text:
His life was going good. For the first time in a long time or at least as long as he could remember he'd stay awake until three or four o'clock and still he could not complain. He didn't mind his job at the retirement home, cleaning toilets and emptying bedpans, taking out garbage bags that undoubtedly held the ghosts of false teeth. The girlfriend he'd held onto for the last two years or so despite her knowing about that cocktail waitress he'd picked up in that seedy bar on Albany St. didn't bother him as much now as she'd used to. He didn't know if she was talking less or if he was paying attention less. To be quite honest he didn't care, as long as things stayed quiet. His apartment wasn't quite so much anymore, probably only because he wasn't there so much anymore. He went to library a lot, trying to study during the day and then emptying the bedpans at night, so.

She wished she could say the same about her situation. He barely spoke to her now which could have been because he just didn't care anymore or because the pot always conveniently hit him as soon as she started talking or a combination of the two or neither at all. She had no money left because she'd taken the fall in some big cover up at work (she was a secretary for a dick in a blue and brown suit) and they ended up letting her go and not giving her unemployment which she was fighting but it didn't look good. She'd probably have to move out of her house off of Douglass and maybe possibly move in with him if he ever spoke to her again, which by now she figured was a fifty-fifty shot. She loved him she guessed but it wasn't the same as before that one time she went to surprise him at his apartment on Mine and he wasn't there. She waited for him on his porch for what seemed like forever, but was really only two hours before he came home, his mouth smelling of sour wooden barrels and his clothes like cheap dying flowers. He was too drunk to even lie to her about where he'd been or who with or doing what and he told her everything and she walked away but called him the next day anyway because, hey, what else was she really going to do? That changed things even though she told him she forgave him because really she didn't and she was really starting to resent him, unfairly yes, but resent him she did.

He flicked his cigarette on the side of the Folgers coffee can he used as an ashtray. Camels this time. They had been on sale; a dollar fifty off if you bought two packs. He'd bought four. He saved three dollars. He didn't particularly like Camels, the way they tasted or smelled, but he liked saving three dollars he guessed. She wasn't awake yet. She had stayed the night for some reason that he didn't know, something about rent money or something. His cigarette burned his throat. He did not brush his teeth last night because he was too drunk to do so and it didn't matter because he didn't kiss her anymore anyway. Fuck it, he thought. Everything was fuck it now. The truth is that he was quite content emptying the bedpans in the middle of the night and smoking cigarettes he didn't really care for during the day. He was letting her go through all of this, day by day. She maybe didn't know it and he didn't exactly tell her, but anyone watching them on a fifteen inch Technicolor screen could have picked up on that.

She woke with a slight headache, the mild pulsing sensations the remnants of a three AM vodka and seltzer. She didn't drink tonic anymore because she had recently learned that it contained, unbeknownst to her, calories.  She had slept in the bed alone. He fell asleep drunk on the couch in the living room in front of the TV while it spit out sports scores. He was already awake. She could smell the smoke from his cigarette. Marlboro Reds, she guessed. Those were his favorite. She had bought him a carton for his last birthday, along with some other things. It wasn't a very sunny day but there was enough light for the shadows to come in and out of focus  over the flesh colored bedspread. She heard the TV. Possibly a report about last night's baseball game. She couldn't tell. The air conditioner roared.

He got up and showered and left without waking her or saying goodbye or anything. He justified it in his head because he had to work the night shift and it was late but really he wouldn't have woken her either way and he knew it. Sometimes this made him sad but not usually and sometimes he didn't even notice it. He walked the eleven blocks to his job in the dark. He wouldn't take a taxi or anything because then he couldn't smoke cigarettes on the way and he liked to get at least two and sometimes three in by the time he got there. He walked through the small doors into the dimly lit receptionist room and immediately walked to the employee only bathroom and vomited up that afternoon's gin. His shift lasted eight and a half hours because he got a half hour meal break on which he smoked four or five cigarettes. He couldn't remember exactly how many. He walked back the eleven blocks and watched as the taxis and busses and cars full of college kids probably smoking pot out of blunts or bowls or joints rode by. He walked up the stairs to the apartment and put his coat on the chair in the kitchen. He looked around on the counter for the remnants of the gin, not even being conscious enough to notice that she was gone. His coat fell off the chair.

She packed up her life or at least as much of it as she could find in the forty five minutes she had before he got back into a blue tote bag with some words on it and walked the opposite direction of the way he'd be coming home from work. It crossed her mind if he'd even notice if she walked right by him but on the off chance that he would she did not want to deal with it. She walked until Mine hit College and turned towards the park at the end, near Huntington. She wasn't really going to the park but she kind of had no place else to go, so why not. It was a pretty alright day for the park she figured. She was tired, though. She had not slept well maybe because of the vodka and Red Bull or probably because, well, things sucked. The student center had a bread shop or something that had pretty good coffee so she decided to stop and get one, to go. The place smelled like pastries and sandwiches and, of course, the ever important java that she needed. There were a few people in line ahead of her. The girl in front of her wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt and a backpack, probably filled with notebooks that were probably filled with scribblings that, aside from the day she wrote them, would probably never be read again. The girl eventually left with a medium soy mocha something or other. She was next, and ordered a plain coffee with skim milk because, I mean, it was beach season and even though she didn't go to the beach hardly ever she still liked to pretend to feel good about herself. She dropped her change into the little cup marked "tips for exceptional service" and turned to leave. Then she saw him.

His head was pounding from the drinks he apparently had before he went to sleep, although he couldn't really remember ingesting them.  His eyes ached and even though it was probably not true at all he attributed it to him having to look at the miserable apartment, so he left. He wanted a bagel so he went down towards the Au Bon Pain in the student center. He'd gone there nearly every day when he was an undergrad at the college but hadn't been there much since mainly because he didn't want to hear the frat guys talking about the one or two or three brunettes or blondes they'd conned into sleeping with them the night before. He simply did not care. He had to wait behind three people, one of them wearing a purple backpack that looked full of not so important books. He immediately pegged her as a philosophy major. They all had a bunch of books with them all the time that no one besides themselves actually cared about. She left with what appeared to be a ridiculous coffee or something. While the girl behind philosophy girl ordered, he thought about what would happen if coffee didn't exist, whether people would miss it much if they were never exposed to it. Then he decided that he didn't care anymore and decided to look at the breads behind the counter of which there were a lot. He was pretty sure that they made up some of these breads because he was pretty sure that no one outside of the people who worked at the shop had ever heard of them. He then decided that he also did not care about that, either. The girl who was ordering what appeared to be a normal cup of coffee turned cup in hand and made her way towards the door. They locked eyes, realizing that no matter what the radio and movies and hallmark commercials told them, everything was always going to be the same and they'd probably have to die to break the cycle.

title: Post Bachelor's

question: Who are the main characters of the story?

answer: The guy and his girlfriend.

question: Where does the guy work and what is the nature of his job?

answer: He works at the retirement home as a janitor.

question: Where does the girlfriend work and what is the nature of her job?

answer: She currently has no job after taking the fall in some big cover-up at work. The company let her go and didn't give her unemployment compensation.

question: What does the guy like about Camels?

answer: He doesn't like Camels. He only likes the fact that he bought four packs and saved $3 because they were on sale.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: A guy who works as a janitor in a retirement home and his girlfriend are having problems with their relationship. They barely talk anymore, and he rarely acknowledges her when she's around. She just lost her job and wasn't given unemployment pay due to an incident out of her control, and has no place to go and spends the night at his house. After another night of heavy drinking and no talking, the guy wakes up and heads to work, not bothering to wake her up. She decides to leave him and packs her stuff. However, at a nearby coffee shop, they see each other and realize everything was always going to be the same until they die and break the cycle.


split: train

text:
Sanders writes: "This recession was caused by the greed, recklessness, and illegal behavior on Wall Street. And, what makes people furious is that Wall Street still has not learned its lessons. Instead of investing in the job-creating productive economy providing affordable loans to small and medium-size businesses, the CEOs of the largest financial institutions in this country have created the largest gambling casino in the history of the world."

[Senator Bernie Sanders. (photo: AP)]
Senator Bernie Sanders. (photo: AP)

28 June 12

[]he American people are angry. They are angry that they are being forced to live through the worst recession in our lifetimes - with sky-high unemployment, with millions of people losing their homes and their life savings. They are angry that they will not have a decent retirement, that they can't afford to send their children to college, that they can't afford health insurance and that, in some cases, they can't even buy the food they need to adequately feed their families.

They are angry because they know that this recession was not caused by the middle class and working families of this country. It was not caused by the teachers, firefighters and police officers and their unions who are under attack all over the country. It was not caused by construction workers, factory workers, nurses or childcare workers.

This recession was caused by the greed, recklessness, and illegal behavior on Wall Street. And, what makes people furious is that Wall Street still has not learned its lessons. Instead of investing in the job-creating productive economy providing affordable loans to small and medium-size businesses, the CEOs of the largest financial institutions in this country have created the largest gambling casino in the history of the world.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Y-u0UnKZ_U

Four years ago, after spending billions of dollars to successfully fight for the deregulation of Wall Street, the CEOs of the big banks - JPMorgan Chase, Bank of America, Goldman Sachs and the others - went on a losing streak. The enormous bets they made on worthless, complex, and exotic financial instruments went bad, and they stuck the American people with the bill.

Wall Street received the largest taxpayer bailout in the history of the world. But it was not just the $700 billion that Congress approved through the TARP program. As a result of an independent audit that I requested in the Dodd-Frank bill by the non-partisan Government Accountability Office, we now know that the Federal Reserve provided a jaw-dropping $16 trillion in virtually zero-interest loans to every major financial institution in this country, large corporations, foreign central banks throughout the world, and some of the wealthiest people in this country.

