text:
The 13th Affair

The phone was still dead. For a moment, I thought I heard a voice on the other end this time, but it was just Bela Lugosi on the television. Nothing more than Inspector Delzante.

"Check the other one, in the kitchen," Joe said. I passed the joint to him as I left the room. But there was no dial tone in the kitchen either.

"Do you think that fucking kid next door cut the line again?" I asked Joe.

"Maybe... I dunno. I don't call anybody."

I hung up the phone and grabbed another handful of chips. "I'll call the phone company in the morning."
Putting it out of my mind, I chose which kind of dip I would use and made the potato chips quickly disappear.

"Did you pay the bill?" He asked me.

I took a moment to think, but I couldn't remember. I remembered a bill, and I remembered thinking about writing a check, but what I could not remember was whether I sent it to them. I must have... I made a call just an hour ago, or so I think.

"How you going to call the phone company?" he suddenly asked.

"Um. Neighbor's house, I guess. That is, unless theirs aren't working either."

"Why don't you call and find out?"

"Shut up, man. I’m not stupid."

Then passed me the joint again, saying, “Not yet.”

I laughed and got my temporary fill, then passed it back to him.

“What time is it?” Joe blurted out. “It’s awfully dark out.”

“Seven forty-three,” I said, pointing to the clock above the television. But at that moment the television became empty, blank, and utterly objective. Margaret Wycherly ceased pleading with the inspector, for she disappeared. The inspector disappeared too. Calcutta was no longer in my living room. Come to think of it, there was no longer any light in the entire house, it seemed. Apparently, power no longer existed. I stood up.

“Joseph, my dear boy, there is a mystery at hand. Something has happened. Something has happened, indeed. The phone, it is dead. The power, it is out…”

Suddenly, the window by the door shattered as a brick found its way to my floor.

“Is that evidence?” Joe asked.

“Indeed it is,” I replied. “It leads me to believe I should look outside.” As I was about to open the door, it opened itself. Rather, someone else opened it. I could tell she was very angry with me.

“That’s the last time you cheat on me, you son of a bitch!” She stalked through the door—shaking a can of spray-paint with her right hand and dropping a pair of bolt cutters to the floor with her left. She had a large knife hanging from her belt. She had showed me that knife before; it belonged to her father. Indeed, a very classic and threatening knife—leather belt pouch, six inch blade, and a wooden handle with the inscription: “U.S.M.C.”

I tried to avoid harm any way I could, saying: “whoa,” “easy,” “calm down.” I may have even gone so far as to say, “I love you.” I can’t remember. But she wouldn’t have any of it.

“Who the hell is this Francine bitch!” she demanded to know. “You been fucking her behind my back, who is she!”

“You’re cheating on Francine?” Joe cried to me. “She’s so cool!”

“Helen, listen,” I said. I had my hands up when I spoke; for, I knew what she could and would do with that knife should I anger her. Chances are she hadn’t been taking her medication.

“That’s Helen?” Joe asked.

I quickly said yes so he would shut up, so I could deal with the situation at hand. But the idiot went on.

“I thought Helen was black,” he whispered. Helen stopped shaking the can.

“What did you say?” she asked him, and most certainly not me. But I didn’t care.

“What he said, honey, was—”

“Quiet!” she screamed, pointing the can of paint at me, as if it were really as fatal, and therefore threatening, as a knife or firearm. But then she lowered it, straightening her stance while she relaxed her eyes. “I heard what he said. And you know what, I’m the Helen you’re going to remember the most!”

“So there are two Helens,” Joe said decisively. “Two Helens” he says again, slower, while gently rubbing his chin hair.

“Shut up, Joe!” I finally blurted out.

“You shut up!” she screamed. “Every time you slept with another woman, you told me it was the last. Every time I believed you. But it was all a lie! How many others are there that I don’t know about?”

She truly wanted to know. But what would I tell her, that I lost count? That hookers don’t matter? That I most certainly must be addicted to sexual contact in all of its many extreme forms? I am simply a sexual glutton and must have it all. I’ve always been that way, but Helen’s the first to take it personally.

“How many, you son of a bitch!” She screamed, brandishing the knife.

“Holy Jesus!” Joe screamed. He ran to dial 911, but when he put the receiver to his ear he immediately hung it up and struck his
forehead with his own palm, declaring: “Duh.”

That was enough patience for her. She began spray painting the television first. Perhaps it will wash off, but I couldn’t be sure. Then it seemed, for her, the next logical step would be to start painting my walls. Of course it was a wonderful crimson; she always had such a good taste in color. It even looked pretty, compared to the drab white of my walls. But I would have done it in a less helter-skelter manner, being sure to coat evenly and fully—to trim neatly around the switches, outlets, and few picture frames. But then again, I’d be a fool to assume she had any renovating motives. I’d be even more of a fool to assume she would stop soon and peacefully. I would need a weapon. I had nothing as deadly as a marine’s blade, but I could compensate with reach. I grabbed the putter I stole from the Pitch-n-Putt. It had the blue handle I liked. I didn’t think you could buy them anywhere, and I’m cheap, so I relieved the pro shop of the trouble of inventorying one more hollow aluminum stick.
Joe must have understood the grave possibilities of the situation, for he quickly ran the kitchen door to get help. Well, for all I know the bastard could have just been saving his own ass. And why not? My ass made the mess and must eat its own shit right back up. His ass owed mine nothing.

“You’re crazy, bitch! Get out or you’re gonna get hurt!” I was prepared to do it, but I wasn’t sure if I meant it—that I would offend her, rather than simply defend my person. She would have to do more than just refuse to leave. When she saw that I was prepared to protect myself and my belongings as a cause, she effectively stopped vandalizing my walls and turned to me with the knife. Without a breath to spare, she rushed at me; and although I putted her arm away from my chest, the knife gashed a developing love handle.

I then realized that, knife or not, I could not subdue her myself short of killing her. My only hope was to publicize the event, have others get help before Joe’s hypothetical emergency squad arrived. I was not in the position to give anyone the benefit of a doubt. Anyway I’ll need as many witnesses as I can get.

I bolted for the door, screaming for help. Well pity, really. I quickly scanned the rows of crumbling brick townhouses—perhaps as many as one third of those which were not condemned, actually housed people. Only one house had its lights on.
Somewhere between the time my brain ordered motion and the time my nerves carried it out, a sharp pain found its way in my back. Rather, a sharp knife. It turned out it was put there, by Helen. As I maintained balance on all fours, I could hear her running towards the refuge of refuse; East, I think, towards the disorienting plethora of tangs that is the dump.

“Oh, how I long for the days I lived in a brownstone!” I said to myself.

I decided that if indeed this is my last moment on earth, my stage would need proper lighting. Only one streetlight was on. I crawled, flagstone after flagstone, gasping for air, plasma, or divine mercy—whichever happened to come first. But none came at all, not even the air. As I leaned my numbing back against the streetlamp, I cast my weary eyes on the house across the street, the only one with the lights on, before everything disappeared. In the window was an Irish Setter. I thought I heard sirens. But maybe it was just the ferryman.

title: [RF] The 13th Affair

question: What does the story say about how to become a good golfer?

question: Summarize the plot of the story.

answer: The 13th Affair is a story about a sex addict who kept cheating on his girlfriend, Helen. She would catch him sleeping with another woman behind her back, he would promise it was the last time, and she would believe him - only for the narrator to do it all over again until it became a cycle. Helen finally has enough and goes crazy. She cuts the power and phone lines to the narrator's home and vandalizes it with spray paint. Helen then attacks him with a knife and stabs him in the back as he was trying to get help. She runs off and leaves him dying under a street lamp.

question: What does the story say about the series of events in the narrator's house the night Helen goes on a rampage?

answer: The narrator was at home one night, watching TV and smoking a joint with his friend, Joe. The phone line suddenly goes dead, the TV loses its signal, and the power goes out. As they investigate, a brick comes flying through the window, shattering the glass. The destruction is caused by Helen, the narrator's girlfriend who is livid when she learns that he cheated on her again. She goes on a rampage and is the one responsible for cutting the phone and power lines to the narrator's house. Not done with her revenge, Helen enters the house armed with a knife as the narrator asks her to calm down and stop. She sprays paint on the narrator's walls and TV, finally rushing him with a knife. The narrator was able to deflect the attack and runs outside to get some help because he was afraid he won't be able to stop her unless he kills her. No one seemed to be around when Helen stabs the narrator in the back and runs off, leaving him under a street lamp to die.

question: What does the story say about Helen?

answer: Helen is the narrator's girlfriend. Her father was in the U.S. Marine Corps. She appears to be taking medication for an unspecified mental condition. Helen loses it when she catches the narrator cheating on her again. Helen cuts the phone and power lines in the narrator's home and vandalizes it with red spray paint. She then stabs the narrator in the back and leaves him to die.


split: test

text:
Mongo was the best kid we had. That bantam sized tyke could go through a fifteen hundred pound Black Angus steer during a single episode of Gilmour Girls. By the time the credits were rolling he’d have that sucker all tagged, bagged, and ready to sell to the butcher in the store.  We had in fact, cycled through an assortment of “choppers” before Mongo came along.  First there was Lucille, then there was Sam followed by Pamela, and then you can’t forget about the weird kid. Now what was his name? Wiley! That was it! Wiley was his name. What a creep show. This kid was hell bent on drinking the bull’s blood and frying up the testicles so he could put then on a peanut butter and Fluff sandwich. He’d look at you with his beady little green eyes, his pasty white hands firmly clasped together begging and pleading you to let him make a bull ball, PB & fluff. Uggg! He still gives me the willies. However, none of them could hold a cleaver to Mongo. He was simply the best, and he couldn’t be more ecstatic regarding his contribution to the “family” commerce either.
Now I know what you’re thinking; ‘no eight year old kid likes to chop up steer carcasses. Now that’s where you’re wrong my little hombre. When Mongo is slicing and dicing he is just, so, just so, Zen. His little three foot five frame is overrun with joy when he’s donning his vinyl apron and a six inch cleaver standing atop a three foot step ladder. When he has that cleaver in his hand, Mongo is in the zone. He has a smile on his face so big that his big furry eye-brows disappear underneath his forehead’s overhang; and when he’s not smiling he’s planning his next chop. You can see it in his big brown eyes, ‘should I do the strips first or the tenderloin?’
Meat just tastes better when it’s processed with love. After all love, makes everything better; sex, drugs, terrorism, hyperbole and even food. Everyone could tell that we made a change when Mongo came along, even Frankie the butcher.
	“Who’s doing your processing now?” He asked me when we first moved Mongo to the block.
	“He’s a new kid, he’s from Troy I think.”
	“You better keep him, because this stuff is pristine,” Frankie said, with his eyes wide as he held up a 4 inch thick New York Strip.

