text:
It’s difficult to put into words how I live.  What my day to day is.  I’ll try my best.  Ever since my 14th birthday, not exactly my 14th birthday but somewhere around that time, I stopped living in a linear progression.  I realized that, my life is already laid out for me but I can change the details, or so I think.  I’m not sure how old my consciousness is, I feel much older than I probably am, but considering I can be anywhere from an 80 year old version of me to a teenage version of me, I feel that I’m wise for.. well.. however old I am.  I’m probably not making any sense right now but think about it this way.  When you go to bed tonight, you are probably thinking you will wake up the next morning and pick up where you left off yesterday.  I have no such luxury, instead, I go to sleep tonight not knowing whether I’ll wake up 10 years ahead of when I went to sleep, or 10 years in the past.  I know I’ll still be me, but I’m not sure what time period of my life I’ll be in.  You see, I jump through my life at random intervals, moving forward and backwards, does that make sense?  These jumps can last any amount of time.  The longest I can remember was a week and the shortest can be a couple seconds.  On average, I’d say the normal jump lasts about a day.  The only way I can even try to live a normal life is by taking notes of what I’ve been doing all day so that when I jump times, I can read the notes I left from previous jumps and pick up where I left off.  I’ve thought about whether I enjoy living life this way, or whether I’d prefer to be normal and live in a linear progression.  I’m not sure the answer.  It feels normal now.  The first 14 years of my life were a normal progression, but how boring is that?  Now I’m constantly changing and it feels normal.. to an extent.

The first time it happened I was a little shocked.  I went from being youthful to cranky with an aching back.  I was also married to a girl from my school, that was a bit of a shock because I’d always remembered her as strange and I wasn’t sure she was my type.  Apparently something changed at some point, probably puberty and we’d hit it off.  At any rate, I was suddenly thrust into the role of a 40 year old man.  I didn’t quite get what was happening at first, I was taken aback as I think most people would be if they suddenly switched bodies, I was in a bathroom halfway through a shave and I saw the post-it note stuck to the mirror.

Remember: You are jumping through your own life, here is what happened today, try and leave as many details as possible for when you return to pick up after this day.

I went shopping with Jessica, then I worked on the car a bit.  Remember to shave later and find out who Mark is.

I just realized that this corresponds to the first jump you ever did, so you’re probably confused as to what’s going on.  Just relax.. Graduation day will explain.

That was all I had written to myself but it was enough to explain what happened.  I jumped quickly after that to my high school graduation.  I had my diploma in hand and was sitting in the back row, my classmates all around me smiling.  I patted around my robe looking for pockets and found a smartphone tucked away inside the robe, I quickly unlocked it and the first thing that came up was a note:

Graduation day!  I’m sure you’re still very confused about what happened, I know this is the second jump.  You’re going to be fine, just leave lots of notes for yourself and you can make it through this.  Follow the crowd since you probably have no idea how to do anything.

The graduation jump lasted a while and I was stressed by the time I got home.  I went to my room, which looked nothing like I’d expect my room to look and sat at my computer, looking around for anything to give me the answers as to what was happening.  I’d left lots of notes, plenty of stock advice for what to invest in and found that no one knew what was happening to me and that I had to keep it a secret for fear of sounding.. well.. crazy.  That seemed reasonable.  The system that I had come up with at some point was obviously working and I was able to leave enough notes to get me by with whatever happened next.  I had to trust myself that the system worked.

Let me backtrack again, you’re probably wondering how I ever made it in the real world.  Well, since I wasn’t set to any given time and I had plenty of knowledge of the past and future but no present, at some point I must have gained valuable stock information for about the year 2014, 4 years after I graduated Highschool, went back in time to highschool in one of my consciousness jumps and was able to write about what stocks would be worth buying low and investing in and then selling high.  I had this all written out for me in an excel spreadsheet when I returned home from graduation.  From an outsider, I looked like a smart stock broker who knew how to buy low and sell high but really, I just knew exactly what was going to happen before it happened.  This afforded me the luxury of not having to get a formal education after highschool, since I would probably not do so well on any tests and also gave me enough money to live a private life.

Back to Graduation Day.  My phone started ringing, Jessica.  I wondered if she knew for a moment before I answered the phone.  She giggled and said hi as she answered.  She sounded a lot different from what I remembered of her before I started jumping.  I was still on the computer and reading about what was currently going on in my life when I came across a peculiar line, “by the way, Jessica is your girlfriend and to-be wife.”  Looks like that was planned out for me.  I held my end of the conversation as best I could, trying to act as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

“So what are you doing this weekend?”  she asked me in her soft voice.

“I’m actually not too sure, why did you want to do something?” I asked unsure of whether I’d be able to make good on my plans.  I realized then I should probably be writing down what was going to happen.

“Well.. my parents are going to be away so maaaybe you can come over and we can watch a movie or something.  If you want.”  She giggled as she finished her sentence.  This was every boy’s dream.

“Uhh, yeah that sounds awesome actually.. I’ll uhh, be over when I can.”

The strange thing about jumping through time, is when you’re in the middle of it, you already have notes from before telling you what’s going to happen.  As I typed into the calendar the planned date with Jessica, I found another document giving me her home address and what I should do to prepare for the weekend.  Clothes to wear, things to say.  I was being mentored by myself on how to live my own life.

I jumped shortly after reading that note and ever since then I’d been back and forth.  I still haven’t jumped back to what I’d imagine was a good weekend so I guess I have that to look forward to the problem is that there really isn’t anything special about that first weekend alone with her to me, because I’ve already been married to her when I’m older.  I know what it’s like to fall asleep next to her every night and I know what it’s like to sit on a sofa and watch movies with her in our own personal theater.  That weekend will only be special when I get to it because it will be her and I young and perhaps I’ll have the chance to tell her something that she’ll remember forever and remind me of later in life.  Of course, I already know what will happen that night, because she’s told me. I won’t spoil it until I’ve lived it, but from what I’ve heard, I put on quite the moves.

It’s tiring though, living exactly as the notes say.  It’s pushed me to the edge of my rope.  Today, I woke up an old man.  I can hardly walk, my knees are aching and my back is stiff. Jessica is long dead.  I’m alone.  Technology has advanced so far, but I’ve never learned how to use it.  I’m holding this old revolver, a .44 magnum I bought when I was younger.  I must’ve tried to hide it from myself, I’m not sure how the timelines work, but I found it under the floorboards in the basement.  A note.. like the one I first read.

Don’t do it.

But I want to do it.  I want to go back to the good days when Jessica and I first met, but, having the knowledge of what’s going to happen, there’s no joy in this life.  I’ve been coached by myself this entire time.  Told what to do.

Today, I take back control, I’m not going to listen to this note.

title: Stream of Consciousness (x-post from /r/keepwriting)

question: What does the narrator plan at the end and why?

answer: The narrator has found a gun with a note that tells him not to do it. He plans to kill himself. He wants to take control of his life. He is tired of living life according to the notes.

question: What is wrong with the narrator's life?

answer: The narrator has ceased to live in a linear progression. He jumps in time from a youngster to an old man. When he goes to sleep at night, he has no idea when he will wake up. He jumps through his life at random intervals moving forwards and backwards.


split: test

text:
My name is Chad Sedwick. I'm a journalist (amateur), in a small town in Kansas. I am also a vampire, and before anything, I would like to say, I think this is the shittiest thing that could possibly happen to anyone ever. Modern movies make us out to be so cool; immortal, super-powered, sex-god creatures of the night. These works forget to mention that when a human is turned, their eyesight IMMEDIATELY declines. I'm not talking like a little fuzziness, I'm talking like "holy fuck, I can't see dick" blind. You can see (pun intended) how this might be an issue. It's really fucking difficult to go about your business in rural Kansas, at night, when you can't see ten goddam feet in front of you. One minute you're stalking what you think is a large, juicy, good ol' boy, the next you've got yourself fang deep in a tractor while some troglodyte pumps you full of buckshot. So, after about 15 years of not seeing shit, and doing A LOT of meth (hey, I can't possibly OD) I decided to see if I could make it somewhere in the state that had an optometrist.

This I accomplished through some pretty fucking handy use of mesmerization on the local truckers in order to a secure a nice, nocturnal ride. Several bloody, yet hilarious, misadventures later I found myself breathing heavily (not that I have to breathe, it was for effect) over the slumbering form of one Dr. Pinkerton. He was to be my first progeny, and the one who would fix my fucking eyes. To my great misfortune, at the very moment I opened my mouth to sink my teeth into his neck, Mrs. Pinkerton, sleeping next to the good doctor, perpetrated an instance of flatulence so foul it woke her husband, who seeing me, yelled. I sloppily bit at him, like a king cobra might bite at its prey after drinking a fifth of tequila. In the middle of the bloody chaos, Mrs. Pinkerton awoke, screaming her grey-haired head off. With one surprisingly effective swiped, I took her jaw off, which didn't kill her immediately, but did get her to pass out in shock. With that obstacle out of the way, I drained the doctor properly, and waited for him to turn. It turns out, this is not how you turn a person. It just basically kills them. I mean, there's not like a fucking guidebook for this kind of thing, or I'd have known about the eyes thing. Of course, now I'm all bloody, in this goddam slaughterhouse, and I still can't see for shit. I judiciously decide to flee.