And, instead of using this money to provide affordable loans to small businesses, instead of putting this money back into the job-creating productive economy, what have they done? They have gone back to their days of running the largest gambling casino in the world. In other words, they have learned nothing.

The American people are angry because they see the great middle class of this country collapsing, poverty increasing and the gap between the very rich and everyone else grow wider. They are angry because they see this great country, which so many of our veterans fought for and died for, becoming an oligarchy - a nation where our economic and political life are controlled by a handful of billionaire families.

In the United States today, we have the most unequal distribution of wealth and income since the 1920s. Today, the wealthiest 400 individuals own more wealth than the bottom half of America - 150 million people.

Today, the six heirs to the Walmart fortune own as much wealth as the bottom 30 percent.

Today, the top 1 percent own 40 percent of all wealth, while the bottom 60 percent owns 2 percent.

Incredibly, the bottom 40 percent of all Americans own just 0.3 percent of the wealth of the country.

According to a new study from the Federal Reserve, median net worth for middle class families dropped by nearly 40 percent from 2007 to 2010. That's the equivalent of wiping out 18 years of savings for the average middle class family.

The distribution of income is even worse. If you can believe it, the last study on this subject showed that in 2010, 93 percent of all new income created from the previous year went to the top one percent, while the bottom 99 percent of people had the privilege of enjoying the remaining 7 percent. In other words, the rich are getting much richer while almost everyone else is falling behind.

Not only is this inequality of wealth and income morally grotesque, it is bad economic policy. If working families are deeply in debt, and have little or no income to spend on goods and services, how can we expand the economy and create the millions of jobs we desperately need? There is a limit as to how many yachts, mansions, limos and fancy jewelry the super-rich can buy. We need to put income into the hands of working families.

A lot of my friends in the Senate talk a whole lot about our $15.8 trillion national debt and our $1.3 trillion deficit. In fact, deficit reduction is a very serious issue and will be one of the major issues of this campaign. Unfortunately, many of my colleagues forget to discuss how we got into this deficit situation in the first place, and how we went from a healthy surplus under President Clinton to record-breaking deficits under Bush.

When we talk about the national debt and the deficit, let us never forget that the current deficit was primarily caused by Bush's unpaid-for wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Imagine that! President Bush and his deficit hawks forgot to pay for two wars which will end up costing us trillions of dollars. It just plain slipped their minds. On top of that, for the first time in American history Bush and his Republican friends decided, during a war, to give out huge tax breaks - including massive benefits for millionaires and billionaires. Even more importantly, the deficit is the result of a major decline in federal tax revenue because of the high unemployment and business losses that we are experiencing as a result of this recession - caused by the greed and recklessness of Wall Street. Revenue as a percentage of GDP, at 15.2 percent, is the lowest in more than 60 years.

Despite the causes of the deficit, our Republican (and some Democratic) friends have decided that the best way forward toward deficit reduction is to cut Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid, education, food stamps and virtually every other programs of importance to low and moderate income families. We must not allow that to happen.

If we are serious about dealing with the deficit and creating jobs in America, the wealthy are going to have to start paying their fair share of taxes. We also have to end the massive tax loopholes and subsidies that exist for major corporations. (In that regard, Rep. Keith Ellison from Minnesota and I recently introduced legislation that would end all tax breaks and subsidies for the fossil fuel industry). At a time when the United States now spends more money on defense than the rest of the world combined, we also have to cut back on military spending.

Yes, we should deal with the deficit. But not on the backs of the elderly, the children, the sick and the poor!

Most importantly, when we talk about what's happening in America, we have to address the unemployment crisis in this country which now finds 23 million Americans without jobs or who are under-employed. And we know how to do that.

We know that the fastest way to create decent-paying jobs is rebuilding our crumbling infrastructure (roads, bridges, rail, airports, water systems, wastewater plants, deteriorating schools, etc.) We also know that we can create a great deal of employment by transforming our energy system away from foreign oil and coal and into energy efficiency and such sustainable energies as wind, solar, geo-thermal, bio-mass and other clean technologies. We also know that, as our country fights fierce global competition, it is absurd to be laying-off educators and making college unaffordable.

While we continue to do everything we can during the next six months to defeat Republican right-wing extremism, it is also important that we never lose sight of the progressive vision that we are fighting for. If we don't know where we want to go, it will be impossible to get there. Some of the issues that I intend to raise are the following:

Not only must we resist cuts in Social Security, we must lift the cap on taxing higher incomes so that Social Security will be strong for the next 75 years.

Not only must we oppose cuts in Medicare and Medicaid, we must see health care as a right of all and continue the fight for a Medicare for All Single Payer health care system.

Not only must we oppose placing the burden of deficit reduction on the backs of working families, we must demand a progressive tax system in which the wealthy and large corporations start paying their fair share of taxes.

Not only must we oppose cuts in unemployment compensation, we must fight for a jobs program that creates the many millions of jobs our country desperately needs.

Not only must we fight to end disastrous unfettered free trade agreements with China, Mexico, and other low wage countries, we must fight to fundamentally rewrite our trade agreements so that American products, not jobs, are our number one export.

And, not only must we vigorously oppose the war against women, we must fight to end all forms of discrimination and prejudice in this country.

The struggle we are engaged in right now is of pivotal importance for this country. Whether we win or lose will determine the future of America. That struggle is not just for our lives but, more importantly, it is for our children and our grandchildren.

Despair is not an option. I know people get angry, I know they get frustrated, I know they get disgusted. But we don't have the right to give up and turn our backs on our children and grandchildren.

Our job is to simply bring to fruition what the overwhelming majority of the American people want. They want an economy that works for the middle class and working families and not just for the rich. They want everybody in this country to have health care as a right. They want to protect Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid. They want to move away from these gross inequalities in income and wealth. We have the people behind us. They have the money. And at the end of the day, the people will be stronger than the money.

question: Who has written this speech?

answer: Bernie Sanders.

question: What is the speech about?

answer: Wealth inequality in America.

question: Who does Sanders blame for the decline of the Middle Class?

answer: Wall Street.

question: When was the last time wealth inequality reached this height according to Sanders?

answer: The 1920s.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The article is a speech given by Bernie Sanders discussing wealth inequality in the United States of America and laying out his vision for the future.


text:
Beta PUBG Mobile Download

Download Android Version
Download iOS Version(Please open via Safari)

User Guide for iOS

1. please open the iOS link with Safari browser

2. The installation package is large, please try to download it via WiFi, so be patient.

3. After installation, please open Settings -> General -> Profiles & Device Management -> Trust the certificate, then you can enter Beta PUBG MOBILE.

4. If you can't install it successfully, please delete the old version and try again.

question: What does this article describe?

answer: How to download the Beta version of PUBG for iOS.

question: How does the author recommend to download this?

answer: Via WiFi

question: Why does the author recommend to download this via WiFi?

answer: Because the installation package is large.

question: What do you open after you open Settings?

answer: You open 'General'.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The article is a tutorial to download the beta version of PUBG on iOS devices. They give specific recommendations to download it as easily as possible.


text:
Okay storytellers, here's one for you.

The scene is pretty generic.  Character A loses someone, something, etc. and makes up a fictional representation to fill the void it left.

Ex: A man loses his girlfriend in a car accident and proceeds to create a copy of her in his imagination so she'll still be alive to him.

What happens to the character?  Physically?  Emotionally?  Psychologically?  Does he or she realize that what they're projecting isn't real?  Explore your possibilities.

title: I am your mind, giving you someone to talk to.

question: What is Physical?

answer: What happens to the character when they lose a girlfriend and make a fake one physically.

question: What is Emotional?

answer: What happens to the character when they lose a girlfriend and make a fake one emotionally.

question: What is Psychological?

answer: What happens to the character when they lose a girlfriend and make a fake one psychologically.

question: What are they projecting?

answer: What the character is projecting when they lose a girlfriend and make a fake one.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: A character loses a girlfriend and creates a copy of her in his imagination so she will still be alive to him. The narrator invites the reader to consider what happens to this character physically, emotionally, and psychologically.


text:
MARTHA GERTRUDE BURK (born October 18, 1941)[1] is an American political psychologist, feminist, and former Chair of the National Council of Women's Organizations.

Career

Burk currently runs the Corporate Accountability Project for the National Council of Women's Organizations, which started the Women on Wall Street project to investigate sex discrimination at companies associated with Augusta National. She is a syndicated columnist, and serves as Money Editor for _Ms._ She also is producer/host of Equal Time With Martha Burk on Santa Fe Public Radio, and sits on the editorial board of the _Journal of Women, Politics & Policy_.[2]

In 1992, Burk became an associate of the Women's Institute for Freedom of the Press (WIFP).[3] WIFP is an American nonprofit publishing organization. The organization works to increase communication between women and connect the public with forms of women-based media.

She authored _Cult of Power: Sex Discrimination in Corporate America and What Can Be Done About It_, published Scribner in 2005, and more recently _Your Money and Your Life: The High Stakes for Women Voters in '08 and Beyond (2008)_, followed by five editions (2012-2020) of _Your Voice, Your Vote: The Savvy Woman's Guide to Power, Politics, and the Change We Need_.

Burk served as Senior Policy Advisor for Women's Issues to New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson from 2007-2010, when he left office due to term limitations.As part of her service under Richardson, she designed and instituted a first in the nation state gender pay equity initiative, which requires state contractors to submit gender pay equity statistics as a condition of bidding. She currently serves as a national gender pay equity consultant to all levels of government and private corporations.

