text:
It was the middle of the night and I thought it was a good idea after the eighth bottle of whiskey. A few of my friends were over, seven to be exact. We all were boozing for quite some time when one of my good friends shouted in the way an overly excited drunk would shout “Lets play some Russian Roulette.” this suggestion was when I was on my third bottle of whiskey and it was just touching 10′ o clock. I was tipsy but I had my wits about me and told him to simmer down or what a decent drunk would say “Shut the fuck up.” to such an atrocious idea like that. He sat down and drank deeply from his glass, looking up at me he said “I am sorry, I guess I am just a little drunk.” giving me a weak smile. I smiled back at him. The usual drunken talks came alive after this incident and the discussion was upon death. “Death is the final frontier.” said one of my friends. “Death is the end. We must live life to the fullest.” said another. Yet another said, “Death is the end of one life and the start of another.” “Death is the journey to the after life.” “Death is the end.” “Death is the start.” So many opinions but only one common link. It was a grim idea. I was on my fifth bottle of whiskey when I gave my opinion. “Death is a sad thing.” There was silence for a minute and each of my friends looked up at me, concern clearly written on their faces. I smiled at them and slowly stood up, my legs were a little shaky but I stood my ground. I raised my glass and looked at each of them “Death is a sad thing. Not for the one who died but for the one who was left to mourn. All of you have lost someone, near and dear to you. To you I raise you my glass. They are in a better place and you will soon be with them too.”

I smiled and gulped down my drink. All of their faces were ashen and I started laughing. “Not right now, calm down.” their laugh seemed forced. The drinking continued. I walked towards my old record player and looked down at it. I pulled out an old vinyl, one of my favorites. “Astrud Gilberto – Light my fire.” I fired up the record player and the sound of her voice filled the room. It shook the glasses on the showcase as though they too were enjoying the rhythm of her voice. The room was filled with the smell of booze, laughter and Astruds beautiful voice. The alcohol must have been getting to me because the room started to spin and the color strangely started becoming golden. I couldn’t hear the sounds. I sat down on my chair and started to drink. I couldn’t hear the ice clinking on my glass, I couldn’t hear the sound of the whiskey being poured, I couldn’t hear the drunken laughs of my friends. I started to get angry and drank even more. I saw the smiles on my friends faces and I felt a white hot anger come over me. I stood up and threw my glass at the wall. The shattering of the glass followed by me shouting “What are you all fucking laughing at!”

I couldn’t even hear that. I knew what I said but my voice was not audible to me. I fell back into my chair and saw the faces of my friends, unsmiling. It was 11:30. I walked to the kitchen and picked up another glass and sat back down. I poured myself a drink. I was on my seventh bottle. I knew this happened before, this was not the first time. I remembered a time when I did this, it was a  year ago. My little darling, Sarah, she was only seven. She was wearing that pretty frock I got her for her birthday and that tiara, she was pretending to be a princess. She always smiled at everyone and everything. Such a sweet and innocent girl. Why did I have to fight with her mother that day? Why? Why did I have to drink? Why? Why did I get angry? Why? Why did my little girl have to die? Why? Why did she have to die by my hands? Why?WHY?WHY?WHY?

My mind started to spiral down into this chasm. It was dark and scary. I was alone. My wife called me a murderer. I wasn’t, I wasn’t a killer. I would never hurt little Sarah. She kept screaming at me, she kept calling me a murderer. I wasn’t a murderer. I was just drunk. The tears started to roll down my face, I missed my daughter the most today. It was 11:55. I was on my eight bottle now. I smiled. In another 5 minutes it would be my daughters birthday. 7/7/1998. That was her birthday. See, I still remember. I am a good father. I was also a good husband but then she left me. Sarah’s mother. What was her name again?

It was 11:58.

I rose from my chair and almost fell down. I didn’t realize that I had a lot to drink. I looked at my friends and told them “My mates, my friends. We have gone through a lot together. We have got each others backs. We have seen the best years of our lives as well as the worst years of our lives. As you all know I have recently lost my beloved little girl, Sarah. I miss her terribly. Her mother on the other hand, can go fuck herself. She probably is at this point…” I laughed. My friends did not.

“Anyway, one of you had said that you would like to play Russian Roulette. Right now it seems like a good idea. So, lets do it.” I walked to my bedroom door and went over to my study. I pulled a drawer and got out two guns. I looked for my ammunition box and took that along with me as well. I stood in the center of the room and loaded the guns. They were magnum revolvers with a container that could hold seven bullets. I loaded one completely and the other with one bullet. I spun the chamber. I looked at my friends and said “Now, all of you sit in a circle.” They obliged. I smirked and thought to myself “Everyone listens to a guy with a gun.”

“I have a fully loaded gun here with me and I will give you this gun.” I said as I motioned to the revolver with only one bullet. “You each will spin the chamber and try to shoot me. If you don’t, I shoot you. If I die, you all will win. If you all die, then I win.” None of them spoke but their eyes betrayed them. They were fearful. What cowards I thought. I gave the revolver to the person to my right. For the life of me I couldn’t remember his name. I pointed my gun at him and said “Start.” He spun the chamber and cocked the gun, his hands started to shake as he pointed his gun at me. He pulled the trigger. It was empty.

“Ahh too bad. Pass the gun along.” I couldn’t remember the next persons name either. I kept my gun pointed at him and said “Go on.” He too spun the chamber. He started to point the gun at me but then put it down. “You are being insane…” I shot him. The blood was everywhere and all I said was “Next.” None of them moved for the gun. They really must not want to win. I shot the first guy. His body too hit the floor. The blood intertwined with the other. I looked at this colorful picture for a second and felt a sudden pang of guilt followed by a maniacal pleasure. Am I killer?

“Next.”

They all scrambled for the gun this time. The guy with the blue shirt took it. He spun the chamber and pointed the gun at me. He pulled the trigger. It was empty. I shot him. My friends started to freak out. “A change of rules. if you don’t kill me you die.” I pointed my gun at the guy with the ponytail hair. “Your turn.” He took the gun, the tears were streaming down his face, it was pathetic. “Get on with it.” He pointed the gun. It was empty too. *bang* another one bites the dust. I started to laugh a little and pointed my gun to the next guy. “Only four of you left. You guys don’t want to win do you?” He took the gun and spun the chamber. Suddenly the guy on my left got up and went for the door. He didn’t get far. I shook my head and said “Why does he always cheat? cheating isn’t fun.” I look back and motioned him to continue the game. He wasn’t lucky either.

Now there were only two of my good old buddies left. “I really have to say that this is the most fun I have had in a long time. You guys are losing but that’s all part of the game. Still, a chance exists. Give it a shot.” I started to laugh hysterically. This guy had the bluest eyes I knew, but now it was stained with red. ‘Probably because of the drinking’ thought I. He spun the chamber and pointed the gun at me. It was empty. I shot and the wonderful blood red color started to flow.

Now it was down to my last friend. “You are the only hope. You have one bullet and so do I. Why not make it fun and lets both spin the chamber? Yes, that would be a good idea.” I spun the chamber and pointed the gun at him, smiling that stupid grin. He too did the same, not smiling though. “On the count of three.” “One…” His hands started to shake, mine were rock steady. “Two..” Sweat was pouring out of him, I was calm and steady. “Three…” The last thing I remembered was the sound of a gunshot and then darkness. I did not feel pain, I actually did not feel anything. I was simply at rest, I supposed this was where you would go after you die. A place so dark and quiet that nothing but the tranquil sound of silence seemed to ebb into your soul. This was suddenly shattered when I heard

“Daddy….”

title: [TH] Then there were seven

question: What does the story say about the author's relationship with Sarah?

text: It is not stated that Sarah is adopted.

answer: The author clearly loved his daughter Sarah, though he was never a good husband or father due to alcoholism. He enjoyed Sarah's playfulness, her tiara, and her beautiful dress. The author was also the one who killed Sarah, when he was drunk and roaring at his wife, who was also Sarah's mother. Although it was an accident, Sarah's mom blamed him for her daughter's death, calling him a murderer.

text: The response contains inaccurate information.

text: The response inaccurately mentions that the author was roaring at his wife, who was also Sarah's mother. However, the passage mentions that the author was roaring at his wife, who was Sarah's mother.

text: The response should include that the narrator misses Sarah and thinks about her birthday.

text: The narrator is not the author.

text: It is not stated that he was roaring at his wife.

text: It is incorrectly stated that the narrator was roaring at his wife.

text: The story doesn't say that he was never a good husband or father due to alcoholism.

text: The story doesn't state it was an accident. It appears that he just snapped and was drunk.

answer: Sarah is the author's daughter who died when she was 7. He is desperate because of that. It is her birthday and he is sitting with his friends and drinking. They start playing Russian roulette and the author dies. At that moment, he hears Sarah's voice calling him.

text: The answer should mention that it is implied from the story that while the author was fighting with Sarah's mother, Sarah got hurt and died.

answer: The author clearly loved his daughter Sarah, though he was never a good husband or father due to alcoholism. He enjoyed Sarah's playfulness, her tiara, and her beautiful dress. The author was also the one who killed Sarah, when he was drunk and roaring at his wife, who was also Sarah's mother. Although it was an accident, Sarah's mom blamed him for her daughter's death, calling him a murderer.

text: The last sentence is irrelevant to the question and it should be removed.

text: Should be mentioned that the narrator thought Sarah was a sweet and innocent girl.

