text:
I could feel the eyes on me, countless and faceless among the trees. Their ceaseless stare laid upon my back, my head, my arms like hands longing to grasp me. But still I watched the fire.

The edge of the forest approached close enough to be brushed lightly by the glow of the flame. On the moonless night, the flicker was not enough to give the eyes faces. Obediently, they waited in the darkness of the timber. Even so, they were my only company.  I sat alone in my small clearing in the thick woods, as I had every night since the last time I saw another human being nearly a fortnight ago. The steel of the hatchet was cool on my thumb as I stroked the blade mindlessly.

I went inside my canvas tent, the walls painted orange by the dying fire outside. The late September night had brought a chill to the air and I got beneath my goose down blanket and readied for sleep. Laying alone in the forest, I watched the white fabric of the tent. The glow slowly dimmed and soon the light was gone. And the watchful eyes were freed from the shadows. I could feel them outside the tent. I closed my eyes and thought only about the sunrise.

-

The sun set as I finished the rabbit I had caught and cooked that day. I added more wood to the fire and watched as the stars slowly began to appear, one by one, in the darkening night. As with the stars, so did the eyes.

I felt the first pair fall upon me as the blanket of darkness covered the trees. These were swiftly followed by a second, and a third. Soon, between every tree, I felt a piercing stare. I shot mine back. They were intelligent, staying in the darkness, unseen. Two weeks ago, when the moon was full, they were not so close. They were up the tree line 40 or 50 meters. But tonight they were at the forest's edge, watching me, only using the last trees to take shelter from the firelight.

They had been watching me every night for two weeks.  They could see me. I could only feel them. And I could do nothing about it. Two weeks and all we had done was watch each other. Furiously, from the firelight, I screamed at them.

“What do you want from me?”

The only answer from the shadows was my own echoing rage. The sound softened until it was no more. The night was again silent. No sounds came from the forest, as when a predator is present.

“Who are you?”

 I screamed again. I knew there would be no answer, but my newfound energy from the rabbit had manifested into rage. I was standing now, holding the hatchet low in my right hand, staring past the fire into the blackness. The eyes in the trees only stared back.

I had had enough. I walked to the stump next to the tent and threw my hatchet into it. I went to my pack and put it on. I took my bucket of freshwater and poured it on the fire. There was a flash of steam and the blazing flames were replaced by simmering embers. And I stared into the trees.

I could hear my heartbeat in the silence. I stayed standing and watching, but they did not move. The coals slowly died as I stared, unblinking, into the trees. I had never been in such darkness.  My breath was quick and shallow, trying to keep pace with my heart. And they stared.

“Why are you here?” I yelled. I needed a release and knew there would not be an answer. I took a step forward toward the the tree line and listened. Nothing. I took another. And then another. There was no response. I kept walking towards the trees and I left my hatchet deep in the log. And they kept watching every step, dutifully, unbreakably.

I was at the edge of the tree line now, and I was trying to control my breath. I stared at the darkness between two trees in front of me. We were face to face. I could feel it. It was formless and confident.  I stood tall and straight, trying to prove my confidence.  It backed away into the trees and I followed.

Somehow, in the trees, it was even darker. I could not see my hand in front of my face. I could not see the stars in the sky. Passing through the trees, I followed its eyes that I could feel heavy on my chest. Then I felt another gaze on my shoulder. Then one on my back. They had surrounded me. I was outnumbered and in their territory. The crept in close, increasing their pressure. My heart beat from my chest as I tried to stand tall, alone in the black forest. Closer they came. I could feel its breath on my face now.

“What are you!” I grabbed the magnesium hand flare from my pack and lit it. The crimson light illuminated the forest.

“Jesus Christ,” I said aloud and spun around holding the flair high. It showed an empty forest. The dancing red light only shone upon the trees, the dirt, and myself. The piercing stares were gone. I turned around with the flair a few more times to make sure I believed what I knew. I turned around and around until the flare went out and I walked back through the trees, unbothered, to my camp.

I sat in my chair in the darkness and watched the stars. I had never seen so many in my entire life. I left the hatchet deep in the log.

--
--
--
Thanks for reading! Feedback is much appreciated! I had to give up writing when I switched majors from Creative Writing to Physics. Now that I graduated, this is the first thing I've written in 3 years. So tear it up! I need it. Feel free to analyze what you got out of it, too. I would like to know what it meant to you.

title: [MF] The Eyes

question: How is the theme of courage and perseverance shown in the story?

answer: The narrator, who had been camping in the woods for at least the past two weeks, felt an unknown entity was watching him through the trees in the dark. Having had enough of it, the narrator was determined to know what or whom was watching him, why, and what they wanted from him. Damning all possible consequences of going into the woods and into the dark to find the unknown entity that might be harmful, the narrator was determined to uncover this seemingly sinister and unwanted audience. He braced himself up and lunged into the woods unarmed and kept calling out to this unknown entity. Despite the intimidation of being surrounded by the entity in their territory, the narrator showed bravado and confidence and stood his ground to unveil the entity. However, he was all alone in the forest, and the eyes he felt on him and saw watching him had disappeared.


split: train

text:
***I Wrote this bored as hell and I know it has frequent grammar errors, just got bored and felt like writing my feelings about hope***

Hope, what is hope, some people view it as a golden ticket, Just like the one from Charlie in the Chocolate factory. To some hope is obtained through pure luck, just like that golden ticket, and that lucky ticket may take you on an adventure in a magic facotry with Willy Wonka and then you may save your poor family by obtaining that factory, even though it would probably be shut down becuase I don't think Oompa loompa's have Green Cards. But most people don't find hope that way, because hope is elusive and shy, you have to get a glimpse of it to think it is real and then you have to coax it out of the deep dark pit it got itself stuck in, but nobody gives out the secret to hope, because when it is found it is taken, built into something successful, powerful, amazing, beautiful and majestic, but the Human who made it that way kept it in his coat pocket and never told anyone how it works. Sure, many people have found hope and made it real, like Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerburg, but some people like Bill Gates have always had hope, Gates Sr. was a lawyer, they had a ton of money, Bill got the proper education and tools and he used them, because his Dad gave him a glimpse of his coat pocket. Hope is like a secret, a whisper under someones breath that not everyone is able to pick up, it gives some burning passion and a reason to be good, but the people who never had luck, or caught a glimpse of hope or didn't get to see in the successful mans pocket are called the Hopeless. To most people hope is not real, all they see is pain and suffering, people trying and falling on their face, whats the reason to do good if your just going to get shot down, it could be an actual bullit or it could be someone telling you that you can't, you could think you are stupid, you have better shit to do, right? I mean anyone can tell me that I am wrong you can make fun of me, you can punch me, that's not what gets me down, what makes me feel hopeless is knowing that everyday someone is going to get hurt, someones dreams will be shattered easier then a shot glass at a frat party, and that someone will make a decision to hurt themselves and negativly influence someones life. I think school has no outcome, I mean i could just make money selling drugs, working minimum wage but is that what i want, do i wanna live in an apartment with 4 other people until im 40? or do i want a big house, a nice car, a beautiful wife, and a positive change in the world people can blame on me? yes i do, but DO YOU? just ask yourself whats the answer, if it is yes then go hunting whereever you think hope might be because you just might find it, and make sure to whip that bitch out of your coat pocket and show it to everyone who might need to think positive.

title: Hope?

question: To what is the feeling of hope being compared to?

answer: The feeling of hope is being compared to a golden ticket, like the one from Charlie in the Chocolate factory.

question: What gender is the narrator?

answer: It can be inferred that the narrator is male.


text:
I had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Looking around, the car was immaculate to the point of obsession. Each item in its appropriate place was just begging to be disturbed. My sister sat beside me, silent and restless, as I fought off an intensifying urge to do something irrational. Our cassette tape had ended long ago and the resulting silence tormented my already listless mind. The cloying smell of antiquated perfume hung stagnant in the air, and the skin on my right arm was baking in the sun and making my blue jeans begin to burn my leg.

For the hundredth time, my eyes scanned the familiar house looming before me. The paint that now peeled and bubbled off the crudely built wooden frame had been pure white at one time, but was now a defiled mushroom beige. Two gaping curtainless windows gazed down at me with an air of secrecy and disgrace. The garage was an open mouth, inviting me to enter and learn its mysteries. I stared and imagined what it would be like inside, having only familiarized myself with its outer shell. And I waited.

My sister and I visited our grandmother, Amma, about once a week. Our usually monotonous visits would sometimes be interrupted by a spontaneous trip to Uncle George’s house. Uncle George was Amma’s brother only by marriage. His wife had recently passed away, however, leaving Uncle George incapable of doing even the most insignificant of domestic undertakings. Amma quickly and readily stepped in to assist the incompetent man at his every request. My sister and I were taken along at instances like these and were given explicit instructions to remain in the car. “I’ll only be a second,” Amma would tell us in an uncharacteristically hurried manner. “Just wait here and I’ll be right back.”

My sister’s foot kept tapping the back of the driver side seat in front of her. Up and down it went, as if this one extremity of hers was the only part of her body that remained alive. Tap, tap, tap, tap it went. My arm seared in the heat. That house was staring, taunting. Tap, tap. The sickly sweet fragrance made it difficult to concentrate. Tap, tap, tap. My overactive seven year old mind was an explosion of troubled anxiety. It had been too long. This was getting ridiculous. How can she expect this from us? Tap, Tap, tap, tap… I turned to my sister and immediately she saw the resolution on my face. She stared open mouthed as I gently opened the car door and stepped out onto the cracked gray driveway. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”

My stomach was a rock within me and at each step my feet felt like lead. I stopped and took one last look up at that grotesque staring face with the gaping mouth, then I entered the garage. I walked slowly, unsurely. Each common object I encountered seemed exotic to my nervous eyes. There was a doorway in the shadows up ahead, painted with the same sour yellowed paint. The entrance into the very bowels of the house. My hand was sweaty on the gold doorknob, but I quietly turned it and entered.

