text:
Hello everyone. I've been a writer for quite some time. I have my own podcast but I miss creative writing since I started it. Please enjoy this piece, *Raid on Grey Watcher: Part I.* A practice session inspired by an idea for a novel and Diablo III aesthetics. (All right I'll just admit it right now you can imagine the Demon Hunter character narrating this.)

>In the silence of my dreams I know a world without answers. Yet I do not fear it.

— Grelda Stone, First Commander of the Umbra Order

We were assigned to investigate the Grey Watcher, a castle which had become so old as to lose its first name. Like the moss and vile vermin which had overcome its collapsed stonework, what was once known about it had since been devoured. Consumed by time. Replaced by speculation and the ill musings of those who forget to remember that, just like any other home, it once knew a life without phantoms. It was once bustling with people. Laughter. Lives. *Human* lives.

I’ve come to know—something that few know—that there are other creatures in this world looking to defend the name of ‘living’. And there are some creatures, my friends, whose stomachs stir with disgust to think of the word ‘human’ being beholden to it.

It was a late night when we started this fool’s errand. A winter’s night, too. Of course it was. Flooded with rain too indecent to become snow.

We were compelled to go. The whole town had gathered coin, tossed the lot in a bag and thrown it at us. Their eyes glittered from torchlight with a faltering hope. Rumours about our Order were fresh on their lips. The silver spilled out from the pouch when it hit the mud, such was its overflowing contents. The four of us had never seen so much coin in one place. And the townspeople had never given up so much in a single hour.

The four of us wanted to believe we weren’t seeing it. We’d be damned idiots not to accept it. Yet even then we all exchanged glances. Not one of us leapt out to claim the small fortune.

It was Morgan who grabbed the pouch and nodded at the gathering of citizens with a braver face than the rest of us. Once she turned from them with the payment in hand, there was no taking it back. Our Order has always had a policy with accepting payment and the verbal contract being signed therein. True enough. We could have turned tail on the lot. Forgotten about our allegiance. Split the pay. Swept off to brighter fates without so much as a backwards glance at that husk of a town called Birchwood’s Pass.

Maybe what stopped us was the same childish virtue that didn’t let us turn down the job in the first place. God knows the three of us fought Morgan every step of the way as soon as we were out of earshot.

Soon enough, we were piled into the armoured carriage and clattering down the Severed Road. As was typical, Jeremiah was steering through the weather hatch. Caitlyn was loading shot into rifles, pistols, checking flasks of holy water and pouring shots of whiskey. The way that substance snaked fire down the stomach seemed to be the only warmth in the world in that short ride.

“Why’d you take it?” I asked Morgan.

She fed bolts into her cartridge crossbow with a numb fluidity. “Get the pay. Do the assignment. Same as always.”

“No chance of me getting a better answer for you risking our lives before we had a proper discussion?” I asked.

“That right there, Captain, is a fortune,” she said, looking at the pay. “There’s your discussion.”

“Not if we’re dead,” I told her. “The stories they told of that place. If it’s at all true. No. If a tenth of it is true …” My mouth was dry. I swallowed and massaged the belly of my pistol.

“Every city and town’s got a ghost story,” she replied.

“Not one like that,” I replied. “I don’t think I intend to ever hear it again. I … it … much less live it. Ghost stories don’t kidnap thirteen girls and send back cauterised hands. Haunt everybody’s head. Give them all the same nightmare on the same night.”

“That’s where the fear got to them. That’s the fairy tale part of it,” Jeremiah said from the hatch. “Some murdering madman sends them all insane with grief. Sure as sin. But the second part of the story can’t be true. We’re not stalking ghosts. Just killing killers. A cult, if it was my best guess.”

“Are you certain?” I asked him. “The nightmare told them that whatever is responsible for this is in the Grey Watcher. And here we are … racing towards that damned castle! On the word of townspeople we can’t admit are sane because if there’s the smallest chance they’re right, we should all be pissing our pants right now!”

Jeremiah looked back from the road, his eyes lingering a little too long on mine.

“ ‘Every nightmare’s soul contains a crying infant. Each monster’s heart, a child helpless,’ ” Morgan interjected. “That’s what my father told me. Madman or phantom, there’s mercy for them at the end of a blade. Or bullet. It’s not their fault they’re this way.”

“Oh, not this sympathetic nonsense again,” Caitlyn piped in. But there was too much emotion in her eyes to keep her teasing. Hesitation. Fear. It was spilling out. She opened her mouth, then watched the passing scenery. And when that was too much, when the darkness from the surroundings rushed to fill her imagination of whatever nightmarish contrivance we were about to meet, she looked between her hands. Then she closed her eyes.

That was better.

Anywhere but here.

I brought the pistol to my lips and breathed a sigh against it.

“Elias,” Morgan said to me. “If all you have is fear when you raise your pistol, you’ll only be taking aim at yourself.”

“How’d your father die, Morgan?”

“Ghoul. Took a bite out of his neck.”

“Why’d he get close enough to let it happen?”

“He thought he could talk him out of eating the child in his arms.”

“Did the child survive?”

Morgan looked out from the window as the carriage rumbled on, saying nothing for a long while. The lantern burned a deep crimson against the midnight of her hair.

“No.”

\##

>Humans and demons are subtle allies, equally vexed by the Seven Sins. There is no species in Gehenna’s Plane for which we can empathise with better. Angels exist without flaw—for this, our two races are forever divided.

— The Umbra Order's Apocrypha, Vol. II, Augustus Elbridge

When our party reached the bridge which once joined the castle’s island with the mainland, we left the cover of our carriage. What was left of the bridge were gnarled stones like broken teeth sticking out over the Warren River. Its usually calm waters now flooded with anger from the storm. Our heels splashed in the muddied road, every step suctioned from the deep sludge.

Jeremiah and Caitlyn got to work unsaddling the horse while Morgan and I drew out our rifles, kneeling on either side of the carriage’s backside. We didn’t have long. Soon enough, rain would seep passed the covers which kept the ignition points of our flintlocks dry.

Morgan and I held our aim, watching the scenery beyond. Both of us could feel it watching us. Old Hungry, the town called him. Some kind of bog giant. Typical in places like this. They weren’t sure what it was, really. Once their livestock had started going missing they’d sent some people to investigate. After a few survivors came back to tell them what they saw, they moved their livestock away. Told their children never to enter the forest, so on and so forth. Problem solved.

Fact is, creatures like that get hungry. Starving it will only make it wander outside its territory. This spot being the only real entrance and exit to the Grey Watcher, we had what you might call a vested interest in making sure that creature wouldn’t be hungry on our return after a long fight.

Also, there was a bonus if we dealt with it. That helped. We didn’t have any real plans of killing the giant. That’s messy, usually takes a small army, or several hours if lacking the requisite bait. But, there’s no harm in feeding the thing and letting the town assume the best long after we’re on our way.

Plus, our horse had been getting old. This seemed a fitting way to say goodbye. At least she’d be used for something. Feeding the earth and all that.

“Damn chain is stuck,” Jeremiah grunted.

“Well jangling it won’t help,” Caitlyn said, taking over.

Morgan and I risked a glance at each other with our rifles aimed at the forest beyond. When she brought her eyes back to her sights, she muttered some unintelligible insult.

"You’re going to need to be faster than that!” I couldn’t help shouting backwards. “We haven’t got long! Rain. Gunpowder. *Not* an amazing combination.”

“Keep your voice down,” Morgan hissed.

“Over this storm? Can hardly hear myself. With any luck that thing’s just as bothered by the rain as we are. How’s it going back there? Let the damn thing loose already!”

“It won’t budge!” Caitlyn shouted back.

Then we saw it. Made to look even more amorphous in the darkness, the hands stretched out between the tops of tree trunks. Gigantic eyes to us, but still tiny for the size of its head, stared in a starved fixation towards us—a heaping mound of snacks.

“Douse the lanterns!” Morgan called back.

“Oh it’s too late for that,” I growled as the monster tentatively exited the forest’s edge. “Ever seen a sorrier lot of bait waiting to be killed? Damnit Jeremiah!” At the head of the carriage, Caitlyn and Jeremiah were taking equally ineffective turns to detach a single link of the horse’s harness, the last one keeping it to the carriage.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeremiah asked me as I approached, with what I can only assume was the most unfiltered look of annoyance and fury on my face.

A groan of expectation? The rumbling of its insides? I wasn’t sure what noise exactly was being emitted from the monster emerging from the forest. Only that its vibration lashed the ground. Our carriage shook, one of the lanterns jostled from its hook and shattered against the ground.

“That’ll just about be it for time, then!” Morgan shouted.

I cocked the rifle and took aim.

“Have you lost your mind?” Caitlyn protested.

The appropriate response, one filled with a plenty of profanities, was drowned from the shot’s explosion. A gunpowder cloud engulfed us with an irony spray. The startled horse flayed about, too fast for us to remove the saddle. That final link trailed behind it, its end smouldering as the beast ran off in the opposite direction towards the forest’s edge.

Morgan screamed a curse and dove under the carriage. Not due to the horse. The bog creature lumbered towards us, the steps throwing us off our feet, shaking the earth, causing more of the bridge’s edge to slither off into the river. We scrambled backwards, losing what ground we had to retreat on.

We could see it now. Indomitable, starving. A sopping hulk of branches, algae, and exactly the kinds of things you would think a bog would vomit out if they could.

