm sorry. I've been doing this all day and it's." Then she looks more closely at you and her eyes narrow. You swallow. "You're the one who's been hanging around the gate this whole time. Who are you? Some kind of grifter? Did you even know Paul?" You can't quite speak. As you stutter silently, the crowd forms up around the Manns and you are gratefully swept away. One man approaches you. "Hey, I'm sorry about that. It's been hard on her. You should still come for the reception. Just - are you one of Paul's colleagues or...?" Kind but wary. You don't want him to look at you too closely. "No one. I'm - going." [[You go home.]]

That was not a mystery but there is still one for you to solve: yours. (if: (history:) contains "Wait, unnoticed, till everyone leaves")[You feel centred, ready for whatever is to come.](else:)[You try to focus on that. Forget that disaster of a funeral; funerals are always a kind of disaster anyway, right? And you're kind of the expert on those. Ha ha. Ha. Moving on, because you have that option.] (if: (history:) contains "Call the elusive Mary Weathers" is false)[ [[Step one: Check your hospital bill->your hospital bill]] ]

<img src="church.jpg" width="600" alt="church_image"> Next, she stops at a church, where she kills a woman and leaves a sunflower seed in each churchgoer's pocket. "No," she says to you. "It's not a killing." [[Continue on]]

<img src="maryweathers.jpg" width="600" alt="maryweathers_house"> Then she stops at a house. The mailbox says MARY WEATHERS. The front lawn is a flowerbed with nothing on it. "I enjoy leaving mementos," Death says. "I think of them as gifts. This woman - she likes them too." Gifts? To - to Death? From Death? You feel uneasy. [[Question further]] or [[Stay silent]]

<img src="maryweathers.jpg" width="600" alt="maryweathers_house"> "What do you mean, mementos? Those sunflower seeds?" You don't like where this is going. "You should be familiar with them," Death says. "How are they gifts?" you say. "People see them as warnings," she says. "A physical count of how close I've come to them. So they stay away, which is what most people want. That's a gift. Some people are more interesting. They're collectors." You blanch. "Oh, not like that. Those die off fairly quickly. I mean the danger addicts, the adrenaline junkies. The ones in love." She goes into the house. [[Follow->Stay silent]]

You follow Death into Mary Weathers' house. The walls are crowded with ski equipment and framed outdoorsy pictures. The shelves are stuffed with gardening books - bad ones, if her bare front lawn is anything to go by. People are very similar. Some, like you, are content with merely biological life - a heartbeat and electrical impulses. Others seek adventure, but the adrenaline's nothing different - it's the same pulse, the same electricity. You open a desk drawer and are met with a familiar sight: it's full of sunflower seeds. Except hers were sought out like badges of honour. Death picks one out and gives it to you. You take it automatically. "Huh?" you say. Then you realise there is only one reason Death would be in this woman's house. You hear someone coming in through the front door. [[Hide]] or [[Stay there->Talk to her]]

You're breaking and entering! Or - you've broken and entered. Either way, you don't want to get caught. Death stands in the hall, unconcerned, as you scramble for a hiding place. [[Stairs leading down]] or [[Stairs leading up]] or [[Kitchen]] or [[Out the window]]

"Two," you say. Two sunflower seeds. "Just two?" (link-reveal:"<q>Yes, two. Is that relevant?</q>")[ "I meant in total," she says. (link-reveal:"<q>I don't care about the totals. They're just seeds.</q> You try not to think too hard about the seeds in general.")[ "Well. Good. That's good. I'm sorry for being abrupt but this is a bit hard. Years and experience divide us, though for you I am glad. Good-bye." Dial tone. What could that mean? That's enough enigma for a lifetime - maybe you should [[stop here]]. Or try a [[different tack->do something else]]. (if: (history:) contains "Investigate your own death" is true and (history:) contains "Track down Paul Mann" is false)[Then again, there's still the matter of the man you killed. [[Track down Paul Mann]]] ]]

