text:
It was almost 11PM, meaning my shift at the sushi restaurant in the shopping plaza was finally almost over. I hated being on the closing shift, but I hated being in prison even more. I had spent the last six years of my life in prison for vehicular manslaughter while intoxicated. The woman I killed was also drunk and behind the wheel. Her name was Alice, she had gorgeous blonde hair, and glowing green eyes. It’s hard to forget a face like hers. She was at the same party I was at. Sometimes I think I should’ve been the one to go, instead of Alice. She actually had her future ahead of her and was going to college, unlike the then 21-year-old me, who was a college drop-out.

But things were actually starting to look up for me. I somehow managed to get a job, even if it was a dead-end one. And I didn’t even like sushi, but apparently I was good at preparing it, according to this regular customer we get, Alison. She actually reminded me a lot about Alice. Alison also had blonde hair, but with blue eyes instead of green. I was lucky enough to begin dating her, and she was graceful enough to let me move into her place recently. We’d only been dating for six months, which was one month longer than I’d been out of prison. Since today was payday, maybe tonight after work I’d go home, change my clothes, and take her to a movie.

We were closing up shop at the sushi place. There were only three of us on staff: the closing manager, a coworker, and I. My coworker had just finished cleaning his area of the store, and had headed out. I was almost done putting away my cooking utensils. After I had finished, I put all the chairs in the restaurant on top of the tables, so the morning people can mop the floors tomorrow. I was eager to clock out because I wanted to go home and see Alison. I exited the restaurant, saying “Good bye!” to my manager, while fumbling for my car keys. As I was about to open the door to my car, I realized I had forgotten my cell phone back inside the work lockers. Alison always wanted me to send her a text message when I was on my way home, so she would know that I was safe.

I headed back towards the restaurant, only to see my manager locking the front doors. I asked her if she could hold the door open for just a second, while I went to get my phone. I headed inside, opened my locker and sent a text message to Alison saying, “On my way home.” Once again, I exited the restaurant, thanking my manager for letting me back inside. We said our final goodbye’s to each other, and she got inside her car and drove off. I walked through the very empty parking lot towards my car. I pulled out my keys, and I heard a noise. It sounded like someone dropped a water bottle. It seemed very close, because I could hear the water sloshing about inside its container.

I turned around, only seeing an empty parking lot and the dozens of light poles that provide the yellow light to it. The base of each light pole was held up by a block of concrete. Perhaps someone put a water bottle on the base of the light pole, and the wind blew it over at that moment? I held onto that thought, so I wouldn’t freak myself out. I ignored the noise, put my keys into the car door, turned them, then I heard foot steps right behind me. After that, I felt two beefy arms come over me, one around my chest and the other around my face. The arm around my face had a cloth to my mouth, and I breathed whatever chemicals were inside of it. As I drifted away, all I remember hearing was the honking of a car horn.

When I woke up, my hands and feet were tied behind my back; I felt like an animal being taken to the slaughterhouse. I was in a small, dark place, I literally couldn't see anything. I tried to yell for help, but the cloth was inside my mouth, and was duct tape across my lips, as well as the circumference of my head. After a few moments of squirming around, I realized the place I was in was moving. I believed I was in the trunk of my own car! I had a million questions buzzing through my brain: Why was this happening? Who did this to me? Was I about to die?

As these questions were soaring through my head, I felt the car come to a stop, and the engine turned off also. I heard the driver take off their seatbelt, open their door and walk towards the trunk of the car with their heavy footsteps. They opened the trunk and we made eye contact. I thought I recognized this man. He was bald, tall and had a muscular build. At first I wasn’t sure if he was the man I was thinking it was, but when I looked at his green eyes, I was sure of it. His name was Cody and he was Alice’s brother… before she died. Most of my previous questions had just been answered.

___

Here I was, freezing my ass off in this shopping plaza sitting on the concrete, desperately waiting for the clock to strike 11PM. I had never done what I was about to do before, but I had been dreaming of it ever since that asshole Grant took my sister, Alice, away from this earth. I’ve been watching him the past few nights, coming back to this empty parking lot, just waiting for the perfect time. Usually, the three employees leave together, so I just had to wait for a night when he was all alone. Tonight was that night. He really should’ve been the one to die in that car accident, instead of poor Alice. If it would’ve been him, I wouldn’t have to be here trying to finish up what fate should've done to him six years ago!

I had told my roommates I was going to visit my mother instead of just plainly saying, “Hey, I’m gonna go kill Grant, I’ll be back in the morning.” At first they thought it was kind of weird, they probably thought, “Who visits their mother at such a late time in the day?” But those dimwits eventually believed me, since I was the one paying the majority of the rent. They better believe me, its gonna be my alibi. On my walk to the shopping plaza, I gave my mother a call. I hate to use her in such a way, but she was going a little senile. This was our conversation:

“Hello? Cody is this you? The caller ID said that this was you.”

“Yes, mother, its me.”

“Oh, how have you been?”

“You don’t remember, ma? I was just there with you about 10 minutes ago. We laughed, had a good time, and I fell asleep in my old room.”

“… oh. Yes, I think… Yes, I think I remember that. Yes! It was so fun!”

“See? You do remember! I’m gonna go back to sleep, okay? We will have breakfast tomorrow morning when I wake up. I know how hard it is for you to come up the stairs, you don’t have to come in my room and say goodnight. I’m saying goodnight right here, right now through the phone, ma. I love you.”

“Really? Okay I’ll see you in the morning whenever you’re ready to come down. I love you too, Cody.”

That last part wasn’t a lie actually. I was going to have breakfast with my mother after the deed had been done, making her believe I had stayed the night. If the police did ask my mother something about my location, I didn’t want her to have to lie. She would tell them what she thought was true. I did feel bad using her like that, but I know she’d be happy to see Alice’s killer dead. Alice would be 27 years old this year. She would've graduated from college with a nice bachelor’s degree, and Mother could've actually witnessed it and remembered. It was only two years ago Mother had developed severe Alzheimer’s. So many things could've happened. I knew I was doing the right thing.

At the parking lot, I was crouched behind a light post, a few yards away from the place Grant worked. I was dressed in all black, and was holding a piece of cloth, and a small, plastic container of bleach mixed with alcohol. When you mix those two things, you end up with Chloroform, and I didn’t feel like buying some and having it shipped all the way from China. I also had a bundle of rope with me, as well as some high-quality duct tape. And lastly, I was wearing some skin-tight gloves. After all, I didn’t want any fingerprints being traced back to me. I didn’t have to worry about any hair follicles, because I was bald.

I had taken every damn precaution I can think of. I made all my potentially incriminating online searches on a private web browser and deleted my search history. I tested the homemade Chloroform on some stray cats in my apartment complex. I bought all the black clothes and gloves I’m wearing now with cash, months ago. I created my alibi with my mother and roommates. I had been practicing foolproof knots to use with the type of rope I bought. I’m wearing gloves to prevent fingerprint from appearing on the body or on the car. I needed to get away with this. I wasn’t going to give up my job and its new promotion for this scumbag. I really believed I was going to get away with this.

___

I was on my way to surprise Grant, who was just about to get off work. He usually gets off at 11PM, which would give me enough time to pick him up from work and take him to the midnight screening of the movie he’s been wanting to see. I even brought an extra pair of clothes for him to change into before the movie, so he wouldn’t smell of sushi. Since I didn’t want him to see me when he walked out of the restaurant, I parked my car about 50 yards away from the store, on the street, outside of the shopping plaza’s parking lot. I obviously didn’t want to park inside the parking lot, as I’d be one of the only cars inside of it.

Right as I parked my car and looked up towards the restaurant, I noticed what I thought was a homeless man, sitting behind a light pole. He was dressed in all black, and had a backpack with him. I thought nothing of it, then I received the usual text message from Grant saying, “On my way home.” This was my queue to come and surprise him. I reached towards the backseat to retrieve Grant’s clothes, then I pulled out my phone and began to type up a response to him. As I was about to hit ‘Send’, I looked up and gasped. My eyes widened, I put my hand against my mouth, and dropped my phone from shock.

Grant was being abducted by that man dressed in all black. I didn’t know what to do, so I did the most sensible thing: I began to honk my horn to hopefully distract the man. The honking seemed to do absolutely nothing. All he did was freeze in place for just a few seconds, and continue with putting Grant in Grant’s own car. I think the kidnapper pretended not to hear me. I began searching for my cell phone so I could call the police right away. It was somewhere stuck in-between the driver seat and the console of the car. I was desperately reaching my hand as far I could down the edge of the seat. I could feel my fingers touching the corner of my phone. I finally got grip of it with my index and middle finger and pulled the phone out. I quickly dialed 9-1-1, and as I looked out my windshield, I noticed the kidnapper had just drove out of the parking lot. I told the operator on the phone what I had just witnessed, the make and model of Grant’s car, and the direction that they were headed. The operator told me to stay where I was… but I couldn’t.

