text:
Floral Patterns

The young man handed a ten dollar bill across the counter, exchanging it for the freshly wrapped flowers the lady gave him.
A lovely bouquet, she said. He smiled, thanked her, and walked out of the market pavilion, exiting onto the downtown side street.

The late afternoon was bright and hot and the dewy flowers glistened optimistically. He headed down the street clutching the bouquet, passing market patrons and other sidewalkers, holding the flowers tightly to avoid them being jostled.

He passed through a crowd gathered at a bus stop, avoiding eye contact where possible. Two shirtless, rudely tattooed men sat reclined against a convenience store looking at him.

Faggot, one muttered, hoping his buddy thought he was overheard, hoping he was not overheard.

Probably.

The young man proceeded down the busy city thoroughfare, passing restaurant patios where glasses clinked and couples laughed. A group of ladies in large sunglasses and large necklaces drinking cocktails ogled him quietly as we walked by. He heard them titter and coo and knew their looks followed him. He would be the subject of their conversation for a few minutes.

He paused at a corner, putting the flowers into the crook of his arm to light a cigarette. A large, Greek-lettered man asked approaching him from across the street.

Yo man, could I bum a dart off you bro? he asked while groping his pocket for a lighter.

Sure.

Thanks bro. Cool flowers dude.

Thanks.

Take ‘er easy man, and he walked off back across the street, leaving the young man to light his own cigarette.

He took a few drags before starting down the street again. It was very warm, and sweat pooled on his back. He decided to cut down a shaded alley and get off the main street. His shoes sounded on the chipped asphalt as he stepped off the sidewalk over a torn garbage bag and into the cool, fetid air of the alley. Old brick rose on both sides and the flaked paint of some decayed mural remained visible beneath the city grime.

The alley exited onto a nearly vacant parking lot, and he crossed the hot pavement towards the street. He flipped his half-smoked cigarette back into the alley to join its numerous kin. The moisture had long since evaporated from the flowers he gripped, and their original lustre had faded.

The street was less busy than the one he had just left and he was thankful. The only person visible was a homeless man sitting on a spread of cardboard sipping from a worn paper cup. The young man considered crossing the street to avoid contact but decided it would be too obvious.

Spare some change?

Sorry, he answered looking away as he walked passed quickly.
I’ll take those flowers instead.

Ha, he stated and didn’t break his pace.

The street exited onto another main road and he took a right onto it, joining the herds of people swarming along the sidewalk and the traffic oozing between intersections. Buskers played on either side, and between the noise of engines and tires and voices, acoustic music was audible there, percussion there, and a wailing street person there.

His mouth was dry and his feet swam in his shoes. There was a Starbucks just ahead and he decided to stop for an ice water.
The line was long, almost to the door, but it was densely air conditioned inside and it cut through the sweaty grit that covered him. He stood as the line slowly progressed forward, the haggard baristas pouring ices and syrups into taxed blenders. He got to the front of the line and ordered his water. The cashier smiled with relief for the brief respite.

Those are beautiful flowers, who’s the lucky g—person? she asked, but he was already moving to the pickup table and her question was ground out in the sound of masticating ice.

He grabbed his water and moved through the crowded café towards the exit. A girl in a short sundress was coming through and he held the door for her with his elbow, hands clutching flowers and water.

Thanks, she said looking up at him, smiling.

You’re welcome, he said, returning her smile.

They paused for a moment, her looking at the flowers in his hand. Her smile dropped and she stepped passed him without another word. The young man exited out of the cool air into the city street.
The sidewalks were filling with nine to fivers finished the grind, inappropriately dressed for the sunny heat. They shoved passed him on both sides headed towards parking lots and bus stops, desperate to get home. He sipped his water and moved slowly upstream against the city.

Despite his best efforts the flowers were getting jostled. A small yellow carnation was crushed down and in, the cellophane folding over it. He stopped at a garbage and discarded his cup and ice, pausing to readjust the crumpled flower, unfolding the plastic from over it.

He crossed the street to cut across the park. Large trees shaded couples sprawled on benches, eating, laughing. He watched as they held hands and touched each other. Teenagers sitting too close, kissing too hard, listening to music too loud. They watched videos on their phones and they sat in each other’s laps. He walked across the grass watching them frankly. No one watched him.

The grass ended and concrete began. His destination was just up the street and he could see the squat grey building sprawled before him. He was a bit later than intended. He wanted another cigarette but didn’t want to smell like smoke.

He got to the parking lot and stopped. Cars were pulling out and he stopped to let them pass. The drivers looked at him. He climbed the steps to the front of the building and stopped. The large doors and a small garbage can with cigarette butts littered around it stood before him. He stood.

Fuck.

He took the decaying bouquet and shoved it into the ashy garbage.

Fuck.

Gripping the door handle he pulled hard and entered the building.

title: Floral Patterns

question: Why does the protagonist stop at a Starbucks?

answer: The weather is too hot, and he's thirsty.

question: Why doesn't the protagonist cross to the other side of the street without the homeless man?

answer: He thinks it would be too obvious that he's trying to avoid contact.

question: Why do the flowers lose their original luster?

answer: The story doesn't state it, but it's safe to assume that the hot weather is the main culprit.

question: Who does the young man interact with on his way?

answer: A random guy who asks for a cigarette, the cashier at the Starbucks, and the girl he sees on his way out of there. There's also the homeless man.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: A young man buys a bouquet and carries it through the streets, stopping at a Starbucks on the way for some iced water. He reaches a squat grey building and decides against smoking so that he doesn't smell of ash. On the building's front, he sees an ashtray surrounded by cigarette butts. He curses and shoves the bouquet inside the ashtray before going inside.


split: train

text:
Officers are constantly being exposed in a negative light and rarely ever recognized for good deeds because they're just "doing their jobs." Most officers shy away from any form of publicity anyway because it goes against everything they believe in. Their pono choices and daily actions should speak for itself and stand alone. Decisions are made purely for themselves, their ʻohana, their brothers + sisters in blue, and ultimately what they feel will better our community. Sadly, spotlight is being shed on Officer Bronson K. Kaliloa because of what happened when he was doing his job.

---

At approximately 9:30pm on Tuesday July 17th, Officer Kaliloa conducted a high risk motor vehicle stop of a wanted subject. As the officers approached the vehicle, the wanted subject exited the vehicle and opened fire, striking Officer Kaliloa in the neck, abdomen, and leg. Kaliloa was transported to the Hilo Medical Center, where he underwent surgery. He was pronounced dead just before 1 a.m.  The subject remains at large.

UPDATE: On July 20th at about 2:45 pm, officers stopped an SUV at an established checkpoint in the South Point area, Kaʻū district. Members of the Department’s Special Response Team, (SRT), were conducting checks within the vehicle when the wanted suspect, Justin Waiki opened fire wounding an officer. Officers present returned fire resulting in the death of Waiki.

---

This fund was not created by his immediate or extended family. It was created by a life-long resident of the Puna district and member of the Puna Patrol ʻohana. I feel that it's part of my kuleana to not only acknowledge his service and his beautiful family he abruptly left behind, but to create an opportunity for our community to show up for the Kaliloa ʻohana. Funds will be given directly to the wife and 3 young children of Officer Kaliloa.

A man of the community deserves to be taken care of by the community.