"Seven." "Seven! And all by accident!" she says. "You have to be more careful." "I never wanted them," you protest. "I'm sorry about the name," she says. "I thought that was you. I mean, it is you, but you have a different name. Dorothy, is it?" "Yeah." This is confusing. "Who are you?" "Just someone who - who wants to help. Don't worry about it." (if: (history:) contains "your hospital bill")[ [[Tell her you are legally dead because of her 'help']] or] [[Hang up]]

There's a door. It's locked. [[Return to the hall to speak to Mary Weathers.->Talk to her]]

You run up the stairs and into the first room you see. It's a bedroom. You weren't very quiet running up the stairs, though; you don't have much time before Mary Weathers comes in. Will you hide [[in the closet]], [[under the bed]], or [[behind the door]]?

You dart into the nearest room - the kitchen. There's nowhere much to hide here! [[In the fridge?]] [[Under the sink?]] [[In the oven?]] All dubious options.

You squeeze yourself out of the window and land on the upturned dirt of the flowerpatch lawn. In your acrobatics, the sunflower seed has dropped out of your palm and onto the soil. [[Pick it up]] or [[You so don't want that. Run off now.]]

You open the fridge and are greeted with energy bars and junk food. You wouldn't fit there anyway. [[Under the sink?]] [[In the oven?]] Or maybe [[freeze in indecision as footsteps near the kitchen?->Talk to her]]

Pots, pans, and pipes. You belong to none of those categories and so cannot fit. What were you thinking? Should you try [[the fridge?->In the fridge?]] [[In the oven?]] The kitchen doesn't seem so good for hiding. [[Maybe you should take a pan instead?]]

There is nothing in the oven but it's still oven-sized, meaning it cannot fit you. What does it say about your mindset that that's actually a bit of a comfort? Now what? Should you try [[the fridge?->In the fridge?]] [[Under the sink?]] Or maybe [[freeze in indecision as footsteps near the kitchen?->Talk to her]]

You take a frying pan, hefting it up in one hand, like you're the resident and not the intruder. Mary Weathers comes in just as you do. "Why are you holding that?" she says, nonplussed. [[Hit her over the head and run away]] or [[Put it down and talk to her->Talk to her]]

You bend to pick it up. It's slightly elusive in the shifting dirt but you manage it with soil generously gathered under your fingernails. As you scoop it up, you see a number of other sunflower seeds that were buried in the soil now exposed from your disturbance, either freshly buried or just never grown. When you look up, Mary Weathers is there. She must have heard you and turned back in the time it took for you to pick up the seed. [[Talk to her]]

You run off before she can notice you, leaving Death and the sunflower seeds behind. [[Go to work->Get off at your stop]] or [[Go home]]

(if: (history:) contains "Kitchen")[Standing uselessly in the kitchen, you open your mouth to explain, somehow.] She speaks first. "Oh!" she says. "Vera, what a pleasant surprise." You don't know this woman. Also, your name isn't Vera. You tell Mary Weathers both these things. "Are you sure about that?" she says. Um, yeah. (link-reveal:"<q>I don't know you,</q> you say again, more like a question this time.")[ She looks sad but collects herself. "Then what are you doing in my house?" Uh. You look around. Death is there and you beckon to her. (link-reveal:"<q>She's your friend. She let me in.</q>")[ Mary Weathers stays silent. (link-reveal:"<q>Look, I'll... I'll be leaving now. Here.</q> You give her the sunflower seed. <q>I think this is yours.</q>")[ Mary looks sharply at Death. Then she turns her attention back to you. "Yes. Yes, I'm so glad to finally meet you. But you'd better go." Her eyes linger on the red scarf around your neck. [[Go home]] or [[Go to work->Get off at your stop]] ]]]

As you enter your front door, you tread on (link-reveal: "something soft.")[ It's a newspaper lying flat like a doormat, ROLLERCOASTER RUCKUS emblazoned across the front page. [[Read it]] or [[Leave it]]]

You don't need to understand everything about your life. Or your death. You can live it just as well. So you leave behind this mystery and begin living, hopefully leaving death behind you but knowing it will always be there. Sometimes you open your bedside drawer and stare at the sunflower seeds therein. You don't understand everything, but who ever does?

