text:
The night was calm and eerie. Beams of light from the full moon barely pieced the thick cover of the Adene forest. Odd rays shone down onto the mossy floor like spears firmly logged in the earth. The trees ended abruptly into a scorched barren field and castle walls rose up in the distance. Short but very thick granite walls that could take a beating. The castle’s garrison was responsible for the small wasteland. They would periodically set fires to beat back the encroaching forest. A castle guard isn’t very useful if you can’t see anyone coming through the trees.

“Dismount,” whispered Silvius. There was a soft clink as the men landed on the forest floor, their chain mail muffled by black cloaks. “Forward,” he growled softly. This was dangerous, and stupid…but hopefully just crazy enough to not be expected. Twenty black silhouettes crept forward into the open. The full moon did not help at all with staying concealed, but it was necessary for them to be able to see where to go once inside the walls. Not one of them had ever set foot inside this kingdom before today, much less been inside this castle. The blacken charred ground would have to be enough concealment. They crouched low to the ground, almost crawling. Heads down to the ground so that reflections off their faces could not be seen. Silvius was the first to reach the walls. Each soldier carried with them a large steel hook with a rope attached to it. The idea was that the hook would catch on a crevice in the old worn battlements, but it usually took a few tries. He took his hook and lobbed it upwards, with distant CLAG it landed. He gave it hard tug and after the initial slack gave way it held firm. That was lucky as someone up there almost certainly heard that.  After giving the rope one more tug to make sure it would hold his weight he planted both feet onto the wall and started the climb. Several feet up other hooks started to whiz by. Only one stuck the first time. As he made his way up his heart was starting to race and both arms and legs were quivering. Maybe the chain mail was not worth bringing, it sure made hauling himself up this rock demanding. An arrow shot overhead and hit something at the top with a dull thump. He heard a whimper and a gurgling sound, but no alarm was raised. The bowmen they had brought with them were already proving their worth. More clangs followed as the hooks were thrown up again. The top of parapet was finally within reach. Pushing off with his feet he hooked one hand over the top while keeping the other on the rope. Giving a massive heave he pulled himself up and over then not so gracefully hit the hard stone ground.

He lay there for a second catching his breath. A wooden jungle of building lay before him. Castle Grim was a very functional fortress. The buildings were constructed so that the streets curved and split off in unpredictable ways. It was meant to confuse disorient attacking forces should the walls be breached. That would be a problem soon but at least for the moment it was not his concern. As he stood up he noticed the limp body propped up against the wall next to him, an arrow protruding from its neck. The black and blue coat of arms with an eye in the middle signified him as a soldier of Etymry. They needed to hurry before this person was missed or the change of watch found him. It took several minutes before everyone reached the top. The main gate should be to our left, at least that’s where the only road into and out of this place is, Silvius thought to himself. He led his men along the wall being carful to stay in the shadow that the battlements made in the moonlight. Another watchman was up ahead, maybe forty feet. He put his hand up to call a halt and gestured at the man. One of the archers nocked the arrow in their bow, drew it back, and let loose in one fluid motion. The arrow sprouted from the back of the watchman’s head and he fell to the ground letting loose a scrape of metal on stone. They really needed to hurry now. Silvius ran as fast as he could while still staying crouched in the shadows. The bottoms of all of their boots were covered in a thick cloth that made their footsteps almost silent. The only sound was the faint jingling of chainmail. At last the main gate appeared in sight. This part was not going to be stealthy no matter how they did it. The two archers split off from the main group continuing a short way along the wall before finally stopping. They looked back waiting for the signal. One watchman stood on the wall directly over the gate looking outwards. Right inside the gate was a fire with five men sitting around it and the rest of the courtyard was empty. These people were clearly not expecting an attack. All the guards looked bored and edging on falling asleep. That made sense though, they weren’t at war after all. Well at least not until right now. A stair case a few feet ahead led down from the wall to the gate. Silvius took a deep breath to calm his nerves before silently unsheathing his sword. The other men followed his lead. He nodded his head towards the two archers before standing up and sprinting down the stairs. The first arrow took the soldier on top of the wall, while the second one took the largest of the soldiers by the fire. The courtyard instantly erupted into shouting as they charged down the stairs and the four remaining men leapt to their feet and drew their swords.

One took off running towards the jumble of building on the other side of the courtyard, screaming for help. He did not get very far before an arrow found him in the chest. Silvius leapt to the right as he got to the first man, dodging a stabbing blow meant for his heart. As he twisted his body around he swiped his word towards the man’s neck. The man easily ducked, but Silvius had expected this. In the same swiping motion, he pivoted and switched his weight to the left foot while kicking out the right and catching the man squarely on the jaw. He screamed as he fell down. The other two men were on Silvius in an instant, putting forth a flurry of blows that forced him to retreat while deflecting them. One managed to get through after bouncing off his sword and caught him in the ribs. It hurt like hell but did not go through the chainmail. Guess the chainmail was worth bringing after all. The rest of his men poured down the stairs and forced the two to back off. The one on the ground barely managed to regain his feet before Captain Grish smacked the sword out of his hand and sunk his own sword up the hilt into his gut. Grish was a very imposing man, nearly seven feet tall and very muscular. He towered over his victim like a hawk over a mouse.

Four of the attackers split off from the fight and started to open the gate. It was raised by a large crank sticking out the ground with bars arranged horizontally for people to push on. The gate groaned and squealed for a second before starting to raise up. Grish took out a horn and let loose a long BRRRRRRROOOOO. Right inside the tree line looking at the gates were two thousand mounted soldiers. Normally not enough to assault a fortress like this, but the gates were opening and the defends were unprepared. They charged forwards spurring their mounts as fast as they could.

At this point the arches had repositioned themselves on opposite sides of the wall overlooking the courtyard. They shot down a few lone men who rushed in to help their comrades. A much more sizable force was gathering further down the twisted streets as men rushed out of the barracks.

Silvius and his men had cornered the two remaining soldiers but if anything, that made things harder. They had their backs against the wall and were fighting for their lives. Silvius looked on with respect for how long they were lasting, but it was only a matter of time. They could keep blocking attacks from so many men at once and they were getting tired. The end finally came when the man on the left failed to parry a lunge which sunk a short sword into his chest. Taking advantage of the momentary gap in the last soldiers defenses that was being covered by his compatriot Grish swept his longsword overhead lodging it in the base of the man’s neck. Both men slumped to the ground dead.

Having finished with the watchmen the group turned around to see hundreds of infantry men and archers running into the courtyard. The gate was up but the cavalry had not yet arrived. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK, pounded in Silvius’s mind. Instead of advancing, though, the infantry braced themselves and leveled spears and the archers prepared a volley. Their cloth uniforms seemed woefully inadequate for what was about to come. While the infantry is the backbone of any army it is always composed of peasants. No one is going to waste good armor and weapons on arrow fodder.

A torrent of horses and men flew through the gates and plowed into the defenders who barely managed to get off a halfhearted spray of arrows. Silvius stood for a second watching the fighting. The defenders had them outnumbered two to one, but many of them were archers. Very useful at the top of a wall looking down on an army, not so useful in the bloody melee happening in front of him. The two sides were so mixed together if any tried to fire a volley they would just kill their own men too. What a victory this had been. A good opening shot in what would hopefully turn out to be short war. His father would be pleased to hear of this.o

title: [FN] This is the first story I’ve written outside of school stuff. Constructive criticism would be helpful.

question: What does the text say about Silvius?

answer: Silvius leads the surprise attack to Castle Grim in the middle of the night. He and his soldiers infiltrate the fortress, defeat the unprepared defenders, and take over the castle from within. He knows his father will be pleased with the victory.

question: What does the text say about the castle's defenders?

answer: The castle's defenders are not expecting an attack the night Silvius and his men arrive as they are not at war. Although they outnumber the attackers two to one, they are unprepared, which leads to their defeat.

question: What does the text say about the reason behind Silvius's attack?


split: test

text:
_HELICOBACTER BIZZOZERONII_ is a species within the _Helicobacter_ genus of Gram-negative bacteria.[1] _Helicobacter pylori_ is by far the best known _Helicobacter_ species, primarily because humans infected with it may develop gastrointestinal tract diseases such as stomach inflammation, stomach ulcers, doudenal ulcers, stomach cancers of the nonlymphoma type, and various subtypes of extranodal marginal zone lymphomass, e.g. those of the stomach, small intestines, large intestines, and rectumn. _H. pylori_ is also associated with the development of bile duct cancer and has been associated with a wide range of other diseases although its role in the development of many of these other diseases requires further study.[2] Humans infected with _H. bizzozeronii_ are prone to develop some of the same gastrointestinal diseases viz., stomach inflammation, stomach ulcers,[3] duodenum ulcers,[4] stomach cancers that are not lymphomas, and extrnodal marginal B cell lymphomas of the stomach.[5] Other non-_H. pylori_ Helicobacter species that are known to be associated with these gastrointestinal diseases are _Helicobacter felis, Helicobacter salomonis, Helicobacter suis,_ and _Helicobacter heilmannii s.s._ Because of their disease associations, these four _Helicobacter_ species plus _H. bizzozeronii_ are often grouped together and termed _Helicobacter heilmannii sensu lato_.

