text:
KATIE EMILY BRAY (born 23 January 1987) is an English mezzo-soprano and is best known as the winner of the Dame Joan Sutherland Audience Prize at the BBC Cardiff Singer of the World in 2019. She is particularly noted for her baroque repertoire.[1]

Early life and education

[St Margaret's School, Exeter] Bray was born on 23 January 1987 in Exeter, Devon, England. She was educated at St Margaret's School in Exeter until 2005 and went on to study at the University of Manchester, graduating in 2008. She then went onto study opera as a post-graduate at the Royal Academy of Music, where she was taught by Elizabeth Ritchie and Iain Ledingham,[2][3] and finished her studies at the academy in 2012 having won an Alfred Alexander Scholarship and been recipient of The Karaviotis Scholarship.[4]

Professional career

In 2013, Bray made her debuts with Glyndebourne Festival Opera and English Touring Opera.[5] Bray has also performed with Opera North, English National Opera, Scottish Opera, Welsh National Opera, Garsington Opera, Opera Holland Park, English Touring Opera and Irish National Opera.[6][7] Bray has also performed in concert halls and festivals around the United Kingdom, such as Wigmore Hall, Cadogan Hall, the Holywell Music Room and St George's, Hanover Square. She has also performed recitals in many song festivals that include the City of London Festival, the London English Song Festival and the Oxford Lieder Festival.[8]

Repertoire

-   Hansel - _Hansel and Gretel_
-   Rosina - _The Barber of Seville_
-   Varvara - _Káťa Kabanová_
-   Louis XV Chair/Female Cat/Owl - _L'enfant et les sortilèges_
-   Lola - _Cavalleria rusticana_
-   Nancy - _Albert Herring_
-   Daughter - _Akhnaten_
-   Lucilla - _La scala di seta_
-   Zerlina - _Don Giovanni_
-   Zulma - _L'italiana in Algeri_
-   Zaida - _Il turco in Italia_
-   Mallika - _Lakmé_
-   Zenobia - _Radamisto_
-   Minerva - _Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria_
-   Satirino - _La Calisto_
-   Charlotte - _Werther_ [9]

Competitions and awards

Bray has won many singing competitions and awards, including:

-   Alfred Alexander Scholarship and recipient of The Karaviotis Scholarship[10]
-   Major van Someren-Godfrey Prize for English Song (2009)[11]
-   Elena Gerhardt Lieder Prize (2010)[12]
-   Audience Prize in the Handel Singing Competition (2010)[13]
-   Third prize in the Jackdaws Vocal Award (2010)[14]
-   Sir Thomas Armstrong Prize[15]
-   Opera Prize in the Mozart International Singing Competition (2011)[16]
-   Third prize overall in Mozart International Singing Competition (2011)[17]
-   At the Royal Academy of Music she received the Principal's Prize and first prize in the Richard Lewis Singing Competition (2011)[18]
-   Represented England in the BBC Cardiff Singer of the World competition, where she won the Dame Joan Sutherland Audience Prize (2019)[19]

Discography

Bray appears on

-   _David Matthews: Symphony No. 7 & Vespers_ (2014)[20]
-   _Mahler: Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen (arr. Schoenberg)_ (2015)[21]
-   _Rückert Lieder: Robert & Clara Schumann_ (2016)[22]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21]

[22]

title: Katie Bray

question: Summarize what happened before 2011.

answer: Katie Bray was born in Devon and educated at St. Margaret's School in Exeter until 2005. She went on to study at the University of Manchester, graduating in 2008 and opera as a post-graduate at the Royal Academy of Music. She received numerous prizes in 2009 and 2010: Major van Someren-Godfrey Prize for English Song, Elena Gerhardt Lieder Prize, Audience Prize in the Handel Singing Competition and third prize in the Jackdaws Vocal Award.

question: What does the text say about the training of an opera singer in Britain?

answer: Katie Bray was educated in Exeter and went on to study at the University of Manchester. Next she did a post-graduate program in opera at the Royal Academy of Music. She was taught by Elizabeth Ritchie and Iain Ledingham. She won an Alfred Alexander Scholarship and received the Karaviotis Scholarship. After graduating she went on to successfully compete in numerous competitions. Bray made her debut with Glyndebourne Festival Opera and English Touring Opera.

question: What does the text say about composers of opera music?

question: Summarize Katie Bray's most recent accomplishments.

answer: Katie Bray is a mezzo soprano with an impressive baroque repertoire. Bray won the Dame Joan Sutherland Audience Prize in 2019 when she represented England in the BBC Cardiff Singer of the World competition. She is best known for this accomplishment. Recently, she recorded and appears on Ruckert Lieder by Robert and Clara Schumann and Mahler's Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen.


split: test

text:
The CLARION DEFENDER was an African American run newspaper in Portland, Oregon.[1] It operated from 1966 until around 1973 and was founded by Jimmy Walker. Its motto was “Oldest Negro Publisher in the Northwest."[2]

The _Northwest Clarion_, initially published between 1943 and 1961, was revived under the direction of civil rights advocate and African American journalist Jimmy “Bang-Bang” Walker.[3]

Walker had founded, edited, and published the _Northwest Defender_ in January 1962 and five years later took over the _Northwest Clarion_ and renamed it the _Clarion Defender_. The paper was alternately known as the _Northwest Clarion Defender_ and _New Northwest Clarion Defender_.[4] It was located at 1223 NE Alberta Street.[5] Five years later, in August 1967, Walker took over the Northwest Clarion, which had since suspended publication, and renamed his newspaper the Clarion Defender, which was also referred to as the Northwest Clarion Defender and the New Northwest Clarion Defender. [6]

In addition to the _Clarion Defender_, the city also had the _Portland Challenger_ (1952–54), the _Portland Times_ (1918-20), and numerous other African American newspapers that lasted a year or less with a few dating back to the 1890s.[7]

The _Clarion Defender_ focused attention on the impact of local issues on African-Americans and  routinely used his newspaper to expose purported police brutality.[8] In reaction to the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Walker used the paper to express continued commitment to Dr. King's goals and non-violent approach to achieve them.[9]

Jimmy “Bang-Bang” Walker

James Zell “Jimmy” Walker, Jr. was born on March 23, 1932 in Birmingham, Alabama to Emma Lou and James Zell Walker, Sr. Jimmy had a brother by the name of Ivory Mitchell Walker, half brothers Grady William “Sonny” Owens, and Harvey Lee Black, Jr., sister Denise Walker, and half sister Gail V. Black. [10]

Jimmy's father died in 1936 when Jimmy was 4 years old and the family moved to Vallejo, California. In 1940 at the age of eight, Jimmy was making $25.00 a week selling newspapers and picking fruit. [11] Jimmy remembers: “Our mother taught us to be proud. That hard work is the foundation for good health and a good mind. We never went on welfare, we all worked.” [12] In 1941, Jimmy won the California Junior Golden Gloves in his division for boxing, and in high school he had won letters in all four available sports: football, basketball, baseball and track. [13]

On October 4, 2005 Jimmy “Bang-Bang” Walker passed away at age 73 due to natural causes within his home in North Portland, Oregon, and on October 8, 2005 a service was held at the Jefferson High School auditorium in his honor. [14] Walker was deeply appreciated by his community. “It’s a real loss to the African American community in terms of the commitment that he had to fostering our community, helping young men and women to take pride in and learn about their culture,” said Halim Rahsaan, a former amateur boxer. [15] Tony Hopson, who was founder, president & Chief Executive Officer of Self Enhancement Inc. said, “He was a real role model… at a time when a lot of folks of color in this city weren’t as eager to jump out there and try new things, he did the Miss Tan at a time when folks needed to feel good about themselves, and really weren’t in a position to compete in some of the other kinds of pageants. We looked at that as a real positive.” [16]

[1]

[2]  Historic Black Newspapers of Portland {{!}} Portland State University|website=pdxscholar.library.pdx.edu|access-date=2020-02-27}}

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]  Feedback.pdxradio.com|language=en-US|access-date=2020-02-29}}

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

title: Clarion Defender

question: Summarize Jimmy Walker's life and work.

answer: He was born in 1932 in Birmingham, Alabama. He had a sister, a brother, two half brothers, and a half-sister. They moved to Vallejo, California in 1936 after his father's death. Jimmy began working, selling newspapers, and picking fruit when he was eight, earning $25 per week. Everyone worked in the family to avoid going on welfare, which made him proud. He was good at sports and won the California Junior Golden Gloves boxing championship in addition to several accolades in high school. He founded the newspaper "Northwest Defender" in 1962 and took over the "Northwest Clarion", renaming it to "Clarion Defender". The newspaper focused on the impact of local events on African-Americans, and Walker routinely used the newspaper to expose police brutality while expressing commitment to Dr. King's goals and non-violence. He died in 2005 due to natural causes, and a service was held for him at the Jefferson High School auditorium in his honor. He was appreciated by his community as a role model.

question: What does the text say about journalism in modern times?


text:
SODIUM CYCLAMATE (sweetener code 952) is an artificial sweetener. It is 30–50 times sweeter than sucrose (table sugar), making it the least potent of the commercially used artificial sweeteners. It is often used with other artificial sweeteners, especially saccharin; the mixture of 10 parts cyclamate to 1 part saccharin is common and masks the off-tastes of both sweeteners.[1] It is less expensive than most sweeteners, including sucralose, and is stable under heating. Safety concerns have led to it being banned in a few countries, though the European Union considers them safe.

Chemistry

Cyclamate is the sodium or calcium salt of cyclamic acid (cyclohexanesulfamic acid), which itself is prepared by reacting freebase cyclohexylamine with either sulfamic acid or sulfur trioxide.[2]

Prior to 1973, Abbott Laboratories produced sodium cyclamate (Sucaryl) by a mixture of ingredients including the addition of pure sodium (flakes or rods suspended in kerosene) with cyclohexylamine, chilled and filtered through a high speed centrifugal separator, dried, granulated and micro-pulverised for powder or tablet usage.

