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[Donald_Trump Thinking AP]
Associated Press
It happened. We won! We now live in the Age of Daddy! Leftists, of course — even those who aren’t still crying in the shower or looking for a razor blade — remain clueless about what it all signifies and how it happened.

After a few days of celebration, including receiving the Annie Taylor Award for bravery in journalism at David Horowitz’s Restoration Weekend, I’ve realized that many groups both within America and outside her borders need an explanation of how a Trump administration will change the game.

Luckily for everyone, including establishment conservatives who are in the same boat, I’m here to explain what Donald Trump’s election means, now that the dust has settled.

One thing is abundantly clear to most observers: Trump’s promises of change, and his promises to uproot the D.C establishment are much more likely to happen than Obama’s, which held as much water as his promise to have the most transparent administration of all time.

But what will change look like? For those stuck in the denial or anger stages of grief, the crystal balls must look extremely cloudy. Honestly, most pundits’ predictions were so wrong that they should get out of the divination business altogether.

Although President Donald Trump will touch the lives of all Americans during his term in office, there are some groups in particular who will experience karmic rewards. In no particular order, here are some of my favorites.

PROTESTERS

In many cities such as Portland, Oregon, violent anti-Trump protests have sprung up. No one is sure to what extent these are organic protests as opposed to paid operations involving Soros-funded buses full of professional malcontents, but it’s not the most pressing question when your city is on fire.

Just when you think the Left has done everything in its power to drive typical American voters to the right, they reach into their bag of tricks and pull out a surprise. The kicker is that for the most part, these protesters don’t even vote.

In the short term, protests are very bad for the communities they affect, regardless of politics. The Hillary-supporting shop owners in Portland are going to have their shops trashed as well as the city’s lone closeted Trump-supporter, who dresses in plaid shirts, wears nose piercings, and talks angrily about legalizing weed. You know, to blend in.

These protests continue to expose the hypocrisy and detachment from reality that runs like a red thread through the liberal establishment in America. Every voice on the Left bleated about how they feared protests and riots by angry Donald Trump supporters if (when) he lost the election, yet it is the leftists themselves destroying property and blocking roads.

What Trump means to the protesters is on one hand the possibility of going straight with a real job, as he revitalizes the private sector of the country and makes it more financially perilous to take social justice degrees in college. Or, on the other hand, going to jail as his administration gives law enforcement its teeth back.

Imagine violent protests during a Trump administration with Sheriff David Clarke or Sheriff Joe Arpaio running the Justice Department. I need a tissue all of a sudden…

HOAXERS

I’ve seen video after video of Trump supporters being assaulted merely for attending one of Daddy’s rallies. And we are now in a post-election period in which liberals are faking hate crimes in an effort to paint Trump supporters negatively.

A Muslim woman at the University of Louisiana claimed Trump supporters attacked her. It didn’t happen.

A gay man from Canada named Chris Ball says he was also attacked, and posted graphic pictures with a bloody face as proof. It also didn’t happen, according to the police.

Do you have any idea how poor your hate crime hoax story has to be for an increasingly partisan Snopes.com to say it’s untrue?

As usual, I am ahead of the curve. I wrote a while back about the growing epidemic of fake hate crimes that has sprung up over the past 10 years — and opened the last leg of my Dangerous Faggot tour by asking why lesbians commit so many of them.

Hoaxers are only harming their own cause. While many are likely to avoid immediate punishment for making up stories in place of actual hate crimes by Trump supporters — which don’t exist — what the Trump presidency means for these imaginative fools is a wonderfully incriminating social media trail for potential employers.

Media cycles end, but the Internet never forgets.

ESTABLISHMENT REPUBLICANS

The GOP establishment fought against Trump almost until the end of the race… before trying to take his side in a maneuver so slippery and Machiavellian I am tempted to coin the word Cruzian.

It celebrated Daddy’s win not with a bang, but with a whimper. Senate leader Mitch McConnell came out the day after his victory to dispel the notion of the swamp being drained. Crucially, he says term limits for congress will never happen.

This is a sign that establishment Republicans plan to fight Trump on policies that are plainly good for America, but bad for them and their cronies. These Democrats-in-disguise might have bitten off more than they can chew, which they really ought to know by now.

Establishment Republicans have a clear future: tough primary elections against Trump-like opponents intent on draining the swamp. Paul Nehlen was the prototype for this movement. His battle with Paul Ryan was just a little ahead of its time.

In the future, incumbent establishment Republicans expecting to be unchallenged in primaries will find a battle for their political lives, especially if Donald Trump maintains enthusiasm with the base. Which of course he will.

THE DEMOCRAT PARTY

The big losers of the general election are busy making their defeat even larger. It’s like they confuse losing elections for the national debt. All of their pathos is aimed at Trump instead of fixing the reasons they lost the election.

For one thing, the entire primary was rigged for crooked, spooky Hillary, who is unhealthy in every way. Not the least of her maladies is her disdain for common Americans.

Secondly, the Democrat Party followed Hillary’s lead in labelling everyone who didn’t agree with them racist, sexist, Islamophobic, and every other identity politic epithet they could think of.

Some of us knew this meant the “basket of deplorables” would grow to include essentially everybody in America, but many were shocked to eventually see themselves lumped in with the worst offenders, as decided by the extremists who run the Democrat party.

The Left, of course, has learned nothing. This week Steve Bannon is getting it in the neck with all manner of absurd allegations. They don’t seem to understand that the more they call us names, the more fabulous and powerful we become.

The era you could call someone a racist and get away with it is over. This is how they lost the election… but they still think that branding their opponents racist is the way to damage them. It’s pathetic!

Of course, the real problem with Democrat identity politics is how obviously untrue all their claims are. The 52 per cent of white women who voted for Donald Trump are not sexists. The 33 per cent of Hispanic males who voted for Trump are not racists.

And, whisper it, even the straight white males who voted for Trump aren’t racists or sexists either — just terrified of the Democrats and their plans for the country. Sounds like they’re in the majority.

Hillary Clinton was rejected soundly by America, but instead of changing course, the Democrats and their media allies are intent on telling Americans just how terrible they are for embracing Donald Trump.

CELEBRITIES

Left-wing celebrities should take some notes from this election cycle and be a little less hysterical. And maybe, I dunno, fuck off out of public life unless they’re promoting another comic book adaptation.

Lena Dunham is the prime suspect here, but an honourable mention must also go to Miley Cyrus for being the first sobbing celeb to put her “cry-in” on the internet.

Meanwhile, Sir Patrick Stewart set phasers to hyperbole, arguing that Trump is “one of the worst things to happen in the last 100 years,” apparently forgetting individuals like Stalin, Mao and Hitler.

Apparently these deluded Hollywood Democrats are planning to keep us away from the voting booths next time with strained sides and jaw contusions.

As expected, most celebrities who vowed to leave the country are pulling those promises back. Some are saying it was a joke, but I’m personally surprised none are claiming they were hacked.

Also, why did all of them plan to move to Canada, New Zealand or Australia? I thought they hated capitalism and white Anglo-American patriarchy? They should surely move to a socialist paradise like Venezuela, or a vibrant, exotic country like Pakistan. Anywhere but a capitalist, English-speaking country!

It makes no sense!

The Left did all this, of course, by pandering to people like Dunham — who is electoral kryptonite. The more America sees of people like her, the less likely it is that the Democrats will ever win another election. Instead of saying, GET OFF OUR TV SCREENS YOU HIDEOUS MAN-HATING DYKE, liberal America worshipped Dunham, thrilled by her “edgy” hatred of white people, with absolutely predictable results.

One celebrity must be called out for extra-special attention: Joss Whedon, who is actually calling for an overthrow of the government:

  This is simple: Trump cannot CANNOT be allowed a term in office. It's not about 2018. It's about RIGHT NOW

  — Joss Whedon (@joss) November 14, 2016

Joss is an amazing guy. No matter how often he gets knocked around by leftists, he comes back begging for more. I documented this in the past, but Joss remains the gift that keeps on giving.

So what is the future for anti-Trump celebrities? They will stay famous, and keep making millions. But as they become increasingly frantic in their opposition to Trump, they will wear out their welcome.

THE MEDIA

The media threw everything they had at Donald Trump, and none of it worked. None of it! Every slimy tactic they’ve developed since the TV camera was invented and the first newspaper rolled off the printing presses was deployed, and it comprehensively failed.

Between Wikileaks’ exposure of collusion between the media and the Clinton campaign, and the shockingly biased coverage of Hillary’s race with Bernie and later with Trump, the media has been disgraced.  You don’t have to believe me: read leftist Ken Silverstein’s brutal takedown of the entire industry, published shortly before the election.

Or browse the Twitter timeline of Michael Tracey, a former _Vice_ reporter who refused to back Hillary after she defeated Bernie Sanders, and spent the rest of the election highlighting the media’s failure to fully grasp the Trump phenomenon.

Despite being one of the only lefties to get it right, _Vice _fired him shortly after the election — for being too mean to Lena Dunham!

  The entire elite media dropped any pretense of objectivity to actively campaign against Trump, call him a liar, etc. — but they still whine

  — Michael Tracey (@mtracey) November 15, 2016

The media is already shocked to learn that the Trump administration will not coddle them, and access to the Trump White House will not be automatic for journalists who are practically on the DNC payroll.

Donald Trump can take his message directly to the people via rallies and addresses carried over social media. I’d call them updated versions of Roosevelt’s fireside chats, but a portion of my younger readership doesn’t even know what a radio is thanks to a Democrat-run education system.

Trump understands the media business better than the media themselves, except for us here at Breitbart, which is why he ran circles around them throughout the entire campaign. The dirty little secret the media doesn’t want to admit is that Trump generates such good content that they can’t help covering him even when they hate him.

By the way, I have the same effect. Look up some of the interviews done by outlets that loathe me. In true MILO fashion, I will link you to my current favorite.

