text:
No sound, and even though Jack’s eyes are closed he knows wherever he is its very bright. And forcing his eye-lids open with more energy than he had ever used before to do such a task. He brought up an arm to shield himself from a light that most surely wasn’t artificial but was at the same time. As if the light was coming from all around him but nowhere at the same time.

	He tried to speak but found that no words escaped him. And he slowly sat up and looked around to get his bearings. Wherever he was, he’d never seen anything like it before. There appeared to be an expansive stretch of nothingness before him. A long and vast whiteness, He was sure this was a dream, that this feeling of unrelenting sadness gripping him, deep down in the pit of his stomach was just a nightmare that had yet to reveal the punch-line.

Where am I? He thought as he stood up. It took a lot of energy to accomplish this task, his bones and joints were sluggish and clumsy. Once he managed to get to his feet he became dizzy, to the point where he had to put his hands on his knees and bend over for a minute to let it subside.

	Squinting through half closed eyes he tried to look around again and though the light was still very bright it had abated slightly and he could finally stand up straight again. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. He tried to call out again but the words still wouldn’t come. He knew he was speaking but he couldn’t hear anything coming out.

	“There is no use trying to speak.” A woman’s voice came from behind him, seemingly out of the nothingness; A very familiar voice.

	He slowly turned around and was sure that this was a dream. The sight of her made his heart drop, stop and melt all at the same time. He couldn’t remember her name but he knew that he had known this girl very well, knowing every inch of her body and most of her personality.

	She just smiled sadly and took a step forward she moved with a grace and sadness that brought a breaking dread to Jack and he squinted as he watched her move about as if she were gliding along the floor that wasn’t there. This is a dream? He thought to himself and he wasn’t very surprised to hear her speak again. “In a way it is. In a way it is not.” He frowned and looked around again. Where are we?

	“We are everywhere, and nowhere at the same time. We are together again, but apart forever.” She smiled and stepped closer. He suddenly didn’t want her to come any closer and he felt tears forming in his eyes. What do you mean?  She merely smiled. “Is it too bright here? Your eyes haven’t adjusted yet. It will take some time.” She glanced around and as she did the air around him seemed to shift and change.

	And now he was standing in the middle of an old bar. Four pool tables off to the right, and a bar in the middle. The girl was now behind the bar. “Do you remember this place?”  Jack looked around the room. It was empty aside from them. He nodded slowly. It’s where we met. But I can’t remember your name. After all these years, I’ve known you. I’m sorry.

	She just smiled sadly again. “That is not important. My name is no longer a part of your memory.” She moved around the bar and poured a double of whiskey. “This was your favorite wasn’t it?”

	Jack instantly felt something churn in his stomach and he shut his eyes for an instant he heard a sort of siren blaring and then he opened them again, the room had changed once more. They were in his apartment lying in bed. Her head on his chest, her short hair brushed away from her upturned face. “This is where we spent our first night together.” She smiled. And he felt like crying even more. I remember you saying that we had to do this or we’d never know if it was worth it. He thought.

	“Was it worth it?” She asked and kissed his collar bone lightly. An icy chill ran up his spine. He shuddered. Every single second of it.

	“Every second.” She sighed and he felt her cool hand intertwine with his. “I need to tell you something Jack.” I know, This isn’t a dream…  He felt the tears now, they had been escaping the corners of his eyes for who knew how long. What happened? Where are we?

	He shut his eyes and the blaring siren slipped back in for a moment And the voices of people shouting in the distance.

	“You are dying. People say that your life flashes before your eyes before you die…” Her voice was getting distant. Further away and Jack squeezed his arms around her holding her close. The body he held tightly. Don’t leave me. Please Don’t leave me! The sirens were stronger now piercing the walls of his subconscious.

	“You have to make a choice.” She said. Her voice was distant and muddled now. “I Hate to give you such a cliché ultimatum but you have a choice to make.” Jack nodded his head, the room around him swam and rippled seeming to meld the moldy ceiling of his apartment with a starry night sky. “Stay here with me. Or go back.” Her voice was coming in a little stronger now. What happened? Where’s back, why aren’t you there?

 	“Do I really have to say it?” She sat up on her elbow and looked down at him. And he knew there from the sadness in her eyes and the way she smiled soothingly down at him. He reached a hand up and ran a thumb along her jaw-line. “All you have to do is choose. There is still time. Go back.”

And with that he knew what he had to do. He brought both hands up to hold her face gently in his hands and he pulled her down close to him so that their noses were touching. And he was able to find his voice. “There is no life for me, without you.” And he smiled.

	She frowned for a moment and scrunched her nose up. “Are you sure?” She asked. And he smiled.

“From the moment I saw  you, Ash...”

	The ambulance rumbled along the lonely stretch of Arizona highway, and the coroner’s van behind it. “Jimmy, turn off the siren… We’ve lost him.” The paramedic paused checking his watch. Sat up and removed his rubber gloves. “CPR is unsuccessful. We can’t work him back up.”

title: "Ash" By FallenMonument

question: Summarize the conflicts in the story.

answer: The story has two conflicts. First, Jack struggles to understand where he his when he wakes up in an expansive nothingness. He remains confused even when the woman, his past lover, appears. When it becomes clear he's dying, the second conflict arises. The woman says he has to choose between staying with her (dying) or deciding to stay alive in the real world.

question: Summarize how Jack feels about the woman.

answer: Jack feels an instant wave of familiarity when he hears the woman's voice, and realizes she is someone he was both physically and mentally intimate with. He is emotional towards her when they revisit the places they'd been. He sees their relationship as having been worth it, and believes there is no life without her. He chooses to die to be with her, which solidifies his great emotions for her.

question: Summarize the plot twist.

answer: Jack believes he's in a dream when he wakes up in an expansive nothingness with an old lover guiding him. She reveals to him that it isn't a dream, but that he's dying and that he is in a limbo state. It's revealed he's being put in an ambulance. The woman tells him he has to choose between dying and being with her, or living without her.

question: Summarize how Jack died.


split: train

text:
The CINNAMON BUDGERIGAR MUTATION is one of approximately 30 mutations affecting the colour of budgerigars. It is the underlying mutation of the Cinnamon variety and, with Ino, a constituent mutation of the Lacewing variety.

Appearance

All the markings which appear black or dark grey in the corresponding Normal appear brown in the Cinnamon, of a shade similar to that of white coffee. The Cinnamon markings on cocks tend to be considerably darker than on hens.[1][2] The long tail feathers are lighter than Normals. The body colour and cheek patches are much paler, being about half the depth of colour of the Normal. The feathers of Cinnamons appear tighter than Normals, giving a silky appearance.[3][4] It is these quiet pastel shades and the sleekness of the plumage that give the variety its appeal.[5]

The eyes of the newly hatched Cinnamon are not black like the eyes of Normals, but deep plum-coloured.[6] This colour can be seen through the skin before the eyes open,[7] and immediately after opening a reddish-brown gleam can be seen. A few days later the eye darkens and is then barely distinguishable from that of a Normal chick,[8] but by this time the difference in down colour is visible: Normal chicks have grey down, but Cinnamon[9][10] (and Opaline and Ino) chicks have white.

The skin of Cinnamon chicks is also redder than Normal's,[11] and this persists into adulthood: the feet of Cinnamons are always pink rather than bluey-grey.[12][13] The beak tends to be more orange in colour.[14][15]

Superficially, the Cinnamon is very like the two types of Fallow, the German Fallow and the English Fallow, but the eye of the Cinnamon is dark brown with white iris (except for the first few days after hatching, when it is purplish or plum-coloured) whereas the eyes of both varieties of Fallow are red at all ages. The body colour of the Cinnamon is also a rather deeper shade of green or blue than that of the Fallows.

File:Budgerigar (Melopsittacus undulatus) -on cage.jpg|Opaline Light Green hen File:Wellensittich02.jpg%7CCinnamon Opaline Light Green cock

Historical notes

Cinnamon specimens of many species have been observed in the wild. A stuffed Cinnamon Light Green budgerigar hen owned by Mrs Ellis of Cottenham, Cambridgeshire, in 1935 and said then to be at least 50 years old was thought by Cyril Rogers to be wild-caught when he examined it.[16]

The first Cinnamon to be reported in Britain was a Cinnamon White Blue hen bred in 1931 from a pair of Light Green split blues by Miss M E J Hughes and her brother Mr G N Hughes of Hampton Hill, Middlesex. This bird was exhibited in 1931 and 1932, although not described as a Cinnamon as that name had not then been adopted. The mutant hen and its sire died without further issue.[17] I J J Symes gave a description[18] of what he called “the brown factor” in this bird, saying the wing markings varied from raw umber to burnt sienna.

A D Simms, of Potter's Bar, also in Middlesex at the time, paired together several Dark Green split greywing siblings in 1931 bred from an Olive cock and a Greywing Light Green hen. Among other, eight Greywing Greens, all hens, were bred which showed a “rather peculiar colour in their nest feathers”. These hens were probably Cinnamons or Greywing Cinnamons, but as the Cinnamon variety was not known at the time they were regarded as slightly strange Greywings.