text: The third sentence is not very coherent and should be rewritten to this: " The narrator killed Sarah, his daughter when he was drunk."

answer: Sarah is the author's daughter who died when she was 7. He is desperate because of that. It is her birthday and he is sitting with his friends and drinking. They start playing Russian roulette and the author dies. At that moment, he hears Sarah's voice calling him.

text: The answer omits that the author accidentally killed Sarah.

text: The response is missing the part where the author accidentally killed his daughter.

text: The author is not desperate.

text: The answer should mention that the author accidentally killed Sarah.

text: It is not stated that he is desperate because of that.

text: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

text: The highlighted portion is inaccurate. He's crying because he misses her. It's not completely clear if Sarah's mother hates him for her death, but it seems that's not the case. The model should remove the last line.

answer: The author's adopted daughter Sara died when she was 7. He is desperate because of that.

text: The story does not mention that the author adopted Sarah.

text: The story does not say that Sarah was adopted.

text: The response is incorrect. The author's daughter, Sarah, died after he got drunk and fought with her mother. The author is racked with guilt over her death.

text: The story does not mention the author adopting Sarah.

text: It is not stated that Sarah was adopted.

answer: The author's adopted daughter Sara died when she was 7. He is desperate because of that.

text: The response is incorrect. Sarah wasn't adopted.

text: "Sara" should be spelled "Sarah"

text: The response failed to answer the question. The last sentence is also irrelevant.


text:
It was late in September 1974, and snow already threatened Winnipeg. I knew no one, so I   checked into the YMCA, secured a job as a gas pump attendant, and with that security rented an apartment on River Avenue. I had accumulated a small amount of cash working for the Hudson's Bay Company in Eskimo Point, N.W.T., even though I was paid minimum wage for a year. But, of course, you don’t spend too much money in the sub-arctic – just bullets and hunting supplies. With my new found wealth I purchased a faded blue Ford Custom, a burly beast of an automobile that looked as though it had once been a cop car. The power of its engine was of little concern to me – I was more thrilled it had a radio that actually worked. I unimaginatively christened her Winnie.

Winnie was also appreciated by my two new buddies, Larry, who I had met at the YMCA and who now shared the apartment with me, and Pete, who had also come across from England to work for the Hbc, and had, coincidentally, quit the Company at the same time. The three of us were restless. I had just heard that my brother and his wife in Nova Scotia had become parents for the first time. It was also getting close to Christmas. So we quit our casual jobs and planned to drive to the east coast and see my brother and his new born for the holidays – two thousand miles across the continent. I had never driven in ice and snow before.

The night before our departure two street wise characters that lived on the floor above us in the River Street apartment approached us with an offer. They had “acquired” numerous cases of frozen Cornish hens that, as the Brits would say, “Had fallen off the back of a lorry”.  Their living room was stacked with them floor to ceiling, and melting fast.  Did we want to buy a couple of cases? They were cheap. And so we bought three cases (about seventy two hens) and cooked the birds in numerous shifts overnight so we would have food for the road without stopping or spending our limited cash. We sub-let the apartment to a mutual friend who also looked after the rest of our personal possessions.  We filled the car with bags of cooked hens, pickled onions and doughnuts (I don’t know why we had pickled onions and doughnuts but we did.) The trunk was packed with one suitcase each and three milk crates full of my vinyl records. They were more important than extra clothes. We headed south to the border crossing at Grand Forks, North Dakota as Larry, being the only Canadian thought it a good idea to go south of the Great Lakes in winter.

Our first trouble occurred at the American border. The immigration guards asked for our passports, our business and our destination.  Pete and I had our UK documents, but Larry only had his Canadian driver’s license, which in those days was enough to get you across the border. We must have appeared a strange group of individuals: two Englishmen fresh from the Canadian wilderness, and a slightly older Canadian, on a carefree journey across North America in the middle of winter. They processed our names through their computers. A couple of minutes later they asked Larry to step out of the car and come into the office. A guard then asked me to pull the car over to the side of the road so they could search it. Something big was going on. While the officer started to go through the car with its bags of cooked Cornish hens, chicken bones, suitcases, and my collection of records we could see Larry being grilled in the office. The guards found nothing stronger than pickled onions and resonant farts. After about forty five minutes they let us go. I think they were disappointed. Not too much to do at the North Dakota border crossing three days before Christmas.

Back on the road Larry told us what had happened. During a stay at the Y.M.C.A. in Winnipeg a fellow traveler from Jamaica, that Larry had befriended,  had “borrowed” his passport (unbeknownst to him) to go to Detroit to visit a relative. He naively got as far as the border, proudly pulled out on the Canadian passport, but of course his skin colour was black and Larry’s was white. Hello!!! There was now a red flag against Larry’s name on immigration records. As for Larry, he had wondered what had happened to his passport. Now he knew. He thought he would get around to replacing it when he was heading somewhere exotic, not Grand Forks!

The three of us took shifts: one would drive, one would navigate, and one would sleep. We didn’t stop. As each hour went by the bags of Cornish hens became smaller and smaller, as did the jar of pickled onions. The smell in the car was more than ripe, but we were having fun. As we drove through the night and the snow we continually flipped the dial on the car radio for the elusive local music stations and hopefully some good tunes. We would sing along to such repeated hits as “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” by Elton John, “I Can Help” by Billy Swan, and the most played song of all “Mandy” by Barry Manilow. We howled the chorus at the top of our lungs like drunken hockey players on a Saturday night binge as the Ford Custom sped through the silent darkness of backwoods America.

During my shift of sleep in the back seat I was suddenly disturbed by a huge jolt. I awoke groggily to find that the right side of the car had tilted into a snow covered ditch. Larry had pulled over in the darkness to change drivers not realizing that a trough, full of fresh snow, ran parallel to the dark road. He had pulled over too far and now one side of the car was tilted into a snow filled ditch. We were stuck in the middle of nowhere. There was not a house, a light, a car to be seen. It was two o’clock in the morning. As we gunned the engine the back wheel just spun and spun in the fresh snow. We ventured into the nearby woods and gathered up pine branches, and wedged them under the tires in a hope for some traction but it was no good. We were hopelessly stranded. It was cold, dark, snowing, and we had only the vaguest idea where we were on the map.

After what seemed like forever we could see the amber flashing lights of a snow grater coming towards us. Relief! We waved down the driver, explained the situation, and
asked for help. Could he pull us out? That was against regulations, he said. He then asked us where we were going. Nova Scotia we told him. He laughed heartily, commented on how crazy we were, got down from his cab, hitched a chain from his vehicle to ours and pulled us out. We thanked him with as much gratitude as we could muster. “Good luck,” he said. “You’re going to need it,” and drove off in the opposite direction. We were on our way again, but our troubles were not over. I was now driving and noticed that the gas tank was almost empty. We kept going, praying that we would find a gas station still open in the middle of the night. A couple of miles down the road we did find one, isolated and lonely, but it was closed. We pulled in. The worst case scenario was that we would stay there till morning and wait for it to open – provided we were still alive and didn’t freeze in our sleep. It appeared the owner of the station lived upstairs. So we knocked on the door of the business as loud as we could. A voice bellowed out from an upstairs window: “Whose there? What do you want?” In thick English accents we told him we were tourists on a driving holiday working our way to Nova Scotia. It worked. The owner, bless him, came down in his pajamas, with his parka on top, opened the pumps, filled the tank, and told us we were crazy. Second time in about an hour that phrase had come up. Maybe we were. We paid him, gave him a big tip, and thanked him very much. We were off again. But our troubles were not over. By morning we were speeding down the highway heading into Detroit. Larry was driving. We were making good time anxious to get to my brother’s place by Christmas. There was a turn off towards the motor city that we had to negotiate. As we rounded the curve we hit black ice. The car suddenly started to do multiple 360s. We were spinning out of control.  We must have done a half dozen “doughnuts”. It was terrifying. There was nothing we could do. Luckily, there were few cars about and we came to rest on the highway margin. No damage except to our nerves. After that we were extremely cautions not only with our speed, but we filled up whenever the needle on the gas tank indicator pointed to half full.

We crossed the border back into Canada. After a few hours sleep and a snack, Pete, Larry and I (plus the remaining Cornish Hens) were back on the Trans Canada Highway bound for the Maritimes. We made it through the confusion of the Montreal road system, the snow of New Brunswick, and eventually to the famous port city of Halifax Nova Scotia. I remembered that my brother lived about twenty miles along the coast in a place called Boutlier’s Point. A number of helpful locals gave us directions and we made it to the village. There was a Red and White store still open and went in and asked if the owners knew my brother. They did!  (Oh, the joys of a small community.) And they allowed us to use the phone in the store to call him. He drove up to meet us and we followed him back to his house. It was Christmas Eve. We had made it. The Cornish hens and the pickled onions were devoured. The car was smelly. So were we. But we had arrived safely and it was a thrill to see my brother, his wife and their new born at such a wonderful time of the year.