You've gotten this far. Ring. Ring. Click, hiss. "Hello?" (link-reveal:"<q>Is this Mary Weathers?</q> you say.")[ "Yes?" she says, sounding perfectly clueless. (link-reveal:"<q>You paid my hospital bill,</q> you say, gripping the receiver so tightly the plastic cuts into your hand.")[ "...Vera?" Something fragile in her voice. (link-reveal:"<q>It's Dorothy. Vera Lee is the name on the bill, but that is not my name.</q>")[ A pause, like she's wondering if she should hang up. (It's a very expressive pause.) Then: "How many?" (if: (history:) contains "Search the house some more")[ [["Two."]] or [["Seven."]] or ][["What?"]]]]]

"What?" "You don't know?" she says. "Or are you playing dumb?" (link-reveal:"<q>I don't know what you're talking about.</q>")[ Another pause, more decisive. "You're fine; that's all that matters. Enjoy your good health." Dial tone. Well, that solved nothing at all. What now? Maybe she's right and you should [[stop here]]. But does your curiosity outweigh your weariness? You could [[call her again]] or(if: (history:) contains "Investigate your own death" is true and (history:) contains "Track down Paul Mann" is false)[ [[track down Paul Mann->Track down Paul Mann]]]] or] abandon this tack and [[do something else]]?]

You slip into the closet. Coats brush your face and you squint through the small crack in the door as Mary Weathers enters the room. A sweep of the room, another. You see her open a secret compartment in her desk and put a bunch of keys in it. Somehow you doubt they are house keys. Then she leaves. [[Snoop]] or [[Leave]]

The underside of the bed is dusty and icky but you crawl under anyway. You press yourself against the far side. In the next moment, you see feet coming into the room, swivelling; Mary Weathers searching. But she doesn't duck down to check the bed. Phew. You wonder if Death is still downstairs, if Mary saw her. As you crawl out from under the bed, the sunflower seed Death gave you is left behind in the dust. You hear Mary Weathers bustling around downstairs. [[Snoop]] or [[Leave]]

That only ever works in the movies! A quick sweep of the room and you're discovered. [[Talk to her]]

There's nothing like some snooping. You open drawers, check cabinets, but there doesn't seem to be anything new. You don't dare to check out any other rooms with Mary still in the house; you can [[leave->Leave]]. (if: (history:) contains "in the closet")[You did see something strange, though: that secret compartment. Your curiosity is powerful. [[Go to the desk]].]

You creep down the stairs as Mary enters the kitchen. Death is still in the hallway but you ignore her, and you hightail it out of there. That was close. [[Go to work->Get off at your stop]] or [[Go home]]

You open the secret compartment in the desk. Along with the keys, there is a clear folder of newspaper articles. ROLLERCOASTER RUCKUS, says the first, most recent. You flip through the stack. The one at the very bottom catches your eye because it is a story you lived through, on an apartment building that burned down with few survivors. "I'm still a bit miffed that you don't remember me from then." You jump. It's Death. "I suppose you were very young, though." You remember the article without reading it. Notable because the few survivors on the scene were medically dead before, well, surviving. (link-reveal:"<q>Did you slack off or what?</q> you say.")[ "It was honestly a coincidence," Death says. "I told you I don't discriminate. There was nothing personal about it. The people from the accident, though - that's the closest you can get to me without being... well. And people deal differently with that." You know the dilemma well. How can you try to understand death without being... well. You've been close enough to it to have lost your curiosity for that. You tell her so and she says, sunflower bobbing in her hair, "People confuse me for life. Isn't that funny?" You feel centred. You give the seed back to Death. [[Go home]] or [[Go to work->Get off at your stop]] or [[Find out where those keys go to]]]

