text:
It was a long time ago, that dull sun fadin’ into the ground. Meltin’ away like sweat pourin’ down a horse’s neck. I can still see that red swallowin’ the orange blaze, pulling black along side it to bring up the stars. Like blood pourin’ from the sun. The sweet smell of the wind sometimes wafts by and fills my head with a burst of memory. An’ that lone figure shooting forward, springing up the dust and taking it with ‘im.
	It was hot that night. The breeze barely saved my skin from crispin’ in the air. The heat radiated from my arms. The red sun cast the dirt in bloody glow, people turned into shadows, then only black blurs as the sun sank deeper and deeper. A few lanterns flickered across the street, hangin’ silently on porches and open windows. The yellow flame fought with the darkness, tryin’ its mightiest to release some light into the open air.
	I sat my feet on the steps below, tuckin’ my legs under the heavy skirt swirled around me, and sat. As I rested my head against the wood poles lining the stairs, stars came eruptin’ from the sky. I stared up, watching with wonder as new ones appeared every second. I don’t know how long I sat there, silent and sweaty. The house behind me shared the quiet, like we had some sorta secret between us.  I closed my eyes and let the wind wash over me. It soaked through my skin, and then flitted away, taking the dirt and filth along with it.
	A creak shot out; I threw my eyes open and jumped. “Sawyer! Damn you, sneakin’ up on me!”
	Sawyer grinned at me from under the brim of his hat. His face was cast in deep shadows, etching lines into his. “It’s easy t’get lost in yer head out here. ‘Specially in this silence.” His thick twang rocked every word, makin’ them sound jumbled and hilly. Sawyer finished climbin’ up the steps and sat next to me with a thud. “How ya holdin’ up?”
	“Alright. First couple a’ nights were the roughest, but I thought’d it be like that,” I lied. “It’s the nights that are the worst, it bein’ so quiet.”
	I could feel Sawyer’s gaze piercing my skin. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I wondered if they looked just as weary as mine. “How ‘bout a little company t’night?” Sawyer said. I smiled at him.
	“Just sit here with me for a while.”
	“I can do that.” Sawyer reached up and pulled his hat off, setting it beside him. Then, disturbing the peace even more, he shuffled closer to me. I breathed in his familiar scent of hay and dust.
And we just sit there for a while. Who knows for how long. Long enough to see red fully melt away at the ends of the world and succumb to black. Long enough to hear each other breathin’ in the silence, only the wind and some crickets for chatter. Long enough for the silence to eat at me, tear away the shield I built while Sawyer was gone. Suddenly, I felt sick, I couldn’t stand it anymore. The quiet filled my ears and my brain and churned around and around until I couldn’t breath or hear or even think.
I turned to him, his dark eyes shadowed in the night. Long black hair littered his neck; it had a mind of its own, all tangled and sweaty. He was starin’ at me somethin’ serious. I could feel those eyes burning into my skin.
	“Its so hard, Sawyer. Every time I step through those doors, its like it never happened. I ‘spect to see or hear one of ‘em all the time. Then I have to remember wha’ happened and live through over agen.” The words just tumbled outta my mouth before I could stop ‘em. “I walk in to go talk to ‘im, jus’ ta hear his voice and I just can’t,” I said, my voice crackling like fire. My eyes started burnin’ and scratchin’. I dug my hands over ‘em trying to rub away the tears.
	Sawyer turned his head down, his hair cascadin’ down like a black waterfall. His hands rubbed back and forth, matchin’ my own hands’ rhythm as I pushed out the crying.
	“I wish I knew wha’ ta say to ya,” he whispered.
	“You don’ have to say anything,” I said. “Just listen.”
	Sawyer lifted his eyes toward the moon. It had come up and joined its brothers, and I hadn’t even noticed. The glow washed over us two, and the stairs, like we were angels sent from the heavens.
	He smiled dimly. “I can do that. What else?”
	I opened my mouth and the words just came, I didn’t even have ta think what I wanted to say. After three days of bein’ alone, I guess I had a lot of time ta prepare. “I don’t understand why it had to be them. Outta everyone in this damn town, why the two I needed?” My breath turned rough and ragged. “And damn them! Bein’ so stupid. Not even carin’ if I wanted to go with, er what I had to say about where they  ‘re goin’.” Rage shot through me then, more anger than I had ever felt. It surged through my veins, pumped my heart with hate. “Why’d they haveta leave? It’s not fair!” My voice raised higher and higher until it echoed across the land, bouncing off trees and shackled buildings. Then I was cryin’ more than I ever had before.
	It seemed to come from the bottom of my feet, my body shakin’ and rattlin’ like the house trembles in a thunderstorm. Coughs and groans and tears surged through me, streamin’ out and takin’ hold of my soul. My shoulders sagged when Sawyer threw his arm around mine and pulled me close. I bent my head and rested it on his chest, listenin’ to the faint pulse of his heart. His chest shuttered and quivered as mine did. He was cryin’, too.
	“I dunno, Peyton. I know it’s not fair, and I know it hurts like hell, but I dunno why it happened, and I dunno if its gone get better,” he said. “We jus gotta keep livin’ ‘cause that’s what they’d ‘spect us ta do. Maybe we jus’ learn to live with this and it don’t seem so bad in the end,” he rasped and whispered.
	We stopped talkin’, but it was anything but quiet. Our grief turned into hollow breaths and joltin’ sighs. The crickets joined with our clatter, an’ a wolf or two screamed in unison. Our grief rose up into a sad melody, our brothers and sisters merging their sweet sounds with our cries of hopelessness.
	With each shaky breath Sawyer pulled me closer. I tired buryin’ my head further into his chest as if tryin’ to sink into it and silence the noise. A hot desire trickled through my heart, the need for numbness. The pain kept pourin’ from us, both lonely and tired.
	Before Sawyer, it’d been three days since I spoke. I sat in the house, surrounded by empty noise and bare furniture. The walls sometimes closed into me, almost until I couldn’t breath. Then I’d remember and gasp for air like I’d been underwater. Eatin’ and drinkin’ were pointless. As soon as somethin’ touched my mouth, my stomach churned and spun in protest. Movin’ hurt; my knees and back groaned and creaked whenever I stood from my bed.
So I just sat there, sometimes layin’ down. Starin’ at the walls or ceilin’, not even thinkin’. That night Sawyer came was the first time I saw the stars without my brother sittin’ beside me. I didn’t hear my pa clankin’ his alcohol inside. I’d never again be able to close my eyes and know Robert was near just by inhaling his scent. Pa wouldn’t stumble out and drop next to us, drunk and sloppy. I’d miss his advice, which was somehow better when his mind was muddy with whisky.
	Those realizations slammed my chest. I sobbed even harder; not carin’ I wasn’t bein’ modest or whatnot next to Robert’s best friend. I was glad Sawyer came that night. He ached for my brother just as much as I did.
	We sat there until the wind picked up and sent a cool breeze whisperin’ past us. We both didn’t shiver or nothin’, simply clutched onto each other tighter. I guess we were tryin’ to grab some of each other’s strength or hope, or somethin’.
	And still the moon flickered with the stars. The dusty street across from us was unfilled and blank. Houses as dark as caves barely stood out from the sky. Down further on the street nothin’ moved, either. Silent and still was that little town. We were the only things crushin’ that peacefulness. Even the horses in back stayed quiet.
	I heard Sawyer’s heart beat slow and steady, and his rattlin’ calmed a bit. He breathed shakily. “I wish Robert were here.”
	Squeezin’ my eyes shut I nodded into his shirt. “Me too. He’d like them stars tonight,” I said.
	“Ya know it ain’t yer fault, Peyton? Them leavin’ an’ all. Ya know they had ta go and settle tha’ bus’ness without ya. Someone gotta tend to the horses and such, and that ways of travel ain’t fittin’ fer a lady.” I snapped my head up to glare at him and opened my mouth, furious. “I know you cen handle it. I’m jus’ sayin’ it ain’t fittin’ fer a lady to ride fer that sorta stuff, and yer Pa wanted ta mend his rep’tation a bit. He didn’ wanta get you or him in trouble anymore.”
	“What? What the hell’s wrong with his reputation?” Whatever I was expectin’, it wasn’t what Sawyer said.
	“Ya know, raisin’ ya two by hisself and drinkin’ all the time. Town’s noticed. He didn’t wan that to hurt yer chances. Besides, if ya woulda gone, ya woulda been shot, too.”
	I said, “But I woulda been with them.”
	“Think ‘bout what yer daddy and brother did fer ya when they were ‘round. They gave ya this house and them horses. Got money in the bank. Ya think they did all that ta have ya die for somethin’ so stupid?”
	“No.” Sawyer didn’t get it. “But then I wouldn’t be goin’ through this right now. An’ that would be better.”
	Sawyer sighed, defeted. “Damn right it would.”
	“Sawyer? I’m glad ya came here t’night.” I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smilin’.
	“Me, too. Don’ think I woulda made it another day ter be honest,” he said. A glow of light started shining over the horizon. Dawn was breakin’ through soon. Sawyer moved his arm and gently pulled my head away. “I think it’s ‘bout time we slept.”
	And I knew that I would, after three sleepless nights. “Me too.” So we both stood and stretched our hands to the heavens. My back bristled and cracked a bit. My eyes kept droopin’ closed, heavy from cryin’ all night. I perched on the last step of the porch, watching Sawyer. He was starin’ straight back, diggin’ holes through my eyes right down to my soul. Then he strode over and gently pressed his lips to mine.
	“You doin’ ok now?”
	If it wasn’t such a clear night I woulda sworn I got hit by lightnin’. My whole body buzzed, my hands tingled. I think I was flyin’. He turned then, a smirk slashed across his face. His boots struck the earth with sharp thuds and rattlins’.  Dust sprayed out from under him,, mist against the dull sky. A bit of red peaked over the land in the distance, a rose sproutin’ on the sun. It was a red sky night.
	“I’ll be doin’ fine,” I called after ‘im.