Me ka haʻahaʻa,
Teleise

question: What does "ohana" mean?

answer: Hawaiian for family.

question: What does "kuleana" mean?

answer: Hawaiin for duty or responsibility, probably. Unclear

question: Was the subject that killed officer Kaliloa Justin  Waiki?

answer: Unclear, but implied it was the same subject.

question: What does "me ka ha'aha'a" mean?

answer: Unclear

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Police officer Bronson K Kaliloa was killed July 17th by one Justin Waiki during a routine motor vehicle stop in Hawaii. Being struck in the neck, abdomen, and leg, Kaliloa was transported to the Hilo Medical Center where he was pronounced dead before 1am. On July 20th, members of the police department's Special Response Team were conducting checks within vehicles when Waiki opened fire wounding an officer. They returned fire resulting in the death of Waiki. The author has started a fund to benefit Kaliloa's ohana, a wife and three young chilren.


text:
[]

The 2016 HIGHLANDS 101 was an endurance race staged at the Highlands Motorsport Park, near Cromwell, in Otago, New Zealand on 13 November 2016. It was the fourth running of the Highlands 101. It was also the final round of the Australian GT Championship.

The race was won by Michael Almond and Craig Baird, driving the Scott Taylor Motorsport-owned Mercedes-AMG GT3.

Official results

+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
|           |           | Team /    | Drivers   | Car       | Laps      |
|           |           | Entrant   |           |           |           |
+===========+===========+===========+===========+===========+===========+
| 1         | 222       | Scott     | Michael   | Mercedes- | 101       |
|           |           | Taylor    | Almond    | AMG       |           |
|           |           | Motorspor |  Craig    | GT3       |           |
|           |           | t         | Baird     |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 2         | 7         | Darrell   | Tony      | Aston     | 101       |
|           |           | Lea       | Quinn     | Martin    |           |
|           |           |           |  Greg     | Vantage   |           |
|           |           |           | Murphy    | GT3       |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 3         | 96        | Miedecke  | Andrew    | Aston     | 101       |
|           |           | Motor     | Miedecke  | Martin    |           |
|           |           | Group     |  George   | Vantage   |           |
|           |           |           | Miedecke  | GT3       |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 4         | 2         | JAMEC PEM | Stephen   | Audi R8   | 101       |
|           |           | Racing    | McLaughli | LMS Ultra |           |
|           |           |           | n         |           |           |
|           |           |           |  Garth    |           |           |
|           |           |           | Tander    |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 5         | 63        | Eggleston | Peter     | Mercedes- | 101       |
|           |           | Motorspor | Hackett   | AMG       |           |
|           |           | t         |  Dominic  | GT3       |           |
|           |           |           | Storey    |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 6         | 48        | M         | Justin    | Lamborghi | 101       |
|           |           | Motorspor | McMillan  | ni        |           |
|           |           | t         |  Glen     | Gallardo  |           |
|           |           |           | Wood      | R-EX      |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 7         | 8         | Maranello | Adrian    | Ferrari   | 100       |
|           |           | Motorspor | Deitz     | 458 GT3   |           |
|           |           | t         |  Cameron  |           |           |
|           |           |           | McConvill |           |           |
|           |           |           | e         |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 8         | 59        | Tekno     | Grant     | McLaren   | 99        |
|           |           | Autosport | Denyer    | 650S GT3  |           |
|           |           | s         |  Nathan   |           |           |
|           |           |           | Morcom    |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 9         | 27        | Trass     | Sam       | Ferrari   | 99        |
|           |           | Family    | Fillmore  | 458 GT3   |           |
|           |           | Motorspor |  Danny    |           |           |
|           |           | t         | Stutterd  |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 10        | 51        | AMAC      | Andrew    | Porsche   | 99        |
|           |           | Motorspor | Macpherso | 997 GT3-R |           |
|           |           | t         | n         |           |           |
|           |           |           |  Brad     |           |           |
|           |           |           | Shiels    |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 11        | 88        | Maranello | Peter     | Ferrari   | 99        |
|           |           | Motorspor | Edwards   | 488 GT3   |           |
|           |           | t         |  John     |           |           |
|           |           |           | Bowe      |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 12        | 3         | Team ASR  | Ash       | Audi R8   | 98        |
|           |           |           | Samadi    | LMS       |           |
|           |           |           |  Tony     |           |           |
|           |           |           | D'Alberto |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 13        | 5         | Adina     | Greg      | Audi R8   | 96        |
|           |           | Apartment | Taylor    | LMS       |           |
|           |           | Hotels    |  Nathan   |           |           |
|           |           |           | Antunes   |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 14        | 123       | Nick      | Nick      | Chevrolet | 96        |
|           |           | Chester   | Chester   | Camaro    |           |
|           |           | Racing    |  Glenn    | GT3       |           |
|           |           |           | Smith     |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| 15        | 6         | Skwirk    | Liam      | Audi R8   | 89        |
|           |           | Online    | Talbot    | LMS Ultra |           |
|           |           | Education |  Jake     |           |           |
|           |           |           | Fouracre  |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| Ret       | 4         | Supabarn  | Theo      | Audi R8   | 97        |
|           |           | Supermark | Koundouri | LMS       |           |
|           |           | ets       | s         |           |           |
|           |           |           |  Marcus   |           |           |
|           |           |           | Marshall  |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| Ret       | 30        | Clark     | Clark     | Nissan    | 79        |
|           |           | Proctor   | Proctor   | GT-R      |           |
|           |           | Racing    |  Andrew   | Nismo GT3 |           |
|           |           |           | Porter    |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| Ret       | 19        | Griffith  | Mark      | Mercedes- | 76        |
|           |           | Corporati | Griffith  | AMG       |           |
|           |           | on        |  Shae     | GT3       |           |
|           |           |           | Davies    |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| Ret       | 37        | Darrell   | Klark     | McLaren   | 36        |
|           |           | Lea       | Quinn     | 650S GT3  |           |
|           |           |           |  "Mad"    |           |           |
|           |           |           | Mike      |           |           |
|           |           |           | Whiddett  |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| Ret       | 60        | DPO       | Côme      | McLaren   | 35        |
|           |           |           | Ledogar   | 650S GT3  |           |
|           |           |           |  Matt     |           |           |
|           |           |           | Kingsley  |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| Ret       | 1         | JAMEC PEM | Christoph | Audi R8   | 33        |
|           |           | Racing    | er        | LMS       |           |
|           |           |           | Mies      |           |           |
|           |           |           |  Tony     |           |           |
|           |           |           | Bates     |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| Ret       | 33        | HBS       | Simon     | Audi R8   | 31        |
|           |           | Motorspor | Ellingham | LMS Ultra |           |
|           |           | ts        |  Tim      |           |           |
|           |           |           | Miles     |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| Ret       | 73        | Triffid   | Michael   | Lamborghi | 27        |
|           |           | Bar Venue | Hovey     | ni        |           |
|           |           |           |  Jaxon    | Gallardo  |           |
|           |           |           | Evans     | R-EX      |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| Sources:[ |
| 1]        |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+

[1]

title: 2016 Highlands 101

question: Where was the 2016 Higlands 101 race held?

answer: It was held at the Highlands Motorsport Park in Otago, New Zealand.

question: How many drivers were in the race?

answer: Unclear, maybe 23 drivers.

question: When was the race held?

answer: The race was held on November 13, 2016.

question: Who won the race?

answer: Michael Almond and Craig Baird won the race driving a Mercedes-AMG GT3.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This article details the participants and results of the 2016 Highlands 101 race that was held in Otaga, New Zealand. Michael Almond and Craig Baird won the race driving an Mercedes AMG GT3.


text:
Mr. Doyle awoke.  Familiar was the scene - his large master bedroom, plenty of sunlight coming in from the outside to freshen up his morning, the cat wanting to be let out, as always.  Upon closer inspection, however, something was different today, and this didn't go unnoticed by Mr. Doyle; a dirty shirt and pair of old jeans lay on the otherwise pristine carpeted floor.  For a split second, he was taken aback, as the past 37 years had conditioned him to expect a spotless room upon his awakening.