With a phonebook. Flash-forward again, and there I am, this time looming (as vampires are wont to do) over my /new/ victim; Dr. Werther. I had found him in the good ol' yellow pages, and after a quick Google search (God bless the internet, how else is one supposed to figure out vampirism?) I was sure that by feeding him some of my blood, an /then/ killing him, I could create a perfectly good vampire optometrist. I mean, pretty sure. Feeling incredibly confident in my immortal powers of patience, I waited for the poor bastard to open his mouth to snore. This in itself was an incredibly mind-numbing exercise, and for most of the wait I played BrickBreaker on my Blackberry (the phone didn't actually function, I stole it a long time ago, had never paid for a plan, and in fact only kept it around to play BrickBreaker).

Finally, (the thankfully spouseless) Mr. Werther opened his mouth, and I, with all the unfeeling, lifeless cunning of a vampire, whipped out my pocket knife, and sliced open my hand to produce the blood for him to consume. It fucking hurt, like a motherfucker. I had to bite myself to keep from screaming. but after a lot of thought-cursing, I managed to turn my attention back to the task at hand; dripping my blood into this bastard's mouth. Predictably, he awoke shortly after the thick liquid hit the back of his throat, and I had to clamp his mouth and nose shut with my hands to make him swallow. We struggled like this for several long and bloody moments until I surmised that he had swallowed enough of my blood and I set to draining what was left of his own. Nobody tells you how gross this part is either, you have to swallow a shit-ton of that stuff, and it gets all over you. You can't really do laundry as a vampire, there's just too much blood. I took to stealing clothes from 24 hour laundromats. Anyway, it was nearly morning before the good doctor awoke (scaring the shit out of me in the process) and began to ask, or shriek, the same questions that I did when I was made. Being too lazy to explain the actual facts, I put on my best Transylvanian accent, and explained that I was Count Dracula, and that I would only return him to normal after he fixed my eyes.

This was surprisingly effective, and after an incredibly difficult, eyesight-hindered ride to Werther's office, I realized the most fucked fact of all: turning Dr. Werther had made his eyesight shitty too. His driving was goddam horrible, swerving all over and shit. There was no way I was going to let this asshole anywhere near my eyes. So I was stuck with this useless middle aged baby vampire, both of us blind, the sun coming up, in a town I didn't know. God, being a vampire is shitty.

Dr. Werther wasn't even good company, he kept bitching about being undead and all, and I had already committed to the stupid accent, so talking to him was awkward and distracting. So, as the sun's rays lit up the Kansas sky, I shoved him outside. I'd like to quickly note that when a vampire dies from exposure to the sun, it's also not like the movies; they don't just up and explode into ash. If only it were so quick...it actually takes like seven minutes, as the body gradually melts into this pile of bloody goop. It was disgusting, and I was glad that I had shoved him into the backyard and not the front for all his neighbors to see. After that little incident I went inside to find entertainment. I was happy to find his home computer unprotected, and after watching some pornography, I decided to begin writing this...account? I don't know. But if I live, I'll keep you updated on what happens.

title: Shitty Things About Being Supernatural

question: What is the worst part about being a vampire according to Chad Sedwick?

answer: Chad Sedwick says that most modern movies don't mention that when a human is turned into vampire, their eyesight immediately declines. After 15 years of bad eyesight, Sedwick searches for an optometrist to convert him into a vampire optometrist. However, Sedwick realizes that turning the doctor has made his eyesight bad too.


text:
His stomach hurt again.

He walked down the shattered concrete quickly as he pretended to convince himself that he didn't have to look, but as always he stole a glance. There, on the wall of the small community theater was the cheaply printed poster advertising this month's performance.

There, on the wall of the small community theater was a vision of her.

The poster was deep in the shadows cast by the decaying parking structure across the street, in this part of town the faux antiques that passed as buildings were too close together, resulting in there never being enough sun to chase away the gloom of yet another day in the city. The street was crumbling, the gutters filled with fading cigarette packs, and the monotony of the fading brick broken only by the occasional dab of paint advertising the passing through of some would-be gang member. A shadow-chilled gust of wind passed by to mask the distant rumble of traffic utilizing a route more useful some blocks away. But it was all ignored.

His vision was here.

There, in the midst of the gloom dazzled all of his hopes, his dreams, his future. He saw her long, golden locks form a tapestry that framed her face, dimmed not by hidden sun but rather by the sparkle in her eyes that pierced even the unwashed display case into which her photo was relegated by a director who couldn't be bothered to create the shrine she deserved.

He stopped.

He stared.

His stomach hurt.

The day he arrived on campus at the nearby state college extension campus, his very being was given to her without a beat of pause. Her laugh, the toss of her ponytail below the fading green band, a smile that could chase away the deepest shadows from the quad and the soul. She said his unfamiliarity with the local customs was charming and was enchanted by the tone displayed as he sang her the tunes from home. Things went well.

But, for reasons he didn't understand, after just a few months she drifted away, one thin smile after another. And now, as he walked back to campus he saw the image of her there on the wall.

He was still in love with her, and this twice daily glimpse placed him as if on a runaway elevator, dropping him straight into the depths of despair. Three weeks without a full meal, but he just couldn't bring himself to replace his lost hope with the bland, tasteless food that comprised the standard diet of the cash-strapped student.

Lost in thought, distracted by the haze of hunger, numbed by his broken heart he never saw the truck.

The coroner reached into the cavity to examine the organs of the unfortunate soul brought in that evening and found nothing but a mystery. One. Two. Three lungs? Several conglomerations of cells he did not recognize. And there, where the stomach should be, was the alien yet unmistakable structure that could only be what served as a heart.

It appeared to have been torn in two.

title: [MF] just something I knocked together

question: What is the overriding feeling of the boy towards the girl in the poster?

answer: He loves the girl, but also feels a sense of loss.


text:
[US President Donald Trump speaks during an event announcing the Roadmap to Empower Veterans and End a National Tragedy of Suicide (PREVENTS) Task Force in the East Room of the White House in Washington, DC, June 17, 2020. (Photo by SAUL LOEB / AFP)]

The 19th day of June is the day enslaved African Americans in Texas learned, more than two and a half years after then-President ABRAHAM LINCOLN‘s Emancipation Proclamation, that they were, indeed, legally free. Juneteenth is a day of remembrance of the shattered bonds of legalized slavery, and it carries a critical meaning in the immediate wake of massive worldwide protests over the deaths of Black men and women at the hands of American police officers in various jurisdictions.

President DONALD TRUMP and First Lady MELANIA TRUMP marked the day with a short message. It did not go over well.

“Juneteenth reminds us of both the unimaginable injustice of slavery and the incomparable joy that must have attended emancipation,” the message reads in part.  “It is both a remembrance of a blight on our history and a celebration of our Nation’s unsurpassed ability to triumph over darkness.”

The problem is that the last three words in the last sentence quoted above were issued in boldface type on a graphic attached to the White House website and tweeted by the official White House Twitter account.

[]

_Official White House Graphic_

The upshot was an emphasis on the words “triumph over darkness.”  A judgement went down in many courts of public opinion that the White House and/or the president were engaging in something which bordered somewhere between blind negligence and boldfaced racism.

“A touch of subliminal racism there, Donny?” wrote one Twitter user in reply to the tweet.

  “triumph over darkness”? A touch of subliminal racism there, Donny?

  — Sandra Jones (@DataforcSandra) June 19, 2020

“We all know EXACTLY how he feels about Black people,” wrote another.

  19/10 he never heard of Juneteenth until called out about the rally 🙄. Words ring hollow, actions speak clearly and loudly. We all know EXACTLY how he feels about Black people. Our “triumph over darkness” will come in November when his ass is voted out! https://t.co/8PnOfM8H1m

  — Lisa Krok’s book is out! (@readonthebeach) June 19, 2020

“You don’t think they could have thought through the phrase ‘triumph over darkness’?” said yet another.

  You don’t think they could have thought through the phrase “triumph over darkness”? https://t.co/WGb2yb2VlU

  — Rodd Farhadi (@RoddFarhadi) June 19, 2020

The complaints steadily rolled in.

  Did the WH, which has been accused of being at least racially insensitive, if not actually racist really bold-face “triumph over darkness”? And, did I hear a dog whistle? https://t.co/lj9dEln8MQ

  — William Billings (@Islandhopper43) June 19, 2020

  “It is both a remembrance of a blight on our history and a celebration of our Nation’s unsurpassed ability to triumph over darkness.” Is that a black joke. Terrible choice of words no matter how you look at it https://t.co/3VoveanWZb

  — Elaine (@kkitty44) June 19, 2020

  ” triumph over darkness”? Seriously this could have been worded in a way that doesn’t sound like an alt right dog whistle. pic.twitter.com/YHjH274COH

  — Paula Flaig (@PaulaFlaig1) June 19, 2020

  “Triumph over darkness” on Juneteenth? Really? 🤦🏽♂🤦🏾♂🤦🏿♂ https://t.co/MyZn2lXCOa

  — Covid&TheSocialDistancers (@TheFlotsamLV) June 19, 2020

  Triumph over darkness, you say? No subliminal message there…

  — Rick Montgomery (@rickmbari) June 19, 2020

  “Triumph over darkness” Really? @PressSec

  — Roldan Din (@roldandin) June 19, 2020

  The White House just tweeted that Juneteenth celebrates the “triumph over darkness”. Probably a coincidence.

