text:
[Meagan Heber]

We love the idea of redemption. We love the old military man blistered by time, a history of violence, visions of atrocity, and his return to the land of the living. We love a tale of broken relationships skewered by heartache, by hard realities, by a slow fade away from one another rebuilt and renewed. We love forgiveness until we are being asked for it or we are asking for it.

Anti-heroes can come back, but villains are lost causes. There is nothing for the slimy refuse of the world, nothing for the hopeless case.

It seems to me that hope has become a fluffy concept. Associated with superheroes, the forces of good, with the return of a lost pet or the day breaking open or the light tearing at the darkness, we toss the word around like loose change in a shallow tin cup.

Especially at Christmas, we dangle lights and show off trees, encouraging merry-making at the completion of a long year. This “making spirits bright”, like our fluffy language, provides something to cling to.

Light in the darkness is not a bad metaphor in any way. Really, it is the most important and enticing symbolism of all time. Why else would we take a few words — “the true light was coming into the world” — and wrap a world-wide time of celebration, family, quiet and noise and joy around it?

I remember as a child being horribly plagued by nightmares. Even walking though Blockbuster to find a movie to rent would send me into a panic — DVD covers of ax murderers and demonic dolls could keep me wide awake under the covers for weeks straight.

But as my parents would tuck me in, kiss my forehead and close the door, I remember that thick band of gold underneath the door where the hallway light seeped into the darkness. No matter how terrifying the prospect of being alone with my scary imagination or the evil man under the bed, the crack of light was something. Beyond a comfort, a symbol, a warm feeling…it was truth. It was a truth that beyond the dark door was a length of carpet and a staircase and below the stairs was a man who could scare away any creature and a woman who could keep me safe. Those things were more real to me than anything.

[Image for post]

I was still afraid. I sweat under my covers with only my nose and my vision to the door exposed. I still doubted my own abilities to face what made me so afraid. But I kept my eyes on that sliver and prayed I would fall asleep.

At this launch of my twenty-fourth year of life, there is never a stray thought given to nightmares. Then, falling asleep afraid was the biggest thing. Today, I fear worse things.

At the very heart of the word, hope is not exactly popular. It’s not something we always want when we strip away the soft and comfortable and cheery exterior we have been taught to believe about the concept.

Hope isn’t fair. It’s doesn’t choose who is most worthy, or which situation is best, or when is the most opportune time to show up. It also doesn’t come in brightly packaged ribbons and bows.

Redemption. The bringing back of things that are lost. The resurgence of things that sometimes do not deserve a second chance or might be painful in the upswing.

Consider:

Christmas, the time we pause in memory of the birth of a child, was a stark and cruel reality. An unwed teenager ended up pregnant, at risk for being stoned to death for violating the moral principles intrinsic to her upbringing. It was unheard of, shameful, and gross. She lived in a quiet existence that by today’s standards would be considered abject poverty. Her country was over-run and enslaved by the most powerful and ruthless empire the world had ever known, bringing with it public executions, torture, hunger, political unrest, disease, and crime.

I’m sure this teenage girl had many a passing thought that her life was cursed, that the God she had been taught to believe in had abandoned her, and that there was nothing left for her but a life of sorrow.

Her life was one of sorrow — no matter the treasure of the child she carried, her reality did not change. She still lived in poverty, still struggled through existence. I’m sure she still had disagreements with those she loved, saw death and decay and pain. She also lost her first born child to the most excruciating death, witnessing his torture.

No halos. No “blessed” mother Mary. But…a glimmer.

A few days ago, I shot a few words back and forth over text to my best friend two states away. Even without seeing her face, or hearing her voice, I could sense the strain of circumstances and passing time.

I wanted to be encouraging to her, to tell her everything was going to be ok despite the scary future, despite money and sickness and the balancing of family and dreams. But this time, I was hardly successful. Words were not enough.

This year for many has been nothing but discord. It’s hard to imagine contemplating resilience when the most glaring things are nightmares — mental illness and cancer, bankruptcy and addiction, divorce and discouragement.

Where is the crack of light there? Is it really so far off that we cannot see it through the stifling layers of the folds of life?

Sarah doesn’t need my optimism. Neither does any of of my friends that are struggling, or the men and women all around me who are desperately pulling through each day. What they do need is my _hope_.

It’s the grittiest word I know. It claims to give me answers when I cannot fathom they could appear: that growth is messy. Joyful celebration stems from seasons of darkness. I can look forward to what comes next and still be absolutely terrified I will not know how to get there. Second chances don’t always come to those who deserve another shot, because hope comes to everyone evenly.

Saviors show up in really unexpected places.

No halo. No glorious entry.

Just a quiet stirring of a little something that would in turn change everything.

question: Who is the teenage girl who thought her life was cursed?

answer: The teenage girl described in this piece is Mary, Mother of Jesus. She was unwed and pregnant in the Middle East, where the punishment for such an offense was stoning. She would live to see her eldest son executed by hanging on a cross

question: How did light in the darkness encourage the author as a child?

answer: The author had an active imagination as a child so when the lights went off in her bedroom she imagined all kinds of evils coming out of the darkness. Always there was that band of light under the door to remind her that her parents would protect her. So, she kept watching the light under the door until she fell asleep.


split: train

text:
ST JOHN'S JERUSALEM or SUTTON-AT-HONE PRECEPTORY is a National Trust property at Sutton-at-Hone, Kent, England which includes the 13th century chapel of the Knights Hospitaller and a garden moated by the River Darent. It is open to the public on Wednesday afternoons from April to October.

History

It was established in 1199 as a Commandry of the Knights Hospitaller of the Order of Saint John of Jerusalem until it was sold to Sir Maurice Denys, the Receiver of the Order at the time of the Dissolution. The mediaeval sections of the property were predominantly constructed around 1234, when Henry III procured the felling of five oak trees from Tonbridge Forest. By 1388, the property had ceased to be used as a preceptory.[1]

Naturalist Abraham Hill established an orchard here in 1670, with apples and pears from Herefordshire and Devon that were used for making cider and perry. Varieties that were introduced into Kent as a result included the Kentish Pippin.[2] From 1755 it was the home of the county historian of Kent, Edward Hasted.[3] His excessive expenditure on the property may have been responsible for his bankruptcy in 1796, and subsequent term of imprisonment of five years.[4]

The building was given to the nation in 1943 by Sir Stephen Tallents, and was open to the public twice a week in the 1950s.[5][6] The property has been a Grade II* listed building since 1 August 1952[7] and was scheduled under the Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Areas Act 1979 as a site of national importance by the Secretary of State for National Heritage on 5 September 1994.[8] It is now let from the National Trust as a private residence. Public access is to the chapel and garden only.

Priors of the Hospital

Radyngton, John, fl 1396[9]

Weston, John, fl. 1485[10]

Grounds

[St John's Jerusalem's moat] The moat dates from the 13th century,[11] and surrounds an artificial island of 22,200m². The moat is bridged three times, including by a Grade II listed 19th century brick footbridge. The grounds contain a Cedar of Lebanon.[12] Only the south-western section of the moat is part of the River Darent.[13] The moat has, however, suffered from environmental problems. It ran dry in both 1976 and 1988 and was affected by sedimentation and pollution after a recent dredging of the Darent.[14] The dredging was attempted in order to foster the appearance of a 1930s Country Life setting. However, it had to be halted after it was discovered that scheduled monument consent had not been obtained. Although it was subsequently granted, the sustainability of such techniques has been called into question.[15]

The garden also hosts a former fishpond, now occupied by marshlands.[16] Before the Dissolution of the Monasteries, the lawn to the north of the property was used as burial ground for the chapel, but thereafter as a midden.[17]

[1]

[2] E. Hasted, “Parishes: Sutton-at-Hone”, _The History and Topographical Survey of the County of Kent: Volume 2_ (1797), pp. 343–367. (Accessed: 22 May 2011).

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6] R. Cary, “[https://www.jstor.org/stable/870464?seq=2&Search=yes&searchText=%22st+john%27s+jerusalem%22&list=hide&searchUri=%2Faction%2FdoBasicSearch%3FQuery%3D%2522st%2Bjohn%2527s%2Bjerusalem%2522%26gw%3Djtx%26prq%3Dsutton-at-hone%26Search%3DSearch%26hp%3D25%26wc%3Don&prevSearch=&item=15&ttl=19&returnArticleService=showFullText&resultsServiceName=null Country Houses Open to the Public]”, _The Burlington Magazine_ Vol. 93, No. 578 (London, May 1951), p. 175.

[7]

[8]

[9] Plea Rolls of the Court of Common Pleas; National Archives; CP541; http://aalt.law.uh.edu/AALT6/R2/CP40no541a/aCP40no541afronts/IMG_0615.htm; third entry; "ffrat' Johes Radynton, prio' hospital' sct Johis Jerl'm in Angl' "

[10] Plea Rolls of the Court of Common Pleas; National Archives; CP 40/891 ; first entry in http://aalt.law.uh.edu/AALT3/R3/CP40no891/aCP40no891fronts/IMG_0085.htm ;

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15] National Trust, _Sediment Management & Dredging in Lakes: A report based on a workshop held at Arlington Court, Devon_ (K. Hearn, J. Flanders & T. Phillips (eds)) (Cirencester, 2002), pp. 9–10.

[16]

[17] N. Bannister, “Kent & East Sussex”, _Annual Archaeological Review 1999-2000_ (National Trust (ed.)) (London, 2001), p. 41.

title: St John's Jerusalem

question: Summarize the history of the St. John's Jerusalem, according to the text.

answer: According to the text, St. John's Jerusalem was established in 1199 as a Commandry of the Knights Hospitaller. It was sold to Sir Maurice Denys and by 1388, the property had ceased to be used as a preceptory. In 1670, naturalist Abraham Hill established an orchard with apples and pears to be used for making cider and perry. In 1755, the place was home of the county historian, Edward Hasted Kent until his excessive expenditure lead to his bankruptcy. The building was then given to the nation in 1943 by Sir Stephen Tallents and was available to the public.

question: Summarize some interest facts about St. John's Jerusalem, as written in the text.

answer: St. John's Jerusalem had a moat that surrounds an artificial island. The moat is bridged three times and includes 19th century brick footbridge. Additionally, the garden at the place hosts a former fishpond.

question: Would St. John's Jerusalem be a great wedding venue?


text:
I have lived here in this old farmhouse for many human years, but the memories of my early days are largely fragmented. My adoptive parents and their child had dubbed me Mouse. While I’m still not entirely certain why they had chosen this name for me, I do have my suspicions.