Immediately the odor of dust, unwashed linen, and old age filled my nostrils. Fingers still on the doorknob, my first instinct was to recoil in fear and repulsion. I took a deep, putrid breath. I needed to know what was going on. At the end of the long hallway I saw a thin sliver of harsh florescent light cast onto the wall from the adjacent room. I could hear someone inside. As I walked along the wall, a growing sense of trepidation filled my small body. I shouldn’t be in here. I was going to get caught. I neared the opening from which the glaring light was coming, and hesitantly peered in.

What I saw was a standard laundry room. Lint covered button-down shirts hung from hangers on a clothesline to dry, while neat stacks of folded slacks lined the top of the dingy grey dryer. A blue plastic hamper sat on the cement floor holding a jumble of clothes that I assumed were unclean. The air was moist and smelled of mold and powder detergent.

Standing in the middle of the room, however, was the most alarming sight that I had ever witnessed. My Uncle George was stooped beneath the glaring light, putting on a pair of rumpled black dress socks. Those were the only item of clothing he was wearing. His ghost-white skin was a stark contrast to the bleak surroundings. With a naive terror, I looked up the long, gangly legs and over the flat, drooping buttocks. The backbone protruded under loose skin and my gaze involuntarily traveled upward as if on some skeletal highway. His extended neck was crowned with a mop of disheveled grey hair that sprung greasy from the pale veined scalp. He was arched over, translucent flesh sagging off the wiry frame like some prehistoric amphibious human being. Claw-like hands were ferociously pulling at the sock on his left foot as he struggled to maintain balance. He had not seen me. With my heart pounding so ferociously that I was sure I’d be caught, I bolted. Shaking with unadulterated horror, I retraced my steps as soundlessly as possible.

Safely back in the car, I waited. My sister questioned, but I couldn’t tell her. When Amma finally returned, I hysterically relayed what I had seen. All at once a look came over her worn face that I couldn’t identify. Fear? Insecurity? Anger? She quickly told me that I had seen nothing and warned me never to tell my mother what I had just described to her. She told me that it was going to be alright. That it would be our little secret. And that we were going for ice cream.

Sixteen years later, the story once again surfaced in my memory. As I relayed it to my astonished mother, the truth was deciphered. Unbeknownst to their family, Amma and my Uncle George were having an affair. What seemed like a considerate sister-in-law helping her less than capable brother was, in reality, a covert sexual escapade begging to be uncovered by the unassuming granddaughter. As the situation was discussed, the pieces fell into place like some sort of perverted relational puzzle. To this day, Amma doesn’t know that we’ve uncovered the disgraceful skeleton in her closet.

Or should I say, the naked old man in the laundry room?

title: My childhood monsters weren't only in the closet: A true story.

question: Name all of the narrator's family members that are mentioned in the story.

answer: Her grandmother Amma, her sister, her mother, and her Uncle George

question: List the scents mentioned in this story.

answer: Antiquated perfume, sickly sweet fragrance, dust, unwashed linen, old age, mold, and powder detergent

question: What is the narrator's relationship with their grandmother, Amma?

answer: They were probably relatively close considering the narrator visited Amma about once a week.

question: Why does the narrator describe their stomach being a rock within them?

answer: They were getting out of the car to go into their Uncle George's house when their grandmother Amma has explicitly told them and her sister to stay in the car.

question: What is the context around "the truth was deciphered"?

answer: The narrator learned her grandmother Amma had been having a sexual affair with the narrator's Uncle George. They weren't sure what they had seen when they saw Uncle George naked until talking with their mother sixteen years later.

question: Where does the story take place?

answer: It isn't clear where it takes place geographically, but the majority of the story takes place at Uncle George's house.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator discusses the time they discovered their grandmother Amma having an affair with the narrator's Uncle George. When the narrator was seven, their grandmother Amma was supposedly caring for Uncle George after his wife died. Amma told the narrator and her sister to wait in the car while she tended to George, but curiosity got the best of the narrator. They snuck into George's home, and saw him naked except for socks. It wasn't until sixteen years later that the narrator realized that she had seen the aftermath of a scandalous sexual escapade.


text:
HIGHWAY 126 (AR 126, ARK. 126, and HWY. 126) is a designation for two north–south state highways in Baxter County, Arkansas. A southern route of runs from Buffalo City north to US Route 62/US Route 412 (US 62/US 412) near Mountain Home.[1] A second route of begins at US 62/US 412 in Gassville and runs north to Highway 5/Highway 178 at Midway.[2]

Route description

Buffalo City to Mountain Home

Highway 126 begins near the Marion County line at Buffalo City, situated at the confluence of the Buffalo River and White River.[3] It heads north to Buford and before it meets US 62/US 412, where it terminates near Mountain Home. The average daily traffic counts from the Arkansas State Highway and Transportation Department (AHTD) for 2010 show that a maximum of about 1500 vehicles per day (VPD) use the northern portion of Highway 126 nearest US 62/US 412, with the count dropping to around 660 VPD for portions further south.[4]

The highway passes the Buford School Building, listed on the National Register of Historic Places.[5]

Gassville to Midway

Highway 126 begins at US 62/US 412 (Main Street) in Gassville and runs north to serve as the northern terminus of Highway 345. The route exits Gassville to the north, passing through Whiteville and forming a concurrency with Highway 178 near Monkey Run.[6] This overlap continues north past Ozark Regional Airport to Midway, where the route terminates. Highway 178 follows Highway 5 briefly north before turning west toward Bull Shoals-White River State Park.[7]

Traffic counts from the AHTD in 2010 indicate that the average daily traffic volume on this segment of Highway 126 ranges from 3800 VPD near Gassville to 2800 VPD at the northern terminus.[8]

Major intersections

|- | align=center colspan=5 | Highway 126 begins at Gassville |-

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

title: Arkansas Highway 126

question: Where does the southern route of Arkansas Highway 126 span?

answer: The highway runs from Buffalo City north to US Route 62/US Route 412, near Mountain Home.

question: What landmark does the highway pass?

answer: The highway passes the Buford School Building, which is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

question: What does VPD stand for?

answer: VPD stands for vehicles per day.

question: How long is the highway?

answer: Not answered.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: Arkansas Highway 126 is a north-south state highway in Baxter County, Arkansas.


text:
_PRIVATE DETECTIVE, OR OPERATION COOPERATION_ or () is a 1990 Soviet comedy film directed by Leonid Gaidai.[1][2]

Plot

In the last years of the USSR, the free market begins to emerge. The economy picks up, but changes in many ways. Cooperatives–privately owned businesses open everywhere as a new age of entrepreneurship dawns.

Dmitry Puzyrev, a young man addicted to detective novels, decides to open the city's first private detective agency. Initially, Dmitry has a hard time getting the required license, but gets it with the help of his friend, Victor. Dmitry and his father furnish the agency's office, but can't find any clients. The local police chief, Major Cronin, highly disapproves of their venture.

At the same time, Lena Pukhova, a young journalist, is searching for stories for her newspaper and goes undercover, disguising herself as an alcoholic prostitute. Soon, she gets the assignment to profile Dimitry's agency. Lena meets Dmitry, who immediately falls in love with her.

The agency gets its first real client, Anna Petrovna, who asks Dmitry to track down her kidnapped husband Ivan Ivanovich, Chairman of the “Joy Cooperative”, a leading business. Dmitry launches an investigation, with Lena constantly but unwittingly getting in his way. Dmitry tries looking for the car used by the kidnappers, which can put him on their trail, but to no avail.

The kidnappers soon make themselves known by demanding a ransom for Ivan Ivanovich. With the help of his father, Dmitry decides to stage an ambush but then falls into the clutches of the villains, along with Lena, who happens to be Ivan Ivanovich's daughter. In a plot twist, the leader of the crooks turns out to be Victor, Dmitry's friend.

Realizing that his plan has been foiled, Victor decides to kill the gang's prisoners: Dmitry, Lena, and her father. Only the courage and resourcefulness of Dmitry make it possible to stop the criminals.

Cast

-   Dmitry Kharatyan – Dmitry Puzyrev, private detective
-   Irina Feofanova – Lena Pukhova, journalist (voice by Nadezhda Rumyantseva)
-   Spartak Mishulin – Georgy Mikhailovich Puzyrev, Dmitry's father
-   Mikhail Svetin – Ivan Ivanovich Pukhov, Lena's father
-   Nina Grebeshkova – Anna Petrovna Pukhova, Lena's mother
-   Aleksandr Belyavsky – Major Kazimir Afanasyevich Cronin
-   Leonid Kuravlyov – Semyon Semyonovich Sukhov, editor in chief
-   Roman Madyanov – Victor, owner of the private public toilet “Comfort”
-   Mikhail Kokshenov – Ambal, employee of the toilet “Comfort”
-   Mentay Utepbergenov – Mao, employee of the toilet “Comfort”
-   Evgeny Zharikov – “Professor”, bootlegger

in episodes

-   Leonid Yarmolnik – airliner hijacker
-   Semyon Farada – Signore Concini, Italian Mafioso
-   Muza Krepkogorskaya – gossiping neighbor
-   Nikolai Parfyonov – N.I. Mogilny, chairman of the executive committee
-   Vera Ivleva – N.B. Piratova, member of executive committee
-   Viktor Filippov – S.P. Zahrebetny, member of executive committee
-   Viktor Uralskiy – L.A. Atasovich, member of executive committee
-   Nikolay Malikov – D.P. Pogrebnyuk, member of executive committee
-   Yuri Vorobyov – G.B. Mertvago patriotic member of executive committee
-   Sergey Filippov – angry old man
-   Nikolai Rybnikov – MP candidate
-   Natalya Krachkovskaya – airliner lady passenger
-   Emmanuil Geller – airliner passenger No.1
-   Vladimir Druzhnikov – airliner passenger No.2
-   Nina Agapova – gypsy woman, chairman of the cooperative “Destiny”
-   Anna Shatilova – cameo

Production

Filming took place in Odessa from March to September 1989.[3][4] In the film a group of policemen called “ZnaToKi” operate - a parody of the famous characters of the TV series “Investigation Held by ZnaToKi” and “Major Pronin” (Major Cronin).

