text:
HONG KONG (Reuters) - Hong Kong has fallen into recession, hit by five months of anti-government protests that erupted in flames at the weekend, and is unlikely to achieve any growth this year, the city’s Financial Secretary said.

Black-clad and masked demonstrators set fire to shops and hurled petrol bombs at police on Sunday following a now-familiar pattern, with police responding with tear gas, water cannon and rubber bullets.

TV footage showed protesters, who streamed into the Kowloon hotel and shopping artery of Nathan Road on Sunday, setting fire to street barricades and squirting petrol from plastic bottles on to fires at subway entrances amid running battles with police.

At one station, activists rolled a flaming metal barrel down a long staircase toward police below.

“The blow (from the protests) to our economy is comprehensive,” Paul Chan said in a blog post, adding that a preliminary estimate for third-quarter GDP on Thursday would show two successive quarters of contraction - the technical definition of a recession.

He also said it would be “extremely difficult” to achieve the government’s pre-protest forecast of 0-1 % annual economic growth.

The rallying cry of Sunday’s protests was to fight perceived police brutality and defend Muslims and journalists. Police last weekend fired water cannon at a group of people standing outside a mosque and journalists have been wounded in clashes.

The programming staff union of public broadcaster RTHK said on Monday it had called on police to identify officers who “attacked and ripped the face mask” off one of its journalists on Sunday. It said she was wearing a reflective vest clearly identifying herself as a journalist.

Pictures circulating online suggested she was wearing a gas mask, to protect against tear gas and pepper spray. Ordinary face masks were banned this month under a resurrected colonial-era emergency law.

Hong Kong Free Press, an online news service, called for the release of a freelance photographer arrested on Sunday after she had asked to see a police officer’s warrant card.

The city’s Foreign Correspondents’ Club condemned the arrest in a statement calling for an independent investigation into “police violence against journalists and interference with the media’s right to cover the protests under Hong Kong law”.

The police, who deny using excessive force, told reporters they had repeatedly asked journalists to keep their distance so police can do their job.

They said an officer had removed a journalist’s mask, which had seemed an “undesirable” incident, but they said they did not know the full context. The Hong Kong Free Press reporter was arrested for failing to show ID and being uncooperative and obstructing police.

Protesters have routinely torched store fronts and businesses including banks, particularly those owned by mainland Chinese companies and vandalized the city’s MTR Corp metro which has shut down services to stop protesters gathering.

The MTR has closed early for the past few weeks and said it will again shut down two hours early on Monday to repair damage.

Protesters are angry about what they view as increasing interference by Beijing in Hong Kong, which returned to Chinese rule in 1997 under a “one country, two systems” formula intended to guarantee freedoms not seen on the mainland.

China denies meddling. It has accused foreign governments, including the United States and Britain, of stirring up trouble.

Tourists numbers have plummeted, with visitor numbers down nearly 50 percent in October, a decline Chan called an “emergency”.

Retail operators, from prime shopping malls to family-run businesses, have been forced to close for multiple days over the past few months.

While authorities have announced measures to support local small and medium seized enterprises, Chan said the measures could only “slightly reduce the pressure”.

“Let citizens return to normal life, let industry and commerce operate normally, and create more space for rational dialogue,” he wrote.

Reporting by Farah Master, Tom Westbrook and Twinnie Sui; Editing by Nick Macfie & Simon Cameron-Moore

for-phone-onlyfor-tablet-portrait-upfor-tablet-landscape-upfor-desktop-upfor-wide-desktop-up

question: Summarize the events and happenings that have led to the shrinking of Hong Kong's economic growth.

answer: The recent anti-government protests have had a shrinking effect on Hong Kong's economy. Protesters have been setting fires to stores and hurling petrol bombs at the police for the past five months. The rallying cry of the protesters is to fight police brutality against citizens and journalists. The protesters are specifically targeting businesses owned by mainland Chinese companies in retaliation for what they perceived to be meddling by the Chinese government. As a result of these protests and the government's actions, tourism has all but declined and most businesses have refused to operate leading to an economic recession.

question: What can the Chinese government do to stop foreign government meddling in Hong Kong's affairs?


split: test

text:
Tag walked carefully along the thin stone wall. He was trying to get across a fairly large sized river, and this was the quickest, most effective way of doing so. It reminded him of how he used to play on curbs when he was younger - trying to balance on them without falling off. Only this time it was not a game with petty consequences if you fell off. It wouldn't be scraped knee or elbow if he lost his balance; this time it would probably mean an end to his short 23 years on this planet. This cruel, unforgiving planet.

"Hurry up, dude." a still somewhat unfamiliar voice said from behind him.

"Sorry. I guess started daydreaming about how ridiculous this situation is. It almost makes me want to laugh." Tag replied.

"If you would have told me what we were doing here a couple years ago, I would have laughed right there with you buddy." The voice said in a sympathetic voice, then paused for a moment. The tone quickly changed to an assertive, almost aggressive tone. "But every minute we waste here is another minute the sun gets lower in the sky."

And with that, Tag started walking again.

The pair of men were walking on what used to be one of the walls of a walkway across the river. The original wooden walkway between the two walls had since deteriorated, and was unstable to walk on. It was even missing in most places. All that remained were the two walls originally surrounding the walkway, and the steel canopy above it.

It certainly would have been much easier to climb up onto the steel canopy of the old bridge, which was still intact, and cross the river that way. There was one problem with that though. It was sunny out, with barely any clouds in the sky. For that reason, they needed that same steel canopy to shade their walk across the wall.

Another possibility of crossing the wide, yet shallow river, was to simply wade through it. A practical and easy way to cross. Tag could also potentially not even get wet by hopping from rock to rock the whole way across. However, the sun prevented such a simple solution once again.

They were now about halfway across the remains of the bridge they were walking across. Tag could feel the waves of light reflected from the clear water below. Water was especially good at reflecting rays from the sun that Tag, along with every other "new generation" human, feared so much. As he walked across the slim wall, the reflected sunlight caused him to itch and become increasingly uncomfortable the longer he was exposed. Only a little bit longer and they would be across the river and back into the shade of the thick forest on the other side.

A few minutes later, Tag arrived at his destination; the other side of the river. He hopped down from the wall onto the shaded soil, and entered the forest just enough to prevent any directly reflected light from the river from reaching him. Tag had started becoming lightheaded near the end of the river crossing from the prolonged exposure to the indirect sunlight. Any longer on that wall and he might have risked fallen off due to simple lightheadedness.

Tag lay there on the cool soil and recollected his thoughts. Being in the shade cleared up his consciousness and the uncomfortable itchy feeling, almost as if he had taken some super-drug that instantly cured him from sunlight exposure symptoms. It felt as if a cool waterfall had been slowly poured over his entire body, soothing away that heated feeling.

After recovering, tag looked back at the old bridge and saw the man he met earlier today, still slowly walking across.

"The shade sure feels nice over here, old man" Tag said in a taunting voice.

He waited for a comedic retort, as that was what he had expected of the man by now. It seemed that during the past few hours they had talked with each other, the middle aged man always had a funny comeback no matter what tag said to him. Tag liked having someone to talk to for once, and was glad it was someone amusing.

Something wasn't right. There was no reply this time, just a small mumble.

"Hey, are you coming or what?" Tag announced, this time with a bit of concern in his voice.

No reply came from the man. Not even a mumble this time. In fact, his facial expression looked calm, which was unusual, considering the situation he was in. So calm looking, it was almost as if he was going to fall asleep right there on the wall.

It was at that moment Tag started putting the pieces together.

One. They both started crossing the bridge at the same time - yet the man still had a few minutes of walking to do. They were near each other around midway of the crossing, so the man must have slowed down his walking recently.

Two. The man wasn't acting in his jovial character as usual. His posture and facial expression mimicked that of a lazy man, ready for a nap.

Three. His footing looked sloppy.

Tag analyzed all of these facts in a few seconds. He knew what would happen if he left the man to continue crossing the bridge on his own, without assistance.

Tag dropped his backpack and left it on the soil, shaded in the trees. He ran to wall which he had jumped off moments ago, and climbed back up onto it. Just as he gained his balance and was setting back across to help the man finish crossing, he heard the man mutter something. It sounded like "help". Tag looked straight ahead, just in time to see the man lose his footing.
He saw the man in what seemed to be slow motion, tilt sideways, and slowly fall off the wall. This was it. The man would no longer be a part of Tag's life. He hadn’t even had the chance to ask his name.

