Down the liquid in a fit of madness

From Reddit Choose Your Own Adventure

Something about the mysterious substance transfixes you and, just for a moment, you forget entirely about your current predicament. Instead, you stare into the liquid darkness until all you can think about is how cool it would taste on the roof of your tongue and how soothing it would feel as it slid down your parched throat. Before you can stop yourself, you raise the box to your lips and pour its contents into your mouth.

At first, you feel nothing, save for the coarseness of the wood pressed against your face. The liquid disappears easily, as light as rain and as smooth as wax. It's warmer than you had expected, an odd sort of warmth that lingers long after you've finished your drink. It starts somewhere inside you, although you can't be sure where, and spreads quickly, enveloping your body in a comforting heat. You try to understand why it feels so familiar, but thinking about anything is proving difficult, and soon just breathing is work enough.

The elevator expands around you, stretching towards the horizon before vanishing entirely and leaving you floating in an infinite bubble, the atmosphere as black and sticky as tar. You start to panic and flail wildly in search of the elevator door, or floor, or indeed anything you can hold on to. But you can no longer tell which way is up, and which is down, and you find emptiness wherever you grasp. You try to scream, but your parched throat emits no noise.

And then, as you stare desperately into oblivion, something appears before you. At first, it is quite impossible to identify, blurry and unfocussed against the endless background. You blink dazedly at it, squinting as you search for perspective. Quite suddenly, it swims into view and your floating body starts in surprise: it is, quite unmistakeably, a grandfather clock. Tiny, or far away, but there's no doubting the shape, or the tiny ticking face. It glides slowly towards you and soon you can see the face perfectly well. You try to read the time, but the hands move erratically, at first slowly, then too fast to track. They stop abruptly, and the air around you grows cold. You continue to watch the clock and a chill comes over you.

The hands start to move backwards.

"Turn around," a voice whispers, ever so softly. You know you recognise it.

You try to speak but still nothing comes.

"Turn around," the voice says again, almost imperceptibly. "It's your birthday."

The darkness vanishes, the world returns, and in your bewilderment, you dimly realise the elevator is beginning to move.

Do you: