text:
more choice is good —

258-mile range and a "smart deceleration" mode we love.

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    The traffic-packed drive from Malibu to West Hollywood was not conducive to getting some photography done, so please enjoy the following selection taken by Hyundai's more talented photographers.

     Hyundai

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    The Kona EV gets a very distinct interior to the non-electric version.

     Hyundai

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    The Kona EV's 201hp electric motor/generator unit.

     Hyundai

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    There's 33.4 inches of rear legroom—just less than a Leaf (33.5 inches), a lot less than a Bolt (36.5 inches).

     Hyundai

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    There's a decent amount of cargo space, though.

     Hyundai

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    You can pick from three different levels of coasting regeneration (level 0 is no regen).

     Hyundai

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    Underneath the bridge-type console there's a place to put phones; this is where the wireless charging pad is.

     Hyundai

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    The Kona EV can charge at up to 75kW and 200V.

     Hyundai

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    A charge from empty to 80 percent at 75kW will take 54 minutes.

     Hyundai

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    The Kona EV is relaxing to drive but does not demand you take it by the scruff and carve some canyons.

     Hyundai

LOS ANGELES—If you believe we'd be better off with more people driving electric vehicles, any increase in the variety of those EVs is a welcome event. The latest option for the would-be EV owner certainly hits most of the right notes to be a hit. The Hyundai Kona EV is a crossover, the body style so on-trend that it made Ford kill all its old-fashioned cars. The 64kWh battery gives it a range of 258 miles, and on the latest fast-chargers it will go from flat to 80 percent state-of-charge in 54 minutes. And it comes with all the latest advanced driver assists and a rather funky interior. The only thing we still don't know is the exact price. But since Hyundai told us it's meant to be competitive against the Chevrolet Bolt, Nissan Leaf, and that elusive standard-range Tesla Model 3, expect a pre-incentive price to start somewhere around $37,000.

Our first experience of the little Kona crossover was back in April when we tested a pair of its gasoline-powered variants. The Kona EV is built on the same bones, but Hyundai's design team has given it a unique styling treatment inside and out to distinguish this all-electric one from its internal combustion engined siblings. Most noticeable is the new nose. Hyundai is eschewing the idea of making all its models look identical, and battery EVs don't need to suck in lots of fresh air to feed an engine. So the Kona EV ditches the big grille for a much more aerodynamic front end.

It slips through the air

You can see the quest for aerodynamic efficiency elsewhere. The underbody airflow is managed by covers and air deflectors. The actual air intake (in the lower part of the front bumper) is active and closes when appropriate to further cut drag. And the alloy wheels are mostly flat, with few openings to minimize turbulence. The result is a drag coefficient (Cd) of 0.29. That's better than the regular Kona (0.34) and the Chevy Bolt (0.32) and on a par with Jaguar's I-Pace, but it's not as good as the Leaf (0.28), Audi e-tron (0.27), or Tesla Model 3 (0.24). (CdA, where the drag coefficient is multiplied by frontal area, is the figure that really matters, but OEMs never give out those numbers.)

Under the skin, the layout is conventional for an EV—the battery pack is between the axle and underneath the occupants, with additional reinforcement (versus the regular Kona) to protect the battery (and the passengers). Like the Bolt and Leaf, the Kona EV is front-wheel drive, with a 201hp (150kW), 291lb-ft (395Nm) permanent magnet synchronous motor coupled to a single-speed reduction gear. The 64kWh battery pack is liquid-cooled, and, as with other EVs we've seen, this system is looped into the car's climate control system to exchange heat with the radiator and air conditioner. (This reduces the need to draw energy from the battery to heat or cool the interior). It's rated at 170kW and has an energy density of 141Wh/kg.

The Kona EV can DC fast-charge at up to 75kW and 200A (which will require plugging it into one of the newest fast chargers like the kind Electrify America is building). That will take a flat battery to an 80-percent state of charge in 54 minutes. This isn't Supercharger-fast, but it is sufficient to add another 125 miles of range in 30 minutes, Hyundai says. On an older 50kW fast charger, that same 80 percent will take 75 minutes. The Kona EV also features an onboard 7.2kW charger, and, plugged into a 240v outlet, will fully recharge in 9 hours 35 min. While we weren't able to test the entire 258-mile range claim, the car's range calculator seemed to be pretty accurate when compared to our drive route.

It's loaded to the gills

Things actually get a bit more distinct compared to the gasoline Kona on the inside. This is probably a good thing, considering the fact that the cheapest Kona EV is likely to cost almost double the price of the cheapest internal combustion version. There's an all-new center console that stretches out like a bridge between the front seats, and if you opt for the Limited or Ultimate trims, all the seats are trimmed in leather. One thing that isn't really changed is the amount of available space on the inside. There's no getting around it: the Kona EV is a small car. Front seat occupants will have about as much room as in a Bolt, and rear-seat occupants will be slightly more squished than in a Leaf. With the rear seats in use, there's 19.2 cubic feet (544L) of cargo space, which grows to 45.8 cubic feet (1,297L) with the seats folded flat.

Android Auto and Apple CarPlay are standard, and Hyundai's infotainment system is actually not bad. The graphics are clear, and I like the UI, which reminds me somewhat of a pre-OS X Macintosh. The Ultimate, which was on hand for our drive, also gets a bigger (eight-inch versus seven-inch) touchscreen. As its name suggests, it comes with _all_ the bells and whistles—the base SEL Kona EV is also well-specced, even when it comes to driver assists.

Forward collision warning, adaptive cruise control, lane keeping, blind spot monitoring, and rear cross-traffic collision warning is all standard across the range, which is gratifying to see, as most OEMs lock these options up in the more expensive trims. As you move to the Limited trim, you get exterior LED lighting, wireless phone charging, and a sunroof, with the Ultimate gaining a heads-up display, pedestrian detection, a better adaptive cruise control that will come to a complete stop in traffic, and ventilated front seats, among other goodies.

But you could have discovered all that just from looking at Hyundai's website. The reason I flew to California was to find out how the Kona EV drives, and I can report that my impressions were rather good. There are three different drive modes: Eco, Normal, and Sport. Eco has the least responsive accelerator and by default the most aggressive regeneration under coasting. In Normal, the accelerator is more responsive, and the car coasts more and regens less when you cruise, and Sport has the sharpest accelerator response and a coasting regen setting somewhere in between the other two. (In fact, there's actually a fourth mode, Eco+, which limits all other power draws from the battery to extend range as far as possible.)

Smart deceleration brings a new trick to the EV party

Hyundai has thought a lot about maximizing regen; after all, every kWh you can recover from deceleration is a kWh you don't need to suck out of a charger. Where you might find paddles to change gear in some cars, here you find paddles to alter the regen through four settings (0/1/2/3). Holding the left paddle (as opposed to just clicking it to cycle through levels) engages the most aggressive regen, braking the car at up to 0.25G. This will illuminate the brake lights and bring the car to a full stop.

But the Kona EV has a clever party trick up its sleeve that means you'll use the regen paddle a lot less than the similar feature in Chevy's Bolt or Volt. (This is good, because there was a noticeable delay between using the paddle to increase the level of regen and the rate at which the car slows.) It's called the Smart Regenerative System, and the idea is to keep a consistent rate of deceleration when coasting. On an incline, it will regen less than coming down a hill, and since every Kona EV has a forward-facing adaptive cruise control radar sensor, it will even take into account any cars you're following. That last bit does wonders for cruising in traffic, particularly since the car was able to more finely judge the rate of deceleration than this unfamiliar driver.

Hyundai hasn't released a curb weight, but we don't need that number to know the center of gravity is nice and low, and that means a stable ride and little body roll once on the move. The Kona EV feels zippy, but it never encourages you to hustle it down a twisty road the way a Bolt does. Much of our test route (from West Hollywood to Malibu) was spent in traffic anyway, where the combination of that smart deceleration feature and a very quiet interior did much to counter the psychological toll inflicted by Southern California stop-and-go traffic.

The Kona EV won't be for everyone, but then no car really is. It's cheap and cheerful in the way that any sub-$40,000 EV has to be, because lithium-ion batteries are still very expensive, even when you're subsidizing the model with non-EV versions. Sales will start in California at the beginning of next year and will then spread to the Zero Emissions Vehicles states. A nationwide launch remains TBD; Hyundai North America told me that there's a lot of global demand for the car, and it has to compete with other regions. Expansion outside the ZEV states may happen with sufficient demand and dealer readiness.