I had to follow that car. I drove out of the parking lot and found myself one stoplight behind Grant. Their light turned green first, while mine was still red. I just wanted to run this red light, but couldn’t. I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself. They were driving farther and farther away from me, but then, they made a right turn… towards Memorial Bridge which had a big “Do Not Enter — Construction Zone” sign in front of it. Once I realized where they were headed, my mind went to the worst possible scenario: if the kidnapper wanted Grant dead, he was going to throw Grant’s tied up body off of Memorial Bridge into the river.

The streetlight that I was at finally turned green and I pressed down on the gas pedal as hard as I could. My car made a loud screech sound, but I didn’t care. As I was quickly approaching Memorial Bridge, I noticed the fallen traffic cones that Grant’s kidnapper had driven through to enter the bridge. I drove over them as well and continued down the bridge looking for Grant’s car.

After a few seconds, I finally began to see Grant’s kidnapper open the trunk, sling Grant over his shoulder, and throw him over the bridge. The next few moments seemed like it happen in one second. My eyes filled with tears, my hands gripped the steering wheel, my foot began to press all the way down on the pedal. Grant’s murderer closed the trunk of Grant’s car and began to walk towards the driver’s seat. I was approaching him and he finally saw me. My car crashed into the back of Grant’s car… with the murderer caught in-between. His upper body laid on the hood of my car, with his legs caught in-between the two cars. I didn’t know if he was dead; I didn’t care. Maybe there was still time to save Grant…

___

Everyone says when you’re about to die, you see your whole life flash right before your eyes. I think that’s a bunch of crap now. When I was falling, with my hands and feet tied behind my back, towards the river all I saw was the moon’s reflection on the river. The moment I hit the river I heard the splash of my body hitting the water at a high intensity. That’s not all I heard though. With the few seconds I was above water, making my slow descent into the river, I also heard a crash. After hearing the crash, I became completely submerged in the water.

I tried to hold my breath as long as I possibly could. I felt my body go deeper and deeper into the water. My lungs were on fire. The tape that was around my head became loose and had fallen off. I spit out the cloth and my mouth gasped for air. But only water had entered my mouth. I panicked. I began violently shaking my body. Every muscle in my arms and legs were thrashing, trying to swim, but I just kept sinking and panicking.

Then finally, my body stopped squirming around. I closed my eyes. I let my body sink. I felt at peace. Then I felt a familiar hand grab me. Perhaps the reason my life didn’t flash before my eyes, was because I actually didn’t die. Maybe you need to die for that to work.

title: [TH] The Minds of Murderers -- A Story from 3 Different POV's

question: What does the story say about Cody's family?

answer: Cody's sister Alice died in a car accident after drinking and driving. She was killed by Grant, who was also driving while drunk. Cody's mother has Alzheimer's, which he plans to exploit in order to create an alibi for himself for Grant's murder.

question: Summarize everything relating to death.

answer: Alice was killed in a car accident when she and Grant, both driving while dunk, collided. Cody, Alice's brother, plans to kill Grant as revenge. After Cody dumps Grant's body in the river, Alison pins him between their two cars, presumably killing him. Alison saves Grant just in time, so he doesn't wind up dying.

question: What does the story say about why Grant was drunk the day Alice died?


split: test

text:
[Proposed waterway Elbląg - Gdańsk Bay] [Planned location of the Vistula Spit canal] The VISTULA SPIT CANAL (official name NOWY ŚWIAT SHIP CANAL, [1]) is a planned canal across the Polish section of the Vistula Spit that will create a second connection between the Vistula Lagoon and Gdańsk Bay. It will allow ships to enter the Vistula Lagoon and the port of Elbląg without having to rely on the Russian Strait of Baltiysk, saving a 100 km journey. The works started in February 2019. It is planned to be 1305 m in length and will allow ships of draft up to 4 m, length up to 100 m, and beam up to 20 m.[2] It is planned to be completed in 2022. [3]

The planned canal location is between the villages of Skowronki and Przebrno.

Works

The major works include:[4]

-   Construction of the breakwater harbor on the Gdańsk Bay side.
-   Construction of the shipping channel together with all its infrastructure
-   New roads and bridges
-   Construction of an artificial island in the Vistula Lagoon.

The works started in February 2020 with tree cutting, which was finished during February 15 - 20, 2020. Logging and branch removal was to be finished by the end of March.[5]

The beginning of the construction of the artificial island was announced on May 30, 2020. It area is planned to be about 180 hectares and it is expected to be a bird habitat.[6]

Costs

A contract was signed with a Polish-Belgium consortium in October 2019 to build the canal at a cost of PLN 992m (EUR230m). the total cost of the project is expected to be PLN 2 billion.[7]

Concerns

Environmental concerns had been expressed by environmental activists in Europe and Poland which did not stop the project. The Russian Federation strongly objected to the canal on both environmental and security grounds, claiming that the canal will allow NATO warships to enter the Vistula lagoon without passing close by the Russian military facilities at Baltiysk, claiming that the canal presented a direct threat to the security of Kaliningrad and the Russian Federation as a whole.[8]

[1] Przekop Mierzei do 2022 r.? Minister Gróbarczyk: Ten termin wydaje się jak najbardziej możliwy

[2] RDLP: wycinka na Mierzei Wiślanej jest zakończona

[3]

[4] Zobacz jak wygląda budowa przekopu Mierzei Wiślanej, _Wprost_, May 14, 2020

[5] RDLP: wycinka na Mierzei Wiślanej jest zakończona

[6] “Przekop Mierzei Wiślanej. Rozpoczęła się budowa sztucznej wyspy”

[7]

[8]

title: Vistula Spit canal

question: Based on context clues in this passage, what is a reasonable guess for how one would say the word "canal" in Polish?

answer: Canal.

question: Why might the canal be a good way for a fugitive to escape?

answer: One could enter the canal without encountering military-run checkpoints.

question: What is the largest country bordering Poland?

answer: Russia.

question: According to the Russian government, which oblast is at risk if there should be a security breach?

answer: Kaliningrad.


text:
The prompt was "When everyone turns 18 they receive a pet that is figurative of their personality. You're the first person to receive a dragon..."

“They keep calling me ‘Ghost Boy’” Joqur said, he found it hard to look into Chelsie’s eyes as he said it.

Before his Choosing Ceremony, staring into her eyes was a favorite pastime of his, albeit a covert one. Two years his elder, she always seemed to be there for him when he needed her. In a city the size of Gilead, her constant presence was truly a feat—the logistics of which he had not quite determined.

In part he refused to question out of fear. Ten years now they had been inseparable. Her touch, her eyes, and most of all her words had kept him going during the most trivial of trials and those more demanding. His most cherished memories of her were blurred kissed, shared under moonlight in the fields of the outer walls after drinking cheap root drink her and other students had stolen or smuggled for the New Year celebrations.

Yet, since her Choosing Ceremony two years and not a fortnight passed, she had changed. She was still there when he needed her, without question. Yet since receiving her Sea Eagle she spoke more and more of her travels to come; the lands she would explore, the new tongues, the colored people. These travels of course did not involve the studious Joqur—his travels were little else but through ink and parchment. To date, however, she had not left.

And of course she spent time tending to her resonant. Sea Eagles were large creatures. Hers was the size of a man and the wingspan of four. Given time and special attention it was said even some could be ridden.

“Joqur…” Chelsie reached over and gave him a soft pat on the shoulder and stared where his eyes should’ve been if his head weren’t downturned. After some time his eyes met hers. She gave a soft but strong smile.

“Ghost boy because of all the 79 men of my day-of-birth this Choosing Ceremony I was the only one to receive no resonant whatsoever. They said my resonant must be a Ghost and he hides in the books I cling to.”

“Joqur, please stop.” Her voice was gentle yet firm.

“I’ve talked to my father as I told you I would. He says the records at the Changing Gate indicate that this has happened before. In the last Century a pair of twins didn’t receive their resonant at their Choosing Ceremony either. They had to wait a month for theirs to come.”

Chelsie lived not far from Joqur, though their families were of different report. His family walked to the second wall during the faming season and worked for their rice and roots. Chelsie’s father worked in the Great Temple and her mother ran a large Inn close to the Capital Building.
Chelsie’s voice rose in pitch as she saw some light pop back into Joqur’s eyes.

“Well it has been only three days. Maybe I’m like them then? My resonant has yet to come?” Joqur’s chest finally rose and he pulled his hands away from his face as he took a deep breath and offered a slight smile.

“I think it could be.” Chelsie said smiling. She soon began to chuckle and this built in to a roaring laugh.

Joqur’s laughter slowly joined with hers and rose in volume until they were both rolling on the floor in her parent’s sitting room as though they were youngins again.

Their laughter was harshly interrupted as Chelsie’s father abruptly entered the room.

“Joqur? Well, I’m surprised to see you here… But relieved. I’ve been sent to find you” Joshua was tall, guant and regal. He too spent much time in books. After meeting Joqur by chance as a young boy he began paying for his schooling. He always assured Joqur that his mind was sharp as any and that no low-birth could dull the wit the gods had given him.

“My parents must need help with the sorting at home, I’ll—“

“No Joqur, not your parents.” Joshua’s tone was clear, almost harsh. His normal quite demeanor was not to be seen.