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

title: Private Detective, or Operation Cooperation

question: When was the movie released?

answer: 1990

question: Who directed the film?

answer: Leonid Gaidai

question: Who are the main characters?

answer: Dmitry Puzyrev, Lena Pukhova, Georgy Mikhailovich Puzyrev, Ivan Ivanovich Pukhov, Anna Petrovna, Major Cronin, and Victor

question: Who plays Dmitry?

answer: Dmitry Kharatyan

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Private Detective, or Operation Cooperation is a 1990 Soviet comedy film directed by Leonid Gaidai. In the film, Dmitry sets up a private detective agency and tries to find a kidnapped man, only to be captured himself.


text:
Volunteers have now spent 23 hours of cleanup following the two Macy’s fireworks shows during Super Bowl week.

By Lisa Fernandez •  Published February 16, 2016 • Updated on February 17, 2016 at 8:01 am

For the third time, coastal volunteers have gone to clean up San Francisco’s Aquatic Park after the Super Bowl fireworks show. And for the third time, they’ve come back with piles of plastic, junk and remnants of two pyrotechnics shows.

David McGuire, founder of the Ocean Health and Shark Conservation and the nonprofit Shark Stewards, said volunteers have now spent 23 hours of cleanup following the two Macy’s fireworks shows on Jan. 30 on Feb. 6, and again on Feb. 13. And he is wishing aloud for some corporate responsibility.

[]

David McGuire/Shark Stewards
Garbage found on Aquatic Park Beach in San Francisco on Feb. 13, 2016 after third post-Super Bowl cleanup.

After thefirst show, the National Park Service along with Shark Stewards filled four 50-gallon trash cans. After the second show, the Shark Stewards and the San Francisco Dolphin Club picked up about 30 pounds of cardboard and more than 1,000 pieces of plastic and firecracker fuses at the same beach.

Local

[]

[]

Faced with criticism with the fallout from the first pyrotechnics display, Macy's spokesman Orlando Veras said the company would work with Pryo Spectaculars to prevent any more messes marring the beach. And Macy’s did make some changes to the second show and even dispatched their own employees to help clean up afterwards, Veras said. It appears as though the junk from the second and third cleanups might in fact be fallout from the first show that may have taken some time to wash up on shore, both side agree.

Still, the garbage is not good for the marine life.

San Francisco Baykeeper Executive Director Sejal Choksi-Chugh said her nonprofit agency has the power under the Clean Water Act to enforce keeping the bay clean.  But as of Tuesday, no citations had been issued and no one has paid for the volunteer time to clean up the beach.

“Perhaps it’s time for a conversation with Macy’s,” McGuire said.

[]

[]

[]

question: Where did coastal volunteers go to clean?

answer: San Francisco's Aquatic Park.

question: After what event did volunteers clean it up?

answer: The Super Bowl fireworks show.

question: How long did volunteers spend on cleanup?

answer: 23 hours.

question: Which company was responsible for the mess?

answer: Macy's.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The article discusses how the Macy's Super Bowl fireworks display leaves a great deal of beach trash at San Francisco's Aquatic Park, and that for the past three years volunteers have had to clean up the beach. A spokesperson for Macy's commented about it and said it would work to prevent any more messes, and others were critical of how the fireworks affected marine life.


text:
This is a repost of a small stand-alone excerpt that I submitted last night with some formatting issues. It was my first ever reddit post and thanks to a friendly comment I believe I have addressed the issues. Hopefully this version will be more legible, thanks again for reading! - side note - this is somewhat of a practice exercise for me as I haven't written anything in quite a while. I wanted to fiddle around with some duplicitous layering

Just south of a small mountain range, a cool spring breeze passed through a stone monastery. The overgrown ivy covering the northern face of the building danced as the wind tickled its bountiful growth. From the top of the smooth cut stone structure the ivy had crept to meet the rocky cliff face upon which the monastery was perched. Green ivy, grey rock, and beige stone lay against a backdrop of deep, clear blue, as the sky was brimming with colour at the onset of the new season. The monastery was a large, square compound, with four stone parapets at each corner of the building, the northernmost being flush against the cliff face. At the centre was a circular courtyard, filled with beds of flowers and shrubs around the perimeter of the courtyard. Forming this perimeter were a series of stone pillars, the bases of which were buried beneath the lush green of the plants. Atop one of the pillars was a nest of sparrows, and the birds fluttered around the courtyard, singing cheerfully.

That friendly mountain breeze made its way into the courtyard, towards a simple wooden bench that faced the mild warmth of the afternoon sun. It brushed aside the hem of a white robe, cooling the ankles of the monk sitting alone on the bench. He was an old man, whose ample belly was poorly disguised by his simple clothes, yet his face had retained its youthful glow, enhanced by his bald pate gleaming in the sunlight. His eyes squinted against the sun as he smiled contentedly, listening to the sparrows’ concert and taking in the fresh growth of greenery. His smile widened as he heard the faint clapping of sandaled feet on stone tiles. The dim sound grew in resonance as the footsteps approached, and from his seat on the bench the monk called out cheerfully,

“Good afternoon, Brother,”

The newcomer emerged from within the monastery, coming into view, similarly clothed in a white habit, yet a bit younger than his colleague. Unlike the seated monk, he was quite thin, and though he was not smiling, he had an honest, open face.

“May I join you?”

“Of course! Please sit.”

The slender monk then held up the jug and two cups he had been holding, and smiled faintly, to which the older monk laughed and patted him on the shoulder as he lowered himself onto the bench.

“I suppose it is never too early to celebrate such a fine day” he said.

The second man carefully poured a cup of red wine, and passed it to his companion, after which he poured himself a cup. For several minutes they both sat in silence, sipping their wine and admiring the courtyard and its garden. Finally, the thinner monk placed his cup on the ground next to the jug of wine, and fixed his gaze on the heavyset monk.

“The vote is tomorrow, the monastery is in a furor, it is quite a nuisance.”

The older monk chuckled and returned the look, “I have been through many such votes, and this is by far the most tiresome of them all.”

Not known for outbursts of laughter, the younger monk gave a hearty grin, flashing what teeth he had left before remarking, “We are priests, not politicians, my friend. I should say this is ill befitting our station. Such ambition is better left to the less morally inclined.”

In response his companion simply smiled, looked down at his cup, and took a sip, his light grey eyes surveying the wine like a hawk watched a rabbit. The younger man likewise took a sip, his eyes watching his friend as he swallowed the warm red liquid.

“Brother,” he said, smiling, “I’m afraid you’ve besmirched your habit.”

The larger monk stared at him, watching his eyes and his smug expression as he slowly reached his arm towards his friend’s throat, only to gently place his slender finger upon a red stain at the collar of the robe. The culprit was not hidden, as a line of red was visible on the large monk’s cup from where the wine had spilled.

Breaking eye contact and looking down at his lap, the bald man laughed, tut-tutting to himself, “That won’t do at all,” he said.

“Yes,” his friend said slowly, looking at the patch of red, “that stain must be removed.”

“Or perhaps, I could simply find a way to hide it,” he said as he watched the thin man, “with so many habits and so many monks, I’m sure there are more than a few concealed stains amongst our ranks.”

The skinny monk’s face bore an expression of sincere contemplation as his eyes bored into the large monk’s robe, “Perhaps,” he said.

He reached down to collect the jug and his own cup, rising from the bench. His robe had gone into disarray, and he quietly adjusted it before turning back towards the older monk. They shared a warm smile as each stared at the other, with the hefty monk raising his cup in front of his sharp grey eyes as he said through grinning teeth, “My thanks, for the drink, Brother.”

The thin man nodded to him, and headed for the interior of the monastery, his sandals playing the same song against the stone that they had when he approached, only this time in reverse. As the song faded to nothing, the solitary monk once more perked his eyes and ears toward the chattering sparrows.

The sun was still out, the sky was still blue, the garden was still radiant, and the birds still sang. As he finished his wine, the monk contemplated the one thing he knew with certainty on that beautiful day. For himself, or the man who just left, there would be no sun, no sky, no garden, no birds, no wine, waiting for them tomorrow. Only death. He decided then that he had not yet had his fill of such marvelous spring days.

	“Now then,” he said, laboriously rising from the bench, “I suppose I should see about removing this stain.”

title: [FN] The White Habit

question: Summarize the biggest point of contention in the story.

answer: The following day, there will be a vote that determines something important, but not explained. The narrator, in their chat with the monk, reveals his deep concern for the future; the other monk seems complacent. The two seem to be at an impasse, and no solution or predictions are offered.

question: Explain the meaning and/or symbolism of the wine stain on the monk's habit.

answer: It seems that the wine stain could symbolize what happens when people are idle and do not care enough for the future. When we are afraid of the future, often time it leaves us paralyzed. The monk does not notice, and is not planning on doing anything, about the wine stain, because he is too focused on the vote-which seems to signify an ending of sorts. When the monk does decide he wants to continue living, he decides to do something about the wine stain- the "why bother" attitude dissipates.

question: Summarize what the vote is.

question: Summarize the differences between the two monks.

answer: One of them is old, while one of them is relatively young. One of them is deeply concerned about the vote, while the other remains lackadaisical throughout their interaction. One of the monks is more lenient in his piety-as evidenced by his attitude toward drinking, and concealing the merriment-while the other attempts to cover up his habit.


text:
Small waves lapped against the next contestant as she bobbed in the water. The game was called “Don’t shit a brick.” The goal was to see who could doggy paddle the longest while holding a brick. Juvenile, sure. Was it fun? You’re damn right it was.