title: "Red Sky Night" based after the song with the same name by The Gaslight Anthem

question: Summarize the emotions the narrator is going through as she sat on the porch gazing at the stars.

answer:
The narrator seems to be mourning the loss of her family. She had not said a word in three days as she wallows in grief.
She was frightened a bit when a friend, Sawyer, popped out of the darkness. However, she was thankful for his company as he stayed with her, consoling and trying to cheer her up.

question: Does the narrator harbor any romantic feelings about Sawyer?

answer: It is hard to say. She feels a bit of desire for Sawyer as she lays her head on his chest, but it might be because she is lonely, vulnerable, and mourning.


split: test

text:
	It was like a fairytale love-story. One could also say, and this was often described as a reason of their happiness, that they sold their souls to the Devil himself for life-long fortune. They met at charity ball and months after their love was signed with the act of marriage. He worked at university as professor of arts and was an exquisite painter. Soon after marriage they announced her pregnancy and their lives and lives others around them were shining bright from happiness. The day of labour has written itself as the darkest day of their lives, for she gave birth to a dead child. For quite some time they withdrew from society and kept their lives for themselves.
When they were nearing third year of marriage they finally started to look as a happy couple like before. Words were told, that at their house, there is a wall of pure happiness, the masterpiece of their lives, painted on wall in living room. And as she never touched brush, nor the pallet before, it was a pure miracle that her skills were comparable of that of her husband. They worked day and night, like possessed and this work of art had soon become meaning of their lives. Only few closest friends were acknowledged of pure beauty that was being made there and they spoke of highest flatteries about it.
Shortly before it could be finished she became ill. Her health subsided faster and faster,  no doctor was able to help her. He went almost mad, physically attacking every doctor whose cure failed. After few weeks she asked of him, if they can continue on their work, for she sensed that her end is nearing. She wanted to spend her last moments with him doing what they loved most. And they continued and the day of her death is the same as the day of final stroke of brush on their wall.
He was shattered by loss, and closed himself from others. There are only few photos of their masterpiece from time shortly after her death and those are held under lock by authorities of law and also of art. Only his close friend since childhood, who was held for questioning for quite long time after events which are described in this story, was able to directly observe what happened after her death to his friend.
As many before and after him, he turned to alcohol to drown his sorrows and to forget. Then, during one particular tantrum, he went to storeroom, which held all artistic tools and gears, and got himself bucket full of black paint. He then proceeded to the wall and took long looks at it with bottle of booze in one hand, bucket of black paint in the other and tears in his eyes. He then spilled the whole bucket on the wall, took yet another one and another one, and there is said, that almost a dozen of large buckets filled with black paint were spilled and used to cover arguably the most beautiful thing human hands has ever made.
Next morning his friend came to visit him, to lend comforting hand and to try to help him recover from loss and pain. He found his friend, lying in living room, deep in slumber, covered with black stains. When he turned around, he gazed upon wall of pure blackness, where once were the wall of happiness. Interestingly, when he visited him week after week, he always found him lying on the ground, covered in black paint, almost unconscious from alcohol and new layer of fresh black paint was added to the wall. This started to really rise his concerns about his friend so he tried talking to him about this matter. He explained to him, that everytime he covers wall in all of it’s entirety with black paint, soon after that, the paint somehow dissipates and reveals painting underneath it. He told him, that everytime this happens, he feels as if his very soul was being shattered to small pieces. So he covers painting with black paint so his pain is more bearable.
Few weeks after continuous repetition of this ritual, his friend found him lying on the ground, back to top, head drowned in bucket of black paint, his body facing the wall painting. His friend then saw what was making him so anxious. The black colour was receded mostly from centre, around the edges it became more reddish and gave painting looks as if their mutual project was being swallowed by infernal flames.
Soon after police came to secure the area, they took many photos and couldn’t believe their eyes. For after they conducted experiment of following procedure. They put on a static tripod high quality camera, which took photos of the same wall every hour. Then they put resulting photos of whole week one by one as it is done in animation. Then, the most interesting thing was to be observed. Black paint really dissipated from center to outer edges, and formed more red hue, with orange and yellow parts, which altogether created effect of moving flames, for during time these splatters slowly moved across the whole wall. What caused this effect is still mystery and there is no doubt someone will break it someday, but for now this leaves interesting questions unanswered.

title: The Wall

question: Describe the main character.

answer: He is a professor of art and an exquisite painter. He marries the love of his life.

question: What other characters are important to the story?

answer: The professor's wife.

question: When does the story take place?

answer: It appears to take place in modern times.

question: What is the setting of the story?

answer: The setting of the story is the couple's house.

question: Write a ~11 sentence summary.

answer: A man and a woman meet at a charity ball, fall in love, and get married. They are very happy together, but their first born child dies. Within their house, they had a wall of happiness that they painted together. It was a beautiful work of art. The wife became ill and died. The husband fell into a great depression. He spent long hours looking at the wall, and each night he would throw buckets of black paint on it to cover it. The black paint would dissipate revealing the painting underneath. This pattern continued. One day he was found drowned in a bucket of black paint. Upon investigation, the police found that the wall painting revealed itself under the dissipated black paint.


text:
There are plenty of interesting ways to die – Fall in battle, Get mauled by a bear, Strung up by the King’s men for treason. Me? I fell out of a tree. Yep, that’s right. At the ripe old age of fourteen summers, David Chalmen, fell out of a tree picking an apple for a girl he was sweet on. Legend made. I slipped on moss and took a nosedive straight towards the ground, heard my own neck snap before everything went dark.

When I woke up I was still on the hilltop, where the lone apple tree stood, the grass no longer green but a murky grey. The sky no longer blue but a still white. The sun hung in the same shade as a bad bruise. I still held the apple, it was far from the delicious looking fruit that Mandy Simmons had demanded I retrieve for her. The apple was thin, withered and black, it looked like it would kill a man stone dead. So I took a bite out of it anyway. I knew I was dead from the moment I had opened my eyes, so to hell with it, the first thing I would do is take a bite out of the prize I had thrown my life away for. Needless to say it tasted like shit; the texture of ash and just as dry. I immediately spat it into the dirt.

I spent the next few days exploring the landscape of what I had assumed to be purgatory, too harrowing to be heaven and much too dull to be hell. The world of the dead was nearly a replica of the world of the living but with all the colour, all the life, drained away. The only noticeable differences were the obelisks that I found scattered across the terrain, big stone things that looked absolutely pointless. They rose at least fifty feet, I felt like each and everyone of them challenged me so I did the only thing I could think of, and tried to climb one. I nearly reached the top when an eye opened in front of me on the obelisk, scared the death out of me. I hit the ground harder than I had when I fell from the tree, apparently you can’t die twice in purgatory but you can gain a sore arse from the experience.

Days soon turned into weeks, months, years and then time became something long forgotten. I wandered the land looking for others. I had imagined there would be others. In the end I begged for there to be others. But there was only me. I wasn’t all lonely though, strangely I found that it’s the living that haunt the dead. Several days after my attempt at climbing the obelisk I walked into a town neighboring my home. The town itself was empty but I could hear voices on the wind. I ran from building to building searching for the whispers, the laughter of children, the sound of a couple arguing in the distance but every time I drew near the sound would dissipate, leaving only the sound of my own foot steps. It was maddening, back when I was still new to death I had a child’s mischievous hope that being dead wasn’t all bad. I figured I would at least be able to haunt, tease, prank and entertain myself with the same tomfoolery that I had in life. Death was boring.

For a time I stayed as far away from the inhabited areas as I could. Exploring the countryside or simply just wandering, lost in my own thoughts for that is all I had. Eventually though I kept being drawn back into town, chasing the ghosts of the living so hard that I felt I could explode. It was cruel and I certainly didn’t deserve it. One of my adventures into a town led me to a tavern. I was never allowed in any alehouse or taproom when I was alive, of course with my friends I had tried to sneak in several times but were always thrown out on our rears or earned ourselves a clip round the ear for attempting such boyish dreams of drinking before we had met maturity. It seemed petty now but no one could stop me from sitting at the bar and so, there I sat.

The apple was sat in front of me on the bar, whole as if my teeth had never broken the wrinkly skin. The damn fruit followed me everywhere, every time I threw it in frustration, kicked it into the distance or reluctantly ate the thing in anger it would appear in front of me again. Sometimes all it would take was for me to turn around, and there it was, other times it appeared days later but always the apple was my shadow. It had come to the point where I now spoke to it as if it were a person. At first I spoke to it of my hate, my anguish, blaming the fruit for my very demise. There is, however, only so long a person can hate a piece of fruit., Eventually I began retelling the tales of adventures my friends and I had. I spoke to it of my mother, and of how she would tell me stories even when I proclaimed myself an adult and too old for such nonsense. I missed her stories now.