I'm getting old now and I don't have the energy to travel about like I once did, searching for life's meaning. The best that I can do is share my experiences, so that others who are seeking the truth may find some answers from the life that I have lived. With the help of Felix’s catnip, I try to tell these stories in the same frame of mind as I was in when the memories were being recorded in my mind. I must however confess; in my youth I was much more vulgar than I am now.
I have had many dreams and revelations during recent nights, which have slowly been unraveling the mystery of my existence. Felix has been doling out well-timed distributions of catnip and I still believe that I am going through a transformation; yet achieving my ultimate desires seems to be eluding me. My dreams are the only methods I have left that allow me to explore. Walking is difficult, my bones ache terribly. I'm plagued by endless exhaustion. Felix has aged more gracefully, not participating in the daredevil escapades that I have. I don't know what I would do without him.

When Felix and I were young, he was taken away from our family and I sunk into a heavy state of depression. The days became long and unbearable. I could only smell the scent of despair; the sweet aromas of pleasant reality would not return until months after my adoption.
For weeks, I would sit perched on the windowsill, fighting to see through the collection of tears, carefully searching for Felix to return, but he never did. My heart was broken and my love for life was torn apart as my best friend vanished from my realm of reality. Fate betrayed me; I thought we had an understanding and the pain I felt from the loss of Felix was unacceptable.

One by one, my brothers and sisters were each taken away by oddly-smelling strangers and their snotty-nosed kids. Each abduction jabbed a splinter into my being, spreading apart my naïve views on life and revealing a darkness over my understandings. Yet none hurt quite as much as the moment I watched helplessly as Felix was stuffed into a tiny cage and carried off. They even took my little red ball.
Time lagged on until it was just mother and me. She did her best to keep my spirits up. I would often awake to her grooming me, keeping me clean and warm as I spent most of my time in a depressive sleep. I would never be cared for like that again.

As the weeks ticked by, I fell into comfort knowing that my birth mother would always be there for me. Then, one cool spring night, as I dozed in and out of wakefulness, listening to the soft rain drumming on the roof, my world became smaller still.

I fought desperately, trying to avoid being stuffed into my own portable jail cell, while my mother hid away under an antique pedestal table, watching on as I too was being abducted. She never said a word. She didn’t even try to stop them from taking her last remaining child.

I have never cried as much as I did that night, as they took me away from my mother and my home. My cage was placed on the lap of a young boy as the three captors drove their truck away. I was so young and I had no idea where I was being taken to. Even today, I doubt very much that I could ever find my way back to my mother. I had decided in my mind that it is better for me to accept this and yesterday, I held a memorial service for her, finally letting go of all hope from any reunion.

I spent several weeks hiding from the humans in my new prison. Their dog, Jethro really got on my nerves, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. When the family eventually gave me some privacy and free reign, I spent the time looking out the window, across the yard at their two pigs, Philly and Lilly, who were kept fenced in along the side of a big old red barn.

Behind the barn, over a dozen chickens played around in the hard dirt that was covered with chicken feed. My depression slowly subsided as I watched Jethro, in his daily ritual, hopping into the chicken cage, chasing them all over the place. His long tongue, hung out of his mouth, flapping around as he ran back and forth. He could never stick to chasing one chicken for very long, as his attention would be grabbed by other frightened chickens running by. They looked terribly afraid.

It had been a long time since I smiled, but my mood was forever tarnished by witnessing the repeated abductions of my siblings and by my own kidnapping. I would never forgive the humans, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to be one of them.

After a couple of months being in confinement within my new adoptive parents’ house, I was finally allowed outside. Their kid, Ricky, was the one who insisted on letting me roam free, but his mom decided I required a harness and a leash. Although embarrassed to be seen by the other animals under control of the humans, I reluctantly agreed to their degrading demands.

I laid in the grass, next to a stone bird bath in the front yard, I was invigorated by the thousands of different scents. It was so quiet, so peaceful. Everyone was happy, except me. I still had feelings of anger towards the humans, but if I wanted to return to my birthplace, I would need to gain their trust. This turned out to be more difficult than I imagined.

I was allowed outside with Ricky every day and after each excursion, I began to grow fonder of him and his parents. Jethro wasn’t so bad either; he stopped sniffing me so often, giving me a little bit of much needed privacy. I even got to meet Philly and Lilly. They were pretty much stinking idiots and mostly kept to themselves.

Our next door neighbor had an old farmhouse too. He was tall and old. His wrinkles filled up with dirt very quickly, making his face very dark. He spent a lot of time drinking whiskey on his front deck, with his dog named Doug. From what I understood by the other animals’ actions, he and his dog were to be avoided and even Ricky kept away from them.
One day, as I sat outside in the grass, Ricky got permission from Mom to release me from my confines of the metal leash. My heart raced as I was about to realize my newfound freedom. My eyes were opened wide. I perked my ears up to listen to the most optimal direction to flee. Then I heard the click and my harness relaxed around me.

I stood up, completely free, but I couldn’t run. I couldn’t leave another home. I kind of liked it here. Ricky was nice. I even called his parents, Mom and Dad. The other animals made me laugh, a lot and I really needed that. As much as I missed my birth family, I felt accepted here and I couldn’t betray my new family’s trust.

title: A Cat Named Mouse - Part I

question: What caused the narrator to go into a state of depression when young?

answer: The narrator went into a state of depression when young due to having Felix taken away.

question: What was the narrator's nickname?

answer: The narrator's nickname was Mouse.

question: What event caused the narrator a great deal of pain?

answer: Seeing children being adopted by others every day for months caused the narrator a great deal of sadness and pain.

question: What event caused the narrator to smile?

answer: When the narrator saw the dog, Jethro, chasing the chickens all around the chicken cage, made the narrator smile.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This story describes how a young girl survived a lot of pain throughout her life, with the loss of her cat, and her brothers and sisters being adopted.


text:
_LET'S GO GO CHRISTMAS_ is a compilation album released on December 12, 1995.[1] The album consist go-go renditions of traditional Christmas carols performed by prominent Washington, D.C.-based go-go bands,[2][3] including the songs “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” performed by The Pleasure Band, and “Merry Christmas Baby” performed by Chuck Brown & the Soul Searchers.

Track listing

Personnel

Adapted from AllMusic[4]

-   Matt Allen – keyboards
-   Roy Battle – keyboards, trombone
-   Greg Boyer – trombone
-   Chuck Brown – electric guitar, vocals
-   Kim Clarke – trumpet, vocals
-   Benny Cowan – trumpet
-   Double Agent Rock – primary artist
-   Glenn Ellis – bass guitar
-   Rory Felton – vocals
-   Donnell Floyd – vocals
-   Funk Innovators – primary artist
-   The Go-Go Family – primary artist
-   Milton “Go-Go Mickey” Freeman – congas, percussions
-   Ivan Goff – keyboards, vocals
-   Robert Green – congas, percussions
-   Hot, Cold Sweat – primary artist
-   James “Jas Funk” Thomas – vocals
-   Andre “Whiteboy” Johnson - electric guitar
-   William “Ju Ju” House – drums, percussion
-   Junk Yard Band – primary artist
-   Michael Muse – vocals
-   Louie Oxley – keyboards
-   The Pleasure Band – primary artist
-   Rare Essence – primary artist

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

title: Let's Go Go Christmas

question: When was "Let's Go Go Christmas" released?

answer: "Let's Go Go Christmas was released on December 12, 1995.

question: What record label released the album?

answer: Not answered.

question: Who were the keyboardists?

answer: Matt Allen, Roy Battle, Ivan Golf, and Louie Oxley were the keyboardists.

question: How many copies of "Let's Go Go Christmas were sold?

answer: Not answered.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This article gives a brief description of "Let's Go Go Christmas," a compilation album released on December 12, 1995. It also includes a full list of personnel for the album.


text:
*Now I think it is time that you should go away, young master, for I find this conversation uninteresting and exhausting. I think you ought to go away really almost at once, in case my disillusioned mouth should suddenly determine to introduce you to my great gills, which have teeth in them also. Yes, I really think you might be wise to go away this moment. Indeed, I think you ought to put your back into it. And so, a long farewell to all my greatness.*

Brian O’Brien was a Man. Not merely a man, a Man. Upon his entering a busy room, its female occupants would run restless fingers through their hair or press out the creases in their skirts, while the other, lesser men inside would glance at their feet or crack their knuckles and shift their feet. His driver liked to tell the story of a common thief who, after thrusting a gun at the tall, dark-haired passenger exiting the car, dropped his pistol and almost tripped over his feet turning away from O’Brien. Another time, at an important meeting, some young upstart had dared to interrupt the silence O’Brien’s presence demanded. Though he reacted calmly at the time, glancing briefly over his papers to identify the youth, something had happened afterwards that the shattered underling would never take upon himself to repeat, something that drained the color from his face every time he thought of it.

With all the stories he’d heard of O’Brien, it was of little wonder that the young accountant sitting before the magnificent oak door labelled “Brian O’Brien, Partner” could barely stop his foot twitching, or that his hair had begun to itch as the pores on his scalp slowly began to ooze sweat. Having started at the law firm only three weeks earlier, the college graduate could not imagine what the great O’Brien wanted from him. If it were up to him, Julian Zachary would not have taken the job in the first place. His parents, concerned that Julian would never use the talents he’d developed in the college education they’d paid for, had pushed and pressured him into working at the partnership. Julian had obliged them, as always, and allowed them to pursue the accounting position. But now things were getting far too serious; Julian had no problem dealing with simple, objective numbers, but the thought of confrontation with O’Brien was enough to make him twist his clammy hands.

At precisely three thirty, just as the email had instructed him, Julian stood - well, Julian jumped - and approached the door. Before he could raise his hand to knock, the clerk heard that distinctive, powerful voice echoing from within:

“Enter.” Straightening abruptly in surprise, Julian waited a moment before turning the bronze handle. Julian had a moment to take in the room, the rows upon rows of nondescript books, the expensive furniture, and the large window looking over the grey city skyline. Finally, hesitatingly, Julian’s eyes fell to the Man himself. Even sitting in the chair, O’Brien filled the room, emanating a power entirely unfamiliar to Julian. Though he was not an old man, O’Brien’s sharp eyes suggested an uncanny wisdom that bordered on omnipotence; as they focused in on the unexperienced accountant, the generic greeting Julian had so carefully prepared dropped from his mouth as a confused jumble of muttered syllables and vowels. O’Brien, after disdainfully waving away the weak speech that polluted his office air, directed Julian again:

“Sit.” The Man moved one of his large hands towards the chair in front of his stout wooden desk. Had he been a more athletic person, Julian might have noticed that O’Brien moved with the grace of a dancer or, more fittingly, a boxer. Instead, Julian thought of that mighty hand swinging down to smite the chair at which it pointed. Julian swallowed and sat, silently praying that his nervousness would not betray itself to the demigod in the chair across the desk from him. O’Brien’s expression of smug competence told Julian that it already had.

