text:
Canadian researchers are preparing for an orbital launch in 2016 that they say will serve as one of the first real tests of a major new satellite-based flight tracking technology.

Speaking at this year's annual meeting of the Canadian Space Society, Royal Military College of Canada (RMCC) researcher Dr. Ron Vincent said that the tracking tech would have shown "not where [Malaysia Airlines Flight 370] went down, but at least exactly where she lost power."

A company called Aireon is also planning to launch a constellation of satellites equipped with the technology beginning next year.

Currently, aircraft automatically broadcast their location to ground-based receivers using a technology called Automatic Dependent Surveillance broadcast (ADS-b). It's one of the key technologies that enables planes to safely fly close to one another in populated areas. At sea however, or over large undeveloped areas like Canada's North, ground-based tracking is often impossible, and planes can slip out of active surveillance for long periods of time.

  Read More link: When Will Canada Get a Spaceport? When It Has More Things to Launch

To compensate, a method for transmitting ADS-b signals to satellites overhead, rather than ground-based receiving stations, has been proposed.

Dr. Vincent's team has been researching solutions to some of the anticipated problems posed by the constant transmission of ADS-b signals between the Earth's surface and Low Earth Orbit. For example, in congested airspace—such as the corridor between New York and Washington—overlapping transmissions can interfere with one another and reduce the overall number of readable ADS-b signals that reach satellite-based receivers.

They conducted the first stratospheric test of tech technology in 2011 via high-altitude balloons, under the name Flying Laboratory for the Observation of ADS-B Transmissions, or FLOAT. Though governments and corporations were already considering large space-based ADS-b plans at that point, the FLOAT experiments were the first real demonstrations outside of simulations of how space-based ADS-b would work.

The signal strengths achieved in the FLOAT experiments have been encouraging, and the RMCC team's congestion study found that, with proper signal processing, no plane should spend more than 3.7 seconds out of contact, even over the ocean. That's vastly superior to the 10 or so minute gaps over the open ocean today, and even below the maximum 15 seconds currently enforced within air-traffic control zones.

Next year, RMCC researchers will continue their work by launching a prototype satellite ADS-b receiver of their own design as a secondary payload on the CanX-7 mission. It will be one of the first tests conducted at real orbital altitude.

Commercial tests will also be conducted next year by a company called Aireon, a partnership between Nav Canada, which runs the country's civil air navigation system, and the US satellite company Iridium. ADS-b receivers will be hosted on the 66 satellite Iridium NEXT constellation, the first of which will be launched next year. It could provide coverage to virtually the entire surface of the Earth, which Aireon plans to offer free of charge in emergency situations.

If successful, not only could Aireon's service make the skies safer, and downed planes easier to find, but it will also enable airlines to lower the minimum separation between aircraft in busy trans-oceanic corridors from to 80 nautical miles to 15, according to the Financial Post. Today's arduous trans-Atlantic flights could then take quicker, more fuel-efficient routes, plot more dynamic paths around rough weather, and even fly in higher volume during the times of day people actually want to travel.

The UN World Radiocommunication Conference recently chose a segment of the radio spectrum to reserve for space-based ADS-b signals. This should pave the way for the Iridium-based receivers to begin monitoring air traffic and improving flight paths as early as 2018.

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question: Summarize the benefits of the newly-researched satellite-based Automatic Dependent Surveillance broadcast (ADS-b).

answer: Canadian researchers are preparing for an orbital launch of one of the first tests of the new satellite-based flight tracking technology. Currently, aircrafts automatically broadcast their locations to ground-based receivers using ADS-b. However, this mode is not effective when planes are over the sea or in large underdeveloped areas where tracking is impossible. Researchers have since come up with a satellite-based tracking system that maintains a strong signal strength as well as limits the amount of time a plane can remain off-radar. It is said that the new system should be able to make aircraft plot a more fuel-efficient route, fly safer during rough weathers, and fly during higher volumes of travel without a hitch.

question: Why has is the private sector testing the new satellite-based ADS-b alongside the public sector?


split: test

text:
*The world has been ravaged by an extremely contagious airborne disease. The symptoms?  It is by no means deadly, however...*

*It turns your bones into strawberry jam.*

*The city of Manhattan has been completely overrun by the disease. Except for one group of uninfected....*

&#x200B;

"Alright, guys. Let's move out." Sebastian, the *de facto* leader of the group, has a plan to get out of the city. "I dunno, man, we're not gonna get infected, are we...?" asks Jonesy, ever the worrier. "No, Jonesy, because as you would've known if you had paid attention during our meetings, I have a plan that *should* be foolproof." "Well, yeah, *should* be...."

While the two continue their exchange, the last member sits in the corner, quiet as always. This is Kyle. He always seemed to be zoning out in one way or another. At least, that's what it seemed. "-well what does Kyle think then?" He lifted his gaze from the floor to find the two fellow survivors staring expectantly at him. ".....uh, sorry, what?" Sebastian rolled his eyes, a routine gesture between the two. "I *asked* you what you thought of the plan."

"........plan?"

"You're kidding, right?" Sebastian seemed to be losing his composure. "Do EITHER OF YOU even listen during our meetings? Look, if we stay in here too long, the virus is gonna get in. And then we're all fucked. So I have a plan." The other two seem tuned in. Hopefully, anyway.

"So. The local police HQ has recently started employing a new kind of stab-proof armour called *carbon nanofiber.* It's basically diamond fabric. And, turns out it lets *just* enough oxygen through that you could survive about 10-15 minutes of being gagged with it, but the mesh is *just too tight* to let most viruses through."

"OK, how is this relevant, exactly?" enquired Jonesy.

Sebastian looked him right in the eye.

"MAYBE if you let me TALK, you would know by now."

Jonesy shuffled in his chair.