It raised its arm up, looking to bring its fist down onto the carriage. As the hand fell, its eyes caught sight of the horse, and in a final reaction for the largest meal, it swung its mass around to catch it before the poor beast could get away. The bog monster took hold of the horse the way a toddler might grasp its doll. Then there was the first bite. A mulching chomp with deep popping sounds, like that of a hound unflinchingly grinding through a chicken’s shoulder bone.

We watched in stupor, almost just as satisfied as the creature, knowing that it wouldn’t be any of our bones emitting those horrendous noises. With half of the carcass hanging from its jaws, the massive silhouette, dreamlike in its silhouetted terror, slouched off towards the forest to finish its meal.

“Come on,” Caitlyn said, “we don’t know what kind of appetite it’s capable of. Best be off while it’s occupied. Morgan, you’ve got the grappling prepped?”

The archer unholstered a crossbow from her back that was daring to equal her weight in steel and wood.

“Jeremiah,” I said, “it’s best that you grab the pay from the carriage before we cross the river. In case Old Hungry gets curious about our transportation while we’re away. We don’t want to come back with empty hands once we’re out of this.”

“Captain,” Morgan said, priming the crossbow, “did I hear a tone of optimism in your voice?”

“Greed. You heard greed.”

Jeremiah came back, pocketing the pouch of silver into a satchel at his waist.

“Right,” I said, “Morgan. Fire that grappling into the boulder on the far side of the water. Make us a neat little tightrope towards that circus of Gehenna that town calls a castle.”

title: [SF] [Grimdark Fantasy] Raid on Grey Watcher: Part I

question: Summarize the group's task.

answer: They are hired by a village to clear an ancient castle, the Grey Watcher. The castle is the centerpiece of ghost stories, so intense that despite the small fortune offered to clear it, the group hesitates at first. Jeremiah, a member of the group, believes that a murdering cult resides there, killing people and scaring the villagers. The group needs to pass through a forest to reach the castle, which contains its own dangers in the shape of a bog giant. There's a bonus for dealing with it, and the group decides to feed it so that they won't get ambushed once they are out of the castle after a fight. They manage to bait and feed the giant and start their trek to the castle.

question: What does the text say about the Diablo 3 PC game?


split: test

text:
_ONE MINUTE TO ZERO_ is a 1952 romantic war film starring Robert Mitchum and Ann Blyth, set during the opening phases of the Korean War, and produced by Howard Hughes as his last film as producer.[1] The film showcases the contributions of the U.S. Army and U.S. Air Force, the South Korean Army, the United Nations, the British Army and the Royal Australian Air Force during the early days of the Korean War.[2] The effects of air power in the Korean War were also vividly depicted through the use of combat footage.

Plot

Just prior to the North Korean invasion of South Korea, World War II U.S. Army veterans Colonel Steve Janowski (Robert Mitchum) and Sergeant Baker (Charles McGraw) are teaching South Korean soldiers how to use a bazooka to stop an enemy tank. Linda Day (Ann Blyth) is a United Nations worker assisting refugees. Janowski warns Day and her colleagues to leave the area because hostilities are imminent. Day, however, insists that the North Koreans would not risk the wrath of world opinion. In response, Janowski asks her if world opinion stopped Hitler.

Soon after, Janowski and U.S. Air Force Colonel Joe Parker (William Talman) wake up and find themselves under attack. They compare the attack to Pearl Harbor (“Isn't this where we came in?” “It's even Sunday morning!”). Janowski takes command of a U.S. Army unit which is helping to evacuate Americans and refugees. While doing his job, he keeps crossing paths, and falling in love, with Day. It turns out that she is reluctant to get involved with a soldier because she is the widow of a Medal of Honor recipient.

As part of a desperate situation, Janowski is confronted by a column of refugees which has been infiltrated by armed North Korean guerrillas. He has no choice but to call in an artillery strike. Even though Janowski is remorseful for the civilian casualties, Day initially condemns him for killing innocent people. After she finds out the reason for Janowski's action (and that he was right), she apologizes.

Janowski leads a successful American counter offensive against the enemy. The contributions of the British Army and the Royal Australian Air Force are both featured in the film, and are both explicitly mentioned as evidence that “the whole world” is “in this together”.

Cast

[Robert Mitchum and Charles McGraw were inseparable during the film's production and ended up in trouble at a local bar.[3]] As appearing in _One Minute to Zero_ (main roles and screen credits identified):[4]

-   Robert Mitchum as Col. Steve Janowski
-   Ann Blyth as Linda Day
-   William Talman as Col. John Parker
-   Charles McGraw as Sgt. Baker
-   Margaret Sheridan as Mary Parker
-   Richard Egan as Capt. Ralston
-   Eduard Franz as Gustav Engstrand
-   Robert Osterloh as Major Davis
-   Robert Gist as Major Carter
-   Stuart Whitman as Officer (uncredited)
-   Kathleen O'Malley as Mrs. Norton
-   Wallace Russell as Pilot Norton
-   Lalo Ríos as Pvt. Chico Mendoza (uncredited)

Production

The film's working title was _The Korean Story_. Ted Tetzlaff was the first director assigned by RKO. He was replaced, however, by Tay Garnett because producer Edmund Grainger (famed for _Sands of Iwo Jima_ and _Flying Leathernecks_) wanted a “bigger” name as director.[5]

The original actress chosen as leading lady was Claudette Colbert. She became ill with pneumonia, however, and although Grainger wanted Joan Crawford, the role had been rewritten for a younger person. Eventually, Ann Blyth became the replacement.[6]

Although RKO attempted to shoot second unit footage in South Korea,[7] _One Minute to Zero_ was filmed at Fort Carson, Colorado, using troops of the 148th Field Artillery.[8] During a break, Mitchum, Egan, McGraw and other cast members showed up at a local hotel bar frequented by the soldiers in the nearby base. McGraw got into an argument with an army private escalating from a shoving match to a fistfight when Mitchum tried to break it up. The soldier ended up being stretchered out but news of the altercation resulted in Hughes having to intervene when U.S. Army officials threatened to pull their support for the film.[9]{{#tag:ref| “The incident might have rated only a paragraph ...” biographer George Eells recounted in _Robert Mitchum_ (1984), “... had Mitchum's adversary not turned out to be [a] former light heavyweight professional boxer with a record of twenty-six wins – nineteen of them knockouts – and two losses between 1946 and 1947.”[10]|group=Note}}

Howard Hughes, the owner of RKO, had received massive U.S. military cooperation in the making this film.[11] Nonetheless, he refused to delete the refugee massacre scene when requested to do so by the U.S. Army.[12]

Victor Young's score for the film includes the first appearance of “When I Fall In Love.” It is performed as an instrumental piece by its lyricist, Edward Heyman. The song, performed here by Doris Day, went on to become a popular hit song recorded by a variety of artists.[13]

Reception

Although considered standard fare for war films, even tinged with propaganda, _One Minute to Zero_ received notice because of one controversial scene showing the U.S. shelling refugees being forced through U.N. lines by North Korean infiltrators.[14]{{#tag:ref|The incident in the film resembled that of the No Gun Ri Massacre on July 26–29, 1950, when up to 300 refugees were killed, except that no evidence emerged of infiltrators at No Gun Ri.[15][16]|group=Note}} Bosley Crowther of _The New York Times_ dismissed most of the action-based story in a review that noted, "Like a great many war pictures, this one is patly contrived with elements not only of romance but also of melodrama, comedy and tears. There is the usual amount of jaw-jutting by angry and earnest G. I.'s who find themselves caught in situations from which salvation seems beyond hope. ... Plainly, “One Minute to Zero” is a ripely synthetic affair, arranged to arouse emotions with the most easy and obvious clichés. And, although some of the battle talk sounds faithful and the inter-cut news shots are sincere, neither the story nor the performances of the actors, including Miss Blyth and Mr. Mitchum, rings true. Here is another war picture that smells of grease paint and studios."[17]

Along with Retreat, Hell! which premiered earlier in the same year, One Minute To Zero was heavily promoted in some locales where a number of drive in theaters showed it as their only option for several consecutive months. This was the case at a series of locally owned drive in theaters in Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, Ohio and Wisconsin. As a result of this in the Wisconsin counties of Polk County, Barron County, Price County, Clark County, Marinette County, Oconto County, Shawano County, Waupaca County, Dodge County and Taylor County it was the only movie one could see in a drive in for multiple consecutive months. This was also the case in the Indiana counties of Kosciusko County, Whitley County, Huntington County, Adams County, Morgan County, Jackson County and Greene County. This was also the case in Ogle County, Illinois and Bureau County, Illinois. These same theaters had shown Retreat Hell! as their only feature for several months earlier in the same year, until they switched over to showing One Minute to Zero as their only option for the following several months that July. These same drive in theaters would only do this again on one more occasion, which would be for the movie Tarzan and the Lost Safari which was released in 1957[18]

The intercutting of stock footage of USAF Lockheed F-80 Shooting Star and Royal Australian Air Force North American P-51 Mustang fighter-bombers, along with other aerial sequences has made _One Minute to Zero_ an aviation film buff's favorite.[19]

Notes

[1]

[2] Appleman, Roy E. _South to the Naktong, North to the Yalu (June–November 1950)._ Washington, D.C.: Office of the Chief of Military History, Department of the Army, 1961.

[3]

[4] “Credits: One Minute to Zero.” _Turner Classic Movies._ Retrieved: November 23, 2012.

[5]

[6] Rode 2007, pp. 95–96.