G F Porter of Codicote, near Hitchin, in Hertfordshire, obtained a pair of Dark Green split greywings from Simms, and he too bred what he called Greywing Green hens. One of these he paired to a Cobalt split dilute cock and this pairing produced, among other progeny, a Cobalt cock which was later found to be split for Cinnamon and Dilute. This cock, paired to a Dark Yellow split blue hen, bred a Cinnamon Skyblue hen in early 1933. Other pairings of descendants from Simms' Dark Green split greywings produced a Cinnamon Olive and a Cinnamon Cobalt for Porter, also in 1933.[19] Towards the end on 1933 M Porter bred a Dark Green Cinnamon cock—the first Cinnamon cock to appear in Britain.[20]

A Collier of Luton also bred two Cinnamon hens in 1933, a Mauve and an Olive,[21] but as these were both from stock obtained from Porter, these were almost certainly the same mutation. Collier was the first to report the characteristic plum-coloured eyes of the very young Cinnamon chick, perhaps being prompted to look for this as it was already a known characteristic of the Cinnamon Canary.[22]

Further Cinnamons appeared in 1933 in the aviaries of G Hepburn of Peterhead, Aberdeenshire. These Cinnamons were bred from a pair of Light Greens obtained from a dealer in Aberdeen, but the ring on the cock showed it came from a Mr Banham, who lived near Victoria Station in London. Hepburn attempted to trace the origin of his birds but was unable to establish a firm link to Simms' birds. Nevertheless, all three Cinnamon mutations, those of Messrs Hughes, Simms and Hepburn, originated within a circle of 15 miles radius and within two years of each other. This strongly suggests the importation of a single Cinnamon carrier cock into the Middlesex area around 1930.

S E Terrill reported that the first Australian Cinnamon appeared about August, 1931, near Adelaide.[23] In 1934 Terrill said[24] he had “four or five cock Cinnamons of two, probably three, generations and about 36 Cinnamon hens of at least three generations.” Schumacher, of Magdeburg, Germany, also bred budgerigars with brown wings in 1932, but he disposed of them the year after and it is not known if these were Cinnamons.

Towards the end of 1934 the Budgerigar Society recognised the Cinnamon variety for exhibition purposes and published its show standard.

Genetics

The Cinnamon mutation is sex-linked, the locus of its gene being carried on the Z chromosome, and recessive to wild-type.[25] This was determined first by Cyril H Rogers working with Simms and Porter. It was reported in the Budgerigar Bulletin as early as August 1933,[26] and in more detail in September 1934.[27] At the time of the first report a Cinnamon cock had never been bred. The first cock appeared late in 1933 as a result of a deliberate mating by Porter of a Cinnamon hen and a split Cinnamon cock.[28]

Cinnamon-like mutations are known in many other bird species, including the canary, greenfinch, peach-faced lovebird and cockatiel. All these Cinnamon mutations are sex-linked recessives.

The gene locus has the symbol _cin_. The wild-type allele at this locus is notated _cin+_ and the Cinnamon allele is notated _cin_.

  Sex           Genotype             Phenotype
  ------------- -------------------- -----------
  Cocks         |_cin+_/_cin+_ ''    Normal
  _cin+/cin_    Normal (/cinnamon)
  _cin_/_cin_   Cinnamon
  Hens          |_cin+_/Y'''         Normal
  _cin_/Y       Cinnamon

In birds, the cock has two Z chromosomes and the hen has one Z and one W chromosome. So in hens whichever allele is present on the single Z chromosome is fully expressed in the phenotype. Hens cannot be split for Cinnamon (or any other sex-linked mutation). In cocks, because Cinnamon is recessive, the Cinnamon allele must be present on both Z chromosomes (homozygous) to be expressed in the phenotype. Cocks which are heterozygous for Cinnamon are identical to the corresponding Normal. Such birds are said to be split for Cinnamon, usually written '/cinnamon'.

The adjacent table shows the appearance of all possible genetic combinations involving the Cinnamon mutation.

The Cinnamon gene is linked to other genes located on the X chromosome, i.e. to the genes of other sex-linked mutations. These sex-linked mutations include the Opaline, Ino and Slate mutations. The cross-over or recombination values between Cinnamon and these linked genes has not been measured accurately, but results collected by C Warner and T Daniels[29] found 41 crossovers in 113 between Cinnamon and Opaline, giving a recombination ratio of 36±6%. The Ino gene is known to be very close to the Cinnamon gene; for details see the Ino budgerigar mutation.

C H Rogers, reporting early breeding results in 1939,[30] notes the breeding of Cinnamon Slates by G W Roderick, of Purley and L Trevallion of Loughton, Essex. The appearance of two Cinnamon Slates by 1939 suggests these two genes are not closely linked.

Cocks split for both Cinnamon and Opaline have one Cinnamon allele and one Opaline allele together with one each of the corresponding wild-type alleles. The linkage between the Cinnamon and Opaline genes gives rise to two types of split cinnamon opaline cocks, both visually identical.

-   TYPE I SPLIT CINNAMON OPALINES COCKS are bred by mating Cinnamon Opalines to Normals and have the two mutant alleles on the same chromatid, symbolised as _cin+_-_op+_/_cin_-_op_. Geneticists call this 'coupling' rather than 'Type I'. Because of the linkage, the Cinnamon and Opaline alleles from Type I cocks tend to be inherited together in their progeny. When mated to Normal hens, Type I cocks produce predominantly Cinnamon Opaline and Normal hens, with Cinnamon and Opaline hens resulting rarely from a cross-over. Roughly one third of the hens will be Cinnamon-Opaline, one third Normal, one sixth Cinnamon and one sixth Opaline.
-   TYPE II SPLIT CINNAMON OPALINE COCKS are bred by mating Cinnamons to Opalines and have the Cinnamon and Opaline mutant alleles on opposite chromatids, symbolised as _cin+_-_op_/_cin_-_op+_. Geneticists call this 'repulsion' rather than 'Type II'. Because of the separation, the Cinnamon and Opaline alleles from Type II birds tend to be inherited separately in their progeny. When mated to Normal hens, Type II cocks produce predominantly Cinnamon and Opaline hens, with Cinnamon Opaline and Normal hens resulting rarely from cross-overs. Roughly one third of the hens will be Cinnamon, one third Opaline, one sixth Cinnamon Opaline and one sixth Normal.

Hens cannot be split for any sex-linked gene, so only cocks exist in Type I and Type II form.

Notes

[1] Taylor, TG; Warner, C (1986), p 13

[2]

[3]

[4] Watmough, W (1951), p45

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8] Taylor, TG; Warner, C (1986), p 14

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21]

[22]

[23]

[24]

[25]

[26]

[27]

[28]

[29] Private communication (1979)

[30]

title: Cinnamon budgerigar mutation

question: What animal does the cinnamon budgerigar mutation affect?

answer: Unsure. It seems to affect chickens.

question: Is the mutation sex-linked?

answer: Yes, it is sex-linked.

question: Where is the chromosome of the mutation located?

answer: It is located on the Z-chromosome.

question: What is the physical appearance of the mutation?

answer: When the specimen has the cinnamon mutation, all markings which usually appear black or dark grey appear brown.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This article is about the cinnamon budgerigar mutation, which turns normally black or dark grey markings brown.


text:
“Remember how Mom told us we would grow up into men who would change the world. I believed her. I still do.” I looked out the window, ignoring Hugo. Everything was grey outside. Ya, it was winter alright. This place is too damn cold. Turn up the fucking heater Nurse.
“Mario.” God his voice is so annoying. Sounds like the spoiled pomeranian bitch that old geezer neighbor owns.
“Mario!”
“Shut the fuck up!” The doctor down the hall snapped his head up. Thought I said that in my head. Hugo’s upper lip shriveled a bit. There were no words for minutes. Why is it that every single time I retort back to the cunt in a “non-suitable” way, he starts crying. Pussy.
“I’m going to the cafeteria.” He was looking down at the tile, which, honest to God, looks like a mirror. If it’s one thing I could talk good about this joint, it’s that they make sure this place is spotless. I was making my way down the hall, looking down, admiring the tile when the nurse and I exchanged shoulders.
“Oops! I’m sorry.” she said in a shallow voice. She seemed out of breathe.
“Ya...my bad.”
Her smile was very subtle, but promising. Her lips were pale. They stood out against her red hair. She needs to put a comb through that mess.
“Your mom’s glucose levels are returning to normal.”
I gave her a cold stare. Why? I don’t know. I was toxic.
“That’s... good?”
She nodded, only to catch her head halfway.
“It’s an improvement Mario, the coma hasn’t improved though.”
I turned and walked down the hall without saying another word. Fuck that nurse anyway. I looked out the windows of the corridor leading to the commons. Still grey outside. Another night of rain it seemed like. Great.
Chatter rose, the intercom continued to echo, and the busy hall of the hospital was filled with doctors, patients, family, and everyone in between. Same old shit. Doctor talk and prayers.
“Change the world my ass” I said under my breathe.
Then out of the corner of my eye, I heard wheels screeching. A high speed chase in a hospital? This I got to see. When I turned my head, I saw an older woman being wheeled down the hall on a stretcher.
“Move! Move! Out of the way! Out of the way!” yelled the nurse wheeling her. I shimmied over to the wall. I peered over to the woman on the stretcher as she passed by a hundred miles an hour. Her skin was lifeless, her eyes looking toward the ceiling, absent of blinking. My heart dropped. I looked down the hall back where I ran into the nurse, I saw a boy, twelve or thirteen, gasping for air, crying uncontrollably. He was all alone. No parents, no adults. Maybe that was his...Mom. He followed the stretcher into the room, only to be blocked by the doctor. That was his mom. She has his eyes.
“This way champ. Don’t worry your mom...will...” a pearl streamed down the doctors cheek. The boy noticed, and his face instantly filled with grief. The doctor grabbed the boys wrist, and wiped the tear with the other, trying to hide it. He took the boy through a door just a few doors down where the woman went in. “
Is she go..going...to...”
He started bawling like a loose fire hydrant. He sounded like he was being tortured. The door shut. I lost my appetite.
“Code red, room 13B, repeat code red!” the intercom belted. An army of doctors ran into the room where the woman was held. Yells erupted in the room, but the door slammed shut, leaving the hall in an eerie silence.
 I looked at Hugo down the hall. He was still looking down at the mirrored floor, his jet black hair obvious amongst the grey clouds through the window.
“Hugo! Hugo!” He looked my way. I beckoned. He got up, and came running. He smiled instantly when he caught up. My heart warmed. “Let’s get some food man, you’ve been here for days.”
“Fuck cafeteria food Mario.” We chuckled.
“Let’s get some dogs. I know a place.” We both smiled. God it’s been years since that’s happened.
“It’s on you bro, after all you are the lawyer.” I punched him, he flinched, and I wrapped my arm around him, and put him in a headlock.
“I love you man.” I said.  We walked down the hall, leaving the chaos of this hell-ridden institution behind. Mom would have loved to see us together like this.

