text:
Authors Note: I wrote this because I was inspired by a post on r/depression by the user u/terencepen1 . I know that I am still a novice writer and I need to improve on a lot of aspects of my fiction writing. I am posting this story in this sub because it seems like an appropriate place to share this.
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“If you and Matt are busy, we can always grab lunch another time.”
The letters spun underneath the tips of my fingers and entered the chat, but I didn’t feel or register the action. I honestly don’t feel much of anything anymore.

“No, Matt and I are in line to get food.” Grayson messaged.

“Cool! I’m sitting somewhere near the entrance.”

You know, I said that it was cool, but some part of me really didn’t want to eat with them. I twirled the carrots on my plate, pretending to be absorbed in the intricacies of undercooked college dining hall food, just so I could act aloof, so I could let Matt and Grayson know that I didn’t need them. I had my brittle root vegetables.

They made their way over to where I was sitting. We mostly ate in silence, my two friends chittering away with one another, unaware of the malignant pleasures bewitching my brain. I could feel my face contort in such a ghastly manner, the only way it can when you are about to sob.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked, his eyebrows did the thing where they turn up and scrunch together. The "genuine concern eyebrows."

“You know, just casually suicidal.” I laughed, a meek cry for help. He halfheartedly grinned in response, and then jumped back into his previous conversation with Grayson. Their lack of acknowledgement or concern and ability to go along with my fervent lies bothered me to no end, and I got up to leave not soon after. I couldn’t just sit here without letting the waterworks spill over.

--------
Back in my dorm, I turned on the shower, my hands feeling heavy and not entirely my own. I stepped out of the bathroom to let the water warm up a bit. The preemptive sting of tears hit the bridge of my nose once again. Without even thinking I took the few steps to my bed and ripped the comforter off, throwing my clothes around the room, hoping for even the slightest trace of anything other than the sinking weight of living that made its home in my ribcage. Hoping that ruining my always tidy asylum would ignite a feeling of regret or just ground me into reality. Standing in the middle of the room I looked at the mess that I had designed. A sweater touched some my roommates side and I shoved it back to my side with my foot. My eyes glanced instinctively down to my phone. A notification from Matt lit up the screen.

"Hey, sorry that your having a bad day, if you ever want to talk we’re here. We love you.”

It was a sweet notion, but the only thing that crossed my mind was that he spelled “you’re” wrong. And because of that, I just wouldn't reply. He could have said something when I admitted my casual distress fifteen minutes prior, i wish he would have said something. The shower should be hot by now.

Something about having scalding water hit my face made the welled up tears finally fall from my eyes. I am so worthless.

This education is so expensive, and if my human capital is worthless, then I am just a waste of space and money.

I lathered some shampoo into my hair, it smelled like candied roses.

What is the point of living if things won’t get better? I am so fucking sick, so sad and so chemically messed up. I will always be empty and sad.
I should just kill myself.
Who would it hurt? Maybe my dad. I love my dad, but he isn’t the reason why I wouldn't go through with my own euthanasia.

I rinsed out the shampoo and put in conditioner.

The friends that I have made don’t know me well enough to truly be sad if I died. My roommate would be a little sad, but she’d get over it. It’s only been five months that I have known these new friends, five months isn’t enough time to be sad if someone you know meets their own mortality. Some rational part of my brain keeps arguing that I have already spent a lot of money on school, and that if I were to kill myself now, then I would be wasting that money, I should finish what I started.

I put some shower gel onto a loofah and started to scrub my skin. I have superficial reasons to take care of this stupid body even if I want to discard it. I know that showering can make these sick feelings go away. Feverish water rinsed away the suds from my shoulders and arms, running down the drain with the filth of my existence.

I could never go through with it though. Every option would hurt too much. Jumping from the roof would make a huge mess for everyone, and who even knows if it would work? What if I just ended up paralyzed? The same can be said for an overdose. The only pills I have access too might not even kill me. How much ibuprofen do you have to take to do any damage? As for bleeding out… that has the potential to be nice, I often like to romanticize the act of slitting my wrists and dying, how everything would burn yet feel cold and how I would fade into oblivion. But that isn’t realistic, and I don’t really think that I’d be capable of cutting deep enough into my arm to do any real damage, and my fantasia of the act is just that, a fantasy. Plus my roommate would have to deal with the mess and that’s just rude, I refuse to be a rude human being. I know that for some arbitrary reason I have to keep on living, but wouldn’t things just be so much easier I could enter the void? If I could end all of this trivial torment?

 I just don’t want to be alone.

The bombardment of tears has passed, I can feel the burn that lingers every time that I blink. I got out of the shower and lazily dried myself off. Slipping on some gross dirty clothes I decided to take a walk. Maybe I could find a bridge to jump off of.

The bite of frosty winter air hit me as I stepped outside. It’s a Tuesday and people are walking around going places, living. I round the corner of my building and spot the frozen yogurt shop that my friends and I go to on Wednesdays. I don’t know what convinced me to enter the shop, I didn’t really have the money to treat myself to this. I walked in and grabbed the smallest cup, filling it with plain vanilla, no toppings, just vanilla yogurt. The cashier rang me up, saying “that’ll be four dollars,” his voice chimed with a weird genuine vibrato that is hard to find in any food service or retail job. It’s contagious really, I smiled back at him and went to sit down. I still can’t feel my hands, it’s as if a phantom possess my body and I have to take the backseat while they control me. I look down at the plain and boring treat in my lap and a single tear rolls down my cheek. I just have to take each day one at a time. I know that today won’t be the day that I die, maybe I can sleep off this heavy dread.

title: Suicide Ice Cream [RF]

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: Not found.

question: What is the narrator's relationship with Matt?

answer: Recent friend.

question: Who are the major characters of the story?

answer: The narrator, his friend Matt, Matt's friend Grayson.

question: What are the major events of the story?

answer: The narrator attempts, but can't bring himself to eat with his friend Matt in the cafeteria. The narrator leaves to take a shower in his dorm and cries. Matt texts the narrator telling him he's there to support him. The narrator contemplates methods of committing suicide. The narrator goes for a walk and buys a plain vanilla ice cream realizing today is not the day he'll kill himself, he just has to take it one day at a time.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator is suicidal, conveying a subtle cry for help to his friend over a meal in the cafeteria. He can't stand eating with his friend and his friend's friend because they're not paying attention to his inner turmoil, so he goes to his dorm to take a shower and cry. He contemplates various ways of committing suicide, but decides he doesn't want to leave a mess for anyone. He goes for a walk, perhaps he'll find a bridge to jump off of, but finds himself robotically ordering boring, plain vanilla ice cream at a small ice cream shop. He realizes today is not the day he'll commit suicide and he just has to take it one day at a time.


split: test

text:
The _KINGSTON CHRONICLE_ was a newspaper in Kingston, Ontario, Canada from 1819 to 1833.[1]

History

The _Chronicle_ came into existence at the beginning of 1819, under the control of John Alexander Macauley and Alexander John Pringle. Nearing the end of 1818, Stephen Miles, a founder and then current publisher of The Kingston Gazette, had become embroiled with some local trouble. A Scottish land agent named Robert Gourley, whose anti-Family Compact views Miles had supported, had become increasingly violent in his dealings with Kingston locals. Miles had withdrawn his support, and felt the man's brunt turned against him. As his entrenchment in the politics of the situation deepen, Miles decided to oust himself and sell his stake to Macauley and Pringle, whom kept him on as printer.[2] For more information on Stephen Miles, please see the _Kingston Gazette._

Born October 17, 1792, Macauley also served as Deputy Postmaster of Kingston and a Justice of the Peace during his time owning and editing the _Chronicle_,. He served as a trustee of the Midland District Grammar School, an officer of the local militia, chairman of the Court of General Quarter Sessions of the Peace, warden of St. George's Church, agent for the Bank of Upper Canada in Kingston, president of the Mechanics' Institute, legislative councillor, surveyor-general, civil secretary, inspector-general, and president of the Commercial Bank of the Midland District in the 1840s. Macauley was married twice, first to Helen Macpherson in October 1833, and then to Sarah Phillis Young in March 1853. Like Miles, he too had had run-ins with Gourley, and espoused his views in a letter in the _Gazette_, as well as editorials for the _Chronicle_. Macauley died in Kingston, August 10, 1857.[3]

Alexander Pringle was born 1777 and died in Kingston on September 1850. His obituary listed him as Clerk of the District Court for the United Counties of Frontenac, Lennox and Addington. He was also cited as co-creating the first agricultural society in 1818 for the same United Counties, and served as an inspector to the Kingston Penitentiary, and was a Justice of the Peace for the Midland District.

The paper remained under their control until July 1, 1824, when it passed into the hands of James Macfarlane. The _Chronicle_ continued until 1833, when it was superseded by _The Kingston Chronicle & Gazette_.

[1]

[2]

[3]

title: The Kingston Chronicle

question: When was the newspaper founded?

answer: 1819

question: Who ran the Chronicle initially?

answer: John Alexander Macauley and Alexander John Pringle

question: What newspaper did the Chronicle supersede?

answer: The Kingston Gazette

question: What newspaper did the Chronicle precede?

answer: The Kingston Chronicle & Gazette

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The Kingston Chronicle was a newspaper in Kingston, Ontario, Canada from 1819 to 1833. In 1819, it took the place of the Kingston Gazette, and was initially led by John Alexander Macauley and Alexander John Pringle. The newspaper later passed into the control of James Macfarlane, and in 1833 it was superseded by the The Kingston Chronicle & Gazette.


text:
_OREY BUJJIGA_ ( _Hey Bujji_) is a 2020 Indian Telugu-language romantic comedy film starring Raj Tarun, and Malavika Nair in the lead roles. The film is directed by Vijay Kumar Konda and produced by K. K. Radhamohan. The film was initially scheduled to release on 25 March 2020, but was postponed due to COVID-19 pandemic. The film is released directly on Aha on 2 October 2020.[1]

Plot

The film starts in NIDADAVOLU Town in West Godavari District in Andhra Pradesh State as Bujji's(Raj Tarun) parents fix a match for him. Upset with this, he leaves his town. During the same time, Krishnaveni(Malavika Nair) also runs away to Hyderabad for the same reason. But the entire town feels that Bujji has eloped with Krishnaveni. When Krishnaveni comes to know this, she is upset big time with Bujji. The twist in the tale arises when Krishnaveni gets to meet Bujji as Seenu. Love blossoms between them and one fine day, Bujji comes to know that Krishnaveni is the girl who has run away from her town and hates him. The rest of the story is as to how Bujji sets things right and wins his love.

Cast

-   Raj Tarun as Srinivas alias “Bujji”
-   Malavika Nair as Krishnaveni alias “Swathi”
-   Hebah Patel as Srujana
-   Posani Krishna Murali as Koteswara Rao, Srinivas' father
-   Vani Viswanath as Chamundeswari, Krishnaveni's mother
-   Naresh as Krishnaveni's father
-   Raja Ravindra - Krishnaveni's uncle
-   Anish Kuruvilla as Project Manager
-   Saptagiri
-   Madhunandan as Srinivas's friend
-   Annapoorna as Krishnaveni's grandmother
-   Satya as Gopi
-   Siri Hanmanth as Sweety, Krishnaveni's friend
-   Jayalakshmi as Srinivas's/Bujji's mother
-   Ajay Ghosh
-   Satyam Rajesh
-   Varsha
-   Pammi Sai
-   Bhadram
-   Riya

Soundtrack

The film's sound track consists of five songs which were released on YouTube. The songs are composed by Anup Rubens.

TRACK LISTING

Reception

Thadhagath Pathi of _The Times of India_ rated the film 2 stars out of 5 and wrote, “Dull, predictable and cliched, _Orey Bujjiga_ falters on many levels and truly tests your patience.”[2] A review of _The Hans India_ gave 2.5 out of 5 and stated that “sloppy screenplay will test the patience of the audience.”[3] _Andhra Jyothi_ also criticized the film for its weak screenplay, opining that it is devoid of any “twists and turns.” The reviewer also added that the film's score by Rubens is forgettable.[4]

_The Hindu_'s Sangeetha Devi wrote that “The Telugu rom-com rides on an old, predictable tale”, and added “Apart from a few comic segments that overstay their welcome, the lack of depth to some of the characters makes the film disappointing.”[5]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

title: Orey Bujjiga

question: What do audiences thing about the film?

answer: The passage does not provide information about the audience reaction, though it was rated low by the critics for being dull, predictable, and its sloppy screenplay. There is a possibility that the audiences shared the same sentiments as the critics.

question: Summarize the events during the filming of Orey Bujjiga.


text:
I'd like some feedback on this. Just want to know how my prose reads, and if you would want to hear more. Anything else is welcome, as always.

---

I flipped the switch as I entered my dingy old apartment.

It was a cramped room. Barely big enough for me on my own, and I’m a pretty compact guy. The place was about four by five feet, and two by two of those feet were taken up by the glorified closet that I call a bathroom. But it’s enough. Got a nice setup for food that I call a kitchen, despite just being a water-tap, fridge, and a microwave. Got a couch crammed into the corner between the door and the kitchen, and a comfortable bed crammed into the space near the bathroom.

I took a deep breath, smelling the slight odor that permeated my home. It was built out of an old hotel down in what most people would call a “colorful” neighborhood. New Haven was a fairly rough place in general, at least on the lower levels, but my neighborhood was known for the sound of gunshots. Not that it disturbed me. I was used to it, and I was used to being able to shoot back.

I tossed my gun down on the couch as I locked my front door. Then I threw my longcoat down on top of it. After that came my ballistics vest. Those weren’t common in my neighborhood, even among the “professionals” who made their money by threatening people for cash at gunpoint. Most people call those types criminals. I call them “Rank Ameteurs.” I mean, most of them can barely shoot at what they are aiming for, and none of them know how to do anything really impressive so that they can pay for some good hardware.

I got a cup of noodles, ramen, and filled it up and threw it into my microwave. They were a bit outdated as far as food came, but I liked the taste and I got most of my nutrients from pills anyway. Good nutrition is important when you live and die on your reflex actions, as well as your ability to outthink damned-near everything else in existence.

I crashed on the couch, in easy reach of my gun, and leaned back and took in a deep breath through the nose. It had been a good day. I had finally been able to hand off the data that I had pulled a few nights before. Data that had been “acquired” from a private server owned by Helix Biotech at great personal risk, as in I had been chased by a dog the size of a rhino during my escape. The paycheck had been good though. Ridiculously so, and it had been paid via a credit stick, so there were no electron trails to follow.

Hell, with the kind of money I had made off that job I could have bought a better place. Moved up in the world, gotten out of the Ganglands and gotten a nice comfy place to live in. But that was a bad idea. At least in the lower levels, your name doesn’t get put to your face very quickly. That sort of thing is lethal in my business. Moment you rip off a Corps data, get caught on camera, and get matched to that data… well let’s just say having a bounty put on your head is getting off lucky.

My microwave dinged a few minutes after I put the noodles in. I got up, and devoured them all in less time than they took to cook. Nearly scalded my tongue, but I was in a celebratory mood. Threw the junk in the little bin next to the minifridge, and then crashed on the couch again. I needed to get out for a few minutes, I thought. At the very least, I had a cred stick that needed to be put into a secure account or two… dozen.

I pulled the stick from my longcoat’s pocket. It was a simple thing, really. Just three inches of silicon and transistors in a ceramic casing. A collection of ones and zeroes existed inside of it, massively complicated series of numbers and letters that would match out with those on hundreds of serves. Cryptocurrencies like the ones the stick recorded the access codes for were the only kind I dealt in. State currencies were too easily tracked. Not that the Crypto variants like Credits were much better. But if you were like me, and you knew your way around the Virtual, you would know how to obfuscate yourself well enough.

I jacked the USB connection on the Credstick into a mount on my wristwatch and leaned back, kicking my legs up onto one armrest, and my head onto the other. The loveseat was a bit short for me, but I had grown to enjoy the position I was in.

I took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. I could have done that standing up, or kneeling like I did while I was on the job, but for an extended trip into the Virtual… well I liked my meatspace body to be comfortable.

I breathed a few more times, slowly bringing my body’s heartrate down, easing my mind into near-sleep. Diving into the Virtual wasn’t an easy process on most psyches. Mine was more malleable, more fluid, than most though. It took me less than ten seconds to ease my mind enough to begin the transition.

I couldn’t see it, or perceive it with my senses, but at the command of my thoughts, the half dozen implants worked into my brain began to flare. My sensory information began to be blurred away. The feeling of the couch, the smell of my apartment, everything faded away. Replaced by a dull vibration.

Then I opened my eyes, and took a step forward. The world snapped into focus, I felt a floor beneath my feet. I was standing in the middle of a massive park, with a fountain at its center. Clear blue water was bubbling up from the fountain’s center, cascading down into the pool below it, which overflowed in places to flow down into the bottom tier. Benches were worked into the side of that bottom layer, and a few of them were occupied by other people, other human beings who had Dived into the Virtual.

The Park Plaza was the center of this Node, the little pocket-dimension housed on a server somewhere in Haven City. It was a commons of sort. Haven City maintained it as a landing page of sorts, a place for everyone logging into the Virtual through the city’s free wireless access to drop in. There were bulletin boards spread around, which you could use to post announcements and such.

The Boards were pretty nice, if you wanted information to get out quickly. Law enforcement likes to leave the profiles on the people they aren’t able to catch, just in case someone like me is hanging around looking for work. Not that I’m a bounty hunter, that job’s too risky for someone of my skillset. I’m better at infiltration and retrieval of data or small objects. Granted, you can’t find that job on public boards like the City Boards. You had to go into the Shadows for that.

I didn’t stick around Park Plaza for long. That Node isn’t bad by any measurement, and it’s always populated enough for my Avatar to blend in. But it wasn’t very good for what I had come into the Virtual to do.

I walked towards the edge of Park Plaza. I saw some people playing some of the Games that the city had setup. There were courts setup for Volleyball, Tennis, and Basketball. Even a soccer pitch. Granted, most players Avatars got replaced by the Node to make sure the game was fair. I might have joined in on the Soccer games if I didn’t have much to do otherwise. I wasn’t exactly bad at the game, but I wasn’t good either. Didn’t really matter if I was in Meatspace or Virtual on that count.

Eventually, I found the edge of the park. The Node Security was lowered there. Every Node had something like it, to control how users could interact. The City Node was pretty heavily moderated. I couldn’t throw out an Agent program to get information from elsewhere, couldn’t use any of my attack programs to cut someone’s connection, and I couldn’t use my Portal. At least, I couldn’t open a Portal unless I was on the edge of the Park Plaza Node.

I opened the portal the way I always did. It was bound up to a gesture command, really all of my Avatar’s programs were. The Portal was just waving my arm in a circle. That created the circular gateway that I used to jump my Avatar between nodes. It looked pretty basic, just a series of cubes and triangles lined up in a circle. The other end of the Portal would be visible through it as long as I was running it, and anyone who wanted to follow me would be able to come through after me as long as I left it set to Public, and even if I set it to Private they would still be able to see which Node I was heading to.

At any rate, the Portal established a connection. My “Bank” was one of my bookmarked Nodes. I walked through, and the temperature dropped by ten degrees. The smell of trees and freshly cut grass that had permeated the park (and that I hadn’t noticed until that point) vanished, and was replaced by the smell of… well the smell of a bank. Freshly vacuumed carpet, and the soap used to mop tile floors.

The node was made up like an old-fashioned bank by way of the Roman Empire. Lots of marble, lots of pillars, and a dome over the central part of the Node where you could run a Portal in or out. If you looked up the dome you could even see a bit of Sky, which was what “Null” space defaulted to when you looked at it. There were Boards setup there too, but they were all advertising. Transactions people were trying to pull off, stocks and bonds for sale in various startup corps that were doomed to be crushed by the big ones, and Wallet and Bank services trying to get you to store your money in them.

I walked down one of the four hallways leading out from that central domed circle. The Bank was a directory. Sort of a fancy address book that was dressed up to be a bit more user friendly, and confusing to the uninitiated. The various financial services in Haven bought up spaces to put together permanent Portals, which worked like the Flatnet’s Hyperlinks.

My Wallet services all worked down the same hallway. They were like the Checking Accounts from before the Collapse. Only they stored Crypto instead of State currencies. The strings of data stored in the Credit Stick plugged into my watch back home could be transferred to the Wallet, and they would verify with the millions of nodes in the Credit Network to confirm the transfer of some funds to my wallet.

