text:
JOHN CONRAD MOSER (1929 near Columbus, Ohio, United States; – August 26, 2015 in Pineville, Louisiana, United States) was an American zoologist, forestry researcher. entomologist and acarologist. He conducted research on the leafcutter ant _Atta texana_ and the red imported fire ant _Solenopsis invicta_ and focused his studies not only on these ants, but specifically also to the mite fauna, being associated with these insects. Also bark beetles, Scolytinae, and associated mites were a remarkable part of his pioneering research contributions. His extensive mite collection contains countless species of different major mite-taxa from around the world, with most of them representing phoretic species, which use insects to be carried to their new habitats. Moser described numerous new mite species and some species are also named after him.

He was an active researcher far beyond his retirement. The internationally well known long-term scientist spent over 50 years of important scientific activity at the Forest Service, U.S. Department of Agriculture, Southern Research Station at the Alexandria Forestry Center in Pineville. Moser's scientific contributions need to be considered as pioneering, because he early recognized the importance of research fields, which were in these times out of the mainstream of forest entomological research. Moser and colleagues for example discovered that several phoretic mite species contribute to the transmission of the Dutch elm disease by carrying fungal spores of the Ascomycete fungus _Ophiostoma novo-ulmi_. A surprising result of these studies was that the mite _Tarsonemus crassus_ carries the spores in specific structures, the so-called sporothecae.

John C. Moser was well known searching for cooperations with scientists from around the world and for supporting specifically younger researchers. Recently his contributions are the basis for the research of insect-mite-interactions worldwide. Moser published in the most prestigious international scientific journals, such as Science in the United States, Nature in the United Kingdom or Naturwissenschaften in Germany.

Career

John C. Moser graduated from high school in 1947 and finally studied at the Ohio State University (OSU), where he soon recognized his interest in entomology. His undergraduate professor was Ralph Davidson, who supported and motivated Moser to perform studies on galls on leaves of a hackberry tree (_Celtis occidentalis_), which was growing in Moser's front yard, where he at once detected a new wasp species of the genus _Torymus_. This finding inspired his further research a lot. He was cited with: “I had observed something that no one else in the world had ever seen” (Moser 2000).

Before Moser received his B.S. in entomology in 1951, he was assisting the OSU Professor C.H. Kennedy, from which he learned the most important basics of ant systematics and behavior. After 1951, when the Korean War reached its apex, Moser became assigned to the Army Chemical Center at Edgewood Arsenal near Baltimore, where he served as a technician at the Army Medical Corps, Insect Physiology Laboratory. There he stood in cooperation with several famous scientists, who became his mentors. One of them was Bertram Sacktor, one of the leading insect biochemists at those times. With him and other colleagues, Moser got his first scientific publication as a junior author:“Dephosphorylation of ATP by tissues of the American cockroach”, which was considered cutting edge science.

Before Moser was released from the Army in 1953, he described his new species of _Torymus_ together with other new parasitoids from his hackberry galls in Columbus. His mentor for this work was Barnard D. Burks, who encouraged him for his further scientific career. John C. Moser completed later his master's degree at the OSU in biological control under Professor Alvah Peterson.

After he had finished his Ph.D. in 1958, he was informed by Jack Coyne about the possibility to apply for a GS-4 position in the Station's Timber Management Research unit at Alexandria, LA. That's were Moser arrived on July 1, 1958 as the first Ph.D. entomologist, which was hired by the Southern Forest Experiment Station.

In Alexandria, Moser began to perform studies on the town ant _Atta texana_, a significant pest on pine seedlings during reforestation. His supervisor was Wiliam F. Mann, who was searching for a short-term effort to control the ant colonies. This caused a conflict between his destination and the scientific persuasion of Moser, who thought that only long-term studies to understand the ant's biology would enable a successful control of this ant species. Despite of these conflicts with his supervisor, Moser could continue with his research access. While doing so, he collaborated with numerous elite scientists. One of them was Edward O. Wilson, the famous ant biologist, who won two Pulitzer Prizes.

Since 1962, Moser was additionally involved in research projects about mites associated with bark beetles, at its beginning under the leadership of William H. Bennett.

Moser retired on December 31, 1989, but immediately signed on as a volunteer with the Forest Service. He continued almost until his death in 2015 with remarkable research projects. He for example was involved in the excavation and mapping of a town ant colony or studied interrelationships among bark beetles, mites, fungi and nematodes and continued with international collaborations on species identification.

Selected publications

-   M. Pernek, S. Wirth, S. R. Blomquist, D. N. Avtzis, J. C. Moser: _New associations of phoretic mites on Pityokteines curvidens (Coleoptera, Curculionidae, Scolytinae)_. Central European Journal of Biology. Volume 7, Issue 1, 2012: S. 63-68.
-   J. C. Moser, H. Konrad, S. R. Blomquist, T. Kirisits: _Do mites phoretic on elm bark beetles contribute to the transmission of Dutch elm disease?_, Naturwissenschaften 97: 219, 2010: doi:10.1007/s00114-009-0630-x.
-   J. C. Moser: _Complete Excavation and Mapping of a Texas Leafcutting Ant Nest_. Annals of the Entomological Society of America 99(Sep 2006) January 2009:891-897.
-   Y. J. Cardoza, J. C. Moser, K. D. Klepzig, K. F. Raffa: _Multipartite Symbioses Among Fungi, Mites, Nematodes, and the Spruce Beetle, Dendroctonus rufipennis</I_. Environmental Entomology, 2008: 37(4):956-63.
-   J. C. Moser, J. D. Reeve, J. M. S. Bento, [...], N. M. Heck: _Eye size and behavior of day- and night-flying leafcutting ant alates_, Journal of Zoology 264(1), 2006:69 - 75.

title: John C. Moser

question: List two species or genres mentioned in the article.

answer: Torymus and Pityokteines curvidens.

question: What is the title of the Moser's book?

answer: 'New associations of phoretic mites on Pityokteines curvidens (Coleoptera, Curculionidae, Scolytinae)'.

question: Summarize everything relating to Moser's education.

answer: John C. Moser graduated from high school in 1947, studied at the Ohio State University and received his B.S. in entomology in 1951, completed his master's degree at the OSU in biological control, and finished his Ph.D. in 1958.

question: Who was C.H. Kennedy?

answer: C.H. Kennedy was Moser's professor from whom he learned the most important basics of ant systematics and behavior.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: John C. Moser (1929 –  2015) was an American zoologist, forestry researcher, entomologist, and acarologist. He researched ants and the mite fauna associated with ants.  He described numerous new mite species, and some are named after him. He detected a new wasp species of the genus Torymus. Moser published in the most prestigious international scientific journals.


split: train

text:
Another day in this bunker, this long, winding prison I call home. The walls are lined with the blood of its former occupants, and the constant dripping sound suggests it’s fresh.

Once again, the sound of dripping blood is blocked out by those things, those monsters. The sound of them walking in these dark metal hallways is unmistakable. And it’s getting closer. The pills can help me though, the pills make everything normal again. Now, where did I last put them? Damn it! I left them in the halls! Outside of this barely stable safe house. Maybe, if I’m quiet they won’t hear me. I enter the hallway, searching for the pills. I can hear them getting closer. And I know I won’t have enough time. Why did I even agree to this sadistic experiment? Money? Fame? Fortune? For gods sake, I can’t even remember what the sun looks like, much less the life I left behind! Those people, those demons that put me in here must be dead, or else they would’ve let me out by now, right? But the blood of former occupants suggests they couldn’t care less.

Wait! I left the pills in the vent. Ah, the vent, the perfect place to hide things. I try to ease the vent out gently, but I can hear them coming closer, I need to just tear it off like an old band-aid I think as I grip the vent tightly. The sound of the vent tearing out is terribly loud and could be heard from miles away. Maybe the terrible sound will scare them off? No, I can hear them coming closer by the second. But now I have the pills! I can stave them off. Oh no! The lights have gone out. They’re about to reach me! I choke the pills down my throat. The effect is immediate, already this terrible fate is escaping me. The lights are turning back on and the monsters are weakened. I feel great. But I only have seconds before reality comes crashing back down on me. I need to run, I need to hide!

Already I can feel the effects wearing off. But I think I hid some more pills around here somewhere. I must’ve, I’m the best! Why else would they choose me? Not enough time! They're too close! They’re on me! I can feel their teeth sinking into my flesh!

A dank, sweaty lab, two scientists, Dr. Fitzgerald, a plump, stocky man, and Dr. Parker, a thinner, taller man, eat cheetos and watch through a screen, the picture of a man who has lost his mind. Subject P4C, he used to be normal. But then they got a hold of him. Twisted him, hooked him up to a machine and changed his mind. At first he resisted, but they gave him pills, and he stopped.

But that experiment is over now. He is free to lead his own life again. Yet all he does is sit in his white, gleaming room, with only a single, solitary camera in it. And play pac-man, always putting more money in, playing again, and again, and again.

title: Subject P4C, a short story I wrote for english

question: Is the narrator actually in prison?

answer: No.

question: Are "the pills" referring to drugs?

answer: The pills are kind of medication, perhaps. The narrator was a part of an experiment.

question: Is this fiction or non-fiction?

answer: It is fiction.

question: Who is playing Pac-man?

answer: The first narrator. There is a POV shift in the last two paragraphs and the narrator changes to someone else.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: This is mostly a first-person story of someone who is locked up with monsters in pursuit of him, and only some kind of pill he's hidden makes him temporarily feel better. Then the point of view shifts and the reader is told that the first narrator is actually in a lab and was part of an experiment-gone-bad. Though free, he just stays in the lab room.


text:
I wrote a short story last night on a whim. It started as one thing but the end result was something completely different than I intended. Nevertheless, this is my first piece of writing that I'm actually proud of. I'd like to show my boyfriend because he's the kind of person who would appreciate a story like this, but I need some second opinions if it's even good or not (I've never showed anyone my work before) So feedback and critique would be great! (I understand there are probably a lot of grammatical errors, but I put periods where I wanted them for effect, not for proper grammar. so critique on the story itself and the way it is presented only please, no grammar point-outs) Thanks in advance Redditers!