title: "Grey" [778 words, critique welcomed]

question: What does the story say about why Mario and Hugo's mom was in a coma?

question: What does the story say about Hugo and Mario?

answer: Hugo and Mario are brothers. They are in the hospital because their mother is in a coma. Hugo is probably younger than Mario and has been in the hospital for days. Their mom told them that they would grow up into men who would change the world. Hugo still believes this.

question: How do Mario's feelings change throughout the story?

answer: Mario starts off in a foul mood, probably because of the current situation (his mom is in a coma and a freezing hospital), and Hugo is getting on his nerves. Hugo was only trying to make conversation and Mario snaps at him, annoyed. At this point, Mario is a selfish prick with a foul mouth who storms out of the room to go to the cafeteria. His feelings change when he witnesses a sad scene: a young boy chases the gurney carrying the lifeless body of his mom and a tearful doctor explaining to him that everything will be alright. Mario gets affected by what he saw and goes back to Hugo, who smiles when he tells him they're grabbing a bite.

question: What does the story say about the nurse Mario bumped into?

answer: The nurse had a shallow voice and seemed out of breath. She had a subtle but promising smile. Her lips were pale and they stood out against her red hair. Her hair is a mess and Mario thinks she needs to put a comb through it. She told Mario about his mom's improving glucose levels but also told him that her coma hasn't improved.


text:
To use Cloud Storage effectively, you should understand some of the concepts on which it is built. This page provides an overview of key terms and concepts that apply to Cloud Storage.

For an introduction to using Cloud Storage, see What is Cloud Storage?.

Projects

All data in Cloud Storage belongs inside a project. A project consists of a set of users, a set of APIs, and billing, authentication, and monitoring settings for those APIs. You can have one project or multiple projects.

Buckets

Buckets are the basic containers that hold your data. Everything that you store in Cloud Storage must be contained in a bucket. You can use buckets to organize your data and control access to your data, but unlike directories and folders, you cannot nest buckets. Because there are limits to bucket creation and deletion, you should design your storage applications to favor intensive object operations and relatively few buckets operations.

When you create a bucket, you specify a globally-unique name, a geographic location where the bucket and its contents are stored, and a default storage class. The default storage class you choose applies to objects added to the bucket that don't have a storage class specified explicitly.

After you create a bucket, you can still change its default storage class, to any class supported in the bucket's location; however, you can only change the bucket name and location by deleting and re-creating the bucket.

Bucket names

Bucket names have more restrictions than object names and must be globally unique, because every bucket resides in a single Cloud Storage _namespace_. For more information, see the bucket naming guidelines.

Bucket labels

Bucket labels are key:value metadata pairs that allow you to group your buckets along with other Google Cloud resources such as virtual machine instances and persistent disks. For example, you can use labels to create a team key that has values alpha, beta, and delta, and apply the team:alpha, team:beta, and team:delta labels to different buckets in order to indicate which team is associated with those buckets.

You can apply multiple labels to each bucket, with a maximum of 64 labels per bucket.

-   Keys and values cannot be longer than 63 characters each.
-   Keys and values can only contain lowercase letters, numeric characters, underscores, and dashes. International characters are allowed.
-   Label keys must start with a lowercase letter and international characters are allowed.
-   Label keys cannot be empty.
-   As is generally the case for bucket metadata, bucket labels are not associated with individual objects or object metadata.

For a general example of using labels to organize your resources in billing, see Billing Export to BigQuery Query Examples.

Objects

Objects are the individual pieces of data that you store in Cloud Storage. There is no limit on the number of objects that you can create in a bucket.

Objects have two components: _object data_ and _object metadata_. Object data is typically a file that you want to store in Cloud Storage. Object metadata is a collection of name-value pairs that describe various object qualities.

Object names

An object's name is treated as a piece of object metadata in Cloud Storage. Object names can contain any combination of Unicode characters (UTF-8 encoded), must be less than 1024 bytes in length, and must be unique within a bucket.

Cloud Storage uses a _flat_ namespace to store objects, which means that Cloud Storage sees all objects in a given bucket as independent with no hierarchical relationship. For convenience, tools such as Google Cloud Console and gsutil work with objects that use the slash (/) character _as if_ they were stored in a virtual hierarchy.

For example, you could name one object /europe/france/paris.jpg and another object /europe/france/cannes.jpg. When using the Cloud Console you can then navigate to these objects as if they were in a hierarchical directory structure under the folders europe and france.

For more information, including how to rename an object, see the object naming guidelines.

Object versions and generation numbers

An object in Cloud Storage can have different _versions_: by default, when you replace an object, Cloud Storage deletes the old version and adds a new version. When you enable Object Versioning on your bucket, older versions remain in your bucket when a replacement or deletion occurs.

Each object version is uniquely identified by its _generation number_, found in the object's metadata. When Object Versioning has created an older version of an object, you can use the generation number to refer to the older version. This allows you to restore a replaced object in your bucket, or permanently delete older object versions that you no longer need. Generation numbers are also used when you include preconditions in your requests.

Resources

A resource is an entity within Google Cloud. Each project, bucket, and object in Google Cloud is a resource, as are things such as Compute Engine instances.

Resource names

Each resource has a unique name that identifies it, much like a filename. Buckets have a resource name in the form of projects/_/buckets/BUCKET_NAME, where BUCKET_NAME is the ID of the bucket. Objects have a resource name in the form of projects/_/buckets/BUCKET_NAME/objects/OBJECT_NAME, where OBJECT_NAME is the ID of the object.

A #NUMBER appended to the end of the resource name indicates a specific generation of the object. #0 is a special identifier for the most recent version of an object. #0 is useful to add when the name of the object ends in a string that would otherwise be interpreted as a generation number.

Network usage

_Network usage_ represents the data sent to or from Cloud Storage.

Egress

_Egress_ represents data sent from Cloud Storage in HTTP responses. Data or metadata read from a Cloud Storage bucket is an example of egress.

For more information, see the Cloud Storage pricing page.

Ingress

_Ingress_ represents data sent to Cloud Storage in HTTP requests. Data or metadata written to a Cloud Storage bucket is an example of ingress.

For more information, see the Cloud Storage pricing page.

Geo-redundancy

Data that is _geo-redundant_ is stored redundantly in at least two separate geographic places separated by at least 100 miles. Objects stored in multi-regions and dual-regions are geo-redundant, regardless of their storage class.

Geo-redundancy occurs asynchronously, but all Cloud Storage data is redundant within at least one geographic place as soon as you upload it.

Geo-redundancy ensures maximum availability of your data, even in the event of large-scale disruptions, such as natural disasters. For dual-regions, geo-redundancy is achieved using two specific regions. For multi-regions, geo-redundancy is achieved using any combination of data centers within the specified multi-region, which may include data centers that are not explicitly listed as available regions.

Data opacity

An object's data component is completely opaque to Cloud Storage. It is just a chunk of data to Cloud Storage.

Object immutability

Objects are immutable, which means that an uploaded object cannot change throughout its storage lifetime. An object's storage lifetime is the time between successful object creation (upload) and successful object deletion. In practice, this means that you cannot make incremental changes to objects, such as append operations or truncate operations. However, it is possible to replace objects that are stored in Cloud Storage, and doing so happens atomically: until the new upload completes the old version of the object is served to readers, and after the upload completes the new version of the object is served to readers. So a single replacement operation simply marks the end of one immutable object's lifetime and the beginning of a new immutable object's lifetime.

There is no limit to how frequently you can create or update different objects in a bucket. However, a single particular object can only be updated or replaced up to once per second. For example, if you have an object bar in bucket foo, then you should only upload a new copy of foo/bar about once per second. Updating the same object more frequently than once per second may result in 429 Too Many Requests errors.

You should retry failed requests using truncated exponential backoff.

question: What are Buckets?

answer: They are the basic containers that hold your data.

question: What are Bucket labels?

answer: Bucket labels are key:value metadata pairs that allow you to group your buckets along with other Google Cloud resources.

question: What is Egress?

answer: It represents data sent from Cloud storage in HTTP responses.

question: How often can you create an object in a bucket?

answer: There is no limit to this.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: An essay on a few concepts on which Cloud Storage is built.


text:
_WE'RE GOING ON A BEAR HUNT_ is a 1989 children's picture book written by Michael Rosen and illustrated by Helen Oxenbury. It has won numerous awards and was the subject of a _Guinness World Record_ for “Largest Reading Lesson” with a book-reading attended by 1,500 children, and an additional 30,000 listeners online, in 2014.

Plot and design

Four children plus a baby sister and their dog, go out to hunt a bear. They travel through grass (Long wavy grass), a river (Deep, cold river), mud (Thick oozy mud), a forest (A big dark forest) and a snowstorm (A swirling whirling snowstorm) before coming face to face with a bear in its cave (A narrow gloomy cave). This meeting causes panic and the family run home, across all the obstacles, followed by the bear. Finally, the children lock the bear out of their house. The bear retreats, leaving the children safe. The children hide under a duvet saying “We're not going on a bear hunt again!”. At the end of the book, the bear is pictured trudging disconsolately on a beach at night, the same beach that is shown on a sunny day as the frontispiece. Most of the illustrations were painted in watercolour.[1] However, the six pictures of the family facing each new hazard are black and white drawings.