The keys are helpfully labelled. Car keys, house keys - and the key (link-reveal:"to the basement.")[ You creep into the basement as Mary Weathers bustles about in the kitchen. You flick on the lights, which flicker and buzz. There's not much here - it's mostly gardening tools, her version of a gardening shed in a house which doesn't have enough space for one out in the lawn. There's a weird box on one of the pillars that looks like a birdseed box. In the basement? You approach it. Inside are more papers, just like in the secret drawer in her bedroom, except they're not all news articles. There is a picture of two women side by side: one is Mary Weathers - her face matches the pictures on the walls of the house - and the other? The other looks familiar, a younger version of someone you once knew, who once was. There is a red scarf tied fashionably around her neck. There is a letter, addressed to Mary: I want to call her Vera but I'll have to persuade Min first! He likes Dorothy but all I can think of is farmgirls whenever I hear that name. Yeah, yeah, you were right. Min and I are such stubborn people that our baby is out of the hospital with no name yet. Don't fret, you're still godmother. See you soon. - Lee [[Head upstairs. You want to talk to Mary Weathers.]]]

"Oh!" she says. "Vera, what a pleasant surprise." (link-reveal:"<q>It's Dorothy, actually.</q>")[ She pauses. She sees the keys in your hand. "You know me?" (link-reveal:"<q>I - maybe. No, not really,</q> you say. <q>But I want to.</q>")[ It's been a long time since you've had a family. The sunflower seed Death gave you, Mary's, is still in your palm; you grasp it tight.]]

This has gone far enough... so you might as well go further. Breaking, entering, and assauling. You clonk her over the head, hoping for some memory loss to sweeten the deal, and hightail it out of there. That's enough adventure for one day, for a lifetime. You replay the clang of the pan on her head over and over again, how shrill it seemed, how fear and gravity had guided your hand. You don't want to know what happened to her, alone on her kitchen floor with Death over her, in a house full of sunflower seeds and a dead lawn out front. In your home, you have the seed Death gave you still in hand, a terrible gift, the first one you have actually deserved.

She seems shocked to hear it. "Come over," she says. "Oh, I'm sorry. Let me help you sort this all out." [["Okay."]] or [["I'll do it myself.]]

You hang up, grateful that your hospital bill is paid, that there is someone out there who looked out for you. You don't know her but maybe that's for the best. You think it is easy to feel thankful and more difficult to build something from it. This has all been a mixup, no mystery at all.

You work with Mary Weathers to put your affairs in order and reintegrate back into the world. (if: (history:) contains "Investigate your own death" is true and (history:) contains "Track down Paul Mann" is false)[Together you track down Paul Mann's family and talk through common griefs.]Why did she help you? How does she know you? With time, you find clues scattered around her house and your own. You feel more alive than you ever have after being legally dead. Not too long later, when Death comes for Mary Weathers, you receive a new sunflower seed, the first that seems more like a gift than anything, a seed that will never grow but is nonetheless a sign of life.

As you hang up, it occurs to you that you don't have to do anything at all. You're legally dead. That's pretty freeing, all things considered. So - [[embrace legal death and all its legal liberties]] or [[sort things out yourself->"Well, I'm not dead. Let's sort this out."]]?

You call her back again. And again. And again. And always, the stuttering rings smooth into a dial tone. Mary Weathers is ignoring you. Should you [[track her down physically]]? (if: (history:) contains "Investigate your own death" is true and (history:) contains "Track down Paul Mann" is false)[Or try a different tack - [[Track down Paul Mann]]?] Or abandon this altogether and [[do something else]]?

You find her address. You grab your red scarf hanging by the door as you head out. When you reach Mary Weathers' house - a sunny bungalow behind a white picket fence and an unsettling, long stretch of dirt - someone is already there. Death, with her hood pulled over her head, yellow petals poking out from underneath. "Don't worry about me," she says. "I'm just leaving." And she does. (link-reveal:"You don't stop her.")[ But suddenly, the way Mary Weathers didn't pick up her phone seems a lot more sinister. You run up her driveway, hemmed in by bare flowerbeds, and [[ring the doorbell]].]