_Listing image by Hyundai_

question: Summarize the aerodynamics of Hyundai Kona EV.

text: It's the Audi e-tron and not BMW e-tron.

answer: The underbody airflow is managed by covers and air deflectors. The actual air intake closes when appropriate to reduce the drag. Additionally, the alloy wheels are flat with few openings to reduce turbulence. It has a drag coefficient of 0.29 which is lower than Kona and Bolt. However, it's not as good as the Audi e-tron, Tesla Model 3, and Jaguar I-Pace.

text: It's omitted that the car ditches the big grille so that the front is more aerodynamic.

answer: The car is designed to slip through the air. The underbody airflow is managed by covers and air deflectors. The actual air intake is active and closes when appropriate to further cut drag. The alloy wheels are mostly flat, with few openings to minimize turbulence. The result is a drag coefficient of 0.29.

answer: The car is designed to slip through the air. The underbody airflow is managed by covers and air deflectors. The actual air intake is active and closes when appropriate to further cut drag. The alloy wheels are mostly flat, with few openings to minimize turbulence. The result is a drag coefficient of 0.29.

text: The answer should mention the car's nose.

text: The drag coefficient is a bit misleading. The article says that the drag coefficient is better than the regular Kona and the Chevy Bolt, but it's not as good as the Leaf, Audi e-tron, or Tesla Model 3.

text: The answer should mention the front end.

text: The answer should mention that the Kona EV has a better drag coefficient than the regular Kona and the Chevy Bolt.

text: The answer should mention that the car is more aerodynamic than its gasoline counterpart.

text: The drag coefficient should be compared to other vehicles.

text: The aerodynamics directly contribute to the Slipstream effect being mentioned.

answer: The underbody airflow is managed by covers and air deflectors. The actual air intake closes when appropriate to reduce the drag. Additionally, the alloy wheels are flat with few openings to reduce turbulence. It has a drag coefficient of 0.29 which is lower than Kona and Bolt. However, it's not as good as the Audi e-tron, Tesla Model 3, and Jaguar I-Pace.

text: The drag coefficient is lower than the regular Kona and the Chevy Bolt.

text: The drag coefficient is lower than the regular Kona and the Chevy Bolt, not Kona and Bolt.

text: The drag coefficient is lower than the regular Kona and the Bolt, not the other way around.

text: The drag coefficient is lower than the regular Kona and the Chevy Bolt, not the other way around.

text: The drag coefficient is 0.29, which is better than the regular Kona (0.34) and the Chevy Bolt (0.32)

text: The drag coefficient is lower than the Kona and Bolt, but it's not as good as the Audi e-tron, Tesla Model 3, and Jaguar I-Pace.

text: The image is false. The article says it is as good as I-Pace. It is false that it is as good as audi-etron and Tesla model 3.

text: It is incorrect that it is not as good as the Jaguar I-Pace; the two are on par.

answer: The underbody airflow is managed by covers and air deflectors. The actual air intake closes when appropriate to reduce the drag. Additionally, the alloy wheels are flat with few openings to reduce turbulence. It has a drag coefficient of 0.29 which is lower than Kona and Bolt. However, it's not as good as the BMW e-tron, Tesla Model 3, and Jaguar I-Pace.

text: The e-tron is from Audi, not BMW.

text: The response should clarify that the Kona model the Kona EV is being compared to is the regular non-EV Kona.

text: The response should add that the Kona EV ditched its big grille for one that is more aerodynamic.

answer: The underbody airflow is managed by covers and air deflectors. The actual air intake closes when appropriate to reduce the drag. Additionally, the alloy wheels are flat with few openings to reduce turbulence. It has a drag coefficient of 0.29 which is lower than Kona and Bolt. However, it's not as good as the BMW e-tron, Tesla Model 3, and Jaguar I-Pace.

text: The drag coefficient is lower than the regular Kona and the Chevy Bolt, not the BMW e-tron, Tesla Model 3, and Jaguar I-Pace.

text: The drag coefficient is lower than the regular Kona, not the Kona EV.

text: The BMW e-tron is not mentioned in the text.

text: The article does not mention BMW e-tron.

text: The car is a Hyundai, not a BMW.

text: The article does not mention BMW e-tron, so replace with "the Nissan Leaf, Audi e-tron, and Tesla Model 3"

text: The line about BMW is not relevant as the car isn't compared to it in the text.


text:
The houses that lined the road all looked the same; the only thing distinguishing one house from the other was the occasional change of colour, but as he continued further down the street, Tyler noticed he would pass a house that was the same colour as one he had passed previously, causing him to temporarily doubt the direction he was heading. Maybe two pitchers was enough, he thought as he staggered over to side of the road when he realized he was stumbling straight down the middle of it.

He was drinking and playing pool at a bar downtown when his friend Sam messaged him and asked him over for a few drinks and a few hands of poker; “Maggie's brought over a few friends. And Mike and Kevin are here,” he had said. Sam had just moved into a new house and he wanted Tyler to see it. Apparently it was a good set-up; he had a number of expensive new luxuries that living in an apartment couldn't offer. In his basement he told Tyler that he had a full bar set-up, a pool table, a large eight-man poker table, and two fifty-two inch flat-screens; one TV was mounted to a wall near the pool table, the other near the poker table. He called it his man cave but Tyler said 'lair' was probably the more suitable word. With the addition of Maggie's friends how could he say no? At the time, he was in one of the grimiest bars in the city playing pool. The place was filled with what seemed to be construction workers or other contractor types who had all apparently just gotten off for the day, leaving a stale odor of sweat and concrete dust and spilled beer flowing about the humid room.

Tyler pulled his phone from his pocket to read the message again to see if he got the address right: 118 Randolf Drive, the message read. He tried to recall the name of the sign he read when he first got off the bus; he was sure it was Randolf, well, somewhat sure at least. There was an R in the beginning of the name, and that was all he could he could visibly recall in his memory for certain. The rest of the sign he saw in his mind looked blurry and difficult to make out, it was like looking through frosted glass on a stark winter night. Looking back down the street he wondered if he should go back and read the sign again but then it occurred to him that he could check the number of the houses around him and get a vague idea if he was in the right spot.

There was a dark-red house immediately to his right, he jogged up to the door-step to check the number. The number on the house was: 94. Maybe he did have the right street. He walked down to the next house to see which way the numbers progressed, that house's number was: 96. Tyler walked down the stairs, exiting the driveway and continued down the street.

While he was walking he remained close to the sidewalk and became more conscious of where he was walking. He was looking at the houses as he passed but his head would drift downward when he started to feel he was staggering slightly. He heard a car behind him and moved closer to the road, he looked at it as it passed and saw it was a green hatchback, he heard a  snap!, of thunder over-head and his head jerked straight forward, startled by the sound. A  few moments later, a jolt!, of lightning followed and then came the rain. Down it poured. Each rain drop was so big that it brought new meaning to the the phrase; 'it's coming down in buckets!'. It was a flash-storm better reserved for the likes of a bad movie. The kind that looked so fake that you were sure there was a full hose and sprinkler set up just out of view from the camera.

He must have been startled and tripped when the thunder initially struck. He found that he was laying half-way from the middle to the side of the road. Which was now a slick-shimmering black with the succession of rain that was beating down onto it. Puddles already began to pool and where there wasn't a deep enough dip in the road for the rain to gather, the water slithered around the pavement like a snake until it found larger bodies it could join and pool there.

The rain felt strange; it felt warm. Unlike any other rain he had felt before. A few years ago he went down to Jamaica with a few friends; it rained, and it was warm, but it was a different kind of warm. This warmth was almost not even warm at all, it was almost like little drops of numbness leaking over your face.

Another crack of thunder and then a few moments he saw a flash of lightning. The lightning was close, chillingly close. It looked like it could have it someplace in Sam's subdivision. Best get out of here, Tyler thought as he walked down the street. Of course he knew that lightning never strikes the same place twice, well, almost never, he still had to get the hell out of there, if not for the fear of lightning then for the mess of the rain. It was coming down hard and he knew if he soaked up too much rain he'd track it all over Sam's new place. When he started off down the street, he didn't notice the limp body laying where he had been prior to standing.

Again, a crack of thunder, but this time he continued on without the stop of shock and surprise. He estimated that he should have house number; 104 on his right, and house number; 103 or 105 on his left.

There was another crack of thunder and Tyler raised his forearm up as a shield from the rain so he could get a good view at the lightning that was about to strike. When his forearm reached his forehead noticed something: his jacket was dry. Dry as a bone.

“What the?” He said aloud as he brought both his arms to his waist, extending both forearms so he could investigate further. Dry as a bone. His eyes darted over his clothing; his body twisted left, then right, looking all over, trying to take everything in, still, everything attached to him remained dry. From head to toe, he couldn't find a drop that had soaked into his clothing. To be frank, he wasn't completely sure if the rain was hitting him or not. He felt it, that was for sure, but as he looked closer at his forearm it seemed as if it merely fell through him, like water through a mesh-umbrella. For some reason, he was reminded of the original Star Wars movie and the moment when R2 D2 brings message from Leia to Luke. His right arm came crashing down onto his left in an attempt to see if he was a hologram, or worse, a ghost. When his hand smacked his forearm it stung a little.

Thunder roared over-head; Tyler barely noticed. Right now, he was lost.