Wait. Tag watched in amazement as the man fell inward to where the old wooden walkway had been, and landed on one of the few remaining sections of walkway. It was a miracle.

"Stay right there, don’t move. I'm coming to get you." Tag said quickly, while moving across the wall towards the location where the man now lay.

Tag wasn't sure if the man could hear him, if he was conscious, or how he would even get him back on the wall and across the river. Those questions could remain unanswered until he reached the man. Reaching him was the first objective. One step at a time, Tag thought in his head.

He finally reached the man after what seemed to be an eternity, but really was only a minute or two. He looked down at the limp body, barely supported on the old wooden walkway. Tag cringed at the sight of sunlight streaming below the wood.

"You awake? Give me your hand if you can hear me." tag was sure to say this in a calm and low voice, as he didn’t want to startle the man. It was clear he was exposed to the strongly reflected light too long, and was unstable both mentally and physically because of that. Despite this, the man slowly turned his head toward Tag, and reach out an arm.

"Thank you." the man said very quietly, in a slurred voice. The blank stare and lack of alertness was obviously the work of the sun, Tag thought, as he reach out his hand as well.

Just then, the wood underneath the man creaked, and broke. Rotten wooden chunks plunged into the river, about two stories below. The contents of the man's backpack had opened, and followed the wood shortly after. Each object falling into the river made the distinctive sound of water being splashed. This time for sure, this man's story was coming to an end. Right here on this bridge.

That was Tag's initial thought. However, the man was holding onto Tag's outstretched arm, which was supported by Tag who had braced himself by laying down on the wall, placing both legs downwards, on both sides of  the wall; otherwise they both would have fallen due to the sudden weight of the man offsetting Tag's balance.

Again, another miracle. They had grabbed each other just in time before the wood collapsed. Now they simply needed to find a way to get the man over across the bridge. Maybe they could crawl slowly across in this position for the remainder of the way. Even if they did that, surely they could get across within a few minutes at most.

Tag should have known better. He already knew this a long time ago. Miracles don't happen in this world anymore. They simply don’t exist. He was reminded of this as soon as he saw the setting sunlight striking the dangling mans lower body, as it showered his exposed lower legs. The man was wearing shorts.

It was nearing dusk, just as the man had mentioned earlier. This was one of the two most dangerous parts of the day, the other being sunrise. The long shadows the sun provides at these times are unique, and can sometimes be useful, but it is a double edged sword. The sun also penetrates places normally shielded from objects, such as the area under the steel canopy. Technically, they were below the steel canopy. However, the low hanging sun in the sky ignored the familiar, mid day shadows, and the man was exposed the its vicious rays.

The previously confused, lightheaded facial expression Tag saw moments ago was now replaced with a wide eyed, painful one. The man began screaming as his exposed legs absorbed the sunlight at a rapid pace.

Tag knew it was over. He regretfully turned away an closed his eyes, and let go of the man he had grown a small liking to.
"I'm sorry" tag said in the softest voice possible, most likely because of the guilt of letting the man fall.

There was no large splash in the river. Instead, there were multiple, tiny splashes that followed the man's short lived scream. These multiple, tiny splashes were from what used to be the man that Tag did not know the name of. The large amount of sunlight absorbed by the man's body was not able to be contained, and he exploded mid air before he had hit the surface of the water.

This is the curse that the "new generation" of humans has come to live with, as Tag had unfortunately experienced firsthand, many times. He painfully adds today as another tragedy to his mind, along with countless others. The human genetics project that would "change the world" certainly did. In ways that no one could have imagined.

Tag half-heartedly crawled his way back to his original destination across the river into the dense tree line. He picks up his backpack, and silently begins walking once again, with the sound of softly flowing water in the background. Alone.

Edit: Feedback is welcomed. Does the concept of the story intrigue you? Should it be continued? Or should it remain a short story?

title: [SF] Sunlight - A young man in a new world

question: Explain Tag's concern as he walked across the bridge.

answer: Tag and an older man had been walking on a thin wall that was previously a bridge over a river but had deteriorated and become unstable to walk on. Once Tag was over on the other side, he knew something wasn't right from the silence behind him. They had been crossing at the same time, but now the older man was only halfway and about to lose his footing. Tag ran back to the wall as he knew what would happen if he didn't go assist the man in crossing. As Tag helped the man from falling, the wood underneath began to creak and break. The rotten parts plunged into the river along with the contents of the man's backpack. It seemed as the man's life was coming to an end, however the men were able to grab each other just in time, before the wood collapsed.


text:
*Cobras. Cobras. More Cobras.*

"Ha ha, Baker. It is I - Dr. Lox! Back from the dream world and now here to destroy you. I have fashioned a time machine of this watch and I can travel whenever! Wherever! I want!"

"Time's up, Dr. Lox."

"Time's up? It's just begun!" And he disappeared.

Then he reappeared behind me and slapped me in the back of the head. Then he appeared in front of me and started dancing with the Dr. Lox behind me. Then two more Dr. Lox's appeared and joined in. Then more and more. Soon it was just a giant dance party of Dr. Lox's.

I slowly walked out of the lair and they didn't notice me or the time machine watch I took. I went back and forth in time until I created my own dance party. Nothing ever came of it. But it's a simple lesson on how a time machine could be used to create dance parties.

*Never Say Dying*

"Dr. Lox. It's me, Baker. I traveled back in time just before you killed me with all those volcanoes."

"Baker? Yes, I think I remember you. I have been stuck in a dream for millions of years. I am on the ninth level of dream-townville where you cannot escape your dream."

"That is the dumbest plot device I have ever heard of in my entire life."

"What about this Milk Way bar that turns into a car?"

"Still."

*Temptation to Terminate*

Dr. Lox was at it again. The entire building was sealed off and I was caught under the volcano that was aboard the spaceship that was headed towards the sun.

I had no escape. What was worse is that the sun was about to explode.

Worse still was that a black hole, unleashed by Dr. Lox, was moving slowly towards the sun.

My only chance was to activate the time machine watch I had and go back and stop Dr. Lox before any of this could occur.

I reached for the watch, but it was on my other hand.

The hand that I left at home.

Dr. Lox walked in. He was holding my hand. "You deserve a hand, Baker." He raised my hand and clapped his own hand with it.

Then he threw the hand at me. "Go ahead, Baker. Try to stop me."

I grabbed the hand and put in the time coordinates to bring me back, but it turned out it was just a regular watch - a Seiko.

"Dr. Lox, only you can stop this now. If you don't, we will all be killed."

"Not me, Baker." Dr. Lox then produced the time machine watch. He smiled and disappeared.

That's when two more volcanoes appeared and started circling the ship.

*Spy vs. Spy*

Sometimes, at night, I forget where I am and look up at the moon and think of Julia and all that could have been. Everything she was and everything she could be...

She was beautiful and I loved her.

Her and those three holes she had.

*Rangoon Noon*

You don't enter the spy game without training.

Many movies will show training camps where you learn how to kill people with matchbox cars, jelly donuts, or giant hoagie sandwiches - those movies are really accurate and I helped consult on a few, but what they don't tell you is that you also learn how to kill people with VHS home movies, oversized stuffed animals, and Pepperidge Farm gift packs.

*The End of the Road*

People think that spying is easy. You just hide behind a wall and chew gum and watch what people do, right? Like maybe you just sit behind a wall and eat a hot dog and read comic books? Like you just sit in a vacant building and eat as many pies as you can and then the next day you try to eat more and you text your buddies on the progress? Or you sit with binoculars watching an arms deal while beating off?

Well, you're wrong.

Except for the beating off thing. That happens all the time.

*Sabotage!*

I wired the dam with the explosives and waited.

I needed to confirm all six kills, so there I was, high above the dam just waiting. Waiting for them to arrive.

Finally, Schultz, Kramer, Demoine, Vernon, and Carlson pulled up.

There was no sign of Coco the Clown, until finally, he came cartwheeling down the road. The five others clapped and I pulled the trigger on the bomb.

Nothing.

I ran down to the dam and checked the charges. Coco had brought out a unicycle and was riding the edge of the dam to the others' amusement.

I made it to the wires just as Coco began juggling knives.

