text:
[]

_Samyaza taught enchantments, and root-cuttings,
Armaros the resolving of enchantments,
Baraqiel taught astrology,
Kokabiel the constellations,
Chazaquiel the knowledge of the clouds,
Araqiel the signs of the earth,
Shamsiel the signs of the sun,
And Sariel the course of the moon.
_

- The Book of Enoch Vol. 1

_
Great spirits of all who lived before,
Take our hands and lead us.
Fill our hearts and souls with all you know._

- Great Spirits, Phil Collins

I own nothing that is owned by either Amplitude Studios, Wildbow or Peter Mohrbacher.

SPARK - 1.1
I finally managed to dig the mp3 player out of my bag and turn it on, feeling my way to the switch. The dim light from the screen illuminated a bleak sight. Smooth, damp walls stretched away into the darkness, going down at a shallow angle. I turned the light upwards, gritting my teeth against the pain of my leg, which felt as though someone had driven a hundred rusty nails into the bone.

A glossy shaft curved up and out of sight, the walls marked with who-knows-how-long’s worth of water stains. It looked almost like a rocky waterslide slide. The crack in my glasses bisected it.

I wasn’t going to be climbing back up there.

I cursed myself for hanging back from the tour group. Having the Trio picking at me would be better than being stuck down a cave.

“Can anyone hear me?” I yelled up the tunnel.

“Hear me, hear me,” echoed back, but there was no reply. _They must have moved on._

Damn them, and damn me for not being careful enough.

What to do, though? Should I stay here and keep yelling? Should I try and move? It was just so dark. It seemed as though the walls were pressing in on me, the shadows moving them forward inch by inch.

My breath was getting rough in my throat. I closed my eyes and breathed in and out heavily. Mustn’t panic. What have I got?

I pulled my backpack open and shone the mp3 screen in. A pencil case, two notebooks, a pair of headphones, a copy of White Fang and a whole bunch of worksheets that Mr. Geddes had handed out when we left on the geography trip. Not exactly caving supplies. There was an empty bottle of water, too, which was less than useful.

I tried to get up, but stopped quickly. The pain in my leg grew to a searing-hot agony the moment I put weight on it. I tried again, this time being careful not to do so and hanging onto a protrusion on the wall with my free hand, then sank back down. The floor was too steep and slippery, I was sure that I would fall if I was forced to just go on one foot. I’d have to slide along on my butt if I wanted to move.

This was not looking good. There was no way I’d be able to climb up there with my leg like this. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to with a healthy leg.

“HEY! I’m down here!” I yelled again, trying to ignore the choky feeling of panic growing in my throat at the thought of being stuck down here. I sat still, just listening. Nothing.

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck._

My breathing was speeding up again. It took a conscious effort to bring it under control.

Alright, Taylor, what are our options? I thought to myself. Can’t climb. If I stay here and keep yelling, they might hear me.

I looked down at the mp3 player. I had managed to get to sleep on the bus ride up past Boston, so it still had an almost-full battery. Still, I didn’t want to waste it, seeing as it was my only source of light. On the other hand….

I peered out into the dark, sitting like a wall of cloying tar at the borders of my little ring of light. I really didn’t like that, some childish part of me conjuring up monsters and crawling things to hide in it.

I’d keep the light on for a bit.

An hour later according to my watch and I’d got nothing back at all. The tour was only meant to be half an hour, and we were almost halfway through when I fell.

I had rolled up the left leg of my pants to get a look at the part which was hurting so much. It took a while, because I had to be careful not to press on the purple-blue discoloured bruise that had spread like ink in water over my shin and thigh. It was puffy and swollen, and I was very glad indeed that I had worn baggy pants. It was at least partly a self-distraction.

I was in trouble. BIG trouble. Geddes was a good teacher (by the low, _low_ standards of Winslow) but he was the textbook definition of ‘forgetful’. I couldn’t even remember the last time he took roll. Certainly not before we went into the cave and probably not when they left. The only people who would likely note my absence were the Trio, and they’d probably just have a laugh over me getting lost. Dad would notice when I didn’t get back, of course, but that wouldn’t be until… this evening, probably. If I had a phone he might have been tipped off earlier by my not calling, but I didn’t.

I tried to work out what would probably happen from there. Dad would probably call the police. I’d told him that I’d be going on a trip with the school, but I realized with trepidation that I couldn’t remember ever telling him where the trip was going. So… he’d call the police, they'd probably call the school and they’d probably come here eventually. How long would that take, though? I would have to manage down here for a while, in any case.

I checked the mp3 player. It still had two of three bars, and experience said that the battery would probably last another three hours or so. I didn’t need the light if I was just going to stay there where any search party would be more likely to find me. Plus, if something happens and I need to move, I’m going to want the light.

I switched it off and blinked at the sudden inky blackness. I held up a hand in front of where I thought my face was. I couldn’t see it at all, not even the vague shape. I shivered a little, then closed my eyes and tried to think about something other than my situation, leaning back and propping up my head on my bag.

Before long, I had drifted off to sleep, lulled by the warmth and silence.

XxXxXxXxX

I awoke to the sound of a grumbling stomach and aching back. The pain in my leg had subsided to a dull throb, but the moment I moved it it flared up again. A yelp of pain escaped me, then I gritted my teeth. It took a moment for the pain to subside, then I checked my watch.

7:32 PM, it read. I had been down here for more than five hours. Would there be search parties yet?

“I’m here! Down the chute!” I yelled, hoping that there would be someone to hear. Still, nothing came back. Just the same low burble of water. Looking down the passage, faint as gossamer, I could see where it curved around to the left.

_Wait. How can I see that?_

The light was dim, very dim, but it was _there_. I must not have noticed earlier because my eyes hadn’t adjusted properly to the dark after turning off the mp3 player. If there was light, there had to be a source. Maybe a way out, or a shaft up to the surface? Maybe there was something else down here, a tinker’s lab or something. The thought reminded me of a 90s comic Dad had given me when I was younger, all about a teenager who fell into a tinker’s lab and ended up as a sidekick.

Even if there wasn’t a way out, though, there was light, and that would make this much more bearable.

Now, how to get to it?

Another grumble from my stomach reminded me of why I had woken up. It wasn’t too bad, but I didn’t have anything to help with it. No food, and no water either. I tried to ignore the hunger, testing my less-injured leg. I could probably slide along down there on my back, or on my good leg and arms. Getting back up might be a problem, but I could do it this way. Armed with determination I threw my things back into the bag, put it on my stomach and started off towards the light.

It was slow going, but I managed to squirm and slide my way down to where the passageway turned off. From here, the light was much more obvious, golden-yellow the intensity of starlight. I could make out the shapes of rocks worn smooth, the faintest traces of honey-brown colour and tiny stalactite-fingers reaching down from the ceiling. The glow grew brighter as I went on until the passage turned a corner and widened out, revealing a sight that turned my eyes to saucers.

The chamber was large and irregular, stretching away from me about twice as far as it was across. The floor of the passageway sloped upwards on the left to merge into the wall and down on the right to form the shore of a deep, still pool that stretched to the other side of the cavern. The limpid water reflected the innumerable flecks of golden light that danced like fireflies in the air, scribing glowing zig-zags in orbits around the pillars and stalactites that stretched down from the arched ceiling.

It was beautiful, with the same timeless quality that the Grand Canyon had, or Niagara Falls that one time Mom and Dad had taken me.

What was it, though? What was the glowy stuff? Why was it here? It didn’t look like any tinkertech I’d seen on TV or even in comics. Could something like this actually be natural?

I shook my head. Not the point right now. I had light, so I didn’t need to worry so much about the mp3 player running out of battery. There was water, too, although I wasn’t sure about actually drinking it. Who knew what kinds of stuff could be in cave-water? On the other hand….

I swallowed, feeling the bite of thirst. No. Not yet. I can manage for the moment. I don’t need to risk it.

Mind (regretfully) made up I slithered all the way into the chamber and put my bag down on the side away from the water. I regretted not refilling the bottle at the ranger station at the edge of the woods. That water, at least, I could trust.

After that, I was left to twiddle my thumbs. I watched the lights for a bit, making a game with myself of watching the play of light on the water and through the air. It was almost hypnotic. I couldn’t make out any single lights, really. Larger and smaller groups that gathered and broke up from moment to moment, but I just couldn’t seem to follow one mote with my eyes. Eventually I got bored with that and tore my eyes away with an effort. According to my watch it was past 10, but I still wasn’t tired at all.

I dug out White Fang and read for a while. Every now and then I yelled up the passage, but there was never any answer. I tried not to listen to the sinking feeling in my get which grew a little with every fading echo.

Finally, a yawn clawed its way out of my mouth sometime around midnight. I pulled my bag over and curled up in the least uncomfortable place I could find. Not long after, I had drifted off to sleep.

My dreams were a panorama of light and shadow; of suns and seas and dancing golden stars.

XxXxXxXxX

Waking up was just as unpleasant as I expected it to be. My body was a tapestry of aches and pains and my throat was parched. Worst of all was my leg, which had swollen up and turned the colour of a rotten eggplant. It throbbed painfully, even more so when I experimentally put some weight on it.

I yelled up the passage again, but there was still no answer. I tried to stifle the terror which welled up in me at the thought of just being stuck down here forever, forgotten, with a bite of food and a swig of my water - distressingly little, now - but it didn’t help much.

I winced as a movement shot a red-hot stab of pain up my leg. Dammit. I growled in frustration; if it wasn’t for falling wrong, I might have been able to climb out myself. Instead, all I had was a leg that insisted on flaring up randomly, no food or trustworthy water and a really pretty cave.

My eyes alighted on the pool. _Actually…_ I thought to myself as an idea struck me.

I didn’t think that the water would help with my actual problem of being stuck who-knows-how-far underground, but if it was cool it might help to soothe my leg. If there was anything in the water I doubted it would do anything to me by just dangling my feet in it.