THE DEPLORABLES

Trump means an American government that will serve the people, and be rooted in common sense. We’ve already learned that Daddy will restore the bust of Churchill to its rightful place in the Oval Office, fixing an early injustice by President Obama.

Trump will take a $1 salary as President, and in his first week as President-elect has Canada and Mexico agreeing to revisit NAFTA and Russia agreeing to not stage a nuclear war. Not bad for a first week on the job.

If Donald Trump stays true to his campaign promises, and all evidence points to him doing so, his basket of deplorables has the opportunity to leave a lasting mark on America not only in its governmental institutions like the supreme court, but also culturally.

Conservative students and free-speech activists will no longer suffer recriminations on American campuses if emboldened Trump supporters continue to push beyond the presidency and into culture.

What Trump means for us is that we’ve won the first battle. At a minimum, he’s a necessary course correction from the excesses of the social justice left. At most, he’s the saviour of the First and Second Amendments, protector of the Supreme Court and champion of the little guy. In other words: just what America needed.

And the Left can pull out its hair, stomp its feet and throw out bogus allegations of racism, sexism and whatever else as long as it likes. The forces of good have prevailed.

_Follow Milo Yiannopoulos (@Nero) on Facebook, Instagram and Snapchat. Hear him every Friday on The Milo Yiannopoulos Show. Write to Milo at milo@breitbart.com._

.

Please let us know if you're having issues with commenting.

question: What does the text say about the negative reactions to Trump's victory in the 2016 election?

answer: Following the 2016 presidential election results, with Donald Trump as the winner, there were a series of negative reactions. First, there were violent anti-Trump protests in many cities like Portland, Oregon. Trump supporters were also assaulted for attending his rallies. Then, Trump supporters had a series of false claims of hate crimes. For example, a Muslim woman at the University of Louisiana claimed Trump supporters attacked her. Also, a gay man from Canada claimed he too was attacked by Trump supporters and posted graphic images of a bloody face as proof.

question: What was the writer's opinion of celebrities against Trump's victory?

answer: Several left-wing celebrities were disgusted at the result of the presidential election. According to the writer, some of them had threatened to leave the country if Trump won the election; however, this didn't happen. Celebrities like Sir Patrick Stewart called Trump "one of the worst things to happen in the last 100 years," and Joss Whedon stated that "Trump cannot be allowed a term in office." The writer opined that such reactions from democrat celebrities are part of the reasons their candidate won't win the presidential seat.


split: test

text:
 This article is more than 2 YEARS OLD

Sales bested 2017’s 17% increase over Labor Day, according to Edison Trends, despite Trump’s protests of the campaign

The Nike ad starring Colin Kaepernick does not appear to have adversely affected sales, an analyst said on Saturday.

According to Edison Trends, a digital commerce research company: “Nike sales grew 31% from Sunday through Tuesday over Labor Day this year, besting 2017’s comparative 17% increase.”

The sportswear giant released the first version of its ad on Monday, the Labor Day holiday. It featured the quarterback and the slogan: “Believe in something. Even if it means sacrificing everything. Just do it.”

Kaepernick, 30, has been without a team since opting out of his San Francisco 49ers contract in March 2017. In 2016 he was an originator of protests by NFL players, targeting racial injustice and police brutality, which often involve kneeling during the pre-game playing of the national anthem.

Donald Trump has made the protests a key part of his appeal to his base, arguing that the players are disrespecting the anthem, the US flag and the military.

On Tuesday, the president told the rightwing website Daily Caller: “I think it’s a terrible message that [Nike] are sending and the purpose of them doing it, maybe there’s a reason for them doing it. But I think as far as sending a message, I think it’s a terrible message and a message that shouldn’t be sent. There’s no reason for it.”

He also said Nike paid him “a lot of rent” in New York and admitted that the protests and the Nike ad were “in another way … what this country is all about, that you have certain freedoms to do things that other people think you shouldn’t do”.

“But I personally am on a different side of it,” Trump said.

In the following days, the president pursued the issue via Twitter. On Wednesday, he wrote: “Just like the NFL, whose ratings have gone WAY DOWN, Nike is getting absolutely killed with anger and boycotts. I wonder if they had any idea that it would be this way? As far as the NFL is concerned, I just find it hard to watch, and always will, until they stand for the FLAG!”

Trump did not supply evidence for his claim of “anger and boycotts” but opposition to the company’s move was expressed widely and in some instances creatively on social media.

On Friday, the morning after the full version of the Nike ad played during the Philadelphia Eagles v Atlanta Falcons NFL season opener, the president asked: “What was Nike thinking?”

Nike releases full ad featuring Colin Kaepernick - video
Edison Trends’ analysis suggested the company will be thinking its gambit has worked, allowing it to surf familiar controversy and create a “Trump bump” all of its own.

“Nike’s 2018 late summer sales show much the same trend as last year’s,” the company wrote, “with order volume decreasing slightly going into late August. The similarity decreases coming out of Labor Day weekend, however, with sales seeing a bigger bump on Monday and Tuesday than in the past.”

Edison Trends said its analysis was based on “anonymised and aggregated e-receipts from more than 3 million consumers”.

The NFL has not resolved how to respond to or govern the protests, which were widely discussed again on Thursday after Eagles defensive end Michael Bennett sat down before the anthem had finished.

In July, in an open letter to league owners, the NBA great and Guardian sports columnist Kareem Abdul Jabbar wrote: “It’s been two years since Colin Kaepernick first took a knee to protest systemic racial injustice, especially police brutality, against people of color.

“The worst thing about that isn’t that two years later we’re still debating whether players have the right to protest, it’s that not much has changed regarding what Kaepernick was protesting.”

question: Summarize the arguments against Kaepernick.

answer: Donald Trump argues that the players who take a knee are disrespecting the antherm, the US flag, and the military. Opposition to Nike's support of Kaepernick was wifely expressed on social media.

question: What does the article say about the effects of Kaepernick's protests?

answer: Nike has not appeared to have had teir sales aversly affected, despite supporting Kaepernick. Kaepernick originated the protest, which involved kneeling during the national anthem, and other players followed suit. Donald Trump has criticized the protests and made them a key part of his appeal to his base. There is still (at the time of the article) debate as to whether players have the right to protest, and not much has changed in regards to what Kaepernick was protesting.

question: What does the article say about ways to resolve racial injustice and police brutality?


text:
LOUIS ICART (born 9 December 1888 in Toulouse, died 20 December 1950 in Paris)[1][2] was a French painter, graphic artist, and illustrator.

Life

Louis Justin Laurent Icart was the first son of Jean and Elisabeth Icart. He started drawing early on. [3] His aunt, who was impressed by his talent during a visit, brought him to Paris in 1907,[4] where he dedicated himself to painting, drawing and the production of numerous etchings.[5]

In the studio, where he initially produced frivolous postcards with copies of existing images, he soon designed his own works. Thereupon he received orders for the design of title pages for the magazine _La Critique Théâtrale_. Fashion houses hired Icart to create fashion sketches, with which he soon became known. In 1913 he showed his pictures at the Salon des Humoristes. Icart then learned the technique of copperplate engraving and from then on worked with this process. He was now working for the large French design studios and illustrated their catalogs.[6] In 1914 he met the eighteen-year-old “beautiful blonde”[7] Fanny Volmers, an employee of the Paquin fashion house,[8] whom he married later and who was the model for many of his works.[9]

Icart participated in the First World War as a fighter pilot. During this time he made countless sketches and etchings with patriotic themes. On his return, he made prints of his work, mostly using aquatint and drypoint etching. Because of the great demand, he often published two versions, one for the European and another for the American market.[10]

In 1920 he exhibited at the Paris Simonson Gallery, where he received mixed reviews. In 1922, Louis Icart traveled with Fanny to New York City for his first American exhibition, which was first shown in the Belmaison gallery in John Wanamaker's department store and later moved to Wanamakers in Philadelphia. For his fifty oil paintings shown, he received mixed reviews again.[11]

In the late 1920s, Icart was very successful both artistically and financially with his publications and his work for large fashion and design studios.[12] The popularity of his etchings peaked in the Art Deco era.[13] Icart depicted life in Paris and New York in the 1920s and 1930s in his own style of painting. Success in 1930 enabled him to buy a magnificent house on the Montmartre hill in the north of Paris. In 1932 Icart showed in the New York Metropolitan Galleries a collection of paintings entitled _Les Visions Blanches_, which received little attention, however, because he did not personally accompany the exhibition.[14]

After the German western campaign, Icart turned to more serious issues. With _L’Exode_, he created a series of works that document the horrors of the occupation of France in World War II from 1940 onwards. During this time, Icart had to flee Paris and leave behind some of these works, which were only rediscovered in the attic of a Paris art academy together with some of his earlier works in the 1970s.[15][16]

Icart died in his Parisian house in 1950.[17]

Work

thumb|A fashionable young woman, 1920’s Icart's style of painting was based on the French masters of the 18th century, such as Jean-Antoine Watteau, François Boucher and Jean-Honoré Fragonard. an.[18] His drawings were influenced by Edgar Degas and Claude Monet; his rare watercolors bore features of the symbolists Odilon Redon and Gustave Moreau.[19] Many of his early atmospheric paintings are in shades of brown, gold, and red; however, his pictures became brighter during his career.[20]

Icart's depictions of women were mostly sensual, often erotic, but also always humorous and full of hinted or direct sexuality. In his pictures, beautiful courtesans frolicked on thick pillows with facial expressions full of passion, dismay or surprise.[21] Horses, dogs or cats were often part of his subjects.[22]

Icart made over 500 engravings and illustrated more than 30 books.[23][24] His works have titles like:[25]

Literature

-   William R. Holland: _Louis Icart Erotica_. Schiffer Publishing, 1998, , 175 S.
-   William R. Holland, Clifford P. Catania, Nathan D. Isen: _Louis Icart. The Complete Etchings._ Schiffer Publishing, 2002, , 264 S.
-   S. Michael Schnessel, Mel Karmel: _The Etchings of Louis Icart_. Schiffer Publishing, 2004, , 192 S.
-   -   Icart, Louis. In: Hans Vollmer (Hrsg.): _Allgemeines Lexicon der bildenden Künstler des XX. Jahrhunderts_ Band 2: _E–J_. E. A. Seemann, Leipzig 1955, p. 536.
-   _Icart, Louis._ In: Emmanuel Bénézit: Dictionary of Artists. Band 5, , 1976, S. 699.
-   _Icart, Louis._ In: Joachim Busse: _Internationales Handbuch aller Maler und Bildhauer des 19. Jahrhunderts. Busse-Verzeichnis._ Busse, Wiesbaden 1977, , S. 614.

