text:
He woke up. The shock and confusion from the pod screaming through space smothered his cry for death. He lost friends, family, he held his own brother in his arms. As the pod started to become faster and faster as he headed toward the gate.
"That god forsaken gate" he muttered to himself as he passed through he left his fleet in a state of despair. Flashes from light cannons and the screams from over the coms is all he heard. "I will have my revenge" he mutters I promise you that

One year ago:

He stood on top of the hill. It was rocky almost like Carrick was trying to move us off. With jagged...his thoughts were cut short. "Tom! HEY TOM!" What? He responded with. Don't forget were graduate today from Fleet Academy. You’re going to be late! We’ll be fine trust me little bro just trust me.

As Tom looked at Anthony his brother cross the platform on the U.E.F Dust Bringer he felt pride. He and his brother survived a lot there short years together. His mom what did their mom look like? He always has a hard remembering with his mom looked like. It wasn't his fault at all; his dad walked out on them when Tom was five Anthony was three. Mom became a drunk and a spice head. She passed away last year. We did man, he thought, we sure did Anthony we sure did

 2) Gods Knowledge

As you jumped out of hyperspace time stops for a split second not enough to mess with the ship electronics or your well-being. But enough to notice that everyone around you has slowed down or somewhat stopped.
Captain we have dropped out of hyperspace Anthony stated we are Bering 2.2.5 with a 45 degree pivot heading toward planet 22-67-83
Captain Bane was a hearty old man been with the United Expansion Fleet since before Tom and Anthony were born.

He sighed Anthony was always so robotic

2nd Lt. Tom of Carrick

Yes sir?

What kind of god forsaken planted has United Space Command sent us to today?

A small planet sir a back water system yellow class sun one planet that holds life, ocean covers 70% land covers30%

How old?

Our A.I. says around 4.54 billion years

Tom always felt proud knowing bullshit knowledge like this. It's what helped him get his 2 LT bars and be right under Captain Bane on the U.E.F ship Gods Knowledge a brand new M Class Destroyer slash stealth ship

Way younger than ours then?

Yes sir

Is there anything other than that planet?

Well there's a gas planet that could be used for helium but besides that nothing sir

Mark 22-67-83 as a U.E.F space.

Yes sir

He gave Anthony a smile he didn't notice Tom felt sadness over come self ever since Anthony got the FTL Nav post he's been over worked. Tom felt like it was his fault in a way. That's bullshit he muttered snapped back to action as a light started pinging at him beckoning his attention. No, that can't be right at all.
CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN BANE!
Nobody on the crew realized it but this back water system was going to be the death of them all

3) The others:

Tom was lying face up awake he didn't get his own room only Captain Bane got his own room and Tom was jealous he had work hard the past year. Him and Anthony both, he sighed rolled over looked at his clock 00:00 time to get up and face the day.

4) Captains log:

Bane faced the holo unit. He was talking with head command High Overseer Christen of Carrick.

Captain what have you found exactly?

We're not sure Overseer

Bane we have been friends for how long you can call me by my birth name

Ah. They have they went through the academy together served on a battleship and explored the stars. But that was another time. Bane went to fleet command made general but hated the routine he gave himself a down grade and here he was flouting through space, in the endless black abyss flouting.

He snapped out of his thoughts well sir there a small civilization there's about eight planets they have colonized two a dead red one and there home planet they have mining stations on at least all the planets.

Hmmm how come they haven't sent a communication run to you yet?

Were just outside there range sir

Ah well I want that system Bane you understand me?

Whys that sir they can't fight back as far as we know it would be against The Word

CAPTAIN Bane that's your rank right? Captain?

Yes Overseer.

Then take it captain. He said it with suck spit and anger like a sword cutting through the air.

There was a knock on his door

Sir? Captain Bane?

Yes Tom?

What are our orders?

Stand fast dreadnoughts are coming to us and will be here in a week.

Yes captain

5) Stand Fast:

Standing fast was always a problem for Anthony with being in a FTL Nav post. His job at the moment was to keep the ship from falling into the hazards that space provides be it gravity well or a black hole or a shot gun blast of tiny god forsaken rocks. But luckily Anthony never had any problems with that. It was just all simple measurements be it up down wait there's no up or down he mutters to himself. He heard a noise in the blackness slightly above the roaring sound of the math forcing its way through his mind. He tried to reach out to it. Tried to answer but couldn't all that matter was the ship 3000 souls were in his hand. This is why FTL Nav post has an 80% suicide rate and a 90% divorce rate. That didn't matter to him though he muttered he didn't have a partner or any kids that he knew of just Tom his brother. He wished he had but again the numbers always about the numbers. Anthony.... He snapped to the voice the nav counsel disappeared around him. He sighed he was so close to the numbers he could feel them that's why they cut him off they were afraid of what he could find. Yes? He respond to the A.I.

Are you okay?

He laughed to himself the A.I.  was his nav partner since the academy. He remember that day when they were joined they share one mind it has so many befits that outweigh the suicides and the mental breaks.

I'm fine Zeus.

You don't seem fine...

I am! He snapped sorry I didn't mean to I’m always so close to the number always about the numbers.

Your sick Anthony can you please talk to your brother

No! He doesn't care he doesn't care about the numbers. There's always more numbers…

Anthony I can't make you chose to talk to your brother but I can talk to him for you if you want?

Zeus do what you want I don't care just get me back to the numbers I need to plan routs for escapes and meet up points if this goes south on us.

Hooking you back in Anthony

Thank you Zeus I'm sorry I'm so fucked up.

You’re a nav officer

Ha-ha yes I am he felt the cold embrace of the numbers overwhelm him in an instant. He felt at home. Lonely sad alone but was home.

title: About 1,500 words out of 11,400 word "Story" I wrote would appreciate feedback

question: What does the story say about Tom's brother Antony?

answer: Tom's brother Anthony is dead and he is going to have his revenge. Tom and Antony worked on a spaceship, and Tom was proud of Anthony. Their father walked out on them when Tom was five and Anthony was three. Their mother became a drunk and passed away last year.

question: What does the story say about how Anthony died?


split: train

text:
Dwarf planet 750X rolled slowly around its sister. Its artificially pumped atmosphere visibly pulled towards its twin, slowly being teased out into the dead space around it. Sitting cradled between the two was a carrier ship, nearly a quarter of the size of one of the dwarves. The ship was an almost perfect cylinder, slightly tapered on both ends. All along its riveted sides, many legged landing craft waited to be deployed. One of them flashed to life. In the thinly stretched atmosphere the normal noise of sirens and grinding steel the signaled the release of one of the landers was damped to a near whisper.

The lander dislodged its legs from the side of the craft and reversed them downward toward the planet below. Once it was completely free and the magnetic teeth firmly gripped the craft unlatched. leaving it tethered only by a looping black cord. for a moment it lay motionless until a gust of pressurized air sent it adrift in the pitch black space around it. It drifted further and further from its home until being snapped up by the gravity of the planet below. It started to tumble faster and faster but the cord snapped taught catching the tiny craft.

The lander was lowered slowly, carefully, like some giant, many legged spider dissenting on the dust bellow. Cranks clicked as the craft was lowered, swaying in the light breeze from the unmoving carrier ship so many kilometers above. When the craft was 20 feet above the cracked dry earth it, save for the light hushing of hydraulic joints, silently dissented on its prey. One of by one each of its eight legs gently grasped the surface, stirring up the dust around the each of the padded landing feet like sand stirred up in a river bed, cloaking the intruder from the barren plain. The ground pressed down two or three inches, struggling to hold the foreign weight.

The metal beast sat unmoving for a movement. With an audible a hiss and a click the magnetic bond between the lander and the barely visible carrier craft. After a moment the tether between the two ships shuttered. The rope whizzed up moving at a blur, perfectly straight, the noise even cutting through the insulted chambers within the metal craft. Lights flicked on in unison all along the landing gear and illuminating the dust around it that had just begun to settle, lighting up the dark around it in a perfect circle of swirling eerie fog.

A red light stained the fog, pulsing harshly. A platform lowered smoothly from the hovering underbelly of the craft. As it began to lower worried feet peeked out, shifting slightly as they were hit by the chilling breeze now filling the tightly packed innards of their lander. As the platform continued its descent the wind began to pick up, blowing away the last remainder of the stirred up sand. The light reached father in the now clear air. Catching on small rocks and cracks, radiating shadows around the steady light. Dust curled around the metal rectangle as it finally pressed against the powder ground.

For a moment the men shuffled uneasily, moving only an inch as they exhaled. Pressed shoulder to shoulder the three men adjusted their boot straps and checked the atmospheric pressure and oxygen levels on their wrists, all stable. After the moment of hesitation they stepped off, one by one, leaving shallow boot prints in the sand. One of the men, the tallest, walked out away from the crouching ship and Reaching out into the fading umbra, he was careful to keep both feet planted in the brightest part of the light he could. He paused before reaching behind his neck to turn a small dial fixed to his collar. With a warm hum a small light on his wrist grew to life. The father he turned it the stronger a soft light shining from his sleeve became. He shined the light in front of him scattering the darkness and forming a tunnel of white clean light 15 feet in front of him, collapsing slowly after that.

A grey pole, half the man’s height cast a shadow that cut the tunnel clean in two. He looked back at his to companions who had barely moved off the platform. The one farther back smiled sheepishly. He flipped on his wrist light on and clapped the still unmoving third man on the shoulder, jolting him. He spat on the grey dust which hugely grew dark with the moisture and flicked on his light.

The two men flanked him, their red striped suits crinkling as they walked. The first held back a minute to pick up a small sliver case from the edge of the platform and then went to join his companions that still stood unmoving. The two others joined their lights to widening the tunnel and forcing the clean black shadow to spilt into three fading rays. With a glace to his companions the man with the case shuffled forward down the tunnel keeping his back hunched and his light trained on the grey stones in front of him. As he got father down the tunnel sweat began to drip down his forehead and dripped down marking his way like bread crumbs.