“I did not inform you as to why we were meeting today.”

Julian started, having almost forgotten himself, “No.” O’Brien waited a moment, as though waiting for Julian to add something in his defense, explaining how he could have been so lazy as to decline to determine the purpose of the meeting,

“I like to acquaint myself with everyone in this firm.” He fixed his gaze even more closely at Julian. Julian swallowed. “As one of the two names in this partnership, the actions of this firm reflect upon me. Your actions reflect upon me. Your actions will not fail to reflect positively upon me. Do you understand?” Julian understood. His parents were no longer the only ones watching his every step. He attempted an understanding, competent nod. Judging by O’Brien’s immediate smirk, it must have come out far faster than the accountant had intended. Disappointed, Julian tried to be still, though he still could not control his tapping foot.

O’Brien stood, turning his back to Julian to gaze out upon the city, presenting his inferior with a full view of his broad, muscular back.

“There is much work to be done here, and more will be expected of you than what you have done so far.” As he spoke, O’Brien moved towards a small vitrine built into one of his bookshelves. Inside were an assortment of small cases, vials, and mechanisms, all of them foreign to the seated accountant. O’Brien opened the glass door to retrieve a thin, wooden case about six inches long and two wide. After returning to his leather armchair, O’Brien brought his attention back to the skinny clerk in front of him, “This was most unwisely left in my possession by a man that I am defending. A murderer,” he pushed the case towards Julian, leaving it in front of the trembling youngster. “You will destroy it.” O’Brien snapped open the golden clasp that held the case shut. Julian blanched, his eyes darting around the room for something - anything else - to focus on. “Do you understand me?” Julian, looking far away, coughed. “Mr. Zachary: do you understand me?” Julian looked down at his feet,

“Yes.”

Later that evening, as he took the bus home from the firm, Julian fingered his belongings nervously, trying to think of anything but the severed finger wrapped in plastic lying in the tiny coffin in his suitcase. Had he been a cleverer man, Julian might have pondered why O’Brien would prescribe him with such a task. Had he been a braver man, Julian might have thought about bringing his grisly baggage to the police. Being neither of these things, Julian pulled a pencil out of his pocket and, with a shudder, slipped a notepad out of his briefcase. He began the process of forgetting his vicious cross-examination by constructing a maze for himself. And with that, the young, nervous man on the train began to accept that he would do as he was told.

title: Man and man (1776 words)

question: What is Julian's motivation for completing the task that O'Brien gives him?

answer: It is unclear. He seems intimidated by O'Brien and wishes to please him.

question: How is the reader for supposed to feel about O'Brien?

answer: The reader should feel intimidated by O'Brien

question: Why does O'Brien give Julian the task?

answer: It seems as though the item may affect O'Brien's case if discovered. It is unclear why O'Brien specifically gives Julian the task.


text:
*I made the guy the minute he walked into the park. He was trying to hide it, act chill, but I knew straight up that this was the guy I'd been on the phone to not an hour ago. I relaxed back on the bench, lit another cigarette and feigned in the local news section of the paper while I watched him through the smoke. He started forward, stopped, and tried not to look like a rabbit caught in headlights. The sports bag he held was pressed tightly to his chest, and he eyed anyone who got within ten feet of him in case they might make a move for it. He drifted towards the pond across from me, as if to seem to anybody watching that maybe he spotted the person he was looking for on the other side. Pulled his phone from his pocket as though checking a text message. Ambled towards the bench I sat on in semi-circles. There's nothing more noticeable than someone trying not to act noticeable. He probably had the whole thing laid out in his head like some three-act play. His 'drama de non-chalance'. It was fucking hilarious, but tiring at the same time. I dont usually deal so much to new people, I like to deal with my regulars, and maybe the occasional transaction with a friend of a friend, but only when they come vouched for. In this case I made an exception, Malta Black is hot. I needed to move it as fast as possible.*

*After a few more minutes of aimless meandering like a newborn calf, he eventually worked up the courage to sit on the other end of the bench, sat stock straight, watching out across park where some college aged kids tossed a frisbee around under the trees. He spoke to me out of the corner of his mouth; "Ar-Are you Jones?". I folded my paper across my lap and turned to face him abruptly. "Yeah. Are we going to fucking deal or what? I have someplace to be". He recoiled in terror, tensed up, mouth agape and eyes darting, as if expecting the two Au-Pairs with strollers walking by to suddenly pull badges and guns and yell "Freeze! Motherfucker! The jigs up!". I frowned and shot him a 'Chill the fuck out' glare as I pulled the slim case from underneath the bench and popped it open between us.*

*"So Mark said you were in the market for some Malta Black?" I asked as I peeled back the wax sheets from the top of the product. "I need to know you're serious, because this shits not easy to move." The terror left him now, I could see the addict in him, the way his eyes lit up and telltale twitch of the lips when he saw it laid out in front of him like a veritable gold mine. He reached out to pick it up and I snapped the case shut, catching his fingers. "Money first, bud. You know how this works." He nodded as he fumbled his wallet out of his pocket. I continued "This is only the sample case. I have the whole shipment, 30 cases, like this, ready to go. You pay me now, I call our mutual buddy mark and he meets my guy later for the exchange. Cool?" He nodded again, lost for words. He was probably fantasizing about what he was going to do with that much Malta Black. Its a huge amount, even for a heavy addict, but thats not my problem. I just sell it, I don't tell them what to do with it.*

*He offered the sports bag, and I did a quick check to see it wasn't bills stacked on top of socks before I stood up slinging it over my should. "All looks good. You'll hear from mark this evening. If I get home and count this, and find you trying to cut me short, you'll hear from me before then. Personally. Otherwise you wont see me again. Understand?" He mumbled affirmation, transfixed on the case, gently caressing the corners with his fingers. I stubbed out my cigarette on the bench and left by the west st. entrance. Another deal done. Another day down. People say the hardest thing about dealing is not getting hooked yourself. But I've never understood the fascination of stamps.*

title: Short piece inspired by an off-hand comment in a thread on askreddit. Tell me what you think. (~700 words)

question: What does the story say about how to be inconspicuous?

question: What does the text say about the narrator and his role in the story?

answer: The narrator's name is Jones. He's a rare stamp dealer who is meeting someone addicted to stamps. Jones is trying to move 30 cases of Black Malta, and the buyer he's meeting in the park is interested. He never understood other people's fascination with stamps.

question: What does the text say about Mark's role in the story?

answer: Mark is a mutual contact of Jones and the buyer he met at the park. Jones uses Mark as an intermediary and is tasked to call the buyer if the payment is complete. Mark is also supposed to meet with Jones' guy for the exchange if the money checks out.

question: What does the story say about Malta Black?

answer: Malta Black is presumably a rare stamp collection. It is hot and Jones needs to move it as fast as possible. However, Jones is sitting on 30 cases of Malta Black, making it hard to move.


text:
[] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] []

BrahMos providing food to homeless & needy in its fight against COVID-19

Defence Minister Shri Rajnath Singh applauds BRAHMOS @ DefExpo 2020

Chief of Defence Staff General Bipin Rawat visits BrahMos @ DefExpo 2020

Indian Navy Chief Adm. Karambir Singh Visits BrahMos @ DefExpo 2020

Indian Army Chief Gen. Manoj Mukund Naravane at BrahMos @ DefExpo

Air Chief Marshal RKS Bhadauria, IAF Chief Visits BrahMos @ DefExpo 2020

Russian State Duma delegates visit BrahMos HQ

Excellence in Aerospace Industry Award

Perfect Role Model to Emulate MAKE IN INDIA

Release of Brahmand World Defence Update 2017

The future belongs to those who prepare for it today

BRAHMOS, a symbol of 'Make in India'

[]

[COVID-19] Annual Report: FY 2019-2020 [COVID-19]

[COVID-19] BrahMos Prevention and Protection Handbook Against COVID-19  [COVID-19]

News in MediaRead more

-

    []BRAHMOS supersonic cruise missile successfully test-fired from Indian Navy's stealth destroyer, INS Chennai

    October 18, 2020

-

    []India successfully test-fires BRAHMOS supersonic cruise missile from Chandipur ITR in Odisha

    September 30, 2020

-

    []BrahMos Aerospace helps Jabalpur with PPE kits, N-95 masks

    April 21, 2020

-

    []South's first BRAHMOS-armed Sukhoi-30MKI squad to guard strategic Indian Ocean Region

    January 20, 2020

-

    []BRAHMOS missiles successfully test-fired from land and air platforms

    December 17, 2019

BrahMos Culture

[]At BrahMos, we are committed to motivating technological and strategic progress, establishing a common culture and developing a milieu for learning by leveraging our strengths into the supremacy of our performance...

About Joint Venture

[]BrahMos Aerospace was formed as a joint venture between Defence Research and Development Organisation (DRDO) of India and Military Industrial Consortium NPO Mashinostroyenia of Russia through an Inter-Governmental Agreement on February 12, 1998...

Our Mission

[]Thrive to attain greater heights and make ‘BrahMos’ a synonym of achievement, innovation and success in the international arena of missile and aerospace, to be market leader with a product which dictates quality, commitment and most cost effective system...

BrahMos System on Various Platforms

 [] []

Ship-based Weapon      Complex System

BrahMos missile is capable of hitting sea based targets beyond radar horizons. It can be launched in either inclined or vertical configuration based on the type of the ship or user requirements.

Learn More

 [] []

Land-based Weapon      Complex System

BrahMos Land based Weapon Complex comprises of four to six Mobile Autonomous Launchers (MAL) controlled by a Mobile Command Post (MCP), and a Mobile Replenishment Vehicle.

Learn More

 [] []

Air Launched Weapon       System

BRAHMOS supersonic cruise missile created history on 22nd Nov 2017 after it was successfully flight-tested first time from the IAF's Sukhoi-30MKI against a sea based target in the Bay of Bengal.

Learn More

 [] []

Submarine Based Weapon System

BrahMos missile is capable of being launched from submarine from a depth of 40-50 metres. The missile is installed in a modular launcher vertically in the pressure hull of the submarine.