I know it sounds ludicrous, but “chopping” made Mongo feel like he had a purpose in this world. How many 8 year olds can honestly say they know what they were put on this earth to do? Hell, how many 40 year olds can say that? All I know is that when the Doodge would show up with a dead steer in the bed of it, Mongo’s eyes would light up like the god damn Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. Sometimes the poor kid would even piss himself he was so excited.

Mongo was just happy to not be in a cage. In his last foster home up in Troy; his foster parents kept him in this, well let’s call it what it was, it was a... it was a cage. They kept him in there, just like an animal. They had kids stacked five high in cages. Jesus, what’s the world coming to now a days? How could anyone treat another human being like that? We loved our kids, every last one of them, Mongo wasn’t alone, all of our kids had a horror story. There was Gerard who came to us from Utica, he had to sleep outside in a dog house with a pit bull named Duke. Then there was Lindsay from Elmira who was forced to watch her “fosties” have sex when she was caught kissing a boy outside of a movie theatre. Then there was Ani who came to us from Auburn. Her “fosties” burned her with a crack pipe because she forgot to wash the dishes. Most of the kids that came to our “family” were complete head cases, we supplied an opportunity, a trade if you will, not cages.
Mongo wasn’t our only ace though; we also had Zoey the sniper prodigy from Allentown. Her weapon of choice was an M-16. Over the past several months she had become quite emotionally attached to it. She had even cultivated the routine of retiring to bed with it, unloaded of course.  Some kids slept with Teddy bears, Bibles, Noam Chomsky novels or even Sonny and Cher episodes, however our Zoey had no interest in such things, so she slept with her sniper rifle. She could poach a steer from four hundred yards; she had her own process too. She’d find her spot, settle in and rest her cheek on the butt end of her rifle, lick her finger, judge the wind factor, adjust her sight, take a deep breath and then…
POP!
POP!
POP!
She would squeeze off three fluid shots, dropping three steers. Just like that! It wouldn’t be until the third one fell that the rest of the herd knew that the jig was up. Zoey would pull her head up and flash you that front tooth absent smile.

Then there was Chucky and Davey, Chucky and Davey were both only 13 years old, but they were built like brick shithouses. They would ride in the Dodge with Zoey, their role relied on their brute strength that they both possessed which was in direct correlation to their Norwegian and German heritage. Everyone’s name was on the marquee. Zoey harvested the “targets”, while, Chucky monitored diligently via his binoculars. As soon as the “pre-steaks” were inoperative, he’d hammer down on the gas pedal pulling up to the steer. Chucky and Davey would hop out, grab and toss them in the back of the Dodge and poof just like that they’re gone into the night. No one even saw them. They had to be quick; a farmer could notice things like the headlights of a pick-up truck driving through his pasture at 3am on a Wednesday morning. It had to all be one fluid motion, everyone had their assignments and they turned them in on time.

We had a few other kids in our “family” too, but they didn’t have any starring roles like Mongo, Zoey, Chucky and Davey. They had more supporting roles, per se. Roles such as, cleaning up the kitchen after Mongo was done “chopping”, going down to the Wal-Mart to buy Zoey more ammunition, or renewing Chucky and Davey’s gym memberships. Not to mention we had to keep the Dodge in tip top shape, because there isn’t anything worse than stalling out in the middle of a cow pasture. Try to explain to an 80 year old cattle farmer what you’re doing in his field in the middle of the night as he waves a double barrel shotgun in your face.
We had a good thing going. We were happy, the butchers were happy, and their customers were happy. It was a win, win, win. We were able to sell NY Strips at four bucks a pound, and ground chuck at fifty cents a pound. The good guys sold it at a 100% mark up, while the greedy ones sold it at a 500% mark up, but we didn’t care, business was good. On top of our little “family” business, we had our checks from Child Services coming in too.
In a matter of a few months we were able to quit our day jobs. Lani who came to us from Corning, was able to cook all day, like he always wanted to do.  Lani was the cutest when he was happy.  He would come dancing into the living room swinging his hands back and forth shrugging his shoulders every five seconds, he just couldn’t contain himself.
	“I’m going to make Paneer today!’ He’d say raising his eye- brows with excitement. ‘With some nice red Indian curry, and cardamom basmati rice, yeah man, it’s gonna be the tits.” It was just nice to see him happy again.   Lani would still be cooking up a storm in the old house, if it wasn’t for Bobby Decker.
Everything changed because of Bobby Decker. After about six months the farms became very concerned with the “epidemic” of their thinning herds. The Arcangeli Farm on Skyline, and the Rodabaugh Farm in the valley were hit the hardest. However, the Kendall, Barnhill, Grover, Bond and Spencer farms all noticed the evidence of the “epidemic” as well. In pursuit of their missing cattle the surrounding farms hired this private investigator, this sleuth if you will. A cowboy straight out of Dallas, who was absolutely cuckoo for cocoa puffs, for cattle. Bobby Decker gorged himself on a strictly beef only diet, and he partook in an unnatural love affair with the animals that he chose to consume. I heard one story, about when he was a young buck maybe 14 or 15. Every year he would hand pick one bull from his Uncle’s ranch. He would shower this bull with his undivided attention. He would feed the steer himself, he’d bath him, he would even sleep with him out in the pasture. I even heard that he had read bed time stories to it. When it had come time for harvest, little Bobby would lure his best friend into the barn and kill him, himself. His weapon of choice was a Katana blade. After the deed was done, he would process the meat himself, tag it, bag it and toss it into the chest freezer, drinking the blood in celebration of the harvest. Over the next year he would eat every single inch of what was once his companion.  It was early November when the patriarchs of the encompassing farms held a rendezvous in Billy Arcangeli’s barn. It was then and there that they had unanimously elected to bring in Bobby Decker, the cowboy from Dallas with the atypical rapport with bullocks. It was alleged that he could track cattle with the use of nothing more than his nose, like a humanized blood hound. Of course we all knew that all of these chronicles were nothing more than rural legends. Decker was the least of my concerns. My main concern was the fact that our resource of fresh cattle was hastily diminishing. Without the farms replenishing their flocks we would be forced to acquire a contemporary replacement preferably before the cows came home.

title: [crtique] [literary fiction] Short Story for publication 1700 words part I of II

question: What does the story say about Bobby Decker?

answer: Bobby Decker was a Dallas cowboy private investigator hired by the surrounding farms to investigate the missing herds on their farms. He enjoyed a strictly beef diet and had an absurd affair with the animals he consumed. Rumor has it that when Decker was about 14 or 15 years old, he would handpick one bull from his uncle's ranch every year. Then, he would befriend this bull, shower it with affection by bathing it, sleeping with it, and even reading bedtime stories to it. When it was time to kill the bull, he would lure it into a barn and slice it up with a katana blade. Afterward, he would process the meat by himself, tag and bag it before putting it into a chest freezer, and drink its blood in celebration. It was also alleged that Decker could track cattle with nothing more than his nose.

question: What does the story say about the different cases of all the kids in the narrator's foster home?

answer: The narrator's foster home housed different kids with unique abilities. They had kids experienced with meat chopping; Lucille, Sam, Pamela, and Wiley (the weird kid who loved to drink bull blood and eat fried bull testicles with a peanut butter sandwich). Then they had Mongo, the new kid with exceptional chopping skills from a troubling foster home where he was put in a cage as the other kids. They had other kids with tragic backstories like Mongo too. Like Gerard from Utica, who used to sleep in a dog house, Lindsay from Elmira, who was forced to watch her foster parents have sex when she was caught kissing a boy, and then Ani, whose foster parents burnt her skin with a crack pipe for forgetting to do the dishes. Other kids in the house include Zoey, the sniper prodigy, and Chuck and Davey, who were insanely strong 13-year-olds.

question: Briefly describe Mongo's life.

answer: Mongo is a unique eight-year-old kid from Troy who joined other kids in the narrator's foster home. He enjoys cutting up and processing carcass meat - his own outstanding contribution to the family's business. It made him feel like he had a purpose in life. In his former foster home, his foster parents kept him in a cage, like an animal, just like they did other children under their care.

question: What does the story say about foster children with special abilities?

answer: The narrator's foster home housed several children with abilities atypical to kids their age. Mongo from Troy had superior meat-cutting skills. Then, Zoey from Allentown was a sniper prodigy attached to her M-16. She wasn't like other kids who liked going to bed with Sonny and Cher episodes, teddy bears or Noah Chomsky novels. Zoey was different. Every night, she'd go to bed with her sniper unloaded and then go out to shoot steers. The foster home also had two boys from Norway and Germany called Dave and Chuck. These two boys were oddly athletic for 13-year-olds. They handled every steer Zoey shot down, grabbed and tossed them into the back of a truck, and drove off unnoticed.


text:
More than 20 years after a teenager was stabbed to death inside her Idaho Falls apartment, police say they have finally tracked down her killer.