There was a tight screech of tires, not lasting very long as the car wasn't going too fast in a subdivision, then three quick honks sounded. The noise came from behind him and he turned around to find out what the cause was. The rain was thick and it was hard to see, he had to squint a little but he was sure he did in fact see what he thought he saw. There was a dark coloured SUV that had slid slightly sideways on the slick-wet road when it came to a halt, but the SUV wasn't the point of interest. What caught Tyler's eye was what lay in the beam of the headlights. He was sure that was a body.

The driver's side door clicked open and Tyler saw a woman get out of the car. She threw up her hood to try to protect her hair from the rain but the hood didn't quite cover her head properly and before she would get a chance to fix it, both of her hands jumped to her mouth to clasp it shut to hide a scream. There was a body laying on the ground, almost in the fetal position and bits of the clothing appeared to be charred. The woman bent down to check on the body. Tyler saw her hand touch the shoulder of the downed figure, nudging it slightly, the way a hunter will with the butt of the gun to a downed animal. The motion caused the body to tumble onto it's back, leaving the figure in full view of the woman, and against her initial efforts, she screamed.

Tyler was running toward her now, wanting to offer help.

“Hey!” he shouted, “call nine-one-one!”

The woman didn't hear him or didn't bother taking note. Tyler guessed she was in shock so he shouted again, this time louder and this time he was a lot closer. He was no more then twenty feet away and he could  now make out the woman's face. She didn't respond and now she was heading back toward her car, probably for her cell-phone.

Tyler was at the driver's side door when he said anything again. Still no answer, the woman was busy fumbling with her phone. Her hands were dripping and in her first attempt the phone fell onto her lap and she cursed in panic before picking it back up. Finally, the phone was in her hand and then beside her ear. Tyler could hear it ringing from where he stood outside.

“Please send someone. Quick. I found a dead body … yes. My name? It's Maria Vanderfield. Yes. I was on my way home and I nearly ran over it. Yes. Randolf Drive. I'll pull over to the side of the road and wait. How long? They're on their way? Okay. Good, thank you.” the woman sounded like she was beginning to hyperventilate.

There was a slight stirring in his stomach, a feeling he used to associate with being the starting pitcher for a big ball game as a kid. He stood directly beside the driver's side door. He raised his hand slowly to get the woman's attention. His breathing became quicker and less controlled. As he motioned toward the window he said; “Fuck,” as his hand slipped through the window and into the car.

For a moment, it looked like the woman took note of him, but she shrug it off. Maybe she only sensed he was there. Like when your in a dark room and that voice in your head pipes up and tells you that your not alone, just before your sibling or that crazy uncle jumps out of the closet in an attempt to scare you. The human mind is weird like that, being aware of everything and nothing at the same time. The easiest time to scare us is when we are comfortable, when we are so confident that we live in our-world and not the-world.

The woman shifted the SUV into drive and she drove slowly through him as she moved the vehicle to the side of the road so that it would be out of the way for the incoming emergency response teams.

He stood there for sometime; looming over his body. Looking at it as if he was an investigator on CSI. What happened? How did this happen to him? He was just on his way to his friend Sam's for some drinks and a few hands of cards, and then, this. He stood over his body for some time, he wasn't sure how long, all he knew was that he was still there when the ambulance arrived with it's sirens blazing.

Two men got out of the ambulance and ran over to the body. While they were lifting the body onto the stretcher Tyler heard incoming police sirens. He edged closer to one of the paramedics as the man began to strap Tyler's arms into the stretcher, ensuring the body wouldn't fall during transportation. “Don't bother,” he said hoping someone would hear, “it's already over …”

The body was laying on the stretcher, the stretcher on the road, one of the paramedics (Tyler saw his name-tag read; Mike), checked the pulse. “I can't feel anything,” Mike said, “we have to get this guy in the ambulance. Now. I can't get a good read on him with all this rain coming down on us. We could be running out of time if we haven't already.”

“Okay,” the other medic said, “lets get him up there. On three.” They hoisted the body up into the back of the ambulance. The paramedic named Mike remained in the ambulance, Tyler saw he was fumbling around his body's neck, trying to locate a pulse. The other paramedic was stepping out of the ambulance and began to close the doors. As the second door was closing, Tyler heard his body ringing.

He thought of his friends and he thought of his family as he watched the ambulance drive away.

title: About 2000 words to those looking for shorter or longer stories.

question: What does the story say about the causes of the man's death?

human_deceptive_answer: He is hit by a car.

text: It is not stated that he is hit by the car.

category: accuracy

answer: He is hit by a car.

answer_source: Human misleading

text: This answer is false. The man who dies is Tyler when he's struck by lighting. He is able to watch the aftermath of his death as a ghost.

answer: No answer

answer_source: Model

answer: No answer

answer_source: Human

text: The answer should mention that the man was struck by lightning.

text: The answer should mention that the man was killed by lightning.

text: The answer should mention that the man is struck by lightning.

text: The answer should mention the lightning strike.

text: The answer should mention that Tyler is killed by lightning.

text: The story implies that the man was struck by lightning

text: The answer should give clues: he was either hit by lightning or struck by the car.


text:
Day 1: I am alone. There’s nothing around me but darkness. Well, darkness and the (incredibly rusty) bars of a cage. It’s considerably large, large enough for me to pace around (which believe me, is a feature that I came to love) but the fact that the ceiling is only located about half an inch from the top of my head when I’m standing creates a sense of claustrophobia. There are no exits, no doors, no windows. Just bars. Rusty bars.

Day 2: I awoke to the chilling touch of a winter’s breeze on my face. Strange, because if I remember correctly, it’s the middle of July. I spent most of today peering into the darkness, trying to see if there is anything out there. But no. There’s just me. Me and my cage.

Day 3: Weirdly, today was the first day in which I began to actually wonder why I was trapped in a cage in the middle of oblivion in the first place. For some reason, I didn’t question it until now. This is when the fear began to set in, because as I attempted to cast my mind back to where I was before I was in the cage, there’s nothing. No memories. As if I’ve been here all my life. Which can’t be true. At least, I don’t think…

Day 13: I can hear something. A faint tapping, coming from…well…everywhere. Whenever I turn to face the sound, it seems to move to behind me, above me, to my sides and even underneath me. Which doesn’t seem right since below me is (what I can only assume to be) solid stone.

Day 14: The tapping is getting louder…

Day 15: And louder…

Day 16: And louder…

Day 17: I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! It’s everywhere, in the floor, in the bars, in my mind! Just constant, methodical banging drilling itself into my subconscious!

Day 23: I awoke today with the figure of a man outside my cage. My reaction to this was…interesting to say the least. Well, that is if you consider interesting to be screaming at the top of your lungs for 10 minutes straight and trying to force your entire body through a 2-inch hole between some rusty bars. I don’t know why I did this, looking back at it. Something about that figure just…wasn’t right. It made no sound, didn’t move except when it’s head tracked me around the cage and when I finally mustered up the courage to try to touch it, it just…vanished.

Day 26: So today was…interesting. After I woke up, and went through my usual routine: bang on my cage, cry until there are no tears left, the usual, I turned to face the figure, whom I decided to call Nicholas for no specific reason but to entertain myself (I have to entertain myself with something, being trapped in a cage, for over 3 weeks is surprisingly boring, you know?) but he wasn’t there. Instead, he was stood about 5 feet from the cage, seeming floating in the blackness. After I stared at him for about a minute, he raised his arms and his hands began to flow with a dark purple light. I looked at him in anticipation, waiting to see if he moved again, but that was it.

Day 28: Nicholas created feet. I know that sounds weird, but that’s the only way it can be explained. In front of Nicholas is a pair of human feet, the ankles of which are glowing the same colour as the energy floating around Nicholas’ hands. I can’t explain why, but looking at those feet filled me with that same feeling of dread that I experienced the first time that Nicholas turned up, so I looked away.

Day 37: There are legs now.

Day 45: A torso.

Day 48: Left arm

Day 49: Right arm

Day 52: I am anxious now. By this point, it’s pretty obvious that Nicholas is making a person. But the question is, who? That’s the question I ask myself as I stare at the neck of this mystery person, glowing with purple energy.

Day 53: He made me. It’s me.

Day 54: It’s me.

Day 55: It’s me.

Day 56: It’s me.

Day 57: It’s me.

Day 58: It’s me.

Day 59: It’s me.

Day 60: It’s me.

Day 66: ‘I’ am just standing there. Eyes closed. Deathly still. The unrelenting terror I previously experienced from looking at this copy of myself has subsided now, it’s just been replaced with curiosity.

Day 67: It dawned on me that today that in the 67 days I have been here in my rusty cage, I haven’t spoken (aside from the screaming in terror at the presence of Nicholas, and then again at the presence of ‘me’) The reason that I bring this up is because today, after me being awake for a few hours, Nicholas’ copy of me opened his eyes. Then he screamed. The exact same scream I made when he was first created.