It's as black as the velvet of a noble's overcoat. As dark as the night during a new moon. I can't see a thing, and there's this feeling I can't seem to shake. I don't know why it's so dark and I don't know where I am. how long has it been? I feel like I've been sitting here for hours. Or maybe my perception of time is so thrown off it's actually been years. I'm getting scared. I'm trying not to let the darkness consume me and drive me to insanity. It's hard. it's hard.

It's too hard.

I've been here too long. I can feel my composure slipping away with every second that passes by. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock... Sometimes it feels like I'm not even in my own body anymore. I have to remind myself how to feel the sensation of touch. Why is this happening to me? Am I dead? Is this Hell? Or is this the "nothingness" the Atheist's who often pass through the pub say happens after you die? Maybe their right. Maybe there isn't a God. Why would someone lie to people like that? Lie about there being a God? To strike fear in our hearts? It doesn't make sense. It's hard to make sense out of things. It's hard. It's hard.

It's too hard.

Tick. Tock, Tick. Tock. When I scream I can't hear anything. It's like my words are staying inside my head and aren't coming out of my mouth no matter how hard I try. I can't call for help. No one can hear me. Is there even anyone around? I can't see anything. I can't hear anything except my own thoughts. It' getting harder to remember how to feel. Will my emotions slip away next? I hope so. I don't want to feel this anymore. Whatever "this" even is. Was I not goo enough in my life? Or does this happen to everyone regardless of their morals and behaviors during their lifetime?

...

What was my life again?

Dad... The pub... Travelers... stories... Kara...

Kara.

My sweet Kara! I almost forgot about you. I'm sorry. It's getting hard to re-conjure everything when I forget. i'm sorry. i'm sorry. It's getting hard.

It's getting hard.

It's getting too hard.

Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock...

Kara. Kara. Kara. Kara. I just need to think about Kara and I'll be alright. Kara will save me. Kara will help me. Kara will help me feel better. I just need to think about Kara. Kara is light. Kara is MY light. Kara is my happiness. Kara is my everything... But it's getting hard. I can't forget you. I won't forget you. Oh please don't let me forget you. I'll give up all of my memories as long as I can keep the memory of you.

...

It's slipping.

It's slipping.

I can feel it slipping.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's getting hard. It's getting hard. It's getting too hard. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I have to remember. I have to remember. I have to remember you... Think about something. A memory. A moment between us. A memory. A year ago... One year ago... Two years ago? Last week? Time doesn't make sense right now. Nothing makes sense right now.

Tick Tock Tick Tock

Ti-

NO! I can't slip away... What was I thinking about? Time...

A year ago.

Kara...

KARA!

I was trying to remember Kara! My sweet Kara. A memory. A memory. Breathe. Breathing. you're breathing. Why are you breathing so fast? Are you okay? Where you running from something? Is someone chasing you? Breathe. You're breathing. You're breathing. Fast. It's getting faster. I can feel it. I can feel your breathe on me, Why are you breathing you so close? Is it me? Was I the one chasing you? Am i hurting you?

No. No. No. Did I kill you? Are you gone? Is this why I'm here? Tick. I this the sin I've committed that brought me here? Tock. Does that mean there is a God? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry Kara. I'm sorry God. I'm sorry. I promise I won't do it again. I've learned my lesson. I promise. I promise. I promise I'll be good. I'll be good like I was before I hurt Kara. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Why did I hurt you? Did you do something to me? Was I going through temporary insanity? Why would I do that? Hurt. You're hurting. Your face is twisted. It's in pain. You're in pain. I'm sorry. i'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I could apologize, but you're gone. you're gone. I can never see you again. Kara. Kara come back. I love you. I love you Sara. At least you're not hurting anymore. I'll always remember. I'll always remember you. Remember Sansa. No matter what, even if everything slips away, I'll never forget. even just you;re name is enough for me. My sweet Hanna...

Wait.

What?

What was it again?

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Tick. you're name. I can't remember you're name. Tock.

Hanna? Kayla? Sara? Caroline? Kara? Elizabeth? Victoria? Sansa?

NO. NO. NO. NO. Tick. Name. Name. I have to remember your name. Tock.

Name...

Tick.

A name.

Tock.

But who's name?

Tick

my name?

Tock.

What is my name?

Tick.

Name

Tock.

A Name.

Tick.

Hard.

Tock.

Hard.

Tick.

it's too hard...

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick...

Tock..

Tick...

...

title: I wrote a short story last night, I would love everyone's feedback.

question: Is the narrator alive?

answer: It may be implied that the narrator is not alive, it's his soul that is talking.

question: Who is Kara?

answer: It may be implied that Kara is the narrator's lover.

question: Who are the women the narrator is trying to recall?

answer: It may be implied that all of those women are the narrator's old lovers.

question: Where is the narrator?

answer: The narrator is in a dark place, somewhere he has never been before.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator finds himself in a dark unknown place. He feels like he is slipping away his composure with every passing second. He tries to think about what his life was. He remembers Kara and believes that thinking about her will make everything fine. He tries his best but feels like he is slipping away.


text:
He stood there and watched as the Senior Portman guided his boat towards the sand. He was a proud captain, only three contracts ever signed, but he was well respected for his actions. Three contracts, two of them kind of rushed into but the last one at least had a happier ending. One went on for far too long, it ended officially but then continued on through the black market for some time after that, his only real mistake. What he was doing right now was fulfilling his philosophy, if you aren't going to sign a contract, get your ship out of port. He had signed a contract with The Fleet, which was going to make it hard to have any personal contracts. While it was possible to have personal contracts while in The Fleet, in the end The Fleet's contract took priority. His ship was finally lodged firmly into the sand, he departed to the party he was invited to.

The party was a family get together, he just happened to be good friends with them. It was nice for him to be around some permanent contracts, it gave him hope for the future. There was another captain and a contract creator who seemed to be thinking about negotiations, they spent most of the time enjoying the conversation of the other. He was happy when he could see friends move closer to happiness.

Then there was the contract creator who talked to him. Not totally with words, actions silenced those out. He questioned if he was reading them right. The party ended and he departed, his mind never leaving the contract creator. He had been lonely since the end of his last contract. Yet in loneliness he had found some comfort. Freedom, room to breathe, but still no true clarity of mind. He arrived home, asked the contract creator of their intentions, and went to sleep.

He awoke to a disguise, a misdirection, but he had clarity on this morning. He questioned the amount of time the contract creator had thought about trying to enter negotiations. Answer, since they had first arrived in this port, but he had been in another contract at the time, and so not wanting to use the black market, they pursued other interests. Honesty and purity were highly respectable attributes in his book, and so he continued. The last contract that the creator made ended abruptly, why? Simple, the captain failed their end of the contract in the communication section. He understood, many captains struggled there, he tried to make that section as streamlined as possible. Final question, did the know about The Fleet contract. They did indeed, reason two for pursuing other options.

He had lost all of the clarity he had before, logic dictated to dismiss it, loneliness dictated other wise. He would walk a very thin line the next few days, no more rushing into any contracts. Illogical, improbable, but it would be a trial by fire, none the less.

title: Ship in the sand

question: What is the narrator doing or observing?

answer: It seems the narrator is a captain of a boat who is soon to sign a contract with The Fleet. He departs his boat to attend a party.

question: Describe the family party.

answer: He knows the family well. There is another captain there as well as a contract creator.

question: Explain the role of the contract creator.

answer: It's not clear (to me) what their role is. The story is very vague.

question: What is the narrator's clarity?

answer: His clarity is that he would no longer rush into contracts.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator is a captain of a boat who is soon to sign a contract with The Fleet. He departs his boat to attend a party where he's happy to be around some permanent contracts. A contract creator approaches him. The captain indicates his feeling of loneliness when he's between contracts. He wakes the next day with a clarity that he will no longer rush into contracts.


text:
April 6, 2052, 1 pm

Agent Martin makes his way back to work after lunch break. His office, on the top floor of the Data Security Center—DSC—is indistinguishable in design and contents from the other offices on the vast floor. All are small soundproof rooms, windowless, shut off by black sliding glass doors. Each office is a command center.

Martin takes his seat, yawns, and puts on his headset. He enjoys his job; it often reminds him of playing video games as a youth. He turns to the monitor on his right, strikes a few keys on the keyboard, and up pops a panel showing birds-eye footage of a suburban neighbourhood. A large textbox underneath reads “Approaching Destination: 200 meters”. The number steadily decreasing. This damn wind hasn't let up the slightest, he thinks, shaking his head. It had been extremely windy the entire day. Prior to leaving for lunch, he had delployed a set of four drones—as was the standard deployment—packed in a larger camoflauged container-unit—camo-con—which was the source of the footage now on screen.

The targets name was Wesley Smith. His activities had been flagged with  “Acute Suspicion”  by the system earlier that morning. All such cases required the attention of and if necessary, investigation—or “analysis” as it called—by an agent. Martin considered it bad luck when such cases were assigned to him. He had groaned when the notification had popped up. The day was fairly quiet and he'd been having great fun micro-managing a drone in a local park. The notification had presented him with a typically boring task. Wesley was sixteen years old. Another stupid sixteen year old that's fascinated with how drugs or bombs can be made, he'd thought then. However, to his delight, he found that the flag had nothing to do with the users querying history, but rather it's lacktherof. Wesley, it seemed, had found himself some very good encryption software—that the system must be unfamiliar with—as over the past nine hours, his data footprint had been reduced tremendously, triggering the flag. Martin had let out a whistle as he thought about all the different possibilites. There was a small chance that this kid possesed data that could lead to him to the source. These were the types of cases Martin was best at. He would surely get a promotion if he were to uncover the creators behind some black market encryption package. He had then followed the standard procedure, flagged the case as “Under Analysis” and had deployed the drone set. The wind however, had delayed what should have been a half-hour trip to over an hour.