IDAHO FALLS, Idaho — More than 20 years after a teenager was stabbed to death inside her Idaho Falls apartment, police say they have finally tracked down her killer.

Brian Leigh Dripps, 53, was arrested Wednesday in Canyon County after DNA linked him to the 1996 slaying of Angie Dodge.

Dripps has been charged with murder in the perpetration of rape, and could face the death penalty if convicted.

Idaho Falls Police Chief Bryce Johnson said Dripps has confessed to sexually assaulting and killing Dodge.

"This is a 23-year journey that took so many pieces to fall into place," Johnson said. "I'm so proud of the people I get to work with. This is the absolute cutting edge of law enforcement."

[][]

Dodge was just 18 when she was attacked and killed inside her own apartment June 13, 1996.

Det. Bill Squires said that at the time of the murder, Dripps was living across the street from the victim. Idaho Falls Police even interviewed him within days of Dodge's slaying during neighborhood canvassing, according to investigators.

Investigators used genealogy and family tree connections to zero in on Dripps, the police chief said. Court records show Dripps has almost no criminal record in Idaho, with the exception of a misdemeanor drug arrest in Adams County in 2002 and misdemeanor driving without privileges and littering in 1999 in Canyon County.

After identifying him as a suspect, detectives traveled to Caldwell to conduct surveillance, ultimately scooping up a cigarette butt that Dripps tossed to the ground. The cigarette butt was processed at the state lab, where analysts confirmed that Dripps' DNA was a match to the semen left behind at the crime scene 23 years ago.

Squires said investigators interviewed Dripps at the Caldwell Police Department for hours before he confessed to killing Dodge.

"He did lie initially," Squires said. "It was a lengthy interview."

The victim's brother, Brent Dodge, said his family has an "overwhelming sense of gratitude" to the Idaho Falls Police Department and the detectives who worked the case for decades without giving up.

"We're safe tonight," he said. "The bad guy is behind bars."

Dripps is currently held in the Canyon County Jail until he can be extradited back to Idaho Falls to face the murder charge.

But Dripps is not the first suspect to be charged in Dodge's killing.

Within months of the murder, detectives turned their attention to a local drug addict named Chris Tapp, who confessed to killing Dodge. Tapp later claimed he had been coerced into the confession and insisted that he was innocent, but was ultimately convicted of her murder.

Tapp's case attracted the attention of advocacy groups like the Idaho Innocence Project and the victim's own mother, Carol Dodge, who came to believe he was not the killer and argued for his release. DNA evidence taken from the scene of the crime was not a match to Tapp.

After serving 20 years behind bars, Tapp was resentenced to time served in 2017 and released from prison. The decision was not an official exoneration, and Tapp's murder conviction stands.

It's unclear what effect the arrest of Dripps will have on Tapp's conviction. Johnson declined to say whether police still believe Tapp was involved in Dodge's slaying.

"Chris Tapp is another important part of this case, that deserves its day in the sunlight. That day is not today," he said. "Today is about Angie."

[][]

question: What does the article say about Chris Tapp?

answer: He was a drug addict living in Idaho Falls in 1996. A few months after the murder of eighteen-year-old Angie Dodge, he was suspected of the crime and confessed to it. However, he later claimed to be innocent, saying he was coerced into confessing. Angie's mother believed him and argued for his release, but Tapp was convicted of murder anyway despite the DNA evidence not matching him. He was released after 20 years in prison due to resentencing in 2017, but his conviction for murder still stands. The real murderer, however, has recently been found, but whether that will affect Tapp's conviction is currently unknown.

question: What does the text say about Brian Leigh Dripps?

answer: Dripps is the rapist and murderer of eighteen-year-old Angie Dodge, who was caught after twenty years. The DNA evidence gathered from the leftover semen matched a cigarette butt he tossed to the ground after the police used genealogy and family tree connections to zero in on him. Dripps was among the people interviewed shortly after the murder, and he initially lied about being involved after being apprehended. However, after a lengthy interview, he finally confessed to the crime. Should he be convicted, he could face the death penalty. He's being held in the Canyon County Jail awaiting extradition to Idaho Falls.

question: What does the text say about cybercrime?


text:
Picture this. You’re 16 with a hot girlfriend. You’re doing well at school – almost too well. Your maths teacher thinks you’re some sort of prodigy. U r in the top 4 for your accelerated HSC course.

&#x200B;

But then it strikes. Depression. You have grown apart from your girlfriend. You can’t study for your trial hsc exam. You have an emotional breakdown after your interview with the air force.

&#x200B;

Suddenly it’s the morning of your trial hsc exam. You haven’t studied. You just…couldn’t.

Do you know what I’m doing here in the bathroom?

You do realise my life is over…right?

&#x200B;

Yeah my parents noticed the rope burn on my neck. I was just in a hospital room with my dad for half an hour waiting to get into the youth mental health section of the hospital. He had this blank expression on his face – like he was unable to even comprehend what had just happened.

&#x200B;

That section for youth here is called Nexus. The other teens ask me about the burn on my neck. They think I have depression. I meet some interesting people, but I spend a large proportion of my time planning my future suicide.

&#x200B;

I leave Nexus. I’m still badly suicidal a month later. I’m going to a private hospital with a mental health section primarily designed for adults. A family friend gets me in.

&#x200B;

I get a diagnosis. Psychosis. I swear I almost instantly start feeling better. Weird. Thank you alan.

&#x200B;

I gradually get better. Lose weight, make friends, kiss girls. I’m back at school, I make the decision to repeat.

&#x200B;

I leave high school with a 94 atar and I plan to do engineering. I was a binge drinker during the hsc, and with all the spare time post hsc I decide to start smoking weed with mates.

This would turn out to be arguably the worst decision of my life.

&#x200B;

I spend most of my adult life with some combination of mental illnesses or in recovery. I spend too much of my time trying not to kill myself, too much time smoking pot, and not enough time doing things that were actually good for me

&#x200B;

I experience depression so bad I feel like my heart has fallen out of my chest, and in hindsight I honestly don’t know if anyone could feel sadder than I did for nearly a year 4 years ago.

My mind is absorbed with delusions – those bizarre, some paranoid, even some potentially erotomanic ones.

&#x200B;

I go through about 4 or 5 cycles of smoking weed, getting addicted and then becoming depressed and psychotic.

I hate it. I love weed – I still do. But it is ruining my life. I eventually learn how to quit. I’ve now been clean for over 13 months, that’s double my previous record.

&#x200B;

And now I study psych – but what have I learnt in the real world. People don’t get help when they could really benefit from it.

Trying to kill myself when I was 16 was the the most fucked up thing I’ve ever done, but it was also the best decision I’ve ever made.

Every time I realise I’m unwell, or perhaps my parents notice, I go see a gp and get a referral from a psych. I get like 10 or 12 free visits a year. It’s that fucking easy.

And you want to know the truth. I have experienced periods of anhedonia in recovery, where I feel so little pleasure, that I spend a whole week looking forward to talking to my psych. It is literally and undeniably the highlight of my week and even my month.

I’m not sure if I can explain why – or if I even know why – but that shit was part of what saved me man, and so many people just don’t make that first step to try and see a psych, when its really not hard or expensive, and it can really help.

So I guess that’s the point of this. Just get the referral man – or get your friend to if you notice your friend procrastinating it. Cause maybe one day they’ll do what I did when I was 16, and for the rest of your life you will feel this immeasurable but distinct feeling in your gut…this guilt.

Their death would in no way be your fault, but what if you convinced them to see that psych.

Food for thought.

title: [RF] Why Trying to Kill Myself Was the Best Decision I ever Made

question: Why does the narrator feel that attempting suicide was the best decision they ever made?

answer: It seems it's because it allowed him to seek help, and continue his life with the help of professionals.

question: How might someone feel if they don't refer to their friend to see a psych?

answer: The narrator says they may feel guilt. This is because without this referral, that friend could turn out like the narrator and attempt suicide at 16.

question: Why was smoking weed the worst decision of the narrator's life?

answer: It seems it's because the narrator is addicted to it and it causes the symptoms of his mental illness to get worse.

question: Where might the narrator be if they didn't get the help they needed?

answer: It's very possible he could be dead.

question: How is the reader supposed to feel about the last 4 sentences?

answer: The reader should feel inspired to help a friend in need if the moment ever arises.


text:
	The empty space next to me is taunting me,
screaming with the shape of a person laying peacefully beside me: a beautiful masterpiece. There are images of gold-rush eyes, mixed with green gunmetal piercing through me still. There's the distinct touch of silky wheat beneath my fingertips, the feel of tea-warm lips brushing against the cold marble of my skin, but everything inside of me is starting to freeze over with the frost of a brutal winter morning. This time there is no reluctance of spring sun comfort, yet I wait.