    You know how those got there.  Quit playing fucking games.

He stood, and went into the kitchen to brew some coffee.  He hadn't done so himself in years, possibly decades even, he thought - ah, but what does it matter.  This was a new day, a fresh beginning.  Despite being on the verge of 62, Mr. Doyle felt a certain invigoration that hadn't been felt since his teenage years.

     You saw it yourself, Doyle.  With your own eyes.  But are you sure?
Completely.  What sense would it make to not be sure?  That would defeat the entire purpose - NO.  No doubts, no regrets - this was Mr. Doyle's new resolve in life, that he'd sworn to uphold that very night before.  He was a new man, *satisfied* for once with everything around him.

    You're not sure.
He was sure that that coffee was damn good though, he thought.  He walked past his sliding glass to the backyard, his shovel still right where he left it, outside the door.

    You said yourself you were going back.  You didn't.  She's coming.
She's dead, thought Mr. Doyle.  Nothing will change that, he'd already made that decision and come to terms with it.

    Any moment now, Mr. Doyle, she'll be knocking.  And she won't be happy.
No, no - that bitch is gone.  No longer will I let her walk all over me, no more of my money to be taken, no more of what I've done, what I've made, what I've accomplished to be shit upon by some whore -

    Who do you think you are, Mr. Doyle?  Death only stops the undetermined.
That was the REASON, that's the fucking 'motive', she was a god damned parasite, taking everything I ever had, every emotion I'd let out and just demoralizing every ounce of it -

    And you think you can just, what?  Kill her, and it stops?  Minutes now, Mr. Doyle.
NO, she isn't coming, she's right the fuck where I left her last night, I dealt the finishing blow, I watched her take her last sweet breath of air, I took from her what she had been trying to take from me for so many years.  *I win, bitch.*

    No, Mr. Doyle, you lose.  She's here.  And she's angry.
Knocking.  Mr. Doyle was probably losing his mind - but his sense of hearing was intact, and he heard it.  No mistake.  It was *her knock*, the special pattern that Mr. Doyle had grown accustomed to.  His heart dropped, everything went silent.  He listened, and the knock came again.  With haste.

YOU WANT AN EXPLANATION, BITCH?  YOU WON'T GET SHIT. I'M DONE WITH YOU FUCKING WITH MY HEAD, I'M DONE WITH YOU TALKING TO ME LIKE I'M A FUCKING CHILD, I'M DONE PAYING FOR YOUR BULLSHIT, I'M DONE GETTING STEPPED ON LIKE GARBAGE, I'M FUCKING DONE WITH YOU.

Mr. Doyle produced a blade from a holder in the kitchen, and began violently sawing at his neck.

title: Mr. Doyle

question: How did the dirty shirt and pants get on the floor?

answer: It seems he placed them there after killing and burying a woman(presumably his wife).

question: How is the main character feeling?

answer: At first he's feeling satisfied and invigorated. Later he becomes paranoid and anxious.

question: Who is Mr. Doyle referring to when he indicates, "She's coming. She's dead."?

answer: Presumably he's referring to his wife that he killed and buried the day before.

question: Is there a conflict in the story? Is it resolved?

answer: The conflict is that he thinks the wife he killed is coming back to continue abusing and using him. He takes out a knife and starts to saw at his neck.

question: Write a ~7 sentence summary.

answer: Mr. Doyle wakes to find a dirty shirt and dirty pants laying on the normally pristine floor. He briefly wonders how they got there, but he actually does know. He is feeling satisfied and invigorated, like he hasn't felt for years. As his morning continues, he begins to feel anxious and paranoid; he thinks his wife is coming back to nag him and demoralize him. He knows she is dead though; he killed her and buried her the night before. He hears her knock, and thinks he must be losing his mind. He grabs a knife and slices his throat.


text:
GREASY CREEK is a stream in Ste. Genevieve County in the U.S. state of Missouri.[1] It is a tributary of Saline Creek.

Greasy Creek was so named on account of its greasy (or muddy) water.[2]

[1]

[2]

title: Greasy Creek (Saline River tributary)

question: How can Greasy Creek be described?

answer: Greasy Creek can be described as a stream.

question: Where is Greasy Creek located?

answer: Greasy Creek is located in Ste. Genevieve County in Missouri.

question: What is Greasy Creek's relationship with Saline Creek?

answer: Greasy Creek is a tributary of Saline Creek.

question: How was Greasy Creek named?

answer: It was named on the account of the greasy or muddy water it has.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This article provides a brief summary about Greasy Creek, a stream in Missouri.


text:
__

_Disclaimer: This story was written based on comments made by Dixie Carter, owner of TNA Impact Wrestling on her Facebook account. Attempts were made to get a comment from Carter through her Facebook account, but as of press time, no other comment was made by Carter or other members of TNA management._

_Could two cryptic messages written by president of TNA Wrestling Dixie Carter mean one of the WWE's biggest stars will be the newest member of the promotion's wrestling roster this summer?_

_Carter appeared on the Bellator 88 broadcast to not only promote King Mo Lawal's debut in TNA, but also to announce that current TNA World Champion Jeff Hardy had signed a new two-year contract to remain with the company._

_Carter also took to her Facebook page, where she sent to two messages to her fans about the signing of a major WWE superstar, whose contract expires after WrestleMania 29._

_"The surprise in June will be involving a new talent with the company. His WWE contract expires after Wrestlemania, and we just happened to pick him up," Carter said._

_As part of the tease, Carter also tried to give her fans on Facebook a little more subtle information about who the company had signed._

_"One last hint. The newest member to the TNA roster, debuting in June, is a guy who will "slither and strike" when the time is right."_

_Immediately, Facebook fans responded by asking if "The Viper" Randy Orton would be joining the TNA roster._

_Orton is a third-generation professional wrestler; his grandfather, Bob Orton Sr., and father, "Cowboy" Bob Orton, were regional stars in several wrestling promotions. Bob Orton Jr. was one of the better mat technicians in the NWA before moving on to the WWF and helped usher in the "Rock and Wrestling" connection with Roddy Piper. Bob Orton Sr. was known as one of the best "shoot" wrestlers of his generation._

_Although it is purely speculative, if Orton is let out of his contract with the WWE and he moves to TNA"s promotion in Florida, it is a major accomplishment for the WWE's only competition. While other former WWE superstars like Kurt Angle, Demon and Bully Ray and Jeff Hardy have all found success with Impact Wrestling, Orton may be the biggest coup for Carter and management._

_There have been rumors as of late that the ultra-popular Orton will at some point turn heel, but that has not happened yet._

_His signing could also mean other wrestlers may follow suit, and viewership for TNA's Thursday night program could see a solid increase._

_Orton has won 11 total championships in WWE, including being a nine-time world champion, having won the World Heavyweight Championship three times and the WWE Championship six times. He is also the winner of the 2009 Royal Rumble match._

http://bleacherreport.com/articles/...e-carter-hints-at-wrestlers-big-jump-from-wwe

:O

question: Who is Dixie Carter?

answer: Dixie Carter is the owner of TNA Impact Wrestling.

question: Who is Randy Orton?

answer: Randy Orton is a professional, third-generation professional wrestler.

question: Who will be joining the TNA in June?

answer: Carter teased that a new talent will be joining the TNA company, but did not say who.

question: How many championships has Orton won?

answer: Orton has won 11 total championships in the WWE.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Dixie Carter, the owner of TNA Impact Wrestling, teased that a major signing would be joining the TNA company this summer. Many fans speculate that the new signee may be "The Viper" Randy Orton, 11-time WWE champion.