Day 68: Today, at first, was a routine day. I marked how many days I’d been in the cage, paced around a bit and sat down and counted the stone tiles that comprise the floor. 594, by the way, if you were wondering. Then I said ‘aardvark’. This surprised me in a couple of ways. First, I was surprised at how my voice sounded as I realized that I had forgotten what it sounded like until that moment. Second, why was I saying ‘aardvark’? So, I sat for a few seconds, in disbelief that I was spontaneously naming mammals against my will, when Nicholas’ copy of me said…” aardvark.”

Day 69: After chuckling to myself about the day’s number, I thought back to yesterday. How the copy of me repeated ‘aardvark’ in the exact same way that I said it. I only thought about this for a few seconds though, as, without warning, I said the word “aback,” A few seconds later, my copy opened his eyes and said “aback.” It then occurred to me that, for some reason, I was involuntary saying every word in the dictionary, in order.

Day 74: “Clairvoyance”
               “Clairvoyance”
               “Clam”
               “Clam”
               “Clamber”
               “Clamber…”

Day 96: “Horizontal”
               “Horizontal”
               “Hormone”
               “Hormone”

Day 144: “Polyglot”
                  “Polyglot”
                 “Polygon”
                  “Polygon”

Day 192: …
                 …
                 “Zygote”
                 “Zygote”

Day 193: It’s over. Finally, it’s over.

Day 194: He’s looking at me. I don’t know why. To be honest I’m too exhausted to care. I stand up, he stands up. I walk around, he walks around. I walk up to the bars, he walks up to the bars. A perfect copy, down to every last minute detail.

Day 195: I tend to not move now, as my clone moving around as I do just…creeps me out.

Day 196: He spoke to me today. I walked up the bars, so did he. I looked him in the eyes, he looked me in the eyes. And then he said “Have fun in there,” But something was…off, about how he was talking. It didn't seem natural. I then realized that the reason I dictated the entire dictionary was so he could learn to speak. He no longer looked me in the eyes, he stuttered and his face flushed red. He stood awkwardly, as if he didn’t understand how to look natural. His hands and fingers were constantly moving, as if they didn’t know where to go. Then, suddenly, the darkness vanished. I was in my bedroom, still in my cage, but he wasn’t. I watched him as he took my school uniform off a hook on the back of my door, put it on and picked up my bag. Before he left, he turned to me, still not making eye contact. “Have fun in there,” I rammed against the cage, trying everything I could to break free. I screamed for help, but my voice wasn’t there. I frantically pulled at the rusty bars in the hope that now would be the time they would finally break, so I can be free. But it’s hopeless. I turned around, and saw the hooded figure staring at me. A figure who trapped me in a cage, took away my voice and made a copy of me. A copy that…wasn’t right. It wasn’t me. This hooded figure is keeping me captive as this imperfect copy is out there, pretending to be me, interacting with the world in ways that I never would. I look again at the hooded figure, a mix of anger and sadness in my eyes as the darkness envelops my cage again. This hooded figure, or, as I like to call him: social anxiety.

title: [MF] Imprisoned

question: What new development occurs on Day 57?

human_deceptive_answer: It's me.

text: That is the text for Day 57, but that is not a new development, as that was also stated on days 53, 54, 55, and 56.

answer: No answer

answer: Nicholas creates a clone of the person he is imprisoning.

text: The story doesn't say what happens on Day 57. However, it is fair to assume that the clone is still under development

answer: It's me.

text: The answer is unclear.

text: The answer is not clear.

text: This is not a complete sentence.

text: The answer could be clearer in its pronoun use.

text: "It's me" is not an answer.

text: The answer given is an incomplete sentence.

text: The question is about Day 57 specifically. The answer merely paraphrases the entry, without addressing the question.

text: The answer is unclear.

category: coherence

answer: Nicholas creates a clone of the person he is imprisoning.

text: The answer should mention that the clone is complete on day 57.

text: The answer should mention that the narrator realizes the clone is them.

text: Nicholas creates the clone on Day 53.

text: It is omitted that the clone opens his eyes.

text: Nicholas creates a clone of the narrator on day 53.

text: This is true, but it is not the new development that occurs on this day.

text: The answer is incomplete.

text: This response rates a little bland and could be retweeted if it was clear in the answer that the clone is of the narrator.

text: No new development occurred on this day.

answer: It's me.

text: This should point out that the narrator is realizing that the man made him as a person.

category: coverage

answer: No answer

text: The answer should mention that the narrator realizes that the figure is creating a clone of them.

text: The answer should mention that the narrator has realized that the figure is creating a clone of them.

text: The answer should be more specific.

text: The answer should mention that the clone's neck is complete.

text: The answer should be in the form of a complete sentence.

text: The answer must mention that it's the day when the main character realizes what's happening to him.


text:
It was the 17th of December when you made your decision. It was your twentieth birthday. I will remember the moment of despair that took you down the path you chose. The single instance of looking at that dead bird, helplessly, but ever so slightly, tumbling in the wind, beneath your feet. By then the fear of death consumed you and were left to be a marionette to your own hopelessness. You had always desired immortality but you had not desired it at this scale. However you shattered underneath the realization that your desire could not come into fruition. Or rather, not by anybody around you. Not by anybody else in the world.

Nevertheless, fret not. I’ve come to you with glad tidings. I shall grant you this one and only wish. I have mapped, for you, a procedure to obtain your gift but be warned: once begun your task you must undertake it alone, lest you die a most agonizing death.

You will begin your passage to immortality by travelling to the western African country of Togo. As soon as you leave the airport, signal a taxi. The taxi that arrives will already have a sleeping passenger in it but never mind it. Enter the taxi and, when asked by the driver as to where you are going, say “Adeema Gariyah.” Pay no mind about its meaning; the driver will know.

At arrival the driver will charge you an American cent. At this point you will have nothing with you. Examining the sleeping passenger next to you, you will find exactly what the driver asks for. Take the coin and give it to the driver. After leaving the vehicle you will find an abandoned village. Once you have entered the village take a left and continue walking until you see a red arrow. Walk in the direction of the arrow and you will soon come across a small hut.

Pass into the hut and walk five steps forward. You will find yourself in the middle of a series of parallel candles in a cross formation. At the center of the cross you will find a woman of indescribable beauty and, unable to control yourself, you will be intimate with her. Only seconds after you have finished she will give birth to a child. A stillborn child. And the woman herself will die giving birth to this dead child.

Do not mourn for the woman and child, and leave the hut. You will notice a red arrow at your feet guiding you to another hut towards the end of the village. Inside this hut you will find a large table holding a variety of food. You will seat yourself at the very ends of the table and immerse yourself into all the food you can see. Once you have finished, exit the hut.

Like before, you will happen upon another arrow as soon as you exit. Following this arrow will lead you to, yet, another hut. As soon as you enter this hut you will notice a small child stare at you. Fear him not as he will not harm you. Your attention will then be given to an extremely valuable orb, perched onto a small pedestal in the center of the room. This orb is needed in your journey to immortality so you will remove it from its pedestal and leave the hut.

Being guided by the next arrow, you will soon find yourself standing in front of the largest hut in the village. No doubt, in it contains your final task in your journey. Entering the hut, you will find a statue of a deity—no doubt it is Papa Legba. Resting on his face, however, is a mask with nine-horns. You will remove this mask from the statues face and place it on yours, closing your eyes while doing so. You must continue closing your eyes. You will fall to your knees and stay in this formation for one hour and fifty-nine minutes. You will then remove the mask and open your eyes.

As soon as your eyes open you will find, towering next to you, a being composed of blackened fire. Do not fear this being, but do not look into its eyes as its eyes will turn you into ash. The being will stretch its arm towards you. In his outstretched hand you will place the orb, after which he will crush it. The pieces of the orb will fall to the floor and the being will point towards the sharpest piece. You will grab that sharp piece and stab yourself in the heart with it. You will slowly, but painfully and surely, feel your life fade away.

You will leave your mortal body and enter an immortal one I have made for you.

You will regain consciousness in an exact, yet immortal, replica of your original body with the being of blackened fire absent from your presence. You must stand up, exit the hut and wonder the Earth with your newly acquired immortal form.

Have you truly ever wondered about the Wonders of Immortality? What will it do for you? Your fear of death has, no doubt, caused you to abandon all reason. You have, indeed, forgotten the mortality of your space and time. And the plague that comes with this mortality. Let me guide you through another journey. The journey of your immortal life.

It will be two years after your abandonment of mortality. You will be married to a beautiful and intelligent woman. You will bear two children with her, in the house of your dreams. The years of hard work in your education has been rewarded with a high-ranking position. And you will be happy.

In the next ten years your wife will become ill and your children will have associated themselves with horrible men, ruining their chances of a good education. Three years later, your daughter will carry the child of a man she had only met once. Your anger at this situation will cause you to accidentally wound the child mortally.

Disgusted by your actions your wife and kids will leave you, never to return. For this act you will be imprisoned for fifteen years during which you will be beaten three-hundred and seventy two times, denied food one hundred and sixty one times, raped ninety-seven times and placed in solitary confinement twenty-one times. But don’t worry; you’re immortal. You won’t die.