I would have to go to about a dozen different places to make sure that my identity remained obfuscated, and that I didn’t leave too much of an electron trail. Sudden large deposits from Cred-Stick have a way of being noticed by the thousands of Algorythems being run by various Corps and Law Enforcement. While my Wallet was impossible to access without its Keys, which were hard coded into my Avatars so that even I wouldn’t know them, the transactions into and out of them were fully public. Anyone running a Node in the Credit Network could see the exact position and history of every Credit currently in circulation.

That meant that I could be ID’ed by the way I spent my money if I wasn’t careful. Fortunately, Cred Stick transfers worked through a slightly different method than direct payments. Cred Sticks were like portable, physical, Wallets. The money in them was registered in the Logs as being on a Cred Stick, and then shown as being returned when someone transferred the Cred Stick into a Wallet.

I had filtered my payment through several sticks on my way home, most of them belonging to a few people I had run with in the past. We had very thoroughly randomized the Credits that each of us had gotten from our recent payments, and that meant that tracking us through the Credits would be difficult. Everyone in our little group had money that had been paid out by one of a half dozen different people at the least, and about fifty at the most. The end result was that while we weren’t impossible to pick out from our spending histories, we would be very difficult to cleanly ID as being us.

The first Wallet was accessed from a gambling Node setup with decor based off the Titanic, from before it sunk of course. I didn’t gamble much. I mean, it was just asking to lose money. Meatspace was easy to rig in your favor if you ran a place like that Node, and since everything in that Node was just a physical model tied up with some code… well you could rig it to act any way you wanted. But the place didn’t have much issue with law-enforcement, they followed every law to the letter as far as anyone official could tell, and so I felt it was a safe place to run one of my Wallets out of.

The Algorythm that handled the Wallet was a simple thing. It was just a set number of responses, some voice files, and an Avatar based on a balding old banker from some movie. Couldn’t really think or do anything of course. Could only do what it was programmed to do, but that was a lot of things. I dropped some of my money on it, then kept moving.

It was in the fourteenth node I had a Wallet running out of that things got… weird.

title: Beginning of a Cyberpunk... thing.

question: Describe the narrator's profession.

answer: The narrator's profession included stealing data from private servers and handing it off to buyers. He would get paid handsomely in cryptocurrencies. He would earn enough to buy a new house but he needed to keep a low profile. The narrator took great risks since being caught on camera would put a bounty on his head.


text:
[] [ORT students at a digital skills academy in Bulgaria, summer 2019] ORT (, _Obchestvo Remeslenogo (pronounced: Remeslenava) Truda_, “Association for the Promotion of Skilled Trades”) is a global education network driven by Jewish values. It promotes education and training in communities worldwide.[1] Its activities throughout its history have spanned more than 100 countries and five continents.[2] It was founded in 1880 in Saint Petersburg to provide professional and vocational training for young Jews.[3]

Overview

[ORT in Strasbourg, France] World ORT is a federation of autonomous ORT national organisations. In 2005 ORT's global budget exceeded US$250 million annually.[4] As of 2016, its annual budget was US$62.7 million.[5] ORT's current operations are in Israel, the former Soviet Union (including the Baltic States), Europe, Latin America, and South Africa.[6] ORT also runs International Cooperation programs and supports non-sectarian economic and social development in underdeveloped parts of the world, with vocational training and the provision of technical assistance.

In 2003 Israel was the area of ORT's largest operation, with 90,000 students educated or trained at ORT’s 159 schools, colleges and institutions, educating 25% of Israel’s hi-tech workforce.[7] However in 2006 ORT Israel withdrew from World ORT.[8] World ORT continues to work in Israel under the name of _Kadima Mada-Educating for Life_, working with the Israeli Ministry of Education, other Israeli ministries, regional councils and hospitals providing increased resources and improved facilities and schools equipment. World ORT raises funds through its membership organisations in different countries and through the Jewish Federations of North America'' (JFNA).

World ORT is legally constituted in Switzerland, but operates from offices in London, England. It has consultative status for information and education purposes with UNESCO, and observer status at the International Labour Organization[9]

ORT is a founding member of ICVA (International Council of Voluntary Agencies).

History

[ORT in Argentina] The second partition of Poland in 1793 had resulted in a sharp increase in the number of Jews in Russia, so that in 1794 Empress Catherine the Great decreed that the majority of them would henceforth be restricted to living and working in the Pale of Settlement. The Jews were not allowed to leave the Pale or own land outside it. They were removed from their homes and villages and once resettled, barred from all but a handful of professions. The crowded conditions and legal barriers to self-sufficiency led to deepening poverty for the Pale's four million inhabitants. After the reforms of Tsar Alexander II in the 1860s, the situation improved for some Jews but those in the Pale remained trapped by economic hardship and dismal conditions. In 1880, Samuel Polyakov, Horace de Gunzburg and Nikolai Bakst petitioned Tsar Alexander II for permission to start an assistance fund which would improve the lives of the millions of Russian Jews then living in poverty. The fund would provide education and training in practical occupations like handicrafts and agricultural skills and would help people to help themselves.

Permission was granted and the appeal was sent out, signed by Poliakov and de Gunzburg as well as Abram Zak, Leon Rosenthal and Meer Fridland, leading to the establishment of the Society for Trades and Agricultural Labor among the Jews in Russia. In its first 25 years, ORT raised educational standards and provided training to 25,000 Jews across the Russian Empire. People trained as artisans in glass-blowing, learned sewing and gardening, trained as mechanics, cabinetmakers, and furniture designers [10]

The first programs created by ORT were dictated by the demands of the market. In 1909, the industrialization in Russia created a need for artisans, so ORT developed courses for electricians in Vilna where electric streetcars were being introduced. They offered automotive courses in St. Petersburg when the automobile began taking root there in 1910. ORT’s training programs varied to meet the needs of Jews depending on where they lived and what the gaps in the workforce were. That flexibility and diversity meant that ORT became an established educational leader in many fields within only its first few decades of existence.

After World War I, ORT opened agricultural schools to provide tools and training for agricultural enterprises. ORT headquarters moved to Berlin in 1921, after the Bolshevik Revolution. Initially, the Berlin office dealt mainly with fundraising and support for Jewish education in other countries where the Jews were less well-off. When the Nazis rose to power in 1933, Jewish children were expelled from German schools. ORT sought to open a school in Berlin but encountered difficulties due to the ban on selling property to Jews. Using its international ties, the British branch of ORT purchased a school building and dormitory in the Moabit quarter of Berlin. It received authorization to open in April 1937 after promising that all graduates would leave the country upon graduation.[11]

Later ORT headquarters moved to France and finally to Geneva. Local groups such as American ORT and Women's American ORT, ORT Canada and British ORT were formed to support the growing network of programs. In 1938, Stalinist purges forced the closure of ORT programs in the Soviet Union.

During World War II, ORT continued to serve Jewish communities, including those under Nazi occupation. In the Warsaw Ghetto, the German authorities gave ORT permission to open vocational training courses. Those courses continued throughout the war and until the liquidation of the Ghetto. They served as a template for similar ORT programs in other Jewish centers like Łódź and Kaunas.

After the end of World War II, ORT established rehabilitation programs for the survivors. The first one in Germany was started in August 1945 in the Landsberg DP camp.[12] Vocational training centers were set up in 78 DP (Displaced Persons) Camps in Germany, and nearly 85,000 people acquired professions and the tools they would need to rebuild their lives. Jacob Olejski, a Dachau survivor who had previously organized ORT in Lithuania, was the driving force behind ORT's revival in Germany.[13][14] After 1948 he organized ORT in the newly founded state of Israel. [ORT in Jaffa, 1947] ORT operations in Israel started in Jaffa and Jerusalem, and although the Iron Curtain forced the closure of ORT’s activities in Eastern Europe, in the 1950s Ort activity increased in Western Europe, Algeria, Morocco, Tunisia, Iran and India.

During the second half of the 20th century, ORT continued to provide education and relief services to Jewish communities in Israel, Africa and Asia while opening new programs to serve the Latin American Jewish communities in Argentina (ORT Argentina), Brazil and Uruguay (ORT Uruguay). In the early 1990s ORT returned to the former Soviet Union and the Baltic States, where it now serves 27,000 students in 58 schools and educational institutions every year.

In 2000, World ORT celebrated its 120th anniversary. The educational services provided through their network continues and has now been supplemented by programs intended to deliver basic nutrition, clothing, books and school supplies, counseling and other services designed to meet the growing emotional needs of students as well [15]

Current and ongoing programs

In addition to technical and financial support for its network of schools and programs in more than 30 countries around the world, ORT has in the past run campaigns including:

-   THE LATIN AMERICA CAMPAIGN: In 2006-7, ORT began a major program of new projects intended to create a sense of unity and connection throughout the region, meeting the highly individual and specific needs of each community. This campaign was active in small Jewish communities as well as larger ones. For example, the two ORT Argentina high schools in Buenos Aires are overcrowded and a new high school is planned to accommodate the students there. At the same time, the Jewish community in Montevideo (where ORT operates a university), is getting much needed scholarship funds.
-   WORLD ORT KADIMA MADA IN ISRAEL: Kadima Mada is World ORT's arm in Israel and has run since 2007, delivering electronic, science and computer labs as well as technology education to students in schools throughout Israel, most of which are in northern Israel, and in the south of the country close to the border with Gaza. New computer labs and whiteboard technology provide a new opportunity for students. The program works with local authorities, in cooperation with the Ministry of Education, and marks a new phase in ORT’s commitment to bring the best practical education available to the Jewish State.
-   REGENERATION CIS: This program aimed to bring quality Judaic and general high school education to Jewish communities throughout the independent sovereign states of the region that was formerly the Soviet Union. In order to complete its mission for the renewed program, ORT ensures that equipment and services in existing centers are maintained and fully operational, to upgrade systems to enable them to deliver enhanced options, to provide school-wide training to ensure that all staff is able to deliver the new materials, and to provide ongoing staffing and resources. In the new centers, ORT carries out necessary refurbishments, plans and installs new systems and services, trains staff, and provides ongoing staffing and support.