text:
We were far off the path of our walk home when we reached the construction site. The two Sophomores led the way, finally stopping at a chain linked fence.
	“Alright,” the taller one said. “Its just through here.” He pointed to a gap in the fence were the wire was torn away. It was a pretty sizable hole to fit through, which reinforced the idea that I shouldn’t be doing this.
	“Before we go, can you first tell us what you want to show us” stated my friend, who was beginning to sound agitated.
	“I already told you guys that we literally cannot tell you. We can’t. Why don’t you have a little patience?”
	“Well, being completely honest, this sounds extremely suspicious and we really don’t know you guys that well.”
	The second sophomore sighed. “It’s broad day light and were in the middle of the fucking city, what are we gonna do?” He did have a point.
	There was silence for a moment, then my friend said “Fine, but this better be worth it” and climbed through. I followed, going head first and scratching my leg on one of the loose wires. I stood up and was now in the middle of an empty construction site. I looked back to find the two sophomores climbing through the whole. They proceeded to stand up, dust off their pants, and start jogging towards a pile of bricks and dirt nearby. They reached it in seconds, looked down behind it, then called back to us. “Its still here, come on”. We walked over to finally see this ‘thing’ we had walked all this way for, and well...
	Now, I can’t really describe it, except for the fact that it was...well not really glowing but more of emitting light. Oh, and it was pretty small two. It was just...kinda there in the middle of the dirt behind the pile of rubble. I stared at it for a while, but my brain was coming up short. The image wasn’t really going through, but I wasn’t getting a head ache or anything. It felt like free fall in my thoughts, or more of just empty space in my mind. Finally, I turned to the Sophomore and asked the most basic question.
	“Well, what is it”.
	“Can you tell me what it is?”
	“Not really”
	“And I can’t tell you”
	So we sat there and stared at it. I was mesmerized by it, and my brain had given up trying to make any sense of what it was seeing. After a couple minutes of staring, I asked if anyone else knew about this. “Yeah” he said. “Why do you think no one else is here. They shut it down when they found out about it.”
	“And no ones doing anything about it?”
	“I bet their sending someone out soon to check it out.”
	We left five minutes later, and to this day and still don’t know exactly what I was looking at, but I found it easiest to just except the fact that I didn’t understand it, and honestly I probably never will.

title: I don't have a name for this

question: How do the girls know the boys?

answer: it is implied that they know each other from school.

question: Where are the boys taking the girls?

answer: They are taking the girls to show them a "thing" that was emitting light from the middle of a rubble pile.

question: Are the boys going to hurt the girls?

answer: No

question: Are they skipping school to do this?

answer: It is implied that they went there after school.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: A group of 4 friends trespass into an empty construction site where they look at a thing that they can't explain. It is an object that emits light in the middle of a pile of dust and rubble.


text:
"Mr. Billingmyer's Seventy-Fifth Halloween" by Ryan Sheffield

The doorbell rang for the first time that evening around half past six, and the excitement that brought Thomas Jacob Billngmyer to his feet was that of a grade school child. This was to be his seventy-fifth Halloween, but with such gleeful enthusiasm in his arthritic bones, one might have easily mistook it for his first. An old man he was, yes, but a child at heart. And how he loved the children.

“Trick or treat!” was the chorus they sang, and to Mr. Billingmyer it was more lovely a sound than any Yuletide carol could ever be. The costumes grew more unrecognizable to him as the years passed—the children of late preferring their popular television characters to the more classic Halloween staples to which he was accustomed—but he loved them just the same. For one night every year they could be anything. For that one wonderful night, they were no longer burdened by the strict rules of school marms or the limits of the adult world. Adults preferred the rules and rigid routine, growing up and out of their imaginations and leaving them behind like a snake’s old skin—much to their own detriment, in the opinion of Thomas Billingmyer. On this night, he could be anything and there were no rules.

“Happy Halloween to you all!” he proclaimed, and dropped a piece of candy in the baskets, bags and buckets of the smiling children. They thanked him and ran off down the drive, back to their imagination-deprived parents who waited in their boring, everyday clothes to lead the little ghosts and ghouls to the next well-lit house on the street.

He watched them go and shut the door, too excited to sit down again. He wished he had had the foresight to purchase a carving pumpkin during the day. But he supposed it was best this way. His searing joints did not share his festive mood. Such spoilsports they were! He missed his youth dearly, and though seventy-five Halloweens were more than most could hope for, he would trade it all to have stayed young. To have never known that awful world of responsibility and toil and boredom that all adults must occupy. To never shed the precious gift of childhood imagination.

 In the two hours that followed his first evening visitors, the doorbell rang but four times. Each time was a grand time—tiny witches and pint-sized devils joyous and shouting and thankful—but it was so much fewer than the year before. And so the pattern had gone for years. Perhaps the children these days grew up too quickly. The world was changing and adulthood intruded on their little lives too soon. The old man wondered if a year would come when there would be no Trick-or-Treaters at all. He wouldn’t likely live to see that terrible night, and for that he was grateful. He would not be alive to mourn the world’s imagination. He would see to that.

It was nearing 9o’clock and Mr. Billingmyer had all but given up when the doorbell rang again. He made his way to the door as quickly as his grumpy, old skeleton would allow. But this time he was not greeted by the shouts of princesses and goblins. The young man that darkened his doorway had long since shed and forsaken childhood, his scary costume nothing more than his own skin and that putrid symbiont, desperation.

The young man pulled a knife from his shoulder bag and pushed Thomas Jacob Billingmyer backward into the house. He locked the door behind him and peeked nervously through the blinds on the window.

“Keep your mouth shut, old man. I swear to God, I will cut you.” He gestured with the knife and Mr. Billingmyer did as it commanded, backing away slowly toward the living room.

“Sit down.” The knife directed him to the wooden chair he had set out for resting between doorbell rings. He did as he was told. The young man dug through his bag and pulled out a roll of duct tape which he used to bind Mr. Billingmyer, most uncomfortably, where he sat.

The young man was desperate indeed. He dug through all the drawers—even the kitchen pantry!—looking for valuables he never would have sought had youthful imagination not been so cruelly discarded. Mr. Billingmyer did not truly blame him. Adulthood encroaches as it will.

He watched patiently as the young man darted into the bedroom, rummaged around, and returned with handfuls of jewelry. Most were obviously “costume” fakes, but the young man did not strike him as someone with a very discerning eye. He felt bad for him, really.

“What time is your wife supposed to be gettin’ home, old man?” he asked as he filled his shoulder bag with the worthless trinkets.

“I never married,” replied Mr. Billingmyer.

“What, are you some kind of fruit? Why you have all this shit? Nevermind. Cash. Where is it?” The young man held out the knife. It wasn’t very threatening. It seemed to be serving more as punctuation than anything else.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any,” said the old man.

“You don’t have any? Bullshit. Don’t lie to me, man. I’m not kidding around here!” The punctuation was sharp but weak.

“I’m terribly sorry. I really can’t help you, son.”

The young man threw his arms in the air and began pacing.

“You’re lying,” he said, though it seemed to be directed more at himself. “Shit!”

He took a few minutes to quickly—and most ineffectively—ransack the house in search of money that was not there. He gave up easily. Mr. Billingmyer assumed the young man had done so a great many times before.

“Shit… shit…” He threw himself into a chair and ran his fingers through his hair. It was a sad and pitiful sight. Mr. Billingmyer wished he didn’t have to see it. After a moment, the young man got up in a huff and grabbed a piece of candy from the Trick-or-Treat bowl.

“That candy is for the children!” shouted the old man. He was incensed and his lip was trembling. “It’s for the children, not for you!”