"I'll take that as a characteristic "fine".

"Anyway, it *just so happens* that my ID card hasn't *quite* expired yet. Meaning that I can get in. And this crappy sewer we're holed up in *just so happens* to be situated right next to HQ.

"Just close enough, in fact, that I can get in and out quick  enough to grab some and get back here without getting infected." Sebastian finishes his explanation triumphantly.

"...well..?"

"Actually, Seb," Kyle spoke up, "I've been thinking about something."

"W-what-?"

"Hear me out for a sec. The virus, it turns your bones into strawberry jam, right?"

"Y.....yeah, but where are you-"

"Getting to it, Jonesy. And we’ve confirmed that the infected *do,* in fact, *stay alive* post-conversion, right?”

“Right, so…?”

“So *that* means that *if* we just *let ourselves get infected,* then we’ll still be alive, and since bones heal, we’d have an infinite source of strawberry jam, which in turn means we’d have a solution to world hunger. And, since strawberry jam is a *liquid,* we’d never suffer broken bones again.”

The other two stare. And stare.

“Kyle.”

“Yeah, Seb?”

*6 months later…*

*100% of Earth’s population has been infected with what has become known as the Jam Flu. As a result, world hunger has come to an end, and childhood injuries are at an all-time low. To combat the movement problems, most humans now use wheelchairs. To top it all off, the average human lifespan has increased to approximately 105 years.*

***The human race has evolved.***

title: [HM] The Jam Epidemic

question: What is the main conflict of the story?

answer: A contagious airborne disease that turns ones' bones into jelly has ravaged the world. There are a small group of uninfected that are trying to survive.

question: What is the resolution to the story?

answer: The group of uninfected individuals realize that because the disease is non-lethal, they can purposefully infect themselves and force the evolution of humanity.

question: What does Sebastian do for a living?

question: How many people have died from the disease?


text:
								Rider

My mom has always been supportive of my career as a musician. My dad never got around to it. The only bands he’d ever listen to were the Beatles and Rolling Stones. He wanted the Beatles played at his funeral, which he got. My mom never talks about the music that she listens to  except for her uncle Alan who toured the Midwest in the 50’s as a troubadour;  he’s still famous in our town.
	I haven’t been home in a while, not that I miss it much. I moved to LA when I was 23. I was bored by the people, bored by my job at the grocery store and tired of not seeing anything happening. When I moved I had most of my” LA-experiences” during the first six months, right drugs- wrong people, that sort of thing. I thought the substances would inspire me as it seemed to inspire others but that never happened. I also played some gigs with local small-timers but it never amounted to much.
	My fourth summer in LA came around and thats when I met Terrie outside a used-car shop. I’d been looking to replace dad’s station-wagon that I’d driven to the coast.As  I was standing there looking over some of my options I saw the glint of peroxide-blonde hair and sweaty fish-net stockings out of the corner of my eye. I remember the coral lipstick, which I later learned was her favorite, so shiny on those lips. She walked up to me to bum a cigarette. As I’d recently quit smoking I apologized and told her I didn’t have any on me. Disappointed, she asked me for a lighter to borrow if she could bum a smoke from a man that was standing by a newsstand across the street. I didn’t have a lighter either but I reached into my vest pocket for the book of matches I always kept there. As I handed it to her she thanked me and smiled in the most heartbreaking manner that I knew that I had to make her mine. Although I was more of what you might call the singer-songwriter type than a rocker this girl with her glam rock look was something else. Underneath that done up exterior I could see that she was pretty in an old-fashioned way. Later, when we were married, I used to tell her that she was like a burning wheat field blowing in the summer wind; she never understood what I meant. Our courtship was fast on because on account of her parents being strictly religious. Terrie was only 21 when we married but they consented and gave us their blessing because I was “a good God-fearing Midwestern boy.”

	Through Terrie I got more involved in the rock scene and discovered I had a knack for writing catchy riffs. I joined one of the local outfits who were in need of a guitarist and shortly after that we played as support band for one of the west coasts most famous bands on their US tour. Crazy days of touring and debauchery followed but after rising tensions in the band and disagreements with our management we decided to call it quits.
	Then Terrie got pregnant. She was excited but seeing as her job at the record store didn’t pay much and my being unemployed, I was worried to say the least. Fortunately I lucked out in joining as a touring and studio session guitarist with a band that had just signed a big deal with a major label. Unfortunately this mean being on the road for long stretches at a time. things quickly went downhill in our relationship and it was while touring in Japan that I got the terrible news that Terrie had suffered a miscarriage. She was inconsolable and quit her job. I tried to be home as much as I could to care for her but my contractual obligations took me out of town again. things between us never recovered after that and I blame myself for that. Two months after the loss of our child iÍ got a call from Roy, a sergeant in the Marines who tells me he’s in love with my wife and she is in love with him and they are going to Germany. While this news hurt at first I can’t say I was surprised; I kept my nose to the grind to give me something else to think about. One tour lead to another and after 5 years the band went through a lineup change and I was thrust into the role of frontman. Evidently I did something right as we quickly started selling out the largest arenas and stadiums. We got through 3 good tours before ticket sales started to dwindle. These days we play to fairly large clubs and such, I don’t complain, seeing as it brings in good money. I live a private and enjoyable life.
	I’ve never met Terrie since our marriage ended but last I heard Roy was killed in a combat exercise and she had gotten remarried to a journalist. Even though our relationship went to pieces I still cherish terrie and our times together.
	At the venues we play the band usually has extensive requirements to ensure their comfort. My only requests on the rider are one ham sandwich and two fingers of bourbon. I usually go out into whichever city we’re playing that night and walk around while eating my sandwich. Even though the band is still fairly popular people seldom recognize me off the stage. I also try to find a bookstore to buy something by a local author for those long flights and bus rides. Just before showtime I’ll find a quiet spot in the venue and toast my parents, my hometown and my Terrie.