_H. bizzozeronii_ bacteria are detected in the stomachs of their natural hosts - cats, dogs, foxes, and lynxes, as well as in the saliva of dogs. Reports suggest that individuals, including children,[6] are infected with this bacterium by having close contact with these animals.[7] That is, _H. bizzozeronii_-associated diseases appear to be zoonotic diseases, i.e. infectious diseases that are caused or promoted by a pathogen(s) that spreads from animals to humans.[8] It is important to diagnose _H. bizzozeronii_ and the other _H. heilmannii sensu lato_ infections in patients with the cited upper gastrointestinal tract diseases, including in particular extranodal marginal zone lymphoma of the stomach, because some of them have been successfully treated and cured using antibiotic-based drug regimens (e.g.amoxicillin, clarithromycin, plus a proton pump inhibitor[9] or metronidazole, clarithromycin, plus a proton pump inhibitor[10]) directed against the instigating bacterium.[11]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

title: Helicobacter bizzozeronii

question: What is Helicobacter bizzozeronii?

answer: H. bizzozeronii is a species within the Helicobacter genus of Gram-negative bacteria.

question: What is the best-known Helicobacter species?

answer: Helicobacter pylori (H. pylori)

question: Where are H. bizzozeronii bacteria found?

answer: The bacteria are detected in the stomachs of their natural hosts - cats, dogs, foxes, and lynxes, as well as in the saliva of dogs.

question: Define zoonotic diseases.

answer: Zootonic diseases are infectious diseases that are caused or promoted by a pathogen(s) that spreads from animals to humans.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Helicobacter bizzozeronii (H. bizzozeronii) is a species within the Helicobacter genus of Gram-negative bacteria found in the stomachs of their natural hosts - cats, dogs, foxes, and lynxes, as well as in the saliva of dogs. H. bizzozeronii-associated diseases appear to be zoonotic diseases, i.e. infectious diseases that are caused or promoted by a pathogen(s) that spreads from animals to humans. It is critical to diagnose H. bizzozeronii infections o patients with gastrointestinal tract diseases because some have  been successfully treated with antibiotic regimens (e.g. amoxicillin or metronidazole plus a proton pump inhibitor.)


text:
     The sun is hiding behind dark clouds as rain falls in sheets that beat brutally on the body of a young girl, barely breathing. Her clothes, torn beyond proper use, are nearly gone from her slender and feeble limbs. Her breathing is harsh and low as she lay unconscious, head bloodied against a large rock.
	Her eyes open slowly then suddenly spread wide with fear. They begin to dart around questioningly as she rips herself from the ground, crawling backwards against a tree, taking the fetal position.
	Unbearably heart aching moans escape her mouth as anguished tears pour down her delicate face. They are blue streams that cut clear through the colorless ocean of rain that has drenched her features. She is afraid and beaten; and more than that she has no retainable memory of why she is here.
	The rain strengthens as thunder swells in with the night, creating devastating rips of lighting that evade the sky around her. One shock of lightning strikes the ground not far from her. The crack of the impact leaves her ears ringing and frightens her so much she jumps up from her slump and sprints in the opposite direction in search for cover.
	The sheet that is being thrown down from the sky is so thick sight is impossible. She strikes a large limb sticking from a tree, knocking her to the grass in a swift, breath taking motion. Her vision goes black as she struggles to find air. When she is finally able to draw a breath she releases a rough hack of blood onto the ground. Although her inhalation is faltered it’s enough to regain her vision.
	Through the blur she sees the opening of a cave no farther away than one can hear speech. She noiselessly says to herself “Safety,” as she begins to claw her way to her security. Despite the brief distance, it takes her a considerable amount of time to make it into the mouth of the cavern, fighting for air and traction as she struggles to drag her scathed body along the mud ridden roots of trees.
	Once inside the cave a new atmosphere fills her mind. An atmosphere of transcendence and death. A chill sprints through her spine with such force it causes her to fall into unconsciousness under the frail state her body is currently facing.
	When her eyes open the first thing she notices shocks her. She is no longer at the mouth of the cave. She hears no rain, only echoing drips of moisture shedding from the cave ceiling. She thinks she must have traveled a short distance in her sleep. A reasonable assumption. Subconscious nature to flee from the wetness that plagues your skin.
	The Second thing she observes is her condition, though still beaten, is less anguished. Almost as if this sleep created an opiate effect, numbing the pain to a dull annoyance. She stands with relative ease and tests this slumbered result, taking a few steps and then back, stretching and constricting her muscles. “Huh,” she breathes, “how odd.”
	With her newfound strength she treads the cracked surface toward the entrance. Only she finds herself to be much farther into the system than she would like to have entertained. Panic begins to swell her thoughts. She begins running frantically for the place she feared enough to enter the cave in the first place. The open world.
	After traveling enough distance to cause her shoes to uncover the soles of her feet, she releases her directionless attempt to the hands of failure. She slams her back against the warm wall so hard the crack it emits echoes continuously until it’s broken by her piercing cries.
	A terrible amount of time passes before her tears cease their river flow. In fact that time would have been much more than terrible if not for a light spark of sound catching her attention from afar. She glances up to see what she heard but her sight is lost to the pools of tears in her eyes. Wiping them away she begins to walk in the direction the sound came from.
	Traveling through one path to another she stops after finding nothing. “I’m going crazy,” she breathes and sits on the cave floor. Silent for some time until she catches the sight of something in her peripheral vision. Writing on the cave wall in carefully constructed script. She studies the glorious shape of each letter before reading the message.

Paths aren’t for choosing.
Paths are the ones to choose.
They have been upon the face of this rock many times past you.
They shape and bend you to their will.
Only what you see determines what path will find you.
Only if you can see yourself will the correct path find you.

How can lifes path see you,
when you cannot see yourself.

	Attempting to read and understand the text she concludes it is just nonsense. She leaves the presence of the message to find sleep. Quickly she finds sleep. Quicker still she must find herself.
	When she wakes from her sleep this time much change comes to her attention. As she opens her eyes she feels no urge to move. A sense that such an action will bring things she may not want. She feels excruciatingly hungry and unbearably thirsty. The natural pangs of unsuccessful replenishment suddenly tear at her stomach and her head begins to swell with a greuling headache. The moment she moves her body in reaction to the pain every inch begins to feel as if its being torn off by monstrous claws. She releases murderous cries into the chilled air. Scream after scream ripples through the cave air leaving no trace of help.
She eventually gives up screaming and lies perfectly still, deciding the agony of her starvation is far more tolerable than fighting the onslaught from attempting movement.
She lay there crying for hours only contemplating what brought her here. What brought her to this hellish prison of insanity. Her mind races back and forth with contradictory thoughts. She brought herself here or that this cave is Hell and she never should have been condemned to such a place. But all her thoughts bring her back to the same question. ‘Why?’ It’s the only thing she can’t figure out amongst her mess of thoughts because all throughout the mess is a pile of that question.
She suddenly hears whispers trailing along the walls. They dance with each other in a playful way only she can’t quite figure out if they are mocking her or are trying to take her mind off the pain. The whispers aren’t displaying any sign of recognizable meaning, they just continue on without purpose.
She lay entranced by their intricate song for a long while until realizing she no longer feels pain. Not even the slightest ache traces her nerves. The whispers suddenly trail off down a tunnel and she follows intently. Only to figure out why they taunt her so. To her surprise she finds herself in the room of the message. However, the room is lit as if by candle light. Very dim light consumes the ceiling and floor like it belongs there.
The girl notices something she hadn’t upon entering the room previously. At the far end there is a small watering hole no larger than a childs pool. Out of instinct she sprints over to the water source to quench her dehydration. Her stomach is soon drowned in water.
Stomach full she releases her face from the water and begins to look into it. Observing the ripples as they deplete in size with time. Only as they disappear she comes to sight of her own reflection. She finds herself staring into a crystal clear image of her own blue eyes. She can’t feel or pay attent to anything. Her eyes leave her lost in a far more imprisoning compound than the cave. She only notices her eyes. Disregarding her tattered brown hair. Caring none of her bloody and dirt ridden features. Only seeing herself within her eyes.
Suddenly her eyes start to swell with light and that light begins to captivate the entire pool, continuing to expand until it turns the entire room into nothing but a vast white space. She looks slightly upward to find a pair of legs then continues up until she is standing face to face with herself. Unclothed, unobscured and unknown.
“What is this?,” the girl asks.
“You tell me,” replies her reflection.
“I’m not quite sure.”
“What aren’t you sure of?”
“This.”
“What about it?”
“Why am I here?”
“Who do you see?”
“Me.” Her reflection doesn’t reply. Only lets the girl gaze cognizantly into her own unfound eyes. After a long while the girl finally says something else. “I think I get it.”
“What is it that you get?”
“The message. On the cave walls…”
“What does it mean?”
“It means, well I think it means, like… I’ve never really seen myself. Well, I mean I’ve seen myself but I’ve never seen myself and like… All this. This white space. It’s as if I couldn’t ever find my way through here without taking a look at you, err me, first. I couldn’t ever find the correct way without knowing who came from this place.” She pauses for a second awaiting her reply. When it doesn’t come she decides her answer wasn’t enough. “I’ve always been afraid, I think. Afraid of, well, this really. Facing myself… All that I am. I’ve never really tried because of that fear. And I lost myself.” Tears start streaming down the girls face as does her reflection.
The girls reflection starts emitting a beautiful light from her heart so powerful it outweighs the immense white of the realm they are in. The entire room starts crashing down in pieces around them, revealing the cave as the pieces fall. The light emitting from her reflections heart creates an explosion of energy sending the girl backwards into the wall of the cave, effectively rendering her unconscious.
When she regains consciousness she remembers all that caused her to end up in this place. A fight with her family. She ran away from her broken home to find new life. That is what caused all of this.
She sits up and observes her surroundings. The first thing she sees is the poem on the wall. But she notices something different about the writing. There seems to have been something added to it. She slowly makes her way to the message finding only one word was added. Her name.