At each obstacle is an onomatopoeic description. Before each obstacle the children chant the refrain:

followed by (while crossing the obstacles):

Characters and location

-   The eldest of the children is sometimes mistaken by readers as being their father but is in fact the older brother. They are based on Oxenbury's own children. Likewise, the dog is modelled on an actual family pet.[2]
-   In the TV adaptation, though not in the book, the mother and father of the family make an appearance. Also, the four older children (unnamed in the book) are identified as Stan, Katie, Rosie, and Max. The baby sister remains nameless. The dog (also anonymous in the book) is called Rufus.
-   Each of the obstacles, apart from the river, is based on a real life location in England and Wales that Oxenbury knew.[3]

History

The story was adapted from an American folk song. Rosen, who heard the song, incorporated it in his poetry shows and subsequently wrote the book based upon it.[4] Since publication, the book has never been out of print and each year has been in the 5,000 best selling books.[5] The publisher has stated that the book has attained worldwide sales of more than 9 million copies.[6]

Awards

The book won the overall Nestlé Smarties Book Prize in 1989 and also won the 0–5 years category.[7] In 1989 it was an 'Honor Book' in the Boston Globe–Horn Book Awards.[8] The book also won the 'School Library Journal Best Book of the Year' and the 'Mainichi Newspapers Japanese Picture Book Award, Outstanding Picture Book from Abroad' award.[9] It was highly commended for the 1989 Kate Greenaway Medal.[10]

The publisher, Walker Books, celebrated the work's 25th anniversary in 2014 by breaking a _Guinness World Record_ for the “Largest Reading Lesson”, with a book-reading by author Rosen that was attended by 1,500 children, with an additional 30,000 online.[11]

Adaptations

Theatre adaptation

The book has been adapted as a stage play by director Sally Cookson with musical score by Benji Bower and design by Katie Sykes. The play has run in the West End and in provincial theatres. The ending of the performance has been changed so that there is a reconciliation between the family and the bear.[12][13] _Time Out_ magazine, who awarded four stars out of five, whilst describing the performers as “wonderfully entertaining” also said “those in the later primary years might find it a little boring – not an awful lot happens, after all.”[14]

Television adaptation

Channel 4 first aired a half hour animated television adaptation on 24 December 2016. It was voiced by Olivia Colman, Mark Williams, and Michael Rosen, in the US dub, the characters are voiced by Anna Faris and Jimmy Kimmel, and Michael Rosen keeps his UK dub.[15] _The Daily Telegraph_, giving the programme three stars out of five, commented that “The whole thing was skilfully made, but ... did it need to take such a carefree story and cast a pall of gloom?”.[16] However, _The Guardian_ said that adaptation was “sumptuous”, “prestigious” but that “The animation adds a dose of festive sadness.”[17]

Mobile app

A mobile app, based on the book, was launched in December 2016. It is available on Amazon, Android, and Apple platforms.[18]

Cultural impact

In 2013, the novelists Josie Lloyd and Emlyn Rees wrote a bestselling parody of the book, called _We're Going On A Bar Hunt_, which was illustrated by Gillian Johnson in the style of the original and was published by Constable books and then republished by Little, Brown & Company.[19]

“Bear hunts”

During the COVID-19 pandemic, “bear hunts” became popular with houses across the United States[20], Belgium[21]and the Netherlands[22] placing stuffed bears in windows, in front yards, or on mailboxes for children to look for and find during walks or drives.[23][24][25]

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title: We're Going on a Bear Hunt

question: Who is the author?

answer: Michael Rosen

question: When was the book published?

answer: 1989

question: Who illustrated the book?

answer: Helen Oxenbury

question: What Guinness World Record is the book the subject of?

answer: Largest Reading Lesson

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: We're Going on a Bear Hunt is a 1989 children's picture book written by Michael Rosen and illustrated by Helen Oxenbury. In it, a group of children search for a bear, only to run home and hide once they find it. The book has won several awards, and it was the subject of a Guinness World Record for "Largest Reading Lesson," with a book-reading attended by 1,500 children and an additional 30,000 listeners online, in 2014.


text:
HATHOLMEN LIGHTHOUSE () is a coastal lighthouse in the municipality of Lindesnes in Agder county, Norway. The lighthouse sits on the tiny island of Hattholmen, about south of the town of Mandal. The lighthouse marks the western side of the Mannefjorden which runs north to the town of Mandal (the Ryvingen Lighthouse marks the eastern side of the fjord.

The lighthouse was built in 1867 and it was unmanned and automated in 1984. The tall lighthouse is white with a red roof and it is attached to a white 1-1/2 story keeper's house. The light on top sits at an elevation of above the sea. The light emits two flashes of white, red, or green light (depending on direction) every 10 seconds. The light can be seen for up to . The lighthouse is only accessible by boat, but the buildings can be rented out for overnight accommodations.[1][2]

[1]

[2]

title: Hatholmen Lighthouse

question: Where is the Hatholmen Lighthouse located?

answer: Hatholmen Lighthouse is located in the municipality of Lindesnes in Agder county, Norway.

question: When was the lighthouse built?

answer: The lighthouse was built in 1867.

question: How tall is the lighthouse?

answer: Not answered. The keeper's house is 1-1/2 stories tall.

question: What colors does the lighthouse emit?

answer: The color emits white, red, or green light, depending on direction.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This article is about the Hatholmen Lighthouse, a coastal lighthouse in Agder county, Norway. It was built in 1867 and automated in 1984.


text:
Smoke billowed out of the furnace as the apprentice pumps the bellows. "Faster!" snapped the master. The apprentice pumped harder, feeling the all too familiar soreness in his arms. Suddenly, he felt a cool but rough hand on his shoulder. "Enough," the master said. "Finish cleaning, and we can go to the tavern for tonight's meal".

They walked down to the tavern in silence. As they were seated amongst the noise and chaos, the apprentice wondered what could have happened to make his normally stingy master order not one, but two steaks. Tender and juicy with a pepper sauce, they were delicious, but also cost more than most in the village made in a month. Mentally, he shrugged. Best not to question it, and just eat in peace .Afterwards, they walked along the beach, while the master puffed his pipe. They seated themselves alongside a log, while the surf licked their toes. The silence was only interrupted by the soft murmur of the waves, and the master's sudden question: "Have I ever told you the story of Corbye, my boy?” The apprentice thought for a moment, then shook his head. The master puffed pensively, then pulled out his telescope from his pouch, and handed it to the boy. "There," he gestured, "look up amongst the stars". Silently, he took the telescope and saw... nothing. Just the blue moon winking wordlessly amongst the stars down at the world. "Wh-what do I see?" the boy asked. "You see the city of Corbye" the master replied. "Best make yourself comfortable. This will be a long one".

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once upon a time, out in the vast sea of Xantcha, lay the island of Corbye. It was a proud island, famous for its glassworks, but a miserable island. While outwards it projected splendor, the massive mountain of wealth it held in its vaults was built upon the backs of workers, workers who left their homelands to work in the mythical city, only to discover that once there, they could never leave. Corbye was split into two parts: The shining pillars that supported the palaces in which the glass-masters lived, and the barracks that held the people upon whose backs came the cruel whip every day.

It is in this world we find Meru. Like too many lost souls, he, too stole aboard a ship bound for Corbye, dreaming of wealth and fame, only to find misery. Every day, he wandered the docks, hoping to return home, but he could not. Eventually, hunger drove him to petition for work amongst the House of Workers, only to be turned away time and time again. When he finally found work, the work found him miserable. He would clean the soot chimneys every day after the glass had been melted; burning his hands and knees to reach the furthest corners to clean the murky ash off the furnace.

But the worst part of his job was not the work itself; it was his monstrously massive master, Master Petros. Fat, laggard, bastard son of a goat - Oh, he had many names for Petros. But hate him as much as he did, Meru wondered how such an ugly countenance could conjure such beautiful works out of the glass. With his all too ready cane and bellows, he would prise the glass from its mold while still cherry hot into his pig-like fingers, then quickly into the waiting hands of a worker so that it would not char his own fingers. But while many questioned his sanity and humanity, no one questioned his results: Many of the most refined pieces of glass came from his workshop of horrors.

One night, after the day's sweeping, Meru began to plan an escape. Who could he count on? Certainly not the other workers; no, they were too afraid of Petros, that swine. What about the dock workers? Nay, they too were paid off by the Glass Council to beat any workers that were too inquisitive into submission. For this journey, Meru could rely on only himself. That night, just before dawn, he glimpsed something odd: A sail on the horizon, but unlike any he had seen before. Not only was it a crystalline blue, it was moving fast, far faster than any sail should have. At the rate it was moving, it would be at the docks in less than an hour. Perfect, he thought to himself. If he could swim past the dock guards, he could slip onto the boat undetected, and be off to the golden isles. That was where all things magical came from; besides, what hell could be worse than this one?

With a soft splash, he slipped into the water, and began to swim towards the dock. Left, right, left, right, kick. Bubbles swirled around him as he dove downward to avoid the guard's torches, and into the slowly brightening murk. Once past the piers that sank deep into the mud on the bottom, he began to breathe easier: he was home free, at last. But where was-there. The anchor to the mysterious ship. Sopping wet, Meru clambered aboard, and glanced around him. A simple enough ship: About fifty feet of deck before and in front of him, with the wheel unmanned, and a cabin jutting out in front of him. A grate with a ladder beside it seemed to lead down to the hold... but the ladder was covered in dust. He began to wring out his shirt, only to hear a soft *woof* behind him. "What in the nine hells-" he began, only to be cut off by a vise-like pair of arms that came about him, slamming into his gut. He struggled, squirming back and forth like the caterpillars of Argoth, only to find that no matter how he struggled, its grip only strengthened around him. He heard the baying of hounds in the hold, and then a sharp *SNAP*.