title: First Short story post(sorry bout the amount of suckiness)

question: Summarize how the main character changes over the story.

answer: The main character goes from being an aspiring small-town musician to the frontman of a band playing in large arenas. He moved to LA at 23 but his journey to success took time. He goes from being a person who can't wait to get away from home to someone who toasts his parents, hometown, and ex-wife before every show.

question: What does the story say about how music is produced?

question: Summarize what the story says about Terrie's relationships.

answer: First, Terrie and the protagonist start a relationship. There is an immediate spark and they quickly get married when Terrie is still 21. They later get divorced and then Terrie begins a relationship with Roy, a sergeant in the Marines. After Roy is killed in combat, Terrie gets remarried to a journalist.


text:
Across the most of earth we met

Mid-summer muse of no lament

Back off you went across the world

After thee my soul unfurled.

	- Leak for Helen | two months later.

In a seaside town called Kep, to the far eastern side of Cambodia there walked three young men. Flint was tall blond and muscular, Sam was of moderate height and slim, Leak was taller than Sam but shorter than Flint and of a light and toned build.  All three had shoulder length hair and tan skin from their days of diving and swimming at the mouth of the Kampot River. Leak was the eldest and a philosopher at heart; he peered into the world with his green eyes and gently rolled over in his mind what was presented to him. Flint and Sam were less lofty and were of natures that gave rise to enjoyable times. Together the three balanced each other and created an air of harmony not seen often between men.

They were barefoot and on the sea shore. The air was heavy with the possibility of rain and Leak was sniffing for a place to hide before the deluge so typical of this time of year came thundering. He spotted a small café in a style reminiscent of the French colonial outpost that Kep once was. It had an off yellow tin roof with faded white wooden walls open to the street. They entered the café, Bluebird it was called, and made towards a low table near the back. As they did, two girls with dark hair and delicate features arrived and made to sit. Leak asked if they minded company, as the place was full.

“Of course not.” the taller one let out, her tongue throwing forward an accent dripping with sanguinity and oddly shaped vowels.

They sat down, the two girls with their backs to the wall. The three young men spread evenly, Leak and Flint to each end of the small rectangle table with Sam taking the position directly opposite the two girls.

“Where are you two from?” asked Leak.
“Austria,” the shorter one replied.
“How is that going for you?” inquired Leak.
The tall one smirked and looked at the shorter one. “What kind of question is that?”
“A reasonable one,” chimed in Sam.
“It has done us well so far,” the taller one answered, looking at the shorter one.
“And names?” asked Leak.
“Do you always phrase your questions so ridiculously?” asked the shorter one,
“I’m Elena, and her name is Helen,” said the taller one nodding her head towards the shorter one.  Helen was spreading her gaze equally over the three men; her little brown eyes searching for comfortable place to settle.
“Do you have names?” asked Helen.
“Flint, Sam and Leak, we are all from Australia,” replied Flint, nodding to Sam and Leak in turn.

At this the waiter arrived, a thin Cambodian teen, with bright eyes and sharp features. His dark skin was perfect in the dimly lit café. He mulled them over and informed the group that the only food available was river crab and coffee. The girls ordered coffee. The young men only coming in to escape the rain, which had just started, ordered coffee as well. Leak rolled a cigarette and stared Helen down. Flint had noticed this about Leak previously and didn’t enjoy it; he had told him before that it was too personal and made him appear intense.  Leak however was entrapped, this Helen, so aptly named was to be his muse. Flint, not seeing inside Leaks mind had no idea of his friend’s thoughts. Leak lit the cigarette as the waiter brought over the five coffees. Lightly smoking he continued staring at Helen.

Helen, noticing Leaks gaze looked down at the centre of her black coffee and swilled it, losing herself in the rhythmic back and forth motions the liquid made on the edges of the porcelain cup.
“What are you doing this evening?” Leak quietly asked Helen. Flint was watching him, interested in how his friend would chose his next line of questions.
“We will go out for a drink, we have two other girlfriends we are here with and they leave tomorrow. What abut you Leak? What are you and these pair doing?”

The rain stopped.

Leak stood and motioned to Flint and Sam to do the same. His stare had gone from Helens face and he gently said, “we’ll find you girls tonight, there aren’t many places along this beach.”

With that the boys left. Leak first, Sam second and finally Flint, who had lingered a moment to raise his hands level with his shoulders in that unconvincing apologetic way so favored by people embarrassed and not understanding their acquaintances actions. He hurried to catch up with Leak and Sam.
“What was that man? Those girls were cool no?”
“That’s the problem, I’m too sober to be in her presence, I was making a fool of myself staring at her. Let’s get a bottle or two and play cards until tonight.”
“Yeah alright,” chimed in Sam.