Locations

-   NORTH AMERICA: ORT America and ORT Canada fundraise for World ORT programs around the globe.
-   LATIN AMERICA: Locations of ORT programs in Latin America include: Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Cuba, Mexico, Panama, Peru, and Uruguay.[16]
-   ASIA: ORT ran programs in India and has an affiliate school in Singapore [17].
-   AFRICA: A global aid program previously ran in a number of African countries. The center of operations is currently South Africa [18] with occasional courses in countries including Burkina Faso.
-   EUROPE: Schools, courses and fundraising run and take place in countries including: France, United Kingdom, Italy, Spain, Netherlands, Switzerland, Bulgaria, Czech Republic, Russia, Ukraine, Moldova, Estonia, Lithuania, Latvia and Belarus.
-   ISRAEL: The Kadima Mada school network runs in Israel along with extra-curricular and vocational training.[19]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5] "World ORT Consolidated Report and Financial Statements, Year Ended 31 December 2016. World ORT. ort.org. p. 10. Retrieved 2019-04-24.

[6] “ORT Annual Review 2018”. World ORT. ort.org. Retrieved 2019-04-24. PDF page 3.

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10] About ORT

[11]

[12] YIVO, DPG folder 1925, “Baricht fun der ORT-Tetikajt in der US-Zone fun Dajtsland farn Jor 1947.”

[13] Avinoam J. Patt, _Finding Home and Homeland: Jewish Youth and Zionism in the Aftermath of the Holocaust_ (Wayne State University Press, 2009), p. 46.

[14] Adam Margalith, Jacob Olejski and Louis Walinsky, _ORT in US-Zone Germany_ (World ORT Union, Central Office Munich, US-Zone, Germany, 1948), 41 pages.

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

title: World ORT

question: How old and widespread is the ORT.

answer: The ORT is more than 140 years old as it was founded in 1880. it is present on five continents. The exception is Australia. It spans more than 100 countries

question: Why is the budget of 2016 less than half of the budget of 2005?

answer: It is likely because the largest ORT operation was in Israel where 90,000 students were trained and educated at 159 institutions. In 2006, Israel withdrew from the ORT. It continues in Israel under the name

question: What was the sequence of events that led to the founding of ORT

answer: Many Jews fled to Russia after Poland was partitioned in 1793. Cathrine the Great decided to force the Jews into the Pale, where they suffered many hardships. In 1880, Samual Polyakov, Horace de Gunzburg, and Nikolai Bakst petitioned Alexander the Second to provide assistance for millions of Russian Jews living in poverty.


text:
Gary left the house at six am on Wednesday; headed out to endure another long workday. After he walked through the yard to the driveway, he made sure to latch the gate securely, because that’s what Sarah liked. He smiled as he did so, and thought of how earlier, he had closed the shower curtain all the way (another Sarah preference), and gently lowered the toilet seat. Twenty four hours earlier, they had been feuding; and he deliberately did none of these things; just to piss her off!  As he climbed into his car for his daily sucky commute up Route 128 to Route 93; into Boston, he was filled with regret and chuckled at the pettiness of his previous day’s actions. After all; how hard was it to accommodate several very minor quirks of his wife of fifteen years?

That morning, he had been awakened by Sarah gently kissing around his ear, nuzzling against his back, softly stroking his shoulders. This was in stark contrast to the previous three nights; when she had seemed to build an invisible wall between them. Sarah was an expert at staying on her “side”. No inadvertent touching during the night; not even a slight brush of the leg or a stray rollover. Her version of a cold shoulder was more like a frozen cadaver.

Her affections this morning, were surely a signal that an olive branch had been extended; and a peace treaty had been declared. The latest “war of the Floyds”; a seventy two hour skirmish; had ended.

The latest battle had been initiated on Saturday night; a dinner outing with their best friends. After several before and after cocktails;  Sarah, in response to what Gary felt was a very innocuous comment about Sarah’s weight gain over the past ten years, had flipped Gary “the bird”.  While Gary waited in traffic to access the on ramp to 128, he conjured up the incident in his brain. He mused about the fury that could be unleashed by a simple injudicious observation; but he also felt ashamed of his immature pouting and anger in response to such a mundane gesture as a raised middle finger.

Sarah and Gary were complete opposites. Sarah loved to go to the mall and shop for hours. Gary detested the thought of entering even one store. Sarah hated watching sports, Gary loved all sports. Sarah was fastidious, she cleaned and scrubbed meticulously. Gary was a slob; who would often ask Sarah to “give it a break, the house is clean enough”; (especially when she vacuumed the living room while he was watching a football game).

Gary inched onto Route 93 South, and switched from sports talk to a Sirius 70s radio station. The subscription to Sirius had been a birthday gift from Sarah. Gary had told her that it was an unnecessary expense; there were plenty of free radio stations, but Sarah insisted. Gary had come to love the non-stop oldies from the 60s and 70s. Steppenwolf blasted from the speakers, and he howled in unison when they belted out the refrain; “Born to be Willlllllllllllllllld”, and for a moment. envisioned himself a single dude; no wife, no twelve year old son (Steven), no boring nine-to-five job, no responsibilities, no hassles!

He clicked the stereo radio control on the steering wheel and jumped back to the 60s station, ironically, to The Monkees’ sweet ballad, “I Want to be Free”.  This only reinforced his thirst for liberation and his distaste for married life. He was sick of the petty arguments and all the compromises that he made for family. Hell, his weekly night out with the guys had been reduced lately to monthly night out!

All day long, while Gary answered EMails, juggled spreadsheets, and performed his daily office tasks, a yearning stirred within him to be rid of all the shackles that he had placed upon himself. He daydreamed about quitting his well paying but stressful job and become a full-time bartender; hang out all day drinking beer and watching sporting events.  As this lovely picture played out in his mind, the phone on his desk beeped; and the caller ID readout revealed that Sarah was on the line.

Gary picked up the receiver, and told Sarah, “We need to talk”.

“Yes”, Sarah replied softly.

Before he could say anything else, Sarah apologized for the three day freezeout. She also informed Gary that she had arranged a sleepover that night at the neighbor’s for Steven; and that she would be making Gary’s favorite dinner: fresh sliced fries and baked filet mignon with butter, mushrooms, and onion ring.  Dessert was to be decided upon later, by Gary!

For the balance of the day; Gary’s fantasies swerved in a different direction. His aspiration to live the single life dissipated. and the longing that he previously experienced was replaced by a sense of appreciation for Sarah’s humility, caring and tenderness. His thoughts about separation reverted to anticipation of their approaching union. He regretted the joking remark he made that had kicked off their most recent tiff. He knew his wife was super-sensitive about her body image, and would not be pleased with his attempt at humor.

The drive home featured unusually clear sailing on the highways. As Gary rounded the corner and turned onto his street, one of his favorite Bob Seger songs came on the radio: “Beautiful Loser”. He chortled at the lyrics:

“He wants his home and security ………… He wants to live like a sailor at sea”.

As he mulled the sentiment, a rueful smile came upon his face. He reached for the kitchen doorknob, but Sarah swung it open before he had a chance to push. She jumped into his arms.

“How was your day, baby?”

“I love you, Sarah.”

title: [HM] - Gary & Sarah

question: What is Gary's relation to Sarah?

answer: Sarah is Gary's wife of fifteen years.

question: Where does the story take place?

answer: Boston

question: Who offers to cook Gary's favorite meal for dinner?

answer: Sarah, Gary's wife, offers to make him his favorite dinner.

question: How long does the feud last between Gary and Sarah before they reconcile?

answer: Three days.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: A peace treaty had been declared between Gary and his wife Sarah of fifteen years, following a 3 day feud. Sarah calls Gary at work and apologizes, offering to cook Gary's favorite dinner. Sarah arranges a sleepover for Steven at the neighbors. Sarah and Gary have a romantic reconciliation.


text:
Professor OLIVER NIGEL VALENTINE GLENDINNING (16 October 1929 – 23 February 2013), known as NIGEL GLENDINNING, was a scholar and authority on Goya and 18th Century Spanish literature.[1][2] He wrote a history of Spanish literature in the age of the Enlightenment and his analytical approach to Goya combined the artist’s work with an understanding of its historical context.[3]

Glendinning was an Honorary Fellow of the Hispanic Society of America.[4] King Juan Carlos of Spain made him a Commander of the Order of Isabel La Católica in 1988, and the University of Salamanca awarded him the Elio Antonio de Nebrija prize in 2007.[5] He received honorary doctorates from the Complutense University of Madrid and the University of Southampton.[6]

Glendinning’s obituary in _The Guardian_ described him as the ‘kindest and most generous of colleagues’.[7]

Life

Oliver Nigel Valentine Glendinning was born in East Sheen on 16 October 1929 into a musical and artistic family.[8] His mother, Olive (née Ledward), was the sister of the sculptor Gilbert Ledward, and sister in law of the painter Percy Jowett.[9] Nigel's father, Alec Glendinning, was a bank manager and keen amateur musician.[10] Glendinning's mother had first been married to Guy Valentine, the son of the actor Sydney Valentine.[11] Guy Valentine died in the First World War.[12]

Glendinning started his early education as a chorister at St Paul's Cathedral School before joining St John's School, Leatherhead.[13] After school he joined the Royal Army Educational Corps as part of his War Service and later read French and Spanish at King’s College, Cambridge. He stayed at King’s to obtain his doctorate specialising in the work of José Cadalso.[14]

Glendinning went on to lecture at Christ Church, Oxford.[15] His knowledge of Goya led him to contribute to a Royal Academy exhibition of the artist’s work in 1963.[16] After Oxford he held a Chair at the University of Southampton and subsequent professorships at Trinity College, Dublin, and Queen Mary’s, London, the latter of which he was made Professor Emeritus in 1991.[17]

Glendinning was an Honorary Fellow of the Hispanic Society of America.[18] The University of Salamanca awarded him the Elio Antonio de Nebrija prize in 2007.[19] King Juan Carlos of Spain made him a Commander of the Order of Isabel La Católica,[20] and he was awarded honorary doctorates from the Complutense University of Madrid and the University of Southampton.[21]

As a young lecturer Glendinning married his undergraduate student, the future writer Victoria Glendinning (née Seebohm), whom he divorced in 1981.[22] He is survived by four sons: Simon Glendinning, Paul Glendinning, the photographer Hugo Glendinning and the sport journalist Matthew Glendinning.[23]

Selected bibliography

-   _Vida y obra de Cadalso (Joseph de Cadalso, 1741-1782, His Life And His Works, Versión castellana de Ángela Figuera)_, published 1962
-   _The Eighteenth Century_, _Literary History of Spain_, London, 1972
-   _The Interpretation Of Goya’s Black Paintings_, London, 1975
-   _Spanish Painting In The Golden Age_, published by the Hispanic and Luso Brazilian Council, London, 1977
-   _Nineteenth-Century British Envoys In Spain And The Taste For Spanish Art In England_, Documents for Collecting published in the _Burlington Magazine_, London, 1989
-   _Goya And His Critics_, published by Ann Arbor, USA, 1995

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21]

[22] Susan Johnson, _The Sydney Morning Herald_, 18 August 2007. “The lady vanishes”. Retrieved 22 May 2014

[23]

title: Nigel Glendinning

question: What are the artistic threads in Nigel Glendinning's life?

answer: His family has lots of ties to artistic pursuits. His mother was the sister of a sculptor and sister-in-law of a painter. His father was an amateur musician. His mother's first husband, who died in the First World War, was the son of the famous actor Sydney Valentine. He was a chorister early in his life at St. Paul's Cathedral School. Glendinning was very knowledgeable about Goya, which allowed him to contribute to a Royal Academy exhibition of his work. He was awarded the Elio Antonio de Nebrija prize in 2007.

question: What does the text say about Glendinning's influence on Goya?


text:
THE MISSION: RETURN TO CHAMPIONSHIP MANAGER 01/02 AND WIN SILVERWARE WITH EVERTON.

THE CATCH: EVERTON ARE IN FINANCIAL TROUBLE. THERE WILL BE NO CHERNO SAMBA FOR YOU. NOT FOR A FEW YEARS ANYWAY…

PREVIOUS EPISODES: PRE-SEASON ’01; PRE-SEASON ’01 PT2; AUGUST ’01; SEPTEMBER ’01; OCTOBER ’01; NOVEMBER ’01; DECEMBER ’01; JANUARY ’02; FEBRUARY ’02; MARCH ’02; APRIL ’02; MAY ’02; PRE-SEASON ’02; PRE-SEASON ’02 PT2; AUGUST ’02; SEPTEMBER ’02; OCTOBER ’02; NOVEMBER ’02; DECEMBER ’02; JANUARY ’03; FEBRUARY’03; MARCH ’03; APRIL ’03; MAY ’03; PRE-SEASON ’03 PT1; PRE-SEASON ’03 PT2; AUGUST ’03; SEPTEMBER ’03; OCTOBER ’03; NOVEMBER ’03; DECEMBER ’03; JANUARY ’04; FEBRUARY ’04; MARCH’04; APRIL ’04; MAY ’04; PRE-SEASON PT 1; PRE-SEASON PT2; AUGUST ’04; SEPTEMBER ’04; OCTOBER ’04; NOVEMBER ’04; DECEMBER ’04; JANUARY ’05; FEBRUARY ’05; MARCH ’05; APRIL ’05; MAY ’05; PRE-SEASON ’05 PT1; PRE-SEASON ’05 PT2; AUGUST ’05; SEPTEMBER ’05; OCTOBER ’05

Everton are fourth in the table, technically improved and tactically versatile, capable of playing in two different formations with equal success. But some people still aren’t happy. A relatively successful October, save for that regrettable thrashing at Anfield, brought a mixed response from the supporters, some of whom would prefer a little more consistency in selection.

  @thesetpieces @iainmacintosh STOP TINKERING!

  — David Kernohan (@DavidKernohan) March 29, 2016

  @thesetpieces WHY ARE YOU CHANGING FORMATION AGAIN FFS!!!! ahem, and yeah Magallanes should play with Ron7 off the bench

  — Tim Crutchley (@slownews) March 29, 2016

However, there is a growing section of support (two people) that feels the tinkering hasn’t gone far enough. And I’m inclined to agree. We know that the three centre-back system often leaves the man in the middle with little to do, and his ratings plunge as a result. There has to be a way to just tweak that area of the pitch a little bit and find some improvement.

  @thesetpieces the defensive midfield position is the most overpowered position in the game. Play 4-3-3 and sacrifice a centre half.

  — Edward Jacobs (@Edward_Jacobs_) March 29, 2016

  @thesetpieces Have you ever considered pushing that 3rd CB forward to a defensive mid position? 2-3-2-1-2 if you will! Dominate the ball.

  — Rob Burton (@robburton84) March 29, 2016

And what serendipitous timing. We visit Manchester City in the first game of the month and, under Harry Redknapp, they’ve started playing a very odd formation indeed. Mind you, in a league where almost everyone either plays 4-4-2 or 3-5-2, everything that’s slightly different looks odd. But check this out.

[2citytactWEIRD]

Weird, isn’t it? But what if we had a defensive midfielder to shut down Michael Foley Sheridan, while two defenders go man-to-man on Jari Litmanen and Matias Vuoso? And what if that enables us to release Thiago Motta from his defensive duties, allying him with Federico Magallanes, Wayne Rooney and Zlatan Ibrahimovic in what would essentially be a four man attack? Hmm….

[3citytac]

How interesting. It’s not a perfect victory. City do make their own chances, but their defence has to work so hard to keep us at bay. We make 11 chances over the course of the game, which is pretty decent for an away team. With better finishing (I’m looking at you, Zlatan), this wouldn’t have been such a tight affair. And look at Li Tie’s rating. For the first time this season, we haven’t had to carry anyone. Apart from Zlatan. But that’s surely an isolated incident.

[4citres]

And so to the League Cup, traditionally our first chance of the season to embarrass ourselves in front of everyone. We have Premier League Portsmouth, but we have them at home. Sadly, we will face them without Gabriel Milito and Magallanes, both of whom are on international duty. But it’s chance to resolve this lingering Cristiano Ronaldo issue.

  @thesetpieces is it this version where Ronaldo is just average? If so, forget his name and dump him.

  — Luke Freeman (@luke3man) March 31, 2016

[5porttac]

What a very odd game of football. Portsmouth offer little of note, but take the lead early through Stephen Carr. It’s one of those games where you can see your chances accumulating at an eye-watering rate, but you can’t actually score. Do you change what appears to be the right set-up or do you stick with it and hope that the law of averages works in your favour? In this case, as Ronaldo has hit the crossbar twice and we can’t seem to beat Yoshikatsu Kawaguichi, it looks like it’s worth sticking with it. And we’re vindicated. For a time. Goals from Ronaldo and Li Tie give us the lead. But Mauro Navas picks up a knock and I don’t want to risk him further. We have no wing backs on the bench and so it seems like a good idea to shuffle the pack and move to a nice, safe 4-4-2. Portsmouth equalise within five minutes. Thank heavens then for Cherno Samba, our very own supersub, who bounds on and hits the winner.

[6porres]

Now, we beat Bradford in the last round of the cup playing an old fashioned, but very effective 4-4-2. So it would make sense to just revert to that formation and do it again, wouldn’t it? But I want to keep testing this shape. It feels good. It feels right. So let’s see what it does.

[7bradtac]

No matter what anyone else thinks, you always know that you’ve played well when the opposition goalkeeper is the man of the match. And yes, it’s true that there were some hairy moments here, particularly with Bradford’s exciting Juanjo running at us, but this was fine. If the boys play badly, I’ll whip them, but I’m not whipping them for that.

[8bradres]

And that brings us to the final game of the month, the visit of Sunderland. We do have a slight disadvantage now. Magallanes, back on form now, was injured against Bradford and Ronaldo is out too. So that means Ryan Williams will get a rare start in the number ten role. I also need to see something from Zlatan, who hasn’t scored in an age and has been subbed off in every game this month.

[9suntac]

Now that’s a satisfying afternoon at the office, and indeed a satisfying month too. Tore Andre Flo opens the scoring early, but it only makes us angry. And Sunderland don’t like us when we’re angry. We absolutely batter them for the rest of the game with a debut goal from Milito, one from Williams and another from Rooney. Li Tie sits on Pablo Aimar for the whole game and doesn’t let him get up until the final whistle. I think we can safely say that this tactic is working very nicely for us.

[10sunres]

Oh, what’s this? For me? No, you shouldn’t have, you really shouldn’t. But I will accept it and I shall put it on my wall along with my fan mail.

[11manofthemonth]

[Screen Shot 2016-03-07 at 12.06.56]

[toptable]

[botsb]

CHAMPIONSHIP MANAGER 2001/02 IS FREEWARE. IF YOU WANT TO REPLICATE THIS CHALLENGE, OR MAKE ONE OF YOUR OWN, OR EVEN JUST INDULGE IN SOME NOSTALGIA, YOU’LL FIND ALL THE LINKS YOU NEED HERE. WE’RE RUNNING LEAGUES FROM ENGLAND, SPAIN, ITALY, GERMANY, HOLLAND, FRANCE, PORTUGAL AND SCOTLAND AND WE’RE USING THE 3.9.68 PATCH THAT USES 02/03 DATA, BUT DOESN’T CRASH. HOPEFULLY…

CM01/02: The Return (November ’05)

5 (99.26%) 54 votes

question: What are the issues facing Everton on the Championship Manager 01/02?

answer: First, some fans believe there is no consistency as the team rotates between two formations. Also, Everton's newest formation uses a 3-man center back which leaves the midfield with little to do. Some fans believe a return to 4-3-3 or 2-3-2-1-2 is best for the team. A section of the fan thinks the team needs a defensive midfielder to shut down Michael Foley Sheridan in the upcoming games. A few fans also believe Zlatan Ibrahimovic is not performing to his full potential.

question: Which club does Cherno Samba plays for?


text:
The flickering lights highlight the ship’s icy hallway only once every few seconds. It’s probably better that way, considering that when it can be seen it’s quite a mess. Scattered with shell casings, strewn papers and stray sparks from exposed wires. Not to mention the occasional body or body part that lay in the way as Chad slowly steps through, careful not to trip over the many obstacles. He waits patiently for the lights to flicker again, so he can move freely with no worry of what’s in his way, and searching for another living soul. He tries to call out, but the cold has rendered his throat quite useless when it comes to shouting. Still he must make the attempt. “Hello!” He tries to scream. It sounded as if the word itself tore open his insides as he spewed it out. Chad places his hand on his throat and continues, content with a quiet search.

