text:
The grey sky wept heavy tears as an old man creeps along a smooth marble path, clutching his coat tightly with white knuckles to keep the frosted wind from stealing it. His head hung low against the rain, joints aching and lungs burning from the cold air, he walks on under the gaze of the silent marble guardians that stand all around.  They are placed in concentric ranks, evenly spaced and facing inwards, ever vigilant. There are thousands of them; tens of thousands even, covering an area miles wide. They are spaced evenly throughout their rings with a gap just wide enough for two people to slip in between with twice that distance between each layer. Small engraved platinum plaques rest at the base of each, meticulously produced and maintained.

At the center is an open space dominated by a large sphere which floats reverently above the ground. The Earth in all its glory, with its greens, blues, and browns – meticulously detailed. White clouds swirl and dance in real time in a never ending show that matches reality. If an observer looks closely, they see small ripples throughout the vast blue oceans as the moon engages in its eternal struggle with the tides. Yellow points of civilization dot the night side, ever struggling against the darkness which creeps steadily west. Giant black scars and craters run along its surface, an eternal reminder of events not long passed.

Once in awhile the old man sees another like himself, walking solemnly through this holiest of places. He places a hand onto the cold stone of a statue to steady himself as a strong gust smashes into his fragile frame. He pulls back his hand as if bitten, a numbness spreading throughout his soul. As he continues forward he looks into the faces around him even as the rain soaks his face. He doesn’t notice as it slips down his coat, and doesn’t care as the cold steals the feeling from his skin. He is beyond knowing discomfort. It has been many months since he felt.

Each face is alive with hand crafted detail down to the very pores of the shining stone skin. Their expressions are serious yet hopeful, sad but inspiring. They stand life sized and uniformed, medals and ribbons adorning their chests. Over each stone heart is a small pin with the shape and detail of the Earth. Had they not been made of lifeless stone, each likeness could be mistaken for a living being. They are the holiest relics of the human race, in a place that has become a religious site that has no priests and belongs to no church. They stand at attention in eternal watch over the planet in their midst and the pilgrims who walk through their home.

As the old man draws nearer to his destination he slows his all ready careful pace to the barest of movements. He has entered the space of his nightmares, the place he visits each night in sleep and each day in life. It is a familiar place, one he has navigated through hundreds of times in the few short months since its completion. It has become routine in a sense. His path is always the same; the same stones, the same steps, the same faces, the same emptiness.

He stops at each monument and memorizes every face before reading the plaque under it. Each one is long since engraved in his mind. They are his link to the past, to better times before.  Some of the names he knows from the old letters. They are his most cherished possessions and the only thing of value he has. He falls asleep each night with a stack of them in his bed, only escaping into the embrace of sleep when he is too tired to remain awake any longer.

After a time that may have been as long as hours or as short as minutes, the old man arrives at what has become both his hell and his salvation. It is a statue of a young woman, so perfectly detailed that the sight of it tears through his soul. He stares at her face and struggles to look away. The plaque at her feet tells only the barest of stories; that she was an officer; that she served all of humanity; that she died protecting her home. That she will be forever remembered. She has a face the old man is intimately familiar with. Her name is the same as his.

He remembers how it all started. How smart and happy and full of life she was. How she glowed and seemed to brighten a room just by being present. How he always pushed her to strive for more, to live up to her full potential. How he had wanted a better life for her than he had ever had for himself. How she had applied on an off chance and been accepted into the program, and how she had gone with his blessing and his encouragement. How she had written every day after she left, and how utterly proud he was. How she was his only child.

He remembers too how it all ended. How the Earth had been decimated. How she had been called up. He watched the live video as it all unfolded, remembers how three billion voices screamed as one when they were victorious. He remembers how none of those thousands of Earth’s children who had left ever came back. He remembers the guilt and the pain so heavy it crushed the air from his lungs.

Amidst the howling wind, he trembles violently and falls to his knees. The rain washes the tears from his face as he sobs uncontrollably. The old man curls up at the feet of his life and waits to die.

title: Pilgrim

question: When is the story set?

answer: In the future.

question: What event has devastated the Earth?

answer: An alien invasion.

question: What is the relationship of the woman who died to the man?

answer: She was his daughter.

question: How did the man's daughter die?

answer: Fighting to defend Earth from attack.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The story is set in a memorial to all those who have died fighting to protect the Earth. A man walks to his daughter's grave and remembers the battle she did against the aliens.


split: test

text:
Murty Shah

July 24th, 2018

Season 5 of the ROCKET LEAGUE CHAMPIONSHIP SERIES (RLCS) brought us several memorable moments: the #LANdon crowd in London, the nonstop wave of exciting plays, and Team Dignitas hoisting the World Championship trophy chief among them! Even now, just a few weeks removed from the event, many fans are still saying that Season 5 was the best RLCS to date! But now it's time to look to the road ahead, which brings us to today and the official announcement that SEASON 6 is coming and it's going to be BIG!

Upping the Ante

After two and a half years of unparalleled growth and unforgettable action brought to you by the best esports athletes the world has to offer, the team here at Psyonix is excited to announce that RLCS Season 6 will feature our biggest prize pool ever -- a MASSIVE $1,000,000! for the RLCS PLUS an additional $100,000 for the Rival Series!

How will that prize be doled out? Watch this site for more later this summer!

Rival Series Qualifiers

While we're making big changes to the prize pool, we're also bringing back the Rival Series open qualifiers. Teams that are interested in testing their skills can battle it out in up to two (of the four) qualifiers in either North America or Europe to earn a chance at making it into the upcoming season of the Rival Series. After the qualifiers, the surviving 'Top 128' teams will then participate in the Play-In to fill up the remaining four spots per region in the Rival Series. It won’t be easy, but if you think you’ve got what it takes, then get your team together and sign-up now! For the full Smash.gg page, click here!

Rival Series Qualifiers are open to anyone with an eligible Steam or PlayStation Plus account, so grab your friends and get to it! Maybe you too can be a Rocket League pro later this year!

Important Dates and Info

Check out the list below for everything you need to get started!

-   SIGN-UPS OPEN
    -   Now through August 6, 2018
-   NORTH AMERICAN QUALIFIERS
    -   August 11 - 10:00 AM PDT
    -   August 18 - 10:00 AM PDT
    -   August 21 - 3:00 PM PDT
    -   August 25 - 10:00 AM PDT
-   EUROPEAN QUALIFIERS
    -   August 12 - 11:00 AM GMT
    -   August 19 - 11:00 AM GMT
    -   August 22 - 3:00 PM GMT
    -   August 26 - 11:00 AM GMT
-   RIVAL SERIES PLAY-IN
    -   North America - September 1, 2018
    -   Europe - September 2, 2018
-   RLCS LEAGUE PLAY BEGINS
    -   North America - September 8, 2018
    -   Europe - September 9, 2018
-   RIVAL SERIES LEAGUE PLAY BEGINS
    -   September 14, 2018

The Rocket League Championship Series and Rocket League Rival Series are open to all legal residents of Europe and North America who are 15 years of age or older on the date that the Player’s Team competes in the Open Qualifier. Players in the Oceanic region can compete for a spot in the RLCS World Championship by playing through the OCE Championship; For information on OCE schedule and signups, stay tuned to Throwdown Esports on Twitter.

Even More to Come!

We aren’t done yet! We'll have even MORE exciting things to announce regarding this season of the RLCS, so remember to follow @RLEsports on Twitter and BOOKMARK THIS WEBSITE so you don’t miss a beat! See you on the pitch!

question: What does the article say about RLCS seasons?

answer: The article says that many fans are still saying that Season 5 was the best RLCS to date. It announces that Season 6 is coming and it's going to be big.

question: What does the article say about the best player of season 5?


text:
SYMPHONY AIRCRAFT INDUSTRIES (SAI) was a light aircraft manufacturer based in Trois-Rivières, Quebec, Canada.[1]

Between May 2005 and January 2007 SAI manufactured the Symphony SA-160 aircraft for the personal use, touring and flight training market.[2] On January 22, 2007, it declared bankruptcy and ceased operations. The company's motto was _Certified Fun_[3]

History

[The Symphony SA-160] [An aerial view of the Symphony Aircraft Industries plant in Trois-Rivières, August 2005] [Symphony Aircraft Industries President and CEO Paul Costanzo, August 2005]

OMF Aircraft

SAI was started in September 2003 as the North American production arm of Ostmecklenburgische Flugzeugbau GmbH, (East Mecklenburg Aircraft Works Limited). The company was commonly known as OMF Aircraft. OMF was formed by Mathias Stinnes in 1998 and was headquartered in Neubrandenburg Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania.[4]

Stinnes formed OMF Aircraft to produce a FAR 23 certified version of the Stoddard-Hamilton Glastar. He had built and flown one of these amateur-built aircraft in the 1990s and believed that it would make a good production aircraft. The certified version of the Glastar was to be called the OMF-100-160 Symphony with certification targeted for 2000.[5]

Realizing that the bulk of the market for this aircraft was in North America Stinnes set up a production facility in Trois-Rivières with financial help from the Government of Quebec. The plant building was constructed by the Town of Trois-Rivières and leased to OMF. The plant was opened in September 2003.[6]

OMF suffered from under-financing during its start-up phase and declared bankruptcy in December 2003. Due to agreements in place, the production rights for the OMF-100-160 Symphony resided in Canada while the intellectual property rights were retained in Germany.[7]

Symphony Aircraft Industries

The Canadian plant operation was reorganized as a private company under the name of Symphony Aircraft Industries, while the intellectual property rights to the OMF-100-160 Symphony were sold by the bankruptcy trustees to a new German company, OMF Flugzeugwerk.[8]

An agreement was signed between OMF Flugzeugwerk and Symphony Aircraft to produce the design on two production lines in North America and Europe. This soon proved unworkable and OMF Flugzeugwerk sold out their interests to SAI in February 2005.[9]

SAI redesignated the aircraft as the Symphony SA-160 and completed Transport Canada certification under CAR 523, with Transport Canada manufacturing approval achieved in March 2005.[10]

On May 4, 2005 SAI completed FAA Type Certification, based on the Canadian certification and the first SAI produced aircraft received its FAA Certificate of Airworthiness on May 13, 2005.[11]

The company started by producing two Symphony 160s per month in early 2005 with production increasing to three per month in the fall of 2005 and five per month in 2006. The company pursued certification of a Ballistic Recovery Systems full aircraft parachute system and also an Avidyne glass cockpit instrumentation installation.[12]

SAI filed for protection from creditors under the Canadian _Companies' Creditors Arrangement Act_ in June 2006.[13] At that time the company stated that it needed an investment of US$5.5M to continue production. The company was not able to secure the capital in Canada and indicated at that time that it might have to relocate production to attract financing from other sources.[14] CEO Paul Costanzo indicated that factors involved in this situation included the dramatic fall in value of the US dollar against the Canadian dollar between 2003–2006, start-up and product improvement costs that were greater than expected and especially a venture capital environment in the Province of Quebec that Costanzo described as “dismal”. He stated at the time, “We have simply been unable to attract sufficient capital to allow us to effectively exploit the obvious opportunity that we have with the SA-160, let alone fund our planned development of a diesel two-place and a four-place product.” He indicated then that the company was focusing on certification of the SA-160's glass cockpit installation along with product cost reduction measures.