Controversy with Augusta National Golf Club

Burk is widely known for a disagreement beginning in 2002 with William "Hootie" Johnson, then chairman of Augusta National Golf Club, over admission of female members to Augusta National.[4] Burk contended that hosting the Masters Tournament at a male-only club, constituted sexism[5] because 15% of the club's membership were CEOs, many of them Fortune 500 CEOs.[6] Johnson characterized Burk's approach as _“offensive and coercive”_,[7][8] and despite efforts to conflate the issue with sexism and civil rights,[9] Johnson maintained the issue had to do with the rights of any private club.[10]

For her part, Burk — whose childhood nickname was also Hootie[11] — was “called a man hater, anti-family, lesbian, all the usual things.”[12] For his part, Johnson was portrayed as a Senator Claghorn type[13] — that is, a blustery defender of all things Southern.[14]

After calls to boycott the companies which sponsored the Masters, Johnson responded by dropping all commercial sponsorship from the tournament in both 2003 and 2004. He argued that he did not want the tournament's sponsors to become associated with a controversy surrounding the club itself.[15][16]

Following the discord, two club members resigned, Thomas H. Wyman, a former CEO of CBS, and John Snow, when President George W. Bush nominated him to serve as Secretary of the Treasury.[17]

By 2011, no woman had been admitted to Augusta National. The controversy was discussed by the International Olympic Committee when re-examining whether golf meets Olympic criteria of a “sport practiced without discrimination with a spirit of friendship, solidarity and fair play.”[18] In August 2012, the Augusta National board of directors extended membership to two women, in the wake of two gender discrimination lawsuits facilitated by Burk's organization against companies associated with Augusta National resulting in $79 million in settlements, and programmatic relief prohibiting these companies from entertaining at or in conjunction with facilities that discriminate on the basis of race or gender.

Selected bibliography

-

[1]

[2]

[3]  The Women's Institute for Freedom of the Press|website=www.wifp.org|language=en-US|access-date=2017-06-21}}

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

title: Martha Burk

question: How old is Martha Burk?

answer: She is 79.

question: Summarize Burk's feminist activities.

answer: She sits on the editorial board of the 'Journal of Women, Politics & Policy'; runs the Corporate Accountability Project for the National Council of Women's Organizations; published two books; served as Senior Policy Advisor for Women's Issues to New Mexico Governor; currently serves as a national gender pay equity consultant; was Chair of the National Council of Women's Organizations

question: Why did Burk criticize the Augusta National golf club?

answer: She challenged the Augusta National golf club's men-only membership policy.

question: How did Johnson reply to Burk's critics?

answer: He claimed that the club was a private organization and was not bound by any law to admit women.


text:
There is no title. It's the beginning of something I've been messing with. It's mostly just fancy word play, it's coherent enough to follow, yet schizophrenic enough to personify what it's like to feel insane and confused -shrug- figured I'd share it. You're supposed to feel like you're in the mind of a mad man, I'm not sure how well I did.
 ___________

.

.

My mind warped and twisted. Thoughts and images of demons danced within my mind and around the room as I tried to hold onto reality. Shadows swirled, and I heard laughter coming from all around me. Screams cut through the silence and fires burned on the metal walls. I did my best to ground my feet in what I knew was rational, but it still felt like I was falling down a never ending hole; thoughts of grandeur, false senses of security, and overall apathy swept across my blank mind.

My face was like stone as I sat and looked out the window, the world racing by, night raining down like ash as it covered the world in darkness.  I felt like I was drowning as I sat, felt the water swirling around my ankles and the shackles as they clanked against the floor. It felt needles being pressed into my skin, and bugs crawling inside me. I brought my bound and chained hands to my forehead and pressed as hard as I could to keep my skull from splitting open. I screamed as the voices inside my head began to howl, and the world around me began to transform and mold itself around my “insanity”, or so they called it.
 “Hey…you…you. Shut the hell up! Stop yelling! I said stop!”

I heard the blow echo through my head even before I felt it. A blunt pain ripped through my skull, it was like the demons in my head had been smashed out. I saw flashing lights, like the cameras outside the court room on the day they convicted me. I heard ringing in my ears, like the sirens as they walked me in chains to my doom. The room seemed to be spinning on itself as I slumped over in the ratty bus seat, dizzy and lightheaded, gasping for air, trying not to choke on my own tongue and vomit.

 “Fucking nut cases.” I heard the guard mutter under his breath, as he wiped the butt of his rifle off with a rag and made his way to the front of the bus.
The vibration under me shivered and rattled up my spine, the wheels of the bus tore forward against the road, softly easing the sickly spinning. The world was coming to an end. My head had slumped on my shoulders, bobbing with the bumps on the road. I was too weak to hold my head up, from the corner of my eyes I saw the moon laughing at me. The scratched and tinted, metal barred windows seemed to twist the light in concerto with the trees outside as they blocked the moon from my sight, I grinned at the thought that the trees outside would do me such a favor.

 My hands ached. The water bellow me had retreated, I wondered…was ever there in the first place…? I looked at the floor below me, scuffled and scratched like the windows above…and everything else on this god forsaken bus. The shackles on my ankles clanked and clashed against the floor, while the orange on my arms seemed to burn my skin like an acid, the jump suit itching at my throat. I could almost taste the color. I smiled, closed my eyes and started to snicker again. I felt my head throbbing, pounding, trying to split from my body. I was helpless to lift my hands from my lap or sit up from my shackles, and that orange, that sickly orange seemed to be chasing me. I shut my eyes tighter and hoped it would leave, hoped it would all just stop...It was the only color, the only thought, the only feeling besides the sickly crimson, caked and scared onto my knuckles from the nights before. The entire world seemed to be a mess of black, gray and orange, and I wondered if the guards would let us trick or treat a few days early, since we were all already in costume. I heard laughter in front of me; I guess one of the prisoners found humor in that thought as well.

The bus rocked and swayed, like a subway, as it drove through the night. It was like a symphony. The beat of a bass tremorred around my head as the wheels bellow me kicked up rocks on the dark road and roared against the pavement. The percussions of the brass, as the chains and shackles clashes against the floor, the hums and howl of the winds as the night swept in through a cracked window. I found myself humming to fill the void of the strings, it was the only thing that gave me comfort as the bus pushed forward, closer to my fate, to my hell. I was glad it was almost over. All of this is so…familiar. The colored outfit, the guns, the moon, the bus ride…I guess it ends where it began, I thought with a smile on my face… Three years running. Three years since the razor wire fence maimed my finger as I leapt back into the realm of the living… Three years since my first escape. . . This time, it was all going to end. This time, there was no escape.

title: Schizophrenic Prisoner [870 words]

question: Where is the protagonist at the moment?

answer: On a prison bus, shackled and being driven back to prison.

question: Why is he going to prison?

answer: He had escaped three years prior, and was now captured. It is not stated why he ended up in prison the first time.

question: How does he feel?

answer: He feels desperate and as if he is being mocked by the moon and chased by the orange color of the prison clothes.

question: Why does he think there will be no escape this time?

answer: It is not stated, but it could be that he will be sentenced to death.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The text is a short story about a man being driven to prison on a prison bus. He is shackled and his thoughts are chaotic.


text:
It was a small boring house in Los Angeles, California that surprisingly no one ever noticed, and has been

 abandon for probably thirty years now, which is pretty strange why that house hasn't been taken down yet. It

 was.... how do I put this...... it was creepy, in a really interesting, nostalgic, and somber way, maybe because it
 reminded of my simple, small appeal childhood in Moscow, Pennsylvania. I recently discovered the last family

 that moved into that house either disappeared or died. Fifth-teen feet away from that house, I saw a boy that

was probably about thirteen, all alone sitting on a tree stump and looked down at the grass

 I then realized, that kid looked exactly like me when i was his thirteen. I then said to him, "Why

 are you sitting alone depressed?" the boy looked at me like I had nine arms and said "Could you see me? I was

the soul of the kid that lived in that house!" At first I thought he was just being an asshole to get me away,

 then he yelled, "I'm serious! PLEASE, just maybe I could prove it!"The way he yelled made me shocked no one

noticed that. It was so loud, but I didn't let it get to me. I said to him "Okay, try to 'prove' it then." "FINE!"

Suddenly the boy walked through me, "Do you believe me now!?" I was astonished "How did you do

that?!" I said "I've been deceased for five years now..." "Whats your name?" I asked him. "My name is Mills"

Words cannot describe how much that astounded me. My name is also Mills. I soon realized he had the same

cloths I wore when I was his age. he had sagging jeans and my old gym t-shirt that said Trojans on it. I also

realized the house he was sitting by looked exactly like my old house in Moscow, Pennsylvania. The only

difference between me and that kid was that lived in Pennsylvania my whole childhood.

title: The House Part 1

question: How old is the narrator?

answer: That information isn't clear from the story.

question: What reminded the narrator of their simple childhood in Pennsylvania?

answer: The creepy, abandoned home he sees in Los Angeles

question: Who says "FINE!"?

answer: The thirteen year old boy

question: What is this story's main conflict?

answer: The narrator meets a thirteen year old boy outside of the abandoned home, and the boy looks just like the narrator.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Mills sees an abandoned home in Los Angeles that reminds him of his childhood home in Pennsylvania. He recalls that he learned the family that lived there had either died or disappeared. He sees a thirteen year old boy outside the home who looks just like him at that age. The boy tells Mills he is the soul of the kid that lived in the house. Further parallels between them are discovered when the boy reveals his name is Mills and is wearing the same clothes from Mills' youth.


text:
I looked up from my dirty fingernails, which had occupied a majority of my attention up to this point, and for the first time took note of my surroundings. The artificial lights in the train car reminded me of the halls of some unfamiliar hospital. The walls of the car were covered in a variety of outdated advertisements, public transportation maps, various warnings, and a list of procedures in case of some unforeseen emergency. Upon entering I had felt fortunate just to get a seat, but after a few stops there were just enough people remaining to limit me to an aisle seat, eliminating any chance of getting comfortable enough to sleep.