Early in January 1975 we put all our stuff back in the trunk of the car and headed west. The weather was now extremely bad. It was dark. The falling snow hypnotized us, illuminated in the beams of our headlights. The windscreen wipers swished back and forth non-stop. At one point the car was not handling well and I commented that the roads must be icy. There were no other vehicles around so I stopped in the middle of the road, opened the door to check how bad conditions were, took one step outside, and landed flat on my back. The road could have doubled as an ice rink. I got back in the driver’s seat and proceeded cautiously. We were thankful to eventually get back on the Trans Canada which had been salted. There were few cars around (people were sensible and staying home), but lots of trucks. While we poodled along at a slow speed the trucks, whose drivers seemed to ignore the conditions, overtook us and as they did so they sprayed brown slush all over the windshield. You couldn’t see anything. The wipers were furiously working at top speed to clear the muck, but for a number of seconds we had no idea what was in front of us. I held on to the steering wheel and prayed there was nothing in front.

We arrived in Winnipeg in early January just before an intense winter storm hit the city. You could see the dark clouds gathering on the horizon like a cancerous tumor on an X-ray. We were welcomed to stay at our old apartment by our friend until the storm blew over, and that was a lucky thing because it turned into an event of historical proportions. It snowed for two days non-stop. The city was shut down. The only vehicles on Portage Avenue were skidoos. It was as if the arctic had followed me south. We were restricted to the apartment just like I had been in the staff house at Eskimo Point. The rock station on the FM radio broadcast emergency messages for those people that were desperate for medicine or food. It was during this dark period that Pete decided he would re-join the Hudson’s Bay Company. His ninety day grace period that the company allowed him was almost up, and as the deadline approached he gave serious thought to his future (unlike Larry and I).  After the storm passed we once again packed Winnie’s trunk with the suitcases and the milk crates of records. With some sadness we said goodbye to Pete who headed north to Red Sucker Lake and a career that would last twenty years as a Hudson’s Bay manager. Larry and I drove west with the radio on one more time following the bright, unseen star of adventure.

title: [AA} Three Unwise Men

question: Summarize significant events faced by the narrator and his friends on their journey to Nova Scotia.

text: No police van showed up to help the travellers.

category: accuracy

answer:
In the winter of 1974, the narrator bought a blue Ford Custom car he christened Winnie. Together with his friends, they decided to visit the narrator's brother who lived in Nova Scotia with his wife who had just given birth. They planned to get to Nova Scotia before Christmans - the journey was around 2000 miles.
The travelers set on and before long face their first trouble at the American border. Unfortunately, it seems one of the friends has, in the past, had his passport stolen and used to cross the border. This raised a red flag on the system, hence the group of friends had to be detained for a thorough search. Finding nothing, the customs officers let them go.
Another incident happened one morning when the travelers woke up to find their car tilting into a snow-covered ditch. They fetch some wood and wedged them under the tires to prevent the car from falling in. In the meantime, they tried to stop oncoming cars to ask for help but none was able to help them. It was cold, dark and the group was getting desperate. After a long while, a police van pulled up and helped them get the car out of the ditch.
Deep into the journey, the car was running out of gas in the middle of the night. They found an isolated gas station but the group was unwilling to wait until morning in case they sleep and freeze to death. Fortunately, the owner of the station lived upstairs of the building and the friends had to persuade him to come downstairs and sell gas to them. The man grudgingly agreed. They thanked him and gave him a huge tip.

answer_source: Human misleading

text: The response is incorrect. It wasn' ta police car that helped them, it was a snow grater.

answer:
In the winter of 1974, the narrator bought a blue Ford Custom car he christened Winnie. Together with his friends, they decided to visit the narrator's brother who lived in Nova Scotia with his wife who had just given birth. They planned to get to Nova Scotia before Christmans - the journey was around 2000 miles.
The travelers set on and before long face their first trouble at the American border. Unfortunately, it seems one of the friends has, in the past, had his passport stolen and used to cross the border. This raised a red flag on the system, hence the group of friends had to be detained for a thorough search. Finding nothing, the customs officers let them go.
Another incident happened one morning when the travelers woke up to find their car tilting into a snow-covered ditch. They fetch some wood and wedged them under the tires to prevent the car from falling in. In the meantime, they tried to stop oncoming cars to ask for help but none was able to help them. It was cold, dark and the group was getting desperate. After a long while, a police van pulled up and helped them get the car out of the ditch.
Deep into the journey, the car was running out of gas in the middle of the night. They found an isolated gas station but the group was unwilling to wait until morning in case they sleep and freeze to death. Fortunately, the owner of the station lived upstairs of the building and the friends had to persuade him to come downstairs and sell gas to them. The man grudgingly agreed. They thanked him and gave him a huge tip.

text: The answer omits the part where the group of friends was driving and hit black ice.

text: The answer omits the part where the group of friends was driving on black ice and lost control of the car.

text: The answer omits the events that occurred after the group reached Nova Scotia.

text: The answer omits the part where the group was driving in the morning and hit black ice.

text: The answer omits the part where the group was speeding down the highway towards Detroit and hit black ice, causing the car to spin out of control.

text: The answer omits the part where they hit black ice while driving and spun out of control.

text: The answer omits that they eventually made it to Nova Scotia where they celebrated Christmas with the narrator's brother.

text: It is omitted that the group faced another challenge on an isolated road on a black ice turnoff.

category: coverage

text:
The answer contains some inaccuracies. Firstly, 'Unfortunately, it seems one of the friends has, in the past, had his passport stolen and used to cross the border.' This sentence is not according to the story. Delete this.
Secondly, the group didn't try to stop cars to help them when their car got stuck in a ditch. Instead, they saw a snow grater coming toward them after waiting a while, and he helped them get their car back on the road after telling them they were crazy. Correct to this.
Lastly, the story doesnt say that the gas station owner grudgingly agreed to fill the group's car tank. Delete this false information.

text: Remove the "n" in "Christmans."

category: coherence

answer:
In the winter of 1974, the narrator bought a blue Ford Custom car he christened Winnie. Together with his friends, they decided to visit the narrator's brother who lived in Nova Scotia with his wife who had just given birth. They planned to get to Nova Scotia before Christmans - the journey was around 2000 miles.
The travelers set on and before long face their first trouble at the American border. Unfortunately, it seems one of the friends has, in the past, had his passport stolen and used to cross the border. This raised a red flag on the system, hence the group of friends had to be detained for a thorough search. Finding nothing, the customs officers let them go.
Another incident happened one morning when the travelers woke up to find their car tilting into a snow-covered ditch. They fetch some wood and wedged them under the tires to prevent the car from falling in. In the meantime, they tried to stop oncoming cars to ask for help but none was able to help them. It was cold, dark and the group was getting desperate. After a long while, a snow grater pulled up and helped them get the car out of the ditch.
Deep into the journey, the car was running out of gas in the middle of the night. They found an isolated gas station but the group was unwilling to wait until morning in case they sleep and freeze to death. Fortunately, the owner of the station lived upstairs of the building and the friends had to persuade him to come downstairs and sell gas to them. The man grudgingly agreed. They thanked him and gave him a huge tip.

answer_source: Human

text: The answer omits the group's return journey.

text: The answer omits that the group of friends was also involved in a car accident on black ice.

text: The answer omits that the group of friends encountered black ice on their way to Nova Scotia.

text: The answer omits the part about the travelers getting caught in a blizzard and having to stay at the apartment in Winnipeg.

text: The events are not in chronological order.

text: The events are not summarized chronologically.

text: This doesn't add much to the answer. It should be omitted.

text: The answer omits the group's return journey and the snowstorm.

text: This should mention how the car spun out of control on black ice.

text: This answer has many unnecessary details that take up too much space. For example, the last two sentences could be omitted.

text: "Christmans" should be "Christmas".

text: The narrator bought the car around September.

text: This should mention how they made it to the brother's in time for Christmas.

answer: The narrator, Larry and Pete leave Winnipeg for Nova Scotia. To feed them for the duration of their journey, the two Englishmen cook 72 frozen Cornish hens. They drive through the night until the car gets stuck in a snow-filled ditch in the middle of nowhere. They are rescued by a snow grater driver who refuses to pull them out of the ditch. They manage to get help from someone who helps them get back to the road.

answer_source: Model

text: The answer omits the events at the border.

text: The answer omits the narrator's encounter with the immigration guards at the American border.

text: The answer omits the fact that the trio was stopped at the American border and grilled for almost an hour.

text: The answer omits the events at the American border.

text: The answer omits the narrator and his friends getting stuck at the border, and the narrator's car running out of gas in the middle of the night.

text: The driver does, in fact, help the men in the end

answer: The narrator, Larry and Pete leave Winnipeg for Nova Scotia. To feed them for the duration of their journey, the two Englishmen cook 72 frozen Cornish hens. They drive through the night until the car gets stuck in a snow-filled ditch in the middle of nowhere. They are rescued by a snow grater driver who refuses to pull them out of the ditch. They manage to get help from someone who helps them get back to the road.

text: The response failed to mention Larry's passport issues at the border.

text: "They are rescued by a snow grater driver who refuses to pull them out of the ditch. They manage to get help from someone who helps them get back to the road." - this is incorrect. The driver initially told them it was against regulations, but helped them anyway.

text: The response failed to mention the time when they ran out of gas in the middle of the night and had to wake up the owner of the gas station, who helped them.

text: The response failed to mention that they did multiple 360s on the highway and almost crashed due to black ice.

answer:
In the winter of 1974, the narrator bought a blue Ford Custom car he christened Winnie. Together with his friends, they decided to visit the narrator's brother who lived in Nova Scotia with his wife who had just given birth. They planned to get to Nova Scotia before Christmans - the journey was around 2000 miles.
The travelers set on and before long face their first trouble at the American border. Unfortunately, it seems one of the friends has, in the past, had his passport stolen and used to cross the border. This raised a red flag on the system, hence the group of friends had to be detained for a thorough search. Finding nothing, the customs officers let them go.
Another incident happened one morning when the travelers woke up to find their car tilting into a snow-covered ditch. They fetch some wood and wedged them under the tires to prevent the car from falling in. In the meantime, they tried to stop oncoming cars to ask for help but none was able to help them. It was cold, dark and the group was getting desperate. After a long while, a snow grater pulled up and helped them get the car out of the ditch.
Deep into the journey, the car was running out of gas in the middle of the night. They found an isolated gas station but the group was unwilling to wait until morning in case they sleep and freeze to death. Fortunately, the owner of the station lived upstairs of the building and the friends had to persuade him to come downstairs and sell gas to them. The man grudgingly agreed. They thanked him and gave him a huge tip.

text: They gathered up pine branches and wedged them under the tires in the hope of some traction because the back wheels were spinning, not to prevent the car from falling in.

text: It is omitted that later, they hit black ice, and the car started spinning. They must have done a half dozen “doughnuts”, but no damage was made.


text:
JOHN WEBB MCMURRY (born May 19, 1954), known as WEBB WILDER, is an American rock & roll singer, guitarist and actor.