Alina

Alina smiles and walks away from the writing after reading over the words one last time. She turns only one corner and finds the mouth of the cave. She says understandingly to herself, “How can life’s path see me If I cannot see myself.”
The world outside is filled with wonder and power. It is filled with amazement and beauty. It is filled with life and love. Alina walks out into the day living in new light. As she is walking a wondrous flower catches her eye. She walks over to see it and lays down next to it, her face only inches from it’s root.
“I found new life.”

Alina put herself to rest. Never to wake again upon this earth.

title: [FN] Hollow of Awakening

question: Who is Alina?

answer: Alina is the name of the protagonist.

question: Describe the setting of the passage

answer: The story takes place out in the wilderness. It's raining, and the protagonist attempts to find shelter in a cave. She continues to travel deeper and deeper into the cave.


text:
A figure, indistinguishable, started making its way towards me. As he got closer however, I realized that it was one of the members of the helicopter! He was a passenger, one of the command and control operators. He brought me up to speed on what was going on.

The pilot managed to touch down the aircraft relatively unscathed in a field on the side of the mountain opposite to where I fell out. They assumed that I had been jostled out by the blast and thought I was dead. After they disembarked the aircraft, the passengers and crew made their way to the radio tower on the top of the mountain, where they were able to establish comms with the majority of the friendly forces operating in the area. They eventually heard someone crashing through the woods and sent out a few members of the team to investigate, upon which they stumbled on me. I guess I wasn't being as stealthy as I thought I was.

The solider escorted me up to the observation post that had been established, and I was able to see the men who had all given me up for dead. The meeting was a little more lackluster than I thought it would be, coming back from the dead and all, but they had more important things to do rather than worry about one more soldier. The battle was being won, and they needed to finish their jobs. I walked outside the wire and propped myself up against a tree, resting. The sun had started to rise and it was getting light now, and I knew that the battle was going to be coming to a close. I looked to my right and saw a dirt road that ran perpendicular to me, with a treeline on the other side of it. I started to close my eyes and push the worries of the war aside when my world exploded around me. My ears rung, the ground shook, and the boom knocked the wind out of my chest. Grenades were falling around us.

We were under attack, and I had no idea where it was coming from. Suddenly I heard shots coming from those trees I had just looked towards moments ago. Rolling onto my belly, I pulled a grenade of my own from my vest, ripped the pin out and screamed that I was yelling a frag as I tossed it towards the trees across the road. Grenades continued to boom around me, and I couldn't tell if it was our guys throwing them, or theirs. All I knew is that fourth of July was happening on top of me and I wasn't sure if I was going to piss myself. Then, it was done. The pungent odor of blown explosive hung low in the air, but the explosions stopped, and it was quiet again.

I belly crawled along a ditch on our side of the road for maybe ten or fifteen meters, then made my way to some large rocks on the other side. Shouldering my rifle, I peered around them, scanning the forest for any signs of enemies. I saw a few figures, prone in the dirt among the trees, and promptly put a few rounds into each of them. The figures did not react however, and it instead looked like I had shot bags of sand... A sign that these men were dead before I had shot them. Casualties of the grenade engagement no doubt. The were no others anywhere close to us, so I ran across the road, again, and crawled back towards the observation post.

The scene had changed dramatically now. Men were panicking and bleeding and injured. The commander was babbling about an immediate evac. It was a mess. The guy who found me in the woods, lets call him Jon, said we needed to get the fuck out of there, and I obviously agreed wholeheartedly. Within moments a chopper was touching down on the road nearby the OP. It kicked out its soldiers, and took on the wounded and the high-rollers of the command team. The last thing the commander said to us was "good luck" as he disappeared into his headset and took off. What an asshole.

Stuff was moving so fast, I wasn't entirely sure what to do. Still in the rotor wash of the helo, I walked up to the squad leader of the soldiers who disembarked the helicopter. In the most casual voice I could muster, I asked him if myself and Jon could join him, since we were recently abandoned here. Want to take a guess at what we were met with?

"Fuck off".

Fucker.

Jon looked to me, I shrugged, and he suggested we go off on our own. Following his lead, we went off into the very same woods he found me in.

I have since been a little disoriented, you know, falling out of a helicopter and all. I still didn't have my bearings for directions, and while following Jon I didn't even realize we were heading backwards, back in the direction I came from the barn. The direction I just RAN like two or three klicks to get here, not even an hour ago. Thinking back on it now, the fact that it was dark when I hit the ground, and that I didn't really know the countryside that well is probably what lead to the confusion. Regardless, we were about to walk into the thick of it.

After maybe fifteen or twenty minutes of milling around, going through treelines and crossing an awfully familiar field, we found ourselves in a copse of trees overlooking some barns to our east. Moments after settling in, we realized there was a squad of friendly soldiers dug in not even a hundred meters ahead of us. They noticed us around the same time we noticed them, and much to our surprise, they sent a runner to link up with us! We watched as someone broke away from the line, and crouched through the trees to us. Lo and behold, it was Sergeant Fuck Off and his squad.

We were less than thrilled, but we then found out what he was watching, and why he wanted us. Those barns he was watching had enemy in them, and a lot of them. Now that he was outnumbered, the ungrateful prick wanted our help. Being just a crew chief, the thrills of the infantry are a rare treat. Hell yeah I was in.

First he tried to call in close air support on the barns. One was a squat, two and a half story white building with a red roof and two big blue doors on either side, kind of like your stereotypical barn. The other was a one story brown building about the size of half a football field, and half as wide. When the air strike came in, it only struck the brown building, of which its roof promptly caved in. Then something unexpected happened; the building exploded. Partially at least.

When they eventually cleared the area, they discovered a bunch of burned up jeeps in the twisted wood and girders of the collapsed building. Apparently the enemy was stashing their jeeps there to keep them hidden. Any of this starting to sound familiar? If so, you're one step ahead of me, because in the moment I had yet to put two and two together.

The second building, the white one with the red roof, stood mainly intact. There was a hole in the roof, but the bigger problem was what lay inside... All the enemies who survived the attack. There was at least ten, maybe fifteen of them.

According to Sun Tzu and his Art of War, an attacker should engage his enemy with a three to one advantage, to offset the advantage that a defender has. We were going to do it one to one. Someone needed to take point though, and my moment of weakness earlier still hung like a badge of shame on my chest. Not only did I volunteer to lead the way to the compound, but I also said I would be the first to go in. I never made it that far.

As I approached the barn with the squad behind me, I head voices inside. Some angry, some scared, some devoid of all emotion. They had accents, but I we clearly spoke the same language, and I could understand them for the most part. It was here that I made another critical mistake, I thought I could end this without any bloodshed. I curled my fingers into a fist, the signal for everyone to halt, and I approached the barn alone.

"Hello!" I yelled. "Can any of you hear me?"

A voice yelled back,
"Yes, what do you want?"

My reply was simple. I offered them a surrender. I told them our forces had the building surrounded, and we were prepared to level it just like we did the other barn. I said that we didn't need to resort to killing, and we could all make it out of this alive.

All I heard in response was "Fuck you!"

Man was I tired of that fucking word today.

Jon decided to breach the building with me. We were going to throw a stun grenade in the opposite door, provided by the squad we had linked up with. I would go in, then he would continue on the other side, followed by the rest of the members of our newly formed squad. At the time, we didn't realize just how many people were still capable of fighting back.

Flash. Bang. Just like its name, the grenade went off. I stepped in the door, brought my old rifle to my shoulder, and immediately got punched in the chest. I turned, fell outside the door and blacked out.

That's it. I got shot and passed out. Jon died clearing the building, and the rest of the guys decided not to enter. They dragged me back to the treeline and called in another air strike on the building, leveling it completely.

So much for avoiding bloodshed.

title: [RF] The Day I Almost Died Pt 2

question: What does the story say about the narrator's battle experience?

answer: The narrator is a soldier who got lost in a forest and found. At the base he's taken, they get assaulted by enemy forces. The fight starts with lots of grenades thrown on both sides, a cacophony of explosions. He and the man who found him in the forest, Jon, team up after a helicopter saves a local squad, leaving them there. They find a new squad, but its leader refuses to take them. They go back toward the forest and encounter the squad who rejected them again, but this time they join forces because there are a lot of enemies in barns. The first barn is leveled with an airstrike. The narrator tries to offer surrender to the soldiers in the second barn, but they refuse. Jon dies on that assault, the rest of the squad manages to save the narrator and destroy the barn with another airstrike.

question: What does the story say about post-traumatic stress disorder?


text:
The operation was finally complete. As the anesthesia gradually started to wear off, I opened my eyes. My body was tired. My mind was slow. I did not much care for the surroundings.