Now, he watches as the container unit stops at ten meteres from what he assumes is the target's home. Gusts of wind gently rock the camera side to side. The house is an average looking two-storey house, an exception being the large apple tree in the front yard. Hanging from the tree, a tire-swing slowly sways back and forth. It's the swing that flashes in Martin mind; as a kid, he had a friend who lived in a home on that very street. Passing by here, he would often see children pushing each other on that swing. His mind wanders, and he finds himself wondering whether Wesley—No, he must'nt get distracted. The system begins running a series of tests to confirm that this is the correct house, then ejects the four drones from the container, and prompts Martin to guide the entry.

This was probably the most enjoyable part of his job. He begins micromanaging the blade—the smallest, quickest and most agile of the set—and defines a distance for the others to trail behind. The blade was one inch long, half an inch wide, and four millimeters in height. It was a dull shade of grey and perfectly smooth. A barebone unit, it contained just a nano mic-cam component, a communications component, a power supply, and over a dozen micro-motors; it was fairly stealthy, ideal for recon. It's light weight also meant however, that it was a challenge to control in the wind, and Martin througly enjoyed this challenge.

After zipping around some for fun, he spots an open window at the back side of the house. He thought it a bit odd for a window to be left open when it was this windy, but was able to determine that the room is unoccupied. As the small drone caravan silently advances into the dark room, the monitor to Martins left begins blinking. The hound—a relatively clumsly unit that Martin almost hadn't included—had detected illicit substances in it's proximity. A line of bolded text on the monitor reads: SUBSTANCE: [SCHEDULE I - CANNABIS], the last word—CANNABIS—appearing in green font. The change in font color was Martin's little hack to his own station, thus no one else would ever see it. He chucked to himself whenver it came up.

He suddenly dreads including the Hound in the set, and hopes it's a false positive. Standard procedure had to be followed now.  He issues the command for the drones to begin inspecting the room. Martin ran his own alrorithm—a feat that as far as he knows, only he has acomplished—for room inspection and was proud of it. The largest unit—the Tech—contains the processor shared by the four and is responsible for giving instructions to the other three. In fact, even now, the signals sent to the Blade by Martin are first processed by the Tech, and then only passed on if it considers them safe. It is a highly complex unit whose nano-mechanics Martin had always been in awe of, but was not authorized to program. Just to override it's room-inspection algorithm had taken him weeks and numerous demonstrations. But he had done it, and now the three drones would sniff, photograph, and record the sound in every visible and acessible space in the room, in at most three minutes. As the blade, he slides underneath the centimeter tall gap underneath the door, sees that it leads to an empty hallway, and remains there as a lookout.

When the inspection completes, Martin sits silenlty looking over the new data while carefully listening for any sound through the headphones. The Bat, a unit with ultrasonic capability, working with the Hound had determined that a desk—the laptop sitting on which Martin disappointedly noted was powered off—contains in it's drawer, between three to four grams of marijuana.

For the second time that day, Martin groaned. There was nothing more he could do here. Had he not discovered the weed, he could have gone probing further to try and hack a device on the network. But the presence of the drug had already been logged by the system. The case was no longer in his domain. Any further risk taken by him would be overridden or worse, logged and reported, by the Tech. He would not be doing any hacking today.

As he begins to type out the mandatory report to send back to PRISM, he wonders who the case will be assigned to now—if it hadn't already—and what type of power and authorization that person has. Maybe, he thinks, it's someone inside this building somewhere.

Regardless of what the system would do with the information he had just added to it, he was fully certain that young Wesley's days of being a free man were numbered.

title: 1952

question: What does this story say about the legality of drusg in 2052?

answer: Martin's organization flags individuals who have drugs mentioned in their querying history. The hound detects cannabis, which is referred to as an illicit substance. Marijauna is found in Martin's desk drawer, and as a result Martin speculates that Wesley's days as a free man are numbered.

question: What does the story say about Wesley's involvement in criminal activity?

answer: Wesley's activities have been plagged with "Acute Suspicion" by the system. Wesley was under suspicion due to using a very good encryption software. Martin's drone detects illicit substances in its proximity when searching Martin's house. Marijuana, an illicit substance, is found in Wesley's desk.

question: Summarize Wesley's movements over the course of the story.

question: Summarize the elements of the story that reflect the science fiction theme.

answer: The story takes place on April 6, 2052. Martin has deployed a set of four drones to investigate Wesley Smith. One of the drone, the blade, is one inch long, half an inch wide, and four millimeters in height. It contains a nano mic-cam component as well as a dozen micro-motors. Another of the drones, the hound, is capable of detecting illicit substances. Martin files a report on the investigation to an organization named PRISM.


text:
[Image of Shri Kamal Nath Jha] KAMAL NATH JHA (15 August 1923 - was a freedom fighter, social activist, Bihar state legislative assembly member, Rajya Sabha[1] member and later an Indian National Congress Lok Sabha Member of Parliament from the Saharsa (Lok Sabha constituency).[2]

Early life

Kamal Nath Jha was the son of Pandit Bishwa Nath Jha and Janaki Devi. He was born at Bangoon village in Saharsa district. He received his early education at Kishanganj High School and T.N.J. College, Bhagalpur and married Usha Devi in 1940.

Political career

Independence movement

Shri Kamal Nath Jha participated in the Indian independence movement. He was originally associated with the Socialist Party, offered Satyagraha, and courted arrest during college days for the same. He gave up his studies and joined the freedom movement in 1942. Being a natural leader, he organized the underground armed resistance force known as “Azad Dasta” in Purnea district - intended to merge with the Azad Hind Fauz once it entered India, which never happened. In the aftermath of the failure of Azad Hind Fauz to enter India, Jha destroyed arms worth crores of rupees in those days lest they fell into the hands of the British.[3]

Soon thereafter he was trapped on the Koshi Bridge by British troops along with his comrades and shooting ensued. Despite being wounded and in high fever, Shri Jha jumped into the raging Koshi river. He was later arrested at a train station when he was trying to escape. His arrest was as a security prisoner under D.I.R. in 1944 and detained in Bhagalpur Central Jail and released in 1946 after the case against him- likely to yield death by hanging or kala pani (life imprisonment in the Andaman Islands) was inconclusive, Indian independence being nigh also played a role.

After independence

Shri Jha worked with Champaran Land Enquiry Commission 1950; organized and conducted Crop Shares movement and struggle in Purnea District and courted arrest thrice (over 1952-57). He was the secretary and member of All India Kisan Panchayat over the 1950s (1950–53). He was an active member of the Bihar Socialist Party during mid 1950s and set up the Mahila College in Purnea in 1970s, a venture that was the first of its kind in North Bihar. He was also a member, Senate, Bhagalpur University, 1964–65; President, Jute Mazdoor Panchayat 1957-67; and also President of a number of other Trade Unions. Jha was a member of Bihar Legislative Assembly, 1962–67; Member, Rajya Sabha, 1973–80; Member Lok Sabha 1980-84. He was the first member of the parliament to resign on the floor of the parliament in 1984 citing autocratic leadership in the ruling party (Congress (I)) that reached a crisis point with dismissal of the NTR government. India Today reported in those days when parliamentary debates were not shown live:'Kamal Nath Jha, Congress(I) MP from Bihar, literally crossed the floor even while the Lok Sabha was discussing Andhra Pradesh-“It is authoritarianism of the worst kind,” said Jha.' His words came through to yield consequences that are well known in Indian polity for what happened in that seminal year of 1984.[4][5]

He was renowned for this oratory powers that came to the fore when he was a freedom fighter. This gained appeal state-wide and later also on a national scale the three decades after independence. Shri Jha's public speeches in the days when media coverage was scant provided much acknowledged inspiration to many who became state and national level politicians over the years.

Given the drive of money and corruption in politics Shri Jha decided to retire from politics after losing a parliamentary election which was widely reported to be rigged against him given his stand against the Congress (I), and was the beginning of the end of sanity in Bihar state politics. He was approached in late 1980s to be part of the United Front that ousted the Congress government. He declined because he felt that there was a great likelihood of the political way life in India then- to do more harm than good. More so, he believed that change called for a more grassroots approach than what parliamentary members managed to do or facilitate in those days. Jha dedicated the rest of his life to supporting grassroots work. He died in 2003 after being on kidney dialysis for a year.[6]

Shri Jha lost his mother very early and faced difficult, impoverished times in childhood to rise through sheer grit and determination, and with a passion for social justice. He encouraged and facilitated the rise of the status of landless and women in Bihar. He found blessings and support from an elderly freedom fighter when he was in jail, something he never forgot and did his duty as a son for him as well. Throughout his life he took inspiration from the faint images he had of his mother when he was up against barriers that seemed insurmountable. Shri Jha's wife Smt. Usha Devi helped him achieve his passion by looking after the family through impoverished and trying times. Though an illiterate she ensured that their children were well educated and stood steadfast not behind, but with her husband to define standards in virtue and honesty. They were survived by three daughters, two sons and eleven grandchildren.

