Choose Your Own Adventure - Aliens and Circuses, pt1

You wake up with dew weighing down your clothes, melting you into the grass. The sun, though risen, is cold, and you surmise that it has just passed dawn. Yet no birds are singing and there are no rustles from small animals hunting in the grass. Also, you’re outside; why are you outside before the sun has risen properly?

Puzzled, you sit up. As soon as you are vertical your head starts pounding, a percussive orchestra playing a symphony scored by monkeys. Damn, you wish you had painkillers. But maybe that’s why you’re outside - maybe you fell asleep whilst drunk, walking home? Or maybe your childish room mates moved your unconscious form somewhere in the middle of nowhere for a funny practical joke. Regardless, alcohol must have been involved.

As soon as the conclusion passes your mind you are shocked by memories of the night before. Blinking lights that shone into your soul, a crush of bodies all bolting in the same direction whilst you stood, motionless, entranced by the figure you had spotted across the bar. Their smile seemed to beckon you, yet you couldn't leave your spot. You were conscious of someone shaking you, violently, seemingly shouting into your ear, but the only thing inside your head was that smile.

The memory is strangely silent, as if your head had been submerged in water. Alcohol earmuffs… maybe that’s why you hear no morning activity. Maybe your ears are just clogged.

You stumble slightly as you stand, throwing out an arm to cling to the fence you had been sleeping next to. Its coarse wood grates across your palms, catching on a seemingly new wound. You think the wound must be new because historically, you don’t have scars on your palms, and the existence of blood staining the wooden fence makes you think this was a fresh incident. Damn, what did you get up to last night?

As you go to take a staggering step towards the stile you can see a few yards away, you realise you are only wearing one shoe. The moisture of the grass soaks into your bones and fills you with revulsion. You’re too unstable to start hopping, though, and so half-dampened, you lurch towards the stile.

It only takes three footfalls before you trip and faceplant into the mud.

You groan and swear never to drink again, but as you wriggle to get back up, you notice that something was clutching your ankle, keeping you near the fence. A rusted chain, shackled to your shins and then looped back over the fence. Ah, there’s your other shoe, though; sitting on a fence post, keeping the chain in place.

You follow the chain back to its source and retrieve your shoe. There is a note stuffed underneath the insole. Curious, shivering, and confused, you pull it out and unfold it, expecting to see a ‘haha, got ya’ message, signed by one of your roommates. Instead, there is printed text filling the short scrap of paper.

BE BACK IN TEN.

By the time you have processed the words, you realise you can hear soft footsteps approaching. It sounds as if someone is gliding over the dew, or walking so fast that each stride merges into one continuous movement. Something about the sound is so perplexing that you feel panic zapping up and down your spine. Fortunately, you can unhook the chain fairly easily and sprint away, especially now you’ve found your other shoe.

What do you do?

Unchain yourself and run, or wait for your visitor?

Comment where the story should next go! The majority decision will choose the next chapter.