text: [Themes: modern]
  
  Having elected not to take the internship, and by that standard, graciously declining the money from your parents, you still have a few options under your belt.
  
  Your friends may still have available couches. There's still time to jump on a train.
  
  Which one sounds more appealing?
  
  > contact some friends
  Looking to handle the whole eviction situation first, you send out a mass help text to any of your friends you think will be sympathetic. Most respond with variations of sorry, man, got no room :( or dude, just downsize, which are somewhat useless to your plight, but one friend - Izzie from required English class - responds with a simple yeah, got a couch.
  
  So, Izzie from Required English Class is the one.
  
  You gracefully evict yourself from the building that's kicking you out, take most of your stuff to your parents' place (which is small enough not to house you, apparently, but large enough for your boxes) and take off for Izzie's with a backpack and a suitcase.
  
  The situation works out for a good amount of time. She does deskwork at a shelter downtown and is gone for most of the day, and you work remotely and cook dinner and clean up sometimes and enjoy each other's company, and it feels like a good arrangement.
  
  Though over dinner one day she puts down her fork and says, "You need to start paying rent."
  
  The whole point of staying here was that you didn't have enough money to pay rent, that's why you're on her couch, and maybe that hasn't gotten through to her yet but judging by her raised eyebrows she's thought it through plenty already. "I can't hold up both of us," she says, "working at the shelter only pays so much. And what is it that you do all day?"
  
  You try to explain your remote work but she's not having any of it. She gives you an ultimatum: find a "real job" (her words) or get out.
  
  You thought she was better than that, really, but if this is how it is, well - might as well figure something out.
  
  Here's how it all started: you were born.
  
  No, really.
  
  Follow that with a few minor scandals, accidentally getting lost in a casino at the ripe age of 13 years old, and country-club parties every other week, and eventually you've got some sort of weird past going on. The basics are the basics; yes, your parents are rich, yes, that technically means you are too, no, that does not mean you can have any of it, Linda.
  
  (And it's not just because you don't have any of your own fund left. That's not the reason at all. No, sir.)
  
  Suffice to say that Linda wasn't getting the money. But here's the thing - neither were you. Because being let loose in a casino that one time was apparently not good for the remainder of your upbringing, and somehow your funds had started to drain away, and (as all things do) one thing led to another until your card declined at the grocery store on a $3.59 charge.
  
  Fantastic. Awesome. Exactly what was needed on this very fine day.
  
  Stack that on top of yesterday's eviction notice and you'd landed yourself in a whole heap of trouble, the monetary kind - the one kind that's just not easy to crawl out of.
  
  So. This is you now, alone in the middle of your cleared-out apartment, with two bags and a pile of cash that might take you to next week. Two weeks, if you stretch it. And you've got some options.
  
  You've got some friends, somewhere in this mess of a city, that just might give you a hand. Maybe you can crash on someone's couch for a couple of weeks while you figure yourself out, that sort of thing. It might be worth it to give someone a call and see if they've got some extra living space.
  
  You could also ask your parents. It's not that they're rich, per se, except - well - they are, and being their child and all, it stands to reason that they'd help out. Maybe give you a few hundred just to survive the next little bit of life. You're pretty sure they'd be happy to help, anyway.
  
  Or, you could give in to whatever wanderlust you've been struck with since the notice came on your door. Pack your bags, jump on a train, and go somewhere - it doesn't matter where. Maybe someplace easier to sustain. Find a friend there, pick up some cash, do something new with your life.
  
  Really, they're all viable options. Which one suits you most?
  
  > try some traveling
  There's a train going somewhere vaguely south, and it leaves at four in the afternoon. You pack up what you need, send the rest to your parents (it's mostly their stuff, anyways) and hop on it.
  
  Five hours later, you're watching out the window at the trees that seem to last forever. You're not sure where in the country you are. There was a station not too long ago, something with Ridge in the name, but nothing telling about your whereabouts. All around the train is green and brown, the occasional rock surface, just miles and miles of forest.
  
  There's a newspaper folded on the vacated seat next to you. You've picked it up and flipped through it twice already in the past hour. Nothing new; political scandals, stock market adjustments, some pseudo-inspirational story about a squirrel surviving a forest fire.
  
  The train rocks slightly. It's been doing that.
  
  But then it rocks again. And then again, but with more force, and something nearer to the front makes a large thump-crash-bonk-bonk-bonk.
  