As he makes his way through more dead end areas of the ship, Chad begins to lose hope of finding any more lost survivors, until he hears a faint moaning coming from the Captain’s quarters. He stops and listens for a moment. The moans come again. Chad walks towards the open room and puts his back against the wall, creeping his head around the corner. Inside, lying on the bed in the left corner is Captain Roberts, half naked and freezing, blood trickling down his ears and mouth. His skin seems more like a thin pale sheet that’s stretched tightly over his bones, and his hair on his head is patchy, as if he’s been pulling it out. Chad brings himself back around and tilts his head back, rolling his eyes. He sighs and marches into the Captain’s room. “Sir.” He says as he walks up to him. The Captain’s hand is bleeding and balled up in a fist.

“Whosat?” Captain Roberts whispers, eyes rolling around in every direction.

“Lieutenant Chad Harper, sir.” The Captain blinks, almost in awe, and then chuckles to himself.

“Come here, Lieutenant.” Chad kneels down beside the Captain, whose fist reaches out for his hand. Chad cups the Captain’s fist as he releases the item he was clinging so hard to. Chad looks into his now bloody hand to see two brown-stained silver bars. “I’m giving you command, Lieutenant.” Now it’s Chad’s turn to chuckle, but he can’t stop there. Soon his scoffs become laughs, and then what seems to be a mix of crying and bellowing that echo through the empty corridors of the stone cold prison they’re trapped in.

“Command?” Chad replies, wiping tears from his eyes, “Command of what? There’s nobody here! It’s just us!”

“Jesus, kid.” Captain Roberts says, “Is that all you do is complain? Ever since we lost you’ve treated it like the Goddamn Crucifixion.” He turns his head and coughs a fair amount of blood onto the walls. Chad bows his head and traces the sign of the Cross on his body.

“May Christ have mercy on your soul for making such a joke.” He says, raising his head. The Captain looks at him and tries to sit up. Chad puts his hands on the Captain’s shoulders and gently presses him back down. “You need to rest, sir.” The Captain’s attempt took much more out of him than expected. He begins to breathe heavy, as if he’d just run a marathon. Chad picks up a chair that’s been lying on the floor and sits down next to the Captain.

“I know you’ve suffered, lad.” Captain Roberts says, “We all have. But that’s no excuse to just abandon all this.” His hands wave around the room flimsily. Chad looks around and sighs.

“All what, sir? We don’t have anything. Everyone is either dead or captured. We’re on the losing side of a war and I don’t even know what it is we’re fighting for!” Chad’s voice breaks away again as he begins to shout. “I didn’t even want to be in this! I was dragged! I left a wife and a daughter behind, risking my life for reasons I’m still not sure of.” The Captain remains silent. His eyelids are halfway shut. “Sir.” Chad begins, “I’m sorry, but I have to go. There’s just too much blood here. I’ve had enough of this senseless massacre.” He stands up and turns to walk out the door. The Captain sputters.

“You think you’ll find a decent place to stand in this massacre?” Chad stops, and turns back towards the Captain. “Well there isn’t one. Everybody’s involved, like it or not.

“Well then what do you suggest I do, sir?”

“Stand with me. Keep up the good fight. We’re on the losing side against heaven, kid. They’ve got the power, but we’ve got the people. We may have sticks and stones compared to their rockets and lasers, but we’ve got a lotta sticks and stones.” The Captain’s eyelids flutter as he coughs more blood onto his pillow.

“You’re standing days are done, sir.” Chad says, “I mean no disrespect in that. You’re dying, and I’m all that’s left. This is my chance to leave, and to find a place where I can be at peace. Maybe start a new family. Have a life in exchange for the one that was taken from me. Everyone will just assume the whole ship’s been taken.” Chad bows his head. “I hope you understand. I was never meant to do this.” Chad looks up at the Captain. His eyes are closed and there are no white clouds that escape his mouth, which hangs open like an old fool who has fallen asleep drunk in his recliner.

Chad leaves the Captain’s quarters and marches up the hallway and to a steel door that’s sealed shut. To the side rests a digital keypad. Chad inputs a code, and the doors swiftly slide open. “Welcome, Lieutenant Harper.” A deep male voice echoes as Chad steps through into the flight deck. Outside the window lies an endless black ocean filled with little sparkling stars, along with several other ships that have been destroyed. Their debris float slowly across Chad’s view. He walks up to the center of the flight deck, where a digital map is displayed on the table. He looks down to see that a rendezvous point has been highlighted two Astronomical Units away, on a dead planet orbiting a Red Dwarf. Four Astronomical Units away lies another, more appealing place to park; a fairly new planet that was recently discovered and inhabited 200 years prior, called Geisa. Chad closes the map and takes a seat in the Captain’s chair. “How much fuel do we have, Mark?”

“Enough, Lieutenant Harper.” Mark replies.

“That’s not an answer. How many AUs can we travel given the damage?”

“Roughly five, Lieutenant. Where would you have me direct us?” Chad sits in his chair, one hand wrapped around his face and sweating, despite the freezing temperature. In his other hand lays the Captain’s silver bars. He stares at them, a look of anger quickly growing on his face.

“You son of a bitch.” Chad whispers as he pins the medal to his uniform.

“What was that, Lieutenant?”

“It’s Captain, Mark. And take us to the damn rendezvous point.”

title: The Captain

question: Summarize the surprise in the plot.

answer: Lieutenant Chad Harper walks through the wreckage on the ship searching for survivors. He finds the captain hanging on by a thread, the captain gives command of the ship to Chad. Chad laughs it off as a joke because the ship is wrecked and he just wants to go home. When he calculates his options, he orders the ship to the rendezvous point on Geisa and pins the captain's badge to his chest.

question: Summarize the primary source of tension in the story.

answer: Chad Harper is involved in a war that he doesn't want to be in. He longs for his family and for peace. When his ship is wrecked, he goes in search of other survivors and finds the captain mortally wounded. The captain gives him charge of the ship and encourages him to continue in the war, even thought the other side is much stronger. Char does not even consider this. He goes to the control room and orders the ship to Geisa, a good space to park and rebuild his life.

question: Summarize how the main character's situation changes over the story.

answer: Chad is looking for survivors on a space ship that has suffered massive damage. The only living soul he finds between the flashing lights is the captain, still in bed, and badly injured. The captain put Chad in charge of the ship and encourages him to keep fighting even though the battle seems lost. Chad laughs at being made captain because there is no one left to lead and tells the dying captain of his wish for peace and a family. Chad goes to the flight deck and orders the ship to the rendezvous point where he could start again.

question: What does the story say about the details of the war?


text:
The Sunspider crawls along my arm, its gem-body focusing the sun, leaving a tingling pain and barely burned line in my skin. It backs along, licking up the cooked flesh. It doesn't bother me, but I know it once made the others squeamish. I've grown used to it, and I love that I am contributing to the next generation of partners in my world. At the end of the hot months, I will spy them among the early ice crystals and know I am part of them. I move my arm down to the sand to allow this little mother to move on, and walk through past the small rock outcrop.

Away from the rocks, the sun seems harsher, and I squint from the pain it brings my eyes. The summer months are still to come; the spring is short. I must find a quiet place to sleep again.

As I move across the dried salt plains, I shield my eyes with my robe and look out to the horizon. The next set of rocky hills are distant. When I sleep so long, all changes. Mountains rise, though the oceans are long gone. For so long here it has been just the Sunspiders and I...I sleep my seasons, awake to greet them, and walk ahead to find the next tomb, hoping I am not the only and the last doing so.

The thousands-of-days winter has led to my travelling springtime. I sleep during the blackness and cold, then again during the fiery long summers as it bakes the world. The short spring and autumn are wonderful to me as I rise again to walk.

The days are brilliant, and each step forward is a memory so many before. The tap of my feet in the dust echoes the past. The nights are my calm rest, as I stare at the stars. I remember clouds. When they existed, I ignored them except as they prevented me from seeing into the distances. I know all things move, even those stars, but I'm not able to visualize the changes that have happened since my youth, though it's been so long that they must have.

I'm not sure what to expect. I spend all these times thinking that this will be the moment when I see something left behind from when I was not alone. Yet I know that with each sleep and each cycle around the sun the chance of spotting a connection to history lessens. Apparently I am the only thing made to last forever, as even the decaying foundations of our previous civilization fade away into oddly-coloured dust, and then disappear entirely in the winds.

I don't count the days walking toward my goal. I note that it gets hotter as I move along. The spring seems shorter each time, and I wonder if next time I will remember to keep track.

And then I am at the bottom of the outcropping. I stare up, the sun behind me, looking for glints and squared shadows that might be some sign. I am not disappointed when I don't find what I did not expect to see. The next morning I climb, and move sideways around the rocks, stopping frequently to stare again. Nothing.

I climb, and seek the caves, cracks and shadows...seeking a safe place to retire. Each small shadow is a relief from the sun, but not accommodating to my form. With practised effort, I pull myself up on a ledge and stop, as everything inside me screams. From deep within me, I yell and shriek, while standing utterly motionless.

A line! A depth! The remains of an old fire! A scrap of metal! My eyes are on fire, pupils opened as wide as they can, taking this simple but incredible view deep inside me!

I clutch at my sides and shake. I cannot move forward. I cannot risk this being a mirage.

I turn away, overwhelmed with everything...and fall. With shock I don't scramble to find hold in the empty air. I watched what I have sought for so long disappearing away from me in the distance, like it were falling away from me, and the whole world shifting in my view.

I think I remember bouncing. I don't remember coming to a stop between two jagged boulders. I am broken, flesh torn and whatever has been keeping me going all this time falling apart and falling out. It's early morning and I am looking up toward the sun. Its heat shines at my eyes and I watch where I hope shadows begin to appear.

A fire glints above me. A Sunspider, an identical diamond to the ones I have known. Not quite alive, and not dead. Much like me.

Another, and another...and soon hundreds. A thousand Sunspiders above me, their scattered light twinkling on everything around me. I cannot move, but I watched. I could not begin to count them above me, as they crawl over each other, refracting each others light, sending it in all directions. The are joining, separating, and spreading across the gap above me, creating a glowing shield. It's like nothing I have seen before, and I nearly forget my state. As they lock together and slow their frenzied actions, I seem them adjust, like a ripple on a pond, and I am struck that I still remember water.