Jennifer had cried out with glee when she first entered the water, then her face squished in like a sponge when she was handed the brick. She momentarily grimaced as the red, clay brick scraped against her inner thigh. But she managed to hold onto it surrounded by the vibrantly colored speedboats of her classmates.

Her red and blue bikini top was fastened tight around her neck, but the grasping texture of the brick threatened to expose her sun shaded breasts to the boys leaning off the sides of their boats, cheering wildly like she was crossing the finish line with each minor stroke.

The coldness of Lake Holshire had sucked my breath away earlier in the afternoon, when the first round of tubing had begun.  The coldness could be seen on Jennifer’s face, in the way she gasped for air and kept her eyes focused on one spot in the sky.

Maybe if we had brought more than one brick, the contestant would have felt better about dropping it to the mossy bottom below. As it were, Jennifer struggled with the weight and the beers she had drank earlier.

She managed to keep herself afloat as someone yelled, “She looks like she’s shitting a brick!”

The three speedboats all had their engines killed and their anchor points tethered, leaving a triangular opening in the water. As Jennifer struggled with her clay weight, the boats sloshed and shimmied so that Jennifer was no longer in the center of the triangle, but closer to Davis’ boat, a shining red and black beast that could hit sixty miles an hour without blinking.

I yelled to Davis, “Get her out, man. She’s finished.”

He didn’t even look at me, but kept staring down at the top of her breasts that glistened just above the surface of the water.

In the afternoon sun, the water was a navy blue, like the oppressive folds of storm clouds about to spit rain.

Davis was now laying on the edge of his Mastiff, as he called the red and black racer, urging Jennifer to just give up and take her top off. She didn’t need to be weighed down by it. Her faux laugh filled her mouth with Lake water, which she spit out with squinting eyes.

“Shut up, Dave,” was all she managed to mouth before slipping under water.

Davis turned to Trev, “Did you hear what she said?” He didn’t see her submerge into the triangle of darkness, like a pole searching for the bottom of Lake Holshire.

The water rippled outwards where the crown of her head had gone under, breaking symmetry on the side of the Mastiff. One, two, three seconds pass. No sign of her. She’s not coming up. I search the black water to see if I can find her, but cannot.

I glance at the others. There’s more than a dozen people and not one of them seems concerned that Jennifer has just taken the plunge to death. She’s a caught bobber and no one wants to reel her in.

Alcohol does dumb shit to people.

I dive in, momentarily wondering if I should have jumped in feet first rather than swan dive into the water. But I don’t hit her. I open my eyes and am amazed at how bright it is underwater. The boats cast long shadows down a corridor of the lake, but there’s wide expanses receiving bright sunlight now. I can see Jennifer with her eyes closed about ten feet below.

She is drifting there like a person caught between a dream and waking. She’s let go of the brick but her hands still hold it near her chest. Something in the water brushes against my eyelids causing them to close momentarily. I fear she’ll be dead when I get her in my arms. Will she drift away when I’m back?

I reach her, grab her underneath her arms and start kicking for the surface. I can see the long angular shadows from the boats spread wider and wider, until I’m panting above the dark expanse of the black triangle.

title: Black Triangle

question: Why is Jennifer struggling?

answer: Jennifer is struggling because she is attempting to swim with a brick. The brick is rough and she risks losing her bikini top. She has been drinking and may feel that she can't drop the brick because the group has only brought one brick with them. If she drops it, someone will have to retrieve it or they will have no one else can play. The water is also bitterly cold.

question: Why does nobody besides the narrator do anything to help Jennifer?

answer: Some haven't noticed that she has slipped under the water. They have all been drinking and "alcohol does dumb shit to people". Perhaps those who have seen Jennifer go under, hope that someone else will save her.

question: Does Jennifer survive the ordeal?


text:
_For hundreds of years, the flame-wielding Embers have been the last line of defense against the nightmare creatures from the World Apart, but the attacks are getting worse. Kole Reyna guards Last Lake from the terrors of the night, but he fears for his people’s future._

_When Kole is wounded by a demon unlike any they have seen before, the Emberfolk believe it is a sign of an ancient enemy returned, a powerful Sage known as the Eastern Dark._

_Kole has never trusted in prophecy, but with his people hanging on the precipice, he reluctantly agrees to lead the Valley’s greatest warriors in a last desperate bid for survival. Together, they will risk everything in search of a former ally long-thought dead, and whether Kole trusts him or not, he may be the only one capable of saving them._

Today on The Tattooed Book Geek I am pleased to be bringing you all an extract from VALLEY OF EMBERS BY STEVEN KELLIHER.

Linn woke with a startled yelp, her heart throbbing so hard it hurt. She was sweating, and now she was embarrassed as she took in the five pairs of eyes regarding her over the white smoke of a small cookfire.

“Dream?” Baas Taldis asked.

“Morning,” she answered without warmth. She stood and stretched immodestly, the Riverman’s eyes roving all the while. Linn was not en-tirely sure how she felt about him. Baas had always been a quiet sort at the Lake, but the open road seemed to agree with him—or disagree— depending on your perspective.

Aside from the familiar sights and now-familiar smells of her traveling companions, the ache in her joins returned to Linn her sense of time and place. It was day four of their magnifi cent, heroic, utterly ridiculous quest. By their looks, she guessed at least half of her companions felt the same. If there was a bright spot, it did not follow any of the three Embers in their company, but rather the fi sherman’s son.

Nathen Swell’s boyish enthusiasm clashed oddly with his impressive forest lore. The same attitude that threatened to drive Larren Holspahr to quiet violence resonated with Linn, Baas and Jenk Ganmeer. Even Kaya Ferrahl shot her glances at him when she was sure none were looking. In truth, Nathen was likely the only member of the group they could all agree on liking, or at least not openly disliking.

“I, too have had dreams these last nights,” Baas intoned gravely, as if Linn had not summarily ignored him a moment earlier. “I thought the sun would burn them all away, but it has strengthened their resolve in an attempt to weaken my own.”

“Sun’s losing today,” Kaya said, indicating the gray skies.

“What sorts of dreams?” Jenk asked, sounding genuinely curious. He displayed a keen and unwavering interest in each of them. Linn had yet to decide if it was the politician in him or the heroic leader. Perhaps he was just a curious sort and she had never taken the time to notice before.

“No matter,” Baas answered after a time. He scanned the trees suspi-ciously. “Some spell of the Faey, I think.”

Larren scoffed at that as he worked over a piece of dried venison. It was no secret that Baas was Rockbled. The Landkist of the Fork were not as overt in their power as the Embers, but they were impressive in their own right. Incredibly strong, tireless and blessed with natural resiliencies to weapons of the earth—most weapons—they might not be as offensively potent as the Landkist of the Emberfolk, but they were exceedingly difficult to kill.

Of course, Linn had never seen those powers in action. Her mother had, but there had rarely been cause for Ember to fight against or along-side Rockbled in the decades since the early conflicts, no matter how many demons the World Apart sent into the Valley.

Their makeshift camp fell into a silence that each of them worked to cover with the checking of gear, the washing of teeth and the pulling of strap and buckle. There was a grim mood about. In place of the shining sun that should have been greeting their backs through the filtering branches, they had woken to a pall hanging about the sky, which was punctuated by the echo of distant thunder.

Linn was thankful that the twins had decided not to accompany them. Taei was fine enough, and certainly useful in a pinch, but she could do without Fihn, whose mood as often as not resembled the gray skies above. It was all about small victories in the Valley, and Linn would take them where she could find them.

While Linn had assumed the Second Keeper would be the de facto leader of the group, it was Jenk Ganmeer taking the center of the clearing to address them now.

“We’ve had our discussions, and now we’ve had the night to sleep on them,” he said. “Hearth is barely a league to the east. We’d be able to see the walls from here if it weren’t for the trees. We could re-stock our supplies, get some more fitful rest and maybe even recruit some woodsmen who know the lay of the land up north. On the other hand, if Doh’Rah’s contacts make us, we’ll be quartered and sent back south before we can have a cup of milled wine in the first tavern.”

Linn cleared her throat.

“It’s no real question to me,” she said. “We continue on, or we can be bundled up like children caught stealing from the baker and sent back to the Faey Mother.” She shouldered her pack, and the others did likewise, Jenk last.

If the forests to the south were dense cloisters, those further north were sparse by comparison, the trees growing taller as the canopy thinned to pine. Nettles littered the forest floor and cushioned their footfalls. Sap leaked from the rough bark in patient rivers, giving the woods a sour and pleasant odor. It was amazing how varied the lands of the Valley were, like a world unto itself. For Linn and the other members of her party, it always had been.

Linn did not fear an attack by the Dark Kind, even in the gloom the gray skies cast. With each passing day, the World Apart drifted further, making their intrusions less likely by the hour. Still, the Deep Lands were bathed in constant shadow and magic still seeped up from the ground there. If they could find a way around those chasms, it would be well worth it.

Lost in thought, Linn nearly smashed her nose into a sheer wall of blue—Baas’s shirt; the hulk had stopped dead in his tracks.

“What—

He hushed her with an upraised hand, neck rigid as he stared intently ahead.

Linn craned her neck in an attempt to see beyond the Riverman—a considerable effort—and noted Larren crouched beneath the lip of a small rise. Jenk and Kaya flanked him, weapons in hand. Nathen touched her on the shoulder and motioned toward the branches above. He held a finger over his lips and then touched his ears with a shrug.