It didn't even cross my mind that I’d just spent all the money I’d saved since my fifteenth birthday and that people in long and white coats had just implanted a tiny neurotransmitter inside my brain. There was only one thing that I thought about and longed for at that moment. To fade back into the oblivion of sleep one last time.

That night, I sat alone and tired in the library. Even though the library was open 24/7, I was the only student who seemed to take advantage of this. The night before every exam, I preferred to come here and study. I simply had no other choice. It was the only way I could pull an all-nighter for the tests. Back at my room, with the queen size bed next to my study table, I barely ever made it past 2 without dozing off. I would try hard to think and study but no matter what, all my mind would hear was the bed calling out to me. Inviting me to lie in her comfortable and motherly embrace, there was no way I could refuse. In the library, there was no bed to tempt me. I was still haunted by a raging desire to lie down and sleep but there were still times where I could resist. Even with heavy eyes and a fatigued brain, I’d somehow manage to make it through the night without sleeping.

I hated being a slave to my biological urge to sleep. There was so much I wanted to achieve in life. But there never seemed to be enough time. The fact that humans spend a third of their life doing nothing but sleep always irked me. It was such an inefficient use of time. And in my case, more than ten hours a day were spent sleeping. Every night, I would hope to get up early in the morning and work towards my grades and hobbies. But every single time, I was an entirely different person in the morning, prioritizing an hour’s worth of sleep over my future.

And don’t even get me started on that damn snooze button. People laugh when I say this but I truly believe it is the worst invention mankind ever created. A few extra minutes of sleep almost always turn into an hour which inevitably turns into multiple hours. Remove that stupid button from every alarm clock in the world, and you’ll have doubled the world’s productivity overnight.

I sat looking at my watch. As always, my brain was soaked dry and could no longer maintain focus. It wandered off to explore memories and thoughts and when it finally returned, it was well past midnight. I was failing to keep my eyes open. The chemical equations I’d been trying to shove inside my head were unable to get in. The effects of the day’s operation had still not kicked in and before I could realize, sleep found me and I dropped dead onto my books.

An hour or so later, I was abruptly pulled back from the dark void. I looked around. The library seemed much brighter. My lips curled into a smile as I realized that the effects of the procedure had finally kicked in. My senses felt razor sharp. My brain was racing, my heart was pumping blood fast to every corner of my body and I felt ecstatic. I opened the app I’d been told to install after my operation. The app was linked to the neurotransmitter inside my head. It let me have full control of my sleep. I tweaked around the settings ensuring that I would not fall asleep for another six hours.

By seven in the morning, I’d memorized every chemical equation, gone through the chapter multiple times and solved every possible numerical I could find. When I sat for the test, I easily knocked it out of the park. There honestly was no way I would have screwed it up.

When I returned to my room, I was as awake as I’d been the previous six hours. The app dashboard showed me that I’d been awake for sixteen hours and twenty minutes. I lay down on my bed and decided it was finally time to rest even though I wasn't sleepy. I pressed the “Fall asleep” icon in the app. A prompt asked me the number of hours I wanted to sleep for. I adjusted it to nine hours. It was the amount the app recommended after scanning my brain activity. The neurotransmitter inside my head facilitated the release of chemicals which had me fall asleep within moments. I woke up exactly nine hours later, without any of the usual fatigue and tiredness.

My father had once told me that Ambition was the true measure of a man and ambition was something I certainly did not lack. Now that I could ensure that no more than six hours of a day were wasted sleeping, my productivity soared. I aced every test the college threw at me that year and even started to pursue hobbies that I’d always leaned towards. Within a semester, I was part of the university orchestra and some of my paintings were even displayed at local art exhibitions. Along with this, I finally had time to have a social life without hurting my grades. I would party for hours and study while everybody else slept.

As my ambitions grew, I slowly decreased my amount of sleep to four hours per day. I tried to distribute my sleeping hours across the day, often utilizing ideal time on the bus and train.

Sometimes, when I felt that class was getting boring, I would go at the back of the class and go to sleep. I would set the timer to make my sleep last for the duration of the class. The app occasionally sent me warning prompts about the duration of my sleep and eventually, I had to turn off the warnings.

In the last semester of college, our professors encouraged us to publish research papers. I saw it as the perfect platform to get the recognization I deserved. Time was less and for the last week, I decided that I could push my sleep to just three hours a day. I’d balance it out later once my paper was complete. As the week progressed, I worked harder than I ever had.

Two days before my estimated submission date, as I lay on the bed thinking about certain hiccups in my paper, a major breakthrough dawned on me. As I began to get up, my vision suddenly went blank and I collapsed onto the bed. After many attempts, I finally got up. I heard the voice assistant on the app speak,

“User condition critical, deactivating device and contacting nearest hospital”

Consumed by my work, I had failed to notice all the signs my body had been screaming towards me. Without understanding, I’d hugely overworked myself and my body could not take it any longer. It had been going on and on for months without catching a break. The moment the neurotransmitter in mind had turned off, all the piled up exhaustion and fatigue came bouncing back to knock me down. A vaguely familiar feeling of tiredness engulfed my body. I couldn't move and every fiber hurt. When I lost consciousness, the only thing I could think of was

“Goddamn, this is the best feeling in the world”

title: [SF] Beauty Sleep

question: What is the moral of the story?

answer: When humans are given complete control of their urges, they tend to act without understanding why they work the way they do. This leads us to damage ourselves unwittingly.

question: Estimate the amount of sleep the narrator foregoes over the first semester after getting the neurotransmitter.

answer: Assuming a semester lasts for 14 weeks, about 392 hours at least.

question: Describe the narrator's sleep habits before and after receiving the neurotransmitter.

answer: Approximately ten hours or more each day of poor quality sleep before the neurotransmitter. A maximum of six hours per day of high-quality sleep afterward.


text:
Happiness can only be obtained by the ignorant.

Entering the ward, I hurriedly found my way to the room. Upon first glance, I understood the silence of the attendants. For it was not something I would believe if told; it had to be shown. While out, my beautiful wife was strolling through her gardens as she always had, fingering the tulips, tasting the apples, breathing the air. Every breath was one with the ability to sing to the trees and touch my heart. Though, this time she did not return as she was. She had collapsed.

The reasons elude the doctor and nothing else can be done. My eyes transfixed on what was once my vision of beauty, and strength. Now had become nothing more than a humble shell of what she once was. Pale and exhausted, she still greeted me with a smile. Yesterday it would have warmed my heart to see this. If all else was lost, I could press on knowing I could one day see it again, but this smile was different. It was not like the rest, it was a true smile, one that can be only adorned by a man or woman when they are in true accepting of fate. With my vision blurring and my steps faltering I clambered to the bedside, sobbing for the first time since becoming a man. I fumbled through the sheets and grasped for her hand. Finding it, I was startled by the cold. Frightened, I clasped it with both hands as if trying to return the warmth. She reached up and touched my cheek. She gazed into my eyes with content and love. Unfaltering she said not a word but watched and smiled. As if by some sort of magic I was no longer afraid.

My hand slipped through my wife’s hair and behind her head, the other went under her knees. I lifted her up as if weightless, and carried her through gates and out to the field. I sat her down carefully leaning her upon the trunk of the once mighty oak. Next to her, my arm around her waist and her arm across my chest we sat in silence, knowing what doesn't need to be said. We watched the sun peek at noon and set at dusk. When unexpectedly she reached up and turned my head. She leaned forward and embraced me for the last time. I watched as her eyes rolled back, and her hands slipped from my face. I cried once more, hugging her as if it would bring her back. Sobbing into the nape of her neck, my heart dimmed and my soul became lost.

I did not start to live until I met her, and I do not remember life without her.

I couldn't remain. I stood up and began my walk home. Every sight reminding me of her. The road we always took to the market. The lake we swam in. I could not escape her. Wandering the streets I found myself home. I solemnly walked up the stairs; the house which once felt warm and inviting felt nothing but cold and alone. Trembling I reached out to the door and pushed it open. I could not enter. I collapsed to my knees and wept into my hands until I could hear the birds chirping. At another time it would have pleasantly awoken me from sleep alongside my love, but today it made me feel bitter. Strange how a simple bird can invoke a feeling of such loss. I had to stop it.

I reached for the nearest item and threw it at the window, shattering it and scaring off the bird. Suddenly I wanted the bird back. I miss the sound, the memory. My head spun with endless thoughts. Unable to grasp at the nothing that was there I became overwhelmed by everything. Every picture, every piece of furniture, everything slapped me in the face. She is gone. My life, my dreams shattered before me. I walked on a path of glass, but my feet were made of stone. Every step I tried to take only threatened what little sanity I had left. I had no escape from it. Finally I entered the room. A mistake at heart but a feeling of necessity compelled me. Upon opening the door her fragrance hit me like a spear into the heart. It hurt but it comforted me slightly. I walked to the bed and fell upon the mattress, falling asleep comes easy to the weary.