The three young men got three bottles of local rice liquor from the old Cambodian men who lived across the small alleyway from where they were staying. It was two streets back from the beach and was high set. They had a wooden balcony that jutted out over a small laundry shop where clothes hung to dry and women and children played, cooked and worked through the day. Flint got out his deck of cards and the boys started to play poker. Leak had them dialed. Flint only ever bet big if he had a good hand and Sam would always bite when Flint did this. Leak would bet small here and bluff there, and fold whenever Flint made a big bet. It was all a non-event really, but it was fun passing the few dollars they were using back and forth for the afternoon. The conversation turned back to the Helen and Elena.
“Helen was beautiful wasn’t she?” said Leak, probing, hoping the other two weren’t as interested in her as he was.
“They both were,” replied Sam as he dragged on his cigarette, pulling his long hair into a low bun.
“I hope we find them tonight, they’ll be sure to be around one of the quieter places to the east of the beach” said Leak, putting down pocket aces and winning the six dollar pot that had accumulated.
“Bastard… I thought you were bluffing,” laughed Flint.
Leak looked at him through his green eyes and took a sip from his cup. The old boys across the road had sorted them out well with this drop; its lubricating effects were beginning to be felt by the group.
“I wonder if she has ever been in love,” posed Leak.
“Probably,” said Sam
“I don’t like that,” said Leak
“ahh bugger it man, she’s here now, who knows her story, no point in creating demons in your brain over it.” Said Flint nonchalantly.
Leak looked at him and wondered if he meant that. Flint had a way of knowing when Leak was into something. It had been a while since Leak had been interested in a girl. He’d been out of it since his ex had left him.
Leak said, “I was disabled the first time that my ex slept with another person, but as time progressed I realised I wouldn’t get anywhere constantly feeling down at others pleasure.”
Sam looked at Leak and said, “You’re always chancing with somebody else’s first love anyway. Only the rare kind of love ignores that constant of the world. And bugger poker. I need to drink more, it’s getting late and I don’t want to pay for too many drinks tonight.”
Flint reshuffled the deck and laid down the rules. Three cards were to be drawn. One each. Whoever had the lowest number had to down the cup he had just filled up in the centre of the crooked wooden table. Flint dealt the cards. Sam lost with a six of spades. They played a few more rounds, slowly succumbing to the onset of that most European of intoxicants.

The afternoon drifted into a steamy Asian night. The children were calling to their mothers for food downstairs in their high-pitched scratchy voices. The sweet smell of the subcontinent had descended on the three and their minds were racing. Flint and Sam for what the perceived to be a night of wild abandon to come and Leak with a feeling of a man on the edge of his reason. They started along the softly lit pathway to the beachfront and made to the first bar. They walked in under the low doorway and sat with the locals at the small bench that circled the bar keep. They ordered a beer and sat. Thirty minutes passed and they had not seen the girls. Sam was drunk and implored Leak and Flint to continue on their search. The second bar, the same went down - nothing. Again they left.

As they partly stumbled, partly jostled their way down the long entrance to the third establishment, Leak spotted her. Sam and Flint continued to the bar to get drinks while Leak moved through the crowd towards Helen. She was wearing a light blue dress that hung just above her knees and left her looking several years younger than her actual age. The effect was enough to make the inside of Leaks heart shudder. They were both twenty-one and had the beauty of their youth still. They were gorgeous and the world smiled onto them wherever they went. Leak liked to think this thought, because in the moment it was absolute truth. And the finite instant of actuality in which reality exists is all there ever is. Our machinations about future prospects don’t matter.  At this thought Leak spoke to her.
“What makes you unhappy?” He asked.
“What a sad question.” Helen said, mulling the query over on her lips.
“It is, but I would like to know.” Leak replied his voice filled with firmness.
“I think being alone is what makes me the most unhappy.” She finally concluded.
They stared at each other for a moment. Leak was probing her face for a sign of  softening; she was probing his for a sign of care. Both had been looking for the other their whole lives and were about to water the first two seeds in their life gardens. They had to tread carefully.
“We’re here too!” Leak heard Flint cry.
He and Sam found the table, placing the ice bucket filled with beers in front of Leak. Helen introduced the friends that her and Elena had mentioned that afternoon.  Two tall girls called Lolly and Ciebel. Elena kissed the three boys on the cheek and grabbed a bottle. Lolly and Ciebel smiled shyly and spoke amongst themselves, both flitting Flint meek glances.

“I love being near the sea,” Helen leaned towards Leak and said. “Austria is too far from it, we do have beautiful lakes though.”
“You remind me of the water tonight, that blue dress and your gaze it hasn’t settled once, you are fluid.” replied Leak
Helen turned her face down and smiled under her hair. She brushed her arm against Leaks, only lightly. She wanted to see if he was aware of her movements. Was he wishing she would touch him? Leak was watching her every move; he was wishing she would touch him. She had him. It is true that a goddess can make man a servant and takes no lover lightly. She is fluid and malleable, she sees to Leaks heart and morphs to his deepest desire. Leak knows this, but on he goes. Does he think himself above the goddess, equal with her or deserving of her?
“Come with me” she sang, reaching for his hand, feeling his strong grip in her soft fingers.
Leak went. He loved her. Oh he loved her. She was moving through the moonlight, she was dancing with it. Leak thought of the Yeats poem ‘’The Stolen Child:’
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
 With a faery, hand in hand,
 For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
And he was crying. And she was laughing and she was pulling him further towards the sea.  And she slipped from her dress and let it fall off her shoulders and follow the small of her back past her thighs and into the damp sand. His shirt was off he was only in his ripped and faded shorts. She was naked and he was with her. They touched the water and in they went and down she pulled him. His Helen, her Leak, she couldn’t keep him down like she had in that first of stories. The water wouldn’t stay. It ran around him and off him in streams so delicate that in that instant he believed in a God, in an underlying reason to his being.

And they were laying on the beach now. Her under his arm, with the warm wet weight gently pressed against him.  Helen moved her small frame and leaned over Leak, straddling him.  She touched his face with her hands, holding the edges of his jaw. She leant forward again, closer this time; her breath was in his ear.
“Come home with me,” she mused.
Leak looked at her through the fall of her hair that had come to settle in his vision. He stared past the pools that were her eyes into her collected woman. She was the triumph of the ages. Man learned to love from her. How was it that he held her now? He settled is mind and said:
“I already am.”