The assortment of people was as typically unusual as one would expect on the last train of the night. A couple sat across the aisle and one row in front of me. His hair was gray and clearly thinning at a rate that made him feel the need to grow it out some length and comb it back. He had a somewhat crooked grin as he looked at her and his eyes shown with the glint of a man who both knew he was getting away with something he shouldn’t be, but also felt no remorse as he was above the repercussions another might face.   Her hair was blonde beyond the years revealed in her face. Her cheeks drooped, but as she sat her eyes lit up like a child who’s just received their first cellphone. They talked like a high school couple on their third date, a few days before they decide they’ve found their one true love, focusing wholly on the other. In fact their mannerisms appeared almost unnatural, as if they were hiding something that no one was looking for.  Perhaps they both had families and dull lives waiting for them at home and were enjoying this last train ride where the people are new and the conversations exciting.  The longer I am aware of the two the more I feel as though the man is looking at me out of the corner of his eye anytime his attention can be drawn away from the obviously infatuated woman at his side.

On the far side of the car a boy perhaps sixteen years old was washing paint off of his face. An early Halloween costume no doubt. It was likely he had come from the concert as had a number of others on the train. The remaining seats on the train were filled with unremarkable individuals much like myself. A slightly overweight, middle aged black woman dazes in and out of sleep with the jerking of the train, a boy nods his head with the iconic white headphones in, a man in a suit who presumably had a late night at the office stares at his phone to maintain the guise of never ending importance necessary today to maintain a respectable foothold in society. Two women speak the loudest, in an excited Spanish that seemed untouched by the late hour. They were in their late twenties with similar short dark haircuts which made it difficult to discern whether they were friends, lovers, or sisters. A man sits with the bike which will be his only accompaniment on his ride home from the station. Families sit huddled across rows, the kids have all managed to fall asleep, the mother leans against her husband and closes her eyes but cannot manage to drift off, the father stares out the window with a gaze that shows no signs of falling into sleep’s grasp.

As I finished this glance around the train I noticed the woman that stood in front of me. I could not tell her age but determined she was old enough to understand the world but young enough to have her entire life before her. She was relatively tall, perhaps 5’8”, though my exhaustion at this point in my observations renders my estimations fairly useless. She wore loose fitting, high waist, light blue jeans, which were modest for her slim figure. Her coat too was rather vague as if purchased for the sole purpose of blending into a crowd. She had her brown hair up in the back in a small bun and allowed the back of her hair to fall and cover her neck much as her bangs fell across her forehead. Her pale face grew solemnly dark around her eyes which sat sunken back into the depths of her face. Her cheekbones sat high on her face and gave her a dignified look that contrasted with her reserved appearance. She too had headphones in and every few seconds she would inaudibly mouth a line or two from whatever it may have been she was listening too. Her expression revealed nothing. She was empty, cold, unfazed by her surroundings. This isn’t to say she appeared unfriendly or apathetic, simply untouched by the never ending stimuli of her surroundings. Her focus lies beyond the events of the train car, extending beyond the world to which my thoughts felt tied.

The look on her face captured my imagination as it was more inviting to the speculation of her thoughts than that of anyone else in memory. I was left powerless to grasp at the few clues available to me in order to invent the monologue in her head. Perhaps it was as simple as the melody and words to whatever song was passing between her ears and occasionally across her lips. She could be reminding herself of what mundane tasks she was condemned to the next day. Or perhaps it could have been that she wanted nothing more than for the torrential stream of emotional realizations to cease for a moment and allow her the peace of an uncomfortable train ride. Undeniably her face revealed the surface of a past perhaps not of a troubled individual, but of someone that has seen of the cruelties of the world and stares blankly, unforgivingly, into the faces of romantic ideals and the illusion of Gatsby’s dream.

From her right nostril down to the top of her lip there was what appeared from my seat to be a trail of blood, or at least the dried remains of such a trail. It appeared as a stream cut from her otherwise cold face by a single drop of blood much as the ripples of a single pebble thrown into an otherwise calm body of water. The implications of the blood intrigued almost as much as her ability to ignore it. Not even the most subtle of subconscious motions seemed to indicate that she recognized it. She did not lick her lip where the blood met her mouth, did not reach to scratch at the dried blood, did not even noticeably move her mouth save for the occasional unspoken word.

A part of my typically repressed conscience began to question whether or not I had some obligation to ask her if she was alright. Not just in this particular moment as she appeared for the time being to fall within the general standards of being well, but in her life. It is interesting the difference in meaning between asking someone if they are alright in contrast to asking someone how they are doing.  When we ask someone how they are we expect them to say they are doing well and to move on with their day or the conversation regardless of how they actually feel. To reveal more than this would be a burden upon the individual asking the question and their tightly budgeted time allowed to listen to your response.  I did not want to know that she was doing “fine, thanks” any more than I wanted to know that anyone else was “fine, thanks”. I wanted to know the story behind that blood stain and to know the pain behind the eyes.  I want to know the emotion behind the ceaseless blank stare.

I felt helpless in knowing that I knew now as much as I would ever know about this woman. My mind began to drift from her for a moment to explore ideas of people I will never meet, stories I will never know, pain I will never understand, and emotions I have yet to realize. The train began to slow as it periodically did to allow for those lucky enough to be home to get off and she turned towards the doors. A bell rang over the speaker system as the door slid open and allowed her out into the West Oakland station, she walked past my window, and I never saw her again. The bell rang again and the doors slid closed. I look back from my window to where the woman was standing and an elderly man stood in her place. His expression revealed nothing.

title: Public Transportation (First ever)

question: Judging by the crowd level in the train, what time do you think the story in the passage took place?

answer: It was the last train of the night judging by the number of people that seem to be dozing or nearly asleep. The type and diversity of people on the train also hint at the time the story was set.

question: Why was the narrator observing the people on the train?


text:
The ORGAMAN GROUP (French: _Groupe Orgaman_) is a food production and distribution company based in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.[1]

Ownership

The Orgaman Group is owned by the Damseaux family of Belgium.[2] Its chief executive officer is Jean-Claude Damseaux.[3]

History

The Orgaman Group was founded in 1931 in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, then known as the Belgian Congo.[4] It grew during World War II, as the DRC was cut off from Europe.[5] By 1961, the company was passed on to the founder's son, William Damseaux.[6] It was the main meat-processing and distribution company in the DRC in the 1970s and 1980s.[7]

In recent years, Congolese businessman Albert Yuma Mulimbi tried to purchase it, but he was put off by the Damseaux's asking price.[8] By 2013, the company had an annual revenue of 100 million Euro.[9] In 2014, the company shut down two frozen food distribution subsidiaries, Transmac and Mampeza, due to increased tariffs.[10]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

title: Orgaman Group

question: What industry is the Orgaman group part of?

answer: The food production and distribution industry.

question: Where are they based?

answer: The Democratic Republic of Congo.

question: What year was the group founded?

answer: 1931.

question: In which decades was the group the main meat-processing and distribution company in the Democratic Republic of Congo?

answer: The 1970s and 1980s.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The Orgaman Group is a food production and distribution company founded in 1931 in the Democratic Republic of Congo. It is owned by the Damseaux family of Belgium.


text:
Hello r/shortstories! I am currently experimenting in creative writing and have so far written this little piece to start off. Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.

Her hair gently sided as the howling gale crept through the boarded windows. Ever since the invasion it started to snow and it never stopped. She took refuge in a motor parts warehouse after the pathetic attempt to protect her home. While the world desperately was busy recovering from an economic meltdown, the invaders above us prepared their vast army for a devastating attack. Her grandparents that were separated from her after the destruction of their house would tell her about a day where race would not matter, gender would not make a difference and love was their strongest weapon. That day never came, not yet.
“Where is the love now?” she whispered to herself seated inside a semi, fondling with her handgun.
She had been alone in the warehouse for days and the only thing relatively close to love is when her pistol barrel is faced towards the enemy’s face. She kept count of the hell she brought to the invaders whenever they approached the warehouse- three to be exact. Despite the invaders’ hefty size and treacherous nature, it was no match against the young lady with so many specialties. Her knowledge of Tai kwon do gave her the ability to approach the invaders in close quarter combat when needed (so far not needed yet) and being in scouts gave her the advantage of tracking enemies before they could get too close. Oh, and being prom queen in high school a few years ago made her quite attractive.  Poor things never saw what was coming at them before it was too late.
As days passed she grew an unimaginable hunger that was never experienced before. Anything sounded good at that point. Staying alert throughout the night really drained her from sleep which did not help either. There was a supermarket a few blocks away from where she had taken refuge. She knew with the strength she had, she would only live one or two more days, max. So putting on layer upon layer of whatever “clothing” she found around the warehouse from ripped apart leather seats to padded head rests and boots made exactly for apocalyptic days like these; she prepared to venture out into the violent blizzard. Her vision was blinded by the reflection of the snow once outside. Although the intense cold made her instantly begin to lose feelings in her feet and hands, she felt happy she was outside again.
Upon arrival, she looked up to see the once automatic door now laid on the ground with the glass shattered everywhere. Taking just a few steps into the store she catches a lonely shopping cart tilted over just waiting for someone to pick it up and use it again. Her gloves stuck on the plastic handle for a second after placing it back on its wheels. Realizing the cold could literally freeze anything together she quickly resumed her task. Going through aisle after aisle, she swept the canned foods into her cart as if it was black Friday at Wal Mart. There was no one competing with her but yet she had the urge to go fast and get out fast.  Fast until something caught the corner of her eye. Standing absolutely still, a black figure noticed her existence and standing on its powerful hind legs it turned to face her. Neither beings moved. It became incredibly difficult to breathe and all she could think of was how stupid of her not to scout what the surroundings were like before going in. Almost like a contest to see who moved first sweat dropped from her “v” shaped chin. Did time freeze? No. Her heart beat increased uncontrollably; so fast that she felt if it went any faster her heart was going to explode. The sight of such an abomination, saliva dripping from it’s razor jaw. Its eyes so dark she felt lost just looking into them. The creature roared a roar so loud a box of cereal fell over beside her feet, and with a monstrous step forward the brawl began. A sinister snicker spread across her face until it matured into a crazed laughter, she reached for the handgun strapped on her waist with the initials “P.G” forged on the handle in italics. Love.

title: Days Come and Go

question: How was a young woman of slight build able to overcome hefty invaders?

answer: The young woman is trained in close-quarter combat. She is a scout and has been trained in tracking enemies before they get too close to her. She is also very attractive so perhaps the invaders don't realize that she is a threat.

question: Why does the woman leave the shelter?

answer: The woman has developed an unimaginable hunger. She knows that she could only survive a day or two without food. So, she risks going to the supermarket not far from her shelter to get supplies so that she can eat.

question: What does PG stand for?


text:
"How did they know it was bedtime at Michael Jackson's house?" I said, confidently, knowing my golden punchline was ironclad funny. (can't wait!)