Holding my injured leg up off the ground, I manoeuvred my way over the pool and tested it with a finger. It was just this side of cold, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. Perfect. I rolled up my pant legs, pulled off my socks and swivelled around so that my feet could trail in the water. Almost immediately, the throbbing seemed to lessen a little, as did the aching from the bruises on my other leg.

Time passed slowly when nothing changed but the firefly patterns of the lights. After a little while I tried sketching the cave in my notebooks to pass the time before finding that no, my drawing skills still hadn’t improved much beyond ‘cartoon’ level. Giving up on that, I went onto drawing whatever came to mind. Armsmaster, Legend, Eidolon, Alexandria and a dozen other heroes soon posed dramatically on the pages. I meandered out into more random stuff; doodles of costumes, comic-book laser guns, even a spaceship or two. That lasted through to almost three o’clock and still every time I shouted nothing came back but echoes.

I wondered how deep I was. I didn’t _think_ that the chute had been too long, but everything had happened so quickly. Maybe the authorities just hadn’t bothered to send out search parties. Maybe the school had said I’d not turned up for the trip. I wouldn't put it past them to do something like that.

I gazed down into the water, trying to catch a glimpse of the bottom through the angry snarl of my reflection. Deep down I saw a glimmer of something; a flicker of faint light. My vision swam and the next thing I knew I was toppling forwards into the water.

The cold was a shock to the senses. I thrashed, trying to get back to the surface but the water seemed heavy, as if it was trying to hold me down. A storm of golden light swirled up around me-

_A deafening cacophony of light and a blaze of sound in colours and tones I didn’t and couldn’t recognise._

__{ERROR - INTERFERENCE}
A whisper burned through me like a lightning strike, then another and another, until I felt as though I was a vessel for the terrible sound and fury of an infinity of ghosts__

_{ENACTING COUNTR-R-R MSRRRRRSSS}
I saw galaxies ignite and spiral and die, candles lit at both ends. Birth and growth and age and death - blood to flesh and flesh to bone and bone to dust. Coral grew through my mind, cruel and crystalline._

_DESIGNATION - UNKNOWN
I saw my dad, but his eyes were empty and bled. He held two pearls in his hands, one of silver and one of gold. I reached out and placed them in the sockets. He blinked and grinned a grin of ice and diamond._

_PURPOSE - UNKNOWN
I was bodiless, and suspended in a sea of yellow and black. A weight of awareness fell upon me, like the eye of a god. It ate at me like acid._

_CONTACTS - UNRESPONSIVE
I was underwater and I was dissolving. Golden scarabs gnawed at my flesh and took it apart, swimming off into the blind deep. I couldn’t remember my name._

_STRUCTURE - UNDAMAGED
Who? What? Where? How? Why?_

_I know nothing._

_CAPABILITIES - KNOWN
I am flayed to bones now. I have nowhere to hide, exposed to the sound and fury._

_ENACTING LINK PROCEDURES._

_Something else envelop me, wrapping around my exposed bones like a blanket, like warmth, like Mom’s hug._

_I remember her. I remember Dad. I remember myself._

_I am I._

_I AM I._

Alright, so this is my (hopefully) triumphant return to writing, posted on the New Year for... thematic appropriateness, I guess. As always, comments, thoughts, corrections and discussions are more than welcome. I'm sure those familiar with the Endless universe know what the glimmery gold lights were, but just to be clear: Yes, that was Dust. And for reference, most of that bit at the end (Taylor's part) was her tripping balls, not reality. As for the _BOLD ITALICISED_ speaker, well. Guess. [:D]

Once I get into full swing with this it should be updating weekly, but don't count on that for the next couple of weeks. I'm going to be _very_ busy and writing will, unfortunately, have to take a back seat.

Many thanks to LoZCollector, Omnimessiah and Azerick01 for beta-reading and idea-bouncing.

question: What is falling from the roof of the cavern?

answer: Golden light, which the author says is dust.

question: Where is the narrator of the story?

answer: They had fallen down a chute on a school trip to a cave.

question: What does the narrator of the story use for light at first?

answer: An mp3 player.

question: What happens when the narrator falls into the water?

answer: They have visions of cosmic galaxies, and perhaps of the future.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The author writes a story about a kid on a school trip who falls down into a chute in a cave. The kid tries to get back to the surface but stumbles into a cave with golden light falling down. They tumble forwards and fall into a pool of water, having visions of galaxies and their parents as they do so.


split: test

text:
The JIANGCUNGOU LANDFILL was a waste disposal site in Xi'an, China. Constructed in 1994, it was closed in November 2019 after reaching its capacity, which was intended to be sufficient until 2044. At the time of its closure, it was the largest landfill in China at . The waste disposal needs of Xi'an are planned to be met by a number of new incinerators.

Operation

The Jiangcungou landfill is located in a suburb of Xi'an, the capital of China's Shaanxi province.[1] It was constructed in 1994 and was one of seven landfills serving the city.[2][3] The Jiangcungou landfill was intended to not reach capacity until 2044, accepting waste at a rate of per day.[4] The site covers and waste was buried in a layer up to deep, providing a total capacity of .[5] The Jiangcungou landfill was China's largest landfill site at the time of its closure.[6] The site was subject to complaints from residents living several kilometres away due to the smell it generated.[7]

Closure and replacement

The waste generated by the 8 million citizens served by the landfill was greater than expected, leading to capacity issues.[8] By 2019 the landfill was accepting of household waste per day, the most of any landfill site in the country.[9][10] Of the seven landfills in Xi'an four are expected to be full in 2019/20 and the remaining three by 2021.[11] The Jiangcungou landfill reached capacity in November 2019 and will be backfilled and converted into an ecological park.[12]

China is moving away from landfills, which it has traditionally relied upon, and towards alternative means of waste disposal. There is a major move towards mandatory sorting of household waste, with the intention that 35% of all household waste in major cities will be recycled by the end of 2020.[13] Mandatory sorting of household waste in Xi'an was implemented on 1 September 2019. Residents must separate kitchen waste for composting, hazardous waste for further processing and dry waste which will be incinerated.[14] A new waste incinerator was completed in October 2019 and four more are planned to be built in 2020. Together they will be able to dispose of of Xi'an's waste per day.[15]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

title: Jiangcungou landfill

question: Where is the Jiangcungou landfill?

answer: The Jiangcungou landfill is in a suburb of Xi'an, the capital of China's Shaanxi province.

question: Why was the Jiangcungou landfill closed?

answer: The Jiangcungou landfill was closed because it reached its full capacity.

question: What will happen with the Jiangcungou landfill?

answer: The Jiangcungou landfill will be backfilled and converted into an ecological park.

question: Will a new landfill be made after the closure of the Jiangcungou landfill?

answer: It is not stated, but it might not because China is moving away from landfills towards alternative means of waste disposal.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Jiangcungou landfill was a waste disposal site in a suburb of Xi'an, the capital of China's Shaanxi province. It was closed because it reached its capacity in 2019 and will be backfilled and converted into an ecological park. China is moving away from landfills towards alternative means of waste disposal.


text:
[_Post Dispatch_ newspaper covers local events of Garza County.] [Wells Fargo Bank serves Garza County through its outlet in Post.]

GARZA COUNTY is a county located in the U.S. state of Texas. As of the 2010 census, its population was 6,461.[1] Its county seat is Post.[2] The county was created in 1876 and later organized in 1907.[3] Garza is named for a pioneer Bexar County family, as it was once a part of that county. It is located southeast of Lubbock.

A leading civic figure in Garza County was until his death in 2011 Giles McCrary, a rancher, oil developer, investor, and art collector. McCrary's OS Ranch Museum is a popular attraction in the county seat of Post, which has made an extended effort to attract tourism.

Republican Drew Springer, Jr., a businessman from Muenster in Cooke County, has since January 2013 represented Garza County in the Texas House of Representatives.[4]

History timeline

-   2000 b.c. – Indigenous peoples of the Americas are the first inhabitants. Later inhabitants were the Kiowa, Comanche.[5]
-   1875 W. C. Young of Fort Worth and Illinois Irishman Ben Galbraith establish the beginnings of the Curry Comb Ranch in the northwest part of Garza County.[6]
-   1876 Garza County is formed from Bexar County, and named for the prominent Bexar County family of José Antonio de la Garza.[7][8]
-   1880 County census count is 36 people.[9]
-   1882 The Square and Compass Ranch is started by the Nave and McCord Cattle Company. They put up the first barbed wire fence two years later.[10]
-   1884 OS Ranch is founded by brothers Andrew J. Long and Frank M. Long of Lexington, Kentucky.[11]
-   1900 County population is 185 persons.[12]
-   1907 Post is founded as a utopian venture by, and named for, cereal king Charles William Post.[13][14]
-   1909-1913 C.W. Post builds a cotton gin, a cotton mill, and attempts to improve agriculture production through rainmaking, involving the heavy use of explosives fired from kites and towers along the rim of the Caprock Escarpment.[15][16]
-   1926 Oil is discovered in the county.[17][18]
-   1934 Quanah and Bryan Maxey discover a sixteen-foot-long tusk of a prehistoric imperial mammoth. This tusk is currently located in the American Museum of Natural History, New York City, NY.[19]
-   1957 A Prehistoric Indian site at Cowhead Mesa is recorded by Emmet Shedd of Post.[20]
-   1960-1965 South Plains Archaeological Society excavations of Cowhead Mesa find artifacts to date inhabitation back to 2000 b.c.[21]
-   1980 The most important business in the county are agribusiness, oil and gas extraction, and textile mills.[22]

Geography

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the county has a total area of , of which are land and (0.3%) are covered by water.[23]

Major roads and highways

-   [] U.S. Highway 84
-   [] U.S. Highway 380
-   [] State Highway 207
-   [] Farm to Market Road 669

Adjacent counties

-   Crosby County (north)
-   Kent County (east)
-   Scurry County (southeast)
-   Borden County (south)
-   Lynn County (west)
-   Lubbock County (northwest)
-   Dickens County (northeast)

Demographics

As of the census[24] of 2000, 4,872 people, 1,663 households, and 1,217 families resided in the county. The population density was 5 people per square mile (2/km²). The 1,928 housing units averaged 2 per square mile (1/km²). The racial makeup of the county was 56.7% White, 4.8 African American, 0.2% Native American, 0.1% Asian, 17.1 from other races, and 3.00% from two or more races. Hispanics or Latinos of any race were 37.2% of the population.