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

title: Kamal Nath Jha

question: Summarize all the information relating to Kamal Nath Jha's childhood.

answer: Jha was born in Bangoon village in the Saharsa district in 1923. He lost his mother very early and faced difficult and impoverished times in his childhood. He rose through them with grit and determination. He also developed a passion for social justice during this time. He received his early education at Kishanganj High School and T.N.J. College in Baghalpur.

question: Summarize all the information relating to Kamal Nath Jha's marriage.

answer: Jha marries Usha Devi when he was 17 years old. She looked after their family through impoverished and trying times. She was illiterate, but she ensured that their children were well educated. She supported her husband to define standards in virtue and honesty. They were survived by three daughters, two sons and eleven grandchildren.

question: In which country was Kamal Nath Jha born?

answer: In India.

question: Why was Kamal Nath Jha arrested by British troops?

answer: He courted arrest during college because he associated with the Socialist Party. He organized the underground armed resistance force in the Purnea district. They failed to join with the Azad Hind Fauz once it entered India. This never happened. After the failure, he destroyed arms to prevent the British from taking it. He was pursued and trapped, but jumped into the river after being wounded. He was arrested at a train station as a security prisoner under D.I.R. in 1944.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Kamal Nath Jha was a freedom fighter, social activist and politician in India. He was arrested as a security prisoner and released when India's independence was imminent. After this he worked in politics. He was known for his oratory powers and his public speeches was inspiration in a time of little media coverage.


text:
[Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt in 2007]

GEORGES-ARTHUR GOLDSCHMIDT (born 2 May 1928) is a French writer and translator of German origin.

Biography

Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt was born in Reinbek near Hamburg, into a Jewish family of magistrates converted to Protestantism.

His father was an adviser to the Hamburg Court of Appeal until 1933. He was then deported to Theresienstadt where he served as Protestant pastor of “Protestant Jews” deported because of their origin.

Georges-Arthur fled Germany in 1938. He took refuge in Italy with his brother, then in France, in a boarding school in Megève. From 1943 to September 1944, he was hidden in Haute-Savoie among farmers, particularly François and Olga Allard, who were honoured on August 6, 2012 as Righteous Among the Nations.[1]

Goldschmidt obtained French nationality in 1949. He was a professor ("agrégé d’allemand") until 1992. He taught at Lycée Paul Eluard for 19 years.[2]

A writer and essayist, Goldschmidt chose French as a language of expression and writing, without abandoning German. He is a translator, among others, of Walter Benjamin, Friedrich Nietzsche, Franz Kafka and Peter Handke.

Prizes and distinctions

-   1991: Preis der SWR-Bestenliste
-   1991:
-   1991: Geschwister-Scholl-Preis (for _Die Absonderung_)
-   1993: Literaturpreis der Stadt Bremen
-   1996:
-   1997: Doctor _honoris causa_ of the University of Osnabrück
-   1999: Ludwig-Börne-Preis
-   2001: Nelly Sachs Prize of the city of Dortmund
-   2002: Goethe-Medaille
-   2004: Prix France Culture (for _Le Poing dans la bouche_)
-   2005: Joseph-Breitbach-Preis.[3]
-   2007: Erlanger Literaturpreis für Poesie als Übersetzung
-   2007: The programme for young literary translators of the Franco-German Youth Office (FGYO) and the Frankfurt Book Fair is named after him “Goldschmidt Programme”
-   2013:
-   2015: Sigmund-Freud-Kulturpreis

Works

-   2015: _Les Collines de Belleville_. Actes Sud.[4]
-   2013: _Heidegger et la langue allemande_, series “Classiques des sciences sociales”, UQAC.[5]
-   2013: _La Joie du passeur_, CNRS
-   2011: _L'Esprit de retour_, Éditions du Seuil
-   2009: _A l'insu de Babel_, CNRS Éditions
-   2009: _Une langue pour abri_, Créaphis/Facim
-   2008: _Un enfant aux cheveux gris_, CNRS Éditions
-   2007: _Celui qu’on cherche habite juste à côté_,
-   2005: _Le Recours_, Verdier
-   2004: _Le Poing dans la bouche_, Verdier
-   2001: _En présence du Dieu absent_, Bayard
-   1988: _Quand Freud voit la mer_,
-   1999: _La Traversée des fleuves_, Seuil
-   1997: _Molière ou La liberté mise à nu_, Éditions Circé
-   1997: _La Matière de l’écriture_, Circé
-   1996: _Quand Freud attend le verbe_, Buchet/Chastel
-   1991: _La Forêt interrompue_, Seuil
-   1988: _Peter Handke_, Seuil
-   1986: _Un Jardin en Allemagne_, Seuil
-   1978: _Jean-Jacques Rousseau ou L'esprit de solitude_, Éditions Phébus
-   1973: _Molière ou La liberté mise à nu_, Éditions Julliard
-   1971: _Le Fidibus_, Julliard
-   1971: _Un corps dérisoire_, Julliard
-   1967: _Marcel Béalu : un cas de flagrant délit_, Le Terrain Vague

Translations

Walter Benjamin

-   _Allemands_, , 2012.

Georg Büchner

-   _Lenz_, Éditions Vagabonde.

Franz Kafka

-   _Le Procès_, Press Pocket, 1974.
-   _Le Château_, Press Pocket, 1976.

Peter Handke

-   _Bienvenue au conseil d'administration_
-   _La courte lettre pour un long adieu_
-   _Après midi d'un écrivain_, Éditions Gallimard, 1987.
-   _L'heure de la sensation vraie_ (adapted to cinema in 1988 by Didier Goldschmidt under the title __)
-   _La femme gauchère_
-   _Le poids du monde_
-   _Les gens déraisonnables sont en voie de disparition_
-   _Par les villages_
-   _Encore une fois pour Thucydide_, Bourgois, 1996.
-   _Essai sur la fatigue_, Gallimard, 1998.
-   _Histoire d'enfant_, Gallimard, 2001.
-   _Par une nuit obscure je sortis de ma maison tranquille_, Gallimard, 2001.
-   _Lucie dans la forêt avec les truc-machins_, Gallimard, 2001.

Nietzsche

-   _Ainsi parlait Zarathoustra_, LGF, 1983.

Adalbert Stifter

-   _L'Homme sans postérité_, Phébus, Libretto, 1978

Studies

Life, work, individual aspects

-   Heinz Ludwig Arnold, _Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt_
-   Roger-Yves Roche, _Photofictions - Perec, Modiano, Duras, Goldschmidt, Barthes_
-   Wolfgang Asholt (Hrsg.): _Studien zum Werk von Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt._ Osnabrück 1999.
-   Klaus Bonn: _Zur Topik von Haus, Garten und Wald, Meer. Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt._ Bielefeld 2003, .
-   Michaela Holdenried: _Das Ende der Aufrichtigkeit? Zum Wandel autobiographischer Dispositive am Beispiel von Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt._ In: _Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen und Literaturen._ 149. Jg. (1997), Bd. 234, H. 1, pp. 1–19.
-

        _Wohnen zwischen den Sprachen: Der deutsch-französische Autor Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt. Einführung in Leben und Werk._ In: _Französische Gegenwartsliteratur_ (= _Begegnungen mit dem Nachbarn._ Band 3). Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung, Sankt Augustin 2004, , pp. 127–137 (Kurzfassung online; PDF-Datei, 39 KB).

-   Tim Trzaskalik: _Gegensprachen. Das Gedächtnis der Texte. Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt._ Frankfurt 2007, .
-   _Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt_ (= _Text + Kritik._ H. 181). edition text + kritik, München 2009, .
-   Renate Göllner: Masochismus und Befreiung: Georges-Arthur Goldschmit.In: Gerhard Scheit, Manfred Dahlmann (Hrsg.): sans phrase Zeitschrift für Ideologiekritik. Heft 8, Frühjahr 2016. ça ira, Freiburg/Wien, 2016, pp. 180–191

Interviews

-   Gero von Boehm: _Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt. 6. Juni 2002_. Interview in: _Begegnungen. Menschenbilder aus drei Jahrzehnten_. Collection Rolf Heyne, München 2012, , pp. 298–306.

[1] « Allard Jeanne, Allard François » on yadvashem-france.org

[2] See his autobiographical novel _La traversée des fleuves_, published in 1999 at Points, page 395.

[3] _Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt erhält den Breitbach-Preis 2005_

[4] _Les Collines de Belleville_ on actes-sud.fr

[5] _Heidegger et la langue allemande. I. Langue et espace_ (2005) on classiques.uqac.ca

title: Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt

question: What is Goldschmidt's profession?

answer: He is a writer and translator.

question: List Goldschmidt's works from 2000-2010.

answer:
En présence du Dieu absent;
Le Poing dans la bouche;
Le Recours;
Celui qu’on cherche habite juste à côté;
Un enfant aux cheveux gris;
Une langue pour abri;
A l'insu de Babel.

question: What languages does Goldschmidt work in?

answer: French and German.

question: How many prizes/distinctions did Goldschmidt win from 1994-1995?

answer: None.

question: Where did Goldschmidt teach?

answer: Lycée Paul Eluard in France.

question: When did Goldschmidt leave Germany?

answer: He fled Germany in 1938, presumably because of the war. His father (presumably also named Goldschmidt) was deported in 1933.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: Georges-Arthur Goldschmidt (1928-) is a writer and translator who works in French and German, primarily on the works of Nietzsche, Kafka, and Handke.


text:
I wrote this pretty quickly, more for the experience itself than for the end product. It's based on real events. The story is pretty dialogue heavy and I didn't think too hard about the narrative. Nonetheless I hope some of you enjoy it.

Mollified

“This is gonna be so awk.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I haven’t talked to Julia in a while. Plus I don’t think I’m gonna be sad enough. And I’m worried it’ll be obvious.”

“Claire it’s fine. None of that matters. We’re just there to signal to her that we care enough about her grief that we’re willing to sacrifice a few hours of our time.”

“Yeah I suppose. I’m just really bad at this stuff.”

I pressed my forehead against the window and watched a cute girl walking her dog. She noticed me staring because traffic was moving so slowly. I mouthed “cute dog” and she smiled. I had no idea if she knew what I was saying.

