text:
LAS VEGAS – After 43 seasons, the Washington Capitals are finally sitting on top of hockey.

Lars Eller scored the tiebreaking goal with 7 minutes, 37 seconds to play, and the Capitals raised the Stanley Cup for the first time in franchise history after a 4-3 victory over the Vegas Golden Knights in Game 5 Thursday night.

Devante Smith-Pelly tied it with a full-stretch goal midway through the final period of the Capitals’ fourth consecutive victory over the Golden Knights, whose incredible expansion season finally ended in the desert.

So did the Capitals’ agonizing wait for their first championship since the franchise’s debut in 1974. After so many years of postseason flops and crushing disappointment, these Capitals won their fourth consecutive closeout game with a tenacious third-period comeback.

Captain Alex Ovechkin, who scored an early power-play goal, and his teammates are Washington’s first championship hockey team — and the city’s first champion in a major pro sport since the Redskins won the Super Bowl in early 1992.

Ovechkin won the Conn Smythe Trophy as the playoff MVP after scoring his franchise-record 15th goal of the postseason. When he received the Cup from NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman, he shouted “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!” through his gap-toothed grin before skating away and hoisting the prize over his head for a victory lap in front of thousands of red-clad fans.

“We did it,” Ovechkin said. “That’s all that matters. Look at the smiles on my teammates. This is something you’ll never forget. This moment, I’ll remember for the rest of my life. I’m so happy. It’s unbelievable.”

After Vegas won the opener, the Capitals capped their four-game surge by rallying from a third-period deficit in this cathartic Game 5, banishing so many years of playoff failure with big goals and rugged play across their lineup.

Braden Holtby made 28 saves in Game 5, outplaying three-time Stanley Cup champion Marc-Andre Fleury in the other net one final time.

The Caps couldn’t win a Cup without a little late weirdness, however: The game clock stopped working on the T-Mobile Arena scoreboards during the final minutes, and the Capitals angrily protested while they played on. Vegas never got close to a tying goal. Reilly Smith scored a go-ahead goal late in the second period for the Golden Knights, who won seven of their first eight home playoff games before dropping the last two.

The defeat ends the incredible inaugural season of the Golden Knights, who became the NHL’s 31st franchise last fall and immediately launched into arguably the greatest debut in modern pro sports history.

Nate Schmidt and David Perron also scored for Vegas in the second period, but Fleury’s 29 saves included a stopped puck that dropped underneath him where Eller could sweep it home for the Cup-winning goal.

Washington’s win was its 10th on the road in this postseason, tying the NHL playoff record and illustrating the superior toughness of this team. While past editions of the Caps created their team’s reputation for postseason flops in part by losing five playoff series in which they had won three of the first four games, Ovechkin’s latest group promptly closed out all four of its series this year on the very first try.

The remarkable Golden Knights hadn’t lost four consecutive games in their entire inaugural season before the Caps rolled them.

The Capitals had thousands of fans in the Vegas crowd and a building full of supporters watching back home along with countless thousands outside in the crowded D.C. streets. They got a barn-burner of a finale befitting this thrilling series, with wild shifts of momentum before that bizarre clock incident that didn’t appear to affect the outcome.

Ovechkin, who turns 33 later this year, has been among the most exciting and productive players in his sport since joining the Caps in 2005. Yet for all of his goal-scoring prowess and athletic swagger, the Great Eight had never won an Olympic gold medal or a Stanley Cup title.

But after becoming the fifth player in the last quarter-century to score at least 15 goals in a postseason, Ovechkin is a champion at last. He also became the first Russian captain to raise the Cup in NHL history.

The title is also validation for Holtby, who has spent his entire NHL career in Washington. After several seasons of being measured unfavorably against Fleury and other goaltending greats despite his 2016 Vezina Trophy, the Saskatchewan native also has his long-sought ring.

Shortly after Jakub Vrana scored the opening goal of Game 5 on a breakaway early in the second, Schmidt tied it when his fling toward the net deflected off a stick and again off Caps defenseman Matt Niskanen’s skate.

Vegas’ Brayden McNabb took a penalty just 11 seconds later, and Ovechkin set up in his customary spot in the left faceoff circle to put Nicklas Backstrom’s cross-ice pass into a sliver of open net.

Perron battled with Washington’s Christian Djoos in the crease moments later and eventually ended up inside Holtby’s net while Tomas Tatar’s shot glanced off him and in. The Caps challenged for goalie interference, but were denied.

And with Ovechkin in the penalty box for tripping in the final minute of the wild second period, Smith scored into a mostly open net after controlling a pass from Alex Tuch. The teams then engaged in a brawl behind the net, reflecting the unbearable tension with the Cup on the line.

Washington pressed early in the third, but didn’t connect until Brooks Orpik created a chance by stopping the puck at the blue line and flinging it to the net against the run of play. Smith-Pelly barely controlled the puck and stretched out to fling it toward the net while falling face-forward, and it slipped inside Fleury’s post for the veteran forward’s seventh goal of the postseason — matching his total from the entire regular season.

Moments later, the Knights struggled to keep up with the Caps’ puck movement and Brett Connolly open for a shot. Fleury stopped it, but the puck fell to the ice underneath him — and Eller fought off Luca Sbisa and slapped the stationary puck into the net for his seventh goal of the postseason.

question: Who won the Super Bowl in 1992?

answer: The Redskins.

question: What did Ovechkin say when he was handed the Cup?

answer: “Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”

question: What did Ovechkin and his teammates do?

answer: They won the National Hockey League.

question: How old did Ovechkin turn when this article was written?

answer: He turned 33.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This is an article about how the Washington Capital won in the National Hockey League.


split: train

text:
“Be careful what you wish for.”In the Arizona desert,in a small town,on a motel bed,this thought goes through Travis Tanners mind. He looked at his hand,The gun had fused with his skin 3 days ago. It contained 1 bullet then,now it carry's 3. Travis remembered what the gun said to him the day he found it. “kill them, leave me.” a cryptic message that was decoded to late. All he had to do was kill a man and the gun would let go. He refused,causing unforeseen consequences. The next day a bullet was added. In some sick way he knew what it meant,now two people must die. He knew what he had to do. Guided by the words of the gun,he came to Red Sand Flats. A kind of town that has a diner,a motel,a convenient store,and a police station. That's it. 8 people live in this town,cut off from the rest of the world. On the day he rode in to this place,Travis was drunk. He passed out in his motel room,and woke up with another bullet. He sobbed.

Travis was going to be a writer. He had tried for years to get a book published. Sadly his own perfectionism got in the way. He ripped up many rough drafts,threw them away. He needed to get the emotions perfect. Three months of working on a horror story. In anyone's eyes it would be considered a masterpiece. Travis deleted it because he couldn't get the emotion of killing someone 100% accurate. Countless hours watching interviews with soldiers, and reading serial killer autobiographies was to no avail. He gave up, decided to change genres,but it was to late. The package had been sent,there was no going back. Halfway through his new book he got a package at his apartment. A present complete with warping paper,and a bow. Inside it was the most beautiful revolver he had ever seen. Custom bone grip, and a barrel so polished he could see himself in it. It called to him,beckoned him to pick it up. He made the greatest mistake of his life that day.

She was gaining more power. Everyday that went by,every bullet added to the gun. Was more control over Travis. If he failed to sacrifice,she would have complete control over him. She had to wait only three more days,three more bullets,until she won this sick game. Until she finally broke free of her prison. This was not her first time going through this. She had created many psychopaths in her time. From school shootings to bank robbery's,someone always shook her off. Not this time, Travis wasn't going to kill anyone,she was sure of it.

The writer,with eyes bloodshot,and breath that could get you drunk,left his room. The sun nearly blinded him, though he didn't care. The gun controlled parts of him already, if he waited any longer it would never let him kill. Never get him his freedom back. On the way to the dinner he stopped to look at his reflection in a window. Black jeans,White tank top with beer stains,and messy hair. He looked like a man with nothing to loose. He didn't,with only a dog at home,no one would mind him going to jail. Or something similar.

He thought about the events leading up to this as he crossed the street. All the serial killers he studied, all the interviews with family members of the victims. Here he was about to create another 20/20 special. “ If I wait any longer it will be worse. Just go in there and do it.” he gives himself a pep talk.”You don't have to kill anyone.” the gun spoke directly to his brain. She was part of him now. She could read his mind,control some actions. That goes both ways though. He knows what she needs,knows what she will do if she get's it. Travis has to do this or worse things will happen. It was a sacrifice he had to make,just like the others before him.

	It took all the strength he had to open the diner door. She used as much control over him as she had. Not fully powered, all she could do was slow him down. 5 people in the diner,some tourists stopped by earlier, but he couldn't tell them apart from the locals. he gets a table and orders a pink lemonade. He sips it as he thinks of what will happen. People will die,families will grieve,the town will be filled with a sadness for months,and he would go to jail. It was a sub-par situation to put it blankly. Having no way to choose who to kill,he did a simple thing. He played spin the bottle. He laughed to himself of how childish it was. She started talking to him.”Sleep,rest,relax” Each word was a command,and each was disobeyed. He tried hard to probe his brain for any memory of Hers that had passed to him. Visions of previous hosts moved like a sick slide show in his mind. Some loved it,embraced it,became psychopaths. Some killed the first day,some the 5th . No one had let her win,and he wasn't about to brake the streak. He took a deep breath,prayed,and opened fire.

Each bullet that left the gun was like taking an allergy pill. His vision got better as he killed the waitress. Killing a biker gave him back control of himself. Shooting a hiker made the gun fall to the floor. It detached with a pop, it was the most glorious feeling he had ever felt. The sensation of air where the gun was made him smile. It hit the tiled floor with a clank. His hand was red and itchy but he couldn't scratch it,there were people that wanted him to put his hands in the air. Being as happy as he was, he came peacefully.

	Mark and Lucy sat at the dinner table. They did the usual small talk,but mostly they just ate. “Did you hear about that psycho down in Red Sand Flats?” mark asks through a mouthful of food. “You mean that writer that went crazy? Yeah Jamie told me about it at work. Poor town it was a nice place, sad there have to be people like him in the world” she took a sip of her wine. Mark talks while she drinks. “Yeah what a freak,they say he says he thought a gun was attached to his hand. The only way he could get it off was to kill people. Can you believe that? What a text-book freak.” they both agree and change the subject.