“I’ve looked into your Choosing Ceremony. The water priests at the Great Gate have informed us that your resonant his here but we must leave immediately. There will be no time to invite your parents; no ceremony at all. This must be done now. I’d be happy to escort you to the Great Gate and be your witness.”

“Father that’s great! I’m sure I could be his witness though, and I’m sure my company will be much more interesting than yours down the Central Canal. As if he needs a companion for the three minutes it will take to paddle there.” Chelsie shot her father a playful smile and nudged Joqur across the chin with her pinky finger.

“Chelsie you are to stay here, you presence won’t be needed.” His eyes lacked their usual twinkle and his prose was uncharacteristically witless.

“Father! I—“

“You. Shall. Stay.”

Joqur finally spoke. “Chelsie don’t worry, you know I don’t mind being alone. This makes my Choosing Ceremony that much more fitting.” A sudden rigor filled Joqur and he quickly stood tall and met the gaze of Joshua. “Let us go Sir Joshua.”

Joshua did little more than nod and they both left the room leaving
Chelsie still on the floor looking bewildered and hurt. They quickly walked out the back entrance and into their family ironwood boat. They each took an oar and began to stroke.

“Joqur, we have not much time. You must know you will not have your ceremony in the Choosing Room. I will take you through a small channel underneath the Sept. You will have your ceremony at the Pool of the Night Willows.”

The Autumn breeze was strong, the splash of oars soft, and Joshua’s many adornments and jewels clanged the loudest, yet Joqur heard his heartbeat above all else.

“I’m not a Priest… I, I, I don’t even go to the Sept as often as I should.
I didn’t even make It there but once during the Reap Moon, maybe twice, I—“

“Joqur! Listen to me.” Joshua’s voice turned deep and sharp. His jaw set firm yet, the muscles of his temples bulged as he ground his teeth yet his eyes revealed sadness.

In the silence created by his outburst their boat passed from the sunlit canal into a darker passage closed off to the sky. Slowly they wound their way down into smaller and smaller passages. Joqur’s breath quickened as he struggled to keep pace with Joshua’s stroke set by his long lean arms. Each breath seemed to rip between their silence while Joshua’s seemed to struggle only in reserving tears. His movements and breaths were as smooth as ever.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity to Joqur, Joshua stopped rowing and pulled his oar in. He gestured to Joqur to do the same. They slowly drifted down the canal as Joshua pulled a large crystal from underneath his billowing cloths. Soon the dark passage was light with the light of an amber crystal, the shape  of which seemed to be shifting after each glance though the light was more constant than any torch or gnomic orb.

“Joqur, I’ve loved you as a son and I always will.”

Their boat continued to drift at a constant pace though they had not pulled and oar for minutes. The tunnel they traveled through seemed to be more ancient by the minute yet the walls were free from any algae or marks of wear.

Joshua stood abruptly and handed the amber crystal to Joqur.

“I must leave you know. Be brave. I will tell your parents of your love and that you will see them again. Do not be afraid. You will pass a gate soon but the light from this gem shall open it for you. From there you will have precious moments to prepare for your ceremony. Use them.” Joshua finally looked at Joqur and smiled. His eyes twinkled in the amber light. His green eyes mixed with the red and produced a blue hue. He then leapt from the boat to the canal wall.

Joqur’s head wiped around as he watched Joshua stick to the rounded surface of the canal with just one hand. His right hand, always jeweled, light up as it clung to the wall and the stones that held the wall together slowly moved to form stairs that he put his feet upon. With his free hand he raised his fist to his right temple and tapped it with his knuckles. The movement was dexterous as any but it looked odd as the farewell gesture was always completed with one’s right hand. Then he turned up the newly formed stairs and was gone.

Joqur began to shake and realized he had worked up a cold sweat. He looked down at the crystal in his hand in fear of dropping it. What was once ephemeral was now not a crystal at all but a simple dark stone. In awe he started until he heard water rushing near him. As he looked up he saw a simple iron sewage gate swing open to allow his passage.
The movement shocked him and the rock fell from his grip yet it hovered in place. Joqur’s mind raced.

‘Never in ANY of the Histories of Gilead have I read of any Choosing Ceremony leaving a man-formed-new alone against the world with no resonant. Men and women, kings and queens have gone berserk, wild, and mad at the death of their resonants in wars, lov,e and espionage. Why is it that I receive mine now and here in these dark tunnels under the Sept?’

Joqur’s thinking then shifted from that of words to the more primal thoughts of images and emotions as he looked at the stone in front of him and the eerily shadow-less light it cast all around him. Everything seemed to glow as if the stone gave the gift of light to each object but itself cast none.

While lost in his mind the channel widened gradually and the ceilings grew taller and taller until they reached as high as the cone needles in the Silk Forest outside the final city gates. Then his boat stopped moving as it caught the root of the Night Willow.
Joqur’s head rushed as he stared at the purple luminescent Night Willow. The pool beneath him was shallow and blue.

Be brave…. Joshua’s words echoed in Joqur’s head yet fear kept him seated. The Night Willow was the most sacred of the Priestly Sanctuaries. He had never met anyone who had even seen a drawing of the Night Willow and he tried for years once he learned of its existence as a child.

The roots were woven together like those of his mother’s finest tapestries—her winter hobbies. The trees themselves reached as high and as far as his eyes could see beyond even the luminescence of the tress and the amber light of the stone.

Joqur’s thoughts dissolved from logic and became fear; pure primal fear. Be brave. Be brave for what? Why must I be brave? I’m not brave. I’m brave with a pen, my figures, my arguments, my thoughts are brave. I can be brave for a moment or two, but no more.

I’m not brave. It pulsed in Joqur’s head.

I’m not brave. I’m not brave. I’M NOT BRAVE.

“I’M NOT BRAVE!” Joqur shouted. The Night Willow all but swallowed his shouts. Yet when it did the amber light from the stone flickered and began to move. Once he realized it was moving away from him he swung to grasp for it yet just escaped his reach. The light began to dim as it traveled away from him, floating through the air.

Without thinking Joqur jumped from the boat to chase after the crystal. As soon as he began to chase after it he fell into the pool of knee-high water as his feet caught on a root. Fear surrounded him as he fell face first into the water.

He could NOT lose the stone. That he knew.

He quickly jumped up for air breathing water into his lungs as his did. Pain shocked his chest yet fear drove him forward.

Joqur chased after the crystal in a high stepping manner to avoid the more perilous roots so as not to fall again. At times he reached up to low hanging branches to swing a few steps and others he ducked under branches grown too low and roots grown too high. No matter how hard he ran, jumped, and climbed he could not catch the crystal. It was always past his reach.

Just as Joqur swore he could chase no longer without dropping from exhaustion his path became easier. The trees grew farther apart and his path grew wider. Yet with their scarcity so too diminished was the light.
Eventually the purple faded to a light glow and the path was clear.
The ground rose and so too the water disappeared.

Without warning the crystal stopped moving before him. He slowed his pace towards it and just as he reached out to grab it blue sparks erupted from the ground before him and the crystal vanished. Joqur found himself alone in the purple light barely able to see his hand in front of his face. Shocked, tired and sore he lay down, too tired to think or even fear. A light sleep almost took him within minutes but just as was about to give in to the comfort of the darkness a blue light caught his eye. Small at first yet it grew.

As the blueness grew he sat up and then stood. The blueness grew larger and closer. As it did it split into two blue orbs. Too tired to feel he stared, intrigued yet dumbfounded. Then, instantly it clicked; they were eyes and they were close.

Joqur took a sharp breath and turned to run yet has he did a brilliant blue light burst forth into the air, shocks and lightning flew into the chamber above. His head seared as a deep humming vibrated in his head. The pain was so instant and overwhelming he could do naught but drop to the ground.

‘I am dead’ Joqur thought. ‘This must be death. I am in the holiest of depths of the Sept chasing red lights, I must be dying and I must deserve it. Let it be quick.’

The pain reached a feverish pitch and vibrated Joqur’s teeth, his very bones shook. And then, serendipitously, the humming receded enough so that his consciousness stayed. The humming pulsed, not just in his head now but his whole body. The pain receded further and further until it all but disappeared completely and his body held but a light hum.

As he opened his eyes he realized his surroundings were now blue entirely. As he looked up before him, not thirty steps away stood a beast on four legs with two terrible eyes the color of lightening during the raining days. Each leg was the height of the tallest man though not as thick and each claw the length of a short sword one would find on a common body guard.

Before fear could creep into his mind his now softly vibrating body pulsed and a calmness rushed over him. Fear still lingered but it seemed more foreign now. The beast opened its mouth, drew in a breath and the air cracked and lightly boomed through the giant Night Willow Chamber. The beast’s wings were each seven or eight times as long as it was tall. Its face had two small horns atop its head where light shocks bounced back and forth as did bones that seemed to run down its back and across the front of its wings.

Joqur knew at once what he was gazing upon: the Mother of the Burnt Isles; the Shepard of the Sea Eagles; precursor to man; old as elves; as secretive as dwarves; as cunning as gnomes; as strong as treants; this was a dragon.