[7]

[8] “Korean War 50th Anniversary.” _Pass in Review newsletter_ (Idaho Military History Museum), March 2002.

[9]

[10] Eells 1984, p. 156.

[11] Steinberg, Jay S. “Articles: One Minute to Zero.” _Turner Classic Movies._ Retrieved: November 24, 2012.

[12] Suid 2002, p. 137.

[13] Whitburn, Joel. _Top Pop Records 1940–1955_. Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin: Record Research, 1973. .

[14] Evans 200, p. 144.

[15] Hanley et al. 2001, pp. 110–114.

[16]

[17] Crowther, Bosley. “One Minute to Zero (1952)' One Minute to Zero,' a Korean War Picture with Robert Mitchum, at Criterion.” _The New York Times,_ September 20, 1952.

[18] Movies Under the Stars: A History of the Drive-in Theatre Industry, 1933-1983 by David Bruce Reddick, University Microfilms, 1989 pp. 27-28

[19]

title: One Minute to Zero

question: What does the article say about Howard Hughes?

answer: Howard Hughes is the producer of the movie One Minute to Zero. He received U.S. military cooperation in making the movie. He was asked to delete the refugee massacre scene by the U. S. Army but refused to do that.

question: What does the article say about why the refugee massacre happened?

answer: A column of refugees has been infiltrated by armed North Korean guerrillas, and colonel Janowski had to call in an artillery strike. Many civilians died.

question: What does the article say about how many refugees were killed in the massacre?


text:
Score distribution:

1.  2.  3.  Negative: 0 out of 85

1.  With gorgeous sound and visuals, immersive and expansive modes for single players, captivating multiplayer options, a rewarding economy, and a staggering amount of cars and tracks, Forza Motorsport 6 delivers a powerful racing experience. It single-handedly makes the Xbox One console appealing, and is a no-brainer “gotta have it” title for those that have Microsoft’s gaming machine in their homes.

    -   Read full review

2.  It was enough to outright bring me back into the racing fold. I found myself racing for hours, racking up credits, ferociously buying new cars to add to my garage, and cursing at my friend's Drivatars. Forza 6 is the new king of simulation racing.

    -   All this publication's reviews
    -   Read full review

3.  Like a big bucket of Hot Wheels brought to life, Forza Motorsport 6 is first-order car porn for the automobile obsessed but remains an accessible and exciting racer for those who just want to drive fast in something red with a horse logo on it.

    -   All this publication's reviews
    -   Read full review

4.  5.  6.  7.

See all 86 Critic Reviews

1.

    Just the most amazing racing game I've ever played. This is like you are in this incredible atmosphere. Lots of cars and tracks. BeautifulJust the most amazing racing game I've ever played. This is like you are in this incredible atmosphere. Lots of cars and tracks. Beautiful graphics. That's why we can call it "next-gen"!… Expand

2.

    Let me please say first: I am a car guy. Now that's out of the way, I'll then say I am a Forza guy, and this is the bets Forza yet. From theLet me please say first: I am a car guy. Now that's out of the way, I'll then say I am a Forza guy, and this is the bets Forza yet. From the graphics to the actual racing there is not much to take away from the game. There's loads of cars, real cars - maybe even own you own! The new night driving and rain effects add to the racing and makes things sometimes hectic or comical while playing with friends. Turn 10 put their time into this game and it really show. I give the game 10/10.

    JohnnyBoy of the DayOne GameCast

    … Expand

3.

4.

    El mejor o casi forza de la saga, y sin lugar a dudas el mejor juego de coches de esta generacion, con 60 fps rocosos, 450 coches forzavista,El mejor o casi forza de la saga, y sin lugar a dudas el mejor juego de coches de esta generacion, con 60 fps rocosos, 450 coches forzavista, 26 circuitos, lluvia, noche unas y fisicas tremendas, en el aspecto grafico se mueve a una resolucion de 1920x1080p una iluminacion muy buena tanto de dia noche y lluvia, podemos ver y hacer aquaplanning en la lluvia con una carretera con unos reflejos muy detallados. La camara interior del coche en lluvia tiene un efecto bastante bueno del agua recorriendo la luna y las ventanas de los lados. La mayoria de los circuitos tienen acumulacion de tierra vuelta tras vuelta asi como los de lluvia se va creando niebla. De noche en circuitos como lemans, spa conduciremos con los faros de nuestro coche lo que dificulta y frustra (mi caso) pero te da una grata sensacion gracias a la gran iluminacion que tiene.… Expand

5.

    Fun game that changed all the problems with forza 5. New additions of rain and night are good, but would be coolest if the conditions wereFun game that changed all the problems with forza 5. New additions of rain and night are good, but would be coolest if the conditions were generated differently each race to make it less predictable. Showcase events are cool, multiplayer is just a joke, but i haven't tried the online tiered racing yet. Apparently that's for 'serious' people who actually want to race, but i imagine there would be many trolls interfering. Mods are a cool new introduction but credits are so easy to get it and 'rare' cards aren't even that hard to get. The dares are cool and the track experts are cool but the boosts are just about useless. No lag online and the FPS and graphics are fine.… Expand

6.

    Simple & Complex. --- While some newer racing games try to offer players everything including the kitchen sink, they often miss one criticalSimple & Complex. --- While some newer racing games try to offer players everything including the kitchen sink, they often miss one critical element of a great game - simplicity. The art of layer building so that a novice player can have exactly the same fun as a hardcore racer. This game delivers it in glorious Forza fashion. Racing games were on the back burner for my entire gaming life until I came across Forza Horizon 2.. Forza 6 has only cemented my faith in the studio. To put it simple - I love this game, it's awesome!… Expand

7.

    The graphics are beautiful and it's a good game, but the drivatar system is TERRIBLE. It's always the same damn thing, the drivatar in firstThe graphics are beautiful and it's a good game, but the drivatar system is TERRIBLE. It's always the same damn thing, the drivatar in first place is always super far ahead. It's also random, sometimes you can win on "unbeatable" settings very very easily while you might lose on "new driver". Also the driving system isn't that good as the drivatars take turns without braking at high speed while you have to slow down way too much… Expand

8.

    Jogo fraco, não tem um física realista e muito menos uma noção do que é o realismo

See all 160 User Reviews

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question: Summarize the overall reception towards Forza Horizon 6.

answer: All reviewers seem to agree that Forza Horizon 6 is a great racing game with beautiful graphics. Reviewers think that both a novice and an expert in the racing games can enjoy Forza Horizon 6. Another common praise is for the abundance of cars in the game. However, there is a negative review saying that the game's AI and difficulty aren't well-calibrated.

question: What does the text say about how to get better at racing games?


text:
ROBERT MOUNTSIER (1888-1972) was an author, journalist and literary agent for writer D.H. Lawrence.[1] [[File:Robert_Mountsier,_journalist,_passport_photo,1919.jpg%7Cthumb%7Cright|

Mountsier, 1919 passport photo, with signature[2]

]]

Personal life

Mountsier was born in Belle Vernon, Pennsylvania, on May 14, 1888, the son of Augustine R. Mountsier of Hilgay, England.[3]

In 1905, Mounstier, as a high school student, placed second in a competitive examination to be accepted as a plebe in the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland.[4]

He graduated from the University of Michigan in 1909 and received a Ph.D from Columbia University.[5] In a 1910 passport application, he described himself as a “student and journalist.” He was a resident of Livingston Hall on the Columbia campus.[6]

In his later life he lived in Crestwood, New York, and died at the age of 84 on November 23, 1972, in a New York City nursing home. He was survived by siblings Carl Mountser, Mabel Mountser and Alathea Walker.[7]

Professional work

Mountsier joined the _New York Sun_ as literary editor in 1910 and was aviation and automobile editor from 1914 to 1916. In the latter year, he was reporting from the Mexican border, and in World War One he was sent to Europe by the _New York Herald._ Afterward, he was employed by the Red Cross and was also with the American Relief Administration.[8][9][10]

He was also the literary editor of Judge (magazine) in 1915 under the name A. Robert Mountsier.[11]

Between 1916 and 1919 he was in England, France, Turkey and Armenia. In 1920 he returned to Europe on a commercial assignment to investigate business conditions “with special reference to the copper and brass industries.”[12]

After the war Mountsier returned to the _Sun._ In 1929 he covered a 140-day around-the-world voyage of the Hamburg-American Line _Resolute._ The _Sun_ closed in 1950, and afterward he edited an automotive magazine, _Old Timers_[13][14] for the Automobile Old Timers organization in New York City.[15]

Mountsier was also the American literary agent for writer D.H. Lawrence, beginning in October 1920.[16][17] Lawrence broke with his previous agent, J.B. Pinker, and replaced him with Mountsier in New York and Curtis Brown in London.[18]

Books

-   _Soldiers, Sailors and Marines_[19]
-   _Our Eleven Billion Dollars_[20][21]

[1] “Robert Mountsier, Former Sun Editor,” _The New York Times,_ page 34

[2]

[3]

[4] “L. Lindley for Midshipman,” _The Daily Republican,_ Monongahela, Pennsylvania, February 20, 1905, image 1

[5]

[6] [https://www.ancestry.com/interactive/1174/USM1490_109-0539?pid=374001&treeid=&personid=&rc=&usePUB=true&_phsrc=RuT192&_phstart=successSource U.S. passport application, May 11, 1910]

[7]

[8]