On January 22, 2007, following the withdrawal of its lead investor three days previously, Symphony Aircraft declared bankruptcy, closed its doors and laid off its entire workforce.

NAFTAA

On February 3, 2008 it was publicly announced that the former lead investor in Symphony Aircraft, Lou Simons, was planning to restart production of the SA-160 under the name North American Factory for Technologically Advanced Aircraft (NAFTAA). The intention at that time was that aircraft may be produced at a different location and may have a new name. Also planned were additional versions of the SA-160.[15]

The new company announced in July 2008 that they intended to restart production by the end of 2009 at the previous plant in Trois Riveries, with a plan to produce 15 aircraft in 2009 and ramp up production to 50 to 80 per year by 2012. The aircraft were to have been given a new name and be available in a VFR version intended for flight school use, a basic IFR version and a glass cockpit equipped version powered by a 200-hp Lycoming IO-390 powerplant giving it a forecast cruise speed of 148 knots.[16] The plan was never completed and no new aircraft were produced.

Products

-   Symphony SA-160

[1] Hunt, Adam: _A brief history of Symphony Aircraft_, COPA Flight December 2005

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title: Symphony Aircraft Industries

question: What causes behind SAI filing for protection from creditors.

answer: The company needed an investment of US$5.5 million to continue production. It couldn't find the funds in Canada and considered relocating production. The CEO said that the factors behind the problem included the fall of the US dollar against the Canadian dollar between 2003 and 2006. Startup and production improvement costs were also higher than expected.


text:
Sunderland AFC is opening its doors to the homeless and vulnerable this weekend, providing a safe and warm environment in the bitter conditions forecast.

Stadium of Light staff have created a special warm-room complete with places to sleep, hot food and hot drinks for those in need of shelter.

Pets are also welcome, and the room will be manned.

The room is open now and will remain open until at least 9am on Monday morning, weather dependent.

Anyone wishing to use the facility should arrive at Exit 2 in the South West Corner of the Stadium.

Other useful contacts:

Sunderland City Council Homeless out of hours emergency line on 0191 520 5551.

Salvation Army Swan Lodge emergency bed and facilities line on 0191 5655 411

Centrepoint for 16-25-year-olds with housing problems on 0808 800 0661.

St Mary’s Church in Sunderland is also a point of contact for those in need or those who may not have access to a telephone.

Anyone wishing to make donations of food or clothing should bring them to the Stadium of Light reception, open until 5pm on Friday and from 9am-5pm on Saturday and Sunday.

question: Why is Sunderland AFC opening up its doors?

answer: Sunderland AFC is opening up its doors to the homeless and vulnerable in order to provide a safe and warm environment during a spell of very cold weather.

question: What will be offered at the Stadium of Light?

answer: The Stadium of Light will be offering a special warm-room, complete with places to sleep, hot food and hot drinks.

question: Will pets be welcome?

answer: Yes, pets are welcome.

question: How long will the stadium be open?

answer: The stadium will be open until at least 9AM Monday morning, depending on the weather.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Sunderland AFC and its stadium are opening its doors to the less-fortunate due to a spell of very cold weather. The stadium will be offering a place to sleep, hot food, and hot drinks until at least 9AM on Monday, depending on the weather.


text:
TONI LANDER née PIHL PETERSEN (1931–1985) was a Danish ballerina who specialized in the ballets of August Bournonville. After becoming a solo dancer with the Royal Danish Ballet in 1950, she was a guest dancer with the Original Ballet Russe in 1951. She was then engaged by the Paris Opera Ballet until 1954. Lander also appeared with the London Festival Ballet in the late 1950s and with the American Ballet Theatre in the 1960s. After a few years back in Denmark in the early 1970s, in 1976 she joined the Ballet West in Salt Lake City. After a short illness, she died there of cancer in May 1985.[1][2][3]

Early life

Born in Gentofte on 19 June 1931, Toni Pihl Petersen was the daughter of Knud Åge Carl Pihl Petersen (1905–1972) and Agnes Margrethe Andersen (1907–1950).[4] When she was six, she began training under Leif Ørnberg (1904–1977), who immediately recognized her talents. In 1939, as an eight-year-old, she was admitted to the Royal Danish Ballet School where she advanced quickly. Thanks to her height, she was able to join the ballet corps while still studying. The ballet sequences of Bournonville were the basis for the ballet school but as she became an aspirant, Harald Lander took a personal interest in her training, introducing her to Russian ballet.[5]

Career

When she was 15, she make her début as Sophie in Vilhelm Christian Holm's _Livjægerne paa Amager_ (The Lifeguards on Amager). A year later, she gained wide acclaim, dancing Margot Lander's difficult part in _Étude_. In 1951 Lander rewrote the part for her. Ten years later, under the name _Études_, it became her most notable part for the rest of her career.[6]

In 1950, she became a solo dancer. On 15 April of that year, she married Harald Lander (1905–1971) but her relationship with him was to bring her major problems. In 1951, he was dismissed from the Royal Danish Ballet for misusing his position. She followed him to Paris where he became artistic director of the Paris Opera Ballet but in order to avoid accusations of favoratism, she continued to train in Russian ballet under Ljubov Egorova, and Olga Preobrajenska. For a few months, she danced with the Ballets Russes but moved to London in 1954 where she appeared as a replacement at the London Festival Ballet, taking on the role of Odette in Swan Lake at short notice. She performed so well that she was engaged by the company for the next five years.[7]

She travelled widely with the Festival Ballet, performing both Russian ballet and Bournonville roles. In 1957, she appeared at the Tivoli Concert Hall in Copenhagen where she danced in _Études_ and _Swan Lake_. She was honoured with the Order of the Dannebrog. She returned to the Falconer Centre in Copenhagen in 1959, where both she and her husband were widely acclaimed, preparing the way for _Etudes_ at the Royal Danish Theatre.[8]

In 1960, she moved to New York for an engagement with American Ballet Theatre. She appeared in a more extensive repertoire, including _Miss Julie_ and _The Moon Reindeer_ by the Swedish choreographer Birgit Culberg, as well as Antony Tudor's _Jardin aux Lilas_. When Flemming Flindt became artistic director of the Royal Danish Ballet in 1966, he invited Toni Lander to appear as a guest dancer in 1967. She demonstrated her wide experience by dancing the pas de deux from _Don Quixote_, Eliza in Bournonville's _Konservatoriet_ and the title role from _Miss Julie_, all in one evening.[9]

In 1964, After she and Harald Lander had divorced in 1964, in January 1966 she married the American dancer Bruce Marks with whom she had three children: Eric Anthony (1968), Adam Christopher (1970), Kenneth Rikard (1974). Her last assignment with the American Ballet was in the première of José Limón's _The Moor's Pavane_.[10] In 1971, she returned to Denmark after an international career lasting 20 years, quite exceptional for a Danish ballerina. In parallel with appearances in _The Moor's Pavane_ (1971–1976), she taught at the ballet school while Marks performed as a solo dancer. When Marks was invited to become artistic director of Ballet West in Salt Lake City, Lander once again followed her husband, becoming head of training there. While with the Ballet West, she presented _Études_ at the Paris Opera, Budapest Opera and the National Ballet of Amsterdam.[11] She collaborated with Flemming Ryberg on presenting a new version of Bournonville's _Abdallah_ which premièred in February 1985. In 1983, she had divorced Marks and was ready to accept an invitation to become the first female artistic director for the Royal Danish Ballet. She was prevented from doing so from a rapidly developing cancer which led to her death in Salt Lake City on 19 May 1985, aged only 53.[12][13]

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title: Toni Lander

question: What does the article say about Toni Lander's private life?

answer: Toni Lander married Harald Lander in 1950 and followed him to Paris where he became artistic director of the Paris Opera Ballet. She and Harald Lander divorced in 1964, and in 1966, she married the American dancer Bruce Marks with whom she had three children.

question: What does the article say about Toni Lander's career?

answer: Toni Lander made her débu when she was 15 and became a solo dancer in 1950. She had been performing both Russian ballet and Bournonville roles. She has performed at the Paris Opera Ballet, the London Festival Ballet, with the American Ballet Theatre, and the Ballet West in Salt Lake City. She has taught at the ballet school. She was about to become the first female artistic director for the Royal Danish Ballet but died from cancer in 1985.

question: What does the article say about why Lander divorced her Harald Lander?


text:
Someday I want to be able to walk the earth, just like the greatest minds through history have. Think about it, Albert Einstein, Julius Caesar, Isaac Newton and in the future, me, Mike the fish. It will happen, i am fully convinced it will. I just need to find out how to get up there.