In his mind, thoughts, words, images and emotions fused as one. The message was clear as it pulsed through his being.

“Joqur. There are lands other than these. Be brave. You are no Ghost Boy.”

title: [FN] I posted this to WP thread. I wrote far more than I expected to.

question: Summarize how Chelsie has changed.

answer: Before the Choosing Ceremony, Joqur loved to stare into Chelsie's eyes. Now he finds it hard to look into her eyes. For 10 years she and Joqur had been inseparable, but since her Choosing Ceremony two years ago she has changed. She is still there for him, but talks more of her travels to come. She talks of the people and new languages she'll encounter. These experiences do not involve Joqur. She also now spends time tending to her Sea Eagle resonant.

question: Summarize what happens at the Pool of the Night Willows.

answer: Joqur is urged to go to the Pool of the Night Willows, the most sacred of the Priestly Sanctuaries, to receive his resonant. Joqur is anxious when he arrives. He notes all the details of the willow and the history. He eventually feels primal fear. The crystal begins to move away from him and he has to chase it. This causes him to fall face first into the pool of knee high water. He continues chasing the crystal to no avail until the Pool of the Night Willows gets further behind him.

question: What does the text say about Joqur's parents?

answer: Joqur's parents seemingly aren't the most well off. They walk to the second wall during farming season and work for their rice and roots. His mother also makes tapestries. When Joqur goes for his resonant at the Pool of the Night Willows, Joshua tells him he will tell Joqur's parents of his love and they will see him again.

question: What does the text say about the dragon?

answer: By the end of the story, Joqur realizes his resonant is a dragon. The dragon's legs are the height of the tallest man, but not as thick. Each of his claws was like a short sword, and his face had two small horns atop its head that bounced light shocks back and forth. Its wings were seven or eight times as long as it was tall. Joqur notes that a dragon is the Mother of the Burnt Isles, the Shepard of the Sea Eagles, precursor to men. It's as old as elves, secretive as dwarves, cunning as gnomes, and as strong as treants. The dragon telepathically communicates to Joqur that there are other lands than the one they're on, and that he is no Ghost boy.

question: What does the text say about Joqur?


text:
I walk farther into the woods, seeking seclusion and safety. I can feel the wind on my bare back and the soft moss beneath my feet. Pausing on a hill, I curl my toes into the soft earth and look out at the sunset. For anyone else, it would be a beautiful sight. For me, it is terrifying. I have maybe two minutes left as I scramble quickly down the hillside. I reach a small clearing and begin making my markings. A circle in the dirt, an X on each tree, and, taking the brush out of my pack, I mark the center of the circle with an X of my blood. As I head to my pack for my clothes, I feel the small tingling sensation along the back of my neck that lets me know that I’ve run out of time. I hasten back to the center of the circle as the sun goes down. The moonlight filters through the trees, and my terrible night begins.

*Running, wind whipping past my face. There’s no one in sight, no one! Wait! There! There is a fire. There is meat, I smell it! Delicious, raw meat. Charging, leaping, biting, tearing. Screams, blood, scattered ashes of the fire. Roaring, scaring. Feasting.*

I wake up on the forest floor, in the center of the circle. I’m shivering, and I quickly go to my pack and get my clothes. Hearing a crack, I turn quickly, dropping my pants and falling into a low crouch. There is a man standing behind a tree with his phone out, seemingly taking a video of me. In the early stages after the metamorphosis, I still retain a good deal of my speed and strength. I charge forward, crossing the ten yards or so between us in slightly under one second. Before the man has time to react I am in front of him, lifting him into the air by his throat. I pitch my voice low and intimidating and I growl,
“What are you doing?” The man confuses me then. He doesn’t seem frightened. His eyes don’t grow wide with terror as this wild, naked stranger holds him inches above the ground by his throat. He doesn’t shake with fear or cry in terror. Instead, his eyes harden in anger, and he spits in my face.
“You killed my friend,” he says, “But now I know who you are, and I've sent your picture to some very powerful people.” I drop the man and back up. No, it wasn't possible! I had searched the forest, made sure there were no people! I sit down on a tree stump and bury my face in my hands.
“No,” I groan, “No! I came out here to make sure there was no one for me to hurt. I’m sorry! Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” But when I look up, the man is gone. He has fled from the monster.

After gathering my pack and brush, I follow my own tracks from last night. It isn't hard. I left a path of destruction through the forest. Although my trail is easy to follow, it is long. I had awoken at around nine in the morning, and it is now nearing noon. Finally, I arrive at the campsite. There are still tents, and ashes and logs from a long-dead fire are scattered across the area. But the sight in the center of the camp makes me sick, and I turn aside and vomit into the shrubbery. I apparently had not finished my meal last night. Lying in the center of the camp, in a shiny pool of sticky crimson, is a human arm. I had come out to this forest so I wouldn't hurt anyone. Now I am a murderer.  I stagger sickly back the way I had come, towards the circle and markings I had made. I don’t understand why it works, but every time I start in an area that I marked that way, I return to that spot after the transformation. No one taught this to me, it was just something I knew. Like how I always know exactly what time it is or exactly what stage of the lunar cycle the moon is in. I reflect on my life so far as I walk. I've been living like this for three years now. Thirty six times I have transformed despite my continued attempts (short of suicide) to stop it. I never remember what happens, but from news reports I know that I have killed twelve people, and last night made thirteen. An unlucky number.

I return to my circle in the dirt and the markings I had made to attract the Monster. I’ve always preferred to treat that part of me as a different person altogether. In a way, it is. The Monster does things I would never consider doing; it is different from me in every possible way. It has no intelligent thoughts, no higher conscience. It hunts, that’s all it does. Its sole purpose in life is to hunt and to kill and to eat. Luckily, I can never remember what the Monster does. I am glad of this. I believe that if I knew what the Monster did…what I did…I would kill myself. Suddenly, I want to leave. I do not wish to remain here any longer. So, taking my pack, I head home.

It is a long walk home, and I haven’t a driver’s license. I used to have one. I had a really nice car, too. It was a beautiful black and red 2008 Shelby GT. It came time to renew my license two years ago but, given recent events, it did not rank high on my priorities. What did rank high was finding a job that would allow me to take at least five days a month for vacation time. I didn’t want to be anywhere near my small home town in the suburbs of Austin when it came time for the Change. I found a job as an author. As it turns out, I was able to use my experiences to write a fairly decent novel that sold a decent number of copies. It was called The Monster and it was essentially my autobiography. It was perfect for me. Successful enough that I could make a living off of it, but not so successful as to make me a celebrity and attract attention. I come out of the woods, walking across the open grass lands and heading towards the city I was taking my “vacation” in.

The walk has taken me about six hours, and it is now nearing 6:30. I’m quite hungry at this point, and so when I reach the city around 7:00 I head for a fast food place rather than going straight home. The kid behind the counter recognizes me and keeps me at the counter for about ten minutes while he babbles about my book. Finally, I take my “fast” food and sit down to eat around about a half hour after ordering. As I chew, I feel something in my mouth besides hamburger meat. Reaching in with my fingers, I pull it out from under my tongue. My teeth are still sharp, as they will be for a few days after the transformation, and I cut my finger on one. I look down and see what was in my mouth. It is a fingernail. A human fingernail. I grimace and look at my burger, knowing that the fingernail hadn't come from there. I have taken two bites. I throw it away and head home. I’m not very hungry anyway.

I open the door to my room and start to turn on the lights when something stops me. It’s what I've come to call my Beast Sense, another lingering effect after the transformation. For two weeks afterwards I have an animal-like instinct for danger. I scan the dark room, able to see better than most as a result of the lingering effects of the transformation. I can see signs of someone being in the house. A corner of the rug is turned over, and a couch cushion is on the floor. I see him then, or at least his fingers poking out from under the couch. It’s a usual, unimaginative hiding place. After each person I've killed, someone has seen it. Most of the time they do not know who I am, and all that happens is I quietly attend a funeral, pretending to be some old friend while I silently beg for forgiveness. Six times, however, I've been discovered. Six times I've had to fight for my life and kill as a human. After the third time, I enrolled in martial arts classes. For the fourth time now, I bless the day I made that decision.

 I decide not to arouse suspicion until I am in a better position, and then let him make the first move. Flicking on the lights, I head into the living room and stand in front of the TV, directly in front of the couch, but I do not turn the TV on. Instead, I watch the reflection in the TV screen, pretending to be texting someone on my phone as the man rises up from behind the couch. He is wielding a knife. As he creeps closer, I tense my body in anticipation for action, and I run through several of the knife defense techniques I’ve learned. Finally, he gets close enough for me to act. I drop down and roll behind me, taking his legs out from under him. As he falls, I catch his knife arm and wrench it behind his back in a hammerlock. I kneel on top of him and take the knife, preparing to drive it into the back of his neck.
The sound of a gunshot echoes loudly in the small apartment. I look up and see a man in a suit standing in the open doorway. He is holding a gun. Looking down at the man beneath me, I see a drop of blood fall onto his neck. I realize this is the man from the forest earlier today. I look down at my white shirt and see a scarlet circle spreading slowly from my heart. My fingertips grow cold and numb, and the knife clatters to the ground as I’m unable to hold it any longer. “Detective Bradford,” says the man with the gun, introducing himself, “And you killed my partner last night, you goddamned animal.”  The coldness has now spread to my arms and my legs, and I topple sideways off the man from the forest. He gets up and spits on my face. “But you missed one, eh? You missed his brother, huh?” He taunts. “Stupid bastard.”
“Come on,” says Bradford, “Someone will have heard that.”