“Is it bad that I’m bored already?” Claire asked, glancing over to observe my reaction.

“Nah, it’s normal. Just be on your best behavior.”

“Yes daddy,” she replied with the bubbliest of mirth.

“You’re incorrigible.”

After 22 years, I had yet to encounter death on a personal level. It was more of a curiosity to me than anything real. And yet I felt bad that we were making light of the situation. The closest I’d ever gotten to death was back in high school when the doctor suspected my mom had a tumor and wanted to run a scan. The night before her appointment I imagined the worst and listened to some crappy punk bands, shedding silent tears. But that was quickly forgotten when the doctor found nothing wrong. I never experienced real human mortality.

“Andrew, would you be sad if I died?”

“You know I would be.”

“Well I wouldn’t want you to be. Cause at the rate I’m going I’ve probably already peaked. You know me. Live fast, die young.”

She’s only 20.

“I know, Claire. I’d still be sad. Maybe less so for you as you are and more so for who you could’ve become.”

“Too real.”

“I meant it in the least judgmental way possible.”

“I know.”

We finally arrived at the colonial looking home, finding the parking lot filled with tens of cars. I wondered how many cars would attend my wake. Probably a couple handfuls at best. As we pulled in I made sure to turn down the car radio that had been blasting Kanye West with maxed bass. My hand found Claire’s as we walked in. I remembered that she had recently begun dating some guy but neither of us seemed to care.

As I walked in I was reminded of a cocktail party. Groups of people, seemingly separated by age group, stood in circles and chatted. We walked around and eventually came across the body. She was seated upright. White dress, eyes shut. Claire and I shared a glance. I felt her squeeze my hand sharply. We both turned simultaneously to leave the room. Julia came to greet us and give us hugs, but we didn’t know what to say beyond the basic pleasantries. She related to us that everything still felt like a dream. Apparently her mom passed away out of the blue for no discernible reason. Claire stroked Julia’s hair and gave her a peck on the forehead. Julia thanked us profusely for coming and told us she was going to head upstairs for a bit and would be back soon. I could see that her composure was beginning to crack as she hastened away.

Claire and I continued to explore the house. We came across a table of small cards, each decorated with a photo of Julia’s mom on the front and a portrait of the Virgin Mary on the back. Mass-produced mementos for the guests. I stood and stared at Mary. Her heart was drawn on the exterior of her body.

“Hey Claire, check out her heart. It looks just like a strawberry.”

Claire exploded with laughter and I struggled to contain my own at her reaction. An older gentleman who stood across the room glanced in our direction. We must have looked mortified and he must not have heard my comment because he walked over, placing his hands on our shoulders.

“No need to be ashamed. We all respond to grief in our own ways, whether through tears, confusion, or laughter.”

I offered him a solemn nod and thanked him for understanding.

“Can we step outside?” asked Claire.

I agreed, thinking it for the best. We walked to Claire’s car and sat inside, reclining our seats. The sun was at an angle such that the shadow cast by my hand was enormous. I made spirit fingers, watching the massive, flailing shadow and Claire laughed. In the company of anyone else I would’ve felt dumb.

“We should probably go back in at some point and say bye to Julia before we leave,” Claire bemoaned.

“Yeah.”

“I feel somewhat bad suggesting this, but do you wanna roll? And by roll I mean molly, not roll as in bounce.”

I chuckled to myself. She would.

“Sure. I guess I will out of solidarity. And I guess I’d be pretty miz if you rolled and I didn’t.”

Feeling like a social deviant, I shared the small pouch of licorice smelling powder with Claire, tasting the bitterness as it crept from the front of my gums to the back of my tongue. I noted that the bitter taste reflected our moods. Claire plugged in her ipod and rested her head on my shoulder. Her hair smelled natural, like petrichor. I closed my eyes and listened to her breathe to the rhythm of the music. I might have fallen asleep for a short time but the next thing I realized was the molly kicking in. The surfaces where our skins met tingled lightly and the music was much richer than I remembered. Claire’s phone buzzed. She had gotten a text from Julia thanking us for stopping by and apologizing for disappearing for so long. That took care of that.

“You know, I still can’t figure out if we’re immature or too mature for our years.”

I ruminated over her words for a moment.

“I’m not entirely sure I understand the word mature, or that I like it. I think we’re just intellectual anomalies.”

“Or maybe we’re just like everyone else except honest about our real feelings. Or maybe we’re really comfortable with repressing normal feelings.”

“That’s certainly possible.”

“You know, I’d still rather be dating you.”

“I like you a lot too. But we both know it won’t work.”

“Cause we’re too much of the same half. We need to find our other halves a la Plato’s Symposium blah blah blah. Or we’ll get bored quickly. I know. But my statement still stands.”

I impulsively leaned over to kiss her.

“Only because we’re rolling,” she pulled back to clarify.

“Only because we’re rolling,” I confirmed.

We lost ourselves for god knows how long until Claire broke it off. A single tear rolled down her cheek. I didn’t know why.

“I don’t know why either. Life in confusing. Or maybe it’s just the molly,” she explained in response to my questioning gaze.

“Or both.”

“Or both. I’m not sad. At least I don’t think so.”

My eyes started watering as well. Inexplicably. Or perhaps out of empathy.

“I’m not sad either. Maybe we’ve forgotten how to be sad but our tear ducts haven’t.”

“Yeah. Tear ducts sounds so biological though. Let’s go with hearts. Our hearts haven’t forgotten.”

“Our strawberry hearts?”

She laughed.

“Strawberry hearts forever," she crooned to the tune of the Beetles.

And we were happy again, fully and deeply.

title: I'd like to share my first short story with you guys.

question: Did Andrew and Claire used to date?

answer: Unclear.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Andrew and Claire go to Julia's mom's funeral. They feel awkward and unsure of what to say or do. They give Julia their condolences then find their way outside where they roll molly.


text:
[]
Fernando Vergara / AP Photo
Anti-narcotics police stand guard on a farm in Caceres northwest of Colombia, Monday Dec. 20, 2010.

It is no surprise that Sudan, blighted by unceasing years of loud civil war, has the largest population of internally displaced people in the world: perhaps as many as 6 million. But which country has the second? Colombia, right smack in the middle of the western hemisphere, has an estimated 4 million.

The main reason so many Colombians have been uprooted is because, over the past 25 years, cocaine traffickers, paramilitaries and rebels are believed to have taken control of some 13 million acres of land. Sometimes the land was stolen from Colombia's farmers. In some cases, owners were forced to sell out to gangsters at rock-bottom prices. Those who balked were warned that the deals would be closed with their widows. The land was coveted for growing and smuggling narcotics, trafficking arms, consolidating territory in the war and, in some cases, for setting up legal enterprises such as cattle ranches and palm oil plantations. These land grabs have contributed to one of the most lopsided ratios of property distribution in Latin America — and a reason why more than 60% of people living in Colombia's countryside are poor. All that inequity convinced many peasants to join the guerrillas or the paramilitaries in a war already exacerbated by the drug trade.

As part of a new strategy to pacify the countryside and recharge the rural economy, the Colombian government aims to return ill-gotten acreage to small farmers and provide them with all-important land titles and loans. The policy is also designed to blunt the appeal of Colombia's Marxist rebels, who blithely pontificate about land reform even as they force poor people off their homesteads at gunpoint. "We are convinced that if there's no rational and just solution to the land problem in Colombia we will never achieve a lasting peace," Agriculture Minister Juan Camilo Restrepo told TIME.

In much of the world, property titles are a foundation for building wealth because they can be used as collateral for loans. A well-established system of property rights helped turn the United States and other Western nations into prosperous capitalist societies. But in Colombia, legalizing property in remote areas can be an expensive 50-step nightmare involving numerous trips to far-off provincial capitals. That's why 40% of rural properties in Colombia lack legal titles, according to the Agriculture Ministry.

Without land titles, poor Colombian farmers have no access to credit to buy seeds and fertilizer and improve their standard of living. Deeds also raise property values and can help convince people in the outback that they have a stake in the system. Yet even though they have lived on the land for years, many Colombians have the legal status of squatters. That makes it easier for narcotics traffickers, who are quick to provide start-up money, to convince them to grow drug crops, like coca and opium poppies, and for rebels to recruit their sons and daughters.

"The people who are physically on the land don't have a sense of ownership and so they're not willing to work it or protect it," says Ken Yamashita, the director of the U.S. Agency for International Development in Colombia, which is supporting the government's land-to-the-people initiatives. "So it's easy for others to come and push them off. The displaced population of 4 million that we have here in Colombia is partly because of that."

To empower small farmers President Juan Manuel Santos launched a fast-track program in which government workers travel to isolated towns to hand out land titles. And so, earlier this month in the remote mountain town of Chaparral, impoverished farmers wearing straw hats and broad smiles shuffled across the stage at a high school auditorium where officials presented them with deeds. Given the country's history it was a milestone and a cause for celebration. VIPS arrived for the ceremony via chartered airplane. A brass band provided a triumphant soundtrack. The newly landed peasants were treated to a pig roast. "This document says we are the owners of a small plot of land," said coffee grower Maria Alvirian. "And this will allow us to get the loans we need to invest in our farm."

A far greater challenge is the government's goal of putting 5 million acres of poached property into the hands of landless peasants over the next four years. But President Santos claims it can be done with the help of pending legislation that would provide land, financial compensation and other benefits to war victims. "We will accelerate the expropriation of lands that are in the hands of bandits," Santos said in a recent speech. "And if the Congress gives us the tools, we will return these lands to the peasants even faster than the criminals stole them."