Of the 1,663 households, 36.00% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 58.50% were married couples living together, 11.20% had a female householder with no husband present, and 26.80% were not families. About 23.80% of all households were made up of individuals, and 12.00% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.65 and the average family size was 3.15.

In the county, the population was distributed as 28.00% under the age of 18, 7.90% from 18 to 24, 28.60% from 25 to 44, 21.30% from 45 to 64, and 14.10% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 35 years. For every 100 females, there were 112.30 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 111.30 males.

The median income for a household in the county was $27,206, and for a family was $31,173. Males had a median income of $26,604 versus $18,105 for females. The per capita income for the county was $12,704. About 17.50% of families and 22.30% of the population were below the poverty line, including 29.60% of those under age 18 and 18.60% of those age 65 or over.

Communities

City

-   Post (county seat)

Unincorporated communities

-   Close City
-   Justiceburg
-   Southland

Politics

  Year                               Republican                                  Democratic                                  Third parties
  ---------------------------------- ------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------- ----------------------------
  style=“text-align:center;” |2016   style=“text-align:center;” |82.6% _1,225_   style=“text-align:center;” |15.5% _230_     2.0% _29_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2012   style=“text-align:center;” |81.0% _1,263_   style=“text-align:center;” |17.9% _279_     1.2% _18_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2008   style=“text-align:center;” |77.5% _1,356_   style=“text-align:center;” |21.4% _375_     1.1% _19_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2004   style=“text-align:center;” |81.7% _1,480_   style=“text-align:center;” |18.0% _326_     0.3% _6_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2000   style=“text-align:center;” |73.6% _1,302_   style=“text-align:center;” |25.7% _454_     0.8% _14_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1996   style=“text-align:center;” |53.9% _946_     style=“text-align:center;” |40.1% _703_     6.0% _105_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1992   style=“text-align:center;” |52.0% _982_     style=“text-align:center;” |29.6% _558_     18.4% _348_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1988   style=“text-align:center;” |54.0% _1,183_   style=“text-align:center;” |45.2% _989_     0.8% _18_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1984   style=“text-align:center;” |69.7% _1,219_   style=“text-align:center;” |29.8% _521_     0.6% _10_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1980   style=“text-align:center;” |62.6% _1,188_   style=“text-align:center;” |35.7% _677_     1.7% _32_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1976   style=“text-align:center;” |43.8% _755_     style=“text-align:center;” |55.5% _957_     0.8% _13_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1972   style=“text-align:center;” |72.1% _1,153_   style=“text-align:center;” |27.9% _446_     style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1968   style=“text-align:center;” |37.1% _615_     style=“text-align:center;” |39.9% _662_     23.1% _383_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1964   style=“text-align:center;” |31.0% _567_     style=“text-align:center;” |68.6% _1,254_   0.3% _6_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1960   style=“text-align:center;” |46.8% _737_     style=“text-align:center;” |52.6% _829_     0.6% _10_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1956   style=“text-align:center;” |44.4% _628_     style=“text-align:center;” |55.6% _786_     0.1% _1_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1952   style=“text-align:center;” |48.2% _742_     style=“text-align:center;” |51.7% _797_     0.1% _2_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1948   style=“text-align:center;” |15.9% _176_     style=“text-align:center;” |77.6% _861_     6.6% _73_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1944   style=“text-align:center;” |12.4% _144_     style=“text-align:center;” |72.7% _842_     14.9% _173_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1940   style=“text-align:center;” |15.5% _198_     style=“text-align:center;” |84.0% _1,073_   0.6% _7_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1936   style=“text-align:center;” |14.0% _132_     style=“text-align:center;” |85.7% _807_     0.3% _3_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1932   style=“text-align:center;” |9.6% _87_       style=“text-align:center;” |89.8% _812_     0.6% _5_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1928   style=“text-align:center;” |73.6% _794_     style=“text-align:center;” |26.4% _285_     style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1924   style=“text-align:center;” |35.1% _331_     style=“text-align:center;” |62.3% _588_     2.7% _25_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1920   style=“text-align:center;” |5.9% _28_       style=“text-align:center;” |82.9% _392_     11.2% _53_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1916   style=“text-align:center;” |3.9% _14_       style=“text-align:center;” |92.2% _330_     3.9% _14_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1912   style=“text-align:center;” |4.3% _7_        style=“text-align:center;” |87.8% _144_     7.9% _13_

  : PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS RESULTS[25]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

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[25]

title: Garza County, Texas

question: What was Giles McCrary known for?

answer: McCrary was known to be a rancher, oil developer, investor, and an art collector.

question: List a few counties around Garza County.

answer: Crosby County, Kent County, Borden County, Lubbock County, and Dickens County.

question: Summarize what happened in the 1880s.

answer: W. C. Young and Ben Galbraith established the beginnings of the Curry Comb Ranch, soon the county is formed from Bexar County and in four years their census count reaches 36. The Square and Compass Ranch is started and the OS Ranch was founded by two brothers.


text:
The rules were simple, but the game itself impacts a lot thought. I have played this game with lots of people. I remember my first time. I told him, ‘here are the cards. There are five of them.’

The idea of the game is to have a card with a high number, but as you turn over a new card, you must discard the previous one. I tell him that every time I’ve showed someone else this game, they mostly make the same mistakes. I turn over the first card and reveal the very first number: [76]. When I first played even I thought, ‘is it out of a hundred?’ If it were out of a hundred, everyone would stick with the first card. But what if it were out of a thousand, or a million? It’s the uncertainty that makes people pick a second card. If they stuck with just seventy-six, and found out that the next card was in the thousands, they’d kick themselves.

Pete asked, “another card please?” Perhaps it was my long hair, but he wasn’t paying attention to me when I boldly said that almost everyone makes the same mistakes. The next card shows: [32]. The second card is about half the first value, but just below. People still think that it could possibly be out of a much larger number, and no matter what, thirty-two appears to be a scam. Without much delay, “another.”

I like to think that these cards represent opportunities in life. No one wants to look like a fool and stick with something when they don’t know its relative value. You’re offered five cards in this game, and they could hold any number, why stick with the first one? The next card reveals the number: [1]. “What? That’s horrible, I got the lowest number!” With two cards left, Pete’s next choice was predictable.

People are given first opportunities in many aspects of life. Whether it’s a job or love, people always wonder if there’s a better one out there. With no ability to compare, we are unable to decide if something is worth committing to. When Pete drew the number one, he felt bad for not sticking with either of the first two cards. Like a homeless person, he appreciates whatever he had before much more so.

Obviously the seventy-six would be most ideal, but normally if people are given the choice to go back to thirty-two or draw a new card, some would go back. “Well there’s nothing lower than one… I may as well turn over a new card. If it’s anywhere near around seventy-six I’m sticking with that.” By this point his hope for a thousand or maybe a million is gone, he now appreciates what he was given before. I turn over the new card, knowing what was coming. It’s never what people expect.

The new card shows: [0.01]. Pete’s assumption that one was the lowest number was a common mistake. Before he thought that things couldn’t be worse. While it would be nice if the next card were a million, or even just anything close to thirty, it really doesn’t matter anymore, he would accept a two. People with big dreams are unable to appreciate what they have. Why shouldn’t a child hope to be a millionaire or marry the most beautiful girl in the world? What is wrong with hoping for the best, and giving up on what you have to make room for something better? To Pete, seventy-six is now a large number, whereas before he doubted if it was even a fraction of the other cards held.

“I really should have stuck with seventy-six!” Pete laughs, as I smile. Perhaps this was all a lesson? Perhaps all it was for him to understand his mistakes, learn to appreciate what he’s given, and now he’ll be rewarded for that. Whether or not life treats him to a larger opportunity, he would walk away from this with a lesson learnt. Without waiting for him, I give him the final card. It’s blank.

I hope Pete, whoever he is, takes from this game a valuable lesson. Whether wealthy or poor, I hope he appreciates what he has. In the struggle to become better versions of ourselves, we put ourselves at risk of loss. Some would argue that, so long as we have our health it’s okay, that everything else is superficial; why not take the risk? But the fact is that we will only feel bad if we give up something we once had, not what we could have had. I tell Pete to enjoy the rest of his time at the fair, and give a bow to say goodbye.

When I looked up, he was gone. He turned over the card that had nothing on it, so as I packed them up I collected all of the other cards first. I put them face down over the fifth card to put it away in the small box they came in. But before I do, I glanced at the bottom of the fifth card. Seventy-six was written in ink.

read more: www.mostthings.net

title: [MF] Five Cards

question: What is the moral of the story?

answer: The moral of the story is that we always strive for something better. We never know or accept how well off we are until we are dealt another hand. Pete keeps putting back the card he has in hand to take another and each time he is dealt a lesser hand.


text:
2016

POLITICO asked four dozen GOP candidates a simple question: Will you campaign with Donald Trump? Hardly any said yes.

[01_Donald_Trump_18_gty_1160.jpg]

In the year of Trump, appearing on the same stage as the party’s standard-bearer is perilous for those running in hyper-competitive states and districts. | Getty

Continue to article content

As Donald Trump staggers following a series of self-inflicted political wounds, Republican candidates up and down the ballot are expressing growing disinterest in hitting the campaign trail with him this fall.

Over the past week, POLITICO surveyed nearly 50 GOP candidates in competitive House, Senate and governor’s races on whether they’d be willing to campaign with the Republican nominee. Only a handful said yes — and the rest said no, refused to commit or didn’t respond at all.

