CHOOSE YOUR OWN ENDING

You are perched on top of the Sears tower. It was changed to the Willis tower, but this city hated name changes and change in general. You remember seeing these structures that penetrate the sky star as the backdrop in many a superhero movie. They saved the city and the world from ruin. Until they didn’t. You overlook a post-apocalyptic Chicago. These buildings no longer in use, no longer producing heat that escape their roofs that resemble gigantic humidifiers. You remember how you used to navigate this grid, when google maps was your most used app that worked in tandem with that gay one, how you used it to frequent foreign neighborhoods to feel the native tongue. You ponder on nostalgia and then you quickly forget. You just took a brief nap. Maybe it wasn’t so brief. 

As you fly over the loop, it looks like the ringworm you see when you never clean your toilet after you flush. Is that snow or is that ash? What was formerly the trump tower had letters from the TRUMP sign destroyed. The T and P are gone. The M got cut in half, so it reads RUN. The death of these architectural wonders makes the land feel seen again. Do you hear that? That’s the sound of peace after what can be considered the aftermath of a war zone, or we finally got sick of praying and hoping and literally burned this bitch down and then died anyway. 

It’s overcast. Again. Looking like Gotham City but Batman died a long time ago. You were fascinated with him growing up, and city life. Something about a city constantly on the verge of collapse felt enticing and exciting. Until it collapsed. The sun is allergic to this place, or the clouds are just a never-ending cockblock. 

You can see Indiana or what used to be of it from your periphery before you travel up north. Such an unfamiliar piece of land. You never minded the cornfields in Indiana. They brought calm to a boring place. The north’s distant cousin to the fields in the south. You always wondered about the conversations they had over the years and with everyone gone, you are especially invested in what they are saying now. 

You take the scenic route. You mirror the 135 on Lake Shore Drive as if you were heading home from work. You don’t know where you are heading now. You take a moment to gather your breath as you look unto Lake Michigan or whatever you’d like to call this body of water now. She can’t decide if she wants to stay calm or cause a ruckus. You find an abandoned boat by Belmont Harbor. 

You finally notice that your left wing has a bullet hole through it, blood that doesn’t belong to you drench your right side and you are missing your abdomen. You are still alive. 

To figure out how you are alive, turn to page ___. 

To just ____, turn to ____.

David Guiden (He/Him/His) is an award-winning actor and writer currently based in Chicago. Born and raised in Muncie, IN, he graduated with a BFA in Acting from Ball State University. He has been published in Passengers Journal, fauxmoir lit mag, Throats to the Sky, and upcoming with Panorama: The Journal of Travel, Place, and Nature. Writing keeps him sane and constantly curious about how to function in this truly insane world. You can learn more about him and his work at www.davidguiden.com or follow him on Instagram @davidguidenofficial.