Many believe dreams are gateways to the soul. Mine must have been in hell.

That day we decided to go to the market. She needed some peaches to make us some cobbler so we left early to get the freshest ones available. When we got there we spent hours searching the market for nothing. Exhausted from the day, we returned home, had a pleasant dinner and went to bed just like any other day. I awoke the next morning feeling her presence beside me, I rolled over assuming she would be there, but she was not. I suddenly realized that it was just a dream and nothing more. What kind of torture is this? My own mind tearing me apart. I could not handle another dream so I did not sleep. Days went on I watched the couples outside my house. I began to hate them. I began to hate love. Why shouldn’t I? It betrayed me; it left me with out a word and attacks me when I can't fight back. When life takes your lemons, you're left with just an empty glass

I have not slept in weeks. I eat only when it becomes unbearable. I keep the curtains drawn, and the lights out. I do not like the light, it has become unwanted. My neighbors come in uninvited to check on me. I am no longer trusted to live life myself. They say its concern, I call it intrusion. But still they come and make me wash myself and change the bandages on my wrists when they got dirty. They try to comfort me, but I reply to them harshly. I like their company but I do not want it. I just want to be alone. I wanted to slip into a sleep and dream of her forever, but I did not want to wake from the sleep. That would hurt far too much. They don't understand my loss. None of them do. I know what has to be done. I know how to be happy. When all is lost and you stop looking, you are lost.

I waited until just before dawn. I used the darkness to conceal me. I do not know what I was concealed from, but it was comforting. My pack slung behind me I ran out of the city. I can finally be happy again. For the first time in a great while I was excited. The old oak was still there.... unchanged from that day. I climbed up the tree giddy as ever. I perched myself on the highest branch. I tied the knot pulling it tight. Staring at the sun as it crested the horizon I slipped from the branch. And finally fell asleep.

...I didn't dream, I could no longer dream.

title: The Dream of Once Was [RF]

question: Summarize the events of the story in two sentences.

answer: The narrator's wife dies from a sickness and he falls into a deep state of depression because he loved her very much. The narrator then lives a lonely and isolated life before succumbing to his depression and commits suicide by hanging from the tree where his wife spent her last moments.


text:
Title: A Dirty, Dimly Lit Garage
(The numbers are chess moves)

On February, 2010 11:04:31 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

1. e4 e5 2. f4

The psilocybin had finally run its course through my brain. The shadows had finally stopped crawling along the walls. The sliding glass, where there had once been a garage door, showed dim images of ourselves huddled over a chess board. I was now sure that it was not an alternate reality, but merely a reflection. Everything was returning to normal and Bob Marley was guiding us back.

2... exf4

“Your move.”

I think Patrick had more going on in his mind than me. For his 21st birthday, he had planned to ask whatshername to marry him in Vegas. She never showed up. She never called. She changed her number. He finally caught up with her by making a phone call to her mother’s house when he knew she was going to be there… something like a year later after said incident. She wouldn’t even give him a chance to speak.

“Please don’t ever contact me again. I hope we’ll see each other in heaven.”

I was heartbroken for him. Not as heartbroken as he was, though, I’m sure. His wounds distracted me from the scars on my own heart, for a while.

“Sorry… hmmm…”
On April 22, 2013 11:05:51 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

3. Bc4 Qh4+

Patrick was always one of my favorite people, at the same time so full of life and so deeply flawed. I felt his struggles and I think no one else did. His soul was a great dichotomy, a far-flung spectrum of sadness and joy that the people around him were always trying to squish back into the range of NORMAL. Fucking assholes… seriously.
On April 22, 2013 11:06:10 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

4. Kf1 b5?!

I understood the criticism against him, though. I understood the criticism against myself, as well. I suppose we were both at a point in our lives where it would be time to address it or accept it.
On April 22, 2013 11:06:35 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

5. Bxb5 Nf6 6. Nf3

Ed possibly knew all about it, too. I never considered him my intellectual equal, but he wasn’t a fool. He just had no respect for women and it is hard to look at a guy the same after you have seen him maniacally torture and kill an animal or two. His arrival distracted me from the game. Small talk was proving to be far inferior to the comfortable silence Patrick and I had adjusted to.
On April 22, 2013 11:07:43 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

6... Qh6 7. d3

I am pretty sure Ed always looked down on me, too. It made me that much more resentful when he started dating Katie. If I could have gotten my shit together in time, I would have pursued her to the ends of the earth. I just wasn’t that confident in myself, yet.

I had this feeling that I could take the world and everything in it for myself, but society and everyone around me wanted me to be normal. I was being as pigeon-holed as Patrick.

I was being led to believe that my instincts were all wrong and that I should buckle down and actually attend the classes I signed up for, land a good career, enslave myself to a 30 year mortgage, and pretend for 5 minutes that any relationship I was in was not actually doomed. Fucking assholes… seriously.
On April 22, 2013 11:08:25 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

7... Nh5

Whether she deserved it, or not, I held her up on a pedestal and I knew Ed would never be capable of the kind of love that I was. He would never see her for anything other than a tool to be used. Was he better than the disaster I would have been? I don’t know. That night, I was thinking about it, though.
On April 22, 2013 11:08:50 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

8. Nh4 Qg5

I had spent the last year wandering up and down the coast of California. Splitting my time between Berkeley and San Diego could be grueling, but it was a small price to pay for the freedom I needed so bad. My heart was spread thin… San Diego, Newport Beach, Santa Barbara, Santa Cruz, Berkeley. So was my mind. Absorbing neuroscience, philosophy and physics was exhausting, but I was determined. If there is any truth to be had in this life, it would be in understanding consciousness. I couldn’t just take anyone’s word for it, either. I had to know for myself. I had to peel back the layers in every possible way to see what was inside.
On April 22, 2013 11:09:14 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

9. Nf5 c6

I was at a stage in my life where I was slowly phasing out my sinister ways. No more counter-intelligence operations and misinformation campaigns. The chains of the Mormon Church were broken. The parents no longer kept a watchful eye. There were just the women that I loved. I could never say “no” to them, but I knew they had secrets of their own. I will credit them with much better intentions than my own, but my feelings were still sincere and I will give them the benefit of the doubt that theirs were, too.
On April 22, 2013 11:09:35 PM PDT, Dan wrote:

10. g4 Nf6 11. Rg1!

The game of chess had ended, but I didn’t know it, yet. Al had arrived. I don’t know his reasons, but Al hated Ed, too. Patrick sensed there was going to be a problem. I sensed his masked concern. Like always, he was going to try and keep it light. I would play along.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?”

Clearly, Al was drunk.

“Hey, Al. Long time no see. You want next game? I’ve just about got this one won. Grab a seat. What’s been going on?”

I never let my nervousness show, but I would not be able to focus on the game, at all, now.

11... cxb5?

“What are YOU motherfuckers doing here?”

The last time I had seen Al was over a year before. I had Vicki on the phone and was trying to get him to listen on the other line. I was convinced that the truth mattered to him. It wasn’t obvious until that moment in a dirty, dimly lit garage that the light bulb went on. He hated me. This wasn’t about what he thought I lied about. This wasn’t about the fact that I had slept with Vicki or Tiffany and Alexis. It had been him who framed me all along for moving those pot plants! It was a series of thunderbolt revelations. I had been too self-absorbed to see it; too concerned with my women. This was Brian Clark all over again, except Al Kwon might be able to kick my ass. I would probably have felt better knowing that this was just a prelude to Josh Chastain. Too bad we can’t see the future.

“Just taking it easy, Al. Same as always. How you been?”

“Are you drunk, Al?”

I don’t know if Ed knew what had transpired with Al that last summer, but he didn’t seem too concerned, yet. After all, we had all been practically best friends for years.

He slammed the sliding door shut. We didn’t know it, at this point, but he slammed it so hard that the latch broke; leaving us all locked inside with his drunk and angry self.

12. h4!

I knew Patrick shouldn’t have kept playing; denial was about to take him completely. He was a pacifist, and had backed off to let me fight alone before. I knew he would be no help. I doubt Ed had ever been in a fight, either. I was sure it was going to be just Al and me. I have talked my way out of people determined to fight before, and, usually, it was relatively easy to do. Some people, though, are especially determined to find conflict.

“What am I going to do with you?”

Clearly, Al was referring to me and this was about the time he produced the sword. He flourished it. Protecting the knee. A basic form; defensive, and poorly executed. The blade was turned wrong 90 degrees. If I had a sword, I wouldn’t have any concerns. Unfortunately, all I had was a pipe and a lighter.

“Al, you are fucking drunk.”

If Ed hadn’t understood a moment ago, he understood now. I was immediately thinking I was going to have to find a way to separate Al from that sword, but it would be risky. We had to keep him talking. Ed got on board with the idea, immediately. Patrick started to lose his mind.

Adrenaline seared it into my memory. Al, holding the sword to my throat; crying, telling me about all the evil things I had done, but remaining surprisingly non-specific. Ed tried to work some magic, too, and we talked about growing up and being friends and how Al always felt like an outsider. I commiserated, but every wrong answer resulted in a knick. The blood was starting to drip from my neck.

