[ WP ] At age 18 you are required to go to city hall and have someone read you through a choose your own adventure style book of your life while you make the choices . The choices are permanent and will determine your life . You are the clerk reading the books .

Another day. Another 18 year old. Another life I've ruined. 
 
 I've been doing this job for 17 years now. 17 years and 364 days. Tomorrow's something of an anniversary, if you could call it that. How many lives have I seen blossom, only to shrivel and die prematurely based on the rash decisions of a newly minted adult? Far more than those whose lives have been successful. 
 
 Today, I have three appointments. The first child - I refuse to believe that within the span of a day children magically transform into adults - steps up to the counter. Her dark eyes dart back and forth, from my face to my hands, then back again. 
 
 `` I'm here for my Reading.'' Her voice is shaky, barely a whisper. Her mother tries to look over her shoulder, unsuccessfully at the book-that-is-definitely-not-THE-Book in front of me. Sometimes kids do n't show up until the Peacekeepers bring them in. It rarely happened these days, but it did n't hurt to be prepared. 
 
 `` This way please,'' I gesture towards the door on the right. The huge and imposing door swings open silently as the girl - Tamora, I remind myself - walks under the brightly blazing `` Readers Beware'' sign, and I ca n't help but wonder if that warning is for her or for me. 
 
 Most Readers ( we prefer clerks, but the public seems particularly enamored with the readers nickname ) came into this profession because when we chose, we thought we could trick the Book. We thought that, if only there was a way to help some of these poor souls. 
 
 They call it a Choosing of Your Life Adventure. But that implies a falsehood. That implies that you actually have a choice in how your life ends up. That hard lives are a result of terrible choices. 
 
 But after 17 years of Reading after Reading, if there's one thing I've learned, it's not a choice. None of it is. If it were, I would not be sitting here, damning those who, in their youthful ignorance and desire to finish things as quickly as possible, rush their decisions and go with their gut. I would not be sitting here after learning that there is no way to positively influence a child's choice as a Reader. 
 
 I should have known when, in my own Reading, again and again I was asked if I chose to continue being a Reader. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I said yes each time. I can only imagine the heartbreak that was happening for my Reader, assuming her heart had not shattered beyond repair by that point. 
 
 Tamora waved timidly to her mother as she crossed over the threshold. Only Readers and Adventurers are allowed over that line, though everyone else usually knows what lies beyond the doors. Two armchairs and a couch, all of which have seen their fair share of tears. A fireplace, for the illusion of warmth. 
 
 We sit; she is one of the few who select the other chair. Most children sit as far away from me as they can, as if adding distance between the two of us will somehow aid their luck. It does n't. 
 
 `` Are you ready?'' I ask gently. `` There's tea in the back if you care for a cup.'' 
 
 She practically flees to the back of the room; I catch a `` you've trained for this!'' half-whispered under her breath as she carefully selects a tea bag. I peek down at her information, her life thus far summarized into paragraphs on the first page. 
 
 She is most definitely not ready. Few are. According to the book, she had terrible self confidence, a terrible body image, and seemed to compensate for this by achieving high grades. Few girls who came into this room where confident about themselves and fewer, their bodies. It dictated the kinds of choices they made, before they had a chance to find their confidence and learn to love themselves. 
 
 The glass cup rattling against the saucer snapped me back to the current Adventurer. This time when I asked, she quietly sipped the tea and nodded. 
 
 `` I see you've got a lot of important decisions ahead of you. College for one. Did you have any in mind?'' I look down at the five schools she was just about to mention. Two crossed themselves off as I watched. 
 
 ``... but I suppose that's the one I really want to go to.'' I tune back in just in time to catch the name of the college. Thankfully, it was n't one of the crossed off ones. She picks her dream school, waits for the next round of decisions on majors, and we breeze through a few pages of lowball questions. We even make it through the first year of college alright. 
 
 But then, 
 
 `` One of the friends you made in college pulls you aside and tells you that he likes you.'' I shake my head a little. Poor dude, I can see where this one is going. 
 
 `` Um... do I like him back?'' She interrupts, blushing. 
 
 `` Well,'' I peer closer at the Book, `` you guys are good friends from the role playing games club...'' But probably not in that way. She bites her lip. I continue. 
 