...And I know that one day my heart will be holding the sun and my mouth will be filled with words that can never truly express how I feel.

title: A Missing Piece

question: What would have been avoided if it was not a brutal winter morning?

answer: The narrator's insides would have not have been frozen over.


text:
'Tomorrow will just have to be what today wasn't'. That was my mother’s mantra. She said it after every hard shift, every failed test, every break up, and every argument. She whispered it into my ears as she wiped tears off my cheeks. I used to tell myself the same thing when things went awry. I had always put faith into words, especially those words. Words defined my life.
It was 4:15 in the morning on the sixteenth of July. There was nothing special about the time or the date, but my brain woke me up regardless. I remember how cold it was in my room. I reached out of bed, tapped the small touch lamp on the bedside table, grabbed the robe that hung off the post of my bed and buried myself inside of it. Sliding my feet into my slippers, I crossed the room to turn on my space heater.

Had I lived anywhere else, the heater probably would’ve been stored away with holiday decorations and winter jackets, but I didn’t live anywhere else. I lived in a studio apartment with very little space. I didn’t own any holiday decorations and all of my winter clothes were hung up and stuffed into my little closet behind all of my summer clothes. I crossed the room and turned the knob on my fourteen dollar space heater to the single notch that signified power level one. The lamp lost a little bit of light. I shuffled toward my bed, kicked off the slippers and did a belly flop onto the mattress. The room filled with the quiet hum of the heater converting the temperature of the air and I squirmed under the comforter. Laying in my bed, wrapped in a robe and snuggled under a blanket, I knew I wasn’t getting back to sleep that night. I had only slept for about three hours and already my brain had kicked me into consciousness and given me the finger. I laid there for a few minutes and decided, ’Fuck it. If I’m going to be awake, I’m going to work’. I grabbed the laptop from the other side of the end table, nearly knocking the lamp off as I did. I pushed the lamp back into place, increasing its brightness ever so slightly. I flipped the laptop open and was greeted by a page full of text.

Words had always comforted me. Growing up, my mother always knew exactly what to say to make things better. She had so many pearls of wisdom to hand out and I had always eagerly accepted them. It had just been her and I growing up. After I was born, the doctor told her she wouldn’t have any more children. Her husband, who I refused to acknowledge as being my father (why should I, I never even saw his face), couldn’t stand to be with a woman who couldn’t provide him with a son so he left her with her daughter without a trace. Kids at school were always kind enough to point out how weird it was that Lindsay didn’t have a dad and when I would report their observations to my mother, she would always get down on her knees, put her hands on my shoulders and ask me, “Are those children smarter than you?” to which I always replied, “No”. Her follow up would be something similar to “Are the girls prettier than you?” This question had bothered me because I looked nothing like my mother (which, naturally, meant that I looked like her ex-husband). But, in the end, the answer was usually “No”. She would ask if they were stronger or braver than me and, as the queen of dares and arm wrestling, I always responded in the negative. She would wrap all of these questions up with one final one, the only one that really mattered.

“So then, Lindsay, are the kids with fathers better than you?”

And I always knew they weren’t. There were some kids in town that were, but they all went to a private school and I never had to see them anyway. I went to the only public school in my town. Everyone knew everyone else and we were all poor. No one had a guest bedroom and most of the houses had only one bathroom. My mom worked as a nurse during the day at the local nursing home and bartended during the night. She was always home when I woke up, when school let out, and when I went to sleep. As soon as I was old enough, I got a job helping out at the library after school. I got lost in books and excelled in English and ended up writing my way out of that little town and into Chicago. I took my mother with me, but she didn’t make it very long in a big city. She was exceedingly proud of my success but I always told her that she was the one who had given it to me.

I opened the laptop to find a page mostly filled with words. They were small money words. I hadn’t produced big money words since my mother died. I watched the cursor blink, waiting to be jettisoned across the screen by a slew of creativity or inspiration but it just stood there and blinked at me. I was in the middle of reading the paragraph preceding the boring cursor when I heard a rattling outside of my bedroom. My brain shut down and I stared at my bedroom door, waiting to see if it would bust inward. Someone was in my apartment. I knew that because the closest I came to a pet was the plastic tree by the front door and the dead fern by the window. I remember thinking ’Who the fuck would break in to my shitty apartment?’ but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that somebody had. My lamp was on and my laptop was illuminating my room, so whoever it was probably knew that I was awake. Did they know that I knew they were there?

title: [MS] Actually looking for feedback on my firsts few paragraphs

question: What does the narrator have to say about single parenthood?

answer: The narrator explains that her mother was a single parent who was also incredibly wise. Her mother not only worked hard but was also there at the most important moments, i.e. when she woke up, had to be picked up from school and went to sleep. The narrator indicates that it is thanks to her mother that she had the drive to be successful. The narrator feels she owes all the success she has to the woman who raised her. Her mother was there, and that's all she needed.

question: Why would someone break into Lindsay's apartment?

question: Summarize what the story has to say about self-worth.

answer: Lindsay is taught by her mother from an early age that other's perceptions do not count for anything as she is aware of the fact she is smarter, braver, prettier and stronger than the other girls. Her mother instilled strength in her, which allows her to become a hardworking and strong adult. The story indicates that self-worth overrides the insecurities that others want us to feel.

question: Who does Lindsay appear to be as an adult?

answer: Lindsay in an insomniac who lives alone in a small studio apartment in Chicago. She has no pets and a dying fern. Lindsay is a writer but doesn't make any significant money, however she has done in the past. It seems as though Lindsay has given up her ambition since the death of her mother, who was always a great influence on her life and her self-esteem.


text:
File #137-25-003: Audio Transcript of File #137-25-001: Video; Death and Reanimation of Bitten Human.

*Clicks and pops*

Computerized voice: “Recording #137-25-001. Time stamp: 10/10/2120, 0114. Title: Video; Death and Reanimation of Bitten Human. Subject name: *Withheld for privacy*. Gender: male. Age: 32. Race: Caucasian. Full medical history can be found in file #137-25-002; Medical Report.”

Male Voice: “So, I guess I don’t have much time now, do I? Fucker bit me good, he did. Damn, that hurts like a bitch. Well, I better get started, seeing as I don’t have much time left for too much more then chomping down on people’s brains.  Let’s see, where to begin?

Well, I suppose the best place would be the bite. I had graveyard shift, patrolling the back wall, y’know, that section back there that’s just chain link fencing. It was dark as hell, and that little flashlight that I had was starting to lose its charge. About halfway down that long straight bit, I found a hole dug under the fence. Some critter, probably. We had seen some of them groundhogs wondering about, it was probably them bastards. Anyways, there was one of them undead fuckers caught under the fence. Lucky for us, it was a big ol’ swollen fella. Never would have fit through that tiny lit’ hole. First thing I did was fire off a flare to alert the camp that there was a possible threat at my location, cuz if one undead had found the hole, then who knows how many of those shamblin’ fuckers had.

While I waited for reinforcements, I decided to kill the zom that had gotten stuck. I did have a rifle, but since that fat fuck wasn’t moving, I was just going to beat its brains in. I picked up a piece of rebar and pulled back to slam it into its skull, when the other one jumped me. Little tiny thing, couldn’t’ve been more than ninety or hundred pounds. It must’ve been wanderin’ about near one of the buildings, and come back when it noticed me. Fuck me, I thought I had been keepin’ real quiet, too. Either way, it jumped at me and got a good chunk out of my arm before I could react. I managed to push it off and, using my good arm, bash its brains out with the rebar.

The response team got to me within a minute, but I knew it was too late. I could tell by their faces. Sometimes, when people got bit in their arm or somethin’, if they had the balls, they would just cut it off. Keep the infection out of their system, but I couldn’t do it. Not for any sentimental reason, but the cold fact was that it bit me in my good arm, and I just didn’t have a knife big enough to do the job properly. Not in time, at least. I woulda jus’ bled out, and that’s no fun.

Anyways, they saw me, and first thing they thought of doing was this video. It was either this or a bullet in my brain, and don’t think I didn’t think about it. Bullet would be clean and fast, and a mercy. But if there is any way of beating those bastards out there from killin’ off the human race, I’m all for it.
So, there’s that. They got me in this here room, although I guess cage might be a better word. ‘Bout 10’ by 10’, steel bars, all that shit. The video recorder is sitting outside it, along with a fella with a shotgun. Don’t really want to think about what he’s there for.”

*A voice is heard from off camera*

Male voice: “The fella back there is asking me to describe what I’m feeling. Well, I got bit on the forearm, right near the elbow. Y’know, that muscle you grip with.”

*Video pauses at this point*

Computerized voice: “Subject is referring to the Brachioradialis muscle. Upon examination, the bite covered a significant section of the Brachioradialis and Pronator Teres muscles. Exact muscles affected, along with photos of the bite, can be found in the medical report #137-25-002.”

*Video continues playing*

Male Voice: “That arm is on fire around the bite down to my wrist, and up almost clear to my armpit. I can move my fingers, but I don’t know if I could grip anything smaller then maybe a coffee mug, or anything heavier. I don’t know if this is due to the bug, or just the location of the bite, or both. I do have a definite chill in my bones that I wasn’t feelin’ afore. It’s creepin’ up my spine, up to the base of my skull. Feels like Death hisself is sittin’ at m’shoulder.”

Computerized Voice: “At this point of the video, the subject became very quiet, examining his arm, flexing his fingers and grimacing. This goes on for some time until subject breaks the silence.”
Male Voice: “It’s not the fact that I’m gonna die that is drivin’ me up a wall. At times like this, y’really don’t expect to live too long. It’s the waiting that’s the kicker. Knowing that I got maybe 20 minutes before I’ll be one’o’them,”

*Subject gestures to the outer walls and presumably the undead outside.*

Male Voice: “And there’s not a damned thing I can do about it, short’a blowin’ m’own head off. It’s in… in… oh, it’s gonna happen, whatever that stupid word is.’