[9] [https://www.ancestry.com/interactive/1174/32296_645874_0004-01194?pid=2051170&backurl=https://search.ancestry.com/cgi-bin/sse.dll?indiv%3D1%26dbid%3D1174%26h%3D2051170%26tid%3D%26pid%3D%26usePUB%3Dtrue%26_phsrc%3DRuT191%26_phstart%3DsuccessSource&treeid=&personid=&hintid=&usePUB=true&_phsrc=RuT191&_phstart=successSource&usePUBJs=true U.S. passport application, February 28, 1920]

[10] “Our Mexican War Correspondents Now at the Front in El Paso,” _The Great Bend (Kansas) Tribune,_ June 29, 1916, image 1

[11] “Vienna in Waiting,” _Star-Phoenix,_ Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, September 28, 1915

[12] [https://www.ancestry.com/interactive/1174/USM1490_1088-0340?pid=371936&treeid=&personid=&rc=&usePUB=true&_phsrc=RuT189&_phstart=success U.S. passport application, May 22, 1919]

[13]

[14] “Members of the Fourth Estate,” _The Honolulu Advertiser,_ May 4, 1929, image 4

[15] “What's New in Autos,” _The Pittsburgh Press,_ Pennsylvania, March 2, 1952, image 37

[16]

[17] Jay A. Gertzman and Michael Squires, “New Letters From Thomas Seltzer and Robert Mountsier to D.H. Lawrence,” ''DHLawrenceReview.org''

[18] Janice S. Robinson, “World War I Years of D.H. Lawrence,” _San Francisco Examiner,_ May 5, 1985, image 376

[19]

[20]

[21] “Miscellaneous,” _The Boston Globe,_ June 10, 1922, image 7

title: Robert Mountsier

question: Summarize Robert Montsier's career.

answer: Montsier started out as a literary editor in 1910, after which he was a journalist for the New York Herald, covering the First World War from Europe. He was also the editor of Judge magazine. Once the war was over Montsier worked on a variety of projects but most notably became the literary agent for D.H. Lawrence.

question: What was D.H. Lawrences relationship like with Montsier?


text:
There was something in the air. Something distant and alive. Juan knew it when he woke.

He opened the wooden doors to his bedroom balcony and stepped out into the sun. It was quiet except for the woman across the street beating a wooden spoon into a rug draped over her balcony railing. She was bent over and thumped at the rug. Juan could see clouds of dust expel from the fabric and drift down to the cobblestone street below. She glanced up at Juan and waved the spoon at him and he said hello and smiled. Then she went back to thumping. A scooter drove past and he watched it rattle on the cobblestone until it turned at the end of the street and out of sight.

He took a deep breath, breathing in the sweet smell of the Algerian food stand next door, and went inside to dress for the day.

In the kitchen, Nick was rolling a spliff.

Good morning, Nick said licking the edges of the paper.

Good morning, Juan said.

Coffee?

Please.

Juan sat at the kitchen table next to Nick as he poured coffee into a cup. The tall kitchen windows were swung open and he could hear the post office trucks as they backed out to start their days. Nick and Juan lived next to the post office.

Nick pushed the coffee across the table for Juan.

Thanks, he said.

Nick put the tightly-rolled spliff in the side of his mouth and popped a match on the grainy table then lit the spliff and drew on it then leaned back in his seat and exhaled slowly. He put the half-charred match on the table next to the others. A door slammed shut and the last truck revved and drove off then it was quiet. Juan blew softy into his coffee to cool it and grinned and looked up at Nick and said:

Do you believe in God?

No, Nick said after a moment.

He drew on his spliff, the end crackling red, then blew a thin line of smoke towards the opened window.

I used to not, Juan said. But suddenly, I think I do.

Nick nodded.

I woke with this incredible yearning, yearning for something I don’t know. I feel it deep in my bones. It’s calling out to me.

Nick did not say anything, his mind was elsewhere. Juan drank his coffee slowly. He drank it down to the dregs. Then he stood and set the cup in the sink and grabbed his keys off the counter. At the door, he unhooked his jacket and turned to Nick still seated at the table.

So long, my friend.

Where’re you going?

Something is calling me.

Juan said hello to the Algerians. They were serving a customer a tuna sandwich and said hello back. The rug-thumping lady had gone inside. He strode down *Rue Desalle* towards the train tracks, the yearning deep in his core.

He turned down the train tracks and walked beside them towards the city center. He walked and was happy, the sun comfortable on his back. He walked past a Vietnamese restaurant, and next to the door a man in frayed clothes urinated on the stone wall. The man grunted something at Juan then slumped back into the wall and sat with his chin down and his pants around his ankles. Juan dropped a coin into the man’s cup.

He followed the tracks until he reached the station where people were coming and going. He then turned left onto a smooth-stoned street that slanted gently uphill to the city center called *Place de la Comédie.* The street was lined with shops and palm trees and the buildings on either side were three stories with balconies hanging overhead.

Olive-skinned children ran about. One of them tugged on Juan’s shirt and Juan turned around and knelt down to face the child.

Something is calling me, he said to the child.

The child’s metallic gray eyes burned through him and he knew.

She is waiting, the child said.

Then he turned and ran off with his friends down a dark, damp alley.

As he approached, he heard the sound that drew him here, the sound lit deep in his bones he waited his whole life to hear, to draw him in and love him.

He saw her sitting in the sun, cross-legged against the fountain. Above her, water jetted at two figurines dancing atop a rock.

He walked to her. Her sound sailed high above the wind and buildings and out to sea. He stood in front of her and she looked up at him and set her tambourine on the ground beside her and stood and faced him, her oil-black eyes absorbing all.

I’ve been waiting for you, she said.

I am here, my love.

He reached his hand out and she took it, her eyes never leaving his. He pulled her in and they knew what to do. They walked away through the crowd in the hard sun, arm in arm.

title: [RF] The Tambourine

question: What is the main conflict of the story?

answer: The main conflict is that Juan feels drawn to some inexplicable feeling. He says goodbye to Nick and goes to search for the source.


text:
President Trump said on Monday that Democrats who didn’t applaud during his State of the Union address — including Rep. Nancy Pelosi — were “treasonous” and “un-American.”

“They would rather see Trump do badly, OK, than Trump do well,” the president said during an event promoting tax reform in Blue Ash, Ohio, on Monday afternoon. “It’s very selfish. And it got to a point where I really didn’t want to look too much during the speech over to that side. Because honestly it was bad energy.”

Republicans in the House chamber applauded often during Trump’s Jan. 30 State of the Union address, his first as president, while Democrats, led by Pelosi, resisted many of Trump’s applause lines.

“You’re up there, you’ve got half the room going totally crazy, wild, they loved everything, they want to do something great for our country,” Trump recalled, “and you’ve got the other side — even on positive news, really positive news — they were like death. And un-American. Un-American.”

Trump then pointed to the back of the room of the Ohio factory where he was speaking.

“Somebody said treasonous. Yeah, I guess, why not?” the president said to laughter from the crowd. “Can we call that treason? Why not. I mean, they certainly didn’t seem to love out country very much.”

Representatives for Pelosi and the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee did not immediately return requests for comment.

[President Trump ]

Photo: Evan Vucci/AP
Trump described a moment during his speech when he touted the record-low African-American unemployment rate — a figure he has taken credit for, although the drop during his first year in office continued a steep fall during President Obama’s second term.

“I said we have the lowest black unemployment in the history of our country,” Trump said. “It was like, it was a game, you know, they play games.

“They were told, don’t even make a facial movement. And I’m talking about, you have the lowest Hispanic unemployment in the history of our country — this isn’t me saying, this is the charts, the polls. Dead silence. Not a smile.”

Trump said he noticed one man — “probably a reverend,” Trump said — clapping among the Democrats.

“He was probably severely reprimanded,” Trump mused.

Earlier, while urging Republican voters not to become complacent heading into upcoming midterm elections, Trump seized upon comments Pelosi made about the GOP tax cuts. The California congresswoman referred to the bonuses some companies are giving employees as a result of Trump’s tax cuts as “crumbs.”

“She’s a rich woman who lives in a big, beautiful house in California, who wants to give all your money away,” Trump said. “And I’m supposed to make a deal with her?”

Trump compared the remark to Hillary Clinton calling his supporters “deplorable.”

Pelosi, Trump said, is our “secret weapon.”

“I just hope they don’t change her.”

READ MORE FROM YAHOO NEWS:

-   Trump falsely claims his SOTU TV viewership was ‘highest’ in history

-   Dreamers’ turn their backs on Trump’s immigration policy

-   Trump honors parents of MS-13 gang victims at SOTU

-   Full text: President Trump’s 2018 State of the Union address

-   Photos: The 2018 State of the Union

question: What does President Trump say about Democrats who didn’t applaud during his State of the Union address?

answer: President Trump says that Democrats who didn’t applaud during his State of the Union address are “treasonous” and “un-American.”

question: What were Democrats' and Republicans' reactions to Trump’s first State of the Union address as president?

answer: Republicans in the House chamber applauded often during Trump’s address, while Democrats, led by Pelosi, resisted many of Trump’s applause lines.

question: What does President Trump say about African-American and Hispanic unemployment rate during his presidency?

answer: President Trump says that the U.S. has the lowest African-American and Hispanic unemployment rate in history.

question: What does Rep. Nancy Pelosi say about Trump’s tax cuts?

answer: Rep. Nancy Pelosi says that the bonuses some companies are giving employees as a result of Trump’s tax cuts are crumbs.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: President Trump says that Democrats who didn’t applaud during his State of the Union address, including Rep. Nancy Pelosi, were “treasonous” and “un-American.” Trump takes credit for the lowest African-American and Hispanic unemployment rate in history. He criticizes Rep. Nancy Pelosi's negative comments about his tax cuts.


text:
 “There are 7 billion of us out there, 7 billion lives, all existing simultaneously. Out there, at this very moment, everything is happening. Someone’s’ falling in love right now, and someone’s’ falling out of it. A child is watching his dad beat his mum while hiding in a cupboard and someone is killing someone else for the very first time.”
I stopped, taking another drag from the poorly rolled joint. I looked more like a sagging cigarette now.
“The sheer number of people on this earth means that statistically whatever you’re going through, whatever shits troubling you, someone’s’ gone through it before. I guess it’s comforting in a way, but it also sort of makes you realize how unimportant you are.”
Jonas looked up and chuckled.
“Frederick, you need to lay off the dope man. You’re sounding like my mum”
 The sun was beginning to set and the last of the light was casting purple and pink splotches across the horizon. I could see some birds in the distance, looked like shorebirds, probably migrating North to Siberia. I slid down the graffiti covered skate ramp and stubbed out the joint on the cement. “C’mon, we’re going to be late.”