The catch is that many of these plots are still controlled by outlaws but are registered to third parties who've never been convicted of crimes. A new seizure law places the burden on suspect land holders to prove they acquired their properties fair and square. Still, expropriation can take years. For example, drug lord Pablo Escobar was gunned down in 1993 but it's taken the government 15 years to gain control over just a fraction of his vast holdings. According to Colombia's National Narcotics Department, authorities have seized less than 3% of misappropriated properties.

Yet when the seizure process works it can change lives. Just ask Francisco Gomez, a sharecropper who has never owned a square inch of land in his life. Gomez and 26 other farmers grow cacao, the raw material for chocolate, on a piece of land once owned by Escobar. If the crop succeeds and the farmers stay put, they will have the option to buy the plot at a low price from the government. As he chops open a cacao pod and pries out the seeds, Gomez says: "I'm very happy. This is the inheritance that Pablo Escobar left for us."

question: Why are people being internally displaced in Colombia?

answer: Because, over the past 25 years, cocaine traffickers, paramilitaries, and rebels are believed to have taken control of almost 13 million acres of land.

question: Where have the displaced people settled?

answer: Information not found.

question: What does the Colombian government want to do through their new policy?

answer: Return ill-gotten land to small farmers and provide them with all-important land titles and loans.

question: Why don't people in Colombia have land titles?

answer: Because it is a long bureaucratic proces, expensive, involving 50 steps and many trips to far-off provincial capitals.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The article discusses how a big part of Colombia's population has been displaced due to the illegal grabbing of their land. Now, the government, wants to place the farmers back on their land, and give them land titles so they can get bank credits and invest in their business. The president is very hopeful of the new projects.


text: Ernest Hemingway wrote a really fascinating shortstory with only 6 words. He wrote: For Sale. Baby shoes. Not worn.   What are your ideas of an shortstoriy with just 6 words?

title: Write your Shortstory with 6 or less words

question: What was so fascinating about Ernest Hemingway's short story?

answer: That it was only 6 words long.


text:
[Son Heung-min was the first player winning Best Footballer in Asia for more than one time.]

The 2015 BEST FOOTBALLER IN ASIA, given to the best football player in Asia as judged by a panel of 20 sports journalists, was awarded to Son Heung-min on 28 December 2015. Son Heung-min became the first footballer who won Best Footballer in Asia for more than one time, and the first footballer who won this trophy in succession.

Voting

The panel of jurors was constituted by 20 journalists. 16 journalists represent AFC countries/regions including Australia, China, Hong Kong, Japan, Korea Republic, Macao, Palestine, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Tajikistan, Thailand, Turkmenistan, United Arabic Emirates, Uzbekistan, Vietnam and 4 journalists represent media outlets of non- AFC countries/regions including England, France, Germany and Italy.[1]

Rules

Each juror selects 5 best footballers and awards them 5, 4, 3, 2 points and 1 point respectively from their first choice to the fifth choice. The trophy of the Best Footballer in Asia is awarded to the player with the highest total of points.

Rankings

+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Rank            | Name            | Club            | Points          |
+=================+=================+=================+=================+
|  |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 1               | SON HEUNG-MIN   | BAYER           | 49              |
|                 |                 | LEVERKUSEN      |                 |
|                 |                 |  TOTTENHAM      |                 |
|                 |                 | HOTSPUR         |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 2               | Zheng Zhi       | Guangzhou       | 32              |
|                 |                 | Evergrande      |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 3               | Ricardo Goulart | Guangzhou       | 32              |
|                 |                 | Evergrande      |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 4               | Ahmed Khalil    | Al-Ahli         | 28              |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 5               | Omar            | Al-Ain          | 27              |
|                 | Abdulrahman     |                 |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 6               | Massimo Luongo  | Swindon Town /  | 25              |
|                 |                 | Queens Park     |                 |
|                 |                 | Rangers         |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 7               | Shinji Kagawa   | Borussia        | 22              |
|                 |                 | Dortmund        |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 8               | Ki Sung-yueng   | Swansea City    | 15              |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 9               | Paulinho        | Tottenham       | 12              |
|                 |                 | Hotspur /       |                 |
|                 |                 | Guangzhou       |                 |
|                 |                 | Evergrande      |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 10              | Mohammad        | Al-Nassr        | 10              |
|                 | Al-Sahlawi      |                 |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 11              | Eldor           | Bunyodkor       | 9               |
|                 | Shomurodov      |                 |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 12              | Masaaki         | Gamba Osaka     | 6               |
|                 | Higashiguchi    |                 |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 13              | Huang Bowen     | Guangzhou       | 5               |
|                 |                 | Evergrande      |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Andranik        | Tractor Sazi /  | 5               |
| Teymourian      | Umm Salal       |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 15              | Odil Ahmedov    | FC Krasnodar    | 4               |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Yoshinori Muto  | FC Tokyo /      | 4               |
|                 | Mainz 05        |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 17              | Mohd Safiq      | Johor Darul     | 3               |
|                 | Rahim           | Ta'zim          |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Theerathon      | Buriram United  | 3               |
| Bunmathan       |                 |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Zhang Linpeng   | Guangzhou       | 3               |
|                 | Evergrande      |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 20              | Aaron Mooy      | Melbourne City  | 2               |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| 21              | Kim Young-gwon  | Guangzhou       | 1               |
|                 |                 | Evergrande      |                 |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Lima            | Al-Ahli         | 1               |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Takashi Usami   | Gamba Osaka     | 1               |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+
| Artur Gevorkyan | Nasaf           | 1               |
+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+-----------------+

[1]

title: Best Footballer in Asia 2015

question: Who won Best Footballer in Asia 2015?

answer: Son Heung-min

question: Who selected the winner of the Best Footballer in Asia 2015 award?

answer: a panel of 20 sports journalists

question: Who is Son Heung-min?

answer: the article does not answer this question

question: Who would have gotten second place for Best Footballer in Asia 2015, were such a thing awarded?

answer: a tie between Zheng Zhi and Ricardo Goulart

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Best Footballer in Asia 2015 was an award decided by 20 sports journalists. Son Heung-min won the award.


text:
The Italian, who turned 39 on Friday, struggled for much of last season with a lack of feeling from the M1's chassis and poor traction – an issue which returned on the first day of the second pre-season test in Thailand.

Rossi admits Yamaha has been on the back foot ever since the championship switched to Magneti Marelli's control electronics software for the '16 campaign, and says Honda and Ducati “understand” the system better than the Iwata-based marque.

“When we move to the Magneti Marelli [control software], for me we have some problems,” the Italian revealed. “So for us, is difficult to understand.

"Honda and Ducati understand something we don't understand. So I hope that we can recover as soon as possible, because at this moment we suffer. For me, it's this.

“The good thing of the electronics is it's not the engine, or the chassis, or the swingarm [which is causing the issue]. You can fix with a number, so you can fix in a shorter time.

“But I'm quite worried, because if we don't fix now I'm not optimistic to fix for the first races. So I don't know what we have to do.”

Pressed as to whether focusing more on the electronics could have salvaged his '17 campaign, Rossi remarked: “[They are] two different things, both. Electronics, Ducati and Honda improve a lot during the season, and in the second part were stronger.

“Another thing is the chassis. Now, when I brake and entry into the corners I feel good. But we need more acceleration.”

Rossi ended the opening day of testing at the Buriram track eighth fastest – 0.392s off pacesetter Cal Crutchlow on the LCR Honda – and has a feeling “more similar” to what he had on the '16 M1 despite his continuing troubles exiting corners.

“For me, the bike is better than last year, I feel better,” he added.

“I have the feeling more similar to two years ago, and this is very important because I suffer a lot last year, maybe more than Maverick [Vinales] with the 2017 chassis.

“But for me, at this moment, all the Ducati [riders] are better at acceleration because they are more in front than us with the electronics.”

_Additional reporting by Oriol Puigdemont_

question: What motorcycle does Rossi ride?

answer: The Yamaha M1

question: Where is Yamaha based out of?

answer: Iwata, Japan

question: What were Rossi's struggles during the 2016 campaign?

answer: In 2016, the M1's chassis had poor traction and a lack of feeling. They also had problems adjusting to the new Magneti Marelli control electronics software.


text:
“What is it like dying”?
Will always heard this question first, always answering with the same response he’d been using for years. Why is it always the first one? Mortal mentality, so feeble.
“It depends on how you die, I died quickly, so my death was fairly painless, but I’m sure my remains suggested otherwise. I’ve met people from all walks of death, from the self-inflicted suicide, to the limitless potentials of human stupidity”.
The group ejected from their seats, with the chairs passing out behind them. The electronic equipment bumbled into incomprehensible fits, jumping and fizzing from one measurement to the other. Lights flashed into a hyperactive frenzy, committing suicide one by one.
Will was, weirdly, fascinated by this equipment. His usual audience were medieval monks, or shamanic tribes. He’d seen electricity before, but electricity to measure me? Now that’s innovation.
“How did you die”?
Mortals were so predictable. Next he’ll probably ask “what’s you name”?
“I died in a car crash when I was twelve years old. My buddy Phil and I tried taking his dad’s car out to pick up some girls, but being the middle of winter, the car spun out of control”.
 “I sense a new presence in the room” whispered the leader of the group over a wavering void of whimpers.
“Hey Phil!”
Phil, being clumsier than a bear on stilts, never fails to make an entrance. The group inhaled a simultaneous gasp of fear, as an assembly of barrels pivot wildly on their bases.
“Hey man, listen, I’ve got an amateur summoning over in Idaho, sleepover, teenagers, you know, that sort of thing. Anyway, wanna go freak them out?”
“Idaho? Sure, better than these living deadheads”.

title: A short story about a bored ghost.

question: What is happening?

answer: A ghost has been summoned to answer questions in what appears to be a scientific procedure.

question: Who is the ghost?

answer: The ghost is Will, who died in a car crash when he was twelve. The crash also killed his friend Phil. They are both ghosts.

question: What do ghosts do?

answer:
They do no seem to have any particular obligation or responsibility, but it appears they can answer spiritual summons through various forms of spells (prayers, rituals, and even teenagers doing an amateur summoning).

