text:
The choice was simple. I could pull the trigger, one shot, and I could save my family. Everyone but her, the only one I truly loved. Were they worth it? Were those who pushed me down, made me a depressed lonely soul worth saving just so I could save the few I love? I checked the time on my watch. 3:48. 12 minutes left. I clicked off the safety, and walked up to her.

"I want you to shoot, honey. I'll be with you up there, someday. I'm not worth all of their lives. Not all of them. I love you, but you have to let go," she whispered to me. I started sobbing, and sat there for what seemed like only a minute, just to spend her last moments of her life with her. I checked the watch again. 3:55. I was running out of time, I had to choose. I was torn, and no decision would leave me happy. I paced around the room, trying to find a solution, to make things right, to not have to make the choice that would eventually kill me either way, that was all my fault in the first place. It was 3:58. 2 more minutes. I pulled the gun up to her head.

"I'm sorry for this. I'm sorry for everything, for all of this. It wasn't your fault. I love you."

I felt the trigger for awhile, and just thought. Thought about what I was going to do, thought about what I could do. I took the gun, put it up to her head, and slowly pushed down on the trigger.

title: A short story I wrote in 10 minutes. Constructive Criticism is great!

question: Why does the narrator have to choose between the lives of his family and that of his love?

answer: It's not stated in the story.

question: Explain the reasoning of the man's girlfriend.

answer: She thinks too many people need to die for her to live. She thinks all of them combined must outweigh her.

question: Why does the narrator have difficulty in deciding?

answer: His family let him down in some ways. However, they are still so many people, and he would regret their deaths. His girlfriend, whom he loves - unlike his family, thinks so many people's lives must outweigh hers.

question: Who are the major characters in the story?

answer: The narrator and his girlfriend are the two characters that affect the outcome of events.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator has to choose between the lives of his family and that of his love. He thinks about how his family let him down, but his girlfriend manages to convince him that the lives of so many people are more important than hers. He puts the gun to her head and squeezes the trigger.


split: train

text:
Everything You Need to Know About Federal Tax Incentives for Solar Energy

Thursday, Aug 18 2016

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WASHINGTON, D.C. -- Often referred to as the "premier tax manual for the solar industry," those interested in solar tax and finance issues now have an entirely new edition at their disposal. For the first time in three years, the Solar Energy Industries Association (SEIA) has released an updated Guide to Federal Tax Incentives for Solar Energy.

Developed with the help of Keith Martin at Chadbourne & Parke, LLP, version 8.0 of this widely-used resource contains valuable information about qualifying for the solar investment tax credit (ITC), how commence construction works, depreciation bonuses, financing issues and more.

"This comprehensive document really gives SEIA members a leg up when it comes to navigating the tricky terrain of taxes," said Tom Kimbis, SEIA's interim president and general counsel. "With the recent extension of the ITC, over the next five years the solar industry is expected to nearly triple in size. This resource will help solar companies stay up to speed on how policies born in Congress and across America's state capitals impact their business."

Continuing with this theme, the popular SEIA Finance and Tax Seminar will be returning this December. This is the solar industry conference dedicated exclusively to the most impactful accounting, finance and tax issues facing the solar industry.

To hear from key industry experts and network with financiers, attorneys, and developers currently working in this space go to http://www.cvent.com/events/seia-finance-tax-seminar-fall-2016/event-summary-9613883251a0416e9ba8cabb825e26ea.aspx to get your tickets today.

###

ABOUT SEIA®:

Celebrating its 42nd anniversary in 2016, the Solar Energy Industries Association® is the national trade association of the U.S. solar energy industry. Through advocacy and education, SEIA® is building a strong solar industry to power America. As the voice of the industry, SEIA works with its 1,000 member companies to champion the use of clean, affordable solar in America by expanding markets, removing market barriers, strengthening the industry and educating the public on the benefits of solar energy. Visit SEIA online at www.seia.org.

MEDIA CONTACT:

Alex Hobson, SEIA Senior Communications Manager, ahobson@seia.org (202) 556-2886

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question: What has been released for the first time?

answer: A Guide to Federal Tax Incentives for Solar Energy.

question: What celebrated its 42nd anniversary in 2016?

answer: The Solar Energy Industries Association.

question: What happens every 90 seconds in the Unites States?

answer: A new customer goes solar.

question: What will be returning in December?

answer: The popular SEIA Finance and Tax Seminar.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The article summarizes new tax incentives to encourage the adoption of solar energy, and discusses other financial mechanisms used by the Solar Energy Industries Association to encourage its development.


text:
Justice (C) 2012-2013 Victor D. Lopez
_______________________________

Time: The all too near future
Place: A courtroom
Setting: Final sentencing for the last remaining capital offense on the books of an apparently kinder, gentler more just world where equality is no longer a mere aspiration.
_____________________________

Justice

The prisoner stared impassively into the camera. The bright lights causing beads of sweat to form above his eyes and forcing him to squint, his perspiration-soaked thinning hair flattened unflatteringly against his forehead. No sound could be heard other than the faint hum of the air conditioning whose airflow was directed from the high ceiling above the high seats of the three judge panel, towards the three judged, keeping their immediate area comfortably cool. The camera trained on them remained a respectful distance away, and no harsh lights illuminated their somber countenances.

All three judges stared at the camera showing no emotion, their hands folded in front of them on the surface of their capacious bench on top of three equal, neat stacks of paper piled before each judge. Everywhere on earth citizens watched the unfolding drama over the neural net that provided a fully immersive experience indistinguishable from reality, effectively placing every citizen of earth in the courtroom as the Chief Judge began to speak in a deep, resonant, clear voice.

“The evidence against you has been examined. This tribunal finds you guilty of the charges against you by a unanimous vote. Have you anything you would like to add before we pass sentence?”

The camera changed back to the prisoner. The lights brightens around him and the heat rises perceptibly, adding fresh fuel to the trickle of sweat flowing down his flushed face, causing a bead of sweat to form at the end of his nose that he cannot swat away because his wrists are restrained by metal bands at the armrests of his chair, outside the viewing range of the camera which has a tight zoom on his face. “I am guilty of no crime,” the prisoner spoke in a low voice full of palpable weariness and resignation.

“You are guilty of the most heinous of crimes,” the Chief Judge contradicted. "That is not open to debate. This is your final chance to make what amends you may to those whom you have harmed through your selfish, deviant act. It will have no effect on the sentencing by this Court.”

“But I have done nothing wrong,” the man emphatically repeated, the perspiration rolling down his neck deepening the growing ring of sweat absorbed by his bright orange jumper, staining a dark collar of moisture around his neck.

“Silence!” the Chief Judge hissed. “The record will show that the prisoner is unrepentant. This Court finds that the prisoner willfully, maliciously and without justification removed his neural connector with the purpose and effect of disconnecting himself from the Net. We further find that the motivating factor for this egregious, willful and repugnant crime was the attempt to abandon the Common Consciousness and establish his individuality separate and apart from the Communal Mind. We further find that the subject is in full possession of his legal faculties and capable of understanding the criminal nature of his acts, and, perhaps most tragically, that he fails to see the enormity of his crime.” The Chief Justice faltered slightly, delivering the final words of the Courts sentence with a slight tremor in his voice. After stopping a moment to compose himself as his learned colleagues looked on impassively, he continued. “It is, therefore, the judgment of this Court that you will forever remain disconnected from the nets from this day forward.”

Upon hearing the Judge’s words the prisoner’s eyes opened wider, attempting to digest their import. Could it be? Could he finally be allowed the freedom to regain his humanity? The unalienable right to be an individual for the first time in his life? The opportunity to live in a world in which he could have original thoughts, genuine emotions, and the opportunity to be different from everyone else? The joy in these words nearly made him faint with relief and unbridled joy, allowing him for the first time in his life the possibility of hope as tears welled in his eyes. He found he could not speak, could not express even the simple words “thank you” to the Court. It was as though he were emerging from a life-long nightmare, as if . . .

“The prisoner’s IP address, 999.999.999.999, shall be erased from the Nets,” the Judge continued as the prisoner’s tears flowed freely. His existence shall be forever stricken from the Collective Consciousness lest it germinate there and once again grow sedition in our midst.” The prisoner wept openly now while smiling broadly. “The death sentence for this most heinous of crimes is hereby commuted so that the prisoner may be allowed the individuality he craved for the rest of his natural life, devoid of the comfort of humanity or the distracting influences of life.”

The Chief Judge then paused and took a deep breath. “It is further ordered by this Court that the prisoner shall have his eyes, eardrums, tongue and olfactory organs surgically removed that he may not see, hear, taste, or speak with any other human being for the rest of his natural life. thereafter, he is to be remanded to a hospital where he shall be restrained to a bed and tended to by robotic life support aids. The sentence of this Court shall be carried out immediately and shall be witnessed by all Citizens of Earth as partial reparation for this most heinous of crimes against humanity.”

The prisoner’s screams lasted only a few moments as an anesthetic was administered and the cameras were re-arranged in preparation for justice to be carried out.