That Is Travis Tanners reward for saving humanity. Being talked about at dinner tables across America,hated by everyone. He gets to rot in a padded room, deemed crazy for telling the truth. So is the fate of those chosen to make the sacrifice.

title: The Sacrifice

question: What is fused to Travis' hand?

answer: A gun which used to have 1 bullet, and now has 3.

question: What did Travis want to be originally?

answer: A writer.

question: What does Travis have to do so "she" doesn't gain complete control over him?

answer: He has to successfully "sacrifice".

question: What finally makes the gun pop out of Travis hand?

answer: He kills the waitress, a biker, and a hiker.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Travis has a gun fused to his hand which can read his thoughts and control some of his actions. Every day he wakes up with the gun in his hand, and a new amount of bullets in the chamber. Travis has to kill as many people as there are bullets for the gun to pop out of his hand and give him relief.


text:
"I'm stressed," he finally exclaimed, slicing through the silent air that threatened to suffocate him. Ther room was adorned with plain, unpainted walls and occupied only by a television, a video game system which sat on standby, a bed, a dresser, and two teenage boys. They carried all the self-assurance that two scrawny sixteen-year-olds could muster. One, he who had spoken, bespectacled and mop-headed, fell onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the elliptical orbit of the ceiling fan blades ad infinitum.

"I've got too much work." He said out loud, looking at nothing and yet seeming to notice everything. "It's not like I can't keep up with it all. That's not what's wrong. I just--I have no time, anymore. I wake up late. I rush to get ready for school. I relax for five minutes and eat breakfast. I'm dragged through my school day because of this stupid seven-period schedule. Then I get out, help you with your math work, go home, get my three hours of computer time--sometimes I get a chance to mess around, sometimes I don't even finish all my assignments--oh, and I haven't even mentioned the stress from virtual school--then I study until I pass out from exhaustion and the cycle begins again."

The other boy, a quiet, short curly-haired lad with forlorn eyes, looked over at his friend. "I think a lot of students deal with that kind of stuff. The good ones, anyway. And you've got straight A's, right? So what's the problem?"

The bespectacled boy rose to sit on the edge of the bed such that he could make eye contact with the other one. "It's not like I don't understand a B is good--you're a B student  and you do pretty well--but, I mean, I'm a good student. B's are like failing to me. I've got college to think about, soon, and I'll never get in with the GPA I have right now. It's a three point two. A three point two! All because of that crap I had to deal with in middle school that ended up getting me stuck taking all virtual classes freshman year. And now I have to do all this just to get into a decent college. On top of that, I barely know what I want to do when I'm growing up. This... this is it, pal. We're almost out and we need to make the best of the time we have left."

"We've got time," the other reminded him, breaking eye contact and glancing at the enticing patterns in the carpet.

"Not enough! They always tell you every year that this is the most important school year if you want to get anywhere. You need to finish school with a twelve point oh and then graduate from a top college and get a high-paying job in order to be happy and if you misstep once you're utterly screwed!"

The boy's voice had transformed from bitter mockery to flooding desperation. He fell back and a loud thud accompanied his descent as his head crashed into the wall behind him.

"You okay?" the other boy asked in reaction to the noise.

"Fine," he answered through clenched teeth, making no attempt to hide his teary eyes.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. The two sat there observing their respective mediums--the bespectacled boy the ceiling and the quiet boy the carpet. Finally, after a few moments, they both opened their mouths at the same time and a garbled combination of syllables escaped.

"What was that?" the quiet one asked.

"Just more of the same," the stressed one answered. "Yours?"

After a few more moments of expectant emptiness, words began to fill the void.

"I knew this kid in middle school--a prodigy, a genius. They all said he was as smart as Einstein, or... something. The mistake he made was," he paused, pensive, for a moment, "forgetting to be a kid. He was so focused on the future and getting good grades that he let it become his life. All the other kids at the school would always bully him and he didn't really have any friends except for himself. He was so focused on his work all the time that he forgot. He forgot to live life and just relax once in a while. He was in my gym class. He always came in every day and had some excuse note signed by his parents--he always had a sore throat or a bad cold or something. And the teacher would just wave him over to the sidelines and he would sit on the bench all class, playing his Game Boy or doing homework. I remember this one day he did bad on a test or something--I think that was it, he got a C--and his parents exploded on him. They wouldn't let him out of the house for a few days and he had a lot of work to make up when he finally came back to school."

There was a pause in the story. The bespectacled boy's mind was whirring, trying to assimilate the tale into his own situation. Then the other child continued.

"I guess the stress was just too much for him. One day, while his parents were out, he went into his mom's room. I guess he knew just where to look. He removed the shoe box from under the bed and he pulled out a gun and he killed himself."

The silence, this time, was dreadful.

"He got a small article in the paper. They never made an announcement at school or anything. They never even mentioned his name in the obituary, I think."

The fan blades, their centrifuge slightly askew, and the cranking of the gears in the boys' minds reverberated throughout the room.

"What was his name?"

The quiet boy looked up as the question pierced his eardrum, seeming to have not expected that. He struggled to pull a name from his memory but finally responded dismally.

"I... can't remember."

The other boy nodded. The silence, returning, enveloped them, caressed them.

"What do you think happens when you die?" the quiet one inquired, finally, his eyes directed at the wall, staring through them into the realms beyond.

"I don't really know. I don't think we, as humans, are meant to know something like that. What about you?"

He sat in trance for a moment. Finally, he spoke.

"I think... I think, whether you were shot in the heart with a pistol, or poisoned by an enemy, or--or offed by old age, when they mention your name and nobody can remember you--your face, your voice, your words, your actions--that... is when you are truly dead."

"What if you remember his actions but not his name?"

"Screw you."

title: This is Our Autobiography

question: Why does one interlocutor respond "screw you" at the end?

answer: He had put forth a theory that when no-one can remember anything about you, that is when you are truly dead. The two friends are discussing a student who committed suicide but whose obituary remained nameless. The other boy-the quiet boy-submits the question of what if they recall all those details about you-just not your name? Because they both have been mulling over this kid's untimely death and talking about the nature of obituaries, it is implied that there is heavy importance on one's name's being their legacy. One interpretation could be that long as your name was printed and people know you died, your life counts. Then there is the question: do your actions while you're alive matter once you are dead?

question: Describe a common existential question that is explored in this passage.

answer: One question could be how long any of us really have on this earth, and how we spend it-do we choose to seize the moment or do we allow ourselves to be set back by our emotions? Another possible question is that of whether or not our actions or intentions matter more-the boy they discuss committed suicide even though everything in his life seemed to be going right, which begs the question of, will it ever be enough.


text:
Andy is a really smart heroin addict. Andy could tell you about all the constellations and all of the Caesars and when they ruled. Andy could explain complex issues and make them seem simple. Andy could pretty much do anything except stop using heroin.

Andy’s co-workers, of which I am one, all know that Andy does heroin. Some of them talk about it. To some its funny, and to others its sad; no one says anything to Andy directly about it though. So when Andy falls asleep at his desk we go along with his excuse that he stayed up late last night because there was a west coast game on that went into extra innings; and ,man, is he tired. Oh Andy, Andy has a million excuses but never a dollar the day after payday.

While his co-workers, of which I am one, are doing things like paying rent and mortgages and buying food, Andy is buying heroin and paying back anyone who lent him money the week before and is lucky enough to track him down. Oh Andy, is heroin really that good? Something about you rouses a demon that sleeps deep inside of me.

Oh Andy, so smart; he has everything in the world going for him. If it wasn't for that damn heroin he’d be an executive somewhere, or maybe a high-priced lawyer; he’d probably be a professor at some fancy east coast prep school where the girls wear knee-length skirts and everyone’s jacket has a crest on it. Oh Andy, I wonder if you ever regret trying heroin. I'm sure sometimes you do, but more often than not, you’re too busy trying to find heroin or trying to use it.

Andy is such a nice guy. Andy is killing himself. We’re watching, his family is watching, his dealer is watching; everybody's watching Andy kill himself. We watch without understanding. I wonder if Andy watches us and wonders why no one cares enough to help him. Not that he would accept the help, but it would be nice if someone offered it. But hey, there's only so much time in a day, and we've all got our own lives to manage. So Andy manages his heroin habit alone.

Andy lives with his mother. She looks at Andy but does not see him. Andy’s mother thinks that a daily heroin habit, one that's been going on for ten years, is something that Andy will just drop one day. She thinks that Andy will come to his senses and just quit.

They fight over the missing money sometimes. Andy doesn't want to, but sometimes he’ll have to steal twenty or a hundred dollars from his mom. Andy’s habit is a greedy monster. He always intends to pay back every dime but something always comes up; usually its the next opportunity to get high. Oh Andy, it seems like the world itself is sighing as you kill yourself. If only there was a way.

Sometimes Andy will miss a few weeks of work. These are the times when Andy goes to detox. In detox they give Andy things like Suboxone and Methadone to replace the heroin that his body is used to. But they aren't quite the same. Andy likes the ritual. The needle and the spoon; finding a vein. Andy likes the tightness of the cord when he ties himself off. Andy likes pulling the plunger back and watching the blood flow up into the needle. To be honest, Andy just plain likes getting high. Andy likes feeling alive for the first time for the thousandth time.

When Andy comes back to work from rehab, he’s usually full of energy. Andy runs through the halls as if making up for lost time. Andy, smart Andy, shows us why hes the best of us. He practically sings while solving problems and making money for the company. Because Andy is a great worker. He just happens to be addicted to heroin. Andy’s killing himself.

The worst days for Andy are the days right before payday. He’s borrowed money from everyone who’ll lend it to him. That set of people grows smaller by the week. His mother has hidden her cash, and it will be weeks before she forgets to hide it again. So on those days, Andy has a very short temper. He stomps around the office snarling at everyone.

Why are we letting you kill yourself Andy? Why don’t we stop you? We don’t hate you, (your mother loves you) but we keep watching you destroy yourself with heroin. Do you know the reason why? Does it come to you when you’re high? Is it something so awful that we wouldn't want to know?