  — Maximus (@apulsifer) June 19, 2020

This is not the first time the Trump Administration or its executive agencies have been accused of what might be politely called very poor choices of words. The Department of Homeland Security was shredded in 2018 for a title which many believed employed Nazi allegories. Trump himself Tweeted in 2016 a graphic containing a Star of David which accused HILLARY CLINTON of corruption.

Back to 2020, though, here is the full statement from POTUS and FLOTUS on Juneteenth:

  The First Lady and I send our warmest greetings to those celebrating Juneteenth this year.

  On this day 155 years ago, African Americans in Texas first heard the righteous and long-overdue words of General Order Number 3: “All slaves are free.” These words confirmed for still-enslaved people in Texas that the Union Army would enforce and defend their freedom, announced nearly 3 years earlier by President Abraham Lincoln in his Emancipation Proclamation.

  Juneteenth reminds us of both the unimaginable injustice of slavery and the incomparable joy that must have attended emancipation. It is both a remembrance of a blight on our history and a celebration of our Nation’s unsurpassed ability to triumph over darkness. That ability is rooted in the fundamental goodness of America—in the truths upon which we, as a Nation, declared an end to our status as the subjects of a monarch and emerged as a free and independent people: that all men are created equal by the hand of God, endowed by our Creator with the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. These words form the heart of what Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., called the “promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.” The celebration of Juneteenth marks an important milestone in the hard-fought journey to make good on that promise for all Americans.

  This Juneteenth, we commit, as one Nation, to live true to our highest ideals and to build always toward a freer, stronger country that values the dignity and boundless potential of all Americans.

[Photo by SAUL LOEB/AFP via Getty Images]

_Have a tip we should know? [email protected]_

question: What is the gist of the article?

answer: The article is about the outrage against President Trump's tweet about Juneteenth, celebrating the emancipation of slaves and the abolishment of the institution. The tweet's wording is fine but the last three, "triumph over darkness", is written in boldface. This is interpreted either as an indication of racism or negligence.

question: What does the text say about South Africans?


text:
Hi. I'm Art Caplan. I'm at the Division of Medical Ethics at the NYU School of Medicine. How many of you watching learned to do a pelvic exam in medical school or residency on an anesthetized woman, who was getting ready to undergo a surgical procedure for some sort of obstetrical/gynecologic condition? Many people did. I thought the practice was over. After all, many groups, including the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, have issued statements that that should not happen; no one should be using a woman to learn how to do a pelvic exam without consent before that teaching practice is undertaken.

However, when Phoebe Friesen, a former student of mine, was at NYU, she found out that in other parts of the country, and in other nations, there are still women who are being used as teaching subjects for these exams without their permission, without any consent. The practice is just unethical. It's wrong. It should not be happening. Pointedly, it is because the women themselves have the right to and deserve the respect of giving their permission. Obviously, it is an intimate bodily contact, and more than one person might be involved in these exams.

Think about people like Larry Nassar, who was convicted of molesting young women by touching them without their permission in the name of a therapeutic intervention. Nassar is an extreme case—I understand that. He was a deviant who was getting sexual pleasure from molesting women in the name of medical practice. Nonetheless, part of the outrage about what he was doing is nonconsensual touching in intimate areas on women. We don't want to see that practice even extended for the noble reason of trying to learn and teach about pelvic exams. I think we should be asking the women, because they have every right to say yes or no, to say whether it's okay to do that. Some may say yes, some may say no.

If too many people say no, I think the other option is to pay women or find women who would allow people to examine them. Interestingly enough, you may learn better on a conscious woman than on an unconscious woman. Many schools have moved to the practice of hiring women to take on this particular role to help students learn. The other reason it is very important not to do any type of nonconsensual touching is that it teaches students the wrong message. What we want to be saying is, get consent when you touch somebody. Don't treat somebody as an object or a thing; get their permission. It's very important to have informed consent.

Sometimes informed consent is a difficult thing to obtain, but it isn't in this area. People can understand very well what they are being asked. You want to teach the students to respect their patients when they are going to do something like this. It's very important to send the right message if you're going to use a patient in a teaching or research role, and to get their permission.

At the end of the day, this is a practice that should come to an abrupt and immediate halt. There should be no teaching on unconscious women without their permission. It's a violation of their privacy, their dignity, their right not to be touched without their consent. Continuing the practice sends the absolutely wrong message to medical students about how they should be relating to their patients.

I am Art Caplan at the NYU School of Medicine. Thanks for watching.

question: Who is the author of the article?

answer: It appears this is the transcript of a video; the speaker is Art Caplan who works at the Division of Medical Ethics at the NYU School of Medicine.

question: Who is the target audience of the article?

answer: The target audience is other physicians.

question: Why is the author writing the article?

answer: He believes that the medical practice of doing a pelvic exam on an unconscious woman who is undergoing a surgical procedure for some sort of obstetrical/gynecologic condition without her consent needs to be stopped.

question: Does the author have support in his effort?

answer: Yes, specifically mentioned in the article is the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Art Caplan, who works at the Division of Medical Ethics at the NYU School of Medicine believes an unethical practice needs to be stopped. The medical practice involves doing a pelvic exam on an unconscious woman who is undergoing a surgical procedure for some sort of obstetrical/gynecologic condition without her consent for teaching purposes.


text:
Jeffery was sitting in his statistics class nodding away as the information was simply passing by him. He could hardly wait to get out of class. Mondays, and Fridays were fine because there was a small chance of him seeing her. However, on Wednesdays she was always on time. He could see it now walking out from his this room strolling down Taylor Mall. Casually looking over to his right, and there she would be in a sunflower dress with dark hair writing in her journal. He could feel it now the sun beating down on him, and the wind tickling his skin. Jeffery would spend hours every day imagining how he would ask her to a date.  Perhaps Coffee, no she wouldn’t like coffee it’s obvious she likes tea. The courage he needed wasn’t there; he couldn’t talk to girls especially beautiful ones like her. The clock was ticking away, and the professor closed his book with a loud thud. Everyone got up, and started to leave. Jeffery was so deep into though that he didn’t hear class was over so early. Looking at the clock he knew he had time to stroll around in the building. She wouldn’t be there until 12:30.
Jeffery walked out and down the hall to his right. Ahead of him was the journalist building. He thought why not pop on by, and see what they were up to. He fixed his tie, and walked in. The building was much more impressive than the criminal justice one. Newly remolded it held three floors, and a news station on top. All of the students were moving around through the building all dressed nice, and talking about current events. College always had the optimistic feel to it especially on Wednesdays. Jeffery looked around the room. I may as well take a seat, I still have ten minutes. He sat there and opened up his favorite book, and started to read. Behind him he could hear the television blaring news programs. Another new part of the build was a massive projector showing news around the clock. Give me a good book any day.
He wasn’t a page in when he heard “Some of the most difficult of challenges is taking the first step.”
Jeffery turned kept listening. “We have to fight for what we want, and never take no for answer. Today may be the last day we have on earth.” Jeffery was feeling something moving inside of him, a strange inspiration. “So with this last day we will love like there is no tomorrow, fight like there is no tomorrow, and live like there is no tomorrow.” YES, Jeffery thought yes that’s right I have to tell her. He turns around to see where this new motivation comes from. On the scene is black and the words come up “Ford.” Why do car commercials always have the best inspiration? His watch started to beep he looked down 12:25. This was it he was about to see her. He got up, but the inspiration he felt still lingered with him. His breathing picked up, and he started to walk at a brisk pace. This was something different this was something new. He was going to ask her to a date today. He was actually going to talk to her. He started moving faster and faster almost running to the door. He quickly opens it. I’m going to do it I can do it. He rounds the corner to Taylor mall and stops to look for her. In his excitement he began to frantically search. She wasn’t on the grass like she normally was, or on any of the benches. He felt the need to keep looking. It was Wednesday she had to be here. There was no mistake she wasn’t here. He went over to where she normally sat a small group of people were there talking.
“Excuse me, have you seen a pretty girl with long dark hair in a Sun Flower dress?”
They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. One of the other girls sitting there spoke up to Jeffery, “What’s her name?”
His face went white. In all of the time that he had been dreaming about her he never knew her name. He began to run down Taylor mall in embarrassment. He reached the edge of the street. Defeated, and broken he would get on the train back to his small dorm. Today college, and Wednesday lost their hopeful optimism.  Jeffery reached back to get his train card, and realized that his wallet was missing. Perfect as if today couldn’t get any worse. He started to head back to the journalist building where he thought he lost it. We walked in, and climbed up the stairs. He got to his couch, and saw no wallet. His heart sank again. He lost his wallet, lost hope of asking the most beautiful girl out on a date, and embarrassed himself doing it. He turned to walk home when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see the prettiest girl with long dark hair in a sunflower dress standing there. He felt his heart jump for joy, and he said “Hello”
“Your Jeffery Snipe right? I have your Wallet.”
He reached out and grabbed it brushing her hand he felt his heart melt some. “T-thank you, I’m Jeffery”
She smiled warmly “Jeff… I am Summer.” She paused for a moment looking at him warmly,  “can I tell you something Jeff?”
Jeff still bewildered nodded. Summer looked away then back at him “It might sound creepy but every Wednesday at 12:30 I wait for you to come out of class so I can see your smiling face, but I have never had the courage to ask you to a date.”

title: [RO] Summer

question: What is the twist at the end of the story?

answer: The twist at the end is that Summer, the girl that Jeff has a crush on, also likes Jeff.

question: What is the situation that allows for Summer to speak to Jeff?

answer: Summer found Jeff's wallet and is trying to return it to him.


text:
  **^(CHAPTER ONE:)**

In 1887 two brothers, Louis and Ivan Thoen were collecting sandstone in the Dakota Territory, near the town of Spearfish, on a mountain range called Pahasapa or the Black Hills. The brothers stumbled upon an engraved stone slab written in cursive. The writing on the slab suggested that there had been people in this area participating in an unknown gold expedition 40 years before the 1874 Custer Expedition. This stone slab became known as The Thoen Stone, whose origin is as much a mystery today as the men who claimed to be the first to find gold in the Black Hills.