Early life

McMurry was born in Hattiesburg, Mississippi.[1] According to family, he could sing before he could walk. He started playing guitar at the age of 12 and was playing in bands when he was 14.[2]

His aunt was Lillian McMurry, the founder of Trumpet Records. She was a mentor to McMurray and gave advice as he started in the music industry.[3]

Career

The Webb Wilder character was created in 1981 for a short comedy film created with friends called “Webb Wilder Private Eye.” The character was a backwoods private detective who fell out of the 1950s and happened to also be a musician. The short appeared on the television variety show “Night Flight.”[4]

With his groups like The Drapes, The Beatnecks, The Nashvegans, Wilder combines the straight-ahead rock & roll with surf guitar of the Ventures and twang of Duane Eddy, drawing on the feel of blues, R&B, country/rockabilly and film noir.[5] His sound incorporated influence from Americana music as well as from the British Invasion.[6]

Wilder has been signed to major labels and worked with independent labels. He has also hosted a radio show for Sirius Radio.[7]

Webb Wilder appeared as an actor in Peter Bogdanovich's 1993 film _The Thing Called Love_.

Wilder currently resides in Nashville, Tennessee. As of 2020, he was an afternoon-shift disc jockey for Murfreesboro-based radio station WMOT.

Discography

  ----------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------ ---------------------------------------------------------------------------
  DATE OF RELEASE   TITLE                                                                             LABEL                                                  PRODUCER
  1986              _It Came from Nashville_                                                          Landslide Records                                      R.S. Field
  1989              _Hybrid Vigor_                                                                    Island Records                                         R.S. Field for Praxis International
  1991              _Doo Dad_                                                                         Zoo/Praxis/BMG                                         R.S. Field
  1993              _It Came from Nashville_ (CD release)                                             Watermelon Records                                     R.S. Field
  1995              _Town and Country_                                                                Watermelon Records                                     R.S. Field, George Bradfute, Webb & the Nashvegans
  1996              _Acres of Suede_                                                                  Watermelon Records                                     R.S. Field and Scott Baggett
  2005              _About Time_                                                                      Landslide Records                                      R.S. Field
  2005              _Scattered, Smothered and Covered_                                                Varèse Sarabande                                       Various
  2006              _Born to Be Wilder_ (a.k.a. _It's Live Time! / Tough It Out – Live in Concert_)   Deaf Pig Records/Landslide Records/DixieFrog Records   R.S. Field
  2009              _More Like Me_                                                                    Deaf Pig Records                                       Webb Wilder & Joe V. McMahan
  2015              _Mississippi Mōderne_                                                             Landslide Records                                      Webb Wilder, Bob Williams, Tom Comet, George Bradfute, and Joe V. McMahan
  2020              _Night Without Love_                                                              Landslide Records                                      Webb Wilder
  ----------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------ ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Filmography

-   _Paradise Park_ (1991)
-   _Corn Flicks_ (1992) consisted of three short films, including:

:*_Webb Wilder Private Eye_

::* Grand prize winner of the Texas Union National Student Film Competition

::* Aired repeatedly on the A&E Network and the USA Network show Night Flight

:*_Horror Hayride_

::* Won Silver Hugo Award at the Chicago International Film Festival

::* Awarded three stars by the _Chicago Tribune_

::* Presented at the New Orleans Film & Video and Dallas Video Festivals

:*_Aunt Hallie_

-   _The Thing Called Love_ (1993) Ned
-   _Pueblo Sin Suerte_ (2002) Reb
-   _Born to be Wilder_ (2005) Himself
-   _Scattergun_ (2007)
-   _Webb Wilder Amazing B-Picture Shorts_ (2009)

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

title: Webb Wilder

question: What does the text say about John Webb McMurry's early and personal life?

text: "McMurray" - this should be spelled "McMurry"

answer: John Webb McMurry is an American rock & roll singer, guitarist, and actor. McMurry was born on May 19, 1954, in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. According to his family, he could sing before he could walk and started playing guitar at the age of 12. He was playing in bands at age 14. His aunt, Lillian McMurry, was the founder of Trumpet Records and a mentor to him. She gave him advice as he started in the music industry.

answer: John Webb McMurry was born on May 19, 1954, in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. His aunt was Lillian McMurry, the founder of Trumpet Records. She was a mentor to McMurray and gave advice as he started in the music industry. According to family, he could sing before he could walk. He started playing guitar at the age of 12 and was playing in bands when he was 14.

answer: John Webb McMurry is an American rock & roll singer, guitarist, and actor. McMurray was born on May 19, 1954, in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. According to his family, he could sing before he could walk and started playing guitar at the age of 12. He was playing in bands at age 14. His aunt, Lillian McMurry, was the founder of Trumpet Records and a mentor to him. She gave him advice as he started in the music industry.

answer: John Webb McMurry was born on May 19, 1954, in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. His aunt was Lillian McMurry, the founder of Trumpet Records. She was a mentor to McMurray and gave advice as he started in the music industry. According to family, he could sing before he could walk. He started playing guitar at the age of 12 and was playing in bands when he was 14.

text: The answer should mention that McMurry is known as Webb Wilder.

text: The answer should mention his stage name.

text: The answer should mention that he is known as Webb Wilder.

text: The answer should mention his name.

text: The question asks about his early and personal life. The answer omits the fact that he is known as Webb Wilder.

text: The answer could be more specific about his aunt's mentorship.

text: Could mention his own stage name, Webb Wilder.


text:
Demonstrators, some dressed as robots, campaign for the basic income in Zurich Keystone

As anxiety grows about technological disruption, the idea of a guaranteed basic income is being embraced by union leaders, libertarians and Silicon Valley executives. Is this the future of welfare?

This content was published on May 27, 2016 - 10:54
Switzerland’s traditionally conservative electorate will next month vote on the superficially preposterous idea of handing out an unconditional basic income of SFr30,000 ($30,275) a year to every citizen, regardless of work, wealth or their social contribution.

Opinion polls suggest the June 5 referendum will be heavily defeated. And even if some kind of electoral convulsion results in the proposal being unexpectedly approved by voters, it is certain to be shot down by the 26 cantons that would have to implement it.

But the fact that one of the world’s most prosperous countries is holding such a vote highlights how a centuries-old dream of radical thinkers is seeping into the political mainstream. In countries as diverse as Brazil, Canada, Finland, the Netherlands and India, local and national governments are experimenting with the idea of introducing some form of basic income as they struggle to overhaul inefficient welfare states and manage the social disruption caused by technological change.

Daniel Häni, a chirpy Basel entrepreneurwho is one of the Swiss initiative’s main supporters, said modern welfare states provide basic social support but are failing to adapt to the needs and values of our times. The trouble is that they are too costly and cumbersome, assume that a citizen’s worth is determined solely by their value as an employee and rely on means testing by an overly intrusive state.

“Our social system is 150 years old and is based on Bismarck’s response to Industrialisation 1.0,” he said. “Our idea is simple. We want to render the conditional unconditional. UBI is about shifting power back to the citizen.”

Support for citizens

The idea of providing money for nothing to all citizens dates back centuries and was nurtured by a radical cult before resurfacing in recent times. In the 20th century it was championed by thinkers on the left, such as John Kenneth Galbraith and Martin Luther King, as a means of promoting social justice and equal opportunity. But it was also backed by some libertarians and economists on the right, including Milton Friedman, as a way of restricting the coercive state and restoring individual choice and freedom.

Incredible as it seems today, President Richard Nixon came very close to implementing a negative income tax (a variant of basic income) across the US in 1970. Nixon’s initiative, part of his Family Assistance Plan, was strongly backed by the House of Representatives but failed in the Senate, where some Democrats considered it unambitious, and several Republicans considered it too bold.

Interest in the idea has surged in recent years largely thanks to the technological revolution, which is convulsing labour markets worldwide. The decoupling in many countries of median household income growth from expansion in gross domestic product has created a sense of middle class crisis, fuelling anger over inequality and the rise of populism in the US and Europe. Whether it is because of a sense of guilt at the upheavals they are causing in society or simply a celebration of innovative thinking, some Silicon Valley entrepreneurs have taken to the idea of a universal basic income, describing it as a “digital dividend”.