As Reached out his hand to grasp he pole the two wrist-lights behind him flicked in unison leaving him, for a half a second an island in suffocating darkness. He turned back to him companions his face stained white from their relight lights. They blinked back, the one in the red striped suit fiddled with the gauges on his sleeve causing his light to bob. He exhaled and turned back around to his destination he reached out again to the pole and again the light behind him flicked, he didn’t bother to turn around again and the reached out and grabbed it. The lights flicked again, this time not only lights on the teams wrists but the florescent tubes lining the landers legs all in unison, plunging him, just for a fraction second, into complete darkness.

The man tried to turn and run back to his companions but he found he could not move his hand form the pole. He shuffled around the pole to face the lander, his back toward the unending darkness of 750X. He stared longingly into the eyes of companions as he nearly dislocated his shoulder in a vain attempt to rip the fused fabric off the pole. They only stared back at him eyes wide. He could see one screaming wildly in his suit but in his panic had not turned on any means of communication. His companion shook him, trying to get his attention but the man wouldn’t take his eyes off what had a vice grip on his brain after what felt like hours he stopped and pointed slowly behind the man at the pole, still franticly trying to remove his hand from its grasp.

For a moment the two men’s eyes met and turned to look at whatever the deranged man was looking at. He shuffled over turning his back once more to the lander and saw, nothing. Just the same empty darkness and fuzzy outlines of some of the closer rocks greeted him. He was about to flip on his communicator when all the lights, save for the one on his wrists went dead. He spun the light around, it was only able reach as far as the closest lander feet but that was all he saw. The two other men had vanished in an instant without a sound. He called out on every channel on my communicator. The booster to contact the carrier ship was an impossible twenty feet away on the lander platform.

A light scraping brought his attention to his left. He called out the names of his two companions but no one answered. He heard the sound again to right and whirled around as far as his trapped hand would allow. He shone his light out but again only rocks and dust. He heard the sound again, closer, more clearly, like two sheets of sandpaper being rubbed together.

His hand released form pole and he broke out into a run, shining his light wildly. Launched himself towards the lander. The noise was all around him as he struggled to get up. He shook his head. Not like sand paper like wings, thousands and thousands of scarping wings. He could feel them pressing in him clinging to his suit, weighing him down. He could feel the suit pressing against his skin as they struggled to pull him farther into the swirling darkness. They pushed into the light of his wrist light. Tentatively at first but then they pushed against each other until it too flickered and died. Dwarf planet 750X once again devoid of light.

title: Darkness [a shortish short story] [Sci-Fi]

question: Describe the story's setting.

answer: The story takes place on Dwarf planet 750X, a planet with an artificially pumped atmosphere that is plunged into perpetual darkness. The darkness is dangerous and alive. It seems to consume any and all sources of light, and there appears to be some kind of winged alien species living on the planet.

question: What happened to the three men?

answer: Unseen creatures that may have been part of the darkness caused their light-producing instruments to fail and nobody made it back to the lander alive.

question: Why did the suffocating darkness or aliens living in the darkness attack the three men?

answer: It's possible that the aliens hate the light or attack anything that is not from their planet.


text:
[Migratory Genocide] Melilla: Seven women killed in a  covered up ‘hot-pursuit’ Deportation by the Guardia Civil. Woman who revealed tragedy got a death threat and is being sued by Military Police

By Kaos. _(EN CASTELLANO ABAJO)__  _  According to the NGO Walking the Frontiers (CAMINANDO FRONTERAS ) , due to the Civil Guard blockade, the Navy towed the boat in a “precarious” way to return it to Morocco and at that moment the boat overturned and the seven women died.

[]
One of the still unnamed victims of the ‘on the spot’ deportation.
According to the Moroccan Human Rights Association, the total death toll is 14.

Seven women were killed last Thursday in a ‘hot-pursuit’deportation by the Guardia Civil when they tried to reach Melilla by boat, according to the NGO Walking in Borders ( CAMINANDO FRONTERAS ). The accident happened when a boat full of 45 people, arrived at Spanish waters and the Civil Guard blocked the passage to them.  _CONTINUES BELOW…_

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

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

[]_Helena Maleno Garzón  GETS DEATH THREATS.._

_Just 2 weeks before breaking the news Helena received a death threat, with the words –you are upsetting the authorities (see below in Spanish)– as part of a violent campaign against her and other Human Rights defenders. After denouncing the intimidation HERE they received written support from over 500 associations HERE!_

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

After a short time the Moroccan Navy arrived at the place where the boat was and some people decided to jump into the water and swim to the beach so as not to be returned to their origin.

[]
One of the still unnamed victims of the ‘on the spot’ deportation.
According to the NGO Walking the Borders, due to the blockade of the police, the Navy tied the boat in a “precarious” way to return it to Morocco and at that moment the boat overturned and the seven women died.

The same NGO says that the delegation of the Spanish Government of Melilla has written a statement on the facts but “has concealed the death of women. It is not the first time it has happened”.

According to the Moroccan Human Rights Association, the total death toll is 14.

Four Congolese women, victims of the tragedy, lie dead in the morgue of HOSPITAL EL HASSANI de Nador, and CAMINANDO FRONTERAS has posted their photos.

[]
One of the still unnamed victims of the ‘on the spot’ deportation.
According to the Spanish police ‘between 25 and 27’ people ‘jumped overboard’ when the Moroccan navy arrived and tried to swim to the Spanish controlled Melilla shore and they picked up 12 of them.

It’s unclear if the women and other possible victims were among the swimmers or among those thrown in the water when the boat capsized due to the attempt to tow it  back to Morocco. In any case migrant supporters blame the deaths on the Spanish police blockade.[]

Meanwhile the police association Aprogc has denied responsibility for the deaths and the coverup,  instead attacked the messenger Helena.

The notorious Military Police in the colony have released various news statements and begun to sue the activist  _(in photo above with glasses)_  of Walking Without Borders (CAMINANDO FRONTERAS), who signed the statement denouncing the deaths.

The police claim that they are not responsible since ”the sea belongs to Morocco” though they `patrol and regularly blockade the entrance of migrant boats by sea.

Human Rights activists explained that the ultra dangerous practice of blockading and turning back fragile migrant boats made a tragedy inevitable.

[]
One of the still unnamed victims of the ‘on the spot’ deportation.
 translated from.. http://kaosenlared.net/genocidio-migratorio-melilla-siete-mujeres-muertas-una-devolucion-caliente-la-guardia-civil-fue-ocultada/

FIRST REPORTED HERE … http://www.eldiario.es/desalambre/mujeres-Guardia-Civil-bloquease-supervivientes_0_682432076.html

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

_ORIGINAL EN CASTELLANO_

[Genocidio migratorio] Melilla: Siete mujeres muertas en una ‘devolución en caliente’ de la Guardia Civil que fue ocultada.

Helena Maleno Garzón, que reveló la noticia, había recibido una amenaza de muerte por ‘incomodar los autoridades” y ahora La Guardian Civil está presentando una demanda judicial contra ella. (ver abajo)

_Por_ Kaos. Estado Español

Según explica la ONG Caminando Fronteras, debido al bloqueo de la Guardia Civil, la Marina ató la patera de forma “precaria” para devolverla a Marruecos y en este momento la embarcación volcó y murieron las siete mujeres. Según la Asociación Marroquí de los Derechos Humanos la cifra total de muertos es de 14..[Interceptan tres pateras con 18 inmigrantes cerca de las costas de Ceuta]

Siete mujeres murieron el JUEVES PASADO en una ‘devolución en caliente’ ejecutada por la GUARDIA CIVIL cuando intentaban llegar en patera a Melilla, según la ONG CAMINANDO FRONTERAS. El accidente se produjo cuando una patera, que trasladaba a 45 PERSONAS, llegó a aguas españolas y la Guardia Civil les BLOQUEÓ el paso.

  |#CONFIRMADO| Siete mujeres muertas en la ‘devolución en caliente’ ejecutada por la Guardia Civil en la costa de Melilla hace dos días.

Al cabo de poco rato llegó la MARINA MARROQUÍ al lugar donde se encontraba la embarcación y algunas personas decidieron saltar al agua y nadar hasta la playa para no ser devueltas a su origen. Según explica la ONG CAMINANDO FRONTERAS, debido al bloqueo de la policía, la MARINA ATÓ LA PATERA DE FORMA “PRECARIA” para devolverla a Marruecos y en este momento la embarcación VOLCÓ Y MURIERON LAS SIETE MUJERES.

La misma ONG asegura que la delegación del Gobierno español de Melilla ha escrito un comunicado sobre los hechos pero que “HA OBVIADO LA MUERTE DE LAS MUJERES. NO ES LA PRIMERA VEZ QUE PASA“. Según la Asociación Marroquí de los Derechos Humanos la CIFRA TOTAL DE MUERTOS ES DE 14.

Fuente: Agencias[]SIETE MUJERES murieron el pasado jueves en su intento por llegar a MELILLA en una PATERA después de que la GUARDIA CIVIL “bloquease” su paso hacia la costa española, según la denuncia de un superviviente que publica el ELDIARIO.ES y confirma la oenegé CAMINANDO FRONTERAS.

question: How were the women killed?

answer: When the boat of migrants overturned as it was being towed away by the Moroccan Navy.

question: What was the actual death toll according to the Moroccan Human Rights Association?

answer: A death toll of 14.

question: Who is reporting the tragedy?

answer: NGO Walking the Frontiers

question: Explain why the Spanish Police not taking responsibility.

answer: Police claimed that "the sea belongs to Morocco".