[1] _Louis Icart_. In: RKD-Nederlands Instituut voor Kunstgeschiedenis

[2] _Louis Icart (French, 1888–1950)_. In: artnet

[3]

[4]

[5] _Louis Icart, French (1880–1950)_. In: rogallery.com

[6] _Louis Justin Laurent Icart, 1888–1950_. In: papillongallery.com

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18] _Louis Icart (1880–1950, French)_. In: thegreatcat.org

[19]

[20]

[21]

[22]

[23]

[24]

[25]

title: Louis Icart

question: What does the article say about Lious Icart's life partner?

answer: In 1914 he met the eighteen-year-old “beautiful blonde” Fanny Volmers, an employee of the Paquin fashion house whom he married later and who was the model for many of his works. In 1922, Louis Icart traveled with Fanny to New York City for his first American exhibition.

question: What type of artwork did Icart do?

answer:
He initially produced frivolous postcards with copies of existing images, though he soon designed his own works. Fashion houses hired Icart to create fashion sketches, for which he soon became known. Icart then learned the technique of copperplate engraving and from then on worked with this process.
Icart depicted life in Paris and New York in the 1920s and 1930s in his own style of painting. With _L’Exode_, he created a series of works that document the horrors of the occupation of France in World War II from 1940 onwards. Icart made over 500 engravings and illustrated more than 30 books.


text:
LEGISLATIVE ELECTIONS were held in New Caledonia on 9 July 1967.[1] The result was a victory for the Caledonian Union, which won 22 of the 35 seats.

Campaign

A total of 174 candidates contested the 35 seats.[2] The New Caledonian branch of the Union for the New Republic (led by Georges Chatenay)[3] called for more autonomy and for a second smelting company to be introduced to the territory to create competition for Société Le Nickel.[4]

Results

The three minor party Assembly members were sympathetic to the Caledonian Union.[5]

  Party                               Votes   %   Seats   +/–
  ----------------------------------- ------- --- ------- -----
  Caledonian Union                                22      +4
  Entente UNR                                     10      +1
  New Caledonia                                   2       New
  Union of Licensees and Landowners               1       New
  TOTAL                                           35      +5
  Source: Le Borgne[6]

Elected members

  Constituency                     Member                              Party                                          Notes
  -------------------------------- ----------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------- -------
  East (7 seats)                   Roland Caron                        Caledonian Union
  Paul Malignon                    Entente
  Similien Nahiet                  Caledonian Union
  Kiolet Néa Galet                 Entente                             Re-elected
  Edmond Nebayes                   Caledonian Union
  Théophile Wakolo Pouyé           Caledonian Union                    Re-elected
  Émile Wénou Néchero              Caledonian Union                    Re-elected
  Islands (5 seats)                Jean Caba                           Caledonian Union
  Yann Céléné Uregeï               Caledonian Union
  Raof Jomessy                     Caledonian Union
  Jean Wanapo                      Caledonian Union
  Léonard Waneissi                 Entente
  South (16 seats)                 Jean-Pierre Aïfa                    Caledonian Union
  Alain Bernut                     New Caledonia
  Georges Chatenay                 Entente                             Re-elected
  Evenor de Greslan                Caledonian Union                    Re-elected
  Roger Delaveuve                  Union of Licensees and Landowners
  Max Frouin                       Caledonian Union
  Paul Griscelli                   Caledonian Union
  René Hénin                       Entente                             Re-elected (previously in West constituency)
  Henri Lafleur                    Entente                             Re-elected (previously RC)
  Jean Lèques                      Caledonian Union
  Armand Ohlen                     Caledonian Union                    Re-elected
  Claude Parazols                  Entente                             Re-elected
  Édouard Pentecost                Entente
  Rock Pidjot                      Caledonian Union                    Re-elected
  Gérald Rousseau                  New Caledonia
  André Vacher                     Caledonian Union
  West (7 seats)                   Arhan Boahoume                      Caledonian Union
  André Bressler                   Caledonian Union
  Jean-Pierre Le Marrec            Entente
  Georges Nagle                    Caledonian Union                    Re-elected
  Paul Napoarea                    Caledonian Union
  Gabriel Païta                    Caledonian Union                    Re-elected
  Roger Pêne                       Entente
  Source: Le Borgne,[7] Congress

Aftermath

Following the elections, Entente leader Henri Lafleur submitted a petition to annul the results. The petition was rejected on 28 August. He appealed on 4 November.[8] Rock Pidjot also filed a complaint about the election in East constituency, where Caledonian Union candidate and High Chief Goa Alphonse (who was expected to be elected) lost after a fortune teller told his tribe that the chief would die if elected. The complaint was rejected.[9]

André Vacher resigned from the Assembly on 8 August 1967 and was replaced by Charles Attiti. Paul Malignon resigned on 14 June 1970 and was replaced by Marcel Dubois. Jean Caba died on 8 September 1970 and was replaced by Kecine Léonard Une. Lafleur resigned on 20 November 1971 and was replaced by Lionel Cherrier. Edouard Pentecost died on 5 October 1971 and was replaced by Michel Kauma.[10]

[1] French territories to go to polls _Pacific Islands Monthly_, July 1967, p21

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5] “More say for us” call in New Caledonian poll _Pacific Islands Monthly_, August 1967, p32

[6] Jean Le Borgne (2005) _Nouvelle-Calédonie, 1945-1968: la confiance trahie_, Harmattan, p536

[7]

[8] La composition Congress of New Caledonia

[9] How to ruin a high chief's poll _Pacific Islands Monthly_, September 1967, p75

[10]

title: 1967 New Caledonian legislative election

question: What were the negative events that occurred after the election?

answer: Henri Lafleur, Entente leader, submitted a petition to annul the election results. However, the result was rejected on the 28th of August. Unwilling to give up, he appealed the case on the 4th of November. Rock Pidjot filed a complaint about the election in the East constituency. He did this because the Caledonian Union candidate and high chief, Goa Alphonse, was not elected because a fortune-teller predicted that the chief would die if elected. However, this complaint was rejected. Then, Andre Vacher, Paul Malignon, and Lafleur resigned from the assembly, excluding Jean Caba and Edouard Pentecost, who died.


text:
London (AFP) – The family of terminally ill British toddler Alfie Evans on Monday lost their final court bid to prevent doctors from turning off his life support.

High Court judge Anthony Hayden rejected an appeal by Tom Evans and Kate James for a delay in turning off their 23-month-old son’s life support in order to give them time to present a new challenge.

The ruling allowed doctors at Alder Hey Children’s Hospital in Liverpool, northwest England, to withdraw treatment.

Alfie, who suffers from a rare degenerative neurological condition that causes chronic seizures, has been in a coma for over a year and needs a ventilator to keep him breathing.

His parents want to take him to the Bambino Gesu (Baby Jesus) paediatric hospital in Rome which is administered by the Vatican.

Hundreds of people have protested outside the Liverpool hospital in support of the father’s plea for the boy to be discharged.

On Monday, a large group of protesters attempted to storm the entrance before being blocked by police.

Evans met with Pope Francis in the Vatican last Wednesday, pleading with him to “save our son” in a Facebook post afterwards.

At his weekly audience the same day, the pontiff drew attention to the case.

“I want to reiterate and strongly confirm that the only master of life, from the beginning to its natural end, is God, and our duty is to do everything to protect life,” he said.

Italy granted the toddler citizenship on Monday in a bid to facilitate his transfer to Rome.

question: What was Alfie Evans' family fighting for in court?

answer: They were fighting to prevent doctors from turning off Alfie's life support.

question: What were the results of the court case?

answer: Their appeal was rejected, allowing doctors to withdraw treatment.

question: In what city did the court case take place?

answer: Liverpool, England

question: What is Alfie Evans suffering from?

answer: A rare degenerative neurological condition that causes chronic seizures and has resulted in a coma

question: What did the pope have to say about the case?

answer: The pope stated that the only master of life is God and that the duty of humans is to protect life.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The parents of Alfie Evans lost a court case in which they hoped to prevent doctors from withdrawing life support from their son. Alfie suffers from a rare degenerative neurological condition and has been in a coma for over a year. Alfie's father, Tom Evans, met with the pope to plead for his son's life to be saved, and Italy has granted Alfie citizenship in a bid to transfer him to Rome.


text:
It wasn't that he was boring, but he had a grey disposition that lacked the color of spontaneity. Dez liked to race cars under the yellow glow of LA street lamps when Tory met him, but now people called him Desmond and he had no time for such impetuous acts. It's true that Tory had grown fond of the carte blanche that her black card afforded her and the charity dinners stimulated her, but the thrills in her life were limited by the creativity of the latest Bond film. She made a habit of reassuring herself how lucky she was, but she found herself increasingly difficult to convince. However, the thoughts of the comfort and safety Desmond provided were enough to calm most impulses.

They were staying in The Victoria in Rio. Tory had never liked her given name, although she could appreciate the refined qualities of this hotel; it was much nicer than the one they had stayed at just down the road a year before.