Oh Andy, one day you walked in the door and saw your mother crying on the couch. You wanted to say something to her, you wanted to hug her, but it was payday and you had a bag of dope that you needed to shoot. So you walked right past her, up the stairs closed the door of your room and floated away. When you came back, your mother wasn't crying anymore. The moment had passed.

Remember the day they found you in the bathroom at work Andy? Passed out with a needle sticking out of your arm. You tied yourself off with a shoelace. We thought you were dead. But the EMT gave you a shot of something and you came right back to life again. You vomited, and then they took you away. Oh Andy, now there is no doubt in anyone’s mind. Now the whisper has become a roar.

But by tomorrow the roar has become a whisper. We make plans for the weekend. Plans for the summer. But we don’t make any plans to save you Andy. And soon we forget. And you’re back at work after a few weeks; smarter and funnier than ever. The old Andy is back. One day you asked to borrow twenty dollars; you said you lost your ATM card. Sure pal, anything for you buddy. Something gnawing at the back of my mind, like a memory trapped in a cage and fighting to escape.

You died that day Andy. Officially of an overdose. Oh Andy, what if I hadn't lent you that twenty? What if the dope hadn't been as strong? What if we had paid attention to you? What if, what if, what if? Oh, Andy.

title: Andy

question: What is Andy addicted to?

answer: Heroin.

question: Why doesn't anyone try to intervene in Andy's decline?

answer: They like him too much, and it's easier to ignore it.

question: What is the theme of this story?

answer: Addiction.

question: Where does Andy get his money?

answer: He steals it from his mother.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This story is about Andy, a heroin addict and a junkie whose co-workers and friends ignore his slow decline.


text:
I remember well the first institution to announce it was divesting from fossil fuel. It was 2012 and I was on the second week of a gruelling tour across the US trying to spark a movement. Our roadshow had been playing to packed houses down the west coast, and we’d crossed the continent to Portland, Maine. As a raucous crowd jammed the biggest theatre in town, a physicist named Stephen Mulkey took the mic. He was at the time president of the tiny Unity College in the state’s rural interior, and he announced that over the weekend its trustees had voted to sell their shares in coal, oil and gas companies. “The time is long overdue for all investors to take a hard look at the consequences of supporting an industry that persists in destructive practices,” he said.

Six years later, we have marked the 1,000th divestment in what has become by far the largest anti-corporate campaign of its kind. The latest to sell their shares – major French and Australian pension funds, and Brandeis University in Massachusetts – bring the total size of portfolios and endowments in the campaign to just under $8 trillion (£6.4tn).

The list of institutions that have cut their ties with this most destructive of industries encompasses religious institutions large and small (the World Council of Churches, the Unitarians, the Lutherans, the Islamic Society of North America, Japanese Buddhist temples, the diocese of Assisi); philanthropic foundations (even the Rockefeller family, heir to the first great oil fortune, divested its family charities); and colleges and universities from Edinburgh to Sydney to Honolulu are on board, with more joining each week. Forty big Catholic institutions have already divested; now a campaign is urging the Vatican bank itself to follow suit. Ditto with the Nobel Foundation, the world’s great art museums, and every other iconic institution that works for a better world.

Thanks to the efforts of groups such as People & Planet (and to the Guardian, which ran an inspiring campaign), half the UK’s higher education institutions are on the list. And so are harder-nosed players, from the Norwegian sovereign wealth fund (at a trillion dollars, the largest pool of investment capital on Earth) to European insurance giants such as Axa and Allianz. It has been endorsed by everyone from Leonardo DiCaprio to Barack Obama to Ban Ki-moon (and, crucially, by Desmond Tutu, who helped run the first such campaign a generation ago, when the target was apartheid).

And the momentum just keeps growing: 2018 began with New York City deciding to divest its $189bn pension funds. Soon the London mayor Sadiq Khan was on board, joining the New York mayor Bill de Blasio to persuade the other financial capitals of the planet to sell. By midsummer Ireland became the first nation to divest its public funds. And this month, across-party group of 200 MPs and former MPscalled on the their pension fund to phase out its substantial investment in fossil fuel giants.

Heavy hitters like that make it clear that the first line of objection to fossil fuel divestment has long since been laid to rest: this is one big action you can take against climate change without big cost. Indeed, early divesters have made out like green-tinged bandits: since the fossil fuel sector has badly underperformed on the market over recent years, moving money into other investments has dramatically increased returns. Pity, for instance, the New York state comptroller Thomas DeNapoli – unlike his New York City counterpart, he refused to divest, and the cost has been about $17,000 per pensioner.

The deeper question, though, is whether divestment is making a dent in the fossil fuel industry. And there the answer is even clearer: this has become the deepest challenge yet to the companies that have kept us on the path to climate destruction.

[Former UN climate chief Christiana Figueres with President-designate of COP21 Laurent Fabius, at the Paris summit in 2015.]

Former UN climate chief Christiana Figueres with President-designate of COP21 Laurent Fabius, at the Paris summit in 2015. Photograph: Stephane Mahe/Reuters
At first we thought our biggest effect would be to rob fossil fuel companies of their social licence. Since their political lobbying power is above all what prevents governments taking serious action on global warming, that would have been worth the fight. And indeed academic research makes it clear that’s happened – one study concluded that “liberal policy ideas (such as a carbon tax), which had previously been marginalised in the US debate, gained increased attention and legitimacy”. That makes sense: most people don’t have a coal mine or gas pipeline in their backyard, but everyone has – through their alma mater, their church, their local government – some connection to a large pot of money.

As time went on, though, it became clear that divestment was also squeezing the industry. Peabody, the world’s biggest coal company, announced plans for bankruptcy in 2016; on the list of reasons for its problems, it counted the divestment movement, which was making it hard to raise capital. Indeed, just a few weeks ago analysts at that radical collective Goldman Sachs said the “divestment movement has been a key driver of the coal sector’s 60% de-rating over the past five years”.

Now the contagion seems to be spreading to the oil and gas sector, where Shell announced earlier this year that divestment should be considered a “material risk” to its business. That’s how oil companies across the world are treating it – in the US, petroleum producers have set up a website designed to discredit divestment,. and for a while had me under round-the-clock public surveillance. The pressure is not preventing anyone from acting: when Yale arrested 48 brave students who were occupying its investment offices last week, they left chanting: “We’ll be back.”

Divestment by itself is not going to win the climate fight. But by weakening – reputationally and financially – those players that are determined to stick to business as usual, it’s one crucial part of a broader strategy. The Carbon Tracker initiative in London published the first report laying out the fact that the fossil fuel industry has five times more carbon in its reserves than any climate scientist thinks is safe. And with activists marching and going to jail, phrases such as “stranded assets” were soon appearing in the mouths of everyone from hedge fund managers to the governor of the Bank of England.

As Christiana Figueres, the former UN climate chief who managed to push through the Paris accords in 2015, put it: “The pensions, life insurances and nest eggs of billions of ordinary people depend on the long-term security and stability of institutional investment funds. Climate change increasingly poses one of the biggest long-term threats to those investments and the wealth of the global economy.” Last year she turned down an honorary degree from a US university because it hadn’t yet sold its stock.

We can’t count on governments alone to do the work necessary – governments, from Canada and America to Russia and Saudi Arabia to China and India, are still too often beholden to the fossil fuel companies. We need to keep pushing hard on those companies – and we will.

• Bill McKibben is a writer and co-founder of the climate campaign 350.org

question: What does the article say about how the divestment campaign accomplishes its goals?

answer: The movement operates and grows by more institutions, especially investment portfolios of large institutions, sell their shares in the non-renewable energy sector. This saps the sector of its reputation and capital generation, which seemingly forces them to downsize their operations.

question: What does the article say about the support behind the divestment movement?

answer: The movement started with a relatively small college announcing it's selling its shares and grew from there. Now it includes 1000 institutions worth over $8 trillion. There are a lot of universities, religious institutions, and even investment firms. Public sector investment funds are also divesting away from coal, oil, and gas to great success. This support seems to have rekindled policy options like carbon taxes.

question: What does the article say about how the movement affected Tesla?


text:
John MacAndrew bent to the ground, picking up the last piece of wood, he placed it with the others.  John's wife sent him out to the woods to find firewood for the night.

On his way back to the farm, John noticed three men in the woods, traveling down an animal made path.  John was expecting them.  Reivers who were sent out to find John and kill him.  Reivers were raiders along the Scottish/English border consisting of both nationalities.  John had earlier joined forces with the Ross clan who where pursuing a group of reivers who had stolen the cattle of the Ross Clan.  John was one archer of supreme skill and made a name for himself killing reivers with his bow.  At the end of the pursuit, John pulled out his bow and struck the Chief reiver in the eye.

As the men walked down the path they noticed a young man carrying a bundle of wood.  The young man was not a tall one, actually he was rather short in stature, and seemed to have trouble carrying the wood as he stumbled and dropped one piece after another.
"You there boy," the reiver said.  "Do you know a John MacAndrew?"
"I know him," John said.  "I'm the servant."
"I need you to show us where he lives."
"Not sure if I can do that, he doesn't like visitors."
What a surprise, thought the reivers.  John MacAndrew was known for his run-ins with border raiders and was constantly in danger from one seeking a vendetta.
"Tell you what," one of the reivers said.  "I will give you two shillings if you bring us to MacAndrew."
"Two shillings? I guess I could take you to his house."
They followed the boy up the path to a small farm and up to the farm house.  The house was not much to look at, at most it looked like it held two rooms.  Outside the house was an old oak tree, it looked as if it been there for centuries.