Learn More

Event Gallery

question: Describe some interesting facts about the BrahMos System.

answer: The BrahMos System has a missile that is capable of hitting sea based targets beyond radar horizons. BrahMos has an aeorspace that was formed as a joint venture between Defense Research and Development Organization of India and Military Industrial Consortium NPO. And what makes BrahMos unique is how its mission dictates it wants to be a market leader with a product that dictates quality, commitment, and the most cost effective system.

question: Would China and North Korea be interested in the BrahMos system?


text:
Nell sat on the great boardwalk and glanced nervously back. The fires would be coming, she knew this as surly as she knew the sun would rise. But for now all was peaceful, the bog in which she sat was entirely still other than the swarms of biting flies coating the landscape like an ominous and buzzing aura. Nell's face and arms had already been stripped bare by their assault, and teams of flies were working with a level of cooperation rarely seen in creatures of such small-mindedness to tunnel through the woman's flimsy armour to reach the rest of the adventurer’s supple flesh. Nell dibbled a toe in the bog, the splashing pleased her greatly.

Out of the bog walked a man, his features indistinguishable from the thick coating of bog over his being. The bog writhed with flies. It was the middle of fly season. "Thisbe?" Nell asked, hoping her search would finally be at an end. "I am Thisbe", the bog man replied. The flies buzzed, informing other flies in the area that this man was Thisbe. Nell nodded at Thisbe, Thisbe nodded back. Nell nodded at his nod and then they stopped. This was their exact level of agreement.

"You should leave this place" Nell informed the man. "The fires are coming, you know". "I am Thisbe", Thisbe replied. Once again they nodded. The flies had finished their tunnel into Nell's chestplate. It was not a well-made tunnel and none of them were truly proud of it, but for the moment it would have to do. Each fly gave a nod to his companions and then they entered.

The flies consumed Nell, each bite a sweet reward for their effort. They stripped flesh from bone as they each took exactly seven bites each, the number of the Lord. They then left Nell's chest forevermore, leaving only a small brigade behind to work towards adding to the aesthetic appeal of their shoddy tunnel. Since Nell's task was too sacred to be interrupted by such petty annoyances she continued on as a hollow shell of her former self, forever hiding her terrible secret. The flies would go on to be mighty kings among the insects, until they all burned alive when the fires came.  Thisbe's body had been consumed long ago.

"I am Thisbe" said the flies, nodding to one another in apparent agreement.

title: Short attempt at creative writing. May need more proofreading.

question: Describe the story's setting.

answer: The story is set on a boardwalk.

question: Who is Thisbe?

answer: The man Nell is supposed to meet.

question: What "fires" is Nell referring to?

answer: Information can't be found.

question: Why does Thisbe only respond with their name?

answer: The flies took control of his body and this was the only response they learned.

question: What was Nell's task?

answer: Information can't be found.

question: What was Nell's terrible secret?

answer: Information can't be found.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Nell runs away from the flesh-eating flies in search of Thisbe to complete her task. After a long search, she finally meets with a man who claims to be Thisbe but is actually a group of flies that have taken control of his body. The flies then consume her flesh and leave her a walking hollow shell of her former self. Despite this she continues on to finish her task.


text:
EDWIN LEONARD BOWLEY (27 February 1888 – 22 April 1963) was an Australian cricketer who played seven first-class matches for South Australia between 1922/23 and 1924/25.[1]

Early sporting career

Born in Sevenhill, near Clare, South Australia, Bowley was for many years a leading cricketer and hockey player in rural South Australia,[2] initially playing for Sevenhill until the club was disbanded prior to the 1911/12 season,[3] when he moved to Clare and eventually captained Clare's cricket[4] and hockey teams.[5] Bowley and Arthur Richardson were considered to be two players from Clare to have a chance to play for South Australia,[6] with Richardson later becoming Bowley's brother-in-law.[7]

After a run of high scores for Clare, including 165 not out and 159 against Mintaro, 156 and 130 against Blyth and 102 against Broken Hill in the 1913/14 season at an average of over 100, followed by 162no and 50no against Kybunga, 105no against Blyth, and 134 against Wooroora,[8] as well as 40 wickets at 11.52.[9] Bowley was enticed to play in South Australian district cricket (the level below first-class cricket in South Australia) by Port Adelaide Cricket Club in the 1914/15 season.[10]

District cricket

Bowley made his senior district cricket debut for Port Adelaide against East Torrens Cricket Club on 12 December 1914, causing a sensation by taking 4/18 and scoring 30.[11] Adelaide newspaper _Daily Herald_ wrote “Considerable interest was manifested by the entry into senior cricket of a young Clare champion, L. Bowley, who fully justified his reputation as a batsman and bowler”,[12] and argued that Bowley be included in the next interstate game, stating “How often has a young player made his debut in senior cricket so conspicuously as Bowley did on Saturday last?”[13]

With his batting featuring driving and cutting that “was a treat to watch”[14] and his bowling featuring “a fairly good length, (he) mixes his deliveries well, and occasionally sends down a fast, troublesome ball”,[15] Bowley was said to have “the makings of a fine all-round cricketer” by the end of the 1914/15 season,[16] but any chance of playing interstate cricket was dashed by the cancellation of the Sheffield Shield due to World War I. Bowley continued to play for Port Adelaide during the 1915/16 season,[17] topping the club's bowling averages with eighteen wickets at ten.[18] Bowley returned to Clare at the end of the season and played for Clare during the 1916/17 season.[19]

In the 1918/19 season, Bowley returned to Adelaide to play one match for Port Adelaide, scoring 23 and taking 3/70;[20] the local _Port Adelaide News_ thought him to be the best of the Port Adelaide bowlers.[21]

Unable to travel to Adelaide for matches as the local train service “did not fit in conveniently with his occupation,”[22] Bowley played for Clare in the 1920/21 season, leading one reporter to lament his absence from Adelaide cricket, considering Bowley as a possible Test cricketer.[23] After continuing outstanding form in country cricket and against Adelaide district clubs,[24] he continued to spark interest from the Adelaide media for his performances.[25]

First-class cricket

After initially being overlooked for South Australia's match against the touring Marylebone Cricket Club (MCC) at Adelaide Oval, Bowley was included in the side following the withdrawal of Bill Whitty,[26] and made his first-class debut on 15 March 1923, aged 35, making 76 and 35, and taking what proved to be the only wicket of his first-class career, bowling Tom Lowry.[27] In the first innings, Bowley shared a fifth wicket partnership of 197 with Arthur Richardson; then a record fifth wicket partnership for South Australia against an English XI.[28] During the match, Bowley was injured in the Adelaide Oval luncheon room when Lowry attempted to open a soda water bottle, when it exploded and fragments of glass struck Bowley in the face, penetrating his upper lip.[29]

For the 1923/24 season, Bowley returned to Adelaide to work for Holden[30] and play for the newly formed Kensington Cricket Club[31] and continued to be selected for interstate matches, making his highest first-class score of 192 against Queensland at the Adelaide Oval in December 1923.[32] opening the batting, Bowley hit nineteen boundaries in his 305-minute innings.[33]

Bowley's subsequent performances were middling and he played his final match for South Australia in the 1924/25 season, against Victoria at the Adelaide Oval, making one and zero.[34] Although he continued to play well in district cricket, including 175 against Port Adelaide in the 1926/27 season,[35] he was never chosen by South Australia again and continued to play district cricket until his retirement in 1936, scoring 4675 runs for Port Adelaide and Kensington at 31.16 and taking 216 wickets at 22.08.[36]

Personal life

Bowley married Minnie Lucy Trestrail on 17 October 1917 in Clare.[37][38] The eldest daughter of Mr. Joseph Trestrail, Minnie was a Sunday School teacher who was heavily involved with local Methodist churches and played the piano and violin.[39]

After leaving Holden, Bowley worked as a house painter and painted Donald Bradman's house.[40]

Their daughter Dorothy Louise was born in Clare on 12 December 1918[41] and their son Bruce, who also played first-class cricket for South Australia,[42] was born at Blyth Private Hospital[43] in Blyth, South Australia[44] on 1 January 1922. Bowley's grandson Ian also played for and coached Kensington Cricket Club.[45]

Minnie died on 4 February 1931, aged 44.[46] Bowley died on 2 April 1963, aged 75, in Adelaide, survived by his children.[47]

[1] Page, p. 8.

[2] “Cricket Chatter”, _The Journal_ (Adelaide), 17 April 1919, p. 3.

[3] “Stanley Cricketing Association”, _Blyth Agriculturalist_, 26 April 1912, p. 4.

[4] “Cricket”, _Northern Argus_, 29 March 1912, p. 2.

[5] “Hockey”, _The Register_ (Adelaide), 30 June 1915, p. 8.

[6] “Interstate Cricket”, _The Register_ (Adelaide), 16 November 1914, p. 10.

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11] “Bowley's Remarkable Performances”, _Daily Herald_ (Adelaide), 17 December 1914, p. 7.

[12]

[13] “East Torrens first defeat”, _Daily Herald_, 14 January 1915, p. 7.

[14]

[15] “Len Bowley in form”, _News_ (Adelaide), 12 October 1923, p. 11.

[16] “Cricket”, _The Express and Telegraph_ (Adelaide), 22 September 1915, p. 3.

[17] “Port v East Torrens”, _The Register_ (Adelaide), 28 February 1916, p. 9.

[18] “Cricket”, _Observer_ (Adelaide), 22 April 1916, p. 13.

[19] “An Easter Tour”, _The Express and Telegraph_, 19 April 1917, p. 4.

[20] “Port Adelaide Cricket Club”, _The Express and Telegraph_ (Adelaide), 3 April 1919, p. 2.

[21] “Cricket”, _Port Adelaide News_, 21 February 1919, p. 10.

[22] “Watch Country Players”, _The Journal_, 9 February 1923, p. 5.

[23] Mattie, “By the Way”, _Blyth Agriculturalist_, 21 October 1921, p. 3.

[24] A Sporting Clarette, “South Australian Cricket”, _The Express_ (Adelaide), 1 February 1923, p. 6.

[25] “Len Bowley chosen”, _Daily Herald_ (Adelaide), 15 March 1923, p. 4.

[26] “South Australian team”, _The Register_ (Adelaide), 15 March 1923, p. 10.

[27]

[28] “Cricket Records”, _Observer_ (Adelaide), 24 March 1923, p. 22.

[29] “Casualties”, _The Register_ (Adelaide), 17 March 1923, p. 8.