Some people might wonder why, but the answer is very simple... Fish, are not particulary smart. I have yet to meet a fish whom I can have an intellegent discussion with. It seems that noone possess a deeper mind, a more profound way of thinking. I have searched every corner of the Atlantic ocean for answers. I have talked to every kind of creature that exists in this otherwise marvelous place, only to be met with more questions. All they seem to care about is food and procreation, what about the big questions. What about the purpose of evolution. What about the fearful afterlife. To fish or not to fish?

To me it is obvious that I need to find a way to get up there, with the land-fauna, or at least that is what I call them. Although, I'm sure they have a more sophisticated name for themselves.
If you wonder how I know that they are smarter than fish, it is because I have seen it.   I have seen their faces, their tall and not very fine prospected faces. Most of them have have big goggles surrounding their small marble eyes. Some have this big plastic gadget in their mouth that produces bubbles every once in a while. I'm certain that the goggles and the bubble-gizmo is of external constructions and not a natural part of their body, however I do not know what their purpose is. At first, I believed that the mouth-device was used for them to breathe under water. To my surprise, I some time later found out that they can indeed breathe in this, to them, foreign realm.
I know because I have met a land-fauna who did not have a mouth-gizmo. It was somewhere in the southwest Atlantic, not too far from the shore. I was of course thrilled to see him, however as it seemed, unresponded. He was rather rude to me to be honest. I introduced myself but he did not respond. He just stared at me with his seemingly fearful eyes. His pale white face appeared to be apathetic to my presence. He was not moving a single limb, he was not responding to anything I did. He did not put an effort to communicate. Not even a single bubble. There was not much I could do, so I left.

I suppose land-faunas can be as dumb as fish.

I have a plan on how to reach the other realm. The only problem is that it is slightly, just slightly based on luck. The plan itself is rather simple, it does not require much of me. The plan is as follows:
1. Find the right land-fauna.
2. Get the land-fauna to pick me up.
3. Use land-faunas ship to travel to shore.
4. Find answers.

See it is very simple.

I have seen land-faunas use these lines with a shiny metal figure on the end of it. I reckon it is to give us fish opportunity to get to the upper realm. I need to search long enough and not give up. Tenacity is the key to success, is what my father used to say, he was great fish.

Right there! My fate has finally crossed the path of the right land-fauna. He is the one. His line is right over there. I swim ferociously to it, I will not miss this opportunity. I examine the metal figure thoroughly. It is quite sharp and the only way to grip it is with my mouth. The metal figure pierce through my jaw. The excruciating pain that ensues is beyond comprehension, however not in vain. The line is rising, it is working. We are going towards the surface. I try to ignore the pain as much as possible, I drown the taste of blood with the soothing thought of lifelong fulfillment. Slowly but surely we reach above the surface. There he is, the land-fauna in his rightful realm. Majestic. My head is dizzy and it is getting darker. It must be from the pain and the loss of blood. I just hope he hurries to get aid.

I will be greater than Mozart, Julius Caesar and Albert Einstein combined. I am Mike the fish, is the last thought before everything disappears.

title: [MF] Mike The Fish

question: Who is Mike the Fish?

answer: Mike is a Fish who is searching for other fis of equal intelligence. Mike longs to see beyond the surface of the water and figures that 'land-fauna' are his best route.

question: Explain the journey Mike the Fish goes on.

answer: Mike travels around the Atlantic Ocean, but finds that fish are only interested in food and procreation. He meets a diver (land-fauna with breathing apparatus) and decides to find a human who will bring him to the surface world. Mike finds he right land-fauna (a fisherman) and uses his fishing line to come to the surface, only for it all to disappear once he arrives.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The story of Mike the Fish, an fish with a high intelligence who finds himselfwith delusions of grandeur.


text:
I can’t look away, I am hopelessly entranced by the beauty of it all. A real life fairy tale before my eyes. The effortless way they communicate. The vaguely tentative, almost shy way they interact. That way that says you still give me butterflies.

I see their entire life together flash before me. Their children, one girl with red hair and her father’s eyes. The boys, a carbon copy of him, complete with her breezy smile. I  can see it so clearly, down to the fucking curtains they’ll playfully argue about in the middle of the department store. Cute enough to put every lonely person to tears. I am the rule, not the exception.

And oh.

Oh.

She kisses him.

And there is no place for me here.

I go through every stage of grief. Pain, heartbreak, dread, fury, a strange sort of release. Relief in knowing that everything I  ever thought of myself, of *him*, of our relationship, was true. I am always right, a gift and a curse.
I know now, with a twisted sort of confidence, that people like me, and people like him are not meant to be together, in stories like this. I will never be allowed to have nice things. The universe is all too happy to remind me.

I know that it’s cruel and unfair and all of those other things, but it is simply the way things are. I am meant to have my  heart broken, probably a million times, probably for years, maybe even my whole life. The illusion of a happy ending on loop for eternity, it’s beautiful in a sad way.

I imagine a hurricane sweeping through the room, laying everything I have ever known to waste. I imagine myself, desperately trying to pick up the debris, left only with a broom, and no dustpan.
And it hurts, it hurts so fucking bad that I can feel my  throat close, and I swears I’ll never be able to breathe again.  And I  wants to scream and cry and shout until my voice no longer works and the deafening sound of silence consumes all that I am, all that I was supposed to be.
Until the sound is so loud, so unbearable, that the only thing I can hear is the familiar crunch of my heart shattering into a million pieces and bursting through my chest with intensity. I watches its red glass shards fall to the ground in what feels like slow motion. I suspect it’ll be a bitch to clean up.

And now what, I wonder  what’s expected of me. Wonder how I will ever survive this feeling. Wonder how I will live beyond this moment.  How will the walk to my room be? The lunch I  will eat in the dining hall? Helping my mother take down the Christmas decorations? All the things real people do, I wonder what it might be like, to do them all while tearing to shreds.

How does one react, when they are doused with ice and water, the kind so cold it leaves a burn? Where does one go, when they sink with each movement, and fear the sky might come down with them? What does one do, when cinder-blocks are tied to their feet, and they’re thrown into the fucking ocean?

I’m not sure either, so a drink will do for now.

title: [RO] untitled

question: Who is the narrator of the story?

answer: The narrator is a person whose heart was just broken.

question: Explain the relationship between the different characters.

answer: The narrator sees the man she is in love with kissing another woman. The other woman is familiar to him, leading to the possibility that he might have been having an affair with the narrator.

question: What are the main events of the story?

answer: The narrator is in love with the man she sees kissing another woman. She sees the entire life of the kissing couple flash before her. She goes through the different stages of grief and realize that she must continue to do all the usual things while tearing to shreds.

question: Why does the narrator's heart break?

answer: She sees the man she is in a relationship kiss another woman.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator is in love with the man she sees kissing another woman. She sees the entire life of the kissing couple flash before her. She goes through the different stages of grief and realize that her heart is breaking into a million pieces. She considers how to live beyond this moment and decides that the best thing to do immediately is to have a drink.


text:
Before time existed, there was a forest. No animals lived in the forest, & one ever entered the forest. It remained silent & still for eons.
That is of course, until one rainy night. A raindrop, just like any other raindrop, hit the ground. More & more raindrops fell, and a puddle appeared. From the puddle, a small, chubby hand reached out. It grabbed the dirt & pulled itself out. The small hand was attracted to a young girl.
She blinked.
In front of her stood thin, spindly trees. They were golden, like the harp strings whom’s music echos faintly in her mind.
Silence & rain.
No more rain.
Silence.
A flash of white fur struck the corner of her eye.
Suddenly there in front of her stood a stag.

“Hello?” The little girl trembled.
The stag stood watching. Then, it lowered it’s head. It’s eyes were as black as obsidian.
It placed it’s head in her arms. “I made you, & I will keep you safe.” The stag said, “I love you very much.”

“What is your name?” She asked.

“I am who I am,” the stag bellowed, “I will call you Lucy.”

“I like the name Lucy. You are very beautiful Mr. Stag.”

The rain, which had stopped briefly, returned.

“Walk with me, Lucy.” The Stag stomped the ground, & an umbrella emerged.

Lucy grabbed it, & winced slightly at the sudden pause of rain.

She got up, & neared the Stag. She held his on to him to keep herself steady.

They walked for a minutes, or hours, or seconds. No one could really be sure. “I wish to be like you, Mr Stag. You are so lovely with your white fur.”

“You don’t know what you ask.”

However long they were walking, the trees were now as large as the pillars from the heaven Lucy came from, but no longer recalls.

The Stag laid down to rest, & beckoned Lucy to come rest with him.

As he laid down to rest, Lucy took a piece of his horn, and used it to cut off his flesh, which she wrapped over herself. Lucy was now covered in rich, soft white fur.
When the Stag awoke, he noticed his fur was gone, and he was naked. He knew what had happened.
This cursed Lucy to be a doe of mere flesh and bone, condemned to die.
Time was set into motion. Death was the first clock.
Lucy hid from the stag till her death.

The Stag found Lucy three hundred & sixty five days later while he was rounding the forest. He was crushed.

He decided to call her demise a year.
He was so moved, he decided to lay down by her one last time. He fell into a deep sleep.
The trees, saw the Stag’s mourning. They were crushed, because they felt the pure love the Stag had for his creation.
The trees mourned as well. They rid themselves of their leaves, turning them into a blood red, before they fell off. This was the first time they had done anything so risky. The Stag would later call this Fall.

When the Stag woke up, the sky was sunny & blue. The trees were full of leaves & heavy with a bright red fruit. He walked up to one & tasted it. The fruit was sweet. he called it an apple.
That’s when the Stag saw him.

The boy jumped. He had just opened his eyes. In front of him was the corpse of a deer, long dead and rotting.
A few paces behind the rotting deer, stood a stag.
The Stag looked at the boy. His empty skull showing no expression.

“A-are you Death? Did you kill that deer?” The boy asked.

“No I am not death,” the stag answered.

“Who are you?”

“I am a friend. May I sit with you?”

The boy glanced warily at the Stag for several moments before nodding.
“You May call me Ternate,” said the Stag,” for I am the sky, the forest’s trees, & this stag.”

“You’re the sky? I came from the sky, I think,” the boy pointed upward,” can I have an apple?” Ternate nodded.