As he lowered his Wall Street Journal, Desmond glanced superficially out the window. He thought briefly about the misfortune of those in the favelas. They live each day without knowing when they might be caught in the crossfire of their existence, he concluded. His own life had gone exactly as planned. His pride was buoyed by his two Princeton degrees and an impressive CV that was anchored by his latest position as Chief Financial Officer. For a moment he thought about how lucky Tory must feel to have captured his attention, but then he reminded himself not to be too proud. Besides, she was as much a catch as he. Her beauty was more rare than the flawless yellow diamond on her left hand. She was the type of girl that would cause an ordinary man to choke on a conversation, yet he had bravely taken her up with charm and confidence.  "We're leaving in 5 minutes," Tory interjected. The humidity made her blouse stick to her curves and her sexuality was impossible to ignore. He couldn't remember where she had said they were going, but he pulled on his khakis and loafers.

When the old Volkswagen finally arrived at the top of the hill,the view was astounding. Marcelo, the tan, smooth-talking tour guide pointed out the geography below. Tory watched as his defined arms drew imaginary lines all over the bay and rugged peaks. It was truly a remarkable site. Marcelo and his partner were experienced in dealing with Americans; always the same questions about the safety of hang gliding. He would usually explain that in the wrong hands, the wing could be very dangerous but that they had some of the best safety records in the world. It was true that there had only been one accident before, and it was a result of a panicked passenger rather than the pilot.

Desmond was terrified. However, his face showed nothing but a confident expression. Through various nerve-wracking business interactions he had perfected the art of hiding his true feelings and he was glad to apply those skills in this situation. When they got in the beat up VW earlier that morning, Desmond asked Marcelo where they were headed. When he responded that they would be hang gliding over the city, Desmond immediately said there must be a mistake. "The mistake is that I married someone who can no longer excite me"  Tory blurted out. She was no longer satisfied by comfort, and as the words escaped her mouth Desmond felt a dull pain in his gut; the kind that comes when you realize a loved-one has been ashamed of you for longer than you would like to imagine. Now was his time to prove her wrong. He would be the first to go and when he got to the bottom he would demand that Tory respect him for the man he is.

Marcelo's partner would jump with Desmond. As she watched them suit up, Tory began to feel that maybe she had misjudged Desmond's complacency. She thought that he may just needed some encouragement to get out of his comfort zone; after all, he worked most days 9-5, and perhaps it was too harsh to blame him for wanting to relax. As she watched him jump she grew excited to see him at the bottom and share in the thrill of what she was about to endure.

As quickly as Dez had disappeared below the horizon of the cliff, she felt her legs give out and watched the ground race towards her. Marcelo had punched the back of her head and before she could regain her wits she was being dragged by her hair across the dirt launching pad and into the woods. They were alone, but she screamed as loudly as she could. Marcelo kicked her in the ribs. She continued to struggle as he ripped open her blouse to reveal her full breasts that he had been imagining all day and then he pulled her shorts around her knees. He grew tired of her screams so he flipped her over and shoved her face in the dirt.

As he landed on the beach, Dez felt an immense sense of relief and a rush of adrenaline like he hadn't felt since before he met Tory. He couldn't restrain himself from a spontaneous hug with his guide. As he looked back towards where they had come from he noticed that Victoria had yet to jump. "I knew she wouldn't have the guts to do it! She's all talk!" he exclaimed10 minutes later. He felt victorious. "Why don't you drop me back at the hotel so I can get a drink. I want Victoria to think about this on her own for a while." His guide obliged.

title: Jump (first short story)

question: Why does Desmond volunteer to fly first in the hang glider?

answer: Desmond volunteers to fly first because his wife Tory says she is no longer excited by him. He wants to prove to her that he still has it.

question: What happens while Desmond and and Marcelo's partner jump?

answer: Marcelo rapes Desmond's wife.


text:
_I Know Catherine, the Log Lady_ is a new authorized documentary on the life of actress Catherine E. Coulson, best known for playing Margaret Lanterman—aka the Log Lady—on “Twin Peaks.” It features footage from Coulson’s career, as well as new interviews with David Lynch, who discusses Coulson’s final scenes for last year’s “Twin Peaks: The Return,” filmed shortly before her death. “I think we both knew it was the last time we were going to talk to each other,” he says in a clip. Donate to the campaign and watch a trailer at Kickstarter.

The new documentary is directed by Richard Green, who appeared in Lynch’s 2001 film _Mulholland Drive_. Rewards for donating to the campaign include a coffee table book about Coulson and a 5-song EP from Chromatics’ Johnny Jewel. Read Pitchfork’s feature, “The Secrets Behind the Music of ‘Twin Peaks: The Return.’”

question: Who is Catherine A. Coulson best known for playing on screen?

answer: Margaret Lanterman on Twin Peaks.

question: Who directed I Know Catherine?

answer: Richard Green

question: Who wrote this article?

answer: The text doesn't say.

question: Was the documentary in this text crowdfunded?

answer: Yes, it was funded on Kickstarter.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This text advertises the release of a documentary on the life of actress Catherine A. Coulson and offers some details about the film. The purpose of the text seems to be to fund the film's release through Kickstarter.


text:
In 2012, I was the Supreme Allied Commander at NATO, in overall command of NATO operational forces worldwide. My trusted subordinate commander of the International Security Force Afghanistan was a superb U.S. Marine Corps General and a Naval Academy classmate of mine, John Allen. He called me late in the year to inform me that a group of U.S. Marines had been videotaped and photographed that summer by their fellow Marines urinating on the corpses of Taliban combatants who had been killed in a firefight in Afghanistan. John was deeply, justifiably upset. He outlined the difficulties ahead — particularly the real additional danger to our troops — caused by the enormous backlash that we both knew would come in country, once the world knew what these Americans had done. I remember the anguish in his voice.

Those Marines were subsequently charged and punished by military courts for, or themselves pled guilty to, obvious violations of our code of conduct. Some were demoted a rank or, in at least one case, discharged — albeit honorably. The fellow Marines who conducted the disciplinary activity were sober, thoughtful and fully knowledgeable of the stress of combat operations. (One Marine’s conviction was overturned in 2017, due to meddling by an enraged four-star general who oversaw the investigation into this case, though even then, the general took action to attempt to, he wrote, “protect the institutional integrity of the military justice process.” This was correctly construed by the military appellate system as “undue command influence” — demonstrating the military judicial system is indeed self-policing.)

There was not a shred of “political correctness” in the convictions. Though some judges could not inflict harsher punishment due to plea deals, the Marines’ actions represented a real failure in our overall command discipline, disgraced the Marine Corps and put their fellow Marines in more danger on the battlefield. It was a low point in our campaign in Afghanistan, where at that moment we had 150,000 brave U.S. and Alliance troops engaged in a difficult and frustrating fight.

But according to the New York _Times_, it appears that President Trump is considering pardoning those men, as well as other military members credibly charged with a variety of crimes, including murdering an enemy captive or killing unarmed civilians. (The President is also reportedly considering pardoning a security contractor twice convicted by a federal court.) All of these actions are gross violations of the laws of war and the U.S. code of military conduct. They are extreme ethical and moral failures.

Some of the Marines who desecrated the corpses accounted their actions to the stress of war. Yet while the impulse to act with leniency toward the servicemen who, in the crucible of combat, fall short of our expectations for acceptable behavior is understandable — especially to some sympathetic civilians — actually doing so leads us in the wrong direction. These men are not heroes. Far from it.

Each of the cases is unique. The circumstances, motivations, outcomes and punishments all differ. But they share one crucial element: the military members went through, or still face, the military judicial system, which includes a strong presumption of innocence by fellow military members; a very high bar for conviction; a set of judges, prosecutors and defense teams composed of military personnel, most with real combat experience themselves; and a fully engaged appellate system that likewise was composed of military judges. While there may be a very atypical case wherein a Presidential pardon could right an obvious wrong, such a situation is extremely rare — the punishments meted out take fully into account the circumstances. At a minimum, the President should let the full course of military justice run its course through conviction, potential incarceration and the appellate process — before even considering such an action.

For the Commander-in-Chief to reach into the military system and provide a pardon, especially in a preemptive way before a trial and appeal process, is a mistake. It will undermine our own standards, as junior enlisted personnel try to understand a pardon for doing something we constantly train to avoid. It strengthens enemy propaganda, as they will correctly say that we do not hold ourselves accountable for our own standards. It undercuts our relations with allies who have strong systems in place to prevent these kinds of actions. And it spurs our enemies on to even more barbaric behavior as the battlefield descends into moral chaos on _both_ sides of the line of combat. This kind of pardon disrespects every single one of our soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines who follow the strict standards of the Code of Conduct. They do not abuse captives who have surrendered, use torture to interrogate, cause needless casualties to civilians through collateral damage or desecrate corpses.

For an example of a serviceman who truly is a hero and faced similar circumstances but made the courageous and honorable decision in that combat crucible, consider the story of SEAL Lieutenant Michael Murphy. On a mission in Afghanistan in 2008, his four-man SEAL patrol stumbled across Afghan goat herders. The squad considered killing them to preserve operational security. As the team leader, the decision was Murphy’s to make, and he released them, knowing that execution of civilians would have been a violation of military law. Later, his team was ambushed and three of them died, including Lieutenant Murphy. He subsequently received the Congressional Medal of Honor for his actions in the final firefight, and today his name graces the bow of the Arleigh Burke-class destroyer named in his honor. The man who survived the mission, Navy Seal Marcus Luttrell, tells the story in his memoir _Lone Survivor,_ illuminating the hard choices on the battlefield and the way in which Michael lived up to our standards fully.

When he was a boy growing up, Michael Murphy’s nickname was “the protector,” because he tried to shield the weak and always take the moral and ethical path forward. That is the kind of young leader we cherish in the U.S. military, and Michael’s actions in combat represent the vast majority of America’s extraordinary armed forces. President Trump would do well to consider the actions of leaders like him as he considers wielding the enormous powers of the presidency in pardoning those at the other end of the moral spectrum. He should tread carefully indeed.