Claire MacAndrew placed the last log into the fireplace.  She sat at the large table at the center of the room, the table itself almost took up the entire room, leaving little space to walk.  Where is he?  John should be home by now, thought Claire.  It was a cold night and the fire would not last much longer.  There was a knock on the door.  Claire got up from her seat and opened the small wooden door.  Standing outside was her husband and three large men.  John took off his hat and held it with both hands.
"Excuse me Ms,"  John said.  "Is your husband around?"
"He ran off about an hour ago, but he should be around here somewhere."
Claire and her husband had many encounters with reivers.  She knew all about the dangers that seemed to follow John wherever he went.  Once again she would have to help John escape his troubles.  Where would he be without me?  Dead, perhaps, thought Claire.
"Would you like to come in?"
"Do you have food?" said one of the reivers.
"We always have food for guests, please sit down."
The reivers one by one walk in and sat down at the table.  John also walked it with his hat still in hand as he stood patently by the door.
"Samuel,"  Claire turned to John.  "Go fetch the master,  I think he went to check on the cows."
"Yes Ms."
With a smile John put his hat back on and ran out the door, closing the door behind him.

Once outside, John made his way to the barn located behind the house.  The barn was where the MacAndrew's kept farm equipment and newly slaughtered animals.  Inside there was a newly killed cow.  John placed the cow on his shoulder and carried it back to the house.  Placing the cow against the door, with the flesh side up, made it more of a challenge to open the door from the inside.  John turned around to face the old oak tree.  My favorite tree, thought John as he started to climb.  About six meters up, John reached into a hollow crevice within the tree.  He pulled out a bow and a quiver with a supply of arrows.

Placing three cups on the table, Claire poured water for each of the three men at the table.
"I thought you had food."
"I'm bringing you food, I thought you would want some water first."
At the far end of the house Claire opened the pantry where she stored a small provision of food.  She gathered a arm full of small whole wheel size of cheese.
"I hope you all like cheese."
"Cheese?" said one man.  "She has cheese!"
"A whole wheel of cheese." Claire said.  She made her way over to the men, still seated, eagerly awaiting the first meal in half a day of travel.  While walking to the reivers she slipped and fell onto the newly swept dirt floor.  The balls of cheese bounced and rolled away from her in every direction.  The three men all in a hurry flew from their seats and dived for the cheese, fighting each other for the food.  As if they where rodents, desperate for food, crammed the food into their own mouths as if there was no time to chew.  Suddenly the room was filled with the cry of the young man.
"MacAndrew is coming!"  the boy yelled.  "John MacAndrew is on his way!"
The men struggled to get to their feet.  One choked as he tried to spit a large piece of cheese from his mouth.  They rushed for the door, but there was something pressing against the small wooden door, slowing their escape.

John watched as if someone was struggling to open the door.  The fresh cow carcass was doing what he wished.  John pulled out an arrow from his quiver.  Pulled back on his bow, aimed at the door and waited.  The door slowly by little budged open more and more.  A large jut finally flew the door open as the carcass fell in front of the door with the skinned side facing upwards.  The first of the reivers rushed out.  He slipped on the skinned carcass and landed on his back.  John released his first arrow.  The arrow struck the man in the neck entering from the lower part of the neck and traveled upwards towards the skull.  Reiver number two emerged from the farm house, sword in hand.  He looked around, as if he was scanning his surroundings.  John released his second arrow.  The reiver looked upwards towards the oak tree.  The arrow struck the man in the head, killing him instantly.  The third and final reiver staggered out, still choking on his piece of cheese roll, sword in hand.  The third arrow left John MacAndrew's bow.  Striking the man in the spleen.  The man fell as he screamed in agony.  John released a fourth arrow.  Hitting the man in the stomach, followed by a fifth arrow to the chest.

John placed his quiver of arrows and bow back into the crevice of the old oak tree.  As the climbed back down his wife came out to see what had happened.
"You know they will send more men to find you."
"Let them come,"  John said.  "They are not the first, and they will not be the last raiders I kill."
"Don't you think it would be wise to move north?"  Claire said.  "I mean--away from the border, away from the cattle raiders?"
"Why?  John asked.  "This is our home.  If they want to steal my cattle and my way of living they will have to get past me first.  I'm not going to be chased away from my home."
"I'm just not sure how many times I can get you out of trouble John."
"Don't worry, I'm the best archer this place has ever seen.  I'm not going anywhere soon."

title: John MacAndrew and the Reivers

question: What mood is the author trying to evoke?

answer: The author is trying to evoke a sense of adventure and fun, through John's heroism for a worthy cause, which he acts upon cleverly, tricking the brutish antagonists.

question: What is John’s motivation?

answer: John's motivations appear to be honorable, based on values of justice and community.

question: Describe Claire’s emotional journey.

answer: Claire is clearly used to John's shenanigans and loves him as her husband, even though she is exasperated and worried for their safety.

question: How do the reivers cause their own downfall?

answer: Their mistake is in assuming that just because someone is small in stature, he is not a capable fighter. At no point are the reivers wary of the friendliness shown by the 'boy' or Mrs. MacAndrew. They should have been on their guard; their arrogance was their downfall.


text:
[Ludendorff in 1918] The _TANNENBERGBUND_ (, Tannenberg Union, TB) was a nationalist German political society formed in September 1925 at the instigation of Konstantin Hierl under the patronage of the former German Army general Erich Ludendorff. Part of the Völkisch movement, it was meant to counteract the _Der Stahlhelm_ veterans association as well as the reorganized _Sturmabteilung_ (SA) of the Nazi Party. The TB failed to meet the goal of a far-right collective movement and sank into insignificance long before it was officially banned by the Nazi authorities in September 1933.

Founding

During Germany's early Weimar period, Ludendorff had joined the chauvinist Aufbau Vereinigung and met with Adolf Hitler through the agency of Max Erwin von Scheubner-Richter.[1] He participated in Hitler's failed Beer Hall Putsch on 9 November 1923, after which their relationship deteriorated increasingly. While Ludendorff despised the former 'corporal', he nevertheless backed the National Socialist Freedom Movement and ran for the Nazi Party in the 1925 Presidential election against his former Oberste Heeresleitung colleague Paul von Hindenburg.

Hitler feared the possibility of Ludendorff as a potential leadership rival and rejoiced in the General's derisory election result, telling Hermann Esser “now we've finally finished him”.[2] With his credibility severely damaged by the election result, Ludendorff drifted from the Nazi Party and joined his wife Mathilde von Kemnitz in setting up the Tannenbergbund, with the organisation taking its name from the 1914 Battle of Tannenberg, one of Ludendorff's greatest military triumphs.[3]

Development

The Tannenbergbund soon developed as largely a circle of former officers who had served under Ludendorff in World War I.[4] In terms of ideology the Bund largely concentrated on those whom it opposed, attacking Freemasons, Jews, communists and Jesuits and accusing them of conspiracy.[5] Such people were lumped in together as “die überstaatlichen Mächte” or “the powers above the state”.[6] The Bund became a prolific producer of conspiracy literature, although they were openly rejected by the growing Nazi movement, for whom some of the Bund's more wild ideas were even too fancifully conspiratorial.[7] Central also to their ideas was an occultist vision inspired by the Thule Society to which Ludendorff had been introduced by his wife. As such, the Bund presented history as a struggle between the Nordic hero and the three-way alliance of the Jew, Catholic and Freemason.[8] As a consequence, members of the Bund were expected to abandon Christianity and turn to the old Nordic gods.[9]

Decline and suppression

The Tannenbergbund initially enjoyed support amongst rural political movements in Schleswig-Holstein, although it never presented a serious challenge to the Nazis.[10] Among surviving senior officers of the Kaiserreich, Ludendorff's politics were viewed with a mixture of skepticism and disbelief. Field Marshal August von Mackensen, who had commanded an army corps at Tannenberg, wrote that “der Mann ist krank” (the man is sick).[11] Similarly, Paul von Hindenburg had no truck with the Tannenbergbund as he and Ludendorff had been estranged since the 1925 election, culminating in the two not shaking hands and Hindenburg snubbing Ludendorff's speech at the dedication of a Battle of Tannenberg memorial in 1927.[12] Given its composition of more junior officers loyal to Ludendorff, the Tannenbergbund failed to win over the support of the masses, and before long it lost a number of members to the Nazi Party.[13] The Tannenbergbund was banned as soon as Hitler came to power,[14] although the group carried on until Ludendorff's death in 1937 before finally being suppressed by Hitler's government.[15]

[1]

[2] I. Kershaw, _Hitler 1889-1936 Hubris_, London: Penguin, 1999, pp. 268-9

[3] L.L. Snyder, _Encyclopedia of the Third Reich_, Ware: Wordsworth, 1998, p. 341

[4] Snyder, op cit

[5] Kershaw, op cit, p. 269

[6] Snyder, op cit, p. 342

[7] Kershaw, op cit

[8] K.D. Bracher, _The German Dictatorship_, Harmondsowrth: Penguin, 1971, p. 170

[9] J Wolschke-Bulmahn, The Nationalization of Nature and the Naturalization of the German Nation

[10] Rudolf Heberle, 'The Political Movements Among the Rural People in Schleswig-Holstein, 1918 to 1932, I', _The Journal of Politics_, Vol. 5, No. 1 (Feb., 1943), pp. 3-26

[11] Theo Schwarzmüller, _Zwischen Kaiser und “Führer”. Generalfeldmarschall August von Mackensen. Eine politische Biographie._ Munich: Deutsche Taschenbuch Verlag, 1995, p. 235.

[12] John Wheeler-Bennett, _The Wooden Titan: Hindenburg_, London: Archon books, 1963, pp. 315-316

[13] Snyder, op cit

[14] L. Poliakov, _The History of Anti-Semitism_, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003, p. 159

[15] Bracher, op cit

title: Tannenbergbund

question: Summarize the relationship between Ludendorff and Hitler.

answer: Ludendorff met Hitler through the agency of Max Erwin von Scheubner-Richter. Their relationship deteriorated after Hitler's failed Beer Hall Putsch. Hitler feated Ludendorff as a potential leadership rival.

question: Summarize the beliefs of the Tannenbergbund.

answer: The Tannenbergbund attempted to be a far-right collective movement. Its ideology centered on attacked those it opposed, like the Freemasons, Jews, communists, and Jesuits. They also had an occultist vision inspired by the Thule Society. Members were expected to abandong Christianity in favor of the old Nordic gods.

question: Summarize the Tannenbergbund's downfall.

answer: Surviving senior officers of the Kaiserreich viewed Ludendorff's politics with skepticism and disbelief. Ludendorff grew estranged from Paul von Hindenburg. The Tannenberbund failed to gain support and lost many of its members to the Nazi Party. It was banned once Hitler came to power.

question: What does the article say about the Tannenbergbund's role in World War II?


text:
HACKLEBURG — On a recent sultry summer afternoon, 81-year-old widow Nellie Allen sat on the porch of her one-story brick home, one in a strip of government-subsidized houses surrounded by fields and country roads.