Mary Weathers is a dead end, you think. Instead of solving this, you can enjoy the pleasant cocktail of death and good health. You've had a lot of close calls with Death over the years. You've never had an actual funeral. You wonder if you can find one. You've no family to arrange it for you - does the state do that if no one does? You Google it. You find a small notice in the Classifieds - (link-reveal:"your funeral notice.")[ <center>FUNERAL NOTICE of the death of Yu, Dorothy 1991-2016 ========== The funeral service will take place in Grove Cemetery on Thursday, March 17, at 3.30pm. All are welcome.</center> 'All are welcome.' You get the feeling, suddenly, that you might be the only one there. A funeral hosted by the local authorities, no one there - that's what you've amounted to: a waste of taxpayers' money. [[Go to your funeral.]]]

You have a gravestone. That's pretty neat - it's like a trophy, engraved name and date and all. You wonder if you would prefer cremation; that would've been nicely ironic. You think, considering all your brushes with death, you should have had the foresight to write instructions for how you would prefer to be treated post-death, but then again it never really mattered to you. There is someone at your funeral. A girl with a sunflower in her hair - Death. That's either very morbid or very funny, and probably both. (link-reveal:"<q>What are you doing here?</q> you say. <q>Is something bad going to happen?</q>")[ She looks slightly offended. "I don't do bad things - you realise that, don't you?" You grit your teeth. [[Keep talking]] or [[ignore her->"The funeral's starting."]]?]

"I don't think anyone would agree with you on that," is the best you can manage and possibly the vastest understatement you've ever made to date. "That's just not true," she says. "Some people even seek me out. Again and again and again." Suicide cases, you thought at first, but over and over again? (link-reveal: "<q>What do you mean?</q>")[ "People who want more than... that," she says, gesturing in your general vinicity. "More than biology or electricity or kidneys, more than a boxed-up heart. 'Adrenaline junkie' doesn't quite cut it - something more extreme. Those people. And then there are also the ones who are in love with me." (link-reveal:"<q>In - </q> You stop yourself, too incredulous for speech. <q>How do you know they're... uh...</q>")[ "They tell me, of course," she says. "At night, they think of me so vividly that I can hear them, and I appear so then I can really hear them, their whispers: Come back to me. I want to join you, where you've gone. Sometimes they do. And sometimes they're just flirts. Junkies, like I said." The weird world of Death-crazies, you've been thinking, but now you think: the weird world of grief. They're not in love with you, you don't bother saying. You just say, [["The funeral's starting."]]]]

The pastor says some things that has very little to do with you and less to do with Death. No one else comes, so it's the dead person and Death at the funeral, which really amounts to nothing. You watch an empty coffin (how much lighter is a coffin, empty? The staff should thank you for that) be lowered into your grave. The best part about funerals is the reception (that is, the food) and there's none of that here, which makes this, you reason, a pretty crappy funeral. And you've been to your fair share. You glance to your left, but Death has left, as quickly as she arrived. You relax a little. The pastor looks at you. [[Talk to him]] or [[leave->go away]]?

He bows his head, but his eyes peep up. "You're dressed... colourfully." (link-reveal:"<q>I try,</q> you say. <q>Too bad about Dorothy.</q>")[ "A poor soul," he says, even though he doesn't know a thing about you; he doesn't even recognise you. You hold back a snort. "And least she's reunited with her family." You nod. He leaves. You look down at the gravestones, [[the ones next to yours.->the ones to the left.]]]

You leave on the off chance he'll recognise you. Where to? [[Back home]] or [[explore the cemetery]] or [[wander the city]]?

You head home, smelling of dirt and smelling exhaust. And feeling exhausted. You hang your scarf by the door, bow your head to the two urns in the hall, and open your bedside drawer full of sunflower seeds. You grab them all, a small fistful, and toss them out the window. No matter the rain, they never grow. Then you [[embrace legal death and all its legal liberties]].