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CONTACT US at letters@time.com.

question: What are the ethical failures being documented in this article?

answer: The author mentions a myriad of war crimes committed by US armed forces in Afghanistan, including murdering enemy captives, desecrating bodies, and killing unarmed civilians.

question: What does the author think is a mistake for the Commander-in-Chief to do?

answer: The author believes that it would be a mistake for the Commander-in-Chief pardoned the Marines on trial for desecrating bodies before a trial and appeal process has occurred.

question: Who is Michael Murphy?

answer: Michael Murphy was a SEAL Lieutenant who, during a mission in Afghanistan in 2008, stumbled across Afghan goat herders. He and his team considered killing them to preserve operational security, but Murphy released them, knowing that the execution of civilians would have been a violation of military law. Later, his team was ambushed, and only one survived. Murphy was posthumously given the Congressional Medal of Honor for his actions.


text:
The First Of The Last
by Jacob Breen.
It never comes to mind, that the first time of you doing something would be the last. I suppose that that never comes to thought for anyone, especially me. I never did think that I would be diagnosed with brain cancer. I never thought I would ever be told that there were tumors forming in all organs in my body. Never thought I would be told that I only had a few days left. I suppose I should start from the beginning
I walk into the school I was going to be soon acquainted with. The people around me are more mature than my last school, although that was middle school. Just from the look of everybody, I could tell that I would find myself in the lonesome relationship with myself that I had become so stuck to. The people around walked as if knowing what they were going to do. That was something I had not been familiar with, you see, I had never know what I was going to do, never knew where I was going to go.
For a few months it was just as that, they same old thing I had always done. However, I felt something new, some sort of change had been somewhere. In that few seconds it took for me to ask that question it came abundant to me, I look to my side to see it. She was just there, sitting next to me, her lunch in front of her. This was never something that happened, nobody ever he sat next to me. She turns her face to me. “Are you just gonna sit there or are you gonna talk? You do talk right.”
I hesitate at first, then I come to realisation. “Oh, yea, I talk, just not often.” I never had something like this happen to me. Just a random girl, not from any of my classes, sit next to me and want to talk.
“Well, why are you sitting by yourself?”
“Does it look like I have anybody to talk to?”
She looks at me with a smile “You do now!”
Throughout the rest of the year we were friends, you couldn’t separate us, but it only took one thing for our relationship to change forever. The day was just like anyother, me and her were talking. A sudden lightheadedness through me off, though I didn’t think much of it, I ignored it and went on with talking to her. It slowly progressed worse, until it was unignorable. In a millisecond, I was in a hospital, like I had been teleported there. I learned that I had fainted, just dropped down to the ground.
After the diagnoses, I had been in the hospital. The surgeons planned to take out the tumors and I would live a long prosperous life. Deep down I knew I wasn’t going to walk out of that hospital. Deep down I knew that my days on this cruel earth were limited. Every day the doctors took test after test. It didn’t take long for them to realize.
It hit everyone like a sandstorm. Especially her, everyday she came to visit me. We talked about things like school, life, and taking pictures. Something that we had both loved to do, it was more than a hobby, It was basically a game.
One day when she came, I was weak. I knew this was one of the last time we would see each other. She walks over to me. “How are you feeling?”
I looked at her “Weak, but ok.”
“What would you like to talk about?”
“You know, we have never taken a picture, just something I realized while I was in here.”
With the monitors beeping in the background, she pulls out her phone “Cheeezzeee!”
    “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
    In an instant, the monitors beside me begin to go crazy. As this happens three nurses run in the room and… My dead body laid there. I died five minutes after the picture. The little I knew was gone, the family I had known was gone, but the photos that were left would last a lifetime.

title: [RF]The First of the Last by Jacob Breen

question: What happens to Jacob Breen in the end and what remains of him?

answer: Jacob Breen has tumors on his brain. He knows he will never leave the hospital. Eventually, he succumbs to the disease. All that is left behind are the photographs that his girlfriend has just taken of him.

question: How does Jacob Breen meet his girlfriend?

answer: Jacob Breen goes to a new school and continues as he always has - a loner. One day during lunch break a girl sits next to him and prompts him to speak to her. From that time on they remain inseparable.


text:
(Trigger warning: discussion of bodily fluids and disease) We all know them. You know the type. Those ‘superior’ folks who feign disgust at the idea of exerting a little pressure on a swollen pimple or clogged pore. They pretend to be too sophisticated for such things and then roll their eyes at the mere suggestion. “Leave it alone!”; They sneer. “It’ll go away on its own if you just stop squeezing it.” Yeah, right. Meanwhile, in the privacy of their own home they mash every single one of their zits, just like the rest of us. I know they do. It’s their dirty little secret.

There’s a certain primal pleasure in the cause-and-effect of watching infected bodily fluids go flying onto a mirror. I know. Gross, right? It’s followed by the white-hot, searing pain of an infected gland sending furious signals to our brains. The truth is, even that ‘torture’ can be ‘enjoyable’, in a masochistic sort of way. “Ewwwww!” I can almost see you making a squeamish face of revulsion but you know it’s true. Come on. You know. Everyone pops their swollen bumps.

I had a particularly large one swell up on my shoulder a few days ago. I honestly tried to ignore it for a while but eventually the temptation to mess with it was just too great. I attempted to bargain with myself. I thought I could rub it just a little, or lightly squeeze the outside edge. You know what I mean. Alleviate the built-up pressure ‘slightly’, without mashing it to death, right? Wrong. So wrong. It went from abnormally large mass to: “Oh my god, he has a volcano about to erupt on his shoulder!”

The more I teased the little mole hill, the more mountainous it became. I was still in denial though about my ability to resist messing with the angry abscess. On a couple of occasions of weakness I gave in and mashed it. Lightly at first and then BOOM! White puss shot everywhere, but that was no surprise. We can all visualize the ejaculatory process in our heads. Yeah, I said ‘ejaculatory’. It’s as apt as any other term for the process. Instead of my boil going down after the release, it swelled up even more and my nerve endings were on fire. I guess my taxed lymph nodes were triggered into producing millions more white blood cells to replace the ones I’d just lost. It’s an endless cycle of doom, as I soon came to realize.

After that semi-fulfilling pop, even I knew it was time to leave it alone. The sore looked like a second head was about to sprout from my oozing shoulder. The knot itself remained constant in size for a while. Slowly the ‘snow covered peak’ recapped to the top of ‘puss mountain’ and my obsession to squeeze it returned with a vengeance. It’s an ugly, primordial compulsion we have to exorcise decay and infection from our bodies.

A fever filled my oozing wound and made the area ache. I desperately tried to distract myself with other things but it kept luring me back. Whenever I would mash it, only a watery substance came out. What had been a localized infection of my shoulder had now spread to my chest and arm. Because my immune system had been called upon too many times lately, my lymph nodes swelled to grotesque proportions.  My eyes watered and my nose secreted some form of festering liquid. I felt as though I was dying. My body was so run-down that I had to take a rest. With any luck, I hoped to start the essential process of healing while I slept.

After an undetermined amount of hours I awoke to find that my nap had not rolled back the ravages of infection. My arm was discolored and the massive boil which started it all was an unholy shade of purple! Was it blood poisoning or gangrene? Perhaps both. Either way, my sore had spread for far too long. My body was covered in sickly sweat and a deathly skin pallor. I had to wonder if antibiotics would even make a dent in my critical illness at the advanced stage of decay I was in. Half delirious from fever and blood-borne infection, I drove myself to the emergency room and stumbled up to the admission counter. They took one look at my ravaged body and admitted me right away.

I was put on a full regimen of aggressive antibiotics and prepped for immediate surgery. At that point, I no longer feared amputation or the risk of death. I just wanted to be free of the throbbing pain. My doctor advised me that I had apparently contracted necrotizing fasciitis from the open tissue exposure. The extremely aggressive, ‘flesh eating’ bacteria is quite common on the body but it can only wreak havoc if it gets past the first few layers of skin. My raw, festering pimple facilitated the deadly staph infection to enter my bloodstream. From there it spread to all my internal organs.

My surgeon just informed me that I am going to be placed in an artificial coma while they attempt to save my life. I fear this will be a voyage from wince there is no return. If I survive, I may not have fingers left to mash future whiteheads. Let my tale of woe be a somber warning. Leave them alone!

title: [MF] ‘A voyage of no return’

question: What does the text say about the pimple on the narrator's shoulder?

answer: The narrator notices a large pimple that swells on his shoulder. He falls into temptation, and ends up trying to mess with it. The more he irritated it, the larger it got. He eventually popped it, but the release only made it swell more. He falls into a cycle of popping it, but it turns into an infection that swells his lymph nodes. As time progresses, he notices his arm has become discolored and the massive pimple is now purple. He goes to the emergency room where he's told he contracted necrotizing fasciitis from his shoulder pimple. The staph infection has gone into his bloodstream and spread to his organs. He is placed in an artificial coma to save his life.

question: Summarize everything relating to blood.

answer: After the narrator pops the pimple on their shoulder, his lymph nodes become taxed. This causes millions of more white blood cells to replace the ones he had just lost. Later on, the pimple has become infected and purple due to his continuous popping. His arm is discolored and his immune system is taxed, which causes him to wonder if he now has blood poisoning. The blood-borne infection and his fever make him half-delirious. When he finally goes to the emergency room, he's told he has a deadly staph infection that's gone into his bloodstream and spread to his organs.

question: Summarize the lesson of this story.

answer: The lesson of this story is to leave whiteheads alone. The narrator tells the story of when he wouldn't leave a pimple alone. It eventually becomes so infected, that he has to go to the emergency room. There he's told he has a deadly staph infection that's spread to his bloodstream and internal organs. He will have to be placed in an artificial coma while doctors attempt to save his life. He hopes this story will be a somber warning to those who mess around with their blemishes.

question: What does the text say about how the narrator died?


text:
Any feedback on this first chapter of this short story is welcome. I just want to see if this is worth continuing writing or not. Thanks!