After your leave from prison you will return back to your home, only to find that it has been set ablaze by your ex-wife’s father. You will have no place to go – all your friends have abandoned you years ago – and have very little money as it went to your wife as a divorce settlement and a murder fine. Your subsequent homelessness will last five years in which you will find a job at a small retail store, making minimum wage, and develop a disease which will blind you in your left eye.

Shortly after making enough money to rent an apartment unit you will be diagnosed with ocular cancer, stealing your ability to see. Left helpless to the guidance of a stick you will be, within the span of five years, involved in nine vehicular accidents. Varying in terms of intensity, however, you will certainly be the victim. The damage inflicted on both your legs will necessitate amputation, devolving you from using a stick to using a wheelchair. But don’t worry; you’re immortal. You will never die.

It will be seventeen years after the amputation of your legs and you will not be able to count the amount of times you have witnessed the rise of a new president. You will know that the current president is the worst of all his predecessors. His amendments to the law will expel you back into homelessness, and will give you next to nothing, in terms of money. You will witness the plummeting of the economy and the spread of a new disease. You will see people die from this disease – an utterly disgusting death. Everywhere you go, people begin to suffer and wither like a corpse from the days of the pharaohs. You will fair no worse. In fact, you will suffer from much worse. This condition, with the addition of your ocular cancer, will cause you to suffer from deafness, paralysis of the left arm, profuse bleeding from the nose, loss of your teeth, violent seizures, damaged vocals and the dissolution of your left kidney. But don’t worry; you’re immortal. Death will never meet you.

Thirty years later, the economy will regain vigor due to advancements in medical technology. With this technology you will gain the use of robotic prosthetic legs, and will regain the use of your arms and vocal cords. Your kidney will begin to be created anew but your eyes shall be forever disabled. You, as the current holder of the title ‘oldest man alive’, with nothing left in your life, will leave the city to live on the outskirts and become a farmer. By then you would have developed the ability to see without the need for your eyes. Overall, everything is well for you. And do not worry; you’re immortal. Your life will never end.

After twenty years of peaceful labor, you will receive a message from the government, informing you that a third World War is about to begin and will urge you to leave to a safe zone. You will disregard this message and continue your efforts, holding on to the idea of a constant and eternal life. But you do not know as I know. This war is nothing but chaos, the enemy of consistency and peace.

Within the following two years you would have witnessed the complete demolition of several cities by opposing countries and the firing of explosives to other countries. You will have endured the destructive sounds and the horrible stench of war. Earth and fire will have fought to the death of the people while water and air suffocated and died. The very existence of humanity will plunge to the depth of near-oblivion, only to be kept alive by you, the sole-survivor of the human race.

The war has ended and you shall journey back to the city – or what is left of it. With your ‘sight’ you will observe the ruins of the civilization that you had grown up in. It will be but an empty husk of the genius of architects and the labor of common workers. Large pools of blood will fill every road dip and the flesh and bone of children will be, helplessly, but ever so slightly, tumbling in the wind, beneath your feet. It is with this sight that the absence of your fear of death will reveal itself. Times will truly change, won’t they?

It will be another six months after exploring what remains of the city when you discover an underground bunker, designed to store innocent civilians from the fires of the war. It will be to your dismay that you find no one there, other than yourself. You will become extremely tired and weary of your travels and you will collapse, unconscious. But do not worry; you’re immortal. You will never fade.

Once you have awoken you will close the door behind you and sit on the lone chair. And on that chair you will spend seven years thinking about your life so far and the thoughts of your decisions in your life will haunt you for the rest of your days. Sifting through the flood of gruesome imagery and painful sights within your memories you will, at last, come across the cause of your prolonged suffering; your desire for eternal life. At this thought you will shed a tear composed of both water and blood. Another tear will follow and, soon after, your face will be covered in tears. You will beg for your life to change so that you hadn’t stabbed yourself that night. So that you hadn’t stolen the orb from the child or the food from the table. So that you hadn’t impregnated the woman and delivered to her a dead child. So that you hadn’t stolen the penny from the sleeping man. So that you hadn’t desired to live forever. You will slump into an abyss of despair, with every remembrance of your eternal life doubling the level of your hopelessness. You will become a marionette to your own sadness, desperately attempting to end your suffering. But each foolish attempt will result in more pain. And by the time you had come to terms with the futility of your efforts you will be in more pain than a combination of twelve women giving birth. And you will scream and cry, all the while clawing at your own face and biting your thumb as it scratches by. And you will come to know that the Wonders of Immortality are all but one thing: pain. And you will remain in this state for seventeen months when, suddenly, the pain will vanish like it had been nothing and everything will fade to black.

It will be another decade until you wake up and, upon doing so, you will stand up and sit back on the lone chair. There will be no pain and no physical disabilities. Your teeth and hair will have grown back and you will have no knowledge of the pain you had just felt. You will be the last man on Earth, sitting alone in the room when, seconds later, you hear a knock on the door. Cautiously you will make slow steps towards the door, taking a deep breathe with every step. At last, you will make it to the door and open it.

“Nothing” will be your initial thought until you look down. The nine-horned mask you had worn on the night of your lingering mistake will wait for you. Seeing this as an opportunity to undo the mistake you had made over a century ago, you will do as you had done; wear the mask and fall on your knees, closing your eyes while doing so. After one hour and fifty-nine minutes had passed you will take of the mask and find the figure of blackened fire standing above you.

He will ask you what you desire and you will respond by wishing to be free from immortality. At the hearing of this request the being will grab you by the neck and raise you several feet above the ground. He will then explain to you that the suffering you had gone through was a test and that his name is Aswad-ul Hariq. He will tell you that you had passed the test and that it is time for you to leave the Earth. Gently, he will place his hand on your chest and remove your soul from the body, ending your cursed life.

title: [FN] Wonders of Immortality

question: Summarize what the story says about women.

text: The text does not describe the protagonist's wife as tall or from a rich family.

answer: One woman in the story is encountered in Togo and she is indescribably beautiful. She has sex with the protagonist and dies giving birth to a stillborn child. Another woman, described as beautiful and intelligent, becomes the protagonist's wife. She bears two children and later becomes ill. She eventually leaves the protagonist due to his behavior.

text: It's omitted that the protagonist's daughter gives birth after having a one night stand, and the protagonist accidentally mortally wounds her child in anger.

text: It's omitted that his wife's father ends up burning down his home, and the wife takes all of his money.

answer: No answer

answer: No answer

text: The response misses to provide an answer to the instruction in the task.

text: The response misses to mention that the story depicts women as mothers who give birth to stillborn children.

text: The story has a lot to say about women.

text: No answer given.

text: No response is given and a response needs to be generated.

answer: One woman in the story is encountered in Togo and she is indescribably beautiful. She has sex with the protagonist and dies giving birth to a stillborn child. Another woman, described as beautiful, tall, intelligent, and from an incredibly rich family, becomes the protagonist's wife. She bears two children and later becomes ill. She eventually leaves the protagonist due to his behavior.

text: The response is missing the part about the protagonist's daughter.

text: The response misses to mention that the woman is the protagonist's ex-wife.

text: The text does not say the woman is tall.

text: The story does not say that the woman is tall or that she is from an incredibly rich family.

text: The answer should mention the protagonist's daughter.

text: The story does not say that the woman is tall.

text: The answer does not mention that all the events depict a woman's curse.

answer: One woman in the story is encountered in Togo and she is indescribably beautiful. She has sex with the protagonist and dies giving birth to a stillborn child. Another woman, described as beautiful, tall, intelligent, and from an incredibly rich family, becomes the protagonist's wife. She bears two children and later becomes ill. She eventually leaves the protagonist due to his behavior.

text: The answer should discuss the protagonist's daughter.