It’s an unusual turn of events. Typically down-ballot candidates — eager to generate excitement and media attention for themselves, to turbocharge fundraising, and to increase their stature — spend the fall months proudly campaigning alongside their presidential nominee.

But in the year of Trump, appearing on the same stage as the party’s standard-bearer — whose negative ratings are higher than any other GOP nominee's in recent memory — is perilous for those running in hypercompetitive states and districts.

“I would recommend they have a perpetual scheduling conflict,” said Rob Jesmer, a former National Republican Senatorial Committee executive director who advises a number of the party’s most prominent lawmakers.

Among those most wary of campaigning alongside Trump is Colorado Rep. Mike Coffman, a suburban Denver Republican whose district broke for President Barack Obama in 2008 and 2012. Nearly 20 percent of the district is Latino — meaning it could well turn against Trump, whose rhetoric on immigration has alienated minorities. In recent days, Coffman, an Army and Marine veteran who fought in Iraq, has made clear his displeasure with Trump.

“Mike has grave reservations about his policies, his tone, this latest mind-blowing dust-up with Gold Star parents,” said Cinamon Watson, a Coffman spokeswoman. “So no, we aren't campaigning with Donald Trump.”

The lack of enthusiasm is just as apparent in Florida, a must-win state for Trump that also features a number of competitive down-ballot contests. During a back-and-forth with reporters last week, Sen. Marco Rubio, a defeated Trump primary rival now running for reelection, refused to commit to appearing with his former foe.

“We’ll take that on a case-by-case basis. I have to run my own campaign, and so I’ve got to set my own schedule and I can’t be canceling events,” said Rubio, who — unlike some of his Senate colleagues — has endorsed Trump. “But if the opportunity presents itself, we’ll look at that and see if it makes sense."

Others in the state are being more definitive: It isn’t happening.

A spokeswoman for GOP Rep. David Jolly, whose St. Petersburg-area district was narrowly won by Obama in the past two presidential elections, said the congressman "has no plans to campaign with Mr. Trump." Rep. Carlos Curbelo, a freshman Republican who hails from a majority Latino district in South Florida and is a loud critic of Trump, declined to answer when asked about the prospect of campaigning with the GOP nominee — but volunteered that he’d be appearing with Rubio.

There is even a Republican in bright red Nebraska who is leery of being onstage with the party’s nominee. Nebraska allocates three of its five electoral votes by congressional district, and in the most diverse and politically competitive one — the Omaha-based 2nd — Republican Don Bacon, a retired Air Force brigadier general who is waging his first campaign for a House seat, has decided he’s better off not aligning himself with Trump.

“Campaigning with presidential candidates isn't currently part of our strategy," said Elliott Bottorf, a Bacon spokesman.

In the traditionally Democratic states that Trump has vowed to compete in, the desire to separate from Trump is even more intense. In Illinois — a state that hasn’t been won by a Republican presidential nominee since 1988, but which Trump has said he’ll put in play — GOP Rep. Bob Dold has declared that he won’t support or vote for Trump. “Bob's position on that has never changed, so no, he will not be campaigning with or supporting Donald Trump in any fashion,” said James Slepian, a Dold spokesman.

Then there’s Trump’s home state of New York, where three Republican congressional hopefuls in swing districts say they had no plans to appear alongside the nominee. A spokesman for John Faso, a former leader in the state Legislature who is seeking a Hudson Valley-based seat, said the candidate “is not expecting to be joined on the trail by any other national candidates or officials.”

Trump spokespersons declined to comment on his upcoming plans to campaign with endangered Republicans. His travel this week is expected to take him to Wisconsin, where GOP Sen. Ron Johnson is running for reelection. Yet Johnson, according to an aide, isn’t expected to be in attendance.

Roughly half of the Republicans surveyed for this story did not respond to multiple requests for comment. Among them: Pennsylvania Sen. Pat Toomey, who has refused to endorse Trump. Toomey, one of the most imperiled Republican incumbents in the country, skipped the Republican National Convention and was not present on Monday during a Trump rally in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania. According to a count compiled by the Washington Examiner, he has been absent for all four of the events Trump has held in the state as the nominee.

The dodging comes as senior GOP strategists grapple with how to deal with Trump. Amid the latest controversy surrounding his criticism of a family of a fallen U.S. soldier, some are urging Republican down-ballot hopefuls to take a harder tack against the nominee. Liesl Hickey, who served as National Republican Congressional Committee executive director during the 2014 midterms, has begun circulating a memo — obtained by POLITICO and titled “How to Survive in 2016” — addressed to imperiled House GOP contenders in which she argues that they have little to lose by distancing themselves from Trump.

“Vulnerable candidates are wringing their hands over this, and they should just stop. First, you do not need to motivate Trump voters to vote — they are voting and it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with Hillary Clinton,” writes Hickey, who has worked on a number of races in swing parts of the country.

Hickey encourages candidates to take a decisive stand on whether they back Trump — something many of them have struggled to do. “Make the decision based solely on what your district expects — not what party leaders, consultants or anyone else expects. Whatever position you take, it has got to be authentic,” she writes. “If there is any time to be absolutely clear, this is it. And if you supported him at one time and no longer can, don’t be scared to say it.”

Republicans, she advises, shouldn’t spend all their time talking about Trump. Hickey urges them to launch focused, carefully crafted attacks on Clinton — but to avoid personal diatribes, such as saying she belongs in prison.

Democrats, for their part, appear far more willing to campaign with Clinton. Of about 50 Democratic candidates for House, Senate and governors who were contacted, nearly half said they’d want to hit the trail with their presidential nominee.

Only two wouldn’t commit to campaigning with Clinton (though others declined to reply). One, Utah congressional hopeful Doug Owens, “is not planning to participate in any national campaigns,” said a spokesman. The other, Indiana gubernatorial candidate John Gregg, would “certainly consider it,” a spokesman said.

While Clinton’s negatives remain high, Democrats acknowledge, she’s not as toxic as Trump.

"It's no surprise that House Republicans are using every excuse in the book to avoid campaigning with Donald Trump,” New York Rep. Steve Israel, a former Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee chairman, wrote in an email. “He continues to offend voters, including the families of our greatest American heroes. Hillary Clinton, on the other hand, has an appeal with working families that only helps us across the map."

Some of the Clinton-hugging Democrats are competing in races where Republicans do not wish to appear with Trump. New Hampshire Gov. Maggie Hassan, who is running for Senate, recently spoke at a high-profile Portsmouth rally that featured Clinton and her defeated primary rival, Bernie Sanders. Yet GOP Sen. Kelly Ayotte, Hassan’s opponent, has yet to appear with Trump — and an aide said she had “no plans to.”

While a spokesman for Illinois Democratic Senate hopeful Tammy Duckworth said she’s open to campaigning with Clinton, her opponent, GOP Sen. Mark Kirk, won’t be with his party’s standard-bearer. Kirk announced in June that he wouldn’t be supporting Trump. “I would say campaigning with him will not be happening,” said Eleni Demertzis, a Kirk spokeswoman.

Not everyone is avoiding Trump, however. Last week, two endangered North Carolina Republicans, Gov. Pat McCrory and Sen. Richard Burr, attended a rally Trump and his vice-presidential nominee, Mike Pence, held in the state. While polling in North Carolina indicates the race between Trump and Clinton there is close, Republican strategists in the state are convinced distrust of Clinton runs deep and that Trump’s outsider message has wide appeal.

Ultimately, though, the decision Republican candidates make about Trump comes down to one thing: instinct.

“How you position against/for/to the side of Trump is the looming question for everyone,” Hickey writes in the memo. “And it’s a big decision that ultimately comes down to a gut call.”

question: Explain why GOP candidates are not willing to campaign with Donald Trump.

answer: Out of four dozen GOP candidates, only a handful said they would be willing to campaign with Donald Trump. After some self-inflicting political wounds, many Republican candidates have expressed growing disinterest in campaigning with Trump. Representatives across the country have made clear their displeasures with Trump. Others have mentioned that Trump has continued to offend voters and families of heroes. Meanwhile, Clinton has an appeal with working families.


text:
"The List"
[2382615145 ab6347760c.png]

[TheList13.jpg]
EPISODE NO.
Season 11
Episode 14
PRODUCTION NO.
1114
ORIGINAL AIRDATE
November 14, 2007
Episode chronology
Previous
Next
"Guitar Queer-O"
"Tonsil Trouble"
_List of all South Park episodes_
"THE LIST" is the fourteenth and final episode of Season Eleven, and the 167th overall episode of _South Park_. It aired on November 14, 2007.[1]

Synopsis

The fourth grade girls have made a secret list that rates every boy's looks from cutest to ugliest. When the boys steal the list, they are completely unprepared to deal with the results.

Plot

While some of the fourth grade boys are eating lunch in the Cafeteria, a troubled Butters dashes up to them telling them about a list. He exclaims how the girls have made a list which rates the boys from cutest to ugliest. As a result, everyone begins to argue over who would be the hottest. In the corridor, Eric Cartman demands Bebe to give them the list. Bebe explains that the list is held by the list keeper, Nelly, and that the boys can never see it- then proceeding to blow a raspberry and storm off. Cartman in turn blows a raspberry back and flips her off hatefully. With Bebe gone, the boys are left to do everything themselves.

In his basement, Cartman devises a plan ("Operation Cannot Possibly Fail") to get the list. However, the plan ends as a failure and the boys were forced to fall back. Back in his basement once more, Cartman sets up for his next plan ("Operation Cannot Possibly Fail A Second Time"). This time, Kenny McCormick will jump in front of Nelly and spit on the ground when she leaves the cafeteria for recess.