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Spanish Media Channel, El Diario, reports on a migratory genocide according to the NGO Walking the Frontiers. Multiple women died when a boat of migrants from Morocco overturned as it was being turned away by the Spanish Civil Guard. There are reports of multiple people jumping into the water, attempting to swim to the Spanish shore when the Moroccan Navy arrived.


text:
__NOTOC__ ANDREW HARRIS MCGALLIARD (September 25, 1906 – May 26, 1978), better known as BUCKY HARRIS, was an American professional baseball player who played in the Japanese Baseball League from 1936 to 1938. While playing for the Korakuen Eagles in the fall of 1937, he won the Japanese Baseball League Most Valuable Player Award.[1]

[1]

title: Harris McGalliard

question: How long did McGalliard play in Japan?

answer: For two years, from 1936 to 1938.

question: How good a player was he?

answer: He must've been one of the best players in the league he played since he won the Japanese Baseball League Most Valuable Player Award in 1937.

question: How old was McGalliard when he died?

answer: 71 years old.

question: What was the nickname of Harris McGalliard?

answer: Bucky Harris.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Andrew Harris McGalliard (September 25, 1906 – May 26, 1978), better known as "Bucky Harris", was an American professional baseball player who played in the Japanese Baseball League from 1936 to 1938. He won the Japanese Baseball League Most Valuable Player Award in 1937 while playing for the Korakuen Eagles.


text:
GENTIAN MEZANI (born 13 October 1979) is an Albanian football coach who currently is the manager of SC Gjilani in the Football Superleague of Kosovo.[1]

Coaching career

Flamurtari Vlorë

Mezani was named the new coach of Flamurtari Vlorë on 25 October 2016 following the departure of Gugash Magani.[2] The club administrator Sinan Idrizi stated that Mezani would remain coach of Flamurtari until the end of 2016–17 season.[3] In his debut match two days later, Flamurtari drew Tërbuni Pukë 3–3 thanks to a last-minute equalizer by Tomislav Bušić in the first leg of 2016–17 Albanian Cup's second round.[4] In the post-match interview, Mezani said that draw was a “fair result”.[5]

Managerial record

  Team               From              To          Record
  ------------------ ----------------- ----------- -------- -- --

  Flamurtari Vlorë   25 October 2016   _Present_   [6]
  Total              —

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6] Flamurtari Vlorë - List of matches | Soccerway

title: Gentian Mezani

question: How old was Mezani when he took charge of Flamurtari?

answer: Thirty-seven.

question: Who did Mezani replace at Flamurtari?

answer: Gugash Magani.

question: How did Mezani's tenure at SC Gjilani start?

answer: The article doesn't mention that information.

question: How did Mezani's tenure at Flamurtari start?

answer: They drew 3-3 in the match against Tërbuni Pukë in the first leg of 2016–17 Albanian Cup's second round.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Gentian Mezani (born 13 October 1979) is an Albanian football coach who currently is the manager of SC Gjilani in the Football Superleague of Kosovo. He was named the new coach of Flamurtari Vlorë on 25 October 2016 following the departure of Gugash Magani. In their first match, they drew 3-3 against Tërbuni Pukë in the first leg of the 2016–17 Albanian Cup's second round.


text:
Dear Parents,

Here at Her Redness’s School for Exalts, we strive to insure that all our students achieve the heights of academic success, and prepare them for a glorious future as the future lords and ladies of the Realm.

We do this through an innovative system of self direction that lets each individual student explore his or her own areas of interest, and allows the student body as a whole to develop those facilities which will best serve their collective education.

Our policy is that students learn best through experience, so we take a hands off approach to nearly every element of student life, leaving these decisions – from dress code to behavior guidelines to student activities – in the hands of our capable student council.

Faculty advisers help guide the students to greatness by providing them with the resources, support, and guidance they need, while carefully preserving the sudents’ autonomy and authority wherever possible.

Truly! No institution in the Realm offers such a uniquely engaging combination of curriculum, community, and student activities, and we’re proud to offer _your_ daughter a coveted position in this year’s class!

_Cynis Gloria_
_Headmistress, Her Redness’s School for Exalts_

[]

[]

question: What is Her Redness's School for Exalts?

answer: It is a school that helps prepare students for a future as the future lords and ladies of the Realm.

question: What is the policy of Her Redness's School for Exalts?

answer: Their policy is that students learn best through experience, so they take a hands off approach to nearly every element of student life.

question: What credentials does Cynis Gloria have?

answer: This document doesn't provide any other than her being headmistress.

question: What is this document's definition of "greatness"?

answer: That information can't be found.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This document is an invitation from the headmistress of what seems to be a fictional school called Her Redness's School for Exalts. The school prepares students for their futures as lords and ladies of the Realm.


text:
It was a warm day in December and the pungent odor of festering leaves lingered in the air. The distinct scent of death and decay had infiltrated the quiet backyard of Mendel’s suburban bungalow. Mendel had neglected to rake the leaves, insisting to his wife that the leaves would decompose by spring. Anyways he liked the smell. It reminded him of the woods in Minnesota where he spent many a days with his friends searching for arrowheads, lighting firecrackers and firing slingshots. However the nostalgia quickly faded as Mendel delved beyond the surface of the fond, fleeting memories of his childhood.

Anyone’s childhood can appear to be boring and familiar with the listing of arbitrary details, and Mendel was no different. He was just a kid from Minnesota. He played ice hockey. He had gone to church every Sunday. He played the trombone in high school. And he liked to sleep in every once in a while. He grew up an only child, raised by his father. However when he was three, his mother had died from a horrific car accident. Although his father wasn’t in the car when it happened, he barely survived. He was devastated. But he loved his son.

It was a cold day in October. The year was 1983. Mendel had just gotten home from school and kicked off his muddy sneakers onto the porch. He unlocked the door and ran straight to his room to checkout the Playpen magazine that his friend Rodney Caruso had given him that day. Rodney’s brother was nineteen. Mendel didn’t quite understand why, but he couldn’t get enough of the pictures of the naked women. They were even better than Rodney had said. Just as he pried open the coveted centerfold he heard the front door opening. His father was home.

Mendel quickly hid the dirty magazine in the shoebox brimming with contraband under his bed. Mendel thought it looked great next to the firecrackers, slingshot and the Darth Vader Pez he had stolen from the mall.

“Mendel, what did I tell you about leaving your shoes out on the porch?” said his father sternly but gently.

“Sorry dad, won’t happen again.” Replied Mendel as he casually sauntered to the dinner table.

Mendel knew that his dad was a lot nicer than most. Rodney told him that his dad used the belt. Mendel hadn’t had even a slight tap on the head, let alone a hiding. He was grateful for sure. But Mendel knew he would take a smacking any day if it meant his mom would still be alive. Rodney’s mom was very nice to Mendel. One time she said he was basically her son while she put on a Band-Aid for him after he and Rodney had become “blood brothers”.

“You haven’t even touched your potatoes Mendel.”

“I’m not hungry. May I be excused, I need to go over to Rodney’s house to watch the hockey game.”

“Okay, but remember to rake the leaves when you get back alright?”

“Alright dad.” Said Mendel as he washed his plate.

Mendel was out the door and halfway down the block when he remembered that he was supposed to bring back the magazine! He raced back, not wanting to miss the first few minutes of the hockey game. Rodney’s dad was a huge Oilers fan, he was born in Alberta. That’s someplace in Canada, Mendel thought to himself. Anyways they had a huge TV to watch the game, and cable too. Mendel opened the door and ran to his room. He walked into the kitchen to grab a bag of Cheetos. He dropped the magazine.

There was Mendel’s father, lying in a pool of blood. The shotgun was on the kitchen table, one lonely shell on the linoleum floor. Mendel could barely recognize his own father. His steely eyes and warm half-smile were nowhere to be found. Most kids would have broken down into tears, surrendering themselves to grief stricken panic and temporary delirium. But Mendel didn’t shed a tear. He didn’t say a word. He just ran outside and grabbed the rake.

title: [RF] Remember to Rake the Leaves

question: How was foreshadowing used in the story?

answer: The surprise twist at the end of the story did not have much foreshadowing details in order to maintain the impact of the surprise. Aside from a single phrase (death and decay) that seemed out of place for describing fallen leaves, there were no hints at the father owning a gun or even having an inclination for firearms. There was also no hints from Mendel's side of the story indicating that his father had committed suicide.


text:
(polite criticism welcome)

We didn't replant the lettuce today.

We didn't plant more carrots last week.

We didn't plant anything new at all in the last two weeks. I'm scared. Since I arrived here, the one constant has been the daily planting of new seeds and saplings.

Today was another beautiful day, one I should have spent harvesting from the garden and helping to replant the seeds as directed. It was a lot of work, done every single day, but I didn't mind. From the day I stumbled into the valley, I'd eaten well, directed by the silent Lady of the house, helped by the other children who haunted the house and out buildings. We were a scrawny lot, but even the quietest of us was slowly filling out. Me, I still remembered the hunger of being an outcast, fleeing from the edges of a war I never understood, that took all the adults from my life.

The day I found this valley was almost magical in my memory. One minute I'm scrambling between two rocks, chasing a particularly plump looking lizard, the next, I'm tumbling down a hillside, landing in front of a woman in a dark dress, black hair pulled back severely, holding a basket of freshly harvested food. She took her time looking me over - her deep brown eyes meeting mine and holding them for a time, before she pulled a cluster of grapes still glistening from the morning dew from her basket and gave them to me. Without a single word being exchanged, I knew I'd found a shelter.

Four years I'd been here now, and the routine was almost ingrained deep enough for me to do what I need do in my sleep. Wake up, wash up, go get a hot breakfast and then head out to the gardens. Every day the group of us would find our baskets, our tools and twists of paper holding seeds set out on the edge of the porch. Every day we would plant what would always turn out to be the exact right amount of seeds to feed us when they harvested. Sometimes we would hoe a new row and plant seeds there too, and always, when it was ready to harvest, there would be a mouth to eat the food. Until today.