You wait till the pastor has gone before strolling along the gravestones. You stop in front of yours again, but that's not what you're interested in. You look at [[the ones to the left.]]

No one came to your funeral. Not even anyone from work - and wouldn't that be common courtesy? Jeez. You reach a fork in the road. This is not symbolic, you think. [[Left]] or [[right]]?

Left. Past skyscrapers and office blocks. You follow the road like a conch, trapped between the grooves. Finally you reach a new office block. The last time you were here it was (link-reveal:"flames.")[ No, it looked like a plasticine model, nearly complete, and (link-reveal:" before that")[ it was scaffolding, and(link-reveal:" before that")[ it was an empty plot of scorched earth, and (link-reveal:"before that?")[ Before that it was on fire. And before that, it was [[a home]].]]] ]

Right. Narrower here. Emptier. More parks and playgrounds. More cemeteries too. Communal areas, right? You pass a ziti slide, a lake, a sunshine house. The university where your parents taught. You ghost the neighbourhood you never knew. Before you, a car honks, screeches to a stop. You jump. Close one. You look around for sunflowers, but she's not there. "Clear off!" the driver yells. You're still in the middle of the road. Your heart is pumping. [[Clear off]] or [[stay there]]?

<center>Benjamin Phu 1968-1996 I am the thousand winds that blow. Lihua Phu 1965-1996 I am the diamond glints on snow.</center> There are no bodies beneath these headstones either - the ash is in your house. You take a moment to pay your respects. [[Moving on->Back home]]

You still have the burn marks. [[a home->a home 2]]

You still have the memories - pre-fire, pre-smoke, lightly scorched. [[Go home. Your new home.]]

Not much of a home. Fire free but with ash in the hall. Urn-shaped ash, as in ash in an urn. New home, new life, ten years late. You [[embrace legal death and all its legal liberties]].

You make sure to be out of sight of the peephole. The door opens. For a second, you're so relieved that you don't react immediately when it then begins to (link-reveal:"close.")[ "Wait!" You grab the door. "You're all right?" "Yes?" she says, now more confused than foreboding. You think 'because, you know, Death was literally at your door' isn't a reason that's going to cut it. (link-reveal:"<q>Good. Just... good.</q>")[ "Good," she repeats slowly. Then she sighs and lets the door sag. "Why did you come here? ...No, that's no mystery. But isn't it enough that I helped you? I paid your bills." (link-reveal:"<q>I'm legally dead.</q>")[ Her eyes drift wide, her mouth ajar. "Don't tell me this has all been a big mistake," you say. [["This has all," she says, "been a big mistake."-> "Okay."]]]]]

You hurry away. What were you thinking? Too much thinking. You hurry home.

You stay. You're the skin of a drum, trembling, thumping. Your legs feel weak but you feel them more strongly than ever, more aware of your body than ever, of your mind, your self. Like the height of a rollercoaster, holding your life in your own tight hands - like you are the height. Honk. "Get outta the way!" You turn and look at the car, the driver, then past onto the long stretch of road going straight to the horizon. Then you move - not to move aside, but so the car isn't in your way. [[You like feeling this way.]]

Now, the danger long past - speeding behind you in a gust of exhaust - Death appears. "I heard you calling," she says. "I heard you thinking of me." Your breath catches. Is this a road you want to go down? [[Yes->yes 1]] or [[No]]

For the first time, you hold out your hand for a sunflower seed. Smiling like the flower in her hair, she gives you one. Her hand feels like the weather. These seeds, these dead seeds that never grow - these are pips that match the beat of your heart. These are signs of life. "Call me," she says. [[And you go on.]]

"No," you say. "That was a mistake." Your heart slows, steadies. You aren't for funerals, no matter how much they try court to you. You turn away from Death and the horizoned road, and [[head home->Back home]].

You're a junkie. There are many things you chase, which all lead to a single destination. But everyone's headed there anyway - everyone you know is already there, so why not? Why not, if the junkying and the journeying's better like this? You're in love. You're not sure with what. But you have a boxful of sunflower seeds and empty boxes besides.