The plan is a success as Kenny, Cartman, Butters, and Craig Tucker dash down the hallway with the list waving in Kenny's hand. The other boys pursue the four of them who are then pursued by the now incredibly angered girls. They go into the boys' bathroom in order to avoid them and tape the list to the wall. The boys then view the list, with the order from first to last being:

-   Clyde
-   Token
-   Stan
-   Bradley
-   Jason
-   Leroy
-   Kenny
-   Tweek
-   Kevin
-   Jimmy
-   Butters
-   Craig
-   Timmy
-   Francis
-   Cartman
-   Kyle

Cartman is quick to mention that Kyle is at the bottom, allowing Kyle to look at the list while Eric taunts him. Kyle, who was previously indifferent about the list and peoples' opinions overall, stood alone in the bathroom- slowly becoming very self-aware about his appearance.

After school, Butters runs to his home and tells his mother and father he is 11th on the girls' list. His father replies, "Good for you!" and states that they won't have to ground him.

Meanwhile, as Kyle eats his dinner with his family, his mother questions him on his somber mood- to which Kyle explains about the list. Sheila deems it ridiculous, claiming he has his father's, Gerald Broflovski's, appearance; his father then stating he has his mother's nose. Kyle, gets up horrified, and leaves the table shouting "the least you could've done is told me!". Trying to get to sleep, Kyle is disrupted by Cartman who appears at his window boasting of being more attractive. Kyle draws his blind and tries to get to sleep. Clyde, meanwhile is in his bedroom, and after his mother leaves the room telling him to go to bed, he poses, trying to look attractive.

In the corridor, Clyde walks along greeting the girls. Kyle is still upset, and Clyde tells him that Abraham Lincoln was ugly but he accomplished a lot. Clyde walks off, telling Butters that he can't help his looks. Cartman walks up to Kyle and tells him that he believes he should hang around with the ugly kids so he won't "stand out as much". Kyle sits with The Ugly Kids at lunch, all of which are incredibly hideous with odd traits, which makes him stand out even more than before. Kyle sits with them outside as well. After one of them explains he hates school and would like to burn it down, Kyle gets an idea: they need a makeover. He soon changes his mind after attempting to makeover a girl with huge glasses and a huge nose. He then takes his place back on the step.

Discovering that Kyle has become dejected, Stan goes to Wendy and asks if they could talk. As they walk off, Lola questions if he'll ask her to come back. Wendy comments that it is a nice surprise, seeing as she thought he never wanted to talk to her again. Stan says he wants to ask her about the list, saying it's messed Kyle up and questions how she could vote Kyle ugliest. Wendy says she didn't, she voted for Cartman. Stan states it wasn't unanimous and that maybe she could change the list which she refuses as it's not just fun, there's protocol. Stan asks if they can ask the girls why they voted Kyle ugliest, which Wendy informs him won't be easy but she will try and get him in their next list-making meeting.

In their meeting hall, the girls are holding a meeting. Bebe is in charge, with Lola and a black haired girl as the next in charge. The girls discuss who has the cutest purse, then Wendy questions if they can open the previous week's list. Stan then asks about it but Bebe says no list is made hastily. Wendy states he is was only asking for it to be opened for debate. Bebe however says that she can't by "Sparkle Law", open it.

Kyle lies in bed flicking a lighter on and off, planning to burn the school down. Suddenly, the ghost of Abraham Lincoln appears and takes him on a journey around town. He shows him that attractive people are cursed because when they know they are attractive, they don't have to work to be special and become nothing when they reach age 40. Meanwhile, kids like Kyle's ugly friend Yamal work hard for the respect that the attractive automatically get, and because of that he will have character which is something those who are attractive rarely get. Kyle explains he does not want to wait until he is an adult to be happy.

At Wendy's house, Wendy discovers some of the girls gave Clyde a rating of one sparkle, which Stan adds he has no idea what she is talking about. Wendy tells him Rebecca could have made a mistake when tallying the votes onto the final list. Wendy then pays a visit to Rebecca, but as Wendy explains her theory, something in Rebecca snapped. She warns Wendy to keep out because she's getting close to a secret she can't handle and tells Wendy to let it go. And with that, she backs into her door and disappears. Shocked at realizing this, Stan remarks that it didn't sparkle with her.

At True Value, Kyle is buying the things he needs to burn down the school.

Returning to the meeting hall, Wendy shows Lola and Jenny a report she has made which shows no-one voted Clyde the cutest. Lola informs Wendy that Clyde's father owns a shoe shop and that now the list has been altered and he is popular, girls can date him and get free shoes. Wendy threatens to tell Bebe about this, but Bebe was the one who altered it and is currently dating Clyde. Wendy then says she'll tell the other girls, but Jenny Simons questions if the girls will believe her over the heads of the committee and that they will make a new list; biggest liars - and put Wendy right at the top. Lola tells Wendy to do herself a favor and keep her little mouth shut. Wendy then kicks Lola in her crotch and runs off with Stan.

Stan then asks Yamal where Kyle is, who informs him that he is at the school putting it into the brink of ignition.

Arriving just in time, Stan and Wendy tell Kyle the list was forged. A traitorous Bebe then points a gun at Wendy telling her all about how great the shoes she has are, which Wendy becomes temporarily mesmerized by. Wendy snaps back and informs Bebe she's contacted the police and told them all about the scandal. Bebe believes Wendy to be lying, but is shocked to hear police sirens as they arrive telling Bebe to surrender. With Bebe distracted, Wendy wrestles with her to get the gun. Suddenly, a bullet is fired. Stan cries out to Wendy who removes her hand from her breast, but there is no wound. Bebe removes her hand from her stomach, but once again there is no wound. The two of them stare around, wondering where the bullet went. Kenny is ready to eat dinner with his family, when a bullet comes through the window into the back of his head. As his face hits the table, the Pop-Tarts shoot out of the toaster and his family stares in shock.

The police arrest Bebe, and it's unknown what happened to her after this. Stan tells Kyle he can finally see his true position on the list. Wendy then burns the list on Kyle's request, for he does not want to know his rating and Abraham Lincoln was right. Wendy tells Stan its been great hanging out with him again, and that he seems to have changed. Stan says things do change, and Wendy walks towards him and he does the same, but suddenly he comes over queasy and pukes over her continuously.

References

1.

    ↑ "The List (Season 11, Episode 14) - Episode Guide". southparkstudios.com.

  --- ------------------ -------
      1114: "THE LIST"    edit
  --- ------------------ -------

STORY ELEMENTS
The Ugly Kids • The 'Real' List • Operation Cannot Possibly Fail • Operation Cannot Possibly Fail A Second Time

MEDIA
Images • Script • Watch Episode

RELEASE
South Park: The Complete Eleventh Season

question: What is the conflict in "The List"?

answer: The main conflict of "The List is that Butters discovers that the girls a list that rates the boys from cutest to ugliest. Bebe says that the boys can never see the list, so they attempt to devise a plan to retrieve it.

question: How is the story resolved?

answer: It's discovered that Bebe forged and altered the list. Bebe threatens Wendy with a gun, and Wendy informs Bebe that she's called the cops. They arrive and tell Bebe to surrender. Bebe is then arrested.


text:
&#x200B;

Hi, thank you for taking the time to look at my writing. This is the first thing I have written for a very long time due to significant health issues. It is written for a particular purpose, the retirement of the head teacher of my children's school. He has supported me and my children through my health issues and tonight, during a rare quiet moment, the idea of writing a short story for him popped into my head. He won't retire until July so I have plenty of time to redraft and therefore would be grateful for any comments received.

Thank you

Not the end

His hand closed around the handle of his office door. He couldn’t have guessed, if he had tried to, that it would be this moment in particular that would hurl him back to his first ever day, not just as a head teacher, but his very first day teaching. He might have thought it would happen when he woke that morning, full of expectation, relief and some anxiety about the day ahead. He might have thought it would happen in the car, the journey was always a time of quiet and a place where he could think before the ever unraveling chaos of each unpredictable day began. He might have thought it would happen as he sat at the desk in the office that had been his space for the last few years The smell of coffee in the air, surrounded by papers, folders and an egg laying chicken, waiting for the day to begin. But no, it was happening now, as his hand gave the familiar amount of pressure to allow the door to open as his final day as head teacher, his final day as teacher, began.

As the memory formed, surfacing in his mind from some deep place, he recreated in an instant the smell of the building. He could see the faces of the people who had welcomed him into the school, blurry as some of them were now, 32 years on.

He wondered whether any of them ever thought about how many of them he remembered. Faces or names, sometimes both. Mostly he remembered their stories. And it was with this thought that he realised, something he had known before but had perhaps forgotten, that he was a part of their stories. How much had this played a part in his decision to teach in the first place? It didn’t matter now, of course, what the reasons were. But in thinking about the reasons he chose this career, this path for his life, he was able to conjure images of the story telling, the songs, the expectant faces.

He looked at them differently today. Each single face representing the hundreds of children to have come through his door. Each single face a thousand stories, a thousand bleeding knees, a thousand tears turned to first a smile and then, sometimes, some laughter. He could hold that, when he missed it. Sometimes all he could feel was the relief that this day would finally come and his time would be entirely for himself. But it was inevitable that such a large part of his life being gone would leave a vacuum. What a privilege to have such stories, such children, families and colleagues to fill that vacuum with.

As for them, they looked at him differently too. Each one wondering if they would be one of the ones he remembered. If they were part of his story, like he was a part of theirs. When your story is a part of the lives of children, then even at the end, it cannot really be the end.