Slowly, I realized I was no clown killer and decided to call the whole thing off. But then Coco lost his footing and fell to his death.

I rewired the bomb, but then realized I couldn't kill the five mourners. They had been through too much.

I walked down the mountain in shame, promising to end the spy business and become a clown.

I never went through with it. But that was the one time I felt human for not killing a spy clown on a dam or a bunch of spies that were mourning a spy clown.

*Brazen Liaison*

"Baker, it's Jessica. I want you to meet me at Big Ben."

"The clock or that bouncer from the Copa?"

"The clock."

"OK. What time?"

"Eight."

"Shouldn't be to hard to keep the time." I jested.

She laughed. But I could tell she didn't find it funny. There was lying in that laughter and I told her. "You didn't find that funny, did you?"

"No. I found it stupid."

"I have better material. I was just kinda off the cuff there."

"Just meet me there."

"OK." I put down the phone and worked on new material. I felt bad about the joke.

I called her back. "How will I find Big Ben?"

"Still not funny."

I slammed the phone down. I'm no comedian, but my Big Ben material should've killed. I was angry.

I decided to go kill some spies.

But then I got tired and wrote more Big Ben jokes.

*Deadly Deeds*

When your caught in a corner and have no where to run it's time to pull out the big guns.

In this case, it was a small bomb encased in a tube of chapstick. You simply take the chapstick out, screw the bottom a couple of times and leave it to detonate within 50 seconds.

The problem was, we were in an elevator. I had to time the moment perfectly in order to get out of the elevator before the bomb went off.

"This is my floor." I said.

"It is mine too." My target said.

I bet the look on my face when the elevator blew up was priceless. I tried to shrug it off, but he knew. So I shot him.

I don't know why I didn't shoot him in the first place. It's always chapstick with me. I think I have a thing.

*The Moon Can't Lie*

It was Venice. Venice again.

Out the window I saw couples cavorting on the beach. Children swimming. Mimes miming. Dogs dogging. Cats catting. And a guy eating a hot dog.

The phone rang. "Baker, it's Jessica. I need you."

"Not tonight, Jessica. It's too late."

"But there's couples cavorting, children swimming, mimes miming, dogs dogging, cats catting, and a guy eating a hot dog."

"Oh, wow. You're right. It's only noon. I still can't. I'm on assignment and my watch is broken."

"The watch I gave you?"

"Why yes. Wait. It's a setup!"

I threw the watch out the window and it exploded. Mimes, people, hotdogs, and dogs and cats flew up into the air. It was like watching fireworks.

It made me think of Coco the Clown. And Julia. And her three holes. And Dr. Lox. It made me think of everything. Everything I once knew. That I...once loved.

But mainly, it made me think of people, mimes, hotdogs, dogs and cats and that bomb that went off.

*Killing View*

"Baker! Ms. Parks is the assassin! I repeat - Parks is the assassin!"

"Copy. I'll just poison her drink."

"Be careful."

"I will." I opened up the vial and realized I was out of poison again.

Time to go to the poison store.

*All Your Last Chances*

"We have 39 seconds."

"How many seconds now?"

"37."

"And now?"

"36."

"Well, the clock works."

*From Scandinavia with Love*

"Klinger - it's Baker. I cracked the code."

"Good man! We may just come through alive. What does the cipher say?"

"It says that they are attacking at midnight - in Rio."

"Rio!"

"Now to find out if they mean the city or that woman in the Duran Duran song."

*Spies Alive*

"It's Baker. I see our target. They are the two with the cheeseburgers in the corner. The male has a mustache and the woman doesn't."

"I need more description. I have a bead on the entire restaurant, but I can't depend on that description."

"The female is wearing a Chewbacca mask."

"Roger.

title: [HM] Baker, Spy Guy

question: What does the text say about what Baker does?

answer: Baker is a spy. He has different missions that usually involve stealth, cunning, and taking down other spies. Some of his enemies are Dr. Lox, Schultz, Kramer, Demoine, Vernon, Carlson, Coco the Clown, and Ms. Parks. His job takes him to different places in the world, and even outside Earth.

question: What does the text say about Baker's love life?

answer: Jessica is Baker's love interest. She calls him on the phone whenever she needs to meet with him. There is another girl in the past, Julia, whom Baker still thinks of once in a while. She is a spy like him. Baker thinks she's beautiful, and he loved him.

question: Summarize the incident that involves time traveling.

answer: One of Baker's enemies is a scientist who invested a time machine watch. He's name is Dr. Lox. Dr. Lox can travel back and forth in time, and leveraged this ability to defeat Baker. When Baker gets hold of the watch, he used it to travel back in time before Dr. Lox could kill him with volcanos.

question: Summarize the incident that involves outer space.

answer: In one of his confrontations with Dr. Lox, Baker is trapped under a volcano aboard a spaceship that is headed toward the sun. Dr. Lox then did something to let two more volcanoes appear in outer space to ensure Baker is killed. The volcanoes killed Baker.

question: What does the text say about Baker's employer?


text:
Ex-IPS officer wants SIT probe into FIRs against him.

[]

In a hearing that continued the whole day on Thursday, former IPS officer Sanjiv Bhatt told the Supreme Court that he was victimised over the years for his depositions before the Special Investigation Team investigating the 2002 Gujarat riots.

__

Ex-IPS officer wants SIT probe into FIRs against him.

In a hearing that continued the whole day, former IPS officer Sanjiv Bhatt told the Supreme Court that he was victimised over the years for his depositions before the Special Investigation Team (SIT) investigating the 2002 Gujarat riots.

“His is a clear case of victimisation. His depositions have the potential to upset those in power. He was and is even now being victimised for being bold enough to have said that he was present at the February 27, 2002 meeting held at the residence of then Gujarat Chief Minister Narendra Modi, where he heard him utter a few words,” senior advocate Indira Jaising, representing Mr. Bhatt, submitted before a bench led by Chief Justice of India H.L. Dattu on Thursday.

TWO APPLICATIONS

The hearing was based on two applications filed by Mr. Bhatt to have a Supreme Court-monitored SIT probe into two FIRs filed against him by the Gujarat Police. Mr. Bhatt claims that both FIRs were attempts to intimidate him. He was removed from service last month.

The first FIR was on a complaint by K.D. Pant, a police constable who worked under him during the 2002 riots, at Ghatlodia police station in Gujarat. Mr. Pant had accused his former superior of making him sign a “false” affidavit about the February 27, 2002 meeting in the aftermath of growing communal tensions in the State after the Godhra train attack in which 59 persons were killed. A charge-sheet was filed in this case, but the Supreme Court stayed the proceedings.

The second FIR deals with a complaint filed by then Additional Advocate General of the Gujarat government Tushar Mehta — who is now an Additional Solicitor General in the Supreme Court — in the Vastrapur police station in Ahmedabad that Mr. Bhatt hacked into his e-mail account and leaked sensitive documents. This case too was stayed by the apex court.

The applications have been filed even as two separate petitions by Mr. Bhatt seeking CBI probe into the FIRs are already pending in the Supreme Court.

NO CONFIDENCE IN CBI PROBE

“The request now to have a Special Investigation Team probe the two FIRs under the monitoring of the Supreme Court cannot be more explicit. The then Chief Minister of the Gujarat is now Prime Minister, and there is a perceived lack of confidence in any investigation done by the CBI,” Ms. Jaising submitted.

Ms. Jaising submitted that Mr. Bhatt has stuck to his version of what happened in the 2002 meeting in all his depositions, including before the Gujarat riots SIT, the Supreme Court’s _amicus curiae_ and the Justice Nanavati Inquiry Commission formed by the Gujarat government into the Sabarmati train burning incident.

_AMICUS CURIAE_ REPORT CITED

“The _amicus curiae_ report said he [Mr. Bhatt] cannot be disbelieved,” Ms. Jaising said.

She also urged the court to look into a series of e-mails Mr. Bhatt claimed to have “uncovered” from Mr. Mehta’s mail account allegedly revealing “collusion” between the prosecution and defence in several cases, including the 2002 Gujarat riots to the Sohrabuddin Sheikh fake encounter involving high public functionaries such as then State Home Minister Amit Shah. The court posted the case for further hearing on September 22.

question: Why was Sanjiv Bhatt victimized?

answer: Sanjiv Bhatt made depositions before the Special Investigation Team investigating the 2002 Gujarat riots. Because of this he claims that he has been victimized now that the then-chief minister of Gujarat, Narendra Modi, is now Prime Minister of India.


text:
Grey fields

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

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

question: What does the story say about the narrator?