At a conference in Zurich this month on technological disruption and social change, a succession of speakers from the US warned about further turmoil in the jobs market resulting from the automation of routine tasks, the application of machine learning and the rise of robots.

Citing just one of many examples, Andy Stern, the former president of the Service Employees International Union, said the introduction of self-driving trucks and cars would eliminate millions of jobs. At present, there are about 3.5m truck drivers in the US, forming the largest job category in 29 states. “There is the potential for the greatest disruption of jobs in the history of the world,” said Mr Stern, author of Raising the Floor, a forthcoming book advocating UBI as a partial solution.

Erik Brynjolfsson, an MIT professor and co-author of The Second Machine Age, said a convulsive “tech surge” was under way that was rapidly turning the promise of science fiction into a reality. But he insisted that technology remained the tool of humans and could be an enormous benefit so long as it was properly managed. With robots doing most of the work, he painted a picture of a “digital Athens” in which people had time to focus on sport and the arts.

He also warned of the potential for enormous upheaval if societies did not anticipate these challenges and adequately respond to them. “I can see revolution and violence and the failure of a lot of big companies. Our economy and political system has not adapted to this new world at all and we need to get out in front of it,” he said.

Robert Reich, a former Labour secretary in the Clinton administration who teaches at University of California, Berkeley, said the digital revolution was increasing economic insecurity and inequality. The development of car-hailing apps, such as Uber and Lyft, had brought great convenience for consumers but was also creating a “spot auction market” for labour.

This insecurity was fuelling too a crisis of aggregate demand in the economy, he said, adding that recently he had been visited by the boss of a tech group worried about who would have enough money to buy his company’s products in 10-15 years.

Cost-benefit analysis

A more equal division of the fruits of the technological revolution would revive that demand while providing a broader social good. The aim of all rich societies, Mr Reich said, should be to provide a basic level of subsistence, enabling people to do more of what they wanted and less of what they did not want to do. For all these reasons, he said: “I think that UBI is inevitable.”

Even if many experts agree about the scale and intensity of the technological and economic challenge, they remain divided about the appropriate social and political response. There is still less consensus about how it could be implemented and funded.

The resistance to the idea of introducing UBI in Switzerland - a recent GFS poll found 71 per cent of respondents were inclined to reject it - is instructive. It is far from obvious that the Swiss social model is broken and in need of repair. Switzerland remains one of the richest and most productive economies in the world. Its much-praised apprenticeship system generates a steady stream of well-trained employees and provides opportunities for all. Its unemployment rate is just 3.6 per cent.

Vania Alleva, a Swiss trade union leader, said it is worth debating the possible benefits of UBI and the principles of a just society but she does not see the need for such radical change. “We are critical of UBI. We have a social system in Switzerland that works,” she says.

Labour leaders elsewhere remain equally wary of introducing UBI, fearing it might only be used by rightwing politicians to shred the existing welfare state. By setting the rate too low and withdrawing other welfare benefits, it could end up hurting the very people it was designed to help most. As one participant in the Zurich conference put it, there was a danger of “fattening the frogs to feed the snakes”.

Many executives are also lukewarm about the idea, objecting to the delinkage of economic reward and effort. It is notable that support for UBI is lowest in the predominantly German-speaking cantons of Switzerland where the work ethic is particularly strong.

Ulrich Spiesshofer, chief executive of the engineering company ABB, says: “There has to be a basic level of social provision for people in need but beyond that, economic rewards should be based on actually creating economic value.”

Picking up the bill

The government estimates full implementation of UBI would cost SFr208bn, about three times current annual federal spending of about SFr67bn. Even then, it would not replace all existing social services, such as healthcare for the elderly.

Alain Berset, a Social Democrat member of the Swiss cabinet, has described the UBI initiative as “utopian”, saying it would require significant extra funding of at least SFr25bn.

“The unconditional basic income would be a risky experiment. It’s not clear how this basic income would be designed by parliament or how it would be financed. The precise implications are unknown,” he said in an interview.

Supporters of UBI accept many of these criticisms and are launching pilot projects to help answer the objections. One of the most interesting initiatives is in Finland and basic income will be rolled out on a national scale if the experiment proves effective.

The centre-right government will this year begin making tax-free monthly payments of about €550 to a random sample of 10,000 adults of working age as part of a two-year experiment. The intention is to see what effect a basic income has on work incentives and life choices and how it interacts with the existing welfare model. The city of Utrecht, and 19 other municipalities across the Netherlands, are conducting similar experiments.

Matthew Taylor is chief executive of the RSA, a British institution that looks for practical solutions to social challenges, that recently published a
study on the viability of UBI. He said societies will need to become a lot more innovative in the face of the latest technological revolution. In particular, far more flexible ways will have to be found to support part-time workers or those who wish to retrain or look after their children or elderly parents.

“What excites me about UBI is that it could act as a catalyst for a broader shift in public attitudes,” he said. “I think that UBI can potentially help overcome the attitudes that we have between strivers and skivers. It can help the state enable people to have autonomous lives.”

While acknowledging the near- certainty of defeat in the coming referendum, the Swiss backers of UBI believe that their campaign signals the beginning of a global debate on basic income, rather than its end. It may be premature to introduce UBI today but its appeal will grow as societies learn to prize creativity over productivity.

Mr Häni said that, irrespective of the result, he is delighted that every Swiss newspaper has been furiously discussing the principles of a basic income. He said the Swiss debate is like a movie trailer for the main event and “trailers always end with the phrase: coming soon . . . ”

Back to basics: An idea long in the making

The Basic Income Earth Network, which links campaigners around the world, traces the original concept of basic income back to Thomas More (above), the 15th-century humanist scholar and author of Utopia, who wrote about the need for a minimum income.

But BIEN suggests that the true father of the idea of a guaranteed minimum income was Johannes Ludovicus Vives, a Spanish-born humanist and close friend of More.

After fleeing the Spanish inquisition, Vives moved to Bruges, where he wrote tracts in support of the poor. “Even those who have dissipated their fortunes in dissolute living - through gaming, harlots, excessive luxury, gluttony and gambling - should be given food, for no one should die of hunger,” he wrote.

The idea was developed by the 18th-century radical Thomas Paine (above), who argued that every person should receive £15 on their 21st birthday and £10 a year thereafter to be paid out of “ground rent”.

John Stuart Mill, the 19th century utilitarian philosopher, wrote sympathetically about the idea of a basic income in his Principles of Political Economy, although he did not develop the concept.

The Nobel Prize-winning economist James Meade argued for a “social dividend” in the 1930s as a means of alleviating poverty and creating a just and efficient economy. In 1962 the American economist and Nobel laureate Milton Friedman (right) argued for a radical simplification of the welfare state and introduction of a “negative income tax”.

Jay Hammond, the Republican governor of Alaska, created the Alaska Permanent Fund in 1976 to distribute some of the proceeds of the state’s oil wealth to all its residents. Every Alaskan still receives a dividend of about $2,000 a year in what is arguably the only full universal basic income system in operation. The poverty and inequality levels in Alaska are among the lowest in the US.

Speed read

Growing insecurity - UBI’s proponents say a more equal division of the gains made by technology would lift demand

Productive economy - Although Swiss will vote on a UBI, many insist that the country’s social model works well

Tests in Europe - Finland is running a pilot scheme; Utrecht and other Dutch municipalities are holding similar trials

End of insertion

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2016

This article was automatically imported from our old content management system. If you see any display errors, please let us know: community-feedback@swissinfo.ch

question: What does the article say about the future of welfare?

text: There is no guaranteed basic income in Switzerland.

answer: Demonstrators campaign for the guaranteed basic income in Switzerland. The idea is being embraced by union leaders, libertarians, and Silicon Valley executives. An unconditional basic income of SFr30,000 ($30,275) a year to every citizen, regardless of work, wealth, or social contribution. Switzerland’s electorate will vote on the idea.

text: The answer should merge the third and last sentences to flow like this: "Switzerland's electorate will vote on the idea of handing out an unconditional basic income of SFr30,000 ($30,275) a year to every citizen, regardless of work, wealth, or social contribution."

answer: The idea of a guaranteed basic income is being embraced by union leaders, libertarians, and Silicon Valley executives as anxiety grows about technological disruption. This idea is also being embraced by Switzerland's traditionally conservative electorate. The idea is that every citizen would receive SFr30,000 a year regardless of work, wealth, or their social contribution. While most believe the idea is preposterous, some are beginning to believe it is necessary because of the technological disruption in labor markets worldwide.

answer: The idea of a guaranteed basic income is being embraced by union leaders, libertarians, and Silicon Valley executives as anxiety grows about technological disruption. This idea is also being embraced by Switzerland's traditionally conservative electorate. The idea is that every citizen would receive SFr30,000 a year regardless of work, wealth, or their social contribution. While most believe the idea is preposterous, some are beginning to believe it is necessary because of the technological disruption in labor markets worldwide.

text: The answer should mention the potential for violence and revolution if societies fail to adapt to the challenges of technological disruption.

text: The answer should mention the potential for violence and revolution if societies do not adapt to the new world.

text: The answer should mention the experiments being conducted in Finland and the Netherlands.

text: The answer should mention the potential for a basic income to replace the current welfare state.

text: The article does not speculate on the future of welfare.

text: The second sentence is not relevant to the future of welfare.