So here is where we will leave him, at not the end of his story and at not the end of anyone else’s either.

title: [RF] Not the end

question: What is this story about?

answer: The retirement of a head teacher.

question: What does the head teacher reflect on?

answer: All the lives that he may have influence during his time at the school.

question: What does the head teacher remember?

answer: How everything seemed, 32 years previously, when he started teaching.

question: Where does the story end?

answer: Right before he retires.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The story is about a head teacher, who reflects on his career right before he leaves the school and retires.


text:
“Mummy, tell me the story of Die Sine Timere,” whispered Jerry to his mother as she leaned over to tuck him in. He’d heard the story about a million times, from his friends and teachers and family, but he loved it best when his mother told it. Besides, the holiday was tomorrow, and hearing the story would help calm his excitement enough to sleep. His mother smiled at him and adjusted his pillows.
	“Are you sure? You practically know it by heart at this point,” she replied. He looked up at her and smiled an imploring smile.
	“Please?”
	His mother laughed a little and sat down next to him on the bed.
	“Well...okay,” she whispered. She looked out his window and saw the holiday’s festive banner flapping from between two street lamps on the road. The banner read “Welcome to the 3045 Celebration of Die Sine Timere!” It waved back and forth in the wind. She turned back to Jerry, who was now propped up on his pillows and looking at her expectantly.
	“Okay, okay. Well,” she began, “Our story begins a long time ago, way back in 2015. Our ancestors who lived in that time were not like the way we are today. They were wild and crazy and very violent. The whole world was fighting a war with each other, and it was not the first time everyone had been fighting. They loved fighting each other, and they’d find any excuse to go to do it. They fought over religion and money and--”
	“And oil!” interrupted Jerry excitedly.
	“Yes, love, and oil. They even fought over who got to live where. It was very silly, but very dangerous. You see, millions of people, innocent people and soldiers alike were getting killed every day. It was horrible. Families were being ripped apart and nobody seemed to be able to make sense of it all. Nobody seemed to understand that everyone was the same underneath the skin and that war was a bad thing. Everyone bleeds red, darling, but our ancestors were too blinded by greed and hatred to see the common color underneath people’s skin. So they fought and fought for years. Finally, one day everyone woke up from sleeping and realized that they had killed off more than half the people on Earth. There used to be seven billion people living there, but now there was only about two billion. Some of the ground was permanently stained red from all the bloodshed. Even the clouds were damaged, and there were holes in the sky from all the bad things our ancestors had put up there. Things had gotten so bad that all the countries knew that they had to stop killing and stop wasting things and stop fighting.”
	“Did they stop killing each other, Mummy?” asked Jerry, even though he already knew the answer.
	“Yes, they did, darling. All the countries came together and talked about their problems and decided to stop all wars forever. Everyone began to get along, slowly but surely, and the people started sharing their things with each other. Nobody got called any names and everyone was equal. The first few years of peace were a little scary, because people weren’t sure how long it was going to last. But as the fourth year of peace passed, it became obvious to everyone that it was here to stay. All the leaders of all the countries came together that year and decided that there should be a day of remembrance and happiness and celebration as a global holiday, to be celebrated until the end of peace. They put this holiday on August 21st, which was the day all the wars ended. They decided to call this day “Die Sine Timere,” which is from a very very old language called Latin, and it means “Day Without Fear.” They said that on this day, all the people were to celebrate another year of peace and remember our mistakes in the past to keep us safe in the future. They said that people could celebrate and remember any way they saw fit, but they must be sure to celebrate it each year. Our country celebrates by having large block parties and getting all the communities together for a good time. And for you and all the other children, darling, it’s the one night of the year where you don’t have to go to bed before midnight. You get to stay up very late. And before everyone does go to bed on the night of Die Sine Timere, each family sits together in silent meditation to remember those who died and to help us remain peaceful for the following year.”
	“Tell me about the lanterns, Mummy. Don’t forget the lanterns,” whispered Jerry, whose eyes were closed now. He was not quiet asleep yet, just listening quietly to the story of his favorite holiday in peace.
	“Ah, yes, the lanterns,” said his mother, who now was stroking her son’s hair gently as she spoke. “Well, in all the countries around the world, there is one thing that all our ceremonies of peace have in common. Every single person or family makes a special lantern out of biodegradable paper, and they each write a wish for the future or a memory of the past on that lantern. Then, at exactly midnight, each person or family lights the lantern and sends it into the sky, and all the wishes and memories get to soar the night skies together. It’s very beautiful and is a symbol of our unity and peace.”
	“It’s like watching all our wishes come true,” whispered Jerry.
	“That it is, my love. That it is,” replied his mother, “And every year, the whole world does the same thing. For one day a year, we remember our unity and how lucky we are to be at peace. Each person meditating or releasing a lantern or playing in the park during the day is a promise for the future. We will remain peaceful, so long as we have this hope.” She stopped, for that was the end of the story. She and her son sat quietly together for a moment, before Jerry let out a contented sigh and rolled on his side, eyes still shut tight.
	His mother looked down at his little sleeping face and smiled. She leaned down and gently kissed his forehead before getting up off the bed. She tucked the blankets up to his chin and turned to walk away.
	“Mummy?” Jerry said quietly.
	“Yes, darling?” said his mother, turning back towards her son.
	“Goodnight, Mummy. I love you.”
	“I love you too, Jerry. Goodnight.”

She shut off his light and headed downstairs to prepare the rice paper for the lanterns for tomorrow night, so that she and her son could silently watch all their wishes come true.

title: A New Holiday

question: What is the holiday's name?

answer: The holiday's name is Die Sine Timere.

question: How many people were left before peace?

answer: Two billion people were left before peace.

question: What day is the holiday?

answer: The holiday falls on August 21st.

question: What does everyone do on this holiday?

answer: Everyone releases lanterns that represent wishes for the future or memories of the past.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: A boy named Jerry listens to his mother tell the story of an upcoming holiday. The holiday remembers the day the world stopped fighting, and is a celebration of peace. The mother tucks in the boy and prepares for the holiday.


text:
The boy had no idea how long he sat in the corner, waiting. It was cold, and even though he had a blanket, there was little it could do against the stony chill that seemed to emanate from every wall in the room. The food had come, cold porridge in a wooden bowl, through the slat at the bottom of the door. He hadn't even touched it yet. All he wanted to do was sleep, but it was too cold, to uncomfortable. Before, he had had a bed, an actual, real bed, and he would have given anything for that plain white room right then.

He sat shivering in the corner, the thin wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and let his mind wonder. If he could only get some sleep, maybe, just maybe, he could get away. After all, it was after he had changed things in his dream that he had found himself in the cell instead of the white room, and from the look of his clothes and the sporadic memories, or images, as he referred to them in his mind, he had been in the dank musty cell for some time.

For hours he sat, huddled in the corner, his only friend a rat who had found it's way into the cell somehow, and even the rat had barely touched the horrid porridge, and had left and not returned. It was a long time before anything happened at all, and when it did, it was not but the slat at the bottom of the door sliding open to reveal another bowl, and then sliding shut again. The boy realized that this was breakfast, and that he had stayed awake all night. Surely sleep would find him soon.

It did.

But he had no dreams.

He woke to a small tapping noise, like a birds beak on a window sill, and he took a moment to come to and get the sleep from his eyes and brain. Then he realized; he hadn't dreamed! How could that be? He always dreamed. Always. And always the same dream. So what happened? It was then that he realized the tapping sound. He sat very still for a moment, and began to notice a rhythm to the tapping; three quick taps, then two slow ones, then three fast, then four slow. He didn't know what they meant, but something about them lifted his spirits and he almost laughed out loud. But he didn't know why. The tapping seemed to be coming from the wall on his left, behind the cot, and he slowly crawled over to it, pushing the cot out of the way and putting his ear to the brick wall. Suddenly the tapping stopped. The boy pulled his head away from the wall and looked at it as though a face was going to appear in the cold smooth stone. For several minutes he sat crouched there, then he had an idea. It was so obvious, he kicked himself mentally for not thinking of it before. He scrambled back to the bowl of porridge and grabbed the spoon, then moved back to the wall. He hesitated only a moment, then he began to tap the same rhythm into the stone wall.

taptaptap. tap-tap. taptaptap. tap-tap-tap-tap. And repeat.

He did the whole sequence three times, then stopped. After a few seconds the tapping resumed from the wall, and the boy couldn't help but smile. There was someone there, someone on the other side of his wall, and they were trying to communicate. But what? Suddenly another thought came to him. A crazy, wonderful, brilliant, dangerous thought. But he needed to sleep. He needed to dream. And he hadn't dreamed the last time he slept. He need to sleep, and he needed to dream.

He spent the rest of the day tapping on the wall with the other person. He had decided it was another boy, probably his age, maybe even from the same orphanage, someone he might recognize. Hopefully one of the boys he had gotten along with, and not one of the bigger bullies.

That night, when the porridge came, he forced himself to eat some. After all, how was he to get any sleep on an empty stomach? Then he curled himself into as tight a ball as possible and wrapped the wool blanket around himself like a cocoon, and prayed that sleep would find him quickly, and that he would dream. He stared at the stone wall for a while, then closed his eyes and started counting to a thousand. And suddenly, he was back in the orphanage...

*The noise woke him, and he was ready for it. He quickly jumped off the bed and ran to great the two men coming to get him.

"I am coming with you," he said to the two men. He saw the looks of shock cross their faces, but they simply stepped aside and let him walk between them. The one on the left grabbed his arm as though to guide the boy, and he ripped his arm free.

"I can walk fine, thanks," he said as condescendingly as possible. The man did not try to grab him again. They made their way to the car outside and the boy climbed in the back. And the car began to drive...*

He snapped wide a wake, and had to squint at the light spilling through from the balcony. He let his eyes adjust a moment, then looked around... and his jaw fell to the floor.

He was in a huge room, quite possibly the largest room he had ever seen occupied by only one person before. The walls were a bright yellow, and there were paintings hanging sporadically across the walls. There was a door way that led out into the hall, he knew, from the memories rushing into his head, and the hall was one of many in the mansion. The sunlight was spilling through the balcony doors, and it fell warm on his face. the bed was a huge four-poster, with curtains pinned back on the posts so as the let in the light, and the mattress was so soft and warm, and the blankets thick and wonderful. He jumped off the bed and walked out onto the balcony. And this time he did laugh out loud.

He was standing on a cliff on the sea, and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The waves crashed against the base of the cliff and billowed in white and blue and green, and the sun was rising over the water, the bright yellow sun, and it warmed everything it touched. He simply stood there and let the warmth wash over him for moment. Suddenly he heard the shuffling of feet from the room behind him, and he spun around and almost screamed.