They are focusing that light, and that sun. Together, like a giant lens, and I know they are part of me from all the times I've taken care of them. A shudder, and I know. They are finishing things. With that much power together, they are taking care of me. A funeral pyre. I think I smile, as they put an end to my journey. I'll become the dust in the winds and still keep travelling this world.

title: "Sunspider Sunset" - please comment and constructively critique. Note that nameless/ageless/genderless is entirely intentional.

question: Summarize the primary source of tension in this story.

answer: It seems the entire time the narrator is at risk of believing in mirages, and of succumbing to whatever this belief would lead them to do. The risks are as follows: the depth; following a line to get out of each cave and/or dwelling; mistaking the shadows for nefarious thing or underestimating shadows that foretell actual nefarious things; fires, and metal scraps. The spiders seem to be the greatest hallucination in their number, strength, and command over the entirety of the situation.

question: Describe how and why this is the end of the narrator's journey.

question: Summarize what this story says about seeing.

answer: First of all, this story seems to lend evidence in support of the old adage "seeing is believing". It becomes clear that one primary source of conflict is the narrator's self-admitted inability to distinguish between reality and fantasy, yet the narrator must forge a path through these treks despite what they are seeing. However, in the end, they must believe that the spiders mark their demise-whether the spiders are real or not, because there is no other way out of the cave but to become dust.

question: Summarize what motivates the narrator to keep going in this story.

answer: The narrator seems to be motivated to continue because they are convinced they are not alone and want to see evidence of this. However, this component might also serve to prove that they were not always alone-as in, past tense. The narrator seems to be on a journey or at least an excursion that makes them feel like the last human alive, or the last human for a long while. The goal has been to find something in the nothingness, but it turns into finding refuge.

question: Describe the turning point in the story.

answer: The narrator is en route to finding the refuge they need from the elements when they are overtaken with what seems to be the sensation of endlessness-causing them to tumble through what might be a crevice and into a cave. This physical descent may also symbolize the descent into madness, as they become fully convinced they are seeing hundreds of spiders. Regardless of whether or not the narrator succumbs to the madness or injuries and exposure, it is clear that this is a turning point from which it might prove difficult to turn back.


text:
Please give me feedback too on my writing style, and structure. I'm trying to get better as a hobby.  I understand this may not be the right place.../r/offmychest hasn't provided anything to me, and really I'm just looking for participation in this to all that are intrigued.  I have a good story to tell.  With that said, I'm open to advice (any regardless of writing, relationship, etc), comments, and questions.  Please sit back, drink, snack, whatever...and enjoy.

Hello. Ello. Greetings. Currently I'm down in the dumps with a six pack of cheap beer. Coors original tall boys incase you were wondering. You see my cat ran away today, and she has been missing for quite a few hours now. She's microchipped, and yes...I've been actively making signs. That's not what this story is about.
I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to call you 'Reader'. I really wish we could have met formally under different circumstances. You can call me Jam. It's nice to meet you.

You see, we met back in May. The 19th to be exact, and it was a Saturday. 2012 was a fun year for the both of us. I made a post on Craigslist looking for some sort of companionship, and apparently my post caught your eye. A friendship blossomed into something special. I couldn't have asked for a better friend. You were gay, and I was in the closet thousands of miles away from friends and family. I didn't have any friends until I met you. I find it eerily awesome that you messaged me wanting to hang out. It was my brother birthday, he would have been 25. I met the most amazing person on my brother's birthday (he past away years ago). We emailed each other back, and forth getting to know each other--music, hobbies, views on life...the whole 9 yards. Finally you asked for my number, and I obliged. We began texting each other until you were the one with enough courage to want to meet up. Something about Leos, and making the first step, and me being shy. Sunday the 20th comes around, and you waited outside of my house. I was running a bit behind, and you got scared because security from the gated community was driving around. I quickly texted you not to worry, and to come back. We almost never met. I walked up to your car, very timidly, and opened the door. You extended your hand, and said "Hello, my name is <person>. Nice to meet you!". With a very firm handshake, your jade green eyes stared into my soul. Instantly I knew you were the one. A feeling of peace, excitement...LOVE for once came over me. What was about a 3 sec handshake seemed to have lasted an eternity. I replied staring in to captivating eyes--"Nice to meet you too! I'm Jam! (still thinking of his accent as well. It was foreign and vague. I couldn't put my finger on it)" We then drove off, and it was like we had knew each other from a past life. Our conversation in the car consisted of music, movies, art, views on life, aliens, astral projection, psychedelics, and so forth. Haha, oh man, I stopped him in the middle of one of his sentences, and actually said "Oh my goodness, I have to tell you...you smell really good." He got a laugh out of that, and simply replied "Why thank you! Well if we are going to compliment each other right now, I must say I've been thinking of your eyes this entire time. They are absolutely beautiful" We both laughed, and continued to converse.

We had arrived to the mall.

We entered through Dick's Sporting Goods. He took toward the outdoors section, and we browsed--not looking for anything in particular, and at this point we had started talking about how much we enjoyed the outdoors, camping, and so on. Our favorite sceneries. The sound of a thunderstorm. The soothing rustle of trees being hit by a soft breeze. The way the full moon hits the water on a clear night. Even laying down, and staring at the stars. Every now, and again we would finish the other's sentence. Corny I know! But trust me, if you were there, Reader, it would make you smile. Eventually, we made our way out of the sporting store, and headed up to the second level of the mall. We walked around still talking, before our stomachs rumbled. We heard each other, and at the same time asked "What would you like to eat?!" followed by chuckling again at how we instantly knew. I know, I know Reader, corny--yes. We both decided on Panda Express due to the lack of option. If I'm not mistaken he ordered the coconut shrimp, I'm not positive it was coconut, but I am positive it was shrimp. I on the other hand had a veggie bowl. That was when we both found out that we were both pescetarian. So many things in common.

We finished our food, and were at a loss of what to do next. We headed outside to smoke a cigarette. They were American Spirits. In a yellow pack. Discussing life, parallel universes this time, and the changes the universe is going through. I remember it like it was yesterday. Reader, you see, this is how big of impact this person has had on my life. To remember the most insignificant details. I promise you though, Reader--this is a good story the more it goes on. I apologize, I got side tracked. Alright, yellow American Spirits, talking, oh that's right. We decided on seeing a movie. Nothing was in the theatre at the time that really got our attention, but we ultimately both enjoy Johnny Depp, and Dark Shadows was in so we took to that.

Entering the theatre we got the best seats in the house! Center, and center! Other people were there, but not many. The movie started, and the dry humor got both of us. We cracked out laughing at the line "Child bearing hips" for some reason. I could see out of the corner of my eye, you glancing at me every know, and again with the most adorable smile. Then felt your elbow touch mine. It was like I was in middle school again! Now Reader, I understand that things like this sound stupid as hell, but trust me on this...just trust me, this childish flirting that was going on throughout the day...isn't for random dates, hookups, etc. It's the small things that make you look back, and smile on. So please take my advice when I say don't take things like this for granted. So his elbow touched mine throughout the movie, me being shy I wanted to pull it away because I'm still questioning my sexuality at the time, but I didn't. I rode it out through the entire movie. I liked it. It was comforting. It made me feel good. It made me feel like I was appreciated. It made me feel liked for a change. Then the movie ended.

We walked out the theatre door because the mall was closed at the time, and we couldn't enter the sporting store were we had parked due to the gates being closed. So we decided to walk clear around the mall. It was a warm night. Perfect out. The breeze was just right, no clouds, and the stars. Oh man the stars! Everything was perfect. We continued to talk without missing a beat. It was nice for a change to talk to someone that could hold a conversation that didn't involve sex, drugs, cock size, the same boring cliche stuff. I had asked him what he had planned for the rest of the evening, and he just simply replied "Nothing. I was going to head home, why?" I asked if he would like to continue through the night. He replied excitedly "Yes!". We settled on sushi for dinner. getting the California roll, spicy tuna, spicy salmon, unagi, and Philly rolls. It was happy hour too! We sat at the bar outside, and just looked at each other every so often, and grinned, and looked away. Sort of like flirting peek-a-boo. Which is funny, Reader, when you realize that we are both straight acting, masculine men. We are honestly like children right now. But it is still one of the best feelings I have ever felt. Haha Reader, would you believe if I told you right now as I'm typing this that I have a smile on my face, and a tear in my eye? So as we are doing this, a black couple is seated next to us. The man was wearing a white v-neck with a blazer, and his date was wearing a beautiful floral dress. It was then that he texted me saying "Oh my gosh, that woman is absolutely gorgeous!" I agreed. However, what we found comical was that they went on a date to one of the best sushi places in the United States, and ordered the chicken. We got a kick out of that. But hey, to each his own right?

We eventually, we finished our meals/ rolls, and walked around the Plaza reflecting on our pasts, sharing our history, trials and tribulations. What we have both experienced, and so forth. I wasn't ready to share my past with him, or how significant the day was that we met, and what I have been through, but I could tell he some how knew. Sharing a cigarette walking through the night, before looking at our phones, and realizing how late it has become. At this point it is about 12:34am. As we head back to his vehicle, Death Cab for Cutie is playing, and we just sat there in silence, and enjoyed it. Glancing over at the other, and grinning. In all honesty Reader..no date could have gone more perfect than this one.

Showing up at my house, he dropped me off. We sat there for what seemed like years, me staring into those jade green eyes, and smiled, and said "Have a good night, and thank you for everything." (I really wanted to kiss him Reader! I was too nervous though!) I get out of the car (a man mind you), and I'm as giddy as a school girl, and as I reach my door to unlock it I receive his text saying "I'd really like to see you again. There is just something about you that I can't let go." Now Reader, please understand that this isn't something that was jumping the gun too quickly. If you could have been there you would understand that this evening was unique...almost magical. So after I received that text, I went to my room, to lay down staring at the text for 5-10 minutes trying to figure out how to respond. Again, keep in mind that I have never done anything with a guy before at this point. I have only been with women. So I took the chance, and said "I would like that a lot actually." He then responded with "Look, this may be too soon, but I really wanted to kiss you in the car before dropping you off. I don't want to freak you out or anything because your ad said that you were mainly looking for friends, and what not. But I really wanted to kiss you goodnight" I responded "I wanted to kiss you too, but I didn't know how you felt! I was nervous, and didn't want to act on my emotions too soon! I do want to see you again though...I just don't want to rush things." He just replied "I understand, no rush, but I do like you :)" (You think just bitches like smilies? Fuck that, even grown men enjoy them on occasion). It was then that we wished each other a good night, and set up a second date.