__________________________
Justice - from Book of Dreams 2e: Science Fiction and Speculative Fiction Short Stories (c) 2013 by Victor D. Lopez.

title: Justice

question: Explain the crime that the protagonist committed and why it is so "heinous."

answer: The protagonist is accused of removing his neural connector that links him with the rest of the population of the world. The judge believes that this act is particularly heinous because it was an attempt to establish an individuality that is separate from the "Communal Mind."

question: Summarize the setting of the story.

answer: The setting of the story is a courtroom. The society in which the passage is set in is a dystopic future in which every member of the human population is hooked up to a neural network and operates on a "Communal Mind." Anything can be immediately be broadcast to any person on Earth.

question: Explain the twist at the end of the story.

answer: As the judge speaks, protagonist believes that he will be released from the neural net and be free to become his own individual self outside of the Communal Mind. However, the judge tells the protagonist that all of his sensory organs will be removed and that he will be restrained to a bed for the remainder of his life, thereby ruining any chance of the protagonist being able to experience life outside of the Communal Mind.

question: Summarize the negative events of the story.

answer: The protagonist is found guilty of a crime against humanity. The court also orders that the protagonist's sensory organs be removed. He will then be confined to a hospital bed for the remainder of his life.


text:
The day was very sunny, not that I like the sun much, and the girl, whose name was Becky, was simply walking down a very dusty road. As she made her way down the road, she spotted a most beautiful cupcake, but it was not like any cupcake she had seen before, for it was blue and glittery, an edible type of glittery, not the crafting kind. Becky slowly walked up to the cupcake, not too slow and not too fast so as not to alert her neighbors, whose names were George and Harriet Franklin. They were very strange people, avoiding regular humans at all cost. Becky got quite close to the cupcake, marveling at how wondrous a cupcake it was. Most cupcakes are wondrous things, but this one was exceptionally so. Since she was quite close to the windowsill, she could hear inside the house.

"Oh George, I am most glad we traded our children for that wondrous magic blue cupcake that is unguarded and sitting on our windowsill."

"I am most glad as well, for with that cupcake we can take over the entire world."

Once she had heard these things, Becky was most quick to snatch the cupcake from the windowsill. She planned not to take over the world, but more simply just take over her town, for it was a mighty big town full of very kind people, and she wished to be in charge of them all.

Becky ran home, and got very sweaty, and once she got home, she ran into her rather small room, it was not an actual room, you see, it was a closet, for Becky's parents had died when she was young and she was made to live with her Aunt Peggy and Uncle Vernon, both of whom did not like Becky, for they were very strange people, you see, very strange indeed, for they did not like Becky for she was not their actual child, their actual child being named Aaron. Anyways, once she got in her room/closet, she sat down on her bed, which wasn't much of a bed, more like two pillows stacked atop each other, and she closely observed the cupcake. She cautiously put her tongue on the cupcake and tasted it. It was absolutely delicious, the best cupcake she had ever tasted! And she had tasted some very good cupcakes in her lifetime. The cupcake was so good, in fact, that she stuffed the entire thing in her mouth, scarfing it down quickly, for she was a starving child and was always hungry.

The cupcake, having been stolen, was not to cause good effects for Becky, for the wizard that had enchanted the cupcake had put a curse on it for anyone who ate it that was not George or Harriet Franklin. Poor Becky had no idea until she suddenly started to feel dizzy and confused, and so she tried very hard to open her door, but she could not get the door opened for she had locked it. Her airway started to close up and she saw a bright light....

Weeks have passed since the cupcake was stolen, and it was just yesterday that her Aunt Peggy and Uncle Vernon discovered her dead body in the closet. They have not mourned for her, and never will, for they did not like Becky, and were slightly happy to see her gone.

title: The Magic Cupcake

question: Why does Becky steal the cupcake?

answer: It looks mesmerizing, and she's hungry. She also hears about its power that would enable its owners to take over the world, and she wants to take over her town.

question: Summarize the features of the cupcake.

answer: It's a magic cupcake that holds enough power for its owners to take over the world. It's also cursed for its eaters who aren't its owners.

question: Who is Becky?

answer: She's an orphan living with her aunt and uncle, who don't like her.

question: What makes the Franklins so strange?

answer: They avoid contact with people, have a magic cupcake that would allow them to take over the world, and they talk about it explicitly as if they want to be heard from the open window.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: Becky, an orphan living in her aunt and uncle's closet, isn't liked very much. One day, she comes across a marvelous-looking cupcake on the windowsill of Franklins, who are strange people that avoid contact with everyone. She sneaks toward it and overhears that the Franklins exchanged their children for the cupcake, which can enable them to take over the world. Becky steals it, thinking of just overtaking her town. She eats it in her closet, but the cupcake is cursed for its non-owners to eat. Her body gets discovered only weeks later.


text:
Hello there! My name is Michael J. Orzechowski and I would like to submit a short story to Backhand Stories. I have finished publishing my first full collection of work entitled "This City is Dead to Me: Tales From the Land of Pleasant Living", along with other plays and novellas. I typically write darker stories with a twist and am heavily influenced by the work of E.A. Poe [which I find fitting, seeing as how I live in the wonderful city of Baltimore]. I hope you would consider this for your blog and, if you enjoy it and it gets positive feedback, I would love to share more!

I have the story copied out below and I will also attach it in a .doc file as well. Let me know if you need any more information about me, the story or anything else in between!

Thank you again
Michael J. Orzechowski

Clunk

By: Michael Orzechowski

The gallows finally came into sight. The rain was falling lightly and Glenda could feel it trickle on her forehead. She wanted nothing more than to wipe her brow, but the ropes binding her hands kept her arms firm against her side. Closing her eyes to keep the sweat from rolling in, she tripped on the cobblestone beneath her feet. As she landed on her knees, the crowd exploded in cheers. Glenda opened her eyes and searched for any sign of remorse; any preservation of her dignity. There was none.

            Glenda made her way up the creaky stairs of the platform as the ranting and raving of the audience was pushed to a halt by a short, bald man in a long brown robe. Waving his hands high in the air, he drew the attention of every man, woman and child who had traveled to the far side of town for a hanging.

            “Good people of the state!” he began, muffling the voices of the last few citizens, standing at the base of the wooden structure, “We gather here today in triumph! We gather here today in victory! We gather here to put an end to the heartache and to find closure from the events of the past few months. Here before you stands Glenda Handell. She is convicted on three counts of kidnapping and the murder of Emily, George and Gretchen Libell. She has been found guilty and been sentenced, by the court, to hang from the neck until she is dead. We only hope that God shows her the mercy that she was unable to show those poor children.”

            The crowd’s voices lifted again in a fleet of booing and screaming. The town had looked forward to this day since the three children had gone missing over two months ago. The one who looked forward to it the most, however, was James Crandon, the leader of the search. Originally a traveler from New York City, he had travelled all the way to Decker in hopes of opening his own business, but had since become the sheriff of the small town. He was one of the first out-of-state sheriffs the state of Virginia had ever had, and the townsfolk adored him.

            James was a tall man, dark in complexion with bright green eyes. His hair flowed over his shoulders, which swept back to reveal the lapels of his finely tailored jacket. He stood at the base of the gallows, biting his bottom lip in anticipation. Glenda moved her eyes over to his and shook her head. James did nothing but smile.

            Glenda knew the truth.

            It was a beautiful day out in the fields. The sun was radiating a warm glow and the trees danced in the light breeze that blew in from the north. The town was alive with workers and artists, walking the streets and making their living. Glenda stepped out of her small home and onto the dusty road. She could hear the children playing in the crop fields across the way and decided to go sit on the fence to watch them. She could see the blue on their shirts peering through the cornstalks as they bolted from side to side.

            “Tag!” one of the children would yell. “You’re it!”

            “Am not!” the other would cry, running away from the other children.

            Glenda chuckled as the kids argued back and forth. She thought to herself all the games she played when she was their age. She missed those times so dearly. She jumped off the fence and decided that she was going to join the children, despite the fact that she was still wearing her cooking gown and soft shoes.

            The fallen stalk crunched under her feet as she walked towards the children, her steps growing faster and faster until she was in a light jog. She finally reached the middle of the field to find that the children had left. Glenda circled the field, but the three where nowhere to be found.

            Glenda began to feel a warmth under her feet. The strange sensations struck fear into her heart as she looked down at her toes and wiggled them, feeling the thin, damp covering of her shoes.

Crimson.

            Glenda covered her face in horror and saw a trail of red leading to the back of the crop field. Her feet reluctantly pulled her towards the trail as tears rolled down her face. She stepped ever-so-carefully, terrified to know what was at the other end. The trail led her to an old shack in the backwoods. Her hand shook as she stretched it out to the door. The hinges squealed as she gave it a small shove and peered inside. What she saw she knew would never leave her eyes. There, standing over three motionless children, was James.

            Glenda turned and ran.

            “Ladies and gentlemen!” the man in the robe continued. “It saddens me to have to watch such a young, pretty girl like this fall into the grasps of the devil. However, the crimes you have committed are beyond that which is forgivable here on Earth. Ms. Handell, have you any words to say before you meet your fate?

            Glenda stood silent.

            James spoke up from the crowd. “The girl’s one of them mutes, Reverend. Can’t say a God damn thing if she tried.”

            Glenda hung her head in shame.

            “But worry not, Sir, I assure you, she is the culprit. I saw her do it with my own two eyes. It took me a while to track her down, but I got her. Oh, I got her.”