"Your breakfast for you, young master," said the Fat Lady. She held a tray of food in her arms, and the smell, a smell the boy could remember, but had never truly had. It was amazing. The sweetest, most mouthwatering smell ever. He walked into the room cautiously, eyeing the Fat Lady.

"Put it just there," he said, pointing to the small table by his bed. He knew this was where he always had her place the tray.

The fat lady put the tray on the table and made a small bow, then simply stood there.

"What do want?" the boy asked harshly. The Fat Lady flinched at his tone, and he had a memory, somewhere, and image. A very confusing, disturbing, image. Of them on the beach together, and he was laughing, and was sitting reading a book, and he felt something for her, felt that she could be something to him.

The boy pushed the images from his mind. He had seen what this lady could do, what she would become, had he not turned things around.

"Get out out," he snapped at her. He saw her look at him with a hurt, confused look on her face, but then she made the same small bow and left. He went over to the table and, sitting at the edge of his bed, began picking at the food. Then he checked himself. What was he doing? He was there on a mission, that was it, and he needed to get it done. Right? But how, really, and the food was just sitting there. What could it hurt to eat a bit of it.

The first bight was delicious, like heaven in his mouth, and he took his time chewing. then he swallowed. Then he took another bite. And another. Soon the entire tray was polished off, and he lay back on his bed a moment, and his eyes felt heavy. But he had just woken up, hadn't he? Why was he so tired? He had something to do, he couldn't go back to sleep, not now. Not now...

*The dream was different. He wasn't in the orphanage, he was in the house, with his imaginary parents, and the father sitting at the dinner table talking about his day, and his sister, sitting across from him, looked at him, and the question, the question he had never heard, came from her lips.*

*"Why?"*

*Why? That was it? Why? And the boy thought about it a moment, then replied, "Why not?", and a smile began to form on his sisters lips, and then he was smiling, but then the world was shaking....*

And they were gone, and there was a face above his own, a face he did not recognize, the face of an old man with not hair and a crooked nose, and he tried to move, but couldn't. He looked at his feet and hands and saw that they were clamped to the chair he was now sitting in, and he turned his head this way and that, taking everything in, trying to find a way out.

"You cannot escape, not here," said the old man, a cruel smile revealing crooked yellow teeth. "Here, you can't even sleep, so you can't change it."

The boy looked at the man, shocked. How did he know? Who was he? The boy tried to ask a question, but nothing came out of his mouth. He felt as though every fiber of his body was on fire, and sizzling for action, needing to move. He was awake. So awake. He felt as though he would never sleep again, and the thought made his heart fill with dread.

TO BE CONTINUED

title: The Boy Who Dreamed: Pt. 2

question: Describe the sequence of the boy's dreams.

answer: The boy always dreamed every time he slept. Since being in the orphanage, he's dreamed himself into different scenarios. However, he had a dreamless night for the first time one night. After an encounter with the boy from the next cell, he ate his porridge and slept, and this time he dreamt. First, he found himself with two men who wanted to adopt him. Next, he found himself in a mansion overlooking the sea and watched as the waves crashed. Then, a fat lady came to deliver his breakfast to him and realized he had a memory of her. Next, he found himself with his imaginary parents and sister having dinner at the dinner table. Suddenly, they disappeared. He then found himself tied to a chair in a room with an old man, but this time, it didn't feel like a dream; it felt like reality.

question: What does the story say about why the boy was in a cell?

question: Describe how the writer uses imagery in the story.

answer: The writer uses different imagery in the story to describe the boy's experiences and give readers an insight into the boy's dreams and memories. The writer uses auditory imagery to describe the communication between the boy and the other boy in the next cell. The writer uses sight to give a vivid image of what the narrator sees in his dreams; his imaginary parents and sister, the mansion and the gorgeous massive room with a large bed overlooking the sea, the crashing of the waves of the sea, and the memory of the boy and the fat lady. The writer uses smell to describe the familiar scent of the delicious meal the fat lady served the boy for breakfast and explains how delicious the first bite of the food is through taste imagery. The writer uses tactile imagery to describe the extremity of the room temperature and its impact on the boy.


text:
WAYNE ARTHUR WHISTLER (October 12, 1944 – April 2, 2020) was an American ethnobotanist, academic and writer. Whistler, an adjunct professor at the University of Hawaii's Department of Botany, was an expert on tropical flora of the Pacific Islands, especially Samoa and Tonga.[1][2]

Education and career

Whistler was born near Death Valley in San Bernardino County, California.[3][4] He earned a B.A. in Biology from the University of California, Riverside, in 1965; an M.A. in Botany, from the University of California, Santa Barbara, in 1966, and Ph.D. in Botany, from the University of Hawaii, in 1979.[5] Once he completed his first two degrees, Whistler served in the Peace Corps as a teacher at Samoa College in Apia, Western Samoa (now known as Samoa).[6][7] He then moved to Hawaii, where he completed a doctorate in botany from the University of Hawaii at Manoa, focusing on Samoan plant life, in 1979.[8]

After completing his Ph.D., Whistler was appointed to a position at the National Tropical Botanical Garden on Kauai and served as a researcher affiliated with the Bishop Museum.[9] He was an adjunct professor at University of Hawaii's Department of Botany and the Lyon Arboretum, a botanical garden managed by the university.[10] He also owned a consulting company, Isle Botanica, and worked on projects focusing on plants in Fiji, the Marshall Islands, the Northern Mariana Islands, Samoa, and Tonga.[11]

Whistler worked on research projects throughout Oceania, but specialized in the flora of Samoa and Tonga.[12] According to colleagues, he knew the Samoan language name for nearly every native plant in that country.[13] Whistler had first lived in Samoa during the 1970s, before the logging and tourism led to the deforestation of much of the country's rainforests.[14] As a result, he spent several decades training Samoans about the country's flora and its uses.[15] Whistler not only sought to protect Samoa's forests through his programs, but also resurrect some of Samoa's lost cultural and practical uses for its native plant life.[16]

Whistler authored more than a dozen books on the botany and ethnobotany of the Pacific Islands, including _Rainforest Trees of Samoa_, _Polynesian Herbal Medicine_, and _Plants of the Canoe People: An Ethnobotanical Voyage through Polynesia_, which focused on the plants utilized by Polynesian voyagers.[17]

Death

Whistler was already showing symptoms of COVID-19 in March, 2020.[18] He sought treatment at a Hawaiian urgent care facility, but was not tested for coronavirus, despite his symptoms.[19] He tested positive for COVID-19 on March 8 and was placed on life support on March 10th, but his condition continued to deteriorate and he died at Honolulu's Kaiser Moanalua Hospital in on April 2 at the age of 75.[20][21] His death was Hawaii's third fatality related to the COVID-19 pandemic.[22] At the time of his death, Whistler had nearly completed another book called _Flora of Samoa_, which he had worked on for most of his professional life. The book was meant to be a definitive guide to Samoa's native plants.[23]

Selected works authored

-   _Rainforest Trees of Samoa: A Guide to the Common Lowland and Foothill Forest Trees of the Samoan Archipelago_, University of Hawaiʻi Press
-   _Plants in Samoan Culture: The Ethnobotany of Samoa_, University of Hawaiʻi Press
-   _The Samoan Rainforest: A Guide to the Vegetation of the Samoan Archipelago_, University of Hawaiʻi Press
-   _Samoan Herbal Medicine: 'O La'au ma Vai Fofo o Samoa_, University of Hawaiʻi Press
-   _Wayside Plants of the Islands: A Guide to the Lowland Flora of the Pacific Islands_, University of Hawaiʻi Press
-   _Polynesian Herbal Medicine_, University of Hawaiʻi Press
-   _Flowers of the Pacific Island Seashore: A Guide to the Littoral Plants of Hawai'i, Tahiti, Samoa, Tonga, Cook Islands, Fiji, and Micronesia_, University of Hawaiʻi Press
-   _Tongan Herbal Medicine_, University of Hawaiʻi Press[24]

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title: Arthur Whistler

question: Summarize Whistler's activities during the 1970s.

answer: He moved to Hawaii and completed a doctorate in botany from the University of Hawaii at Manoa, focusing on Samoan plant life, in 1979. He lived in Samoa during the 1970s before the logging and tourism led to the deforestation of the country's rainforests.

question: Summarize everything related to Arthur Whistler's homes.

answer: Whistler was born near Death Valley in San Bernardino County, California. He served in the Peace Corps in Apia, Western Samoa. Afterwards, he moved to Hawaii. He first lived in Samoa during the 1970s.

question: What does the article say about Whistler's childhood?

question: Summarize everything related to Samoa.

answer: Whistler was an expert on tropical flora of Pacific Islands, especially Samoa and Tonga. He served in the Peace Corps as a teacher at Samoa College in Apia, Western Samoa. When he moved to Hawaii, he completed a doctorate focusing on Samoan plant life. He later worked on projects focusing on plants in Samoa and other Pacific islands. He knew the Samoan language name for nearly every native plant. He first lived there in the 1970s and spent several decades training Samoans about the country's flora and its uses. He sought to protect Samoa's forests and resurrent its lost cultural and pracitcal uses for its native plant life. He authored a book titled Rainforest Trees of Samoa. At the time of his death, he'd nearly completed a book called Flora of Samoa, which was meant to be a definitive guide to Samoa's native plants.


text:
DAVID M. MOSSER is an American researcher, academic and author. He is Professor of Cell Biology and Molecular Genetics at University of Maryland and the Director of Maryland Pathogen Research Institute.Mosser’s research is primarily in the field of immunology. He is most known for the discovery and characterization of macrophages with anti-inflammatory and growth-promoting activity, termed regulatory macrophages. He has written over 150 articles in scientific journals that have been cited over 25,000 times.[1]

Education

Mosser received his B.S. and M.S. from University of Bridgeport in 1975.[2] He received his Ph.D. in Immunology from North Carolina State University in 1982. He completed his post doctoral training at Harvard Medical School.[3]

Career

In 1985, Mosser joined Cornell University as an Assistant Professor. He left Cornell University in 1988 and joined Temple University Medical School where he rose to the rank of Full Professor in 1999. In 2000, he joined the University of Maryland as Professor of Cell Biology and Molecular Genetics. In 2005, he was appointed as the Director of Maryland Pathogen Research Institute.

