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SUGAR KING PARK is a municipal park located in Garapan, Saipan, Northern Mariana Islands across from the NMI Museum of History and Culture.[1][2] The park was named in honor of the “Sugar King” Haruji Matsue, director of the South Seas Development Company.

The park has a statue of Matsue;[3] a small, wood-burning locomotive;[4] Komainu; a hexagonal hall of prayer with a peace bell; and a German period concrete stairway.[5] The Saipan Katori Shrine in the park was rebuilt in 1985 to replace the original Katori Jinja from the Japanese period.[6] The Nanmeido or Saipan International House of Prayer is a temple located in the park. Historical sites in the park are listed on the Garapan Heritage Trail, a project of the Northern Marianas Humanities Council with financial support by the National Endowment for the Humanities and the Office of Insular Affairs, United States Department of the Interior.[7] The park hosts the annual Japanese Autumn Festival and Katori Jinja ceremony in October.[8] The Northern Marianas-Japan Cultural Center is in the park.[9]

The park is operated by the CNMI government with support from the Marianas Visitors Authority, NMI Museum of History and Culture, Japanese Society of the Northern Mariana Islands, Katori Shrine Association of Japan, and other organizations.[10][11] Local schools have field trips at the park.[12] Students from Japan, China, Korea, and other countries in East Asia visit the park as part of exchange programs.[13][14]

The Sugar King Foundation was established in 1997 under the laws of the CNMI as a non-profit organization to assist in the preservation and maintenance of the park.[15]

History

In October 2004, the 19th Annual Japanese Autumn Festival was held in the park. The festival featured games for children, a yard sale, live entertainment, Shichi-Go-San rites, and Japanese delicacies. About 50 professional dancers from Hokkaido, Japan performed various numbers at the event.[16]

In July 2005, a Japanese crew visited the park and interviewed residents and filmed for a documentary about the sugar industry in the Northern Marianas. Other members of the Japan contingent were president of Suehiro Sake Brewery Ltd., president of Aizu Brewery Union, president of Synergy Inc.[17][18] In November 2005, the mayor of Aizuwakamatsu visited the park and planted a breadfruit tree next to the Matsue statue.[19]

In June 2011, the Hokkaido Gokokujinja Memorial Group visited the park.[20] In January 2012, students from Moon Deok Elementary School in Korea toured the park.[21] In June 2014, the Marianas High School Japanese Language Club held a play in the park.[22] In March 2017, the MYWAVE clubs of Saipan Southern High School and Marianas High School Visited the park as part of an island tour sponsored by Marianas Tourism Education Council and Marianas Visitor’s Authority.[23]

In January 2020, Saipan International School students visited the park.[24] In February 2020, students from South Korea part of Saipan International School's "Welcome to the Marianas” program visited the park.[25]

Shrine

The Saipan Katori Shrine, also known as the Saipan Katori Jinja, was built on a small hill on Saipan in 1914.[26] It was the first Shinto shrine built in the Japanese-controlled South Seas Islands. The shrine was moved to Sugar King Park in 1931. It was destroyed during the Battle of Saipan in the Asia–Pacific War. In 1985, the Katori Shrine Association of Japan, with the assistance of the CNMI government, reconstructed it.[27]

A ceremony honoring the combatants and civilians who died during the Battle of Saipan is held at the shrine annually in October. Shinto priests and practitioners from Japan, the Japanese Society of Northern Marianas, and other organizations carry out the memorial services.[28]

Temple

The Nanmeido or Saipan International House of Prayer, built in 1990, is a non-sectarian temple located in the park dedicated to those who lost their lives in the Marianas in 1944. Inside the temple, a large peace bell hangs from the ceiling. It was donated as a wish for world peace by the Gifu Buddhist Association of Gifu, Japan in 2006.[29]

Cleanup Projects

In August 2004, crew members of the cruiser USS Vincennes (CG-49) volunteered and assisted the Saipan Mayor’s Office and the Environmental Interagency Cleanup Operation Team beautifying the park.[30] In January 2005, officers from the USS Gary (FFG-51) participated in a cleanup drive at the park as part of community relations efforts. They trimmed trees, raked leaves and trash, cleared the drainage and cleared the overgrown nature trails, water blasted the slab pavements and parking lot, re-painted the historic buildings and structures in the area, and planted trees, flowers, and shrubs.[31] In September 2008, crew members from the USS Rentz (FFG-46) cleaned up and landscaped the park.[32] In March 2009, USS Frank Cable (AS-40) sailors participated in park landscaping.[33]

In August 2015, Typhoon Soudelor damaged the Saipan Jinja, trees, railings, and other features in the park. Volunteers from the Marianas Visitors Authority, Japan Saipan Travel Association, and the Japanese Society of the Northern Mariana Islands helped clear debris and cleanup the park.[34]

Entrance to Sugar King Park.JPG|Entrance to Sugar King Park Statue of Haruji Matsue.JPG|Statue of Haruji Matsue

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title: Sugar King Park

question: What does the text say about how deep Mariana's Trench is?

question: What does the text say about Sugar King Park?

answer: Sugar King Park is a municipal park named in honor of the "Sugar King" Haruji Matsue, director of the South Seas Development Company. Located in Garapan, Saipan, Northern Mariana Islands, the park features a statue of Matsue, a small wood-burning locomotive, a hexagonal hall of prayer called "Komainu", and a German period concrete stairway. The Northern Marianas-Japan Cultural Center, the Saipan Katori Shrine, and the Saipan International House of Prayer are located in the park. The park hosts the annual Japanese Autumn Festival and Katori Jinja ceremony in October. The park is operated by the CNMI government with support from the Marianas Visitors Authority, NMI Museum of History and Culture, Japanese Society of the Northern Mariana Islands, Katori Shrine Association of Japan, and the Sugar King Foundation, which assists in the preservation and maintenance of the park.

question: What does the text say about the U.S. military's cleanup efforts in the park?

answer: In August 2004, crew members of the cruiser USS Vincennes (CG-49) volunteered and assisted the Saipan Mayor's Office and the Environmental Interagency Cleanup Operation Team in beautifying the park. In 2005, officers from the USS Gary (FFG-51) participated in a cleanup drive at the park, trimming trees, raking leaves and trash, clearing drainage, clearing the overgrown nature trails, water blasting the slab pavement and parking lot, and re-painting the historic buildings in the area. They also planted flowers, trees, and shrubs. In September 2008, crew members from the USS Rentz (FFG-46) cleaned up and landscaped the park. In March 2009, USS Frank Cable (AS-40) sailors helped landscape the park.


split: test

text:
EILEEN DE VILLA is a Canadian physician and public servant currently serving as the medical officer of health for the city of Toronto, Ontario, Canada and formerly as the medical officer of health for the region of Peel. She is an adjunct professor at the Dalla Lana School of Public Health at the University of Toronto. In 2020, de Villa oversaw Toronto's response to the COVID-19 pandemic in Ontario.

Early life and education

De Villa is the daughter of cardiologist Dr. Maria Antonina “Nenette” de Villa and obstetrician/gynecologist Dr. Guillermo “Jun” de Villa. She was born in Boston and briefly lived in the Philippines between 1972 and 1975 before her family fled to Canada.[1] Her parents were both influential in the Filipino community in Toronto, laying the groundwork for what is now the Filipino Centre Toronto.[2]

She attended Havergal College then McGill University, where she received her Bachelor of Science degree in psychology and women's studies in 1991.[3] When she graduated, she became an intern at the United Nations, moving to Vienna to work with the UN Industrial Development Organization supporting developing countries.[4] Through that experience, she became interested in international health.[5]

She then received her Master of Health Science degree in health promotion at the University of Toronto and continued securing internships through the United Nations, including one with the International Conference on Population and Development.[6]

De Villa then decided to go to medical school, receiving her medical degree from the University of Toronto in 1998. She completed her residency in public health and preventive medicine. She later received a Master of Business Administration from the Schulich School of Business at York University.

Career

In 2004, de Villa began her almost thirteen year tenure at the Regional Municipality of Peel Office of Health, where she ultimately became the medical officer of health, serving from October 2015 to March 2017. There, she worked on a number of public health issues, including vaccination and prevention of communicable diseases, such as sexually transmitted infections and tuberculosis.[7] She also oversaw the region's air quality and food and water safety.[8]

On March 27, 2017, de Vila began her term as the medical officer of health at Toronto Public Health after the retirement of David McKeown_._[9] She was appointed for her evidence-based approach to public health.[10] In this role, she has worked to combat the opioid epidemic in Toronto, advocating for a series of policies to expand public health services. Her recommended policies include the creation of a safer drug supply to reduce the need to buy drugs off the street, better support for under-served populations, and decriminalizing drugs.[11] In 2019, she has pushed back against budget cuts proposed by the Progressive Conservative provincial government under Premier Doug Ford, which would limit Toronto's resources for fighting the opioid crisis and other public health programs.[12] She has also criticized the administration for defunding supervised injection sites, which have reversed a significant number of overdoses since opening.

Under her leadership, Toronto Public Health has worked to combat misinformation around vaccine safety and has advocated for advertisers and social media platforms to clamp down on misleading anti-vaccination information.[13] She was also behind the call to ban vaccine exemptions because of religious or philosophical beliefs, though the government would still allow medical exemptions.[14][15] Toronto has seen a steady rise of such exemptions and are working to proactively prevent outbreaks of vaccine-preventable diseases.