Allen makes do on $900 a month from Social Security. She raised four kids and never worked outside the home. She doesn’t drive, so she can’t get to the nearest grocery store, which is several miles away. Even if she did, she wouldn’t be able to afford to buy what she needs.

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The big truck heading her way pulls to the side of a one-lane road to let oncoming cars pass by before it can reach her.

The truck is the West Alabama Food Bank’s mobile pantry. Its cargo includes some 5,000 pounds of food — boxes of bread, fruits, vegetables, drinks and pastries that it will deliver to dozens of people in rural Alabama, many of them poor, aging or disabled. All of them, like Allen, need help to make ends meet.

Allen pushes her wheelbarrow down a cracked sidewalk to a dead end to receive her groceries. Allen examines the contents of the box: She happily notices the lettuce and other greens she can put into a salad. With ranch dressing.

“We don’t get the same stuff every time,” she said. “But I can cook with it.”

Food pantries and soup kitchens tend to be in densely populated cities, where they can draw a lot of people. That model doesn’t work in rural counties, where settlement is sparse.

Counties with the highest rates of “food insecurity,” where people don’t have enough access to affordable, nutritious food, are disproportionately rural.

Rural counties make up 63 percent of U.S. counties but 79 percent of those with the worst food insecurity rates, according to Feeding America, a network of 200 food banks.

A confluence of events has led to a recent push for mobile food pantries. Hunger has decreased somewhat in urban settings since the Great Recession, but it remains stubborn in rural areas.

“The persistence is in these rural communities,” said Erin McDonald, vice president of research at Feeding America. That, combined with a trend in food service toward fresh and healthy food, even for the poor, instead of the old-fashioned canned and dry goods, has led pantries to use trucks.

Fresh food doesn’t keep, she said, and the rural poor lack transportation to food outlets with reasonable prices.

“Lack of availability, or cost, even with SNAP benefits, is a real challenge,” she said, referring to food stamps. “The combination of those factors results in a lot of our food banks stepping in … and turning to mobile access.”

The West Alabama Food Bank has a handful of refrigerated delivery trucks and recently received a $47,150 state grant to retrofit a 28-foot trailer with air conditioning, handicapped accessible features, a freezer and a cooler to serve more residents of “food deserts” in the western part of the state, near the Mississippi border.

While traditional food pantry trucks distribute boxes of pre-selected food, the new trailer, to be hitched up to a pickup truck, will allow people to select their own food. Most of it will be free, and the rest will be sold at or below cost.

Rural poverty levels have exceeded urban poverty for decades, according to a 2017 U.S. Department of Agriculture report. In the South, nearly 22 percent of residents who don’t live in metropolitan areas are in poor households. Over 15 percent of rural counties are “persistently poor,” compared with just 4 percent of urban counties.

The West Alabama Food Bank serves nine rural counties where more than 15 percent of the residents live below the federal poverty line, which is drawn at $25,100 for a family of four in 2018. Jean Rykaczewski, executive director of the West Alabama Food Bank, notes that one county in her territory, Sumter, has only three grocery stores, two of them in the town of Livingston.

“The rest of the time people are having to go to convenience stores, where they pay up to $5.99 for a gallon of milk that could be had for about $2.50 in Tuscaloosa,” she said. “We don’t have a big public transportation system out here. People are paying neighbors or friends or even family $25 for a trip to the grocery store.”

The new, large mobile food market will give people more control over what they get to eat, Rykaczewski said. Rather than taking a pre-filled box, they will get to make food choices, especially if they can buy some of the items at a low cost.

On the truck, Sabine Nad, who grew up in Germany in a farming community and was taught from an early age not to waste food, keeps a record of all her clients. They must register with the county social service department and qualify for the free food based on their incomes.

“I make it a bit easier for them because I come right to them,” said Nad, 49. She packs boxes in the Alabama heat, perspiring as she chooses from donated bags of lettuce, fresh celery, squash, grapes and oranges. A few drinks like soda, juice or Vitamin Water go into the boxes, along with day-old breads, cakes and donuts, and some boxes of cereal. The cartons are piled high.

Allen says the best part of meeting the food truck every other week is getting to talk to Nad, who has become her friend. They hug before Allen loads her box onto the wheelbarrow.

Allen’s friend O’Neal West, 78, hovers nearby in overalls, readying a makeshift hand truck held together with black tape to haul his box. They walk off slowly, together, Allen nursing a creaky back.

Down the road, John Seals, 83, pushes an empty wheelchair up to Nad’s truck. He loads a box into the chair and starts off toward his home. “It’s a real blessing to get this food,” he said. The chair belonged to his late wife, he recalls wistfully. “We kept the chair, and it comes in handy.”

question: What does the text say about how the government supports the West Alabama Food Bank to the poor in urban and rural counties?

answer: Many urban and rural counties deal with a high percentage of people living below the federal poverty line. These people do not have adequate access to nearby grocery stores to purchase affordable, nutritious foodstuff. Hence, the West Alabama Food Bank took it upon itself to supply these people with food items. Noting the importance of feeding the poor in these various counties, the state government supports the Alabama food bank with grants to fund food supplies and refrigerated trucks where food is stored.

question: What does the text say about how the food bank has helped the rural counties with food supply so far?

answer: The West Alabama Food Bank has contributed massively in aiding the poor in rural counties, including the percentage of households that live below the poverty line by supplying foodstuff to their district. Some of these counties have very few grocery stores miles away from the area, and a significant number of the residents do not have access to transportation. Some of these grocery stores sell expensive food items that they could get cheaper in a different county. However, the West Alabama Food Bank aids these rural counties by supplying them with food items in varieties. Some of the items are provided free, while others can be bought at a low cost for those who can afford them. Also, residents in the county with low income must register with their county's social service department to qualify for a free food supply.


text:
Jesus and Lucifer were walking around Bethlehem one day, arguing about whether to trust people or betray them, and Jesus had an idea. A way to prove he was right in this argument once and for all.

"Hey," he said with sudden clarity, "I bet you my religion would be more popular than yours."

Lucifer said nothing, but Jesus knew better and assumed.

title: Christianity

question: What were Jesus and Lucifer arguing about?

answer: Whether to trust people or betray them.

question: Explain what was Jesus' idea to prove he was right.

answer: He bet his religion would be more popular than Lucifer's.

question: What was Lucifer's response to Jesus' idea?

answer: Lucifer said nothing.

question: Where were Jesus and Lucifer walking around?

answer: In Bethlehem.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: Jesus and Lucifer were arguing when Jesus made a bet that his religion would be more popular than Lucifer's.


text:
Those two guards immediately knelt and said, “To prince, just now a man suddenly appeared. We failed to notice him. Please allow us to atone for our crime.”

That man raised his head and glanced in the direction He Yiming had left. Actually, although he’d been in the palanquin, he was fully aware of everything that was happening outside. However, to his horror, even he’d no clue when He Yiming appeared before his troops.

If not for such a situation, this small matter wasn’t enough to make him make an appearance.

Although He Yiming was not using any technique, the length of his footsteps far exceeded that of an ordinary person. This moment he’d already arrived at the street’s corner. His figure flickered, suddenly disappearing from the vision of that man.

He hesitated a bit, turning his head and looking at the entrance of Xie Residence, and eventually forced himself to not deal with that person. For some reason, when he thought about dealing with that person, he felt a slight chill in his spine. Faintly shaking his head, as he was laughing at himself, a candid hearty laugh sounded.

“Xie Nuanhang welcomes your highness.”

The source of the voice seemed to be increasingly approaching before the current family head of Xie family appeared outside the entrance.

Ting Brightriver shook his head and couldn’t help but laugh, “Brother Xie, don’t joke with me. When have I ever put on any airs of a prince when I come to your place?”

Xie Nuanhang wholeheartedly smiled and said, “Fine, since you say so, brother Ting. Please come inside, let’s have a chat.”

The two individuals entered side by side and entered the main hall of the Xie Mansion. As for the serving guards, some people automatically came to receive them. They didn’t have to go through any trouble at all.

After they arrived in the main hall and took their seats, the tea was served and Ting Brightriver said, talking straight to the point, “Brother Xie, you should have guessed the reason for my visit, right?”

Xie Nuanhang faintly nodded and said, “I’ve guessed somewhat, but I will still ask brother Ting to clarify.”

“Fine. My ancestor, Master Liferay has invited Master Xie Zhien for a visit in the Fire Crow tower.” Ting Brightriver stood up and said while faintly bowing in the direction of the Royal Palace.

Xie Nuanhang didn’t dare to be neglectful in the slightest and stood up as well. However, his expression seemed somewhat blanked as he said, “Seems like brother Ting has misunderstood. My ancestor has not ascended to the Xiantian realm yet. How can he be fit to be addressed as Master?”

Ting Brightriver blankly started. An astounded expression covered his face. He only managed to speak after a few moments, “Brother Xie, just now, the person who just advanced, clearly advanced through a fire type technique. Don’t tell me it really wasn’t Mr. Zhien?”

Xie Nuanhang bitterly smiled and shook his head, “Of course, it wasn’t.”

Ting Brightriver hesitated for bit before saying, “Since it’s not Mr. Zhien, then which expert of your noble residence is it?”

Xie Nuanhang lightly sighed and said, “That master is a friend my second brother met outside by chance and invited to our home. However, we didn’t expect that he would actually enter the Xiantian realm in our lowly mansion.”

Ting Brightiver’s face turned completely lifeless. If not for hearing from the mouth of Xie family leader himself, he absolutely wouldn’t have dared to believe these words.

A friend made outside by chance, after being invited to the family, actually broke through into Xiantian realm….. What the hell! What kind of luck is this?

His face twitched a few times, ‘Why doesn’t such a good thing happen to me?’