The forest was silent. Even a week ago, that would not have seemed strange, but the birds had been calling from dawn to dusk since the Dark Months had begun to fade. It was a wonder how quickly one could get used to the change, and how quickly its absence could be forgotten.

Linn unloosed her bow from around her back and followed Nathen east, curling around the road from the opposite direction as Baas and the three Embers bunched up in a copse to the west.

There was a sound like the screech of a drake, and Linn nocked arrow to string, leaning against a trunk. She spared a glance to her right, where Nathen stood taught as the arrow he pulled, sinuous arms locked and straining with practiced ease. His eyes, normally a welcoming blue, now bore the unmistakable glint of ice. If not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, you might think him a still image. Seeing him thus, it was no wonder many hunters had attributed Bali Swell’s most legendary kills in the Untamed Hills to his son, despite his miss on their recent hunt.

When the ass first rounded the corner, Linn’s mind had cast it in the image of some demented beast out of nightmare, shadowed as it was by low-hanging branches over the road. She heard Baas’s laugh and the scene resolved itself into a farce as the brown cart trundled toward them, an old man and his daughter hunched over the reins.

The archers moved to rejoin their Landkist vanguard, which had already taken the road, Jenk conversing easily with the pair of ear-ly-season travelers.

“There’s no wind,” Nathen said, grabbing Linn by the elbow and pulling her back. He looked unsettled as he indicated the swirling clouds overhead.

Linn shivered but pulled her arm away.

“It’s a high wind,” she said, but the hunter did not look convinced. As they approached, Jenk was speaking amiably with the old man while the young woman watched nervously from her place on the bench.

“It’s early yet to be traveling the roads through the woods,” Larren cut in, eyeing the old man reproachfully.

“My daddy always told me there isn’t no better place to be but first,” the old man said with a toothy grin. “Dawn’s here.” He swept out his hands and then pulled his cloak tighter about him as he noted the overcast sky. “Well, nothing you can do about the odd storm, eh?” He laughed.

“From which village do you hale?” Baas asked.

“Mirax,” the girl said, blushing when the Riverman looked her way. “And they let you out to travel the roads this early?” Larren asked, and now it was the old man’s turn to blush.

“What are you looking at?” Kaya snapped at the girl, who nearly fainted.

“Leave her, Ferrahl,” Jenk said. “She has every right to be nervous. It isn’t every day you come across four Landkist armed for war.”

“Landkist?” the girl’s mood did a full turn. “I thought it felt warmer around you.” She blushed again, looking at them each in turn. “You are Embers of Hearth?”

“Three Embers,” Jenk said with a bow, indicating Larren and Kaya with nods. “And—

“And only three,” Baas said, his tone broaching no argument. Jenk merely shrugged and shared a conspiratorial wink with the girl, who giggled.

“Speaking of,” the old man said, “what business have you in the western woods?”

“We’re not going west,” Baas said before wilting under a sharp, cutting glance from Jenk. It was a look like steel, and it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“We are heading west soon,” Jenk said, adding, “but not right now. Before we check on Mirax, we need to see how the folk of the Fork have done through these Dark Months.”

“Isn’t that what the Runners are for?” the girl asked.

“It never hurts to be thorough,” Jenk said. “After all, this was a difficult period.”

“But we’re glad to see you and yours have made it through all right,” Linn put in, smiling warmly. She was eager to be on the move. Luckily, Kaya had none of the others’ decorum.

“We need to be going,” the Ember clipped, and the old man nodded sagely.

“I’m afraid my compatriot is right,” Jenk said, shaking the old man’s hand. He went to do the same with the girl, but she sat stock-still, rigid with fear.

Jenk, Linn and the others followed her gaze up to the pine canopy, where the great boughs creaked oddly.

“Girl!” The old man shouted, and not for the first time, but she was focused on a particularly dense bunch of swaying green.

“A forest cat?” Baas asked, bringing his great shield to bear.

Linn ignored him and nocked the arrow she had only just put back in its quiver, Nathen doing the same. She peered into the shifting shadows and was dimly aware of the others fanning out on the road beside her. There was a darker patch that seemed too dense for the canopy, and when a dark cloud overhead brightened with heat lightning, she saw the thing crouched there.

“There!” Baas yelled, breaking her concentration as he pointed in the opposite direction. An arrow whizzed by her cheek as Nathen let fly and an unnatural shriek pierced the sudden dusk. Linn took aim and fired, but another flash from the sky above made it difficult to track her mark, and she heard the shaft bury itself in the bark.

At first, Linn thought she had missed, but the shaft had been well placed and well launched. The dark form fell with a lifeless thud next to the mule, which exploded into panicked motion. Kaya screamed as the cart rolled over her foot, the bones snapping like birds’ wings. She fell, dropping her staff before she had it lit.

The forest came alive with shadows. These were not the Dark Kind, Linn recognized with mounting dread. They moved in the lurching shapes of men, silent but for the crunching of twig and the rustling of brush as they poured from the woods. Linn loosed another arrow that dropped another shadow and spun. She saw the cart careening around the far bend, the hood of the old man thrown back as he struggled to regain control of the panicked mule.

Her decision was made in the next beat, as Linn ducked under the slashing claw of the nearest shadow and got her legs churning, taking off after the runaway cart. She heard Larren shouting orders and felt the atmosphere explode with sudden heat that shocked the back of her neck. She looked over her shoulder as she ran and witnessed the uneven line of nightmare soldiers crash into the formidable wall of fire formed by Larren’s spinning spear and Jenk’s slashing sword, the Everwood blades lighting the trees with their own sun.

Baas Taldis launched the shadows back one by one as they attempted to get around the Embers, and those that got between his stone shield and one of the flaming blades died writhing in scorched agony. Larren backed up to defend Kaya, who was struggling to rise. He spitted a shadow as it leapt for the prone Ember and sent a jet from the tip that immolated the featureless face of the next.

Linn tore past Nathen, who loosed shaft after shaft, picking off the shadows that managed to dodge the smashing shield or burning blades. He nodded to Linn as she ran, sweat standing out on his brow as another blast of heat set the air to shimmer like water, the work of Holspahr’s latest torrent.

An avalanche of needles and black earth announced her presence as Linn leapt and slid down the far bank of the bend. She landed at the bottom and came up sprinting, bow clutched tightly as she carved a diagonal path toward the bouncing cart. A few of the shadow men gave chase, but she was too fast for them. When one impeded on her path, she rewarded it with an arrow to the neck and it fell gurgling, flailing hands catching on her ankles as she cleared it in a bound.

She broke through the last curtain of brush, the branches tearing her face and arms, and affected a controlled fall onto the rocky road below the bank. As she rose and shook the dizziness away, she focused on the charging mule as it made directly for her, mouth frothing, each step more haggard than the last.

Linn pulled back the feathered shaft and eyed the gray beast, sighting it between the eyes. She exhaled and then heard the impact more than felt it. The black form slammed into her from the side and bowled her into the ditch as the wild-staring mule trundled past with its bouncing cart.

She felt her bow snap beneath her and the air was forced from her lungs, but she went to work with her knife as soon as she was pinned, taking the shadow’s fingers and a good portion of its opposite hand. The mangled limbs gripped her around the jaw and she saw that this one had eyes that shone red. It glared hatefully, its fellows rushing past her after the cart and toward the fields before Hearth

Live.

She bucked, but the demon was too strong. A skinny thing, but its weight was like a mountain on her chest. Those red eyes bored into her, and she felt more than heard a voice in her head, urging her to stillness. But Linn Ve’Ran was not one to be cowed, so she fought with what her mother and father had given her, launching a barrage of tooth and claw that had the creature reeling.

A struggle that felt as though it spanned weeks likely lasted a minute, and the demon forced her back down. It was then that a clear note broke the sky, drawing the red eyes away, the horn’s blare carrying from the fields beyond the trees. Linn felt her questing fingers brush something metal, and she seized it, breaking her skin on the blade of her knife and spearing the shadow through jaw and skull. The light went out from the demon’s eyes before she had even pushed it over. She retched, adding her own bloody mix to the mud.

Linn knew her victory was short-lived, but as the dark forms streaked past her in the woods beside the road, none spared her a backward glance. The horn rang out again, driving them on, and Linn stumbled back onto the broken path she had carved between the branches.

The woods stilled around her as she made her way back toward the road, fearing what she would find when she arrived. Though the sight that greeted her upon rounding the bend was macabre, she saw none of her friends mixed among the corpses. Many of the shadow men had lost their faces under the press of Baas’s shield, and Nathen must have spent all of his shafts clearing the borders of the road. In the center, scorches in the shapes of men scarred the road, and the heat of the Embers’ ex-pulsions still lingered, the air crackling with ozone.

As she walked among the bodies, Linn noted that the shadows had faded, draining away like ink to reveal the garish faces of men and women beneath. They were not Emberfolk, nor Faey, and they had not the bulk or sinew of the Rivermen. These were foreigners, pale as light and sick with dark. She thought of the red-eyed attacker she had im-paled—a Sentinel, she knew—and shuddered when she realized there had been nothing beneath its blackness but thicker shadows.

“Ve’Ran—

She spun toward the harsh whisper, knife whipping, and nearly collapsed when she saw Jenk standing beneath the boughs, light hair crusted with red. He grabbed her by the wrist and led her stumbling through the rolling nettles.

“The others,” Linn managed through a cracked tongue and pounding headache.

“Alive,” he said, though it sounded strained. “Jenk.”

He glanced at her as he supported her, his skin burning like the blade that still glowed at his hip.

“What happened?”

“We were lucky,” he said, and then, to her continued staring, “I don’t know what they are. But there was a Sentinel.”

“I fought one,” Linn said, stopping and standing still. Jenk looked stunned.

“How did you survive?”