“Shut the hell up, old man,” he said weakly. He unwrapped the candy and ate the entire bar in one bite. “No money… liar…” he mumbled. And then he fell facedown on the living room floor.

His body shook with spasms and blood began to pour from his mouth, nose, ears, and even his tear ducts. The poison worked so much faster than Mr. Billingmyer thought was possible. And such a mess…

Though his bones put up quite a fuss, the old man was able to wriggle free of his restraints after only a few minutes of trying. Goodness, the place was a mess!

It was getting late and he supposed he should probably be on his way. The night was waning, the little ghouls were returning home with their bounties, and the homeowners would likely be back soon. And to find such a mess! He felt rather apologetic, but there was little he could do but make himself scarce before they arrived.

Thomas Jacob Billingmyer’s seventy-fifth Halloween was going to end as a disappointment. He hoped the next would be better, if fate saw fit to let him live to see it.

Then the doorbell rang. Mr. Billingmyer rushed to the door and opened it just a crack.

“Trick or treat!” sang the children. The old man smiled. Oh, to be young forever. Adulthood was the end of dreams. And no one deserved that.

The children extended their baskets, buckets and bags and the old man gave them each a piece of candy.

“Happy Halloween to you all!” he said. And looking into their smiling faces, all the disappointment and misfortune vanished from his mind as though it were never there.

Yes, he thought. It was a wonderful night.

title: I challenged myself to write a short horror story for every day in October. I thought I'd share one with you guys. Happy Halloween!

question: Who is Mr. Billingmyer?

answer: Mr. Billingmyer is a 75-year old man. He has broken into someone's house on Halloween in order to hand out poisoned candy to children.

question: Why does he enjoy Halloween?

answer: He loves Halloween because it is one night a year that children could be anything their imaginations desired, and there are no rules on Halloween.

question: What is the conflict with the young man?

answer: The young man comes to the door, threatens Mr. Billingmyer with knife, and he enters the house. He wants money.

question: How does the conflict get resolved?

answer: The young man eats a piece of the candy meant for the trick-or-treaters and dies because it is poisoned.

question: Write a ~9 sentence summary.

answer: Mr. Billingmyer is a 75-year old man. He has broken into someone's house on Halloween in order to hand out poisoned candy to children. He loves Halloween because it is one night a year that children could be anything their imaginations desired, and there are no rules on Halloween. He bemoans the end of childhood and the adult world of responsibility. A young man comes to the door, threatens Mr. Billingmyer with knife, and he enters the house. He wants money. He ties up the old man and searches the house for money. Frustrated, he sits and eats a piece of the candy meant for the trick-or-treaters and dies because it is poisoned. The old man wriggles free from his bindings, answers the door one last time, and then leaves before the owners of the house return.


text:
MACKENZY BERNADEAU (born January 3, 1986) is an American football guard who is currently a free agent. He was drafted with the 250th pick by the Carolina Panthers in the seventh round of the 2008 NFL Draft. He played college football at Bentley University.

Early years

Bernadeau attended Plympton Elementary School and Waltham High School, where he practiced football, basketball and track.

He accepted a football scholarship from Bentley University in his hometown of Waltham, Massachusetts, where he was named the starting left tackle as a freshman. He was switched to the left guard position midway through his junior year. He started 37 straight games (25 at left tackle and 12 at left guard), before suffering a torn meniscus on his left knee during the sixth game of his senior season. He is the second Bentley player to ever be drafted and the only one to make an NFL roster.[1] He majored in management.

In 2016, he was inducted into the Northeast-10 Conference Hall of Fame.

Professional career

Carolina Panthers

Bernadeau was selected in the seventh round (250th overall) of the 2008 NFL Draft. He was the first Northeast-10 Conference player ever drafted in the NFL. In 2009, he appeared in all 16 games, starting at left guard during the last 7 games, after left tackle Jordan Gross was lost for the season with an injury and Travelle Wharton was forced to move from guard to tackle.

His best season with the Panthers came the next year, when he started 12 games (5 at right guard and the last seven at left guard). In 2011, he lost his starting position to Wharton, playing in 15 games with one start at left guard.

Dallas Cowboys

On March 14, 2012, Bernadeau signed with the Dallas Cowboys as a free agent.[2] After having hip and knee surgery in the offseason, his level of play suffered, even though he started 16 games (including his first two career starts at center) for the first time in his career.

The next year, he had another offseason surgery, this time in his right shoulder.[3] After starting the first game of the 2013 season, the Cowboys signed former Pro Bowler Brian Waters to start in place of Bernadeau and improve the level of play on the offensive line. After Waters was lost for the season with a triceps injury in the eighth game, Bernadeau regained his starter role and went on to play his best football as a Cowboy.[4]

Looking to improve the guard position, the team selected Zack Martin (named All-Pro as a rookie) in the first round of the 2014 NFL Draft and moved Bernadeu to compete for the left guard position, which eventually went to Ronald Leary. He only started one game in place of an injured Leary and remained as a backup for the rest of the season.

In 2015, he was used as a versatile backup that could play any of the interior positions of the offensive line, including center. He started in the second game of the season against the Philadelphia Eagles, replacing an injured Ronald Leary at left guard. He saw limited action until the last game against the Washington Redskins, when he replaced an injured Leary in the third quarter.

Jacksonville Jaguars

On March 11, 2016, Bernadeau signed a two-year contract with the Jacksonville Jaguars. Although he began training camp as the starter at left guard, he was passed on the depth chart by Chris Reed and Patrick Omameh and was relegated to third-string center duties.[5] He was released on September 3.[6]

Personal life

Bernadeau is one of six siblings. Bernadeau enjoys karaoke as he is a world recognized champion in the activity. Competing in Berlin in 2012 and Montreal in 2013 Bernadeau took home gold in both events. He credits his mother for giving him his sweet sounding voice. [7]

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title: Mackenzy Bernadeau

question: What does the text say about Mackenzy Bernadeau?

answer: Mackenzy Bernadeau is an American football guard who is currently a free agent. He played college football at Bentley University.

question: What does the text say about Mackenzy Bernadeau's early life?

answer: Mackenzy Bernadeau attended Plympton Elementary School and Waltham Highschool. He accepted a football scholarship from Bentley University in his hometown of Waltham, Massachusetts, where he was named the starting left tackle as a freshman. He majored in management.

question: What does the text say about Mackenzy Bernadeau's professional career?

answer: Mackenzy Bernadeau was selected in the seventh round of the 2008 NFL draft to join the Carolina Panthers. On March 14, 2012, he signed with the Dallas Cowboys as a free agent. On March 11, 2016, he signed a two-year contract with the Jacksonville Jaguars.

question: What does the text say about the struggles of being a football player?


text:
ERODE BOOK FESTIVAL is an annual book fair organized in the South Indian city of Erode, Tamil Nadu. It is organised by a social organisation named _Makkal Sindhanai Peravai_. Erode Book Festival ranks largest in Tamil Nadu.[1][2]

Exhibition turned Cultural Festival

Along with the stalls displaying books from various publishers, this 12 day program hosts a set of events like Orations from highlighted speakers, honoring of researchers, honoring of publishers and Cultural events by school students.