            The reverend stepped up to Glenda, placing a hood over her head and began whispering a prayer into her ear. Her knees shook violently as she made her way towards the noose. Glenda felt the rope fall over her nose and chin as the reverend pulled it tight to her throat. The crowd stood in awe as the trapdoor opened with a loud clunk.

title: Clunk

question: Summarize the crime that Glenda is being tried for.

answer: Glenda is being tried for three counts of kidnapping and the murder of Emily, George, and Gretchen Libell. The court has found her guilty and she is to be hung from the neck until she is dead. The town has been waiting for this day since the notice of the missing children occurred two months ago.

question: Summarize the biggest plot twist of the story.

answer: The biggest plot twist of the story is when Glenda is known to not be the actual killer, and James is. The story describes how Glenda runs over to an old shack in the backwoods and sees James standing over three motionless children. James speaks from the crowd and says that the girl is a mute and she won't say anything if she is tried.

question: Summarize why Glenda did not defend herself and took the accusation and blame placed at her.

question: Summarize Glenda's emotions when she realized the children were missing.

answer: Glenda was having a good time with the children and taking care of them while playing with them. She could not find the children as she circled the field. Glenda felt a warmth under her feet and saw a trail of red and her heart was struck with fear. She went to the old shack in the backwoods and saw the three children dead and was shocked and full of fear. She ran away, and when she was being tried for the death of the children, she felt nothing but fear.


text:
[Sanxiang noodle with pig oviduct] [Sanxiang noodle roast pork] SANXIANG NOODLE () is one of the famous local food of Zhongshan city, Guangdong province, China. It has a history of more than 200 years. Because of the special recipe and techniques, the noodle is round and stretchy, which is similar to Guiling noodle, another well-known noodle of China. There are many different types of sanxiang noodle according to people’s favor. People usually eat it with the company of meat, chicken, vegetables, roast pork, pork liver and so on. It can boiled as well as fryed.[1]

History

[Sanxiang noodle with beef] Sanxiang noodle has a history of more than 200 years. It originated from a small village in a town called Baishihuang (“白石环”). The noodle is majorly made by glutinous rice. When the ancestor in Baishihuang was making noodle, they used spring water from the mountain. Whenever the festivals came, the local people celebrated them with this special food. In lunar July 14, everybody in the village ate this special noodle for breakfast and lunch. It is said that this kind of noodle symbolizes good luck because its length and shape. Since the 1980s, the food department of the city has built factories for exporting Sanxiang noodle. Thanks for this, Sanxiang noodle has become one of the five famous brands of noodle in Guangdong province.[2]

Preparation

Traditional

About 150 years ago, the material of Sangxiang noodle is rice, especially overnight rice. People at that time were struggling to make their ends meet. Therefore, they would not waste any food even the leftovers. Living in such situation, people were very creative in making good use of overnight rice. They put it under the sun which dried the water out of the rice. Then they ground them into powder. With fresh and sweet fountain water, they made the powder into a dough. They kneaded the dough skillfully and carefully made it into slim noodles.

Modern

Nowadays, the traditional methods of making Sanxiang noodles are rarely used because of the huge demand of the market and the development of technology. Machines that make Sanxiang noodles have been vastly applied. Besides, the recipes of making Sanxiang noodles has also been updated because of the diversity of food and people’s appetite.[3]

[1] 中山三乡美食三乡濑粉 梧桐子家乡区县文化网站 . 2014-05-29 . [2014-5-29]

[2]

[3] 三乡濑粉　去哪儿 聪明你你的旅行

title: Sanxiang noodle

question: How are Sanxiang noodles cooked?

answer: It can be boiled or fryed.

question: What is the origin of the Sanxiang noodle?

answer: The villagers would dry leftover rice under the sun and smash it into powder before wetting it to form the Sanxiang dough.

question: What cultural meaning did Sanxiang noodle have?

answer: It was a special festival food. It is said that this noodle, because of its size and shape, symbolizes good luck.

question: What differences are there between the modern way of making Sanxiang noodles and the traditional way?

answer: While the article only says machines are used now, we can be sure that the old method is very different. Because it was made from leftover rice. They would dry it under the sun, powderize it, and wet it to make the dough.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Sanxiang noodle is one of the most famous local food of Zhongshan City, Guangdong province, China. It is round and stretchy, and there are many flavors. It's consumed with meat, chicken, vegetables, port, etc. Its history dates back 200 years when the villagers would dry overnight rice and smash it into powder to form the Sanxiang dough. While the old method worked well for not wasting food, the current demand for it requires factories and machining.


text:
The River
Since I was young I had always found closure in the river next to my home.  I would always go and camp by the riverside whenever I had the chance.  The feeling was like no other to get away from the business of life and relax in the stillness that nature had to offer.
I recall one time I went camping.  The day started off like every other day, I woke up in my one man tent to the comfort of my Colman sleeping bag.  The crisp, morning air scorched my nostrils as I slowly rose from my slumber.  I exited my tent and stood still in my camp listening to the slow, rhythmic splashes of the river.  The sound put my mind into a trance as I tried to shake the sleepiness that the morning brings.  While standing still I heard the giggling of a group of girls.  An early morning tubing brigade was in the making.  One could tell just by looking at this group that this was not their first time around the bend.  There were about four of them, each with their individual coolers that were probably not filled with pop and bottled water.
Knowing the history of the Crow Wing River I assumed that these girls were going to slowly float down to the bridge trying to catch an early morning buzz.  With each empty beer they would gossip about boys and try to one up each other with their “personal” experiences.  I had to chuckle softly to myself, thinking of what those girls were going to talk about, and knowing that I was going to join them on the river in the hours to come.
I turned my back to the river and headed for my cooler, trying to find something to cure my morning hunger.  I opened the lid and found six beers, a loaf of wheat bread, some venison steaks, and a freezer bag of premade pancakes.  I pulled out the pancakes and opened the bag. A brief smell of stale bread brushed my nose, but I was too hungry to care.  I sat in my folding chair as I ate my breakfast.  While I sat and ate, I listened to the music of the woods.  The birds were singing their good morning song, the trees creaking to the light wind that wisped over the land.  I ate half of the bag of pancakes and threw the rest into the woods so the birds could have breakfast as well.
I started to clean up my camp a bit and get ready for the day’s activities.  I had planned on tubing the river that day, and that is what I was going to do.  I retrieved my tube from the back of my car and took out the cold Bud Light’s that were in my cooler.  Being only sixteen at the time I was at risk of getting caught, but the area was so remote that there was only a slight chance.  I made my way down to the river, slowly wading in to check the water.  The water was cold, but not shockingly cold.  I was only knee deep in the water and I threw my tube in.  With beer in hand I submerged my body underneath the water.  There was a momentary pain in my trunks, but it went away fast as my whole body was chilled.  I came up next to my tube and climbed in.  The sun was beaming down on my body and it felt good on my freshly chilled skin.  I started rowing with my hands trying to find the right spot in the river where I could just sit and let the current do all the work.
 I made my way down the river, sipping on my beer and lost in my thoughts.  My mind started running with all of my life’s stresses, school, grades, football and girls.  I, not knowingly, entered the first of many bends in the river and became stuck on the edge.  On one side there was a forest filled with brush and on the other was a small meadow where deer were known to bed.  I was brought back from my thoughts as I was stuck for a short while.  When I looked up I was presented with a picturesque scene.  A faun was jumping around in the meadow, happy to be alive.  I could tell it was young from the spots it still had.  The faun seemed to have not a care in the world, rolling in the grass that grew thick in the meadow.  I slowly pushed off from the shore, still looking at this being full of life.  I quietly passed by the faun, yet midway through I had to cough.  The noise shook the little deer and its ears perked up.  The faun found my position in the river and I froze solid, trying not to make it run away. We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.  As I slowly moved with the river I lost contact with the faun, but heard it resume frolicking in its meadow.
I started to think of the faun, how it didn’t scare when it saw me, how it found me nonthreatening and how its will to play was greater than its will to run.  I pondered our meeting while the river swept me away.  The faun was stricken with fear when it saw me, yet it overcame that fear so it could play and be happy.  I was transfixed by this topic until the river brought me to a group of five children; all of them not older then thirteen.  They were swinging from a rope tied onto a tree that grew over the river.  They were taking turns grabbing onto the rope and swinging into the water.  Nothing could break their happiness.  They were laughing as each one hit the water and came up with a huge grin.  As I watched I thought how lucky they were, to be young and not care about the stresses that I had to endure.  All they knew was that swinging off the rope into the river was fun and that is all they needed to know.
I made my way farther down the river still thinking about the faun and the children when I came across a tree that had fallen into the river.  I put my hands in the water and maneuvered around the fallen tree.  As I passed I started wondering how that could be, how the tree was so tall and scraping the sky one day and the next it was dead in the water.  The idea hit me that all trees do is stay stationary in one spot all of their life, waiting for death to fall upon them.  They wait and watch as the world around them bustles with life, not able to do anything about it.  They wait for their roots to give out and just the right amount of wind to push them over.  All they can do is sit and wait for their demise.
The current then took me farther down the river and I could see my destination.  My destination was Mary Brown Bridge.  The bridge was covered in graffiti from each graduating class of the surrounding schools.  As I came closer I could hear the slurred yelling from the group of girls that left before me.  They were standing on the side of the bridge jumping into the river like it was their job.  After each one would jump they would whoop and holler, while they took another chug of beer.  I made it to the bank of the bridge and slowly rose from my tube, I didn’t realize how much I had actually drunk on the river, and I stumbled my way up onto the bridge.  The girls noticed my presence and beckoned me to join them in their end of float fun.  As I walked to the side of the bridge fear overcame my body.  The risk of drowning subdued me from jumping as I placed my hands on the wall and looked down at the water.  The river was high this year so the current was really strong, especially under the bridge.
My legs started to buckle in fear as the girls provoked me to jump.  I started thinking about the children that didn’t care if they got hurt jumping into the river; they were having too much fun.  I thought of the faun and how it overcame its fear so it could frolic around, not caring who was watching.  I thought about how the tree stood still its whole life, and then died without any accomplishments, how it was alive one day and gone the next.  The risk of drowning started to die down and courage arose within me.  Life is too short to not take risks, to not have fun.  I then got up on the edge of the bridge, the girls started to cheer, and I jumped.

title: I wrote this awhile back, hope you guys like it.

question: Why did the narrator find closure in the riverside?

answer: Information can't be found.

question: Why would the narrator join the girls?

answer: Information can't be found.

question: Why was the narrator so intrigued by the faun?

answer: He was intrigued by how the faun overcame its fear of the narrator and continued jumping through the woods to have fun.

question: Why was the narrator so fascinated by the children?

answer: He was fascinated by how the children weren't worried about falling into the river because they were too busy having fun.

question: What did the fallen tree represent to the narrator?

answer: The tree represented a lack of courage. The narrator wishes they do not end up like the tree, just staying still without any accomplishments.

question: What motivated the narrator to make the jump?

answer: He thought about the faun and the children who did not let fear stop them from enjoying the moment.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator takes a stroll through the woods near the riverside. He comes across a faun, that was initially afraid of him. The narrator is fascinated by how fearless became, and how happy it was jumping around. The faun leads him to a group of children, happily swinging over the river. Eventually, the drunk narrator tries to jump across the river to get to a group of girls he'd spotted earlier. He builds up his courage by reminding himself of how courageous the faun and the children were and how life is too short not to take risks.


text:
This is just the first bit of a story I wrote for an intro to electrical engineering class.  Huzzah!