Silence. Then, a tinkling laughter, like crystal shattering on soft grass. "So, we have an unexpected visitor. I expected the residents of Corbye to be more... glamorous and less moist". Out strode a woman, tall, taller than Meru, and enrobed in the most fantastic garb he had ever seen: Bright blues and yellows clashing on a field of red, while a headdress of fanciful green sat upon her head, with a simple black cape to complete the ridiculous ensemble. He began to laugh: Was this a ship, or an aviary?

She seemed rather peeved. Laughter? "Who dares laugh at Simoon, Wizard of the Thousandth Isle?" Meru struggled to control his face; wizards were notorious for laying hexes that could ruin cities. But it was too much for him. "Who ever heard of a parrot becoming a wizard?" he guffawed, "especially one who hires only men to govern their ship!” Simoon just smiled. "Look behind you" she said. Meru did so, and was greeted by a wet slurping tongue across his face. "Eugh! A man? With the head of a dog? What devilry is this?" he exclaimed. "I thought all ships were crewed by Sea Dogs" Simoon replied innocently. "Release him" she commanded "He seems to be no danger to anything except perhaps my nose".

title: [WiP] Looking mainly for feedback on the current iteration

question: Summarize Meru's conflict.

answer: Meru went to Corbye dreaming of success but only found misery. He was stuck there so he had to find work, unfortunately work made him miserable and his master was terrible. Meru now needs to escape from Corbye and can only rely on himself to do it.

question: What does the text say about Master Petros' business.

answer: Master Petros runs a glassworks business. His glass is described as being some of the most beautiful and refined. However, people often question his humanity and his workers are scared of him. His place of work is called a workshop of horrors.  He would take the glass from its mold while it was still very hot and quickly put it into the hands of workers so that his would not burn.

question: Summarize what happens to Meru when he gets on the ship.

answer: When Meru climbs aboard the ship, he hears barking and is assaulted by a vise-like pair of arms. The baying and struggle continues until a woman stops it with a snapping sound. The woman turns out to be Simoon, Wizard of the Thousandth Isle, but this doesn't stop Meru from laughing at her appearance. The dogs turn out to have human bodies, which shocks Meru. Simoon decides Meru can be released because he appears not to pose any danger.

question: What does the text say about Meru's romantic interest.


text:
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Sign up for our weekly home and property newsletter, featuring homes for sale, neighborhood happenings, and more.

The only site one needs for Rocky film locations is suitably named totalrocky.com, which confirms what one already knows about South Philly–nothing ever changes:

  Rocky and Adrian’s first home looks nearly identical to its 1979 appearance in Rocky II, even down to the small details – the railing along the steps, the paneling on the white front door, the white porch light, 2313 number plate – and even the white mailbox that Rocky admires so much. The only major difference is the tall, strong tree that now shades this narrow street – it was just a sapling when Rocky and Adrian lived here.

In the film, the realtor tells the couple, “This is a very solid neighborhood.”

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The Huffington Post put it on their HOME vertical “courtesy Realtor.com.” We must object. Realtor.com is a tool one uses to find real estate listings. But the courtesy comes from Alpha Realty Group, which is handling the sale and which revealed the home’s filmic history in its listings copy. The 3BR/1.5BA is listed at $139,900.

• 2313 S Lambert Street, Philadelphia, PA 19145

_Via700 Level_

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question: Where is the home for sale located?

answer: Philadelphia, PA

question: What made the house famous?

answer: When it was used to film the 1979 film, Rocky II.

question: How much is the house listed for?

answer: $139,900.

question: What is the size of the home?

answer: 3 Bedroom and 1.5 Bathroom

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: A real estate newsletter announces the listing of the house used for the filming of Rocky II in 1979.


text:
I stare down at my arm. It’s so pale and unblemished. I slowly lift up my razor blade. I can feel it’s cold anticipation, ready to tear my skin apart, which is exactly what it’s going to do. I drag it across my flesh in a long slow drag. I watch as the warm crimson spreads. My arm, my clothes, -nothing remains dry. Why do I do this to myself? I keep saying that I’m going to stop.
	Suddenly there is a knock at my door. I panic. I wrap a dirty cloth around my arm and run into the hotel closet. “Get out here right now you little bitch.” I can already tell who it is from their voice. My drug dealer. As I’m crouching in the closet I try to slow my breathing, but my heart jumps when the door is kicked in. There’s a tiny hole in the closet door, and I lean forward to put my eye to it. I can see he’s brought company. They’ve moved into another area of my hotel room, possibly the kitchen. I close my eyes as I strain to hear them, but by the time I open my eyes I’m too late. I feel a searing hot rod force its way into the back of my skull. I can’t stop screaming, and that attracts the rest of the men.
	I have no choice but to obey. I come out of the closet quietly while they tie me up.  I try to remain calm, but I falter as the boss begins to talk. “Guess what Sabrina? I woke up today and I found all my drugs and money gone. You’re the last person I’ve sold to in days. What did you do with them?
	I have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s probably high right now. But then I suddenly remember something. The razor blade on my bed. At the current moment they have me tied up, lying face down on the floor. I look up at him and use my most innocent voice. “I didn’t do it, but I know who did. But right now I’m a little uncomfortable. You can keep me tied up, but please let me lie down on the bed. “
	“Why should I care if you’re comfortable or not?”
“Because otherwise I’m not  going to say a thing.”
	“I guess I’ll just have to beat it outta ya.”
I smile a cocky grin. “You already poked out one of my eyes and I haven’t said anything yet.” I hear him curse under his breath as he throws me onto the bed.  Within seconds I find the razor blade and start to cut at the rope that imprisons me. I’m done quickly and he doesn’t even notice.
	“Quite stalling and tell me something already.”
“Oh, I’ll tell you something.”
	“what’s that?”
“you’re going to die.”
I throw my razor, quick and sleek, and watch as his blood spurts out. His goonies have seen enough, and bolt for the door.  They think they’re going to get away, but they’re not. I grab the two closest things on the end table next to my bed, a pen and a vase. I sprint out my door and quickly catch them in the parking garage. The first assailant makes the mistake of turning around to look at me, and I smash the vase into his face, sending a million shards of glass into his eyes, flesh, and even mouth. I grab a piece before it hits the ground and I kill him like I did his boss, by slicing his throat. This whole time his buddy has just been standing there, watching me kill him. Once his friend is done it’s only me and him, and he has my full attention. I take my pen and jab it into his right eye, just like the one that got damaged on my own face less than five minutes ago. I quickly pluck the pen back out and sink it into his heart, and let his body drop. I don’t care about the mess, let the staff clean it up.

title: Short story 1 (warning:bloddy/gore)

question: Summarize the changes in the narrator from the beginning to the end of this passage.

answer: In the beginning, the narrator, Sabrina, wants to harm herself by cutting herself. Her boss's impromptu arrival derails this plan, as he believes she's stolen from him. Her torture includes a hot rod to the eye, being tied up, and threatened. One can assume that she feels prickly at the notion that they are going to take her life-it's her right. In her indignation, she uses the razor-which she'd planned to use on herself-to kill her boss. She seems to feel self-satisfied when she also takes out his cronies, who try to escape, but are no match for her improvising by using vases and pens as lethal weapons.

question: Summarize what Sabrina's likely job entails.


text:
Slender man. why hello. it is nice to see you. you are in my mind and in my head. you are real as the noise we hear when there is none. you are something but nothing. created by fiction and fueled by imagination. quick! look left look right. what was that? turn on the lights and take a quick look around. that pain in your head is it slender sickness or simply a state of mind you have put yourself into? come here slendy come here! I see the man in black just as you do, the faceless creature you have grown to love and make. is he fake? is he real? remember the dream as a child? remember that moment you passed off as nothing or a stir in the wind or a shift in the trees? he is watching you. because he never leaves. he lives in your mind. because the imagination is what fuels the mind. the same as it fuels him. that glitch in your computer that shows a slender photo. the faceless face that was just outside your window. what fuels me to write this? Imagination. what fuels the world to go round? Imagination. what makes slender man real? IMAGINATION. now turn around and take his hand. he's waited in your head for long enough. it is time to let him out.

Death. is impossible to dodge. Slender

title: /r/slender_man didn't like this so here is my short story that i made up as i went: "slender"

question: Summarize what the passage says about Slender Man.

question: Explain what the text means by imagination making the world go around.

answer: According to the text, imagination fuels Slender Man and the mind. Imagination lets the author write this. Imagination makes Slender Man real and, according to the author, imagination makes the world go around. It is probably referring to its power of making unreal things real.

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: Definitely someone with a healthy respect for Slender Man and his abilities.

question: Is Slender Man real or not?

answer: According to the text, Slender Man lives in your mind and your imagination makes him real.

question: Explain why Slender Man lives in your head.

answer: He is fueled by imagination.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: Slender Man is described here as being a product of a person's imagination and also the last thing to be freed just before death.


text:
The newly elected President of the United States was watching himself give his inauguration speech on the largest monitor he had ever seen. It was a live performance given by a clone who shared his memories, and genuinely believed that he was the man that the roaring audience believed him to be. The tone and intonation, the cadence and every pause were flawlessly like he himself would have given the speech.

The clone had limited autonomous functions, but was usually controlled by a neural interface worn by the “real” President. The same was true for the first lady and their young children. They would exist in a form of stasis, thinking and feeling everything that their avatars felt while controlling their actions. The amount of lag between thought and action was almost infinitesimal. In any event, each consciousness was merged with its counterpart every few nanoseconds. Soon, there would be no real difference between the man on the monitor and the semi-conscious man in the casket. They would even age at the same rate, right down to the graying of their hair.