“Ternate, are you sure you aren’t death? You seem very scary.”

The Stag, realizing that he was currently nothing but bones, shook the trees down, and dressed himself in leaves.
They sat together, until the sun set.
The boy eyed Lucy.

“Am I going to die like that deer, Ternate?”
The stag looked over at Lucy’s body, seeing himself in her fur.

“I don’t know. Only time will tell.”

“Oh.”

“Can we go somewhere else? It’s getting dark.”

The stag nodded, lifting its heavy frame up from where it sat.
The Stag walked up to Lucy one last time and pressed his forehead to hers. The ground opened up and took her in.
The leaves the stag wore turned back to white fur.
Without hesitating, the boy’s eyes lit up “You’re beautiful, Mr. Stag.”

title: [MF] The Stag

question: Who is the white stag?

answer: A powerful, magic being that creates the person Lucy. He allows Lucy to cut his pelt from his body to cover her. She then steals his entire skin while he sleeps. When the stag experiences happenings for the first time, he names them and establishes them as cannon to reality like the passage of time, a year, the seasons.

question: Summarize everything Lucy does.

answer: She was born from a puddle. Almost immediately she saw the white stag before her. He named her Lucy. Holding an umbrella conjured by the stag, she walked with him for an indeterminate amount of time. The Stag laid down to rest and beckoned Lucy to rest with him. As he laid down, Lucy took a piece of his horn and used it to cut off his flesh which she wrapped over herself. Lucy was now covered in rich, soft white fur. When the Stag noticed his fur was gone, he knew that Lucy would be cursed to be a doe of mere flesh and bone, condemned to die. Time was set in motion, death was the first clock. Lucy hid from the Stag until her death. He found her dead three hundred sixty five days later. He decided to call her demise a year. He was so moved, he decided to lay down by her side one last time. The trees saw the Stag's mourning and were crushed because they felt the pure love the Stag had for his creation. They mourned and shed their leaves. The Stag would later call this "fall."

question: Is the Stag God?


text:
The SEA-DOO XP was a model of personal watercraft produced by Bombardier Recreational Products from 1991 to 2004.[1] The Sea-Doo XP is a significant model in that it was the first high performance version of a sit-down style watercraft to be offered by any manufacturer. Since the craft's introduction, all other personal watercraft manufacturers have introduced and continue to offer high performance versions of their standard runabouts. In 2000, the XP was named Watercraft of the Century by Watercraft World magazine.[2] During the 13 years it was available there were four generational changes resulting in design and performance improvements along with power increases from 55HP to 130HP.[3][4]

First generation: 1991-1992

[1992 SeaDoo XP generation one, the original high performance runabout style personal watercraft. Powered by the 587 model motor.] The 1991-1992 XP was based on Sea-Doo's original hull introduced in 1988. In the XP, the SP's 580cc Rotax engine was upgraded with dual carburetors and a tuned exhaust pipe. The 91 had the original yellow motor and the 92 was upgraded to the white motor. [5] The jet pump featured a stainless steel impeller. Visually, the XP featured a purple lower hull, pump, seat, cowling, and handle pole cover. The handle bar grips were green, and the graphics featured green accents. Also a first among watercraft, the cowling featured fixed dual mirrors and a pod for fuel gauge and tachometer on the top. The 1991 XP was named “Watercraft of the Year”. [6]

The motor & pump upgrades help the XP to reach speeds of 44 to 46 mph in magazine tests—the fastest of that time. [7]The handling was characterized by the “lean out” riding style of all early Sea-Doos.

Second generation: 1993-1994

[1993 SeaDoo XP generation two, high performance runabout style PWC. Powered by the 657 model motor.] The 1993–1994 XP was based on Sea-Doo's second generation SP hull.

The 1993 model was powered by a 650cc Rotax engine with dual carburetors and a tuned exhaust pipe and produced 70HP. A variable trim nozzle and bronze vanes were added to the jet pump. [8] The hull, seat, cowling, and handle pole cover were now green, while the grips, intake grills, and boarding handle were red. The deck was white, and graphic accents were now red as well. Adjustable mirrors were added to the cowling.

1994 models were almost the same as the 93s except for some minor graphic changes and an increase in horsepower due to some carb and timing changes on the 657x version of the Rotax engine.[9]

Third generation: 1995-1996

[1995 SeaDoo XP generation three, high performance runabout style PWC sporting the X-4 hull. Powered by the 717 and 787 model motors.] For 1995, the XP sported the new X-4 hull which was based on race hulls used the previous year. The hull was extended at the rear, narrowed at the bow, and sponsons were added on both sides of the stern. The X-4 hull handled far superior to the previous hulls. It had removable trim tabs at the rear which could be shimmed with a kit offered over the counter to trim the hull as desired. Also, a 4 inch long pump spacer was added in front of the pump. While this spacer added slightly to the top speed, it hurt performance in rough water because of the extra time it took to fill the increased volume with water once the pump came unhooked. The engine's displacement was again increased, now to 720cc, rated at 85 horsepower. The 95s used the same upper deck as 94s, aside of some color and graphic changes. The graphics theme moved from green and red to yellow and purple, with the hull, seat, intake grills, cowling and handle pole cover becoming yellow, while the grips, boarding handle, rub rail and traction mats became to purple. The deck remained white.[10]

A limited edition model, the XP 800, was offered in 1995 as well. The 800 model featured a 110HP engine based on BRP's snowmobile motors. The new engine was 782cc and was equipped with pressure operated variable exhaust port timing valves, or (Rotax Automatic Variable Exhaust) R.A.V.E. valves, dual carburetors, and a tuned, variable water injected expansion chamber, which helped the XP 800 reach speeds of 59 mph. The 800 was also differentiated by a yellow hull, top deck, seat, cowling and handle pole cover. The cowling had a single gauge and no mirrors. The rear of the hull was pink, and the graphic accents were pink.

The 1996 XP carried over many of the features of the XP 800; the Type 787 R.A.V.E. valve 110HP motor,[11] the trim strips, and had yellow upper and lower hulls. The standard XP cowling with adjustable mirrors and gauges returned. The graphic accents were pink, but the rear hull was left yellow.

The handling of all the third generation boats was still characterized by the “lean out” riding style.

Fourth generation: 1997-2004

The 1997 XP was a marked departure from the previous models. An all new hull specific to the XP was developed which brought a “lean in” style of riding to the craft. Further enhancing this was Sea-Doo's “Direct Action Suspension,” a raised seat that was mounted on a pivot and had a shock absorber at the opposite end. The 110HP 782cc engine was carried over, as was the predominantly yellow with black accents color scheme.[12] The 1997 boat was over 90 lbs heavier than the 1996 boat, which resulted in slower acceleration from the previous year although realizing a top speed gain by about 1 mph. Nonetheless, the riding experience was enough for the XP to win WaterCraft World's Watercraft of the Year award in 1997. For 1998, the power to weight issue was solved by the new XP Limited model. This craft was powered by a 951cc (called a Type 947) engine with reed valves on the intake and R.A.V.E. valves on the exhaust. The new engine produced 130HP and pushed the 1998 XP to 60 mph. Graphically, the lower hull, cowling, and handle pole cover were now black, and the hood and cowling pod were metallic gray.

The 1999 XP Limited mainly featured graphic changes, as the hull colorings remained unchanged from 1998. Many driveline upgrades were incorporated due to previous failures in the couplings.

In 2000, colors were the main changes for the XP Limited, as the hull deck were changed to black; the seat and hood were silver; and the cowling, handle pole cover, pivot, boarding handle, rub rail, and graphics were yellow.

2001 saw another color variation, with the hull remaining black while the top deck, hood, and seat became silver. The rub rail, pivots, and boarding handling were yellow, and the instrument pod and handle pole cover were black.

The 2002 XP Limited saw yet another graphic variation. The hood and boarding handle were black along with the hull, instrument pod, and handle pole cover; the deck remained silver; and the seat was now yellow along like the cowling and pivot points.

The “Limited” tag was dropped from 2003 and 2004 XPs and DI, for direct injection, was added. Orbital direct fuel injection was added to the 951 cc engine for improved fuel economy, performance, and emissions. The XP DIs were given a whole new color scheme: red hull, deck, cowling, and handle pole cover; black hood, pivots, rub rail, and boarding handle; and a silver seat.[13] [14]

Dimensions

[15][16] [17] 1

  Model Year   Length         Width           Height          Weight           Fuel            Load Limit       Motor    HP    MPH
  ------------ -------------- --------------- --------------- ---------------- --------------- ---------------- -------- ----- -----
  1991         244 cm/96in    105 cm/41.5in   92 cm/36.2in    166 kg/365 lbs   33 l/8.7 gal    160 kg/353 lbs   580 cc   55    45
  1992         244 cm/96in    105 cm/41.5in   92 cm/36.2in    166 kg/365 lbs   33 l/8.7 gal    160 kg/353 lbs   580 cc   60    45
  1993         256 cm/100in   105 cm/41.5in   92 cm/36.2in    170 kg/373 lbs   33 l/8.7 gal    160 kg/353 lbs   650 cc   70    48
  1994         256 cm/100in   105 cm/41.5in   92 cm/36.2in    187 kg/413 lbs   33 l/8.7 gal    160 kg/353 lbs   650 cc   80    48
  1995         262 cm/103in   105 cm/41.3in   92 cm/36.2in    197 kg/434 lbs   34 l/9.0 gal    160 kg/353 lbs   720 cc   85    50
  1996         262 cm/103in   105 cm/41.3in   92 cm/36.2in    197 kg/434 lbs   34 l/9.0 gal    160 kg/353 lbs   782 cc   110   56
  1997         272 cm/107in   112 cm/44in     103 cm/40.5in   239 kg/525 lbs   41.5 l/11 gal   159 kg/350 lbs   782 cc   110   56
  1998         272 cm/107in   112 cm/44in     103 cm/40.5in   250 kg/551 lbs   55 l/14 gal     159 kg/350 lbs   951 cc   130   60
  1999         272 cm/107in   112 cm/44in     103 cm/40.5in   250 kg/551 lbs   55 l/14 gal     159 kg/350 lbs   951 cc   130   60
  2000         272 cm/107in   112 cm/44in     104 cm/41in     255 kg/562 lbs   55 l/14 gal     159 kg/350 lbs   951 cc   130   60
  2001         272 cm/107in   112 cm/44.1in   104 cm/41in     255 kg/562 lbs   55 l/14 gal     159 kg/350 lbs   951 cc   130   60
  2002         272 cm/107in   122 cm/48in     104 cm/41in     255 kg/562 lbs   55 l/14 gal     159 kg/350 lbs   951 cc   130   60
  2003         272 cm/107in   122 cm/48in     104 cm/41in     274 kg/625 lbs   51 l/13 gal     159 kg/350 lbs   951 cc   130   60
  2004         272 cm/107in   113 cm/44.5in   91 cm/35.8in    273 kg/600 lbs                   159 kg/350 lbs   951 cc   130   60