I wake up at the crack of 4pm every day for a vigorous workout regimen of trying to vomit the shame out of my body and watching Teletubbies reruns.  Then, I remember that cyborgs can’t vomit, and I haven’t paid the cable bill in three months, so the only form of entertainment I get is looking for rats in my apartment and throwing them out of the window.  On a normal day, I might crawl back into bed and shut off my audio/visual receptors for another couple of hours, but my in-eye interface opens up my calendar for today.  Looks like I’ve got a client in half an hour.  Better find a clean shirt.
	As soon as I finish putting on my Hawaiian button up with hardly any stains on it, there’s a knock at the door.  Not the standard three-knock shindig, but a more aggressive than usual intro to “Shave and a Haircut.”  Leaving off those last two knocks is supposed to make me rush to the door to usher them in, but it only serves in making every micrometer of my cybernetic thought processors overheat and lower in efficiency, something humans call “hate.”  It happens all too often with me.  I’m going to not have a good time with this job.  I get the door anyway.
	“Come in.  Don’t touch any of the furniture; I’m pretty sure it’s growing some type of fungus.”  It’s not actually growing anything, but I tell every client this because it’s my apartment and I’ll be damned if I’m having strangers come in and touch all of my stuff.
	“Uh, okay.  Should I just stand then?”  The dame walks in with a look on her face like she’s better than me, but with the posture and grace like she has polio.  I shouldn’t have answered the door.
	“I don’t care if you sit on the floor, do a handstand, or just leave.  Although frankly, it would be pretty impressive to see you get that fat center of gravity over your fat stupid face.  What do you want?”  The dame wasn’t even overweight, but just like in high school, if you put them down enough, they’ll put out more.  Or in the case, pay more.
	“I hear you’re Jake Bullet.  I hear you’re the meanest private dick this side of the pond, and you have what it takes to get the job done.”  The dame was easily six feet tall and the voice coming out of her sounded like a grizzled ex-con.  I could almost see her five o’clock shadow.
	“Lady, when you moonlight like I do, you don’t use words like “private” and “dick” so close together unless you got the green to throw down.  Now tell me what the job is, Golden Girls is on soon.”
	“It’s my husband, Jake.  Every night he goes out, and I don’t see him again until morning, right before he leaves for work at the energy plant!  I think he’s cheating on me, with prostitutes no less!  I checked our bank statement from last month, and, well. . .”  Her optical moisture ports starts spouting like the zits on an eighth grader.  Humans can just be so illogical.  That moisture could be used for a lot of other things, like spitting on the homeless (one of my favorite Sunday past times), or sweating for thirty minutes on the treadmill.  Her story was boring me, so I started checking her out with my peripheral scanners, and she could definitely stand to drop a few.
	“All right, quit your blabbering.  I charge fifty bucks a day, not including meals, snacks, expenditures imperative to the job, expenditures not imperative to the job, movie tickets, pony rides, salsa lessons, etcetera.  I’ll call you when I have something.”
	After getting her nasty human-eye-watering face out of my apartment, I write down in my schedule that I should probably go check this creepy guy out.  Just then, I notice I have an appointment today.  The appointment is written in blue ink.  Looks like I’m missing Golden Girls today.

title: Cyborg Detective Prostitute.

question: Describe the narrator.

answer: The narrator is a cyborg named Jake Bullet. He wears a Hawaiian button-up shirt with hardly any stains on it.

question: Why does the lady come to see Jake?

answer: She believes that her husband is cheating on her with prostitutes.

question: Describe the narrator's apartment.

answer: His apartment is infested with rats. Jake claims that the furniture is growing fungus, but this is a lie in order to prevent her from touching anything.

question: What genre is this story?

answer: Science fiction mystery (possibly noir)

question: What is the significance of the woman's optical moisture ports spouting?

answer: It means she is crying.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: A woman comes to see Jake Bullet, a cyborg detective. She believes that her husband is cheating on her with prostitutes and wants to hire Jake to look into it. Jake accepts the job.


text:
TERRENCE WHEATLEY (born May 5, 1985) is a former American football cornerback. He played college football at Colorado and was drafted by the New England Patriots in the second round of the 2008 NFL Draft.

Wheatley has also been a member of the Jacksonville Jaguars, Buffalo Bills and Tennessee Titans.

Early years

Wheatley attended Plano East Senior High School in Plano, Texas, where he holds track and field records in the triple jump, the long jump, and the 100 meters.[1] As a sophomore, he was the district champion in the long jump.[2]

During his junior season in football, Wheatley had 70 tackles, six interceptions, 18 pass breakups, three forced fumbles and three fumble recoveries.[3] Although a cornerback, Wheatley spent time at running back, where he had 23 rushing attempts for 200 yards and 11 catches for 161 yards and two touchdowns.[4] He averaged 25 yards per kick return and eight per punt return.[5]

During his senior season, he had 82 tackles, five interceptions, nine pass deflections, one forced fumble and one fumble recovery.[6] Once again seeing time on offense, he had 25 catches, 410 yards and three touchdowns.[7] He earned all-state honorable mention, all-district first team honors, and was named to the all-area first team of the _Dallas Morning News_ as a cornerback and wide receiver.[8] _Rivals.com_ named him the 56th best cornerback prospect in high school football.

College career

As a freshman at the University of Colorado, Wheatley saw action in 12 games, starting twice on defense.[9] He had 24 tackles and five pass deflections during 268 snaps on defense.[10] When Wheatley and Samuel Joseph started against Baylor, it marked the first time in Colorado history that two freshmen started at cornerback.[11] Wheatley had eight tackles in the Baylor game, which was his season high.[12]

As a sophomore, he played in all 13 games, starting the last five, including the Houston Bowl.[13] However, during the season, he was held back by wrist, groin and hamstring injuries.[14] He had 33 tackles, three passes broken up and four interceptions, which ranked second on the team.[15] His first collegiate interception was returned for a touchdown,[16] making him the 12th player in Colorado history to accomplish that feat.[17]

In 2005, his true junior year, he had wrist surgery in the spring but because the wrist continued to bother him, he missed the entire season.[18] As a redshirt junior in 2006 he had 57 tackles, five interceptions, and 11 passes broken up.[19] After the season, he was named first-team All-Big 12 and All-Colorado.[20]

During his senior season in 2007, Wheatley had 42 tackles and five interceptions in the first 10 games, before suffering a hairline fracture and missing the rest of the regular season.[21] He was able to return for the Independence Bowl.[22] He was named a third-team All-American and first-team All-Big 12 at cornerback, and received an honorable mention as a kick returner.[23] Wheatley also appeared on the official watchlists for the Bronko Nagurski Trophy and the Jim Thorpe Award.[24]

Professional career

New England Patriots

Wheatley was drafted by the New England Patriots in the second round (62nd overall) in the 2008 NFL Draft,[25] and signed with them on July 22, 2008.[26] As a rookie, Wheatley debuted in the first week of the season against Kansas City,[27] and played in six of the first seven games as a reserve. In his first career start against the Indianapolis Colts on November 2 he suffered a wrist injury that forced him to be placed on injured reserve on November 17,[28] after being inactive for the team's following two games. He finished the season with two tackles and two passes defensed.

Wheatley was active for five games in 2009, all as a reserve. He finished the season with two tackles.

After suffering a foot injury in the 2010 preseason, Wheatley did not practice or play for the first five weeks of the regular season; however, he remained inactive in Weeks 6 and 7 even after returning to practice in Week 6. He was active for the first time in 2010, but did not play in the Patriots' Week 8 win over the Minnesota Vikings. He was waived the following Saturday, in advance of the team's Week 9 game against the Cleveland Browns.

Jacksonville Jaguars

After clearing waivers, Wheatley signed a two-year contract with the Jacksonville Jaguars on November 8, 2010. He played in one game for the Jaguars before being placed on injured reserve on December 17, 2010. He was waived during final cuts in September 2011.

Buffalo Bills

Wheatley was signed to the Buffalo Bills' practice squad on September 13, 2011. He was promoted to the active roster on September 27.

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title: Terrence Wheatley

question: Describe Wheatley's first foray into football.

answer: When Wheatley was a high school student, he was an athlete in different sports. He competed in track and field as well as playing football. His record in the last one earned him an all-state honorable mention, all district first team honors, and he was named to the all-area first team of the Dallas Morning News as a cornerback and wide receiver. He went on to play football in college.

question: Summarize when Wheatley is expected to retire.


text:
It was the third summer since the war ended and the Cloud had broken, ending the tyranny of a winter that had lasted decades. The warmth on Lauriel’s face lifted her spirits. Her garden was finally returning to an approximation of its former glory; rose bushes breathing color into a space that for so long had been a gray wasteland. Her favorite vine was growing, too, not yet more than a few buds at the base of the lattice she’d put up earlier that week. She would teach it to weave as it grew.