History

[Funny Face drink mix packet from 1970–71 advertising “No Cyclamate - Just Add Sugar”] Cyclamate was discovered in 1937 at the University of Illinois by graduate student Michael Sveda. Sveda was working in the lab on the synthesis of a antipyretic drug. He put his cigarette down on the lab bench, and, when he put it back in his mouth, he discovered the sweet taste of cyclamate.[3][4]

The patent for cyclamate was purchased by DuPont but later sold to Abbott Laboratories, which undertook the necessary studies and submitted a New Drug Application in 1950. Abbott intended to use cyclamate to mask the bitterness of certain drugs such as antibiotics and pentobarbital. In 1958, it was designated GRAS (Generally Recognized as Safe) by the United States Food and Drug Administration. Cyclamate was marketed in tablet form for use by diabetics as an alternative tabletop sweetener, as well as in a liquid form. As cyclamate is stable to heat, it was and is marketed as suitable for use in cooking and baking.

In 1966, a study reported that some intestinal bacteria could desulfonate cyclamate to produce cyclohexylamine, a compound suspected to have some chronic toxicity in animals. Further research resulted in a 1969 study that found the common 10:1 cyclamate–saccharin mixture increased the incidence of bladder cancer in rats. The released study was showing that eight out of 240 rats fed a mixture of saccharin and cyclamates, at levels equivalent to humans ingesting 550 cans of diet soda per day, developed bladder tumors.[5]

Sales continued to expand, and in 1969, annual sales of cyclamate had reached $1 billion, which increased pressure from public safety watchdogs to restrict the usage of cyclamate. In October 1969, Department of Health, Education & Welfare Secretary Robert Finch, bypassing Food and Drug Administration Commissioner Herbert L. Ley, Jr., removed the GRAS designation from cyclamate and banned its use in general-purpose foods, though it remained available for restricted use in dietary products with additional labeling; in October 1970, the FDA, under a new commissioner, banned cyclamate completely from all food and drug products in the United States.[6]

Abbott Laboratories claimed that its own studies were unable to reproduce the 1969 study's results, and, in 1973, Abbott petitioned the FDA to lift the ban on cyclamate. This petition was eventually denied in 1980 by FDA Commissioner Jere Goyan.[7] Abbott Labs, together with the Calorie Control Council (a political lobby representing the diet foods industry), filed a second petition in 1982. Although the FDA has stated that a review of all available evidence does not implicate cyclamate as a carcinogen in mice or rats,[8] cyclamate remains banned from food products in the United States. The petition is now held in abeyance, though not actively considered.[9] It is unclear whether this is at the request of Abbott Labs or because the petition is considered to be insufficient by the FDA.

In 2000, a paper was published describing the results of a 24-year-long experiment in which 16 monkeys were fed a normal diet and 21 monkeys were fed either 100 or 500 mg/kg cyclamate per day; the higher dose corresponds to about 30 cans of a diet beverage. Two of the high-dosed monkeys and one of the lower-dosed monkeys were found to have malignant cancer, each with a different kind of cancer, and three benign tumors were found. The authors concluded that the study failed to demonstrate that cyclamate was carcinogenic because the cancers were all different and there was no way to link cyclamate to each of them.[10] The substance did not show any DNA-damaging properties in DNA repair assays.[11]

Legal status

Cyclamate is approved as a sweetener in at least 130 countries.[12] In the late 1960s cyclamate was banned in the United Kingdom but was approved after being re-evaluated by the European Union in 1996.[13]

In the Philippines, cyclamate was banned until the Philippine Food and Drug Administration lifted the ban in 2013, declaring it safe for consumption.[14] Cyclamate remains banned in the United States and South Korea.[15][16][17][18]

Brands

Sweeteners produced by Sweet'n Low and Sugar Twin[19] for Canada contain cyclamate, though not those produced for the United States.

-   Assugrin (Switzerland, Brazil)[20]
-   Cap Cangkir (Indonesia)
-   Chuker (Argentina) - Merisant Company 2, SARL
-   Cologran
-   Hermesetas
-   Huxol (Germany) in liquid form
-   Novasweet (Russia)[21]
-   Rio (Produced under license and authority of SweetLife AG Switzerland by SweetLife Ltd, China)
-   Sucaryl[22]
-   Sugar Twin (Canada)[23]
-   Suitli (Bulgaria)
-   Sweet'n Low (Canada)

Notes and references

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20] Assugrin's website

[21]

[22]

[23]

title: Sodium cyclamate

question: What does the article say about cancer?

answer:
A 1969 study that found the common 10:1 cyclamate–saccharin mixture increased the incidence of bladder cancer in rats. Eight out of 240 rats fed a mixture of saccharin and cyclamates, at levels equivalent to humans ingesting 550 cans of diet soda per day, developed bladder tumors.

Two of the high-dosed monkeys and one of the lower-dosed monkeys were found to have malignant cancer, each with a different kind of cancer. Three benign tumors were found. The study failed to demonstrate that cyclamate was carcinogenic because the cancers were all different and there was no way to link cyclamate to each of them.


text:
I'm standing in front of a burning house, leaning against a large oak tree.  I'm wondering to myself whose house this is, and why I'm here. I hear the sound of approaching sirens behind the roar of the flames.

Spires of flame shoot in and out of the house, the way a lizard's tongue does. Not just out of the windows, out of everywhere. I can tell the house is really starting to come apart.  The fire rages on, drowning out all noise, save for the distant and tiny sound of sirens.

The sirens are getting steadily louder, as I watch rafters fall and beams disintegrate. The firefighters arrive, the sirens and lights rending the night. The armor clad men explode out if the truck, securing tools and attaching hoses.  I hear them decide amongst themselves that the house is beyond saving, dropping the hoses and heading straight for the front door. They don't seem to pay me any mind, so I move further from the house as they rush in, noting that I can hear more sirens on the way.

I begin to feel rather guilty. I mean, I've just been standing here watching this house burning down, without any concern. Like I've been watching a damn bonfire, waiting for someone to arrive with marshmallows.

This guilty feeling is not simply that, though. There is a sense of dread about it as well.  I don't recognize this house, but I feel strangely connected to it.  I'm feeling like there's something I ought to know about this fire, this house, this situation, but I'm not sure what that is.

As I'm pondering this, I notice, tacked onto the back of the tree I've just been leaning against, a note:

This was no accident. I've locked us all inside. It's the only way to make it stop. The only way for this to end. - James Kern

I see the two paramedics quickly exiting  the front of the ambulance, run to back, open the rear doors. The dreadful feeling surges, as I realize that the arrival of paramedics means injuries.
As they ready their equipment, I approach. The nearest one is unloading a gurney, and I ask him:
"How many people are in there?!"
He doesn't respond at all. Deciding he can't hear me over the flames, I yell:
"Sir, how many people are there in that house?!"

Again, he shows no sign of having heard me, or even of having seen me.  The way he is behaving has me questioning whether the firefighters had simply been too focused on the matter at hand, or if they had genuinely not seen me standing there.

I decide they're just intensely focused and begin to jump up and down, flailing my arms, and screaming.  This doesn't even garner a glance from the men.  Out of frustration, I shove the gurney. The paramedic looks bewildered and perhaps a bit frightened, but he still doesn't acknowledge me.

As I start to scream at him to pay attention to me, the front door of the house vomits the firefighters, carrying a limp figure, roughly the size of a man, but it seems oddly diminished. With a mighty groan and a crash, the house collapses in on itself. Charred clothing hangs off the man, ragged and smoking.

The paramedics frantically strap the man to the gurney, and load him into the ambulance, yelling about almost losing him, and the firefighters are saying that the wife and children were already lost by the time they got to the house, and that all signs pointed to arson.

As the ambulance peels away, the firefighters begin to shed their suits. I try and try to talk to them, but I get nothing in return. It's as if I'm not there. I begin to feel faint, as I'm screaming at the men to notice me, and then I see nothing, as if my eyes blinked shut, but never opened. For eons, I stare into that nothingness, that total and complete lack of anything.

I can't move, my arms and legs feel almost as if they're strapped down. My eyes are open. Bright lights flood my eyes, which flutter and blink,  and as the paramedics swim into view, I hear:

"Can you hear me, Mr. Kern?"

title: Can Your Hear Me, Mr. Kern?

question: What does the text say about what started the fire?

answer: The narrator notices a note on a tree outside the burning home. It says that the fire is no accident, and that the writer had locked his wife and kids inside to make it all "stop". The note was written by James Kern. The narrator has sense that he is connected to the house and fire. At the end of the story, it's revealed that the narrator is Mr.Kern. It becomes clear the narrator was the arsonist for this fire.

question: Summarize what happens when the narrator tries to talk to the paramedics.

answer: The narrator tries to ask two paramedics how many people were in the house. He receives no reply or acknowledgment from the paramedics each time he asks them a question. They made no sign of having seen or heard him. The narrator is unsure if they are just too focused on the task at hand, or if they had genuinely not seen him standing there. He tries everything he can to get their attention, but they don't acknowledge him. When he shoves the gurney, the paramedics seem bewildered but still don't acknowledge him.

question: What does the text say about what the house fire looks like?

answer: The house the narrator is standing in front of is burning with roaring red flames. The house is coming apart as flames shoot out of it. Rafters and beams start to disintegrate. By the time the firefighters get there, they realize the house is beyond saving. After one man is saved from the structure, the house begins to collapse in on itself.

question: Summarize what happens after the narrator dies.


text:
"Guys, I think we need to think about the Christmas lunch. I know a lot of you are attached to the gift exchange, but I think this year we should try something new. It's called charity." Diane opened her arms like a basket overflowing and there was a long pause as everyone in the group simultaneously choked puke back down their throats. "I think we should buy gifts for a needy family instead of exchanging them with each other."