Patrick began giggling. Maybe he was feeling the mushrooms. Maybe the whole situation was too much. Maybe he was just plain fucking crazy. When he got too loud, Al yelled.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, PADDY! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS FUCKING LAUGH AT EVERYTHING! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Maybe Patrick was actually able to find the humor in the situation. It was surely beyond absurd; especially when you know everyone’s stories.

“I was always a friend to you, Al. I lent you money and never asked for you to pay me back. I stood up for you. I told you secrets that I never told anyone and you betrayed me and told them to everyone. I never retaliated. I know what you’ve been through. You always saw yourself on the outside. That is why we were friends. I was the black sheep of every group I’ve ever been in.”

He wanted to hear my pain. I obliged. I made stuff up. Oddly, it was hard to get too personal in front of Ed or Patrick, and I avoided the real pain. Superficial pain seemed good enough for Al, though. His cheek was against mine and he was practically drooling when he wanted to hear about the time David Flaherty tried to beat me up.

“… and he did kick your ass. Didn’t he?”

title: A Dark, Dimly Lit Garage (true story)

question: What substances fuel the actions of the men in this story?

answer: Dan and Patrick have taken magic mushrooms. The psilocybin had finally run its course. Then Al arrives and it's clear to all that he has had too much to drink.

question: Why does Dan dislike Ed?

answer: Ed isn't a very nice individual. He has no respect for women and has tortured animals to death. He looks down on Ed but the real reason that Dan hates Ed is that Ed started to date Katie, the girl that Dan fancied.

question: Why has Al come to the garage?

answer: Al is angry with Dan. The two were friends but Al believes that Dan has betrayed him and lied to him. He has brought a sword and he uses it to force Dan to tell him the truth. They talked about growing up and being friends and how Al always felt like an outsider. I commiserated, but every wrong answer resulted in a knick.


text:
PETTS WOOD is a suburb of south-eastern Greater London, United Kingdom, within the London Borough of Bromley and the historic county of Kent. It lies south of Chislehurst, west of St Paul's Cray and Poverest, north of Orpington and Crofton, and east of Southborough and Bromley Common.

History

The name appeared first in 1577 as “the wood of the Pett family”, who were shipbuilders and leased the wood as a source of timber (a pub, The Sovereign of the Seas, is named after a ship built at Woolwich to a design by Phineas Pett).[1]

The area remained rural right up until the late 19th century; in 1872 just one house ('Ladywood') stood here.[2] Most of the modern suburb of Petts Wood was built in the late 1920s by the Harlow-based developer Basil Scruby together with architect Leonard Culliford who designed the layout of the roads.[3] A number of individual builders developed individual plots, amongst others the master builder, Noel Rees, as well as Walter Reed and George Hoad.[4] Sruby also paid the Southern Railway Company £6,000 to build Petts Wood railway station to serve the new suburb.[5] Shops and a cinema were also built adjacent to the railway.[6] The intention was to create a high quality estate in a rural setting only a short train journey from the city, with the east side being built first. Noel Rees's name is still used as a selling point by estate agents; his houses can be found in Great Thrift, The Covert, Prince's Avenue, Wood Ride, Kingsway, Chislehurst Road, The Chenies and many other roads in Petts Wood.

[The Daylight Inn in 2011. The pub is listed at grade II.[7]] The generally higher quality of large homes built to the east of the railway line, as compared to smaller and more densely packed development to the west, was due to the fact that Scruby's increasing financial difficulties meant he had little control over its developers, Morrell's and New Ideal Homesteads.[8] This gave rise to the local references of “Half Crown” or “Five Bob” sides.

The area between Petts Wood and Bickley sustained heavy bombing during Second World War because of its proximity to an important railway junction. Only three bombs landed on the town centre itself, and those by accident as a German aircraft returning from bombing the docklands unloaded them on the end of Fairway, beside the former Embassy Cinema building (closed in 1973 and since re-developed as a supermarket), and on the site now occupied by the Library. The sites lay derelict until the early 1960s, hence why these buildings are much more recent. Prior to that, the library was located in a shop on Queensway, near the junction with Lakeswood Road.

The Jubilee Country Park is to the northwest of the main shopping area. Before this park was created in 1977 the area was known as 'The Gun Sites', as it had been the location for anti-aircraft guns in Second World War, and was the home of the 1st Petts Wood scout group.

According to Keith Waterhouse in his book “Streets Ahead” Petts Wood was popular with Fleet Street newspaper staff in the 1950s: “… this Kent suburb, recommended in Fleet Street for the all-night train service it afforded sub-editors and reporters coming off late duty, thus giving them a round-the-clock, heaven-sent excuse for one more for the road.”[9]

In 2009, the local Woolworths store had the privilege of writing the last word in the history of that chain in the UK, when its manager, realising his was the last one to close, gathered the remains of the Pick 'n' Mix sweet section and auctioned the bagful of sweets, which would normally have retailed for a couple of pounds, for £14,500.[10]

The woods

The eponymous wood itself survives and is managed by the National Trust. Originally just 88 acres (36 hectares) were bought by public subscription and donated to the Trust in 1927, after it became clear that the area would be developed for housing.[11] This asset expanded when the neighbouring Hawkwood Estate and Edlmann Wood, comprising a further 250 acres (100 hectares), were donated to the Trust by landowners Robert and Francesca Hall in 1957. The woodland features oak, birch, rowan, alder, ash, hornbeam and sweet chestnut.

Transport

Rail

Petts Wood station provides the area with National Rail services to London Victoria via Bromley South and Herne Hill, Kentish Town via Bromley South and Catford, London Charing Cross via Grove Park, London Cannon Street via Grove Park and Lewisham, Orpington and Sevenoaks.

Buses

Petts Wood is served by London Buses routes 208, 273, N199, R3 and R7. These connect it with areas including Bromley, Catford, Chislehurst, Grove Park, Lewisham and Orpington.

Notable people

[The William Willett memorial sundial in the wood.]

-   Cerrie Burnell (b. 1979) - actress, singer, playwright, and television presenter, grew up in Petts Wood.[12]
-   Jack Dee (b. 1961) - comedian and winner of _Celebrity Big Brother 1_, grew up in Petts Wood.[13]
-   Charles De Gaulle (1890-1970) - French general, statesman and future President of France who led the Free French Forces during Second World War.[14] He rented a home at 41 Birchwood Road for four months before moving his family further inland to Shropshire later in 1940.[15][16]
-   Sir Geraint Evans (1922-1992) - Welsh baritone or bass-baritone noted for his operatic roles. Lived at 34 Birchwood Road where he is commemorated with a blue plaque.[17]
-   Pat Keysell (1926-2009) - TV presenter and sign language interpreter, grew up in Petts Wood.[18]
-   Pixie Lott (b. 1991) - singer and songwriter.[19]
-   John Loveday - physicist.
-   Ian Mortimer (b. 1967) - medieval historian, grew up in Petts Wood.[20]
-   David Nobbs (1935-2015) - comedy writer and the creator of the sitcom _The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin_, grew up in Petts Wood.[21]
-   Major Phil Packer (b. 1972) - British soldier who was rendered paraplegic in 2008 by injuries sustained while serving in Iraq, grew up in Petts Wood. He has since raised over a million pounds through charitable fundraising efforts which have garnered him several national awards.[22][23][24][25]
-   Arthur Seldon (1916-2005) - economist.[26]
-   Ivor Spencer (1924-2009) - toastmaster and promoter of the butler arts.
-   William Willett (1856-1915) - promoter of Daylight Saving Time, an idea he is thought to have come up with whilst riding in Petts Wood.[27] He is commemorated by a memorial sundial in the wood, and the pub The Daylight Inn is named in his honour.

Sports and recreation facilities

-   Petts Wood Recreation Ground
-   Willett Recreation Ground
-   Petts Wood Runners, running club that meets in Willett Recreation Ground every Tuesday at 8.00pm. Kent Fitness League champions 2018–19.
-   Petts Wood Bowling Club.
-   Petts Wood Snooker Club (above Morrisons)
-   Orpington Ojays Swimming Club
-   Oakley Fitness (Above Oakley Coffee)

Gallery

File:Petts_Wood_west.jpg%7CShops on Queensway, west of the railway File:Petts_Wood_railway_bridge.jpg%7CFootbridge over the railway line File:Petts_Wood_east.jpg%7CShops on Fairway/Station Square, east of the railway File:Jubilee_Country_Park.jpg%7CThe Jubilee Country Park File:St_James_the_Great_Church,_Petts_Wood.jpg%7CSt James the Great Catholic Church File:Church of St Francis of Assisi, Petts Wood - geograph.org.uk - 1098703.jpg|St Francis of Assisi Church

[1] Lavery, _Ships of the Line_ vol. 1, p. 163.