&#x200B;

The inscription on the slab reads:

*Came to these hills in 1833 seven of us*

*DeLacompt*

*Ezra Kind*

*G.W. Wood*

*T. Brown*

*R. Kent*

*Wm. King*

*Indian Crow*

*All dead but me, Ezra Kind. Killed by Indians beyond the high hill. Got our gold June 1834.*

*Got all the gold we could carry. Our ponies all got by the Indians. I have lost my gun and nothing to eat and Indians hunting me*

&#x200B;

Black Hills – Dakota Territory – 1834

There was a loud *Thud* as Ezra Kind slammed his back against the large pine tree towering above. His rib cage thundered in his chest as his heart pounded inside. Ezra took in a large deep breath, exhaling slowly. His hands trembled at his side. He gulped down another lung full of air in an attempt to control the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The breath that leaped out of his mouth was a billowing white cloud that slowly dissipated in presence as it rose in the night sky above him. It was a cold night and the chill cooled the perspiration saturating his body. Ezra, slightly more composed peered over his shoulder looking back in the direction from which he had come. His breathing had returned to a normal pace, controlled, and regulated.  Aided by the only light source he had, the full moon above, Ezra examined his surroundings. His eyes like a pendulum raked back and forth across the pitch black of the night. His 6’3” frame was stiff, ridged like the immense tree he braced against. His dark brown eyes were the only part of him that dared move. Rapidly shifting from left to right as far into the void that his vision would allow him. There was nothing. Only the neighboring sounds of crickets chirping. Off in the distance somewhere behind him Ezra could hear the shouting of an owl amongst the rustling of the swaying trees. Ezra squatted alongside the large pine, his legs were feeling heavy and his feet were sore from traversing the jagged landscape of the Black Hills. He turned his gaze upwards above the towering tree line to the night’s sky. Ezra took in the vastness of the dark above, the microscopic dots of light that glittered and flashed about. Momentarily Ezra was momentarily overcome by a wave of comfort. In his youth his older brother George had spent hours every night at the family home studying the constellations. On some nights Ezra would join him and George would teach his younger brother how to spot the formations. George’s favorite was Ursa Major, the Bear, Ezra’s favorite was Orion. Ezra locked his gaze on the sparkling bear overhead. He could not help but wonder if he would get home again, if he would get to sit with George and stare into the abyss above. Lost in the memories of this youth Ezra’s body finally started to experience fatigue.

Ezra had almost fallen asleep leaning against the tree when something caused his lethargic muscles to jolt into action. Ezra shot back upright, his back scrapping against the rough texture of the tree trunk. Once again the adrenaline rush began to boil inside him. Something was close. He could feel it, the alarm inside his body was sounding. Cocking his head slightly to the right he could faintly hear what sounded like footsteps. They were agile, swift and moving fast. Off in the North East something caught his eye. He saw it, a shift in the light filtering between the trees. He focused in on the object, letting his senses take over. In the intense focus his eyes began twitching, his ears rang silent with the hollowed deafness surrounding him. Nothing was making a sound, The Crickets were gone, and there was no chirping of any kind. It was as if the wildlife of the Black Hills knew silence was their greatest camouflage. The something emerged from within the depths of the trees. He locked eyes on them, the ghosts in the darkness. The imposing forms were closing in on this position. To Ezra what was approaching him what had terrified him into fight or flight, was the most dangerous predator in the Black Hills. The Lakota.

Stopping just short of a minor clearing in the forest tree line, the hunched figured morphed into multiple silhouettes. The five Lakota warriors crept through the rugged landscape as though they were skating on a frozen lake. Quickly, efficiently, inaudibly the Lakota seemed to float over the mountainous landscape that serrated the forest. Moving through the surroundings as if they were a part of it with an inherent beauty that Ezra couldn’t help but admire. During this treacherous expedition into the Black Hills Ezra had fortunately not had any encounters with the Lakota people, until tonight. In what seemed like seconds the Lakota had cut the distance between Ezra in half. Now clearly visible, the pale moon illuminated the painted faces, emotionless, stoic, fierce.

Ezra focused again on controlling his breathing. “Fuck!” Ezra screamed in his head. “There’s no way you can make a run for it now” he thought. Deep down Ezra knew bolting from behind the tree now would be a disastrous idea. The agile warriors would have no problem in locating him, death was the only outcome of that scenario. Ezra thought “waiting around for a confrontation with the Lakota while outnumbered 1 to 5 was a death wish”. He was screwed. He needed a diversion, he needed to buy himself a head start. Ezra slowly reached down and placed his hand over the cold brown handle of his Pearson revolver. Carefully and quietly Ezra drew the weapon from its holster, all while keeping his gaze on the approaching adversaries. He pulled the pistol up to his chest and cocked the hammer back. Ezra knew he would use his last bullet on himself if it came to it. Being alive during a scalping was the last thing Ezra wanted to experience in his life. With his other hand Ezra reached down for his second revolver, pulled it from his holster it and presented it at the ready. If he was going to go out, he was going to go out fighting. With both pistols hammer back Ezra took in several deep breaths. “This is it” the thought. He glanced back up to Ursa Major, he thought of his brother, of his parents. Ezra braced as he pushed his back off the pine tree and spun around, he aimed down the barrel. Nothing. The Lakota we gone

title: [RF/HF] Howling at the Moon

question: Who are Louis and Ivan Thoen?

answer: Louis and Ivan Thoen are two brothers that are collecting sandstone in the Dakota Territory near the town of Spearfish. They find a slab with writing that suggests that it was written by people in the area participating in an unknown gold expedition around 50 years ago.

question: Summarize the conflict that Ezra is involved with.

answer: Ezra is pinned down in the dark by the Lakota tribe. He is outnumbered five to one.

question: What is the twist at the end of the story?

answer: The twist is that when Ezra reveals himself from behind the tree, ready to shoot, he realizes that there are no Lakota waiting for him. He is alone in the night.


text:
Our generation has been drowned in a fairytale of love and romance. We grew up on a healthy diet of Disney princesses and perfect endings where Katherine Heigl always ends up with the man of her dreams.

But what happens when the fairytale becomes a screeching nightmare, complete with a villain in disguise and blood on everyone’s hands?

You should have known that night, the first time he said “I love you.” There were no butterflies, no fireworks, not even a Seamless dinner served with candles. It was screamed like a threat, hanging thick in the air, lingering like a bad smell. The lovers in question standing on opposite sides of the bed, thumping their fists and reaching desperately for whatever words might cut through the fight.  But you tell yourself it’s okay, special even, because the words were finally said.

What about the night he took you to dinner to celebrate his new job? A night for celebration between partners. But the words vomited from his mouth aren’t on script, it’s not what you planned. I accepted a new job in San Francisco. I’m moving out of NYC within the month. It’s too late, I’ve already given notice.

The world stops spinning and your hand flies to your cheek, feeling the sting of that verbal slab. But you recover and remember your lines. I’ll come with you, of course. We’ll start our lives over, tackle this together, how exciting it will all be. You’re so caught up in the act that you don’t notice the halfhearted smile on his face, his sudden silence. It’s not until later when you lay in bed and close your eyes that you realize he never said his line- he never asked you to come. Your hand inches across the blanket to find his, but it’s not there. He’s already asleep.

Two months and 3000 miles later, your life in San Francisco appears to be magical. You call your friends and family back home and regale them with stories of adventures, day trips and watching the sun set over the Golden Gate Bridge. But then you hang up the phone and realize you’re in the apartment alone, again. You flinch at every noise, praying that it’s the sound of his keys in the lock, finally home.

As time goes on the expectations build. Every time he bends to tie his shoe or holds your hand, you think this is it. This is when he’s going to propose. Little did you know that while you were watching him out of the corner of your eye with love in your heart, his mind was somewhere, anywhere else.

It’s an average Tuesday night. You went to the gym and ran side-by-side on the treadmill. He made the salad and poured you a glass of wine while you grilled the burgers outside. But then suddenly he’s standing in your living room, looking down at you on the couch. You see his mouth moving but can’t hear the words. Not happy anymore. Needs space. Isn’t working. It’s like he’s miles away and you’re squinting at him in the distance, trying to understand the smoke signals and desperate, waving arms.

But it’s okay, everyone knows that a real love story has to hit rock bottom before the clouds break. You’re still living together, and of course you are, because how could two people who sold everything to move across the country end it all now? The sex is better than ever and you interpret, misinterpret, every kind word as a hint that he’s going to take you back any moment. He’s going to come home from work with flowers in hand and a lone tear running down his cheek. You’re going to run to him, kiss him and finish your movie.

But then he doesn’t come home. It’s 12, then 3 and finally 5 a.m., and he’s still not home. But you tell yourself he’s out with friends, he’s having one last night out on the town before your romantic reunion. His absence could mean nothing more, of course.

To prove this to yourself, you read his text messages. You look for evidence that he’s “reconsidering,” “changing his mind” or “can’t stand looking at her without his heart breaking.”