This spring, we had hoed extra rows for day after day, planting seeds until there were little left in the boxes that lived on the porch.

Every day, more things planted, each that took less time to grow than the ones planted the day before.

Every day harvesting, cleaning, eating, quietly existing in this oasis of calm, where children scarred mentally and physically from a distant war slowly healed with the good air and good food. Nothing was ever said about how the Lady knew what to plant, and when, but we trusted that the food would continue to last. For four years, it had never failed us - even in winter when we used the small green house.

Today I harvested the last of the perfect lettuce I'd helped set into the ground. Today I helped harvest the last of the oats we struggled to get in the ground in early spring. We'd never planted this many before. We'd never planted as many of anything as we had this spring. I'd been slowly growing more afraid with each extra row we planted, looking over my shoulder sometimes at the two rocks that marked my entrance into the valley, as though to see whom might spring forth from their shadow.

Today, we harvested everything, and nothing remains growing in our fields. Nothing remains growing in the green houses. The porch and the ground in front is covered with piles of food and we stand beside our Lady, watching her calm face, her two hands grasping each other, glancing at each other as the shadows beneath the rocks grow in size.

title: [FN] Growth

question: Why is the narrator scared?

answer: Usually the members of the farm continue planting a great deal. But this year something seems different. The shadows lengthen ominously and the Lady who runs the farm is mysteriously silent.

question: How did the narrator find the farm?

answer: The narrator, as a child, was chasing a lizard. They were an outcast from a war searching for food. Then they fell down a hill and landed in front of a woman who gave them food. They found shelter there for four years.


text:
[GT1]

This is why you’re so obsessed with G&Ts (Picture: metro.co.uk)
Ahhh. The first sip of a G&T after a hard day. It’s right up there on the list of most satisfying, refreshing feelings in the world.

Because gin is wonderful. That much we know. And tonic water is, erm, well, a bit gross on its own, to be honest.

So why is it that gin plus tonic magically combine to make the most glorious go-to drink around? What gives the simple G&T its power?

Turns out there’s a scientific reason behind gin and tonics tasting so damn good: it’s all down to each part’s chemistry.

[Glass of Gin and Tonic with Ice and Lime, sitting on old leather suitcases.]

(Picture: Getty)
Matthew Hartings, a professor of Chemistry at American University, explains that while gin and tonic taste very different, the chemicals that are responsible for the flavours in in each tonic come in two kinds of similar chemical structures.

Because the molecules are similar, the two substances (gin and tonic) are attracted to each other, and are able to mix.

And when they’re mixed, the flavour molecules from the quinine in the tonic water and the juniper berries in the gin combine to create a flavour that is actually different from the sum of the individual flavour parts – which is why even if you don’t like gin or tonic on their own, you might like them together.

[Glass Of Gin And Tonic With Slice Of Lemon]

(Picture: Getty)
Or, as Matthew puts it, ‘this is why a gin and tonic doesn’t taste exactly like gin plus tonic’ – because you’re tasting a new G&T flavour, not just a gin flavour and a tonic flavour.

SCIENCE.

[thumbnail for post ID 5907807] Recipe: How to make a healthier take on freakshakes

Matthew notes that the same chemical process is why certain food pairings are so satisfying. It’s all down to food pairs having specific molecules that are similar to each other.

Interesting, huh? And you’ve just learnt some new science-y knowledge, which definitely means you deserve a drink.

[emilia fox gin]

Cheers.

H/T Quartz.

 MORE : Stop everything: London is getting a four floor gin distillery you can stay in

 MORE : This elderflower and prosecco cocktail by Ivy Chelsea Garden is the perfect summer drink

 MORE : How to make a Brunch Punch cocktail

question: What is G&T?

answer: Gin and Tonic.

question: Which molecules from the two drinks combine?

answer: The quinine from the tonic water and the juniper berries in the gin combine.

question: Who describes the whole process?

answer: Professor Matthew Hartings.

question: Why do Gin and Tonic taste good together but not alone?

answer: When Gin and Tonic are mixed together, the flavor molecules of the quinine in the tonic water and the juniper berries in the gin combine and create a flavor that is very different from the sum of individual flavor parts.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer:
While gin and tonic may not taste so good separately, when combined they magically make a glorious go-to drink. The scientific reason for this, according to Professor Matthew Hartings, is because the flavor molecules from the quinine in the tonic water and the juniper berries in the gin combine and create a different flavor.

This is the same chemical process why certain food pairings are satisfying.


text:
On that clement Saturday afternoon I was journeying all the way back to my home for weekend off on Chennai mail and felt considerably happy that I managed to get a seat , a rare affair. We were seven  in that compartment and opposite to me positioned a  group of three charming energetic  talkative sensible looking  boys .To my left  was a middle aged aunty and  her daughter  (seems so..) sat next to her . Hmm… for  every reason she looks pretty beautiful …and right to me was an old man whom  on every running second doing  his very best to prove to be  a  gold winning champion in some “ irritate  competition”. I was the one who suffered due to his  unnatural doubts  and worries but I couldn’t  pay scant regard to his questions as I was at his mercy…seat no 26 was his reserve  and when  that large hearted  old desi clint eastwood  allowed me to share his seat  I was   unwaware of the fact that   in lieu of his mercy he is asking my right ear drum…..for every now and then he pokes me at my triceps with his index finger as if he is trying to scoop some flesh out of my  shoulder and throw some silly doubts ……a major share of an hour past.Boys opposite to me was in their world , laughing, enjoying and discussing there on matters…if this oldie wasn’t  here,I thought,I could have listen to their discussion. sometimes overhearing is an art by all means  or I could have read or listen to music or more importantly I could  have catch the glimpse of that beautiful girl not far away from me…..an  hour past ..if my shoulder was in pain due to his demonic poking my right ear drum was burning due to the sound pollution caused by that old tongue. Five more minutes past and then that old man took a wonderful decision (at least as far as I’m concerned)  that  to take a nap…I felt like mother india of august 14 1947’s midnight .Sleep dear sleep don’t wake till ernakulam, I prayed….subsequently  train  halted for some crossing and I lend my ear to those young lads discussion.One among them , a short one was briefing how he could not make out to some selection due to below par height….he doesn’t seems defeated due to  this shortfall but definitely  sounds concerned or  diffident   . I was not the only one who read his concern from his words but one of his friends , a medium tall boy too. Train started and gradually picked speed . The aunt next to me was devoted herself in some Malayalam magazine and that beautiful  girl ,resting her chin on left palm, was listening to some music  tapping her left hand fingers gently  and rhythimtically at  her cheeks and kept repeatedly tucking  her disobedient wisp of hair behind ears …the medium tall boy was still engaged in his motivation class for his short friend… I could feel his words were no nonsense and I sensed not only me everyone except the old man is overhearing his so called motivation talk. Meantime from another compartment some kid kicked off a  loud shrilling  cry that  pierced the air over there and our old man lost his sleep I conjured soon this man will  engage for  another bout of  irritate competition  but  to my surprise nothing happened for  a while . I checked, much to my relief he is seriously listening to the medium tall boy… his speech  veered to instances  of famous personalities  not tall. List ranged  from Sachin Tendulkar,Charlie Chaplin ,Beethoven to  Mozart  and Hitler ….suddenly a voice raised in that compartment  a voice which is eerily familiar to my right ear drum…….yes the oldie is back. He asked the young man  how tall is Sachin ? hw abt Chaplin? What is the case of Mozart  and  Beethoven? The medium tall boy was surprised by the  rapid fire of questions  especially he was not even aware of the  fact that somebody other than his friends are listening to his lecture but he kept his composure and answered that all of them are short may be below 165 cm . The old man fired the next question how tall was Hitler?  Boy said he too was a short man…his friends also gave him ample support  as all of them were sure that Hitler was a short man. The oldie turned his head and asked me the same   Hitler question  . I mused, as far as I know he must be a short person.     I said, I think he  was not that tall may be some 5 ft  5 or 6 inch. The old man enthusiastically passed the question to the lady participants. The aunty  said an immediate pass but the girl made a try that Hitler was about 165 cm. the oldie said with winners smile that we all are wrong .. Mr. Adolf Hitler  was not that short…….he was 173 cm tall  that means 5ft 8’’    . I was surprised by this interesting fact  and not the only one in fact everyone seemed so. The third boy ,a long haired bespectacled one,  out of mental indigestion flipped his iPad cover and  browsed   only to discover our oldie is absolutely correct. Everyone got convinced about this small  piece of information. I smiled at him admiringly and he acknowledged it with a nod. The ice broken in our compartment and everyone started to communicate each other. All of them were heading to Chennai,  those boys   for some interview ,aunty and her daughter(oh yes now confirmed) going for attending some function and oldie ,it seems like surprises are the order of the day, is all the way to meet Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu and he is the director of a famous NGO. He kept talking . His topics  were nothing different than his former doubts  and worries but it didn’t feel like nonsense anymore…..what had changed?  ……train entered  ernakulam town station  I wished all of them a happy jouney and detrained….when I walked towards exit the same question raced around in my head.  what had changed? …….soon I got the answer , nothing but.. just my attitude..yes my attitude . I must put this entire episode in black and white,I decided. Walked fairly fast to pick an auto taxi …….THE END

NOTHING BUT… JUST MY ATTITUDE
LITHIN MATHEW THOMAS

title: NOTHING BUT… JUST MY ATTITUDE

question: Where is the story set?

answer: The story is set in Tamil Nadu. It takes place on a train leaving Chennai. The narrator is bound for Ernakulam. The story takes place in a single compartment on the train.

question: What style is the story written in?

answer: The story contains many run-on sentences. However, this ungrammaticality is used for literary effect. One can call this story "stream of consciousness." The stream of consciousness style serves to evoke the narrator's immediate felt experience on the train.

question: What event changes the narrator's opinion of the old man?

answer: Some of the boys were having a debate about the heights of famous people, and the old man asks them how tall they thought Hitler was. Everyone thinks Hitler must have been short. The old man reveals that in fact he was tall. Later, the narrator reflects why this event changed the way the narrator felt about this man. They realize that for some reason it changed their attitude.

question: What does the title of the story refer to?

answer: "NOTHING BUT...JUST MY ATTITUDE" refers to the central transformation the main character undergoes. At the beginning of the story they are uninterested in the old man next to them who is bothering them. At the end of the story they discover the old man is a director of a famous NGO and on his way to meet the chief minister of Tamil Nadu. The theme of the story is how our own attitudes can get in the way of properly perceiving others around us.


text:
ARCHIBALD PERCIVAL WAVELL, 1ST EARL WAVELL, (5 May 1883 – 24 May 1950) was a senior officer of the British Army. He served in the Second Boer War, the Bazar Valley Campaign and World War I, during which he was wounded in the Second Battle of Ypres. He served in the Second World War, initially as Commander-in-Chief Middle East, in which role he led British forces to victory over the Italians in western Egypt and eastern Libya during Operation Compass in December 1940, only to be defeated by the German Army in the Western Desert in April 1941. He served as Commander-in-Chief, India, from July 1941 until June 1943 (apart from a brief tour as Commander of ABDACOM) and then served as Viceroy of India until his retirement in February 1947.