Duration and Venue

The fair typically lasting for about 12 days, held between the last week of July and the third week of August. The venue of the fair is at the Municipal Ground near VOC Park, Erode. It houses around 230 Stalls which make a turnover of 6 Crore at an average. The exhibition will be open between 11 am to 9.30 pm and the entry to this festival is free.[3][4][5]

Celebrities participation

As a part of the Cultural Festival, several celebrities were called for stage Oration on various topics. Dr.A.P.J.Abdul Kalam, former president of India made his speech twice in this festival.[6][7] Other personalities like Sivakumar, Ilaiyaraaja, Pushpavanam Kuppusamy, Suki Sivam, Solomon Pappaiah were few among the frequent visitors.[8][9]

G.D. Naidu Award

In 2016, the organisation has initiated honoring young researchers in Science, as a part of this Book Festival. The award is named after Gopalswamy Doraiswamy Naidu, an Indian inventor and engineer. The award is to encourage the youngsters to take up research.[10] The award also includes 1 lakh cash price.[11]

Erode Book Festival-2017

The 13th edition of the Erode Book Festival was held between 4 August 2017 and 15 August 2017, for 12 days in the Municipal Ground near VOC Park.[12]

Note

-   Varalaragivitta Varugai : Dr.APJ Abdul Kalam's presence at Erode Book Festival

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title: Erode Book Festival

question: What is Makkal Sindhanai Peravai?

answer: A social organization.

question: List 3 features of the Erode Book Festival.

answer: It is 12 days long, houses 230 stalls, and includes orations by guest speakers.

question: What does the acronym VOC stand for?

answer: The text doesn't say.

question: Name 4 celebrities who have made appearances at the festival.

answer: Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam (former president of India), Solomon Pappaiah, Pushpavanam Kuppusamy, and Suki Sivam.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: This text overviews the Erode Book Festival in Erode, Tamil Nadu. The festival occurs in the summer and lasts for 12 days. Along with more than 200 bookstalls, the festival hosts orations by guest speakers and honors speakers and publishers.


text:
TAFSIR CHÉRIF (born 19 June 1996) is a Guinean professional footballer who plays as a forward .

Chérif represented the Guinea U20s at the 2016 Toulon Tournament.[1]

Career

On 31 August 2016, the last day of the 2016 summer transfer window, Chérif joined Rio Ave on loan from Monaco.[2]

Career statistics

Club

[3][4]

  Club                   Season     League                     National Cup   League Cup   Europe   Other   Total
  ---------------------- ---------- -------------------------- -------------- ------------ -------- ------- ------- ------- ------ ------- ------ -------
  Division               Apps       Goals                      Apps           Goals        Apps     Goals   Apps
  Monaco II              2012–13    CFA                        1              0            —        —       —
  2013–14                23         9                          —              —            —        —       23
  2014–15                0          0                          —              —            —        —       0
  2015–16                2          0                          —              —            —        —       2
  Total                  26         9                          0              0            0        0       0
  Auxerre II (loan)      2014–15    |CFA2                      5              0            —        —       —
  Auxerre (loan)         |2014–15   Ligue 2                    5              1            0        0       1
  Orléans (loan)         |2014–15   Ligue 2                    7              0            —        —       —
  Varzim (loan)          |2015–16   LigaPro                    21             2            0        0       0
  Rio Ave (loan)         |2016–17   Primeira Liga              1              0            0        0       1
  Cercle Brugge (loan)   2016–17    Belgian First Division B   0              0            0        0       —
  Cholet                 2017–18    |National                  8              0            0        0       —
  Varzim                 |2018–19   LigaPro                    22             0            2        0       0
  Académica              |2020–19   LigaPro                    3              0            0        0       0
  Career total           98         12                         2              0            2        1       0

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title: Tafsir Chérif

question: Who is Tafsir Chérif?

answer: Tafsir Chérif is a Guinean professional footballer.

question: Which position does Tafsir Chérif play at?

answer: Tafsir Chérif plays as a forward.

question: Which teams has Tafsir Chérif represented?

answer: Tafsir Chérif has represented the Guinea U20s at the 2016 Toulon Tournament. He's also played for Rio Ave.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Tafsir Chérif is a Guinean footballer who plays as a forward. He's played for Guinea U20s at the Toulon Tournament and was later transferred to Rio Ave on loan from Mexico.


text:
Hi, I'm not really a writer. I wrote the below piece and just wanted to see what other people think of it. First reddit post, and I'm hoping it goes well. :)

"It had been a particularly cold winter. The white frost blanketed the ground, killing everything that lived, as if Death himself laid down his tattered cloak over the land. I soon forgot what warmth was. The feeling itself frozen and shattered from my memory. There was only the cold left to keep us poor folk warm.

It was during that desolate winter that I had the pleasure of meeting Joe, a stoic man who had come from farther up North, seeking a warmth his body didn’t feel and his mind couldn’t remember. When I saw the crystal clear blue of his eyes, I remember thinking that the cold was in him, in those eyes, and he would never escape from it. But I was sillier back then.

I was young. A girl alone in the world, left to my own devices on a neglected and deserted ranch. Or at least what was left of it. I sometimes thought to myself I was Jonah, and the dilapidated house around me the dying carcass of that biblical whale. The “farmhouse” I lived in had been falling down around me for the better part of my stay, and showed no signs of slowing. I had found it like this and it had stayed like this, as broken and empty as I was.

Most people kept their distance, as I was seen as undesirable. Whether I thought myself worthy of such a distinction or not I did not care. I only cared that they thought I was worthy of distance. Peace of mind was something rarely afforded to most in this world, and as long as I was an unnamed presence meant to be quarantined from the normal folk I was afforded that peace of mind.

Until Joe. We met in the cold and it was the cold that sustained us until the frost became too bitter. He had been sleeping in “my” barn, or at least what was left of it. I rarely ventured out of the main house, as it was there I felt the most safe. I sometimes looked out at it from the kitchen window, mostly in passing, to check if it was still there, giving it’s sorry condition.

I watched through a spiderweb of cracked and stained glass as he went to and from the barn. I didn’t know where he went, but around dusk he would always stumble back to the shelter that the barn provided.

I had been alone for so long by then that his presence wasn’t easily articulated into clear feelings one way or the other. I knew he might be dangerous, but I also knew he was like me. A connection flowed from that kitchen window to the door of that barn. We were both a body without a soul. A life wasted, created in misery, and destined to die with a whimper not a bang. So I decided to speak to him, the first person in a long time I felt connected to on any kind of level worth a damn.

How he had been surviving in the barn for this long with it’s missing shingles and barely patched south wall, which had been through absolute hell during tornado season two years past, was a mystery to me. Everyday had found the weather turning colder as if the ranch was turning solid, and the barn wasn’t much protection. I didn’t know how to approach him without scaring him, as I had come to think of him as a solitary fellow, never having seen anyone in his company while he stayed on the ranch.

So I knocked. My knuckles meeting the frayed once-red, now pink, wood that covered the brown oak that made up the barn. The sound of my knocks were small, my shivering not only a result of the winter wind, but nevertheless he heard. Joe had been a man slow to talk when we first met, but he opened up as our talks grew.

It was around then that I began to realize his eyes were more the blue of the ocean water that I had sometimes dreamed about than frozen ice. We talked of many things, and when I told him of how I felt like Jonah, his laugh brought back something in me, and I laughed along with him. It was the shared laughs more than anything that kept me coming back to that barn for so long.
He introduced a warmth that didn’t stretch very far but radiated with an unparalleled intensity between the two of us. We spent a month together on that cold farm, keeping the frost at bay. Eating when we could, sleeping, and most importantly living.