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

question: What does the story say about its setting?

answer: The story is set in a battle with the French.

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

answer: The narrator is a teenager.

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

answer: The narrator does not want to kill other soldiers. He believes that leaders are cruel for forcing them to do so and that freedom is an illusion.


text:
Milo’s manners were perfect even when he killed people. A strict upbringing inculcated his strong respect for authority and decorum. He often apologized for what he had to do before he did it; unless it was a long distance shot. Then the most polite option was a good clean head-shot. Of course his targets never heard him. It was just his inner dialogue; the epic heroic movie script in his mind. He hears *many* voices.

Milo sat alone in a special tactical vehicle. It was armored, air-conditioned and full of high-tech electronics to control high-tech guns. From his position slightly to the side of the road, he saw a rooster-tail of dessert dust over two miles away. His camouflaged truck was hidden behind a berm with sparse dessert foliage. It would be very difficult to notice from the road. Even the long barrels and optic-arrays atop the truck were painted in variegated dessert colors. “It’s like shooting fish in a barrel,” he thought in his hillbilly accent.

A quick look at the long-range viewer confirmed it was an enemy jeep. The stereo-optic range-finder told him the distance and oncoming speed. It was within his range, but he waited until the jeep got closer.

Milo missed his halcyon days of regular rifles. After all, he spent years studying and practicing this art. The new systems were nearly infallible. That removed some sport.

When the jeep was within easy range, a half kilometer, he let loose the first round.
His inner British voice said, “Oh dear! I missed that poor chap’s head!”

The passenger was writhing in agony as the driver freaked out. The expensive killing-machine’s optics are amazing! In this clear dessert daylight, Milo could see the driver’s face *close-up* as he screamed in horror at his friend’s missing arm.

Milo's inner voices always spoke with his best British accent when he was being “polite.” He thought to himself aloud, “Well, the only proper polite way to stop that driver’s emotional suffering is to shoot him too.”

Milo took aim and gently caressed the trigger. In his Mac Arthur voice, he spoke that old aphorism: “You never hear the bullet that kills you.”

That’s true because bullets like this travel faster than the speed of sound. When a supersonic round gets you from a distance, you don’t hear the report. If lucky, you die instantly. If you’re not so lucky, you are suddenly in a world of pain and fear. Often, targets have no idea where the bullets are from. Inside his sealed air-conditioned truck, the immense power of that gun felt like a small gust of wind. The sound was quiet as a hand-clap.

“Blast! Missed again!” That round hit the driver’s side door and removed the drivers leg from the knee down.

He wondered, "Is something wrong with his scope settings. Elevation? No. That’s right for the distance."

Both bullets arrived on time, so he had the lead right. He didn’t want to miss repeatedly like some rookies do.

Ah Ha! That’s it! He forgot to calculate the wind. It was so hot today, but there were clouds, and clouds meant downdrafts. It’s a small effect you barely feel, but noticeable in precision long-distance marksmanship. It’s easy to forget such wind calculations when you sit in air-conditioned comfort.

“Goodness! I must recalculate and finish this job soon so those blokes don’t just lay there bleeding and screaming all day.” He admonished himself, “I must be careful and professional so I do not miss like that again! That’s the proper thing to do.” Milo sometimes gets his inner British and German accents mixed.

“Being proper” meant taking his own sweet time recalculating for the buffeting wind in that barren hot landscape. He was perfectly aware of those two gentlemen: terrified, bleeding, in agony, sand and salty sweat seeping into hideous wounds. This called for a cigarette! “It’s better to think clearly and get a proper shot,” he thought as he lit his Marlboro. Milo always thinks more clearly with a little nicotine.

As the two mortally-wounded soldiers tried to flee, Milo calmly and cautiously applied  new settings. The jeep was going faster now. Panicked drivers do that. They imagine they can just drive faster and zig-zag away. With modern guns, ammunition and sighting-systems, that’s practically impossible out here in the open dessert. Still, there’s no reason to let your clients get too far away. From Milo’s position slightly in front of the moving jeep, that was easy.

“No problem! I’ll just disable the vehicle so they can’t escape my benevolent mercy.”

Milo learned early in life that it’s fun to play god. As a good Christian boy in his bucolic heartland home, he spent summers tagging, branding, neutering and slaughtering animals. He smiled while remembering those wonderful boyhood experiences. *He often thought about the many great spiritual lessons of his church and family.*

A couple of quick shots confirmed his new settings were spot on. He hit both front tires. “Nice work!” He congratulated himself. “Good thing we’re video-taping this! I think the manufacturer will be proud to know his new incendiary round can rupture spinning tires on impact. In the past that was not so easily done!”

As the jeep came to a jerky stop, it’s panicked occupants tried to flee and find shelter. Milo just shook his head. “Nowhere to run gentlemen,” he thought in his Asian accent.

The first botched victim got out on the passenger’s side and hunkered down behind the jeep. The second botched shot, the driver, practically fell out his door. Milo thought, “It must be difficult to stand with only one leg.” That made Milo laugh and gave him a chubby. He noticed that and said out loud to himself with a grin, “Naughty boy!” Whenever he said “naughty boy” his inner voice was his impersonation of men he called "faggots."

The driver managed to crawl a few feet before collapsing. The incredible trauma of a high-caliber incendiary is too much pain for the human brain. The brain releases natural pain killers to reduce such deadly trauma. That is Nature’s kind way.

Milo knew this because they trained him to know that. Only a “mistake” would render targets helpless and in pain like this; Unless that professional marksman made mistakes intentionally. Milo knew that losing a limb is awfully traumatic, but does not immediately lead to unconsciousness. It takes a while for your brain’s natural pain killers to counteract the intense adrenaline surge.

In such panic and pain, it’s no surprise the driver forgot to put his jeep in park. Even if he remembered, it would have been difficult to engage the parking brake without a left leg. Still in gear, its idling engine made the jeep hobble slowly away, then over the shallow lip of the road. It stopped twenty yards away after hitting some large rocks and scraggy brush. That left both wounded passengers helplessly exposed on the dirt road. “Sweet!” He thought.

Through the electronic scope, Milo could see that poor passenger on his knees, weeping, writhing, screaming and holding what was left of his right arm. From this distance he could not hear their screams even if he had the windows open. All he heard was a muffled diesel engine providing power to his equipment and cool air to the truck. It was like watching a film on your phone with the sound down. He noticed all the blood splattered on that fellow’s t-shirt.

“What a terrible mess! I should take care of that right now!”

Just as Milo politely thought those polite words, the one-armed man stood up. Was he surrendering? Hard to tell from this distance... Maybe he was just offering himself up for a better shot. Milo had seen other wounded people do that. They wanted the pain to go away. They wanted to die as quickly as possible... to just get it over with.

“But no!” Milo thought. “That isn’t honorable!”

Honor meant something to Milo. He had his own version of honor that did not allow soldiers to take any easy way out. Milo’s devout father taught him the relationship between honor and pain many times. Those soul-purifying lessons happened in the large red barn.

*He remembered his father’s stark intonements of holy scripture as he metered out righteous punishment for Milo’s sins. It was for his own good! Milo could still sense the cold moist air of the dark barn on his young naked buttocks. He could smell the rough hay he bent over to receive his lessons. He could hear the swoosh of the rod and anticipate the impending sting of honor-building lashes.*

With those crisp refreshing memories pleasantly flooding his mind, Milo realized what he should do; what was righteous and proper and god-like. Milo was now fully erect.

“No...” he thought to himself politely, “I should protect this fellow’s honor!”

So, Milo’s next precise professional polite shot took off the target’s other arm. The impact nearly flipped the guy over in a summersault. “Nice form,” he said aloud to nobody like a sports announcer. It reminded Milo of a gymnast’s backflip. “Degree of difficulty, three-point-two. He NAILED that landing!”

Milo is such a joker. He giggled and said, “I LOVE my job! Thank you Jesus,” like a TV evangelist.

Through his scope, Milo saw the man landed semi-upright on his knees. Milo watched as the man looked back and forth at his two missing arms. It reminded him of a scene from that Monty Python movie where the Dark Knight had two arms and legs cut off. He let out another little chuckle. Milo loves movies.