Since Toronto saw its first case of COVID-19, the disease caused by SARS-CoV-2, on January 25, 2020, de Villa has been leading the city's response to the emerging pandemic.[16] Her office issued a number of recommendations to the mayor of Toronto, John Tory, to lock the city down as much as possible, advocating that measures stay in place for 12 weeks from April 1, 2020.[17] Tory has also set a fine of $1,000 for those convicted of violating social distancing guidelines of maintaining a distance of 2 meters or more.[18] De Villa has also used her authority under the _Health Protection and Promotion Act_ to order all individuals with COVID-19—as well as those who have been in contact with confirmed cases—to remain home for 14 days.[19]

De Villa sits on the McGill Women, Leadership & Philanthropy Board, working to increase the representation of women in positions of leadership, governance, and philanthropy.[20]

Awards and Honours

-   Distinguished Leader Award, McGill Toronto Excellence Awards, 2019[21]
-   Naimark Award, Canadian Foundation for Healthcare Improvement, 2013

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title: Eileen de Villa

question: What does the article say about de Villa's opinion on public health?

answer: She seemingly favors an approach based on evidence and compassion. As the medical officer of health at Toronto Public Health, her policies are to produce safer drug supplies and decriminalization. She also favors decisions that affect the entire population as opposed to the personal choices of smaller ones.

question: What does the article say about de Villa's qualifications?

answer: She has a B.Sc. in psychology and women's studies. She has a Master of Health Science degree as well as a medical degree. Her education is completed with a Master of Business Administration degree. She worked extensively with the UN, with the Industrial Development Organization, and the International Conference on Population and Development. She has thirteen years under her belt at the Regional Municipality of Peel Office of Health before serving as its medical officer for a year and a half. She became the medical officer of health at Toronto Public Health right after that, which is ongoing for three years at the time of the article.

question: What does the article say about life expectancy in Toronto after de Villa became the medical officer at Toronto Public Health?


text:
Rindral sighed deeply as he lifted the pickaxe high above his head, the weight was becoming more of a burden as the day progressed. He had been in the mines since early morning and the toll of hard, heavy work was beginning to show.

“Blasted Enia.” Rindral cursed as the handle of his pickaxe left a sharp, spiteful splinter in his thumb.

“What’s up?” A familiar voice said to him kindly.

“A fucking splinter …” Rindral replied, contemplating who the voice belonged to, “… Is that you Leren?” He concluded.

“Aye, it is me.” Leren replied.

It was dark in the mines and hard to recognise the differences between friend and stranger. Leren was and had been a good friend to Rindral throughout the difficult years they had lived through, even saving his life on one occasion.

It had been late at night and they had been celebrating after a rather successful day at work in which Leren had found a rare gem of some significant value. They were walking home from the Iron Hand when Rindral was attacked by a rather large bear. The bear had appeared from nowhere and lunged head first towards him, Rindral had tried to dodge the initial lunge but as he had spun away the bear had managed to catch his flailing arm with his sharp teeth and then the bear clung on.

Whilst Rindral was being slowly dragged away, Leren snuck through the shadows until he was safely behind the bear. Faced with two decisions, save his friend or leave him to die, he chose the former. He raised his pickaxe above his head and smashed it into the skull of the bear. Rindral had been forever grateful.

“How about I get you a drink when we get out of these blasted mines?” Rindral said dryly.

“Aye, I would friend, but my wife would give me absolute shit if I did.” Leren replied sourly.

“And why is that?” Rindral wondered.

“It’s our five year anniversary today.” Leren said, in the same bitter, sour tone he had used before.

Rindral congratulated Leren regardless and managed to diminish the burning curiosity that had swelled rapidly when Leren had replied.

It was dusk now and they left the mines together, walking along the narrow, winding roads that separated Stonewynne from the mines. It was a pretty chilly evening, but certainly not a cold one.

“So what did you buy for your wife?” Rindral said to Leren politely.

“Do you remember the bright, glowing green gem I found in the mines?” Leren replied.

“Ah …” Rindral paused, chuckling, “… How could I forget?”

And they both laughed together. The story of the bear had become a humorous one every time it was re-told.

They eventually arrived back in Stonewynne, the moon glowing bright above the small, mining town. The town itself was a lot like a mine, circular in shape with rough, odd-shaped buildings which scattered the landscape.

“Well, friend, I shall leave you here.” Rindral said to Leren, patting him on the back.

“Aye, tomorrow will be a new day.” Leren replied, and then he left, chuckling.

Rindral sighed, and started walking towards the Iron Hand Tavern. A nice ale would go a long way in soothing his dreams tonight.

“Rindral …” The innkeeper exclaimed, Rindral glanced a grin towards him, “… Join me for an ale on the house.”

“How could I refuse?” Rindral replied, smiling.

The innkeeper poured out the ale in a tidy and organised fashion, like it was an art he had devoted his life to, which in essence, he had.

“Here’s to your good health!” Exclaimed the innkeeper, sipping his drink.

“And here is to yours!” Roared Rindral, greedily draining the last remnants of his mug and demanding a refill.

The bard played many tunes that nigh, some were sad ballads about broken hearts, some were merry, melodic jingles, but the one that struck him the most was the one about Sael, the God of nature. He didn't know why, but it seemed familiar.

One is taken for life that abodes and one is given for life which unfolds, the grasping nature of fertility grows, and the night is lasting but the days comatose.

The hours passed, and eventually in the early hours of the morning, Rindral decided to leave. He said goodbye to the innkeeper and the other occupants and headed out into the night.

Walking home he noticed he was being followed, but who was following him, he wondered. He decided to play a few tricks on this mystery stalker and turned left into the winding backstreets that twist and turn around the shabby gardens in Stonewynne.

Eventually, after twisting and turning for what seemed like hours, he hid in a thick, dense bush and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Eventually, he decided that nobody had been following him and that he had simply been paranoid, a common effect that alcohol could have on one’s mind.

He started to crawl out from under the bush when he cut himself on a sharp, thorny plant that grew under the bush. He gasped, the initial pain more of a shock, but then he let it go, he didn’t really feel it what with his current state of euphoria being the dominant force.

He arrived home and opened the door, heading inside. His home was dark and cold, murky and lonely. He walked through the dark room towards his bed and climbed into it, and it wasn’t long before his murky mind turned into a gripping dream.

He was stood in a bare, white ornate room.

Leren’s wife lay dead on the floor, the gem glowing brightly around her neck.

Leren lay dead on the floor, a paralysed smile frozen upon his face.

The God of nature, Sael, was laughing at the stupidity of Kefiens as he stood above the gem. He called out an order to one of his followers, a rather large bear, ordering him to kill Rindral and then he stooped down and picked up the glowing, green gem.

Rindral woke up, gasping, he had been stuck in a nightmare that he could not leave. He remembered seeing his best friend and his wife dead, he also remembered seeing Sael, the mythological God of nature, and he also remembered seeing an identical rather large bear to the one that had attacked him a few months ago.

Rindral laughed, kicking himself for believing his dream was real and then he looked up and felt his facial features freeze like melted metal setting in cast. Before him, stood the bear.

The bear roared, and then lunged straight for Rindral’s head, the last thing Rindral remembered was a loud, cracking crunch, and then he was gone.

“You stole from nature but you didn’t know, you killed nature but you didn’t know why, nature killed you as is the will of Faedon.” A cold, mystical voice said.

Rindral nearly sighed with relief, he might now know who the voice belonged to; but at least he wasn’t dead.

“Who are you?” Rindral said.

“I am Sael, the enemy of mankind, the king of nature and the God of green.” The cold voice answered.

“What happened to me?” Rindral said, curious as to what was happening, wondering if he was still dreaming.

“Your concerns are selfish and yet you kill nature every day.” Sael said.

“But Kefien’s rule the world, created the world and shape the world daily.” Rindral replied truthfully.

“No, that is what you have been told.” Sael said.

“Then what is the truth?” Rindral said curiously.

“There is no truth only more lies and I lie to you even now, but you are just a simpleton who understands nothing.” Sael said bitterly.

“I am not dumb.” Rindral protested, a pleading tone entering his voice.

“Oh but you are, you unknowingly destroy the world every single day for your own personal gain. You are dead now and still you do not understand why. You take from nature and so nature takes from mankind, the Kefien are not the only force and this is an ongoing war.” Sael said.

“I don’t understand.” Rindral admitted sadly.

“You watched the bear I sent to retrieve my gem be killed. Nature remembers death and nature responds accordingly.” Sael explained.

“It was only a bear.” Rindral protested.

“And you are only a simple Kefien man.” Sael said.

And then everything went black.

“Remember Rindral, the world takes what it loses and gives what it gains, today is the best day of your life.” Sael said bleakly.

And then everything swirled out of proportion and he felt the last remnants of his life fade away.

Caria sighed, looking down at her new-born baby, he was a beautiful boy, but she did wonder about the birthmark on his forehead. “I will call you Lardnir, beautiful boy.” She murmured to the baby.

The rather large bear who was looking through the window chuckled, a deep, rusty chuckle and then headed back of towards the Vohal Forest. All was where it should be in the world.

Sael sighed. "It doesn't matter who they are, or if what they have done is even terrible, it's just a matter of numbers and coincidence. He watched my bear die and so he will replace himself for irony's sake. Leren killed my bear and he shall be reborn as the bear. His wife shall be reborn as the crowning jewel that shall re-grow within the rocks."  And then he vanished.

title: (FN) Rindral’s Misery, Lardnir’s Delight.

question: What does the story say about punishment?

answer: Sael tells Rindral that he has been killed because he takes from nature for his personal gain and because he watched the bear that was sent to retrieve a gem be killed. Sael decides to punish Leren and his wife by having Leren reborn as a bear and having his wife reborn as a crowning jewel.

question: What does the story say about Lardnir's delight?


text:
This is my first post and I’ve just been meaning to put this out into the world just never finding the place to.
Btw just keep in mind my age being 14
Also wrote this for school however they failed to appreciate my work well enough

Aberration
As the darkness retreated and gave way to a cold morning which greeted a pack of hunters who had resumed traveling as they had for many days across the iced terrain. The group revolted against continuing so they set up camp in the snowy fields. Each camp member dug holes in the ground and stored themselves and their gear inside. The group then elected one member to keep watch and handed him the rifle.
¨A beauty isn't she!¨ He spoke.
¨She’ll be older than you, so you better take good care of her.¨ replied another.
The men climbed into their shelters and slept, and sleep they did. They only woke with the sound of claws striking at one of their comrades, the one they left to guard.