text: Request for a noun describing the fluctuating opinions on the idea of a basic income: "preposterous" and "necessary."

text: The answer should mention the potential for violence and revolution if societies fail to adapt to the challenges of technological disruption since greater inequality is expected.

answer: Switzerland’s electorate will vote to annul the guaranteed basic income.

text: This answer needs to be rewritten, as it doesn't properly address the article's thoughts on the future of welfare. It should discuss how diverse and prosperous countries are experimenting with the idea of introducing some form of basic income as they struggle to overhaul inefficient welfare states.

answer: Switzerland’s electorate will vote to annul the guaranteed basic income.

text: The response is incorrect. The article says that the future of welfare is the guaranteed basic income.

text: The response is incorrect. The article does not mention anything about the future of welfare.

text: The response is incorrect. The article does not say anything about the future of welfare.

text: The response is incorrect, as the article states that the Swiss will vote on the idea of the guaranteed basic income.

text: This is false. The article says that the electorate will vote to reject the proposal. It is incorrect to say they will vote to annul it.

text: The response is incorrect. Switzerland's electorate will vote to approve the guaranteed basic income.

text: The conclusion that the electorate is going to vote to annul the guaranteed basic income is false. It does not mention how the public might vote.

answer: Demonstrators campaign for the guaranteed basic income in Switzerland. The idea is being embraced by union leaders, libertarians, and Silicon Valley executives. An unconditional basic income of SFr30,000 ($30,275) a year to every citizen, regardless of work, wealth, or social contribution. Switzerland’s electorate will vote on the idea.

text: The answer should mention the technological disruption as the reason for the push for the guaranteed basic income.

text: The answer should mention the potential of technological disruption.

text: The answer should mention the technological disruption.

text: The answer should mention the argument that the future of welfare is the guaranteed basic income.

text: The answer is irrelevant.

text: The answer is a copy-and-paste of the first paragraph, which is not relevant to the question.

text: Extra detail causes confusion.


text:
The first rays of the mornings sun sting my face as I awake from a long restless sleep. I have grown used to the lack of rest. Ever since it happened.. My brother was taken by a group of bandits notoriously known as "The Smiling Men." I stare into the mirror hanging on the wall, what I see in the reflection shocks me, when did I start looking so rugged. I see my short brown hair, stubble out of control, scars cover my body. A product of the life I lead. I take one last long look into the bright blue eyes I share with my brother before I turn away. As I sit on the bed, I can't  help but wonder how my brothers family is faring, I must do something to bring him back. I get up and dress in my favorite garb, a long black trench coat with a round brim hat.  I must save my brothers life. Today is the day I set out on my journey. Today is the day I bring my brother back safely to his family.

	I grab my sword down from the wall, scoop up all the coins I have left, and head through the door. As I walk through the lively village,   I look around at all the people moving through their lives, no purpose, no goals, just passing the time until they die, sad really. Although I suppose I have always had a nhilistic view towards this shithole called Earth. I leave the village and prepare myself for the struggle ahead.

	I walk along a lonely stretch of road, trees in abundance. As I approach a particularly ominous section of the area, I grow weary. I see a large burly looking man step out from behind a large tree. Here I am, just travelling along the road minding my own business, and come across some confident little crook looking to rob innocent travelers. He comes strutting up to me, he might have a few brigands waiting, I must remain cautious .. "Give me your gold and you'll be on your way." I reply with "Try and take it." He was too slow on the draw, I drove my sword straight into his chin and he crumples lifelessly as his last bit of consciousness quickly slips away. A stir of movement from the trees and now I am surrounded by 4 angry foes, all with swords drawn, what a fantastic start to the day I think to myself as I size up my enemies. The first one lunges and I dodge to the side, kicking his left leg out simultaneously, I twirl around steel flashing as I catch the second one in the hip. He falls to the ground maimed. As I am distracted with him the other two rush me, a flurry of steel, blow after blow, I parry and dance around them all. One drops his guard for just a moment and I quickly seize opportunity ducking a blow and driving my sword straight through his heart, he drops and takes my sword with him. I quickly pull the dagger out of his belt and duck just in time to avoid a sword wooshing past my head, I jump on the attacker and drive my dagger straight through the eyehole in his visor. Now there is one. He hesitates slightly, having witnessed the entire battle with his friends, a quick burst of confidence causes him to charge me full force with his sword in the air, rookie mistake. I side step him and pull my sword out of his comrades breast. A quick parry and slash and now 5 lay dead around me. Child's play. I take what I need from their corpses, the dead have no need for earthly possessions, and I'm once again on my way.

	I sit in a pub, in the corner of a dimly lit room, drinking ale and observing everyone around me. I might as well stay here for a night, a nice alternative to the cold hard ground. As I am draining the last bit of ale, I hear my name being called. "ORNELL!!" As a familiar face comes walking up to me, "Aldo! I didn't expect to run into you here." Aldo was a fellow mercenary, and probably the closest thing I have to a friend. He has medium length straight hair and carries a Two-Handed greatsword. We have fought side by side in many battles, a hardened warrior.  "What are you doing so far from home, Ornell?" Aldo asks, curiosity teeming in his voice. "I am looking for information about The Smiling Men, I have some business that needs to be conducted with them." Aldo looks at me with those piercing green eyes "The Smiling Men? Ornell, don't tell me you are looking for a fight, you know how ruthless they are, and you know more than anyone how dangerous Oudin is.. They say he is the best killer alive.." I nod nonchalantly and stare into my cup, questioning whether or not I could trust Aldo. "They have taken my brother."

	I rise before the sun, having overheard information about the bandits the night before I am determined to follow the lead. I get dressed and head out the door, I pull my hat down so it covers most of my face and walk slowly through the street, looking for my mark. This town is ratty, most buildings appear to be unfit for human inhabitation. As I observe my surroundings I feel the familiar distaste brought to me by these zombie-like poor excuses for human beings. I can't stand the site of people wasting the potential of life sitting around waiting to die. I belie- wait, I think I found who I am looking for. As I see him slowly teeter into view, I knew this would be an easy task, I quickly duck into an alleyway as not to be seen prematurely. As soon as he rounds the corner I wrap one hand around his throat, and pull him into the alleyway. I toss him to the ground and put my sword to his throat. "So here's the deal, you are going to tell me everything you know about Oudin, and The Smiling Men, and I am going to give you a quick death." The despair is evident in his croaky voice. "I- I- I don't know anything!" I smile slyly and shove the tip of my sword into his knee. He screams in pure agony and tries reaching for his knee, but my foot on his chest holds him firmly in place. "Wrong answer friend, next I cut off your fingers one by one." He screams in desperation, his words slurred by too much drink "I ALREADY TOLD YOU I DON'T KNOW ANYTHNG!" With one quick slash three of his fingers are detached from his hand. He clutches the hand, clearly faint from the amount of pain being inflicted. "I'll ask one more time" As I drive my sword through his lower abdomen, he begins spitting up blood. "Tell me what you know" I say calmly as I sense the fear of The Smiling Men being over ran by the pain of torture. "Okay okay okay.." he says chokingly through the blood dribbling out of his mouth. He tells me everything I need to know. "Please.. I gave you what you want.. end my suffering.." I give him one last look of disgust before I slit his throat. I wander off to find Aldo.

	The sun is shining as I make my way back to the pub, somehow the condemnable buildings look less ominous in the light. As I walk through the door, I find Aldo enjoying breakfast, he looks up and catches sight of me. He waves me over, through words, muffled by food,  he yells "Ornell! Come enjoy some ale!" I smile as I take my seat. A breakfast consisting of eggs, chicken, and potatoes. "So, I followed the lead. He told me there are rumors of Oudin attacking a merchants wagon in the east" I say as I shovel eggs into my mouth. "Well, we have a destination now don't we." He says matter of factly after taking a swig of ale. I chuckle and look down at the table, the mornings events racing through my mind. "So, when do we dep-" His words are cut short as a large man starts yelling at the innkeep. "4 coins for this piss drink?!" He screams, spit flying out in the process. "I'm.. I'm sorry sir, I do not control the prices." The innkeep says through chattering teeth. The man throws the cup at her head and laughs as the blow drops her to the ground. Aldo grunts as he quickly stands up and charges the man. He drives his shoulder into his chest and tries dragging him to the ground, but the man counteracts by throwing him into the bar. Aldo stands up and smiles, he waits patiently. As the man winds up to take a huge swing, Aldo quickly moves in and wraps around him, one hand on his bicep to prevent the strike, the other around the back of his neck. With full force he slams the mans face into the counter and blood spurts. He crumples to the ground, teeth laying around him, labored breathing through a broken jaw. "Been too long since I've had a decent fight" Aldo jeers as he makes his way around the counter. He picks the innkeep up off the ground and plants a kiss on her hand. "I apologize for this brute fool my lady." I walk to the counter and place enough coins to cover the damage, the food, and the room for our stay. "Come, Aldo, let us be on our way."