"Ummm, like, I don't know. How?" She set me up nicely.

"When the big hand was on the little hand!" I delivered it perfectly. Jazzhanded and breathless in anticipation, I awaited her reaction.

"Like, whatever."

Whatever!?! No tee-hee, not even a measly el-oh-el? I mean, if u don't laugh at that brilliant joke you're incapable of laughter. Her Plenty-of-Fish profile confirmed she loved funny guys. Laughless McGee even wrote it in CAPS. Bewilderment spun around me; i'm dizzy. Horrifically, she added, "The cranberry juice I ordered is for my urinary tract infection," without a detectable wince of humor.

Clarity filled my mind and I became acutely aware I was on a date with the Devil. Surely, nutclamps and enemas would follow me down to the charred walls of the damned that night. I was just another victim; just a padding statistic for the Devil.

*Last blind date, ever!* I thought. I was super-serious this time.

title: The Blind Date

question: Is the narrator male, female, or non-binary?

answer: I'm guessing male based on the tone within the context of this date setting.

question: How do we know this is an internet/app date?

answer: The narrator mentions Plenty of Fish.

question: Why is he calling his date Laughless McGee?

answer: The exact answer isn't found in the text.

question: why does the narrator say they're on a "date with the Devil"?

answer: They are not happy their date isn't laughing, maybe.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: A person goes on an internet/app date and tells a bad joke about Michael Jackson. The date doesn't laugh and proceeds to bring up that she has a urinary tract infection. The narrator decides she's the devil and vows no more blind dates.


text:
Moratorium sounds like an open space, a thick, black ribbon stretching on above her. She adds the definition in clean, blue letters: still searching.

That’s me, she thinks, pleased that she has a word for it. Moratorium: still searching. The word reminds her of the planetarium, and she speckles the black ribbon with white stars. At the end of the ribbon, there would be answers, little whispers of personality that were waiting to cling to her.

How awful, being a teenager, she thinks gloomily. Not being able to figure yourself out, and seeing the ones who already know it all.
They’re done taking notes for the day. The girl puts her pen down and closes her notebook. Suddenly, she flips to a random, blank page and prints her name in a fast, determined hand.

Who am I is added underneath it, and she scribbles some certainties. Fourteen-almost-fifteen, daughter, sister, student. She stares down at her words, at a loss for what else to write.

I like art and books, she thinks, and daydreaming. She puts the pen down again and sighs. Was she supposed to wake up one day – on her eighteenth birthday, maybe – and know herself? All of this was just a teenager thing, wasn’t it? It’d pass someday.

But what was someday? What did it look like?

Someday could be a star, right in the corner of the black ribbon. She bends over the paper, creates an ink-blue sky. If only she knew where her black pen was. She draws herself, and a question mark.

Today, the school bell sounds faint. She’s in a separate universe, reaching for someday.

title: Moratorium

question: What does Moratorium mean?

answer: It means: still searching

question: How old is the narrator?

answer: She is fourteen-almost-fifteen.

question: What does she like?

answer: She likes art and books

question: Where is she?

answer: She is at school.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator is daydreaming at school, thinking about how she doesn't really know herself and wondering when she will.


text:
For 38 terrifying minutes, many Hawaii residents spent Saturday morning hunkered in bathtubs and basements waiting for a ballistic missile strike that never came.

911 networks were overwhelmed and some fired off frantic messages to loved ones on the mainland.

Hawaii public officials called it a day they would never forget.

[]

The panic ensued after the Hawaii Emergency Management Agency mistakenly sent out an alert that warned residents of an imminent ballistic missile strikeand urged them to "seek immediate shelter."

"This is not a drill," the ominous, all-caps push alert blared on people's phones.

The notice turned out to be a false alarm, but the ensuing panic quickly turned to anger and a demand for answers by Hawaii residents, their politicians and even the chairman of the Federal Communications Commission about what happened. Why was the alert sent, and why did it take 38 minutes for the Hawaiian government to correct it?

[]

Facing the outcry, Gov. David Ige and Hi-EMA Administrator Vern Miyagi first offered an apology and then some answers during an afternoon press conference.

"I deeply apologize for the trouble and heartbreak we caused today," Miyagi said. "This is my team. We made a mistake. We are going to process this and study this to make sure this doesn’t happen again."

Miyagi, a retired Army two-star general, then explained that an individual on his team sent the alert in error, even clicking through a redundancy on a computer screen intended to act as a safeguard from such a mistake.

Electronic signs alert drivers in Honolulu that the emergency missile alert sent Saturday morning was a mistake.Anthony Quintano / via Twitter
He said that the incident occurred shortly after a scheduled 8 a.m. local time (1 p.m. ET) shift change. At the beginning of each shift, Miyagi said, his team conducts a routine internal test that involves the Emergency Alert System and the Wireless Emergency Alert.

That test began at 8:05 a.m. (local time). Here's what happened next, according to Miyagi:

8:07 A.M.: Hi-EMA sends a real alert for a ballistic missile attack to television, radio and cellphones, rather than initiating the internal test that was intended.

8:10 A.M.: Hawaii State Adjutant Maj. Gen. Joe Logan contacts U.S. Pacific Command to verify that there was no missile launch. The Honolulu Police Department is then told of the false alarm, prompting officers to go out with bullhorns in order to calm residents, NBC affiliate KHNL reported.

8:13 A.M.: Hi-EMA is able to cancel the alert, which means that those who had not yet received the message — people who had their cellphones off or did not have a signal when the warning was sent — would not get it once their phones reconnected with cell towers.

8:19: - Rep. Tulsi Gabbard, one of Hawaii's two representatives to the U.S. House, is one of the first public officials to tweet that the alert was a mistake.

8:20 A.M.: A minute later Hi-EMA sends out its own public notification on social media that the alert was a false alarm, but those without access to Twitter and Facebook are still left in the dark.

8:24 A.M.: Hawaii Gov. David Ige retweets Hi-EMA's false-alarm announcement on Twitter to spread the word.

8:30 A.M.: Ige then adds the false alarm announcement to his Facebook page.

8:45 A.M.: Thirty-eight panic-filled minutes after the initial alert went out, Miyagi's Hi-EMA team gets FEMA Integral Public Alert and Warning System's authorization to send a follow-up alert to wireless devices, which read, "False Alarm. There is no missile threat or danger to the State of Hawaii."

9:30 A.M.: Gov. Ige first speaks to the media and says that "human error sent out the false alarm."

9:34 A.M.: - Gov. Ige's message is posted to his social media accounts.

1:00 P.M.: - Several hours later Ige and Miyagi hold a press conference to detail the timeline of events that took place in response to the erroneous missile alert. Ige said the government was suspending all future alert drills until Hi-EMA conducts a full investigation into the event.

[]

As of Saturday afternoon, Miyagi said that Hi-EMA would require two-person verification to send tests, as well as real missile launch alerts. They have also added a cancellation protocol that can be instituted within seconds, he said.

Miyagi also said that Hi-EMA is looking into expanding its ability to notify Hawaii's Congressional delegation, local governments and members of staff.

RELATED: HAWAII FALSE MISSILE ALERT: FCC TO OPEN PROBE INTO MISTAKEN WARNING

Miyagi said he intended to produce a report about the incident by next week.

"I know firsthand what happened today was totally unacceptable and many in our community were deeply affected by this," the governor told reporters. "I’m sorry for that pain and confusion that anyone might have experienced. I’m, too, very angry and disappointed this happened. We are doing everything we can immediately to ensure it never happens again."

[Image: Phil McCausland]Phil McCausland

Phil McCausland is an NBC News reporter focused on rural issues and the social safety net.

question: How long were people panicking when the emergency alert was sent?

answer: 38 terrifying minutes

question: Who announced the notice to be a false alarm?

answer: Hi-EMA Administrator Miyagi offered the apology.

question: Why was the alarm sent out?

answer: Miyagi explained that someone on his team sent the alert in error.

question: When did the alert test begin?

answer: 8:05 am

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Emergency networks are flooded after Hawaii residents spent 38 minutes hunkered down awaiting a ballistic missile strike that never came. The notice people received on their phones turned out to be a false alarm. Retired Army general Miyagi offered an apology for the error.


text:
There are so many reasons a bride-to-be should go for this dress.

If you’re getting married, predict a proposal is on the way, or, in true Rachel, Monica and Phoebe fashion, you just like trying on weddingdresses on with the girls, we have the thing for you.