Grandfather continued with a gruesome description of the punishment given by the bear. His audience a group of young children thoroughly enjoyed the displays of grandfather’s contoured expressions. Leaning against the metal wall in a reposed state quietly listening to Grandfather’s lesson was a young man. His hair encased with layers of snow and his face a shade of white that made him look more like ghost than a human. When the silence fell and as the children began to disperse back into their classrooms, the young man approached grandfather.
“It was Terence wasn’t it?” the Grandfather asked.
“Of course it was him.” The young man replied.
“Now did I not tell you to avoid him, his manner vexes me.”
“What now grandpa?” shot back the young man.
He ignored the request for clarification and began to rise from his chair. His eyes searched for a set of keys.
“Grandfather…” asked the young man
“Yes, my child?”
“You never told the truth about father. Why?”
The old man gave a quiet chuckle.
“Some things are best left forgotten my boy. It is best to leave them be.”
The young man began to leave in disappointment.
“Alec!” cried his grandfather
“Hold on there I’m going to need you to take this up to the tower.”
Alec, while still in disappointment,  nodded in agreement as Grandfather handed him the fur covered package that still reeked of the animal which had once worn the skin. Alec began his hour long trek to the main tower, the tallest of any building he had ever seen the only one at that. Even giants would be ants compared to the immense size of the tower. Alec had an admiration for the old world, where once metal could talk. On the streets workers shoveled snow into huge barrels, which Alec knew were taken to one of the workshops that scattered across the settlement. As Alec approached the partially rusted metallic tower, a guard stopped him.
“Alec! Long time no see.”
“Just busy nowadays Jorge.” replied the young man.
Alec exchanged talks with the guard and handed him the package. On the walk home Alec noticed the setting sky a shade darker than usual he passed it off as normal and continued onward. The streets were deserted and at this time of day they should not have been he noted. Suddenly Alec’s heart skipped a beat, a trail of blood lay ahead of him but he had not known the true extent of what had occurred and what lay ahead.
He followed the trail leading into an alleyway. In the ice lay a blade fashioned with crude steel, stained and lined with the blood of an innocent. The handle was black, free of the ice that covered the world but it shined brighter than the sunniest of days as if it itself was the sun. There near the blade stood a man kneeled over grasping red meat his eyes met with Alecs. They both stared vehemently for several minutes, until the blooded face from the dark spoke.
“Thi-This is my meat. I earned it…” His voice rose with fury.
 “...You-you can’t take it away!”
The man steadily rose from a body pale with death.
“I won’t let you!”

Alec gazed away in disgust at the severed limbs of the body. His stomach contorted in revulsion, he had discovered what he was seeing.
Unexpectedly the cannibal launched himself at Alec and threw him onto the ground. They both desperately struggled trying to take the other out. In realisation Alec reached for the blade nearby outstretching his arm so far that it began to ache. His attempt failed when the cannibal had noticed his movements and subdued his arm resulting in an acute pain which felt like claws against Alec’s skin. In a final attempt of  desperation Alec used his other arm to throw snow into the man’s eyes. He was able to get up stumbling once trying to grab the blade from the ice it had been lodged in.

	Without care, without apathy Alec furiously lifted the blade ignoring the pain in his arm and drove his blade deep into the man’s shoulder. A quiet silence fell, but the two watched each other breathing deeply like lions after a skirmish.The man’s knees languidly dropped upon the snow, but his body refused to die. He clenched the deep wound in his arm. The lifeless body fell, the blood quickly froze and left a statue indescriptive of the legacy it had to portray. But there, in complete shock and horror stood Alec. he had killed a human, a real person. Hardly would anyone hear of such a deed among the wastes he thought.What were to be of him if grandfather discovered of the truth. Alec refrained from thinking too much but as much as he tried the thoughts would come back to haunt him. For now Alec had only one motive, that was to find somebody who could help. Ignoring the body which lay in front of him Alec continued on. His eyes drew on the blade he had commandeered eventually deciding to retrieve it for what may lay ahead. In the distance a storm began to brew that very much concerned Alec who had not even prepared for any severe storms. Now the time was to find shelter but conflicting thoughts between Alec’s mind had distracted him. A scream though distant it was distinct and familiar.
“Grandfather.” Alec uttered
Alec failed to refrain himself from running. He rushed across the desolate urban landscape with a blade in hand. Alec did not falter as the terran became rugged. In his path stood eleven cannibals above on the hills which were lined with trees. Alec ignoring them leapt across a small, dark, crevice in the ice. He slew his advance to discover a field covered in bodies. Axes and swords lay strewn among the bodies but there was no sign of grandfather. Though the extent of the battlefield was large it was small enough for Alec to observe every body, to the limb. A sudden whisper broke Alec’s concentration. He knelt to examine the object which had caused the noise. It was a point made of ice, smooth and slender. Alec’s realization turned to horror as he experienced an acute pain in his shoulder,that was already worsened by the fight which Alec had fought prior. Alec glanced above the hills, but by now it was too late. Volleys of ice points darkened the sky. In desperation Alec tried to pull one of the dead bodies above himself. It failed, but there was still a hope. Among the dead was a ballistic riot shield engraved with the words “New Yorkers” in place of the worn paint which had once been. Alec in a state of vehement determination ran for the shield. With all his strength Alec pulled the shield up and he held his ground as the hail of shattering ice rained. With each battering hit Alec’s strength waned until the barrage had stopped. In the distance silhouettes of what seemed like hundreds of animals approach . As they approached Alec, it became clear that animals they were not but monsters they certainly were. The sound of cries rang out from the stampede, they became louder as they drew near to Alec. Suddenly the entire crowd froze and knelt, there one by one each of them lay their weapons in the soft snow laden with blood. Not much after a path had been created and only one figure tread along it. As he reached the end of the pathway he lifted his head which had been covered with a veil. He lifted the veil and underneath was a helmet with a black visor, cold black, but the rest of the helmet was badly in need of a polish. Scratched and dented in some sides, the helmet still was much better than anything the rest of the savages wore.
He raised his raspy voice to Alec’s surprise,
“ I didn’t expect to see you make it this far.”
“What does that mean?” replied Alec.
“Don’t raise concern boy it is of no use.”
“Grandfather, what did you do to him?” snapped Alec.
“He… Don’t worry his flesh will be of some use.”
Alec charged him with his furious intent. Striking futile blows which made not a scratch on the pristine black armor the man wore. Effortlessly the man blocked or dodged every attack Alec made. He himself had not drawn his own blade that had remained stealthily hidden before Alec laid eyes upon it.
“You are monster!” Screamed Alec.
The man have no reply.
“Talk you savage scum!” Shouted Alec.
But still there was no reply. In anger Alec struck with the most he could. The visor shattered to pieces revealing a set of eyes, cold and dark.  The man finally drew his sword but unlike the other savages his blade was clean and forged. He let out a series of blows which Alec failed to block. With every strike and every blow Alec lost his leverage that he had gained on his duelist. Each hit was precise and surgical aimed at wearing Alec’s defence so that the last strike would be the fatal blow and end this lengthy duel.
“What you perceive of this world is wrong. Has Grandfather not taught you of the horrors which befell us that fateful day when the snow reached its extent to our hearts. When we left the old ways and left our hearts to burn in the ice.”
“You do not speak of him you monster.” Alec replied
Alec raised his red stained blade to counter every move his duelist made. Now he had turned the tables against him. His legion seem to not worry for the entire while not a single head or eye left its given premises. But with one blow the man had knocked Alec’s blade from his grip. In a rush Alec picked up the shield he once held to protect himself once again. Sparks flew as the steel clashed, the sound of thunder ringed along the hills shaking the trees of their oldest snow. Now the two duelists both lay still, weakened. Though they still rose with weapon in hand ready to continue like a human wave in a soviet battle against the german forces.
“I’d suppose you are not as bad as I estimated.” The man laughed.
They both charged unanimously again beginning their fight. It felt like hours had passed and none of them showed signs of fatigue. Relentless, blow after blow they stood firm. But a well placed move had finally disabled Alec’s enemy cutting open a chasm across his face shining a torch in the dark hidden from the light that had been perplexing, his identity. At first glance his face was normal, devoid of any scars, marks or anything else, but there was a striking similarity between Alec and his duelist.
“A fight so fair that I choose to fall.” He mumbled
“Why?” Asked Alec
“Only you can do what I can never and will never accomplish.”
“You can dictate the future.”
“My son you are the only one I have seen in my travels who could stop them.”
Alec took a few tentative steps back.
“Son? Who?” replied Alec in a state of confusion.
“There.” He pointed into the sky, there positioned was an object, small and metallic. Alec looked closer and noticed a whole armada spanning as far as the horizon. Every movement began to resemble or mimic that of an ant colony like the one grandfather used to have.
“What are they?” questioned Alec.
“They return to reconquer this wretched world, to harness whatever is left”
“The past returns to haunt the present.”
“We reawoke them.”
The man rose.
“We this world was a mistake, their mistake.”
“We were all just a failed experiment that we may never be able change.”
“They will certainly will.”
“But my time has come to an end as is theirs.”
He raised his own blade and laid it to rest on his neck. Closed his eyes and spoke of one final set of words.
“The world rests on your shoulders now, a cannibal could never bear its’ weight. Only you can and you will take that as my final wish.”

title: (SF) Aberration

question: Describe the altercation between Alec and the cannibal.

answer: Alex stumbles upon the cannibal, and he attacks Alec first. Alec then reaches for a nearby sword to attack the cannibal. The cannibal disables one of Alec's arms, but he uses his other arm to throw snow in the cannibal's face. After this, Alec retrieves the sword and drives it into the cannibal's shoulder.

question: What is the goal of the man in black armor?

answer: The man in black reveals to Alec that he is his father. His father brought back some sort of creature that will reconquer the present world. He says that the world rests on Alec shoulders.


text:
The scrawny guy in a tux barely glanced at me.