At the bar I imagined the apple frowning at me as I asked it for a glass of its finest sweet summer cider, it was not amused. The tavern was in my home-town, and the town itself had changed over time, buildings appearing out of thin air, roads built in and out of the centre,and farmsteads swallowed as the place grew, however the tavern remained unchanged from when I had snuck in as a boy, so it felt like home to me. After a time I could hear conversation starting to pick up around me as I sat on the bar, staring at my accompanying apple. The ghosts came early that day, funny how I should call them ghosts when in truth I was the one dead. It had taken years but I finally managed to catch some of the conversation that happened in the world of the living. I found the tavern and other places of social gathering to be the best places to eavesdrop. A big man sat next to me and gave out a bellowing laugh, the kind a drunk man gets when he finally catches on to a joke. I could see the people in the bar as flashes of translucent blue, incorporeal but still the most real people I had in my life.

It took awhile before I finally caught on to what the big man had roared laughing at. He was repeating a story about a boy who thought himself the best climber in all of town. The boy had boasted this to the prettiest girl in town, and in turn the she had challenged his claim and requested that he pick the fruit from the tallest branch of the tallest tree…. I knew the rest of the story. The man laughed again and my anger rose. I knew the attempt would be fruitless but went to pick up his mug and throw it across the bar, for an instance I felt it. I felt the feeling of the solid wood on my hand, I felt the liquid inside slosh as I applied force to the container… but then my hand passed right through it. Startled, confused, and in disbelief but even more so when mere seconds later the mug flew from the man’s hand, slid along the bar and shattered against the tavern wall. I heard the sound of objects breaking, the sound of other mugs being thrown off the bar in the wake of the one I had thrown. At that point I panicked, I was both excited and scared. The ghosts of the living all made an uproar, terrified by the paranormal disturbance, and then they vanished. Gone as fast as they had appeared.

I ran. Ran through the streets of my hometown, ran through the hills and valleys until I was as far away from everything as possible, once again I sought to hide. This was a different kind of hiding though, I hid for the very same reason a child hides when they’re in trouble and that is what I wanted. I wanted to be in trouble, I wanted someone to come find me and rebuke me for throwing the mug across the bar. After countless years in this desolate world I was finally able to change something, to force people to recognize my existence.

After my discovery I tried time and time again to effect the world of the living. At times I succeeded. Small things really. I was able to move objects very subtly, like the hands on a clock or pushing a bowl of sweets closer to a child as her mother’s back was turned. Eventually I worked out that the more I willed, the more I resolved to make something in the living world move, the more likely it would be to be able to do it. After spending time in purgatory with very little to do my desire for entertainment was a strong one. Whenever I could, I relived my boyhood mischievous ways; taunting, teasing, pranking –  I felt I had some life back in me. I suppose if I had not died that day under the tree I would be well into my years as an adult, more mature, however in this world between heaven and hell I had not aged a day, mentally or physically.

Once again for a time – for that is all I had, time –  I wandered the land playing mischief where I could. It was a hard earned thing where I had to exert every fiber of my essence in able to make an object move, but it was worth it. However even the most mischievous pranks can become repetitive and eventually I grew bored of the little terrors I was able to inflict upon the world. Don’t get me wrong, when given nothing to do I was quite happy to haunt a local family or make mischief with some stuck-up busybody, but even the dead get restless.

One day I found myself wandering the hilltop with the apple tree once again. I came here often, as if drawn to not only the place but the point in time in which I died. I still had the apple with me, it had appeared in my hand as I reached the base of the hill as if it too wanted to return home. The tree in which it came from was still standing tall in the center of the hill. I had no animosity towards the tree, it had played a part in my current situation, yes, but it was no more to blame than the apple I held in my hand.

As I reached the base of the tree I sat down, my back against the trunk, to watch the grey grass sway and the purple sun hang in a near-colourless sky. It was at that moment I heard giggling, a boy stood in front of me, incorporeal like any other living ghost. He laughed and pointed towards the top of the tree. For a moment I had thought he had aimed his gesture at me but I turned around to see a young girl climbing from one branch to another. Immediately I knew dread, I watched as she climbed higher. It was hard to see details on a person due to the ghost’s translucent nature but the girl looked to be of a similar age to me, I had only hoped she was a better climber. She wasn’t.

It only took a second,  then the girl slipped on the very same branch that I had slipped upon, her fingers wrapped around the very same apple I held in my own hand, withered and dry. The girl fell, unlike me she had the grace to fall backwards instead of face-first, but from that height, no matter her position, she would be dead. Instinct drove me to my feet, I ran to make it in time, willing every fibre of my being, every inch of my willpower that I would be able to catch her. As I reached the spot in which she would violently meet the ground, I tossed the apple and placed my arms ready to catch her, fully expecting her to fall through me, crash into the ground, ending her life as a similar fall had once ended mine.

She hit me. I mean, really hit me. The full weight of her body against mine, I cushioned her fall. Just for a moment in time, for a brief second, she was nestled against my chest. In that instance the world was no longer dull. No longer the bleak landscape where colour failed to exist. For one whole breath I could see the world as I once had. The sky was blue, the grass was green and the girl who looked up at me as she was cradled in my arms, held a delicious red apple. I exhaled, for what seemed to be the first time in a decade, and the girl fell through my arms, dropping gently to the floor. All at once, the world once again became washed out, the colour drained from my vision, the girl became a ghost, and then disappeared. Rolling to rest at my grey and dusty feet,  the apple lay; shiny, round and red.

title: [FN] Dead At Heart

question: Summarize the events that involved the girl

answer: It is implied that a boy asked the girl to get the apple from the top of the tree, which she did. This mirrored the events of the narrator's past. And like the narrator, she also slipped when she reached the apple. She was saved by the narrator so she did not die from the fall. It is not known if she was able to realize that she was saved by a ghost or if she simply thought that she was lucky to survive a fall. Her rescue caused a change in the apple that the narrator was holding.

question: What kind of resolution did the story have?

answer: It appears that the amount of time that the narrator spent trying to learn how to interact with the corporeal world paid off by allowing him to materialize and save the girl from her fatal fall. This event caused a change in the withered apple. It is likely that the withered apple symbolized something negative that the narrator was carrying from their death which was overcome when they were able to do something they could be proud of.


text:
						               7 A.M

December 21st, 2010.
Time 7:00 am

I wake up with you in my arms and lay there silently as you dream the peaceful dreams that matched the calm state of your face. The way the sun shines on your skin and makes you almost as bright as the winters first snow. I breathe slowly, not to disrupt your sweet dreams. I love you.

December 22nd, 2010
Time 7:00 am

You stir to my fingers brushing your hair, softly, just like one would through a child's. You open your beautiful green eyes to start the beginning of your new adventure. Our fingers interlocked, the spaces filled perfectly. I couldn't ask for a better feeling. I love you.

December 23rd, 2010
Time 7:00 am

The scent of warm hot chocolate fills the room. Your favorite. A smile spreads across your face, the smile that tells me you feel what I feel. Breakfast in bed was my early gift to you. A gift I could give you for the rest of our lives. I love you.

December 24th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

The excitement of our first Christmas together excites you. I hold you close, feeling the warmth and comfort of your body against mine. A small kiss makes everything perfect. You make me feel complete. I love you.

December 25th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

You wake me up with a warm kiss on the lips. Merry Christmas my love, our very first holiday together. You're as excited as a child. That makes me smile. I give you your gift, it's small, but I know you'll love it. You open it and immediately know the answer. I love you.

December 26th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

The ring sits perfectly on your finger. I stroke the top of your hand and kiss your shoulder. You have to work soon but I don't want to wake you from your slumber. I don't want you to leave. I never do. I love you.

December 27th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

You're restlessly tossing and turning. I do my best to keep the blankets over you. I lean over and put my arm across you and place my body against yours. You settle. I worry. I love you.

December 28th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

I wake up to the sound of you softly crying. The tears roll off your cheek, I pull you into me and you rest your head on my chest and quietly sob. The darkness has engulfed you again. I won't let it hurt you anymore. I love you.

December 29th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

You're awake before me. Staring at the ceiling, caressing my hand softly. I kiss your cheek softly and you give me a warm smile. I see the pain in your eyes. It shatters my soul with every second I look at you. You have to leave for work soon. I want you to stay with me. I love you.

December 30th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

Your breath on my neck wakes me up. You look like you've been crying for hours. I hold you close and listen to your soft rhythmic breathing fill my ears. I'm afraid. I love you

December 31st, 2010
Time 7:00 am

New Years Eve, you tell me that you don't want to get out of bed today. The darkness is getting worse. You take your medication and lay back in bed. I bring you tea and some scrambled eggs, just the way you like them. You only eat half then stare blankly at the television. I take your plate to the kitchen and wash it. When I come back in to the bedroom you're playing with your ring. You tell me that you love me and that you're gonna be okay. I know better. I love you.

January 1st, 2010
Time 7:00 am

You've become pale, the dark circles under your eyes tell me that you are awake when I'm sleeping. You're eyes are bloodshot from all the crying. It kills me to see you in pain. I love you.

January 2nd, 2010
Time 7:00 am

No smile. You look at me and I know that you're fighting it. The darkness is stronger this time. I'll get you help, I promise. I love you.