"That's a great idea, Diane. But maybe we should just do our charity on our own. A lot of us like the gift exchange." Tim said, fighting back the anger at the idea of being made to give to charity. Tim was a conservative in the sense that he conserved most of his emotions for blowing way the fuck up at small slights he felt were forced on him.

"Tim, Christmas is about giving - not taking. Why don't we go the extra mile here and -" But Diane was cut off mid sentence by

Jessica! "Christmas? Christmas? Is this 1960? Are we on the set of Mad Men? Please don't use that word to describe our seasonal exchange of peace! It's called 'The Holidays' or 'Seasonal Party'. Christmas? I don't believe you, Diane. I thought you were more informed than that. George is Jewish. Talia is Islamic. And Ruth is that one where they don't believe in holidays..."

"Jehovah's Witness." Ruth said.

"What about my rights? I'm Christian and I don't like you people taking the Christ out of the holiday." Glenda chimed in.

"You people?" Michael X asked.

"The bible is my favorite book, and I think we should all take a note from Joh -"

"Which version?"

"Version of what?"

"Which version of the bible?" Stan was upset.

"King James."

Stan made a fart noise. "Please."

"You know there's many books of the bible, not just the -"

"Bah, you're Mormon."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I heard Mormons believe in a monster God that flew to Earth in a 747!"

"That's Scientologists!"

"They're all crazy!"

"I'm a Scientologist!"

"Yeah, and you're crazy."

"STOP!" Diane yelled. "Look, I thought maybe you all would like to join in a charitable effort. But I guess not. I guess..." She began weeping. "I guess you're all too enamored in your own beliefs to believe in the one belief we all hold true - love."

Stan made the farting noise again.

"Why don't we have a potluck?"

"Is that some Indian thing?"

"They're called Native Americans!"

"Not if their Indian. Like from India, you fuckhead."

"Fuck you, I don't want a potluck. This isn't Kwanza. It's Christmas!"

"What's wrong with Kwanza?"

"Nothing, it's just a made-up holiday."

"So is Christmas."

"Oh, you would say that, you helped kill Christ afterall you stinking -"

"STOP IT! STOP! We need to pull together." It was Tim this time. He was crying. But not out of sadness for our souls, but out of pure rage. "I will NOT be forced to give to charity. Or vote for Obama. Or wash my hands EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I. USE. THE. BATHROOM!"

Everyone stopped and looked around at each other and then at Tim. "You don't always wash your hands? Gross." Diane made a face. She had stopped weeping and found a new charity - the one where you give ridicule. "Tim doesn't wash his hands!"

Everyone started laughing.

I looked around and there was a general sense of togetherness, something that religions, charities, and politicians cannot put together. Something stronger. Something beautiful. It was the act of not being the person being made fun of.

Tim looked around the room and finding no clear target for his rage, decided to punch the coffee maker and then he stormed out as laughter followed him down the halls.

Finally, the room composed itself and Diane began again. "OK. I'm not feeling a lot of love for the charity. So, let's go ahead and just do our gift exchange, at a restaurant, like usual." She smiled at the group.

"What restaurant?"

And with that, chaos ensued. Employees shot from their chairs and grabbed whatever was nearby and began pummeling their neighbor.

"Outback!"

"Red Robin!"

"Ninos!"

...were the battle cries that day. I hid under a desk and watched Diane use a letter opener to stab Jane in the ear repeatedly. The idea of charity was long gone and she only craved the sound of metal plunging into brain.

Jon was trying to fit Harry down the garbage chute, Becka was strangling Don with a phone cord, Thom was in the corner raping a fern for reasons unknown...

The battle went on and I was able to ride it out under my desk smoking cigarettes and drinking mini bottles of Rum that I had received at the last Peace in the Middle East and End Smoking lunch.

Finally, a champion appeared. It was Ruth. She was dragging Michael X's body on a cross she had made from the cubicle uprights. The rest of the employees were dead, dying, or too injured to protest when Ruth, bloodied, stood on her desk and proclaimed "We shall have a white elephant gift exchange. At Denny's. We will call it a Seasonal Party. We will wear ugly...ugly...sweaters..." and then she gasped and fell to the ground dead.

The only sound was Thom continuing to have sex with a fern.

I slowly walked out. I was the only survivor of the Seasonal Party discussion. It was 1996. Hallmark headquarters.

title: [hm] Seasonal Party

question: What is the twist in the tale?

answer: This story is about employees discussing their Christmas gift exchange. One of them suggests that they should rather give the money to charity. The rest are horrified. They end up hurting and killing each other. In the end, only the narrator survives. The twist is that these people were staff at Hallmark, the biggest makers of cards and gift wrap.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes”, Sarah replied softly.

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

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

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

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

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

“How was your day, baby?”

“I love you, Sarah.”

title: [HM] - Gary & Sarah

question: How long had Gary and Sarah been married when they had their son?

answer: Three years.

question: What is the significance of Sarah arranging for Steven to sleep over at the neighbors'?

answer: The implication is that Gary and Sarah will be alone in the house and will be able to have sex.

question: Explain the thematic significance of the lyrics from "Beautiful Loser" at the end of the story.

answer: The lyrics signify that Gary has changed his mind about his wife and is happy to have a home and a stable relationship.


text:
A UK supermarket has said it will ditch clear plastic and switch all its water bottles to a “cloudier” part-recycled material, which could prevent 350 tonnes of waste a year.

The Co-op has unveiled plans to sell all of its water in 50 per cent recycled plastic packaging which will appear slightly greyer - a “badge of honour” to eco-conscious consumers.

These bottles are 100 per cent recyclable and will be used in all Co-op’s own brand still, sparkling, and flavoured waters before the end of 2018.

The retailer told _The Independent_ it was committed to the roll out, but it would be an interesting experiment in whether the environmental cachet would outweigh superficial factors when customers are deciding which product to pick.

 Plastic waste across the world: in pictures

Show all 15
[A father and son on a makeshift boat made from styrofoam paddle through a garbage filled river as they collect plastic bottles that they can sell in junkshops in Manila. The father and son team earn some three US dollars a day retrieving recyclables from the river.]

“Suppliers are working hard to make the bottle clearer – and they already have – in the meantime, our bottles will wear this greyish colour which I see as a ‘badge of honour’ – we are part of the market for recycled products, and we are proud of that,” said Iain Ferguson, Co-op environment manager.

It comes on the heels of a wave of new recycling measures aimed at tackling the scourge of waste and plastic pollution poisoning our waterways and oceans.

On Tuesday, the environment secretary, Michael Gove, announced plans for a recycling deposit scheme for plastic, glass and metal containers which would see consumers get cash back for returning items.

A roll out of free water refill points in every town in England is already underway, in an attempt to prevent the tens of millions of disposable plastic bottles being bought and sent to landfills each year.

The Co-op said these initiatives would simplify and incentivise recycling to the general public, and encourage more retailers to follow suit.

Jo Whitfield, chief executive of Co-op Food, said: “We know that by working closely with our supply and waste-value chains we can find new ways of sourcing sustainable alternatives.

“Our customers expect us to respond to this challenge and help them make more ethical choices, and we’re dedicated to doing just that.”

The new part-recycled plastic bottle has a slight but noticeable cloudy-grey appearance

(Co-op)

Other changes include a reduction in black and dark coloured plastics which cannot be picked up by some recycling machines and can lead to contamination of other coloured plastics – adding at least 30,000 tonnes of waste each year.

It is trying to replace the plastic elements in its own brand tea bags, to make them entirely bio-degradable.

Campaigners said the efforts were welcome but there was a “long way to go” for the industry as a whole.

Greenpeace UK oceans campaigner, Tisha Brown, said: “The Co-op’s plans to increase the recycled content of plastic bottles and eliminate plastic that’s harder to recycle are good stepping stones to solving the problem, but there’s still a long way to go.

“UK supermarkets generate an estimated 800,000 tonnes of plastic packaging every year.

“It’s absolutely vital that major retailers up their game by setting out clear plans and deadlines to reduce plastic packaging and adopt sustainable alternatives.”

The current focus of public attention on the harm of single-use plastics can be partly attributed to the finale of the BBC’s Blue Planet series last year, which is being aired in more than 30 countries.

question: What does the article say about reception to The Co-op's efforts to decrease plastic?

answer: Campaigners, including Greenpeace UK oceans campaigner Tisha Brown, have said the efforts are good stepping stones, but there is a long way to go for the industry as a whole, and major retailers need to increase their commitment to sustainable alternatives to plastic packaging.

question: Summarize the role of George Eustice in the UK's plastics-related policy.

question: Summarize Iain Ferguson's comments.

answer: Iain Ferguson, Co-op environment manager, said that he sees the gray color of their recycled plastic bottles as a badge of honor because the recycling itself is something the company is proud of.

question: What does the article say about David Attenborough?


text:
She has long, wavy honey-brown hair. Uncertainty in every movement she makes. Her eyes are bright amber yellow but they’re hidden behind the blackness of fear. Every movement is cautious, well planned and, poorly executed. Clumsily staggering through the universe searching for reassurance.

Fear lurks around every dark corner. She hastily walks through the park trails, examining the entire surrounding area with sharp, jerked movements and uncertainty. She begins to breathe out of her mouth, heavily. A stranger walking a dog approaches from a connecting trail. Her heart races, her vision blurs. They pass and she forces a smile and “good-morning!” Shes out of breath. Her mind hates that. A hundred thousand scenarios play out in her mind as her walking speed increases. Soon, she is almost running. She approaches a steep hill, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Every step is shaky and limp but strong and quick. Out of breath at the top, she continues to speed walk. It doesn't end until she’s inside.

Surrounded. Surrounded by potential. In a cruel world not made for mistakes, she makes plenty. In a world aimed at perfection, she stumbles below the average line. Confidence is false, smiles are rare and comfort is a luxury. Music is only enjoyed when it’s loud enough to drown out the inner mind.