In 2003, Mosser served as the President of Society for Leukocyte Biology.[4] He was the Chair of Division E (Immunology) of the ASM (2012)[5] and a member of the NIH, NIAID Board of Scientific Councilors (2005-2010). He has been on the Editorial Boards of the _Journal of Biological Chemistry_ (2007-2012), the _Journal of Immunology_ (2008-2012), _Infection and Immunity_ (2005-2008), and the _Journal of Leukocyte Biology_ (2004-2009). He continues to serve on the Editorial Boards of _mBio_ (since 2010),[6] _Frontiers in Immunology_ (since 2010),[7] and of _Microbiology Spectrum_ (since 2014).[8]Mosser was appointed as the Chair of Maryland Stem Cell Commission in 2017.[9]

Research

Regulatory macrophages

Mosser's laboratory has studied the heterogeneity of macrophages, and the roles these cells play in positively or negatively influencing adaptive immune responses. Mosser is generally credited with identifying and characterizing a population of macrophages with anti-inflammatory and immunoregulatory activity, termed Regulatory Macrophages (R-MΦ).[10] They hypothesize that the generation of these cells can be exploited to mitigate autoimmunity. Conversely, the deletion of these cells may potentiate immune responses.[11]

Macrophage cytokine production

Macrophages are secretory cells, and the cytokines they produce play an important role in modifying innate and adaptive immune responses. Mosser and his colleagues have examined cytokine production by macrophages and have characterized the transcription factors and signaling pathways involved in cytokine production by differentially stimulated macrophages. Their research has shown that NF-kB p50 homodimers are uniquely involved in IL-10 induction in macrophages, that activation of the MAPK p38 is required for IL-12 production in macrophages, and that macrophage secretory products can exert an intrinsic influence on cytokine production.[12]

Transcriptomic studies to better understand macrophages

Mosser has utilized high throughput RNA sequencing to examine the transcriptomes of the various macrophage subpopulations, and to better understand the dynamics of intracellular infections in macrophages. He provided a simultaneous analysis of macrophages and parasite transcripts over time as L. major established an in vitro infection in human macrophages. Mosser and his lab analyzed L. major gene expression during differentiation. They have profiled host and parasite transcripts in lesions of patients with cutaneous L. braziliensis infections and with diffuse cutaneous infections with L. amazonensis.[13]

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title: David Mosser

question: Summarize Mosser's career.

answer: Mosser first joined Cornell University as an Assistant Professor. He then joined Temple University Medical School and became a Full Professor there. Later, he joined the University of Maryland as a Professor of Cell Biology and became the Director of Maryland Pathogen Research Institute. He later was the Chair of Division E of the ASM and a member of NIH, NIAID Board of Scientific Councilors. Since then, he's served on the boards of numerous journals and organizations.

question: Summarize the research done by Mosser.

answer: Mosser has done extensive research related to macrophages. He did research on regulatory macrophages, macrophage cytokine production, and transcriptomic studies to better understand macrophages. These are secretory cells that produce cytokines that play a major role in modifying immune responses.

question: Summarize Mosser's family life.


text:
Taking a deep breath, Daniel turned the knob. He walked into the room trying to assess his surroundings quickly while still maintaining his composure. The room was medium sized. Guards flanked the doors and lined the walls. The table in the center contained a machine, placed in front of its terrified operator, and wires leading towards--Daniel heard the door lock behind him, sealing him in with that ... _thing_. The creature lay in the center of the room, its presence consuming and demanding. It did nothing to warrant this attention, it lacked even the slightest hint of movement, yet it commanded the attention of every human. Daniel approached the table.

His steps reverberated throughout the room, cleaving the silence.

Each step brought discomfort.

Daniel hid is unease.

He wore his face like a mask.

But, his eyes tore the room apart instinctively, looking for separation.

Yet, he continued forward.

Daniel closed the distance between him and the thing until he was close enough to look down upon it.

He dragged the chair back. There was a sigh of relief in the room as the sound put an end to the silence. The guards readjusted their weapons; the operator began to fiddle with his equipment; and the thing … rippled. Perhaps it was a welcoming-- Daniel sneered, or a challenge. Daniel looked at the operator who continued to nervously fiddle with his equipment in a transfixed manner.

Daniel quickly lifted his briefcase onto the table, unconsciously determined to keep the silence at bay. The briefcase opened with a satisfying click. He spread the pages across his end of the table. He hadn’t even had time to read up on the literature before he was rushed here, so he slowly began to rustle through the documents one by one.

In one of the dossiers, Daniel saw pictures of the thing taken a few hours ago when it had first arrived. It looked ... different. Daniel dared a glance at the thing. It was duller now, more opaque, than it was in the photos. Its “flaps” and “fins” drooped, and its entire body looked like it was being compressed and squashed against the table. It reminded him of melted ice cream. Daniel’s stomach churned and he looked back down towards the reports. He only scanned the next fifty pages. In total, the reports said nothing about it in thousands of words. It was an enigma and unlike anything else.  He was the first. He had his shot before even the scientists could get their hands on it. He didn’t know whether to feel honored or terrified.

Daniel noticed a slight noise coming from the receiver on the table. Grimacing, Daniel picked up the receiver and placed it in his ear. He disliked this but it was “standard” procedure.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a voice demanded.

Daniel did not recognize the voice but it was filled with an arrogance that enraged him. Daniel turned his steely gaze towards one of the cameras.

“I assume you’d like me to know what it is exactly that I’m doing sir. Perhaps next time you should give me more time to read th--“

“Colonel Lehmann! You were sent to communicate with the threat and decide the best course of action. Now if you are incapable of this very simple task you will be relieved. Understood?”  That was the Secretary of Defense. How many bureaucrats hid in the shadows, watching with safety behind their cameras and walls? If you turned on a light would they scatter…?

“Crystal,” said Daniel.

He slid his papers away, clearing the field. He looked back at the thing’s side. It seemed even duller than the last time he had looked but he couldn’t be sure. Daniel nodded to the operator and received a shaky thumbs-up.

They were good to go. “Why are you here?” Daniel inquired.

The machine began to beep as the operator quickly worked on deciphering each letter into dots and dashes. Finally the operator slumped back into his seat. He fidgeted with items near him to occupy himself until it answered--if it answered.

Daniel felt the hairs on his neck rise and tasted ozone. There was a sharp crack as the operator dropped his pencil. Daniel looked around to see that the guards had raised their weapons slightly and the operator was stiff with his eyes staring straight out, staring slightly past the thing, like a deer caught in headlights. They sensed it too. The machine began to hiss with static. Then the voices began, like several people speaking at once, not fighting for air but sharing it.

“We are here as messengers,” the voices said.

Then the bureaucrats began. It started with disconcerted mumbling occasionally loud enough to be transmitted and then broke out into yelling and arguments. Daniel rubbed his temples. They were already at each other’s throats. Doing his best to ignore the receiver, Daniel glanced around the room admiring the unflinching guards. They held their weapons with a trained ease, confident in the superiority they provided. But in such a case as this, could they really be sure?

“What do you mean by “we?” Daniel said.

“Those who stand before you and those we represent.”

The thing’s--perhaps things’-- antennae gave a lazy dismissive flick. Could it really be multiple creatures?

“What are you?”

“There is no auditory representation of us. You may choose your own.”

“How many of you are here?”

“Just us.” The thing began to ripple more erratically. “We do not have time for this.”

Daniel leaned forward, “What is your message?”

“End all emission of electrical signals--immediately.”

The noise from the receiver broke into a roar. The bureaucrats knew exactly what was at stake. Economies would be crippled. Society and development would be flung decades back. Preventing a few people out of seven billion from using electrical signals is infeasible. Most importantly, even if it were possible, reelection after implementing such a procedure would not be.

“You want us to turn off all our wireless transmissions?”

The creature … expanded. “Yes.”

“We cannot.” Even with the continuous yelling, the humans listening in seemed to agree on this much. Daniel waited for the operator to transmit his message. He was slow in doing so, and his actions and responses were slurred like a man in daze.

Before the operator had transmitted the message, the static hissed from the machine again, causing the operator to nearly leap backwards into the arms of one of the guards.

“Why?!”

Daniel nearly flinched. His heartbeat quickened and he had to forcefully pace himself. In an effort to mask his unease he nonchalantly motioned for someone to bring him water. Daniel turned his impassive face towards the thing again with renewed hostility.

 “We do not trust you.” He heard the bureaucrats murmur an agreement--the stars must have been aligned.

The fins rippled and groups of voices took turns to speak, “Your emissions are a beacon, a beacon that could lead them to us or yourselves. They are close. And if they find you, they will destroy us all.”

“Who are they?”

“Nomads. Parasites. Conquerors. If they find you it will only be a matter of time before you reveal us. You _must_ stop”

Additional Info: This was originally a homework assignment. It's been long since completed and submitted and I wish to continue it for my own benefit. However, I feel like I hit a wall in the writing and can't continue. I want the encounter to end with hostility but I cannot get it to unfold in such a manner. Any critique and suggestions would be hugely appreciated.

title: [SF] The Encounter

question: Why has the writer published this story

answer: The writer wrote this story as a homework assignment. Now he wants to complete the story but has hit a blank. He is asking the audience for ideas on how to complete the story.

question: What does the monster want and why?

answer: The monster says that they are there to bring a message. The message is that all electrical transmissions must stop immediately. Nomads, parasites and conquerors will pick up the transmission and find those on earth.