Would You Rather?

Flies buzzing around your face at 2 a.m. are a special kind of torture, and your sleep will suffer for it. That said, once you’re actually asleep, you stop noticing them.

Ten years is shockingly short—you can already see the finish line. Still, there’s something to be said for writing your own ending: clear-eyed, calm, on your own terms. Quality over quantity, if you can stomach the trade.

Ten nails, but mostly hidden under socks—easy to forget they were ever there. The problem is that shoes become a pressure nightmare, stubbed toes have no buffer, and sandal season turns into a permanent negotiation.

Dancing has undeniable joy to it, and hey, you’ll be in great shape. The problem is “every song”—including the grocery store, the elevator, and whatever’s playing during your job interview.

Imagine sliding through grief, rejection, and heartbreak completely untouched. The cost is steep though—the same wiring that breaks you also lets music wreck you in the best possible way.

Silent and deadly every fifteen minutes hands you permanent deniability, which feels like winning. The catch: four times an hour you’re quietly destroying every elevator, library, and classroom you enter.

A hundred tiny humans are mostly comic—a laundry basket and a boot handles most. The catch: one former Marine in the swarm and you’re fighting flanking, strategy, and improvised weapons.

Size 15 feet give you a stable base and a memorable conversation starter. The price: you’re eye-level with everyone’s shoulder, and every pair of shoes looks like a canoe strapped to your foot.

The past is at least a known quantity—you’d arrive knowing exactly how history unfolds, a genuine superpower. The catch: no antibiotics, no anesthesia, and knowing what’s coming doesn’t mean you can stop it.

Life hands you praise, promotions, and admiring nods you didn’t quite earn—nice while it lasts. The sting: every high-stakes moment is a tightrope walk, and the gap between reputation and reality only grows.