The main street of Port Fairy, Victoria was as silent as the deaf school that they built in the southern part of town. That was, of course, apart from the times the folk music festival was here. But other than that, Jonas and I usually had the streets to ourselves. On Fridays’, our parents would meet up for trivia at the local tavern, always stumbling home, drunk on beer and cover bands, at some absurd time of night before laughing their way to bed. Us kids would generally head down to the beach for some bonfire party. It was there we would all drink and smoke till we passed out on the sand. It was like some kind of sick competition as to who could get fucked up the most. As we got closer to the end of school though, the kids would spend less time drinking and more time talking about getting out of here, going to the city, travelling the world and shit like that. My English teacher wanted me to have those dreams, said he saw big things for me. Always going on about some degree at a fancy Melbourne university. To be honest though, I’d be happy just to work on the docks with dad. I put my hands in my pockets and felt the crumpled Melbourne Uni pamphlet I picked up earlier. I pulled it out and threw it into the trash before light-heartedly shoving Jonas.
“Try not to piss yourself this time will you mate.”
He scowled
“Fuck off dickhead, it wasn’t piss, I spilled my drink.” I bowed my head to hide my smile as we walked towards the beach.

“You think Abigail will be there tonight.”
Abigail was Jonas’ Bella. Y’know, Bella, from the 2 excruciating hours that is “Twilight.” Except Jonas didn’t half the charm of Edward, never mind the looks. If he did then perhaps he’d have a chance. But he’s still obsessed, whether it’s a possibility or not. You see, Abigail had moved next door to him when he was 6 and he hasn’t shut up about her since. “
Yeah, she’ll be there, Jocks’ going and she fancies him I reckon.”
Jonas’ expression suddenly turned inwards and his bubbliness instantly went flat. I don’t know why I said that to him, yeah it was true, but I could’ve let him stay in denial. I guess I was just tired of him spending these nights chasing her and leaving me alone by the fire. Trying to get rid of the guilt building slowly inside of me I quickly added,
“But you guys are meant to be together... So she’ll come round I reckon.”
“You really think so?”
He looked up, so committed to the idea of a relationship with her that he would believe anything that promoted its’ cause.
“Yeah mate, I know it. Look there it is, I can see the bonfire.”
I pointed towards the glimmer of light coming from the beach. It was almost dark now and a cool sea breeze carried the smell of salty water. The ambience of it almost overcame me. Regardless of what the other kids thought, for me, this was my home.

The fire flickered and danced as I stood in the warmth emerging from its’ tender fingers. Jonas had gone off to chase Abigail and I was left alone by the fire. Now onto my 6th beer I was definitely feeling the alcohol, finding it difficult to remain focused on one thing. The whole party had long ago turned into a crude display of lust. Everyone had paired up in a desperate attempt to escape the loneliness and deep-seated insecurities that came with being an adolescent in a country town. The lucky ones who had found someone had gone off and now only a spare few remained, some face down in the sand and others just sitting, staring into the waves. As I was considering whether to join the sand people, someone tripped behind me. I turned around to see who the latest victim of alcohol poisoning was and it surprised me to find Jonas. He looked up, wildly distressed with sand all over his face. He didn’t seem too intoxicated but his hands were shaking real bad and he looked pale. My only thought was that he probably took too much of the E he had brought along.
“Big night buddy?”
I asked cynically, smiling to myself. He shook his head quite violently.
 “Nah, nah, Frederick, it’s not that. Something’s happened…”
He paused
“Something bad has happened man, something real bad man, real, real fucked up, and I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean for this to happen, I promise. I didn't mean it to go like this”
His pupils were dilated and his eyes kept darting from left to right. His thick eyebrows were creased and his messy red hair was tangled. He looked like a right madman. I laughed.
“Yeah, good one mate. Real funny.”
Although I wasn’t in the mood for practical jokes I’d give him this one, his acting was actually pretty good. I waited for him to reveal the prank but he just kept darting his eyes, rubbing his hands together and looking around nervously.
“Real funny Jonas. Now stop it, I’ve had a rough night. I’m going to sleep.” Yet, as I turned to go, he kept shaking his head, and now, looking at him, his expression was one I hadn’t seen on him before. Pure terror. I stopped. Maybe this wasn’t a joke
“Shit mate…”
It was apparent now that he was dead serious.
“What’s going on?”

“What the fuck did you do Jonas?”
He didn’t respond. He was caught up in whatever fucked up mess was going down inside his head. Running over the dunes, every few strides he would stumble then continue with the same hurried angst. I followed close behind him, wondering what could’ve happened to make him like this. Jonas was generally a pretty chilled person so to see him all riled up like this was a bit of a shock. We were getting pretty far away now and the light of the bonfire was growing dim. I pressed my red denim shirt to my body, feeling the cold. My skin was turning slightly pinkish; it always reacted weirdly when the weather got this way. Jonas finally stopped on a tall sand dune. From the bottom of it, he looked sort of like a hero from the novels my mum used to read to me as a kid. Bare feet, wind blowing in his hair, with the moon and the stars above him, he looked like nothing could ever bring him down. I slowly trudged up next to him. Standing there, we must have looked like two giants in the night. The kings of the beach. I kept looking forward, trying to see what was so important he had to bring me all the way out here. Then I looked down, fuck, I shouldn’t have looked down.

I’d always imagined a dead body would be blue. Y’know, blue, bloody, the shit you see in horror movies. But in reality, they just look like a normal person, like they were sleeping just… missing something. There was one thing the movies got right though, his body was cold. As I shuffled the woollen jumper up to see if he had a pulse I was shocked by his iciness. Jonas was still shaking, stricken with paranoia his eyes were still dating rapidly from side to side, scanning the dunes for anyone who might bear witness to his act of sin.
“One minute he’s dancing with me, laughing and having a good time and then he’s face down in the sand.”
He stuttered then coughed quickly to correct himself
“I was out here just, just angry, about Abigail and stuff, so I decided to pop a couple of caps, I got them off my brother. Just a few caps y'know. Anyway he was out here, looked a little lonely, like me, so I asked if he wanted one. I didn’t do anything to him Frederick, you know that right, you believe me... you believe me right? I just gave him some E, that’s all. Just some E.”
It was only after the initial shock faded that I became aware of the repugnant smell. I gagged into my shirt. I’d heard that humans defecated upon death due to the loosening of the bowel muscles. Just thought it was another urban legend, to freak us out. Never thought it was true, not until today.
“I think he’s dead Frederick, I think he’s fucking dead.”
Jonas began to cry, in small bursts at first, but then full-blown sobbing. I had never seen him cry at all, not before tonight.
“Shut up Jonas. Someone’ll hear you.”
He scrunched his t-shirt and put it in his mouth. I stopped, breathing deeply. I had no idea what to do but I couldn’t expect any rational thinking from Jonas so it was sadly on me. I had to deal with the dead guy lying cold in the sand. What the fuck happened to a relaxing bonfire. I checked one more time for witnesses before turning to Jonas, hiding my terror behind a mask of solemn determination.
“Now, Jonas, I need you to listen to me, did anyone else see him? Anyone at all.”

I rolled the body onto its’ front and gagged again. It was Chris. Chris from the private school in the rich part of town. Chris from the football team. Chris who sang in choir. Chris the kid who never was that bright, who was one of those 6-foot tall weightlifters who laughed whenever one of his mates would let rip in the car. Chris who was simple. Chris who never wanted to go to Uni either. Had a construction job lined up he reckoned, with a cousin over in Warrnambool. Of course, none of that mattered now. Now he’d never even get to turn 18. Never have kids. Never get married. Never get to see his mum smiling when she realised her little boy was all grown up. Tragic.

Snapping myself out of lamentation I realised the sun would be up soon. We needed to be quick if we were going to remain unseen. Fact of the matter was, Jonas had given him the E. Didn’t matter he didn’t kill him himself. Everyone knew Jonas was the only one with E and it was the E that caused Chris to end up dead. I had to think of Jonas now. Chris was gone, couldn’t do nothing for him and going to the pigs would just put my mate behind bars. I turned to Jonas, who was still crying,
“We’re going to have to move him.”