[30] “Personal”, _Northern Argus_, 11 May 1923, p. 5.

[31]

[32]

[33] “Home cricketers leading”, _News_ (Adelaide), 28 December 1923, p. 5.

[34]

[35] “Bowley not in trial match”, _News_ (Adelaide), 11 October 1926, p. 6.

[36] Sando, p. 74.

[37] “Marriages”, _The Journal (Adelaide)_, 30 November 1917, p. 2.

[38] “Family Notices”, _The Journal_ (Adelaide), 1 December 1917, p. 12.

[39]

[40] Blackburn, p. 43.

[41] “Births”, _Chronicle_, 28 December 1918, p. 27.

[42]

[43] _The Advertiser_, 14 January 1922, p. 8.

[44]

[45]

[46] “late Mrs Bowley”, _News_ (Adelaide), 5 February 1931, p. 5.

[47] https://cricketarchive.com/Archive/Players/15/15781/15781.html

title: Leonard Bowley

question: Who is Edwin Leonard Bowley?

answer: He was an Australian cricketer who played seven first-class matches for South Australia between 1922/23 and 1924/25.

question: Where was Bowley born?

answer: He was born in Sevenhill, near Clare, South Australia.

question: What is District Cricket?

answer: It is the level below first-class cricket in South Australia.

question: How old was Bowley when he made his first-class debut?

answer: He was 35.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Edwin Leonard Bowley was an Australian cricketer who played seven first-class matches for South Australia between 1922/23 and 1924/25 at age 35 because he was initially overlooked when playing District cricket for Port Adelaide. Bowley married Minnie Lucy Trestrail on October 17, 1917, and had a daughter, Dorothy Louise, and a son, Bruce, who also played first-class cricket for South Australia. Bowley's grandson Ian also played for and coached Kensington Cricket Club.


text:
All criticism is awesome! thanks
                 A Bad Suggestion
From the seventh floor balcony, I waited for the stars to rise and fall. Just as soon as they went up, they were greeted by another far away star, and together they would dance in a melancholy stupor until they met at a focal point of blackness, and subsequently collided leaving smolder and hot metal parading the sky. The 7TH floor of the abandoned children’s hospital was an ideal place to watch them, and I remember doing so with my older brother. Sometimes we would cheer for more rising stars, and sometimes we would recognize the stars for what they truly were. Our moods were interchangeable based on how we felt, and often, were just interpretations, for they never lasted. In the end it was the same old story. Genocide had swept our nation like a broom, and its only remaining duty was to sweep the rest of us under the rug. We were of the last ones there; the survivors. We were alone and had nothing to rely on but each other, and our father’s mandatory last advisement: “Trust No one.” This, of course, was months before his last and more imperative words: “Run!” On this particular night the moon was full, and whenever there was a hiatus in the back and forth of gunfire and floating bombs, we could still see our native Africa illuminate from the same light that had guided our ancestors. We got tired of listening to the clamor of bullets ricochet, and bored of watching the flares and missiles illuminate the sky. We were hungry, and had nowhere to sleep. It was time to begin our night’s usual routine of scavenging. My brother nudged me in the shoulder, “Come on, we have to go now.” We turned around from the balcony and sprinted down the concrete stairs of the hospital until we reached the bottom. When we made it out of the hospital stairs, the smell hit us. The stench of death is something that is overwhelming at first, but just like anything if you give it time, it will either take on the droll task of expected repetition or, it will haunt your every dream, and stalk your every move. It was most definitely stalking us and it scared us more than ever. We proceeded to run immediately to our right, through the cold sand, and past the huge tree. Usually, the task of running just on the outskirts of immediate war was enough to urge us to keep running. However, on this particular night, the leafless branches of the tree collided with the silver radiance of the moon in an utmost peculiar way. We stopped and watched the branches sway just for a moment. I don’t know why we stopped. Maybe it was just intuition telling us, but our intuition had been sidetracked for so long, we dared not to think that. Our momentary seconds of splendor were soon over, and we began to run again. The sand whistled beneath our cracked black feet as we ran. I remember the unusual chill in the air, and the warmness that would embrace my face each time a far- away missile would light up the sky, and leave its presence booming in the echoes of the barren desert. As we ran, the village where we used to live approached our immediate right, and just adjacent to them were the black windows and torn rubble that used to be our home. We didn’t dare look, for if we did we might have tried to decipher our home from the others, which of course would just perpetuate the fact that there were no homes left at all. It was important to us that we carry no baggage, we were free of emotion. We were no longer people, and I only say this because we had no characteristics of any normal person. We were too young to generate any logical conclusions on our non-generic personalities, so we just went with the notion that we had none. Our feet kept moving until we reached an old tire factory. The smell of burning rubber was still lingering in the air like a flame from an old wick, as we mechanically hopped over the only part of the fence that was not barb wired. There was a light on in the distance. If somebody was there we would rip them to shreds. We didn’t care who they were or why they were there. Trust no one. That was our motto, and we stuck to it like it was the law. Perhaps it was the sound of our tearing flesh on the rocks beneath us, or, perhaps it was the flickering shadow that left its impression so memorably on the hard dirt path. I don’t know what it was for sure, but somebody inside of that room heard us. We began to run faster as the room beyond us started to rumble with preparation. My brother pulled out a long blade that sparkled in the moonlight. Then, that door opened. He warned us to stop, but we kept on going. We were savages. As we neared, the outline of the man’s skull began to familiarize itself with the images of my mind. I paid no attention. The man pulled out a large assault rifle, and we stopped dead in our tracks. He shot my brother between the eyes and I locked mine with his. My brother was dead on the ground. He was only following the advice that my father had given him: Run, and trust no one. He did well. Then, it became clear to me and my shadowed counterpart just exactly who we were looking at. The man I was staring at was my father. As he dropped down in tears, I glanced at my brother’s bloody corpse, and soon after brought my head up to look at the battles in the distance. I took one hard glance at my father, and then remembered his last pieces of advice to me and my deceased brother. I proceeded to turn around and run as fast as I could.

title: Short Story-A Bad Suggestion

question: Why was the children's hospital abandoned?

answer: Genocide had swept the nation and the narrator is one of the last survivors.


text:
11 Jan 2017

[Unreal 4 2017]

Unreal 4 offers a wide range of documented character animation compression settings.

It offers the following compression algorithms:

-   Least Destructive
-   Remove Every Second Key
-   Remove Trivial Keys
-   Bitwise Compress Only
-   Remove Linear Keys
-   Compress each track independently
-   Automatic

_Note: The following review was done with Unreal 4.15_

Least Destructive

  Reverts any animation compression, restoring the animation to the raw data.

This setting ensures we use raw data. It sets all tracks to use no compression which means they will have full floating point precision where NONE is used for translation and FLOAT 96 for rotation, explained below. Interestingly it does not appear to revert the scale to a sensible default raw compression setting which is likely a bug.

Remove Every Second Key

  Keyframe reduction algorithm that simply removes every second key.

This setting does exactly what it claims; it removes every other key. It is a variation of sub-sampling. Each remaining key is further bitwise compressed.

Note that this compression setting also removes the trivial keys.

Remove Trivial Keys

  Removes trivial frames of tracks when position or orientation is constant over the entire animation from the raw animation data.

This takes advantage of the fact that very often tracks are constant and when it happens a single key is kept and the rest is discarded.

Bitwise Compress Only

  Bitwise animation compression only; performs no key reduction.

This compression setting aims to retain every single key and encodes them with various variations. It is a custom flavor of simple quantization and will use the same format for every track in the clip. You can select one format per track type: rotation, translation, and scale.

These are the possible formats:

-   NONE: Full precision.
-   FLOAT 96: Full precision is used for translation and scale. For rotations, a quaternion component is dropped and the rest are stored with full precision.
-   FIXED 48: For rotations, a quaternion component is dropped and the rest is stored on 16 bits per component.
-   INTERVAL FIXED 32: Stores the value on 11-11-10 bits per component with range reduction. For rotations, a quaternion component is dropped.
-   FIXED 32: For rotations, a quaternion component is dropped and the rest is stored on 11-11-10 bits per component.
-   FLOAT 32: This appears to be a semi-deprecated format where a quaternion component is dropped and the rest is encoded onto a custom float format with 6 or 7 bits for the mantissa and 3 bits for the exponent.
-   IDENTITY: The identity quaternion is always returned for the rotation track.

Only three formats are supported for translation and scale: NONE, INTERVAL FIXED 32, and FLOAT 96. All formats are supported for rotations.

If a track has a single key it is always stored with full precision.

When a component is dropped from a rotation quaternion, W is always selected. This is safe and simple since it can be reconstructed with a square root as long as our quaternion is normalized. The sign is forced to be positive during compression by negating the quaternion if W was originally negative. A quaternion and its negated opposite represent the same rotation on the hypersphere.

Sadly, the selection of which format to use is done manually and no heuristic is used to perform some automatic selection with this setting.

Note that this compression setting also removes the trivial keys.

Remove Linear Keys

  Keyframe reduction algorithm that simply removes keys which are linear interpolations of surrounding keys.

This is a classic variation on linear key reduction with a few interesting twists.

They use a local space error metric coupled with a partial virtual vertex error metric. The local space metric is used classically to reject key removal beyond some error threshold. On the other hand, they check the impacted end effector (e.g. leaf) bones that are children of a given track. To do so a virtual vertex is used but no attempt is made to ensure it isn’t co-linear with the rotation axis. Bones in between the two bones (the one being modified and the leaf) are not checked at all and should they end up with unacceptable error, it will be invisible and not accounted for by the metric.

There is also a bias applied on tracks to attempt to remove similar keys on children and their parent bone tracks. I’m not entirely certain why they would opt to do this but I doubt it can harm the results.

On the decompression side no cursor or acceleration structure is used; meaning that each time we sample the clip we will need to search for which keys to interpolate between and we do so per track.

Note that this compression setting also removes the trivial keys.

Compress each track independently

  Keyframe reduction algorithm that removes keys which are linear interpolations of surrounding keys, as well as choosing the best bitwise compression for each track independently.

This compression setting combines the linear key reduction algorithm along with the simple quantization bitwise compression algorithm.

It uses various custom error metrics which appear local in nature with some adaptive bias. Each encoding format will be tested for each track and the best result will be used based on the desired error threshold.

Automatic

  Animation compression algorithm that is just a shell for trying the range of other compression schemes and picking the smallest result within a configurable error threshold.