He examined the scene through his video screen and zoomed in for a closer look. The one-legged driver seemed to be moving, but barely. “I’ll just let them rest for a bit. It’s nice and warm. They should feel comfortable there for a while.”

He watched over them to make sure they did not get up, but allowed them to live in honor, with their excruciating hopeless pain. ‘’It’s for the best my friends! I wouldn’t want to you die a dishonorable death.” Milo’s dad would have been so proud.

It only took a minute to see the driver was motionless. The armless passenger had collapsed face down and bled out. Just for practice, Milo shot out the headlights. Two perfect shots. Neither body twitched. As a severe test of azimuth, he shot off the jeep’s antenna and side mirrors. Three perfect shots. Milo does not miss. None of his shots were misses.

He calmly packed his gear and thought, “I wonder what’s on TV tonight?” Milo loves TV.

Yes... Milo is always polite. It was his way as an American Sniper. Always a gentleman!

Then Milo remembered his therapist’s words: "The only people who can always be perfectly polite, are psychopaths."

Milo frowned. Therapy made him confront things he did not want to confront. It was easier therapy for him to just do his beloved job.

Milo envisioned himself as a righteous surgeon for the great god-fearing country he was so blessed to be born in. He helped “cure” the world of “sand-niggers.” His therapist could never understand his piety or righteousness. He did not like that therapist.

Milo meditated upon his self-image as a surgeon while he played with his razor-sharp tactical knife. He cut his left arm lightly and slowly with his right hand while bringing himself to orgasm with his left. He squeezed the last drop of life-giving god-goo from his penis then licked it clean from his hand, just as his boyhood priest taught him. “Hmmm...” he thought. “Saltier than normal.” He took a drink from his canteen.

Now spent and satisfied, he thought about his therapist. He contemplated the word therapist: “the rapist.” He tasted some of his blood from the knife. Then he smiled.

“When I get back home,” Milo thought, “I am going to visit my therapist again. I need to tell her... no, *show her* some interesting new things I’ve learned about myself.

title: [RF] American Sniper, a perfectly polite psychopath

question: How did Milo's upbringing help him with his shots?

answer: Milo would most often apologize for he would shoot the person. If the target was in a distance, he would make sure to shoot a headshot and kill them instantly. Although he was killing people he always did it in a certain style that showed decorum.

question: What made Milo's shots perfect?

answer: It may be implied that Milo's shots are perfect because of his upbringing. Milo was brought up in a family that maintained a certain kind of decorum and honor, this helped Milo in whatever he did.


text:
Nora stepped out of the warmth of her home and onto her doorstep. She shivered as the cold brisk air slithered up her back. With arms tightly wrapped around her torso, she quickly walked to her truck. She was about to open the door when she stopped. She stood and listened. Noooora. With every plop of the dropping snow the cold called her name. She shivered and exhaled an excited giggle. Her eyes widened. With every inhale, every subsequent hot breath that entered the frigid air, Nora’s vision cleared. Noooora. She scanned her yard; nearly every detail without color. Slivers of brown, like the dark eyes of nocturnal beasts in a vast darkness, were the only distinction to be seen. The ubiquitous white filled her with with a profound sense of awe, a feeling intensified by the simplicity of it’s source. Her smile widened and she entered her truck.

Nora stumbled clumsily through the summer as if wandering through a thick, hot fog; her thoughts muddled from the daze. But as summer began to wane and crawl its way into winter, a nascent curiosity awoke. She began to see the world as if for the very first time. Air filled her lungs with a welcome sting, sounds had substance, and food - oh God the food! - tasted like manna from heaven. The cold was like the forgotten touch of a torrid lover. She felt truly and finally awake, and unlike the summer, her mind was a spear made of ice; clear and sharp.

She drove slowly on the freshly plowed road, not out of concern for her safety, but simply because she enjoyed the sight. The pine trees above her car stood proud and tall, like sentinels clad in white armor. They occasionally regarded her with a small plop of snow. The sky directly above her was clear and calm; resting peacefully from the previous few days. The calm landscape after a violent snowstorm always made her feel pleasantly alone. She often found herself, on days such as this, walking along the very same road she now drove, listening to the sound of her feet as they rhythmically crunched in the snow, enjoying the crisp unity of mind and nature. If not for the dark and baleful clouds that loomed to the east, she would be listening to her footfalls rather than the growl of the engine. But Nora knew that the storm was only resting, and that soon the sky would open up.

For three days the storm had raged outside, and for three days Nora's pantry was further diminished, but where her pantry was left empty, her spirits had never been more full. She had spent the past days by the warmth of the fireplace, sometimes lost in the world of a book, other times mesmerized by the dancing flames as she listened to the wind violently thrash around her. The outside world of work, of pain, and of boredom didn’t exist. She took naps when she felt cozy and warm, sang aloud with a fervor when she was glad, and drank directly from the bottle when she felt like it. But now she was in another world, one familiar, but primarily of effect. The white sea around her, and the empty pantry at home, all effect. So more than just a jovial car ride, she found her self on the road in need of supplies. She needed food and she needed wood. Both brought her strength, warmth, and enjoyment. Plus it just wouldn't have been right to go without a fire.

Nora glanced down at her gas gauge. The needle lay directly on the empty line. She barely had enough gas to make it to the store, let alone enough to make it back. She cursed, smiling. This revelation didn’t worry her. It had no power to worry. Her mood soared at a steady and high altitude, the current it rode on only getting stronger. There wasn’t much God could dish out that Nora wasn’t ready to devour.

She drove for another twenty minutes looking at the landscape around her. She passed no cars on the way to the store, which was good, because this was her road, and her little world, and she expected it to stay that way.

She pulled into the small parking lot of the towns only general store and gas station. She knew the larger grocery chain would be closed at a time like this, so she only had the little guys to rely on, and she enjoyed relying on the little guys, for they rarely let her down. She was taking the key out of the ignition when the general store’s small wooden door opened. An older man in a big puffy jacket exited and quickly turned back towards the door. Out of his pocket he pulled a set of keys and pushed one of them into the door. When Nora saw this she quickly and clumsily stumbled out of the truck with her hand outstretched in an act of halt.
"Wait!"
The old man whirled around and looked at her with a comical kind of surprise. He looked like he had just found out that instead of locking the door, he was about to set the store on fire.
"Jesus Nora! You damn near gave me a heart attack...”
He chuckled nervously and brought his hand to his chest. Nora walked to him and hugged him tightly. She broke the embrace, leaving her hands on his shoulders and smiled warmly.
"Oh Pat, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare ya. It's just I really need some supplies, and when I saw you locking the door I thought I was too late."
Pat nodded.
"Well, you're damn lucky you got here when you did, because you almost were too late."
He brought the key back to the door and unlocked it.
“Do you need me to grab you some wood too?”
She nodded.
"Alright, now hurry on inside and get what you need.”
He looked up at the sky.
“You can pay me later, I don't want to bother with that right now with the sky lookin so mean."
Nora kissed him on the cheek. She and ran into the store and grabbed only the bare essentials: bread, peanut butter, milk, cereal, a 24 pack of beer, and a bottle of jack.

When she left the store Pat was shutting the door to the backseat of her car. He looked up at her earnestly, as if explaining something extremely important.
"Now, you've got four bundles of wood there in your backseat, it should last you the next couple of days. You have matches?"
He lit a cigarette and offered her the lighter.
"I'm all good now, Pat, thanks to you. I have no idea what I'd have done. After this storm I owe you a nice big dinner."
He patted her hand.
"I’ll take you up on that, but more than anything you just get your self home safely."
She smiled.
"You too Pat."
He looked at her for a few more seconds before he turned and walked to his truck. She smiled in his direction and yelled.
"Thanks again Pat! You're a life saver!"
He lifted his hand and waved back at her as he walked to his car.
"Hurry home now! The storm's getting restless."

Pat took a drag of his cigarette and coughed, expelling a circling cloud of smoke. It hung in the air around him for a split second before a powerful gust of wind brought it up into the dark sky, where it disappeared under the strength of the malevolent clouds that were just beginning to awake.

Nora hadn’t even left the parking lot before it started snowing. It fell softly at first, like a musician using a peaceful set of notes, notes that would slowly crescendo into a boundless force of emotion. But the snow that fell softly to the ground around Nora was no song, but more like the soft belly of a strong and capable behemoth, one that when seen at it’s true apex, would be revealed as the dangerous monster that it actually was.