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

title: Sea-Doo XP

question: What does the article say about Sea-Doo XP?

answer: Sea-Doo XP is a model of personal watercraft that was produced by Bombardier Recreational Products from 1991 to 2004. It was the first high-performance version of a sit-down-style watercraft. In 2000, the XP was named Watercraft of the Century by Watercraft World magazine.

question: Compare the speeds of the four generations of Sea-Doo XP.

answer: Seadoo XP generation one can reach speeds of 44 to 46 mph, SeaDoo XP generation three can reach speeds of 59 mph, and generation four to 60 mph. The article does not mention the speeds reached by generation two.

question: Compare the prices of the four generations of Sea-Doo XP.

question: What are the features of SeaDoo XP generation one?

answer: It is powered by the 587 model motor. The engine was upgraded with dual carburetors and a tuned exhaust pipe. The motor & pump upgrades help the XP to reach speeds of 44 to 46 mph in magazine tests. The XP featured a purple lower hull, pump, seat, cowling, and handle pole cover.


text:
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| [Sd Kfz 251/22 (PaK40) (GE263)]   | Sd Kfz 251/22D (PaK40) (GE263)    |
|                                   | includes one Sd Kfz 251/22D       |
|                                   | (PaK40) Half-track with Plastic   |
|                                   | Components & two Crew figures.    |
|                                   | The last major variant of the Sd  |
|                                   | Kfz 251 half-track was the Sd Kfz |
|                                   | 251/22D (PaK40). Its existence    |
|                                   | came about as a direct result of  |
|                                   | Hitler’s demand to mount as many  |
|                                   | anti-tank guns on vehicles as     |
|                                   | possible in an attempt to combat  |
|                                   | the evergrowing numbers of tanks  |
|                                   | threatening Germany’s borders     |
|                                   | near the end of 1944.             |
|                                   |                                   |
|                                   | THIS PRODUCT IS NO LONGER         |
|                                   | CURRENTLY AVAILABLE FOR SALE...   |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+

+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| Desperate Measures!               | [Desperate Measures!]             |
| January, 1945: In the west, the   |                                   |
| German Ardennes offensive failed  |                                   |
| to achieve its goal of forcing    |                                   |
| the Allies to the negotiating     |                                   |
| table. In the east, the Germans   |                                   |
| traded ground for time, falling   |                                   |
| back into western Poland and east |                                   |
| Prussia and establishing          |                                   |
| Festerplatz, or fortress cities.  |                                   |
| Despite the setbacks, Germany     |                                   |
| itself was still in German hands  |                                   |
| and the Allied advances had all   |                                   |
| been stopped.                     |                                   |
| Learn more about Desperate        |                                   |
| Measures! here...                 |                                   |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+

+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+
| [Sd Kfz 251/22 (PaK40) (GE263)]   | The 7.5cm PaK40 anti-tank gun was |
|                                   | mounted to the vehicle via a      |
|                                   | platform constructed to the rear  |
|                                   | of the driver’s compartment. In   |
|                                   | order to accommodate the gun a    |
|                                   | few minor cosmetic changes had to |
|                                   | be made to the half-track. These  |
|                                   | included cutting away a small     |
|                                   | section of the driver’s roof in   |
|                                   | order to allow enough room for    |
|                                   | the recoil mechanism and the      |
|                                   | addition of a rudimentary travel  |
|                                   | lock weld to the front of the     |
|                                   | roof.                             |
|                                   | Since the gun was mounted in a    |
|                                   | relatively fixed position it      |
|                                   | could only be traversed around    |
|                                   | 20° to either the left or right.  |
|                                   | This meant that in order to       |
|                                   | engage targets that weren’t       |
|                                   | directly in the gun’s line of     |
|                                   | sight the entire vehicle had to   |
|                                   | be repositioned.                  |
+-----------------------------------+-----------------------------------+

Two stowage bins provided storage for a majority of the ammunition, with additional loose rounds kept in containers under the floor. The gun was fired by the gunner who sat on a small folding wooden seat located on the left-hand side of the gun with target acquisition made using the standard PaK40 sight.  In addition to the PaK40, the Sd Kfz 251/22D retained its rear mounted machine-gun for self-defence purposes. Of the limited number of Sd Kfz 251/22 produced from December 1944, all were issued to the Panzer Divisions established in 1945.
_Designed by Evan Allen
Painted by Victor Pesch_

[Sd Kfz 251/22 (PaK40) (GE263)]
[Sd Kfz 251/22 (PaK40) (GE263)]
The Sd Kfz 251/22D (PaK40) in Flames Of War
  ------------------------ -------------- ------- ------------ ------------ ---------------------
                                                  ARMOUR

  NAME                     MOBILITY       FRONT   SIDE         TOP          EQUIPMENT AND NOTES

  _Weapon                  _Range         _ROF    _Anti-tank   _Firepower
  _                        _              _       _            _

  Sd Kfz 251/22D (PaK40)   Half-tracked   1       0            0            AA MG.

  _7.5cm PaK40 gun         _32"/80cm      _2_     _12          _3+          _Hull mounted._
  _                        _                      _            _
  ------------------------ -------------- ------- ------------ ------------ ---------------------

[Sd Kfz 251/22 (PaK40) (GE263)]
[Sd Kfz 251/22 (PaK40) (GE263)]
HULL-MOUNTED GUNS
SOME TANKS MOUNT WEAPONS IN THE FRONT OF THE HULL INSTEAD OF IN A TURRET TO SAVE WEIGHT OR TO MAKE THEM EASIER TO PRODUCE.
_A hull-mounted weapon mounted in the front of a vehicle has a 180-degree Field of Fire covering everything in front of a line drawn across the front of the vehicle. If the weapon is mounted at the rear of the vehicle, the Field of Fire covers everything to the rear of a line drawn across the rear of the vehicle._

Last Updated On FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2019 by Luke at Battlefront

question: What are the storage bins for?

answer: The storage bins are to provide a space to store the majority of the ammunition with additional loose rounds kept in containers under the floor.

question: What are the ammunitions in the storage?

answer: It may be implied that two of the ammunitions were the PaK40 and the Sd Kfz 251/22D


text:
JACKSON COUNTY is a county located in the U.S. state of Mississippi. As of the 2010 census, the population was 139,668,[1] making it the fifth-most populous county in Mississippi. Its county seat is Pascagoula.[2] The county was named for Andrew Jackson, general in the United States Army and afterward President of the United States.[3]

Jackson County is included in the Gulfport-Biloxi-Pascagoula, MS Metropolitan Statistical Area. It is located at the southeastern tip of the state. The county has sandy soil and is in the Piney Woods area. It borders the state of Alabama on its east side.

The county was severely damaged by both Hurricane Camille in August 1969 and Hurricane Katrina on August 29, 2005, which caused catastrophic effects.

Geography

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the county has a total area of , of which is land and (31%) is water.[4] It is the largest county in Mississippi by total area.

Major highways

-   [] Interstate 10
-   [] U.S. Highway 90
-   [] Mississippi Highway 57
-   [] Mississippi Highway 63
-   [] Mississippi Highway 609
-   [] Mississippi Highway 611
-   [] Mississippi Highway 613
-   [] Mississippi Highway 614

Adjacent counties

-   George County - north
-   Mobile County, Alabama - east
-   Harrison County - west
-   Stone County - northwest

National protected areas

-   De Soto National Forest (part)
-   Grand Bay National Wildlife Refuge (part)
-   Gulf Islands National Seashore (part)
-   Mississippi Sandhill Crane National Wildlife Refuge

Demographics

As of the census[5] of 2000, there were 131,420 people, 47,676 households, and 35,709 families residing in the county. The population density was 181 people per square mile (70/km²). There were 51,678 housing units at an average density of 71 per square mile (27/km²). The racial makeup of the county was 75.35% White, 20.87% Black or African American, 0.33% Native American, 1.57% Asian, 0.04% Pacific Islander, 0.72% from other races, and 1.12% from two or more races. 2.14% of the population were Hispanic or Latino of any race.

There were 47,676 households, out of which 37.00% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 55.70% were married couples living together, 14.50% had a female householder with no husband present, and 25.10% were non-families. 20.80% of all households were made up of individuals, and 7.10% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.72 and the average family size was 3.14.

In the county, the population was spread out, with 27.70% under the age of 18, 9.30% from 18 to 24, 29.80% from 25 to 44, 22.90% from 45 to 64, and 10.30% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 35 years. For every 100 females, there were 98.20 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 95.90 males.

The median income for a household in the county was $39,118, and the median income for a family was $45,091. Males had a median income of $32,996 versus $22,770 for females. The per capita income for the county was $17,768. About 10.50% of families and 12.70% of the population were below the poverty line, including 17.80% of those under age 18 and 12.10% of those age 65 or over.

Jackson County has the fifth highest per capita income in the State of Mississippi.

Public Safety

The Jackson County Sheriff's Office provides law enforcement services for communities in the county that do not have their own local law enforcement. These communities are known as Census-Designated Places, or CDPs.