Early life

Born the son of Archibald Graham Wavell (who later became a major general in the British Army and military commander of Johannesburg after its capture during the Second Boer War[1]) and Lillie Wavell (née Percival), Wavell attended Eaton House,[2] followed by the leading preparatory boarding school Summer Fields near Oxford, Winchester College, where he was a scholar, and the Royal Military College, Sandhurst.[3] His headmaster, Dr. Fearon, had advised his father that there was no need to send him into the Army as he had “sufficient ability to make his way in other walks of life”.[4]

Early career

After graduating from Sandhurst, Wavell was commissioned into the British Army on 8 May 1901 as a second lieutenant in the Black Watch,[5] and joined the 2nd battalion of his regiment in South Africa to fight in the Second Boer War.[6] The battalion stayed in South Africa throughout the war, which formally ended in June 1902 after the Peace of Vereeniging. Wavell was ill, and did not immediately join the battalion as it transferred to British India in October that year; he instead left Cape Town for England on the SS _Simla_ at the same time.[7] In 1903 he was transferred to join the battalion in India and, having been promoted to lieutenant on 13 August 1904,[8] he fought in the Bazar Valley Campaign of February 1908.[9] In January 1909 was seconded from his regiment to be a student at the Staff College.[10] He was one of only two in his class to graduate with an A grade.[11] In 1911, he spent a year as a military observer with the Russian Army to learn Russian,[12] returning to his regiment in December of that year.[13] In April 1912 he became a General Staff Officer Grade 3 (GSO3) in the Russian Section of the War Office.[14] In July, he was granted the temporary rank of captain and became GSO3 at the Directorate of Military Training.[15] On 20 March 1913 Wavell was promoted to the substantive rank of captain.[16] After visiting manoeuvres at Kiev in summer 1913, he was arrested at the Russo-Polish border as a suspected spy, following a search of his Moscow hotel room by the secret police, but managed to remove from his papers an incriminating document listing the information wanted by the War Office.[17]

Wavell was working at the War Office during the Curragh incident. His letters to his father record his disgust at the Government's behaviour in giving an ultimatum to officers – he had little doubt that the Government had been planning to crush the Ulster Scots, whatever they later claimed. However, he was also concerned at the Army's effectively intervening in politics, not least as there would be an even greater appearance of bias when the Army was used against industrial unrest.[18]

First World War

Wavell was working as a staff officer when the First World War began.[19] As a captain, he was sent to France to a posting at General HQ of the British Expeditionary Force as General Staff Officer Grade 2 (GSO2), but shortly afterwards, in November 1914, was appointed brigade major of 9th Infantry Brigade.[20] He was wounded in the Second Battle of Ypres of 1915, losing his left eye[21] and winning the Military Cross.[22] In October 1915 he became a GSO2 in the 64th Highland Division.[23]

In December 1915, after he had recovered, Wavell was returned to General HQ in France as a GSO2.[24] He was promoted to the substantive rank of major on 8 May 1916.[25] In October 1916 Wavell was graded General Staff Officer Grade 1 (GSO1) as an acting lieutenant colonel,[26] and was then assigned as a liaison officer to the Russian Army in the Caucasus.[27] In June 1917, he was promoted to brevet lieutenant colonel[28] and continued to work as a staff officer (GSO1),[29] as liaison officer with the Egyptian Expeditionary Force headquarters.[30]

In January 1918 Wavell received a further staff appointment as Assistant Adjutant & Quartermaster General (AA&QMG)[31] working at the Supreme War Council in Versailles.[32] In March 1918 Wavell was made a temporary brigadier general and returned to Palestine where he served as the brigadier general of the General Staff (BGGS) with XX Corps, part of the Egyptian Expeditionary Force.[33]

Between the world wars

Wavell was given a number of assignments between the wars, though like many officers he had to accept a reduction in rank. In May 1920 he relinquished the temporary rank of Brigadier-General, reverting to brevet lieutenant colonel.[34] In December 1921, still a brevet lieutenant colonel, he became an Assistant Adjutant General (AAG) at the War Office[35] and, having been promoted to full colonel on 3 June 1921,[36] he became a GSO1 in the Directorate of Military Operations in July 1923.[37]

Apart from a short period unemployed on half pay in 1926,[38][39] Wavell continued to hold GSO1 appointments, latterly in the 3rd Infantry Division, until July 1930 when he was once again granted the rank of temporary brigadier and was given command of 6th Infantry Brigade.[40] In March 1932, he was appointed ADC to the King,[41] a position he held until October 1933 when he was promoted to Major-General.[42][43] However, there was a shortage of jobs for Major-Generals at this time and in January 1934, on relinquishing command of his brigade, he found himself unemployed on half pay once again.[44]

By the end of the year, although still on half pay, Wavell had been designated to command 2nd Division and appointed a CB.[45] In March 1935, he took command of his division.[46] In August 1937 he was transferred to Palestine, where there was growing unrest, to be General Officer Commanding (GOC) British Forces in Palestine and Trans-Jordan[47] and was promoted to Lieutenant-General on 21 January 1938.[48]

In April 1938 Wavell became General Officer Commanding-in-Chief (GOC-in-C) Southern Command in the UK.[49] In July 1939, he was named as General Officer Commanding-in-Chief of Middle East Command with the local rank of full General.[50] Subsequently, on 15 February 1940, to reflect the broadening of his oversight responsibilities to include East Africa, Greece and the Balkans, his title was changed to Commander-in-Chief Middle East.[51]

Second World War military commands

Middle East Command

The Middle Eastern theatre was quiet for the first few months of the war until Italy's declaration of war in June 1940.[52] The Italian forces in North and East Africa greatly outnumbered the British and Wavell's policy was therefore one of “flexible containment” to buy time to build up adequate forces to take the offensive. Having fallen back in front of Italian advances from Libya, Eritrea and Ethiopia, Wavell mounted successful offensives into Libya (Operation Compass) in December 1940 and Eritrea and Ethiopia in January 1941. By February 1941, his Western Desert Force under Lieutenant General Richard O'Connor had defeated the Italian Tenth Army at Beda Fomm taking 130,000 prisoners and appeared to be on the verge of overrunning the last Italian forces in Libya, which would have ended all direct Axis control in North Africa.[53] His troops in East Africa also had the Italians under pressure and at the end of March his forces in Eritrea under William Platt won the decisive battle of the campaign at Keren which led to the occupation of the Italian colonies in Ethiopia and Somaliland.[54]

[Wavell (right) meets Lt. General Quinan, commander of British and Indian Army forces in Iraq in April 1941.] However, in February Wavell had been ordered to halt his advance into Libya and send troops to Greece where the Germans and Italians were attacking. He disagreed with this decision but followed his orders. The result was a disaster. The Germans were given the opportunity to reinforce the Italians in North Africa with the _Afrika Korps_ and by the end of April the weakened Western Desert Force had been pushed all the way back to the Egyptian border, leaving Tobruk under siege.[55] In Greece General Wilson's _Force W_ was unable to set up an adequate defence on the Greek mainland and were forced to withdraw to Crete, suffering 15,000 casualties and leaving behind all their heavy equipment and artillery. Crete was attacked by German airborne forces on 20 May and as in Greece, the British and Commonwealth troops were forced once more to evacuate.[56]

Events in Greece provoked a pro-Axis faction to take over the government of Iraq. Wavell, hard pressed on his other fronts, was unwilling to divert precious resources to Iraq and so it fell to Claude Auchinleck's India Command to send troops to Basra. Winston Churchill, the British Prime Minister, saw Iraq as vital to Britain's strategic interests and in early May, under heavy pressure from London, Wavell agreed to send a division-sized force across the desert from Palestine to relieve the besieged British air base at Habbaniya and to assume overall control of troops in Iraq. By the end of May Quinan's forces in Iraq had captured Baghdad and the Anglo-Iraqi War had ended with troops in Iraq once more reverting to the overall control of GHQ in Delhi. However, Churchill had been unimpressed by Wavell's reluctance to act.[57]

In early June Wavell sent a force under General Wilson to invade Syria and Lebanon, responding to the help given by the Vichy France authorities there to the Iraq Government during the Anglo-Iraqi War. Initial hopes of a quick victory faded as the French put up a determined defence. Churchill determined to relieve Wavell and after the failure in mid June of Operation Battleaxe, intended to relieve Tobruk, he told Wavell on 20 June that he was to be replaced by Auchinleck, whose attitude during the Iraq crisis had impressed him.[58] Rommel rated Wavell highly, despite Wavell's lack of success against him.[59]