It appears that a ghost's hostility is entirely determined by the mood of the ghost. Also, Will's thought processes seem to have evolved from that of a 12 year old (being able to recognize question patterns and even judging them as predictable), so it is possible that a ghost also ages mentally and as such, the number of activities that Will may choose to do can grow over time.

question: Who was interviewing Will?

answer: A group of people who seem to have engineered a device that uses electricity to study ghosts.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Using a machine, a group of people are able to interview Will, a ghost. Will finds their questions predictable, and after answering a few, he decides to join his ghost friend Phil to Idaho to haunt some teens having a sleepover.


text:
_SHOR AND SHORSHOR_ is a 1926 Soviet comedy film directed by Hamo Beknazarian. Other title: “Armenian Pat & Patachon”. Based on a story by M. Bagratuni.

Plot

The film tells of the adventures of rural slackers Shor and Shorshor. Their wives kick them out of the house (without collusion) and tell them that they will be able to return home only when they get hold of food, but the friends use the superstitious villagers only for procuring alcohol.

Cast

-   Hambartsum Khachanyan as Shor
-   A. Amirbekyan as Shorshor
-   Nina Manucharyan as Yeghso
-   Avet Avetisyan as Vardan
-   Grigor Avetyan as Miller
-   B. Muradyan as Ghukas
-   Ye. Adamyan as Heriknaz
-   O. Stepanyan as Kyokhva (village headman)
-   Arkady Harutyunyan as Ohan (as A. Harutyunyan)
-   T. Shamirkhanyan as Vahan
-   David Malyan as Devil

Production

The screenplay was written by Hamo Beknazarian in only one night, on the eleventh day of work the film was shot and edited. The director and the actors improvised on set. “Shor and Shorshor” was a huge success both in Armenia and abroad, bringing the studio “more than three hundred thousand ticket sales.”

title: Shor and Shorshor

question: What is Shor and Shorshor?

answer: Shor and Shorshor is a 1926 Soviet comedy movie.

question: What is the movie Shor and Shorshor about?

answer: Five women kick their lazy alcoholic husbands out of the house and tell them that they will be able to return home only when they get hold of food.

question: Who did write the screenplay for the movie Shor and Shorshor?

answer: Hamo Beknazarian wrote the screenplay for the movie.

question: How long has the movie Shor and Shorshor been shot?

answer: The movie Shor and Shorshor has been shot for one day.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Shor and Shorshor is a 1926 Soviet comedy movie about the adventures of five lazy friends who are kicked out of the house by their wives. It is directed by Hamo Beknazarian is shot and edited for one day. It is based on a story by M. Bagratuni. Shor and Shorshor was a huge success both in Armenia and abroad. Hambartsum Khachanyan plays Shor, and Amirbekyan plays Shorshor.


text:
FARTHINGHOE NATURE RESERVE is a 3.7 hectare Local Nature Reserve north-west of Brackley in Northamptonshire. It is owned by Northamptonshire County Council and managed by the Wildlife Trust for Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire and Northamptonshire.[1][2][3]

This former landfill site has grassland, ponds and woodland. Flowers include lady's bedstraw, meadow vetchling and snake's-head fritillary. There are fauna such as marbled white and green-veined white butterflies, and pipistrelle and noctule bats.[4][5]

There is access from Purston Lane.

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title: Farthinghoe Nature Reserve

question: Where is Farthinghoe Nature Reserve?

answer: It is in Northamptonshire.

question: Who is Farthinghoe Nature Reserve owned by?

answer: It is owned by Northamptonshire County Council.

question: Who is Farthinghoe Nature Reserve managed by?

answer: Farthinghoe Nature Reserve is managed by the Wildlife Trust for Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire, and Northamptonshire.

question: What kind of flora can be found in Farthinghoe Nature Reserve owned by?

answer: Lady's bedstraw, meadow vetchling, and snake's-head fritillary.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Farthinghoe Nature Reserve in Northamptonshire is owned by Northamptonshire County Council. It has grassland, ponds, and woodland


text:
RUNCORN TOWN HALL is in Heath Road, Runcorn, Cheshire, England. It is recorded in the National Heritage List for England as a designated Grade II listed building.[1] It was originally built as Halton Grange, a mansion for Thomas Johnson, a local industrialist. After passing through the ownership of two other industrialists, it was purchased in the 1930s by Runcorn Urban District Council and converted into their offices.

History

[Main aspect and belvedere of Runcorn Town Hall] In January 1854 the land on which the building stands was bought by Thomas Johnson from Francis Selkeld for £4,280 ().[2] Thomas was the younger brother in the partnership of John & Thomas Johnson, soap and alkali manufacturers in Runcorn.[3] In 1853–56 a mansion was built for Thomas on the land to a design by Charles Verelst (formerly Reed).[4] The name of the mansion was Halton Grange and its gardens were planned by Edward Kemp.[5] In the 1860s the Johnson brothers became involved in the American Civil War by trying to break a naval blockade at Charleston but all their ships were sunk, resulting in a considerable loss of money. They eventually became bankrupt in 1871.[6] In that year Halton Grange and its surrounding farm were sold to Charles Hazlehurst for £10,428 ().[7] Charles Hazlehurst was the junior partner in the other soap and alkali business in Runcorn, Hazlehurst & Sons.[8] Charles died in 1878, leaving Halton Grange to his son, Charles Whiteway Hazlehurst, with a life interest to his wife, Julia, who died in 1903.[9]

In 1904 the house was leased to Francis Boston, the owner of a tannery in Runcorn, who bought it in 1909 for £5,000 (). Francis Boston died in 1929 and the house and grounds were put up for auction. In 1931 Frederick Clare and Latham Ryder, local builders, bought part of the grounds for £1,975 (). In 1932 Runcorn Urban District Council bought the house and the remainder of the grounds, a total of , for £2,250 ().[10] The following year the building was converted into the offices of the Runcorn Urban District Council. In 1964–65 an office block was built adjacent to the house and the house was adapted to become the civic suite.[11]

Description

Exterior

The exterior of the building is rendered and the roof is of slate. The building is in two storeys in the style of an Italianate villa, with a belvedere rising to four storeys.[12] The authors of the _Buildings of England_ series suggest it has similarities with Osborne House.[13] The building has three bays on each front. The entrance front has a Tuscan portico with an open balustrade above it. The bay between the portico and the tower has a triple round-headed window with another balustrade above it. All corners have rusticated quoins. The upper level of the tower has triple openings which are flanked by pilasters on all faces. The ground floor windows are double casements and those above are sash windows.[14]

Interior

[Marble columns inside the entrance to Runcorn Town Hall] The ground floor includes the mayor's parlour, a members' room and committee rooms. On the upper floor are reception rooms and a kitchen. A more modern council chamber has been added to the rear. The entrance hall has a mosaic floor, probably by Minton, in the centre of which is the figure of a young girl's head, possibly the daughter of Thomas Johnson. The mayor's parlour has an unusual feature, a window above the fireplace. This is concealed by a mirror which can be slid sideways. The chimney for the fireplace is built into the wall to the right of the window.[15] The staircase is geometrical with cast iron balusters, over which is a large window glazed in a Venetian style.[16] The stained glass in this window depicts Runcorn's coat of arms.[17] On the walls overlooking the staircase are two large paintings by Andrea Casali depicting the _Continence of Scipio_ and _Sophonisba taking Poison_. These paintings were commissioned in about 1743 by Richard Child, 1st Earl Tylney for Wanstead House. The frames were designed by William Kent.[18][19] In 1822 the paintings were sold, and by 1825 they were hanging in the entrance hall of Eaton Hall. It is likely that they were purchased by Thomas Johnson around the time that the house was built. Elsewhere in the building are other paintings, many of which show Runcorn in former times.[20]

External features

Most of the area occupied by the gardens laid out by Edward Kemp forms a public park. The adjacent office block was reclad and refurbished in 2007. In 2008 a garden was established to the north of the town hall by the town of Tongling in China; it includes a traditional Chinese sculpture depicting acrobats.[21]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

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[14]

[15]

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[20]

[21]

title: Runcorn Town Hall

question: What does the text say about the interior of the building?

answer: The ground floor contains the mayor's parlor, a members' room, and committee rooms. Reception rooms and a kitchen are on the upper floor. A modern council chamber has been added to the rear, and the entrance hall has a mosaic floor. The mayor's parlor features an unusual window above the fireplace which can be concealed by a sliding mirror. The staircase has a geometrical design and cast iron balusters. Over the staircase is a large Venetian glazed window which depicts Runcorn's coat of arms. On the walls overlooking the staircase, there are two large paintings by Andrea Casali, and there are several other paintings elsewhere in the building.

question: Summarize the ownership history of the building.

answer: In 1854, Thomas Johnson purchased the land from Francis Selkeld, and between 1853 and 1865, Johnson constructed the mansion. After Johnson's company went bankrupt in 1871, the mansion and surrounding farm were sold to Charles Hazlehurst. Hazlehurst died in 1878, leaving the building to his son, Charles Whiteway Hazlehurst, and his wife Julia, who died in 1903. In 1904, the building was leased to Francis Boston, who then bought it in 1909. Boston died in 1929 and the house was put up for auction. Frederick Clare and Latham Ryder bought part of the grounds in 1931, and in 1932, Runcorn Urban District Council bought the house and the remainder of the grounds.

question: What does the text say about the government of Runcorn?


text:
Birth

Atop a lush green hill sat a medium sized home. It had no servant’s quarters, but it did have a guest house. It had no storage building, but it did have a root cellar. It was no mansion, like those found in the city, but it was definitely a home. In the front door, and into the first door on the left, a slender elf was sleeping in his bed. His long hair pulled into a ponytail to prevent tangles he lay there snoring ever so lightly. His right arm was draped over the body of a pregnant half-elf. Her black hair splayed out everywhere, not unkempt, but not tamed either. Her soft face was half pressed into her pillow. Suddenly, her eyes sprung open. She bolted upright grabbing her belly.