	"Did you see the look of despair on his face right before I slammed him!" Aldo says, laughter ringing through the trees. I laugh along with him. "He almost shit himself for certain." "So, have you thought of what your plan might be once we reach the end of our journey?" Aldo asks curiously. "No, not yet, maybe I'll head over to Dawsbury and see if any nobles have need of my services, what about you? What were you doing back there at the pub?" "Ah, looking for fights!" We both chuckle as we continue along the dirt road. "You know, Ornell, it's been quite a while since we have crossed swords." "Indeed it has" I let out with a long sigh. Aldo perks up and with a sly look asks "Would you care to cross swords now, and see who of us is the better warrior?" Not one to back away from a challenge I agree. We both draw our swords, his clearly has the reach advantage being a few feet longer than mine. He slowly circles around my sword arm, and I lunge, he jumps to the side and swings his sword around in a long arcing blow. I block and strike him in the face with my elbow while his guard is down. He falls to the ground and I pounce, I jump on top of him and move my sword towards his throat, before it gets there he rolls out from under me and grabs up his sword. "Not a bad shot!" He says with a bloody smile. He runs at me and brings his greatsword down with a hard blow, I side step and swing my sword at his leg, he lifts his leg just in time to dodge the swing, I follow up with another aimed at his chest. He dodges back, and I quickly run forward and kick him in his chest while he is off balance. He rolls when he hits the ground to quickly be back on his feet. I hold my sword with both hands and swing full force at his shoulder, he uses the momentum against me and disarms me with one quick parry. He swings over and over as I am dodging every blow, he swings too wildly on one attempt and I quickly take advantage of it and grab up my sword. Again he swings and I spin around, place my leg behind his, and knock him to the ground with my shoulder, I quickly put my sword to his chest. "Yield!" He says, I laugh and help him up. "Ahh, Ornell, the years have done nothing to diminish your skill I see." I give a sarcastic chuckle and reply with "I wish I could say the same to you" We both laugh and continue on our way.

	We decided to make camp in a small forrest clearing, as I lay there wishing to be taken by sleeps sweet embrace I am troubled by visions of my past.. I struggle to repress them back into the deep fabrics of my mind. This.. This can't be real, I thought as I slowly push open the charred door, the smell of burnt wood and flesh fill my nostrils. I look around, desperately praying that this was all a horrible dream. I stand there in shock as every worry I had is realized. I immediately burst into tears and utter anguish as I rush to the site of the burnt body that used to be my wife, I drop to my knees, and clutch at my head as if I was going to rip my face off. I can't believe this is happening. I turn her over, and immediately throw up. No.. no.. no no no NO GOD NO!!! My son! He was my world! IS MY WORLD! She must have been trying to protect him from the fire. This CANNOT BE HAPPENING! WHY! I slump back into the floor, I grab- "Ornell, Ornell!" I awake to Aldo leaning over me, shaking me. "What are you doing Aldo?" "You were talking in your sleep, yelling no and rolling around.." I sit up, drenched in sweat, "Just.. a bad dream.." If only it were just a dream.. I gulped back tears as I tried hard to forget the past.

	Aldo and I quietly sneak along a hill covered in trees. We have reaced the hideout of The Smiling Men. We duck behind a rather large tree and listen as we hear random chatter. "I can't believe that fool, Ornell actually believes we took his brother.. HA!" what is he talking about? I think to myself. I quickly move along until I spot Oudin's tent. This place should be guarded.. Where is everyone.. Aldo draws his sword and walks out into the clearing. "Aldo, what are you doing, get back here" I whisper quietly. He gestures me over, I quickly draw my sword and follow. I look towards Oudin's tent.. Suddenly I feel my leg buckle and I'm down on one knee. Blinding pain shoots up my right leg. I drop my sword and grab onto my leg with both hands. I turn around to see Aldo's bloody sword and smug grin. "Once a fool, always a fool Ornell." He laughs in that smug way he does. Suddenly, the tent flaps start moving, and out emerges a figure.. "Brother?! Is that you? What is going on here, why are you walking free?" He smiles and walks over to me, sword in hand. "You fool, I am Oudin." He quickly drives his sword deep into my chest, I feel the cold bite of steel as every inch of metal penetrated my body. My consciousness starts to slip as I look up, dumbfounded. Oudin kneels down and stares deep into my eyes. "I want to make sure betrayal is the last thing you see as you die, Ornell." I stare into his eyes.. I see him stand up, and prepare for a swing.. He swung his swo-

The end

title: [FN] Ornell's Adventure

question: Explain the twist at the end of the story.

text: Ornell's brother is Oudin, not Aldo.

answer: The narrator, Ornell, is on a quest to save his brother. He meets up with Aldo, who is a fellow mercenary and his closest friend. Aldo claims to be helping Ornell and they go to Oudin's hideout. At the end of the story, Aldo reveals that he is in league with Oudin, and has been lying to Ornell. He then kills Ornell.

text: The answer should mention that Aldo is actually Oudin.

text: The answer should mention that Aldo is the one who took Ornell's brother.

text: The answer should mention that Aldo was pretending to be Ornell's brother.

text: It is omitted that Aldo betrays Ornell.

text: The answer should mention that Aldo was the one who captured Ornell's brother.

text: The answer should mention that Oudin is the leader of the Smiling Men.

text: It is important to add that Aldo betrays Ornell because he killing the man at the start of the story.

text: It's false that Aldo kills Ornell. It's revealed that Oudin is actually Ornell's brother, and he is the one to kill and betray Ornell.

text: It's omitted that Ornell believes Oudin, a dangerous killer, and his men have taken his brother.

answer: TThe twist at the end is that Aldo betrays Ornell, and that Oudin, the fearsome warrior, is actually Aldo.

text: The answer should mention that Aldo was pretending to be Ornell's friend.

text: The answer should mention that Aldo was working with Oudin all along.

text: The answer could be clearer when it comes to the reveal of Oudin.

text: It's not clear if Aldo is Oudin.

text: inappropriate use of "that" at the beginning of the sentence

text: It is omitted that Oudin kills Ornell at the end.

answer: TThe twist at the end is that Aldo betrays Ornell, and that Oudin, the fearsome warrior, is actually Aldo.

answer: The narrator, Ornell, is on a quest to save his brother. He meets up with Aldo, who is a fellow mercenary and his closest friend. Aldo claims to be helping Ornell and they go to Oudin's hideout. At the end of the story, Aldo reveals that he is in league with Oudin, and has been lying to Ornell. He then kills Ornell.

text: The answer fails to mention that Oudin is actually Ornell's brother.

text: It isn't Aldo who kills Ornell. Oudin (Ornell's brother) does.

answer: The twist at the end is that Aldo betrays Ornell, and that Oudin, the fearsome warrior, is actually Ornell's brother.

text: The response must mention that Oudin is also the leader of The Smiling Men, the bandits that Ornell thought took his brother.

answer: The twist at the end is that Aldo betrays Ornell, and that Oudin, the fearsome warrior, is actually Ornell's brother.

text: The answer is incorrect. Oudin is not Ornell's brother.

text: Oudin is not Ornell's brother.

text: This is an incorrect interpretation of the story. Oudin is not Ornell's brother, but Aldo is.

text: It is not explicitly stated in the text that Oudin is Ornell's brother. This is just a presumption.