But then the script goes off course. You find things you never meant to see, you read words that you can hardly comprehend.  Went home with her from the bar. Hooked up. Scroll back farther and there are more names, more dates.  Suddenly there’s a hand gripping your heart, your chest. You can’t breathe.

There’s denial, of course. But then the story peels back like the layers of an onion. There was one, no two. Actually three. It was nothing. No I’m sorry, it was sex. You can’t breathe. As recently as last week. The hand grips tighter. As far back as Christmas. The hand won’t let go.

Suddenly, you’re the heroine in your movie and you know exactly what has to be done. You have to pack your bags and buy your ticket back to New York. Each shirt that’s thrown in the suitcase is vindication, a show. You lay in wait for him to come home so this movie can reach its grand finale. You know that when you tell him you’re leaving, that this is the last night he’ll ever see you, he’ll be the Ross to your Rachel. He’ll throw himself at you and tell you he regrets everything, that he’s sorry and can’t imagine his life without you. And because you’re the beautiful heroine and this is your moment, you’ll take him back and be the bigger person, because how else could you achieve your fairytale ending?

And then he’s crying, he’s hugging you and saying how much he misses you. He wishes it didn’t have to be this way. Wait. He’s sad to see you go. No. It’s for the best. This wasn’t the script.

Even these final moments are a desperate, fruitless attempt at a dramatic scene. You announce that you can’t watch him leave because it would hurt too much. It’s the perfect line.

Then the door closes, and you’re sitting alone in the apartment one last time. The final image you have in your mind isn’t of his face or the sorrow in his eyes, because you couldn’t look. All you see now is his naked body tangled in another woman’s bed, the character who was never meant to be cast in this movie.  And it’s burned in your mind forever.

title: [NF] When Reality Fails to be a Rom-Com

question: Who are the main characters?

answer: A man and a woman.

question: What does the title, When Reality Fails to be a Rom-Com, mean?

answer: The narrator naively thinks that real life should mimic on screen romances.

question: How does the relationship fail?

answer: The relationship failed from the beginning. It appears the narrator had unrealistic expectations for the relationship, and expected her boyfriend to act "from the script" of what she expected. He moved to San Francisco, and didn't ask her to come along. She invited herself. He cheated on her. She moved out.

question: How are the characters feeling?

answer: She is upset he is not behaving as she thinks he should. He is represented as a uncaring villain.

question: Write a ~7 sentence summary.

answer: The story is about a man and woman and their relationship. The relationship failed from the beginning. It appears the narrator had unrealistic expectations for the relationship, and expected her boyfriend to act "from the script" of what she expected. He moved to San Francisco, and didn't ask her to come along. She invited herself. He cheated on her. She moved out.


text:
[HuffPost] [HuffPost]

Michael Cohen Worries There Won’t Be 'Peaceful Transition Of Power’ If Trump Loses In 2020

Michael Cohen concluded his widely watched testimony on Wednesday by predicting the United States may not see “a peaceful transition of power” if Donald Trump loses the presidency in the next election.

“Given my experience working for Mr. Trump, I fear that if he loses the election in 2020, that there will never be a peaceful transition of power,” Cohen told the House oversight committee at the end of his hourslong testimony.

  COHEN closes with this disconcerting thought: "Given my experience working for Mr. Trump, I fear that if he loses the election in 2020, that there will never be a peaceful transition of power." pic.twitter.com/nm0EvAxAck

  — Aaron Rupar (@atrupar) February 27, 2019

The statement was especially dark considering Cohen was Trump’s former personal attorney for more than 10 years and admitted Wednesday to threatening hundreds of people on the president’s behalf.

Cohen was convicted in November of lying to Congress about his involvement in a Trump Tower Moscow deal during the president’s 2016 election campaign. He is expected to go to jail in the coming months.

“My loyalty to Mr. Trump has cost me everything,” Cohen said. “I will not sit back and say nothing and allow him to do the same to the country.”

Cohen also closed out his testimony by saying Trump’s lies and behavior “denigrates the office of the president.”

“To those who support the president and his rhetoric as I once did, pray the country doesn’t make the same mistakes that I have made,” he said.

Calling all HuffPost superfans!

Sign up for membership to become a founding member and help shape HuffPost's next chapter

question: Why does Michael Cohen worry there won't be a peaceful transition of power if Trump loses in 2020?

answer: Given his experience working with Trump, he fears Trump wouldn't relinquish power in a peaceful transition; he lies and exhibits denigrating behavior.


text:
More than six decades after his death, Alan Turing’s life remains a point of fascination—even for people who have no interest in his groundbreaking work in computer science. He has been the subject of a play and an opera, and referenced in multiple novels and numerous musical albums. The Benedict Cumberbatch film about his life, _The Imitation Game_, received eight Oscar nominations. But just who was Turing in real life? Here are 15 facts you should know about Alan Turing, who was born in London on June 23, 1912.

1. Alan Turing is the father of modern computer science.

Turing essentially pioneered the idea of computer memory. In 1936, Turing published a seminal paper called “On Computable Numbers” [PDF], which _The Washington Post_ has called “the founding document of the computer age.” In the philosophical article, he hypothesized that one day, we could build machines that could compute any problem that a human could, using 0s and 1s. Turing proposed single-task machines called Turing machines that would be capable of solving just one type of math problem, but a “universal computer” would be able to tackle any kind of problem thrown at it by storing instructional code in the computer’s memory. Turing’s ideas about memory storage and using a single machine to carry out all tasks laid the foundation for what would become the digital computer.

In 1945, while working for the UK’s National Physical Laboratory, he came up with the Automatic Computing Machine, the first digital computer with stored programs. Previous computers didn’t have electric memory storage, and had to be manually rewired to switch between different programs.

2. Alan Turing played a key role in winning World War II.

Turing began working at Bletchley Park, Britain’s secret headquarters for its codebreakers during World War II, in 1939. By one estimate, his work there may have cut the war short by up to two years. He’s credited with saving millions of lives.

Turing immediately got to work designing a codebreaking machine called the Bombe (an update of a previous Polish machine) with the help of his colleague Gordon Welchman. The Bombe shortened the steps required in decoding, and 200 of them were built for British use over the course of the war. They allowed codebreakers to decipher up to 4000 messages a day.

His greatest achievement was cracking the Enigma, a mechanical device used by the German army to encode secure messages. It proved nearly impossible to decrypt without the correct cipher, which the German forces changed every day. Turing worked to decipher German naval communications at a point when German U-boats were sinking ships carrying vital supplies across the Atlantic between Allied nations. In 1941, Turing and his team managed to decode the German Enigma messages, helping to steer Allied ships away from the German submarine attacks. In 1942, he traveled to the U.S. to help the Americans with their own codebreaking work.

3. Alan Turing broke the rules to write to Winston Churchill.

Early on, Bletchley Park’s operations were hampered by a lack of resources, but pleas for better staffing were ignored by government officials. So, Alan Turing and several other codebreakers at Bletchley Park went over their heads to write directly to Prime Minister Winston Churchill. One of the codebreakers from Bletchley Park delivered the letter by hand in October 1941.

“Our reason for writing to you direct is that for months we have done everything that we possibly can through the normal channels, and that we despair of any early improvement without your intervention,” they wrote to Churchill [PDF]. “No doubt in the long run these particular requirements will be met, but meanwhile still more precious months will have been wasted, and as our needs are continually expanding we see little hope of ever being adequately staffed.”

In response, Churchill immediately fired off a missive to his chief of staff: “Make sure they have all they want on extreme priority and report to me that this had been done.”

4. Alan Turing had some odd habits.

Like many geniuses, Turing was not without his eccentricities. He wore a gas mask while riding his bike to combat his allergies. Instead of fixing his bike’s faulty chain, he learned exactly when to dismount to secure it in place before it slipped off. He was known around Bletchley Park for chaining his tea mug to a radiator to prevent it from being taken by other staffers.

5. Alan Turing rode his bike 62 miles to get to the first day of school.

Though he was considered an average student, Turing was dedicated enough to his schooling that when a general strike prevented him from taking the train to his first day at his new elite boarding school, the 14-year-old rode his bike the 62 miles instead.

6. Alan Turing tried out for the Olympics.

Turing started running as a schoolboy and continued throughout his life, regularly running the 31 miles between Cambridge and Ely while he was a fellow at King’s College. During World War II, he occasionally ran the 40 miles between London and Bletchley Park for meetings.

He almost became an Olympic athlete, too. He came in fifth place at a qualifying marathon for the 1948 Olympics with a 2-hour, 46-minute finish (11 minutes slower than the 1948 Olympic marathon winner). However, a leg injury held back his athletic ambitions that year.

Afterward, he continued running for the Walton Athletic Club, though, and served as its vice president. ”I have such a stressful job that the only way I can get it out of my mind is by running hard,” he once told the club’s secretary. “It's the only way I can get some release."

7. Alan Turing was prosecuted for being gay.

In 1952, Turing was arrested after reporting a burglary in his home. In the course of the investigation, the police discovered Turing’s relationship with another man, Arnold Murray. Homosexual relationships were illegal in the UK at the time, and he was charged with “gross indecency.” He pled guilty on the advice of his lawyer, and opted to undergo chemical castration instead of serving time in jail.