A large mix of the previously mentioned algorithms are tested internally. In particular, various mixes of sub-sampling are tested along with linear key reduction and simple quantization. The best result is selected given a specific error threshold. This is likely to be somewhat slow due to the large number of variations tested (35 at the time of writing!).

In memory, every compression setting has a layout that is naive with the data sorted by tracks followed by keys. This means that during decompression each track will incur a cache miss to read the compressed value.

Performance wise, decompression times are likely to be high in Unreal 4 in large part due to the memory layout not being cache friendly and the lack of an acceleration structure such as a cursor when linear key reduction is used; and it is likely used often with the _Automatic_ setting. This is an obvious area where it could improve.

Memory wise, the linear key reduction algorithm should be fairly conservative but it could be minimally improved by ditching the local space error metric. Coupled with the bitwise compression it should yield a reasonable memory footprint; although it could be further improved by using more advanced quantization techniques.

Up next: Unity 5

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS

question: What is Unreal 4?

answer: An animation software.

question: How many formats can Unreal 4 compress data into?

answer: Seven

question: What is one suggested improvement on Unreal 4?

answer: Reducing decompression times

question: What is one metric that the author recommends removing?

answer: Local space error

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: In this review of Unreal 4, the author outlines many of the compression algorithms, settings, and options built into the software. The functionality of some of the algorithms is explained in detail. The author also shares some criticisms of the software.


title: A Cat Named Mouse - Part I

question: What did the cat find to be so degrading?

answer: Being let outside on a harness and a leash, embarrassed to be seen by the other animals.


text:
Nicolas Sarkozy yesterday went further than any modern French leader in denouncing the race and class discrimination that has poisoned France and made a mockery of the republican principles of liberty, equality and fraternity.

But the president's plans to get a more ethnically diverse section of people from disadvantaged estates into France's notoriously elitist top graduate schools, civil service, political parties and the media was greeted with caution by equality campaigners who said they would judge Sarkozy on his results.

The president made an impassioned speech to students at a prestigious graduate school, vowing to end the stranglehold of France's white, monocultural elite, entrenched from the early stages of the education system. He is keen to act on France's poor record on race equality before Barack Obama takes office in January. Sarkozy's advisers have been studying Obama's campaign tactics and rhetoric, which Sarkozy echoed yesterday, hammering out the word "change".

"How can we talk about a republic when your success at school and in professional life depends not on ... merit but largely on your social origin, the neighbourhood where you live, your name or the colour of your skin?" he asked. He said the republican principle of equality had become more myth than reality.

Discrimination in France remains a taboo subject for politicians. Only one of the 555 MPs from mainland France is non-white. In employment, French people of Algerian descent are far less likely to reach senior jobs than their counterparts of French descent with the same qualifications. CVs from people with non-French sounding names or postcodes in deprived areas are routinely discarded by companies. But discrimination is hard to measure. France follows the republican model of integration: once a person becomes a French citizen they are equal before a state that in theory is blind to colour, race and religion. Multiculturalism on the British model is seen as dangerous and divisive.

It is illegal to count the number of black people, north Africans and other minorities or classify people according to ethnicity - as all people should in theory be equally French.

Sarkozy yesterday accepted that his high-profile appointments of ministers from diverse backgrounds, such as the justice minister, Rachida Dati, were not enough to stop the rot. He appointed Yazid Sabeg, a business leader of Berber origin, to oversee an equal opportunities plan.

He also proposed that researchers investigate a way to measure diversity and progress against discrimination. But aware of the outcry this could bring from the left, he stressed it would not be an anti-republican way of producing an "ethnic reading of our society".

He said that from 2010 one of France's bastions of elitism, the "preparatory classes", which train high-school graduates for competitive exams for elitist universities, must reserve 30% of places for students on scholarships. Special training programmes would help people from poorer neighbourhoods pass exams to get into the senior civil service.

question: What is one problem with making it illegal to classify people according to ethnicity?

answer: If you make it illegal to classify people according to ethnicity, then it becomes extremely hard to track things like racial discrimination and offer protections to minorities.

question: What does Sarkozy hope to achieve by reserving 30% of places in elite schools for students on scholarships?

answer: Sarkozy hopes that reserving 30% of places in elite schools for students on scholarships will help people from poorer places receive higher education. Sarkozy hopes that this will then increase the diversity of France's politicians and elite members of society.


text:
I vaguely remember a dream from last night. It’s relatively blurry, but I’ll try to explain it the best I can.
When it started, there was an old, ugly troll asking me a question.
*Why should I grant you passage?*
Only a small, rickety bridge, and a dense fog that concealed anything beyond it were behind him and his question.
*For I am me*, I said, as if those words held some sort of heroic or ambient connotation.
And, without a word, the troll vanished and the fog cleared; curtains drawing, a show beginning; a shroud being flung open, a comic-book villain laughing maniacally at my coming end.
A massive and cryptic castle, probably only a football-field away, lies in wait of me. It seems to be quiet and at rest, but something is off. The castle is sleeping and seems calm, but there is a stinging at my feet and an itch up my spine that informs me otherwise. The castle is having a nightmare.
It was ironic, really, that I came to this conclusion.
I walked across the bridge, wary and expecting misfortune. Surprisingly, there was none to be had and I made it to the other side unharmed.
Feeling confident, I continued toward the castle, again coming across no obstacles and again feeling as if everything was going according to plan – as if I had a plan.
I pushed the enormous wooden door open with all my force. It creaked and moaned loudly.
In front of me were only two doorways.
I remember going through the left.
Several hallways and several empty rooms were all I found. That is, until I forgot my way. Then, the first room I came across had another troll standing in the center.
*How do I get back?*
It seemed perplexed at the question, and it remained silent – for a moment.
*For I am me.*
I remembered those as the words I said to the troll by the bridge.
Confused, I moved on through the halls until I came across another room.
Again, there was a troll, and thinking my questioning had been rather vague the last time, I asked a longer question.
*How do I get back to the main hall of this castle?*
This troll seemed just as perplexed as the first, and it gave me the same answer.
*For I am me.*
I continued on to several different rooms, all containing a single troll, all of which gave me the same answer to my widely varied questions.
*For I am me.*
Those words rang in my head over and over again as I walked past tens of rooms. I would peer into every one, hoping to find something other than a troll, but never doing so.
The only thing I could figure out was the grammatical fallacy of the phrase. Of course, if you wanted to say such a thing, you would replace ‘me’ with ‘I’ or ‘myself’, but that didn’t seem to be the cause of all this mystery.
There had to have been more to those words than the fact that they did not represent proper English.
I came across one corridor, after a while, that finally seemed to have no turn at its end. I was actually happy for finding a dead end.
Inside, there was a much larger troll standing in the center of a much larger room.
Feeling hopeful, I asked it my question.
*How do I get out of this place?*
He remained silent. Impatient, I yelled.
*Answer me!*
Again, nothing.
*Why am I here?* It felt like I was trapped in the maze of my own mind.
And as the words left my mouth and as the thought entered my head, the troll answered.
*For you are you.*

title: For I am me.

question: Where is the narrator?

answer: The narrator enters a castle.

question: What is the troll doing?

answer: The troll on the bridge and the trolls in the castle all seem to be there to deliver a riddle.

question: Why do all the rooms have a troll in them?

answer: Not answered.

question: Why is the narrator wherever the are?

answer: Not answered.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator approaches and enters a large castle. Every room in the house contains a troll, and when asked by the narrator how to leave the castle, they all give them the answer of "For I am me." Finally, the narrator encounters a much larger troll, who gives them a response of "For you are you."


text:
_TIMESTORM 2009–2099_ is a 2009 Marvel Comics limited series. It was written by Brian Reed with pencils by Eric Battle. The series is a crossover between the mainstream Marvel Universe and a universe very similar to, but with notable differences from, the Marvel 2099 universe.

Publication history

_Timestorm 2009–2099_ is a four-issue mini-series,[1] with two one-shots to give the story extra depth. These two one-shots focus on Spider-Man and Wolverine, with art by Wes Craig and Frazer Irving, respectively.[2]

Synopsis

In the future, Jake Gallows is sent to the present by Alchemax CEO Tyler Stone to eliminate superheroes. Gallows uses a chrono-device to send Spider-Man and Wolverine to his own time, thereby altering the future. There, Miguel O'Hara meets with some of his friends (Kron Stone, Dana D'Angelo, Reilly and Xina) to see a combatant called the Human Torch at an underground arena. Elsewhere, Shakti Haddad is taken into custody by officers of the “Public Eye”, wearing uniforms reminiscent of Jake Gallows'. In her cell, Shakti meets Spider-Man and realizes that he does not belong. Wolverine, meanwhile, finds himself in front of a group of Gamma-irradiated monsters. He is rescued by Kenshiro Cochrane, who mistakenly thinks he is one of Logan's children. While still imprisoned, Peter and Shakti experience another time event, altering some buildings in an explosion. At that precise moment, Miguel and classmate Kron Stone find themselves in the midst of that explosion, along with their experimented-upon insects (Miguel's Spider and Kron's Scorpion). In the hospital where Miguel and Kron are taken, George is glad to find that Miguel is alright, while Tyler is saddened and distressed that his son has not survived. With George and Miguel leaving, Tyler falls into tears having removed the sheet covering Kron's body, revealing that his son has the half mutated body of a scorpion. Tyler arranges for his son to be transferred to Alchemax in a tube, where his appearance cannot be seen.

Peter recovers, breaks out of his cell and retrieves his mask and web-shooters. He escapes with Shakti and goes into hiding while hunted by law enforcement. Within a week, Miguel develops new spider powers, obtained in the blast. Deciding to try his newfound powers, he falls due to a lack of confidence and is caught by Spider-Man, who is with Shakti.

Near them, an explosion issues from the Alchemax building. Spider-Man leaves to investigate and Miguel, in his own Spider-Man costume designed by Shakti, assists him. Inside the building, the team encounter and defeat the Scorpion (who they do not recognize as Kron). With the Public Eye's arrival at the scene, both Spider-Men are forced to stop them, but Miguel's father is left as a witness. In the aftermath, Spider-Man insists that Miguel get rid of his costume and stop acting as Spider-Man, fearing that he might be killed. Spider-Man then takes off, realizing that Shakti is missing. Without heeling Spider-Man's advice, Miguel wears the costume again and enters an underground arena as a combatant facing off against the Human Torch. Although Miguel is defeated, the Torch is impressed with his skills and offers to teach him to fight, but Miguel is unable to reply as the guards shock them unconscious.