[2]

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[6]

[7]

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[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

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[23]

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[25] https://twitter.com/PhilPacker

[26]

[27]

title: Petts Wood

question: What does the text say about Manchester?

question: What does the text say about Petts Wood?

answer: Petts Wood is a suburb of south-eastern Greater London, United Kingdom, within the London Borough of Bromley and the historic county of Kent. Petts Wood station provides the area with National Rail services to London Victoria via Bromley South and Herne Hill, Kentish Town via Bromley South and Catford, London Charing Cross via Grove Park, London Cannon Street via Grove Park and Lewisham, Orpington, and Sevenoaks. Pett Wood is served by London bus routes 208, 273, N199, R3, and R7. These connect it with areas including Bromley, Catford, Chislehurst, Grove Park, Lewisham, and Orpington. Notable residents of Petts Wood include Charles De Gaulle, Major Phil Packer, and William Willett.

question: Summarize the events during the 16th to 20th centuries.

answer: The name "Petts Wood" first appeared in 1577 as "the wood of the Pett family". They were shipbuilders and leased the wood as a source of timber. The was rural up until the late 19th century and just one house (Ladywood) stood there in 1872. Most of the modern suburb of Petts Wood was built in the late 1920s by the Harlow-based developer Basil Scruby together with architect Leonard Culliford. Other individual builders developed plots, including master-builder Noel Rees, Walter Reed, and George Hoad. Scruby paid the Southern Railway Company £6,000 to build Petts Wood railway station to serve the new suburb. Shops and a cinema were also built adjacent to the railway to create a high-quality estate in a rural setting only a short train journey from the city. Noel Rees's name is still used as a selling point by estate agents.

question: What happened to Petts Wood during World War II and how has the place changed in terms of development?

answer: The area between Petts Wood and Bickley sustained heavy bombing during World War II because it was near an important railway junction. Only three bombs landed on the town center, all by accident as a German aircraft returning from bombing the docklands unloaded on the end of Fairway, near the old Embassy Cinema building. It closed in 1973 and has been redeveloped as a supermarket. Now the site is occupied by the Library.  The sites lay derelict until the early 1960s. The Jubilee Country Park is to the northwest of the main shopping area. Before this park was created in 1977 the area was known as 'The Gun Sites', as it had been the location for anti-aircraft guns in Second World War, and was the home of the 1st Petts Wood scout group. The local Woolworths in Petts Wood was the last one to close in 2009.

question: What does the story say about the Woods?

answer: The "woods" in Petts Wood is managed by the National Trust. Only 88 acres were originally bought by public subscription and donated to the Trust in 1927 when it was clear the area would be developed for housing. Landowners Robert and Francesca Hall donated another 250 acres to the Trust in 1957. The woodland features oak, birch, rowan, ash, hornbeam, and sweet chestnut.


text:
Tick....Tick....Tick...

That old clock still has my number. The cats eyes go back and forth, but they're always watching me. From the kitchen, to the living room, and though the walls seperate us, I can feel it watching in the bathroom. Shampoo bottles half empty, my blow dryer and bubble bath. I don't need these things, but I need to take them. I picked a few empty boxes from the grocery nearby, but havent filled up one yet.

Tick....Tick...

If I just sit on the floor..no, if I lay actually, I can see the colors of the curtains and couches swirling around. I'm not high yet, nothing to drink this early, and still I'm spinning. I want to rip the books off of the shelf and hurl them at the TV, but then I won't have the white noise. Maury or something is playing, they're about to find out if some guy is the father to a child of a loud woman. I hope he's not.
    If I get up now, and start collecting and packing, I'll likely feel a sense of accomplishment, that's what I've been primed to believe, but what really will be done? I'll have moved on from a place of comfort, even if it has grown less familiar. I'll be carrying my things, physical and emotional, from block to block, searching for a new place to put down my baggage. Who does that help, and what does it accomplish?
    Maybe I'll just leave it all. Who needs these things; pots and pans, frilly curtains and polished oak poles. If I'd spent less time picking them out, maybe I wouldn't feel so conflicted. What do I need from here anymore, and what did I need from here to begin with? I'm wondering if I ever felt truly at home here, or if I bought these accessories to distract myself from an empty feeling I've always had inside these walls.

Tick....Tick...

If I step onto the balcony and look below, I can see the flower garden meant to be cared for by this floor, the apartments above and below, and mine. A bare area in the middle where I got lazy, or apathetic, or forgetful. I don't remember the last time I planted something, and It's harder to remember if it was out of a gradual lack of interest, or if there was a clear and defined event that curbed my desire to make the patch of earth I was responsible for a nicer and more beautiful thing to see and touch. I normally have an ashtray, but I think It's in one of the boxes now, so It can't hurt too much to flick one cigarette off the porch, just this time.
    I've been avoiding our room. I can't be in there, I keep thinking. It's too hard, I keep saying. I wonder though if I feel ashamed, or If I feel betrayed. I don't know why he did it, but I wonder if it was my fault. Maybe I wasn't loving enough, or maybe I was distracted dwelling in my dark times and failed to see his. I've been told before about the distraction. My parents, my friends, I'm always reffered to as if I'm empty headed, or just careless to others feeling. Maybe I am? Is this an opportunity to work on a bad habit and salvage future relationships? Should I take the plates and silverware? I could just buy more, but I did pick these out specifically because they matched our dining room walls and table. If I find myself lying on the floor again, does that say something about my desire to take what's mine anymore? What is mine, anymore?

Tick....

I think I should just leave this place behind and move on, to something scary and brand new and different. Maybe I should change my hair, my name, throw out all of my clothes and start a new life. I'm lost, but still alive. I'll leave these possessions, and the boxes, and just walk east.
    I will walk into our room one last time, and say goodbye, and kiss his forehead. That at the very least will save me from worrying about taking my red lipstick, and I may as well leave the rest of my makeup too. The clock is still watching though, so perhaps I'll just send a postcard from my new life.

'Love From Sunny Somewhere, Wish You Were Here!'

And I do, wish you were here. Just like I know I'll wish you were with me anywhere I go. I can't pretend things are a certain way anymore though, just like I know now you couldn't.
So If I just leave it all behind, what will be waiting for me outside?
    The trees and sidewalks, the birds and buses, all with purpose, ill defined, with expectations just like mine. Dependent on the will of other people to make our purpose known, and weak enough to be benign as soon as others cease to use us.

So I do, leave the boxes, but I think I'll take that fucking clock.

title: [MF] How Small We Are

question: What is the narrator preparing for?

answer: The narrator is preparing to leave her home. She is collecting and packing her things as her partner sleeps. She is trying to decide what to take or whether to take anything with at all. She feels she should perhaps leave everything possessions and emotions.

question: Does the narrator's partner know that she is leaving?

answer: The narrator's partner doesn't appear to know her plans. He is sleeping in their room. She plans to kiss his forehead before she leaves. She contemplates sending him a postcard from some sunny spot in the world.


text:
As he unfolded the brown wrappings of his tootsi-roll in the dinky little motel he had checked into the previous day, he noticed he had missed a spot from his earlier encounter.  A woman, around the age of 23, Susan was an only child, a repeated offender of the law, and quite possibly a prostitute, this we are unsure of.  Jerry, a Sophisticated young lad around the age of 25, he grew up a loner, the kids always made fun of him for never being interested in any girls when most others had hit puberty.  An outcast, Not a crazy psychopathic outcast like most other serial killers out there.  Simply one of those who could  easily be cast aside and forgotten about without a second guess.  He cleans the blood stains off the bathtub, and vigorously washes his hands.

He pulls out a  tattered map of the United states, you can tell its been used many times before, from the gradient spectrum of browns from obvious coffee spills, arguably red stains from blood, but what is strange, is something was written on the back, in a faded light blue pen. Written upside down were the words "i have to do this, I'm sorry.  I love you, beth" with tear stains from her writing the note, and him reading it. Torn edges, and crumpled folds, he takes out his red pen, like he always does. He simply puts an X on where San Francisco should be.

He packs his bags, a duffle bag, and a backpack. he puts his dry cleaning in his duffle bag, you can just smell death covered with the sweet smell of spring  meadows, He finishes packing up his belongings, and looks at the map one more time.  He draws an arrow to Sacramento. You can see other lines, he started off in a small town near Houston Texas, and then made his way east. six or seven other X's mark other stops along his way to Los Angeles, Notable ones are in Phoenix, San Diego, and Riverside where Women have been reported missing.

He has an odd pattern to his mishaps, He finds a girl at a bar, but not one who has had too much to drink, he wants to know who she really is. after they chat for a while, he offers to taker her back to her place without any intentions, and offers to take her out the next day.  Most accept and they go out into a public place, they get to know each other.  After about an hour of conversation, he reveals he has a problem that can be fixed, their expressions are always the same, mouth open, shocked, confused, hurt, and misguided.  Unbeknownst to others around them, the two seem to be having a nice chat with some bad news, nothing to get over excited about.  Following her expressions comes the oh so  familiar apology, and tells them that he will give them a ride back. This is where things go from sweet to sour.

He never sleeps with his victims, he has respect. perhaps not as much as the average Joe.  He doesn't torture them, Jerry makes their deaths quick and painless. sometimes strangulation, others, he will cut her throat.  he will always ask how they want to go. and he usually abides by it, as long as it doesn't involve a gun. He has a strong hatred towards guns, as a child, the kids would always pretend to shoot blanks at him.  one time, one of the guns had a real bullet. when it went off, it overpowered all the other powder caps that they were shooting, nothing slowed down. He could just feel the hot metallic texture of the bullet as it broke up inside his leg, he could feel the bullet get ripped apart. Everything he remembers went white after that, he may have blocked it out himself, or he may just not remember.