“Luck.” And she knew it to be the truth.

“Larren was distracted.” He looked at the ground. “He killed it, but it did something to him, left him screaming in the dirt.”

“It seems we picked the wrong time to leave the Lake,” Linn said, but Jenk shook his head.

“Maybe it was the perfect time, Ve’Ran. The Dark Months are ending. The World Apart is too far for chance to send a force like that through. Someone sent those shadows for us, and they came from the north.” They came to a trench between boulders, the trees silent around them as Baas stood vigil. Kaya clenched a piece of leather between her teeth as Nathen worked over her foot. A spear rested in the crevice, and below it, Larren Holspahr breathed shallow and slow. She supposed it could have been worse.

Well, there you have it, thoughts on the chapter?? When Steven contacted me through Facebook he said that he had selected a chapter approximately 40% into the book and dubbed it ‘_the shit hits the fan_‘ chapter!!!! 🙂 I thought it was great and while I have lots to read and had to decline Steven’s very generous offer of a copy to read, the book has certainly now been added to my TBR list!

VALLEY OF EMBERS is out now and until the end of January Steven is running a special promotion where the e-book is only £0.99P in the UK and $0.99 IN THE US.

Steven is a fighter turned writer who resides in the Boston area. He wishes all disputes were still settled with a friendly game of hand-to-hand combat, is a fan of awesome things, and tries to write books he’d want to read.

His debut novel, _Valley of Embers_ was released in 2016 and is the first of a planned series known as _The Landkist Saga. _

question: What is the Tattooed Book Geek?

answer: The article doesn't explicitly state what The Tattooed Book Geek is, but it seems it's a blog about books.

question: What story extract is being presented?

answer: The story is Valley of Embers by Steven Kelliher.

question: What is the story about?

answer: The Embers have been the last line of defense against the nightmare creatures from the World Apart, but the attacks are getting worse. Kole Reyna guards Last Lake from the terrors of the night, but he fears for his people’s future.

question: Who are the main characters of the story?

answer: Linn, Kole, Bass, Kaya.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The Tattooed Book Geek, a blog, introduces a book by author Steven Kelliher titled, Valley of Embers. The book is about the Embers who have been the last line of defense against the nightmare creatures from the World Apart, but the attacks are getting worse. Kole Reyna guards Last Lake from the terrors of the night, but he fears for his people’s future.


text:
[The Lynchburg Ferry] The LYNCHBURG FERRY is a free ferry across the Houston Ship Channel in the U.S. state of Texas, connecting Crosby-Lynchburg Road in Lynchburg to the north with the former State Highway 134 and San Jacinto Battleground State Historic Site in La Porte to the south. Operated by the Harris County Toll Road Authority,[1] the crossing is the oldest operating ferry service within the state of Texas.[2][3]

It carries automobiles, bicycles and pedestrians for free. Harris County had operated the ferry from 1888 to 2020.[4] Ferries depart daily approximately every 5–10 minutes, beginning at 4:30 a.m. (04:30) and operate through 8:15 p.m. (20:15) and have a maximum capacity of 12 vehicles.[5] The service averages between approximately 1,500-2,000 vehicles per day.[6]

The service has two ships in its fleet, both completed in 1964 by the Todd Shipyard. The ferries are named in honor of former Texas governors William P. Hobby and Ross S. Sterling.[7] A third ferry with a capacity of 9 vehicles dating from 1937 is available on standby if needed.[8]

History

The present-day location of this ferry can trace its origins back to 1822 when it was constructed by Nathaniel Lynch just below the confluence of the San Jacinto River and the Buffalo Bayou and was known as LYNCH'S FERRY.[9] The ferry was used by the Republic of Texas troops fighting Mexican forces in the Battle of San Jacinto April 1836.[10] In what was later referred to as the Runaway Scrape, as many as 5,000 Texans fled eastward to escape the advancing army of Mexican General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna utilizing the ferry. In the following days, Sam Houston's army defeated Santa Anna at San Jacinto, which resulted in Texas independence.[11]

By 1837 the Harris County Commissioners Court would set formal ferry rates only to eliminate them in 1890, and the ferry service has been free ever since.[12] By 1949 the ferry service was renamed as the Lynchburg Ferry in serving as the first vehicular crossing of the Houston Ship Channel.[13]

[Texas Historical Commission 2006 Marker - The Lynchburg Town Ferry]

The service would operate 24 hours per day, 365 days a year under the operation of Harris County through June 2004 when hours were reduced to their current times.[14] Replacement vessels have been under consideration by the county since late 2004, but have yet to be ordered.[15]

On March 1, 2020, operations of the Lynchburg Ferry, along with the Washburn Tunnel, were transferred from Harris County Precinct 2 to the Harris County Toll Road Authority (HCTRA).[16] There are no plans for HCTRA to implement tolls either the Lynchburg Ferry or the Washburn Tunnel. Nevertheless, HCTRA's involvement will include plans to improve the operations of both facilities, as well as much-needed repairs and upgrades.

Accidents and incidents

-   February 26, 1995 - A barge struck the south landing resulting in the closure of the service for over eleven weeks.[17] The service would reopen on May 11, 1995.[18]
-   September 19, 2004 - A woman drowned after the vehicle she was in was driven off the ferry into the channel. The driver was subsequently charged with intoxication manslaughter in the death.[19]
-   May 14, 2008 - A man appeared to deliberately drive his truck into the Houston Ship Channel, authorities said, refusing help from horrified witnesses who were waiting to board the Lynchburg Ferry. Witnesses say the man locked doors and refused help before going under.[20]
-   September 12, 2008 - Hurricane Ike caused approximately $300,000 damage to the Lynchburg Ferry. The ferry was closed 52 days for repair and reopened November 3, 2008.[21]

[1] Lynchburg Ferry Harris County Toll Road Authority (Retrieved 19 August 2020)

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16] Toll Road Authority Takes Control Of Washburn Tunnel, Lynchburg Ferry Houston Public Media (KUHF-FM, News 88.7). 1 March 2020 (Retrieved 19 August 2020)

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21]

title: Lynchburg Ferry

question: What service does the Lynchburg Ferry provide?

answer: Lynchburg Ferry is a free ferry service. It carries automobiles, bicycles, and pedestrians. Ferries depart approximately every 5-10 minutes, beginning at 4:30 AM.

question: Who administers Lynchburg Ferry?

answer: From 1888 to 2020 Harris County operated the ferry. In March of 2020 control was switched from Harris County Precint 2 to Harris County Toll Road Authority. It was stated the intention is for the ferry to remain free even though it is controlled by the toll authority.


text:
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question: What is EzFaux Granite?

answer: It is a brand that offers faux granite and faux stainless film.

question: How is EzFaux manufactured?

answer: It is manufactured using a 4 measure calendered process in an ISO 9001 accredited Facility.

question: What are some features to the merchandise?

answer: The films have a transparent topcoat for durability, and uses non-toxic water-based adhesive. They are also stain resistant.

question: Where is EZFaux located?

answer: That information can't be found in the document.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This document is an advertisement for EZFaux Decor's faux granite and faux stainless film. It provides information on the films' features and how the films are manufactured.


text:
GRAND PARK SPORTS CAMPUS is a sports complex located in Westfield, Indiana. The park features 26 baseball and softball diamonds, 31 multipurpose fields for soccer, football, and lacrosse. The Grand Park Events Center is now open, featuring three full-sized indoor soccer fields, a restaurant and administrative offices. The Pacers Athletic Center indoor basketball/volleyball facility opened in January 2016. Grand Park also features an abundance of green space and more than of pedestrian/bicycle trails, including the largest trailhead on the Monon Corridor. The site hosted the 2016 Big Ten Conference Men's Soccer Tournament and the 2017 Big Ten Conference Women's Soccer Tournament.

The sports complex was conceived by mayor Andy Cook, who campaigned on the issue and won over critics of the plan.[1]

Facilities

Pacers Athletic Center

The Pacers Athletic Center is an indoor sporting facility on the complex. It hosts five basketball courts, and two multipurpose indoor courts for various sports. The Center is privately owned by the Indiana Pacers NBA team. It was purchased from Johnathan Byrd in 2017.[2]

Grand Park Events Center

The Grand Park Events Center, which opened in the summer of 2016, is a centerpiece of the Grand Park Sports Campus, one of the largest sporting complexes in the world. The facility features three full-sized professional turf fields, a spectator lounge, retail space, locker facilities, office and meeting space, and administrative offices. It also includes multi-use space for trade shows, live entertainment, conventions and special event programming, including large indoor field sports events in the massive facility.

Grand Park Baseball Complex

The baseball complex features 26 baseball diamonds (8 synthetic, all lighted)

Grand Park Soccer Complex

The soccer complex features 31 soccer fields (7 synthetic turf, 8 lighted). It is the training ground of Indy Eleven.

[1]

[2]

title: Grand Park (Indiana)

question: Where is Grand Park Sports Campus located?

answer: Westfield, Indiana.

question: How many fields does the Grand Park Sports Campus have.

answer: 26 baseball and softball diamonds, 31 multipurpose fields for soccer, football, and lacrosse.

question: Who conceived the project of the Grand Park Sports Campus?

answer: Mayor Andy Cook.

question: When did the Grand Park Sports Campus open?

answer: 2016.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This article is about the Grand Park Sports Campus, a sports complex in Westfield, Indiana.


text:
_THE JUNGLE BOOK_ (1894) is a collection of stories by the English author Rudyard Kipling. Most of the characters are animals such as Shere Khan the tiger and Baloo the bear, though a principal character is the boy or “man-cub” Mowgli, who is raised in the jungle by wolves. The stories are set in a forest in India; one place mentioned repeatedly is “Seonee” (Seoni), in the central state of Madhya Pradesh.