As they exit, the cold spreads to everywhere except my chest, and I am slowly losing my vision. I wonder if the bullet in my heart is silver. It doesn't need to be when I am in human form, but these men wouldn't know that. I can be killed by anything; it’s the Monster who is invincible. It’s the Monster who killed Bradford’s partner. I open my mouth to speak to these two men as they leave, but I cannot move, and I cannot feel my tongue in my mouth. But I want to say something. I so desperately want to speak to these men, these men who killed me assuming that I was just as cruel and heartless as the Monster that takes over. These men who assume that it is acceptable to kill me because, in their eyes, I am not human. To them I am not a fellow man with a wife, two kids, and a dog. To them I’m not a guy who’s concerned about the persistent cough he hears from his five year old son’s bedroom. To them I’m not the frightened son of a man beginning to show early signs of Alzheimer’s disease. No, to them, I am an animal. A dumb, mindless, murdering beast. I want so badly to talk to these self-righteous men who see fit to kill me without understanding who or what I am, without knowing the whole story. Without even making an effort to find out. But I don’t. Instead, I die. I die before I can say what I wanted to these two men. I die before I can say…

Thank you.

title: Thank You

question: What does the text say about the narrator's victims?

answer: The narrator, in the form of the Monster, has killed thirteen people and consumed the bodies raw. The narrator assaults a man who sends a photo of the narrator to 'some very powerful people'. The man then flees and the narrator is tracked down later that day by Detective Bradford, who kills the narrator in revenge for the narrator killing Bradford's partner the previous night.

question: What does the text say about silver?

answer: The narrator wonders if the bullet in his chest is made of silver, even though that's not necessary to kill him in his human form. As a human, he can be killed by any normal means.

question: Summarize the romantic subplot.

question: What is the narrator's life like when he's not a monster?

answer: He is an author of a fairly successful novel called 'The Monster', and has a wife, two kids, and a dog. He worries about his young son's persistent cough and his father's early signs of Alzheimer's disease. He used to have a driver's license and a nice car, but hasn't renewed his license in two years.


text:
Perched on a steel beast of war, I pondered my own existence. A sergeant in the army, with a caring family and spouse, medals to my name and a desire to live. But how far did it go? How far can I run before I fall, and there is nobody there to pick me up? I wanted my memories to last forever. Lively, energetic, spirited: The men I commanded were my bread and butter. Valiantly serving under my order for 3 years prior to Operation Neptune, we held our lives in our rifles. I sat with them on our steel beast, waiting to be unloaded with the other men. How long did we have?

Huddled into a vehicle reminiscent to the Kraken himself, I became lost in thought. This strange plan, these peculiar men. Curled up amongst each other, ignorance of bliss, we stood shoulder by shoulder like lambs to the slaughter.

Dainty fingers dawdled on the triggers. Who was he? Who was he to take a life? Only the grateful had the heart to pull, and fire.

Eyes plunged backwards, body lurched forward. Crumpled to their knees. Fell to the trenches, writhing in the dirt, men howled in fits of pain.

Let the deceased roam the realms they no longer wanted to exist.

Waves trickled onto our clothes, soaking us from the inside out. The storm rose above our mortal toil; Mother Nature has no patience. Salty sea air tempted our nostrils of home and valour, but it did little to front the horrors on the beach. Gunfire ablaze, our Kraken approached the beachhead. This is true war. Fear, anger, pride, camaraderie, pain: a will to survive. Lead continued to find its way towards my men, but I convinced myself they could never hit me. Hot, piercing metal seared its way through the earth, which may as well have stood still, striking our position with brute inaccuracy. Inside the sudden silence, my superior barked those damn dreaded words.

I was told there was artillery inbound. No reinforcements. 30 seconds was all we had.

Mortar seemingly erupted from the crust, taking my men with it into the air. 3 of my men were taken in the first blast. They had aimed that one for my squad. These weren’t the first men to die with me, and certainly won’t be the last. More explosives inbound, and no clear way to escape. It didn’t look hopeless, just fatal. Another 2 fell down, injured, which is another pair of notches on my watch. The squad was starting to break down into fragments, and no longer sure who made it out, we tried to hide, run and fight.

Us, a ragtag group of soldiers, versus an entire German platoon. It was at this point we had all agreed to never be captured alive. We held our position over the lagoon, keeping our ground with joyful valence in the darkest hour. I took a step backwards, and promptly fell into the water. My men must have assumed I’d been hit, I didn’t see them again.

It seemed like I was floating gracefully for an eternity, and in my frenzy, I reasoned that I was hated by those I loved, and regrets filled my soul. It wasn’t death that did this; it was

war. I also reasoned that these would be my final emotions, my final tribute, to this earth, and I should cherish them. How would I know when I died? It faded to black long before I fell to my watery grave.

In my absence of consciousness, I was rescued by a British company steamrolling through the coastline, picking up survivors and POW’s alike. It appeared I was alive, and the luckiest one in the squad, according to those Brits. They would never be able to comprehend what I saw, and what I lost.

“It is easier to find men who will volunteer to die, than to find those who
are willing to endure pain with patience.”

- Julius Caesar

(Any and all constructive criticism greatly recommended)

title: [HF] Epitome of War

question: What country did the sergeant represent?

answer: It is not stated.

question: Who were the sergeant and his troops at war with?

answer: The Germans.

question: Was the narrator shot when he fell into the water, or did he fall on purpose?

answer: It is not certain.

question: How many of the sergeant's men died in the war against the Germans?

answer: It is not stated the exact number that lost their lives.

question: What time setting is this story?

answer: It might be implied it's during the era of World War 2.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator led his team, a group of soldiers who had served under him for three years, to fight the Germans. When they realised they were losing the battle, they agreed to avoid getting captured alive by the Germans. While they fought for their lives, the sergeant fell unconscious into the sea and was assumed dead. He was eventually rescued by a British company and was considered lucky to be alive.


text:
I'm looking for some feedback on my story or constructive criticism. Anything about taking out or adding things or whatever thoughts come your way would be helpful!

&#x200B;

I Have A Friend

&#x200B;

So, I have this friend. For some reason I feel sad before I even start to talk about her. She went to a Christian school growing up and made sure everyone knew it was her grandparents that sent her here, not her parents. She mentioned that she grew up with the Christian religion bashed into her by her grandparents and I’m pretty sure at this point she looked sick of it. Her Mom wasn’t as religious, so at least she got away from it occasionally. This girl just didn’t fit in with anyone at her little Christian Academy. This friend and I always thought Christians could sense someone who didn’t belong.

You could tell she didn’t know who she was by the way she flip-flopped between the shy, quiet kids and the loud popular kids. I don’t think she ever stuck with one group. It was a small school with even smaller classes, so it was hard not to notice everything about everyone. The teachers didn’t seem to care about her one way or another and the other kids were always a little bit more interested in someone else. She always seemed to be the second or third choice.

My friend did at one point find another friend named Audrey who she absolutely clicked with and we all became best friends, girl power and all that blah blah blah. Audrey brought out our crazy sides, gave us a reason to get up every day and was just someone to share things with. Neither of us had ever had a friend like her. We were jealous of Audrey a little bit but not enough to hate her, just enough to admire her. Our new best friend Audrey played the guitar, had a great family that loved their kids and all their kids’ friends as well. We were accepted in her house.

Audrey was a year older than us and went to high school first. We stayed best friends, but Audrey was finding new friends of her own. We got jealous but knew we were still her best friend. We were still in youth group together and making a lot of new friends. All was going well until we had to go to a different high school than Audrey. We drifted apart. All of us did after that.

I saw my friend go from this radiant, funny girl who had a sense of belonging back to her old self. I feel like she looked like she did when I first started to recognize her in middle school. Just a shell with nowhere to turn and not a clue where to start. So, this friend of mine seemed to be worse than when she started, in an even bigger pool of people but not knowing any of them.

All these new people my friend met were very different and clearly light years ahead of her. It was sadly clear that what my friend did to fit in was a drastic move on her part. We fell even further apart. It tore me apart to watch her start doing whatever everyone else did and say just to lose all hope of having her own personality. I saw this personality form in her when we were with Audrey but now its like the personality she developed drained away completely. She became a master of adapting to all the new situations that got thrown her way.

I barely knew her now. It was sad to see her everyday and not be able to do anything about it. Sometimes I would shout at her to get her attention but usually she’d brush me off and shove me away. I saw her throw her whole self into anyone who showed her some sort of attention or what she thought was love. This made it even harder when those people would continuously let her down, but she would move on and do it again.