A soft padding sound broke their gaze. Leak turned his eyes to the left and saw Sam and Flint leading the three girls towards him and Helen. Sam handed Leak a beer as Flint lay down old driftwood and started to make a small fire. The group sat in a half formed circle and watched on as Flint gave them warmth and light. Helen was talking to Elena. Leak was watching her. As he watched, he thought how beautiful it was that he had met her to the far eastern side of Cambodia in a seaside town called Kep.

title: [RF] Riparian: A Love Story

question: Summarize the story

answer: Three Australian men are on holiday in Cambodia. They stop in at a cafe and run into two Austrian girls. Leak, one of the Australians, is immediately attracted to Helen. He can't take his eyes off her. They make arrangements to meet later. Then the three men go home to drink and play cards. Later that night, they search the pubs until they find the girls. Leak and Helen go down to the beach and make love on the sand.


text:
If this message has made it to your subconscious, please, adopt me. I had a debacle with a Shaman and he trapped me in a child's body for eternity. I cannot reverse the spell, at least not without access to volatile chemicals, therefore I am stuck in this orphanage. I may be 170 years old, but I'm still a good boy. I will without hesitation eat all of my vegetables. If you need your chakras realigned, please adopt me.

My real father was a powerful sorcerer who taught me arts of enchantment. But if you would like to be my new father, I ask nothing more of you than a steady office job. Money, as frivolous a thing, is necessary however and I will need a weekly allowance to save up for the following items:

Snake Root,
Blessed Iron,
Hydra Sulfur,
Beggar's Tear,
Thrice Pickled Marrow,
Jewish Microphone

To obtain the aforementioned currency, I will do what I must. Lawn mowing, dish washing, or if you'd like, an incantation to protect you from all Earthly poisons. By adopting me, your home will be gowned in a mystic veil, protecting it from hurricanes, earthquakes, and people at the front door asking you about cable.

Fear not if you have other children, for I have had child's essence flowing through me for many years. I can and will synergize with your offspring. And I will refrain from passing on to them my immense Shakti and knowledge of the Spirit Realm without your express consent. Your family may have reservations when it comes to transmuting carbon atoms into a strong Mead, and I can respect that.

I beg of you, new Ma Ma and Da Da, free me from this orphanage imprisonment, and ultimately free me from this body as well. I will undoubtedly compensate you for your emotional trauma when I, your new son, walk down for breakfast in my true form of an 8 foot haggard Enchanter with a colony of birds in my beard. After said breakfast, I will wipe clean your memories of me. You will never see me again, but I will continue to watch you, from my Pond of Cosmic Truths. I will watch as you grow into gross, regular old people, but that is no fault of your own. And I will think of you fondly, when I am battling the retched Shaman who intertwined our fates in the beginning. I promise you, wimpy human foster parents, even if it takes 500 years, I will defeat that Shaman's bitch ass.

So please, come find me. I'm a fat ginger boy with buck teeth and uncontrollable gas, by the way.

title: [HM] Enchanter looking for a good home

question: What is the 170 year old enchanter boy aiming for?

answer: He is aiming to be adopted by anyone and in exchange, the boy will protect the home with a mystic veil.


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: Summarize the relationship between Jerry and his mother.

answer: The relationship between Jerry and his mother is quite pure. Jerry and his mother are close and Jerry even asks his mother to tell him a story. Jerry has heard this story a million times but loves hearing it from his mother. He even tells his mother he loves her before he goes to sleep. Jerry's mother also loves him and adores her son.

question: Will Jerry till this story to his kids when he is a parent?

question: What emotions does the story that Jerry's mom tells evoke?

answer: The story that Jerry's mom tells evokes feelings of safety and togetherness. The story makes one feel very safe and comfortable with their families, almost as though the story is meant to evoke a nostalgic mood. This story evokes feelings of love, good memories, and of being happy together.


text:
[Photograph of Vidal taken by himself] GEORGE WILLIAM VIDAL (23 September 1845 – 13 October 1907) was a British lawyer who worked in the Indian Civil Services in the Bombay Presidency and contributed to natural history studies from the Konkan region, and was involved in popularizing the modern form of badminton in India and in establishing the formal rules of the game. He observed and collected bird and snake specimens and collaborated with other naturalists in the region. A couple of bird subspecies are named after him.

Biography

[Vidal in later life, cartoon by Charles Ambrose|alt=Drawing of a tall thin man wearing white with a small beard holding a badminton racket and shuttlecock.] George William, the fifth son of Reverend Francis Vidal and the acclaimed novelist Mary Theresa, was born at Torrington, Devon. Reverend Vidal was a dominie in Eton and later vicar of Sutton, Suffolk. Vidal went to Eton College from 1854 to 1861, and was active in sports, winning the double sculls in 1860. He then became an associate of King's College and studied law with a thesis on “Law of Evidence and Notes on Cases Reported”. He joined the Indian Civil Services after passing the exam in 1865, and reached India in October 1867 becoming assistant collector in Bombay. He was called to the bar at Lincoln's Inn in 1877. He served in a number of positions including forest settlement officer, member of the mixed commission, Goa (1880, 85), president of the Bombay Forest Commission (1885), collector and magistrate in the Panch Mahals, political agent for Rewa Kantha, collector of salt revenue in Bombay (1888), chief secretary from 1895, and retired in 1897. On returning to England he was a member of the governing body of the Imperial Institute.[1]

Badminton

Vidal introduced the game of badminton in the Bombay Presidency, playing the first ever game there in Satara on 10 July 1873. He was involved in the establishment of the formal rules of the game in Poona in 1875. After retiring from India, he joined the English Badminton Association becoming honorary secretary and treasurer from 1897, succeeding Major S. S. C. Dolby. This was followed by a period of rapid growth in the game. He won the All England Veteran Badminton Doubles Championships thrice.[2]