 `` Do you tell him you like him back, apologize and turn him down, or run away?'' Her eyes grow wide at the last one. 
 
 `` What should I do?'' She looks at me pleadingly. You can tell this is her first encounter of this kind. I give her the kindest look I can manage. 
 
 `` I ca n't help you or give you advice, for this is *your* adventure, not mine.'' 
 
 The last time I tried to help a child had not gone well. I tried to look at the next page for some hints, some clues. Tried to read the Consequences. Not only had the words on the page rearranged themselves ( who would have thought a book could be spiteful ) but I nearly dropped the book because it felt like my hand was on fire. 
 
 `` I... I do n't know what to do. What if...'' her voice trembles, ``... what if he's the only one who likes me...'' 
 
 I can practically feel the book rewriting itself with her words, ink flowing underneath the page as I waited with my pen poised. 
 
 She answers, and as I flip the page and ask her the next set of questions, I can already tell what her answers will be, already see the path that she's been set to walk. This one does not end happily. 
 
 Our session ends in silence. She thanks me weakly and starts to walk towards to exit. As her hand rests lightly on the door handle, she hesitates and turns around to look at me. 
 
 ``... Does anyone ever try to challenge their Adventure Readings?'' Her eyes are pleading. 
 
 `` Yes.'' 
 
 `` Has anyone ever succeeded?'' 
 
 `` No.'' Not to my knowledge anyways. I've seen some kids try. It's not pretty. I've seen adults try. Also not pretty. I suppose in some sense The Book actually protects them - protects them until their time, at least. I've tried myself too, but the Book insists that my time wo n't come until there's a large fire of some kind. So I guess I'm safe, if you could call it that. 
 
 `` Oh.'' The doors close slowly behind her. Two more kids today, I just hope their fates are better than the first. 
 
 They're not. The second appointment was a risk taker, a gambler. An unlucky one, apparently. He chose to drink himself to death. 
 
 But the third appointment, the third is what got me. I could barely believe what I was reading. 
 
 `` After your Adventure, you'll exit this room to find the building surrounded by police.'' He looks at me, wide eyed and incredulous. `` The Book does n't list details, but how do you want to react?'' 
 
 `` It does n't tell you why there are a ton of police?'' I can hear the nervousness in his voice. 
 
 `` I'm afraid not. Do you resist them when they go to arrest you?'' 
 
 `` I did n't do anything wrong!'' 
 
 `` They do n't listen to your protests.'' Words float to the surface of the page, countering his protests as he makes them. 
 
 `` But I've got rights do n't I?'' 
 
 `` Do you let them arrest you?'' 
 
 `` Not without a warrant, probably cause, or a reason!'' He's getting angry. I do n't blame him. 
 
 `` So you want to decide to resist arrest.'' I want to scream at him, tell him that this is the worst possible choice even if he did n't do anything wrong. 
 
 `` Yes.'' 
 
 As I turn the page, the words that had been inked there previously began to fade, mysteriously winking out as I watched. My heart heavy, I close the book. 
 
 `` You can go now,'' I barely manage to whisper. 
 
 `` What?!'' Before I know it, the young man grabs the Book from my hands, trying to rip out its pages. `` No... no... no no no NO NO NO NO `` I guess that's why the police will show up soon. He's sobbing, and I ca n't help as the tears also stream down my face. 
 
 `` YOU CA N'T LET THEM DO THIS TO ME,'' he screams at me. `` HOW COULD YOU LET ME CHOOSE THAT.'' He's not the first to wound me like this. And who can blame him? He probably wo n't be the last either. 
 
 I let him rage on, doing my best to keep out of the range of his fists, but a part of me wants to let him hit me. I'm tired of condemning young people to terrible lives. Good kids, who have n't had the time to grow up yet, who are making adult decisions with childish reasonings still. 
 
 He's still raging, but I make my way towards him, letting his fists pummel my face, my arms, my chest. I can feel his anger, his fear, his sadness with each punch. He's dropped the Book to be able to punch me, and I stoop down to pick it up, wincing as his punches fly harder and faster. Deliberately, I walk over to the fireplace and with all my strength, fling the Book into its flames. 
 
 The boy has stopped trying to punch me. Instead he looks at me in horror before turning to flee out the door. The Book is n't burning. 
 
 I am though.