It was like she was a detective interrogating all these different people for the answers, but they just weren’t giving her any. She was searching and searching with no results. I don’t think she knew she was looking for something, but I could clearly see it and looking back its clear that she was desperate. Neither of us really knew what she wanted or needed but I just wanted her to let me help. I could only be so persistent when she just continued to push me away.

I could go on and on about how this friend of mine continued to search for answers throughout high school, but it would be a never-ending story and to tell the truth it very well could still be happening today. I saw something happen to her though.

I was watching when it happened. She was with a boy she had met not long ago, and it was obvious she was infatuated with him; would do anything he said no matter what. He told her about something he had been doing behind her back and she looked pissed. But I know her better than anyone and I could tell she wasn’t mad about what he had been doing but that he had been doing it without her. Yet again she threw herself into everything whole-heartedly and if this was a part of this boy she thought she loved then she wanted in.

I can’t believe it happened. Well, I can’t believe that either of these things really went down. Before it all happened and before he gave her that shot in the arm that would take her away from me for a very long time she looked in the mirror. For the first time in years I looked back at her through that same mirror, she really saw me, and I really saw her. That connection happened, and we knew what we were doing. We knew what path we were taking. She seemed to be saying good bye for now but not forever. There was an awareness that she was making the decision to leave me behind. I don’t think she knew before she was leaving me, but now she was actively doing it.

I got to see myself clearly that day and through the rough years I occasionally got to look through the mirror when she let me, and we even had a few screaming matches. In the present I now know I made that choice for a reason and I knew it would be a very long time until I’d see myself again. But It did happen. Although my relationship with my friend is different now than when we were young, at least I get to see her every day.

title: [MF] Short Story on addiction(help!)

question: What does the story say about Audrey?

answer: Audrey was the best friend of the narrator and her unnamed friend, whom the story is about. Audrey brought out the wild side of them, made life fun, and seems to have cured the constant depressed state of the unnamed friend. However, Audrey is a year older than them and goes to high school before them. That doesn't stop their friendship, the narrator and her friend going to another high school does. The narrator and her friend also stop being close friends after Audrey gets out of the group.

question: What does the story say about the narrator and her unnamed friend?

answer: The narrator has an unfortunate history with said friend, who went to a Christian school without ever feeling like she belonged there. The friend changed social groups often, but the narrator thinks that her friend was often a second or third choice in any group. However, Audrey, a girl one year older than them, became the glue that held the trio together. They were jealous of Audrey but just enough to admire, not enough to hate. After Audrey and the duo went to different high schools, they drifted apart. The narrator occasionally saw the friend in question, seeing that she was searching for something and throwing herself into any relationship that came her way. The narrator felt sad, wanted to help, but the friend always rejected. Eventually, the narrator implies that her friend started doing hard drugs (mentioning injecting a needle), and the duo shared a moment around then. They both understood they were leaving each other behind but not forever. Nowadays, the narrator says they see each other every day now, but it's in a completely different way. (She doesn't specify how.)

question: What does the story say about forgetfulness?


text:
CHLOE MORIONDO (stylized in all lowercase as CHLOE MORIONDO)[1] (born September 29, 2002)[2][3] is an American singer-songwriter and YouTuber born and based in Detroit. Her style blends elements of indie pop and bedroom pop.[4] Her YouTube channel, which they began in January 2014, sits at over 3 million subscribers and over 132 million video views.[5] Moriondo released their first studio album, _Rabbit Hearted._, on July 31, 2018,[6][7] and her first major label EP, _Spirit Orb_, on April 24, 2020.[8] Moriondo uses both she/her and they/them pronouns.

Personal life and activism

Moriondo collaborated with The Ally Coalition to discuss how the coalition is helping to create a supportive community alongside young LGBTQ+ people. She's a supporter of the Black Lives Matter movement and they have been encouraging people to register to vote and educate themselves ahead of the US Elections.[9]

Discography

Studio albums

  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Title                   Album details
  ----------------------- ----------------------------------------------------
  _Rabbit Hearted._[10]   -   Released: July 31, 2018
                          -   Label: Self-released
                          -   Format: CD, digital download, streaming, vinyl
  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Extended plays

  -----------------------------------------------------------------------
  Title              Details
  ------------------ ----------------------------------------------------
  _Spirit Orb_[11]   -   Released: April 24, 2020
                     -   Label: Elektra Music Group
                     -   Format: CD, digital download, streaming, vinyl
  -----------------------------------------------------------------------

Singles

  Year                               Title                Album/EP
  ---------------------------------- -------------------- ----------
  2019                               “Waves”[12]
  “Kalmia Kid”[13]
  2020                               “Kindergarten”[14]
  “Ghost Adventure Spirit Orb”[15]
  “Manta Rays”[16]
  “I Want To Be With You”[17]
  “GIRL ON TV”[18]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

title: Chloe Moriondo

question: Why is Moriondo's name stylized in lower case when depicted online and offline?

answer: Unknown; it's probably a personal choice.


text:
THE BOOK OF DAVE

     In the beginning, Dave created a bunch of stuff like the earth, water, animals, and humans. He thought "Meh, it's cool I guess...", and then he pretty much sat back and watched everything unfold, chillin' like a villain and taking many forms. Mostly though he liked to be a plastic dove. He saw all his creations screw up the world he created, and it pissed him off pretty badly. He thought for centuries about how he could save the world he put so little effort into creating.

     One day, in the late 1990's he came up with a plan. It was about time too, because the world he created was in pretty pitiful condition by this time. He set out to create 5 strong men who would spread his holy name. One of them appearing to be a heretic, but obviously a believer. One of them a natural born leader to guide the prophets. One of them tall and strong willed and convert others. One of them with great musical talents with which to sing and play instruments in the name of Dave, and the last one. Dave's only son. He arranged so that these men would one day come together and use their own talents to spread the word of Dave.

     These young men grew and realized their talents (except for the son of Dave, who had a hard time because he had not yet recognized his true purpose in life). They misused their talents, however, because they did not know that their destiny was the destiny that Dave set for them. They would know in the future that Dave needed them to rid the world of ignorance and stupidity. It would take time, though, for them to be ready for the task at hand.

     By the time these 5 young men were ready for their destiny, the world was even worse than it was before. There had been terrorist attacks, wars, destruction in massive proportions. They were indeed ready at the last minute. The 5 boys had grown to be good friends, and were like family. One day, fate brought them all together, and set them on a journey that would open their eyes to the truth. Open their eyes to Dave.

    They found themselves in their leader's house, discussing the most important of current events, politics, economics, history, and other things of the like. Then, as fate may have it, they embarked on a journey. They started with a trip to a local general store to purchase liquid refreshment, and to win the heart of a fair maiden. They failed miserably at the winning the heart part, but succeeded in buying refreshments. They also caused the son of Dave to smudge a dipping sauce on his trousers. They then headed to a larger store to buy him a new pair of trousers.

     They failed in their quest to acquire new trousers, but had good hearty laughs and made the son wear clothes meant for girls. However, it was here that they discovered The Great Dave. They found him in his usual form, a plastic bird, perched upon a raised surface. They were drawn to him, and immediately knew that it was to be theirs. They did not know why, but they knew it must be.

     They purchased the plastic bird, took him home, and immediately idolized him. They knew that his name was to be Dave, and that he was of great importance. The boys did not truly understand that Dave was of much more importance until much later. The day after their trip to the store, their land was ice-ridden. The plants outside were enveloped in a solid sheet of ice, and the roads were only traversible by foot, because none of their automobiles were equipped to operate on the ice-covered roads.

     The young men grew hungry, and weary of being held inside their home, and by the will of Dave, which they still failed to recognize, decided to embark on a long journey to obtain cheap, delicious food. They left their home and started down the road, talking and laughing, unaware of the great events that awaited them. They would soon find out the true purpose of what was happening.

     They noticed a bird that looked exactly like their plastic bird that was perched upon a telephone wire. Then they realized that this, in fact, WAS their bird, but in the form of a living version of it's plastic form, guarding them, and guiding them. They then began to realize that they had a greater purpose in this journey, and that Dave was more than a mere plastic bird.

     They began to have revelations and realizations that Dave placed in their minds. They came to the conclusion that Dave was the true God, and that they were prophets, since they were the only ones who realized this truth. They then realized that the one with no apparent useful talent must have been the son of Dave, because of the hardships he faced and trials and tribulations. They realized that since he had no talent to offer Dave, he didn't require one, because him simply being among the other prophets was enough to please Dave.