Fireman carrying Chris towards the water reminded me of when my dad used to carry me inside after the long car trips back from Melbourne. Funny how the roles reverse so suddenly. I buckled numerous times under Chris’s’ weight as Jonas walked behind me. Although I was the one carrying the body, Jonas was carrying a hell of a lot more, metaphorically of course. As we grew close to the shore I laid Chris with down in the sand, head first. It was easier that way, didn’t have to see his face.
“Frederick”
Jonas stuttered, wiping away snot and tears on his sleeve.
 “What are you going to do?”
I lifted Chris up underneath his shoulders then turned to Jonas.
“He was drunk, he went swimming and he was drunk. A rip carried him out. Do you understand?”
He nodded and then began sobbing again, black circles now forming under his eyes.
“Grab his feet.”
I instructed him sternly while repeating to myself, solemn, stay solemn and distanced, Jonas needs you, he needs this. As we waded out to sea, the water became colder. Without the sun shining against it, it looked as black as the night sky. The foam from the waves broke against our ankles. The Ocean, at this time of night, resembled a moving breathing body, silent and dark. I watched the patterns forming from the breaking of the waves, the break making subtle shapes on the water top. At about chest height, shivering profusely, I looked to Jonas and nodded. He understood. The look in his eyes said enough. After letting go of Chris’s’ feet he looked away, as if by not facing the same direction as the body it would nullify what he had done. Before I let Chris go, I grasped his fingers, feeling the coarseness that had developed from the delivery work he did with his family in the summer. In the dark I could only see the faint outline of his body sinking downwards. The current would take care of the rest. Carry him away from us and away from our quiet country town.

Despite the fact my clothes were soaked and my knees were shaking I became aware of the fact that I could no longer feel the cold. Sitting down next to Jonas I looked out at the ocean, moving methodically, forward then backwards, taking and depositing sand as it came and left. Jonas and I just sat there. Sat there till the sun came up, gripping each other tightly and watching as the new day arrived, knowing nothing of the events of last night. Once again, the light painted the horizon with brilliant colours, but in our distress we were no longer witness to the beauty of the sun.

Ambition, ambition, ambition. They never shut up about it, you get one good mark or read some intellectual book and all of a sudden you have to go to bloody Cambridge. I think I may move to the city after all though. Nothing but bad memories in this town I have to walk past the memorial for Chris every day. His family still drops off flowers like once a month, I see his mum crying sometimes, close to the school. Jonas and I don’t talk much anymore, guess after what happened we just want to forget. Some nights, when things get real bad, I find myself wishing I were like the shorebirds, just able to fly off anywhere, with the cool breeze in my hair and the smell of salt water encasing me.

title: [RF] Ambition

question: What does the story say about the world population?

answer: There are 7 billion of us. It means that statistically whatever you’re going through, whatever that troubling you, someone's gone through it before. However, it also sort of makes you realize how unimportant you are.

question: What does the story say about Chris?

answer: Chris is a young man that died. He was drunk and went swimming with Jonas and drowned. The narrator and Jones carry him toward the ocean expecting that the current would take him away.

question: What does the story say about Port Fairy?


text:
“Where were you last night?” Max peered over my Economics textbook. He had a look of anticipation, as if he was waiting for some pain relieving gossip.

“I was home,” I responded innocently before he rolled his eyes at me. “Now, don’t bother me, I’m trying to focus.” Although normally I would use anything to distract me from school, I wasn’t about to involve Max in last night’s mess.

“Are you expecting me to believe you weren’t at Nina’s party?” He raised his eyebrows at me. I didn’t know what I was expecting. Frankly, no expectation in the world would have prepared me well enough. But I wanted to be there for Nina like she had for me. Perhaps I couldn’t fix her parent’s divorce, but I could at least attend her house party. Especially after her break up with Todd, the leather jacket douche that called her “babe” so much I would wonder if he knew her real name.

“I promise you’ll have a great time,” Nina had told me. And at first, I really did. There is something comforting about the stagnant smell of beer penetrating every fiber of clothing and hair follicle. Something nostalgic about repetitive rap songs preaching about the wonders of big asses.

Everything seemed normal at first. The music was pounding loudly and the dim lights carried shadows across the cramped living room. I could feel the air thickening.

Minutes before terror, I was standing unnoticed next to a group of girls I recognized.

“Someone told me her dad was abusive,” I heard one say with wide eyes.

“Yeah, apparently the neighbors called the cops on them,” another responded.

“Well, I wouldn’t point fingers just yet. Nina’s mom’s a bitch. Maybe she deserved it,” a brunette shrugged and took a sip of her drink right before our eyes met. Her face flared red as she realized her words had been overhead. I clenched my fists in rage.

“How about you all mind your own–”. My response was cut short by a piercing scream. I quickly stood up in alert. The room became still. The music stopped and those still standing looked at one another with puzzled looks. The source was nowhere to be seen. It came again, this time along with a cry. I recognized Nina immediately. I pushed my way across the living room and ran up the stairs before barging into Nina’s bedroom.

I noticed him first. His leather jacket shimmered in the moonlight as he stood tall and angry. A millisecond later, I spotted Nina on the floor. Hands covering her face in defense. The lack of light in the room didn’t stop the fierceness of her blood as it dripped down her temple and into her hair.

I stood still. My brain called in fear but my body made no response. Not even when Todd walked passed me, into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

Nina remained on the floor. She held herself and rocked back and forth, letting silent cries out into the thick air.

“Don’t tell anyone.” She whispered.

&#x200B;

&#x200B;

“Hello?” Max snapped at me. “Are you going to tell me or not?” I stared at him blankly as the vivid flashbacks flew through my head. My heart stung in bitterness as I recognized that all I wanted to do was say it. To write it out in sharpie on all student lockers.

Nina’s bloody face burned in my head. “There’s nothing to tell.”

title: [RF] Last Night Leftovers

question: What was Nina trying to hide?

answer: Nina was being abused by her ex-boyfriend, Todd, at her own house party. The narrator witnessed the aftermath in the bedroom after screams were heard throughout the house. The narrator stood in shock as Nina asked her to not tell anyone.


text:
I'm not certain [MF] is the proper tag, but I wrote something I would like to share. I'm pretty new to writing, but I was pretty happy with this after finishing it. Titles are hard, and this doesn't have one yet. I apologize for the poor formatting. Feedback is welcome.

~~---------------------------------------------------------------~~

~~---------------------------------------------------------------~~

He was alone, not just separate, truly alone, walking through an empty city, desolate and unchanging. Buildings were thrown up to either side, useless and crumbling. Everything had been used up, and, now, it was time to move on.

He took what meager supplies he had, and he packed them together well enough to be moved. It didn’t matter much to him which way he went, the city stretched on in every direction, spread out in a careful grid pattern, despite the total lack of care now apparent within every cell of table. He decided to go south simply because it seemed easiest. There was no one left to ask, so the path of least resistance decided much of what he did.

Navigating his way out of the city was simple. Many of the signs still stood, and he didn’t particularly care where he ended up once he was out. He followed the roads through the city, and, eventually, the buildings became less dense and nature began to encroach on what used to be the territory of man.

He walked for several days, making camp along the way to stop, and he began to slow when it seemed as though nature had won and taken over entirely. Anything left of civilization was in ruins; the road was broken and overgrown and the buildings that used to stand proud were now little more than foundation and dust.

To the west, there was a winding and violent river flowing from an unknown source far away, and, on the opposite side, there was a dense forest. The two were so different it was almost startling; one threatening to smash him to bits against the rocks, and the other hiding who knows what within, telling nothing.

As he became more familiar with his surroundings, he could pay more attention to the finer details of what was around him. He noticed the animals in the trees and the ants between the cracks in the road. Nothing he saw interested him much, until one morning, he saw a figure standing within the overgrowth at the edge of the road.

Could it be true? Perhaps he was hallucinating, having eaten something tainted, but he couldn’t dismiss this sighting. Could this be a person like him, looking desperately for another? He doubted it. It all seemed too good to be true. When the world was in ruins, being kind wasn’t a high priority for many. He began to wonder whether it was even worth the risk in trying. The figure was far away, and it may not have even seen him yet. He could simply wait it out, or turn and leave.

He thought about his conundrum for a short time, but eventually the figure made the decision for him and darted off into the trees.

~~---------------------------------------------------------------~~

She had just risen. She awoke, but didn’t leave right away. She lay staring up at the ash gray sky, watching the clouds float about. What reason was there to rush anymore? There were no deadlines.

She lazily rose up and moved out from her camp to look around. Nothing had changed, as always. Nothing ever changed anymore. She stood, watching, and she began to wonder why she even kept trying. All that was left was trying to survive, and doing so alone was exceedingly dull.

She stood staring across at the raging, the only thing that ever moved anymore, until she noticed something down the road. It was someone else.

Her calm, uncaring attitude quickly evaporated and was replaced with panic. None of her dealings with people had gone well since the world had moved on. Everyone left was treacherous and thieving. How could she trust anyone? Could she even gamble approaching the person? Then again, what had she to lose? No matter what happened, this person promised an end to the monotony, but she wasn’t so bold as to run out in front of what could be a terrible end for her.

She decided to hide for a while and just observe. If the man seemed safe, she could approach later, but, for the time being, she would watch.

She ran back to her camp within the trees and packed up what she could carry. She left a little to make it seem like someone would be returning. She would test this new person to see if he really was a thieving vulture like the rest.

She left her camp and ran off, but she watched the road still, out of sight. She wanted to believe that this stranger could be good, but she didn’t need to take undue chances.