A major theme in the book is abandonment followed by fostering, as in the life of Mowgli, echoing Kipling's own childhood. The theme is echoed in the triumph of protagonists including Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and The White Seal over their enemies, as well as Mowgli's. Another important theme is of law and freedom; the stories are not about animal behaviour, still less about the Darwinian struggle for survival, but about human archetypes in animal form. They teach respect for authority, obedience, and knowing one's place in society with “the law of the jungle”, but the stories also illustrate the freedom to move between different worlds, such as when Mowgli moves between the jungle and the village. Critics have also noted the essential wildness and lawless energies in the stories, reflecting the irresponsible side of human nature.

_The Jungle Book_ has remained popular, partly through its many adaptations for film and other media. Critics such as Swati Singh have noted that even critics wary of Kipling for his supposed imperialism have admired the power of his storytelling.[1] The book has been influential in the scout movement, whose founder, Robert Baden-Powell, was a friend of Kipling's.[2] Percy Grainger composed his _Jungle Book Cycle_ around quotations from the book.

Context

The stories were first published in magazines in 1893–94. The original publications contain illustrations, some by the author's father, John Lockwood Kipling. Rudyard Kipling was born in India and spent the first six years of his childhood there. After about ten years in England, he went back to India and worked there for about six and a half years. These stories were written when Kipling lived in Naulakha, the home he built in Dummerston, Vermont, in the United States.[3] There is evidence that Kipling wrote the collection of stories for his daughter Josephine, who died from pneumonia in 1899, aged 6; a first edition of the book with a handwritten note by the author to his young daughter was discovered at the National Trust's Wimpole Hall in Cambridgeshire, England, in 2010.[4]

Book

Description

The tales in the book (as well as those in _The Second Jungle Book_, which followed in 1895 and includes five further stories about Mowgli) are fables, using animals in an anthropomorphic manner to teach moral lessons. The verses of “The Law of the Jungle”, for example, lay down rules for the safety of individuals, families, and communities. Kipling put in them nearly everything he knew or “heard or dreamed about the Indian jungle”.[5] Other readers have interpreted the work as allegories of the politics and society of the time.[6]

Origins

[Places in India named by Kipling in versions of the stories]

The stories in _The Jungle Book_ were inspired in part by the ancient Indian fable texts such as the _Panchatantra_ and the _Jataka tales_.[7] For example, an older moral-filled mongoose and snake version of the “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi” story by Kipling is found in Book 5 of _Panchatantra_.[8] In a letter to the American author Edward Everett Hale, Kipling wrote,[9]

In a letter written and signed by Kipling in or around 1895, states Alison Flood in _The Guardian_, Kipling confesses to borrowing ideas and stories in the _Jungle Book_: “I am afraid that all that code in its outlines has been manufactured to meet 'the necessities of the case': though a little of it is bodily taken from (Southern) Esquimaux rules for the division of spoils,” Kipling wrote in the letter. “In fact, it is extremely possible that I have helped myself promiscuously but at present cannot remember from whose stories I have stolen.”[10]

Setting

Kipling lived in India as a child, and most of the stories are evidently set there, though it is not entirely clear where. The Kipling Society notes that “Seonee” (Seoni, in the central Indian state of Madhya Pradesh) is mentioned several times; that the “cold lairs” must be in the jungled hills of Chittorgarh; and that the first Mowgli story, “In the Rukh”, is set in a forest reserve somewhere in northern India, south of Simla. “Mowgli's Brothers” was positioned in the Aravalli hills of Rajasthan (northwestern India) in an early manuscript, later changed to Seonee, and Bagheera treks from “Oodeypore” (Udaipur), a journey of reasonable length to Aravalli but a long way from Seoni.[11][12] Seoni has a tropical savanna climate, with a dry and a rainy season. This is drier than a monsoon climate and does not support tropical rainforest.[13] Forested parks and reserves that claim to be associated with the stories include Kanha Tiger Reserve, Madhya Pradesh,[14] and Pench National Park, near Seoni.[15] However, Kipling never visited the area.[16]

Chapters

The book is arranged with a story in each chapter. Each story is followed by a poem that serves as an epigram.

  Story title               Summary                                                                                Epigrammatic poem                                                                    Notes                                                                                Image
  ------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  Mowgli's Brothers         A boy is raised by wolves in the Indian jungle with the help of Baloo the bear and Bagheera the black panther, who teach him the “Law of the Jungle”. Some years later, the wolfpack and Mowgli are threatened by the tiger Shere Khan. Mowgli brings fire, driving off Shere Khan but showing that he is a man and must leave the jungle.                                                                                “Hunting-Song of the Seeonee Pack”                                                   The story has been published as a short book: _Night-Song in the Jungle_.                                                                                [“The tiger's roar filled the cave with thunder.” 1894]
  Kaa's Hunting             During the time Mowgli was with the wolf pack, he is abducted by the Bandar-log monkeys to the ruined city. Baloo and Bagheera set out to rescue him with Kaa the python. Kaa defeats the Bandar-log, frees Mowgli, and hypnotises the monkeys and the other animals with his dance. Mowgli rescues Baloo and Bagheera from the spell.                                                                                “Road Song of the Bandar-Log”                                                                                [_Mowgli made leader of the Bandar-log_ by John Charles Dollman, 1903]
  Tiger! Tiger!             Mowgli returns to the human village and is adopted by Messua and her husband, who believe him to be their long-lost son. Mowgli leads the village boys who herd the village's buffaloes. Shere Khan comes to hunt Mowgli, but he is warned by Gray Brother wolf, and with Akela they find Shere Khan asleep, and stampede the buffaloes to trample Shere Khan to death. Mowgli leaves the village, and goes back to hunt with the wolves until he becomes a man.        “Mowgli's Song”                                                                      The story's title is taken from William Blake's 1794 poem “The Tyger”.                                                                                [_Tiger! Tiger!_ by W. H. Drake, 1894]
  The White Seal            Kotick, a rare white-furred fur seal, sees seals being killed by islanders in the Bering Sea. He decides to find a safe home for his people, and after several years of searching as he comes of age, eventually finds a suitable place. He returns home and persuades the other seals to follow him.                                                                                “Lukannon”                                                                           Many names in the story are Russian, as the Pribilof Islands had been bought (with Alaska) by the United States in 1867, and Kipling had access to books about the islands.[17]   [The White Seal, 1894]
  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi          An English family have just moved to a house in India. They find Rikki-Tikki-Tavi the mongoose flooded out of his burrow. A pair of large cobras, Nag and Nagaina, attempt unsuccessfully to kill him. He hears the cobras plotting to kill the father in the house, and attacks Nag in the bathroom. The sound of the fight attracts the father, who shoots Nag. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi destroys Nagaina's eggs and chases her into her “rat-hole” where he kills her too.   “Darzee's Chaunt”                                                                    This story has been published as a short book.                                                                                [Nag and Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, 1894]
  Toomai of the Elephants   Toomai's father rides Kala Nag the elephant to catch wild elephants in the hills. Toomai comes to help and risks his life throwing a rope up to one of the drivers. His father forbids him to enter the elephant enclosure again. One night he follows the elephant hunters, and is picked up by Kala Nag; he rides into the elephants' meeting place in the jungle, where they dance. On his return he is welcomed by both hunters and elephants.                      “Shiv and the Grasshopper”                                                           This story has been published as a short book, and was the basis of the 1937 film _Elephant Boy_.[18]                                                                             [Toomai at the elephant camp, 1894]
  Her Majesty's Servants    On the night before a British military parade for the Amir of Afghanistan, the army's working animals—mule, camel, horse, bullock, elephant—discuss what they do in battle and how they feel about their work. It is explained to the Afghans that men and animals obey the orders carried down from the Queen.                                                                                “Parade-Song of the Camp Animals” is set to the tunes of several well-known songs.                                                                                [“'Anybody can be forgiven for being scared in the night,' said the Troop-Horse.” 1894]

Characters

[Rikki-Tikki-Tavi pursuing Nagaina by W. H. Drake. First edition, 1894]

Many of the characters (marked *) are named simply for the Hindi names of their species: for example, Baloo is a transliteration of Hindi भालू Bhālū, “bear”. The characters (marked ^) from “The White Seal” are transliterations from the Russian of the Pribilof Islands.

-   Akela * – A wolf
-   Bagheera * – A black panther
-   Baloo * — A bear
-   Bandar-log – A tribe of monkeys
-   Chil * – A kite, in earlier editions called Rann (रण Raṇ, “battle”)
-   Chuchundra * – A muskrat
-   Darzee * – A tailorbird
-   Father Wolf – The father wolf who raised Mowgli as his own cub
-   Grey brother – One of Mother and Father Wolf's cubs
-   Hathi * – An Indian elephant
-   Ikki * – A porcupine
-   Kaa * – A python
-   Karait * – A krait
-   Kotick ^ – A white seal
-   Mang * – A bat
-   Mor * – An Indian peafowl
-   Mowgli – Main character, the young jungle boy
-   Nag * – A male cobra
-   Nagaina * – A female cobra, Nag's mate
-   Raksha – The Mother wolf who raised Mowgli as her own cub
-   Rikki-Tikki-Tavi – A mongoose
-   Sea Catch ^ – A seal and Kotick's father
-   Sea Cow – A (Steller's) sea cow
-   Sea Vitch ^ – A walrus
-   Shere Khan * — A tiger
-   Tabaqui * – A jackal

Illustrations

The early editions were illustrated with drawings in the text by John Lockwood Kipling (Rudyard's father), and the American artists W. H. Drake and Paul Frenzeny.[19]

Editions and translations

The book has appeared in over 500 print editions,[20] and over 100 audiobooks.[21] It has been translated into at least 36 languages.[22]

Themes

[Mowgli, Bagheera, and the wolf pack with Shere Khan's skin. Illustration by W. H. Drake. First edition, 1894]