8. The British government only recently apologized for Alan Turing's conviction.

In 2009, UK Prime Minister Gordon Brown issued a public apology to Turing on behalf of the British government. “Alan and the many thousands of other gay men who were convicted as he was convicted under homophobic laws were treated terribly,” Brown said. "This recognition of Alan's status as one of Britain's most famous victims of homophobia is another step towards equality and long overdue." Acknowledging Britain’s debt to Turing for his vital contributions to the war effort, he announced, “on behalf of the British government, and all those who live freely thanks to Alan's work I am very proud to say: we're sorry, you deserved so much better."

His conviction was not actually pardoned, though, until 2013, when he received a rare royal pardon from the Queen of England.

9. In the UK, there is now a law named after Alan Turing.

Turing was only one of the many men who suffered after being prosecuted for their homosexuality under 19th-century British indecency laws. Homosexuality was decriminalized in the UK in 1967, but the previous convictions were never overturned. Turing’s Law, which went into effect in 2017, posthumously pardoned men who had been convicted for having consensual gay sex before the repeal. According to one of the activists who campaigned for the mass pardons, around 15,000 of the 65,000 gay men convicted under the outdated law are still alive.

10. Alan Turing poisoned himself ... maybe.

There is still a bit of mystery surrounding Turing’s death at the age of 41. Turing died of cyanide poisoning, in what is widely believed to have been a suicide. Turing’s life had been turned upside down by his arrest. He lost his job and his security clearance. By order of the court, he had to take hormones intended to “cure” his homosexuality, which caused him to grow breasts and made him impotent. But not everyone is convinced that he died by suicide.

In 2012, Jack Copeland, a Turing scholar, argued that the evidence used to declare Turing’s death a suicide in 1954 would not be sufficient to close the case today. The half-eaten apple by his bedside, thought to be the source of his poisoning, was never tested for cyanide. There was still a to-do list on his desk, and his friends told the coroner at the time that he had seemed in good spirits. Turing’s mother, in fact, maintained that he probably accidentally poisoned himself while experimenting with the chemical in his home laboratory. (He was known to taste chemicals while identifying them, and could be careless with safety precautions.)

That line of inquiry is far more tame than some others, including one author’s theory that he was murdered by the FBI to cover up information that would have been damaging to the U.S.

11. Alan Turing's full genius wasn't recognized in his lifetime.

Alan Turing was a well-respected mathematician in his time, but his contemporaries didn’t know the full extent of his contributions to the world. Turing’s work breaking the Enigma machine remained classified long after his death, meaning that his contributions to the war effort and to mathematics were only partially known to the public during his lifetime. It wasn’t until the 1970s that his instrumental role in the Allies' World War II victory became public with the declassification of the Enigma story. The actual techniques Turing used to decrypt the messages weren’t declassified until 2013, when two of his papers from Bletchley Park were released to the British National Archives.

12. The Turing Test is still used to measure artificial intelligence.

Can a machine fool a human into thinking they are chatting with another person? That’s the crux of the Turing test, an idea developed by Turing in 1950 regarding how to measure artificial intelligence. Turing argued in his paper “Computing Machinery and Intelligence” [PDF] that the idea of machines “thinking” is not a useful way to evaluate artificial intelligence. Instead, Turing suggests “the imitation game,” a way to assess how successfully a machine can imitate human behavior. The best measure of artificial intelligence, then, is whether or not a computer can convince a person that it is human.

13. Some people consider the Turing Test to be outdated.

As technology has progressed, some feel the Turing test is no longer a useful way to measure artificial intelligence. It’s cool to think about computers being able to talk just like a person, but new technology is opening up avenues for computers to express intelligence in other, more useful ways. A robot’s intelligence isn’t necessarily defined by whether it can fake being human—self-driving cars or programs that can mimic sounds based on images might not pass the Turing test, but they certainly have intelligence.

14. Alan Turing created the first computer chess program.

Inspired by the chess champions he worked with at Bletchley Park, Alan Turing created an algorithm for an early version of computer chess—although at that time, there was no computer to try it out on. Created with paper and pencil, the Turochamp program was designed to think two moves ahead, picking out the best moves possible. In 2012, Russian chess grandmaster Garry Kasparov played against Turing’s algorithm, beating it in 16 moves. “I would compare it to an early car—you might laugh at them but it is still an incredible achievement," Kasparov said in a statement after the match-up.

15. In 2012, an Alan Turing-themed edition of _Monopoly_ was released.

In 2012, Monopoly came out with an Alan Turing edition to celebrate the centennial of his birth. Turing had enjoyed playing Monopoly during his life, and the Turing-themed Monopoly edition was designed based on a hand-drawn board created in 1950 by his friend William Newman. Instead of hotels and houses, it featured huts and blocks inspired by Bletchley Park, and included never-before-published photos of Turing. (It’s hard to find, but there are still a few copies of the game on Amazon.)

question: Who is Alan Turing?

answer: The father of modern computer science.

question: What major event did Alan Turing play a role in

answer: World War II

question: Why was Alan Turing prosecuted?

answer: For being gay.

question: What is Turing's nationality?

answer: He is British.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: This article discusses Alan Turing, including 15 fun facts about him. Alan Turing is known as the father of modern computer science and played a pivotal role in World War II. Turing pioneered the concept of computer memory.


text:
**Beginning**

With the flip of a mental switch I am no longer on the surface of humanity. Withdrawn within my skull as if my eyes were but a screen sitting upon a stage. A frightful stage at that. Red flowing out around the body on the ground in front of me. Humanity pushing me from behind wanting me to come forward and live in this horror surrounding me. Yet with little effort these days it is but a tingle on the back of my conscious, something that I can easily shrug off. It wasn't always this easy you know, oh no, there was a time not so long ago when the only joy I could muster was the thought of what I actually believed I was craving, let alone the act.
Heh the act, it is truly amazing when you really think about it. To go through life and never really grasp your full potential to kill. Yes I said kill, see you were thinking that too weren't you?

**Location**

It has always intrigued me with how the Goth culture does their makeup. Here I stand over this small frame of a body. The blood starting to become tacky beneath my shoes and it hits me as odd again. It looks very pale very much like a Goth would look on a night out. Though this bodies lips are very pale not dark red. Anyway enough rambling, I was going to fill you in on where we are.
Have you ever walked down into an old homes basement? The type where the ceiling is low and part of the wall is dirt. Where the smell of dirt is very much all you can think of, and when you do finally get past the smell, new scents invade your nostrils. Living cellulose and rock, the wood from the stairs down slowly rotting from so many years of dampness. We are in a place very similar to this, a place dank and unfriendly to warm bodies. There is only one warm body here though; the other has ceased to give off heat of any kind. My knees are starting to cramp up from kneeling, so I will say my goodbye for now. There is much to do before I can leave this place. Maybe later I will expound on how this all came to be, the knife still sticking out from its lower neck creating what looks to be a horribly uncomfortable laying position. If only that mattered anymore.

I will say this before I go. Location is a very important aspect for this sort of thing. I think you would agree, for if you had done what I had done here this night. The location would be forever burned into your mind as it is now mine. Even from within there are images that do not fade but for a very very long while.

**Surfacing**

Coming out of the basement and into the light again. I can feel soreness at the back of my eyes. Behind my eyes, I dread what is coming. The knowledge of what I have just done will not be easy to handle. I know this from experience, it will crush me. The soreness in my eyes is slowly starting to fade. I must have been down there for quite some time. It was dark when I entered the basement. Time flows at a rapid pace when you are within. It always seems to move slow as you experience it though. It must be the act of what is happening that slows time. Never the less, here I am, standing against a sidewalks edge, pushing myself, up, out. I know that coming to the surface is necessary, that the re-entering will be harsh. People walk by at a quick pace, it seems to be morning.  They stare at me as I slowly sway and peer into nothing. Here it comes, like a rush of wind within my mind I erupt into the harsh reality of what is not behind my eyes, but what is the surface. Crumbling to my knee's my hands cupping my ears as if to block out the sound of the pain. Surging into my mind like hot acid, every image, every thought, and every decision painfully outlined in consciousness once more.

How long I kneel there reeling is unknown. What I do know is that something horrible happened in the house behind me. Something the surface cannot wash the red from, staining my memories eternally. And whom is to blame, not I, no if so it would be all too easy. No I have only you to blame. How you want it, how you need it, pushes me to please. I will blame you, I won't hate you though. Symbiosis is like that isn't it?