After two consecutive Presidents had been killed, after wars had brought the human species to the brink of extinction no matter how much outside intervention and advice was given, it was decided that the cloning scheme was the best way to continue the tradition of American democracy. It was much the same in Russia, China and every other country on earth. World leaders interfaced with computers that were exponentially faster than anything the consumer or military sectors had ever seen. Interfaced and negotiated terms at speeds which were exponentially faster than the speed of light. These speeds allowed for fewer misunderstandings. Anxiety and paranoia were lowered considerably. Knowing that aliens were monitoring all communications and could intercede at any moment convinced even the most eccentric of leaders to behave themselves.

“Are you sure this is the only way?” He asked the grey alien as he was laid into a casket like device with an opaque lid that would soon be closed over him. “Yes,” the grey biped replied with only a touch of asperity. The President-elect felt the reply in his mind. The only sound he heard was the throbbing of the alien machinery all all around him. "This system has saved earth from destruction many times. I admit, that there are certain, sacrifices..." he said gesturing his arm around the enormous cavern which was filled with similar casket-like devices containing political and religious figures from around the globe. Some had slumbered here half alive and half dead for decades.

He began to have second thoughts as the lid started to close, sealing him in, but something in one of the tubes now connected to his body was secreting a compound that calmed him and took away his fears. It also gave him a new clarity and perspective; of course this was the only way. He received greetings and congratulations simultaneously from the networked leaders of the world as well as from the leaders of races he had never imagined existed.

The lid was closing now. “ See you in four years, mister President,” the voice of the gray creature said speaking directly into his mind, “Or ,if you are fortunate, eight”

title: Elect

question: Why was the clone giving the speech?

answer: After two consecutive Presidents had been killed, this method was adopted to keep the President and his family safe.

question: Who had come up with this technology?

answer: It may be assumed that this method was invented by aliens.

question: Who was the President?

answer: This information can't be found.

question: Who is the gray creature?

answer: The gray creatures were aliens.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer:
The newly- elected President of the United States stood watching his clone give his inaugural speech. The idea of using a clone was to safeguard the President and his family. Knowing that the aliens could intervene at any time, most of the leaders behaved themselves.

The President asks the alien if this is the only way, the alien reassures him that this method had saved the earth many times.

The casket's lid closes.


text:
She was a beautiful woman, though most might have thought she was plain. They simply didn't see her with the same eyes that he did. Raven black hair accentuated kind eyes that were as blue as the waters of the lake by where he was born. The lightest of creases, the sign of someone who frequently wore a smile, highlighted wonderful, kissable lips. Even the way she carried herself, her light step, the sway of her hips when she walked. She stood tall and straight, her shoulders not proud, but confident. Comfortable. He couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfillment when he saw her.

She gasped quietly, noticing him. Her eyes were angry, still somehow beautiful even then, but he didn't blame her. Noone like to be caught off their guard, but it was something he did playfully, feeling like a little boy again. He rushed to her, to take her in loving embrace. She had managed no more than half of her question, which would go unanswered. "What are you d-" She tried to ask, but he had already scooped her up, and regrettably, with a little more force than he intended: her question tapered off with a squeak as he carried her to her bed.

He lay her down delicately, holding her with a firm but gentle grasp. She even played at struggling, the way he so loved. His face close to her own, he took in her breath, so sweet, and comming in rushed, clipped little gasps. Her eyes were wild, urgent, waiting. Her mouth opened to speak, but lovingly he placed a hand over it. This was a moment where words were unneccesary, even unwanted. And besides, he was a little shy, and preferred this forbidden act be quiet. This was a moment between the two of them, and meant for them alone.

With the words aside, if you are quiet and listen, the body can speak volumes. The physical manifestation of feelings that simply cannot be expressed with words. Her shallowing, rushed breaths, the way her heartbeat sped up at his touch, the urgency, the longing, the need. He would drink it all in greedily, this was his ambrosia.

A happily occupied hand made its way down, caressing as it went. Feeling every dip and curve. She was a beautiful creature, the dress that concealed her body suddenly seemed a hateful thing. He put that aside though, his hand still moving to a happier, lower place. It didn't matter anyway, her garb wouldn't keep him from what he wanted.

She inhaled sharply, and with a jolt. The sudden movement succedded only in drawing her closer to him as he entered her. Warmth rushed over his fingers. She moaned, the sound muffled by his hand. She still played at struggling, but it was lessening now. her hand reaches out, grabbing forcefully at his vest. The other hand, with no clear goal, simply grabbed the bedsheets with a white-knuckled grip. Her eyes close in a wince, and beneath his hand, he can feel her jaws clench together. The motions are repeated on both sides, again and again. He enters, and she shudders against him. She seemed to slow, however, the time between her struggled breaths longer and longer. She was comming close, and he had no intentions of stopping now.

One final motion, every muscle in her body contracting, one last forced breath, drawn out longer than all the others, a deep, slow exhale. She lay back, now very still. Quiet, and her eyes still shut from her previous exertion. He lay his forhead against her own, and slowly withdrew his hand from her mouth, listening to the quiet. The only sound was his own labored breathing. The silence that came after had its own sort of beauty, and he took the time to appreciate it.

After a long moment, he withdrew. The delicate, curved dagger he held slid silently from her ruined belly. He stepped back, surveying this now grisly scene with a distant, emotionless gaze. She had grown pale, her skin now nearly as colorless as the blood soaked sheets on her bed. Her leg hung awkwardly off the side of her mattress, but she gave no indication of discomfort. Her face had settled into a terribly familiar expression, that wonderful, horrible peace one only felt in their final moment in the world. Her eyes bothered him, though, dispelling the peaceful expression with a half lidded squint.

He almost reached out, wanting to close those eyes... almost. But that wouldn't be right.

His senses, still heightened, picked up the delicate rattle of keys from just outside. He made his way quickly across the house, to the window he had entered, and was outside, quiet as a ghost. He strode casually into the alley, without even a glance back. Noone paid him any heed as he went, something else had everyones attention. A mans anguished cry filled the air, and something in the sound seemed to reverberate among the people: a collective shudder filled everyone walking by, as though someone had run a nail down a chalk-board. Cutting the corner into the alley did nothing to lessen the sound for him, nor did it shield him from the sound that accompanied it, the sound of crying children.

He stepped out of the alley, and into a waiting carriage. "Lets go. I have an appointment to keep." He scarecly heard the drivers reply, he wasn't listening. It was the sound of horses hooves and the darkness of the carriage that dominated his attention, the sensations coaxing him into the familiar, dark places in the back of his mind. He dreamed his dreams, and sat silently in the darkness, waiting for his chance.

He waited... and waited...
And waited.

title: This Forbidden Act

question: Describe the woman.

answer: The woman has black hair and blue eyes. She stands tall and straight.

question: What is happening in this scene?

answer: The man seemingly seduces the woman, but then stabs her and flees in the scene.

question: Who screams at the end of the scene?

answer: Not explicitly stated, but it seems to be someone that knows the woman.

question: Who is the woman?

answer: Not answered.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: A man enters the home of a woman and proceeds to seduce her, but ends up stabbing and killing her. The man escapes through a window and steps into an awaiting carriage. Another man finds the woman, dead, and begins to scream, alerting the surrounding area.


text:
Doctor Who/ News

October 20, 2018

_Clint Hassell brings you hints and teasers for the third episode of Series 11._

[]

-   1. Apparently, the Doctor doesn’t yet consider Yasmin, Ryan, and Graham to be her “companions” as, despite the call to adventure inherent in the Doctor’s words at the end of “The Ghost Monument,” “Rosa” begins with the Doctor merely trying to return the three to Sheffield.
-   2. Despite picking up almost immediately after “The Ghost Monument,” everyone has apparently had time to visit the TARDIS wardrobe, including the Doctor, who sports a new shirt.
-   3. Did . . . did they just make a joke about the female Doctor not being able to drive the TARDIS? Oh, that is _not_ going to sit well with the Internet.
-   4. Guess which King the Doctor leant a mobile phone to?
-   5. Artron energy!
-   6. We finally get a rousing “Brilliant!” from the Doctor.
-   7. The TARDIS and Rosa Parks have something in common.
-   8. Perception filter!
-   9. Who is “G. F. B.”?
-   10. Best exchange: “Can we **** it?” “…is the right question!”
-   11. “Nah, not that one. Second-hand. _Huge_ mileage. One careless owner.”
-   12. ****** ***i*******!
-   13. Both the Doctor and Graham have aliases, and UK viewers will recognize them both!
-   14. _Apparently_, the Doctor and a companion are . . . _married_?
-   15. *t****a**!
-   16. Jodie Whittaker _almost_ gets the Colin Baker treatment
-   17. Guess who _else_ uses that mobile phone!
-   18. Literally caused me to tear up: “No, no, I don’t want to be **** ** ***.”
-   19. “Rosa” distinctly shows what “The Ghost Monument” did not: the TARDIS’ time rotor, despite being a jagged crystal column, does move up and down during flight.
-   20. We can add two more U.S. Presidents to the list of those who have appeared in _Doctor Who_.