He and his watery eyes eventually moved on. But those days I kept with me for a very long time. I can still remember the bitter cold in my old bones, but I also remember the warmth that Joe and I rediscovered, that had been lost to us in the frigid world, until it to was killed off by the frost."

title: I wrote a very short story called Winter's Frost and am looking for feedback. Thanks!

question: From the story's first paragraph, what imagery does the narrator use to describe how cold the winter was?

answer: The first paragraph depicts tactile imagery in its extreme. The narrator tries to describe just how cold the winter was in the winter. With this description, the readers can feel the extremity and unpleasantness of how cold the weather was.

question: What does the story say about the relationship between Joe and the narrator?

answer: The winter in the area was so extreme it kept the narrator trapped in her farmhouse. Even so, the weather seemed to get worse with each passing day. During this time, she met Joe, a man who lived across from her yard in a barn alone. Because of the extreme weather condition, coupled with her desire to communicate with someone, she initiated the first contact with him, despite the possibility of him being dangerous. Eventually, she established a friendship with him. Even though he was slow to talk, Joe's communication with the girl improved with time as they got more comfortable with each other's company.

question: What does the story say about why people kept their distance from the narrator?


text:
Cal stared at the shack from across the campfire. The bouncing red and orange hues danced along the grasping vines that threatened to drag the hut back into the earth.
It was stable enough, he thought, but the mottled logs that held deep cuts from the twisting bark twine told a different story. It sagged off kilter precariously in a dismally comedic state. The shack was the jungle’s maw, sunken into the wild growth like a dead scream.

The night air was oppressively humid and sweltering hot. Eyes in the dense underbrush were illuminated in white-hot arrays of primality quickly blinking in and out of existence. There were so many eyes, he thought. To Cal, the fires made the forest seem omnipotent, as if strangers possessed by raw instinct sorted through his soul.

He couldn’t have been sure about where he was. Brazil or Bolivia, it was impossible to be certain, but it hardly mattered. He knew that the trees formed an incomprehensibly vast canopy of green for as far as he could see. The rainforest around him was a living middle finger to diplomatic delineation.

Through the jungle ahead of him there was a mud-brown river that rushed by in brash indifference, only to be drowned out by the clicking and crackling of the forest. The rainforest was a crashing wave of life, and each day he could feel it creeping closer in to crush him. He was alone.

There was no solace in the rainforest. It was an all-encompassing organ of green that swallowed civility indiscriminately.  Cal knew he wouldn’t be able to stay there for much longer. The sneaking rot and mildew had left him destitute and frail, but where could he have gone?

He wondered what had happened in Manaus after he had left. After the rioting started and the food got scarce, he fell in with a group of refugees and followed the Rio Madeira south. The exodus from the cities had been massive, and death clung to the refugees as they fled, but not even that immense magnitude of death had stirred their gods.

The rainforest had become their cradle of zealotry in the hysteria. New tribes and new warlords pocked the landscape with their frenzied prophecies every month, while each surge of refugees brought with them in their death throes new mania to be preyed upon. However, the harsh realities of the jungle greeted them with a staggering loss of life. Unfinished mass graves created a stench that lingered for miles as apex predators and the undergrowth engulfed the bodies indiscriminately. The smell came and went as he traveled, but it always seemed to linger, sometimes ever so slightly, amongst the mud and rain.

The surrounding tribes had carved out their ramshackle cities with a relentless perseverance. Before the Fall, the larger zealot factions captured the government’s burners and atomizers, rallying the citizens around false promises of jungle utopia. Sometimes he could hear their machines gnashing through the forest, answering the human race’s plight with astonishing hypocrisy. Slavery was common now in the jungle, and the zealot leaders ruled with calculated brutality and war. The people’s search for salvation had quickly dissolved into aimless chaos.

The fire burned low and hissed as he fed it another wet log. He wondered about when the shack was built, probably in some by-gone era of indigenous life, an extinguished civilization giving refuge to another. He stared at the fading shack and was lost. There was nothing for him there. Cal grabbed his bright blue tarp and crawled underneath the broken roof, where he had laid a mat of wide green fronds.

He slept.

title: [SF] Burned Jungle

question: What does Cal find in the jungle?

answer: He finds a shack, which to him is a vital place to spend the night. It looks old but stable. He thinks that perhaps it comes from an indigenous nation that once existed in the jungle, now long gone.

question: What is the setting of the story?

answer: The story is a post-apocalyptic sci-fi story where refugees have fled to the Amazon rainforest to escape an event called "The Fall." Place names mentioned are from Brazil, and there is talk of slavery and false utopias being formed in the jungle. In a word, chaos. And yet the narrator seems to have escaped most of it.


text:
SÉBASTIEN MEUNIER is a French fashion designer. He was the creative director of the iconic Belgian fashion house Ann Demeulemeester from 2013 to 2020.

Biography

SÉBASTIEN MEUNIER was born in Versailles in 1974.

He graduated from ESMOD, the Paris-based fashion school, in 1997. Shortly after, in 1998, he won the _Grand prix du Jury Mode_ at the :fr:Festival international de mode et de photographie in Hyères for his menswear collection. Sébastien Meunier then assisted Jean Colonna for one year before launching his eponymous menswear label in 2000. The same year, he began to work with Martin Margiela, successively designing women's and men's collections while running his own brand until 2006. In 2010 Sébastien Meunier left Maison Martin Margiela and joined Ann Demeulemeester in Antwerp as head designer for men's. In 2013, following her decision to retire from the fashion industry, Ann Demeulemeester chose him as her successor at the helm of the Maison she founded in 1985.

Sébastien Meunier currently lives in Antwerp. He has a notable passion for cars, his personal collection including vintage Jaguar and Rolls-Royce.

title: Sébastien Meunier

question: What is the name of the Creative Director of the Belgian fashion house, Ann Demeulmeester, from 2013 to 2020?

answer: The name is Sebastien Meunier.

question: Where was Meunier born?

answer: In Versailles, 1974.

question: What was the first award Meunier won in the fashion world?

answer: Grand Prix du Jury Mode.

question: Where does Meunier currently live?

answer: In Antwerp, Belgium.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer:
Sebastien Meunier, the famous French designer, was born in Versailles, 1974. He was Creative Director for Ann Demeulmeester, the Belgian fashion house, from 2013 to 2020.

Meunier graduated from ESMOD, the Paris-based fashion school, in 1997 and worked for notable fashion industry icons shortly after.

Meunier currently lives in Antwerp, Belgium.


text:
The SERRA DOS REIS A STATE PARK () is a state park in the state of Rondônia, Brazil.

Location

The Serra dos Reis A State Park is divided between the municipalities of Costa Marques (14.17%) and São Francisco do Guaporé (85.83%) in Rondônia. It has an area of . It adjoins the Serra dos Reis State Park along its southern boundary. The park is to the south of the BR-429 highway, east of the town of Costa Marques and north of the Guaporé River, which defines the border with Bolivia.

History

The Serra dos Reis A State Park was created by decree 7.637 of 7 November 1996 with an area of about in the municipality of Costa Marques. The park was bounded by the Serra dos Reis State Park, created by decree 7.027 of 8 August 1995. The State Department of Environmental Development (SEDAM) was made responsible for administration.

Notes

Sources

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Category:State parks of Brazil Category:Protected areas established in 1996 Category:1996 establishments in Brazil Category:Protected areas of Rondônia

title: Serra dos Reis A State Park

question: Where is the Serra Dos Reis A State Park?

answer: Rondônia, Brazil

question: How did the Serra Dos Reis A State Park get its name?

answer: That information can't be found.

question: When was the Serra Dos Reis A State Park created?

answer: November 7, 1996

question: Describe the Serra Dos Reis A State Park.

answer: That information can't be found.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The Serra Dos Reis A State Park is a state park in Rondônia, Brazil. The park was created on November 7, 1996.


text:
My name is Gil Perez, and for the sake of my sanity I make this journal. If creation has not completely inverted itself, twisted itself into some unrecognizable form from which God hath turned his back on in disgust, it should be the 25th of October, 1593. Even if that knowledge is sound it still gets me nowhere, for all I know I’ve descended into hell and very soon all the outlandish hominoids surrounding me will morph into even fouler satanic beasts than they already are and throw me on a spit to roast for dinner. Maybe this is the treatment I’ve earned myself; perhaps God hath already cast his judgment on me, taken me before my day had even begun, and this is the form for which my eternal punishment takes; a blistering inferno of strange sounds, sights, and smells; of demons dressed as men and women, appearing at a glance to be kin, my brothers and sisters, but once in focus turning into something foreign, unknown, as if they were from another time or place altogether.