January 3rd, 2010
Time 7:00 am

You take the new dosage doctor gave you. You've lost interest in everything. Your kisses are soft but have a chill to them. The warmth is gone. The sun in your soul is surrounded by a darkness that is darker than the midnight sky. I hope this dosage helps. I love you.

January 4th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

I try to wake you up but you don't stir. The room is silent. The pain in my chest is excruciating. I shake you and your pill bottles hit the floor. I fall to the floor. There is nothing I can do but cry. I dial 9-1-1 but I can't speak, I cry so hard that I lose my breath with every sob. The sobs are loud. The ambulance gets here and they put you on a stretcher. I follow holding your hand tightly. It's so cold. D.O.A. I love you..

January 5th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

The bed feels empty with you gone. I cried all night. The tears are stained on my pillow case. Your scent fills my nose and I cry. I could have saved you. I'm empty without you. I read the note I found yesterday over and over. I'm so sorry baby. I can't take it anymore. I love you so much and I will always be with you. My sobs grow more intense. I miss you.. I love you..

January 6th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

I had a dream about you. You looked so happy, so free. You're wings matched your brightness. Seeing your smile made me feel good that you are no longer in pain. I love you..

January 7th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

Your funeral is today. I cry as I think of how you are no longer with me. It tears me apart. I feel like part of me has been crushed by a steam roller. I made my side of the bed and got dressed. I love you..

January 8th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

Yesterday was hard. Seeing you lay almost as peaceful as you did when you slept broke my heart even more. You had an aura of serenity around you. Your skin glowed like it did when the sun hit you just right. I miss you so much. I love you..

January 9th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

I made your favorite hot chocolate and scrambled eggs. I'm coming to visit your grave for breakfast. Even though you aren't here, I will still bring you your favorite things to wake up to. Even though I know you won't be waking up this time. I love you..

January 10th,2010
Time 7:00 am

I stayed at your grave for three hours. I poured the hot chocolate on the soil above you and dug a small hole to bury the eggs in. I hope you enjoyed them like you always did when you were still here. I cried when I got home, I hurt so bad. I miss you more than anything.. I love you..

January 11th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

Happy 2nd anniversary my love. I miss you. I love you.

January 12th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

It's getting too hard to sleep in our bed. I slept on the couch in the living room last night with one of your t-shirts. It smelled just like your favorite perfume from the mall. I held it just like I would have held you. I love you..

January 13th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

Your mother called me to make sure I was okay. She's so hurt. The pain in her voice was so much to bear. We miss and love you..

January 14th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

I'm going crazy without you.. I miss you.. I love you..

January 15th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

I visited your grave again yesterday. I hope you liked the flowers. They were the kind I got you on your birthday in August. Remember how happy you were? I love you..

January 16th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

I can't stand being without you anymore.. I love you..

January 17th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

I visited you yesterday. I just laid by your head stone and imagined that it was our bed and that you were actually in it. Our nice warm bed, with your warm smooth body laying right by mine. It was a nice thing to think about. I love you..

January 18th, 2010
Time 7:00 am

I'm scared, but I can't take this pain anymore. I don't know about anything anymore. All I know is that I need you. I can't live with out you. There's a loud snap that fills my ears then a bright light. I see you approaching me, you look as beautiful as ever. Our fingers interlock and you kiss me. I feel no pain, no heartbreak. Just the love that I've felt since I fell in love with you. I'm home now and I'm happy. I love you.

title: 7 A.M

question: Who is the narrator speaking to?

answer: The narrator is speaking figuratively to their romantic partner.

question: What happens on January 5th?

answer: On January 5th, the narrator's partner passes away in their sleep.

question: What is implied by the ending of the story?

answer: The ending implies that the narrator commits suicide, as they cannot bear the pain of being without their partner.


text:
OXFAM IS PREPARED TO RESPOND TO SUPPORT TSUNAMI-AFFECTED COMMUNITIES IN INDONESIA’S SUNDA STRAIT.

Coastal communities in the Sundra Strait are among the worst hit from the tsunami, with Indonesia’s national disaster management authority claiming underwater landslides triggered by a volcanic eruption from Mt Krakatoa may have caused the waves.

Oxfam Australia’s Humanitarian Manager Meg Quartermaine said Oxfam and its partners were coordinating with Indonesian authorities and other humanitarian agencies in order to assess the need in the Sunda Strait.

“Almost three months after a large 7.4 magnitude earthquake struck off the coast of Sulawesi in Indonesia, causing devastating rapid onset tsunami waves, communities in Indonesia are again waking up to the news of another deadly tsunami ...” Quartermaine said. "We know affected communities will need food and access to clean water.

“Oxfam is planning assessments to help to understand the scale of the disaster and to determine what sort of response may be required, if requested.”

Oxfam, through its partner organizations, is well placed to be able to mobilize quickly in the aftermath of the second tsunami in the region in the past three months.

Oxfam, through its partner organizations and relief efforts, has now reached more than 100,000 people in Sulawesi with aid and services including the distribution of more than 17,000 hygiene kits, the construction of dozens of toilets, water pipelines, and water distribution points.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Act now to help Indonesians meet the most critical needs of those suffering._

Donate Now

question: When was the last tsunami that hit the coast of Sulawesi?

answer: Almost three months ago.

question: What is Oxfam's announcement about?

answer: They are showing their willingness to help Indonesia in case they need it after the next predicted tsunami.

question: How many hygiene kits did Oxfam distribute in Sulawesi?

answer: More than 17,000 kits.

question: What other help did Oxfam provide to communities in Sulawesi?

answer: They helped with the construction of dozens of toilets, water pipelines, and water distribution points.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The text describes the willingness of Oxfam Australia to help Indonesia if they request help following the next tsunami.


text:
THE BOOK OF DAVE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

title: The Book of Dave

question: What forms does Dave take?

answer: Dave takes the form of a plastic bird, and also a living bird of the same species.

question: Why is son of Dave called what he is?

answer: He has no meaningful talents so the other members of the group decide he must by Dave's only son due to the trials and tribulations he undergoes.


text:
I look down at my feet, swinging them back and forth because my legs can’t reach the ground. It’s dark, and my seat is wet with a mixture of old rain and early-morning dew. I’m tired; I’ve been awake all night. I’m cold; there’s a slight breeze that I hadn’t noticed before now. But I am not afraid. Back to the West, over my shoulder, the sky is dark as night. Clouds that drenched the previous day with rain are passing off into the distance, leaving a shining trail of puddles and wet pavement like an enormous snail. Toward the horizon in front of me, however, I see the sky is clear, and just starting to brighten.

I feel the cool breeze again, and I shift uncomfortably. I hear the faint crinkling of paper. I reach into my jacket and pull out the incomplete letter. I unfold it carefully, making no sudden movements, and press it flat against my thigh. I pull a pen out of my other jacket pocket, and study the blank space after the word “Dear.” I wrote this final letter after two rough drafts, but I can’t think of who I wrote it for. My parents are long dead. I have no friends, no other family. No one to apologize to. I can’t say goodbye to any loved ones, but hopefully I’ll get to say hello to a few.

I glance at my watch. Twenty minutes after five. I set my pen down beside me and fold my letter, placing it back in my jacket pocket, the salutation still incomplete. I look down at my swinging legs again. I remember when I used to climb the tree in our back yard, and sit with my feet dangling. In my young imagination I’d always thought that tree was as tall as a skyscraper. I lean forward a few inches and look down through my dangling feet at the sidewalk forty-two stories below. I hope I get to see my parents again.

I very carefully hold the edge of the building as I get my feet under me, and very slowly stand up. The sun will be rising soon, and I want to see it one more time.

I stand up very carefully and look forward, toward the East. I can see the rim of the bright orange sun peeking over the horizon, drawing long shadows from all the buildings. I sigh and say a silent prayer. I ask God to understand why I want this. Why I need this. I hope he’ll forgive me, or at least let me see my family, just once, just for a moment. I miss my mom, and my dad.

I can feel tears starting to flow; not for me, but for my family. I want to tell them I love them, and that I’m sorry for what I’m doing. Maybe I’ll get to.

I can’t see the sun anymore, my tears have blurred it too much, but I can still feel its warm rays on my face. I turn slowly away from the light. I extend my arms straight out on either side, then immediately feel stupid and lower them again. I settle for keeping my hands about six inches from my pockets, palms facing forward. I wipe my eyes and look down to see the heels of my shoes are hanging off the edge, before my eyesight blurs again. I lift my gaze again, wipe my eyes one last time, and slowly lean backward, inch by inch. When gravity finally takes hold, it catches me by surprise and I hunch forward as my body instinctively tries to save itself, but it’s too late. I can only face up toward the clear sky, which is framed by buildings that seem to be shooting upward. And then I’m gone.

title: My first short story

question: What does the story say about how the narrator feels?

answer: The narrator is tired and cold. He is writing his goodbye letter but he can’t think of who he is writing it for as he is lonely. He does not have parents and has no friends and no other family. They are going to commit suicide. He asks God to understand why they want this and hopes he’ll forgive them. He misses his parents. They cry, but not for themselves, but for their family. They want to tell them they love them, and that they are sorry for what they are doing. They jump from the building.

question: What does the story say about why the narrator commits suicide?


text:
This is my take on the Norse myth of Thor's fishing trip with Hymir. Some liberties taken with the mythology. Enjoy.