On the bus, half of the lights fail to work. She sits under the only illuminated row. The constant noise makes it difficult to focus. Difficult to forget. Both ear buds in, she avoids eye contact while scanning the crowd of seats below her. Some man has been glancing at her since she got on at the terminal. She shifts in discomfort.

*Don’t look at me, don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please.*

The entire duration of her trip on the bus consists of her fumbling to find her keys in her purse before she pulls the wire. He looks over and smiles, letting out a small laugh. She is frantic. Her mind is telling her she has met her end. She calmly removes one ear bud to catch if he speaks. Her stop approaches, she pulls the wire. Shaking and going pale she stands up to reach the front of the bus. Like a winter storm front has hit her skin is cold and shaking, she is covered in a thin layer of sweat. She hastily exits the bus and chokes out a “thank-you” to the driver. The street lights are on and she is approaching her street. Almost running she aims to get inside as soon as possible. Making sure nobody is watching her, making sure nobody knows where she lives. She is vulnerable there.

*Why do I feel so vulnerable? I am strong. I’m alone. I’m weak… I’m afraid.*

title: [RF] I wrote about my anxiety, I'm not much of a writer so any pointers are more than welcome.

question: Where is the protagonist going on the bus?

answer: Her home

question: What color are the protagonist's eyes?

answer: Amber yellow

question: What causes the protagonist's heart to race while at the park?

answer: A stranger walking a dog passes her

question: Why does the protagonist feel uncomfortable on the bus?

answer: A man keeps glancing at her

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The protagonist feels constantly fearful and anxious. Her heart races when a stranger with a dog passes her in the park, and she feels uncomfortable on a bus when a man keeps glancing at her.


text:
Excerpt from found journal at site 225-A9.

Author identified as only Doctor S. PHD.

Dated March 14th 2035

Noted location: "Old World," State-run Hospital VA-02295 "St. Francine's"

...
  As I read the chart I noticed the results of the State mandated Gen-PreF tests. It reported that my next patient couple was decidedly more comfortable with a "male" doctor. I was disappointed. I thought about how I would have to announce myself as "Mystr S., PHD." It just didn't roll of the tongue as well as "Miss" did, or even the more simple "Dr. S." and leave my gender neutral. I wasn't worried about passing off as a man though, I had just visited the barb-ilist. The thym that worked on me did a wonderful job, not too long, not too short. The perfect blend of "long-haired man" or "not too short-haired woman." My other traits have all been sculpted to be "visual kei." I still, to this day, swear the hip shrinking pelvis shaving surgery was far more painful than my breast reduction, counter to the common claims of my peers. The State supplied hormone pills took care of everything else.

  When I stepped into the room I took a quick measure of the persons in front of me. The "male" was decidedly trying to be neutral, but his haggard complexion and signs of stubble on his face, gave me the impression of "him" more than anything. I allowed him the improper variance given the womyn in the room. "She" was nervous, her eyes darted down from him to me as I walked in. She was several weeks pregnant, and starting to show.

  "Hello, Miss J. and Mystr K., my name is Docto- I mean Mystr S., PHD," I said, slipping.

  The man narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down, but kept his mouth shut. She was in a sitting position in the chair in the middle of the room, he was standing over her left shoulder, his hand on it.

  "I've been reading your chart, here... no family names?" I asked conversationally.

  The womyn looked up at him and squeezed his hand as he cringed, "I don't have a family."

  She looked back down to me and said, "I used to have a family name, but I went through a deerkin phase and had it legally changed. After I met K. here I changed it back to my given name but kept out my family name for hym." I noticed the inflection when she said "hym." Keeping up appearances I assumed. It was well enough, because I did have the power to incite sanctions against them for not keeping to the rules of neutrality.

  "Ah, so J and K it is then. Not Myssus hmm? You aren't legal life partners yet?" I quizzed sitting down in the swivel chair provided for me.

  The man stood taller and said almost monotonously, "No, but we have cohabited for two and a half years now."

  This response was acceptable, since the State funded OCare that was paying for this visit only allowed them to be here if they met certain criteria. Marriage is no longer a legal coupling, one of the few concessions the retro-conservs won from the peace talks after The Gender Wars, but cohabitation for a period longer than two years was.

  What I found most interesting was their nervousness in using the State funded care. Nearly everyone did now, and since the demand was so low, non-funded health care was pretty cheap. Heck, with nearly everything provided to me at my andro housing barracks, my stipend of 'fun' expenditures could easily afford the cost of a legally enforced gender checkup during pregnancy. Not that I would ever get pregnant, disgusting. Genetic tailoring and the use of synthetic wombs is such a cleaner option.

  "Very good. Let's take a look at your fetus shall we then?" I said as I down the chart, grabbed some latex gloves from the counter, wheeled closer, and pulled the ultrasound caddy closer.

  Everything checked out okay, with one exception. "Healthy, but sorry, it's a boy. As you know our current sector has too many male children. When would you like to schedule the termination, this afternoon, or sometime later this week?"

  The female unit started to cry.

title: [SP] Sorry, it's a boy.

question: What does the story say about androids?

question: What does the story say about Doctor S. PHD?

answer: Doctor S. PHD works at State-run Hospital VA-02295, or "St. Francine's" in the Old World. The doctor used to be female but has undergone painful surgical procedures such as breast reduction, hip shrinking, and pelvis shaving to pass off as a man. A masculine haircut and hormone pills supplied by the State took care of everything else. The doctor prefers to be called Dr. S. because it is gender-neutral but uses Mystr S., PHD when patients preferred male doctors.

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

answer: The primary source of tension is the world the characters live in, where everyone must follow the rules of gender neutrality or face sanctions. The gender wars (males vs females) have ensured that both sexes follow a set of rules to ensure peace. Females can get operations to become male and the State will even supply hormone pills. Marriage is no longer a legal coupling, but cohabitation for a period longer than two years was. The State enforces gender checkups during pregnancy to keep the balance between both sexes. The characters are also in a sector where there are too many male children, so the fetus of the J and K (a boy) must be terminated.


text:
I was high and tried telling my girlfriend about a dream I had last night. It turned into a long text. I've never tried to write anything, but I was excited about how this just dribbled out of my thumbs while texting. Wanted to share it somewhere so here goes.

So i had a weird dream last night. I was trying to hold on to it to remember. I already forgot a different one from last night. There was a zombie apocalypse. I lived in a weird apartment complex that was basically like a motel, but I had this apartment that was totally secure. Solid door with a huge locking mechanism that covered the whole door. Big reinforced metal that could block the windows at a moment's notice. It was winter. I would walk to this store nearby to get food and beer regularly to feel normal rather than take it all home. I had Gus with me which was great. There was another survivor next door who I would see walking her dog, but we didn't talk. We just greeted each other in passing despite the fact that we might be the only people alive here. So one night I was walking back from the store and I saw headlights and waved to say hi (I just greeted them normally because I was used to pretending people were around so this wasn't weird, but a little surprising). They pulled into the lot which stretched across the building. It was a group of like twenty-somethings but like kind of trashy ones. They acted like nothing was wrong. I had a paper bag full of groceries and beer in my hands. They got out and we greeted each other. We chatted about where they had been, where I lived, what I had going, what they had going. I didn't mention that I had a huge food stash, flares, supplies, etc.. I was setup to hunker down indefinitely, but not with guests. So I was being nice. They asked if there was anywhere for them to stay. Not wanting to offer my place to six random off the street, but not necessarily wanting to turn them away and being happy for new faces, I told them to check some of the apartments in the building. I knew people had left and probably had stuff there that they could move in and use. They were my age and friendly and we got to talking. One of them asked if I "ever shot up?" I asked, "you mean like heroin?" And he said yeah. I obviously haven't, and he obviously had, so I just played it cool like, "no. Never did do that. But I've had some fun." He asked if I knew if there was any around. Kind of kept insisting there might be. I told him I didn't know of anyone here that had any, but he could check the empty apartments. He said thanks, but stuck around. He asked a few different ways if I wanted to try. Like, "if you ever had some, would you try to shoot it?" It seemed like an addict's projecting at first, but then I realized that some others from his crew had started gathering around again. As the thoughts of all of the news stories of heroin increasing in OD cases and being laced, I realized that they had an agenda. They knew who I was and that I had a place worthy of taking hold of. Maybe they didn't know this, but it raced through my mind. They know. They came here for a reason. They're playing me. So I tried to excuse myself from them, but it was sudden and without context. I knew it was awkward and untimely, but I didn't know how long I could stand there and not undergo whatever dealings they were they to do. I told them I needed to take care of my dog, and I would hopefully catch them in the morning and quickly turned to walk up to my apartment. This elicited a chorus of objections for me to "stay and hang out." "Shoot up with us." "Don't be a bitch." But as I ignored them and marched up the stairs, I could here a couple of them following me. Gus got uneasy and started barking, making me far more uncomfortable. I moved quicker and fumbled for my keys. I kept missing the one to unlock my front door, but finally got it and let myself in well before the got up the stairs. I turned the giant, zombie proof lock and checked through the upgraded peep hole, that afforded me a clear view of them and beyond, as they began banging on the door and demanding I let them in. I had the mind to pull down the metal shudders on the windows, for fear they would smash the windows in. As I looked back through the super-peephole, I saw zombies slowly coming through the dark into the parking lot toward the hotel.

I woke up at the last BANG from the guy trying to get in. I don't know if I was glad that that weird, uneasy feeling was over, or bummed that I did t get to finish out that scenario

title: [MF] I'm not story teller. Had a dream, managed to write it down, don't know where to put it

question: What does the story say about supplies?

answer: The narrator is able to walk to a nearby store to get food and beer regularly. They are carrying a paper bag full of groceries and beer when the ground of twenty-somethings arrives. They don't mention to the twenty-somethings that they have a huge stash of food, flares, and supplies. There are likely supplies available in abandoned apartments in the narrator's building.

question: What does the story say about the cause of the zombie apocalypse?


text:
Tick....Tick....Tick...