In the meantime, Ghost Rider 2099 drops Logan in a former mutant-internment facility in a desert wasteland, formerly known as Maryland. There, Logan comes face-to-face with his future self, a bald old man with only his right arm, who now leads the new team of X-Men, headquartered at the facility. He also meets a new generation mutant named Henri Huang (code name Meanstreak) and robot bodyguard Junkpile, as well as two other mutants in the facility: Ruth Kristen Porter (Krystalin) and Lemuel (Bloodhawk).

Logan later discovers that the entire wasteland has been overrun by Hulks, who have eaten most of its food supplies and leave portions only for some civilizations, allowing others to starve. The X-Men have gained some co-operation from certain human civilizations for support, and perform joint operations against the Hulks as they attempt to restore a human civilization in Baltimore. When a group of human soldiers begins an assault against a group of Hulks, the X-Men, along with Logan, join the fight and kill several Hulks. When Ghost Rider arrives, the 2099 Logan asks Wolverine to go with him and find the one person that will help them. When Ghost Rider and Wolverine arrive at the Smithsonian in Washington D.C., they enter an old building and head towards the basement, where Wolverine is shocked to discover that Doctor Doom is there, barely alive. Doom reveals to Wolverine that both he and Spider-Man are in the future and that the timestream is in a state of chaos; he tells them that he plans to assist them before he dies.

While imprisoned in the Arena Cell, both Miguel (Spider-Man) and Relur (the Human Torch) reveal their identities to each other. Relur is one of the few existing Atlantian Mutants who were able to escape; he attributes his success to his fire ability; Miguel reveals his name and why he is there. After their discussion the two escape. Meanwhile, George tricks Lyla and puts her out of commission for a few hours. He then hacks into the Chronosphere and is surprised to see that it shows Jake Gallows, but is even more surprised that he is in the past.

When George tries to contact Jake, Jake mistakes him for Thor, which puzzles George and gives him cause to question what Tyler was doing. While still searching for Shakti, Spider-Man sees both Miguel and Relur pass by and confronts Miguel as to why he still wears his Spider-Man costume. In the Smithsonian, Doctor Doom reveals to both Logan and Kenshiro that they must find Shakti in New York before he dies, but not before another time event is experienced. The damaged time stream allows past and future eras to clash, causing individuals to crossover and leaving both Shakti and the Hulks in 2009 New York.

Characters

Main characters

Peter Parker/Spider-Man – Sent to the future by a determined Jake Gallows, Peter is captured by the Public Eye. He meets Miguel who recently became the new Spider-Man and worries for his safety.

Miguel O'Hara/Spider-Man 2099 – A highschool student attending Pym Academy and son of Alchemax scientist George O'Hara. Miguel was caught in an explosion caused by the time flux while in class experimenting a spider, causing particles from the spider to transfer onto Miguel, granting him spider powers. Although inexperienced, he dons the identity of Spider-Man.

Logan/Wolverine – Transported into the year 2099 by Jake Gallows while tracking down members of the Hand with Luke Cage, Logan ends up in a desert wasteland, once Washington D.C., where he is confronted by a group of Hulks.

Logan/Wolverine 2099 – The future version of Logan, who is now an old man with no hair who had lost his right arm due to his battles against the Hulks. He found a new race of mutants and recruits them to his X-Men team. Their headquarters are in a former Mutant containment facility called Fort Dawson in Maryland. Logan and his team are trying to rebuild Baltimore, which was destroyed in a war, and must restore civilization and defend it against an army of mindless Hulks.

Jake Gallows/Punisher 2099 – An employee of Alchemax and law enforcer of the “Public Eye”, Jake travels back in time and is responsible for sending both Spider-Man and Wolverine to 2099. He has a strong hatred for the Heroes and would not hesitate to kill them, as his family was killed by armed, men wearing X-Men masks. It is later revealed that his co-workers were responsible for his family's death because Gallows had previously testified about a crime.

Shakti Haddad/Cerebra 2099 – A mutant girl with brain-like hair who has the power to reveal someone's history, both past and future, through touch. Shakti met Peter while they were imprisoned. She escaped with Peter and met Miguel, who was testing his powers, and suggested the design of Miguel's Spider-Man costume.

Villains

Tyler Stone – Alchemax's Chief Executive, Tyler approved the development of the “Chronosphere” system, which monitors all of society and was responsible for the history alterations made using Jake Gallows as the voice of Thor. He unintentionally caused the explosion which placed Kron, mostly in a Scorpion body.

Kron Stone/Scorpion 2099 – A high school bully and son of Alchemax's Chief Executive Tyler Stone. Kron was caught in the blast with Miguel while in his classroom, due to the blast from the time flux, unintentionally caused by his father and Jake in the past. He was exposed to the Scorpion's particles and has the Scorpion's appearance.

The Announcer – A man who watches his combatants fight to the death in the Ultimate Combat Arena for public ratings. Responsible for coordinating most of the fights and mostly involves the Human Torch.

Other characters

-   George O'Hara – The father of Miguel O'Hara and a scientist of Alchemax, George has been taking care of his son since his wife died and is worried for Miguel's safety. George has growing suspicious about Tyler Stone and Lyla are doing with Chronosphere and tries to find out what he is planning.
-   Lyla – A holographic system and assistant of Alchemax CEO Tyler Stone, Lyla notifies him about the history alteration and its progress, Lyla also notifies George about his son, Miguel. She appears to know about the events involving the Chronosphere, which causes George to doubt her and Stone. She is shut down for three hours while George and his friends observe what is inside the chronosphere, and links with Jake Gallows.
-   Relur/Human Torch 2099 – An Atlantean with fire-based superhuman abilities and a combatant who has won countless victories in the underground arenas. He admires Miguel as he is the only one to have lasted longer than any of his prior opponents. He is one of the few Atlanteans to develop mutant powers, but because of his fire-based abilities, the other Atlanteans deemed him a threat, forcing Relur to escape to the surface world.
-   Kenshiro Cochrane/Ghost Rider 2099 – Kenshiro first met Logan thinking he was one of Logan's children. He is revealed to be a part of an organization called O.R.B.I.T.
-   Hulk 2099 – As opposed to the original Hulk 2099, Hulks have become a species, as a gamma bomb was dropped on Washington D.C., turning all into Hulks. In a desert wasteland formerly known as Washington D.C., many other Hulk's appear to have targeted Wolverine, who was transported by Jake and first encountered them and survived. Throughout the years the Hulk's populations have expanded, leaving a portion of food left for humans to eat. Since then both human forces and existing mutants have been fighting the Hulk's to preserve the food.
-   Henri Huang/Meanstreak – A mutant who can run as fast as Quicksilver and is part of Logan's new X-Men team. Meanstreak is an easy going person who enjoys the speed.
-   Lemuel/Bloodhawk – A red winged mutant and another member of Logan's X-Men team. This version of Bloodhawk is female and has the ability to give life or take it with only a touch, similar to Xi'an.
-   Ruth Kristen Porter/Krystalin – Another member of Logan's X-Men, Ruth has the ability to absorb pollution from the air, turn it into crystals and use them for offensive maneuvers, but has trouble aiming.
-   Junkpile – An android and bodyguard of the X-Men team, this version of Junkpile formerly belonged to Tony Stark before it was destroyed. It was later rebuilt and was given its own personality, similar to Tony's.
-   Doctor Doom – First appeared near the end of _Timestorm 2009–2099: X-Men._ Doom was contained in a facility, barely alive but nearing his end, in the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C., where he was found by Logan and Ghost Rider. In _Timestorm 2009–2099_ #3, he gives Ghost Rider 2099 information to find Shakti Haddad in Manhattan. He then dies.

Minor characters

-   Dana D'Angelo – A classmate and love interest of Miguel, Dana is attracted to Kron Stone and is friends with Reilly and Xina. This version of Dana has light purple hair colour.
-   Xina – The girlfriend of Reilly and friend of Dana. Xina does not like having Miguel around, but has allowed him since he is with Dana and is somewhat a friend of Reilly.
-   Reilly – Xina's boyfriend and friends of Kron Stone. Reilly is somewhat of a friend of Miguel, but mostly hangs out with Kron because of their interest in sports.

Editions

The series was collected into a single hardcover volume:

-   _Timestorm 2009/2099_ (collects _Timestorm 2009–2099_ #1–4, _Timestorm 2009–2099: Spider-Man_, _Timestorm 2009–2099: X-Men_), 144 pages, December 2009,

Reception

IGN gave the first issue a 7.2 out of 10[3] and the second issue 5.7 out of 10.[4]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

title: Timestorm 2009–2099

question: What is Timestorm 2009-2099?

answer: A comic book series.

question: Who wrote it?

answer: Brian Reed.

question: Who illustrated it?

answer: Eric Battle.

question: Who is the progtagonist?

answer: There doesn't seem to be just one. Spider-Man is part of the cast of characters.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Timestorm 2009-2099 is a Marvel Comics limited series released in 2009 that was written by Brian Reed and illustrated by Eric Battle. It features futuristic teams and a cast of som  known characters, such as Spider-Man and Wolverine. The series was collected into a singular hardcover volume.


text:
The Tree Cat

by Gabriel Beury-Moore

Commonly being mistaken as other trees when it is spoken of, the tree cat is exactly what its name describes. Some say the tree cat was once a house cat. He lived with a young man who worked hard during the day and would come home to his best friend waiting for him, and everyday the cat would greet him with excitement and joy. He waited for his owner to come home. He waited for days: pacing around outside, running inside at the slightest noise indoors, and running around the whole house just to make sure his owner was not hiding. Eventually, the cat just stopped. He sat patiently outside in the rain, in the snow, at night, and all day. Before his transformation, he did not know of the magic that lived inside him, for he thought he was just a cat. But as a tree grows its root into the ground, the cat’s fur grew into the soil, absorbing his nutrients through the water he drank. His skin became hard with rigor, to become the bark of a tree. His body grew
straight up to the sky; he reached for the sweet rays of the sun to drink in the warmth and energy it gave him.

Like the leaves of a tree, his fur changed with the seasons. It was bright and full of luster in the summer, colorful and vibrant in fall, cold and dark in the harsh snows of winter, and in the spring his fur would slowly fade its color until it became bright again in the summer as the air became warmer. Unlike the leaves of a tree, his fur never fell. Slowly, over many years, his fur became broader and wider to soak in the sun. Finally, the once small house cat became tall and filled with beautiful leaves, his face hidden perfectly by them. He listened to the messages the wind brought him, and the stories the tall grass told him, but he would only open his eyes once a day to wish the sun a good morning and bid the moon a good night. The rain, when it came, brought news of what was happening around the world. Sometimes the rain told sad tales of war and famine; sometimes the rain told tales of peace. However, when the rain asked what the tree cat would like to know, he asked the same question,
“Have you seen my owner?”