Suddenly feeling two intense gazes closely observing his face, Ting Brightriver suddenly jolted awake and awkwardly smiled, “Brother Xie, is that master your Xie family’s sponger?”

Xie Nuanhang’s complexion slightly changed as he promptly said, “Of course not. Mr. He is our Xie family’s most important guest. Even if he were to assume the position of elder in our clan, it would be a disgrace to his status.”

Ting Brightriver inwardly nodded to himself. Xie family was a big clan passed through millenniums and they had already seen the likes of a Xiantian cultivator in their clan, but not every one of its generation could produce such extraordinary genius.

Currently, the most troublesome figures of the Xie family were naturally the three tenth layer experts which made the family’s core. However, among all the numerous elders among the clan, the highest achievement was merely the ninth layer of Internal Energy.

Ninth layer Houtian experts were illustrious figures in Fire Crow country. To rope in such experts, the four big clans had to spend large amounts of wealth and effort every year, assigning them positions of elder in the clan.

However, if one were to compare such experts with a Xiantian realm expert, they simply amounted to nothing.

If Xie family had not lost their minds, they would certainly not mention the position of a clan elder before such a figure.

After a few moments, Ting Brightriver probingly asked, “Brother Xie, is it possible for me to pay my respects to master He?” As he saw Xie Nuanhang’s complexion instantly worsening, he immediately explained, “Brother Xie, don’t misunderstand, please. I merely wish to offer my grandfather’s token, inviting Mr. He to the royal palace to take a look. I have no other intentions whatsoever.”

Xie Nuanhang’s face eased a bit. However, he bitterly smiled after and said, “Brother Ting, unfortunately you are a step late in coming here.”

“What?” Ting Brightriver asked in puzzlement.

Xie Nuanhang heaved a sigh and said, “Mr. He has left a few moments ago.”

Ting Brighriver’s face immediately revealed a completely undisguised astonishment and irritation. Of course, he didn’t think that Xie Nuanhang was fooling him over this matter.

Xie Nuanhang lightly coughed and said, “Brother Ting, while leaving, Mr. He said that in three days at most, and a day at minimum, he would certainly return.”

Ting Brightriver’s complexion again changed. He deeply bowed and said, “In that case, I would request brother Xie to let me stay in your noble residence for the time being and introduce me later.”

Xie Nuanghang returned the courtesy and said, “This a trivial matter. However, Mr. He has already said that he’s just entered the Xiantian realm and wants to be in seclusion for some time. If he doesn’t meet for the time being, I’ll have to ask brother Ting for forgiveness.”

Ting Brightriver smiled and said, “Of course, that doesn’t need to be mentioned.”

As he said these words, a figure flashed in his mind. His back already had cold sweat.

Fortunately…fortunately….I completely ignored my urge….

Before long, He Yiming had left the Downwind city and arrived on a high mountain outside the city.

Currently, the weather had already started to cool down. Even on the mountains outside the Downwind city, a few travelers could be seen. He Yiming had deliberately selected a desolate road to travel on. Eventually he found himself in a small, secluded valley.

This valley was although not big, it had a small stream going through it. He Yiming arrived by the stream and splashed water on his face. The ice-cold water gradually cooled off his face which was somewhat heated.

After a while, he stood up.

Gradually closing his eyes, he began to feel everything around him.

He could feel that his body apparently had a profound connection with the external world, and this connection was maintained with the help of True Qi.

He sat down by the stream; his eyes closed. The True Qi inside his body began to slowly circulate.

The technique he used was precisely the one that allowed him to enter the Xiantian realm, Blaze technique.

Gradually, the energy present in outside world began to enter his body through indescribable means. He could clearly feel every acupoint in his body strengthening as the True Qi coming from outside circulated inside his body.

Gradually, when the Blaze technique was completely circulated through its course, when all the Internal Energy returned back to his Dantian, he felt a faint burning sensation. However, this feeling was extremely dim, and it disappeared almost immediately afterwards. It seemed that this fire type energy was undergoing some bizarre transformation.

However, what sort of energy it changed into? This was beyond his comprehension.

After thinking for a few moment, He Yiming had understood somewhat.

The blaze technique was not circulating through all the acupoints. However, each and every acupoint that it was passing through seemed to be capable of absorbing some external True Qi, being slowly strengthened thereby. On the other hand, the acupoints which were not included in this process had no changes.

However, all the acupoints were connected with the meridians in the body. Even the acupoints that didn’t have True Qi passing through them also received some influence and were strengthened. However, the rate of their strengthening compared to those that were absorbing True Qi can only be compared to drinking the water left behind in the process of cooking if the latter was akin to eating meat.

After a few moments, the Blaze technique in his body switched to [Power Secrets], then Primordial Energy, Ripple technique , and Withered Tree technique.

However, he soon discovered that even if he circulated all the five attributed techniques, a lot of the acupoints were still not covered.

Moreover, all the techniques except Blaze technique absorbed True Qi from external world at an extremely slow rate.

He had a vague idea. After receiving the aid of Withered Tree technique, Blaze technique seemed to have undergone a subtle transformation. The efficiency of this sort of technique already seemed to have far outstripped that of Withered Tree technique, which was similarly a top level technique.

Moreover, along with his cultivation, the four other techniques including Withered Tree technique were although also developing in the right direction, this development was too slow- far too behind the Blaze technique.

He Yiming took a deep breath, eventually realizing why techniques were further divided into Xiantian realm techniques and Houtian techniques.

Xiantian techniques not only represented strong capabilities, but were the techniques aimed specifically for the cultivation of Xiantian cultivators.

He was completely certain that Xiantian techniques not only consisted of battle skills, but also corresponding primary Internal Energy cultivation techniques.

Although he currently possessed [Splitting Mountain Thirty-Six Forms] and other strong Xiantian battle skills, if he wished to progress smoothly in their cultivation, he must learn further Xiantian realm primary Internal Energy techniques.

He inwardly sighed, deciding to cultivate the modified Blaze technique first. As for the techniques pertaining to the rest of the attributes, he could only leave it to fate.

Or perhaps, through the means of relentless cultivation of the Primordial Energy and other techniques, he could develop them into techniques of the same level as that of the current Blaze technique.

However, he probably wouldn’t be able to accomplish this feat in a short time.

question: Who is the Xie family?

answer: A royal family.

question: What is the setting of the story?

answer: This information is unanswered in the text

question: What is the True Qi that encompasses the bodies?

answer: This information is unanswered in the text.

question: What is the Fire Crow tower?

answer: The place where Master Liferay has invited Master Xie Zhien for a visit.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: In a fantasy novel, the Xie family is portrayed as royals.


text:
Riot

The street was full, packed from side to side. Hundreds, thousands of people, streamed down the avenue.

A low roar came from the crowd. Windows shattered as they passed store fronts. Car alarms sounded, and then faltered and fell into submission. Street signs were bent, and then disappeared into the bulk of people.

They kept marching forward, an unstoppable mass of humanity. Maybe it was caused by ever increasing taxes, it could have been a court judgment that they didn’t agree with, possibly their sports team won a championship. They could have been rebelling against unfair laws, or wars they didn’t agree with.

The angry mob of people may have been supporting any cause that could be imagined, yet it didn’t stop the fact that they were marching through their own city, destroying their own stores and their own cars, ruining the streets that their tax dollars paid for. Their reasons for rebellion didn’t stop the fact that when a man fell down the crowd didn’t pause, it still pushed forward. Feet marched right over their fallen brothers and sisters.

Ahead of them was a monument. A depiction of freedom maybe, or possibly a building that housed their government’s leaders, ahead of them could have simply been an open area where the group could disperse. But blocking their way was a single line of armed troops.

Dressed in black riot gear, helmets with plastic visors hanging down over their faces, men stood holding tall shields, armed with large automatic weapons. In front of them were sandbags and red and white striped saw horses. Behind them were big black vehicles, armored to the teeth, like children’s toys.

From the top of one vehicle stood a speaker and from that speaker an emotionless voice demanded that the people halt and disband. The speaker warned of the use of deadly force if they continued.

But the crowd had no choice; even if the people in front stopped they would be trampled by the people surging forward behind them. That wasn’t what they thought though. The force behind them made them feel unstoppable. As a single unit of people they felt invincible.

The gap between the two forces closed. Weapons were drawn, cocked and aimed.

A final warning was given to the crowd, the speaker sounded like it didn’t expect any sort of change to actually occur.

A man, dressed in black, held a gun and aimed it into the crowd. His mouth moved, the word ‘Ready’ was heard. His eyes focused on where his bullet would be sent. He opened his mouth again, ‘Aim’ came out of it. Which was redundant, everyone had already planned on where their projectiles would be placed. ‘Fire’, was the final word that was heard before people started to fall down before them.

Guns fired rapidly, automatic weapons built for slaughtering people sawed through the oncoming mass of humanity. They fell in lines. Like waves they crashed to the cold asphalt.

The gunmen showed no emotion as they laid people down to rest, they were coldly following orders. There was no moral objection; morals played no part in their job.

The onrushing people marched over their fallen brethren, stepped over the slippery bodies and pushed closer to the men who were firing upon them before they fell in heaps themselves.

Guns began smoking. Empty shells popped out and piled up on the ground at the feet of the men dressed in black.

The crowd seemed to be never ending, only slightly slowed by the mounds of the fallen bodies that they had to overcome on their way to their goal behind the men who protected it with deadly force.
The men worked like machines reloading their weapons, bodies lubricated by sweat, silently repeating trained motions.

Guns began to overheat, and were automatically discarded, traded for side arms. The mob of people seemed to pick up their pace, getting closer as hot assault rifle after hot assault rifle was replaced by cool, single shot, side arm.

The crowd over took the saw horses first, still falling to bullets, still piling up and being walked over. The wood splintered crushed under the trampling force of the publics will.

Next they overcame the sandbags, which were soon hidden underneath the smashed and bleeding faces, arms, legs and torsos of those who fell while crossing them. Bullets screamed, cutting through air and flesh, destroying.

Finally, as they approached the men dressed in black, whose job it was to protect what was behind them, whose task it was to keep order, while they were still falling to bullets being fired and they over too even them. Black uniform after black uniform, the men were engulfed by the oncoming crowd. One gun after another went silent.