That old clock still has my number. The cats eyes go back and forth, but they're always watching me. From the kitchen, to the living room, and though the walls seperate us, I can feel it watching in the bathroom. Shampoo bottles half empty, my blow dryer and bubble bath. I don't need these things, but I need to take them. I picked a few empty boxes from the grocery nearby, but havent filled up one yet.

Tick....Tick...

If I just sit on the floor..no, if I lay actually, I can see the colors of the curtains and couches swirling around. I'm not high yet, nothing to drink this early, and still I'm spinning. I want to rip the books off of the shelf and hurl them at the TV, but then I won't have the white noise. Maury or something is playing, they're about to find out if some guy is the father to a child of a loud woman. I hope he's not.
    If I get up now, and start collecting and packing, I'll likely feel a sense of accomplishment, that's what I've been primed to believe, but what really will be done? I'll have moved on from a place of comfort, even if it has grown less familiar. I'll be carrying my things, physical and emotional, from block to block, searching for a new place to put down my baggage. Who does that help, and what does it accomplish?
    Maybe I'll just leave it all. Who needs these things; pots and pans, frilly curtains and polished oak poles. If I'd spent less time picking them out, maybe I wouldn't feel so conflicted. What do I need from here anymore, and what did I need from here to begin with? I'm wondering if I ever felt truly at home here, or if I bought these accessories to distract myself from an empty feeling I've always had inside these walls.

Tick....Tick...

If I step onto the balcony and look below, I can see the flower garden meant to be cared for by this floor, the apartments above and below, and mine. A bare area in the middle where I got lazy, or apathetic, or forgetful. I don't remember the last time I planted something, and It's harder to remember if it was out of a gradual lack of interest, or if there was a clear and defined event that curbed my desire to make the patch of earth I was responsible for a nicer and more beautiful thing to see and touch. I normally have an ashtray, but I think It's in one of the boxes now, so It can't hurt too much to flick one cigarette off the porch, just this time.
    I've been avoiding our room. I can't be in there, I keep thinking. It's too hard, I keep saying. I wonder though if I feel ashamed, or If I feel betrayed. I don't know why he did it, but I wonder if it was my fault. Maybe I wasn't loving enough, or maybe I was distracted dwelling in my dark times and failed to see his. I've been told before about the distraction. My parents, my friends, I'm always reffered to as if I'm empty headed, or just careless to others feeling. Maybe I am? Is this an opportunity to work on a bad habit and salvage future relationships? Should I take the plates and silverware? I could just buy more, but I did pick these out specifically because they matched our dining room walls and table. If I find myself lying on the floor again, does that say something about my desire to take what's mine anymore? What is mine, anymore?

Tick....

I think I should just leave this place behind and move on, to something scary and brand new and different. Maybe I should change my hair, my name, throw out all of my clothes and start a new life. I'm lost, but still alive. I'll leave these possessions, and the boxes, and just walk east.
    I will walk into our room one last time, and say goodbye, and kiss his forehead. That at the very least will save me from worrying about taking my red lipstick, and I may as well leave the rest of my makeup too. The clock is still watching though, so perhaps I'll just send a postcard from my new life.

'Love From Sunny Somewhere, Wish You Were Here!'

And I do, wish you were here. Just like I know I'll wish you were with me anywhere I go. I can't pretend things are a certain way anymore though, just like I know now you couldn't.
So If I just leave it all behind, what will be waiting for me outside?
    The trees and sidewalks, the birds and buses, all with purpose, ill defined, with expectations just like mine. Dependent on the will of other people to make our purpose known, and weak enough to be benign as soon as others cease to use us.

So I do, leave the boxes, but I think I'll take that fucking clock.

title: [MF] How Small We Are

question: Summarize everything to do with the narrator's packing.

answer: The narrator packs half-empty shampoo bottles, a blow dryer, and bubble bath in the bathroom. The narrator believes she'll feel a sense of accomplishment if she gets up and starts packing. She considers leaving everything behind. She considers taking all the plates and silverware. In the end she decides to just leave everything behind and move on, but she takes the clock with her.

question: What does the story say about the theme of moving on?

answer: The narrator wonders what will be accomplished by packing up their things. They'll have moved on from a place of comfort and searching for a new place to put their baggage down. She thinks she should just leave her old home place behind and move on and considers changing her hair and name and starting a new life. She wonders what will be waiting for her if she leaves everything behind. In the end, she leaves all the boxes she packed, but she does bring the clock with her.

question: Summarize everything relating to the narrator's plans for the future.

answer: She considers changing her hair and her name, throwing out all of her clothes, and starting a new life. She thinks about sending her ex a postcard from wherever she winds up.

question: What does the story say about what the narrator's ex's family thinks of him?


text:
(This story is entirely fictional. Thank you for reading.)

Six months had passed since my mother’s suicide. I just turned sixteen and was still unstable emotionally. Every pompous dyke at my high school made sure to tell me if I needed anything to just ask and to feel free to express my feelings to them. The only thing I wanted was my mother back but since that wasn’t an option, instead I wanted everyone to just shut the fuck up. My father drank himself into the emergency room twice now and has refused to join AA. He lost his license, but luckily I have my learner’s permit and can chauffer him around so he can still get a daily fix. I loathe him. He thinks he’s the only one suffering and makes sure to express his frustration as often as possible by using his fists on walls and his throat with alcohol. Tonight marks six months to the day she pulled the trigger and my father made sure to extend his streak of drunken escapades.
It wasn’t until he threw his mug across the kitchen after I told him that mom wouldn’t have let this happen. After the final piece of glass struck the floor, I stopped cringing and opened my eyes, ready to ‘express my feelings’.

“You think you’re the only person whose life changed? You think you’re the only one who wakes up every morning asking ‘Why Me’?”

I was horrified but it was all just coming out of me. My distress, rage, loneliness, disgust, everything; I was terrified this day would come. I never knew when it would happen but I did know it was going to change everything, and with life as fucked up as it is now, how could it get any worse? I was standing in the living room near the family portrait hanging on the wall and he was sitting at the kitchen table.

He stood up. “Who do you think you are? What makes you think you can talk to me like that!?”

“I’m not a child any more, why can’t you accept that!?”

“Because you ARE a child, you don’t know how the real world works.”

“Just because I don’t have a fucking job and own a piece of shit house that you audaciously call a ‘home’ that doesn’t mean I don’t know what the FUCK I’m talking about.”

This was the first time I said ‘fuck’ in front of my father, and I tensed up a little bit before it came off my tongue, but there was no going back. We were standing off, me on the carpet and him on the linoleum. This was it, I was letting it go. I was so livid I wanted everything I loved and hated in the world around me to explode and crumble leaving nothing behind but ash and screams. Every day I did the same thing and made no improvement on myself or others, why was I even trying? I was a walking corpse. I didn’t feel like anything was real; all these people were drones dressed up as a lie and every smile I saw cut me deeper than any knife. “Fucking liars”, I thought.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

I felt a bit of pride when he said this; I got him off his balance. Maybe he would realize he wasn’t talking to a sixteen year old girl anymore. This was it, I was a woman; a ferocious one at that. I felt powerful. Could this be it? I’ll show him.

“You heard me.” I said calmly, “I know exactly what this ‘real world’ is so don’t disguise it as this anomaly that I’ll never understand.”

He took a step closer but kept his distance. “You may understand it someday, but that’s not today. So don’t FUCKING act like you know everything and that you’re entitled to say this shit.” He closed his left fist tightly and stuck out his index finger at me. “YOU have no respect for others so you don’t deserve it in return, you callous whore!”

I always thought it was humorous when he called me a whore, he thought it made me angry. Being called a whore by your dad in your house is different than being called one in school by the cheering squad, so I didn’t care. Just because he stormed in at the wrong time and caught me pulling down Jared’s pants when I entered that lonely period last month, it didn’t mean I was a whore. Bastard. Am I really a whore? No, no definitely not. But maybe him thinking I was a whore would piss him off. Here goes nothing.

“You’re right, I’m such a whore. That night when you came home and went straight to bed without making me dinner, I called Jared and Hector over and I jerked off Jared while taking it up the ass from Hector. That’s why your favorite pair of socks went missing from the porch that one time. I made them each finish into them and I told them to take ‘em home.” That wasn’t true at all, I actually made myself mac & cheese and was watching Risky Business on TV. I wanted to try sliding across the floor because I hadn’t since I was probably nine years old. Since I wasn’t wearing socks and didn’t want to go upstairs to get my own because I was afraid I would wake him up, I used his favorite pair of Fruit Of The Loom Heavy Duty Crew Work socks that he puts next to his work boots every night.

On my third slide I hit an edge of linoleum that was sticking up and ripped the first sock wide open and dragged the second one just enough so the thread pulled straight off the center and almost decapitated the light brown section near the toes. I panicked because when I shrunk his first pair in the dryer he almost tore my bedroom door off its hinges. I ran across the street and threw them in my neighbor’s trash can. I figured he would know I did something if I didn’t do something with his boots so I put them outside on the porch. In the morning he asked where his boots were and I said I put them outside because they smelled. We both assumed his socks were taken by a raccoon or something. He had to buy a new pair of boots because upon finding out he chucked that pair off the porch, and I think a raccoon really did take those.

Now gritting his teeth, he spoke under his breath: “Cunt”. Yep, I heard it, he didn’t think I did, but I did. He was surely pissed now, so I knew I had him.

“Yeah, just your little whore daughter, right? I do stuff like that because I wasn’t brought up right. And because I miss her. If she were still her she would have continuing raising me right!”

“I’m doing the best I can so I’m sorry I’m not perfect! I miss her too but she was suffering and fixed her fucking problem so why can’t you do the same and learn to fix yours.”