*The off-camera voice is heard again.*

Male Voice: “Inevitable! That’s the word. Just spaced clear out for a sec there… I wonder if I’m not starting to lose some of my ca… co… my fuckin’ thinkin’ power. Damnit! You know what I mean.”

*The off-camera voice speaks up*

Male Voice: “How am I feeling? I’ll tell ya how I’m fucking feeling… sorry. I guess I’m getting a bit aggressive. Not sure if that’s just from frustration or anything else. My arm is about numb now, like I’ve slept on it wrong and cut the blood off. I can move my fingers still, but just barely. It’s numb clear up to my shoulder. The chill has pretty much spread all over. I’m feeling a bit tired, which isn’t too surprising considering it’s close to 2 am by this point.”

*Subtitles at bottom of screen shows time as 0147.*

Male Voice: “Fuck, if it’s that late, then I don’t got much time left. No time left at all…”

*Subject stands unsteadily, clinging to the bars for balance.*

Male Voice: “Woah. All right, legs are numb as well. Didn’t notice ‘till I got up. Might want to note that. Anyways, since I’m living on borrowed time, this is about the best time as any to do this. Mike, if that’s you back there with the scattergun, do me a favor. I got some letters in my trunk, under the books. They’re written to my folks, or whoever’s left. Last I heard of ‘em, they were heading back down to Georgia to try and make a life there. If y’can, get someone to send those letters. If not, well, I’ll see ‘em again soon, more likely than not. Anything else in my trunk is fair game. Got some good socks in there that you should grab, if’n you need some. ”

*Subject wanders around the perimeter of the cell once, slowly, then sits down hard on the bench.*
Male Voice: “It’s getting too hard to stand now. My legs are really numb. I can’t feel my arm at all now, and my other isn’t too much better. It’s um… y’know… um… Shit. It’s getting harder to focus on anything for too long. Having trouble seeing out my right eye. It’s like a mist is falling over that side of my face, I can’t hear, can’t feel too much. Whatever’s coming, it ain’t too far, now.”

*Subject is now showing severe signs of lethargy, and is leaning to one side on the bench. He is quiet for about a minute.*

Male Voice: (gasping) “I’m still here, but not for too much longer. I can feel it. It’s in my head. Heh. It’s already eatin’ my fuckin’ brains, and I ain’t even dead yet. But I ain’t… “

*Subject fades off to silence, but chest movements can still be seen. The right eye is visibly dark, but the left is still active. It focuses towards the camera, and the subject speaks softly. Volume here has been increased for ease of hearing.*

Male voice: (rasping, barely audible) “I’m done. I can’t [inaudible] no more. It has [inaudible].”

*Coughing, gasping*

Male Voice: (weakly) “Beat this fuckin’ thing. If you [inaudible] for me, beat it…”

Computerized voice: “At this time, subject ceased to move or speak. Estimated time of death: 0221. Time from initial infection to death: approx. 81 minutes. The subject will be observed until such time as to be fully reanimated. At this time, the subject will be terminated and dissected.”

*Subject is motionless for a while before first muscle twitch. Subject’s corpse appears to spasm for a time. After this interval, subject’s corpse regains its feet and begins to shuffle around the cell. *

Computerized Voice: “At this time, subject has fully reanimated. It is now walking and in full seek mode. Time from death to full reanimation: 11 min, 17 sec. At this time, the subject was terminated and dissected.”

*Video skips, then fades to static.*

Computerized Voice: “This concludes this video. Property of World Health Organization, and not to be used without permission. File # 137-25-001.
_______________________________________________________________

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is very welcome. Sorry for all the cussing, but I was trying to paint a picture of a specific type of person. Also, if you have a better idea for a title, please feel free to suggest it.

title: [HR/MF] From Brain to Brains

question: How does the story speak of the undead?

answer: There is one mention of a zombie (zombies are referred to as non-living) that got stuck under the fence. The same creature is called undead in the text. The narrator speaks negatively and suspiciously of the undead. One undead creature jumps on the narrator and bites his arm before the narrator kills it. This creature is described as weighing one hundred pounds or less and being quite small.

question: What does the text say about the total number of people bitten by the undead?

question: What role does the computerized voice play in the text?

answer: The computerized voice speaks up in the recording (of which the story is a transcription) to inform the reader or listener of factual information. This information includes the date, the case name and number, and anatomical information about the subject's injury. Additionally, the computerized voice lists time stamps and marks the narrator's time of death.


text:
Magistrate labels owner ‘in denial’ over dog’s friendliness while handing down thousands of dollars in fines for Wangara attacks

AN astonished magistrate has told a man he was in “total denial” about the friendliness of his former dog after it attacked a man and a woman in Wangara last year.

The woman spent two nights in hospital and required surgery to mend severe wounds on her arm, which was left permanently damaged.

The dog was eventually put down after it attacked a 16-year-old boy in an incident unrelated to this case.

Antonio Cicchino was due to face trial in Joondalup Magistrates Court on Monday having pleaded not guilty to two charges of “dog attack causing physical injury” and one charge of not being in control of a dog in a public place.

The trial did not go ahead after he changed his plea to guilty.

He faced hefty court costs of more than $10,500, much of which stemmed from the expense of the prosecution’s preparation for the trial.

Magistrate Edward de Vries said he was “not convinced” Cicchino was “genuinely remorseful” and fined him $6000 over the attacks, taking his total penalty to nearly $17,000.

Both victims were in court for the hearing.

The court heard Cicchino’s 14-month-old kelpie cross bull arab attacked a tow truck driver who was in the yard of Cicchino’s business to remove a car about 2pm on February 21 last year.

City of Wanneroo prosecutor Sam De Vita said the dog had been locked away but escaped and “latched on” to the man’s right hand.

He said Cicchino had made “no mention” to the driver about the dog being on site.

Cicchino’s lawyer explained the pet was kept at home most of the time but occasionally accompanied him at work.

The victim had to scale a pile of tyres to safety.

The dog then ran out of the property and mauled a woman who was walking past the yard.

Mr De Vita said the animal “ran straight for her and jumped on her towards her face”.

The dog “shook her arm violently” as she shielded herself from the attack, which resulted in nerve, tendon and muscle damage.

She now suffered nerve pain and numbness in the arm.

Cicchino’s lawyer said his client, who helped with first aid after the attack, had “expressed not only his remorse, but his horror” at the outcome.

“He wishes nothing more that he can go back in time and stop the incidents from occurring,” he said.

Mr de Fries handed Cicchino pictures of the victims’ injuries.

He questioned him about the dog’s nature, and said the animal “must have shown” signs of aggression.

Cicchino said the animal had been “just a normal, playful dog”.

Mr de Fries told him he was “in total denial”.

“The injuries are horrifying,” he said.

“He brutally attacked two people… this wasn’t a playful dog playing with these two people.”

MORE: Woman sentenced over Gumtree puppy scam

[Subscribe to our newsletter]

[Subscribe to our newsletter]

MORE: Cyclist seriously injured in Champion Lakes crash

MORE: Fast food outlet fined after customer bit into metal while eating meal

question: Where did the dog bite the female victim?

answer: In the arm?

question: Why was the dog put down eventually?

answer: Because it attacked a 16-year-old boy?

question: Why did Antonio Cichino (dog owner) not face trial?

answer: Because he pled guilty.

question: What was the magistrate conclusion on the Antonio Cichino case?

answer: The magistrate believes the defendant is not genuinely remorseful and therefore fined him up to $17,000.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Antonio Cichino's dog is euthanised for injuring and gaining multiple people over its lifetime. The owner is sued for negligence and damages. Though the defendant pleads that his dog is normal and playful, the magistrates does not believe him and, as a result, fined him up to $17000 in damages.


text:
HK$ 391,117

pledged of HK$ 350,000 goal

Support

1.

    Pledge HK$ 40 or more  About US$ 6

    Peasants Reward

    Name in Credits as supporter
    Digital wallpaper
    Thanks from the team and supporter Newsletter

    Includes:

    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper

    Less

    Estimated delivery Jun 2020

2.

    Pledge HK$ 200 or more  About US$ 26

    Lesser Demons Reward

    Access to private Beta test server
    Access to private Beta forums
    Digital copy of game soundtrack
    - no copy of full game
    - includes Peasants reward

    Includes:

    -   Access to private Beta and private Forums
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper

    Less

    Estimated delivery Mar 2020

    Limited (491 left of 500)

3.

    Pledge HK$ 240 or more  About US$ 31

    Knights Reward

    Copy of full game on release
    - No Beta access
    - includes Peasants reward

    Includes:

    -   Full copy of Game on release
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper

    Less

    Estimated delivery Jun 2020

4.

    Pledge HK$ 400 or more  About US$ 52

    Demons Reward

    Access to private Beta and private beta Forums (expected December 2019)
    Full copy of game on release

    Includes:

    -   Full copy of Game on release
    -   Access to private Beta and private Forums
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper

    Less

    Estimated delivery Jun 2020

5.

    Pledge HK$ 600 or more  About US$ 78

    Master Knight's Reward

    Full Copy of game on release
    Access to Alpha and Beta test phases
    Peasants Reward
    Name on in-game tombstone

    Includes:

    -   Full copy of Game on release
    -   Credit for supporting game on in game 3d tombstone
    -   Access to Alpha and Beta testers lounge and early PVP access.
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper

    Less

    Estimated delivery Jan 2020

6.