"A table for lunch."

"I'm afraid we've nothing available."

I stared at the empty tables while I flashed my P.I. license. "I'm meeting a client."

He sniffed. "Very well. This way."

He led me to a corner. A slender, brunette waitress appeared. She eyed my off-the-rack suit with distaste.

"Need a menu?"

"Just coffee." I winked.

She sneered and hurried away.

Two minutes later I was still waiting for my coffee when my lunch date arrived. She spoke with the host, who indicated me with a surprised look. She headed my way.

She was leggy, wrapped in a red dress that hugged her curves like a Porsche hugged a mountain road. Diamonds worth more than I saw in a year dangled from her ears. Her blonde hair shone. She wore it long. I like that. She stopped at my table, pulled off her shades and stuffed them into her Gucci bag. She was something else.

"Mr. Raines."

"The same." I inclined my head. "Please, have a seat."

She hesitated, then reluctantly sat. The waitress appeared, fawning now.

"Your usual, Mrs. Richardson?"

Mrs. Richardson waved her off. "Just coffee. I won't be long."

"Yes, ma'am." The waitress disappeared.

"I don't have time to waste." Mrs. Libertine said. "I came because you said it was important. *Very* important." She fished a pack of Virginia Slims out of her handbag, shook one out, and fired it with a gold lighter.

I shrugged. Hard and fast was fine with me. "As I said on the phone, I'm a private investigator, hired by your husband. I want to show you something."

I pulled a manila envelope out of my coat pocket and slid it to her. She picked it up, manicured fingernails gleaming, peered inside, then pulled out the photographs. Except for a slight widening of her eyes, she might have been thumbing through the latest issue of Vogue.

"Whoever that guy is, he must be a good friend."

She stuffed the pictures back. Her hands shook. "Has my husband seen these?" She stared, eyes hard, though I saw worry behind them.

The waitress appeared, setting a cup of coffee on the table in front of her. Mine remain missing.

I waited until the waitress was gone, then hung it out there. "Not yet."

She dragged on her cigarette, blowing out a thin stream of smoke from the corner of her mouth. "What do you want? Money?"

"Money's nice, but no, not money. Believe it or not, I'm comfortable."

"What then?"

"You're very attractive Mrs. Richardson." I met her stare and smiled slightly. "I'm no Robert Redford, but I'm not that bad, do you think?"

She puffed her cigarette, scowling. "What are you talking about?"

"Is your afternoon free? I live nearby."

I saw understanding hit. She drew herself up, glaring. I thought she might refuse. Was sure she'd say no. Then she sagged, just collapsed like wet cardboard. She snuffed her cigarette in the crystal ashtray next to her untouched cup of coffee.

"Well?"

"I'm free." She wouldn't look at me.

I put the envelope back in my coat.

"I want the pictures and the negatives."

"We'll talk about that later." We stood. I threw a five on the table.

I never did get my coffee.

title: [MF] Just Coffee

question: Who is the narrator's client?

answer: His client is Mrs.Richardson, whose husband has enlisted Mr.Raine's services to track her.

question: Summarize the interactions between the narrator and his client.

answer: Mr.Raines has photos that indicate Mrs.Richardson is cheating on her husband. Her husband hired Raines to investigate her. Raines implies that her husband won't see the photos if she has sex with him. Reluctantly she agrees.

question: What is the narrator's job?

answer: He is a private investigator.

question: What happens right after the coffee arrives?

answer: Mr.Raines tells Mrs.Richardson that he doesn't want money to settle the blackmail he has on her. He hints to wanting to have sex with her.

question: How does Vogue fit into this story?

answer: It doesn't. The narrator mentioned Vogue when describing how casually Mrs. Richardson thumbed through his photographs, like she would a magazine.

question: How many named characters are mentioned in this story?

answer: 2, Mr. Raines and Mrs. Richardson

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Mr.Raines is a private investigator meeting with Mrs.Richardson, the wife of his client. He finds her attractive. He shows her that he has photographs that indicate she was cheating on her husband. Raines implies that her husband won't see the photos if she has sex with him. Reluctantly, she agrees and they head back to his place.


text:
**I'd very much appreciate feedback on this story**

**Broken Souls**

Sometimes I wake up and I feel like there’s a massive hole in my chest. I feel weighed down and nauseous from the rocking boat of a life that I live, It’s like everything I touch dies. My friends, my family, anybody I’ve ever loved really. I’d love to say that this story is about meeting someone that changes that all, but it’s far from it.
I grew up in London, the financial capital of England where dreams come true and money talks, and all the fuckers who live here are so diseased inside their rotten apple of materialistic consumption that their hearts are probably full of worms. The people I grew around weren’t particularly nice and had a sort of passion for making lives of the 1% a living nightmare, but that’s okay because they’re broken.  See we’re all broken in our own way, every one of us. Even those who think that their life is great with their boyfriends or girlfriends and wives and husbands; they’re all broken.People and love are like lines, the parallel lines have so much in common. They both are heading in the same direction, they both possess the same mathematical properties. But they never meet. Ever. But you know some lines cross each other briefly...but they drift apart forever and they will never meet again. Ever.

Like the parallel lines, thankfully me and the arseholes at my secondary school won’t ever meet again which gives me a slight sense of optimism. So I was onto sixth form, with a clear image of a new change in my my head I was actually looking forward to going to sixth form for the first few months. The people there were nice, the stuff we learnt was interesting, and they’re weren’t too many apes with sagging tracksuits asking if I’m “Dizzy fam”. It was good, and the best part was there was actually a girl in my Biology class who was amazing. She was funny, cute and actually had a good taste in music. I talked to her days in and days out and was most definitely falling in love, how couldn’t I?! She was, in my eyes, absolutely perfect.

But you know, some fairy tales don’t end with a happily ever after.

It was a day I’d never forget, I had planned it thoroughly. We went out for coffee, just me and her, and we talked for hours on end, about her friends, about my friends. And I decided to do it and tell her how I felt. I mean that’s what you do right? If you love someone you tell them you love them, and everything will be fine.
She tore my heart apart.
She didn’t love me.
She had a fucking boyfriend, and decided that she didn’t want to tell me. Hell they’re fucking engaged already. ENGAGED.
That killed me, I went home that day and cut and cried and cut and cried. She meant everything to me, I loved her with every fucking inch of my beaten up fucking heart and she hid the most important fucking thing that could have saved me a shiton of heart ache.

So here I am...I suppose every end needs a reason to end right?
Well here’s mine.
Broken Souls

Sometimes I wake up and I feel like there’s a massive hole in my chest. I feel weighed down and nauseous from the rocking boat of a life that I live, It’s like everything I touch dies. My friends, my family, anybody I’ve ever loved really. I’d love to say that this story is about meeting someone that changes that all, but it’s far from it.
I grew up in London, the financial capital of England where dreams come true and money talks, and all the fuckers who live here are so diseased inside their rotten apple of materialistic consumption that their hearts are probably full of worms. The people I grew around weren’t particularly nice and had a sort of passion for making lives of the 1% a living nightmare, but that’s okay because they’re broken.  See we’re all broken in our own way, every one of us. Even those who think that their life is great with their boyfriends or girlfriends and wives and husbands; they’re all broken.People and love are like lines, the parallel lines have so much in common. They both are heading in the same direction, they both possess the same mathematical properties. But they never meet. Ever. But you know some lines cross each other briefly...but they drift apart forever and they will never meet again. Ever.

Like the parallel lines, thankfully me and the arseholes at my secondary school won’t ever meet again which gives me a slight sense of optimism. So I was onto sixth form, with a clear image of a new change in my my head I was actually looking forward to going to sixth form for the first few months. The people there were nice, the stuff we learnt was interesting, and they’re weren’t too many apes with sagging tracksuits asking if I’m “Dizzy fam”. It was good, and the best part was there was actually a girl in my Biology class who was amazing. She was funny, cute and actually had a good taste in music. I talked to her days in and days out and was most definitely falling in love, how couldn’t I?! She was, in my eyes, absolutely perfect.

But you know, some fairy tales don’t end with a happily ever after.

It was a day I’d never forget, I had planned it thoroughly. We went out for coffee, just me and her, and we talked for hours on end, about her friends, about my friends. And I decided to do it and tell her how I felt. I mean that’s what you do right? If you love someone you tell them you love them, and everything will be fine.
She tore my heart apart.
She didn’t love me.
She had a fucking boyfriend, and decided that she didn’t want to tell me. Hell they’re fucking engaged already. ENGAGED.
That killed me, I went home that day and cut and cried and cut and cried. She meant everything to me, I loved her with every fucking inch of my beaten up fucking heart and she hid the most important fucking thing that could have saved me a shiton of heart ache.

So here I am...I suppose every end needs a reason to end right?
Well here’s mine.

title: Broken Souls

question: What does the story say about the English suburbs?