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question: Why won't the doctor consider Yasmin, Ryan, and Graham as her companions?

answer: This information can't be found.

question: Who is the Doctor married to?

answer: This information can't be found.

question: Who is G. F. B.?

answer: This information can't be found.


text:
Luis and I were both students and research assistants in mathematics at a decent enough university. At least, we hoped it was a decent enough university. We shared the fear that our professors were all scam artists and the problems we were working on were worthless and uninteresting to the rest of the mathematical community. I always chalked these fears up to a  couple cases of the Dunning-Kruger Effect but I got the feeling that Luis just couldn't get past it.
	As chance would have it, we arrived at the office at the same time, early one summer morning. He had a dejected look in his face and the principles of deduction told me something was up. “What's up?” I asked. Luis didn't look away from the closed elevator doors in front of us. A few moments passed as Luis seemed to debate whether or not he would answer me. He spoke matter-of-factly, “Not too much. I've just finally solved an interesting problem, though the answer was not what I was hoping it would be.” I gave him a curious look that must have told him “Do go on.” And, so, he did.
	“I have been working on a problem recently. Attempting to find a way to maximize my own happiness. I have recently come to the conclusion that I am getting less and less happy as the days go by. The solution unfortunately is clear. The sooner I end my life, the happier, on average, my life will have been.”
	Most people, it would seem, accept the axiom that suicide is never the way to go. I accept this axiom. However, as silent seconds ticked by, I realized that I didn't have a very good argument for continuing to live an unhappy life.  I opened my mouth to speak and was cut off.
	“I've been to every therapist in the city. I've tried every over-the-counter and under-the-counter drug thus far invented. It would be bordering on insanity to assume, with all the evidence to the contrary, that something left out there is going to finally do the trick.”
	It just so happened, I did not have my phone on me to call the police or an ambulance or anybody that could provide some much needed back-up. I calculated the probability of being able to tackle him or knock him unconscious to give myself time to get some help. I then decided I was being a bit dramatic. It wasn't like Luis was about to kill himself here in the office, much less directly in front of me. Of course, I also didn't want to let him out of my sight.
	Time ticked by, and I still hadn't thought of anything to say, but I hoped if I pried some more information out of him, he'd give me something to go on. “Why did you come to work today.” For a moment, I was hopeful that the question alone would stir something in his mind. He must still want to live if he resolved to come to work, right?
	“I've only just decided while walking here. This building is high enough to do the job, I figure. Plus, not only would it take much longer to turn back, go home, and fill the bathtub but I'm not even sure I have a toaster.”
	This sent my mind in two directions. On one hand, this all seemed a bit like an elaborate joke. On the other hand, assuming this was no joke, Luis would be jumping off something very high, very soon. Afraid the elevator would arrive at any moment, I pressed him again. “Why did you tell me about all of this?” Luis replied, “Force of habit. Don't all mathematicians feel the need to share their results?”
	“Perhaps you wanted your results peer reviewed?”
	“That could be it, too.”
	I felt a glimmer of hope. A small crack in his plan but a crack nonetheless. “Well, I think there are some holes in your reasoning.”
	“Point them out, and I'll be happy to address them.”
	I had nothing to say. I didn't think the “hold on, it will get better” argument would work. The “hold on, it might get better” argument seemed more accurate but probably not enough to change his mind. I had nothing else so I went with it.
	“Hypothetically, if you did hold on and find that your life improved, wouldn't you some day look back and think it was a good decision not to go through with this?”
	“Yes. You are right. But it won't get better. Unfortunately, time does not permit me to fully explain it here.”
	“OK, Fermat...”
	Luis grinned at the joke but it quickly disappeared. The elevator still had not arrived. Luis turned away from me and headed for the stairwell. I followed behind him, still struggling to come up with some argument. He wasn't thinking right, but I just couldn't prove it. Philosophy was not my strong suit. I take it on faith, which is a socially damning thing to admit as a man of science, that the question of whether or not it is good to kill oneself has been settled. I could not for the life of me, or more accurately for the life of Luis, think of the line of reasoning that must have led to that result.
	As the ground floor sank below us, I started to panic. Luis could jump at any moment. I thought on this and figured he would very likely survive a jump from this height. I considered if pushing him off here would give him a better chance at survival then letting him go higher and jump on his own. I ran through the events that would follow such an action and they didn't look to turn out well for either of us. The line of thinking gave me an idea.
	“I don't think you've reached the optimal solution, yet.”
	“How do you mean.” Luis continued climbing.
	“Consider this. The higher you climb up this building, the longer you are certain to live, though the probability of you succeeding in killing yourself of course climbs higher as you do the same. On the other hand, if you were to, say, jump right now, you might have only a few more seconds of life to endure, though the possibility of surviving the fall would be higher. Do you know what the optimal floor from which to jump would be?”
	“That is a much more clever argument than I was expecting.” It garnered another fleeting grin, but Luis continued to climb.
	“Uh, thanks. So, what are you doing? Shouldn't you be back at work, fixing the hole in your logic?”
	Luis stopped unexpectedly and turned to me. “You're too god-damned literal. I was using math as a metaphor. That's the only way I know how to talk or think. Math is logical. There is nothing logical or illogical about happiness or unhappiness or wanting to kill yourself or not wanting to kill yourself. You either understand it, or you don't. I can't explain to you why I know I should do this, and you can't explain to me why you know I shouldn't.”
	“What about your family? Think about how selfish you're being!”
	“I don't buy that. I think it is much more selfish it is for others to prefer I live another sixty- something years of misery.”
	“Here is something to consider. I just so happen to be the worst person to argue with you in this case. I am not particularly excited about life but I am also not in anyway depressed or interested in killing myself. I do not have a sunshine filled vision of the world to prove to you that great happiness is possible nor can I empathize with you enough to know what it is you need to hear. The words that would change your mind exist somewhere but I am out of my league.”
	I looked at Luis' face. Some part of what I had just said seemed to hit home. He leaned over the side of the railing and looked down. I looked, too. I had tried not to think about how high up we were getting. There wasn't much of a chance of survival from up here.
	Luis looked up at me. “It takes a big man to admit when he is out his league.” There was a tense pause before he continued. “Welcome to the club.”
	And he jumped.

title: First short story in a while. Not sure on what to title it. I currently have it saved as "Luis"(<1500 words)

question: What is the setting of the story?

answer: The story takes place at the mathematics department at a university.

question: What is the Dunning-Kruger Effect?

answer: The story doesn't clarify what the Dunning-Kruger Effect is.

question: Who are the important characters?

answer: The important characters are the narrator and Luis.

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

answer: Luis announces that he wants to kill himself; the narrator tries to stop him. Luis jumps off a building to kill himself.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator and Luis are research assistants in the mathematics department at a university. They arrive at work at the same time, and Luis announces he is going to jump off the building to kill himself. The narrator tries to stop him, but is unsuccessful.


text:
I sat there watching the birds eat the crusty old bread the elders were throwing out in the middle of the park. I thought about how easy it would be if I could just become a bird and fly away from all of the troubles God has given me. The elders would laugh as they saw the crows fight each other for the largest piece of bread and trample each other as they saw more being thrown onto the cement. The birds wanted the bread and the old women were generous enough to give it away. The treats were just being handed to them and the women didn’t mind the violence they were causing to each other.  Why is it that I can’t be given back what was taken to me? Oh yeah. Because it wasn’t taken from me, it walked away. I let it slip through my fingers and I didn’t think twice about trying to catch it again. If only I was a bird.
	I held onto the charm on the silver chain hanging around my neck. I felt the engraving on the back of the star:
My little angel

title: Escape Artist: a little teaser

question: Explain why the narrator wanted to be a bird.

answer: The narrator wanted to be a crow because it would take away all his troubles and he could easily fly away.

question: Who slipped away from the narrator?

answer: It may be implied that the narrator's daughter or lover either left him or passed away.

question: What were the old women doing?

answer: The old women were feeding pieces of bread to the crows and enjoying watching them fight over the bigger pieces.

question: How were the crows reacting to the bread?

answer: The crows would fight for the pieces of bread when thrown towards them. The would especially cause chaos over the bigger pieces.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer:
The narrator sat in the park watching old women feed pieces of bread to crows. Watching this, he wondered how there would be no troubles in his life if he were a crow.

He clings onto the silver chain hanging around his neck thinking why what was once his had now slipped away.


text:
This just makes me proud. All of us, actually, in our studio last week, observed a moment of silence, an interlude of quiet pride if you will, when the news arrived that we were once again featured in Photoshop Disasters.com,  that storied pantheon of post production goofs. Cali got a little choked up, truth be told.

Seems the gang over at PS disasters have well, issues with the more sensitive areas of the female anatomy. I’m still trying to figure out what they are. Sara, our absolutely lovely, graceful, athletic Icelandic model is perched on a rock in one of that northern island’s famed thermal lagoons. We helped her out there, and then, because I wanted to keep her out of the fading sunset light, and control the foreground area with flash, I asked her to see if she could comfortably, artfully crouch (We do ask ridiculous things, don’t we?) on this slippery, two foot square boulder poking out of the steaming, mineral laden waters of the lagoon. She popped down there as easily as a songbird arriving on a tree branch. If I had tried to assume this position, they would’ve had to medevac me out of there.

[]

Okay, here’s the red circle image. Now, I’m still trying to figure this out. Do the guys over at disasters think her, as they put it, crotch, is missing? Or badly re-touched and manipulated somehow? Trust me, if the lovely, youthful Sara had arranged herself into a personal predicament, I would have pointed that out, and encouraged her to adjust. []And, if she had been wearing, say, colorful, zebra striped underwears, and thus needed some re-touching, I do believe that’s a task the guys back here at the shop would have embraced in diligent fashion. But, we are shaking our heads a bit, because, well, see below.

Here’s a screen cap of our RAW D3x file in Adobe Camera Raw, and below is the untouched JPEG, right out of camera. Outside of a touch of color correction (very subtle) and a hint of saturation, we did….nothing to the picture.

[][]

Maybe that’s their issue. We did nothing, and we were supposed to? I’m unsure. One thing remains certain, though. I do suck at Photoshop. Me and the computer have never had a particularly comfortable relationship. So, I resolved this weekend, once again, to go to work on my post production skills, given the ignominy of once again being featured as a disaster, which of course is just a fulfillment of what virtually every nun who taught me said I would ultimately become. Some type of disaster. What do you think of the below? Do you think they’ll put a red circle someplace on this one?