Shopping for the dream gown is one of those things we hope to only do once, and, with this in mind, it has to be the dream in every way.

Fit, shape, and colour are just a handful of the finer details you’ll consider – every inch of tulle should make you happy. This being said, the peek of happiness would be to not only look and feel amazing, but to also be comfortable on your big day.

And comfort isn’t usually associated with wedding dresses…until now.

The dress style that’s on our radar isn’t a Bardot shape or fishtail fit, it’s all about the pockets. Yes, we said pockets.

Imagine this, you’ve just walked down the aisle, mascara tears everywhere and you just reach into your pocket to grab a tissue. Or, you’re at that part in the day waiting for the next round of food to arrive. You can reach into your pocket and pull out a snack. Game changer.

So much of a game changer that we’ve found the best styles from Max Mara to Self Portrait so you can shop right now. Scroll down to peruse the wedding dresses with pockets that’ll make your big day complete.

Caroline Castigliano Santa Barbara luxury wedding dress

The lace cupped bodice, embroidered straps and sleek shape creates the perfect style for any modern bride. Add to this the fact it has pockets and it becomes The One.

Price on request, Caroline Castigliano

WED2B Porsha wedding dress

It’s one of the only times in your life you’ll get to wear a big, white dress – if you want to, that is – and this fuss-free dress is a way to do it in style. The simple design, sleek neckline and satin finish will mean you can add all the attention to detail to your accessory choices.

£549, WED2B

Max Mara silk georgette dress

For the very modern bride, there’s always the option of trouser suits, jumpsuits or non-traditional dresses like the Max Mara shirt dress. Simple, elegant and one you’ll actually be able to re-wear. Add to this the fact it of course has pockets and we’re sold.

£1,480, Max Mara

Self Portrait lace detail off shoulder wedding dress

Strapless styles are always one of the most popular, but we’re all about the Bardot. The embroidered detail over the shoulders is so pretty, not to mention the pockets that are completely hidden with the draped fabric. It’s ticking a lot of boxes all round.

_£500, Self Portrait_

Stella McCartney Juliet stretch-cady dress

It may not be the most traditional wedding gown, but Stella McCartney has created a dress with a difference. The lace up front, long sleeve style and clean shape makes it the perfect style for a wedding abroad. It’s also now in the sale so you can get yourself a bargain, if you’re speedy.

_Was £1, 265 now £759, Stella McCartney _

Paloma Blanca guipure lace and organdy wedding dress

The dress of fairytales, this Palmona Blanca bandeau style is made even better with fitted pockets. They’re disguised by the full skirt style making it even easier to hide all the treats.

_Price in store only, Paloma Blanca_

For more wedding inspiration, check out the 11 wedding trends set to be big news this year.

_Opening image: Max Mara_

question: What are the disadvantages of a wedding dress without any pockets?

answer: The article describes having pockets for tissue or snacks, items to be used just in case something happens. Without any pockets, a bride is left without access to any items they might need in an emergency such as a phone, medical items (tablets, asthma inhalers), and other things that could prove convenient. While the article says it is comfort, pockets actually deliver convenience.


text:
* This is my first attempt at story writing, and I would really love any feedback! I'm very much willing to give feedback on others' stories, as well. Thanks in advance for reading.

It was the Saturday a few days after Christmas, and I was anxious about the evening. My old best friend from high school had messaged me a few weeks before, telling me to keep the Saturday before New Year’s open. He wanted to bring the old group back together, at least for one night. This friend had always been a little bit nostalgic for high school, in a way that I never was. I had never been sure if I liked the sarcastic group of friends of which I was a part. I was always on edge around them.

I took the train downtown, not wanting to drive in the snow. I showed up to my old friend’s apartment early, so we could play a few rounds of a hockey video game before heading to the hockey match we were going to attend with our other friends. When this friend and I were in high school, and before he had moved out, I would often go to his house after class to play games. We never went to my house; I wouldn’t have wanted it. My high school friends did not mix with my family, or with my church friends.

My friend lived alone in his fifth floor apartment downtown. I had only been here a few times, but had never liked the place—it was dated and dark, and very small. And now it was a mess: not an unsanitary mess, but full of dust, used plastic bottles, old receipts, empty bags of chips. A lot of clutter. I am not normally the type of person to impose on others’ lifestyles, but my friendship with this friend is of the kind where nothing is offensive. He watched me almost naively as I cleaned up his living room and kitchen. We bought a broom from the convenience store on the street below. It was already dark outside. We did still have time for one round of hockey.

The other friends had come together to the apartment. We were meeting up to head to the game by train. Everyone made their jokes about the fact that I had cleaned up, the jokes mostly at my friend’s expense, and not mine. They all knew I had sort of been avoiding them. I prefer to spend time with church friends nowadays.

We made it out of the apartment, across the street and onto a train without ever really greeting each other. The conversation went along as if it had never stopped during the years that we had seldom been together. This was as much to do with our mutual awkwardness as with our familiarity with each other. The dynamic in this social group was eccentric: I was somewhat central to the group, because my old best friend was the energy behind it, but I was also the Mormon, culturally separate from everyone else. Between high school and now I had spent two years away from home as a missionary. Nobody knows what to think about Mormons.

I wasn’t used to the relative coarseness of the conversation, after time away from everyone. Neither my church friends nor I use profanity or discuss alcohol. I withdrew a little into myself as we took our seats on the train. This did feel like high school again. As a teenager I had distanced myself somewhat from my religion. The intellectual adolescent wants to be distant from religion, because it symbolizes everything that is supposed to be anti-intellectual. He often finds that the end of a journey away from religion is usually also far from home, and from other good things.

At the next stop two girls I recognized, each about eighteen, stepped off the platform onto the train, out of the snow and the darkness. Their faces were bright, eyes wide as they huddled together toward their seats. I was surprised to see them in this urban setting. These were the kind of girls you would want to babysit your children. We greeted each other as they passed by. “They’re Mormon,” I explained to my friends. They understood; there is a natural kinship that goes along with being part of the Mormon world.

Our group arrived at the arena, and sat together, maybe eight or so of us. There was much discussion about buying beer: The limit was two per purchase. They had a better variety at one of the bars. Beer was particularly expensive at this arena. It was best to leave your seat to buy beer during commercial breaks, unless you could wait until the end of the period—Alcohol was something the appeal of which I had never understood, even in my period of religious doubt.

I watched the game quietly, without beer. I had not spoken much this evening. Anyway, it was hard to talk down the row. I spoke to my old friend who was sitting next to me. Earlier in the night I had gotten a text from a group of church friends who were going to see a late movie. It was a last minute sort of thing. I didn’t know who might be there; the assortment was always different. On the way to the game I had told my friend about it. He knew me well enough to realize why I was telling him about it. If I left the hockey game early I could make it to the movie. I have been more this way since returning home from my mission a couple of years ago.

The home team was leading, the second period of three ended. I stood up to make my way out. “You’re leaving?” My friends were only a little surprised, because leaving things early had never been totally out of character for me. I felt apologetic, but something compelled me. I left the arena and boarded a train.

I was greeted with smiles at the theater, when I met up with these other friends, friends whom I had only known for a year or two. Their warmth had recently begun to draw me out of my introversion. There is a security that comes from earnestness. I remembered, as I walked into the movie, the words of another churchgoer who had returned from religious disaffection, whose particular circumstances I cannot remember but whose feelings I will always understand most deeply, because they vindicated my choice to be reconciled: I needed to be with *my people*.

title: With My People [1100 words]

question: Where is the narrator taking the train to?

answer: Taking the train downtown to meet his old high school friends for a reunion.

question: What "world" does the narrator belong to when he references "his people"?

answer: Narrator is part of the Mormon world

question: Why did the narrator leave the hockey arena?

answer: Narrator felt compelled to be with "his (Mormon) people" at the theater.

question: Why were the narrator's friends not totally surprised to see him leave the hockey match early?

answer: Leaving things early had never been totally out of character for him.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer:
The narrator kept the Saturday between Christmas and New Years open to have a reunion with his old high school friends. They meet downtown at their friends apartment prior to catching the train to the hockey game.
Narrator felt compelled to leave the arena early to meet his church friends at the theater. He felt he needed to be with "his people". His old high school friends were a little surprised to see him leave.


text:
					The Escape
          Rain dumped down over the fields of grass and surrounding buildings.  An American flag that should be waving in the breeze due to any imagery that our propaganda might show you, was so weighed down by the water that it gripped and hugged the pole it was leaning against.  A sad day they said, they said how could it be anything different than a sad day.  Thomas thought they lacked perspective.
	Thomas saw the love that the flag gave to that pole.  He saw nature feeding its grass and allowing it to grow.  He saw that the buildings always looked their best in a downpour.  But most of all he saw the truth.  He was unbarred from reality in times like these, seeing what he knows as opposed to what he has been told.  He has come to understand that rain was truth as the sunshine was propaganda.  Locked in this luminous state of mind that the rain and thunderclouds brought about; condensation left his lips as he released a breath of relief.
	“We truly know we are alive in times of pain.  Don’t you think?”  Thomas said looking toward his friend, Sam.
	Sam gave him a look of skepticism.  “That was really random.  How did you think of that?”
	They were in a building looking out of glass doors toward a flagpole.  To the left of the door was a picture of Uncle Sam dressed as a superhero.  Outside of the door, similar posters had been hung up, but the one that caught Thomas’s attention was the poster that had been detached from its surface by the rain and was now lying face down on the ground.  “I was simply observing my surroundings.  Let’s go back to the ceremony.”
	Thomas and Sam were currently enrolled in a military school.  Right now they were in the school auditorium waiting for the annual ceremony of graduates to begin.  This ceremony takes place every year after graduation.  The process entails each student going up to the microphone to announce his plans after school to the students, teachers, families, and deans of the academy.  It was essentially a ceremony to shame the students into a worthwhile endeavor proceeding their scholastic career.  It was quite an out of date ceremony, started in a time when a fascist government managed to convince its people it was capitalist.  A time when authority ruled over common sense and rationality.  Though technically capitalist, the persona of the culture seemed to shout Nazi ideals from the rooftops.
	The first student stepped up to the mic with his chest thrust out and announced, “I will be attending West Point Academy,” with a great pride and enthusiasm, whistles and yells followed.  The next student was a repeat performance and this uniformed debauchery continued in the same way throughout the ceremony.  The few changes that were made in each speech were only tone of voice and a difference in military universities.
	When Thomas stepped up to the mic, he thrust his chest out with a great pride and announced his plans to travel around the world and work for whoever would hire him.  Thomas took a deep breath and looked around at his audience.  They were all open-mouthed and completely silent.  Thomas took a breath of air from the world for the first time.  He had finally bitten the hand that fed him poison and looked toward a future with no goals; a taste of freedom at last.