    Pledge HK$ 800 or more  About US$ 104

    Explorers Reward

    Printed and signed hardcover collection of our game's Art and design (>100 pieces of art in full color)
    Full copy of Game on release
    Access to Alpha and Beta test phases
    Peasants reward
    Name in 3d tombstone

    Includes:

    -   Signed copy of printed Collecters book of game art.
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper
    -   Credit for supporting game on in game 3d tombstone
    -   Access to private Beta and private Forums
    -   Full copy of Game on release

    Less

    Estimated delivery Dec 2020

    Ships to Anywhere in the world

7.

    Pledge HK$ 1,200 or more  About US$ 155

    Elite Knight's Reward

    Season's pass for all content in Season 1- new weapons, characters, customization options, extra stash space
    Full copy of game and beta access
    Access to Alpha and Beta test phases
    Signed copy of printed Collectors art book
    Name on in-game 3D tombstone
    Peasants reward

    Includes:

    -   Season's pass for all content to be released in Season 1
    -   Full copy of Game on release
    -   Credit for supporting game on in game 3d tombstone
    -   Access to Alpha and Beta testers lounge and early PVP access.
    -   Signed copy of printed Collecters book of game art.
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper

    Less

    Estimated delivery Dec 2020

    Ships to Anywhere in the world

8.

    Pledge HK$ 2,000 or more  About US$ 259

    Demon King's Reward

    3 season pass for all cosmetic items to be released in first 3 years of game.
    Full copy of game on release and beta access
    Signed copy of printed Collectors game art book.
    Knights' Reward.

    Includes:

    -   Access to private Beta and private Forums
    -   Credit for supporting game on in game 3d tombstone
    -   Full copy of Game on release
    -   Seasons pass for all content in next 3 seasons
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper
    -   Access to Alpha and Beta testers lounge and early PVP access.
    -   Signed copy of printed Collecters book of game art.

    Less

    Estimated delivery Dec 2020

    Ships to Anywhere in the world

9.

    Pledge HK$ 4,000 or more  About US$ 517

    Immortal King's Reward

    Includes:

    -   Seasons pass for all content in next 3 seasons
    -   Meet our Team- lunch, backstage pass, tour of office
    -   Full copy of Game on release
    -   Credit for supporting game on in game 3d tombstone
    -   Access to Alpha and Beta testers lounge and early PVP access.
    -   Signed copy of printed Collecters book of game art.
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper

    Less

    Estimated delivery Dec 2020

    Ships to Anywhere in the world

10.

    Pledge HK$ 8,000 or more  About US$ 1,033

    Angels Reward

    Co-design an in-game Quest
    Meet the team, tour of office and lunch.

    Includes:

    -   Co-design a new in-game Quest.
    -   Full copy of Game on release
    -   Seasons pass for all content in next 3 seasons
    -   Signed copy of printed Collecters book of game art.
    -   Access to Alpha and Beta testers lounge and early PVP access.
    -   Meet our Team- lunch, backstage pass, tour of office
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper
    -   Credit for supporting game on in game 3d tombstone

    Less

    Estimated delivery Dec 2020

    Ships to Anywhere in the world

11.

    Pledge HK$ 75,000  About US$ 9,676

    Kraken's Reward

    Create your own Enemy or simple Monster- work with direct access to our design staff
    - Concept Artists, 3d Modelers, Animators, and senior staff will all work with you to bring the humanoid Enemy or monster of your dreams to life

    Includes:

    -   Co-design an in-game Character, Enemy, or Boss
    -   Meet our Team- lunch, backstage pass, tour of office
    -   Full copy of Game on release
    -   Seasons pass for all content in next 3 seasons
    -   Signed copy of printed Collecters book of game art.
    -   Access to Alpha and Beta testers lounge and early PVP access.
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper
    -   Credit for supporting game on in game 3d tombstone

    Less

    Estimated delivery Dec 2020

    Ships to Anywhere in the world

12. Reward no longer available

    Pledge HK$ 16,000 or more  About US$ 2,065

    Ancient Dragon's Reward

    Co-design your own in-game 3d item

    Includes:

    -   Co-design a new in-game item (weapon, armor, etc)
    -   Meet our Team- lunch, backstage pass, tour of office
    -   Full copy of Game on release
    -   Signed copy of printed Collecters book of game art.
    -   Access to Alpha and Beta testers lounge and early PVP access.
    -   Seasons pass for all content in next 3 seasons
    -   Peasants Reward- Name in Credits, Digital wallpaper
    -   Credit for supporting game on in game 3d tombstone

    Less

    Estimated delivery Dec 2020

    Ships to Anywhere in the world

     Reward no longer available

Funding period

Oct 30, 2019 - Dec 4, 2019 (35 days)

question: What does the text say about the Peasants Reward?

answer: Pledging HK$40 or more (about US$6) on the game gives the backer the following privileges: name in credits as a supporter, a digital wallpaper, and thanks from the team and supporter newsletter.

question: What does the text say about the estimated delivery of each reward?

answer: The estimated delivery of Peasant Reward, Knights Reward, and Demons Reward is June 2020. The estimated delivery of Lesser Demons Reward is March 2020. The estimated delivery of Master Knight's Reward is January 2020. The estimated delivery of Explorers Reward, Elite Knight's Reward, Demon King's Reward, Immortal King's Reward, Angels Reward, Kraken's Reward, and Ancient Dragon's Reward is December 2020.

question: What does the text say about meeting the team behind the game?

answer: The supporters who pledge HK$4,000 or more have the privilege of meeting the team, which includes lunch, a backstage pass, and an office tour. This is available in Immortal King's Reward, Angels Reward, Kraken's Reward, and Ancient Dragon's Reward.

question: What does the text say about what the game is about?


text:
Sharon didn't want his death the be too painful, even though that bastard deserved it. Cheating on her with that bitch at the office. Not his office even, her office. Her husband Mike would often visit her at work during lunch. It was always a surprise to see him there, right when Sharon got back from lunch, sitting in her desk chair.
	“Hey Sharon!” He would say with that toothless smile she had grown to hate. “Just got finished with all my work for the day so I thought I’d drop by and see you.” He would chirp, or something along those lines. But this particular day something different happened. Mike was there, but he wasn't waiting in Sharon’s chair. No, Mike was coming out of her coworker’s office. Sharon saw her giggle at him as he left and make a sly shhhh sign with her finger. They both nervously laughed as Mike walked away with a prideful grin on his face. He would almost always have with him chocolate cheesecake- Sharon’s favorite food. Then they would eat together and Mike would give her a short peck on the lips and leave. That’s how she knew he was cheating on her. She tasted something on Mike’s lips that day, something sweet. It wasn't the chocolate cheesecake though. No, this was a sweet strawberry flavor upon his this lips that she tasted.
	Mike made a lot of money. He was a writer for a popular newspaper company in New York. Sharon hardly made any money. She didn't even have to work actually, Mike made more than enough to keep them both more than alive and happy. Mike was kinda famous too. He wrote the political cartoons for the paper. Sometimes people would recognize him in resturaunts or places like that. They would come up to him with a big smile and shake his hand or ask for a picture. They wouldn’t even acknowledge Sharon. And that made her mad.
	Melissa. That’s the bitch that was doing her husband at her workplace. Sharon wasn’t completely sure it was Melissa, but it was most likely her. Melissa wasn't even that pretty, at least not in Sharon’s eyes. Melissa had to have been at least forty with her brown hair that was starting to show strands of grey. Sharon’s hair had more grey in her blonde hair, she used products to keep it from showing, but it never seemed to work for her. Melissa was also kinda plump. Not fat by any means, but not close to skinny either. Sharon was skinny. Too skinny. She had lost a lot of weight lately and she didn't know why. Maybe Mike didn't like her being skinny, maybe he wanted something more plump like Melissa. That’s what Sharon figured at least.
	Poison. That’s how Mike was going to die. Sharon got the poison from a guy in the city. She knew from some of the ladies in her office that he could get anybody anything that they want, drugs, guns it didn't matter. “I’ve actually never done drugs before, not even in high school or college.” Sharon overheard Melissa saying one day. That bitch.
	“You’ve outdone yourself this time sweetie.” Mike said as he finished the potato soup that Sharon made him. Mike loved potato soup. He was always pestering Sharon to buy it for him. Sharon put the poison in the potato soup, the dealer said it was tasteless and the affects of the poison would kick in in about 6 hours. After dinner they cuddled on the couch. She actually liked being with him like this. It was a shame he had to die. Oh well, he shouldn't have cheated on her. They were in love for 15 years. Their anniversary was just last week and Mike took her ballroom dancing, something they both found out they were getting too old for.
	“I love you so much.” Michael whispered into her ear. His breath smelled like potato soup.
	Sharon smiled at him and stared back into his dark brown eyes. “I love you too babe.” And they started kissing like they were teenagers again, sitting in the back of Mike’s chevy truck.
	Sharon tasted something horrible in her mouth while they were kissing. It tasted like potato soup but something wet and metallic. “The hell, Mike?” Sharon asked as she pushed him away.
	Mike was bleeding. Everywhere. There was blood streaming out of his mouth, but that’s not the only place it was pouring out of. His eyes, ears and nose were all spewing out dark red blood. Sharon screamed. And so did Michael. The look of terror and pain in his eyes suddenly made Sharon forget that he was a dirty cheater. Mike was crying too. She could see the tears over the blood that was now all over his face. Michael was still on top of Sharon while all of this was going on. His blood was all over her body and white blouse.
	“Sharon.” Mike garbled as blood came spitting out if his mouth and onto Sharon and her opened mouth. “Help. 911.” He spewed quickly. But Sharon didn't move. She didn't know what to do. Mike was on top of her and wouldn't move. Couldn't move, so it seemed. This wasn't supposed to happen this way. It wasn't supposed to end like this. The dealer told Sharon that Mike would just die in his sleep. No pain. No blood spewing out of every orrfice in the man’s body. Mike’s torture went on for about forty-five minutes. And then he finally died, laying on top of his wife. Sharon carefully pushed him off of her and onto the floor. She took her blood-soaked clothes off and got in the shower. She was just getting out of the shower when the doorbell rang. “One minute!” she cried out. Sharon wasn’t thinking about her dead husband’s tortured body laying in the living room floor. Sharon wasn’t really thinking about anything at all. She opened the door. And there was Melissa.
	“Happy birthday, Sharon!” Melissa happily shouted. Behind here were probably twenty people. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of Mike for an hour now, this was supposed to be a surprise birthday party. Mike and I planned it ourselves. We were scared that you caught us when you saw him leaving my office a couple weeks ago after you got back from lunch. We even picked out a perfect flavor of cake for you, of course we had to sample some cake ourselves” she giggled. “We finally decided on strawberry.”