Education

The Jackson County School District serves the Hurley, Wade, Big Point, Three Rivers, Harleston, Vestry, Latimer, and Vancleave communities, along with St. Martin and Escatawpa. The Pascagoula-Gautier School District serves Pascagoula and the City of Gautier. The Moss Point School District serves Moss Point, Mississippi, and part of Escatawpa, Mississippi. The Ocean Springs School District serves most of Ocean Springs.

Communities

Cities

-   Gautier
-   Moss Point
-   Ocean Springs
-   Pascagoula (county seat)

Census-designated places

-   Big Point
-   Escatawpa
-   Gulf Hills
-   Gulf Park Estates
-   Helena
-   Hickory Hills (former CDP)
-   Hurley
-   Latimer
-   St. Martin
-   Vancleave
-   Wade

Unincorporated places

-   East Moss Point
-   Gulf Islands National Seashore

Ghost towns

-   Brewton

Politics

  Year                               Republican                                   Democratic                                   Third parties
  ---------------------------------- -------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------- ----------------------------
  style=“text-align:center;” |2016   style=“text-align:center;” |67.9% _33,629_   style=“text-align:center;” |29.6% _14,657_   2.6% _1,281_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2012   style=“text-align:center;” |66.6% _35,747_   style=“text-align:center;” |32.2% _17,299_   1.1% _609_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2008   style=“text-align:center;” |66.3% _35,993_   style=“text-align:center;” |32.8% _17,781_   1.0% _522_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2004   style=“text-align:center;” |68.8% _35,134_   style=“text-align:center;” |30.5% _15,572_   0.7% _369_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2000   style=“text-align:center;” |66.7% _30,068_   style=“text-align:center;” |31.5% _14,193_   1.9% _846_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1996   style=“text-align:center;” |59.9% _24,918_   style=“text-align:center;” |32.7% _13,598_   7.5% _3,109_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1992   style=“text-align:center;” |56.4% _25,321_   style=“text-align:center;” |29.0% _13,017_   14.7% _6,592_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1988   style=“text-align:center;” |73.9% _29,830_   style=“text-align:center;” |25.6% _10,328_   0.5% _206_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1984   style=“text-align:center;” |76.8% _29,585_   style=“text-align:center;” |22.9% _8,821_    0.3% _123_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1980   style=“text-align:center;” |62.6% _22,498_   style=“text-align:center;” |34.0% _12,226_   3.4% _1,234_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1976   style=“text-align:center;” |55.3% _17,177_   style=“text-align:center;” |40.3% _12,533_   4.4% _1,372_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1972   style=“text-align:center;” |88.7% _22,204_   style=“text-align:center;” |10.1% _2,534_    1.2% _300_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1968   style=“text-align:center;” |14.4% _2,942_    style=“text-align:center;” |10.9% _2,236_    74.7% _15,261_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1964   style=“text-align:center;” |82.7% _11,357_   style=“text-align:center;” |17.3% _2,371_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1960   style=“text-align:center;” |24.7% _2,266_    style=“text-align:center;” |54.5% _5,000_    20.8% _1,908_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1956   style=“text-align:center;” |39.0% _2,692_    style=“text-align:center;” |56.2% _3,882_    4.8% _332_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1952   style=“text-align:center;” |34.4% _2,170_    style=“text-align:center;” |65.6% _4,146_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1948   style=“text-align:center;” |6.4% _238_       style=“text-align:center;” |21.1% _783_      72.5% _2,692_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1944   style=“text-align:center;” |7.5% _213_       style=“text-align:center;” |92.5% _2,636_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1940   style=“text-align:center;” |7.4% _171_       style=“text-align:center;” |92.4% _2,124_    0.2% _5_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1936   style=“text-align:center;” |6.6% _120_       style=“text-align:center;” |93.1% _1,704_    0.4% _7_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1932   style=“text-align:center;” |7.1% _126_       style=“text-align:center;” |92.3% _1,634_    0.6% _10_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1928   style=“text-align:center;” |31.0% _567_      style=“text-align:center;” |69.0% _1,261_    style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1924   style=“text-align:center;” |13.5% _158_      style=“text-align:center;” |86.3% _1,010_    0.2% _2_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1920   style=“text-align:center;” |17.2% _121_      style=“text-align:center;” |82.2% _577_      0.6% _4_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1916   style=“text-align:center;” |10.2% _87_       style=“text-align:center;” |87.2% _743_      2.6% _22_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1912   style=“text-align:center;” |2.3% _14_        style=“text-align:center;” |83.9% _514_      13.9% _85_

  : PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS RESULTS[6]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

title: Jackson County, Mississippi

question: Comment on income inequality in Jackson County

answer: Women earn just 69% of the income of men making Jackson county very unequal when it comes to income. 12.7% of the population lives below the poverty lines including 17.8% of people under the age of 18.


text:
be happy at all times

never stay angry, hold grudges, or talk badly about someone else

find a way to love everyone and tell them why you do

today friday october 17th 2014 will hold the title for the day the most intense thing has ever happened to me.
	the day started off normally as any day on the golf course would.  the day before, thursday, we had done most of the hard work around the course, i had string line trimmed the edge and banks of the sand bunkers and finished the day spraying ponds… no easy task!
	when i arrived friday morning and parked in my usual spot by the entrance to the shop, i was greeted by my coworker Mike.  He looks to be 55, heavy set but not fat, balding head with white hair he covers with a faded blue baseball cap, grey shirt and blue jeans.  “Did ya work hard yesterday?”, he asks somewhat mockingly, I ignore the jest.  Gathering the things for the day from my car, with my back to the entrance i hear him again.  “yo dom, did you guys work hard yesterday?”  i’m not sure if he is just joking, or whole-heartedly is curious.  sharply, i say “yea man we weed whacked trap bank edges, got sand in my eye and shit, thats probably why you called out yesterday, to avoid the hard work!”  mike explains his wife actually had a bad fall and was bruised and he needed to stay home to help her.  makes me feel like shit for accusing him of calling hookie, so i apologize and brush it off.
	Start of the day, i am to mow fairways on the back nine, have my first two fairways done and i am half way through my third.  I see my coworker mike again coming along the cart path, i have to look forward to continue to mowing a straight line but i acknowledge him with a head nod, and out of the corner of my eye, i see he does the same.  I finish mowing the first half of the fairway and start to mow the other half about 10-15 minutes after i first saw mike.  As i go to empty the grass clippings my fairway machine collects, i see mikes cart.  At first i think nothing of it and begin to empty the buckets of grass clippings…  the fairway mower has 5 buckets to empty.  i empty the first bucket, go to put it back in its place and think to myself “that is a curious place to park your cart”  i write it off, “maybe he parked there to stay out of the mud, and walked his mower to where he was working”…. grab and empty the second bucket, “i don’t see him anywhere near this cart and its not exactly the closest spot to where he should be going”  replace the second bucket and start emptying the third “maybe he is just taking a bathroom break, there are some trees near there, thats probably what he is doing”.  third and fourth bucket emptied and replaced… i reach for the 5th bucket “well if he is taking a piss i will be able to see him from here, or he will eventually have to walk back to his cart”  replace the 5th and final bucket and begin to climb onto my machine.  the machine’s seat holds you a good 4 feet off the ground so the perspective from there is much better and i can see that on the back of mike’s cart is the machine he is supposed to be mowing with.  i stand up on my machine to see even further, i don’t see him anywhere near the cart or in the woods peeing, or on his phone by a tree or anything.  i don’t see mike at all, it looks like he just disappeared!  i hope off my mower and start walking towards his cart.  I’m squinting my eyes and scanning the landscape trying to find him.  his cart is parked by a few big rocks at the corner of a hair pin turn.  the top of #14 tee to be exact, and beside the cart is what looks to be those grey stones.  i am walking towards the cart, staring at the stone closest to the cart.  i take a quick paced step once i see the stone looks to be too large to be the stones i know to be placed there.  like seeing lightning strike in front of you, in a flash i realize that is not a stone, an instant passes, and the roaring thunder of realization comes with a fast growing rumble, and an ear shattering and unstoppable crash of understanding.  beside the cart, laying on the ground, is my co-worker mike.
	my very next step is fully extended and propels me forward, my legs are stretching and throwing my body forward at full speed.  i am running as fast as i possibly can and realizing more with each pounding step, mike is on the ground, why is mike on the ground, i hope he is just stuck or can’t get up, he’s face down.  Oh my god, he is face down!  i send the signal to my legs, FASTER - NOW FUCKERS - MOVE ITTTT!!, they can’t move any quicker, they are at maximum speed, i stretch my legs to increase my gait.  i can’t get to mike quick enough, he is less than 50 feet away and it is taking AGES to get to him.  I’m screaming his name now, screaming and running and i can’t get there fast enough.  finally I’m right over him, immediately i can see the back of his shaved head is purple.  i flip mike over screaming for him to respond, hoping, praying, pleading that i will turn him over and he will be breathing.  when i roll mike over and saw his face it uncontrollably shocked me.  i didn’t have time to be taken back or even react to it, just a momentary pause for the flood of emotions to be processed.  i had smashed through the glass and into chaos, utter despair, pure horror and fear.  Mike’s face was more purple than the back of his head.  his face had been smushed against cold solid mud, it hadn’t stuck to him or gotten into his nose, but his cheek and upper lip looked smushed, his nose too one nostril held closed against the ground.  the impression the ground left on his face did not immediately snap into place.  slowly the skin faded to it’s original resting place, but it was still off.  his face looked distorted, wrong, purple and smushed, his eyes half-open half-closed and completely expressionless.  he was always smiling or showing how he felt right on his face, big cheesing smile, round cheeks and bright eyes behind his glasses.  t didn’t look like him, wasn’t alive like he was, it was flattened and dull, emotionless and frozen. i caught myself honestly questioning if this was even mike.  there was no way to escape the cold hard truth, it was mike, and he was in extremely bad shape.
	before i had even seen mikes face, before i even knelt beside him, somewhere along the never ending run i had realized already what was going on and what i had to do.  my brain was making checklists, ordering them for me and coming up with instructions for my consciousness to eventually follow once it had caught up to the realization of what needs to be done.  i had wasted so much time it felt like, i had JUST turned him over, JUST slid next to his side and still i felt like it was forever ago i realized he needs help and what needed to be done was already behind schedule.  fumbling and crying and screaming i paw for my phone.  I’m about to be an emotional mess i think to myself.  another part of me is impatient, and it takes over, i dial 9-1-1 for emergency help for the first time in my life.  press enter, there is no ringing or waiting, at least that i remember, it seemed as if i was instantaneously connected and a woman was asking me “where is the location of your emergency”  i’m flooding her with information, a constant stream of consciousness frantic at first and then steady and continuous flow.  “1800 tournament drive off of 202.  its blue bell country club, but that is the address for the main building, we are out on the course.”  I am talking right over her questions, comprehending them seconds later and without pause answering them in a constant flow of words.  ambulance is on it’s way and i want to start compressions, i’ve already been trying while the 911 operator was getting the information from me.  i ask her to instruct me to give cpr, i have half an idea what i am supposed to be doing and have been doing it and continue to as she describes to me the process.  i am impatient and keep telling her to start counting out when i should be doing compressions, finally she gets to it: “1,2….3,4….5,6…..7,8….”  i can feel his rib break, it’s disturbs me but i’ve heard that is better to have a broken live and be alive.  i have the operator on speakerphone and I’m giving mike chest compressions.  “…hands right between his nipples, pushing with the heel of your palm, use both hands to compress the chest two inches downward.”  we count 100 compressions and check for a response, count to 100, and check for a response.  before the first 100 is complete i can hear sirens coming.  I’m so happy someone is coming and it encourages me.  i look at mikes smushed purple face, nothing moves except when i compress his chest, and it deflates me again.  I wish someone else would do this or i could just stop and cry about it but the part of my that feels that way is not physically in control of my body.  i check his mouth and keep saying his name.  my body is in control of doing compressions, my mind is listening to the operator for cues when to send the signal to my body, and i am staring at mikes face.  I’m feel I’m not even doing the compressions, really I’m not, I’m unable to do that, I’m looking over my own shoulder, crying, sobbing, drumming up and pushing down ebbs and flows of hope and despair, my weaker self incapable of anything but encouraging my mind and body to continue.  i am shattered, in shambles, suddenly I’m sucked back into my own body: desperately trying to make my compressions where they are supposed to be, as deep as they are supposed to be, on perfect timing with the operators instructions, acting with determination and courage.
	it has already dawned on me, and i refused to to swallow it, so i spit it back out.  mike is dead.  i knew it from the second i rolled him over to see the grotesque purple smushed face.  mike is dead and there is nothing i can do, it was too late from even the moment i saw him.  he has laid face down for too long.  i deny it and deny and and still to this moment right now writing this i want nothing more than to believe he will be ok.  i want him to be ok, i beg for him to be ok, i would do backflips and marry this man if he is alive and i will never lose contact with him… but very sadly, very hard to admit, or to say, or to let myself think… out of fear that believing it alone might make it true, or that not acknowledging if he is alive or not may give him advantage.   mike is not ok, mike will not start breathing, mike has died.  i am full.  i have already eaten to my capacity, i am not hungry at all.  in fact the sight of food, even the thought, makes me sick!  and now, laying before me is a full feast for an army.  each bite is force fed to me, spooned in my mouth and forced down my throat.  his purple smushed face, a huge chunk to swallow, i can’t please no more.  i already have a stomach full of my own problems, my own stress, my own emotional turmoil.  one more bite!  forced into me, so much to digest and i don’t want it.  i have enough already.  each spoonful bigger then the last.  i refuse, i won’t even think about it, focus on something else.  time inevitably passes and i forget to keep forgetting what happened.  a thought slips in, the worst are the images, tactile memories, very small, seemingly insignificant details are the biggest pieces, dense and heavy, hard to digest.  i can’t seem to even get them past my mouth, i keep tasting them over and over, just want them to be in, so they can be closer to being let go.  mike was happy all day, literally said “no one can bring me down today”  he was singing all morning, happily accepted what everyone would agree is a hard job, even took the hardest route of that job.  this started out well written and I’ve given up, i just want the words to be here before i devote my mind to forgetting them all.  so sad.  i want to put in here too but i can’t find a segway.  chuck talked to mike when he drove by him, told him he didn’t look good and should take it easy or take a rest,  mike said he was working hard and sweating but it was “good exercise”  i thank all my lucky stars that mike was in a really good mood, and hope that he was at least happy.  i really want nothing more than for mike to be alive.  i can’t help but think that he is dead.  i want him to come back, i hope to everything and anything wether i believe or not, i hope and beg anything, anyone anywhere please let mike live.  let him come back to life and be ok!