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

answer: The primary source of tension in the story is the amazing girl the narrator met in Biology class. She was funny, cute, and had good taste in music. The narrator talked to her every day and fell in love. She was perfect in his eyes. However, she was only leading him on and didn't love him back. She didn't tell the narrator that she already had a boyfriend and was engaged to be married. This caused the narrator great pain, which led to him cutting himself.

question: What does the story say about London?

answer: London is the financial capital of England. The narrator grew up there, and according to him, it is where dreams come true and money talks. The people who live in London are so diseased inside their rotten apple of materialistic consumption that their hearts are probably full of worms. The people he grew around weren't nice and had a sort of passion for making the lives of the 1% a living nightmare.

question: What does the story say about people and love?

answer: According to the narrator, people and love are like parallel lines. Parallel lines have so much in common. They are both heading in the same direction and both possess the same mathematical properties. However, they never meet. Some lines do cross each other briefly, but they drift apart forever and will never meet again. He uses this analogy to appreciate that he won't be seeing his secondary school classmates ever again.

question: What does the story say about the narrator?

answer: The narrator grew up in London and appears to have had a tough time growing up because the people around him weren't nice (he was probably bullied). He is weighed down and nauseous from the life he is living because it feels like a rocking boat. The narrator thinks that everything he touches dies, like friends, family, and anybody he's ever loved. He thinks that everyone, himself included, is broken. He is optimistic about moving to sixth form after secondary school because he won't be seeing classmates that he doesn't like. The narrator found that the people in the sixth form were nice, the stuff they learned was interesting, and there weren't too many apes with sagging tracksuits. The narrator fell in love with an amazing girl from Biology class. However, she led him on and didn't tell him that she was already engaged to her boyfriend. This crushed the narrator and he started cutting himself.


text:
Note:  I previously posted this story in /r/writingprompts, but that subreddit is geared more toward reading than feedback.  I'd be glad to hear what you all think!

After dinner, the old man sat across from me on the porch, pipe in hand.  When was the last time you saw someone smoke a pipe?  I couldn’t recall. He sat and rocked and smoked, and then he looked at me, and spoke the question that he had been waiting to ask.  With slow gravity and spry curiosity, he dropped one eyelid, and cocked his head to the side, and said, “What makes you think this girl is the one?”

I sat back in my own rocker, facing him across the porch, and thought about what I would say.  What really made me think so?  It was a good question.

My mind went back to the day we met.  I remember walking into the little room where the other guys were sitting, waiting on the next task of the day to begin, and shooting the breeze.  They were laughing as I came in, and talking—about the weekend, about cars, about football and basketball and what did you do this weekend, and of course, about girls.  Always about girls.  Did it matter that some of the guys were married?  Of course not.  It’s man talk.  It’s no harm, no foul, and on we go.  Then someone mentioned the new girl up in the office, and I, well, I put my foot in my mouth and asked who they were talking about.   *You kidding me, right?  Boy, this is the finest-looking woman to ever walk this place and man, she is HOT*.  I laughed it off, thinking, no, I know this place, and that’s gotta be exaggeration.  Then she came walking by at lunch time, and smiled, and said *hey, how are you*?  And every talking mouth in that room went silent.  She was that gorgeous.

My dad used to tell me that a pretty face was nice, but it won’t keep you warm at night.  I felt warm enough that spring, though, watching her walk one way and another, and generally not saying anything more than “um” and “ah” and, when it was just the guys, a whispered “damn!”  I thought that was all it would ever be, and I was ready for that, even if I found it hard to push aside the occasional memory of that long blonde hair.  Halfway through the summer, though, I came in one morning and walked to my new station, newly reassigned…and she came out of the next room.  I suppose that it was in the back of my mind somewhere that she worked in that building, but it truly wasn’t for that reason that I sought the transfer; I just wanted off the night shift, where I and the other guys had recently landed.  But then she came out of that door, and gave me that thousand-megawatt smile that I’ve learned to love...well, is it any wonder that everything went out of my head?

She told me later, one long and intimate night, that I was the quietest man she’d ever met, back then.  She said that she made it her mission, right then and there, to get me to open up, no matter what it took.  I asked her, don’t you realize that you’re the reason I couldn’t speak?  She laughed it off, but I saw in her eyes that she was touched.

I remember reading once that men form their friendships through common endurance.  It’s the band of brothers, the fellow POWs, the ones who have endured hell together—they’re the ones who hold together through the years.  She was certainly no man, but I thought of that imagery often that year all the same.  I thought of it when the clouds started to gather at the edges of my attenuated life…I thought of it when they broke over my head.  I remember long evenings, sitting in coffee shops and in the quiet rooms of our offices, talking things out.  I remember arguments and anger, sadness and determination, hope and despair.  I remember saying that the details don’t matter, but knowing in my heart that they did.

I remember, most of all, knowing it couldn’t be.  She belonged to someone else, and so did I.  It’s funny…we each knew that the other’s marriage was failing, and we each knew that it was because of the other partners.  Neither of us could see that it was happening to ourselves.

I remember the night I knew what I wanted with her…and I remember choosing to leave.

The last time we were together, I sat across from her, and told her that she was the one thing I would miss the most.  Any other woman would have belittled it, would have told me that I would forget her and move on.  She did none of that.  She simply looked into my eyes, and hugged me, and said that she would miss me too.

The days that followed, and the weeks, and the months, I had my own problems, and they were all I could handle.  Down the road, I would regret that self-centered focus.  It was much later that I discovered that, while I was rebuilding my world (only to watch it fall apart once more), hers was crumbling.  I would come to hate myself for missing it.  When I called her, she was distant; in messages, she was vague.  I thought she was forgetting me, and with a heavy heart, I decided that it was probably for the best.

I saw her again, once or twice, but she hid it so well—the circles under her eyes, covered in makeup; the cuts on her arms, covered with sleeves.  I think sometimes, if only I had known…but she didn’t want me to know.  She admitted that her marriage had broken up; that her husband, whom she had loved so much, had found someone else, had broken her heart into shards.  She hid the truth:  that she had taken those shards and cut herself with them.

I never knew exactly how it happened, that she came back into my life.  It was slow, and yet so quick.  One day, we were old acquaintances, chatting over the internet, and the next we were friends again.  It couldn’t have come at a better time, because that summer, my life fell apart again.  My own marriage, limping along for so long, dissolved in a fury of ash and fire; my family was torn apart.

I know what people would say, but they’d be wrong.  It wasn’t because of her.  We were still distant, friends or not.  We had to be.  But all that long fall and longer winter, when things were burning to the ground around me, she stayed.  Too far away to hold my hand through those times, she listened instead.  And slowly, yet so surely, she pulled me up out of that pit.  Coming out of it was like stepping back into the sunlight; and suddenly I could see her clearly.
I saw all the things I had missed.  I saw the fear in her eyes, and the hesitation, every time she thought of trying again.  I saw how much he had hurt her, and how far she had fallen, and how she had lost her trust.  And yet, in every instance, I saw that she was hurt, but not broken; damaged, but not destroyed.  I made it my mission to pick her up from the dust, and bring her back.  After all, she had done it for me.

Day after day, conversation after conversation, I reached out to her, and told her the simple truth—about herself, about the past, about the future, about what I saw when I looked at her.  I told her that she was beautiful, and so much more.  And in her dark moments, when it seemed to her that everything was doomed to failure, and she came close to forgetting who she was, I reminded her.  I reminded her of who she was to me, and not only to me, but to so many others out there—everyone for whom she had tried to do good, all the years I had known her.  Slowly, I watched the light return to her eyes, and I watched her open up, and embrace life—and the world—again.

And he wants to know how I know she’s the one?

I gave a laugh, and I looked at him.  He looked at me with brows wrinkled in puzzled curiosity.  And I laughed again, because I knew that what I was thinking would make no sense to him.  I knew he wouldn’t understand if I said it—that I didn’t have to know.  I didn’t have to know she was the one, because she already had been, all along.  We’d been through hell and back, and survived it, and through everything, she had been the one.  He may have asked it, but for me, there really was no question.

He was still waiting for an answer.  I leaned forward and clapped a hand on his knee, and gave him a smile.  “I don’t,” I said, and stood up.  “But I think it will be alright anyway.”

There was a burst of laughter through the screened window behind him, then.  We both looked, and I saw her there, with the old man’s wife, laughing and talking as they cleared the table.  I watched her being radiant, until I noticed him looking back at me again.  He nodded knowingly, and I raised a hand in a gesture that was half-wave, half salute.  “Yeah, it’ll be alright,” I said.  “But, you know, it never hurts to make sure.”  Then I nodded, and walked past him, and opened the door, and went to do just that.

title: [RO] The One

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

answer: The narrator is married when he falls for the other woman. That marriage was failing, and it was due to his partner. He takes time away from the other woman to focus on rebuilding his marriage, but it falls a part once more after limping along for a long time. His marriage seemed to have blown up in the end and his family was torn a part.

question: Summarize how the narrator and the woman met.

answer: The narrator met the woman when he was at work. She was the new girl in the office, and all of his coworkers found her attractive. She greeted the narrator during lunch time, and the narrator fell silent due to her beauty. It wasn't until he was moved to a new station in her office building that they formed a relationship.

question: What does the text say about friendship?

answer: The narrator says that he once read that men form their friendships through common endurance, particularly people who have endured hardships together. These type of friendships hold together through the years. He likens his relationship to the woman as something like this. Even when they separate and time passes, they come back together as friends again. The narrator also describes friendship with his coworkers. The men usually spend the beginning of a shift talking about anything, whether it be the weekend, football, or girls.

question: Summarize how the narrator's family feels about his relationship with the woman.


text:
**Okay. I’ve had enough. Today’s the day I’m going to do it.**

It’s been going on for as long as I remember. I have faint memories, from when I was really young, maybe three or four, a toddler for sure. Dad used to keep one in the house, but he kept it locked away upstairs and he’d never let me see it. A few years later I went through a phase where I thought it was really cool, and none of my friends at school had ever seen one, so I came up with this plan to steal it from my Dad while he was at work. I was just going to take it, show it off a little bit. I was far too frightened to actually use it. I had no idea how, and the idea of it was incredibly intimidating. Looking back, I was a reckless little shit, and when Dad caught me trying to break it out of the drawer he kept it in, he scolded me senseless, threatened to hit me, the whole nine yards. I’d never seen him so worked up, and being a kid, I thought it was a massive overreaction. It wasn’t until years later, after he died, that my mother told me his reaction was born out of fear for my safety, and not brute anger. Still, I resented him for years for it. I was embarrassed in front of my friends, and somewhere, deeper down, being denied the pleasure of even holding it made me feel victimised for the first time in my life.	It’s all different now. Has been for years. My Dad’s reaction would be laughable if that incident had taken place now, instead of all those years ago. Nowadays, everyone’s got one. People walk down the street with them. They’re on TV advertisements, the front covers of magazines, plastered all over buses and billboards. I never paid much attention to politics, but I guess eventually enough powerless people got together and pressured enough powerful people, saying they needed them, that they were a good investment, a facet of modern life, something everybody needs but nobody knows they need. Then, almost overnight, they were everywhere.