I truly thought he just told me to kill myself. Sometimes I wonder if he truly did or not, but it sure sounded like it.

“You know what, fuck you. She killed herself to get away from you, you were too unbearable to be around and instead of her killing you, she wanted you to live alone and miserable. You were the one that fucking killed her!”

I stopped. He stopped. Everything paused for a second. Nothingness…
It took me only a split second to realize what I said, and it hurt me inside. That’s when I knew I was still alive, because I felt that regret immediately. And he knew it too. His expression went from pure anger to relinquished horror. He looked right at me. Right after I said it the wrinkles around my eyes went away, my eyebrows slowly lifted and my lips closed shut. My expression was dead. It was like I was a robot and my programmer just flipped the OFF switch and I went back to my neutral state. I held myself steady. I didn’t blink because if I did I knew a tear would follow. In that moment, I knew I hurt him, and he knew I knew I hurt him. I have no recollection of how much time passed in that moment; it was either a few seconds or a few minutes. I never forgot his expression and he never forgot mine. I would have done anything to take it back, anything.

The mixture of emotions displayed in his expression caused my vision to haze. He was hurt, embarrassed, ashamed, and worst of all, livid. He stood very still, arms at his side but not touching his torso. His shoulders appeared broader and his stance was spread. He looked like someone standing on train tracks and having a freight train that was rapidly approaching him, physically preparing to dive at the last second. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the middle finger on his right hand twitch, and I couldn’t breathe. I was frozen, eyes still wide. I never feared him more than in this moment, and it lasted for an eternity.

He blinked, and then took a slight inhale. I thought he knew what he was going to do next but didn’t know how he could live with himself if he did it. I was mentally bracing myself for the end. When you’re staring down a lion, your only option is to be the prey. The ambiance was so silent I could hear the wind blowing against the siding on the house. I would have done anything to get away from this moment, but I couldn’t move. I was terrified I couldn’t get away.

His shoulders released all tension and his arms relaxed. Then it happened. He shivered out one final exhale before he turned and walked out of the room.

My eyes didn’t follow him; they remained fixed to where his eyes were two seconds earlier. It wasn’t until he was out of my peripheral that I felt my knees give and I fell to the ground. I reached out for anything to prevent my inevitable plummet and managed to brace the wall as I choked out the breath that I was holding. I cried. I cried profusely; as hard as I did when he held me six months earlier and told me she was gone. If I had to imagine what having an asthma attack was like, this moment would be my reference.

Minutes passed. I was on the ground in the small corner of wall that connects the kitchen and living room together. My hand was reaching over to the cold floor feeling the spot where my tears had fallen. My snot rag of a shirt was now wrinkled near the collar. I struggled to pull myself together. I somehow figured out how to work my legs again and got to my feet. I put shoes on as quickly as I could and ran outside.

I didn’t stop running. I didn’t look back. If I could do it all over again I would. Even if I could just have stayed, that would be enough. But I didn’t. And I never spoke to my father again.

title: Daddy's Little Girl - An emotional and sinister portrayal (17+ for language)

question: What did the narrator want most from her father after the death of her mother?

answer: She wanted some stability, for her father to take charge and make things normal again.

question: Why is the narrator and her father hurting each other emotionally?

answer: Maybe because they both are still hurting from their loss.


text:
The FERRIS--HERMSMEYER--FENTON, at 144 Duncan District Rd. in Sheridan, Montana, in Madison County, Montana, was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 2008.[1] The listing included a area with nine contributing buildings, a contributing structure and two contributing sites.[2]

The ranch was established in 1872 by Jane Ferris. It is located in the heart of the Ruby River valley. Ferris' application described an original c.1866 barn which still exists.[3]

Jane Ferris was a widow with two small children. She seems to have been the only woman in the Sheridan area who was successful in using preemption to secure land and a home, for herself and her heirs. The lower Ruby Valley was opened for settlement in 1863, soon after gold discoveries in Bannack and in Alder Gulch nearby, and before there was any government survey of the land which could have led to sale of the land to the public. By the 1841 Preemption Act, any 160-acre area of unsurveyed land was open for settlement, essentially by squatters who lived on the land for 14 months, by heads of households being either a man over age 21 or a widow. The property that she claimed included an 1866 cabin, which became a portion of the main residence, and an 1866 barn, and these were described by Ferris in her 1872 application for preemption.[4]

The property was farmed by her daughter and her family in the late 1870s and early 1880s. Later, the Frederick and George Hermsmeyer families further improved the property with additional buildings related to farming. Various owners held the property after World War I, then in 1937 the Fendon family took ownership. The Fentons brought the ranch back into prosperity and improved it, especially during and after World War II when agricultural prices were better. The ranch had stayed among Fenton descendants for 70 years when it was nominated for listing on the National Register in 2007, at which time it was owned in the Wuelfing last name.[5]

The ranch was deemed significant for its “association with women's history and the use of federal public land law for settlement in southwest Montana during the formation of Montana territory.”[6]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]  With

title: Ferris-Hermsmeyer-Fenton Ranch

question: Where is Ferris-Hermsmeyer-Fenton Ranch located?

answer: Ferris-Hermsmeyer-Fenton Ranch is located in the Ruby River valley in Montana.

question: Who is Jane Ferris?

answer: Jane Ferris is the establisher of Ferris-Hermsmeyer-Fenton Ranch.

question: Why is Ferris-Hermsmeyer-Fenton Ranch significant?

answer: Ferris-Hermsmeyer-Fenton Ranch is significant for its association with women's history and the use of federal public land law for settlement in southwest Montana.

question: Who owns Ferris-Hermsmeyer-Fenton Ranch?

answer: Ferris-Hermsmeyer-Fenton Ranch was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 2008.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Ferris-Hermsmeyer-Fenton Ranch was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 2008. It is was established in 1872 by Jane Ferris and is significant for its association with women's history and the use of federal public land law for settlement in southwest Montana.


text:
I am thrilled and delighted to get to sample some of Twisted Wonderland Perfumery’s items.  This company is brand spankin’ new but my goodness do they have a ton of charm!  The lovely owner, Rae, was kind enough to send me some samples that arrived just as the store had it’s grand opening!

(For full disclosure, I did not purchase these items.  The owner asked if bloggers were interested in testing/reviewing and I raised my hand.  Though, I’d planned on making a sample order anyway when they opened.)

[IMG_5477]
photo by smellallthethings
How gorgeous are the labels?!  I’m a huge Alice in Wonderland fan so this just makes my heart happy.

First I’m going to start with the LIP SCRUB on the left.  I selected CABERNET COTTON CANDY.  And let me tell you … it’s cotton candy!  I only have one complaint, and it’s not even about the product … I had to cut the beautiful label to open it!  I know it’s purely an aesthetic thing, but it made me sad to do it – especially since the inside had a seal over it.  The lip scrub seems a touch liquidy – but it’s freakin’ hot here in NC and to be fair, I have like ZERO experience with lip scrubs so it could just be how it is.  But, my lips need exfoliating after so much sun so this is a win-win!

[FullSizeRender][FullSizeRender][FullSizeRender]

So you can see the process before, during, and after. (Sorry for the weird quality – my bathroom has horrible lighting.)  I have to admit, it was weird.  Not like bad weird but one of those “man I hope my husband doesn’t walk in on me and I have to explain why I have sugar on my lips” weird.  It tasted good, had more of a grape-like cotton candy flavor than any type of Cabernet (though to be fair I’ve not had Cabernet wine in a long, long time).  It was sweet, cleaning up was easy, and it left a touch of a waxy feel behind, but my lips are soft!  Mission accomplished I think!  It took off some of the chapped feeling from my lips as well.

Of course the lip scrub must be followed up with a LIP BALM, right?  For this I chose GREEN APPLE PEACH.  Smells only slightly like green apples.  The formula is softer than other lip balms I’ve tried and it almost melts on your lips.  It’s not really waxy and it’s very soft and smooth.  Just a hint of sweetness when I lick my lips, but the scent is not overpowering which I consider a good thing.  I always hate it when I put on lip balm or gloss and it’s scented like crazy and it’s the only thing I can smell because it’s under my nose.  I’m a chapstick girl, so this lip balm will be used frequently and with pleasure!  There is no tinting to the lip balm, which I like as well.

And now onto the Eau de Parfum’s!  I have to confess, I’m kind of an Indie EDP junkie.  I absolutely adore spritzing myself daily and have been known to change shirts just so I can wear a different EDP.

Man, talk about nostalgia … STAY PUFT EDP – I’m sure you can guess the notes, but here they are just in case:  _A whole lotta’ marshmallow! A combination of fresh marshmallow, marshmallow fluff, two vanillas, & a dab of patchouli_.

  What did you DO Ray?

  *swallows*  It’s the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

In the vial it’s a whole lotta marshmallow goodness.  Not the puft kind, though, oddly enough.  This is more the jar of marshmallow goo that, if you’re lucky, your mom let you lick after she was done making fudge.  (I was lucky!)  On my skin, however, this comes down to earth with a lovely patchouli.  It’s brown and kind of musky and a whole lotta earthy.  It does a lot to help tamp down the sweetness the blend could overwhelm with otherwise.  The vanilla’s are almost floral?  There’s something flowery in here, but it’s just gorgeous.  Sweet with a touch of earthy patchouli.  After a bit I get that powdery marshmallow and it adds another dimension to the blend.  The longer this sits the more I get the brown earthiness from the patch and the sweetness backs down just a bit more.

This company is like a ride down to nostalgia town.  NECRONOMICON is up next with it’s notes of: _A unique combination of book pages, leather, pipe tobacco, and a waft of blackberry bordeaux_.

  This is my BOOMstick!