**Skater grrl**

 After prying myself off the ground and pushing forward into reality again. I’m walking down the sidewalk of a small town.  I don't think anyone notices anything strange about me.  My outward appearance is pretty common for someone my age.  Although maybe I don't know what is common anymore.
 I'm suddenly assaulted with an image from a few hours ago, the dull thud and grinding sound the knife made as I forced it into the back of the skull, covered in blood.  Adrenaline fills my eyes and I wonder if the man walking buy who looks at me oddly notices something strange in them.  Can you see something in my eyes?  Something that alerts your inner preservation reflex?
 Still in my adrenaline filled state I notice a group of skaters as I walk by, they notice me, one in particular more so then the others.  A female.  Loose pants, ball necklace, chains, red lipstick and pale face...I'm sent once more into that basement, blood pooling around the small body.  A red haze covers my eyes and I fight the urge to go back to that place, the smell of rusty nails and dank earth is strong in my mind.
 Into the small greasy spoon dinner I go, hungry from a night of less than acceptable behavior.  I don't even look if I should wait to be seated and take a booth seat facing the door with my back to a wall.  Is that even natural?
 The smell in this place is incredible, a sweet mix of salty food and sweet perfume.  Red shiny seats, table tops that glitter.  The dinner has been around for a long time it seems.  What day is it?  The man in the booth in front of me wearing a bola hat and a dark trench eyes me quietly but doesn't stop shoveling food into his mouth.  I nod to him and he looks down at his steaming pile on his plate.  The people on the dinner bench all backs and clanging silverware talk softly and smell of coats and leather.  Except for one woman, she smells lovely, very floral.  Would you like it to be her?  Or maybe not just yet...how can I push you back so you don't want me to hurt again?  I know you do, are you getting impatient with my descriptive rambling, so soon... tsk tsk
 Interrupting my thoughts the skater girl from outside helps herself to a seat across from me.  I stare at her, as she flips her black reddish hair back over her shoulder, straight and shiny it hangs off her like wet rain.  She smiles at me "Whats up?" her lips move and an angelic voice flows from her.  I can smell her breath from across the table, sick with watermelon lipstick and something else... clove, I breathe deeply while taking her in.
 "What have we here?" I say softly.  She blushes, fidgets and looks around.  "Thinking twice about sitting here are we?"  I bore my gaze into her solid brown eyes.  Eyelashes so soft and long, eyebrows so perfect.  Lovely jaw line, and her lips,  so lovely.  "You have incredible lips." I whisper to her and reach across the table to run my hand along her jaw line.  She flinches away at first but keeps still.
 Do you think she will come home with me... we could be nice to her.

**Skater grrl Pt.2**

 For me, the best part is playing with them.  I don't enjoy the remorse so much.  Though I try not to speak of it, it weighs on me.  It is something that will always be there in the back of my mind.  As I look across the table at this girl I can't help but think will I have remorse? It is very possible that she will not live through the day.  Maybe if I try really hard not to hurt her, maybe if I fight back the urges building inside me as we stare at each other.  Maybe just maybe she could be different.

 "My name is"... she speaks her name but I don't hear her because of her breath. Its warmth flowing over me, and the scent unnervingly strong in my mouth and nose. "I saw you outside walking by and at first I thought, well I thought you looked lost, or hurt but...but" she trails off unsure of herself "But now you are not so sure?" I say. "No, not so sure." She is very sweet looking, I didn't catch that while I walked passed her outside, I had thought her cockier more sure. Though maybe it is just me that is changing how she is, it is very possible that I am influencing her.

 Enter the waitress, smells I'd rather avoid right now in this serene moment I am having with Skater girl.  "What can I get you two?"  I look up at her blank expression and for a moment I think she see's something in my eye’s I retreat back into my mind somehow hoping to be less imposing "Coffee and some scrambled eggs, and my friend here will have the special and a Coke"  Speaking more loudly so she can hear me, the true ringing in my voice is shown, Skater girl is staring intently at me. I'm not sure if she even knows I ordered for her.  "Is that OK miss?  Miss?"  Reddish hair whips around and she snaps her head up as if lost in a dream but being pulled from it momentarily.  "Yeah sure, whatever"
 The waitress leaves and she says "I don't have any money to pay for that."  I smile full of teeth "I'm sure we can think of something."  The world tilts on its side just a bit as I watch her cover in goose bumps and shudder slightly.  Oh she is fun.

 A red haze covers my eyes and I see her face still, head back and at an angle, blood pouring from her neck in a slow water fall.  Coming forward I have to force that thought from my mind.  You really should be more careful, we are in a public place after all.  Things like that are unacceptable in proper society.

 "So what do you do?  You look well dressed and out of place around here." she says. Sweet clove and watermelon, what an interesting mix, I wonder if that will go away in time.  "I do whatever crosses my path." I whisper eyes blazing over the table at her.  "And you apparently talk to complete strangers." A slight smile cracks my face.  "I don't normally; I guess something just inspired me to talk to you."  Head down she talks more, pushing sweet breath across at me "You’re not upset are you? I mean I didn't ask for you to buy me breakfast, you did order breakfast for me didn't you?"  She blushes realizing she was barely aware of the waitress and me ordering her food.  "Indeed, I did order for you.  And I'm sure you will eat it, you will most likely need all the energy you have soon." I'm hinting at something for her, but I doubt she is even close to thinking the same thing as I.

Face in the dirt blood pooling around her nakedness, slashes on her back and legs, dirt and mud mingling with crimson....red fades from view and I see her staring at me as if she can see what I just saw.  Would you have me end her so soon then?  We could try something different; try something prolonging... what if we showed her.  Showed her what I see, what you want me to do.  Could it be she wants that?

"What do you want?"  I whisper to her still staring.  She flushes completely taken aback by my comment her mouth opens a few times as if trying to get something out.  "I...I don't know."  "What do you see when you look at me like that?" I ask her.  She looks at me for a long while, I stare back fighting the urges to remember last night, to remember the other girl, still cold, a few blocks east of here.  "I don't know for sure, your face seems to change a lot, why would you ask something like that?"  "I'm curious about how I appear to you."  She looks as if she is about to say something when the waitress brings our food. Grease, cigarettes, and coffee scents waft behind the waitress as she walks away.  Her smell mixes with the food in a disgusting way.

I'm growing fonder of this pale beauty across from me, she has a lot of what I look for, though I'm unsure of how it always ends up that way.  I won't question the way of things, only flow with them.  Watching her eat silently looking up at me every so often then looking away quickly, fills me with subtle emotions that have long been suppressed.  I couldn't possibly want anything more from her; that would be wrong.  How could she walk in and include herself in my thoughts without me first finding her.  Does she not see the evil that lies behind my eyes?  Does she not know what danger the next few hours hold for her?  Get up and walk away skater girl, leave now if you know what is best for you.

[edit: formatting]

title: [MF][TH] Behind My Eyes - There is only one warm body here; the other has ceased to give off heat of any kind.

question: What does the story say about how to get away with murder?

question: What does the story say about outfits?

answer: The narrator notices a female in loose pants with a ball necklace and chains. In the diner, there's a man wearing a bola hat and a dark trench coat. The skater girl calls the narrator well-dressed.


text:
My sister challenged me to write a flash fiction about talking to your reflection in the mirror and slowly realizing that our world was the evil one.
___________________________________________________
His grin, that's the worst part. It was both alien and familiar; a poorly drawn self portrait. It was too perfect to the point of being unsettling. I couldn't find a flaw if I tried. What’s worse, I had always loved smiles. Especially my fathers, both reassuring and optimistic. People would always remark how much i resembled my father; if only they could see me now.

“Well of course there’s no such thing as killing. I mean, there are accidents, but these things will happen, that is the fate set by the Creator”, spoke the phantom hiding in the mirror.

“But what about all the people who would have lived in my world? How could you, I mean me, or whatever, exist? Wouldn't a whole different set of people exist? I mean what about the butterfly effect? How do you have radar and rockets, and have you guys ever been to the moon! That was all the cold war and Kennedy... hey what about Kennedy! He must have…”

“Whoa nelly! Calm down there me.”, as he snuck in a quick wink, “I guess what they say about us is true; we really are curious!”

I don’t like ‘us’, it’s unsettling. With any other man, I would have punched him right in his smug face. Honestly though, I could hardly move if I tried. I took a short breath and thought for a second. “Well if you think like me then you know what I mean. How is this possible?”

He, me, whatever, paused and gave a slight smile, “Well I think you see what you want in this other world, whatever is comfortable I mean. We could even look like completely different people. Instinct tells ‘us’ that we’re the same in spirit, if not body. We’re pretty clever you know. Do you know what I mean?”

Dammit, none of this makes any sense. But I mean if he gets what's going on then why don’t I? This is so damn confusing! Finally I sighed, “You know what, I don’t even give a fuck. Who cares how this works. I’m still not 100 percent convinced i’m not nuts”

“What does ‘fuck’ mean?” he said quizzically.

God dammit. I practically screamed, “Oh please don’t tell me you guys never swear either! Fuck damn shit hell cocksucking motherfucker!”

“I know know mother.”, he said proudly

Exasperated, I groaned, “Well what about hell and damn? You seem like a fairly pious bunch. There’s no way you haven’t heard those words. ”

“No… none of those sound familiar.” suddenly slipping back into his quizzical stare.

No. This can’t be true. There’s no way he doesn't know all the words we are supposed to be ashamed of. Dammit none of this makes sense! Are our worlds really so different? But, maybe they are. Maybe they don’t know, can’t know, these words. Maybe I’m trying to see what I want, the better part of things. No, I’m too pessimistic for that. At least there’s something I know for certain. Finally the reality set in, slowly things became sickeningly clear. Quietly, with a tinge of fear, i spoke, “Do… do you know sin?”

He Laughed, catching me off guard. “You’re messing with me! Man, I should’ve know I’d try something like that. There’s no way you have words that I don’t. Man it really is true; we sure do love to fool people!”

Speechless, the seconds strolled by. I saw his expression change one again from joy to query. He is the same person as me, but we could not be more different. His world was a paradise, and mine is a shithole. A virtual antithesis to his impossible utopia. This is such bullshit! This is some sort of sick joke! I mean he said we like messing with people. No, the sincerity was palpable, undeniably innocent.

A rage from deep within burst forth. Screaming in what was nearly pain, I tore into this guy, “How!? How are you so perfect!? You have to comprehend this! Sin! The act of evil! All that is bad, the horrors of humanity! How can you be this way!?”

