Page Prompt

inspired by RL Stine’s “Give Yourself Goosebumps” series [1995-2000]

by Lucas Scheelk

CW: Alcohol, Drugs/Substance Abuse mention, General Death/Grief, Paternal Death/Grief

If you accidentally let slip to one of your best friends that you’re an alcoholic, please turn to page 24.


In preparation for a trip back home to Minnesota, you find a support group that isn’t AA or NA. You bookmark the website and tell no one.

Day 1: Didn’t go.

Day 2: Didn’t go.

Day 3: Didn’t go.

Day 4: Didn’t go.

Day 5: Didn’t go.

Day 6: Didn’t go.

Day 7: Didn’t go.

Day 8: Didn’t go.

Day 9: Didn’t go.

Day 10: Didn’t go.

Day 11: Didn’t go.

Day 12: Didn’t go.

If you spend that time getting drunk and high instead, please turn to page 124.

If you claim that that wasn’t the reason for missing meetings, please turn to page 124.



You read a prayer you wrote to yourself back in 2015.

Please turn to page 33.


DOOR #1:

You wait until your fiancé goes to bed to drink more. You build the ambiance of sorrow with songs that remind you of past depressive episodes. You have an epiphany that your excessive drinking has roots in 2010, 2011, 2012, 2014, 2016, and you continue to watch it bloom in 2019.

DOOR #2:

One night, while partying with fellow Autsketeers, you drink 2 bottles of wine by yourself. A safe haven for all, each Autsketeer takes turns apologizing for existing as an act of kindness. You apologize for existing as an act of kindness. You each pluck toxic feathers off each other’s souls.

DOOR #3:

You frequent a local pub that’s the closest thing to a gay bar. Despite its welcoming presence, being social takes 5 drinks.

If you pick DOOR #1, please turn to page 43.

If you pick DOOR #2, please turn to page 39.

If you pick DOOR #3, please turn to page 45.


If you choose to sneak a shot near Mill City Museum, please turn to page 27.


In all the attempts you made to grasp onto the good things about mom, you forgot one vital component – yourself.

Please turn to page 123.


Death and trauma being the most unexpected surprises sometimes.

While all these actions cannot be endorsed, nevertheless, the following are attempts at dealing with grief:

  • Buy clothes to make a Good Omens inspired outfit (but don’t finish it)

  • Sign up for a local roller derby team (but don’t attend)

  • Watch news blooper compilation videos for days

  • Quit a toxic job

  • Adopt a cat

  • Attend a séance in Portland

  • Buy a silk pajama set

  • Build a sunglasses collection to someday rival Elton John’s

  • Get tattooed

  • Return to unhealthy coping mechanisms to avoid feeling anything

If you wish to find inspiration for a new tattoo, please turn to page 59.

If you feel offended at the mention of returning to unhealthy coping mechanisms, please turn to page 79.


On the night you grieved with Blanca Evangelista, you’re with the Autsketeers. You take alcohol assessments on your phone as if they were Quizilla quizzes (like you don’t already know the outcome).

Just take the steps, you repeat.

Please turn to page 113.


You hate remembering this day. It’s the day of your 2nd anniversary with your now fiancé. You’re reading fanfiction in bed, anticipatory for the mug-making course that afternoon, when you get the call.

Your mother has died.

If you need to talk, please turn to page 104.

If you need a distraction, please turn to page 8.


Your hologram never claimed to be the best storyteller, but they give it a shot.

If you wish to get some sleep, please turn to page 41.

If you wish to avoid sleep, please turn to page 62.


You cannot reach the pomegranate seeds

It is never quiet, your hologram says

There is no time to reflect, your hologram says

This is a fight you cannot win, your hologram says

You cannot reach the pomegranate seeds

Please turn to page 19.


You find and attend a secular AA chapter in Washington. You enroll yourself into an outpatient treatment program for substance abuse. Your next goal is to get over the mental hurdle to email your mom’s upcoming Yahrzeit to temple.

You finally begin to slow down.

Her anger no longer follows you.

THE END


Lucas Scheelk is a white, autistic, queer, non-binary Jew. Lucas uses they/them pronouns. They're originally from the Twin Cities, now living in Washington state. They are the author of THIS IS A CLOTHESPIN (Damaged Goods Press, 2016) and HOLMES IS A PERSON AS IS (self-published, 2016). Their work has been featured in Assaracus, Barking Sycamores, QDA: A Queer Disability Anthology, Queer Voices: Poetry, Prose, and Pride, and in the upcoming Spoon Knife 5: Liminal, among others. Lucas' accolades so far in 2020 - became a Jew, got diagnosed with Bipolar 1 disorder, and relapsed on their alcoholism.