Natural history

Vidal was a keen naturalist, an amateur photographer,[3] a talented guitarist, singer, and a motorcar enthusiast. He contributed numerous notes on the birds of the Konkan region to Allan Octavian Hume's journal _Stray Feathers_.[4][5] He collected specimens of birds which were sent to Hume and a few subspecies have been named after him including _Perdicula asiatica vidali_[6] and _Todiramphus chloris vidali_.[7] He later contributed to the _Journal of the Bombay Natural History Society_.[8][9] He was a fellow of the Zoological Society of London from 1897.[10]

Personal life

Vidal married Cecilia Palmer (died 1933) daughter of Lt. William Chapman on 2 January 1871 in Ratnagiri. They had two daughters Norah (1872-1939) and Winifred and a son Hugh. Norah Frances married Brig-Gen. Robert Mitchell Betham (2 May 1864 – 14 March 1940) who was also a keen ornithologist who was influenced in his boyhood by Vidal.[11] Vidal died at “Torrington”, West Hill, Sydenham and was buried in Elmer's End on 16 October 1907.[12]

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[2] Lawn Tennis and Badminton, March 6, 1907. p. 584.

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title: George William Vidal

question: What does the text say about Vidal's personal life and hobbies?

answer: Vidal's hobbies included being a naturalist, amateur photographer, talented guitarist, singer and motorcar enthusiast. He also collected specimens of birds. In his youth he was active in sports. He married Cecilia Palmer and they had three children Nora, Winifred, and Hugh.

question: What does the text say about birds?

answer: Vidal observed and collected birds. He contributed numerous notes on the birds of the Konkan region to Allan Octavian Hume's journal Stray Feathers. He also collected specimens of birds which were sent to Hume. Due to this, a few subspecies of birds have been named after him, Perdicula asiatica vidali and Todiramphus chloris vidali. Robert Mitchell Betham was an ornithologist who was influenced by Vidal.

question: What does the text say about the effects of British Imperialism?

question: Summarize everything before 1861.

answer: George William Vidal was born in 1845 at Torrington, Devon to parents Reverend Francis Vidal and mother Mary Theresa, an acclaimed novelist. He went to Eton College from 1854 to 1861. He was active in sports and won the double sculls in 1860.


text:
It was the summer before sixth grade. I was lounging around playing on my Gameboy. The summer just kicked off the week before and I was bored to death. My summer camp started in a week, so I was stuck doing nothing until then. I shifted uncomfortably as warm air poured through my window. It was way too hot so I only had my Sponge-Bob boxers on. I heard a slight knock on the door and my mother walked in.

“Yonas, honey?” I heard my mom’s soft voice speak. She took one look at me and chuckled. “You better put some pants on. We have new neighbors.”

“We have new neighbors?” I put my Gameboy down.

My mom nodded. “Yes sir. Also, I hear they have a daughter. Around your age, I think.” My mom smiled and walked out of my room “We’re bringing them over a cake in five minutes. Be ready!" she hollered back at me.

I quickly sprung out of my bed and went to put pants on. A new neighbor who’s around my age AND she’s a girl? My young boy brain was buzzing with possibilities of how my summer would go with this mystery girl. Would we be good friends? Was she pretty? Did she like to play baseball? I picked a shirt off the floor and smelled it. It smelled like a mixture of dirt and sweat. I shrugged and put it on anyways.

“We’re leaving!” I heard my mother yell from downstairs. I breathed into my palm and smelled my breath. It smelled like tuna sandwich. I ran to the bathroom and squirted toothpaste into my mouth. “Yonas!” my mom yelled again.

“Fmming!” I mumbled as I spit the toothpaste into the sink. I sprinted down the stairs to meet my mother and father going out the door.

“Come on, bud” my dad pushed me forward and shut the door behind him.

We walked over to the neighbors house to see a big, hefty man coming out of the back of the moving truck. I remember he had an intense black design tattooed down his left arm. He looked up and smiled as we walked up to the truck.

“Are you our neighbors?” he addressed us with a gruff voice. It sounded like he had a lot of phlegm in his throat. My mother nodded and smiled back while my father went up and stuck his hand out.

“I’m Darren, this is my wife Gale, and this is my son, Yonas.” My dad proclaimed.

“Well, nice to meet you! I’m Jason. My wife, Ana, is inside with my daughter.” He said. I perked up at the mention of his daughter. My hands started to sweat and I had to wipe them on my jeans. Jason looked at me and smiled. “You look around the same age as Robin. Here, I’ll call her out!” he said. He yelled out his daughter and looked back down at me. “I would really appreciate it if you would show her around the neighborhood, Yonas. She’s one of those quiet types.”

A girl around my age suddenly appeared by Jason’s side. I remember she had blonde hair down to her butt with little purple hair clips pinning her bangs away from her face. Her almost white eyebrows framed her too dark brown eyes. She fidgeted where she stood and kept her head down.

“Robin, this is Darren and Gale.” He pointed to my parents then gazed towards me. “And this is Yonas. He’s going into the same grade as you.” He said softly to Robin. She perked up at what her father said and lifted one eye towards me. I stuck my hands in my pocket and shyly smiled back her. “He’s going to show you around the neighborhood. You want that, don’t you?” Jason asked. She nodded and smiled at her dad. “Good! Alright then, go!” he gave her a little push towards me and she slightly stumbled forward.

I hesitated and then took that moment to grow some balls. I took my hands out of my pocket and placed a palm out. “Common Robin, I’ll show you the best place to build a fort!”

Robin lifted her head up all the way now and stared at me, a small smile creeping up on her face. She grabbed my hand lightly and I trailed off with her behind me. “Please come back before dark!” my mother added before she turned back to Jason and my father talking about whatever old guys talk about.

The beginning of that summer turned out to be pretty great. I showed Robin around the neighborhood and introduced her to a lot of the kids. She never really spoke all that much, not even to me, but I enjoyed her company. Her parents sent her to the same summer camp as me and we ended up being buddies for every activity. Again, she rarely ever spoke but it was easier for her to hang around me as I was the first kid she ever met. Our unspoken friendship was nice and I admit to liking the fact that I was the leader of most of the things we did together.