be happy at all times
never stay angry, hold grudges, or talk badly about someone else
tell everyone that you love exactly how you feel about them
be happy at all times, to the best of your ability
make friends and strive to keep them
tell people when they do good
please and thank you
i love you
be happy at all times

title: [NF] Be Happy at All Times.

question: What does the story say about Mike's disappearance?

answer: The narrator is looking for his coworker Mike as he cannot see him at the court. He finally finds Mike laying on the ground beside the cart with his face down. The narrator sees the back of his shaved head is purple and flips Mike over. Mike's face looked distorted, purple, and smushed, his eyes half-open half-closed, and completely expressionless. The narrator dials 911 for emergency help. They instruct him to give CPR. However, Mike has laid face down for too long and he is dead.

question: What does the story say about what kind of accident Mike had?

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

answer: They are coworkers. The narrator and his friends prepared the golf court. When Mike asks him if they worked hard, the narrator is not sure if Mike is mocking him. The narrator accuses Mike of calling out the previous day to avoid work but it turns out he was not right. Mike has an accident on the court and the narrator does all to ave him but fails. The narrator is very ad about that.


text:
The flickering lights highlight the ship’s icy hallway only once every few seconds. It’s probably better that way, considering that when it can be seen it’s quite a mess. Scattered with shell casings, strewn papers and stray sparks from exposed wires. Not to mention the occasional body or body part that lay in the way as Chad slowly steps through, careful not to trip over the many obstacles. He waits patiently for the lights to flicker again, so he can move freely with no worry of what’s in his way, and searching for another living soul. He tries to call out, but the cold has rendered his throat quite useless when it comes to shouting. Still he must make the attempt. “Hello!” He tries to scream. It sounded as if the word itself tore open his insides as he spewed it out. Chad places his hand on his throat and continues, content with a quiet search.

As he makes his way through more dead end areas of the ship, Chad begins to lose hope of finding any more lost survivors, until he hears a faint moaning coming from the Captain’s quarters. He stops and listens for a moment. The moans come again. Chad walks towards the open room and puts his back against the wall, creeping his head around the corner. Inside, lying on the bed in the left corner is Captain Roberts, half naked and freezing, blood trickling down his ears and mouth. His skin seems more like a thin pale sheet that’s stretched tightly over his bones, and his hair on his head is patchy, as if he’s been pulling it out. Chad brings himself back around and tilts his head back, rolling his eyes. He sighs and marches into the Captain’s room. “Sir.” He says as he walks up to him. The Captain’s hand is bleeding and balled up in a fist.

“Whosat?” Captain Roberts whispers, eyes rolling around in every direction.

“Lieutenant Chad Harper, sir.” The Captain blinks, almost in awe, and then chuckles to himself.

“Come here, Lieutenant.” Chad kneels down beside the Captain, whose fist reaches out for his hand. Chad cups the Captain’s fist as he releases the item he was clinging so hard to. Chad looks into his now bloody hand to see two brown-stained silver bars. “I’m giving you command, Lieutenant.” Now it’s Chad’s turn to chuckle, but he can’t stop there. Soon his scoffs become laughs, and then what seems to be a mix of crying and bellowing that echo through the empty corridors of the stone cold prison they’re trapped in.

“Command?” Chad replies, wiping tears from his eyes, “Command of what? There’s nobody here! It’s just us!”

“Jesus, kid.” Captain Roberts says, “Is that all you do is complain? Ever since we lost you’ve treated it like the Goddamn Crucifixion.” He turns his head and coughs a fair amount of blood onto the walls. Chad bows his head and traces the sign of the Cross on his body.

“May Christ have mercy on your soul for making such a joke.” He says, raising his head. The Captain looks at him and tries to sit up. Chad puts his hands on the Captain’s shoulders and gently presses him back down. “You need to rest, sir.” The Captain’s attempt took much more out of him than expected. He begins to breathe heavy, as if he’d just run a marathon. Chad picks up a chair that’s been lying on the floor and sits down next to the Captain.

“I know you’ve suffered, lad.” Captain Roberts says, “We all have. But that’s no excuse to just abandon all this.” His hands wave around the room flimsily. Chad looks around and sighs.

“All what, sir? We don’t have anything. Everyone is either dead or captured. We’re on the losing side of a war and I don’t even know what it is we’re fighting for!” Chad’s voice breaks away again as he begins to shout. “I didn’t even want to be in this! I was dragged! I left a wife and a daughter behind, risking my life for reasons I’m still not sure of.” The Captain remains silent. His eyelids are halfway shut. “Sir.” Chad begins, “I’m sorry, but I have to go. There’s just too much blood here. I’ve had enough of this senseless massacre.” He stands up and turns to walk out the door. The Captain sputters.

“You think you’ll find a decent place to stand in this massacre?” Chad stops, and turns back towards the Captain. “Well there isn’t one. Everybody’s involved, like it or not.

“Well then what do you suggest I do, sir?”

“Stand with me. Keep up the good fight. We’re on the losing side against heaven, kid. They’ve got the power, but we’ve got the people. We may have sticks and stones compared to their rockets and lasers, but we’ve got a lotta sticks and stones.” The Captain’s eyelids flutter as he coughs more blood onto his pillow.