**But I don’t have one. And today, that’s going to change.**

Feels good to hold it in my hand. Smooth, cold, sterile. For the first time in my life, I’m not a meaningless face in the crowd, I’m a meaningless face in the crowd with a fuck-ton of power and no way to use it. That’s okay, though. I don’t have any plans to use it. Just having it is enough for me. You never know, someday it might come in handy, but it’ll always be a last resort. I promise.

*****

A single dirty sunbeam illuminates the room, penetrating the mouldy, dusty curtains, fanning across the floor. The room is pitiful. Dim, damp and unusually warm, seeing as the heating hasn’t been on in two months, or more. The radiators have begun to rust from disuse. The drip of the faucet in the kitchen echoes through the room, and a few flies buzz amongst the dirty dishes and discarded food packaging scattered across every surface, but it is otherwise silent. The television in the corner seems unable to let go of the faded image burnt into the screen, despite not having been turned on for God knows how long. Much of the furniture sits in various states of dilapidation, from the slightly creaky table to the decimated sofa cushions. Despite being separated from the room by a thick wooden door, the overpowering stench of an unclean toilet dominates and rises above the odours of mould and rotten food.

In the corner stands a futon, springs so worn that it is almost level to the ground, home to a civilisation of bedbugs so far into their collective development that they are on the cusp of subjective consciousness. And wrapped in the thin, tattered blanket lies a skinny, starved, unhealthy figure. Enter yours truly. Dragging myself upright, I pull apart the matted strands of long, greasy hair obscuring my face.

 My morning routine usually begins with a ‘game’ I like to play while I get dressed; staggering around the room, I draw up a couple items of clothes scattered across the floor. Lift them to my nostrils, *sniff*, skip the cardigan. *Sniff*, this t-shirt isn’t going to make the cut, I’m afraid. *Sniff*, breakthrough! I’ve found a faded white t-shirt that only smells a little ripe. On to trousers; I repeat the process a few times until I discover a pair of jeans that smell *relatively* clean. Only hints of beer and dust, and a subtle, unidentifiable aroma. When I play this game, I like to pretend I’m a wine connoisseur, swishing the smells around my nose.

After I quickly get dressed, I step into the kitchen and prepare myself a convenient meal of canned *whatever*. On today’s menu; tuna and stale bread. The water’s been cut off, so I guess I’ll skip the shower today, *again*. Haven’t seen my keys in a couple days, so I don’t bother to lock the door on my way out. What’s the worst that could happen? Someone comes in and steals the half-eaten, two week old slice of pizza on the sofa? Be my guest.

That dusty beam of light that woke me up was a pretty poor preview of the blinding daylight I immediately feel on my skin when I walk out my front door. I don’t even know why I bother to leave the house sometimes. But I’d go insane if I stayed inside all day, so I like to make an effort. Today’s like every other day; as I aimlessly walk the streets, there’s no escaping the derisive glares of everyone I pass on the footpath. The buildings around here are all crumbling, abandoned, condemned. What a shitty neighbourhood. I’m surprised I didn’t get it sooner.

Speaking of which, I’ve had it for about three days now. I have it tucked away at all times, obviously. It took me weeks to gather up all the money for it, but I couldn’t afford the holder the guy offered to throw in with it (*‘at an exclusive, limited time discount!’ he said*), but this way is better, because now everybody knows I’ve got it. Everyone else does, too, sure. But I’ve got it. And as long as I’ve got it, I’m safe. These mean-looking fuckers, these judgemental fuckers, these fuckers, they can’t even touch me. They never did try to touch me, before I had it, but I bet one of them would any day now, the second I let my guard down. And that’s why I need it. With it, I’m powerful. Without, well, I may as well be dead.

The next few days, I do the same. Wake up, wander, walk home. Get in, go to sleep. Rinse and repeat. I’ve had it about a week now, and I guess people are starting to notice. Those mean-looking fuckers, those judgemental fuckers, they’ve been looking me up and down more often. When I was on my way home, one of them followed me, but I deviated down a couple sidestreets and lost them. Oxidia Ave., Bletchley Ln., Smith Pkwy. That’s my new way home, so I better remember it. No more gallivanting down Central St. without a care in the world for me. I spent less time out in the open today, too. The sunlight is getting oppressive. My room, my dingy, dark room, is getting more appealing. Maybe I’ll leave the house a little later, come home a little earlier, from now on. That way, I won’t go insane, but I’ll feel safer. And when I’m at home, I don’t have to carry it with me. But I mustn’t forget it when I leave, ever. I can’t leave without it.

*****

It’s been three weeks, maybe a month, since I got it now. I can’t remember. It’s okay though, I haven’t used it yet. If someone out there tries to mug me, jump me, stop me, I’ll fight back with my fists. That’s how I always envisaged it, before I had it. It’s just a symbol. It’s my right. If someone were to catch me unaware, break in when I’m sleeping, and they’ve got their own, *that’s when I’ll use it.*										But what are the chances of that, right?

Been setting aside money for the last week for today. I’ve had to push back my rent payment by a couple of weeks, but my building manager kind of assumes I’m dead unless I notify them otherwise. Besides, if I’m really stuck, I can always ask my mother. I’m sure she’d like to hear from me. I’ve gathered up enough through a combination of tearing my room apart for any sort of loose change, picking up what I come across on the street, and requesting an advance on my subsidy.

Going down to the office to pick up my subsidy was actually the only reason I left my room yesterday. The sunlight is too heavy on my shoulders now. Besides, it’s the height of summer, and I don’t want to sweat through all my *clean* clothes. And when the weather is great, everyone’s out. And everyone looks at me, sometimes they follow me. They know I have it. They’re trying to provoke me, to see if I’ll really use it. To see if I’m just a coward, or if I’m really a man. But I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I got together the money so I could get a new set of keys for the door, a new lock fitted. The locksmith seemed like a friendly guy, too good for this place. He was short, stout, balding on top, but despite all of this was oddly cheerful. Until I showed him it. He looked like the kind of guy who’d be interested in it, so I tried to start a conversation with him about it. But he just looked down his nose at me. He said he didn’t have one, that he didn’t need one. He’s wrong. He doesn’t know me. I need one.

I didn’t leave the house today. I sat and thought about it over a dinner of canned *whatever* last night, and came to the conclusion that being out *there* does me more harm than good. Oxidia Ave., Bletchley Ln., Smith Pkwy. That’s not long enough anymore. They’re learning how to keep up with me, looking at me, *glaring* at me, following me sometimes. Last night, on my way home, I took Springfield St. and Arthur Ln. between Bletchley Ln. and Smith Pkwy. That ought to throw them off. But I don’t need to remember that route, because I didn’t go out today, and I’m not going out tomorrow either.

I think I’ve had it for two months or more now. I’ve lost count. I carry it with me in my room now, too. I can’t leave it sitting out; what if someone broke in and grabbed it while I was in the kitchen, or the bathroom? It’s unthinkable. The new lock is holding up nicely, though. I’ve heard what sounds like people trying it throughout the night, but they can’t get in. They’ll never get in. And if they do, I have it. But I’ll only use it if I have to.

*Knock knock*

See? They’re trying it again.

*Knock knock*

Better go look out, just in case.

Nobody there. Must be hearing things. But I can’t let my guard down. I can *never* let my guard down.
*****
**I don’t have it anymore.**

It’s been a week. I wasn’t sleeping. I felt unhealthy, I felt sick. I was getting thinner. I heard them knocking on my door throughout the night. Every time I checked, they weren’t there. Or they were gone. Until I let my guard down.

I thought it was inevitable. I *knew* it was going to happen, I just didn’t know *when*. I’d be caught off-guard by one of *them*, they’d come in, pick it up, and use it against me. But I wasn’t going to let them win. I justified it in my head.*It’s not a toy, it’s not a symbol, it’s not a last resort. It’s my right. If I let them win, then I lose. But they started it. So if I win, and they lose, that’s not my fault. Not my problem. Reap what you sow, and all that.*
I was in my room, eating my canned *whatever*. Not doing much else, because the TV doesn’t work, and the water’s off. I’ve never been one for books.

*Knock knock*

I heard it. It’s okay. I’ve got it here with me, in my lap. If they knock again, if they try and get in, I’ll stop what I’m doing and check. *I’m safe. I’ve got the upper hand.*

But they didn’t knock again, and I forgot all about it. I wasn’t feeling well, so I went to bed early that night. And I brought it with me, obviously. I’d started doing that over the preceding weeks. I couldn’t sleep, but it seemed like I might have a better chance if I brought it with me.