The wind howled like a pack of wolves nipping and tearing at the cloak strewn over the shoulder of a large man striding along the coastal path. Tyr pulled his hood further over his eyes with his remaining hand to protect against the bite of the gale. As the cloak shifted and the wind attacked the mottled skin of his stump, Tyr was painfully reminded of the great beast that took it. Fenrir, the giant wolf, bound by the Aesir until the breaking of the world. Pale blue sky stretched overhead as he looked behind him, not a cloud in sight over the horizon. That day of reckoning would not arrive today, so he cast it from his thoughts. As Tyr once more turned into the frigid wind leaping at him from the north, he heard the air burst into the booming sound of a voice echoing from afar. The familiar chant of a raucous battle song, he realized, and in the distance he saw a lone figure leaping towards him, bare-armed, hammer swinging carelessly at his side. Tyr shook his head and chuckled as Thor approached, bellowing with the percussive force of thunder. A thick, corded arm reached out to roughly clasp Tyr by the shoulder, giving him a firm shake. Thor’s cracked and weathered lips parted in the midst of an unkempt red beard to reveal his bright teeth before throwing his head back, erupting into laughter.

“Odinson,” Tyr said warmly, bowing his head formally to the huge man.

“Tyr, you bastard. On time as always! Ready for a feast?” He clapped both arms on Tyr’s shoulders.

“How long has it been since you’ve tasted the mead of your father’s halls?”

“Not long enough,” Tyr winced. His father was the giant Hymir, and there was no love lost between the jotnar and the Aesir, giants and gods, fated to a deadly clash at Ragnarok. He did not know why Thor had insisted that he take him to see his father, but he would put aside his own reluctance all the same.

“Let us go on,” he said, “though you may be at home in icy gales, I find myself longing for the crackle of a warm hearth and a full table.”

They set a brisk pace, and soon enough they reached the great halls of the giant Hymir. Thick black pillars of ash and smoke billowed from the smoke holes of the longhouse, a huge structure built from sturdy planks of giant trees, stacked fifty feet high. The polished jaws of an enormous whale opened wide to form the entrance of the hall, and as the two gods approached, they could see intricate carvings etched with great care in each plank of wood. Blue sky had long ago been chased away by the pale moon in a sea of gleaming stars, and the red glow of the hearth beckoned Thor and Tyr through the mouth of the whale and into the long hall within. Beds were leaned against the walls to make room for tables. Feasting giants sat upon high benches, laughing, singing, and drinking in abundance. The clamour of the hall burst into an uncomfortable silence as the gods walked into their midst, as even the seven foot tall Thor was dwarfed by the behemoths. From the end of the hall an especially large, magnificently bearded jotun rose from a great chair carved from bone.

“Ah. Our guests have arrived,” he said, “Welcome Tyr, and Thor Odinson, to the hall of Hymir.” The courteous words were said with thinly veiled distrust, and deep-set eyes leered at the Aesir over a prominent nose. Tyr simply nodded in reply, and found an empty seat beside his father to clamour onto. Thor, never one for manners, shouted, “Welcome indeed, Hymir! I hope you have butchered your finest oxen to set a table for the likes of two hungry gods!” He laughed, and strode over to the seat next to Hymir, opposite Tyr, and casually leapt up, tearing off a shank of meat in the process. He wasted no time in setting to the task of filling his belly. Hymir looked on in wonder and annoyance as he watched Thor eat two whole oxen, while he himself, a great being over ten feet in stature, consumed only one.

When the eating and drinking had subsided, giants lay upon the floor or hunched over the table in drunken slumber, with Tyr slowly nodding off as well. Thor had just finished licking his fingers when he looked over at the scowling Hymir, clearly eager to bid this guest farewell. For the first time since he had sat down, Thor gave his host his full attention, beckoning him to come closer. In a hoarse whisper that would have woken a deaf mule, Thor said, “Tomorrow, you take me fishing Hymir.” If Hymir had already been confused, now he was dumbfounded.

“Fishing?” he asked, thick eyebrows furrowed in disbelief that the son of Odin had come all this way for a fishing trip.

“Aye,” said Thor, looking over at Tyr to ensure that he was still asleep, “Fishing. For serpents.”

“No… You cannot-” Hymir gasped. The air around the two seemed to chill, the giant stunned as he was pierced by Thor’s raging eyes. The man seemed to grow beyond his stature, looming over him as the anger within him welled like the gathering of black clouds. The fingers of a thickly calloused hand spread as they shot towards the throat of the massive Hymir like bolts of lightning, his face twitching in spasms under the strain of the godly grip. The hand holding Hymir’s neck pulled his face into Thor’s so that the jotun’s eyes could grasp the full depth of those electric blue orbs promising death at a single stroke. Thor relaxed his hand and the giant slumped forward, gasping. After regaining some semblance of colour in his face, he looked to Thor and nodded resignedly, panting all the while. With one final glare at Hymir, Thor threw his feet upon the great table and shut his eyes.

Hymir had a magnificent boat made from solid ice, and as dawn crept over the horizon, Thor and Hymir launched it in secret, leaving Tyr and the other giants behind, still strewn throughout the hall in contented sleep. The boat could hold several large jotnar, so with just Hymir and Thor, it was quite spacious. Thor had his great hammer Mjolnir, and Hymir had brought with him his magical harpoon, attached to rope so strong no beast could break it through sheer force, though one needed to be careful when holding a keen blade near it. Hymir began to grumpily row his boat at great speed to the north, through waters he knew well, for he was a fisherman and whaler of great renown. All the while, Thor watched Hymir row with suspicion. He knew not where their destination lay, and he feared some form of trickery from the giant.

A thick mist soon encased them as huge chunks of ice floated alongside the boat, its frozen prow cutting through the sea like the blade of an axe. Hymir’s rhythmic rowing came to a halt, and the boat slowed to a drift. Panic filled his eyes, and he carefully moved over to Thor.

“Odinson,” there was sincere terror in his voice, “Do not do this. You know very well the havoc that you will wreak should you succeed. Ragnarok itself may be the result of your actions. Do not be its unintended herald.”
Without looking away from the dark cold of the water Thor growled, “Keep going, Hymir. One of three will die here today. Hymir, Thor, or Jormungandr, and I mean it to be the latter.”

“Thor –“

“ENOUGH!” he yelled, and thunder cracked amidst a host of clouds that had not been there a moment before. The echo of his cry joined the peals of thunder in a fey song, and Hymir closed his mouth, hands holding the oars in a white-knuckled grip as he propelled the boat forward into doom.

Thor, Odinson, stepped over the benches of the boat, perching himself in a powerful stance at the upon the prow’s figurehead, feet digging into the ice of the carved dragon head. Rain began to pour as the fierce wind whipped his wild hair against his grim face. The savage gleam in his eyes betrayed his purpose. Thor, Odinson, was here to slay the Midgard Serpent. He was fated to kill the beast, though not on this day. At world’s end, he would kill Jormungandr, though the monster was prophesied to take the great god with him. Nine steps he would take before the poison of the wyrm brought him to his knees, like the felling of an ancient oak. But Thor, Odinson, lord of the untamed skies, was here to change his fate. Like the wind itself, he would not be guided by any will but his own.

Under the torrential storm that followed in the wake of the god of thunder, the translucent ship came to roiling waters of the deepest black, waves heaving to towering heights. Still Thor stood at the prow, upon the icy dragon’s head gleaming in the dark of the heavy clouds. Hymir’s huge, tireless arms released the oars and he furtively peered over the side, quivering with fear.

With Thor’s eyes locked on the water in front of him, he reached behind him, his open hand outstretched as water dripped from his glistening arm.

“Harpoon, Hymir. NOW!” he bellowed.

Almost crawling toward him, the cowering Hymir passed his great harpoon into the palm of Thor’s hand. The storm seemed to rise into a crescendo, the wind, rain, and thunder pitched in a macabre concert. Thor’s roar dwarfed their volume as he hurled the great spear into the water, its sharp blade slicing into the darkness, tugging the rope with it. Endless lengths of line flew over the side after the harpoon, and there stood Thor at the prow, holding the end with both arms braced. Abruptly, the rope stopped, and a great sound rose from the water like an otherworldly shriek, along with sickly green pockets of air that burst into gas as they erupted to the surface. With one arm in front of the other, Thor began to haul the rope back into the boat.

As Thor reeled in his catch, the waves around the boat grew to monstrous heights, and Thor could feel the world itself strain under the tension of the great beast he was hauling forth. So large was Jormungandr that his body encompassed the earth, its tail meeting its gaping mouth in the very waters sitting below Hymir’s boat. Still Thor pulled the mighty rope, and as minutes passed, the shrieking grew louder, and in answer Thor let loose a blood-curdling roar. Finally, emerging from crashing squalls and tremoring earth, a black hulk filled the very air around them. For many moments, Thor could not distinguish any discernible features upon the unfathomable mass he had pulled from the deepest recesses of the sea, until his eyes set upon the savage maw of the Midgard Serpent, stretched wide to swallow its own tail. He tied the rope to the prow’s figurehead, then grasped Mjolnir and leapt, leaving behind him the desperate pleas of Hymir, “Thor, no! Stop! You’ll break the world!”