I must not dwell on these things, fear is beginning to overtake me; God would not cast out such a faithful servant before he had even lived to see the day, before his time had truly come. This must be the work of a demon; Beelzebub himself had a hand in this I’m sure of it. What has befallen me I wary explain; words fail to describe the absurdity of what I see unfolding before my eyes every passing second. All is wrong, all is different, nothing is as it should be; I know not how to explain this.

My name, as I’ve already stated, is Gil Perez; I am a Spanish soldier and a member of the Filipino Guardia Civil, the national constabulary of the great and ever-expanding Spanish nation. Not but a few minutes ago I was on guard duty at the governor’s palace in Manila acting as a sentry to keep order on the grounds. It had been a rough few days, especially with the Governor Don Gomez Perez Dasmarinas’ assassination only a few days before; the heresy took everyone by surprise, and to demonstrate solidarity and dissuade any other traitorous Chinese pirates from disturbing the palace grounds again all guards were required to work through the night on the 23rd and a good chunk into the 24th; until a new governor was named, no one could go home. After this I was truly exhausted, more so than I have ever been since I joined the guard many a year ago, and so, in the lull of the early morning and with the knowledge of the no doubt busy day of patrol to come, I decided to lean back against one of the outer walls of the palace and rest my bones for but a few moments, wholly intending to wake back to full awareness in no more than a minute or two. Well, to put it bluntly, I awoke much quicker than I expected, to an environment not at all the one I had taken rest from. I don’t know what drove me to open my eyes so soon, I knew I had time enough to lounge for but a few moments in light of working through the night, but after several seconds with my eye closed something changed. I noticed something…different; almost like the realization of a fly on my back or a tick crawling up my leg. But it was more than this, something far stranger, something I would never expect to experience in this life or the next. As if reality skipped a beat, existence stuttered for a second, just a second, almost imperceptibly so, but just enough for me to hear. I was loafing about at the time of the event so the sounds around me were not particularly distinct, but the change in sound, the sudden switch from one background uproar to the next, jarred me to awareness and I opened my eyes to a different world. In that moment, I either died and was sent to where the Holy Father judged me deserving, or Beelzebub, in a rare surge of worldly influence, grabbed me by the collar and whisked me away to some other part of creation; I assume as a demon he does whatever is in his power to do that he believes will shake and undermine the faithful. Shake, he did; undermine, he did not.

In coming to terms with this occurrence I realize this place I’ve ended up, by some divine joke as it seems, is not heaven or hell. I’m actually still within the Spanish Empire if I’m correct; judging by the suits of the guard I’ve seen walk by and the architecture of the surrounding buildings I believe I’m standing in proximity to the Plaza Mayor, the courtyard of the Mexican capital building in Mexico City. This, though still obviously quite startling, is a great relief; I truly thought my life had simply ceased, that my essence had simply been extinguished and that I was destined to wander aimlessly about a nonsensical landscape full of equally nonsensical and unnerving figures as a spirit among the land of the dead for the rest of eternity.

In any case, my momentary reprieve from reality it seems is coming to an end. Almost as soon as I arrived I was approached by a Mexican guard asking me what I was doing here and why I was dressed the way I was. I told him of my livelihood and my station, to which he promptly retorted in exactly the way I would expect any rational individual to react when told a tale such as mine, going from the middle of the Philippines all the way across the Atlantic Ocean and into the dead center of Mexico City in what seemed an instant. Strange though, upon further questioning not only the nature of my being here but also the time in which I’m here seems off, for the guard responded to my recounting of the date in the same sharp tone he expressed his disbelief of my point of origin, informing me it was only the 23rd of October. This it appears he has deemed enough to take me in for more intensive questioning, on suspicion of engaging in sorcery or being possessed no doubt, as he and a posse of 5 other men are now patrolling a little more ardently the grounds I previously occupied. After several minutes of rudimentary questioning when I first appeared the guard went on his way, unconvinced as he was, and I, suffering still from the shock of God’s divine hand or Satan’s devious scepter, wandered off to a small alley between buildings adjacent to the plaza, in hopes of gathering my thoughts and grasping hold of my sanity before it slipped away unto the abyss. This I achieved, but I doubt I have any recourse but to cooperate with my North American compatriots and allow myself to go through they’re investigative process at this point. I know no one in this land; no one will vouch for me here. My story is not very convincing in any case; more the stock of fairy tales than anything else. I will simply relinquish myself unto God once again and trust in his divine plan; for through his power or some derivation of it I was brought here, and through his power again must I go.

The guards come for me now; may all who find this tattered piece of paper trust in its words and know them not to be false. All I have said is recounted from memory and emotion alone, nothing more. May God bless you and keep you my friends.

-GP

title: Caught In a Cosmic Burp

question: Who is Beelzebub?

answer: a demon

question: How could the narrator have travelled back in time and to a new continent?

answer: the story does not answer this question

question: What is the Filipino Guardia Civil?

answer: a former branch of the Spanish military deployed in the Spanish-controlled Philippines

question: What ocean lies between Mexico and the Philippines?

answer: the Pacific Ocean

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Gil Perez, a Spanish in the Philippines, has been teleported, as if by magic, to  a prison in Mexico. He also appears to have travelled back in time two days.


text: I walk along a trail in the middle of a deep forest. The trail is made of lightly colored gravel, each pebble a millimeter in length. The trail must be made of millions upon millions of small pebbles. Its soft crunching underfoot betrays its sharp and painful nature. I look away from my feet, and I notice a snail peeling along the forest floor, just to the right of the trail. It seems so peaceful, unaware of my presence or its inability to move at a faster pace. I reach out, but as my hand crosses past the edge of the gravel, the snail disappears. I am merely an observer, bound by the confines of my trail. I proceed on, noting the beauty of the trees, ranging from oaks to pines. A pine’s velvety needles attract the attention of my hand. Again, I reach my hand beyond the limit of my trail. Just as my hand falls within reach of the pines soft down, the trees fade into nothingness. I continue along the trail, now in a massive open field. I take no notice of time, but some distance along the trail later, I notice the grass. The soft, dark green tufts carpet the plane, a stark contrast to the sharp stones on which I stand. Yet again, I leave the trail, my foot seeking relief from the hard gravel. The grass, too, disappears, and I find myself on a sidewalk in the middle of a bustling city. I call out; asking those rushing by a question I can’t recall, but no one seems to take notice, too preoccupied to assist a stranger. I reach out to touch someone’s shoulder, hoping to get their attention, and the city falls silent. The once busy street is now empty; I am alone. I notice a phone booth across the way, and I try to reach it. As soon as I step off the sidewalk and onto the pavement, everything disappears. I am once again in a forest, walking along a trail of gravel.

title: The Trail

question: What is the narrative of the story?

answer: It's a circular timeline.

question: In order, what does the narrator reach for that are off their path?

answer: A snail, a pine tree, grass, pedestrians in a city, and a phone booth.

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: This information isn't in the text.

question: In order, what surfaces does the narrator walk across?

answer: Gravel, a city sidewalk, a pavement, then gravel again.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This is a surreal, circular story about someone walking along a trail, reaching out to try to touch various creatures and objects that disappear once the narrator tries to interact with them.