~~---------------------------------------------------------------~~

He had seen the figure run off in a hurry, but he couldn’t know for sure what had happened. Had the figure seen him and gotten frightened? Was there some larger threat that he too should be worried about? Could it be as trivial as the stranger’s breakfast was burning?

He had little to work with, but he couldn’t stand being alone any longer. He was given a chance at something better, and he wouldn’t let this opportunity pass him by.

He continued down the road, now with a quicker pace. He had slowed before as the road became more treacherous, but now he had a goal. He had something to go for. He had to find this person.

He went on, but began having doubts as he approached. He had been so far away when he saw it. He couldn’t even be sure it was what he thought, and even if it was, what if they were a nomad too? His hope for another could have just walked on without ever knowing he had existed.

He didn’t have time to entertain these thoughts, and he hurriedly pushed them from his thoughts. He would keep going.

~~---------------------------------------------------------------~~

After what felt like many miles, he saw where the figure had stood. The grass was depressed from frequent travel, and it appeared to make a path off into the trees. He couldn’t see beyond the tree line, and the doubts came back.

What if this person wasn’t friendly? What if they were in there, waiting to kill him as he approached? He had no idea, and he began to fall back from the entrance.

He sat across from it and stared. He couldn’t glean any information from such a simple thing. There was nothing to learn about the person within from sitting outside. He decided the only way to learn was to go in. He would risk it. An end to his loneliness was worth whatever was waiting within.

~~---------------------------------------------------------------~~

As he made his way into the camp, he began to worry once more. Had he made the wrong decision? It was too late to turn back now, and he continued deeper.

The trail ended at a small clearing with what appeared to be someone’s home. There were still burning embers in the fire that sat in the center of the clearing, and a shelter had been erected at the edge of the dense trees. Things had been left by the shelter. He saw a knife and a piece of flint. Surely whoever had brought them here and set all this up would be returning, he thought to himself as he stood at the entrance to the clearing, hesitant to invade someone’s personal space.

He would wait here, and, if they came back, he could be friendly. He saw no better course of action. If they did return, the up side of his decision could be enormous, and, if no one ever came back, he may have found himself a place to stay for more than a single night.

~~---------------------------------------------------------------~~

She saw him enter. This stranger had gone into her camp, and she would wait for him to leave before she risked going back. She could check her things, and, from that, she could at least begin to decide whether this new person was worth the risk. It had taken long enough for him to get there, and she could wait a bit longer for him to leave.

Hours passed, and soon it was beginning to fall dark. She had never considered he might move in. What could she do now? If he had, waiting outside was hardly the proper plan to learn more. She would need to initiate; she might even need to take back what was hers. She had to back inside despite the risks involved.

She waited for what felt like an eternity, building the courage to breach what had once been her safe place. As she approached what used to be the one place where she was comfortable, she became increasingly nervous and struggled to advance.

The trees that had once protected her from what was beyond now hid from her the potential dangers within. Everything had changed with the stranger, and now her camp felt like an alien place. Everything along the way that had once welcomed her in now shouted at her to turn around. Everything about the situation made her want to turn and run, but she wouldn’t. What was she running to? She had to at least investigate what had been laid out before her.

As she turned the final corner to what had been her home, she saw a man sitting among her things beside her shelter. They both froze, and neither party was willing to do anything for fear of startling the other.

~~---------------------------------------------------------------~~

He watched as the figure turned the corner, and the panic he had felt when he first saw the figure returned. He knew there was no changing his decision now, but he wished he could. He was backed into a corner now, and he felt completely at the mercy of this stranger whose home he had invaded.

She stood, watching the other as a deer stares into the headlights of the approaching threat, but she wouldn’t run. She had set her mind on it now; she would not back down until she knew.

She watched him, but he did nothing. He made no move against her; he only returned her stare. If he was hostile, he surely would have acted by now, she thought, but couldn’t truly believe. She couldn’t wait forever, and a few seconds or hours more would do nothing to change what would happen after. He would either be safe or not, there was nothing to do now but find out.

So she sat.

He was startled at how, all at once, her appearance changed from startled to calm. She had changed so drastically he didn’t know what to make of it. Her calmness disturbed him slightly, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

He began, and they spoke for a while. It began hesitant on both ends, neither knew how to begin such a strange encounter, but they both slowly began to open up. They talked on and on, but what they talked about didn’t matter.

They were no longer alone.

title: [MF] Untitled

question: Describe the main source of tension for the characters in the passage.

answer: Both the male and the female characters do not initially know if the other is hostile or not.

question: Why did the civilization fall into ruin?


text:
The sand had shifted from blinding white to the dull crimson of spilled blood. Bodies lay scattered about with little regard for anything even resembling burial rights. In the distance a crowd of thousands roared for more, more violence, more blood, and more death. But their screams meant nothing to the two men left standing. Their ears had long ago grown dull to the masses and their demands for unfettered carnage. These men were no longer fighting to entertain. The rules had been abandoned long ago when that…thing… had been released into the pit. This was no longer about spectacle, this was about survival. The horrid being would not stop until it had massacred all it laid eyes upon. It did not fight to please the
masses; it fought to feed its bloodlust.

It was clearly not human. That much had been certain from the start. The emperor claimed his men had found it in the deserts of Egypt, within a great metal structure that fell to earth. A flying tomb, he had called it, and within was a sarcophagus fit for the great kings of the Nile. But within there was no long dead Pharaoh. Only evil beyond imagination.

It stood at least 3 heads above even the tallest of men and possessed four arms that widened out into massive 8 fingered hands, each of them large enough to envelop a small child. Its head was elongated at the jaw and topped with an ornate headdress made of metal unlike any other, adorned with jewels that sparkled like the inky blackness of the midnight sky. The beast’s entire body was covered in such ornamentation, necklaces and bangles, jewelry beyond measure laid atop the decaying gauze bandages wrapped so tightly around every inch of its being. The bandages themselves were just as fascinating,
moving and shifting of their own
accord as if the beast were entangled in a nest of serpents. What little flesh could be seen was dark and shriveled, that of a corpse left in the sun for weeks on end.

The emperor had warned his favorite fighters that they would face the creature in the pit. Such an exotic beast was too good to be kept locked away. The people grew tired of Christians being fed to lions and tigers, but who could tire of a monster from beyond the heavens that had the strength of ten men and the passion of one hundred?

One By one the gladiators had filed out into the coliseum. Each had waved and shouted, trying to rile up the crowd, trying to draw the most attention and praise to himself. Eventually all were made to turn and face the mighty casket that stood upright in the center of the pit, rattling and thrashing, the beast inside making unholy such an unholy din. The handlers refused to open it themselves. The animals of China and the Dark Continent were one thing, but this creature knew no concept of loyalty or mercy, and the beast masters refused to let it prove this on anybody other than the fighters.

The first brave soul who opened the sarcophagus was swiftly punished. The beast’s bandages shot out from the inky darkness inside and grabbed his arms and legs, swiftly tearing him to pieces before dragging the torso in and slamming the lid shut once more. Moments later it emerged, the once pristine white gauze soaked in gore. More fighters tried to rush in, some managing to strike it with their swords before having their skull caved in by a strike from one of its mighty palms. Two more were strangled by the animate bandages, hung by their necks about the horrid thing while it used its limbs to face more pressing challengers. A brief spark of hope did appear when one man managed to catch the monster by surprise and stab at its chest,
causing it to fall to its knees in shock. The crowd roared with excitement as the warrior lifted his sword to take the beast’s head, but it took too long. The creature screamed with rage, the very sand on the ground around it whipping into the air and creating a furious gale that enveloped him. The sheer force of the coarse particles blasted flesh away from bone, and soon another corpse laid upon the ground, reduced to little more than a skeleton.

Two men remained standing against the creature. The first saw no victory, and promptly fell upon his sword in despair. The second however, had other ideas. The creature may not tire, and it may not be slowed by conventional attempts to wound, but it was old. Old and dry. Which meant that in theory, he reasoned, it could burn. Quickly he sprinted to the outer edge of the coliseum, making a bee line for the torches that brought light to the pit when it was enveloped by the shadows of the day. The gladiator grabbed a burning fixture and lobbed it, striking the beast in the center of the chest. A brief sound of surprise escaped its mouth before it was enveloped in flames, bandages and desiccated skin blazing like tinder. Once more the horrid thing dropped to its knees, but before it could truly die, something truly strange occurred. The sarcophagus, originally dormant at the center of the pit, flew open once more, and a violent wind pulled from within it with hurricane force. The beast was ripped from the battlefield, the raging fire dissipating as it was pulled back from whence it came and the lid slammed shut. The box no longer rattled and shook. It was done. For now, this was over. But as the gladiator heard the people cheer, and the emperor praise his bravery, something stuck within his mind. He could have sworn, that for the few moments before the sarcophagus closed…that within it he saw an ocean of stars.

title: [SF] Foreign Sands

question: What does the story say about why the exotic creature was kept locked in the sarcophagus?

question: What does the story say about the emperor's motivation to pit his fighters against the exotic beast?

answer: The crowd had demanded more contests, more violence, and blood. Because of this, the emperor decided to add more flavor to the organized fighting contests. Since the people wanted a different type of entertainment and were tired of watching Christians being killed by mere lions and tigers, he yielded to their request. He introduced an unearthly beast he claimed his men had found in the deserts of Egypt. Furthermore, the game's rules were changed from fighting for entertainment to battle for survival with this beast.

question: What does the story say about how the last gladiator managed to conquer the exotic beast?