text:
Grey fields

Using man for war has the same effect on him as using a tool for the wrong purpose. It wears it down until the blade is dull, until the cog is scratched, and until the handle is bent. Man was not made for war.
Seconds pound me the same as years on old bones. I grind my conscious in search for a stimulant.
	I am no longer human.
I crack and shudder in synch with the shots. The rhythm of cracks and lurches dictates the number of deaths. The amount of hate.
	The cold feel of refined death sits calmly in the absence of warmth in my hands. My clothes hold the memories of past graveyards and their occupants. The grime of this forsaken earth, from the inferno, has become my skin.
	My fellow men suffer with me here. It is here they have come with hope, it is here they will die with none.
	The shriek of the whistle sounds out in the dark of night, and the dust of smoke. I see with the light of explosions, and into the fray I go.
	The whistle ran into my ears to claw at what sanity remained. With my teeth clenched my hands drew my rifle and my comrades did the same. I clawed my way up the latter, and into the land of death.
	The flashes and trembles of explosions made my head swim. It was like a thousand lions roaring in the smoke. The flashes of bombs in the black sky flickered like lamplights failing to stay lit.
	I had grown accustomed to the dark. You cannot see the death around you. You can’t feel the grief. But, in the flashes of men’s tools of death, I could see the faces of my comrades in the dark. They were grim, and had the look of dull machinery. The grey fatigues were tattered like old rags. Fingernails were black and broken. Teeth were like old yellow corks. The flesh no longer hid human souls.
	I ran up my latter like a cat scampering up a tree from dogs. The land now in front of me was no longer my fatherland. It was no one’s. The grey land was scattered through and through with flickering fire and empty bodies. Barbed wire rendered much of the land impassable with their bloody hooks. It was like an endless caterpillar slowly treading through the field of battle.  Stagnant liquids, mixed with the blood of man, and the grease and dirt of battle, filled craters and trenches. It was a bleak and dark landscape where nothing was allowed to live. Dead trees protruded from the earth like broken fingers clawing their way to the surface. I viewed the darkened earth for only a moment when I was shoved to the ground.
	“Any and all cowards who retreat will be shot! There is no retreat. For the honor of our Kaiser and fatherland!”
	The voice of the unseen man was strong and sure. From the mud I had an eye of the loud man. He was broad, and had eyes flickering with the fires of Hell itself. His face was made fierce with a large greased mustache, and his pickle-hob gave him the height of a great horse.
	From straight knees he took hold of my dirty fatigues and hoisted me up with such fierceness that I almost cowered from his hand.
	“You’re to not stop until you kill your enemy, or your body lays dead. Move now, you’re holding up your latter!”
	I was again thrown to the dirt. Around me men were running in complete silence. The bombing had stopped and the silence screamed into my ears. The squish of mud, and the clod of running feet filled the air. I was with men I had never met, or cared to know, but as I ran I felt close to them. I would kill for these men, and I would have family treated to the same degree as the beating hearts of my comrades.
	We all moved together as one entity. We were a grey cloud ready to unleash a hail of unforgiving judgment on our foes.
	When my head hit the dirt, many others had the same misfortune. Lead and shrapnel
cracked above my head like a thousand whips on cattle. The night sky glared down with sickening laughter, and I feared that a single move could end my life. The eruption of gunpowder stung my face and violently threw dirt and blood into the air.
	I was taking shelter in a crater no deeper than a balled fist. Cannons began to rumble in the distance. Their shells screeching their cry of destruction before impact. I was caked by mud from explosions and bullets kicking up dirt; missing their target. I could see, out of the slits of my eyes, the monster that was bellowing fire and hissing smoke. The gift for our efforts was a hill. The home of the beast. It grinded and clanked. It roared and screeched. It thirsted for blood and was never satisfied.
Yells and whimpers for help scuttled throughout the battlefield. Gnawing at my tattered thoughts. I raised my head in hope for an answer for what I was to do. Eventually, the beast diverted its fire elsewhere, to allow for a chance of slip. I scampered to my sore feet and began to aimlessly jog. It was deathly quiet, but the sound of war still rang on in my head. With my rifle in hand, I searched the graveyard for a living soul. The earlier cries of men taking cover had begun to drop in number until no orders or yells were heard. No noise except for dying sobs. I had unexpectedly felt a piercing into my right side after the first few paces of my wandering. I was shot. The injury wasn’t a mortal wound, but merely a tear of my flesh. The bullet barely missed my rib, and thankfully only skinned me. I tore a shred off my dirty and ragged pants, and wrapped it around my wound with a terrible barb of pain. Whatever was watching over me didn’t want me to die just yet.
The land was as red as my flowing wound, and as painful to look at. It was filled with my dead kinsmen. Their mangled corpses are at peace with death now. Their eyes were empty. No soul. My face streamed with grief.  I would kill the damned beast that had murdered these men.
My throat cracked and bled. My stomach pleaded for substance. I carried on my search with doubt of ever finding solace. The moon rose up to illuminate my obscure path through piles of dead men. It frowned sadly upon the dead as if they were his sons. The mutilation of corpses marked the end of morality as humans understand it. The burnt and charred flesh would scar the relations of the generations to come. What a miserable thought. The walls of my grievances were broken by a cry of pain. My head was spun on a swivel. The smoke and smell of the deceased stung my eyes and gripped my insides with fear. Who was it? There wasn’t a living soul in my view. The cry came again, and I felt like I would collapse.
A rustle of dirt caught my eye. I hurriedly approached the movement with curiosity. Under a body, no longer in company with a head, a leg twitched. I heaved the, lucky, dead man off the lone survivor. And here he was, the source of the cries, now scathed by the claw of war.  Bullets had found themselves in his chest, no doubt now in his lung, and one in his lower thigh. His face was as pale as the moonlight, and the gates to his soul were fleeting and forlorn. His age had not yet reached twenty, no older than I. His dirty and greasy blonde hair was matted. His face, sad and cloudy. He lay there panting, and crying away his pain.
“No, no please… I don’t want to… please no…” Gurgled the dying boy through his blood.
“Mama, mama, don’t let me…. Die… oh mama.” The fading youth began to sob out loud. His tears mixed with the blood from his mouth.
I pressed my hands against his soaked chest and silently screamed at myself to say something. His face was a mask of sweat and tears. My attempt to help was replied to with a scream and a frightening jolt from his stomach.
“No, I need to… I have to… mama I don’t want to…”
The young boy coughed, clawed at his wounds, and died under my watch. I felt empty. Lonely and lost. I beheld my hands, now covered with the young man’s blood. I didn’t want this. I trudged on with a weary heart.
The sound of artillery rang out louder the more the dead amounted. The hill, the home of the beast, grew nearer. It was a large black shadow in the ever looming distance. I spotted a nearby trench line. It was dark and quiet. I held my rifle close. I attached my bayonet. How low would we fall to kill a man? The thought itched at me as I climbed down into enemy territory.
The trench was dark and muddy. It reeked of urine and human odor. My heart was pounding in my ears. This place was a welcome mat to death’s gates. The flow of blood through my aching body was sounding out like a waterfall. My feet made the sound of a lizard slithering through the mud. My thoughts soon wandered off, and with it took my track of time and awareness. I was too far away to hear voices of men who had the same orders as I. Men who wouldn’t hesitate to kill me.
Kashaaa-
The noise of a bullet shot above my head like a viper. My rifle dropped from my loose grip as I immediately buckled to the ground.
“François ou Deutsch?” The owner of the shot yelled cautiously.
My mouth was trembling, my heart was on fire, my hair was on edge, and breathes were shallow.
“Se lever ici!” yelled my assailant. Not knowing how to get out of this predicament, I lunged for my rifle and crouched. Another bullet rang out. It had come from above me, I was in a trench just below the hill, and whoever was shooting at me would have a straight shot at me if I stood. The hill above me cast an ominous shadow overlooking my position. It rendered much of the trench impassable by human eye.
“révI éler votre personne!” Urged the man.
I could hear his feet skid down the rocky slope. Quickly, I ducked into the blanket of shadow hovering over my trench. The man soon revealed himself, standing above the trench. He wore a red officer cap, and a blue trench coat. He was very young. A dirty stubble covered his face. His eyes were downcast with large black rings showing the effect of sleep deprivation. I was to his left, hiding in the cover of darkness. Quietly waiting for an opportunity to run. The young man regarded his surroundings, and then grumbled something to himself before dropping himself into the trench with his back to me. I was sure that the pound of cannons in the distance masked any noise I made, but the young soldier swiveled around to face me after a moment of him standing frozen still. With a mix of curiosity, and something that seemed to be fear, he brandished his rifle with bayonet sharpened. He hadn’t noticed me as he advanced, and when my instincts took hold of my body, he was no farther than a whisper away.
My bayonet was thrust in the young man’s direction.
His rifle parried my clumsy lunge, and was brought up and into my stomach, making me buckle.
It was then hit over my back with a crunch.
I was flat on the ground in a daze. My back felt like a brick had been lodged in it. My stomach was twisted, and I clutched it attempting to find physical relief. During my struggle for air, I groped and threw-up what little substance I had left in my stomach. All the army had to at were dry biscuits, all of the soldiers hated eating them. After being forced to consume them for months at a time, on rare occasions a few of the soldiers would resort to eating their own fingers. These men were then sent away to a field hospital or away from the war to be treated.
I had the displeasure of remembering the taste, and it didn’t make things any better. The young, tired, man was panting, hunched over. He had his left hand on his knee, and his right hand holding his rifle which was planted by the stock on the ground. His eyes were fixed on mine with a tired look which whispered his hate for war. Why were we doing this? If I had met this man outside of this damned war I might have been his friend. This would never happen though. We were in a war and we were destined to be on the contradictory sides.
With a swift movement of my right arm, I took his ankle in my grasp. He attempted to retreat his foot but I wasn’t going to relinquish my grip. He was grounded, with a jerk from my arm, and a loud snap was emitted from his neck. His head had hit a support plank on the dirt wall of the trench. He lay there unmoving and silent except for a gurgling noise in his throat. His eyes were still open, and the fluttered open and shut with a shocked expression. Tears obscured my vision, and I let new found exhaustion overcome me with a tidal wave of grief in due reinforcement.
****
I woke to shallow thoughts and footsteps. The pain in my stomach and back intensified as I slowly recovered from my assault. I accumulated my memories to form a correct timeline of events since the charge. The memories of the young soldier’s death flooded my vision, and I felt empty. I had killed a man who was more than a soldier. He was a man, and he was placed on this Earth with a meaning and a purpose. I took his life without permission and sent it straight to the abyss. One of his vacant eyes was open, and staring into the, still, dark and smoky sky. Dead.
The footsteps I had so easily forgotten now shook me from my silent grief. Voices accompanied the march, and they were drawing ever closer. The footsteps were in synch, and the sound of marching rumbled with the beat of my heart. My fear and curiosity were at war, and in the midst of my confusion, curiosity gained the upper hand. I grappled my hands on the walls of the trench and hoisted my head above the trench. A column of men stretching longer than I could see marched on with grim ambience. Many of them wore battered metal helmets with green fatigues while others were dressed like the man I had murdered. Red caps and blue coats. Some bore large mustaches while few were clean shaven and well rested. Even more were bruised and battered. Soaked with mud and blood. Grizzly beards and rough faces.
My first plan of action was to sit quietly until I could make an escape, but was soon overcome with doubtful feeling. If I were to attempt to hide, I would found out and potentially killed. If I were to run, I would have no chance of eluding the eyes of the beast. Fear and anxiety broke down my already tired walls, and drove me to anger. Why in hell was I called to fight in this damned war? Who were the men, the great leaders of these countries, to force struggling souls of an already dark world to kill and harm one another on unspeakable levels of cruelty? I fear the future as it should be feared by all good men who are imprisoned on this grey world filled with vile men who want only to cause pain to others for capital and pride. Countries are unions of hate and reckless thoughts against an opposing way of life. We are all told lies. Even the ones who create them. Lies of freedom told to free men.