And every time he asked, the rain was deeply saddened. The rain told him, “I have not seen your owner, but I know he is safe.”

With that news, the tree cat shut his eyes and smiled. While it was sad that no one had seen his old friend, he took solace in knowing that his best friend was okay.

Why am I telling you this story? I am an old friend of the tree cat. I knew him when he was just a small kitten. I knew him as the cheerful boy who faithfully followed his owner wherever he went. I was there when he could not find him. He asked me, “Have you seen my owner?” And I responded, “I’m sorry, but I have not.”

I told him that if he waited, he could drink from me as much as he wanted, that he could bask in the suns that warm the Earth, that he could eat the food that grows by my banks, that he could play in the sand that builds with my ebb and flow.

For years, I took care and watched over the once young cat while he sat patiently. I watched him grow into the majestic tree that he is today. He continues to thrive and to smile at me when I say hello. And every day he asks all he sees if they have seen his owner, and every day we lie to him.

We keep him company and we keep him happy by telling stories of time and stories of the world. We do not tell him of the day his owner passed. We keep from him that his owner visited him every day, but he could not see him. We fail to mention that he built a home to stay with him forever. We forget that his son would sit in the shade of the tree cat. We remember that every day his owner would tell him that he loves him. We keep from him that his owner’s children buried him just behind the tree cat and he could know that he was always with him if he could just look down. Most importantly, we have not told him that his owner buried him in the exact spot he grows.

The owner was special; he spoke to all of us knowing that we were listening. He knew that he would outlive his small friend and he prepared for his passing every day.

Every day he told us stories to then tell his friend. On the day of the tree cat’s passing, he asked us one thing. He asked the grass, the suns, the moon, the wind, the rain, and myself just one thing. He asked us not to tell his friend that he has passed. He prepared us and coached us to tell the tree cat the stories he told us for years. Before he placed his small friend into the ground we asked him,
“But what do we tell him when we run out of stories?”

He told us that by the time we run out of stories, he would be back to relieve us of our responsibility. With that, he ever so carefully placed his small friend into the ground and placed the earth over him. He said a quick goodbye and went on with his life, making sure to see the tree cat everyday. He made sure to thank each of us for our help. He did this every day until the day he died. Soon, the house that he started a family in became covered in vines. With no one to care for it, the house became disheveled and fell apart.

As years turned to decades and decades to centuries, the stories we had began to dwindle to smaller and smaller numbers.

On the last day, I told my final story to the tree cat. As I ended the story, the tree cat opened his eyes; he smiled and told me what a wonderful story it was. As he told me this, he got a peculiar look on his face. A new wind had arrived, one he had not felt before. It greeted him with a voice as old as he could remember. The tree cat asked,
“Where have you been all these years? Why did you leave me?”

“I never left you, old friend. I have been with you your whole life and past-life. I was in the stories your friends would tell you and in the air you breathe, the sun that wakes you, and the water you drink.”

With that said, the tree cat and his owner looked at each other with the same look they gave each other when they lived, each carrying a slight smile. What I saw then I had never seen since before I flowed into this land. As the two friends stared at each other, not saying a word, a single leaf fell from the tree cat’s face. As the leaf fell, his smile disappeared slowly with each leaf making it smaller and smaller until his face had disappeared.

As the leaves fell, the wind began to take form. The shape of a young man appeared next to a small kitten playing in a pile of leaves. As the last leaf fell, the tree cat jumped into the welcome arms of his owner and when the leaf finally fluttered to the ground, the cat and his owner faded away to spend the rest of time together.

title: Just discovered this subreddit, SO! Here is, The Tree Cat

question: Summarize what happened to the cat.

answer: The cat lived as a normal, happy, domesticated pet. When it died, it's owner buried it. The owner then asked the entities of grass, suns, moon, wind, rain, and the narrator (possibly the entity of natural bodies of water) to tell stories to the spirit of the cat. Eventually, the owner, after promising to return when all the stories have been used, passed away. All this time, the cat's buried corpse turned into a tree turning into the eponymous tree cat. The tree cat had the spirit of the cat and would ask the entities about its owner, they would tell it stories that the owner gave them. Centuries would pass and as the stories they told run out, the spirit of the owner returned and reunited with the cat.


text:
INFO: I'm writing this as a school assignment for my english literature class. I'm wondering what you guys think about it. Please come with feedback about how I can improve it, grammar mistakes etc, as english is not my first language. It's based around the poem "Haul away" by Mark Knopfler. It's probably bad, but I did my best!

The Captain’s Wife

We all knew what happened, but no-one spoke a word about it. Women on board a ship brought bad luck people used to say. I don’t know if that was true for the captain’s wife but she certainly did not lift the spirits. They had been fighting non-stop for a month before she left, the captain and the captain’s wife. He tried his best to brush it off, but we could all see the anger and the sadness in his eyes.  She preferred to avoid the curious glares of the crew, staying locked up in her chambers after they had clashed.  What they were fighting about was hard to tell, it seemed to change every night. I guess, when two people who should not have been married in the first place is stuck together everything becomes something to fight over. When she left, no-one spoke a word about her.

The captain was an old man. He had become a rich man as well. He had been steering his trusty ship safely across the seas for four decades now. «A smooth sea never made a skillful sailor» he always said to the young boys. And he had been through many a stormful night over the years. But his wife was sadly a storm he could not handle. When she left, no-one spoke a word about her.

Before we left port he had been full of life. Freshly wed, a big cargo loaded up with promise of a fine payment for safe transportation.  He loved his crew like they were his own sons, and everyone aboard threated him with the utmost respect and kindness. Therefore, when she left, no-one spoke a word about her.

One could hardly blame her for fighting with the man though. The captain was not suited for a social life, at least off the ship. A man who had been so long at sea as the captain had not much to talk about other than, well, seafaring. The captain’s wife cared little for seafaring. One could hardly blame her though. She wanted to settle down somewhere, build a house and have children. The captain wanted the same as well, it seemed, but deep down we all knew he wanted to remain at sea.

It was a windless night when she left. The captain and the captain’s wife were fighting again. Over what was hard to tell, but everyone could hear the shouting. The crew had grown accustomed to it, so it was no wonder everyone let out a sigh of relief when the fighting came to a halt and it became quiet. Suddenly a loud splash was heard, and the captain appeared before the crew soon after. You could see in his eyes that he was upset, but made no effort to speak. He looked at his crew, at his ship, at the sea, before retreating to his chambers. No-one spoke a word about her.

No-one would say a word that day. Not before the day after quiet talking could be heard around the ship, but no-one dared make mention of the captain’s wife. The rest of the journey went on as normal, and when they arrived in port they unloaded the cargo, restocked and started on the journey back. All but the captain, who chose to only send his golden wedding ring back home.

Thanks you for reading :)

title: The captain's wife (Need feedback)

question: How long has the captain steered his ship?

answer: Four decades.

question: What is going on between the captain and his wife?

answer: She wants to settle down with a house and kids, he secretly wants to remain at sea.

question: What happened to the captain's wife?

answer: It is implied that he killed her, and dumped her body overboard.

question: After dropping the cargo at the destination, what happened to the captain?

answer: He got off the boat and did not return for the journey home, and instead sent back with the crew his golden wedding ring.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: A well travelled sea captain brings his wife on board for a cargo transport. Usually this is bad luck, and the captain and his wife fought the whole way. No one on the ship mentioned anything about his wife, and one day during a fight, he kills his wife and drops her body overboard. When they arrive at port and unload the cargo, the captain does not return to sea with the crew, instead sending with them only his golden wedding ring.


text:
AMD had promised, with the introduction of the Never Settle Forever program with Radeon Rewards, that new, up-to-the-minute, in demand titles would be added to the choice of games available throughout the life of the program. Today AMD has announced that it has added the blockbuster, best selling title Saints Row IV to the Radeon Gold Reward Tier. This move brings the choice of games available to buyers of AMD Radeon HD 7970 GHz Edition, HD 7970 and HD 7950 graphics cards to three from eleven (rather than three from ten).

[]

Make no mistake; Saints Row IV is an extremely hot game right now so it is a great addition for AMD to help shift its graphics cards. As of yesterday, when the weekly UK games charts were published, the fourth Saints game held its position at number one for the third week running following its release. The top 10 games are as follows; Saints Row 4, Total War: Rome II, Diablo III, Splinter Cell: Blacklist, Disney Infinity, Minecraft Xbox 360, Payday 2, Killzone: Mercenary, Rayman Legends and Farming Simulator. (That’s the first time I’ve heard of Farming Simulator)

Marking the announcement of this bundle deal Menno van der Bil, Commercial Director at Deep Silver said _“The PC version of Saints Row IV is an important component for the global success that the game already has had and the cooperation with AMD has helped to ensure its technical performance.”_

AMD’s director of developer relations, graphics business unit, Ritche Corpus, added that _“PC gamers with AMD Radeon graphics cards can fire up their copy of Saints Row IV knowing that they are receiving the best possible experience. And as the exclusive hardware partner for Saints Row IV, the AMD Gaming Evolved program continues to demonstrate its relentless commitment to ensuring the world’s most exciting games are exclusively optimized for AMD Radeon hardware.”_

_[]_

So Saints Row IV might be a great bonus for top end Radeon graphics card buyers but as yet there are no new announcements for the Radeon Silver Reward Tier or Radeon Bronze Reward Tier with a choice two from nine and one from seven games respectively.

[]

It is worth remembering that you can bank your AMD Radeon Reward points and choose from a different/expanded title range at a later date – if nothing on offer tickles your fancy right now.

question: Who is AMD?

answer: A computer graphics card manufacturer.

question: What is the number one computer game at the time of the article?

answer: Saints Row IV

question: Who is the exclusive hardware partner for Saints Row IV?

answer: AMD Gaming Evolved with Radeon hardware.

question: What is the Never Settle Forever program?

answer: An in demand video game titles downloading service.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: AMD Gaming Evolved, exclusive hardware partner for Saints Row IV, announced adding the best selling game to the Radeon Gold Reward Tier. Saints Row IV was number one for weeks after its release. The bundle went hand in hand with AMDs efforts to ensure top technical performance. PC gamers with AMD Radeon graphics cards can fire up their copy of Saints Row IV confident that they're getting the best experience possible.