answer: The gladiator saw that he couldn't stand a fighting chance against this mighty, bloodthirsty beast after tearing several skilled gladiators before him to pieces. So, he chose to devise a more tricky and clever means to conquer it. He found that since the beast was old and dry, its body would be much easier to burn. Thus, he decided this was the best way to obliterate it. He struck the beast with a burning fixture on its chest, which set it ablaze, and pulled it back into the sarcophagus.


text:
Her name was Lauren and she was an ugly woman. Not in the conventional sense. In fact, quite the opposite, she was physically remarkable specimen. All the right features in all the right places, a perfect figure. Her ugliness came from who she was, how she thought, and how she acted.
Life was like snakes and ladders to her. Anyone would do what was within their powers to climb over the next person, and as Lauren saw it, she was no different. She was in the business of climbing. Lauren saw a hierarchy, a system surrounding people, in its most basic sense, a ladder, to be used abused and gratified in one's personal ascent towards the top. She was repulsed by 'inferior' people and would only engage with them if she could launch off them to a higher position in life. However, since they held little power they were more often ridiculed and avoided by her.
Lauren knew she had a definite number of years to extract wealth using the looks she had been born with, therefore advancing her status. She intended to maximise her time in the sun, so to speak. For Lauren, marriage was by no means and end to such encounters, it was a foundation from which advantageous extra marital encounters could take place. One mantra that Lauren carried with her was, why work hard when you can marry someone who does. She would seduce to succeed.
She was secretary to the CEO of Buildcorp, after seducing him during the interview. She offered him the promise of realising his fantasies of her, and in return for the promise which she waved in front of his eyes, he gave her the job.
She had accumulated much in her years of conducting affairs and relationships, her apartment was a present from a particular man who had fallen for her beauty and wanted to keep her for himself. She hadn't seen him for two years, but she still lived in luxury in a modern mid city apartment.
Lauren had recently heard from a girlfriend about a dating site on the internet called Fatcats.com. Men had to have a certain net worth to become a member of the site. This was the perfect hunting ground for Lauren, big game was all around. Having set up a profile some weeks ago she had received a lot of interest. She was used to that. But, there was one man who she had a particular interest in. A rich arabian man named Abdullah, with interests in oil, gas, and property. Lauren was taken with the photo of him, he was extremely handsome, and his introductory letter to her spoke of a naivety that Lauren knew she could exploit to the fullest.
As well as this excellent foundation to a lucrative relationship, Lauren had a feeling this Abdullah may be royalty. Arabian men with such business interests often were, and Lauren knew these families were enormous, often with thousands of members. Yet, she hadn't bagged one, she'd only heard of such thing's from friends, or friends of friends. 'Abdullah look out' thought Lauren, 'when I get to you, you won't know what hit you'.
She began typing him a message which came from the template in her mind she had used so many times before. As she typed away at her keyboard the familiar sound of the cleaner came near her desk. A cleaner was a ‘low life’. Someone so far down life's ladder they were beyond redemption. One shouldn't waste ones energy on them since they would never improve you're own standing in life. Only losers got caught wasting their energy on such low-lifes.
"Any rubbish?" came the predictable voice of the cleaner asking to empty the contents of Lauren's bin. She never bothered to answer, let alone to grace the cleaner by turning her head to acknowledge him, she just kept typing her template message as invariably the cleaner came and emptied her bin for her.
Lauren finished her message, packed her things, and walked down to the car park to her Mercedes. The car had been the fruit of a previous relationship she had worked on with a married merchant backer. 'Thank's Glenn' she laughed to herself as she got into the leather interior, and drove herself home.
The next morning Lauren was at her desk logging into Fatcats.com. Lauren's message to Abdullah had worked a treat. He came back to her with with a wide eyed reply that gave her confidence she could fleece this man as she had done to so many others. She had developed a keen sense of when a man was ready to be stripped, both physically and economically, and Abdullah, whom she now felt sure had royal links, Abdullah was ripe for the picking. This could be her best man yet.
She replied to his message suggesting to meet at Lumley's, the new 'it' spot in the middle of the city. She then got back onto Fatcats.com to hunt for new game. 'I love this site', she thought to herself as she browsed the profiles lying on the site.
Soon, the time came for Lauren to meet with Abdullah. Lauren knew how to act and what to say in order to get what she wanted from the man. She wore a scintillating dress that revealed her enticing figure in various evocative ways. Lauren arrived at the bar, saw Abdullah across the room and got ready to put her plan into action. She marched up to his table, they exchanged pleasantries, he bought them both a cocktail, and then they started to talk.
He was a very attractive man, and there was more than that, he was earnest, sincere, and he radiated a distinct warmth that Lauren found deeply pleasing. What's more, he didn't drone on and on about the size of his business, Lauren had been through that countless times, and now took it as par for the course.They had a wonderful time together, he was enthralled by her and she felt found herself letting down her guard, forgetting her strategy for the evening, and melting into the conversation.
As the evening progressed, Abdullah mentioned that he had been put up in a hotel for a conference, and invited Lauren back for a drink. Lauren normally metered out sexual gratification under strict rules of trade. On this one evening though, something had shifted deep within her, and the prospect of joining Abdullah in his hotel room seemed desirable.
And so, that was where they went. They talked and drank further into the night, until Abdullah leaned in to kiss Lauren, and she happily reciprocated. The kiss, led to touching, and more kissing, and pretty soon they were both naked in each others embrace. The sex was blissful, ecstatic, cathartic. Lauren had never experienced anything close to it. She had had feelings with other men before, but it was always in keeping with Lauren's climbing framework. With Abdullah however, she had lost track of her ambition completely, and was lost in his presence. As she left in a taxi she was dazzled by what had transpired, and floated home on a cloud of ecstasy.
The next morning Lauren came to work late. She had tried to compose herself after the night before, shocked at how she had availed herself so readily to Abdullah. Shocked about a lot of things from the night before actually. But what was perhaps most disconcerting, was that in the pitt of her stomach, she felt something for this Arabian man she had met last night. And, while her best judgement told her to cut all ties with him, her emotions screamed out to see him again. She messaged him but heard nothing back. For the whole day, he would not respond to her. She was devastated. She'd never felt for a man like she did him. Never.
As the day drew to a close, Lauren was in a bad state. None of her messages had garnered a reply from Abdullah, even her 'emergency messages' which always got a reaction brought her nothing. This was not a position that Lauren was accustomed to being in at all. She was normally the puppeteer, pulling the heartstrings of the men she mixed with. Now, she felt like a puppet collapsed on the floor. Whilst the mess of this situation took place in her head and her heart, the predictable shuffling of the cleaner came closer towards her. She knew what he was going to say, and today, she would turn around for him. Everyone else had left the office by this stage. She would turn around and let him have it. Lauren had a ferocious temper when it was stirred, and this cleaner was about to face a tsunami of anger.
"Rubbish please" came the voice, and as Lauren wheeled around to deliver her oratory of hate, a nerve was struck, a tender nerve. Something about that voice, it instantly resonated with her, and when Lauren turned to see the man, she saw no other than Abdullah! Shock wouldn't do justice to the rip cord that was pulled from Lauren's soul.
"My darling I am so sorry." Said the cleaner. "Please forgive me for what I have done. I am a good man, really I am. I could not help myself. For 10 months I have watched you as I clean, it has been like a spell. I am a good man. I do not lie, I do not cheat, I am fair and honest. But, when I fell in love with you, my integrity left me, after enough time, I forgot myself and put all my thoughts to pursuing you. I couldn't think of a way to meet your for so long, until I saw your website when I emptied your rubbish. That was when I got my idea, I knew you like powerful men, so I could pretend to be one, and we could finally meet. I used all my savings to book the hotel. Tell me you liked out night together, tell me it meant something to you."
All Lauren could do was slowly shake her head in denial. She was an intelligent woman, and the irony of what was taking place before her eyes was not lost on her either. This man had abandoned his integrity, which incidentally Lauren had used as a weapon against the victim, this man had abandoned his integrity to join Lauren in her approach to relationships. An approach where deception was a cornerstone of proceedings.
The cleaner continued, "I had planned to start a relationship with you, for you to love me, or at least to love Abdullah, but after that night we had, my insides were torn apart with grief and loathing at what I was doing. I was not raised that way by my father, and it was impossible for me to continue. My integrity wouldn't allow me to go through with this ridiculous plan I had made."
"But now", he continued, "you know what I do. I am so very sorry for lying to you, but dear Lauren, could we not try to see if the flames of our hearts can burn together once more. What do you say?"
Here was Lauren, a woman of luxury, of status, of snakes and ladders, looking a worthless snake in the eye, yet torn, torn deep inside. Because, deep inside, Lauren knew she had fallen for a snake posing as royalty. She couldn't deny it. Here feelings did not lie to her. She wanted more time with Abdullah, the cleaner. A decade of thinking about human relationships was taking a heaving battering from her feelings which hankered for Abdullah.
Barely believing what she was doing as she did it, Lauren uttered the words "Let's see where this goes".

title: The Ugly Woman [RO]

question: What does the story say about naivety?

answer: Lauren assumes Abdullah is naive, based on his initial letter to her and subsequent response. She believes this will make him easy to con out of his wealth.

question: What does the story say about snakes?

answer: Lauren considers life a game of snakes and ladders. Ladders are people to climb over, and Lauren is in the business of climbing. The cleaner, Abdullah, is a snake who can only take her down in the world, not up. Deep inside, Lauren knows she has fallen for a snake posing as royalty.

question: What does the story say about Iran?