Abandonment and fostering

Critics such as Harry Ricketts have observed that Kipling returns repeatedly to the theme of the abandoned and fostered child, recalling his own childhood feelings of abandonment. In his view, the enemy, Shere Khan, represents the “malevolent would-be foster-parent” who Mowgli in the end outwits and destroys, just as Kipling as a boy had to face Mrs Holloway in place of his parents. Ricketts writes that in “Mowgli's Brothers”, the hero loses his human parents at the outset, and his wolf fosterers at the conclusion; and Mowgli is again rejected at the end of “Tiger! Tiger!”, but each time is compensated by “a queue of would-be foster-parents” including the wolves, Baloo, Bagheera and Kaa. In Ricketts's view, the power that Mowgli has over all these characters who compete for his affection is part of the book's appeal to children.[23] The historian of India Philip Mason similarly emphasises the Mowgli myth, where the fostered hero, “the odd man out among wolves and men alike”, eventually triumphs over his enemies. Mason notes that both Rikki-Tikki-Tavi and The White Seal do much the same.[24]

Law and freedom

The novelist Marghanita Laski argued that the purpose of the stories was not to teach about animals but to create human archetypes through the animal characters, with lessons of respect for authority. She noted that Kipling was a friend of the founder of the Scout Movement, Robert Baden-Powell, who based the junior scout “Wolf Cubs” on the stories, and that Kipling admired the movement.[25][26] Ricketts wrote that Kipling was obsessed by rules, a theme running throughout the stories and named explicitly as “the law of the jungle”. Part of this, Ricketts supposed, was Mrs Holloway's evangelicalism, suitably transformed. The rules required obedience and “knowing your place”, but also provided social relationships and “freedom to move between different worlds”.[27] Sandra Kemp observed that the law may be highly codified, but that the energies are also lawless, embodying the part of human nature which is “floating, irresponsible and self-absorbed”.[28][29] There is a duality between the two worlds of the village and the jungle, but Mowgli, like Mang the bat, can travel between the two.[30]

The novelist and critic Angus Wilson noted that Kipling's law of the jungle was “far from Darwinian”, since no attacks were allowed at the water-hole, even in drought. In Wilson's view, the popularity of the Mowgli stories is thus not literary but moral: the animals can follow the law easily, but Mowgli has human joys and sorrows, and the burden of making decisions.[31][32] Kipling's biographer, Charles Carrington, argued that the “fables” about Mowgli illustrate truths directly, as successful fables do, through the character of Mowgli himself; through his “kindly mentors”, Bagheera and Baloo; through the repeated failure of the “bully” Shere Khan; through the endless but useless talk of the Bandar-log; and through the law, which makes the jungle “an integrated whole” while enabling Mowgli's brothers to live as the “Free People”.[33]

The academic Jan Montefiore commented on the book's balance of law and freedom that “You don't need to invoke Jacqueline Rose on the adult's dream of the child's innocence or Perry Nodelman's theory of children's literature colonising its readers' minds with a double fantasy of the child as both noble savage and embryo good citizen, to see that the _Jungle Books_ .. give their readers a vicarious experience of adventure both as freedom and as service to a just State”.[34]

Reception

Sayan Mukherjee, writing for the Book Review Circle, calls _The Jungle Book_ “One of the most enjoyable books of my childhood and even in adulthood, highly informative as to the outlook of the British on their 'native population'.”[35]

The academic Jopi Nyman argued in 2001 that the book formed part of the construction of “colonial English national identity”[36] within Kipling's “imperial project”.[37] In Nyman's view, nation, race and class are mapped out in the stories, contributing to “an imagining of Englishness as a site of power and racial superiority.”[38] Nyman suggested that _The Jungle Book_'s monkeys and snakes represent “colonial animals”[39] and “racialized Others”[40] within the Indian jungle, whereas the White Seal promotes “'truly English' identities in the nationalist allegory”[41] of that story.[42]

Swati Singh, in his _Secret History of the Jungle Book_, notes that the tone is like that of Indian folklore, fable-like, and that critics have speculated that the Kipling may have heard similar stories from his Hindu bearer and his Portuguese _ayah_ (nanny) during his childhood in India. Singh observes, too, that Kipling wove “magic and fantasy” into the stories for his daughter Josephine, and that even critics reading Kipling for signs of imperialism could not help admiring the power of his storytelling.[43]

_The Jungle Book_ came to be used as a motivational book by the Cub Scouts, a junior element of the Scouting movement. This use of the book's universe was approved by Kipling at the request of Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the Scouting movement, who had originally asked for the author's permission for the use of the _Memory Game_ from _Kim_ in his scheme to develop the morale and fitness of working-class youths in cities. Akela, the head wolf in _The Jungle Book_, has become a senior figure in the movement; the name is traditionally adopted by the leader of each Cub Scout pack.[44]

Adaptations

thumb|upright=1.3 |Protagonists from the Soviet animated adaptation, “Маугли” (_Mowgli_), on a Russian postage stamp

_The Jungle Book_ has been adapted many times in a wide variety of media. In literature, Robert Heinlein wrote the Hugo Award-winning science fiction novel, _Stranger in a Strange Land_ (1961), when his wife, Virginia, suggested a new version of _The Jungle Book_, but with a child raised by Martians instead of wolves.[45][46] Neil Gaiman's _The Graveyard Book_ (2008) is inspired by _The Jungle Book_. It follows a baby boy who is found and brought up by the dead in a cemetery. It has many scenes that can be traced to Kipling, but with Gaiman's dark twist.[47]

In music, the _Jungle Book_ cycle (1958) was written by the Australian composer Percy Grainger, an avid Kipling reader. It consists of quotations from the book, set as choral pieces and solos for soprano, tenor or baritone.[48] The French composer Charles Koechlin wrote several symphonic works inspired by the book. BBC Radio broadcast an adaptation on 14 February 1994 and released it as a BBC audiobook in 2008.[49] It was directed by Chris Wallis with Nisha K. Nayar as Mowgli, Eartha Kitt as Kaa, Freddie Jones as Baloo, and Jonathan Hyde as Bagheera. The music was by John Mayer.[50]

The book's text has been adapted for younger readers with comic book adaptations such as DC Comics Elseworlds' story, “Superman: The Feral Man of Steel”, in which an infant Superman is raised by wolves, while Bagheera, Akela, and Shere Khan make appearances.[51] Marvel Comics published several adaptations by Mary Jo Duffy and Gil Kane in the pages of _Marvel Fanfare_ (vol. 1). These were collected in the one-shot _Marvel Illustrated: The Jungle Book_ (2007).[52] Bill Willingham's comic book series, _Fables_, features _The Jungle Book_{{'}}s Mowgli, Bagheera, and Shere Khan.[53]

_Manga Classics: The Jungle Book_ was published by UDON Entertainment's Manga Classics imprint in June 2017.[54]

Many films have been based on one or another of Kipling's stories, including _Elephant Boy_ (1937),[55] Chuck Jones's made for-TV cartoons _Rikki-Tikki-Tavi_ (1975),[56] _The White Seal_ (1975),[57] and _Mowgli's Brothers_ (1976).[58] Many films, too, have been made of the book as a whole, such as Zoltán Korda's 1942 film,[59] Disney's 1967 animated film[60] and its 2016 remake,[61] the (Mowgli) published as _Adventures of Mowgli_ in the US, an animation released between 1967 and 1971, and combined into a single 96-minute feature film in 1973,[62] and the 1989 Italian-Japanese anime _The Jungle Book: Adventures of Mogwli_.[63]

Stuart Paterson wrote a stage adaptation in 2004, first produced by the Birmingham Old Rep in 2004 and published in 2007 by Nick Hern Books.[64]

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[54] Manga Classics: The Jungle Book (2017) UDON Entertainment

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[64]

title: The Jungle Book

question: What was Kipling's motive(s) for writing The Jungle Book?

answer: Unknown. However, it can be noted that most of the stories in the book mirrored his life experiences as a child, exploring themes of abandonment and fostering.

question: How original is The Jungle Book?

answer: Not very original. According to Kipling, a lot of the stories in the book were stolen, though he cannot remember exactly where he learned some of them.


text:
_ANACITHARA QUERNA_ is a species of sea snail, a marine gastropod mollusk in the family Horaiclavidae.[1]

Description

(Original description) The length of the shell attains 5.5 mm, its diameter 2 mm. A thickened pale brown or straw-coloured shell with few ribs, the number only extending to nine on the body whorl. Altogether it is seven-whorled, two of these being apical. The outer lip is thickened. No trace of sinus is perceptible. The columella is straight. The siphonal canal is very short.[2]

Distribution

This marine species occurs off Iran

[1] WoRMS (2015). _Anacithara querna_ (Melvill, 1910). In: MolluscaBase (2015). Accessed through: World Register of Marine Species at http://www.marinespecies.org/aphia.php?p=taxdetails&id=432963 on 12 December 2016

[2] Melvill, J.C. (1910). “Descriptions of Twenty-nine Species of Marine Mollusca from the Persian Gulf, Gulf of Oman, and North Arabian Sea”. _The Annals and Magazine of Natural History: Including Zoology, Botany, and Geology_. 8th ser. vol. VI

title: Anacithara querna

question: Which family does Anacithara Querna belong to?

answer: It belongs to the family, Horaiclavidae.

question: Where does this marine species live?

answer: It lives off Iran, according to the article.

question: What are the measurements of the length of the snail's shells?

answer: The snail's shell has a length of 5.5 mm and has a diameter of 2 mm.

question: What are Anacithara Querna?

answer: They are a species of sea snail, or can also be called a marine gastropod mollusk.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This article describes a species of sea snail, Anacithrara Querna, and provides a brief description of how it looks.