I get a huge waft of blackberry bordeaux when I open the vial.  On my skin it starts out much the same.  It’s a gorgeous and light scent, which you wouldn’t think from the notes.  However, as it sits it mellows and this leathery scent comes out.  It’s a nice well worn leather – kind of a mix between supple brown and shiny black.  This is the first time I’ve smelled a leather quite like this.  Don’t know if it’s because of the blackberry bordeaux or what, but it’s very nice.  I’m not getting anything papery or papyrus like, but I do get a small hint of pipe tobacco.  Not fresh, more like the scent has ingrained itself into the book. While I may not really enjoy the scent sniffing directly on my skin, what is wafting up to be is just deliciously gorgeous!  It’s a sweet blackberry wine with almost no tartness, a hint of an almost cherry pipe tobacco, soft glistening leather, and now I’m getting something bookish.  I’m in love with this scent, I have to say.  I think I need this sooner rather than later.  It’s so unique!  Such good throw also.  And remember … Shop Smart, shop S-Mart. *wink*

The last EDP sample I have is WHITE RABBIT, which seemed fitting, with notes of: _The scent of fresh green grass, sweet wild strawberries, and a hint of leather to ground it all out_. In the vial this smells a bit medicinal – that faux syrup they give kids hoping they’ll swallow it without too much protest.  Thankfully, on my skin, that medicinal scent is completely gone and I’m left with a sweet strawberry scent with just a hint of green grass.  The leather note is the same from Necronomicon and becoming a fast favorite of mine.  Once this dries it actually reminds me of Necronomicon – that same sweet leather scent.  I would’ve liked more of that grass note or something furry/musky to distinguish it more from Necronomicon.  Pleasant, but it doesn’t grab at me.

Now we are on to the perfume oils and in keeping with the Wonderland theme, I will be trying ABSOLUTELY ALICE with notes of: _A delightful sweet & fruity blend of fresh peaches, wild raspberries, and wafts of tooth-achingly sweet pink cotton candy_.  In the vial I get a lovely sniff of freshly cut peaches ready to be eaten.  It’s actually so realistic it’s making my mouth water!  At the moment this is just a fresh peach single note, and honestly if it stayed like that I don’t know that I would mind!  But it doesn’t and eventually I get a touch of red and juicy raspberries.  There’s a sweet note around the fruit, but it’s not the overwhelming cotton candy that was in the lip scrub.  This is more subdued.  Overall I think I’m in love with this one as well.  It’s realistically fruity!  I might have to go to the store and buy some fruit.

DEADITE will round out the reviews with notes of: _Seemingly sweet blackberry with a sinister twist of patchouli, black pepper, and vanilla_.  Groovy.  In the vial it’s blackberry and pepper – very odd indeed.  On my skin it wants to be a blackberry, but other things (namely the pepper and patchouli) are holding it back.  Which in turn is giving it an almost artificial scent to it which isn’t really sitting very well with me.  And after the realistic peaches in Absolutely Alice I was expecting more realistic blackberries.  The patchouli is the same soft and earthy one that’s in Stay Puft.  Eventually the vanilla comes out and adds more sweetness.  I think I would dig this one without the blackberry – it’s just not my cuppa tea.

Overall I’m quite impressed with this new company!  I definitely want Necronomicon and Absolutely Alice.  Possibly Stay Puft as well.  I will absolutely be trying more of their catalog!

question: Who is Ray?

answer: The narrative does not provide a direct answer to the question. However, it can be ruled out that this Ray is not a misspelling of the owner's name, Rae. Based on the pattern of the topics which revolve around nostalgia, the name Ray is associated with another character or brand named as Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

question: What item is the NECRONOMICON perfume based on?

answer: The article does not directly say what the inspiration is, but based on the scents of book pages, leather, pipe tobacco, and blackberry bordeaux, as well as the reviewer's descriptions, it can be assumed that the item is something similar to an old leather bound book.

question: What is the content about?

answer: An online review of some of Twisted Wonderland Perfumery's products. The owner, Rae, sent out samples to bloggers who were interested in making reviews. The article writer reviews several of the products they were given: perfume oils, lip balm, eau de perfume, and lip scrub.


text:
WARREN COUNTY is a county located in the U.S. state of Mississippi. As of the 2010 census, the population was 48,773.[1] Its county seat is Vicksburg.[2] Created by legislative act of 22 December 1809, Warren County is named for American Revolutionary War officer Joseph Warren.

Part of the Mississippi Delta and the historic cotton culture, Warren County is included in the Vicksburg, MS Micropolitan Statistical Area, which is also included in the Jackson-Vicksburg-Brookhaven, MS Combined Statistical Area.

Geography

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the county has a total area of , of which is land and (4.9%) is water.[3]

Major highways

-   [] Interstate 20
-   [] U.S. Route 61
-   [] U.S. Route 80
-   [] Mississippi Highway 3
-   [] Mississippi Highway 27

Adjacent counties

-   Issaquena County (north)
-   Yazoo County (northeast)
-   Hinds County (east)
-   Claiborne County (south)
-   Tensas Parish, Louisiana (southwest)
-   Madison Parish, Louisiana (west)

National protected areas

-   Theodore Roosevelt National Wildlife Refuge (part)
-   Vicksburg National Military Park (part)

Demographics

[Age pyramid Warren County[4]]

As of the 2010 United States Census, there were 48,773 people living in the county. 50.3% were White, 47.0% Black or African American, 0.8% Asian, 0.3% Native American, 0.7% of some other race and 0.9% of two or more races. 1.8% were Hispanic or Latino (of any race).

As of the census[5] of 2000, there were 49,644 people, 18,756 households, and 13,222 families living in the county. The population density was 85 people per square mile (33/km²). There were 20,789 housing units at an average density of 35 per square mile (14/km²). The racial makeup of the county was 54.97% White, 43.19% Black or African American, 0.23% Native American, 0.62% Asian, 0.02% Pacific Islander, 0.33% from other races, and 0.66% from two or more races. 1.04% of the population were Hispanic or Latino of any race.

2005 census estimates based on the American Community Survey suggested that non-Hispanic whites were 51.5% of Warren County's population. Warren County was the only county in Mississippi along the Mississippi River, in addition to Desoto, where whites made up a majority of the population. African Americans were 46.0% of the county's population. People identifying as of two or more races were 0.6%, less than in the previous ACS. The Latino population was 1.2% of the total for the county.[6]

In 2000 there were 18,756 households, out of which 35.60% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 46.80% were married couples living together, 19.10% had a female householder with no husband present, and 29.50% were non-families. 25.80% of all households were made up of individuals, and 9.70% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.61 and the average family size was 3.14.

In the county, the population was spread out, with 28.50% under the age of 18, 9.10% from 18 to 24, 28.40% from 25 to 44, 22.40% from 45 to 64, and 11.70% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 35 years. For every 100 females there were 88.30 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 84.40 males.

The median income for a household in the county was $35,056, and the median income for a family was $41,706. Males had a median income of $33,566 versus $21,975 for females. The per capita income for the county was $17,527. About 15.00% of families and 18.70% of the population were below the poverty line, including 27.80% of those under age 18 and 16.20% of those age 65 or over.

Warren County has the seventh highest per capita income in the State of Mississippi.

Government and politics

Board of Supervisors

Members are elected from each of the five supervisory districts. The Board of Supervisors guides and establishes policies for the county government. Members of the board of make decisions regarding economic development, public health and welfare and county roads.

National politics

In 2004, Republican George W. Bush won Warren County with 57% percent of the vote to Democrat John Kerry's 41%. In 2008, however, the results were much closer based in part on a strong Democratic voter registration campaign. Republican John McCain defeated Democrat Barack Obama 51% to 48%. In 2012, Barack Obama won the county 50% to Mitt Romney's 49%, the first Democratic presidential candidate to take the county since 1960. The previous Democratic dominance was based on membership in the party by conservative whites, at a time when most blacks were excluded from voting. Since the late 20th century and passage of civil rights legislation, most conservative whites have shifted into the Republican Party. African Americans have largely supported local and national Democratic candidates since that period.

  Year                               Republican                                   Democratic                                   Third parties
  ---------------------------------- -------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------- ----------------------------
  style=“text-align:center;” |2016   style=“text-align:center;” |50.3% _9,767_    style=“text-align:center;” |47.8% _9,284_    1.9% _365_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2012   style=“text-align:center;” |48.9% _10,457_   style=“text-align:center;” |50.4% _10,786_   0.7% _148_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2008   style=“text-align:center;” |51.2% _11,152_   style=“text-align:center;” |48.2% _10,489_   0.6% _123_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2004   style=“text-align:center;” |57.7% _11,356_   style=“text-align:center;” |41.8% _8,224_    0.5% _103_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2000   style=“text-align:center;” |58.5% _10,892_   style=“text-align:center;” |40.2% _7,485_    1.3% _246_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1996   style=“text-align:center;” |47.8% _9,261_    style=“text-align:center;” |45.3% _8,774_    7.0% _1,350_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1992   style=“text-align:center;” |49.6% _10,209_   style=“text-align:center;” |39.7% _8,175_    10.7% _2,194_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1988   style=“text-align:center;” |62.0% _12,507_   style=“text-align:center;” |36.9% _7,437_    1.1% _226_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1984   style=“text-align:center;” |61.0% _12,959_   style=“text-align:center;” |37.9% _8,054_    1.1% _235_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1980   style=“text-align:center;” |56.0% _10,151_   style=“text-align:center;” |41.3% _7,489_    2.7% _488_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1976   style=“text-align:center;” |55.4% _8,699_    style=“text-align:center;” |40.1% _6,299_    4.5% _707_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1972   style=“text-align:center;” |72.0% _10,420_   style=“text-align:center;” |24.0% _3,480_    4.0% _578_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1968   style=“text-align:center;” |17.0% _2,392_    style=“text-align:center;” |31.9% _4,503_    51.1% _7,217_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1964   style=“text-align:center;” |82.0% _7,409_    style=“text-align:center;” |18.0% _1,631_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1960   style=“text-align:center;” |34.6% _2,277_    style=“text-align:center;” |34.8% _2,289_    30.7% _2,021_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1956   style=“text-align:center;” |45.4% _2,419_    style=“text-align:center;” |34.9% _1,857_    19.7% _1,052_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1952   style=“text-align:center;” |59.4% _3,458_    style=“text-align:center;” |40.6% _2,366_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1948   style=“text-align:center;” |5.9% _245_       style=“text-align:center;” |7.7% _320_       86.5% _3,605_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1944   style=“text-align:center;” |8.7% _304_       style=“text-align:center;” |91.3% _3,202_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1940   style=“text-align:center;” |5.9% _192_       style=“text-align:center;” |94.1% _3,048_    0.0% _1_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1936   style=“text-align:center;” |3.6% _122_       style=“text-align:center;” |96.2% _3,233_    0.2% _6_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1932   style=“text-align:center;” |6.5% _169_       style=“text-align:center;” |92.8% _2,422_    0.8% _20_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1928   style=“text-align:center;” |16.1% _530_      style=“text-align:center;” |83.9% _2,769_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1924   style=“text-align:center;” |15.5% _328_      style=“text-align:center;” |84.5% _1,794_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1920   style=“text-align:center;” |12.8% _161_      style=“text-align:center;” |86.0% _1,082_    1.2% _15_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1916   style=“text-align:center;” |5.7% _73_        style=“text-align:center;” |93.9% _1,204_    0.4% _5_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1912   style=“text-align:center;” |4.1% _55_        style=“text-align:center;” |84.8% _1,135_    11.1% _149_

  : PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION RESULTS[7]

Communities

[The Warren County sheriff's department is located in an annex building across from the courthouse.] [The Warren County Board of Supervisors meets in this mall building in Vicksburg.] [Old Courthouse Museum, also known as the Eva W. Davis Memorial is located in Vicksburg across the street from the 1940 courthouse.]

City

-   Vicksburg (county seat and only municipality)

Census-designated place

-   Beechwood

Unincorporated communities

-   Bovina
-   Eagle Bend
-   Flowers
-   Redwood
-   Rose Hill
-   Waltersville
-   Warrenton
-   Yokena

Ghost town

-   Brunswick

Notable people

-   Sarah Gibson Humphreys (1830–1907), author and woman suffragist

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4] Based on 2000 census data

[5]

[6] Warren County QuickFacts from the US Census Bureau

[7]

title: Warren County, Mississippi

question: What does the text say about the governor of Mississippi?

question: What are some notable facts about Warren County, Mississippi?

answer: Warren County was created by the legislative act of 22 December 1809. It's named after American Revolutionary War officer Joseph Warren. Another fact about Warren County is that it is part of the Mississippi Delta and the historic cotton culture, which means it is included in the Vicksburg MS Micropolitan Statistical Area. Additionally, it is the only county in Mississippi along the Mississippi River where whites made up a majority of the population.

question: What does the text say about Warren County's how government works?

answer: In Warren County, members of the board of supervisors are elected from each of the five supervisory districts. The Board of Supervisors guides and creates policies for the county government. They also make decisions regarding economic development, public health and welfare and county roads.

question: What does the text say about median numbers?

answer: In Warren County the median age was 35 years. The median income for a household was $35,056, and the median income for a family was $41,706. Median income for males was $33,566 and females had $21,975.


text:
The Ardalent Strings

The bell chimed so everyone grabbed hold of their handled strings and walked out from their apartments. The strings came from brass cavities in the wall and the other ends attached to something unknown to the people. They were meant to pull the strings to taut and they all did this simultaneously at the chiming of the bell. The strings whirred out of each brass fixture activating some guessed at mechanics inside the walls, flywheels and gears and such, clicking and clunking like old clockwork. The strings were too long for the people to simply pull and stand in their rooms, pulled taut the length of these strings would leave the people standing in their hallways. Sometimes, the people would speak to each other.

Oliver was told about the unusual custom by Lester on the day he had moved into the old Abbey Apartment building on Flint Street; bell and line. “Who is it that rings the bell?” Oliver was new and knowing no one but directing his question to a sea of old faces in the hall, holding his handle and string.

“It is not for us to know, just accept that it is so,” replied old Mrs. Cardicole. “We pull our strings each time it rings. That is the nature of living here, though it may seem vain and queer. Our labor is to taut the strings whenever the bell of Abbey rings.”

“Where do the strings go?” Oliver asked, not wanting to give up so easily.

“We pull our strings, the brass handled strings and meet here in the hall. That’s all to say. It’s the way of things. There’s nothing more at all!” and Mrs. Cardicole gave a stern face as if to say, *I disapprove of this line*.

Everyone else looked on and felt for Oliver. The residents knew the custom was odd but it was truly simply the way of things in the old Abbey Apartments on Flint Street.

Then the strings pulled back into their holes by automatic mechanism and everyone returned to whatever they had been doing. Some were watching television, others were reading, others were having dinner. Young Lester and Sable were tending to their newborn son. Life in the apartment building on Flint Street was quiet and most like usual, save for this one quirk of the handled strings and the chiming bell.

Sometimes, people would venture to look for the bell. Most obvious was that it would be on top of the building, but Lester once discovered that it was not. He told a very few people about his searching and occasionally, people would help Lester to look for it. Mrs. Cardicole would watch the people searching from her custom one-way porthole. She would take notes on who was looking and what they might be saying. “Always searching for the bell, these transgressions lead to Hell.” Her hair was red and frizzed and she seemed a kind of recluse. Some might say that Mrs. Cardicole was a shut-in, but she had her reasons, and her husband Frank in his urn would not judge her like her neighbors did.

The bell rang early the following day and all the neighbors grasped their handles and pulled their strings from the brass fixtures in their apartments. They met out in the hall again and Mrs. Cardicole spied Oliver instantly and judged his efforts as lackluster, slack was his string. He was not doing as well and he could, and his string was not as taut as hers. The neighbor Lester saw the judgement on Mrs. Cardicole’s face and it entertained the dark parts of his mind. The ringing bell had twisted his thoughts and every day, sometimes twice in one, he’d be a slave to it. Mrs. Cardicole’s judgement was something new, Oliver was something new, so Lester looked on in madness and a voice screamed in his mind. He thought of scissors and of string, screaming madness and slicing blades. Lester’s string was taut and the mechanisms to it locked in and he dropped his handle in the hall and went inside his apartment. Lester came back a moment later with a pair of scissors and picked up his handle again, in front of everyone, and cradled the string between the scissor blades. He looked again at Mrs. Cardicole’s silent judgement and relished in it, for now it was directed at him and not Oliver. Lester severed the handle from the string and almost immediately after, the strings pulled back into their holes and the people followed after, continuing their quiet lives in their apartments. Lester’s string vanished beyond the wall, somewhere behind his holed brass fixture.

Oliver spent the day considering Lester. How long has the process been driving him mad? Oliver would like to speak to Lester at some point so he decided he would, next time he had the chance. But it was evening when the bell chimed again and everyone pulled their strings out into the hall but there was no Lester. Oliver looked for him to come out at his door, but nobody came. Of course, why would they? There was no string for Lester or Sable to pull. The curious neighbors decided to investigate, at least to see what had become of Lester’s madness. One held another’s handled string while one investigated Lester’s door. It was ajar and pushed open easily but Lester was nowhere to be seen, nor was Sable or the newborn.

“Claimed by sin and no line taut, this is what his cutting brought.” Mrs. Cardicole gave a wry smile. Everyone came back to their spots and held their strings, not daring to let go and dismissing all thoughts of stepping out of line, all thoughts of knives and scissors banished; all minds were bent on the taut strings. Even Oliver did not dare to ask Mrs. Cardicole any more questions.

For the second time in the day, the strings pulled back into their brass openings and the people retreated back into their apartments, neverminding the strange reality they had all accepted with reluctant grace. Mrs. Cardicole watched them all mindlessly slink through their doors through her porthole then waited a moment for good measure. She quietly left her apartment and descended the stairwell then went into the basement. She had a key, the only key that opened the boiler room and there she came to it again, the caged Ardalent, the demon toddler she kept in her charge, giant and harlequin. Mrs. Cardicole stepped over the bodies of Lester and Sable. The Ardalent had his own string that hung down into his cage, one that chimed the unseen bell, and the neighbors did as they always had upon hearing it. Their strings came to an engine of coiled metal that powered a music box set to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. It was his lullaby. Mrs. Cardicole fed the Ardalent what she could from the bodies of Lester and Sable. She blew a kiss to the demon toddler and left the boiler room, locking the door behind her. She ascended the stairs and went back, unseen, into her apartment to find the child of Lester and Sable, now hers to raise; a brother for her dear Ardalent.

title: The Ardalent Strings

question: What is the purpose of the strings the tenants pull each day when the bell chimes?

answer: Whenever the demon toddler, the Ardalent, wanted to hear its lullaby, it would chime the bell. The tenants would then pull the stsrings that came to an engine of coiled metal that powered a music box set to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, his lullaby.

question: How did the tenants feel about their duty to pull a string into the hallway whenever the bell chimed?

answer: The new tenant is extremely curious about the task. Others who have been there longer are still curious, also. Lester sometimes would venture to look for the bell, and occasionally, others would help him look for it. Mrs. Cardicole gets mad when others question it and casts judging looks. Eventually, Lester gets fed up with it and cuts the string with scissors. Mrs. Cardicole is angry about it. We later find out that Mrs. Cardicole is behind the whole thing and has killed Lester and his partner.

question: What is the  surprise twist?

answer: Mrs. Cardicole is behind the whole thing, using the tenants to help pacify a demon child that she takes care of in the boiler room and she killed Lester and Sable for cutting their lines.

question: How did the Ardalent demon child come to be in Mrs. Cardicole's care?