A baby’s cry broke through her serenity, and Lauriel smiled; *I must teach you to grow too, little one. You will have a whole new world to weave through.*

The pristine click of the garden gate filled the air with something Lauriel ascribed to coziness. She couldn’t say the same for the old street lamp out front. The road it had once faintly illuminated was gone, reclaimed by the earth. A testament to the strength of our makers, she thought as she turned and started to climb the porch stairs.

Lauriel didn’t notice the rain as it fell at the base of the lamp post; or the puddle the rain formed as it pooled and ran off an unseen edge. Even as she turned back briefly, on the thought of having heard something peculiar, she did not see it. The rain had by then flickered and vanished; much the same as the light from the bulb above.

title: The Prologue of My First Short Story: Unfathomable

question: What is "the Cloud?"

answer: Unclear, a lingering cloud that cast the earth into darkness, presumably

question: Whose baby is it that cries?

answer: Unclear, maybe Lauriel as she says she'll teach it to grow

question: Why is the road the street lamp illuminated gone?

answer: Unclear, it was a testament to the strength of the makers

question: Why does the lamp light flicker and vanish?

answer: Unclear

question: Write a ~7 sentence summary.

answer: Three years had passed since the end of the war and the Cloud had broken, ending the decades-long winter. The warmth lifted Lauriel's spirits. She was growing flora in what had once been grey wasteland. A baby cries and she says she'll teach it to grow, like the plants. Lauriel doesn't notice the rain. She notices a peculiar sound, but doesn't know from whence it came. The street light goes out.


text:
JEFFREY SCOTT RAIKES (born May 29, 1958) is the co-founder of the Raikes Foundation. He retired from his role as the chief executive officer of the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation in 2014.[1] He serves on the boards of Giving Tech Labs,[2] Hudl[3] Costco Wholesale,[4] the Jeffrey S. Raikes School of Computer Sciences and Management at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln,[5] and the Microsoft Alumni Network. He is Chair of the Stanford University Board of Trustees.[6] Until early 2008, Raikes was the President of the Microsoft Business Division and oversaw the Information Worker, Server & Tools Business and Microsoft Business Solutions Groups.[7] He joined Microsoft in 1981 as a product manager.[8] He retired from Microsoft in September 2008, after a transitional period, to join the Gates Foundation.[9] He also held roles managing the company's sales force and services groups.

Early life

Raikes grew up in Ashland, Nebraska, graduating from Ashland-Greenwood High School in 1976. Raikes prepared to work for the US Department of Agriculture on agricultural policy while earning his Bachelor of Science degree in Engineering-Economics Systems (EES) from Stanford University.[10] It was while at Stanford that Raikes had his first exposure to computing, learning Pascal on a DEC System 20. The first computer he bought was an Apple II, which he used to help his brother, Ron Raikes, manage the family farm.

Career

He joined Apple Computer as the VisiCalc Engineering Manager in 1980. He worked at Apple for 15 months before being recruited to Microsoft by Steve Ballmer in 1981 as a product manager. He was promoted to director of Applications Marketing in 1984 and was the chief strategist behind Microsoft's investments in graphical applications for the Apple Macintosh and the Microsoft Windows operating system. In this role, he drove the product strategy and design of Microsoft Office. Raikes was promoted to vice president of Office Systems, where he was responsible for development and marketing of word processing, workgroup applications and pen computing.[11]

He later held roles managing North American operations, and worldwide sales, marketing, and services. In 2000, he was appointed to lead Productivity and Business Services, which later became the Information Worker business at Microsoft. He was named a company president in 2005.

Philanthropy

Raikes has a wide range of philanthropic interests. He and his wife are co-founders of the Raikes Foundation. He is a trustee at the University of Nebraska Foundation, funded a professorship in agronomy, and was a designer of the University of Nebraska–Lincoln Jeffrey S. Raikes School of Computer Science and Management. He has been active in United Way for several years. In 2006–2007, he co-chaired the annual campaign of United Way of King County with his wife, setting a national record for funds raised. On 2008-05-12 it was announced that Raikes would replace Patty Stonesifer as the CEO of the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation;[12] he stepped down in 2014.[13]

He is a major donor to the Center for Comparative Studies in Race and Ethnicity (CCSRE) at Stanford University where he also established the Jeff and Tricia Raikes Undergraduate Scholarship Fund to ensure that students admitted to Stanford from rural and inner-city schools have an opportunity to attend the university. He was chosen as a trustee of Stanford University in 2012 and in 2017 was elected chair.[14][15]

In 1992 the Pacific Northwest was in danger of losing the Seattle Mariners Major League Baseball franchise. Raikes joined with other local business leaders to purchase the team, keeping them “safe at home” for the enjoyment of Northwest baseball fans.[16]

In June 2008, Raikes donated approximately $10 million to the University of Nebraska's JD Edwards Honors Program, which officially changed its name to the Jeffrey S. Raikes School of Computer Science and Management shortly thereafter.

In July 2017, Jeff Raikes and his wife Tricia Raikes inspired the creation of Giving Tech Labs and joined their board.

Personal life

Raikes and his wife, Tricia Raikes née McGinnis, have three children: Michaela, Connor, and Gillian.

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[3]  Hudl|website=Hudl|language=en-us|access-date=2018-11-18}}

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[5]  Raikes School {{!}} Nebraska|last=Network|first=University of Nebraska-Lincoln {{!}} Web Developer|website=raikes.unl.edu|language=en|access-date=2018-11-18}}

[6]  Board of Trustees|website=boardoftrustees.stanford.edu|language=en|access-date=2018-11-18}}

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title: Jeff Raikes

question: What does the article say about Jeff Raikes' philanthropic interests?

answer: Jeff Raikes and his wife founded the Raikes Foundation. He has been active in United Way for several years and set a national record for funds raised in 2006-2007. He was the CEO of the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation. He is a major donor to the Center for Comparative Studies in Race and Ethnicity (CCSRE) at Stanford University. Raikes donated approximately $10 million to the University of Nebraska's JD Edwards Honors Program in 2008.

question: What does the article say about Raikes' career?

answer: Raike worked at Appleas the VisiCalc Engineering Manager then at Microsoft as a product manager. He designed Microsoft Office and was promoted to vice president of Office Systems.  He was appointed to lead Productivity and Business Service in 2000. He was named a company president in 2005.

question: What does the article say about Raikes' political views?


text:
    Recurring Dream

    I am sprawled out in the tub.
    Gnarled in discomfort and sobbing.
    A blade sits next to me.
    Carefully selected for the last act of a shattered man.
    The blade is sharp, with a large handle to assist with leverage.
    I have contemplated this moment for many years;
    as the failures of my life pile up like a filthy landfill in my psyche.
    The choice has finally been made.
    This is how it all ends.

    I act quickly, not allowing myself time to coerce myself out of it again.
    The blade cleaves away the flesh with surprising ease.
    The shock prevents any real pain.
    The warm water stings against the slices.
    I open the drain.
    It’ll be an easier cleanup for whoever finds me anyway.
    I lie still, waiting for my existence to fade.
    The only sound is the drain siphoning what is left of my pitiful story.

    Then it happens.
    Life’s cradled hands begin to fumble.
    In this I feel no horror, only comfort.
    I feel drowsy,
    I know that the next time I close my eyes I will cease to be.
    I think of my loved ones one last time, even the ones that abandoned me.
    I hope they have beautiful lives.
    I hope they remem…

*(This was written in the past, and rediscovered recently. I am no longer troubled)*

title: Release

question: What is the format of this story?

answer: It is a poem.

question: What does the narrator think about?

answer: He thinks about killing himself

question: What gender is the narrator?

answer: Male

question: Why isn't the last sentence completed?

answer: The narrator dies.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: In this poem, the narrator sits in a bathtub after they commit suicide. They reflect on how they'll be remembered. When the last line is read, the narrator passes on.


text:
Beaten and broken, the man walked through the desert, without meaning, without purpose. He seemed, lost, confused, demented beyond repair. Surrounded by a shroud of emptiness, his whole world had been shattered, everything he knew consumed by the vile darkness that had somehow found its way to his planet.

He didn't know how long ago it had happened, the destruction of his world. It felt like mere moments ago in his mind, but the few pieces of sanity remaining within him reminded him that it could have been years for all he knew. With his sense of purpose gone, so was his sense of time.

The images were fresh in his mind, reliving the devastation time and time again. The thick darkness that over shadowed the world, a darkness so deep that even the 2 suns revolving around the planet could pierce. And from the darkness, the creatures that had descended upon them....fierce, mindless, fearless, countless hordes of vile abominations destroying anything in sight.

One such creature happened upon the mans family. The man, while powerful, was no match for the dark. The last image that his sanity allows him is fending off the creature....then a darkness, the taste of blood in his mouth....the cries of panic and dismembering of his family from the fiendish monster.

And the blood...everywhere blood....the screams....and then nothing.....

He then awoke in the strange place on his world that he wanders to this day and has wandered ever since that day. Where everything that he held dear....his meaning, his purpose was decimated by the nothingness.

Everyday was the same to him. He had not felt the mortal desires in the years or days or minutes it had been since that first day. He had not felt hunger, nor thirst or anything else resembling humanity. Nothing allowed him the peace of death, although something inside him seemed to tell him that on his world, there would be no peace in death.

Nor, oddly enough, he had not felt the pangs of loss that most people would have associated with losing absolutely everything. The man, wandering hopelessly, had no where to go, and had no idea why he was going there. Everyday was the same to him.

Everyday was the same, he felt nothing...everyday...save for today.

This day, unknown minutes, seconds, moments later, pain beset the man. Today, he felt as if he had not eaten in years, his stomach ached for nourishment, his throat felt dry and gasped for relief. His legs, after regaining feeling, could not carry the man through his wanderings any longer, gave way, causing the man to fall to the earth. Worst yet, as if to ail him further, his soul began to weigh him down, and he felt the cries and pain of an entire world besiege his being, as if the pain of the world cried from within him. His body filled with remorse for the untold millions of deaths that he felt, as non existent tears filled his eyes. His body could not produce any. His heart mourned for the souls lost within the dark purgatory that destroyed his home.