A lot of the neighborhood kids started teasing us around the middle of the summer. They would see us riding our bikes down the street and would sing out ridiculous songs about Robin and I dating or asking Robin if she thought I was cute. Robin would just put her head down and blush but I would always laugh at their jokes.

I admit now that I thought Robin was cute. The problem was I wasn't sure how to deal with girls yet. I would always get flustered around them and my hands would get clammy so I tried to avoid them all together. Robin was different, though. The fact that she didn't talk all that much made it easier for me to be around her and I guess that’s what made me find her so cute. I learned later on in my teenage years that I liked the quiet types.

It was one warm afternoon on the last week of summer. Robin and I were on our accustomed hike through the forest behind our houses. I learned quickly that Robin was really into nature photography. Her mom used to have a vintage instant camera that Robin would sometimes take with her. Her mom said the film was expensive so she was only allowed to take one picture per our afternoon activities. This led Robin to really examine the areas she was in. Sometimes, she’d stand in front of a tree or a lake and stare for what seemed like half an hour before she either decided it would be a good use of her film or would continue walking. I admired her passion so I would always hang back and throw sticks at a tree or watch ants crawl on logs.

The sun was setting and it was almost time for us to get back home. Robin was in the middle of inspecting a small bush when I crept up behind her. “Uh, Robin? It’s getting dark. Maybe you should just save your film for our hike tomorrow?” I suggested. She got up slowly and put her head back, examining the tops of the trees. I watched her hair slip off her shoulders and bounce around. She cut her hair shorter the week before and I would always note how cute it made her jawline look.

A small gust of wind suddenly came around us and I got closer to Robin. “Seriously, Robin. Just wait until tomorrow and I bet you could get an even better picture!” I reasoned. She lowered her neck and looked me directly into the eyes.

“How about I take a picture of you and me?” she asked. My eyes grew large as I processed probably the longest sentence she ever spoke to me. I remember her voice sounded like bells to me. There was a hint of nervousness in her tone. I stuttered as I stuck my clammy hands in my sweater pockets.

“Uh…sure. I guess?” I stammered. I began to ask her why she would waste her film on a picture with me but was quickly interrupted by the warmth from Robin’s arms pushing me closer to her. My face turned beat red as a strand of her hair stuck to the hood of my sweater. She raised the instant camera and shifted her weight towards me.

“1…2…3…” she quietly said as she went to take the picture. I quickly realized that her lips had gone to my cheeks and…and she was kissing me! I mean, it was just a peck on the cheek but still…a kiss!

The flash went off and she lowered the camera. A low giggle escaped her throat.

“Thanks for a great summer, Yonas.” she said as she started walking towards the exit of the woods. I quickly followed behind her as I tried to process the second longest sentence she’d ever spoken to me. I touched where she had pecked me and felt the sticky residue of her Strawberry Shortcake lip-gloss still on my cheeks.

We were almost to our houses and we barely spoke a word. There was an awkward but relaxed aura around us and I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I was scared I would choke on my own words. I mean, a girl just KISSED my cheek. I was so happy I could throw up. We stopped at the cross walk to look both ways and Robin tapped my shoulder. She handed me the photo as it was almost developed. I started to walk out to the middle of the street when I heard something drop behind me.

“Yonas!” Robin shrieked as she pulled me back with all the strength a ten year old girl had. I fell backwards and hit my left shoulder hard on the sidewalk. My vision blurred out for a second and I heard tire screeches.

I quickly composed myself as my vision came back. I sat up and looked under me, the instant camera completely crushed under the weight of my body. I started to panic.

“I’m so sorry!” I started to tell Robin I would pay for a new one but had my breath catch in my throat when I spun my head to look out to the street where Robin would be.

There, on the sidewalk, was Robin.

Her body didn't look right. Her arm was crooked and her leg was facing the wrong way. The car was idling and as soon as I could call out to them for help, the tires screeched again and drove away. I jerked myself off of the ground and started to run towards Robin.

“Yonas, no!” I heard my mother yell at me as she ran over to me and covered my eyes with her hand. “Honey, no. You need to come inside now.” My mother said sternly, a sob escaping her throat as she guided me towards my house, right in front of the side walk. I went with her, the picture crumpled in my hands. A fresh tear streamed down my face as what just happened seemed to replay in my head. Robin was dead? She stepped in front of the car for me?

My mother led me to my room and sat me on the bed. I remember hearing the faint sound of sirens behind me. I looked at my mom then, tears of her own running down her face as she smoothed my hair away from my eyes.

“Promise me you’ll stay up here until I tell you to come down?” she pleaded. I nodded; numb to what was going on around me. She shut the door quietly and I could hear her footsteps going down the stairs.

It was then that I remembered the picture in my hands, probably fully developed. I slowly raised it up to the light coming in through the window and saw something I will never forget to this day.

I saw a boy with a surprised face and a girl stealing a peck on his cheek. Behind that girl were faint outlines of something. I had to bring the picture closer to my face to make out what it was.