In the end, after hundreds of bodies had been tallied, after the crowd had stormed whatever had been their destination. Men and women were laid into the ground. Those men in black who shot down the oncoming crowd were laid in graves besides those who they shot. Their tombstones shared the same last names as those people from the oncoming crowd that they were laid next to.

In the end, we seek a moral. Yet we may find only chaos.

title: Riot

question: Which side wins the battle: the rioters or the law enforcement?

answer: The takeaway of the story is that neither side wins and the violence is meaningless.

question: Why does the author choose not to specify the rioters' objective?

answer: Their objective is irrelevent; the point of the story is that such violence is needless and unnecessary.

question: What stance does the author seem to take on rioting?

answer: The author seems to believe rioting is excessive and unproductive.

question: What is the main point of paragraph three?

answer: Paragraph three is communicating that there could have been any number of reasons for the rioters to take to the streets; ultimately, the reason does not matter.


title: This is Our Autobiography

question: What was the relationship between the two boys?

answer: It is implied they know each other from school.

question: Why was the bespectacled boy stressed?

answer: He was afraid he was going to finish school with a bad grade.

question: What happened in middle school that made the bespectacled boy take virtual classes?

answer: Information not found.

question: What happened with the boy from the prodigy story?

answer: He killed himself.

question: Is the bespectacled boy going to keep up with his straight A's?

answer: Information not found.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: Two schoolmates are in a room talking about what's on their minds. One of them is dressed because he thinks he won't be able to keep up the work to get straight A's. This means he won't be able to get into a good college and a good job. the other boy is trying to make a point of not stressing that much. he used as an example the life of an ex-colleague of his, that was a prodigy but he couldn't deal with the stress of that and committed suicide. They then think about death.


text:
The 1977 ASTRO-BLUEBONNET BOWL was an American college football bowl game played on December 31, 1977 at the Astrodome in Houston, Texas. The game pitted the Texas A&M Aggies and the USC Trojans.

Background

The Trojans started the season ranked #4, and they won their first four games to rise to #1 in the polls before a matchup with #7 Alabama at home. A 21-20 loss dropped them to #6, and they responded with a win over Oregon. But losses to #11 Notre Dame and California dropped them to #16. A win over Stanford was soon followed with a loss to Washington that dropped them out of the rankings, though they did beat #17 UCLA to finish the season strong, albeit tied for 2nd with Stanford in the Pacific-8 Conference. This was their seventh bowl game of the decade. As for Texas A&M, they started the season ranked at #9, and they responded with three victories to rise to #5 in the polls heading into a matchup with #3 Michigan in Ann Arbor. A 41-3 loss dropped them to #13, though they did win their next three games to get to #11 before a game with #8 Arkansas. A 26-20 loss dropped them to #14, though they did beat TCU the next week. A 57-28 loss to #1 Texas killed their hopes for a conference title, though they finished with a 27-7 win over Houston, with a third-place finish in the Southwest Conference. This was their third bowl game in three years, and second in the calendar year of 1977.

Game summary

-   Texas A&M - Woodard 3 yard touchdown run (Franklin kick)
-   Texas A&M - Mosley 44 yard touchdown run (Franklin kick)
-   USC - Sweeney 29 yard touchdown pass from Hertel (Jordan kick)
-   USC - White 25 yard touchdown pass from Hertel (Jordan kick)
-   USC - Jordan 22 yard field goal
-   USC - Jordan 29 yard field goal
-   USC - Sweeney 40 yard touchdown pass from Hertel (Burns pass from Hertel)
-   USC - Simmrin 14 yard touchdown pass from Hertel (kick failed)
-   Texas A&M - Woodard 1 yard touchdown run (Franklin kick)
-   USC - Ford 94 yard touchdown run (run failed)
-   USC - Tatupu 8 yard touchdown run (Jordan kick)
-   Texas A&M - Armstrong 4 yard touchdown run (Franklin kick)

Rob Hertel threw for four touchdown passes for the Trojans, while Charles White and Dwight Ford both had 100 yards rushing. The Aggies turned it over five times.[1]

Aftermath

This was the only Bluebonnet Bowl appearance for either team. USC went to two more bowl games in the decade, while Texas A&M went to one more.

[1] http://sports.tamu.edu/cbs/football/spec-rel/1977-blue-bonnet-bowl.html

title: 1977 Astro-Bluebonnet Bowl

question: Which teams competed in the 1977 Astro-Bluebonnet bowl?

answer: The Texas A&M Aggies and the USC Trojans.

question: Who is Rob Hertel?

answer: A player for the USC Trojans.

question: Who won the 1977 Astro-Bluebonnet bowl?

answer: That information can't be found.

question: What sport does the Astro-Bluebonnet bowl concern?

answer: American college football

question: What was the final score of the game?

answer: That information can't be found.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The 1977 Astro-Bluebonnet bowl was an American college football game held on December 31, 1977. The A&M Aggies competed against the USC Trojans. This was the only Bluebonnet Bowl appearance for either team.


text:
I had an incredible dream last night.

I was blissful, confident and felt as if I was on top of the world. I had an absolutely stunningly beautiful girlfriend who was always by my side. She had quite thick gentle lips, perfect for kissing. Captivating wide eyes, unfortunately I don't remember the colour they were, but they reminded me of the moon. Long enchanting hair which fell down to the top half of her back. A delicate and subtle strand of hair which covered a portion of her left eye. This girl in my dream, she was everything I desired in a partner. The true definition of beauty and elegance.

As much as I try to remember, I can't recall the first part of the dream. I remember everything from the middle to the end. I remember driving in a car with this girl, my dream partner beside me. We were on our way to meet her parents. Although it was a dream, I could feel the nerves and anxiety that comes when meeting your girlfriends parents for the first time. That's something which has always been a great fear of mine and my dream reflected that.

This dream girl, the girl that I've desired and wished would come into my life was finally with me. Regardless of it being a dream, it felt so real. I could feel her comfort, her warmth and gentle touch. Each embrace with her I could feel throughout my body. Tingling sensations within my fingertips every time my hands touched her skin. How could this be a dream? How can something which embraces all of my senses not be the truth?

All of a sudden we had arrived at her parents house. Although it wasn't a house in the dream, it looked like a huge stadium where all of her relatives and family were gathered. All for one purpose to meet me, the person who had made her daughter fall head over hills in love. We both sat down on a tiny couch in the center of what felt like a stadium, surrounded by piercing eyes and judgmental looks. She grasped my hand and looked into my eyes. The nerves, the anxiety and hesitation instantly disintegrated. One gaze from this girls eyes made me feel invincible. I could only describe it as love, actual meaningful, and rarity that is true love. The kind of love which we question as to whether it exists, endlessly we search for it and deep down we feel as though we will never find it.

Her father walked over to us. He sat directly in front of me, starring endlessly into my eyes. Questioning me, ensuring that I loved his daughter. I remember her warm gentle hand gradually running up and down my back, each of her fingernails gently scratching and soothing me, comforting me.  I could feel the words coming out of my mouth, smoothly and without hesitation. The father smiled and backed away. Instantly I knew that he saw our love was real. All of a sudden the stadium like house roared with applause and cheers. Out of nowhere music started playing. I looked at the girl of my dreams beside me. I slowly stood up, reached out my hand and she took it. I pulled her close and we began to dance.

My dancing was horrific just like in real life. I was uncoordinated but each step was corrected by my dream girl. We both had beaming smiles on our faces, we were spinning around the dance floor embraced in each other's arms. She was wearing a backless dress. My left hand was gently running up and down her back, her skin radiating with warmth. We both looked into each other's eyes, slowly my eyes moved down towards her lips, becoming fixated on them. I leaned in for the kiss and she followed. Our lips collided, gently brushing against one another. I can't even begin to describe the overwhelming sensations that this kiss gave me. It felt as if my entire body was weightless, as if we were in the middle of space alone and without gravity.

We both opened our eyes and ever so slowly pulled away from each other, the dream then ended. I awoke to find myself back in reality. Stricken again with social anxiety, depression and desperate to find the girl of my dreams.

title: [RO][FN] Dream Girl - True Story (Short)

question: Summarize the climactic event of the story.

answer: The main character and the girl of his dreams are on their way to her parents. He will meet them for the first time, their aim is to prove they are in love. This happens in a dream and the main character handles himself very well. He is accepted by her family and they enjoy a dance together, culminating in a kiss that makes the main character feel weightless and overwhelmed.

question: Summarize the primary source of tension in the story.

answer: The main character has a dream where he meets the parents of his dream girl and all goes smoothly despite his nerves. He speaks eloquently and convinces the girl's father that he truly loves his daughter. He is accepted to the family. When he wakes up, he is stricken with his usual social anxiety, depression and desperation. He escaped it for a few moments in his sleep.

question: What does the story say about the cultures of the two characters?

question: What does the story say about social anxiety?

answer: The main character has severe social anxiety coupled with depression and desperation to find the girl of his dreams. He is freed from these burdens in his dreams. He could face his great fear of meeting his dream girl's parents and surviving to tell the tale. He was buoyed by the vicinity of, and eye contact with his dream girl, and he spoke smoothly and without hesitation. When he wakes up he realizes that this will never happen in reality because he is being held back from meeting this dream girl by his social anxiety.


text:
In recent days, Dr. Frances Kelsey has been fondly remembered, in large part for the role she played in averting a thalidomide tragedy in the U.S. in the late 1950s. As an employee of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, the Canadian-born pharmacologist stubbornly demanded more safety data, delaying approval of the morning sickness drug until it became clear from other jurisdictions that it was causing miscarriages and grave deformities in children.

Dr. Kelsey's heroism should in no way be played down; after all, she received the Award for Distinguished Federal Civilian Service from president John F. Kennedy, who lauded her "exceptional judgement." (By contrast, she received the Order of Canada only this year, a day before her death, likely because her actions stood in stark contrast to Canada's deadly inaction.)

But let's not forget that Dr. Kelsey worked at an institution, and within a government, that not only allowed, but encouraged, this sort of initiative.