title: [MF] A Good Wife

question: Summarize the double plot twist.

answer: Sharon has been angry at her husband of 15 years for his recent infidelity. She decides to poison him, thinking that it will be painless and that it won't kick in until hours after she has loaded his potato soup with poison. Unfortunately for both of them, her husband, Mike, starts bleeding profusely and dies an agonizing death in pain. Then, Sharon hears someone at the door-it's the woman with whom Sharon thought Mike was cheating, and they had been planning a surprise party for Sharon-which is right now.

question: Summarize the reasons Sharon decides to kill Mike.

answer: All we know from this text is that Sharon had seen Mike emerging from her coworker's office. The two in cohorts had been secretive-Melissa putting a finger to her lips-and looked happy. It seems that Sharon based her allegations solely on this one sighting and interpretation. She also seems to assume that Mike-due to his job and his money-is someone many women would pursue.

question: Summarize the source of tension in the article.

answer: Sharon believes her husband, a successful and monied writer, has been cheating on her with her coworker. She roots this baseless conclusion in one singular instance of his emerging from Melissa's office looking proud of himself, and Melissa has a lip pushed to her lips in a "shhh" gesture. Sharon's insecurities might lie in the success of her husband; she says herself that she doesn't even have to work, but she seems to note this with a hint of sadness, as if she wishes she felt like she were worth more.

question: Explain how Sharon is going to get herself out of the situation now that Melissa and other guests have arrived, and Mike is lying there dead.


text:
Two men stood over a map of a desert, wondering what their next move might be. They were tasked with the transportation of the Prince, a very wealthy and self-entitled man; he was actually little more than a boy.

“When will we be moving?”, the Prince asked. “I’m tiring of this constant monotony, this endless desert.”

The first man looked up from the map. His name was Francis Argol. Francis was a general in the King’s army. He had more important things to do than take care of a child, but his King commanded him, so he obeyed. He let a long breath slide out between his lips before he answered.

“Apologies, your Majesty. We sent a group of three riders a half-day’s ride ahead of us. Only one returned and brought news of a large group of raiders and thieves.”

At the sound of this, the man at the General’s right spit on the ground.

“Cowards and bastards, thinking themselves warriors. We should have been within a few leagues of the Castle by now!”

He was one of the King’s Barons. He advised the King on matters of the country and was part of his Army. This particular man, Keren Festrell, was one of the lower Barons; his lack of likability didn’t work in his favor. He also wasn’t one to mince words. He enjoyed acting in haste and leaving enough daylight to drink mead until he could no longer think straight.

“Now, now Festrell. We have a half-decent group of men. Granted my father won’t exactly be missing any of you.” The Prince’s eyes lingered on the Baron as he spoke. With a smirk he added, “Maybe, under the command of the two of you, we may only lose half our men.”
With that he strode out of the tent, his long purple robe dragging in the dusty and cracked desert ground.

“Relax now, Keren,” said Francis. “No need to get angry over this. We’ll get him home and be rid of him.”

Francis wasn’t very fond of Keren, but he was a man of arms, which to the general, was greater than someone like the Prince, someone who’s never had to work a day in his life, or pick up a sword to protect his soil, or even a plow to feed his family.
With a few words muttered beneath their breath, they returned to the map in front of them.

It was no secret to the Prince that Argol and Festrell held him in disdain. Their faces showed their anger at him; words pushed between clenched teeth and knuckles white, from tightly clenched fists. It didn’t bother him, though. He enjoyed the fact that he could bother them to such an extent without lifting a finger. If they spoke back to him, they’d be flayed and stripped of their honors. They’d never dare try him.

The Prince strode into his tent. It sat behind the command tent where the General and Baron decided their next move. Like it, it was white so it was cool-as cool as could be expected in the desert sun. He longed for the stone walls of his father’s castle, for servants to respond to his every command. He wasn’t made for hard travel.

He sat on the hard wooden bench and looked around him. To his left, crumpled on the ground, was his armor. It was hardly ever used; it was more of a formality really. It had been made by the castle smith, gold and silver, inlaid with precious stones. It could have easily been more valuable than the lives of some of the men out on the field. The Prince didn’t care. Neither about it nor for it. He wasn’t to fight. No, others were to fight on his behalf as he sat and watched from a safe distance. After all, he was royalty.

On his right there was a pitcher of water and a small clay goblet. The water was covered by a thin layer of dust, just like everything else: his robe, his shoes, even the inside of his throat. He poured himself a cup and momentarily quenched his thirst. The rest of the tent was empty, but he was still more comfortable than every man in his party.

The Prince looked up as General Argol entered with the Baron and another unknown soldier who looked ready to faint.

The General spoke first, his tone wary. “Your majesty. Our sentry stationed a mile north of camp claims to have seen a force one thousand strong,” he said, gesturing to the man beside him.
Slouching in his chair, the Prince looked at the man with utter disdain and spat out to the three of them, “Well? Do something about it, you fools! Why do you think my father sent you?”
Through three sets of clenched teeth came whispers of “Yes, your majesty,” and “Of course, your majesty,” as they hurried to leave the small tent, with hearts full of hate.

The Prince wasn’t worried. He was protected by 250 of the best men his father’s Kingdom could offer. Yes, they were severely outnumbered, but his soldiers were trained and disciplined while the force facing them were more likely to be brutish and wild.

As nightfall overcame the camp, followed by a somber sunrise, General Argoll and Baron Festrell racked their minds for a scenario where they could be victorious. They each shelled out ides for hours, scrapped for one reason or another, and by the time the sun was shining brightly above them, they agreed on a plan.
Festrell  was fuming by this time. “We’ve spent all night and this is what we’ve come up with? We’ll be lucky if ten of us get out alive!”
The general knew he had to tread carefully. The baron was tired and angry at the Prince. “Our job was to transport the Prince safely to the Castle. If that means we may have to give our lives for it, so be it. The rules of chivalry-“
“Don’t speak about that degenerate and about chivalry. Don’t give me rules of honor or respect,” said Keren, interrupting his brother in arms. “When that boy shows an ounce of respect to another man, I’ll think about returning it. But for know he can shove it up his arse.”
“Keren! You may not like him but he is our Prince so you will at least refrain from speaking ill of him.” Francis knew what the problem was. Keren was a man with a lust for life and he viewed his life as the most important thing, but Francis knew that sometimes, you had to make sacrifices. “Now get some rest. Our guards say the force will meet us tomorrow.”

Early the next morning, they informed the Prince of the plan. He and ten soldiers acting as his guard will escort him from the back of the camp and take a wide detour from the west. The rest of the party will meet the other group head on.
“I know the way these men fight. I’ve seen them before. Even with the advantage of numbers they have, they will meet us with their full force.” The Baron spoke calmly. He had made peace with the plan. He was a capable soldier and was confident he could fight his way out, abandoning the rest if necessary. “They will want to steal our possessions, burn our bridges, and kill our livestock. You should be safe so long as you take a big enough detour.”

Less than an hour later, a column of dust began to rise in the distance. General Argol turned to the back and nodded to the small group. It was best of they left now before the opposing force realized what a valuable hostage was slipping through their fingers.
Fifty of his archers were stationed at the back, and another fifty were at the front. Both groups stood, nervously shifting their weight one way or another, back and forth. The group towards the front would begin the attack first slimming their front row numbers. Until the other soldiers crashed into the front lines of his army, the archers would be able to shoot soldiers at point blank range. He knew, and so did they, that they would be the first to fall. The archers in the back would let loose a steady stream of arrows causing destruction while his 150 men at arms slashed, cut, and jabbed at the men trying to take their lives.
He thought he and the Baron should be stationed near each other in the center so they could keep an eye on things and yell out orders, but Festrell said he felt better towards the eastern flank. Francis trusted him; he was a formidable soldier.