Of Wavell, Auchinleck wrote: “In no sense do I wish to infer that I found an unsatisfactory situation on my arrival – far from it. Not only was I greatly impressed by the solid foundations laid by my predecessor, but I was also able the better to appreciate the vastness of the problems with which he had been confronted and the greatness of his achievements, in a command in which some 40 different languages are spoken by the British and Allied Forces.”[60]

India Command

[Wavell at his desk in Delhi during the Second World War] Wavell in effect swapped jobs with Auchinleck, transferring to India where he became Commander-in-Chief, India and a member of the Governor General's Executive Council.[61] Initially his command covered India and Iraq so that within a month of taking charge he launched Iraqforce to invade Persia in co-operation with the Russians in order to secure the oilfields and the lines of communication to the Soviet Union.[62]

Wavell once again had the misfortune of being placed in charge of an undermanned theatre which became a war zone when the Japanese declared war on the United Kingdom in December 1941. He was made Commander-in-Chief of ABDACOM (American-British-Dutch-Australian Command).[63]

Late at night on 10 February 1942, Wavell prepared to board a flying boat, to fly from Singapore to Java. He stepped out of a staff car, not noticing (because of his blind left eye) that it was parked at the edge of a pier. He broke two bones in his back when he fell, and this injury affected his temperament for some time.[64]

On 23 February 1942, with Malaya lost and the Allied position in Java and Sumatra precarious, ABDACOM was closed down and its headquarters in Java evacuated. Wavell returned to India to resume his position as C-in-C India where his responsibilities now included the defence of Burma.[65] [Wavell (right) with Brooke-Popham in WW II]

On 23 February British forces in Burma had suffered a serious setback when Major-General Jackie Smyth's decision to destroy the bridge over the Sittang river to prevent the enemy crossing had resulted in most of his division being trapped on the wrong side of the river. The Viceroy Lord Linlithgow sent a signal criticising the conduct of the field commanders to Churchill who forwarded it to Wavell together with an offer to send Harold Alexander, who had commanded the rearguard at Dunkirk. Alexander took command of Allied land forces in Burma in early March[66] with William Slim arriving shortly afterwards from commanding a division in Iraq to take command of its principal formation, Burma Corps. Nevertheless, the pressure from the Japanese Armies was unstoppable and a withdrawal to India was ordered which was completed by the end of May before the start of the monsoon season which brought Japanese progress to a halt.[67]

In order to wrest some of the initiative from the Japanese, Wavell ordered the Eastern Army in India to mount an offensive in the Arakan, which commenced in September. After some initial success the Japanese counter-attacked, and by March 1943 the position was untenable, and the remnants of the attacking force was withdrawn. Wavell relieved the Eastern Army commander, Noel Irwin, of his command and replaced him with George Giffard.[68]

In January 1943, Wavell was promoted to field marshal[69] and on 22 April he returned to London. On 4 May he had an audience with the King, before departing with Churchill for America, returning on 27 May. He resided with (Sir) Henry 'Chips' Channon MP in Belgrave Square and was reintroduced into Society. Churchill nursed “an uncontrollable and unfortunate disapproval – indeed jealous dislike – of Wavell”[70] and had several spats with him in America.[71]

Viceroy of India

On 15 June Churchill invited Wavell to dinner and offered him the Viceroyalty of India in succession to Linlithgow. Lady Wavell joined him in London on 14 July, when they took up a suite at the Dorchester. Shortly afterwards it was announced that he had been created a viscount (taking the style VISCOUNT WAVELL of Cyrenaica and of Winchester, in the county of Southampton)[72] He addressed an all-party meeting at the House of Commons on 27 July, and on 28 July took his seat in the House of Lords as “the Empire's hero”.[73] In September, he was formally named Governor-General and Viceroy of India.[74]

One of Wavell's first actions in office was to address the Bengal famine of 1943 by ordering the army to distribute relief supplies to the starving rural Bengalis. He attempted with mixed success to increase the supplies of rice to reduce the prices.[75] During his reign, Gandhi was leading the Quit India campaign, Mohammad Ali Jinnah was working for an independent state for the Muslims and Subhas Chandra Bose befriended Japan “and were pressing forward along India's Eastern border”.[76]

[Wavell as Viceroy of India (centre), with the C-in-C of the Indian Army Auchinleck (right) and Montgomery.] Although Wavell was initially popular with Indian politicians, pressure mounted concerning the likely structure and timing of an independent India. He attempted to move the debate along—with the Wavell Plan and the Simla Conference—but received little support from Churchill (who was against Indian independence), nor from Clement Attlee, Churchill's successor as prime minister. He was also hampered by the differences between the various Indian political factions. At the end of the war, rising Indian expectations continued to be unfulfilled, and inter-communal violence increased. Eventually, in 1947, Attlee lost confidence in Wavell and replaced him with Lord Mountbatten of Burma.[77][78]

Later life

thumb|upright=.6|Field Marshal Lord Wavell's banner as Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath, now displayed in Winchester Cathedral. thumb|upright=.6|Memorial plaques for Field Marshal 1st Earl Wavell (died 1950) and his son, the 2nd Earl Wavell (died 1953), in Winchester Cathedral. In 1947 Wavell returned to England and was made High Steward of Colchester. The same year, he was created EARL WAVELL and given the additional title of VISCOUNT KEREN of Eritrea and Winchester.[79]

Wavell was a great lover of literature, and while Viceroy of India he compiled and annotated an anthology of great poetry, _Other Men's Flowers_, which was published in 1944. He wrote the last poem in the anthology himself and described it as a “...little wayside dandelion of my own”.[80] He had a great memory for poetry and often quoted it at length. He is depicted in Evelyn Waugh's novel _Officers and Gentlemen_, part of the Sword of Honour trilogy, reciting a translation of Callimachus' poetry in public.[81] He was also a member of the Church of England and a deeply religious man.[82]

Wavell died on 24 May 1950 after a relapse following abdominal surgery on 5 May.[83] After his death, his body lay in state at the Tower of London where he had been Constable. A military funeral was held on 7 June 1950 with the funeral procession travelling along the Thames from the Tower to Westminster Pier and then to Westminster Abbey for the funeral service.[84] This was the first military funeral by river since that of Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson in 1806.[85] The funeral was attended by the then Prime Minister Clement Attlee as well as Lord Halifax and fellow officers including Field Marshals Alanbrooke and Montgomery. Winston Churchill did not attend the service.[86]

Wavell is buried in the old mediaeval cloister at Winchester College, next to the Chantry Chapel. His tombstone simply bears the inscription “Wavell”. A plaque was placed in the north nave aisle of Winchester Cathedral to commemorate both Wavell and his son.[87] St Andrew's Garrison Church, Aldershot, an Army church, contains a large wooden plaque dedicated to Lord Wavell.[88]

Family

Wavell married Eugenie Marie Quirk, only daughter of Col. J. O. Quirk CB DSO, on 22 April 1915.[89] She survived him and died, as Dowager Countess Wavell, on 11 October 1987, aged 100 years.[90]

Children:

-   Archibald John Arthur Wavell, later 2nd Earl Wavell, b. 11 May 1916; d. 24 December 1953, killed in Kenya, in an action against Mau Mau rebels. Since he was unmarried and without issue, the titles became extinguished on his death.[91]
-   Eugenie Pamela Wavell, b. 2 December 1918, married 14 March 1942 Lt.-Col. A. F. W. Humphrys MBE.
-   Felicity Ann Wavell, b. 21 July 1921, married at the Cathedral Church of the Redemption, New Delhi, 20 February 1947 Capt. P. M. Longmore MC, son of Air Chief Marshal Sir Arthur Longmore.[92]
-   Joan Patricia Quirk Wavell, b. 23 April 1923, married

:* (1) 27 January 1943 Maj. Hon. Simon Nevill Astley (b. 13 August 1919; d. 16 March 1946), 2nd son of Albert Edward Delaval [Astley], 21st Baron Hastings, by his wife Lady Margueritte Helen Nevill, only child by his second wife of [[Henry Nevill, 3rd Marquess of Abergavenny|Henry Gilbert Ralph [Nevill], 3rd Marquess of Abergavenny]].

:* (2) 19 June 1948 Maj. Harry Alexander Gordon MC (d. 19 June 1965), 2nd son of Cdr. Alastair Gordon DSO RN.

:* (3) Maj. Donald Struan Robertson (d. 1991), son of the Rt. Hon. Sir Malcolm Arnold Robertson GCMG KBE.