Ignoring the muzzled voice of danger that spoke deep in the back of her consciousness, she focused only on the voice of her excitement. A smile that was all but fleeting (one that can often be seen on the face of a child lost in their own alluring world) controlled her countenance. A gust would occasionally swirl the snow through the air around her truck. It was beautiful. For Nora, this moment was one that could scarcely be described. There was suddenly a glossy shine to Nora’s sovereign blue eyes. If only her frail human form could endure the cold, she would stand at the top of the highest mountain, becoming it’s highest point, and revel in the storm’s fury as it incased her in ice like a frozen monument.

A loud and hollow bang roused Nora from her dreams. Her gas gauge was well past the empty line. With the confusion at the store she had completely forgotten that she needed to get gas, and now she was less than halfway home and about to run out. The truck fumbled down the road an eighth of a mile, lurching her violently forward with each backfire, before it rolled to a stop. "God dammit!", she screamed. She brought her fists down on the steering wheel causing the horn to honk loudly; the last dying scream of the lifeless truck. She sat in the drivers seat watching the snow flakes float to the ground. It was so beautiful, but at this moment much to her detriment. The phrase "kiss of death" entered her mind, but she shook the thought off with unease. Continuing on that train of thought would bring her mind to dark places, places that wouldn't be productive. Panic was never constructive in situations such as this.

She traversed through her options carefully, analyzing each one with the concern necessary for an important decision; one that could easily become perilous with one mistake. Staying in the car was out of the question; she had food, but no water, and very little in the way of warmth. The wood was pretty useless here in her car, and the jacket she was wearing was not designed to protect her from the cold indefinitely. For all she knew, this storm could last days, and she would never last that long. She had no choice but to walk. She would move quickly to the first house she came across and hope they would either let her take shelter, or give her a ride before the storm made the road impassable. The thought that she might not actually find a house never crossed her mind.

Nora began to walk down the white deserted road. The snow was falling faster now, but the air had an eerie calm to it, and for a while, she didn’t even notice the cold. She stopped for a moment and turned back to her truck. It was still close, and for a brief moment she contemplated returning to it while the storm was still in its infancy. But instead she turned around and continued walking in search of salvation. If she was trapped in the truck for the entire storm she would freeze, of that she was certain.

The farther and farther she walked from the car, the colder and colder it became. Already, with her jacket fastened tightly around her skinny body, and the hood pulled completely around her head, she could feel her warmth diminishing. This town ain't big enough for the both of us, the storm whispered as her warm body passed through it's white domain. The trees shook as if brushed by an invisible hand, exposing slivers of brown as clumps of snow fell to the ground. With a shrill whisper, a strong gust of wind hit the soft powder and erupted it into the air like a frothy surf crashing onto a shore of brilliant white sand. Twilight slowly slithered from the shadows as the dismal clouds became absolute, and the fragile snowflakes that had fallen only seconds before became a wild flurry. In the air Nora could hear a buzz of energy, and occasionally she thought she heard something whisper her name. The monster was opening it’s eyes.

Nora stopped for the last time to look behind her, but her truck was nowhere to be seen. The blizzard had matured since she had stopped the first time, and it was hard to see much of anything now. In between the flurry Nora could only make out bits of trees, and anything that wasn’t already covered was quickly disappearing. Everything she saw, save for the road she walked on, belonged to the forest. She saw no sign of driveways veering from the main road  and into the forest. No remnants of tire tracks, no signs that cars even existed in this world; nothing. Her surroundings were barren of anything man made.

A strange thought entered her head, I wish I would have asked for a cigarette. She only craved a cigarette when she was nervous, and as she walked, shivering in the cold, she couldn’t help but think that she had made a mistake. But to say that she was nervous would have been an understatement. To be more precise, Nora was on the verge of fright. But even more of a misrepresentation of her situation was that she had made a mistake. Mistakes are things to be learned and never repeated, Nora had made a fatal error in judgment, and could only be lucky to be allowed to learn from it.

She had been walking for a half an hour, shielding herself from the intrusive flurry, when there was suddenly a strange lapse in the storm. The snow continued to fall, but it was more like the beginning; peaceful and wholesome. Hurry, you may actually find something, whispered the wind. Maybe this storm didn’t regard her in malice after all. She hurried her pace. With an expectant smile she turned her head from side to side. The fears that had been building alongside the strength of the storm began to wane. She felt foolish for ever thinking that her situation was one of the dire persuasion. She would be fine... Hell!, this little piggy might even just walk all the way home! To hell with all the supplies, she’d make do.

She was practically skipping when a blip of color materialized in the distance. It was such a deviation from the world of white she had become used to, that the bright red almost appeared to be glowing. It was all she could see, like a red dot on a white piece of paper. It stuck out of an embankment about 500 ft ahead. As she jogged closer she ran through the possibilities. What could it possibly be?  Maybe it was a sign of some sort, or a pole? Maybe something indicating a nearby structure? Whatever it was, it created a hump in the snow that was about a foot higher than the rest of the embankment, and the bright red object in question stuck a few inches above that. When she was about forty feet away, the object began to take shape. It was a small plastic flag, and for Nora, it seemed to be sticking triumphantly out of the embankment. She squealed in joy as she realized what this discovery could mean. She might actually be done with this little adventure, and that was good, because she was ready to quit fighting the storm and start enjoying it. She stood in front of the little flag and cleared the snow away. She looked down off of the main road in search of the house that the mailbox belonged to. The storm began to pick up again while she was searching. She couldn’t see a house, but she knew it had to be there somewhere. She grabbed the mail and walked off the road and in the direction that the mailbox seemed to indicate.

She had faith that there was some truth to the fabled axiom of a friendly neighbor. She entered an area thick with trees, an area that could easily get her lost. In the back of her mind she hoped that this wouldn't be another mistake to tally on the board.

 **(Story finished in comments)**

title: Nora of the Cold - 5, 404 words

question: Summarize Nora's feelings about winter and its accompanying cold.

answer: The approach of winter improved Nora's mind and mood. It was like she was seeing the world for the first time. She could hear sound distinctively, feel her every breath, and the ending white snow that stretches before her filled her with a sense of awe. The sky was clear and calm - she liked to drive slowly just to take in the beauty around her.

question: Summarize Nora's feelings and thoughts after she realized there was no more gas in her truck.

answer:
A loud bang brought Nora's attention to the fuel gauge - the needle was past the empty line. She had forgotten to buy gas for the truck. The truck soon ground to a halt. Nora screamed with frustration. She watched the snowfall from the driver's seat with the phrase "kiss of death " on her mind. She ignored it and was determined not to panic.
Nora weighed her options and decided to leave on foot towards her house, hoping she would get to a shelter before the storm hit. She felt colder and colder as she walked towards her destination. The truck was so far back she can't see it now. Her surrounding was barren with no sign of a human being. She was on the verge of panicking. Her fear turned into hope as the flurry of snow eased a little.


text:
_ALONG CAME A SPIDER_ is the eighteenth solo album by singer-songwriter Alice Cooper, released on July 2008 by Steamhammer/SPV. A hard rock/heavy metal concept album, it chronicles the activities of a psychopathic serial killer known as 'Spider' and the eventual undoing of his plans.[1][2] A commercial success, it ended up becoming Cooper's highest-charting studio effort in the United States since _Hey Stoopid_ (1991).

Background and release

The story-line for the concept album was first revealed on Cooper's radio show _Nights with Alice Cooper_. The theme of the album revolves around a “cool, calm and collected”[3] serial killer known as 'Spider'. The police are baffled by the bodies of Spider's victims, which are cocooned in a silk web, and are each missing a leg. Spider's task is to collect eight legs to complete the construction of his own spider. However, things get complicated when he falls in love with his eighth victim. At the end of the album an internal voice is heard telling 'Spider' that 'We've been locked away here for twenty eight years Steven, we couldn't have done all those horrible things' thus revealing Spider as the character Steven from _Welcome to My Nightmare_.