Chapter 1:
There’s nothing out here anymore. Occasionally we’ll pass a car or two pulled off to the side of the road, but for the most part, it’s just fields and hay bales.  We’re headed to Rainwood, North Carolina. Supposedly, there’s a safe haven there.

My shotgun’s in the back seat, and I’m holding onto my pistol, only because David told me that you can’t ever be too careful out here. You never know when you’ll come up on something that can take your life in an instant. Especially if you’re in the situation we’re in now. Our gas tank is empty, and our car is stopped, dead. David turns to me. “Alright,” he says as he unbuckles his seatbelt and grabs his gun from behind him, “let’s go.” I reach back, grab my gun, and put my pistol back in the holster on my hip. Luckily for us, there’s a several car pile-up on the highway about thirty yards from where we are. Maybe we can find some supplies, some gas, or even better, another car.

David slings his gun over his shoulder, and I do the same, and we begin to walk. The silence, aside form the slight buzzing of insects around us, is comforting. It makes me feel safe, like I know were alone out here. Like *they* aren’t one step behind us everywhere we go. When we arrive at the jam, David immediately tells me to start searching the abandoned cars for supplies. He walks to the semi-truck about a quarter mile away from me, and I begin searching the cars in front of me. There’s about nine or ten here, so it shouldn’t take too long. Or at least that’s what I thought until I opened the back seat of the first car. I stop, frozen in my tracks, staring. Toy cars, a teddy bear, a baby’s car seat… all covered in an unnatural amount of blood. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes, and even though it’s hard not to, I can’t cry. I have to be strong, or, at least pretend I am for David. I don’t want him to think I’m weak, or that he has to always protect this “innocent girl.” What the hell happened to the world though? “Stop.” I tell myself. “Stop questioning. It’s over. The damage has been done.”

David always tells me that you can question all you want, but questioning isn’t going to get you anywhere. You just need to deal with the circumstances the way they are. So I need to let this one go, as fucked up as it is. This can’t be our fault like the preacher on the radio said though, can it? He said, and I quote, “Sinners. You, your friends, your family, all of you. You are the cause. You’ve brought this on to yourselves. Almighty God has judged you, and this… this is your punishment.”  No, this can’t be my… our fault. There’s no way we can be blamed for the state of the world now. But when someone pins the blame on you like that, you feel bad. You feel bad for the death, the innocence, and the heartache that the world has come into.

“David?” I call out, and he answers almost immediately, “Yeah?” “Come help me search the rest of these cars.” I say, and he walks to where I am. As he arrives, he sees the car seat and toys, and I can tell that he feels just the same as I do about it. “Keep looking.” He tells me. “I got this one.” I can tell he doesn’t want it, the sadness is in his voice, but as I walk away, I’m thankful that he’s there for me. I’m glad I don’t have to look through the mess in that car anymore, though I can’t help feel bad for him. I walk to a Nineteen-Seventy’s looking pick-up truck, and peek over the edge of the bed to see if there’s anything worth taking. A toolbox. That could be good for something, you never know. I hop in to the bed of the truck and look at the small metal box in front of me, hoping, just hoping that there’s something useful in it. As I open the lid, I glance at David, now searching some sort of two-thousand’s SUV. He’s got the same serious, concerned look on his face that he always wears. I look back down at the box, now open, to see a pistol with two boxes of nine millimeter ammo next to it. The next thing out of my mouth is a cheer. “Shhh!” I hear David from behind me. He’s right. Those things, the dead, could be anywhere. I cover my mouth with both hands. “Sorry!” I say in a whisper, and wave at him to go back to his business.

In the normal world, back before the outbreak started and the virus spread, it was just some stories on the news. ‘Ya know, “A man viciously attacked another man at So-and-So Mall today, taking a bite out of his flesh…” or “So-and-So Prison was quarantined today after several inmates killed and ate two of the guards, displaying the same symptoms of those infected in Asia, Europe, Australia, Mexico, and America…” But after a while, things got more serious. The CDC called it a virus, religious groups called it the wrath of God, and apocalypse nuts called it the zombie apocalypse. Whatever it was, it spread like wildfire. Soon enough, ninety-percent of the world’s population (or, so reported the World News) was infected, and there really wasn’t any hope of a cure, or survival at all for that matter. The army moved in and they were overrun almost immediately by the infected. Civilians were told to stay indoors and wait for help, though it never came. Bombs were dropped on the streets, cities were devastated, highways piled up, and people were killed. So now we’re here. David and I could be some of the last living people on the planet. The rest are either dead or turned into those monsters. So we just try to survive. That’s our goal. Survival.

Naturally, when we heard word of a safe house in Rainwood, we thought it was the best possible thing that we could do for ourselves, considering that, prior to this, we set up shop in the storm cellar of a farm house, living off of 1 can of sardines a day, split between the two of us. You could say it was pretty hard for the first couple of weeks.

I pull the pistol out of the box, but immediately retract my hand when I feel what I know see is a sticky clear substance, kind of like saliva covering the handle. I don’t want to think about what that is or why it’s on this gun, so I just pull out my bandana and wipe the handle off. As I put the two boxes of ammo in my backpack and the gun in my belt, I hear David yell, “Sarah, we’ve gotta’ go, now!” Quickly, I stand to my feet and look toward where he’s yelling from, but I don’t see him anywhere. To my surprise, however, what I do see are the brake lights of a silver minivan. I hop out of the bed of the truck almost to excitedly, and run toward the van. I open the door, and sit it the seat trying to catch my breath. “Tank’s full.” David says, and I turn to him, smiling. He smiles back, and begins to drive.

This is the first good thing that’s happened to us since this all began.

As David drives, he asks me if I’ve found anything valuable. Without a word, I smile and pull out my backpack. “What?” He says with a chuckle. I know he’s going to like this. First, I pull out the gun and hand it to him. “Nice! Jericho nine-forty-one. This is good.” He says happily. “That’s not all buddy.” I say as I pull out both boxes of ammo. “What? Are you kidding me? This is awesome!” he says even more excitedly than before. He smiles and so do I. It feels so good to know he’s proud of me. Ever since this all started, and ever since I met him, he’s been the only person I’ve had, so it’s good to know that at least someone is.

And that’s it, we’re back on the road again. We’ve got a good ten-hour car ride ahead of us. That’s four and a half states to cross through, and that’s only if everything goes smoothly. Rainwood, here we come.

title: [AA] Dead

question: What does the story say about COVID-19?

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

answer: The primary source of tension in the story is the fact that Sarah and David are trying to survive in a world where the living must steer clear of the undead or die. They have been on survival mode since it all began, sleeping rough and getting by on scraps they manage to scavenge. They need to constantly be looking out for supplies that can save their lives, such as food, water, fuel, and weapons while being extra quiet. There is perpetual fear that they can be attacked by the undead anytime, anywhere. Governments and militaries are gone, and there is no help coming. It also doesn't help that some religious groups are saying what's happening is God's punishment and everyone's to blame.

question: Summarize the apocalyptic event that led to where Sarah and David are now.

answer: In the world before the virus outbreak, there were random news stories about vicious attacks by people biting chunks of flesh out of their victims. A prison was quarantined after several inmates, showing the same symptoms as those infected in other countries, killed and ate the guards. Things got serious. The CDC started calling it a virus, while some called it the zombie apocalypse. It spread like wildfire and 99% of the world's population was infected. There wasn't any hope for a cure or survival. The army tried to stop it but was overrun by the infected. Civilians were told to stay indoors and wait for help, but it never came. Bombs destroyed cities and killed people. Highways piled up with those trying to flee, which is why Sarah and David ended up where they were - at the tail end of the traffic jam. They could be the last living people on the planet. The rest are dead or zombies.

question: What does the story say about the relationship between Sarah and David??

answer: Sarah and David met during the apocalypse. They are probably the last living people on the planet and share the goal of trying to survive. It seems all they have are each other, and David is always protecting Sarah, who views herself as the "innocent girl". She wants to be strong for him and feels good whenever Davis is proud of her. Despite being strangers, they managed to stick together and share everything, possibly leaning into one another for support. There is no indication that they are in a romantic relationship.

question: What does the story say about Rainwood, North Carolina?

answer: Rainwood, North Carolina is supposedly a safe haven for survivors of the zombie apocalypse. It's the best thing that could ever happen to Sarah and David, so they headed there immediately after hearing about it. It's a ten-hour car ride from their location and they would need to traverse four and a half states.


text:
[The Shiite mosque Bait al Mahdi built on the location of Báb’s house.] The BÁB'S HOUSE (), also known as Seyed Báb's house, in the Iranian city of Shiraz, was the home of Seyed Ali Mohammad Báb, founder of Bábism religion when he openly proselyted his religion for the first time.[1]

This house, which later became the most important Baháʼí pilgrimage in Iran,[2][3][4][5] was demolished on 1st, September 1979,[6] during Iranian Revolution.[7] [8]

Destruction

In the Kitáb-i-Aqdas Baháʼu'lláh declared this house a place for Baháʼí pilgrimage.[9] After some major renovation in 1903, under the guidance of Abdu'l-Bahá , the house became Baháʼís, main pantheon.[10] During the next years this house was, however, attacked by fanatics and was demolished.[11] In 1942 the house was the subject of an arson. In 1955.in the midst of a series of Persecution of Baháʼís, which took place in different parts of Iran by intimidations of Mohammad Taghi Falsafi, the building was severely damaged. It was in September 1979, after Iran’s1978 revolution that the house was completely knocked down by religious fanatics.[12][13] {{-}}