With a dull thud he landed upon the snout of the beast, where the harpoon of Hymir was lodged deep into the flesh of the wyrm. He looked into the huge, serpentine eyes of Jormungandr. The eyes of death. Feral zeal filled him, and with unmatched strength he hefted his hammer, ready to put it to purpose. Elation filled him. He would cheat death, cheat his fate. The prophecies themselves held no sway over his power, his spirit.

Knife in hand, Hymir lunged forward at the taut rope, rending it in two. With a colossal lurch, the hateful eyes of Jormungandr descended at speed, knocking Thor from his perch to crash into the frozen sea. The Midgard Serpent sank back into the dark crevice of the world, amidst mammoth waves and quakes.

Thor, Odinson, hauled his dejected body back into the icy ship, head in hands as the rain and the wind battered him. His soaking hair hung raggedly over his face. Gone was the torrent in his eyes. Thor, Odinson, was going to die.

title: [FN] Skies Asunder

question: What does the text say about Tyr?

answer: Tyr is a close friend of Thor's who only has one foot and a stump for another.

question: What does the text say about Fenrir?

answer: Fenrir is Tyr's giant wolf. He is bound by the Aesir until the breaking of the world.

question: What does the text say about Odinson and Tyr?

answer: Thor Odinson and Tyr are close friends. Thor invites him to the icy gales to see his father, the giant Hymir. He is not close to his father and is unsure why Thor invite him there in the first place. Despite his reluctance he decides to go.

question: Summarize the climactic point of the story.

answer: Thor forces Hymir to take him to see the Midgard Serpent. Thor attempts to slay it in the hopes of avoiding his prophecy (death by the Serpent during Ragnarok). Hymir is trying to refuse but Thor forces him to take him there on his boat. During their fight, Hymir intervenes and the serpent escapes. Thor is upset that he escaped and realizes that there is no way to escape his death.

question: What does the text say about Hymir?

answer: Hymir is a giant and the father of Tyr. He does not want Thor to slay the serpent because he is afraid that this will wreak havoc and cause Ragnarok.

question: What does the text say about Thor and Hymir?

answer: Thor forces Hymir to take him "fishing." When Hymir asks what he means by this, Thor clarifies that he would like Hymir to take him "fishing for serpents." Hymir tries to refuse as he does not want to anger the Midgard Serpent. Thor forces him and Hymir is forced to go. In the middle of their battle, Hymir intervenes and Thor loses sight of the serpent.

question: What does the text say about Thor and the Midgard Serpent?

answer: According to his prophecy, Thor is prophecised to kill the serpent but the serpent would take him with it. Hoping to cheat death, Thor decides to kill the serpent before that even happens but fails in his attempt to do so because Hymir intervenes.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes”, Sarah replied softly.

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

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

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

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

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

“How was your day, baby?”

“I love you, Sarah.”

title: [HM] - Gary & Sarah

question: What does the story say about how Gary feels?

answer: Gary wants to be free. He is tired of arguments with Sarah and married life. He wants to leave his stressful job and become a bartender. However, when Sarah calls him and offers him his favorite dinner and a romantic evening, his thoughts about separation revert to the anticipation of their approaching union.

question: What does the story say about Gary's and Sarah's quarreling?

answer: Gary made an innocuous comment about Sarah’s weight gain, and Sarah flipped Gary “the bird”. He regrets that as Sarah is hurt and ignored him for three days. He is sick of their arguments. Now it seems that Sarah is not angry at him anymore as she calls him and apologizes for the three days freezeouts. He is looking forward to seeing her.

question: What does the story say about Sarah's job?


text:
HAYES COUNTY is a county in the U.S. state of Nebraska. As of the 2010 United States Census, the population was 967.[1] Its county seat is Hayes Center.[2] The county was created in 1877, and was organized in 1884.[3][4][5] It was named for Rutherford B. Hayes, the US President at the time of the county's creation.[6]

In the Nebraska license plate system, Hayes County is represented by the prefix 79 (it had the seventy-ninth-largest number of vehicles registered in the county when the license plate system was established in 1922).

Geography

The terrain of Hayes County is hilly. The flattened hilltops are largely used for center pivot irrigation. Small creeks and streams drain the upper elevations; the largest is Red Willow Creek, which drains to Hugh Butler Lake just east of the SE corner of Hayes County, in Frontier County.[7] The county has a total area of , of which is land and (0.03%) is water.[8]

Major highways

-   [] U.S. Highway 6
-   [] Nebraska Highway 25
-   [] Nebraska Highway 25A

Adjacent counties

-   Frontier County – east
-   Hitchcock County – south
-   Dundy County – southwest
-   Chase County – west
-   Perkins County – northwest
-   Lincoln County – north

Demographics

As of the 2000 United States Census,[9] there were 1,068 people, 430 households, and 312 families in the county. The population density was 2 people per square mile (1/km²). There were 526 housing units at an average density of 0.7 per square mile (0.3/km²). The racial makeup of the county was 97.19% White, 0.19% Black or African American, 0.28% Asian, 1.78% from other races, and 0.56% from two or more races. 2.53% of the population were Hispanic or Latino of any race.

There were 430 households, out of which 28.10% had children under the age of 18 living with them, 67.00% were married couples living together, 2.60% had a female householder with no husband present, and 27.40% were non-families. 26.50% of all households were made up of individuals, and 15.60% had someone living alone who was 65 years of age or older. The average household size was 2.48 and the average family size was 3.02.

The county population contains 26.60% under the age of 18, 5.50% from 18 to 24, 21.50% from 25 to 44, 26.50% from 45 to 64, and 19.90% who were 65 years of age or older. The median age was 42 years. For every 100 females there were 100.40 males. For every 100 females age 18 and over, there were 102.60 males.

The median income for a household in the county was $26,667, and the median income for a family was $31,125. Males had a median income of $19,211 versus $16,806 for females. The per capita income for the county was $14,099. About 14.60% of families and 18.40% of the population were below the poverty line, including 26.20% of those under age 18 and 12.90% of those age 65 or over.

Communities

-   Hamlet
-   Hayes Center (county seat)
-   Marengo
-   Palisade (partial)

Townships

Hayes County has not been subdivided into townships, unlike most other Nebraska counties.

Politics

Hayes Center voters have traditionally been strongly Republican. In no national election since 1936 has the county selected the Democratic Party candidate.

  Year                               Republican                                Democratic                                Third Parties
  ---------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------- ----------------------------
  style=“text-align:center;” |2016   style=“text-align:center;” |91.8% _472_   style=“text-align:center;” |5.8% _30_     2.3% _12_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2012   style=“text-align:center;” |88.3% _476_   style=“text-align:center;” |9.5% _51_     2.2% _12_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2008   style=“text-align:center;” |83.4% _461_   style=“text-align:center;” |15.4% _85_    1.3% _7_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2004   style=“text-align:center;” |87.6% _524_   style=“text-align:center;” |11.0% _66_    1.3% _8_
  style=“text-align:center;” |2000   style=“text-align:center;” |85.1% _486_   style=“text-align:center;” |11.6% _66_    3.3% _19_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1996   style=“text-align:center;” |77.0% _439_   style=“text-align:center;” |15.3% _87_    7.7% _44_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1992   style=“text-align:center;” |55.4% _362_   style=“text-align:center;” |13.0% _85_    31.7% _207_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1988   style=“text-align:center;” |75.1% _512_   style=“text-align:center;” |23.5% _160_   1.5% _10_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1984   style=“text-align:center;” |85.5% _593_   style=“text-align:center;” |14.6% _101_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1980   style=“text-align:center;” |84.5% _617_   style=“text-align:center;” |11.2% _82_    4.3% _31_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1976   style=“text-align:center;” |59.1% _411_   style=“text-align:center;” |38.4% _267_   2.5% _17_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1972   style=“text-align:center;” |79.8% _486_   style=“text-align:center;” |20.2% _123_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1968   style=“text-align:center;” |71.3% _496_   style=“text-align:center;” |18.3% _127_   10.5% _73_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1964   style=“text-align:center;” |58.2% _503_   style=“text-align:center;” |41.9% _362_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1960   style=“text-align:center;” |71.3% _699_   style=“text-align:center;” |28.7% _281_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1956   style=“text-align:center;” |70.0% _726_   style=“text-align:center;” |30.0% _311_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1952   style=“text-align:center;” |80.9% _932_   style=“text-align:center;” |19.1% _220_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1948   style=“text-align:center;” |55.9% _529_   style=“text-align:center;” |44.1% _418_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1944   style=“text-align:center;” |66.9% _782_   style=“text-align:center;” |33.1% _387_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1940   style=“text-align:center;” |55.9% _759_   style=“text-align:center;” |44.1% _598_   style="text-align:center;|
  style=“text-align:center;” |1936   style=“text-align:center;” |44.1% _654_   style=“text-align:center;” |55.2% _818_   0.7% _10_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1932   style=“text-align:center;” |33.6% _506_   style=“text-align:center;” |63.8% _962_   2.7% _40_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1928   style=“text-align:center;” |65.8% _917_   style=“text-align:center;” |31.6% _440_   2.6% _36_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1924   style=“text-align:center;” |42.6% _475_   style=“text-align:center;” |25.8% _288_   31.6% _352_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1920   style=“text-align:center;” |66.4% _512_   style=“text-align:center;” |26.9% _207_   6.7% _52_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1916   style=“text-align:center;” |33.3% _219_   style=“text-align:center;” |58.1% _382_   8.5% _56_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1912   style=“text-align:center;” |17.9% _106_   style=“text-align:center;” |32.0% _189_   50.1% _296_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1908   style=“text-align:center;” |52.1% _359_   style=“text-align:center;” |40.2% _277_   7.7% _53_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1904   style=“text-align:center;” |63.0% _335_   style=“text-align:center;” |20.7% _110_   16.4% _87_
  style=“text-align:center;” |1900   style=“text-align:center;” |49.2% _308_   style=“text-align:center;” |45.4% _284_   5.4% _34_

  : PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS RESULTS[10]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7] [https://www.google.com/maps/place/Hayes+County,+NE/@40.4135062,-100.8621508,12.25z/data=!4m5!3m4!1s0x8775c0d8946d8947:0xe21e683b213c6731!8m2!3d40.5070797!4d-101.0711758 _Hayes County NE_ Google Maps (accessed 22 January 2019)]

[8]

[9]

[10] Election Results

title: Hayes County, Nebraska

question: What does the text say about the geography of Hayes County?

answer: Nebraska's Hayes County has a hilly terrain. The flattened hilltops are largely used for center pivot irrigation. Streams and small creaks drain the upper elevations. The largest elevation is the Red Willow Creek, which drains to Hugh Butler Lake east of the SE corner of Hayes County in Frontier County. Hayes County has a total of three major highways and a total area of 713 sq mi, which is mostly land and 0.03% water. Adjacent counties are Hitchcock County, Frontier County, Lincoln County, Dundy County, Chase County, and Perkins County.

question: What does the text say about notable Republican candidates from Hayes County?

question: What does the text say about the economy in Hayes County during the 2000 United States census?

answer: During the United States census of 2000, reports showed that the average income for a household in the county was $26,667, while the average income for a family was $31,125. It was also gathered that men had a higher average income than women, with a difference of $2,405. The per capita income for the county was $14,099, and 14-18% of families and households, respectively, were living below the poverty line, including those under 18 and a few above 65 and above.


text:
For the last few hours, Alan hadn’t paid attention to the highway signs since he had traveled back and forth between Montana and South Dakota multiple times. The same yellow markers were just colored reminders of the route back home. Yet it had never occurred to him that he missed some worn-out exit until just a few minutes ago, being misled by almost exact copies of the regular route’s signs. Not knowing where he was, Alan decided it would be best to stop at the nearest gas station to refuel and get his bearings, possibly in the form of a roadmap or verbal directions. He wasn’t the most social individual, but he knew that asking a local was the only way to find his way back onto the highway and, eventually, home.

*Just a bump in the road*, he thought to himself. *I’ll be home soon enough*.

Pulling into the florescent-lit gas station, which sat right off the highway exit, in his compact Optra SRV, Alan rubbed his eyes. The lines of a parking spot close to the building’s entrance were begging to blur from his somewhat dry eyes and the frosted windshield. One night the car’s heating system crapped out and hadn’t been able to fully heat up ever since. Another thing he hadn’t fixed, lost among the list of things Alan was trying to fix, personally and physically. Regardless of the lukewarm setback, Alan slowly pulled his salt-whipped vehicle into the second closest space to the only entrance to the building and turned off the engine.

The winds outside had picked up, wielding a marrow-freezing chill and occasional blusters of snow. As he emerged from his den of warmth on wheels, Alan noticed that the only other vehicles at the station were a rusted minivan, probably belonging to the station clerk, and a large semi-truck in the back bearing a logo covered by a layer of weathered snow. From the truck, Alan saw a faint puff of smoke come from the main cab, as the lights turned off and rumbling of the diesel engine faded into the howling wind.

One disgustingly plump hand reached through the driver’s side window and pulled open the door. As the rusty truck squeaked and shifted, a bulbous man slowly wriggled his way out from his tight driver’s seat. His pig-like nostrils released long puffs of warm air between wheezy breaths, which seemed to blend in with the trailing smoke from his poorly rolled cigarette.

To Alan, this man was the patron saint of truck drivers; a cult of men who didn’t have much else going for them in life besides their abilities to sit in a bouncing seat for hours on end. However, to Alan, there were some among them that were noble in their pursuit of on-time delivery. Alan remembered a show his father used to watch ad-nauseum back home; something to do with truckers in Canada and Alaska who delivered goods to communities that would otherwise die without them. But the truckers on this show were a rare breed among their diesel-bound compatriots; this man was definitely not one of them.

The truck driver shook his thick coat and tightened his small cap as he walked towards the station entrance. Wanting to avoid social interaction, Alan took out his phone and pretended to be busy reading something, even though the screen was completely black. He looked for something in his car that he knew wasn’t there and decided to get back inside of it to give it a better look. Through the howling wind, Alan heard the deep crunch of each of the trucker’s steps until they were silenced by a faint *ding* of a doorbell. Looking up from his false distraction, Alan noticed an older woman at the counter look up from reading the paper and give the new customer a fake smile. Even though he couldn’t hear what was said, he noticed the woman give a second look in the trucker’s direction. A strange glint filled her eyes as the trucker laid down a small pile of bills on the counter. After a few moments of staring at them, she quickly snatched them up and gave a quick look something in the far corner of the room. Alan couldn’t see how much each bill was, due to his fogged windshield and the lack of time they laid on the counter.

*Odd. He didn’t even put anything on the counter to buy.*

The trucker, once the woman stuffed the money away somewhere below the counter, began to slowly back away from the counter, turning towards the other end of the room at the same time. His sagging, salt-stained jeans were barely held up by a hidden belt as he began to walk away from the attendant. The thin lips of the large man were curled in a fiendish smirk, as his beady dark eyes darted across the rows of miscellaneous snacks and beverages until they homed in on one small corner of the building.

As the trucker rounded the corner and disappeared from view, Alan was overcome with guttural dread. Paralyzed by a deep fear of what lied around the corner, Alan couldn’t help but watch the older woman take a deep breath and then follow the piggish trucker’s path out of sight. Beads of sweat began to grow cold on Alan’s forehead.

*Maybe I’m thinking too into it. This ain’t my business. I just need to find a map or something and get outta here.*

Mustering enough courage, Alan emerged from his car once again and walked into the station. A familiar jingle went off as he entered, but an eerie silence followed.

Looking in the direction of where the two ventured off to, Alan only saw a single-stall restroom. The fear returned, and he quickly diverted his eyes from the white-turned-grey unisex sign in the corner of the room. After a moment of scanning the shelves, an inter-state roadmap caught his eye. Snatching it as soon as he realized what it was, Alan made his way up to the counter.

A counter without a clerk.

Behind him, Alan heard the sound of a door unlocking and closing with a metallic thump. He dared not move nor turn around. The sound of a wet boot struck the linoleum floor, followed by a handful more. Slowly, they drew closer with each squish of rubbery leather. Sudden crinkling, most likely from a bag of chips being grabbed, was the only break in the near-stampede behind Alan. With a final squeak of leather, the bootsteps ceased. A coarse hack of flem, and subsequent landing on the floor, emanated behind him. After a moment, a curt grumble followed: “She’ll be out in a second, don’t worry.”

Nevertheless, Alan worried.

title: [RF] Pit Stop

question: Summarize what happened at the gas station.

answer: Alan went there to figure out where he was and saw a fat man exiting his vehicle. The fat man entered the store and exchanged money with the woman, who is the clerk. The woman follows the man to someplace. After Alan enters the store, he notices that where the woman and the man went, there's only a single-use stall. As Alan waits at the counter with a map in hand, the fat guy comes out of the stall, saying the woman will be out shortly.

question: What does the text say about swine?


text:
I'm not a poet or a writer

The title of this is called 'Something Beautiful'
I've censored some names and details

Something Beautiful

If you have received this by now either: (1) something has happened to me,(2)***** , for whatever reason, decided to go back on her word to look through and read this along with anyone else who might be reading other than the intended purpose of giving it to you that I had already explained to her.

 Throughout the years that we have all known each other I’m glad to have had the opportunity in my attempt to try to know you. You probably know where I’m going with this but I’m going under the assumptions that you knew all along at some point that I had taken a liking or had feelings for you. This all started back when all of us took a trip to Austin and from there on out you know the rest: military ball, celebrating July out in the country, botanical gardens, movies….lots of movies….swimming parties, ice skating, and many other adventures of Tom and Jerry. I wanted to make things clear just in case there is no misunderstanding and through all the evasive, shy, and discreetness that I’ve known you for and for good reasons, I can certainly understand why. Perhaps I was coming on too strong, I don’t know, I’m a guy, I certainly didn’t want to make you feel pushed in a corner although when we first started to hang out it was awkward but I didn’t care. Eventually I got used to it and enjoyed the awkward silence just to see what would happen, bits of small talk and conversations here and there eventually broke the ice.

As to why I had these feelings is pretty simple. You are completely the opposite of what I want. You can take it however you want but it doesn’t matter because I’m not here anymore and there is no one else to get mad at. And if I am still here and you are reading this, shame on you **** and anyone else whose reading this. I’m about to list the reasons based on my years of knowing you and my conclusion at best, like I said before, you can take it however you want ….For shame *****.

…The opposite of what I want, ‘want’ has such a negative meaning, how about ‘need’ or ‘like’?