I saw a girl, stealing a peck on a boy’s cheek, with the outlines of wings behind her.

title: [FN] Robin.

question: How do Yonas's feelings for Robin change through the story?

answer: Yonas is introduced to Robin during his summer break. The two are neighbors and happen to be the same age. Initially, Yonas doesn't think of her as anything more than a friend. He spends the summer showing her the neighborhood, going to summer camp with her, and introducing her to the other kids around. Yonas enjoys her company, mostly because she doesn't talk a lot. As the story advances, the kids start teasing the two and asking Robin if she thought Yonas was cute. Yonas did find Robin cute. One of the days while the two were in the woods, Robin kisses Yonas on the cheek while clicking a picture of the two of them.

question: Summarize what happens on their way back home from the woods.

answer: As they are walking back from the woods, Robin hands Yonas the photo they clicked. He starts walking out to the middle of the street and hears something drop behind him. Robin screams his name and pulls him back with all her strength. Yonas hears tire screeches, he looks under him and realizes he crushed the camera. Yonas turns around and sees Robin on the sidewalk, her arms were crooked and her leg facing the wrong way. Robin had died trying to save Yonas.


text:
Dying is like stretching. Not the stretching that you would experience if you were being sucked into a black hole or any other different interpretation you have of “stretching”, but just stretching. The type of thing you would do when you get home from your blue collar – or white collar or no collar – job. When you sit down in your chair at the end of long, fucking day and just relax. That feeling is unexplainable. The sudden rush of orgasmic goodness for that split second when you stretch feels so goddamn good. Well I guess the feeling is kind of explainable, but in the technical science way, the inorganic way. It’s just not the same. If you want that feeling more you can take chemicals to give it to you. Heroin can give it to you, hydrocodone can give it to you, oxycodone can also, there are a much of fucking ways to feel that feeling, but the simplest way is to just stretch. Just move your lazy fucking arms and you will be dying. Or at least feel like it. You want to be dying, trust me, it feels good. Not for a little bit either, but for an eternity or whatever the fuck this is. It’s a long ass time and I wish I would have known earlier how fucking overrated “living” was.

The reason I put it as “living” is because most of the people in the world aren’t living. Living is feeling. Going paycheck to paycheck at some shitty job you hate, with a boss you hate, with coworkers you hate, and then going home to a spouse that isn’t the same as you once married. They aren’t “lively” enough. Soon you will sit down and turn on some bullshit TV show and watch it. You can say that you won’t, but you will. I promise. None of this is living. It is “living”. It is bullshit. In the average human’s day, the only time they will actually live is when they stretch. That feeling of goodness is life. It is your temporary escape from shitty corporate life for one second at a time. That is all you get.

Well, now that I’ve gotten that shitty little diatribe out of the way I guess I can go ahead and tell you that I am standing on the top of the Bank of America Plaza building with a gun to my head. I want to stretch now. Living is great and stretching is great. My standing here has made me realize one thing more than all; Atlanta really has a beautiful skyline. At the moment it is around sunset and I can see the warm glow of the city lights beginning to overpower the sun. I look down from the edge and see the street below me. I see the passing Cadillac’s and Lexus’s and even the occasional Porsche. Seems fitting I guess, since I am in the banking district. All of society’s money is poured into the pockets of executive so that they can buy a new Cadillac Escalade with full leather seating and a paint finish that is so inky black that it absorbs all light. It absorbs the goodness of the world – light – and vomits out a color so dark and unforgiving that you are almost attracted to it. The total absence of light is normal and beautiful in that one moment when you gaze into the side of that new Escalade.

The streetlights are growing stronger. I am still standing here on the ledge of the roof of the Bank of America Plaza with a gun to my head. I want to stretch. It has now gone from dusk to ink in the sky. I have been standing here a long time. A fucking long time. I need to stretch. I see the ants walking below me. A sea of color that is illuminated by streetlights and Cadillac’s and Lexus’s and Porsche’s. It is beautiful. Although the Bank of America Plaza is tall, I can still make out an outline of many of the ants below me. I see different races, different genders, and different personalities. One older white ant crosses a street without looking and is nearly hit by an inky black Escalade. A younger black ant shouts something that I can’t quite make out, but it clearly gets a response from the white ant. This white ant was clearly just saved from the horrors of the inky black Escalade, but was instead shouting angrily over to the younger looking black ant. I am not sure why he was shouting or what he was shouting about, but I wasn’t curious.

I am starting to get tired. I have been standing on the ledge of the roof of the Bank of America Plaza with a gun to my head for around 3 hours now. I have done nothing. I must stretch. Why would I stretch when I have a gun to my head and I am on the ledge of the Bank of America Plaza in Atlanta with ants below me and streetlights and inky black Escalade’s and Porsche’s and Lexus’s? I have no need for the gun. It is a revolver, and a beautiful one at that. This revolver has been loaded with 3 bullets by me. That means that there is a 50% chance that with one pull of the hairpin trigger - that is sheer silver and not inky black like the Escalade’s below – I can stretch. I would love to stretch right about now. Maybe someone else can stretch today also.

I toss the half-full revolver with the sheer-silver, hairpin trigger down. Off the ledge of the Bank of America Plaza onto the vast hordes of ants below, onto the inky black Escalade’s and Porsche’s and Lexus’s below, onto the old white ant and young black ant, and onto the lights, the streetlights specifically. I expect a gunshot. A 50% chance is beautiful. I wait for the gunshot that would have let one of the ants stretch. I never hear the gunshot. No one stretches. Fuck.

I stretch. And I don’t feel anything. Not a goddamn feeling.

But I am still here.

EDIT: This is right around 1000 words if you are wondering. Any criticisms would be great as I just wrote this in about 30 minutes or less. Thanks!

title: Dying Is Like Stretching

question: What are the ants referred to in the story?

answer: The ants are people viewed from high above. The narrator can make out their genders, personalities, and race.

question: What does the narrator think of the state of happiness of most people?

answer: The narrator believes that most people are not happy. They live from paycheck to paycheck at a job they hate with colleagues and a boss that they hate. They then go home to a spouse who is not the same as the partner they married and spend the evening in front of the television.

question: What is the narrator doing on the top of the Bank of America Plaza?

answer: The narrator is standing on the top of the building with a loaded gun. He plans to commit suicide. Perhaps he's not totally convinced that this is the best route because the chamber of his gun is only half full. So, if he pulls the trigger he has a 50% chance of surviving.