[]

This is the second time we’ve actually graced PS Disasters. The first summons they issued me was about a shot of Olympic gymnast Shawn Johnson astride a tipsy balance beam in an Iowa cornfield, shot for Sports Illustrated. Her dad’s hand is seen, positioned under the beam to catch her if she fell.

[]

It was a great opportunity for me to riff on the helter skelter nature of weekly magazine journalism. It appeared then, and I’m sure still now, that there are folks out there who think that the business of closing a news magazine on deadline is a considered, deliberate process, rife with nuanced debate, and delicately handled decisions. A parallel experience could perhaps be a classical music concert, held out of doors on a summer’s evening, where lovely notes mix with balmy breezes and fading sunset.

It’s nothing like that at all. It’s more like a screaming death metal concert at a beer sloshed mosh pit. It’s a business populated with intelligent, talented people who are stretched so thin, and so over-worked into a state of near delirium by the budgetary demands currently reigning in the world of publications that they might be hard pressed to find their ass with both hands on a good day. It’s a bruising endeavor fraught with frailty, ego, error, miscalculation, nastiness and outright bungling co-mingled freely with intrepidity of effort, dedication to excellence and moments of sheer, informational, story-telling magnificence. Much like, I don’t know, organized religion, for instance. My commentary on the above shot and the process of seeing it grace the pages of Sports Illustrated can be viewed here. It’s a lively read that actually has some interesting info.

Thanks to the gang at PS Disasters for one of what I would regard as our high moments of the year. More tk….:-)

question: How did the studio staff react to the news that their work was featured on Photoshop Disasters.com

answer: They marked the moment with an interlude of quiet pride.

question: Where was the location of the shot that the studio took of Sara?

answer: One of the northern island's famed lagoons.

question: How many times has the studio been featured on Photoshop Disasters.com?

answer: Twice.

question: What was Photoshop Disasters.com's issue with the studio's shot?

answer: They left a delicate part (the subject's exposed underwear)of the shot raw and untouched.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer:
The studio staff stand in silence, proud that their work has been featured on Photoshop Disasters.com, a website known for collecting and showcasing post-production goofs.

This is the second time the studio would be featuring on the site. The narrator believes that Photoshop Disasters.com doesn't like the fact that the studio neglected to brush out the exposed underwear worn by the lady in the picture.


text:
I look into her eyes. I see the girl I once loved, but now she is a cold, heartless monster. Where in our own world, our made up world. I see our house, its slowly fading away. I lay on our couch crying from the pain she give me. I watch her as she packs up her bags and leave. Our children run over to me crying asking, "Where's mommy going?", "Why is she leaving?" I answer them with, “She no longer loves us kids.” They run to her asking her to stay but she shakes her head ‘no’ and begins to leave. That’s when it happens.

The world that I and she made begins to fade away I see the walls disappearing.  I hold my children in my arms saying, “Please not Sebastian and Estella. Anything but my children.” I hold them as tight to me as I say, “It’s going to be all right, don’t worry daddy is going to fix this.” I begin to cry even more knowing there’s nothing I can do to stop this. Our world is nearly gone all that’s left is the house, already half of the house is gone, the area around us is starting to fade. I kiss my children as they begin to fade, the whole time I’m staring into her eyes, she only sheds a tear as our children disappear. When I no longer feel them I feel another wave of tears wash over me as I get up in a rage yelling, “You heartless bastard how could you? Our kids are gone because of you!! All because it became to challenging for you??” I back away, lying down in pain tracing circles in the ground. I’m just there in the darkness and pain.

She then dries up her tear and leaves threw the door as I hold the only remaining evidence of what I use to have. The photo is the best one of my no longer family. I cry deeply tracing the images of my family. Sebastian is the first to start fading; I start to cry even more as I lose memory of him, my only son. Next is my baby girl Estella, another wave of tears as the memory of her is gone from my mind. Then is the girl I had let in, my wife. I don’t recall the feelings as she began to fade all I could remember was when she was mine. The photo now contains just me I cry as I try to remember my family but can’t.  I scream out in pain and agony, “YOU HEARTLESS MONSTER!!!!!” I then fall back down and lay there as I try to remember my family, all I can recall is the feelings I thought I had for…..her. The door she left in disappears as well. I just lay there, a shell of the man I once was.

title: Me and my girlfriend have this made up world, where we do what ever we want. I think of this from time to time.

question: How would the narrator feel if his wife was not leaving?

answer: He would feel content and happy.

question: Why are the man's surroundings fading away?

answer: They are fading away as the memories of his family fades away.

question: What mood is the author trying to evoke?

answer: A mood of despair, sadness, and desperation.

question: Summarize the events of the story in two sentences.

answer: The narrator is in despair as his wife leaves him, taking their children with her. The memories of his family begin to fade away, along with his surroundings.


text:
I woke up in a hospital, not remembering how I got there at first, and not really caring about anything for a few days but the morphine I was being given. But, once the nurses discovered I was in nowhere near the amount of pain I was in when first admitted to the hospital, they took the button away from me. The doctors were kind enough to explain to me what happened, and the memories started flooding back in. Before I get into the accident, let me first explain traffic laws. Nothing too in depth, mainly the basics. Well, only the basics. Such as; red means stop. This certain truck driver that hit me didn't seem to know this traffic law, and slammed into the left side of my car, nearly killing me. Several broken bones and things like that, a head injury that I can't pronounce. I've noticed that none of my family has come to visit me. This truck driver however, has come to visit me. His face doesn't look sad, doesn't look happy, there's something wrong with it, but I can't tell what. He walks into my room and sits down, saying nothing. Somehow I know it's the truck driver, but I don't say anything, and I don't know how I know. I ask him "Hello, who are you?". He sits and stares, saying nothing. I ask a few more times, he still says nothing. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. 30 minutes. This starts to make me angry. Who the fuck is this man? Who does he think he is? He's the one who hit ME, and yet he's sitting there with no look of remorse on his face. He won't say anything. Hours pass, but I don't seem to be getting tired. Finally I say "You're the truck driver that hit me." He still doesn't say anything, he only nods and looks interested that I've come to this conclusion. I start to notice that his face doesn't look real, it looks almost plastic, and it's been what seems like days since the nurses were last in here. The bag of saline that is dripping down the IV into my arm hasn't gone down, though I can see the fluid moving into my veins. I don't have to use the bathroom, I'm not tired. Nothing changes until I speak, and even then I don't get a response. I'm usually a collected person, but I have this strange sense of uneasiness that I can't shake. I start to panic, I yell for help, I try to stand and go out the door, but when I do two nurses hold me in the room and sit me down. They don't feel immensely strong when they do so, i just suddenly feel weak and useless. I try this over and over again, never getting farther than the edge of my room. I try one last time, this time I use every fiber of my being to charge past these non-people nurses, screaming at the top of my lungs. I make it through, waves of euphoria sweep over me, I've done it! I've finally done it! The euphoria keeps coming, it feels like more than happiness now... it feels like... morphine. I start getting tired. Blackness. I open my eyes and I'm back in the hospital bed. Whatever is happening can't be overcome by willpower, I realize this now. All I want to do is sleep, but I know I can't. It's been weeks. Or has it? I don't know what's happening, time doesn't make sense here. I eventually accept that talking to this truck driver that has been sitting motionless is the only thing that gets me anywhere.

I start to talk.

"You don't respond to me, you only react. I have a feeling I'm supposed to learn something here. I don't know what" He smiles, and nods. I try to notice his features, but every time I look at something specific, it fades out as if I was looking through an unfocused camera. "I was hit by your truck, while driving to work." His expression changes, and looks disappointed at what I've said. "Okay, I wasn't on my way to work. I was driving somewhere I needed to be though." His expression doesn't change. I start to get angry again, I scream as loud as I can, I start crying. But, like all the times before, I start talking again. "This isn't real, have I gone insane?" He doesn't react. "Is this a dream? Am I in a coma? Am I dead?" He smiles. I've died. But the truck driver still sits there, smiling at me. I start trying to figure everything out, why am I still conscious? Why am I in a hospital? Why didn't I notice this sooner? I know my questions don't matter, only talking about the accident gets me anywhere with the truck driver. So I start talking. "I wasn't going anywhere in particular, I was just driving." I realize without the truck drivers smile that I'm correct, I was just driving. I never go out for a joy ride though, what was i doing?... I start to remember small details. I've been drinking, I'm crying, suddenly I'm back in the car and I'm crying and feel more pain than I ever have in my life, I decide that this is it, this is the end, I'm going to kill myself, I see the nearest truck and drive towards it. I'm finally free from pain. I woke up in a hospital, not remembering how I got there at first, and not really caring about anything for a few days but the morphine I was being given. But, once the nurses discovered I was in nowhere near the amount of pain I was in when first admitted to the hospital, they took the button away from me. My family hasn't come to visit me, but the truck driver that hit me has.

title: The Truck Driver (Horror)

question: What does the text say about the truck driver?

answer: The narrator is initially told that the truck driver ran a red light, almost killing the narrator, but it is later revealed that the narrator chose to kill themself by driving toward the nearest truck. The truck driver visits him in his hospital room, but he doesn't say anything, only responding to what the narrator says by smiling and nodding. His face looks almost like plastic, and whenever the narrator tries to notice something specific about it, it becomes unfocused.

question: What does the text say about where the narrator is?

answer: The narrator wakes up in a hospital room. After they've been there for a while, they try to leave, only to be restrained by two nurses. Every time they try to leave, the inhuman nurses restrain them. The narrator finally tries to rush past them and seems to succeed, but is then sedated with morphine and wakes up in the room again.