     Then came their true sign that they were led by The Great and Powerful Dave. They noticed on the side of the path a beautiful sight. A useless, disappointing, fresh, beautiful sight. They knew in their hearts that Dave put this there for them, that he loved them, and that he wanted them to cleanse the world of the wrongness that had befallen it.

title: The Book of Dave

question: What does the story say about Dave?

answer: Dave is the creator of the universe. He sits back and relaxes after initially creating everything, preferring to be a plastic dove. However, his creations screw up the world he made, and he comes up with a plan to save it. He creates five men to spread his word, imbuing four of them with extraordinary talent. The last one, Dave's only son, is just his son, and Dave likes it that way. These five men eventually come together and find Dave (as a plastic dove) and name him Dave, but it takes them a while to realize their true purpose. Eventually, they do realize that Dave loves them and wants them to cleanse the world of all the wrongness.

question: What does the text say about the holy scriptures?


text:
Grum stared at the 404 error page in shock and horror. The message board had disappeared. The countless hours of work gone, all gone. The images…gone! All the stolen titty pics…gone. The ingenious quips…gone! “Here’s some bigguns. Here’s some more bigguns. Who could complain about these bigguns? Look, some bigguns on Sarah Palin!”(his photoshop masterpiece) He had toiled, nay, labored over every word and thought until it was just right. Each phrase had been born breech, he had dragged them kicking and screaming from the womb of the written word, and shaped, formed and sculpted them into literary gems befitting of a tittie thread. Now they were gone.

Though there would never be anyway for him to prove it, he was quite sure Wilder was behind the malicious attack that had destroyed his labor of love. Right now, this very instant some pimply-faced Chinese teenager, lips orange with Cheetos dust and reeking of Dr. Pepper, via some untraceable Skype link, was sharing a moment of extreme jocularity with that idiot, Wilder.

Grum hit refresh and watched the error page slowly reload. This is madness, he thought, why would someone do such a thing! He hit refresh again, and for a brief moment, he could have sworn he saw an areola flash on the screen. He hit refresh again using all the computer savvy he could muster. Refresh, refresh, refresh, refresh! It was no use; his masterpiece was gone, lost in the dark sewers of unwanted binary. Flushed down the toilet of forgotten ones and zeroes and traveling on toward the eternal abyss of cyber.

He could start over. He could make it better and bolder, he thought! But nay, it was a fool's errand. He couldn’t put himself through that anguish again. It had been too much. Too much of his heart had gone into that thread, each image and word had been carefully washed with a tear from his soul, it would be impossible to achieve that level of emotion twice in one lifetime.

Grum slowly pushed the the power button on his monitor and cast sullen and saddened eyes on the blank screen. The magic had been there, he had felt it, he had made magic, he had touched the cheek of God.

Grum wept.

***
Grum’s ear was becoming numb; he had been transferred at least a half a dozen times, and put on hold by each department. He had known going into the phone call, that his chances of success were slim, but hadn’t counted on using up all the minutes on his burner in the effort. It didn’t really matter now; he figured he was past the point of no return, as far as phone calls were concerned. He would see this through. “Google can’t be that fucking big.” He muttered.

“Google archives, how can I help you?” The voice was nasally, but human. Grum congratulated himself for his perseverance and patience.

“I need your help finding a literary masterpiece. A divine work of art, intertwining images of the female form and words, nay, dare I say, lyrics to form the most beautiful tittie thread ever composed by the mortal mind.” Grum sighed and shuddered involuntarily. “I fear that you are my only hope in retrieving this unparalleled collaboration.”

“Yeah, we have doctors and shit here at Google if you need to talk to one of them. You’re not thinking of hurting yourself, are you?”

“No you fool! My tittie thread was deleted, and I need you to find it!” Grum fumed, sometimes the price of always being the smartest person in the room was too costly. “You people have mapped the crevasses of Antarctica; you even have a picture of my car in my driveway on Google Earth. You probably have the first X and zero ever created, framed on a wall in some office there. You people keep everything, and I want it back!”

“Okay, can you give me some meta tags to search for?”

“I didn’t have tags in that thread; I put those in the next one! I embedded a secret code in size tags. 36 D-44DD-40DDD, will those help you?” Grum silently scolded himself, he knew he should have included the tags in the earlier thread, but he had not yet worked out the top secret bra code. “Look for a picture of Palin with big mammarian protuberances, that should narrow it down.”

“Sir, that search took two nano seconds and produced one trillion results on Google Images.”

“I’m not looking for a specific image, you fool, I’m looking for piece of literary brilliance. The meshing of words torn from the very fabric of Homer’s soul, and images of angels adorned with the essence of the breath of life across their bosom.”

“On that search, I’m getting the Iliad, one point seven bajillion results.”

Grum felt his desperation growing at the Herculean task that this was turning into, he cupped the phone with his other hand and whispered. “If you find it, I’ll suck your dick.”

“You think you’re going to be sick, I told you we have doctors on staff here?”

“No you fool, I said, I’ll suck your dick.” Grum hissed.

“If you will hold for a moment, I’ll transfer you.”

“I’ll suck your dick.” Grum said aloud.

“Grum, are you sexting with Tiddle again?” Grum snapped his burner closed and handed the phone to his wife. “This better be the last one, you better not have any more hid in this house!”

Grum wept.

***
“Ouch!” Grum yelped with a lisp, “Watch the teeth, you made me write L-O-K. Your careless manipulations are making it extremely hard for me to concentrate on my L-O-Ling.” He pouted as he searched for backspace on his well-worn keyboard. Most of the letters were worn off completely, having been replaced with gray and white irregular smudges, all except for backspace; it remained in almost pristine condition, sharp and crisp to the eye. A testament to perfection, if you will. The significance of the undisturbed key was not lost on Grum, ‘details, details the devil’s entrails’.

 Though, the condition of the key was entirely unintentional, he had predicted on many occasions that he could pry the little button up and toss it in the trash and never notice its absence. Grum never made mistakes, and the proof was in the backspace pudding. He thought about prying it off still and preserving it in a jar, just in case a museum might want to display it someday. The key in and of itself, probably wouldn’t stand alone, but in addition to a tattered script or screenplay, perhaps a beer bottle and maybe a mouse pad, it might just lend some exhibit a much needed link to his humanity.

“Owie! I mean ouch.” He corrected, removing the lisp this time. It was already the end of February and his New Year’s resolution to butch up was still having a hard time gaining traction. “You are nibbling too hard.” He whined. “Chill, dude.” He corrected again. Change didn’t come easy, and Grum had serious doubts that he would ever rectify his soft wrist.

“You want I should just lick the tip, Boss?” Dog asked from his kneeling position under the desk. “You want I should do that, just lick the tip?” Dog was Glum’s sexual sycophant, a gender confused poet he had found loitering in the halls of higher education at the local junior college. He had taken the young man under his wing and promised the lad literary brilliance and puctuation perfection on page and screen.

Grum looked up, past the ceiling to his brow and stared incredulously for a moment. “Duh.”

Dog nodded and busied himself with long puppy dog licks.

There was something wrong with Glum’s spell-check, though the spelling looked correct, LOL always had the squiggly line beneath it. A virus might be at work, but he wasn’t in any position to address viral issues at that moment. He had more pressing concerns. Wilder could at that very instant, be “righting” some inane drivel that could raise suspicion against him. He reminded himself later, to take a screen cap for his IT guy to peruse. Dog performed dual duties as sexual sycophant and IT guy.

Grum carefully crafted a ‘lots of laughs’ in all caps. His LOLs were works of sarcastic genius, three lettered counter measures designed to confuse and humiliate his internet foes. Grum hit “Submit” on the message board reply box and his tenth, “LOL” zinger of the day was launched into netherweb, a precise, ingeniously fabricated, literary missile was on its way to strike Wilder right in his ass. The idiot wouldn’t know what hit him.

As the page refreshed, he checked the other five windows he had open for enemy activity. The board appeared to be waking from its slumber, and the view counts were starting to pop. He loaded up a “Quick Reply” with a fresh LOL and gave the open windows another quick, but concentrated perusal, checking for tell-tale signs that Muf F. Diver, the message board's administrator, might be manipulating data and falsifying numbers. He had done so in the past. The thought of Mr. Diver’s, less than honest, behind the scenes actions still made his blood boil.

Wilder had three new posts in under five minutes, they caught Grum unawares, if this was any indication of things to come, Wilder would soon be saturating the board with his relentless buffoonery, and Grum would spend the rest of the day playing catch-up. This tomfoolery must be confronted immediately!

 Grum pushed Dog’s hungry mouth away from his slobbery member and readied his LOLing finger, just in case things got hairy. “We must put your sexual sycophancy on hold for the moment; we have a fly in the ointment, Dog, a fly in the ointment.”

“Make sure the fly doesn’t get in my butthole, Boss, you want I should get the baby oil instead?”

“This aggression will not stand.” He told the computer screen, ignoring the pup’s whimpering babble. “This aggression will not stand!”

Borne Wilder text © 2015 Borne Wilder
All Rights Reserved

More Inane Drivel at: www.bornewilder.com

title: [MF] Grum and the 404 Error Page

question: What does the story say about Yahoo?