Reader, I just want to let you know that this story is 100% honest. I've had this story pent up inside of me for the longest time, and I really would like sharing it more, and more.

Thank you for reading, please feel free to ask questions.

title: Lions in May. A love story. Part 1 of ? [may end up longer than expected but this is a story I want to share, and would like participation as well.] x-post

question: What does the narrator consider a 'perfect date'?

answer: The date he is on is effectively perfect. They appear to enjoy exchanging passions and ideas, they eat lunch at the mall, go and see a film, spend the evening together, eat sushi and then he is driven home.

question: Why was the narrator's date looking for love on Craigslist?

question: Why did the narrator feel nervous about kissing his date at the end of the night?

answer: The narrator appears new to being outwardly gay, and is shy.


text:
there once was a boy with knives stuck in his voice. No matter what he said, it hurt the people around him, the boy just couldn't help it. Even if he didn't say anything offensive to someone, it still hurt them, just the sheer noise produced, a high, cutting pitch, something never heard by the likes of man before, would make the inner workings of your ears bleed, if you listened to it long enough.

All he wanted was a little affection. just somebody, for once to actually love him. a mother, a father, a friend would have sufficed. he should have known the first time a whole village abandoned him in the middle if a woods; no one wanted him, or his foul remarks. but he didn't learn, he had the simple mind of a child. the boy would walk during the days, crawl in the darkness of night, just to find a home. but every town he found, just kicked him out again. but he didnt learn, he had the simple mind of a child.

his cry's pierced the silence of the forest at night, birds flew away in fear, his shrill scream lured hunters to him, believing it was an animal, dying in their traps. but all they could hear when they saw him was, just as ghastly as his voice.

the poor child, he was just an unidentifiable bulk. you could hardly call him a bulk though, he was nothing but a remnant of his former self. the boy hadnt eaten for days from the looks of it, his skin was peeling, hair grew in patches. his ribs, they were hypnotic, just watching them stretch the pale, brittle skin. scabs were beginning to form, at nearly every inch of his body.

the two hunters felt pity for the boy. they left some food for him, and then left as fast as they could, they were horrified of the grotesque child. if they really felt pity for him, they would've killed him.

the night the boy ate was the first night the forest heard true silence for so long, no one actually knew.that night the boy actually slept.

the dreams were the sweetest thing he had ever experienced. the dreams gave him a new feeling of life, he didn't have the will to death any more. or was that the food?

the boy learnt to fend for himself. he admired those hunters, he wanted to impress them, be like them. to him, they were to first people to show him any compassion. but the boy was as much a terrible hunter, as the villagers were terrible humans. he never learnt. his voice scared of every single one of his prey. except the fish.

the boy was expert in catching fish from a river. the joy on his face was unmatched, as he pulled his first fish out of the stream with his bare hands.

many nights passed after the night with the hunters, and many dreams accompanied them. the boy had found something to cherish. night after night he went to his den, night after night a scream let out, sounding so much like a childish laugh.

his den was a crude piece of art. tightly packed under the roots of a relatively young oak in the forest of elders, its roots resembled aching joints submerged in the depths of the river, the boy used grass for a simple beading. old fish bones were hung up from the tops of the roots. oh he was proud of his fish bones.

one day, the boy was out “fishing”. there was one fish he had his eye on. it was too fast for him, even heading upstream. up and up they  went, the boy wasn't going to give up.

before he knew it, night had fallen. the boy was scared, he had come a long way from his little den, so far upstream he was on a slope. that was the first night the forest had heard the boys crys for so long.

he didn't sleep at all, he was scared he just wanted to be home, to be loved again. after the progress the boy made, it was undone in just one single, sleepless night.

the following morning, he woke in a pile of golden red leaves. autumn had arrived. the ground was damp and boggy. he tried to set for home, following the river downstream.

the boy dragged his feet through the mud. for hours, he walked and walked and walked, still no where closer to home. he was surprised at the distance he traveled the day before chasing the fish.

Then he heard it, a scream,a cry for help. it was a sharp noise, but it didn't make the boy cover his ears, only pay more attention to it. at first he thought it was himself, but how could it be, if he was here, and the noise was over there.

the boys childish nature made him curious. step by step, he trekked through the mud. it soon began to dry out as he made it closer to the noise

the forest was thinning, the noise was increasing. he thought he could hear voices thrown in hear and there, laughing, tormenting.

the boy had reached a clearing on a plateau. it was most likely the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, or will ever see. the field had patches of scarlet poppy's in between patches of long white grass.

and in the middle of that, the noise. a black cloud, dancing around in a single fluid motion. the boy got closer and saw ravens, hundreds of them, words flying from their beaks, taunts and insults thrown to the centre of the mass.

and in the centre, a single carrion crow, half the size of the ravens, and not able to fully form words like them, but screams, the same screams that caught the boys attention.

he screamed. the child screamed, drowning out the noise of the ravens. the crow joint in. the boy started running in and out of the group, trying his best to scare the ravens off. but they laughed at his futile attempts.

this made him scream louder and run faster. eventually the crows got bored with picking on the crow, and lost all interest in the child, waving his arms about like a madman.

they were gone. it was just the boy with knives stuck in his voice and the crow that couldn't sing.

the screams lessened and lessened, until all you could hear was the far of call of the ravens caught in the wind, and the slow steady breathing of both boy and bird.

on closer inspection, the crow was actually much bigger, but in poor condition. still not as big as the others, it had fresh blood dripping from where the ravens talons took swipes at him. its feathers were torn out in patches. and it was weak, malnourished.

they boy tried to pick him up as gentle as he could, but the crow struggled. finally the boy got hold of him. the boy could see he was hungry, but he had no food.

he had the next best thing a carrion crow could wish for; living human flesh. the boy bit his finger, making it bleed, only with a small yelp of pain. he tried stuffing it into the crows face, but that didnt work.

at long last, the crow got the taste of blood, and pecked at the boys hand until he was satisfied, all the while, the boy screamed. but he tolerated the pain, not flinching his hand away during the feeding.

the path back to the river was a long and tiresome one, the boy was feeling faint. the crow wanted to stay with the boy, so he let it sit on his shoulder. they screamed at each other the whole way, having some strange conversation in the most bizarre of tongues.

he had finally found someone to love, and to love him in return.

the boys dreams had come true.

that night, he fell asleep with a smile on his face, and blood on his neck from success. a dreamless sleep soon fell upon him.

the boys body became entangled in the branches of a relatively young oak tree in a forest of eldars, its fingers submerged in the waters of the river. the crow was perched above. it flew down and landed on the corpse, pecking strips of flesh away from the bones of the bloated, floating body.

title: In Absentia

question: What does the story say about pain?

answer: The boy's voice hurts whoever hears it because of the high, cutting pitch it produces. The crow is presumably in pain after being attacked by the ravens, as it has blood dripping from where the ravens' talons took swipes at it and its feathers are torn out in patches. The boy lets out a yelp of pain when he bites his finger to let the crow taste his blood. The crow pecks at his hand, and the boy screams, tolerating the pain.

question: What does the story say about companionship?

answer: The boy longs for affection. He wishes he had someone to love him, whether that be a mother, a father, or a friend. He finally finds companionship in the crow.

question: What does the story say about why the ravens were attacking the crow?


text:
His ears rang with such force he thought certainly his head must have split open. His vision was blurred and the light seared his eyes. Questions began running through his mind. How had he gotten here? Why was he on the ground? What was that horrible smell? Why couldn't he get up?

Something tugged at his consciousness. Like an alarm going off when all you want to do is sleep. Incessant. Constant. Panicked.

Panicked?

Though it was only a few inches, lifting his head was the hardest thing he had ever done. before him lay wreckage. Complete annihilation. Stone buildings were crumbled and collapsed.

A small child, maybe not quite into his teens, lay beneath what looked to be the now shattered roof of a building. A dark pool spread slowly beneath his torso. His sharp blue eyes, which, even full of panic, were the most vibrant eyes the man had ever seen. They would haunt him.

The child had been screaming for who-knows-how-long. Once he realized the man saw him he began speaking french in a cotton-soft, but thready voice.
The man didn't understand a word.

He tried to talk but couldn't. Fine leather boots filled the man's vision. The owner of those boots bellowed something, the ringing in his ears and a wave of nausea made the man miss most of what was being said. The owner of those boots bellowed again and spoke in a soothing tone low enough the man couldn't understand him, but felt calmed by his words nonetheless. The man tried to look up but couldn't manage to move enough to see higher than the boots. The pain and nausea was too severe.

All the while the child spoke. Pleaded? Begged?

More boots, not as nice. Enough movement that the man's head felt like it split right open and he vomited all over those fine leather boots.

He lay on some sort of makeshift cot now. They were raising him from the ground, the quick motion threatening to stain those fine leather boots even more.
Through it all, through the pain, the nausea, the ringing, the man heard the child.
""Ne me quitte pas." His voice was soft, like fresh cotton. If he could sing he would melt the hearts of everyone in the room.

The boy's pleading grew to screams. No hearts melted here. Though, one broke.

"Ne me quitte pas!" His soft voice grew even more panicked. He must realize they were leaving.

"Ne me quitte pas!!" The man tried to say something, tried to motion to the booted men. All he could do was look the child in his piercing blue eyes.

"Ne me quitte pas!!!" Sobs and pain and the growing distance between them made the last almost unhearable. Almost.

The boy's screams echoed through the destroyed alley. They echoed through the small town. And they echoed in the man's dreams for the rest of his days.

"Ne me quitte pas."

title: [RF] "Ne me quitte pas."

question: Who is the protagonist?

answer: Not much is stated about the protagonist other than he is a man.

question: Describe the owner of the boots.

answer: That information can't be found.

question: What does the child want?

answer: The child is begging not to be left alone.

question: Where does this story take place?

answer: The story takes place in a collapsed and crumbled building.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: A man with ringing ears and blurred vision finds himself on the grounbd amid crumbled and collapsed stone buildings. There is a child screaming, and when the child sees him, it begs him not to leave. Some people in boots arrive, and the man eventually finds himself on a cot. The child has been left behind.