Reaction of Bahaii Community

Following the destruction of Seyed Bob’s house, in a letter dated 1st October, 1979, “Iran’s Bahai is National Circle” expressed their compliant for the house\s destruction.[14] Members of the National Circle who wrote this letter were kidnapped the next year. They have not been heard of since then.[15]

New Phase 1979

After 1979, the religion entered a new phase of activity when a message of the Universal House of Justice dated 20 October 1983 was released. Baháʼís were urged to involve in the social and economic development of the communities in which they lived. World-wide in 1979 there were 129 officially recognized Baháʼí socioeconomic development projects.[16][17]

The 1979 Islamic Revolution has refocused the persecutions against the Baháʼí Faith. Several Baháʼí holy sites were destroyed in the revolution's aftermath, including the house of the Báb in Shiraz, the house of Baháʼu'lláh at Takur (in Mazandaran), and the resting place of Muhammad-Ali Barfurushi (Quddús) in Tehran.[18]

Many Baháʼís have been killed since the Islamic Revolution with many more imprisoned, expelled from schools and workplaces, denied various benefits or denied registration for their marriages.[19]

Over the last 12 years. Since 2005, more than 1006 Baha'is has been arrested, The list of prisoners includes six members of a former leadership group serving the Baha'i community of Iran. In 2010, the seven leaders of the community were wrongly sentenced to 20 years in prison, the longest term then facing any prisoner of conscience in Iran. In late 2015, reports indicated that their sentences have been belatedly reduced from 20 years to 10 years.[20]

Other types of persecution include educational and economic discrimination, also limits on the right to assemble and worship, and the dissemination of anti-Baha’i propaganda led by government news media. Attacks on Baha'is or Baha'i-owned properties, go without any prosecution, creating a sense of impunity for attackers. Since 2005, for example, there have been at least 52 incidents of arson against Baha’i properties, crimes for which no one has been arrested.[21]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

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[14]

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[16]

[17]

[18]

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[21]

title: Báb's house

question: Briefly summarize the timeline in which Bab's house was under series of attacks.

answer: The first recorded attack on Bab's house was by religious fanatics, which occurred shortly after the building underwent renovation in 1903. Another subsequent attack on the house was arson which occurred in 1942. Afterward, during a series of attacks on Baha'i's in 1955, the house was subject to severe damage again. The final and most permanent damage done to the house took place in September 1979 by religious fanatics after the Iranian revolution of 1978.


text:
[] _ST MARGARET OF ANTIOCH WITH TWO SAINTS_ is a 1530 oil on panel painting by Moretto da Brescia on display on the side-altar of St Jerome in the church of San Francesco in Brescia. To the left of Margaret of Antioch is shown Saint Jerome, whilst to the right is Francis of Assisi.

It originally stood on the side altar dedicated to St Margaret in the same church[1], where it was recorded in 1630 by Bernardino Faino, who called it a “beautiful and delicate thing”[2]. It was also recorded in its original location in 1660 by Francesco Paglia[3] and in 1700 by Giulio Antonio Averoldi, with the latter calling it an “incomparible panel [...] in the taste of Raphael”[4]. The last source to record it on this site is an 1834 guidebook by Alessandro Sala[5], whilst the first to record it in its present position is Federico Odorici in 1853[6]. There it replaced a painting by Callisto Piazza which had transferred to the Lechi collection and is now in Milan's Pinacoteca di Brera, which acquired it in 1829[7].

[1] Pier Virgilio Begni Redona, p. 246

[2] Bernardino Faino, pag. 90

[3] Francesco Paglia, pag. 148

[4] Giulio Antonio Averoldi, p. 99

[5] Alessandro Sala, p. 93

[6] Federico Odorici, pag. 107

[7]

title: St Margaret of Antioch with Two Saints

question: Who painted the St Margaret of Antioch with Two Saints?

answer: Moretto da Brescia painted it in 1530.

question: Where does the painting currently reside?

answer: It resides in Milan's Pinacoteca di Brera as of 1829.

question: Where did the painting originally reside?

answer: It originally stood on the side altar dedicated to St Margaret in the church of San Francesco in Brescia.

question: Who called the painting an "incomparable panel"?

answer: Guilio Antonio in 1700

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This article discusses St. Margaret of Antioch with Two Saints, a 1530 oil on panel painting by Moretto da Brescia on display on the side-altar of St. Jerome in the church of San Francesco in Brescia. It now resides in Milan's Pinacoteca di Brera.


text:
"You fell in love with another bimbo, didn't you?" I stopped hugging him.

Becky was far from a bimbo though I'm sure her ability to keep my boyfriend up until dawn trying to understand the fourth dimension was hampered by whatever she was on half the time. Still, here we were again.

"She was... unexpectedly inspiring," he told me. I wondered how much the writer in him worked on that stupid euphemism because it wasn't enough.

He couldn't lie to me. I saw the spark of another she in his eyes. Her taste wasn't on his lips, and not just because he used mouthwash. Her scent wasn't in my favorite spot on his chest on that shirt he wore too much. Her fingerprints weren't on the belt buckle he never cleaned. But Becky was inside him.

"I'm not in love," he whispered.

I tilted my head toward him and started with wide, unconvinced eyes.

"Love's not a binary thing," he said. "I'm not sure what it is exactly, or how I feel now but this is something new, something unexpected."

"I don't care how you define or rationalize it inside yourself, the point is you're not completely mine again!"

"Oh, I didn't realize you owned me."

"You know what I mean!" He didn't. He never knew what it was like to be fully in love. Or emotionally faithful.

His words were Becky's words. There was the meaning of things, then the attempts at better definitions, followed by logical pandering. I never understood how she could major in philosophy or how they accomplished anything when they talked. Our conversations were mental sprints and I was cramping up.

I met him in the middle of a three-year-stretch of getting over his first love. Or was it his first girlfriend? His first "true" inspiration? Whatever. They're all romantic semantics that mean the same thing to me: there's rarely one person in his heart.

"Why does this keep happening, just tell me, why?" I said.

"I... I don't know."

"What part of me is not enough?"

Nothing.

"Is it that I keep forgiving you?"

Nothing.

"Is it that I'm not inspiring enough?"

Nothing.

"Am I not blonde enough? Are my boobs the wrong size? Am I so far from your dream girl that you have to keep looking for her regardless of how much faith I blindly invest in you?"

He shook his head but wouldn't look up.

My temples throbbed at a thousand beats per minute. The same thousand beats that I wanted to pound into his chest just to stop that wandering heart. But no, that'd be too easy. He hadn't earned that kind of peace.

"There's nothing I'd change about you. You're... perfect," he mumbled.

"If I'm so damn perfect, then tell me why this keeps happening! Why do you keep searching for someone else?"

"I'm not searching. I'm really not." He sat down on my briefcase and covered his face. He said something I couldn't make out.

"Stop mumbling!" I said.

"I don't want this to happen. I hate it when it happens. I hate feeling torn."

"You're torn? Oh you poor baby! You're torn between every smart, pretty semi-blonde that jiggles her intellectual hips before fading through your life. Torn between all of them and me. Me. Me! The one girl who stays with you despite all of this. And do you know why, stupid?"

"...because you love me," he answered.

"That's right! That's..." I tried to picture him with Becky but I couldn't. It didn't happen. It was all in his head or his heart or wherever it comes from. Could I really be this hurt by his thoughts? "Maybe I shouldn't judge you or call you stupid. I'm the one too dumb to just end it."

"You're not du--"

"No! No. Why am I even beginning to doubt myself? You're the one who goes around continuously falling for girls other than me and I shouldn't judge you? Ha!"

"I'm not proud of it."

"Is that supposed to make it better?" I said.

"Of course not. I just..."

"What?"

His eyes were fixated on the ground, like he was trying to make sense of the scuffmarks in the pavement.

"What?" I repeated.

Nothing.

"Don't stop being honest now. You just what?"

"I just don't," he started, "I just don't understand. They tell you to follow your heart, right? They say it'll never lead you wrong. That's all I ever do. I follow my heart but I feel like the world keeps punishing me for it."

"They? Who are they? Your muses? Your single friends? Your family that couldn't keep a single relationship from failing?"

"You know what I mean." I didn't.

I'm sure Becky did. Becky or Sarah. Or Lindsey. Or Isabel. The philosophy major or the physics one. The first love or the one he wrote the most about. The one who left for New York years ago. Or someone he didn't even bother telling me about. Maybe they all knew. Maybe that's what separated us.

"You follow your heart too." He looked up at me. "And you're punished for it too."

He was right, for once. I loved him and that never changed. It didn't fluctuate with my moods or based on inspiration. It wasn't subject to a quarter-life crisis or nostalgia from seeing where I grew up. It was honest and constant and raw and kept me by his side. But he was right.

He broke the silence: "I'm sorry this keeps happening. I'm sorry I keep hurting you."

"I've always followed my heart and I always will," I said.

I noticed the car was still running, trunk still open. One suitcase was already inside while he sat on the other. I turned my back to him and stepped off the curb, past the other cars. I didn't even have to raise my hand. One of the cab drivers made eye contact and pulled over.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he finally got off the suitcase.

I walked over to the trunk and yanked my things out.

"Wait." He touched my shoulder in the humble way he used to.

The cab driver followed my finger to the suitcase he sat on. Soon both were in the new trunk. His hand was still on my shoulder.

"You follow your heart, I'll follow mine," I said.

For the first time since our first kiss on that cold night four and a half years ago, his touch wasn't enough to hold me. We followed our hearts but kept coming back to this honest place neither of us could understand.

He came to pick me up but I wouldn't leave with him.

I'd see him at home within the hour.

The cab door slammed shut.