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

answer: Grum's tittie thread has disappeared and he's getting a 404 error page. He worked on the thread for countless hours, adding images, stolen titty picks, and ingenious quips. Grum even photoshopped "bigguns" on Sarah Palin. Even hitting refresh multiple times didn't bring the thread back. He thought about starting over so he can make it better and bolder but realized it was a fool's errand. Grum thinks he put too much of his heart, tears, and soul into the thread, and now it's gone. He blames Wilder for the malicious attack that brought down his tittie thread.

question: What does the story say about Google?

answer: Grum called Google for help and got transferred half a dozen times, but he eventually got through to a Google Archives agent. The agent initially thought Grum was having suicidal thoughts and offered to transfer him to one of the doctors on campus because he wasn't making any sense. After explaining the issue better, the Google agent still wasn't able to help Grum find his tittie thread because he forgot to add meta tags to it.


text:
LYUDMILA IVANOVNA NUIKINA (born October 23, 1936) — retired illegal Russian intelligence officer, retired colonel of the KGB of the USSR.[1]

Biography

She was born on October 23, 1936 in the village of Verkh-Uba, Shemonaikhinsky district of the East Kazakhstan region of the Kazakh Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic (now Kazakhstan).

After graduating from a medical school in Ust-Kamenogorsk, she worked for 5 years as a midwife in her native village. In 1960, she married Vitaly Nuikin, with whom she lived 38 years before his death in 1998[2].

She served in the Office “C” (illegal intelligence) of the First Main Directorate of KGB of the USSR. She passed a special training course for an illegal illegal scout, perfectly mastering French, Spanish and English.

Together with her husband Vitaly Nuikin, until 1986, she worked in more than 18 countries. She took a direct part in the implementation of a number of specific operational tasks of the Center. A married couple of illegal intelligence agents Nuikins successfully solved a large range of tasks facing intelligence. They worked in states with a strict administrative and police regime in conditions that posed a risk to life. Bravely overcome all difficulties[3].

She has established itself as a resourceful and determined employee. She rendered effective assistance to her husband in intelligence activities in special conditions. For courage and heroism in performing special tasks, she was awarded the Order of the Red Star (for the extraction of materials of foreign secret military development) and the medal “For Courage”.

In connection with the betrayal of the Colonel of the PSU of the KGB of the USSR Oleg Gordievsky, the spouses Nuikina were forced to return to the USSR and continued to work successfully in the central apparatus of foreign intelligence[4].

Since 2006, Colonel L. Nuikina - retired.

After retiring, she continued to participate in the training and education of young illegal intelligence officers.

Lives in Moscow.

On January 28, 2020, the Director of the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service S. Ye. Naryshkin at a press conference in the Russia Today MIA named the names of illegal intelligence agents who made a significant contribution to ensuring the country's security and protecting its interests with their heroic work. Among those named was Vitaly Nuikin. Data on the identity of the wife of Nuikin Lyudmila Ivanovna in illegal intelligence was officially announced by the SVR in September 2017.

Personal life

Husband - Vitaly Nuikin (1939-1998) - a Russian illegal intelligence officer, retired colonel of the Foreign Intelligence Service.[5]

Awards

-   Order of the Red Star;
-   Medal “For Courage” (06/06/1984);
-   medals of the USSR and the Russian Federation;
-   departmental awards of the SVR of Russia.

[1] Русская разведчица-нелегал описала роды за границей

[2]

[3] ДИРЕКТОР СВР РОССИИ С.Е. НАРЫШКИН НАЗВАЛ НОВЫЕ ИМЕНА РАЗВЕДЧИКОВ

[4] Разведчица-нелегал Людмила Нуйкина: 8 марта мы втайне отмечали пельменями

[5]

title: Lyudmila Nuikina

question: What does the text say Ukraine?

question: What does the text say about Lyudmila Nuikina and her personal life?

answer: Lyudmila Nuikina is a retired Russian intelligence officer and a retired colonel of the KGB (USSR). She was born on October 23, 1936, in the village of Verkh-Uba, Shemonaikhinsky district of the East Kazakhstan region of the Kazakh Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic (now Kazakhstan). A medical school graduate, she worked as a midwife for five years in her native village. She married Vitaly Nuikin, a fellow Russian illegal intelligence officer and a retired colonel of the Foreign Intelligence Service, in 1960. They worked as a married couple in more than 18 countries until 1986. They lived together for 38 years until his death in 1998.

question: What does the text say about Lyudmila Nuikina's career as a Russian intelligence officer?

answer: Lyudmila Nuikina served in Office "C" (illegal intelligence) of the First Main Directorate of the KGB (USSR). She passed special training to become an illegal scout, perfectly mastering Spanish, English, and French. She worked with her husband, Vitaly Nuikin, a fellow intelligence officer, and worked in more than 18 countries. She took a direct part in the implementation of several specific operational tasks of the Center.


text:
The long-shot presidential campaign of former Maryland Gov. Martin O'Malley suffered another setback Thursday when officials in Ohio said he had failed to submit enough valid signatures to appear on the state's Democratic primary ballot in March.

O'Malley submitted 1,175 signatures to the Ohio secretary of state, 175 more than required for ballot access. But officials determined only 772 of the signatures were valid, a spokeswoman for the secretary of state said.

Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders both surpassed the 1,000-signature requirement to compete in a state that often plays a critical role in the long march to the White House.

Meanwhile, retired Johns Hopkins neurosurgeon Ben Carson's campaign for the Republican nomination hit another rough spot Thursday with the abrupt resignations of his campaign manager and his chief spokesman.

Barry Bennett, a well-known GOP operative who had been with the Carson campaign since it launched in May, and Doug Watts, a longtime communications hand who was hired in March, quit amid campaign turmoil.

Carson's outsider candidacy hurtled him briefly to the front of the crowded Republican field, but he has slipped both nationally and in early primary states after statements that caused some to question his grasp of foreign policy.

For O'Malley, failure to secure a spot on Ohio's ballot is a grim milestone in an underdog campaign that still is waiting for a breakout moment with just a month left before primary voting begins.

"It's a disaster for him, obviously," said Larry J. Sabato, director of the Center for Politics at the University of Virginia.

"But let's not oversell it," Sabato continued. "I don't know anyone who takes Martin O'Malley's candidacy seriously at this point. He was long ago eclipsed by Bernie Sanders as Hillary Clinton's main challenger. He's done nothing to change that."

Despite debate performances widely viewed as credible and an issue-focused campaign that has given him the opportunity to argue that he's been ahead of the field on immigration, financial regulation and education, O'Malley has failed to poll beyond 10 percent anywhere.

In that sense, it's not clear missing the ballot in Ohio will have a practical impact on his campaign or on the larger race.

O'Malley has been polling in single digits in the early-voting states of Iowa and New Hampshire, with the exception of a single poll in December that put him at 10 points in Iowa.

By the time Ohio voters go to the polls March 15, Democrats will have competed in nearly half of the states.

"Our campaign filed nearly 1,200 signatures for the Ohio ballot," O'Malley spokeswoman Haley Morris said in a statement. "While this news is disappointing, we are exploring all of our options, and Governor O'Malley will campaign vigorously in Ohio. To date, he is already on the ballot in 18 other states."

Ohio officials said that O'Malley has no way to get on the primary ballot there because the deadline for submitting signatures passed on Dec. 16. But a Democratic strategist unaffiliated with the campaign said O'Malley still could pick up Ohio delegates if another candidate dropped out.

If O'Malley managed surprise wins in New Hampshire and Iowa and was chasing Clinton, he wouldn't need to be on the ballot in Ohio, said veteran Democratic campaign operative Joe Trippi. Delegates who were pledged to another candidate could back O'Malley instead.

"It's unlikely he's going to take off, but if he does, that's not an unsurmountable problem," Trippi said. "This game's been played before. This is a problem that has happened many, many, many times. If you're in it, there are a ways to get around the problem."

Trippi pointed to former Sen. Gary Hart, an O'Malley mentor whose unexpected leap to front-runner in the 1984 Democratic primary race the former governor has tried to use as a road map for his own run.

After Hart won by 10 percentage points in New Hampshire, he moved aggressively to collect delegates pledged to candidates who dropped out, often in states where Hart had never filed to be on the ballot. Hart ultimately lost the nomination to former Vice President Walter Mondale.

An O'Malley spokeswoman confirmed this was among the options the campaign was exploring. But O'Malley has lagged so far behind Clinton and Sanders in fundraising that it remains unclear whether his campaign operation will survive past the early primaries in February.

Clinton, the front-runner, is expected to top the $100 million fundraising goal her campaign set this year, according to an analysis by CNN. Sanders has trailed Clinton in fundraising but has amassed a wide donor base. Sanders raised $26.2 million during the year's third quarter, when Clinton raised $30 million, and in December surpassed President Barack Obama's 2011 record of collecting 2.2 million donations.

O'Malley has raised a small fraction of his rivals' haul. His campaign brought in $1.3 million in the third quarter and was spending more than it was taking in.

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The former governor made political headlines this week when a campaign event in Iowa — held during a snowstorm — drew just one attendee. That voter remained uncommitted.

"O'Malley, he's got some supporters, but he hasn't really bowled anyone over," Sabato said.

The Carson campaign released a statement announcing Ed Brookover, a senior strategist for the campaign, would take over as manager. The campaign also said retired Army Maj. Gen. Bob Dees would serve as chairman.

In a statement, the Carson campaign described the moves as "enhancements, which will shift the campaign into a higher gear."

-   Martin O'Malley
-   Hillary Clinton
-   Bernie Sanders
-   Republican Party
-   Ben Carson

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question: What does the article say about Bill Clinton?