title: Short story

question: What's the picture to the left of the door?

answer: A picture of Uncle Sam.

question: How is Thomas breaking the mold?

answer: He's not attending West Point like his other classmates.

question: What is the special kind of school Thomas attends?

answer: Military school.

question: What is the name of Thomas' friend?

answer: Sam.


text:
UPDATE 2:20 P.M.:

Pensacola Police Department spokesman Mike Wood said the man arrested with battery at the rally was Caleb Burris, 24. Wood said in a statement that Burris knocked a megaphone out of another person's hand.

UPDATE 1 P.M.:

Rally organizers have thanked the crowd and police for keeping the peace the last four hours. All but four people have packed up their signs and are leaving. The bullhorn man is sitting down, but has yet to leave.

The crowd on the other side of the street started a chant of “Take it down, take it down.”

Police appear to be asking the group to disperse, and just a handful of those protestors remain as well.

UPDATE 12:45 P.M.

The rally appeared to be coming to an end when a man knocked a bullhorn out of a woman’s hand who was asking people to sign a petition to take the statue down. The police reacted within seconds and broke it up, p

Rally organizers have thanked the crowd and police for keeping the peace the last four hours. All but four people have packed up their signs and are leaving. The bullhorn man is sitting down, but has yet to leave.

The crowd on the other side of the street started a chant of “Take it down, take it down.”

Police appear to be asking the group to disperse, and just a handful of those protestors remain as well.

Putting the aggressor under arrest. Police in SWAT gear arrived in two police cars and took the man away.

The crowd, once quiet, is now on its feet again. A pro-monument speaker is shouting from a bullhorn, calling anti-monument protestors “diabolical sociopaths.” An anti-monument protestor is blowing into a whistle to drown out his words.

The speaker is now calling out City Council and County Commissioners to take a stand.

“Where are you Ashton Hayward, where are you?,” the unidentified man asked into the bullhorn. “I was hoping you would show up today and speak with these people, but you won’t show your face, will you?”

“These politicians are the same sociopaths who started segregation,” he continued. “They change their tune. These politicians want to destroy American monuments without the consent of the people.”

Police have now asked the two groups to go the opposite sides of the street. There are more police on scene now than protestors, but those who remain are very vocal.

UPDATE 11:45 A.M.

The group is now much smaller, and most of the anti-monument side has moved in to Lee Square. The police presence is much tighter, and protestors from both sides are using air horns, whistles and megaphones to shout over each other. One man from the pro-monument side, Adam Andrew, is attempting to mitigate the most heated crowds telling monument supporters to retreat and not engage in a situation that may become violent.

A group of about a dozen men and women holding Antifa signs are directly across from the group.

“We are pleased with the way the crowd has conducted itself,” said PPD spokesman Mike Wood. “Our officers continue to observe, and will do so until the conclusion of the event. We have noticed positive dialogue between opposing sides and hope to see that continue.”

UPDATE: 11:20 A.M.:

Police are closing in around the monument as back-and-forth arguments turn racial. The chanting has stopped but roughly 30 people covering both sides of today's rally are arguing back and forth about slave ownership and the plight of African Americans in today's society. One young black woman said she has two college degrees and no children, after an older white woman said she's "probably off having another baby every nine months."

The confrontation grew progressively worse - and racial - as the two women screamed at each other.

As the two women broke apart, others were quick to point out that the two women do not represent the majority of either the pro-monument or anti-monument side. The verbal fight was enough to prompt many in the crowd to leave the rally all together. Only about 20 people remain on the anti-monument side of the street, while about 60 people remain in Lee Square, where both sides of the debate are mingled.

The small remaining crowd is using air horns and megaphones to shout over each other.

UPDATED 10:50 A.M.:

Monument protestors are back to chanting "no klan, no CSA, no fascist USA" after a small skirmish broke out in the crowd.

Pensacola Police Department officers just rushed toward a crowd of protesters standing directly below the Confederate monument when one of the anti-monument protestors was stomping on the Confederate flag. One of the pro-monument supporters tried to grab the flag from beneath the woman's feet and each side rushed in, though there was no physical violence.

UPDATED 10:30 A.M.:

Amid the shouts of both sides, a small group of anti-Confederate monument protestors walked across the street and began speaking with a pro-Confederate monument protestor. After a few minutes of conversation, both sides shook hands and even hugged. Jermaine Williams, who was among the group that crossed the street, said he wanted to see what they had in common.

"I just wanted to come over here and talk because we can't hear each other over here," Williams said. "To be honest, despite what they say, none of them has met or spoke with a young black male from the inner city."

RC Pittman, president of Bikers for Trump and on pro-monument side, said no one's mind was changed, but it was better than the groups shouting at each other.

"You can't have a discussion with another person unless you shut up and let them talk," Pittman said.

UPDATE: 9:45 A.M.:

The crowds at the competing rallies in Lee Square have grown to several hundred people, with pro- and anti-monument participants mostly separated by Palafox Street. The majority of shouting appears to be coming from the pro-monument crowd.

A man carrying the Nazi sign said he is wearing it not because he supports the Nazi cause, but because he believes Democrats are Nazis. Another man nearby is wearing a shirt that says Deplorable Lives Matter. Another shirt reads "Guns don't kill people, but they help."

Across the street, a man is stomping on the Confederate flag.

Despite the negative words, there has not been violence nearly an hour into the competing rally.

"We've got teams (of officers) up there and we switch them periodically, and it's so far so good," said Mike Wood, a spokesman with the PPD. "We've had some shouting back and forth, but as long as it doesn't get violent we'll keep going.

UPDATE: 9:20 A.M.

Police are taking a more active approach. They were hanging out by barriers, but 10 minutes into the rally a large group of about 15 police officers came forward at once, splitting up to mingle with the crowds on both side of the street.

The pro-monument crowd is now chanting to take down Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. statues in city.

“I'm not here about race, I'm here about the monument,” said Barbara Jernigan. “What's fair to one is fair for the other, and if they're going to take down the Confederate monument they need to take down the Martin Luther King statues. It's not because of color of the skin, it's about attitude.”

MORE:Watch live: Protesters, counter protesters meet at Lee Square

Britney Habibti of Mobile stood across from the line of Confederate flag carrying protesters wearing a black hijab.

Habibiti said the atmosphere was scary but that she felt she was doing the right thing.

"You cannot live in fear," the 28-year-old woman said.

Moments later, the anti-monument crowd took a knee in protest, while the pro-monument side broke into song - The Star Spangled Banner.

[]
UPDATE: 9 A.M.

Moments before the planned rally in support of keeping the Confederate monument in Lee Square, the two sides are growing increasing vocal and attempting to out-scream each other.

On one side are groups of men and women carrying posters with Nazi swastikas, confederate flags and a mix of President Donald Trump hats and shirts. The group is chanting “No more welfare” at a group of black protesters across the street.

The two groups are separated by Palafox Street and separated by Lee Square.

The anti-monument group is a mix of people, many carrying signs with messages such as “You are not the victims,” “Racism isn’t patriotism, “No honor for treason and slavery,” “No racist USA.”

Keith Altarac of Pensacola carried a Confederate flag and a Florida flag as he stood by the monument.

Altarac, who is not a veteran, said the issue is about veterans rights.

Alatarac, who wore a "Make America Great Again T-shirt, said people who were upset about the outcome of November's presidential election were the ones who want the statue to come down.

ORIGINAL STORY

Pensacola Police Department officials are taking no chances with today's planned Confederate monument rally at Lee Square.

Dozens of police cars and SUVs lined PPD headquarters before 7 a.m., engines running, ready to dispatch if needed.

So far, Lee Square is quiet. The park itself is barricaded off on both sides of the streets and all  of the parking areas around the park are blocked off by barricades, police tape or rope.

PPD isn't sure what to expect after a Milton man got a permit earlier this week for a rally in support of keeping Pensacola's Confederate monument in Lee Square. Hours after Olsen announced his rally, an anti-monument group announced it planned to be at the rally in protest, encouraging community members to take the monument down.

Thomas Olsen said Monday that he and other supporters of the monument to the Confederate soldiers killed in the Civil War have gathered thousands of signatures on online petitions calling for preservation of the monument.

"It is about my Southern heritage, and I am trying to preserve that history," said Olsen, whose ancestors fought for the Confederacy during the Civil War.

Olsen plans the rally to start at 9 a.m.

Pensacola's local Sons of Confederate Veterans camp, which also is in support of keeping the monument, called on people not to attend the rally, arguing it would not change minds.

F. T. Ratchford, a spokesman for Sons of Confederate Veterans Camp 1315, told the News Journal the rally would only hurt the cause of those who support the monument remaining.