Honours and awards

Ribbon bar (as it would look today)

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British

-   Military Cross – 3 June 1915[93]
-   Mention in Despatches 22 June 1915, 4 January 1917, 22 January 1919[94]
-   Companion of the Order of St Michael and St George (CMG) – 1 January 1919[95]
-   Knight Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath (GCB) – 4 March 1941[96] (KCB: 2 January 1939;[97] CB: 1 January 1935[98])
-   Knight Grand Commander of the Order of the Star of India (GCSI) – 18 September 1943[99]
-   Knight Grand Commander of the Order of the Indian Empire (GCIE) – 18 September 1943[100]
-   Knight of the Order of St. John – 4 January 1944[101]

Others

-   Order of St Stanislaus, 3rd class with Swords (Russia) (12 September 1916)[102]
-   Order of St. Vladimir (Russia) 1917[103]
-   Croix de Guerre (Commandeur) (France) – 4 May 1920[104]
-   Commandeur, Légion d'honneur (France) – 7 May 1920[105]
-   Order of El Nahda, 2nd Class (Hejaz) – 30 September 1920[106]
-   Grand Cross, Order of George I with Swords (Greece) – 9 May 1941[107]
-   Virtuti Militari, 5th Class (Poland) – 23 September 1941[108]
-   War Cross, 1st Class (Greece) – 10 April 1942[109]
-   Commander, Order of the Seal of Solomon (Ethiopia) – 5 May 1942[110]
-   Grand Cross, Order of Orange-Nassau (Netherlands) – 15 January 1943[111]
-   War Cross (Czechoslovakia) – 23 July 1943[112]
-   Legion of Merit degree of Chief Commander (United States) – 23 July 1948[113]

Quotes

-   “I think he (Benito Mussolini) must do something, if he cannot make a graceful dive he will at least have to jump in somehow; he can hardly put on his dressing-gown and walk down the stairs again.”[114]
-   "After the 'war to end war' they seem to have been pretty successful in Paris at making a 'Peace to end Peace.{{' "}}[115](commenting on the treaties ending the First World War; this quotation was the basis for the title of David Fromkin's _A Peace to End All Peace_, New York: Henry Holt, (1989) )
-   “Let us be clear about three facts: First, all battles and all wars are won in the end by the infantryman. Secondly, the infantryman always bears the brunt. His casualties are heavier, he suffers greater extremes of discomfort and fatigue than the other arms. Thirdly, the art of the infantryman is less stereotyped and far harder to acquire in modern war than that of any other arm.”[116]

Publications

Books

-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -

    “this first paperback edition contains not only Lord Wavell's own introduction and annotations, but also the introduction written by his son, to whom the book was originally dedicated”.

-   -   -   -

Contributions to periodicals

-   Official Middle East Despatches December 1940 to February 1941 published in
-   Official Middle East Despatches February 1941 to July 1941 published in
-   Official Iran, Iraq and Syria Despatches April 1941 to January 1942 published in
-   Official India Despatches March 1942 to December 1942 published in

[1] Schofield 2006, p. 15

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[3] Heathcote, p. 287

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[11] Schofield 2006, p. 33

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[17] Schofield 2006, p39

[18] Schofield 2006, pp. 42–3

[19] Adrian Fort, _Archibald Wavell: The Life and Death of the Imperial Servant_ (2009) ch 3.

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[51] Playfair, Vol. I, page 63.

[52] Raugh (2013), pp. 96–131.

[53] Mead (2007), p. 473

[54] Mead (2007), pp. 473–475

[55] Mead (2007), p. 475

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[58] Mead (2007), p. 476

[59] Mead (2007), p. 480

[60] Auchinleck, p. 4215

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[64] Allen, pp. 644–645

[65] Mead (2007), p. 478

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[67] Mead (2007), p. 479

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[70] Chips, the diaries of Sir Henry Channon, ed. R Rhodes James, Weidenfeld and Nicolson London, 1987, p355

[71] Chips, p358, 362

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[73] Chips, p373

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[75] Heathcote, p. 290

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[78] Glynn, p. 639-663

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[80] Mead (2007), p. 481

[81] Frame, p. 90

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[86] Schofield 2006, p394-5

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[114] Quoted in Axelrod, p. 180

[115] Pagden, p. 407

[116] In Praise of Infantry, Field-Marshal Earl Wavell, “The Times”, Thursday, 19 April 1945

title: Archibald Wavell, 1st Earl Wavell

question: What does it mean when headmaster Dr. Fearon said "There was no need to send him into the Army as he had 'sufficient ability to make his way in other walks of life'"?

answer: It implies that Dr. Fearon thought joining the Army should not be Wavell's first choice of career as he had the potential to excel in other fields as he was a brilliant man.

question: Summarize Archibald Wavell's early career highlights.

answer: Archibald Wavell joined the British Army on May 8, 1901, as a second lieutenant. He fought in the Second Boer War and the Bazar Valley Campaign. In 1912, he became a General Staff Officer Grade 3 (GSO3) in the Russian Section of the War Office. In 1913, he became a captain.

question: Who is more accomplished in life, Archibald Wavell or his father?

answer: Both father and son served well in the army, and they had their own achievements to be proud of. Both are equally accomplished in life.

question: Why did Wavell choose to serve in the army?

answer: It must be his choice, and perhaps his father, being a military man himself, had been an inspiration to him, given they had a great father-son relationship.


text:
There was an old cow winding through old Mr. Raybek's garden. She was tied to the porch railing with a long and frayed rope ending in a very loose knot. Her meandering kept the vegetables well crushed, and the squished squash and dill secreted their essence from their trampled beds, wafted through the chilly morning air, plucked some of Cattlina's hair, drifted through the steam from the farmer's morning tea, and tickled his nostrils.

Remus Reybek could tell you, if you stopped scoffing at his name and bothered to ask, that there's nothing quite like a Nebraskan morning in late September. Most Americans avoid the area like a leper colony, but those precious few whose pastures are quilted horizons for the New Yorker in his jet--those reserved and rosy rednecks who might hit their children a little too hard, but will *never* ask their neighbors for money--they'll tell you about ripe winds that gallop in from all directions. How they drop the taint of Las Vegas and Quebec at the border and enter Nebraska with a fresh outlook on life. They'll tell you how hopeful and enthusiastic the wind is, as if Gatsby finally recovered his past, and was casting his ritz and exuberance all over the state (which so modestly avoided any extravagant displays of wealth itself). They might--at least the more contemplative Nebraskans might--solemnly chew their cud and muse on the mighty autumn paradox on the prairie. All the velvety smells and colors begin to seep into your very hide, and you might mourn the beautiful leaves and grasses that begin to wrinkle, crinkle, and fold. But don't they also blush and blow kisses before they fade? What is their death but a fresh new bounty? Each drooping bush is smooching her seedy children and giving them last minute advice. *Check the oil, and don't forget to write!* Each withering lavender is swinging her hips at the amorous, aging bees. All the rose petals might have fallen, but a single rosehip shines brilliant red on top of each stalk. And the immoderate wind, who is very fond of Life, caries those flirty leaves and college-bound seeds across the skyline in an act of blazing glory. Nebraska is where the old and the new embrace for the last time.

Cattlina and Remus, however, were both old, and neither did much embracing those days. Well, there was a bull who stood at the fence across the road and mooed absolutely *filthy* suggestions to Cattlina, who couldn't pretend she wasn't flattered, but she'd been around the pasture a few times and knew those types were only out for a bit of cow tipping. No, Cattlina preferred the security and companionship she found with Remus, who brushed her every day and let her peruse the vegetable garden. She hummed at him affectionately, and he raised his mug in return.

Seven o'clock rolled out with the mist, and eight was positively golden. Remus finished his tea and tugged Cattlina's knot loose. The two of them took regular morning walks unless the wind got too raucous, in which case they'd shout for some damn peace and quiet as Remus banged his broom against the roof: * Pipe down up there! Some of us work for a living!* But this morning the wind was playing a quiet panpipe/banjo duet with the elms, and Cattlina lowed a couple of backup harmonies as Remus held open the gate. What a gentleman.

Their property was tucked into the armpit of a wide swell in the prairie. It couldn't exactly be called a hill, though it was the tallest point for miles. Nevertheless, Nebraskans have a grander sense of topography than the Manhattan dweller, even when he's airbound. When you live on America's naked torso, arching out for ever and ever, her curves and dimples lose their immediacy, and you begin to see how a dip here is only the intro to a muscular bulge there. Creeks and rivulets are just pores. Nebraska's smattering of trees are the downy hairs running along her abdomen toward... *Well.*

Those were Remus's thoughts, anyway. Cattlina might have argued that the golden crops were the spiky hairs on America's tough hide, or she might have mentioned the oil wells like open fly sores in the Dakotas, or shed a tear for those runny eyes of the Great Lakes. But you didn't ask her, did you?

You see, Cattlina was a well traveled cow. Born in the icy Minnesotan spring, she'd spent her early days drinking water out of the melting lake, gamboling after white butterflies, and shining prettily at 4-H and FFA shows. But her boy, Dallon, whom she loved so much, sold her to a common breeder of burger patties in Wisconsin. Every year she was cramped in a dark room while some half-crazed bull rutted and humped her, painfully knocking her knees into their tight plastic restraints. The rest of the time she wallowed in a wide muddy pen with hundreds of her fellow sex slaves. Her babies were taken away, although some of the females came back as fresh concubines. She wasn't sure which was worse: This life of monotony and violence or the short visit to a slaughterhouse? Sometimes she would spy a beautiful cow about her own age on a nearby green hill. Between fence posts, this lovely figure would graze serenely at real clover. Come dinner time, Cattlina would eye her own trough of protein-infused mush with resentment and, increasingly, rebellion.

But it pained her to think too much of the past. Remus was different from her first little boy, different from the hard men who ran the breeding house--this at least she knew with rare certainty as she watched Remus pick through the wheat and sunflower skeletons. They were two peas in a pod, she and he.