It wasn’t long after I’d crawled onto my futon that the knocking started again. It was more aggressive this time, though. More rhythmic. Pounding, like a heartbeat. In sync with my own heartbeat. Dust was rising up around the foot of my rotten wooden door with the shiny new lock. And the door was shaking, spasming, shivering violently until it popped damn near out of its frame. As the dust cleared, the silhouette dispelled and a kid took its place. A tall, skinny, shaven-head kid, maybe sixteen years old, with a similar build to me. His face was haggard beyond his years though, and his eyes were both frantic and tired. He didn’t notice me at first. I leapt up, the smooth, cold, sterile texture of it in my hand. He saw it, no doubt a silhouette from his perspective, but he knew it, its size, its form. He locked eyes with me. I expected him to go on the offense. After all, he was just another mean-looking fucker, and he proved me right. I knew it would be inevitable, that they’d come for me. And they did. He did. But he froze. He looked at me with static eyes, glazed with fear, fear and helplessness. Above all, though, his eyes were embarrassed, like he’d been making a mistake and only realised after he’d fully gone through with it. Just like I did, when I tried to take it from my Dad, and he punished me within an inch of my life.
Before I could use it, he bolted. He practically left a dust cloud behind him like in cartoons. I wanted to go after him, to apologise, to tell him it wasn’t me, it was*it*, that I was just trying to protect myself from *them*. But he wasn’t like them. He was like *me*. I fell to my knees, going completely limp like a child’s doll, overwhelmed by the feeling of fear, exhaustion, sickness. I was sick. I was distraught. And I knew I was a slave to *it*. To its power. Not to the power it granted me, but the power it had over me.

**The next day, I got rid of it.**

title: [RF] It.

question: Describe the narrator's room.

answer: The room is moldy with dusty curtains. The floor is cold and damp as the heating hasn't been turned on for two months. The radiator is rusted from disuse. The kitchen sink is filthy with flies buzzing all around it. The furniture is dilapidated and the stink of the toilet filled the whole place. There is a futon in the corner (the narrator's sleeping place) filled with bedbugs.

question: According to the passage, why is the narrator not cleaning his room?


text:
This is a throwaway account for a project I've been working on where once every few weeks, I pick a theme and over the next 5 nights, write 5 short stories about that theme. Each story can't take more than a night. This story was drawn from the theme, "Snobbery".

=============

**The Monster from Midtown**

I’m going to eat you, said the monster.

Hmm, what, Cheryl replied. Darling it’s late, can’t we save it until morning.

The monster was confused. Rawwwwwwrrrr he screamed.

Ughhh, I know, tell me about. I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself. Every weekend. But say, thank you so much for taking me home from Alistair’s, God that man can sure throw a party.

The monster had done no such thing. In fact he had abducted her stumbling up from midtown at four in the morning. He raised his claws and bared his fangs. He was hungry. He hadn’t enjoyed a proper human in weeks.

Oblivious, Cheryl rummaged through her purse. Say, do you have a Xanax on you? I just can’t bare to be awake any longer.  Oh good, here’s one. She crushed the pill up into a little line on the coffee table and snorted it with a twenty. Don’t look, I know it’s disgusting. God I’m sorry we had to meet like this, and I thought things were going so nicely at the bar. Well, this is me. We can talk about it in the morning ok? Promise.

She fell backwards onto the couch, catatonic. Within a minute, she was snoring.

This was horrible. The monster craved the taste of wriggling human. He prodded her with the tip of his claw. No response. He pounced up and down on the floor of the apartment. He hollered and beat his chest. Nothing. At last, he checked for a heartbeat. Satisfied she was still alive, he went to bed for the night dreaming of a hearty breakfast.

He awoke to the sound of a blender. He groaned.

Hi sleepy head, Cheryl said from the kitchen. Would it kill you to keep some fresh fruit around? I had to truck it two blocks to find the nearest grocer. Also, you didn’t tell me you lived on East 87th? And in the basement of an abandoned church? Helloo, that is so cool. These floors, my god, I would kill for these floors.

The monster rushed into the kitchen. I’m going to eat you, he roared.

Oh, Cheryl said, slightly taken aback. Come on, I wasn’t actually going to kill you for this place, although seriously, how’d you land such a nice pad? You must have killed somebody. It’s an absolute crime to have a place like this.

She peered at him from over the blender. Huh, she said, I remembered you being cuter. Must have been the lighting. Well look, have a smoothie with me. It’s got B vitamins and dried kelp for the hangover. And then I really must be going. Brunch with the girls today. I have to get down all the way to 11th and 5th Ave. God, can you imagine how long that will take?

He took the offered smoothie. It tasted like rotten seaweed. Rawwrrrr, he screamed, heaving the contents across the room.

You’re mad at me. Ok, lets talk it out. I’m sorry about last night. Last night was..., well maybe you and I can just pretend last night never happened. Our little secret? Honestly, this is going to be embarrassing, but I can’t even remember your name. I’m Cheryl, and you are?

The monster was stunned. No one had asked him for his name in over a hundred years.

Frank, he replied.

Well pleased to meetcha Frank, she said. You know, you are kinda growing on me. You’re quiet, I like that. Call me up this week? Do you like mussels? I know a great place on 13th st.

She placed her card on the counter. Ciao, she said.

Before Frank could finish deliberating whether to eat her or not, the door had clicked shut. He sighed. He was so hoping to spend a lazy Saturday, full and happy.

He lifted her card. Cheryl Baker. He didn’t recognize the name of her company. A number and note were scribbled on the back. This is my cell. Don’t be shy, it read.

Frank let out a dejected bellow. After some time, he called for Chinese. The delivery guy would do in a pinch.

====

He called her up. He wasn’t exactly sure why. Well number one, he was hungry again, but number two, there was something about her. She didn’t seem to mind that he was almost seven feet tall, covered in hair with sharp claws and fangs. It was a hard life being a monster with the torches and the slaying and the what not. Aside from other monsters (and he hated spending time with other monsters), no one had been nice to him in a very long time.

I do miss being around someone nice. And, he thought, if things don’t turn out, I can always eat her.

They went to the mussels place on 13th st. He gagged on the wine and spit it out all over the table.

Hmm, she said, you’re right this wine is absolutely awful. Languedocs can be so hit or miss.

She hated the way he dressed, all rags and burlap. Honey, she told him, I know it’s hard, but we’re not film majors at NYU anymore. You might be trying to make a statement, but it’s paralyzing being around you. Can you imagine the stares if I brought you to lunch with dad at the Union Club?

He relented.

She took him to a tailor by the Park and had him measured for a set of nice suits.

Honestly she said one day at brunch with the girls, it feels like I’m dating a monster sometimes. I mean the things he wears? And how he eats? I swear I’ve never seen him chew.

Darling, said Elise, he’s just like Bradley. You will not believe what he did. I found him in the kitchen shoving a hot dog down his throat, dribbling mustard all down the front of his shirt. I told him right then and there to cancel our reservation. No need showing up if you’re going to look like you came straight from a baseball game in the Bronx!

Cheryl had already moved on in thought. I’m going to see if I can get his hair done, she said aloud. It’s hideously long.

Did you not have the heart to tell him Grunge died in the 90s? Rachel mocked.

The stylist in SoHo lopped off his mane and insisted he put some smelly oils in the remaining locks. The suit jackets made him feel constricted and itchy. The wines at dinner tasted like spoiled fruit. He absolutely despised frisse salads.

Still, he went on with Cheryl. For some reason, he liked her. He liked how she talked incessantly. He liked the shiny bits of metal she wore. He liked going out in public without causing an uproar.

When he went out alone, he was a monster. Around Cheryl, he felt, almost human.

He began to appreciate the finer things in life. He enrolled in a wine class to refine his palette and slowly graduated from buttery Chardonnays and fruit bomb Cabernets to more nuanced Brunellos and Petite Syrahs. He took up squash with Cheryl’s brother and dominated at the club. He read up on the newest exhibits at the Guggenheim and sharp underground plays opening off Broadway on the Upper West. For the first time in decades, he was enjoying himself.

Frank, Cheryl interrupted. They were at a late dinner at Bella’s on West 84th. The restaurant was closing. Only a few other diners remained.

We need to talk. I’m all for openness and I think you and I have done a good job of being open with one another so I think it’s healthy if I just clear the air. I’m seeing someone else.

Who, Frank growled.

A nice guy I met down at a gallery in TriBeCa. You remember, it was that night you blew me off because you said you absolutely had to have some fresh human flesh. You know I’m a vegetarian, well pescetarian really. Anyway, could you blame me? I was disconsolate, I went alone and had a bunch of Sidecars and there he found me by the bar.

But why? Frank said.

Why? Why? Because it’s suffocating being around you lately Frank. You’ve changed. You used to be interesting, and now I swear, I can’t tell you apart from Dad’s golf buddies. Don’t you blame me now, it’s not like I haven’t tried. I do so much for us, when was the last time you put anything into this relationships?

But my hair, my clothes, I did all of this for you.

Oh please, I hate it when men are such pushovers. It’s the 21st century, honey you were doing yourself a favor not me. Besides, I liked the way you dressed before, it was so hip. You had style.

It was too much for Frank. Something snapped. He snatched Cheryl and crammed her down his throat whole. The waiter screamed, and he ate him too. He devoured the other patrons before lazily munching on the kitchen staff.

After picking the restaurant clean, he retired to a table, completely gorged. A long belch escaped from his stomach. The sommelier had been particularly heavy going down. Still, what a fine meal.

He poked around the cellar and pulled out a dust covered bottle of Napoleon brandy, just the thing to help him digest.

title: Five Stories Project: "Snobbery"

question: How does the monster's attitude towards Cheryl change over the course of the story?

answer: He initially plans to eat her and is baffled by her indifference and her asking him for his name. He grows to like her and they begin dating, and then he lets her change his looks. He enjoys that Cheryl makes him feel human and starts to enjoy himself around her. However, when she reveals that she is seeing someone else and is growing bored with him, he eats her.

question: How does Cheryl treat the monster?

answer: Initially, she is gracious towards him, asks for his name, and goes out with him. She makes him change his clothes and hair to fit in with her friends and family's expectations. However, she then finds the monster to be less interesting and claims she liked him before his appearance as changed, and begins to see somebody else.

question: What was the monster's life before Cheryl?

answer: He ate humans and lived an isolated, unhappy lifestyle where he would either be attacked by humans or have to spend time with other monsters. He had a long mane and wore rags and burlap.

question: What is Cheryl's family like?

answer: They are implied to be wealthy and privileged, belonging to clubs and playing golf and squash.


text:
-   July 10, 1981
-

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The president of the Ford Motor Company thought he had a development important enough to call a news conference. The company's researchers, he announced, had achieved a breakthrough in advanced battery technology that would make mass production of electric cars feasible within five to 10 years.