"We are asking all people of good will not to go," Ratchford said. "... We're telling everyone who will listen to us not to go. Boycott it and do not participate in this meaningless act, which is going to do nothing but create friction."

The Sons of Confederate Veterans is a group made up of descendants of Confederate soldiers.

Ratchford said the group is nonpolitical and condemns any far-right and neo-Nazi organizations. The group also wants to see the preservation of any monument to Confederate veterans, Ratchford said.

question: Who was arrested for battery at the rally?

answer: Caleb Burris

question: What is the protest about?

answer: A Confederate monument

question: Where does this protest take place?

answer: Lee Square, Pensacola, Florida.

question: What is the PPD?

answer: Pensacola Police Department

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Pensacola Police intervened in a rally about the removal of a Confederate monument. Counter protestors showed up to defend the monument's existence.


text:
WASHINGTON: Beyond all the optics and symbolism of the US president being chief guest at India’s Republic Day celebrations, President Obama is arriving in New Delhi with his eye on at least one big prize: A climate change deal, at least of the kind he has clinched with China.
US officials who previewed the Obama visit with journalists left little doubt that amid a raft of issues that will be on the table, the US president will want to clinch a climate change agreement with India ahead of the December 11 Paris meet, where 195 countries are scheduled to find ways to curb the fossil-fuel gases imperiling earth's climate system.
The officials, White House insiders Ben Rhodes and Phil Reiner, said they tend not to preview specific deliverables or announcements that the president and prime minister might make together, but maintained that ''we’re not going to have a successful international climate negotiation (in Paris) unless all major emitters are coming to the table.''
''And so the president will have a chance to review with Prime Minster Modi what the US is committed to doing, what India is considering doing in this space, and then how we can work together in the global context to bring about a successful conclusion to those negotiations,'' they added, providing an implicit sense of an imminent climate change agreement with India.
''Our most on front burner issue is cooperation on clean energy and climate change… …and the US, China, and India are key to this,'' White House NSC senior director Phil Reiner said.
Under a deal clinched with China last month that might offer a template for a US-India agreement, Washington agreed to reduce its emissions by 26 percent to 28 percent below its 2005 level by 2025, and China has made a non-specific commitment to achieve peak of carbon emissions around 2030, and to increase the share of non-fossil fuels in primary energy consumption to around 20 percent by 2030.
Washington appears confident it can persuade New Delhi to commit to a similar deal although India has a far smaller carbon footprint per capita than China and a miniscule one compared to the United States, which is the world’s biggest polluter. The White House appears particularly confident it can do business with Modi after a breakthrough with India last September on what had been an impasse on the Trade Facilitation Agreement within the WTO.

[]

With commerce secretary Penny Pritzker and US trade representative Mike Froman penciled to accompany the president, the officials said there’s both the ''specific advocacy'' that Washington will do on behalf of US businesses to advance exports and US job growth and also address a range of trade impediments.
Establishing deeper defense ties including cooperation in the Asia Pacific and more broadly, and ''hot button'' regional issues including counter terrorism cooperation will also be part of the talks agenda, they said.

[]

(File photo)
''People have long looked at this relationship and seen the fundamentals in place for a really, really close partnership, and yet it’s been a challenge in translating that into outcomes,'' Rhodes reflected, adding, ''The president will want to speak to how do we tap into the energy and support in both countries for the relationship and turn that into positive progress on the issues that matter in people’s lives.''

question: What seems to be the key factor that might make the climate change negotiations between the United States and India work out?

answer: Trade and defense cooperation between the two countries.


text: There was once a feather named Sock. He's been very scared and lonely since he lost his dad   Phillipe McRoosterson and all of his feathery brothers and sisters. Sock has tried to find Phillipe, but after months of searching far and wide, he decides to leave the Unenchanted Forrest. He decided that he would travel to where to sun sets to find his lost father. For many miles Sock flopped and floated through bushes and streams, valleys and rivers. After many days of travel, he came across a wizened rabbit who smelt of elderly people eating enchiladas, and who seemed busy digging. Sock hadn't eaten in days, and decided to ask the stranger for food and directions. "Good afternoon kind sir, my name is Sock. What's yours?" "My name is William Floppypaw, nice to meet you Sock." As Sock was about to ask for food and directions, it started to downpour. William then said "Come inside my rabbit hole Sock, we wouldn't want you to catch a cold. And you can call me Willy from now on. All of my feathery friends do" Sock then thanked him. He's never seen a rabbit hole before, and was taken aghast by the spaciousness of it, and how dry and tidy it was. "So what can I do for you Sock?" asked Willy. "Well I was wondering if you've seen a chicken recently, he's my Dad. I haven't seen him in days, and I'm kinda hungry too." "I haven't seen anyone in weeks, sorry Sock, but I have some carrot stew, and I think that their is enough for two." They began to eat, but Willy had to go use to washroom and excuse himself from the table.  Sock was so amazed by the savory carrot stew that he didn't even notice when he was forcefully grabbed by Willy and roughly thrown into a damp and smelly sac. Sock was petrified. He's allergic to cotton! "Let me out! I'm allergic to cotton!" screamed Sock. "Never!" said Willy. "And it's hypoallergenic. Oh and make sure to enjoy your new friends..." And that was when Sock looked around in horror to see that he was surrounded by hundreds of other feathers. And at that moment Sock realized that he had became a pillow.

title: The Feather Named Sock Part 1

question: Does Sock have a conflict?

answer: Sock first needs to find his father Phillipe who is lost. His second conflict comes when he is captured by Willy.

question: What is the main event of the story?

answer: Sock is captured and thrown into a pillow case by Willy. He realizes he is now a part of a pillow.

question: Who says "Let me out!"?

answer: Sock says this when he is captured by Willy.

question: Who is Willy?

answer: Willy is a rabbit that Sock comes across. He seems helpful at first, but captures Sock and turns him into a pillow.

question: How far does Sock travel?

answer: It's not clear how far he travels, but over several days he travels through streams, valleys, and rivers.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: A feather named Sock goes on a long journey to find his missing father, Phillipe. After several days, he comes across a rabbit, Willy, who invites him into his home for some food. When Sock is eating, Willy throws him into a sac. There Sock realizes he has become a pillow.


text:
As with all intricately planned crimes, there's always something that crumbles, one detail that causes things to break apart. Tonight was no exception… the fridge opened for the fifth time, was it nerves? Hunger? Who knew, all he knew was that mustard and canned beans probably wouldn't taste good. He sat back down to wait; it wasn’t going to be long. The ringing phone pierced the silence his heart dropped as he knew that it was time. “Come down” the voice on the other end screeched.

He boarded the elevator hesitating for a moment before hitting the basement key. A thousand scenarios ran thru his mind as the floors went by, how was he going to handle this, what was the boss going to say? The elevator doors sprang open, Rhonda stood there with an aggravated look about her face, “Let’s go were already late” they got in to the Tahoe and got on to the main road Todd looked out the window the street lights passing quickly “slow down were not that late” he barked, Rhonda slammed on the breaks and then the gas “slow enough for you?” a brief stare was shared and they went back to ignoring each other

They pulled up to the house and got out of the truck “see we are late all the lights are out” Rhonda said staring a hole thru Todd “it’ll be alright I know where the breaker box is”. You better she barked, they walked around the side of the house found the box and cut the power and walked to the back door, it was unlocked, “this wasn’t part of the plan” thought Todd. Must have been an over sight by Mr. Pol Rhonda whispered. “Yeah” Todd said as they walked in. Todd kicked the flash light on as they searched for the master bed room. They crept to the end of the hall; Rhonda went for the door knob “wait” exclaimed Todd. “Fuck you” Rhonda muttered, as she opened the door the flashlight went off and their eyes began adjusting to the dark. Rhonda was first in and as her eyes came in to focus she noticed the bed was empty, the lights hit, Rhonda froze, no heart beat, no breath.

“Did you really think he’d just sit back a let you do it?” Todd said calmly. “Fuck you Todd this was the plan from the beginning” she said thru broken breath. Todd’s eyes grew wide “what do you mean?” “Bruce knows all about what I did, it was all part of the plan” he broke concentration for only a few seconds “don’t lie bitch, Bruce is the one that put the bounty on your head” he yelled. She turned around and looked him dead in the eye “I wouldn’t lie”

CRACK, the gun shot rang out thru the house and the valley Todd looked down at the crimson liquid pouring out of his chest as he dropped to his knees his last thought was “she didn’t lie”
their stood Bruce, .357 still smoking. “About time you showed up” Rhonda said with a look of relief across her face. A smirk came across Bruce’s face. “What was Todd babbling about” Rhonda said with confusion in her voice. “Not babbling, all true sweet heart” Bruce said coldly. “Wha” CRACK a second shot rang out thru the valley, Rhonda stumbled back in to the corner “wh..Why” she said thru gasping breath. “Why would I pay this kid to do a job I am perfectly capable of performing” Bruce said wile wiping down the gun with a velvet cloth he pulled from his jacket. As Rhonda bled out she looked up at bruce and spit out her last words, “you never ran shit”. Bruce looked down with a grin “I do now”.

title: The boss.

question: What happens to Rhonda in the story?

answer: She kills Todd during the burglary, and then Bruce kills her.

question: What are Rhonda and Todd trying to do?

answer: A burglary.

question: Why did Bruce kill Rhonda?

answer: Because it was more cost-effective to commit crimes himself.

question: What does Todd say to Rhonda to warn her?

answer: That Bruce was the one who put a bounty on her head.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: This story is about how Todd and Rhonda go to rob a house, only for Rhonda to turn on Todd, claiming Bruce told her to do so. She kills Todd. Then Bruce shows up, and turns on Rhonda, killing her.