“Well, I can’t help it. Anything else is unthinkable. I don’t think I could ‘sin’ if I tried”, he smiled still drowning in his innocence.

There it was, the sick sweet truth. He isn't better than me! His world may be an Eden, but it is undeniably a prison. A grin crossed my face, both alien and sickeningly familiar. My sin kept me free.

It was time for me to laugh. I carried on a bit too long honestly. It was both terrifying and refreshing. I even think I scared that little punk a bit. Hot damn that’s satisfying. I sputtered through the cackles, “You know what, you can keep your pious bullshit and your fucking Eden! I wouldn't leave here for anything; I’m a free man here!”

“That’s wonderful!”, he said.

God dammit. Whatever, I’m too excited to get pissed off at his optimism. Still, like a splinter ignored for too long, I felt a sudden sudden prick deep in my psyche. Man, I’m getting sick of this fucker. “What do you mean?” I asked, exasperated.

“We love seeing people happy, deep down you know that! As long as you are at peace, I can be happy for you!”

“How can you be okay with that? I mean being a captive to yourself and your ‘Creator’ that ‘loves’ you so much? I know you understand me, I can see it your smug fucking eyes!”. Shit, did I just insult myself? I mean, that is me, I guess. Whatever, he won’t understand anyway.

Still with that fucking grin he retorted, “He gives me love, unconditional and liberating! I do have free will you know.”

“Oh really?”, I said, confidence returning. “You said you couldn't fathom my concept of sin, that means you’re ‘creator, is holding you  back!”

“No, I’m free to do as I please. Look at it this way, if you got a brand new car, would you crash it just because you could? Why would ruin something perfect?”

Fuck, he’s figured this sin thing out pretty quick. Well all that means is I’m obviously very clever, a straight up mental badass. I’ll figure this bastard out. Shit, I probably shouldn't think of him, me or whatever, that way.

“Well, I mean at least I could if I wanted to for whatever reason! That’s what makes life so exciting! I mean, when I pop some pills my body gets a beating but I get high as fuck! You've probably never even felt the rush, the ecstasy, of danger.” Man, I've got this guy pinned.

“Yes, I know about these pills. I can tell when we take them. I ignore the sensation though, because I have the choice to!”

“Ha, that is some ignorant sh..” Wait a second… Confused and terrified, I blurted. “What the fuck do you mean… you know when I get high!? What the fuck is going on here! I can affect you, your world and whatever!? There’s no way… Who the fuck are you!?”

“I’m you. You should know by now, but maybe you've ignored me for too long.”

The smile was gone. Deep down that racked my soul in a way unfathomable. “No.. no, no no no… what the fuck is going on!? god fucking dammit what the fuck! Just… WHO ARE YOU!? explain yourself motherfucker!!” Insults flowed to freely now.

“I’m you, but I think you are no longer me. You haven’t been for a very long time. Still you visit from time to time, so I know you exist. I still keep the hope, and follow the perfect path you made for me, since the very beginning.”

I tried to run, tried to scream in a rage but something was wrong. I don’t think my body can anymore. I whispered, “You can’t be… are, are you my soul?”

A slight chuckle, comforting. “No, him and I do not get along. I’m your conscience. I am all that is all that you know is good, I have reached out to you our whole life. But like I said, you see what you want here. You saw my ignorance to ‘sin’ as a weak, but it’s becoming clear to us now. You know ‘sin’ quite well, it seems comfortable to you.”

A wave a panic rushed to me but found no anchor, I was too stunned. Reality was too vague now. I forced the words past my empty lips, “Why... now?”

“I think deep down you know. Look in yourself, tell me what you see.”

No, I won’t. I fucking won’t. Fuck this guy! No, no I’m not going to look! Fuck… FUCK! A new phantom is walking towards me from just out of my field of vision. He’s undeniable, I don’t know how, but somehow knew. Truth was unmistakable. Suddenly Truth is wrestling my mind down. It’s futile now, I know it… no... fuck no I won’t let him! Shit, he’s strong. I can barely fight it, I’m more tired than I know. Truth moves closer as I struggle less and less. Finally, angry lips whispered into my ear, “It was too much this time, a pill to many. You are going to die.”

I cried absent of tears. My mind sobbed, screaming throughout my whole being. Panic finally overcame me. My knees buckled and the world moved so slowly that it tore at my sanity. Violently my eyes returned to the mirror. He had taken a step back, and the panic turned into soul crushing pain. More than my conscience can take. I begged with my eyes for words of comfort and my last words struggled in less than a whisper out of my whole body, “I am dying. help me, please!”

Quietly my conscience spoke, “I wish I could, but I can’t find the words. You have ignored me so long that I no longer know. I’m not strong enough to carry you with me... fall softly”

title: [MF] Man in the Mirror

question: What does the story say about Doppelgangers?

question: What does the story say about the narrator?

answer: The narrator is a sinner who is talking to his reflection in the mirror and thinks he's nuts. He is a drug addict who is a shadow of his former self. The narrator is angry and frustrated at his reflection for being too perfect. He resorts to profanity-laced questions, answers, and statements when talking to his other-self. The narrator is dying of a drug overdose and realizes it's too late.

question: What does the story say about who the narrator was speaking with?

answer: The narrator was speaking with his conscience - a guy who looks exactly like him, but better in every way. His conscience is pure and perfect, unlike the narrator, who is an angry drug addict that swears a lot. The narrator's conscience doesn't know even basic profanity and possesses a child's innocence. The conscience says that he gets unconditional love from the creator, and has free will. He reminds the narrator that the latter has been ignoring him for far too long, which is why he thinks they are no longer the same person because he is pure and the narrator has become a sinner. The conscience speaks to the narrator because the latter is about to die.

question: Summarize the climactic event of the story.

answer: The story's climactic event is when the narrator realizes that he is talking to his conscience, whom he has ignored for so long. He realizes that if he only listened to his conscience, he would have avoided the predicament he is in. The narrator's conscience reveals himself at the last minute to tell the narrator that he is dying and can't be saved.


text:
(IP) Up in Smoke

In the mirrored, colorful surface of the portal, there was a blue, sunny sky, with grassy valleys and mountains painted in every color he could imagine; after all these years, after all of his sacrifices, he’d found it. No more would he be living in this world, cold and gray and drained of life, though the universe had seen fit to put him here.

That wasn’t to say that his formative years in this world, clouded by toxic lavender clouds of smoke, were miserable. Indeed, there had been times that he’d been happy. But there was something inside of him, a deep, yawning void that was just not satisfied, even after he’d reaped the love and support that his family had shown him, a mere echo now that they were gone.

For a short, terrifying moment, he was transported back to the moment that had caused their deaths, drowning him in the fear and rage that had driven him to this in the first place—

*Three sharp, rapid knocks on the door. A beat of silence.*

*Then they kicked down the door, dark beacons of death and order and the king’s elite force, The Reaper’s Hand, fanning out like smoke and just as insubstantial, rictus grins showing behind their masks.*

*His wife, standing by the fire, stirring a stew, and his son at her feet, babbling happily.*

*“Maximillian Garvey, you have been charged by the King for treason,” The biggest, hulking guard said, his voice garbled behind his mask.*

*“The sentence for treason is death.”*

*Before the executioner had even finished his decree, his cronies had snatched up his poor wife and child; two quick swipes of the blade and Jazira fell to the floor, blood pouring from the gaping slash in her throat.*

*The only thing he remembered hearing was his own desperate, wrathful shrieks; he sounded like an injured animal. But he could see them, feel them, laughing at his agony, frenzied with bloodlust at their kill; after all, that was why the King employed them.*

*And then, to add insult to injury, they’d taken his boy, ‘to insure his future good behavior’.*

He quickly snapped himself out of the vision; that was the past and it needed to stay there. But that didn’t stop his body from remembering: the iron tang of her blood, hanging in the air as if to emphasize his own personal horror, his throat tightening so much he couldn’t breathe, invisible iron bars wrapped around his chest.

And to think, to this day, he didn’t know just what happened to his only child.

If he hadn’t had control of his temper by now, he would’ve struck the portal, destroyed his whole life’s work; he clenched his jaw and steeled himself.

He couldn’t waste all of this work, all of these years spent chasing what more people thought of as a pipe dream.

Now, he could escape, start over in a new world, where no one lived under a mad monarch’s thumb. He could leave the ghosts that haunted him in this faded husk of a world.

He did a final check of his supplies: food, clothing, as much money as he could scrape together, what he could afford to take from his lab, pictures of his wife and son, and finally, a vial of something so black it looked like the mad scientist had managed to bottle a starless night.

He was leaving at last, and good riddance. He stepped through the mirror and once he was on the other side, his back faded into the mountainous distance, and the door closed, becoming a normal mirror once more.

He’d made sure to lock the door to his crumbling tenement; more than one person had died for his secrets, and he hadn’t known, even when he’d made his choice, if his conscience could take any more blood spilled in his name.

No one ever saw Maximillian Garvey again, not even his son, when he’d returned from a childhood spent as an adopted prince, now a man.

Perhaps his father was nothing more than a mere dream.

\*\*

title: (FN) Up in Smoke

question: What happened to Maximillian Garvey?

answer: His wife was murdered and his son was kidnapped. He spent the rest of his life creating a portal to another world. When he succeeded, he stepped through and was never seen again.

question: What happened to Maximillian Garvey's son?

answer: He was kidnapped by the king's cronies and raised as an adopted prince without his family.

question: Why was Maximillian Garvey accused of treason?