That was in 1966. The first car has yet to appear in a dealer's showroom and Ford officials say the sodium sulfur battery that Arjay Miller hailed so proudly 15 years ago is still stalled in the laboratory.

Ford's false start is a typical episode in the faltering development of electrically powered cars. Once viewed as a means of weaning the country from expensive, undependable oil imports, the outlook for electric cars has become uncertain. Many auto executives and industry analysts doubt there will be significant numbers of electric cars on the highways before the end of the decade, if largescale production begins at all.

'Rainbow Keeps Fading'

In fact, it appears that even with $120 million in federally backed research, mass-produced electric cars are still mirages, enticing but unattainable. ''It seems as though the rainbow keeps fading away,'' said Robert Bry, vice president of A.T. Kearney & Company, a management consulting firm. ''No matter what happens, they are always five years on the horizon.''

Electric cars have been available in limited numbers since the auto industry's infancy. Henry Ford's wife, Clara, drove a car made by the Detroit Electric Company until 1930 because she did not like the noise and fumes of the Model T's that made her family rich.

But with gasoline relatively cheap and packing more energy in a few gallons than could be stored in hundreds of pounds of batteries, interest in electric cars languished until the fuel shortages of the 1970's.

In 1976 Congress passed the Electric and Hybrid Vehicle Act calling for the development of vehicles not dependent on imported oil. The nation's electric utilities, seeing a large potential market for unused nighttime generating capacity, also pressed for electric car development. G.M. Working on It

Of the major auto makers, only G.M. is continuing active development of electric vehicles. Gulf and Western Industries is advocating use of its battery system for electric vehicles but has said it does not plan to produce a car. And the only other electric vehicles generally available are low-volume conversions of conventionally powered cars, such as Ford Escorts and Volkswagen Rabbits.

The initial attraction of electric cars is not hard to understand. Unlike the noisy, dirty, complicated internal combustion engine, electrics are inherently quiet, emission-free and relatively simple. Most important, they do not require liquid fuel. In some European countries and Japan, where the price of gasoline is much higher than in the United States, electrics have been successfully used as delivery vehicles.

But they all need some means of storing electricity, and the limited capacity, short life and expense of existing batteries have made electric cars more attractive to energy planners than to the auto companies that would have to invest hundreds of millions of dollars to bring them to market. 'Looking for the Breakthrough'

Ford has all but dropped electric car development and is emphasizing alcohol as an alternative to petroleum-based fuels. ''I'm pessimistic that we'll see many electric cars in the near term,'' said Thomas J. Feaheny, vice president for power train research at Ford. ''The battery is the weak link. We're still looking for the breakthrough, although you begin to wonder if there is going to be one after all the work that's been done and the money spent on research.''

The General Motors Corporation, the world largest automobile company, is working on a two-passenger electric car and an electrically powered van. The company says it hopes to bring one of these vehicles to market by the middle of this decade, but executives have backed away from the prediction by the company's former president, E.M. Estes, that G.M. would produce electric cars by 1985.

Although Mr. Estes spoke of a ''breakthrough in technology with the zinc-nickel-oxide battery'' in September 1979, G.M. executives now say the battery needs improvement before electric cars can compete with high-mileage, conventionally powered subcompacts.

Responding to a shareholder's inquiry about the status of the electric car program at this year's annual meeting, Mr. Estes's successor, F. James McDonald, said, ''I guess the conclusion we come to is that we need more battery development before we can make a commitment and we're not sure at this time whether our commitment will be a two-passenger automobile or it will be a commercial van.''

Howard Kehrl, vice chairman, elaborated. ''The problem is the development of the battery, including the cost of the battery and the cost to replace the battery,'' he said. ''And when we put those things in the equations right now we don't have a product that we feel would be satisfactory to the general public.'' Battery Must Be Changed

G.M. has said its passenger car needs a top speed of 60 miles an hour, a range of at least 80 miles between charges and a battery life of 30,000 miles to be practical. After 30,000 miles, the entire battery pack would have to be replaced, at a cost that competitors estimate at more than $2,000. This need to replace a major powerplant component after a relatively short time - modern gasoline engines commonly exceed 100,000 miles without major repair - is what dims the otherwise attractive economics of electric vehicles.

In addition to the freedom from imported petroleum that electric vehicles offer, fuel costs are one-third to one-fourth that of gasoline-powered vehicles, or less than 2 cents a mile, compared with about 6 cents a mile for gasoline. ''That's a big advantage to offset the cost of battery service,'' said Kenneth Baker, manager of G.M.'s electric vehicle project center.

However, A.C. Mair, G.M.'s technical director, recently acknowledged that at its current state of development, the cost of operation of a zinc-nickel-oxide-powered electric car is higher than a comparable gasoline-powered auto.

G.M. and the small companies that convert conventional sedans to electric operation say that an 80-mile range is sufficient to accommodate the vast majority of trips made by American drivers. But they acknowledge that recharging takes eight or more hours, with the vehicle plugged into a standard electric outlet, compared with a few minutes at a gasoline pump. And they concede that heat and airconditioning, which most American car buyers demand, could cut driving range by one-third to one-half. G.&W. System

An unusual entrant in the competition to develop an electric car is Gulf and Western Industries, a conglomerate that makes various consumer and industrial products and is engaged in leisure and financial services.

In a field that has seen more breakthrough announcements than breakthroughs, G.&W. stands out. Displaying the company's zincchlorine battery system last June, G.&W.'s president, David N. Judelson, called it ''perhaps one of the most meaningful developments since the turn of the century.''

The G.&W. system, developed originally to store electricity to help utilities meet peak demand loads, is a complex assembly of pumps, storage tanks, heat exchangers, cell stacks and a separate recharger the size of a refrigerator. Since the chemical process that enables it to store electricity gives off toxic chlorine gas, the substance used in German gas attacks in World War I, much of the system is devoted to storing the chlorine as a relatively harmless icy slush.

A G.&W. subsidiary, Energy Development Associates, in Madison Heights, Mich., has built a car to demonstrate the system, and the president of Energy Development, John Rowan, reports results of driving range tests that are impressive compared with other electric cars.

''All our runs lately have been in excess of 150 miles on a single charge at speeds of about 40 to 45 miles per hour,'' he said in a recent interview. ''Our maximum has been 175 miles at an average speed of 42 miles per hour.''

One advantage of the G.&W. system, which is more of a chemical generator than a battery, is that electric output does not drop off with use as happens with most batteries as they discharge. As long as there is chlorine in the storage tank to feed to the stack of electrical cells, the unit produces essentially full power. Mr. Rowan said the battery would cost about $3,000 in 1980 dollars in mass production and could last the life of a car.

Although Mr. Rowan said his company is negotiating with General Motors and other auto makers about the possible incorporation of the zinc-chlorine battery in future products, car executives and some industry analysts say the system is too complicated and too bulky for passenger-car use in the near future.

''It's a large complex system that has a large complex charger,'' said Mr. Baker of G.M. ''It's not really convenient for a commuter car,'' he added. ''It might make more sense in a van where you have more space and the charging can be more carefully controlled in a central garage facility.'' Tooling Costs High

Because of the long lead time involved in tooling up to produce a totally new model car, industry analysts say that General Motors would have to decide within a year what kind of vehicle to produce to meet its goal of a ''mid-1980's'' introduction. The amount of money involved is impressive, even for General Motors, and it would have to be spent at a time when the company is delaying development of new engines and some special projects, reportedly because of a cash pinch.

According to Harry Mathews, an automotive specialist with Arthur D. Little Inc., a consulting firm, a plant to produce electric car motors carries a $50 million price tag, while one for the electronic controllers needed to regulate the flow of power from battery to motor would cost $25 million.

But the big cost would be a plant to produce the batteries. Mr. Matthews puts it at $500 million. Ward's Automotive Reports, an industry newsletter, recently quoted a G.M. supplier who said, ''G.M. has to be asking itself whether all the expense is warranted, given the promised de-emphasis in government pollution regulations plus the developing proliferation of three-cylinder engines which could still give a commuter car with very acceptable fuel economy.''

Some automobile executives now feel that electrically powered cars may be an unnecessary halfway step in the effort to utilize the nation's most abundant fuel source, coal.

''There's no reason why synfuels can't be the ultimate answer,'' said Mr. Feaheny of Ford. ''You can get methanol or electricity from coal, so why not make methanol, which is 110 octane and easy to use as a motor fuel.''

General Motors demonstrated a turbine-engine vehicle fueled with powdered coal a few weeks ago. Mr. Kehrl of G.M. said such a vehicle would probably not reach mass production until the next century, but said it made the point that ''we can continue to have cars essentially as we know them today for hundreds of years.''

The advantage of synthetic fuel to the automobile companies is that they could continue to use their existing plants with only minor modifications, enabling them to earn a return on the huge investments already made.

question: What is the point of developing electric cars?

answer: It appears to be a goal in line with replacing gasoline as a fuel source for cars. The article cites several advantages for electric powered cars: availability during fuel shortages or high gasoline prices, less economic dependence on imported oil, making use of the nighttime generating capacity of power plants, and lastly, it is emission-free, quiet and simple when compared to gasoline engines. However, since the limitations with the batteries makes these factors less appealing, it is likely that the main reason is that there is an undefined consequence to using oil.