_Along Came a Spider_ was due for a 2007 release but problems with producer scheduling and tour commitments caused it to be pushed to mid-2008. Several demos and songs were prepared and short-listed during 2007 with further sessions for recording and writing taking place in February 2008. 75% of the album had been completed as of April 18, 2008.[4] Cooper also planned to create a second part to the album, entitled 'The Night Shift,' but decided to make _Welcome 2 My Nightmare_ instead.[5]

Reception

The release has earned mixed to positive reviews from various publications. For example, music critic David Jeffries of Allmusic stated that, even though Cooper had produced better concept albums before, in _Along Came a Spider_ the artist “fills his lyrics with clever and gruesome wordplay”.[6] A review from Blabbermouth.net praised the release as “yet another example of an album made by an elder rock icon that manages to sound fresh and relevant”.[7]

Track listing

-   As with a large portion of Cooper's back-catalogue being remastered and re-released through various distribution channels, _Along Came A Spider_ has also received the same treatment. Re-released on CD in 2010, and distributed by Bigger Picture, it includes the three iTunes-only bonus tracks originally released alongside the album in 2008:

Music video

Unlike _Dragontown_, _The Eyes of Alice Cooper_, and _Dirty Diamonds_, a music video was created to promote _Along Came a Spider_. Released on October 2, 2008, and directed by Rob Zombie bassist, Piggy D and Gabrielle Geiselman, the 10-minute-long music video stars Alice Cooper, Slash, Hazmat, Roxxi Dott, Howie Pyro, Dave Pino, Eric Singer and Peter Derek. It features a medley of three songs from the album: “Vengeance Is Mine”, “(In Touch With Your) Feminine Side”, and “Killed By Love”.

Personnel

-   Alice Cooper – lead and backing vocals
-   Danny Saber – lead guitar, bass, keyboards, backing vocals
-   Greg Hampton – lead guitars, keyboards, backing vocals
-   Chuck Garric – bass, backing vocals
-   Eric Singer – drums

Guest musicians

-   Keri Kelli – guitars (5, 7 and 9)
-   Jason Hook – guitars (5)
-   Slash – lead guitar (2)
-   David Piribauer – drums (8 and 10)

Charts

+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Chart (2008)                      | Peak                              |
|                                   | position                          |
+===================================+===================================+
| US _Billboard_ 200[8]             | 53                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Austrian Albums Chart[9]          | 37                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Dutch Albums Chart[10]            | 76                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Canadian Albums Chart[11]         | 19                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Finnish Albums Chart[12]          | 31                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| French Albums Chart[13]           | 101                               |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| German Albums Chart[14]           | 26                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Norwegian Albums Chart[15]        | 33                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Swedish Albums Chart[16]          | 25                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Swiss Albums Chart[17]            | 37                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| UK Albums Chart[18]               | 31                                |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
|  |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+

[1]

[2]

[3] Cooper speaking to the Sydney Morning Herald in 2007

[4] Alice Cooper Receives MusiCares MAP Fund Award

[5]

[6]

[7] http://www.blabbermouth.net/cdreviews/along-came-a-spider/

[8] [ “Alice Cooper – Charts & Awards – Billboard Albums”] _Allmusic_. Retrieved on August 10, 2009.

[9] “Austrian Album Charts Search for Alice Cooper” _Austriancharts.at_. Retrieved on August 10, 2009.

[10] _DutchCharts.nl_. Retrieved on August 10, 2009.

[11]

[12] “Finnish Album Charts Search for Alice Cooper” _FinnishCharts.com_. Retrieved on August 10, 2009.

[13] “French Album Charts Search for Alice Cooper” _lescharts.com_. Retrieved on August 10, 2009.

[14] “German Album Charts Search for Alice Cooper” _musicline.de_. Retrieved on August 10, 2009.

[15] “Norwegian Album Charts Search for Alice Cooper” _NorwegianCharts.com_. Retrieved on August 10, 2009.

[16] “Swedish Album Charts Search for Alice Cooper” _SwedishCharts.com_. Retrieved on August 10, 2009.

[17] “Swiss Album Charts Search for Alice Cooper” _HitParade.ch_. Retrieved on August 10, 2009.

[18] “UK Chart Logs Search for C” _Zobbel_. Retrieved on August 10, 2009.

title: Along Came a Spider (album)

question: What are the styles and themes in the album?

answer: Alice Cooper's "Along Came A Spider" is a hard rock or heavy metal album that chronicles the activities and demise of a serial killer known as "Spider". The spider is a calm and collected killer gathering a leg from each of his victims to complete his spider. His plans all come to a halt after he falls in love with his eighth victim.

question: What does the article say about Alice Cooper's recording process?


text:
Rindral sighed deeply as he lifted the pickaxe high above his head, the weight was becoming more of a burden as the day progressed. He had been in the mines since early morning and the toll of hard, heavy work was beginning to show.

“Blasted Enia.” Rindral cursed as the handle of his pickaxe left a sharp, spiteful splinter in his thumb.

“What’s up?” A familiar voice said to him kindly.

“A fucking splinter …” Rindral replied, contemplating who the voice belonged to, “… Is that you Leren?” He concluded.

“Aye, it is me.” Leren replied.

It was dark in the mines and hard to recognise the differences between friend and stranger. Leren was and had been a good friend to Rindral throughout the difficult years they had lived through, even saving his life on one occasion.

It had been late at night and they had been celebrating after a rather successful day at work in which Leren had found a rare gem of some significant value. They were walking home from the Iron Hand when Rindral was attacked by a rather large bear. The bear had appeared from nowhere and lunged head first towards him, Rindral had tried to dodge the initial lunge but as he had spun away the bear had managed to catch his flailing arm with his sharp teeth and then the bear clung on.

Whilst Rindral was being slowly dragged away, Leren snuck through the shadows until he was safely behind the bear. Faced with two decisions, save his friend or leave him to die, he chose the former. He raised his pickaxe above his head and smashed it into the skull of the bear. Rindral had been forever grateful.

“How about I get you a drink when we get out of these blasted mines?” Rindral said dryly.

“Aye, I would friend, but my wife would give me absolute shit if I did.” Leren replied sourly.

“And why is that?” Rindral wondered.

“It’s our five year anniversary today.” Leren said, in the same bitter, sour tone he had used before.

Rindral congratulated Leren regardless and managed to diminish the burning curiosity that had swelled rapidly when Leren had replied.

It was dusk now and they left the mines together, walking along the narrow, winding roads that separated Stonewynne from the mines. It was a pretty chilly evening, but certainly not a cold one.

“So what did you buy for your wife?” Rindral said to Leren politely.

“Do you remember the bright, glowing green gem I found in the mines?” Leren replied.

“Ah …” Rindral paused, chuckling, “… How could I forget?”

And they both laughed together. The story of the bear had become a humorous one every time it was re-told.

They eventually arrived back in Stonewynne, the moon glowing bright above the small, mining town. The town itself was a lot like a mine, circular in shape with rough, odd-shaped buildings which scattered the landscape.

“Well, friend, I shall leave you here.” Rindral said to Leren, patting him on the back.

“Aye, tomorrow will be a new day.” Leren replied, and then he left, chuckling.

Rindral sighed, and started walking towards the Iron Hand Tavern. A nice ale would go a long way in soothing his dreams tonight.

“Rindral …” The innkeeper exclaimed, Rindral glanced a grin towards him, “… Join me for an ale on the house.”

“How could I refuse?” Rindral replied, smiling.

The innkeeper poured out the ale in a tidy and organised fashion, like it was an art he had devoted his life to, which in essence, he had.

“Here’s to your good health!” Exclaimed the innkeeper, sipping his drink.

“And here is to yours!” Roared Rindral, greedily draining the last remnants of his mug and demanding a refill.

The bard played many tunes that nigh, some were sad ballads about broken hearts, some were merry, melodic jingles, but the one that struck him the most was the one about Sael, the God of nature. He didn't know why, but it seemed familiar.

One is taken for life that abodes and one is given for life which unfolds, the grasping nature of fertility grows, and the night is lasting but the days comatose.

The hours passed, and eventually in the early hours of the morning, Rindral decided to leave. He said goodbye to the innkeeper and the other occupants and headed out into the night.

Walking home he noticed he was being followed, but who was following him, he wondered. He decided to play a few tricks on this mystery stalker and turned left into the winding backstreets that twist and turn around the shabby gardens in Stonewynne.

Eventually, after twisting and turning for what seemed like hours, he hid in a thick, dense bush and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Eventually, he decided that nobody had been following him and that he had simply been paranoid, a common effect that alcohol could have on one’s mind.