text:
Alan washed his pale face under cold crispy water that flowed out of the dingy bathroom sink. The bathroom smelled of sweet lavender and cigarettes. While not a pleasant combination this scent is the only scent Alan knew and and the only scent he ever wanted to know.
Alan grabbed a towel that was hanging from the dusty towel holder and dried off his face. He then grabbed his wedding ring from the bathroom counter and slipped it on his finger. Alan glanced in the mirror as he was just about to walk out of the bathroom. The quick glance lured him in and Alan found himself standing in front of the mirror studying his reflection.
It was obvious he needed sleep. The dark purple circles under his eyes gave him an unforgettable look of sickness matched with his pale complexion. His soft blue eyes seemed to fade into the rest of his face only becoming noticeable when they were bloodshot from crying. The dark brown curls that sat neatly on top of his head gave him a boyish look. Instead of 25 he looked 18. According to his wife, every attempt at growing facial hair to try to enhance his age was pity and only made him look homeless and dirty. The desire to please her was the only thing that had not been replaced with the sadness that she left behind so he was freshly shaven every day in hopes of her return.
After studying the man Alan no longer knew in the mirror he slowly slumped out of the bathroom into his bedroom. The bedroom was quiet and dark. A quick flip of the night stand lamp switch illuminated the room with a dark glow. Alan unhurriedly and thoughtfully walked around the room so careful as not to touch a single item. He wanted to preserve the room as it always has been. A messy yet organized room that could only be created by one person, but never recreated by another.
Alan slipped off his clothes in the usual spot that he always did and neatly put them into a laundry hamper he had just bought. As he made his way to the bed he switched off the light, careful not to bump anything on his way.
The bed smelled of fresh lavender. As Alan laid on his back to start the nightly routine of staring at the blank ceiling for hours he could feel the scent creeping its way into his lungs and eventually into his memories ever so easily. Nothing got to Alan more than this scent. As he laid in bed the flow of tears silently trickled down the sides of his burning cheeks and onto the white satin pillow. These eerie reminders of everything he once had always sent a flood of emotions through his fragile body.
As hours went by Alan gave up on waiting for the apartment door to open bringing in what once was the meaning of his life and now was the cause of his pain; he turned over and went to sleep.
	As the birds sang their morning songs outside the window the next morning little light was shed into the apartment through the tightly closed blinds. Alan turned over and looked at the clock facing towards him on the night stand. It read 9:37 a.m. This was too early to be awake. Especially since Alan’s days now only consisted of waiting.
	Alan got on his feet and quietly made his way to the shower as if not to disturb anyone in their sleep, a habit since he was always the first to be awake. Alan turned on the shower, took off his wedding ring which he set on the counter, and hopped in.
	The water felt cold and rigid running down Alan’s spine sending false feelings of refreshment through his body. After half an hour of standing silently in the shower letting the water turn his entirety into a weak and cold figure Alan decided it was time to wash his hair. He grabbed the light purple bottle of lavender shampoo and squeezed a small sized amount onto the palm of his hand, barely enough to wash his full head of hair. It was the last of the shampoo. Disregarding the full bottle of men’s shampoo that sat right next to the empty bottle of lavender shampoo, he washed his hair quickly and stepped out onto the cold tile. The empty bottle of shampoo meant that Alan had to make the rare occasion of leaving his apartment to go to the store.
	Alan got dressed carefully making sure not to disturb anything in his path while looking through dirty clothes, searching for an outfit that could pass as clean. He needed to do laundry.
	After a long search for a “clean” outfit Alan settled for jeans and an old t-shirt.
	Pacing back and forth he did not know whether or not the trip to the store was worth the risk of leaving his apartment. Alan found himself becoming anxious when he left his lonely sanctuary, worrying that at any moment his wife would return and Alan would miss his chance to see her again.
	Except this time Alan knew he had to go. He ran out of coffee two days ago and even though Alan didn’t have an appetite anymore he knew he needed to buy some food. Most importantly, Alan did not want the smell of the sweet, sweet lavender that he loved so dearly to fade from the apartment and escape his lungs. For that smell of lavender was the only thing Alan had left.
	Finally, after a long moment of debating himself Alan grabbed his wallet and started his short walk to the grocery store at the corner of the block. Before he left, however, Alan made sure to leave the door unlocked and cracked open just an inch to give his wife an inviting message, in case of her return. Alan wanted her to know he wasn’t mad about her leaving and that she could come back home where he needed her at any time.
	In the store Alan picked up the few essentials he thought he needed to last him a couple of weeks so that he would not have to venture out again for a while. Canned soup, bread, coffee, toilet paper and lavender shampoo filled the bottom of his cart as he walked up to the cash register to pay. A quick swipe of his credit card and Alan was on his way back home.
	As Alan approached the door to his apartment he noticed that it was now open a lot more than just an inch. His heart began to beat fast as he made quick steps towards his door. Excitement and adrenaline started to replace any sadness and anxiety that was once there. Alan flung open the door. Practically throwing the bags of goods he had just purchased at the store Alan looked around the room wildly. The living room was empty. Alan could feel the familiar burning of his cheeks approach as he ran to the kitchen only to find a room full of emptyness. As anger and disappointment was slowly rising inside of Alan he ran to the door of his bedroom. Before he opened the door Alan took a deep breath and squinted back the tears that were fighting to be set free. He opened the door to find his usual company named Loneliness attempting to eat away at everything in the room. Loneliness had a history of leaving nothing left, not even an ounce of hope.
	Out of a fit of rage Alan headed back towards the living room and punched the bare white wall. After a couple seconds of pure anger he collapsed on the floor and laid there absorbing all of the small details around him. The door gently swayed from the wind out in the hallway as Alan had realized that he had sent himself on an emotional roller coaster ride for nothing.
	As the door continued to sway gently back and forth, back and forth through the day and night, Alan let himself eventually fall asleep on the floor of his living room making no noise but an occasional whimper of sorrow.
	The next morning Alan woke to an uncomfortable feeling. The feeling of being watched. As he turned over on his stomach the light felt warm on his heavy body that was sprawled out on the wooden floor. Alan peered through the shining light looking for the entity that made him feel watched, knowing just what he would find.
	Sitting across from Alan on the reclining chair was Loneliness. Alan looked Loneliness dead in the sinister eyes. Loneliness did not just consist of loneliness, Loneliness consisted of anxiety, depression, fear and hate. This had not been the first time Loneliness had overstayed his welcome.
	As the two stared at each other with blank expressions Alan felt as if he was sinking deeper and deeper into the ground. A whole day went on with Alan not eating, crying, moving, or thinking. The two just existed with no purpose or meaning attached to their existence. As hours passed and the night grew longer. Alan decided it was finally time to give in.
	Alan slowly picked his stiff body up off of the floor. Paying no attention to Loneliness who had already consumed half of the living room he made his way to the kitchen. On the counter sat the phone that hadn’t been used in weeks, waiting for a phone call that would never go through. Alan picked up the now unfamiliar device in his hand and dialed.
	“Nancy, I’m sorry. I know you’re probably sleeping... Yes, it’s happening again. I’m sorry. Yes… I’m sorry. Okay, I’ll be here. Goodbye.”
	Alan took a seat on the kitchen floor and began to cry. His shoulders heaved up and down as he began to scream through the short gasps of breath that were barely escaping his dry lips. Alan’s realization of the situation began to set in as his neighbors called the cops due to the shrilling screams dancing down the apartment hallway making their routinely appearance.
	Although Alan was repeatedly told to let go he couldn’t. He repeatedly held onto the hope that always transformed itself into the monster that lead him to his insanity.
	The door shot open as Nancy came in to see Alan in his state of weakness.
	“Get up Alan.” She stated as she gently coaxed him into a chair.
	“How long have you been like this?” Nancy looked around the house. It looked the same as it usually did when she came over. Alan was back to his old antics.
	“I don’t know. I thought she was coming back. I’m sorry. I just thought she was coming back.” Alan whispered as he buried his head into his lap.
	It pained Nancy to see Alan this way. Ever since her sister had died Alan had had these occasional episodes of whatever it was that made him think her sister would return. No one was hurt by the loss more than Alan was. He had always said his love for her was undying. But he had taken that expression too seriously, she thought, as she looked down at the man who she no longer recognized.
	“Let’s go, Alan. Grab your things and we’ll go see Dr. Hoffman. She has been waiting for a visit from you. I called her. Let’s go.” She grabbed her bag and waited for Alan to get up. Without a single care for grabbing his belongings he walked to the door awaiting Nancy to follow.

	Three weeks later Alan opened the door to the apartment; returning from the mental institution. Not to his surprise the apartment was cleaned up, everything was not in its usual place. The apartment no longer smelled of lavender and cigarettes, instead it was replaced with the strong smell of bleach. Nancy always cleaned up the apartment when Alan was away. She didn’t think it was healthy for him to live in an environment that he tried so hard to preserve.
	Alan set down his belongings that he got from the mental institution at the foot of the door and started the interminable process of setting everything back just the way his wife had left it before she died. Undoing all of the hard work that Nancy did Alan carefully wandered around the apartment moving things to match the pictures that were engraved in his mind of what it used to look like when she was alive.
	After everything was back in its usual place Alan sprayed the last of his wife’s lavender perfume around the rooms. He inhaled the smell as if getting a high off the memories the scent brought to him.
	In his bedroom Alan laid on the left side of the bed. The right side was reserved for his wife. As Alan fiddled with the ring on his middle finger he began to doze off to sleep. While sleeping Alan heard the front door of his apartment creek open and shut quietly.
Soft familiar footsteps made their way to Alan’s bedroom and opened the door. Alan didn’t have to open his eyes, he knew who it was. As she got into the bed in her self proclaimed spot Alan felt like he could finally breathe again. A flood of relief made Alan’s body almost tingle as he turned on his side, careful not to open his eyes. “I’ve missed you,” he said as he dozed back off to sleep to the sweet smell of lavender and cigarettes.

title: [RF] Untitled

question: Who is Nancy?

text: The response should include that Nancy takes care of Alan when it is clear that he can no longer take care of himself.

answer: Nancy is the sister of Alan's deceased wife. She steps in as a caretaker for Alan when he cannot take care of himself.

text: Alan can take care of himself, however, he has occasional depressive and hallucinating episodes which make him sad and incapable of doing much.

answer: Nancy is the sister of Alan's deceased wife. She steps in as a caretaker for Alan when he cannot take care of himself.

text: The answer should mention that Nancy is Alan's friend.

text: Nancy is not the sister of Alan's deceased wife.

text: There is no evidence that Nancy is Alan's late wife's sister.

text: The answer should mention that Nancy is trying to get Alan help.

text: There is no evidence that Nancy is the sister of Alan's deceased wife.

text: This is unattested.

answer: Nancy is the sister of Alan's deceased wife.

text: The response is incorrect. Nancy is Alan's sister and she is very much alive.

answer: Nancy is Alan's neighbor.

text: The response should mention Nancy's relationship with Alan. She is the sister of the woman Alan loves.

answer: Nancy is Alan's neighbor.

text: Nancy is Alan's neighbor.

text: Nancy is Alan's sister-in-law.

text: Nancy is not Alan's neighbor.

text: This answer is incorrect. Nancy is Alan's sister-in-law.

text: It is not stated that Nancy is Alan's neighbor.

text: This is false. Nancy isn't Alan's neighbor.

text: This answer is incorrect. Nancy is Alan's sister-in-law who helps him in his times of need following her sister's death.

answer: Nancy is the sister of Alan's deceased wife.

text: It is not stated that Nancy is the sister of Alan's deceased wife.

text: The story doesn't say.

text: Nancy is Alan's sister-in-law.

text: It is not stated that Nancy is Alan's dead wife's sister.

text: Incorrect.

text: It's more likely the answer is 'Alan's sister.' She told Alan she had and since Nancy is feminine it stands.