"I can make all your pain go away, mortal. Wash your desires and pain away, with but a nod of your head and your request, the anguish will be purged from your body...."

Startled by the forbodeing* voice, the mand tried to life his grief stricken head to confirm its source, but could not. Instead, he tried to ask with a dry mouth " Who...who is....this? What is....happening?" But nothing came to from his efforts.

"Think of me as your savior, the only one that can save you from the endless years of torment, knowing no peace without me, and knowing no light with me...."

The man barely understood what the voice was saying, other than that he wanted, no, needed, the pain to subside, and it seemed this was his only way out. To stop the pain, stop the greiving, stop feeling again....

And so, our champion tiredly lifted his head, looked dejectedly into the darkness surronding him, not at all realizing he no longer seemed to be on his own broken world, but instead what seemed to be nothingness. The man quietly whispered with heavy heart, his body beaten and broken " Take...the pain...away... I beg of y-you...."

He could feel the darkness pulse with a sense of satisfaction at his response while he waited for what would happen next. The man felt a dark hand reach deep within himself that started to pick away at his soul..... stripping away his memories, feeling them being plucked from his mind one at a time. His friends...his family...his children....everything, being purged from his mind, quite painfuly. He felt his very being being taken from his body, making him less and less human every second that went by since his response.

At the same time, during this painful transition, he felt a sense of reliefe, serinity of you will, of the greif being lifted up and out of his body, the cries of the millions being deafend just an iota at a time...his desire for food, sleep, water also being removed from his body. After who knows how long, the man allowed a brief smile to spread across his face....

...only for that smile to curl into a scowl of disatisfaction at the burning sensation began filling his body. His veins seemed to fill with knives flowing through his blood stream, cuting everything vein and nerve along the way. What felt like liquid fire filled his mind as it purged the final pieces of his memories from his being. He felt as if he could rip is own flesh off from his body just to relieve the pressure.

But no such relief came to the man. His mouth felt a thirst ten times than that felt mere seconds ago, his hunger grew in such a manner that he felt as if his stomach would eat its way out of him just to fill itself.

And even if that wasn't enough for the pain stricken man. He felt and grief and sorrow of the millions of deaths of his home decend upon him, as if all the creatures of this world were somehow bound to him and were slowly, just as his memory was, being ripped from his body one by one, each one more painful than the last.

As the pain worsened, silent screams of anguish began to escape his lips, the dark essence coursing throughout him, rapeing him from within of his humanity. A grim realization came over the man as he had realized what he had done.

The tranistion, or, mutation rather, reached a painful climax, tearing into the man like a tempest of a thousand hells, ripping his soul asunder, pulling his flesh from his bones. As the final portion of the transformation began, the man was allowed to see who he had aggreed to save save him, and upon gazing into the darkness at the face of the purgatory he was in, the man was filled with utter horror.

"There is no turning back now my child....you are now apart of my darkness. My. Nothing."

And with that, a final surge of dark essence filled the man with a burning, emptyness greater than all the rest. With his final ounce of humanity, the man bellowed forth a blood letting scream, to the fill the ears of no one....and as the scream echoed through the darkness and faded away, the broken and beaten world was left in silence, devoid of all life, with no one left to wander its wastelands any longer......

title: End of a Life

question: Whose life is it that comes to an end?

answer: The man's.

question: Why did the man wind up in the desert?

answer: He wound up there after battling with one of the creatures that attacked his family.

question: What is the vile darkness?

answer: The darkness was a thick shadow that descended on the man's world, unleashing countless hordes of creatures that attacked and destroyed anything in sight.

question: How long has the man been roaming through the desert?

answer: He is unsure--it could have been for years, although it feels in his mind as if mere moments have passed.

question: Who does the man encounter in the desert?

answer: He encounters a being who promises to rid him of his pain and desires but ultimately betrays him. This being is not described. It is implied, however, that this being is somehow connected to the darkness.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: A man roams through the desert. He is unsure of how long he has been there, only that he has been wandering there since creatures emerged from the darkness and attacked his home planet and he attempted to fight off one that attacked his family. A voice promises to rid him of his pain and his hunger, and he accepts, only for the darkness to cause him great suffering as it consumes him.


text:
BLEACH GREEN (also known as BLEACH GREEN HALT) is a former station operated by Northern Ireland Railways in the village of WHITEABBEY, County Antrim, Northern Ireland.

The station sat near the viaducts at the junction of the Belfast-Larne railway line and Belfast-Derry railway line, but only had platforms on the Larne Line tracks. It closed to passengers in 1977 when NIR services were cut back.[1] Today, owing to later development work and track relaying, little trace of the station remains aside from space in the trackside vegetation where the platforms once were.

[1]

title: Bleach Green railway station

question: When was the Bleach Green railway station built?

answer: That information can't be found.

question: Where was the Bleach Green railway station located?

answer: In the village of Whiteabbey, County Antrim, Northern Ireland.

question: Describe the Bleach Green railway station.

answer: The station is not described.

question: Why did the Bleach Green railway station close?

answer: It closed due to NIR services being cut back.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Bleach Green railway station is a former station operated by Northern Ireland Railways in the village of WHITEABBEY, County Antrim, Northern Ireland. It closed to passengers in 1977 due to NIR services getting cut back.


text:
Democratic governor candidate Fred Hubbell has picked Rita Hart — a state senator, farmer and former teacher — as a running mate in his bid to topple Republican incumbent Kim Reynolds.

"With my background as a teacher, as a farmer, as a mother, as a volunteer for years, I have the experience and the drive to work for the betterment of the entire state of Iowa," Hart said in an interview with the Des Moines Register. "I want (people) to know that I’m not stepping up to this title. I’m stepping up to the responsibility, and I will always keep their best interests in mind as I do that."

Hubbell announced his selection Saturday morning, and Hart's nomination was officially ratified late Saturday afternoon at the Iowa Democratic Party's state convention.

_RELATED:IOWA GOP CONVENTIONEERS SAY 'RED TSUNAMI' WILL TOP ANY BLUE WAVE_

Hart, who was elected to the Senate in 2012 and again in 2014, lives in Wheatland, which is on the eastern side of the state and has a population of about 730 people. She works with her husband, Paul, on the farm his family has owned for more than 100 years there.

Hart's rural background is an asset for Hubbell, a Des Moines businessman, who will be working to persuade voters across the state that he understands their needs and is best equipped to address them in the governor's office. Hubbell told the Register he set out to find a lieutenant governor whose background did not mirror his own.

"I like to surround myself with people that come at questions and issues and experiences in a much different way than I do," Hubbell, 67, told the Register. "I think that makes the discussion richer, and you’re better able to get a better decision that way. So I was looking for somebody that’s very talented and capable, but not a lot like me. And I think I found her."

Hart, 62, worked as a teacher for more than 20 years in the Calamus-Wheatland and Bennett Community School Districts.

"I’ve always been very interested in education issues and I’ve, of course, been a big advocate for appropriate education funding," she said. "I recognize that the key to moving forward in the state is having a strong education system that helps us to fill that skilled-worker shortage that we’re experiencing in the state."

Hubbell has advocated for increased funding to K-12 public schools, making college more affordable and expanding job training opportunities.

Hubbell and Hart spoke to Democratic activists at the party convention Saturday.

[Iowa Governor Kim Reynolds speaks during the fourth annual Roast and Ride from Big Barn Harley Davidson in Des Moines to the Central Iowa Expo on Saturday, June 9, 2018, in Boone. ]
"We considered a lot of talented Iowans, but Sen. Hart always stood out and I couldn’t be more excited to have her as my running mate," Hubbell said to cheers as attendees waved signs bearing the slogan "Hubbell leads with Hart."

"I want to tell you, it has been one crazy week," Hart told the crowd. "I can tell you that I did not expect to be here on this stage as a nominee for the lieutenant governor for this great state, but I accept this challenge. Because what I have always been committed to is to try to make the world a better place by doing as much as I can for as many as possible."

Democratic activists praised Hubbell's selection.

"Her credentials are amazing," said Susan Bryant, a 65-year-old Iowa City teacher and convention attendee. "She brings expertise. She brings the education background."

Bryant said she didn't know of Hart before she was added to the ticket, but called the selection "fantastic."

“I absolutely love it," she said. "They’re intelligent, they’re committed, they’re caring, they are experienced and they are going to get us moving in the right direction."

On June 5, Hubbell won the Democratic primary in a five-way race for the nomination. He garnered 55 percent of the vote, carrying all but three counties across the state.

The race is shaping up to be among the nation's most competitive; Cook Political Report on Friday declared it a "toss up" between Republicans and Democrats. And it already is among the state's most expensive gubernatorial contests.

Hubbell spent about $7 million in the primary, including about $3 million of his own money. Reynolds, who did not face a primary challenger on the ballot, recently reported having more than $4 million in cash on hand.

Hubbell and Reynolds have already begun trading jabs. Reynolds has attacked Hubbell for his wealth, saying it's made him out of touch with everyday Iowans.

"She’s only going low because she cannot defend her record," Hubbell said Saturday. "Fiscal mismanagement, misguided priorities and an extreme agenda. She’s dismantling everything that makes our state a great place. And then earlier this week she said I’m running to undo everything she’s doing. And she’s right!"

The Republican Party also held its convention Saturday.Reynolds, 58, and her Lt. Gov. Adam Gregg, 35, the former state public defender, bothspoke to the crowd of 1,200.