•Outgoing, social, funny, sense of humor, aggressive, assertive

Those are my main conclusions at best. *****, what I mean is that you are just being you. I have insecurities just like anyone else, somehow I get the sense that you are afraid to show something, something beautiful, it can be scary, well maybe you’re not scared, you just choose not to, I don’t know, your body language is hard to read and sometimes come off as ‘rejection’ or ‘refusal.’ I can see it by the way you are around Tanya, feeding off of her, but that’s what sisters are for, to look out for one another and there’s nothing wrong at all about it.

What I’m trying to say is that is what I like about you. It’s not hard, it’s very simple, I mean REALLY (but I could be wrong), you are simple. I don’t have to go all out of my way just to have an agenda, it’s either a yes or no which saves a lot of headache. I’ve always thought under the assumptions that you knew about it, I would just wait, waiting to see your next move. I never really expected an answer from you, just waiting, curious. Talking to Alicia long ago she told me that you already knew about my feelings and told me that it was better to stay friends. I don’t recollect that we had that conversation at all and I’m pretty sure I would have remembered that conversation if you had told me. But now that I knew, it didn’t really bother me that much. I continued on just like I had been, nothing had changed.

If you can remember we went hiking at the Buffalo Reservation walking around trails. Nice weather, walking alongside the river bank, and taking pictures. Nothing but peace, quiet, solitude, but also moments of awkward silence but I didn’t care. I contemplated to myself the whole time whether or not I should tell you how I felt. That moment when we were on top of the hill looking over the landscape, sitting on the bench eating Subway, the sun shining and a subtle breeze for a compliment. Living in that moment I decided not to, I held back. For some reason it wouldn’t seem fair to you at all. I didn’t want to push you in a corner. So in that moment of pure joy and bliss I let it go because in the end that was all I ever needed. It didn’t matter if you knew or not, what mattered was living in that moment of happiness, for me at least. I’ve been asked many times what my true goal or intended purpose was, luckily you have some very caring friends who were looking out for you. My goal was not to get you to like me at all, although it would have been ground breaking accomplishment and an awesome bonus, I only wanted to understand you and see if you were willing to be open.

Who knows, 5, 10, or 40 years have passed, maybe you’ve forgotten about me, maybe you haven’t. If you feel the need to burn this because it has been sitting somewhere on your shelf, drawer, attic, storage box, or wall and is a constant reminder of me than do so, I don’t want to hold you back. Carry on with life. Just know that wherever you are in life and through all your insecurities you’re not alone. This letter is proof that someone once cared for you, longing for your affection. You are the opposite of everything I ever needed and ever dreamed to want, something that I could never have nor dare to have possession of.

title: A letter to a very important person just in case I die...

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

answer: He is very emotional about the girl to who he is writing a letter. He recalls the time they spent together and explains how he felt then. When they were in Austin, he wanted to make things clear, but he didn’t want to make her feel pushed in a corner so decided not to tell her about his feelings toward her. He was insecure as he is not sure if she is attracted to her. When they were on the Buffalo Reservation, he also did not dare to tell her that he loves her. The letter he writes should tell her about his feelings. He wants her to know that someone once cared for her.

question: What does the story say about where the girl lives now?


text:
FULL NAME Joginder Sharma

BORN October 23, 1983, Rohtak

CURRENT AGE 37 years 39 days

MAJOR TEAMS India, Chennai Super Kings, Haryana, India Blue

PLAYING ROLE Allrounder

BATTING STYLE Right-hand bat

BOWLING STYLE Right-arm fast-medium

[Joginder Sharma]

 Batting and fielding averages

                Mat   Inns   NO   Runs   HS    Ave     BF     SR       100   50   4s   6s   Ct   St
  ------------- ----- ------ ---- ------ ----- ------- ------ -------- ----- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----
  ODIS          4     3      2    35     29*   35.00   30     116.66   0     0    5    0    3    0
  T20IS         4     -      -    -      -     -       -      -        -     -    -    -    2    0
  FIRST-CLASS   77    121    8    2804   139   24.81   4658   60.19    5     10             15   0
  LIST A        80    68     11   1040   87    18.24   1196   86.95    0     2              14   0
  T20S          63    39     11   425    75*   15.17   337    126.11   0     1    34   20   18   0

 Bowling averages

                Mat   Inns   Balls   Runs   Wkts   BBI    BBM    Ave      Econ   SR      4w   5w   10
  ------------- ----- ------ ------- ------ ------ ------ ------ -------- ------ ------- ---- ---- ----
  ODIS          4     4      150     115    1      1/28   1/28   115.00   4.60   150.0   0    0    0
  T20IS         4     4      87      138    4      2/20   2/20   34.50    9.51   21.7    0    0    0
  FIRST-CLASS   77           14140   6265   297    8/24          21.09    2.65   47.6    6    20   5
  LIST A        80           3577    2671   115    6/40   6/40   23.22    4.48   31.1    4    2    0
  T20S          63    62     1230    1448   61     4/14   4/14   23.73    7.06   20.1    1    0    0

 Career statistics

  ------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------
  ODI DEBUT           Bangladesh v India at Chattogram, Dec 23, 2004 scorecard
  LAST ODI            India v West Indies at Cuttack, Jan 24, 2007 scorecard
  ODI STATISTICS
  T20I DEBUT          England v India at Durban, Sep 19, 2007 scorecard
  LAST T20I           India v Pakistan at Johannesburg, Sep 24, 2007 scorecard
  T20I STATISTICS
  FIRST-CLASS DEBUT   2002/03
  LAST FIRST-CLASS    Haryana v Tripura at Kolkata, Dec 7-9, 2016 scorecard
  LIST A DEBUT        2001/02
  LAST LIST A         Haryana v Punjab at Delhi, Mar 3, 2017 scorecard
  T20S DEBUT          Haryana v Punjab at Delhi, Apr 3, 2007 scorecard
  LAST T20S           Haryana v Jammu & Kashmir at Nadaun, Feb 2, 2017 scorecard
  ------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------

 Recent matches

  Bat & Bowl   Team       Opposition     Ground       Match Date    Scorecard
  ------------ ---------- -------------- ------------ ------------- -----------
  0/17         Diamonds   v Royals       St. Moritz   9 Feb 2018    Other T20
  18, 0/16     Diamonds   v Royals       St. Moritz   8 Feb 2018    Other T20
  0, 0/32      Haryana    v Punjab       Delhi        3 Mar 2017    LA
  0, 0/50      Haryana    v Assam        Delhi        1 Mar 2017    LA
  1/25, 0      Haryana    v Railways     Delhi        26 Feb 2017   LA
  2/41         Haryana    v Odisha       Delhi        25 Feb 2017   LA
  0/16         Haryana    v J + K        Nadaun       2 Feb 2017    T20
  4*, 2/15     Haryana    v Delhi        Dharamsala   1 Feb 2017    T20
  4*, 1/31     Haryana    v Services     Dharamsala   31 Jan 2017   T20
  6, 1/21      Haryana    v H. Pradesh   Dharamsala   30 Jan 2017   T20

 Profile

Joginder Sharma has a few things in common with Kapil Dev. He plays for Haryana, can give the ball a mighty thwack and has the surprise factor with his nippy medium pace. Most importantly, he has the convention-defying streak that Kapil displayed everytime he played. Joginder bowls with a mixed action and can trouble the best with his lively seam bowling - like he did to Rahul Dravid, VVS Laxman and Yuvraj Singh while playing for India A against India Seniors before the Australia series. With two successive hundreds and a ten-wicket haul at the start of the 2004-05 Ranji Trophy season, he won himself a place in India's one-day squad for the tour to Bangladesh. He was back to the grind of domestic cricket after that series but outstanding performances in the next two years won him a spot in the squad for the home series against West Indies in early 2007. Joginder will perhaps always be remembered as the bowler who dismissed Misbah-ul-Haq in the final of the inaugural ICC World Twenty20 to cap mad scenes in Johannesburg. Sharma, India's least likely bowling hero, had bowled three outstanding overs for 13 runs, taking one wicket, but it was that last dismissal that turned him into a hero. He has not played another game for India since, but was picked up by the Indian Premier League's Chennai franchise, the Super Kings.
SIDDHARTHA VAIDYANATHAN (April 2008)

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Latest Photos

APR 8, 2020

[Joginder Sharma, former India player, now a police officer, talks to colleagues, Hisar, Haryana, April 2020]

Joginder Sharma talks to colleagues

© Getty Images

OCT 21, 2016

[Joginder Sharma bowls during his five-wicket haul, Chhattisgarh v Haryana, Ranji Trophy 2016-17, Group B, Guwahati, 2nd day, October 21, 2016]

Joginder Sharma bowls during his five-wicket haul

© PTI

DEC 25, 2012

[Joginder Sharma speaks at the presentation ceremony, Karnataka v Haryana, Ranji Trophy 2012-13, Group B, Hubli, 4th day, December 25, 2012]

Joginder Sharma speaks at the presentation ceremony

© ESPNcricinfo Ltd

 Notes

RANJI TROPHY DEBUT: Haryana v Madhya Pradesh, 9-12 Nov 2004

question: What does the text say about Kapil Dev?

answer: Kapil Dev and Joginder Sharma have similarities in the way they play cricket. They are great players, and both of them play for Haryana.

question: What does the text say about the best cricket player in the world?