He leaves his hotel room, not leaving any trace of anyone ever being there, it looked like the maids had just cleaned the room. He gets into his old '87 dark cherry red two door cadillac, the one with the white top, and the rims that glisten when struck by the sunlight.  He gets on the 80 freeway going east, towards Sacramento. He does his usual routine, however, this one is different.  He seems to be happy when she smiles, and she has the same eyes as his previous Lover, Beth.  Without thinking, he kisses her on the cheek, she blushes and asks why he did that, they don't  knew each other. he quickly turns much more red than the cherry red of his cadillac.  They hit it off great, he is actually happy for once in his life, other than the times he spent with beth.

However, she ends up much like the rest. eyes closed, in the bathtub filled of that liquid cherry red blood everyone is oh so familiar with.  Jerry is crying.  this is the first time he has cried since she left. leaving that note on the back of his map.  Lying on his hotel bed, staring up into the depths of the ceiling, he hand folds off the edge of the bed, holding the beloved map.  The map floats down to the ground, Written on the front, on the east side of the country, was written,

"Jerry, i want to go so many places with you, lets go here..."  An X is marked on Houston, Salt Lake, Vancouver, St. Louis, Los Angeles, San Diego, and New York.  all in black ink.  he unfolds another tootsi-roll wrapper, and takes a bite of the unknown taffy like substance.  He gets up, walks over to the bathroom, more pale than usual. he sits down on the tolite, stares at her pale flesh, he can see the beauty he had just slain.  vivid memories of Beth scream into his mind, he is happier than ever, things start to get whiter, he looks down, as he removes the syringe full of morphine.  All but 5 cc's are left out of the full 200.  his eyes flutter upwards, he mutters "im sorry." and passes into a deep sleep.

_________

i know its got flaws, timing / pacing / character development. but it was fun writing it a few years ago and decided someone here might also like it. comments / criticism are appreciated!

title: not the best, but it was fun writing it!

question: What does the story say about how to read maps?

question: What is Jerry's role in the story?

answer: Jerry is the protagonist and villain in the story. He's a serial killer living his life as a loner and an outcast. He moves across different cities and states in the U.S. using an old map and picks up women. Jerry takes these women on dates to get to know them better before he kills them. He never sleeps with the women he kills as a sign of respect, but it may have a deeper meaning (speculation: possibly sexual frustration).

question: What motivates Jerry to kill all these women?

answer: Jerry's possible motivation for killing women in each of the cities he visits is Beth. She was Jerry's lover and wanted to travel to different cities with him. Beth used the old map and marked all the places she wanted to go to. Something may have happened to Beth (Speculation: she died or maybe Jerry killed her despite loving her) and now Jerry is fulfilling their plan to visit all the places on the map. Since Beth is no longer with him, Jerry looks for women who can be with him, then kills them before moving on to another city.

question: What factors drove Jerry to become a serial killer?

answer: Jerry was a loner and outcast. Kids always made fun of him for never being interested in any girls when most others had hit puberty. By all accounts, it appears Jerry was bullied by the other kids. Jerry was even shot in the leg one time when the kids were using real guns to shoot blanks at him, and one of the guns had a live bullet.


text:
“Mom..” a boy cried.
“Is it okay if I’m the only one that love you in this world..”
His mother, with a loving smile says” I would be so happy, that I couldn’t stop smiling”

I woke up. In the end, it was just a sweet dream. A dream that perhaps , I wish to stay forever. I got up, did my daily morning routine, kiss my father and go to school. Oh, I also bring my camera with me wherever I go. Not the hipster one! Just the regular simple camera type. You know, to capture the moment. Still an amateur though. Though it was a give I got from a dear friend of mine.
	A few moments stepping out, I notice a man. Perhaps he is waiting someone as he showed no sign of haste. The man turned. A trace of smile slid on his face. Pretentious postmen, I presume to myself. A letter and a box were given for a few signatures and the man left. Puzzled, I took the package not knowing what inside.
	Before my clever assumption flow, I was stunned. The letter senders were under the name Alexa, my childhood friend. I stood there for too long not sure what I’m doing exactly. Somehow I came back to my senses and impatiently went back to open the box. Inside it, were full of memories of Alexa. Her photobook, novels and deep down was her diary. With a large word spell “No Reading”.
	I was dumbfounded, what on earth she was thinking sending me this.  Still , the notion of her secret in my hand excites me . After taking everything outside the box a simple note was left underneath everything. It says “Read the letter first you dumbass!”. “Okay , okay . Seriously , like literally, she could order me around whether she around or not” . Wondering, I read her letter quietly in the depth of the silent living room.
“God, bless you for the beautiful moment we shared . Many times I once wondered , if you still have the thought of my existence at all.  I wish you were, if not then you weren’t. “Got a chase last night” the story I wrote, nobody knew but I couldn’t care less. It caught your attention though , and more and more you surprised me. Till one letter that make me fell for you. HARD.  Everytime I read your letter, that joke always catch me .Liar, told me to catch me even I was a storm. Hahaha, how do you intend to do that? I want to kiss you in the same time kick you.
God, blessed you with patient and I hope you are patient now as you reading this. I have come to realize that I love you .And my love still stabs me through the brain. I couldn’t find myself forget you. Like the way the wind hit you, you couldn’t help but face it. So much that this feeling is unconsciously conscious of you. I know I’m maybe exaggerating a little but I couldn’t help it.
Maybe I should end this letter here, for nobody knows what to expect in the near future but do me favor, let me go away.
						                                                          Alexa”
Huh, this is all to sudden. I reread it gazillion time again making sure what I read perfectly justify what I understood. Not long enough after that I found her picture, sick in the photobook. Each one shows her journey fighting cancer. I couldn’t believe she hid the fact that she was sick from me. More and more picture, more and more droplet of water stream down my cheek. I couldn’t hold it much longer after the last of her picture, smiling so brightly in the midst of dying.
Finally, I realize. Moments in life seems to go by fast and takes a long time one to realize, the best of it went by soundlessly. In the end, I kept her diary untouched.

title: [RO] Shutterbugs

question: Who did the narrator see after leaving their house?

answer: A random man who remains unnamed.

question: What did he find in the letter?

answer: Photos of their love interest going through cancer.

question: Why did the narrator's love interest hide their illness from him?

answer: To possibly spare his feelings during their interaction.

question: Why did the narrator refuse to touch his love interest's diary?

answer: The passage implies it would remind him of the pain he felt when he lost her.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator goes to check his mailbox and finds a letter from his love interest. Tears begin to drip from his eyes when he realizes she had been sick from cancer this whole time and that this was the last letter he would ever receive from her. To this day, he refuses to touch the diary that came with her letter.


text:
I was bored, so I decided to write this.  Just kind of wrote that first line and went from there.

Not going for any rewards.  Just felt like writing and sharing it.

-

"It feels drafty."

"What?"

"What?"

"No, what'd you say?"

"Oh, just..it feels drafty."

"Oh."

The voices joined the symphony of footsteps over glass and a soft, whistling gust.  The man shivered.  The woman followed suit.  The child coughed.

It was pathetic, really.  Attempting survival.  It was like a feather trying to fly away from a incoming tornado.  Like a retail employee trying to find holiday cheer on black Friday.  Like, like a  mouse trying to scare an elep..wait.  Trying to kill an elephant by biting it.  Then again if the mouse was infected it could kill it.  It would just have to avoid getting stomped by the herd.  And survive the infection.  So I guess there's some chance of living.  However slim.

"Can we be there now?" the child croaked.

"Yeah, okay."  The woman's voice sounded like chalk as she led them towards an abandoned bus.

The man raised a hand as he took the first few steps onto the groaning bus.  The child clung to the woman's leg as she tussled his dusty hair.  A familiar softness spread across her rigid face as she looked at him, waiting for the man's return.

The man returned, a clean line ran from his eye to his beard.  He sniffled.  Hopping off the bus with one hand behind his back, he said "No go."  He looked at the child, smiled through cracked lips, and presented a teddy bear.  Worn, dusty, and caked with dried mud, it was no proper gift.  Or at least you and I wouldn't think it a proper gift.

The child's eyes widened, as the woman's leg was suddenly replaced by the unsavory bear.  The child looked at the man, straight faced, but with eyes that beamed with gracious thanks.  Flakes of dried mud clung to the child's cheek.

Her right hand on the child's head, and left hand clasping the man's fingers, she led them on, deeper into the city.  Like infected mice, trying to find their elephant to bite.

title: [RF] It Feels Drafty - 330 word story

question: Who are the characters in the dialogue?

answer: This information cannot be found.

question: What is the child trying to survive?

answer: It's unclear

question: Who receives a teddy bear as a gift?

answer: A man hopping off the bus presented the gift to the child.

question: What was the child's reaction to the gift?

answer: The child's eyes beamed with gracious thanks.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The author is bored and decides to write a short story and share it online. The story is about attempting survival. The author compares a child surviving a bus ride to a feather flying from a tornado, and a mouse trying to kill an elephant.