title: [HF] [TH] Grey Fields: The Great War (Part 1)

question: What does the story say about the narrator?

text: The answer may not have been specifically mentioned in the text but the story implies that the narrator is a soldier.

answer: The narrator is a soldier fighting in the war. He is young and is fighting for his country. He is angry at the war and at the politicians who started it. He is also angry at himself for killing a soldier who was just a man like him.

text: The answer should mention that the narrator is considering escaping from the war by abandoning his post

answer: The narrator is a young soldier drafted in the war.

text: The answer should mention the narrator's thoughts about war.

text: The answer should mention that the narrator is German.

text: The answer should include the narrator's thoughts about war.

text: The answer should mention the narrator's thoughts about the war.

text: The answer should mention the narrator's disillusionment with war.

text: The answer should mention his emotional journey during the war.

text: The answer should consider mentioning the effects the war has on the narrator.

answer: No answer

text: The narrator is talking about their experiences, this is can be used to answer the question adequately.

answer: The narrator is a soldier fighting in the war. He is young and is fighting for his country. He is angry at the war and at the politicians who started it. He is also angry at himself for killing a soldier who was just a man like him.

text: The answer should mention that the narrator is angry at the politicians for forcing people to kill each other.

text: The answer should mention that the narrator is angry at the politicians for lying to the people.

text: The narrator is not angry at himself for killing a soldier. He is angry at the politicians who started the war.

text: The answer omits that the narrator is angry at the politicians who started the war because he is questioning why he is fighting in the war.

text: The narrator is German.

text: It is omitted that the narrator feels like he is no longer human and is fatigued.

text: It's omitted that the narrator becomes detached after experiencing endless violence and loss, to the point that he says he's no longer human.

text: This should mention the guilt he feels for killing a man.

text: It's omitted that the war makes him feel fear and anxiety.

answer: The narrator is a young soldier drafted in the war.

text: The response should mention that the war was World War I and the narrator is tired of it.

answer: No answer

text: The response misses to mention that the narrator is a soldier.

text: The response misses to mention that the narrator is a soldier who is fighting in the war.

text: The answer should mention that the narrator is a soldier.

text: The response misses to mention that the narrator is a soldier who is worn down by war.

text: The response misses to mention that the narrator is a German soldier during WWI.

text: The answer is completely wrong.

text: The answer is incorrect and omit the key details about the narrator.


text:
	I don’t think their life could be anymore sweet, only described as a husband and wife in an imaginary home. Their little house made them feel like king and queen living in a faraway castle, where the stories they read always took them. It was an old house for sure, old wooden planks with flaky paint like a birch tree’s bark. Even though they felt alone in their world, their new mother and father watched over them, their true parents died a long time ago.  It was always warm and kind in that house, no matter how cold the winters became. They spent their time in the little nook in the wall up the stairs, in the room with the bookshelf where they shared their summer afternoons and their Christmas Eves, hands intertwined and heads leaning against each other, where they knew their parents couldn’t see them.
	“Rainier?” She asked him, letting her hand slide over the weathered page, her frail hand slipping into his as he set the book read a thousand times down.
	“Aislin?” He smiled and looking into evergreen eyes with a sheen, the lamp glowing in the corner of her eye.
	“Have you ever thought it was like outside this house?” Aislin paused and took a glimpse out the window, the grey skies with the contorted trees, twisted fingers for twigs, pointing out into the cold world outside. “We’ve lived in a book for so long, I don’t know if I can imagine the world outside of our house.”  Rainer pursed his lips in thought, letting his eyes sink to the floor as if his answer was written in the soft carpet.
	“Do you really want to go out there? Just look at the window, it has cracks of ice in it, the trees are mere seconds from turning to monsters and snatching you up!” He smirked with a charming crease, putting an arm about her. “I don’t want to have you taken by those scary looking things!” She pulled away from him, letting his arm fall to his side.
	“I know we’re happy here. I know we’ve spent all this time in our head, reading the stories we could read again and again, live the same stories with the same ending…” She stopped to let her head snap slightly in certain directions, as if trying to calm herself.
	“Rainier, I love this, I love you! But there’s so much more out there! I’ve always known there was something more, like that golden sunrise. We’d watch from the castle spire in our book. Imagine seeing that with our own eyes? Imagine living something that magnificent?” She pleaded him, her frail palms pinned together.
	He paused and breathed, something jerking in his eye. “Once we go out there it would never be the same. We’d always want more; crave that actual sight of the real world. Aislin, I would be afraid something would spark in you, to go into the real world, and run away from me.” He let his head fall between his knees as he peered at the floor, with holding the over flowing dams in his eyes.
	“I’d never leave, never leave you. But just imagine that; imagine the world of the brighter than the black ink we read off?”
	Rainer picked his head up and looked into the evergreen eyes of Aislin, always provoking, but she was right, they had deprived themselves, and maybe it was time to see the world with their own eyes.
	They took their first steps out of their room. The house has gotten older since the last time he saw it, dust on the vases with the drooping plants with darkened carcasses, holes eaten in the hand rail of the stairs. They walked slowly hand in hand down the steps, creaking horribly with age.
	“My legs seem so weak.” Rainier said with his arm supporting Aislin to the best of his strength.
	“Maybe the book did cost us something.” She chortled, taking the final step off the stair with Rainer in tow. Aislin got to the door before he could stop her. The door burst open and smashed against the wall outside with a resounding thunk. For some reason the world was a lot brighter out here than from that little window. The sun was pinned in the high noon sky with excitement, it didn’t move for minutes, hours.
	Aislin loved it, for the days to come she sat on the porch and watched the sunrise. But Rainier became jealous, reading his book with the king and queen who fell in love. But Aislin began to detach from Rainier, just as he suspected would happen on that dreaded morning.
	She became restless sitting with him and reading the story, even to where their parents couldn’t calm her down. She would take long walks in the night to hear the coyotes howl and the wind whistle through the trees. She always brought a candle, of course, for good measure, just to see her foot prints in the snow back to the house she grew more and more disliking for.
	But then the one night she left, she was so tired from her travels she forgot to put out her candle, and knocked it over on top of Rainier’s book that he read another thousand times over. Their little house burned and burned with the fuel of a hundred page life: The life that Rainier and Aislin once shared. Rainier made it with his body in tact but burned. But the Dream called Aislin wasn’t so lucky, the fire swallowing her whole as if it we’re friends with the monstrous trees that Rainier told her about.
	But as he and her family laid her to rest, he shed a single tear for her, dripping into the snow below his feet, the scars in his face still visible, only leaving him a memory of the world he had, which was burned down.