Jason Kander, Let America Vote founder and a potential 2020 presidential candidate, also was on hand as the featured speaker. He cautioned Iowa Democrats against relying on a "blue wave" of enthusiasm in November and instead urged them to create their own.

"A blue wave is not a weather event," he said. "You can’t just sit around and wait on it. You can’t turn on the TV and see the weatherman talking about, 'We’ve got a front of Democratic enthusiasm coming in and it’s going to mix with progressive activism.' No! That is not how a blue wave works."

That enthusiasm is created by people, Kander said.

"It is made because you get out and you knock on doors and you make phone calls and you do the work," he said.

Democratic leaders from across the state said they are hopeful about their chances this election cycle and are enthusiastic about their crop of candidates.

“I have never seen so many Iowans stepping up to volunteer and showing up for each other, getting civically engaged, and most importantly, stepping up to run — especially women — saying it’s time for me to run and help change this state," said Senate Minority Leader Janet Petersen, D-Des Moines.

question: Who did Fred Hubbell choose as his running mate?

answer: Rita Hart.

question: Why did Hubbell choose Hart as his running mate?

answer: He wanted somebody talented and capable that looks at issues in a different way than him.

question: What issues are Hart specifically interested in?

answer: Education issues.

question: What state's election is this article discussing?

answer: Iowa

question: What year is this election supposed to take place?

answer: It is not specified, but it is likely for the 2018 or 2020 election.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Democratic governor candidate Fred Hubbell has chosen Rita Hart as his running mate. Hart is a state senator, farmer and former teacher. Hubbell explains that he wanted somebody who is talented and capable that has a different perspective than he does. Members of the Democratic Party in Iowa feel good about this choice, and optimistic about the future of the party.


text:
HALIFAX ISLAND is a small rocky island about from the mainland, near Lüderitz in Namibia. It is the third most important breeding site for African penguins in Namibia.[1][2]

History

[The abandoned Guano mining station] Captain Charles C. Forsyth of the Cape of Good Hope Station was ordered to take possession of the Penguin Islands and the Lüderitz Bay. Captain Forsyth proclaimed British sovereignty over the islands on 5 May 1866. He landed on the Halifax Island two days later on and erected a board claiming the island in the name of the British ruler. Philip Edmond Wodehouse leased the Penguin islands in 1867 to De Pass, Spence & Co. and Robert Granger until 1895. They were given exclusive rights to mine guano and hunt seals.[3]

Penguin guano on the island was thick in the early 19th century and mining continued until 1949. The penguin population in the island has halved in the 30 years between 1970 and 2000. Houses and sheds used by guano miners and the local headman are currently in various stages of deterioration. The uninhabited buildings are now used by penguins for breeding. The Namibian Government's Ministry of Fisheries and Marine Resources currently manages the island and monitors the seabird population.[4][5]

Location

[Penguin colonies on the island] The island is serviced by a catamaran tour from Lüderitz. The island itself is out of bounds for the public, even though the catamarans are allowed to sail past the island to offer a view of the penguins.[6][7]

Fauna

The island is also home to colonies of Kelp gulls, with around 350 nests recorded in the summer of 2000. Their numbers are bolstered by the nearby dump in Lüderitz. Increase in gull population has been problematic to penguin eggs which are eaten by the gulls. Crowned cormorant, Greater crested tern and Hartlaub's gull are also found to breed in the island. A pilot project in May 2001 led to three African oystercatcher fledgling successfully in the island. Cape cormorant and White-breasted cormorant are also observed to roost on the island. Cape wagtail, Turnstone, Greater flamingo and Whimbrel have also been sighted in the island. Heaviside's dolphin are also occasionally spotted in the bay. Brown fur seal also come over to hunt the penguins.[8][9]

[1]

[2]

[3] S Akweenda

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9] Pablo Garcia Borboroglu

title: Halifax Island

question: Where is Halifax Island?

answer: Near Luderitz, Namibia.

question: What bird breeds on Halifax island?

answer: African penguins.

question: What substance was once mined on the island?

answer: Penguin guano.

question: When was British sovereignty proclaimed over the island?

answer: 1866.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The article is about Halifax island, an island where African penguins breed near Namibia, and where Europeans once mined guano.


text:
            My scalpel sliced neatly through, completing the first incision. As I gently lifted the flap of skin back, I admired the fragility and solidity of the skull. How could something so dull possibly reveal the beautiful secrets of the organ it housed? I stood aside as the secondary surgeon drilled through the skull. “Which hemisphere did you say I was supposed to remove?” I joked. One of the interns laughed too hard. Ass kisser.
            “The hemispherectomy went well enough,” I told the parents. “If all goes well, little Tyler should be able to walk and talk a little in about a week.” The look of joy on the parents’ faces should have warmed my heart. Any other surgeon would have succumbed and allowed themselves a grin. I know how I’m supposed to act, and so I feigned a smile, then turned and returned to my office.
            I reviewed the logs and tape from the surgery, before packing it up and handing it to an intern to give to the dean.
            As I drove home, I wondered if Noah had received the body. I thought back to when I first met Noah. The psycho had been at a bar, where I had only gone to have one drink before going home. He had started ranting about how he was going to burn the entire world down one day. The bartender then made the biggest mistake a bartender can make, and cut the poor bastard off. Noah then had started to bawl his eyes out, and started apologizing to thin air. Something about “why’d I help ‘em?”
            The bartender said he was going to call a taxi, but Noah had mumbled something about not having any cash. Before the bartender said anything else, I volunteered to take him home. That sentence seemed to aggravate Noah even more. “Fuck homes!” he had yelled. I asked him whether he had a place to stay. “Yeah, but that shithole’ll never be a fucking home” he growled. “Does this shithole have an address?” I remember saying.
            Over the course of the following week, Noah and I became closer. “So Doc,” he would say, “I got this fucking twinge in my neck, ya think ya could check it out?” I would gently remind his that I was a neurosurgeon.
            I discovered Noah’s “little secret” two weeks after the night in the bar. Noah had come to the hospital with a broken arm, and it was my day for clinic rounds. I remember sitting awkwardly in the room with Noah for a minute before Noah chuckled and said, “That file probably has it all in there right?” Seeing the confused look on my face, he said, “Why don’t I just tell ya, I’d rather ya hear it from me.”
            He then proceeded to tell me everything. About how he posed as a lawyer to seem normal, but how he was actually a murderer and an arsonist And about how he spent all his money on booze and accelerant. “Well actually, Bellua’s the murderer, I just burn shit,” he clarified. I had no idea who this “Bellua” was, but I didn’t care anymore. This was just too messed up.
            Yes, technically I’m a murderer, but not to this psycho’s extent. I’ve only ever killed for other people’s benefit. There was the time I prescribed a double dosage of Luvox to a patient who I knew had been skimming money from the school district, and that other time when I had tampered with the drill before surgery to kill a corrupt judge on the table; but these had all been for the good of society.
            I didn’t tell Noah any of this, I simply pretended he was joking, although I knew he wasn’t, and proceeded to call a nurse in to set his arm.
            Later, I called Noah and told him how I was a murderer too. I realized Noah had provided a golden opportunity to kill and not risk being caught at work. I proposed that I kill, and Noah dispose of the body’s. Noah agreed, and said that whenever I kill something, I should bring it to his house, and leave it somewhere no one else would see it, he would find it.
            This had been my first kill I was going to share with Noah. I had sliced a corrupt policeman across the throat, and let him bleed out on Noah lawn. Then, I covered the body with a hot tub cover, and left.

title: Bellua (Original Short Story By Me) p.2 Metal

question: Why did the surgeon befriend Noah?

answer: He knew that he was deviant and he wanted to befriend him so that he could use him.

question: Why would a highly skilled specialist like a neurosurgeon have to do clinic duty?

answer: Perhaps he volunteered so that he could meet up with possible victims.

question: Why does Noah think that the file has information about his arsons or possible murders in it? If it did surely he would be in jail?

answer: He is not thinking clearly - psychotic

question: Who is worse the arrogant surgeon or the deluded Noah?

answer: In my view, the surgeon as demonstrated by the fact that he believes that he is somehow more virtuous than Noah.

question: Write a ~12 sentence summary.

answer:
The narrator, a neurosurgeon, completes the surgery on little Tyler and then tells her parents that she’ll soon be able to walk and talk. As he drives home, he wonders if Noah has received the body.

He thinks back to when he first met Noah, a psycho in a bar. He had offered him a drive home because the bartender wouldn’t call him a taxi. Two weeks later, Noah tells him that he is a murderer and arsonist who poses as a lawyer. He says he spends all his money on booze and accelerant.

But the surgeon is also a murderer. He has killed people for other’s benefit on the operating table. These include thieves and the corrupt. The surgeon doesn’t initially tell Noah any of this until he realizes that Noah can get rid of the bodies of the people he has killed. They agree that the surgeon will bring all of his victims to Noah’s house so he can dispose of the bodies.

Now, he has dropped his first victim, a corrupt policeman, at Noah’s house and left.


text:
I didn’t feel very much like masturbating. This seemed like the obvious choice of sleep aid at this point. Whiskey had worked only half of its magic—keeping me interested enough in late-night television to stay awake until an hour when any normal person would’ve simply crawled into bed and passed out. But still, I couldn’t sleep.

Not feeling like masturbating when you want to masturbate, as any male will tell you, is a rare and quite unsettling feeling. Clearly there was something bothering me.  Even if I was too self-reflectively dumb to know it, this lack of primal urge cued me in on the presence of something distasteful and foreign growing inside me. I was somewhere between crying and vomiting when I realized that I was scared. For the first time in my life I was truly terrified. After all, what would an affluent, white male who just graduated from a top tier college have to worry about? What could I ever conceivably be scared of? Like always: the dark.