I left the airport that day a beautiful hypocrite.

title: Beautiful Hypocrite

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

answer: The narrator is in a long-term relationship for the last four and a half years. She loves her boyfriend, and her love never wavers. His, however, seems to waver a lot. He gets infatuated with any seemingly intelligent and beautiful girl, aware that his behavior upsets the narrator. Despite his many transgressions, the narrator stands by his side. In the story, we see that she finally accepts the situation, but she's still unable to end their relationship.

question: What does the text say about the importance of communication in relationships?


text:
	The Charred Remains of Grandfather's Cock

        Jacob remembered his father shouting as the car screeched up to the driveway. The flames were enormous.  His grandmother was in the street, sobbing loudly.
	No one bothered to unfasten Jacob from his car seat, they were all too busy trying desperately to free Jacob's grandfather from the old, burning house. The fire licked the sky almost playfully.
	"Jump! Jump!" they told him. The old man clawed and clawed at the window that would not budge. Jacob was close enough to the house so that he could just barely make out his grandfather's face, illuminated with an orange glow from the fire. The old man turned to meet his grandson's gaze. Their eyes became fixed upon one another's. Young Jacob had never before seen a face contorted in such helpless agony.
	Then, the roof collapsed.
	That was the end of "family game night".

*	*	*

	Cold beads of sweat peppered Jacob's face as he awoke, gasping for breath. He reached for the table next to him and grabbed his inhaler. He inhaled the mist and his breathing became less labored.
	He flopped back against his pillow in a state of eerie shock.  Even now, ten years after the fire, he was still having nightmares. For a while they had stopped, and he thought his life was beginning to get back on track, like he could lead a normal existence again. However, this last month had been a bad one. He could tell his parents were beginning to worry.
	A squawk from windowsill made him jump. He turned to meet a pair of piercing, yellow orbs, floating in the darkness. Jacob was paralyzed in fear. His mouth opened but no scream escaped. Another squawk, then a flutter of feathers and the orbs had vanished. The raven had left behind some shining object, and when the pounding in his ears had subsided, Jacob left his bed to investigate.
	Jacob approached the window and much to his surprise he found a battered pair of old glasses. He picked them up to take a closer look. They were nothing special. The frames were rusted and the lenses were scratched and chipped. Something about them, though, seemed familiar to him. He couldn't quite place where he had seen them before, but he knew he had. The shape suggested they were old, as that particular style had long been out of fashion. The only person who would wear these would have to be as old as...
	The glasses dropped suddenly to his feet as Jacob remembered where he had seen them before. They were the same as the ones his grandfather used to wear. They were the same as the ones that had glared so horrifically at him on the night of the fire. Jacob leaned out the window and was sick. Some of the vomit landed on a cat sleeping outside. He sobbed as he wretched out his window for some hours; he was bewildered that there was even that much in his stomach to expel. Eventually he became so exhausted that he collapsed and drifted into a disturbed slumber.

*	*	*

	Jacob awoke late in the afternoon the next day. He had nowhere to be since school was out for a few weeks.  The events that transpired the previous night flooded back to him all at once and he was sick again. He tried getting up but the puddle of puke caused him to slip a few times.
	He managed to get himself on his feet, though his knees were shaking. He peered out the window into his neighbor's farm. There were three boys around his age walking in the field of grass smoking cigarettes.
	The rest of the day was weird but uneventful; Jacob was his usual silent self and passed the time sitting alone reading or writing or just staring. As the sun began to set, the feeling of panic that had been brooding inside him all day long began to rise in his chest. He was dreading the evening.
	Time did what time does best and moved forward, so much so that it was time for Jacob to go to bed. As was his usual routine, he popped a couple tablets of Ambien in his mouth and turned on his fan. Within minutes the pills had taken effect, and he promptly fell asleep. He was curled up with his stuffed animal, which he had had for years. He couldn't sleep without the ratty-looking old tiger, no matter how much sleeping medication he had.
	It was a few hours later that he awoke with a start. He peered at the clock. It announced to him, in menacing, red letters, that it was 2:17 in the morning. He looked at his windowsill. No bird. However, there was something there.
	Jacob silently got out of bed to check things out. He slowly approached the open window, for he knew whatever he was going to find may be so shocking that it could kill him. As he got closer, the shape of the object on the windowsill took on the appearance of a small, dead rodent. Perhaps a mouse or rat.
	Only when he mustered up the courage to get within clear sight of the window did he realize what it was. It was a very oxidized, silver pocket watch. Jacob picked it up, turned it in his hand, and was sick.
	He was sick to the very core of his being, because once he turned that watch, he knew this raven had an agenda. A wicked, sinister agenda. Jacob knew now the objects the raven was leaving weren't random bits of trash or shiny objects birds tend to collect. He knew this because of the engraving on the case of the pocket watch. It read, in raised letters, "W.J.C.". The initials belonging to his deceased grandfather, William Joseph Clark.
	Jacob continued to wretch, and wretch, and wretch. When he became too exhausted to wretch, he sobbed and shook with fear. Shortly after, he wretched some more.
	"What do you want from me?!" Jacob called into the night between heaves. He hung his head out the window and looked up after a while, to find himself locked into the gaze of two bright headlights shining out from a tree branch. The raven peered at him, looking confused, and cocked his head to the side. It ruffled its feathers, and then flew away. Jacob spent the rest of the night with his head hung out the window, wondering what sort of death he would die the next night.

*	*	*

	The warm kiss of sunshine woke Jacob the following morning. He was morose, and baffled by the events of the previous night.
	"What could it mean?" he thought. "Where could that bird have gotten grandpa's pocket watch? The firemen said it was never recovered after the fire!"
	"It must be a sign; this bird is surely a messenger between this realm and the next. Could it be, that this avian creature is communicating grandpa's last wishes through these nightly visits? That's crazy. But how else could it have gotten hold of the watch? It's impossible!"
	Jacob was sick.
"Oh, what foul wingéd demon plagues me now?
For what reason hath this agent of Hell,
This beast that flies under the guise of night,
Sought to wreak such malevolence on me?
A sadist hath robbed my grandfathers grave
And tormented me with the reminder
Of a winter's night lit with flame and death.
With what intention do you visit me?
For what purpose do I wretch out my soul
And cover my floor with last night's supper?
Torturer, tormentor, liberator,
Tonight thou won't greet a quivering child,
But a man unmoved, ready for his fate.
I know now what is required of me
And challenge you, putrid bird: do your worst."
	Upon accenting his point with an emotional gesture of the arms, Jacob slipped in a puddle of vomit and banged his head against a wall. He fell, unconscious, directly into bed and slept soundly for several hours.

*	*	*

	An electric aura filled the warm spring air that night. A few minutes before Jacob awoke, a lamp down the hall from Jacob's room shorted and sparks jumped onto the old, dusty rug in the hallway. Within seconds, the rug was on fire, and it wasn't long before the hallway was also consumed by the blaze. The fire found its way into several of the rooms in the hallways, for the Craft family was never too keen on the whole idea of keeping doors closed.
	The flames found their way into Jacob's room. He calmly opened his eyes and observed his surroundings. He wasn't afraid. He always knew it would be this. Even as a child, he always knew. He got out of bed, looked around, and heard his sister shriek. A few moments later he could see, from where he was standing, his family gathered on the front lawn. His father looked very startled in his bathrobe, and had his ear to the telephone. It seemed to Jacob he was telling somebody something very urgent, like it couldn't wait another second. Jacob couldn't fathom what could be so important. Business, probably.
	Jacob's mother was holding his sister, she was only about six. His mother was shouting something, too. From the movement of her lips it looked like she was shouting, "Where's Jacob? Where's Jacob?"
	Jacob walked over to the spot on the floor where the watch had fallen and picked it up. He held it up so the case shone in the glow of the blaze. He held it by the chain and swung it back and forth, which created a delightful pattern of light on the walls. He heard somewhere a support beam give out.
	He walked over to the windowsill and opened it. His father saw him and yelled, "Jacob, the house is going to collapse! You have to get out!"
	Just then, two bright stars swooped down from the night sky, and landed next to Jacob. The stars looked at him; they looked directly into his heart and saw he was ready. A moment later, they were gone.
	Despite desperate attempts from his family to get him to jump, Jacob remained where he was. He couldn't see much through the smoke, but he could see what looked like a burnt stick where the raven had been a second earlier. He coughed, and picked it up.
	A wave of complex, fleeting emotions filled him quickly, then dispersed. Parts of the roof were caving in left and right; he didn't have long.
	In the light of the fire he looked down and saw what the raven had left as its final gift.
	Jacob looked and saw, in his hand, the charred remains of grandfather's cock.

*	*	*

question: Why was Jacob having trouble sleeping?

answer: Jacob started experiencing sleeping problems after witnessing his grandpa die in a burning house. Ever since, he'd consume a couple of Ambien tablets to help him sleep, which never failed him. Following the tragic incident, he soon began receiving visits from a raven, dropping items that belonged to his grandpa at his windowsill.

question: What does the story say about what caused the fire that killed Jacob's grandfather?

question: Describe the tension in the story.

answer: Jacob kept experiencing nightmares ten years after his grandfather's death in a house fire. One morning, Jacob awoke from his frequent nightmares and encountered a raven at his windowsill. The raven dropped a shining object by his window, which turned out to be his grandfather's old pair of glasses, the same ones he used to wear before he died. Jacob was so terrified he vomited. The next day he woke up still feeling overwhelmed by the day's activities before. By the early hours of the following morning, Jacob woke up to find his grandfather's pocket watch by his window. He was so upset and bewildered by how the raven found the pocket watch because the firemen said it was never recovered from the fire. Jacob was almost convinced that the raven was a messenger between the current world and another realm, communicating his grandpa's last wishes through the nightly visits. One night, Jacob's family house gets set on fire caused by a lamp. Jacob was not frightened by the flames consuming his house. His family tried to rescue him, but Jacob felt he had been preparing for that moment. Before the roof of the house caved in, the raven dropped its final gift, the charred remains of his grandfather's cock.