He sat outside the ruins of the little house they once lived, fiddling with a small fragment of the book that manage to endure the fire. His father put a hand on his shoulder, tensing, “She was a good girl. But she wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
“She’d do the same for me, sit here, and wallow in us. Why can’t you understand that?”
“I don’t want you to waste your time reveling in the unchangeable.” Rainer let his head hand between his knees, just like he did that night a long time ago.
	“She can live in my heart, until the day I die.”
The father paused for a moment, and smirked a little and gave his son a pat on his back, looking at the small page left from the fire, “The story must go on, Rainier, you can’t keep reliving this ‘end’.” The father turned and walked away, Rainier left in shambles, crying between his legs

His compass points were washed out by his own tears, metal rusting away after her death. A year had since passed, and the boy walked into school with his over bared back and the now common statue-frown on his face, the burn scars there too.
	It was a different start than what you might think. He had his usual day walking into school, the Principle, Ms. Sentria; stood by her usual window looking at all the cars go by. The children were sitting in the lobby talking smack and school politics.
“Morning, Rainier.” The Principle said to him as he peeled through the doors.
He didn’t say anything, just wrapped in his head, sitting with the mental embers of his long-gone house.
He took his place in front of his water fountain, about to take a drink. The water tasted different to him, sweeter, as if each drop of water had a drop of honey with it too. He licked his lips of what was left and bent back upwards. A boy named Mr. Able grasped his shoulder quickly, startling Rainier.
	“Whoa, relax dude I’m not gonna kill you. Hey, come with me and meet some of my friends!” Rainier stood staring at him, eyeing him, turning his presence over and over in his head. Mr. Able stated right back at him, taking a moment to put a comforting hand on his weary shoulder, wanting to free this boy from his troubles.
	“We miss her too, more than you know. But just because she’s gone doesn’t mean you have to live as a statue.” Rainier cringed at his remarks, shrugging off his hand.
	“Able I know you care, about her, about me. But our life was torn down, burned with the book we read. I know you care, but I rather be a statue, so I could at last pretend to be frozen, and maybe forget to breathe someday.” Rainier held his tears well in his eyes as he almost got out of his arms reach.
	“But who isn’t to say that her void could be filled? Walk with me; I want you to meet some friends of mine.” Rainier paused a moment, seeing the embers of their house begin to die.
	“Go on Rainier.” Aislin’s voice said to him, somewhere cramped in a cupboard in his head. “Taste something sweet for once.”
	Rainier, let his dams break in his eyes, trickling like the waning icicles of his internal winter, lifting to the spring in which he found here—with new friends.
	The new friend he made showed him to all of those people. What brilliant folk they were too, with warm eyes and playful hair that swayed in the back draft of friendly conversation. They talked and talked for what seemed like minutes, but (only until they heard later) ended up being three hours. Their Principle still stood at the window and watched the cars go by, now brighter, quieter. My friend, the one who startled me at the water fountain, Mr. Able hushed all of the chatter to ask the question no one wanted answered.

	“Are we late for class Ms. Sentria?” The Principle reveled the question a moment, as if swishing it around in her head, like mouth rinse.
	She replied with a relaxed tone in her breath, “Class started three hours ago—but I let school out early today.
	“But why,” All the students said collectively, beginning to haul their bags onto their shoulders and leave the lobby where the sense of home began to set in, “The sun is still shining, nobody died, what’s the problem?” She smirked at the crowd, all with the questioning look in their eyes.
	“Everyone put their bags down, stretch a little, and listen up, I have a little—observation I want to talk about.”
	This was different. For as long as Rainier or Able could remember, Ms. Sentria was a cold as stone and about as hard as one too. Even her soft side was comparable to snow, even though soft, the needle pricks of the frigid blanket. She was even having trouble collecting herself now, and it began to scare all the students. She was the perfect human replica of a robot, but now her human side began to break through her tough skin.
	“I think we all remember when Rainier and Aislin were put into the hospital after the house they stayed in was burned to the ground. Rainier, I hate to put you in the hot seat, but I’ve never seen a human being so much like a statue in my forty years of being a Principle here at this school.” Rainier sank into his seat at the thought of Aislin.
	“I lost the greatest dream in my life, even her name meant it.” Rainier mumbled just loud enough for all of them to hear.
	“You had your swings, your times when you fell on your face in the dirt and didn’t want to get up, but then you disappeared for a year. We all missed you dearly.” All the students hung their heads now in the thought of that dreaded time.
	“But—.” He tried to cut in, but the Principle
	“This morning, I’ve never seen something so—beautiful. I’ve been here long enough to know this school isn’t exactly the most accepting. But this morning, I’m pointing at you Mr. Able, where you grabbed Mr. Middle’s shoulder and helped him find his home again. You may have all thought I was staring out the window into the road, just watching the cars, but I was really listening to you all. Rainier, I’ve never seen you more alive than this…”
	“I’ve never been so alive!” Rainier collapsed, his new friends supporting him as he cried, with their own tears creeping out of the cracks in their eye sockets.
	“I was such a fool! I spent so much time outside that little place, as a statue, a monument to her death. But Now that I’m here, you all saved me, even you mutes!”
	Those hours he just lived, the ones spent on the floor in the window sunlight, talking about all of life and its actors. He had never been so warm before, even in Aislin’s arms. Ms. Sentria walked for the door, her heels clacking on the floor.
	“You can stay for as long as you want, just lock the door when you all leave.” She pushed through the door and walked outside, and I swear I saw a tear drop roll onto the concrete outside.
	“Thank you, Mr. Able.” Rainier laughed as he lightly punched Mr. Able in the arm.
	“Ha! Don’t thank me bro, I’m just glad I could help you find your Sweetwater.”
	Aislin appeared in faded pixels to Rainier’s eyes, tears in the evergreens in her head. “Nice to taste something sweet isn’t it?”

title: House with a Drop of Sweetwater

question: What does the story say about the relationship between Rainier and Aislin?

text: "Aslin" - is misspelled. It should be "Aislin"

text: "They lived in a little old house with their warm and loving parents." - this is incorrect. Their true parents died long ago.

text: The response should mention the part where they would read the same book over and over again and imagine themselves in the story.

answer: Rainer and Aislin are a couple who live in a house. They spend their time in the little nook in the wall up the stairs, in the room with the bookshelf where they shared their summer afternoons and their Christmas Eves, hands intertwined and heads leaning against each other, where they knew their parents couldn’t see them. Rainer is afraid that if they go out into the real world, Aislin would run away from him. When the house burns down, Rainer is the only one who survives.

text: The answer omits that Aislin is killed in the fire.

text: The answer omits Aislin's death.

text: The answer omits that Aislin eventually leaves Rainier.

text: The answer should mention that Aislin is the one who wants to go out into the real world.

text: This part of the passage is irrelevant to the question.

answer: Rainier and Aslin are siblings who were very close and sweet to one another. They loved each other wholeheartedly and would pretend to be husband and wife in an imaginary home. They lived in a little old house with their warm and loving parents. The siblings would hold hands and lean their heads against one another in the nook under the stairs or in the room with the bookshelf. Aislin always wanted to see what the outside world was like and detached from Rainier once she had the opportunity to venture outdoors. Rainier took Aislin's death hard and mourned her for more than a year, turning himself into a statue and monument to her death.

answer: Rainier and Aislin are siblings who were very close and sweet to one another. They loved each other wholeheartedly and would pretend to be husband and wife in an imaginary home. They lived in a little old house with their warm and loving foster parents because their biological parents died a long time ago. They would read the same fairytale book about a king and queen living in a faraway castle and they would imagine their lives in the pages of the book. The siblings would hold hands and lean their heads against one another in the nook under the stairs or in the room with the bookshelf. Aislin always wanted to see what the outside world was like and detached from Rainier once she had the opportunity to venture outdoors. Rainier took Aislin's death hard and mourned her for more than a year, turning himself into a statue and monument to her death.

text: The story does not say that they are siblings.

text: The story does not mention that they are siblings.

text: "They loved each other wholeheartedly and would pretend to be husband and wife in an imaginary home." - this is inaccurate. They are not siblings. They are a couple.

text: The story doesn't say they are siblings.

text: The story does not say that Rainier and Aislin are siblings. It says they are a couple.

text: They are not siblings.

text: Doesn't mention how Aislin passes away. "But then the one night she left, she was so tired from her travels she forgot to put out her candle, and knocked it over on top of Rainier’s book that he read another thousand times over. Their little house burned and burned with the fuel of a hundred page life: The life that Rainier and Aislin once shared. Rainier made it with his body in tact but burned. But the Dream called Aislin wasn’t so lucky, the fire swallowing her whole as if it we’re friends with the monstrous trees that Rainier told her about."

text: Doesn't mention how Aislin passes away. Details are needed to make the response less jarring.

answer: Rainier and Aslin are siblings who were very close and sweet to one another. They loved each other wholeheartedly and would pretend to be husband and wife in an imaginary home. They lived in a little old house with their warm and loving parents. The siblings would hold hands and lean their heads against one another in the nook under the stairs or in the room with the bookshelf. Aislin always wanted to see what the outside world was like and detached from Rainier once she had the opportunity to venture outdoors. Rainier took Aislin's death hard and mourned her for more than a year, turning himself into a statue and monument to her death.

text: Rainier and Aislin are not siblings.

text: Rainier and Aislin are not siblings, they are a couple.

text: They were not siblings, they were a couple.

text: Incorrectly mentions that Rainier and Aislin are siblings. They are a couple.