What we had in Canada – home to one of the world's worst thalidomide disasters – was a civil service that was more meek and susceptible to bending to the pressures from the drug-maker Merrell that Dr. Kelsey was able to resist.

The take-home message here is that, in 2015, just as in 1960, a strong, independent public service is essential to our health and well-being.

Among other things, we need drug regulators who can regulate rigorously, free of political and corporate pressures. More broadly, we need a public service that works, and is free to work, in the public interest.

It's not enough to have laws – let's not forget that drug regulations were similar in Canada and the U.S. at the time thalidomide came along – we need people who can give those laws life, to embrace the spirit and not just the letter of the law, especially when it comes to ensuring public safety.

In short, we need to foster a new generation of Dr. Kelseys.

Sadly, we are doing exactly the opposite.

We have a public service that is muzzled, emasculated, derided and decimated.

There are about a quarter-million federal public servants in Canada, a considerably lower figure than from a decade ago. They serve a broad variety of functions from, overseeing national parks to ensuring aviation safety, and everything in between.

It is in our best interest, economically as well as socially, that every one of those workers serves a useful function.

Yet consultations with the public servants show that they feel mired in red tape and frustrated by cumbersome processes that leave them unable to do their jobs. That's why the Privy Council has undertaken an initiative to transform the public service, dubbed Blueprint 2020.

The plan features some lovely rhetoric, such as Conservative Leader Stephen Harper saying in the introduction: "An agile, efficient and effective Public Service is essential to the well-being of Canadians." And it is chock-full of good intentions.

But Blueprint 2020 lacks of a clear philosophical bent and strong political commitment to an independent, empowered public service.

What is required, especially in these difficult economic times, is a scientific, non-partisan approach to drafting and implementing policy.

While it is fashionable to bad-mouth the bureaucracy and sing the praises of free market, public regulation plays an essential role as a ballast to corporate excesses driven by self-interest.

The role of government, duly elected, is to formulate legislation and other policies in what it believes is the best interests of citizens. But its role is not to micromanage and bark orders down the line. Rather, elected officials should depend on civil servants for thoughtful, independent advice, especially on scientific matters.

What we need today is evidence-based policy-making if, for no other reason than it produces better policy.

Public servants should not be toadies, singing the praises of ill-conceived or partisan initiatives. Nor should they be muzzled. They should be offering constructive criticism to ensure policies are workable and fair, and analysis and insight that helps avoid unintended consequences.

For this, we need to create an atmosphere where public servants can innovate, take risks, and, as Dr. Kelsey did, call B.S. when necessary.

If we want better government and more sensible public policies, we need to give public-sector employees autonomy, authority and responsibility.

That, rather than a celebration of individual heroics, should be Frances Kelsey's legacy.

question: Summarize the steps Dr Kelsey took to minimize the risk of a thalidomide tragedy in the US.


text:
When he awoke, he came to a sudden realization.

This isn't my bed. I'm not in my home. I don't know this person laying beside me. This hand doesn't belong to me, although it seems that I control it.

He awoke terrified.

The air crept out of his lungs, and try as he might, it wouldn't draw back in. He started shuffling back up the bed, back against the headboard. Where was his breath? Why did the air taste so... unfamiliar?

He had woken up like this every day for the last year.

His wife woke up beside him, her eyes bleary, dark circles under them. She hardly slept, because he hardly slept. She knew better than to try to reach out to him. He hadn't let her for a year.

At first she tried to calm him. "I'm Juilie," she would say "your wife. I love you."

"You're not Julie," he would say "Julie is blonde... well I know you're blonde, but you're not her blonde. Her voice is like yours, but its not yours. I mean, you're like Julie, but you're not Julie. I know Julie. I love her, and you're not her."

And through the day, she would walk him through their home, where they had lived for almost a decade. It was their first home, their daughter Anna's room was upstairs. The tiles were the same. She would show him mail with his name, and her name, and show him how it arrived in the mailbox each day fresh, and with their names on it. He would concede that all of the facts were the same. The address, the names, the colors, the ages. But he wouldn't believe it. Not for a second. This life wasn't his, but he couldn't remember where he'd placed his own.

His anxiety over the matter kept him (and her) awake, day after day, until he collapsed from the exhaustion of trying to figure out where everything had gone. Somehow though, he never came to believe that it was a conspiracy, that his life had been replaced. He always seemed to have an awareness that somehow he was mistaken. As though, perhaps, he'd come through some curious means that remained shrouded in a confused memory, to be in this place. Where the people claimed to know him, even if he didn't know them. He knew that he couldn't remember a huge portion of his life. The present, for him, lacked a history. He knew the answer was in that history, but without it, without the story, all he had was the certainty that this wasn't his life. And how could it be? It didn't feel at all like it. It didn't feel warm. It didn't feel familiar.

But then, nothing did. Warm sun on the skin felt kind, and soothing. But it felt like moonlight. Something about it made it not the sun of memory. It didn't feel like his sun. The air didn't feel like his air. His hands didn't feel like his hands. Nothing felt right. And he worried. Even the worries felt as though they came from outside. As certain as he was about them, they didn't seem like his concern. There is worry, therefore I am, I worry.

And this is what kept him from fleeing, from being paranoid, or angry. His fears seemed unfounded, because he didn't recognize them as his own. All he feels is lost. Like he has fallen asleep on a bus, and at last shaken awake by the driver, found himself alone on a dark lit street. Around are the objects of his own landscape -light poles, parked cars, buildings, people. And he knows that home lies on that bus route. But for now the line is closed, and he will have to wait until morning. For now, he spends the night in the company of strangers, in a place that's not his home. Nothing to do but wait for the clarity of morning, when an opportunity will present itself, and offer to fill in the missing information that would make it all make sense.

And so he waits. He thinks this woman knows how lost he is, maybe she's claiming to be Julie to save him from some hurt. She seems kind. She tries very hard. But she's not Julie, because he knows Julie.

It's been this way for a year.

He's in the garden. It's springtime. He likes it in the garden. Out of the places to be lost in, it is certainly the best. It's warm, and the flowers are beautiful, vibrant, and smell wonderful. He doesn't recognize the species that are here. He thinks it looks the way his garden used to. He'd tend to it while Anna slept in her basket, shaded from the sun. Never out of ear shot.

There's a small bird on the ground. An infant. Fallen from a high tree branch. It struggles as he picks it up, but it doesn't resist, just goes through the motions. It's been here for a while. It's dehydrated. It struggles for air. But it's just going through the motions.

He strokes its tiny head. It stops struggling.

His head spins. Anna.

He falls to his knees as the air fills his lungs in a deep, desperate gasp. This breath feels familiar. He knows this breath. And it burns. Ohh god how it swells in his chest. How it hurts. But he knows this breath.

This breath of fresh air.

title: A breath of fresh air

question: What did he realize?

answer: He thinks he woke up in a different body, in a different home.

question: Who is the narrator referring to?

answer: A man suffering from Alzheimer's.

question: Who is Julie?

answer: His wife.

question: Does the protagonist have Alzheimer's disease?

answer: The passage implies he does.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The protagonist suffers from Alzheimer's disease and feels he has woken up in a body and home he does not recognize. His wife reminds him of the life they've built together.


text:
The bandits chased Theroux out of Lewiston on account of his unnatural winnings at the poker table. He's got a card up his sleeve, they roared and they crashed after him thru fence and field, practically boiled they were and their mouths foamed like so many cans of soda flung to burst.

Past the field there was a forest. Theroux cut through it towards the back road out of town, a weedy unlit lane that shepherded no one at the hour. He tumbled through impossible thickets that carpeted as dense as foliage could. He rolled down hatched bratchery and billowy willows soft as wads of cloud material. By some stroke of luck he didn't collide face first tree side.

He crashed from bushes into the gutter lane side and recollected himself and saw no torch light's trace, so very relieved he was. He ran quietly down the road but cut a grotesque silhouette what with the clutching of mounds of rattling coin to his sides and sort of prancing on his toes like a deranged fairy. And in his sick prancings he thought he'd made a clean break.

But the tomato faced bandit who was drunk as all hell had lost the mob during the chase at the fence in a fit of sickness and so slinked back to his tethered ass, he rode out of town and stupidly trusted the ass to follow the familiar path home.

But the ass was stupid as all hell and brayed obnoxiously and trotted out of town the wrong way, by the same weedy lane Theroux haunted now. Tomato face swayed to and fro in the saddle like a buoy afloat in a sea of drink and could barely make out anything but mush and fuzz in his stupor.

But in a sudden moment of clarity he saw, it was the wrong path and his lids sprung wide and his face wound itself grimaced and he drove two spurs viciously into the donkeys flanks, Wrong way dumb fuck!

The ass shrieked demoniacally, it's the only way to describe the ghastly wail it made, and it reared up so violently it toppled over tomato face first and burst its rider red with a pop, and flailed there for a shaken second and then rolled to its feet and galloped break neck down the lane, soaring through the starry night. A minute and a mile later it came upon a deranged, impish looking man on the side of the road and ran him down in cold ass blood.

And as legend goes, in a moment of pure random beauty the ass swallowed both those pockets of coin the imp Theroux had swaddled.

Fast forward a day, the ass is in the wild rich as fuck and fucking tons of wild ass and don't even worry those two wounds healed. Long story short he lived a wild ass life til the end of his days and died happily as lord and savior to the many small packs of wild ass who roamed the prairies at that time.

And he beget many wild ass children by his many wild ass wives. Their names are too numerous to remember but they all married and beget more wild ass children who married and beget more wild ass children who were so numerous at this point that it's pointless counting, but think four or five figures, all 9's. And so the population soared high in the ass kings wake, sort of like a wakeboarder spinning silly flips way up, and you may rest assured dear reader this trend continued for many generations, because it was a successful ass lineage.

title: Ass Lineage 550

question: What is the significance of Theroux having a card up his sleeve?

answer: The card up his sleeve is evidence that he is cheating.

question: Why are the bandits foaming at the mouth?

answer: Presumably because they are angry.

question: What is the significance of the title?

answer: It refers to the lineage of the ass who wound up with Theroux's money.

question: What happened to Theroux?

answer: He was killed by the ass.