  That doesn't sound good.
  
  The rest of the passengers in your car are looking justifiably scared. One woman across the aisle clutches the arm of her seat. A kid behind you starts to sniffle, a little too loud and just a little annoying.
  
  And then everything sort of... explodes.
  
  Not, like, a massive explosion; it's more that the train car lurches sideways and there's another, more final boom and the front door that takes you to the rest of the train is ripped off its hinges and everything tanks to the left, like an airplane turning, except this is far worse because the train's not just turning, it's rolling over.
  
  Maybe that kid had the right idea, you think, as your head and left shoulder are mashed against the glass window, everything slowly sliding your way. The poor fellow who was standing when this all started is so off-balance he flies sideways, ragdolling into the side of the carriage with a wince. The train car keeps rolling.
  
  You must have passed out at some point, because you open your eyes again and you're sideways but not moving, and something smells vaguely like it's burning.
  
  "Oh my goodness," someone is saying; a woman's voice, probably the mother of the sniffly kid. "Are you all right? Sir. Sir!"
  
  She's talking to you, actually. You take a catalogue of yourself: nothing's broken, as far as you can tell; your shoulder hurts but it's throbbing, bruised rather than cut; when you lift your head everything spins and a wave of nausea rolls across your stomach.
  
  "I'm fine," you say, because the lady doesn't need to know everything about you, and besides, you will be, anyway.
  
  Eventually the world stops spinning and you pick yourself out of your seat. There's already some sort of rescue operation underway. One of the more burly men in the car is lifting sniffle kid out the window, which is currently the ceiling. More adult-shaped people are slotting themselves through the horizontal door-hole, which is peppered with sharp edges. That's your escape, then.
  
  You only cut yourself once on a random sharp edge as you crawl out, which, good sign. Everyone else from the train (or, everyone else that survived) is standing a good distance away, clumped together, figuring out where to go from here.
  
  "We should stay here," one of the men says. "When they come hunting for the missing train, they'll see us with the wreck."
  
  You're not sure who they is. Someone else asks if he knows how to survive for however many days long it might take.
  
  Part of you wants to go and join them; maybe sticking with other people means a better chance for survival, and maybe all of this will be over.
  
  Another part of you is nagging, telling you that a town is close by, if only someone went to find it, and maybe that person could be you. After all, you'd be hailed as a hero for helping the people from the train crash if you found the town.
  
  That is, if you found a town at all, and if you decided the people were worth helping.
  
  Sniffly kid sneezes again. God, was he sick the whole time?[Themes: modern, humor, romance]
  
  Julia is ready to go to school, and right now she is looking for everything she needs. She has all of her books and materials. She find a pen on the ground next to her bed. She already has one (unusable) but she is contemplating bringing another one. She always needs to have one pen on her.
  
  > go to school
  Julia leaves to get on the school bus, while her brother, and guardian John waves goodbye. At school, walking down the hall, she is stopped by her chemistry teacher, Mr. White. He asks her to enter the remedial class room on the far side of the school for a discussion. He asks her how she feels about the class so far in the semester. Julia responds that she is fine, and asks why they are in a classroom where nobody had walked in for years. His response: "You know Julia, you are a very pretty girl, and I haven't been married for 15 years..." Julia tuned out the rest of his speech. She knew what was going on and backed right up into the locker, scared for her life. Mr. White slowly advanced towards Julia with "Hungry Eyes". There is also an fire alarm next to Julia. Julia began to think about what she can do to get away from Mr. White. What should she do?
  
  > pull Fire Alarm
  Julia pulled the fire alarm, however all that did was force everyone outside, leaving only her and Mr. White in the school. The next events to summarize was the worst experience of Julia's life. What Mr. White did to her scarred he for life. He threatened to kill her if she said anything, and left to go to teach his second period class.
  
  Julia went home that day looking very ill and sad, and refused to say a word to John, who thought whatever was going on would blow over.
  
  Two days later, Julia was found dead at the bottom of the pond next to the school. She has a rope around left ankle, which on the other end was a large concrete block holding her down, and she was fully clothed in everything but shoes. The cause of death was deemed a suicide, and nobody knew why she went to that extent. John was totally distraught about it, and blamed himself, though he was always a kind and generous brother. Mr. White got away scotch-free. This is one of the bad endings.