“Load! Aim! Release!,” came the first call. The front archers let loose fifty black shafted, razor sharp arrows into the front lines of the column racing towards them. Francis could see as more than half hit their mark. Again and again, the call rang out. As the column came closer, their accuracy began to fail as fear overtook them. He didn’t blame them. They were looking into the face of death. He only hoped the Prince was safe.
The enemy drew closer. He could now distinguish their faces. Full of anger, they cut down the archers who felled their brothers. They were met with the ends of his men’s sword. Back and forth they went. One down, and another. For every enemy they killed, two more stood in his place. The general drew his sword and ran out in the fray. Left, right, slash, block. His mind set into a lull as he fought for his life. He watched his men fall all around him. It crossed his mind how Keren was doing onto the eastern side.
He was pulled out of his thoughts as his shield was smashed into pieces by a man with a club. His sword had the advantage in length, but the club could knock him out with a solid hit. Francis jabbed at the man and switched his sword upwards at the last second and felt a satisfactory jolt into soft flesh. He had cut the man deeply on his left side. In a last attempt, the enemy leapt towards him, and in a large sweeping blow to the head, knocked the general unconscious.

title: Untitled Short Story

question: What does the story say about General Argol?

answer: Francis Argol is a man of responsibility and duty. Despite his annoyance at the Prince, he tries his best to ensure the Prince reaches the castle as ordered by the King. They are in a desert, and their scouts report raiders on their path. The General and Baron Keren Festrell, a relatively low-ranking noble whom the General doesn't like much but respects, plan for the Prince's safety. The Prince, with ten soldiers, takes a detour before the battle. The small army faces raiders, outnumbered four to one. As the skirmish progresses, the General is struck by a club and knocked out.

question: What does the story say about Keren Festrell?

answer: He's a Baron currently on escort duty alongside General Argol. They are escorting the Prince to the castle as ordered by the King. He's not a likable person who tends not to mince his words and drink a lot. The Baron sees the Prince as spoiled and disrespectful. The forward scouts report that raiders are ahead of them, outnumbering them four to one, and they are due for a clash within a day. He and the General make plans, eventually resolving to send the prince with a small contingent for a detour before their forces clash with the raiders. Festrell isn't happy with the plan, argues against the General's sentiment of chivalry and duty because the Prince doesn't deserve it. He values a good life, or so the General thinks. The Baron eventually agrees with the plan, but he decides that he will leave others behind to escape if necessary.

question: What does the text say about the Prince?

answer: The Prince is a wealthy and spoiled man, barely old enough to be called so. He's being escorted to the castle through a desert by General Argol, Baron Festrell, and 250 soldiers. He's bored of the travel so far, bosses around the General and the Baron, and is aware of their disdain toward him. He enjoys being able to get under their skin, knowing they can't talk back. The forward scouts report that raiders are ahead of them, and the Prince orders the General and the Baron to take care of it. When it turns out the raiders outnumber them four to one, the Prince repeats his order while berating them. He assumes everything will turn out fine. The General and the Baron send him with a contingent of 10 men with a detour while their forces face the raiders head-on.

question: What does the text say about surviving the desert?


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

title: [RO] Summer

question: What does the text say about the school Jeffery goes to?

answer: The college has a grassy outdoor area with benches called Taylor Mall. It also has a criminal justice building and a newly-remodeled journalism building. The journalism building contains a projector which shows news around the clock. The dorms are apparently connected to the rest of the campus via a train.

question: What does the text say about Summer?

answer: She has dark hair and always wears a sunflower dress. Jeffrey sees her at Taylor Mall writing in her journal every Wednesday and some Mondays and Fridays. At the end of the story, she reveals that she waits for Jeffrey to leave class and has been building up the courage to ask him out.

question: What does the text say about Jeffery's friends?


text:
LAWRENCE COUNTY is a county located in the U.S. state of Mississippi. As of the 2010 census, the population was 12,929.[1] Its county seat is Monticello.[2] The county is named for the naval hero James Lawrence.[3]

Geography

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the county has a total area of , of which is land and (1.2%) is water.[4]

Major highways

-   [] U.S. Route 84
-   [] Mississippi Highway 27
-   [] Mississippi Highway 43
-   [] Mississippi Highway 44

Adjacent counties

-   Simpson County (northeast)
-   Jefferson Davis County (east)
-   Marion County (southeast)
-   Walthall County (south)
-   Lincoln County (west)
-   Copiah County (northwest)

Demographics

As of the census[5] of 2000, there were 13,258 people, 5,040 households, and 3,749 families residing in the county. The population density was 31 people per square mile (12/km²). There were 5,688 housing units at an average density of 13 per square mile (5/km²). The racial makeup of the county was 66.94% White, 32.07% Black or African American, 0.17% Native American, 0.27% Asian, 0.02% Pacific Islander, 0.09% from other races, and 0.44% from two or more races. 0.67% of the population were Hispanic or Latino of any race.

There were 5,040 households, out of which 35.40% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 55.90% were married couples living together, 14.40% had a female householder with no husband present, and 25.60% were non-families. 24.10% of all households were made up of individuals, and 11.40% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.61 and the average family size was 3.10.

In the county, the population was spread out, with 27.30% under the age of 18, 9.40% from 18 to 24, 27.50% from 25 to 44, 22.60% from 45 to 64, and 13.30% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 36 years. For every 100 females there were 92.20 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 88.30 males.

The median income for a household in the county was $28,495, and the median income for a family was $37,899. Males had a median income of $28,925 versus $18,707 for females. The per capita income for the county was $14,469. About 16.60% of families and 19.60% of the population were below the poverty line, including 26.10% of those under age 18 and 19.50% of those age 65 or over.

Communities

Towns

-   Monticello
-   New Hebron
-   Silver Creek

Unincorporated communities

-   Arm
-   Jayess
-   Nola
-   Oak Vale (partly in Jefferson Davis County)
-   Oma
-   Sontag
-   Topeka
-   Wanilla

Notable people

-   [Earl W. Bascom] (1906-1995), rodeo champion, cowboy artist, inventor, Mississippi Rodeo Hall of Fame inductee,[6] “Father of Modern Rodeo”[7]
-   Weldon Bascom (1912-1993), rodeo champion, hall of fame inductee,[8] “Father of Mississippi Rodeo”[9]
-   Edgar Godbold (1872-1952), president of two Southern Baptist colleges, was a school principal in Lawrence County from 1905 to 1906.[10]
-   Rod Paige, Secretary of Education from 2001 to 2004 under President George W. Bush. Rod Paige was born and raised in Lawrence County.[11]

Politics

  Year                               Republican                                  Democratic                                  Third parties
  ---------------------------------- ------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------- ----------------------------
  style=“text-align:center;” |2016   style=“text-align:center;” |64.3% _4,091_   style=“text-align:center;” |34.5% _2,195_   1.2% _78_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2012   style=“text-align:center;” |62.6% _4,192_   style=“text-align:center;” |36.9% _2,468_   0.6% _38_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2008   style=“text-align:center;” |62.3% _4,369_   style=“text-align:center;” |36.9% _2,587_   0.8% _53_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2004   style=“text-align:center;” |62.7% _3,956_   style=“text-align:center;” |36.6% _2,308_   0.7% _42_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2000   style=“text-align:center;” |55.8% _3,674_   style=“text-align:center;” |43.1% _2,841_   1.1% _72_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1996   style=“text-align:center;” |44.5% _2,392_   style=“text-align:center;” |46.2% _2,481_   9.3% _498_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1992   style=“text-align:center;” |44.1% _2,689_   style=“text-align:center;” |42.4% _2,582_   13.5% _824_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1988   style=“text-align:center;” |59.2% _3,682_   style=“text-align:center;” |40.5% _2,517_   0.4% _24_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1984   style=“text-align:center;” |63.5% _3,970_   style=“text-align:center;” |36.4% _2,274_   0.1% _9_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1980   style=“text-align:center;” |50.0% _2,781_   style=“text-align:center;” |48.4% _2,692_   1.6% _87_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1976   style=“text-align:center;” |47.5% _2,109_   style=“text-align:center;” |50.5% _2,242_   1.9% _85_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1972   style=“text-align:center;” |81.7% _3,394_   style=“text-align:center;” |17.1% _709_     1.2% _51_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1968   style=“text-align:center;” |8.5% _329_      style=“text-align:center;” |19.0% _740_     72.6% _2,825_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1964   style=“text-align:center;” |91.0% _2,373_   style=“text-align:center;” |9.1% _236_      style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1960   style=“text-align:center;” |15.7% _259_     style=“text-align:center;” |28.4% _469_     55.9% _923_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1956   style=“text-align:center;” |18.2% _276_     style=“text-align:center;” |67.5% _1,025_   14.4% _218_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1952   style=“text-align:center;” |33.2% _556_     style=“text-align:center;” |66.8% _1,117_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1948   style=“text-align:center;” |1.0% _13_       style=“text-align:center;” |4.9% _66_       94.1% _1,262_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1944   style=“text-align:center;” |2.9% _45_       style=“text-align:center;” |97.2% _1,535_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1940   style=“text-align:center;” |3.0% _37_       style=“text-align:center;” |97.1% _1,218_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1936   style=“text-align:center;” |2.6% _34_       style=“text-align:center;” |97.4% _1,286_   0.1% _1_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1932   style=“text-align:center;” |3.2% _31_       style=“text-align:center;” |96.7% _933_     0.1% _1_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1928   style=“text-align:center;” |21.7% _210_     style=“text-align:center;” |78.3% _759_     style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1924   style=“text-align:center;” |7.5% _55_       style=“text-align:center;” |92.5% _674_     style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1920   style=“text-align:center;” |19.9% _131_     style=“text-align:center;” |79.8% _526_     0.3% _2_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1916   style=“text-align:center;” |2.4% _18_       style=“text-align:center;” |97.2% _725_     0.4% _3_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1912   style=“text-align:center;” |2.4% _9_        style=“text-align:center;” |89.5% _332_     8.1% _30_

  : PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS RESULTS[12]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

title: Lawrence County, Mississippi

question: What are the towns in Lawrence County?

answer: Towns include Monticello, New Hebron, and Silver Creek. Unincorporated communities include Arm, Jayess, Nolas, Oak Vale, Oma, Sontag, Topeka, and Wanilla.

question: Why are so many youth under 18 below the poverty line?

answer: Doesn't say, possibly because a lack of industry, large metropolitan areas, or resources in general.