“You’re standing days are done, sir.” Chad says, “I mean no disrespect in that. You’re dying, and I’m all that’s left. This is my chance to leave, and to find a place where I can be at peace. Maybe start a new family. Have a life in exchange for the one that was taken from me. Everyone will just assume the whole ship’s been taken.” Chad bows his head. “I hope you understand. I was never meant to do this.” Chad looks up at the Captain. His eyes are closed and there are no white clouds that escape his mouth, which hangs open like an old fool who has fallen asleep drunk in his recliner.

Chad leaves the Captain’s quarters and marches up the hallway and to a steel door that’s sealed shut. To the side rests a digital keypad. Chad inputs a code, and the doors swiftly slide open. “Welcome, Lieutenant Harper.” A deep male voice echoes as Chad steps through into the flight deck. Outside the window lies an endless black ocean filled with little sparkling stars, along with several other ships that have been destroyed. Their debris float slowly across Chad’s view. He walks up to the center of the flight deck, where a digital map is displayed on the table. He looks down to see that a rendezvous point has been highlighted two Astronomical Units away, on a dead planet orbiting a Red Dwarf. Four Astronomical Units away lies another, more appealing place to park; a fairly new planet that was recently discovered and inhabited 200 years prior, called Geisa. Chad closes the map and takes a seat in the Captain’s chair. “How much fuel do we have, Mark?”

“Enough, Lieutenant Harper.” Mark replies.

“That’s not an answer. How many AUs can we travel given the damage?”

“Roughly five, Lieutenant. Where would you have me direct us?” Chad sits in his chair, one hand wrapped around his face and sweating, despite the freezing temperature. In his other hand lays the Captain’s silver bars. He stares at them, a look of anger quickly growing on his face.

“You son of a bitch.” Chad whispers as he pins the medal to his uniform.

“What was that, Lieutenant?”

“It’s Captain, Mark. And take us to the damn rendezvous point.”

title: The Captain

question: Who's the protagonist?

answer: Lieutenant Chad Harper

question: Who calls for him?

answer: The captain.

question: what does Chad inform the captain about his condition?

answer: The captain is dying.

question: Who does Chad talk to?

answer: Mark.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Lieutenant Chad Harper is out at war in some sort of vessel. He comes across the Captain, who is dying. Chad has to inform the nonsensical, babbling man that his time has come. Chad moves to a control room,  where a voice known as Mark greets him. Chad informs Mark that Chad is the Captain now.


text:
Running from Reality (Copy and Pasted from word)

The day was covered by darkness, the sky a dull gray. Hidden by the ominous clouds, the sun wasn’t in sight. The air taunted of damp grass and fresh rain, even though it never rained. It all looked abandoned, all except for one small boy alone on the swings, relishing in memories there every day.
   *                      *                   *                           *                    *                      *
Small cracks of light, coming through the drapes that weren’t completely closed, were shining in Adabel’s bright emerald eyes. Turning to her side a headache blazed into her brain, spreading  like wildfire. Very slowly, she built up the energy to get out of the, now disheveled bed; whose blankets had become like a trap to her.
The headache was getting worse, but Adabel had become accustomed to living with it. Standing in front of the mirror, she looked at the reflection with disgust etched into her features. She ignored the sight; she didn’t bother to brush out her wavy brown hair… no point in making it frizzy. “I already look bad enough,” she thought to herself while pulling it into a bun. Grabbing a sweat shirt and her keys, she went out into the cool air of the autumn day.
Watching others, she thought of nothing as she walked around her small town. Hoping she would see one sign of kindness, in this world she knew all but too well. She crossed a small bridge over a tiny stream that was probably at one point a beautiful river. Past the woods of the large, practically abandoned park was a beaten down play set for children, including a small slide with a hole punched through the middle and a swing set with only two swings left and the remains of the third. It was as if the wind was carrying sounds of the children of the past that used to play among it.
It all looked abandoned, all except for one small boy alone on the swings.  Adabel hadn’t noticed him until she was two feet in front of him. He was only about ten, five years younger than she. He seemed as though he hadn’t noticed her either, but in reality he was wondering why anyone had come to this old beat down park.
Who is he? Adabel thought as she went to sit on the swing next to the young boy.  She rolled her sleeves down even though they were too long for her arms and only showed the tips of her fingers. Watching the child, she began to push herself on the swing. He looked tired; dark circles had made a home under his dull gray eyes. They looked similar to the dark circles she had. His chestnut brown hair became disheveled in the strong wind.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it is rude to stare?” He said finally looking up at her
“No.” Adabel replied while she fidgeted with her hands in her lap. ”She left me and my dad when I was a baby.”
“I’m sorry.” He said.
“No you’re not, you just regret saying anything about it.”
“No, I understand. My mother died a while back. It’s okay though, I saw it coming, she was depressed for a long while before. It finally got to her, found her hanging from the ceiling fan when I got home from school one day.” He said with a sad smile.
“Who are you?” Adabel asked; astonished at the bluntness he used when talking of his mother.
“I’m Imre.”  He replied extending his hand for a handshake. She took it and shook it lightly. When she went to pull her hand back he held it a bit tighter and grabbed onto her sleeve and rolled it up, revealing many white scars, some fresh and new giving a red tinge on her arm.
Imre loosened his grip and she yanked her arm free. Adabel’s face grew warm becoming red with rage and she stopped the rocking of her swing by slamming her feet on the ground.
“You don’t have to be alone ya’ know,” He told her, “I’m here every day, when you’re ready to talk.”
Without saying another word, Adabel jumped up and started to walk away, pulling down her sleeves as she went. Before she could control herself she was running, tears starting to brew in her eyes, spilling over the brim, making her long eyelashes clump together and blurring the world around her.
And there it was again, the pounding back in her head as she slumped down against the back of her bedroom door. No one had been able to see through her fake smile before. She had always been able to just dismiss people of their concern by saying she was tired and tell them she got cold easily to cover the cuts on her arms. Imre had seen straight through her in the few minutes they had sat together.
Adabel wiped her tears and walked to the table beside her bed, she opened up the drawer and took out an old pocket knife. She had found it in her dad’s old tool box and figured he wouldn’t notice it was gone, and he didn’t.
Adabel’s father, Mr.Jones, was only home for seven hours a day. He would come home wreaking of alcohol and, after he had sobered up, eat something with Adabel and then get some sleep. They weren’t very close, she practically hated him. Always thinking he didn’t care about her at all.
No wonder mom left him. Adabel thought to herself as she took out the knife, running the icy touch of the blade along her wrists. A small trail of red followed in the wake of the blade. Numbness was all she felt. How else was she supposed to know she was alive?
 When she heard a car door slam she ran to her bathroom running the water of the faucet over her arms. The warm water burned her skin, turning it into a field of trees caught in a wildfire, skin blazing and turning raw. Hearing the soft vibrating buzz of the microwave heating up their so-called dinner, she knew her father was almost fully aware now. She heard the thump-thump-thumping of her father’s boots against the hard wooden floors growing louder as he got closer to the bathroom. His soft tapping of knuckles and muffled voice let her know to come sit with him and eat something. She turned the water off, pulling down her sleeves once again, exiting the bathroom, she already felt nauseous at the thought of food. She stared blankly ahead as she sat, making an excuse to not eat, lying saying she wasn’t hungry. As Mr.Jones ate, he talked about his work at the factory and some men at the bar after he left. It was nothing but a murmur to Adabel.
“Adabel!” he yelled as he slammed his hands down onto the table.
“Sorry, I stopped caring a long time ago about that stuff. You can repeat it if you want, but chances are I’m still not going to care.” Adabel muttered bluntly, looking Mr.Jones straight in the eyes.
“Adabel, stop pretending like you don’t have any emotions!” He yelled, louder at her this time.
“It’s not my fault you don’t notice there is something wrong with your only daughter! No wonder mom left you. You’re too self-centered to care about anyone but yourself!” She screamed. A hard force slammed against her cheek, blinding her for a moment in white hot pain. A ringing formed in her ears as she cupped her palm against her face. A dark bruise was already becoming noticeable on the sharp features of her cheek bone.
When they had both began to realize what had just happened they backed away from each other. Adabel ran into her room, slamming and locking the door then collapsing on the bed. Simply listening to the sounds of life around her, she didn’t sleep that night; instead, she stayed awake. She grabbed the pocket knife from her bedside table and climbed out her window. As soon as her feet hit the ground she took off running towards the park.
At least Mr.Jones wouldn’t have to be the one to find her dead, was all she was thinking of when she reached the park. Some random person will wind up finding me and they won’t even care, they don’t even know me. She reasoned to herself as she held the knife against her chest. Of course, it will take a while for someone to notice me, after all people barely ever come here. And as she thought this her eyes fell across the old play set and landed on a solemn figure sat on the swings. She remembered Imre and all he had been through. If she died he would have no one. Letting the knife relax from her grip, she began to walk to him.
“Take this.” Adabel said handing him he knife. “I can’t use it anymore.”
“Thank you. You don’t deserve it anyway. We just need to look out for eachother for a little while. We can be each other’s guardian angel.” Imre said. He was the only person Adabel had ever met that was able to read her like a book.
“You’re right we deserve better.” She said.
A small sprinkle of mist started to drizzle down on them. Adabel smiled as she sat on the swing next to Imre, extending her hand towards him. It began to pour with rain; the pitter-patter of raindrops felt comfortable as he took her hand.
“You’re smiling,” Imre stated watching her features for a hint, to tell if it was genuine, “for real this time.”
“I guess I finally have a reason to smile.”

title: This amazing short story written by my 13 year old cousin. Maybe a little something someone needs today. Find a reason to smile.

question: Summarize the positive events that happen in the story.

answer: Adabel meets a small boy, Imre, on a swing set. He has a conversation Adabel, where they talk about their past trauma and seem to connect on a deeper level because of it.

question: Summarize Adabel's relationship with her father.

answer: Adabel hates her father, who is an alcoholic and is rarely at home. They get into a screaming match while he is at home, which ends up in physical violence. Mr. Jones slaps Adabel in the face, which pushes Adabel to sneak out of her house with her pocketknife.

question: Describe Adabel's academic life.

question: Describe Mr. Jones' descent into alcoholism.