“It’s time.” She rasped quietly, her voice still waking up. The elf next to her jittered a bit and went back to snoring. She shook him, and with her voice returning shouted “IT’S TIME!” The male elf bolted out of the bed, grabbing the dagger under his pillow. He looked around and noticed the woman clutching at her stomach and breathing heavily. He dropped the dagger to the floor and ran out of the room. She slid her feet off of the bed, and sat there for a moment. Gathering her strength she rose out of the bed and over to a place that had been prepared on the floor. A soft mattress and clean clothes were everywhere to be found; a rune glowed on a stone next to the mattress. She touched the rune.

Her husband came running back to the room carrying two basins of water, one was steaming. He set them down next to her. An older elven gentleman walked through the door. His eyes looked a mirror to the eyes of his son standing next to him. A rain drop dripped off the tip of his hooked nose. His silver hair glistened with the sheen of a fresh rain. He turned to his son.

“It’s about time we meet that child of yours.” He said light-heartedly “I’ve never been so excited save the time your mother decided to head to the elven shore.” He nudged his son with his elbow and chuckled. He left the room and returned carrying a hand harp and began to play a soothing melody. The woman on the floor started to look more relaxed.

“I’ve always said Morina, if you relax you feel less pain,” The older gentleman spoke to the woman and then turned to his son, “and if Isolian had paid more attention to his music lessons and less attention to his swordmaster he would be able to help with that.” He winked at his son. He knew that although Isolian was intelligent and capable he never had much talent for music. Isolian just looked at him.

A tall man in dark green robes walked in carrying a bag. He set the bag down next to the woman. He opened the bag and aromatics filled the room. The soft smell of pine and sage only helped the woman relax even more. He spoke softly, while feeling her belly. “It appears that the baby has not turned around, so we should be fine.” He spoke some soft words, holding a mistletoe switch to her stomach. She instantly relaxed and looked pain free. He spoke audibly again to the two other gentlemen.

“I have made her comfortable for the moment, however this baby will be here soon and I will need one of you to help me keep her mind off the pain and on task.” Isolian stepped forward, the older gentleman gestured to him.

“I already helped his mother birth him and his siblings. I have no desire to do that again, but have fun; you’ll be miserable” the old man said jokingly. It was obvious that he was excited about the birth, but a spark of strange reminiscent fear marked his last words.

“Good then, Tilanious,” The unnamed Druid said, “I will need someone to remove the afterbirth to the fields after we are complete.” He shot the old man a playfully serious look. Tilanious’ face dropped until he noticed the joking expression the Druid had.

“Very funny.” He said, as he continued playing the harp.

Morina grunted loudly in pain. The Druid felt her belly again and got everyone into position. He began coaching Morina, telling her when to push and when to breathe. Isolian stood next to her, holding her hand and telling her how well she was doing. Morina screamed and grunted with agony and apprehension. Her face would change from a deep red when she pushed to a ghostly pale between bursts. A few minutes later she screamed like a warrior on the attack. The Druid sat back and smiled. The soft cries of a baby filled the room. He raised the baby to the mother.

“Here he is.” The Druid said. “Your beautiful baby.”

Morina took the child in her arms. His swaddling cloth still covered in fresh blood. Isolian leaned down and looked at the baby’s face.

“He has your eyes.” Isolian said softly, putting a light kiss on Morina’s cheek.

“What should we call him?” She asked him back, smiling at her newborn son.

“Itharious.” He said. It took him no time at all to come up with the name. In his heart, he just knew it was the right choice for his son.

title: Itharious: Birth

question: Who is the protagonist?

answer: Morina.

question: Explain the role of the rune Morina touches.

answer: It could be for summoning the druid that helps her during birth. It's not clear in the story.

question: Who are the characters present in the story, according to their relations to the protagonist?

answer: Morina's husband, his father, and the druid who helps her give birth.

question: What talents does and doesn't Isolian have?

answer: His father remarks about him paying a lot of attention to his training as a fighter and that he lacks talent for music.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: Morina, a pregnant elf, wakes up her husband in the middle of the night, shouting "it's time!" Realizing the baby is on the way, her husband Isolian rushes off to bring water. The druid comes and helps her give birth while Isolian's father plays the harp to soothe her. After an effortful push, the cry of a baby fills the room. Isolian names him Itharius, knowing the name is right in his heart.


text:
This is a story that I've been working on for about a month now, but have been tossing around as an idea for close to 6 months. This is a short proof of concept/idea section that won't actually be in the full story, but gives a good understanding of what the book truly stands for. The theme of the book is to display why the idea of a superhero would never truly work in today's society, as they and their goals would be corrupted, misinterpreted, and misunderstood. Hope you guys like it, please feel free to leave any feedback (I'm only in high school, so don't expect it to be beautiful).

______________________________________________________________________________________________

As I walked down the street, a lead pipe splattered with blood in my right hand, and a dirty clown mask being carried in my other, I slowly wondered about how many people I had hurt that night. When you pose yourself as something greater than yourself, like a hero, you're much more aware of who you're hurting when you do the things that heroes do. If you stalk a guy because you receive a lead, and find out that he frequently mugs people, and you go to his usual spot and break his nose with a pipe, you're probably not just hurting him. You're probably hurting all the people who depend on him, like his kids, or cancer-ridden mom. You're probably fucking over his entire month because he is too afraid to go outside in fear of you standing outside of his door, ready to pound his brains all over his house wall.

Anyways, after about a minute of walking down the street at around 11 pm, rain pounding the ground like bullets, I quickly realized how big of a mistake it was to be carrying those two things in my hand. I pulled the mask over my face, making sure to fit the strap that fit so snugly over the top of my head just perfectly so that each strap went perfectly on top of my ears. As for the pipe, I pulled out a wet rag and wiped the blood off, and put the weapon inside of the backpack. I threw the rag out in the next trashcan that I walked by.
I decided I was done now, and that I would start heading home. It was getting close to 11:30, and I still had some homework left. Fuck. I started to head for the overpass.

The overpass was the quietest, darkest, and most lonely place in town. I walked under it in complete darkness, and as I walked out, I became a completely different person. While superman had a telephone booth, and batman had a cave, places where they could hide their identities when nobody was looking, the Cleaner had an overpass that he would walk under as the masked man and walk out as a high school junior. The mask went in my bag, and the pipe was shoved further down so that it didn't just awkwardly stick out of my bag. I headed for the car, as the rain began to stop.

As I approached the red Civic, the rain began to pick up again. I threw my bag in the back, and scurried into my seat before I could get drenched. After 3 tries of trying to get the car started, it finally worked. Fuck, I need to get that checked out. I started home, and began to think about the man I had saved earlier that night. Just an innocent guy, probably walking home from work, or a coffee shop, or something like that, only to be confronted by a guy with a gun and a desperate face on. I swooped in with the pipe, swiftly knocking the gun out of the assailant's hands, and throwing him down. The older gentleman, the victim, fell back in shock, to see a guy, about medium build, wearing a black hoodie and a clown mask, wielding a lead pipe. One swipe, and that was it. The assailant stood up in a wobbly fashion, leaving his gun, holding his bloody face a minute later, and quietly whimpered as he walked back into the darkness in which he was so familiar with. I looked at the man, almost expecting something from him, but no, not even a thank you. At least he didn't freak the fuck out like some of the other people.

I pulled into my driveway, trying to be as stealthy as possible. It was about 11:45 by now, and I knew which of my neighbors stayed up this late, so I tried not to alert anybody. I walked in through the side door, locked it, and walked into my kitchen. From there, I could see my mother, passed out on the couch like usual, surrounded by her drugs, her crack, her pot, her heroin, and whatever else she used these days. The amount of poison that she injected and allowed into her body was unfathomable, similar in the sense to letting a cobra bite you once a day. I tiptoed up the stairs, creaking my bedroom door open, and quietly laid down in my bed without turning any of the lights on. I took my backpack, the one full of things and shoved it under my bed, along with my black sweatshirt and pads. Slow night. Easy gig. I was too exhausted to do my homework. I'd do it before class, or something...

It was one of those sleepless nights that night. Not just a sleepless night, but one of those. Yeah, shit. The nights where you were tired enough to the point where you felt like you could just go to sleep but had too much on your mind to even try and relax. Sean, I thought. That fucking guy. That asshole. He can't do anything right. No, I'm not thinking about that tonight. Relax. The night is over. That mask isn't on anymore. You took it off, remember? Yeah, now take it easy, and focus on getting some rest.

But no. That mask wasn't off. Maybe the physical mask, the mask that I slipped over my face so comfortably, but not the one that represented the Cleaner. When you start to become a superhero, you wake up every morning as you, and then you put on a mask and go save the world somewhere else. But over time, that doesn't happen. You become that superhero, no, he INHABITS you, like a parasite, until it gets to the point where you aren't waking up as yourself and putting on his mask. You're waking up as him and putting on the mask of your own face. I thought about all the people I hurt, but it was all in good health. But was it really? Sometimes I really don't think that there are heroes in this world. Only villains with good morals.

As I thought these thoughts, all the people who judged my character, all the people who wanted to hurt me, I fell into a depressed sleep that would haunt me in the morning with bags under my eyes and a morning sleepwalk.

Edit: Formatting.

title: The Cleaner - Proof of Concept and Main Idea [x-post from /r/KeepWriting]

question: Write a ~0 sentence summary.