Ever since I was very young I was uneasy about going into an unlit room; not uncommon, I suppose. I was brave, however—always brave enough to venture forward.  Not without hesitation, but always with enough fortitude to carry out whatever task brought me to this dark unknown, and it was exactly that which scared me now—the unknown. I was venturing into the unknown for the first time in my life with no clear purpose other than to move forward, be happy, and make enough money to support my only-child-bred need for independence. How difficult could that be?

I knew I could get a job. I had no doubt about that. So it wasn’t entirely the economy that was getting me down, though that didn’t help. It was the same old problem—I was scared of the dark. Why had no one told me what to do? Who would judge my forthcoming achievements other than myself? There were no grades to be earned, no classmates to be bested. Sixteen years of closely regulated activity, then nothing. Go forth and prosper.

These are the whinings of an entitled Millenial. I hadn’t any high school friends gunned down in an alley. Hell, I didn’t even pay for my college education. Those $250,000 came directly from my parents, who were glad to pay it. Not to say I didn’t work. I worked my ass off every summer, but promptly spent my cash on weed and beer. But to say I was entitled was a bit of a stretch. I didn’t want anything but an opportunity to work hard. I didn’t expect anything to be handed to me. Or maybe I did? In a way I felt cheated, yeah. I did all the things I was told I needed to succeed then thrust into the worst job market in recent history. What, then, was I doing for the past sixteen years? Preparing myself for a world that had vanished five years ago?

Now I’m tired. I guess I’ve achieved what I wanted to in these short thirty minutes. Fuck it, I am entitled. Not to a job, and definitely not to a fat paycheck; but to an explanation, some instructions. The best I can get is, “You should’ve been born thirty years earlier”? I feel entitled to an explanation of why I want to put a gun in my mouth. I want to live. I want to go forth and prosper. I’m not depressed—I’m pissed. When I look at what waits for me I don’t see the world at my feet. I see dogs pulling the intestines out of a dying man’s anus because there isn’t any other fresh meat to eat. Where does that leave me? I must be entitled to a bone, at least. Throw me a fucking bone; I don’t care what kinds of scraps are attached to it. If I can’t get a boner, even with a firm tug, at least let me eat because I don’t want the trigger of a gun to be the only thing I control. I know how that story ends, and the clean up is messy.

title: I didn't feel very much like masturbating.

question: Why does the main character feel conflicted about their life?

answer: They are scared of the unknown.

question: Why does the main character not want to masturbate?

answer: They are not sure what they want in life.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: A young man who just graduated college thinks about how he does not want to masturbate and is unclear about his purpose in life.


text:
Dying is like stretching. Not the stretching that you would experience if you were being sucked into a black hole or any other different interpretation you have of “stretching”, but just stretching. The type of thing you would do when you get home from your blue collar – or white collar or no collar – job. When you sit down in your chair at the end of long, fucking day and just relax. That feeling is unexplainable. The sudden rush of orgasmic goodness for that split second when you stretch feels so goddamn good. Well I guess the feeling is kind of explainable, but in the technical science way, the inorganic way. It’s just not the same. If you want that feeling more you can take chemicals to give it to you. Heroin can give it to you, hydrocodone can give it to you, oxycodone can also, there are a much of fucking ways to feel that feeling, but the simplest way is to just stretch. Just move your lazy fucking arms and you will be dying. Or at least feel like it. You want to be dying, trust me, it feels good. Not for a little bit either, but for an eternity or whatever the fuck this is. It’s a long ass time and I wish I would have known earlier how fucking overrated “living” was.

The reason I put it as “living” is because most of the people in the world aren’t living. Living is feeling. Going paycheck to paycheck at some shitty job you hate, with a boss you hate, with coworkers you hate, and then going home to a spouse that isn’t the same as you once married. They aren’t “lively” enough. Soon you will sit down and turn on some bullshit TV show and watch it. You can say that you won’t, but you will. I promise. None of this is living. It is “living”. It is bullshit. In the average human’s day, the only time they will actually live is when they stretch. That feeling of goodness is life. It is your temporary escape from shitty corporate life for one second at a time. That is all you get.

Well, now that I’ve gotten that shitty little diatribe out of the way I guess I can go ahead and tell you that I am standing on the top of the Bank of America Plaza building with a gun to my head. I want to stretch now. Living is great and stretching is great. My standing here has made me realize one thing more than all; Atlanta really has a beautiful skyline. At the moment it is around sunset and I can see the warm glow of the city lights beginning to overpower the sun. I look down from the edge and see the street below me. I see the passing Cadillac’s and Lexus’s and even the occasional Porsche. Seems fitting I guess, since I am in the banking district. All of society’s money is poured into the pockets of executive so that they can buy a new Cadillac Escalade with full leather seating and a paint finish that is so inky black that it absorbs all light. It absorbs the goodness of the world – light – and vomits out a color so dark and unforgiving that you are almost attracted to it. The total absence of light is normal and beautiful in that one moment when you gaze into the side of that new Escalade.

The streetlights are growing stronger. I am still standing here on the ledge of the roof of the Bank of America Plaza with a gun to my head. I want to stretch. It has now gone from dusk to ink in the sky. I have been standing here a long time. A fucking long time. I need to stretch. I see the ants walking below me. A sea of color that is illuminated by streetlights and Cadillac’s and Lexus’s and Porsche’s. It is beautiful. Although the Bank of America Plaza is tall, I can still make out an outline of many of the ants below me. I see different races, different genders, and different personalities. One older white ant crosses a street without looking and is nearly hit by an inky black Escalade. A younger black ant shouts something that I can’t quite make out, but it clearly gets a response from the white ant. This white ant was clearly just saved from the horrors of the inky black Escalade, but was instead shouting angrily over to the younger looking black ant. I am not sure why he was shouting or what he was shouting about, but I wasn’t curious.

I am starting to get tired. I have been standing on the ledge of the roof of the Bank of America Plaza with a gun to my head for around 3 hours now. I have done nothing. I must stretch. Why would I stretch when I have a gun to my head and I am on the ledge of the Bank of America Plaza in Atlanta with ants below me and streetlights and inky black Escalade’s and Porsche’s and Lexus’s? I have no need for the gun. It is a revolver, and a beautiful one at that. This revolver has been loaded with 3 bullets by me. That means that there is a 50% chance that with one pull of the hairpin trigger - that is sheer silver and not inky black like the Escalade’s below – I can stretch. I would love to stretch right about now. Maybe someone else can stretch today also.

I toss the half-full revolver with the sheer-silver, hairpin trigger down. Off the ledge of the Bank of America Plaza onto the vast hordes of ants below, onto the inky black Escalade’s and Porsche’s and Lexus’s below, onto the old white ant and young black ant, and onto the lights, the streetlights specifically. I expect a gunshot. A 50% chance is beautiful. I wait for the gunshot that would have let one of the ants stretch. I never hear the gunshot. No one stretches. Fuck.

I stretch. And I don’t feel anything. Not a goddamn feeling.

But I am still here.

EDIT: This is right around 1000 words if you are wondering. Any criticisms would be great as I just wrote this in about 30 minutes or less. Thanks!

title: Dying Is Like Stretching

question: Why does the narrator feel that dying is like stretching?

answer: Both things are a release of tension that provide a feeling of relief.

question: Does the narrator feel like they are living at the end of the story?

answer: According to their definition, no.


text:
[new web background.jpg]

_Rock n’ Roll soaked in Tropical Sun Vibes! Based in New Orleans, LA._

“This is the perfect band for a sunny Jazz Fest slot on a gorgeous day, but in a dark club, it was just as inviting and easy to enjoy.” -WHERE Y’AT MAGAZINE

"Their music touches on a variety of sounds, but the songs are thoroughly original. This is music to make you groove.” -THE VINYL DISTRICT

“Marina Orchestra brings sun-kissed, danceable tunes brimming with harmony vocals — like some kind of tropical cocktail served with flowers in it, but for your ears.” -NASHVILLE SCENE

"...tropically tinged dance-rock heavy on world music influences and a perfect cure for winter blahs and life blues..."
-THE DAILY TIMES

[]

[Marina bucket.png]

COVID19 Update: we were so excited for our line of Spring shows, it was set to be our best yet with some big festivals plus an album drop. Fortunately we are healthy and trying to keep our spirits up. We are still working on the album, if you would like to donate to the band you can do so by:

clicking this link >> VENMO

or this link >> PAYPAL.

Thank you for all your support and love over the years, we’re hoping to be back in action as soon as we can. Stay safe y’all. Peace & love.

[Screen Shot 2020-04-16 at 3.22.10 PM.png]

We’ve partnered with Dirty Coast

Each shirt sold gives us a portion of the profits, plus you get this cool Marina Orchestra t-shirt!

Left to right: (back) Justin Powers, Ryan Murray, Kelly Smith, Able Chris, Leo Frasier, (front) Ashley Shabankareh, Gia Monteleone

Marina Orchestra is the New Orleans based Caribbean Rock fusion project helmed by singer songwriter Justin Powers. Much like other prominent rockers of yore like David Byrne of Talking Heads and Paul Simon, Marina Orchestra cleverly weaves between genres creating a rollicking and groovy style of rock that is distinctly original. Known for their vibrant musical energy and life affirming lyrics the band has wowed audiences with their soaring vocal harmonies and dance-able rhythms.

Since 2010 Marina Orchestra has been a vision of a blaring brass section, swinging back-up singers, churning poly rhythms and sweet melodies that stick with you. Marking the ten year anniversary of the project the band is rearing up for the release of their 3rd studio album “Night Life” available everywhere on October 30, 2020.

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We respect your privacy.

Thank you!

question: Describe Marina Orchestra's sound.

answer: Marina Orchestra's sound is vibrant, full of positive energy, and very dance-able - a fusion of genres to create a groovy style of rock that is unique.