He started to crawl out from under the bush when he cut himself on a sharp, thorny plant that grew under the bush. He gasped, the initial pain more of a shock, but then he let it go, he didn’t really feel it what with his current state of euphoria being the dominant force.

He arrived home and opened the door, heading inside. His home was dark and cold, murky and lonely. He walked through the dark room towards his bed and climbed into it, and it wasn’t long before his murky mind turned into a gripping dream.

He was stood in a bare, white ornate room.

Leren’s wife lay dead on the floor, the gem glowing brightly around her neck.

Leren lay dead on the floor, a paralysed smile frozen upon his face.

The God of nature, Sael, was laughing at the stupidity of Kefiens as he stood above the gem. He called out an order to one of his followers, a rather large bear, ordering him to kill Rindral and then he stooped down and picked up the glowing, green gem.

Rindral woke up, gasping, he had been stuck in a nightmare that he could not leave. He remembered seeing his best friend and his wife dead, he also remembered seeing Sael, the mythological God of nature, and he also remembered seeing an identical rather large bear to the one that had attacked him a few months ago.

Rindral laughed, kicking himself for believing his dream was real and then he looked up and felt his facial features freeze like melted metal setting in cast. Before him, stood the bear.

The bear roared, and then lunged straight for Rindral’s head, the last thing Rindral remembered was a loud, cracking crunch, and then he was gone.

“You stole from nature but you didn’t know, you killed nature but you didn’t know why, nature killed you as is the will of Faedon.” A cold, mystical voice said.

Rindral nearly sighed with relief, he might now know who the voice belonged to; but at least he wasn’t dead.

“Who are you?” Rindral said.

“I am Sael, the enemy of mankind, the king of nature and the God of green.” The cold voice answered.

“What happened to me?” Rindral said, curious as to what was happening, wondering if he was still dreaming.

“Your concerns are selfish and yet you kill nature every day.” Sael said.

“But Kefien’s rule the world, created the world and shape the world daily.” Rindral replied truthfully.

“No, that is what you have been told.” Sael said.

“Then what is the truth?” Rindral said curiously.

“There is no truth only more lies and I lie to you even now, but you are just a simpleton who understands nothing.” Sael said bitterly.

“I am not dumb.” Rindral protested, a pleading tone entering his voice.

“Oh but you are, you unknowingly destroy the world every single day for your own personal gain. You are dead now and still you do not understand why. You take from nature and so nature takes from mankind, the Kefien are not the only force and this is an ongoing war.” Sael said.

“I don’t understand.” Rindral admitted sadly.

“You watched the bear I sent to retrieve my gem be killed. Nature remembers death and nature responds accordingly.” Sael explained.

“It was only a bear.” Rindral protested.

“And you are only a simple Kefien man.” Sael said.

And then everything went black.

“Remember Rindral, the world takes what it loses and gives what it gains, today is the best day of your life.” Sael said bleakly.

And then everything swirled out of proportion and he felt the last remnants of his life fade away.

Caria sighed, looking down at her new-born baby, he was a beautiful boy, but she did wonder about the birthmark on his forehead. “I will call you Lardnir, beautiful boy.” She murmured to the baby.

The rather large bear who was looking through the window chuckled, a deep, rusty chuckle and then headed back of towards the Vohal Forest. All was where it should be in the world.

Sael sighed. "It doesn't matter who they are, or if what they have done is even terrible, it's just a matter of numbers and coincidence. He watched my bear die and so he will replace himself for irony's sake. Leren killed my bear and he shall be reborn as the bear. His wife shall be reborn as the crowning jewel that shall re-grow within the rocks."  And then he vanished.

title: (FN) Rindral’s Misery, Lardnir’s Delight.

question: What does the story say about gems?

answer: The narrator is a miner. His friend, Leren, found a rare gem one day. The gem they found was bright, glowing, and green. Leren gave it to his wife for their fifth wedding anniversary. The gem was precious to the god of nature in the story, who killed humans in part due to their mining the gem.

question: What does the story say about bears?

answer: To the humans in the story, bears are big, wild animals. To Sael, the god of nature, they are his followers and of more personal value. In the story, bears can understand language and can laugh. Also, reincarnation is an element in the story and Rindral will be reborn as a bear.

question: What does the story say about Rindrel's age?


text:
BAHRA 1 is an archaeological site in the Al Subiyah region on the coast of Kuwait Bay (Kuwait) associated with the Ubaid culture.[1] It is one of the earliest Ubaid culture settlements in the Persian Gulf region, about 5500–4900 BC.[2]

History of research

Bahra 1 was discovered by Dr. Sultan al Duweish from the NCCAL. Archaeological work on the site is conducted since 2009 by the Kuwaiti-Polish Archaeological Mission (KPAM) from the Polish Centre of Mediterranean Archaeology, University of Warsaw, in cooperation with the National Council for Culture, Arts and Letters of the State of Kuwait. Prof. Piotr Bieliński (PCMA UW) directs the excavations together with Dr. Hamid al Mutairi (NCCAL, since 2014), previously with Dr. Sultan al Duweish (NCCAL, until 2013).[3]

Archaeological discoveries

Stone foundations of walls predominate among the remains of several different kinds of structures that were discovered on the site.[4] A few building phases were distinguished, which proves the settlement was permanent. The research in Bahra 1 contributed new data on the Neolithic in the Persian Gulf and the interaction of this region with Mesopotamia in the Ubaid period.[5] It is the oldest permanent settlement south of Mesopotamia.[6] The material culture of the settlement is strongly connected with the Mesopotamian Ubaid Culture. About half of the pottery fragments found at the site is of the Ubaid Ware variety that was imported from Mesopotamia.[7] This assemblage comprises both richly-decorated luxury vessels and plain utilitarian ware. Also an array of ceramic small objects from the site, some of them perhaps personal adornments, such as flanged discs and ceramic studs, as well as cupped cones, are typical for that period in Mesopotamia and are considered to be objects of a symbolic meaning for the Ubaid culture.[8] The other half of the pottery assemblage from Bahra 1 belonged to the Coarse Red, or Arabian Coarse Ware,[9] a pottery type associated with the Arabian Neolithic. A unique find was a fragment of a copper object, which could point to contacts with the Oman Peninsula where sources of this metal were located.[10]

In 2018, an architectural complex different from the others known from this site was studied. It seems it might have had a cultic character, uniting local tradition with concepts derived from the Ubaid culture, which would make it the oldest cult building not only in Kuwait but in the whole Persian Gulf region.[11]

[1] Białowarczuk, M. (2013). Ground and pecked stone industry of Bahra 1, an Ubaid-related settlement in Northern Kuwait. _Polish Archaeology in the Mediterranean_, 22, 569–585.

[2]

[3]

[4] Agnieszka Szymczak & Piotr Bieliński (eds.), _As-Sabbija, Autumn 2012. Report on the Eighth Season of Joint Kuwaiti–Polish Archaeological Investigations in Kuwait: Bahra 1, Ubaid Culture Related Settlement (4th Season)_, 2013, Warsaw.

[5]

[6] Lawler, A. Science, vol. 335, Issue 6070, p. 790, DOI: 10.1126/science.335.6070.790

[7]

[8]

[9] Anna Smogorzewska (2019), Ceramic form and function in the Neolithic Gulf. A view from Bahra 1. Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy

[10] Piotr Bieliński, Excavations in Units 3, 6, 10, 11, 14 and the north part of House 2 (in:) M. Białowarczuk, A. Reiche, A. Smogorzewska, A. Szymczak, _Bahra 1. Excavations in 2014 and 2015. Preliminary Report on the Sixth and Seventh Seasons of Kuwaiti–Polish Archaeological Investigations_, Kuwait–Warsaw: NCCAL–PCMA, 2016, p. 29.

[11]

title: Bahra 1

question: What does the article say about the pottery found in the archeological site?

answer: The site is in the Al Subiyah region on the coast of Kuwait Bay, dating from 5500-4900 BC. Half of the pottery fragments unearthed from the site is Ubaid Ware, imported from Mesopotamia. There are decorative works as well as plain utilitarian ware among the fragments. The rest of the pottery fragments found belong to the Coarse Red or Arabian Coarse Ware, associated with the Arabian Neolithic.

question: What does the article say about the importance of education in the Arabian Neolithic?