Speaking of pods, a milkweed parachute pod whizzed past Remus's cheek on its way to its first apartment. It was the last child out of the family home, and its nervousness had evaporated like the seven o'clock mist. It whirled and *whee!*-ed its way up the swell, flipping off its siblings that had dropped early out of the wind. Remus caught a whiff of the pod's zeal and began to tramp upward at a brisker pace than usual. Even steady old Cattlina allowed herself a subtle trot, but to her great embarrassment she frightened a pheasant into undignified flight. It, too, flapped after the pod, and it was this strange procession--the pod, the pheasant, the farmer, and the cow--that met the baby at the crest of America's smallest lovehandle.

title: Americas Smallest Lovehandle--an intro to a longer story. What do you think?

question: What is the story about?

answer: A man and a cow.

question: What is the name of the cow?

answer: Cattilina.

question: What is the name of the man?

answer: Remus Reybeck.

question: Where is the story set?

answer: Nebraska.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: A man and a cow meander through the fields of Nebraska, and both reflect on the landscape.


text:
PATRICIUS (Patrikios) was a fifth-century Roman jurist who taught in the ancient Law School of Berytus (present-day Beirut). Patricius was of the seven revered “Ecumenical Masters” () and occupied the position of Quaestor of the Sacred Palace in the East, a senior legal office in the late Roman Empire, from the middle to the late fifth century.[1]

Ancient inscription

[Limestime statue base with ancient Greek inscription mentioning Patricius. The base was unearthed in 1906 in Beirut. Has disappeared since 1925.[2]] At the turn of the 20th-century, a well polished by limestone bloc was unearthed during excavations near the Saint George Greek Orthodox Cathedral in Beirut. The bloc dates back to the Byzantine period and may have served as a statue base or a commemorative stele. The bloc bears a fragmentary Greek inscription that was published by Father L. Jalabert in 1906. According to Collinet, the bloc text could be an epitaph honoring “Patrikios” the jurist of Berytus.[3]

The Greek inscription reads:

  ... α Πατριχιος στη ...
  ... ας ἐχ βασιληος ...
  ... ρης θεσμῶν ἑπα ...
  ... μ' ηυρατο τοϋτον ...
  ... Αὐσονιων σεβα[στό ...]
  ... στορος εῦχος ...

Collinet explains that the expression θεσμῶν Αὐσονιων translates into the “Laws of Ausonia”, Ausonia being the ancient Greek name for lower Italy (extended poetically to all Italy) and reveal that the Patricus mentioned in the inscription was well versed in Roman Law. Collinet believes that the word εύχος (ancient Greek for glory) is a further indicator of the elevated social standing of the person in question.[4]

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title: Patricius (jurist)

question: Where did Patricius teach?

answer: The ancient Law School of Berytus

question: What position did Patricius occupy?

answer: Quaestor of the Sacred Palace in the East

question: When was the inscription unearthed?

answer: The turn of the 20th century

question: How many "Ecumenical Masters" were there?

answer: 7

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Patricius was a fifth-century Roman jurist who taught at the ancient Law School of Berytus and occupied the position of Quaestor of the Sacred Palace in the East, a senior legal office in the late Roman Empire. He was also one of the seven "Ecumenical Masters."


text:
VLADIMIR SLEPIAN, a.k.a. ERIC PID (; 1930 – 7 July 1998) is a French artist and writer of Russian-Jewish origin.

Biography

Son of a repressed and executed Soviet functionary, Vladimir Slepian was born in Prague and resided in Leningrad before moving to Moscow. He began his university studies in mathematics, continuing as a student of fine art. In 1956 Slepian moved to Moscow. He attended the Picasso exhibition at the Pushkin Museum and presented his paintings to David Burliuk, who was then staying at Hotel Moskva. Burliuk inspired Slepian to look towards the way Jackson Pollock deposited paint on canvas with broad, lunging, spontaneous gestures. Slepian’s style evolved towards happening and performance art. He devoted several years to action painting. On one occasion, Slepian conducted a séance of simultaneous painting in collaboration with Yuri Zlotnikov. They suspended a bedsheet in the middle of a room and each of them painted one side of it whilst following the actions of his partner on the other side through the translucent fabric. Slepian created abstract paintings using a gas torch and paint dispensed out of a pump. He is said to have worked on a canvas a few kilometers long, by pouring paint on it from a truck. Slepian also made a pilgrimage to Nazım Hikmet, who assured him and his friends that modern art will prevail over political oppression. In 1957 Paris' Right Bank Galerie Daniel Cordier mounted an anonymous exhibition of paintings by Vladimir Slepian, smuggled out of Moscow by its owner.

Vladimir Slepian emigrated to France in 1958, by way of Poland. In 1960 he conducted a performance of “transfinite painting” (“трансфинитная живопись”) in Paris. Slepian sprinted along a roll of paper a hundred meters long, depositing paint in a manner that recalled calligraphy. Slepian competed with Georges Mathieu, by creating a picture in ninety seconds. He is said to have turned a road into an action painting by throwing paint onto it whilst riding a motorcycle. In 1963, Slepian gave up painting, resolving to concentrate on writing. He founded a successful translation bureau, explaining his ambition as using his intelligence to put others to work for his benefit, whilst enjoying idleness. His business operated successfully until its manager quit in a protest against Slepian’s despotism.

In his only published French text, a short story _Fils de chien_, Vladimir Slepian writes of a man who decides to become a dog. He transforms himself one limb and one organ at a time, mapping the effects of the canine body across a human form in a kind of diagramming. Since dogs are quadrupeds, he ties shoes to his hands and feet. When his paws prevent him from lacing the fourth shoe, he uses his mouth, which becomes a dog's snout. This metamorphosis almost succeeds, until the hero comes to the dog’s tail, for which he can find no analogue among human limbs. For him to involve his sexual organ in this transmogrification would tear him away from the society that he has begun to flee. Who would he be, if his identity could not be inferred from his anatomy? The story ends with a descent into childhood memories of the protagonist's mother. It appeared in n° 7 of the _Revue Minuit_ alongside texts by Samuel Beckett, Robert Pinget, and Alain Robbe-Grillet. It served as inspiration for discussion by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari in _A Thousand Plateaus_.

Several years later, Vladimir Slepian renamed himself Eric Pid. He explained his new French name as an anagram of the blind king Oedipus, alluding to blindness at the etymological origins of his Russian family name. In his later years, Slepian succeeded at having his dramatic text staged as an interpolation in _A quand Agamemnon ?_, an adaptation of Aeschylus’ _Agamemnon_ by Philippe Brunet and Demodocos, a band of young artists specialized in classical theatre, performed in French, Latin and/or ancient Greek. He went around Paris, distributing framed photographs of this performance for wall display at restaurants. On 7 July 1998, Slepian collapsed on a sidewalk at Saint-Germain des Prés. The cause of his death is variously reported as hunger and a cardiac crisis. He was buried as an indigent, at the state’s expense.

Vladimir Slepian’s life served as inspiration for Viktor Atemian, the protagonist of 2007 feature film _L’Homme qui marche_ by Aurélia Georges.

title: Vladimir Slepian

question: What made Vladimir Slepian stand out as an artist?

answer: Slepian modeled his art after Jackson Pollock's paintbrush style. he later evolved into a performance artist, making his art in the presence of others, while bypassing canvas for everyday objects. Slepian once painted on a bedsheet alongside Yuri Zlotnikov and did an action painting by pouring paint on the road while riding a motorcycle. These sorts of performances made Slepian stand out as an artist.


text:
As the title says this is an unfinished work. I use to do a a lot of writing a few years back, found this in an old google docs account from back then. this was dated 12/18/08.

"	Pausing for a moment in front of the semi-mirrored glass that he always thought seemed ill fit for the large stone industrial age building, he runs his hand over his hair. giving his reflection a quick glace head to toe, tugging slightly on his blue dress shirt to make sure it looked just right. Mark always made sure he dressed up on Friday. despite the general attitude of his co-workers to dress casual, he had to be perfect. It wasn't always this way he too had enjoyed and would other wise still enjoy the casual dress code of Fridays at his office had it not been for that Friday back in march. when in his usual scatter brained manner he misplaced his bank card. It being Friday and Mark being in his mid to late 20's he wasn't about to be left stranded home for the week end. So at five when he would have other wise walked out his office, taken a left to the elevator, where he would suffer through the daily unpleasant conversation with bill from HR. bill would go on and on about his plans of various sexual encounters down to the the grittiest of details. though mark would humor bill and cheer him on with the typical machismo fashion of a frat boy, bill was none the wiser that his eye betrayed his every fantasy. he would go home, grab a frozen dinner and proceed to watch what seemed an endless stream of  edited for television movies and infomercials till Monday morning when he'd return to work. spend most of the day searching dating sites in his office with brief interludes of actual work. bill would eat lunch alone as no one could tolerate his attempts at fitting in socially, often descried as pathetic and over bearing when mentioned around the water cooler. the later half of the day was spent day dreaming of fantastic social adventures at night clubs with two, three even four of the sexiest woman any man could desire, draping  over him like a royal robe. then at 5 he would wait to leave his office till he saw mark whom he saw as  his closet friend based solely on their 5 minuets of interaction at the elevator and on the ride to the lobby of the office build. When at the door bill would look at his watch make an exuberant claim about some meeting with a  "smoking hot bitch". at which point Mark would then make his way through the barrage of traffic and into the subway as quickly as possible. Except on that Friday in march. Instead of his usual hurried escape from his office and and even more hurried escape from bill into the sub way he decided he'd make his way over to the bank located just a hundred yards away. it was one of those banks build during the hay day of the industrial revolution. large and comprised of blocks of granite, with the entrance to the lobby ornately defined with marble pillars. All together a very imposing building except for the small detail which mark would often find him self obsessively pondering. the large semi-mirrored windows framed with brushed stainless steel. the type of thing done in the 60's in an attempt to modernize the design, or so he figured.Pushing open the large glass doors, adorn with polished brass mark was, as he usually is taken back slightly by the lobby. It has polished white marble floors that run up the walls to meet the ceiling that was just as impressive. made entirely of some kind of dark wood that was painstakingly crafted by hand.  a patch work of latticed beams  that intersected an oval dome housing a mural and the banks slogan all lit by a grand crystal chandelier. as he took in the rare beauty of such craftsmanship he made his way to the row of wooden counters in the center of the floor. As he stood there looking over the rainbow of forms. Red loan applications, yellow deposit slips, blue withdrawal forms, fliers and pamphlets his eye was slowly drawn to her.

 she was just standing there, paused in the entrance of the lobby. he watched her trying not to seem as of he was. Reaching out and grabbing a pamphlet, fumbling it around in his hand. his head tilted down as if to look like he was reading but his eyes fixed on her."My god, she's beautiful." mark thought to him self as he watched her walk over to the row of tellers to the left of the lobby. she had a swing in her step, her brown curly hair bouncing as she moved. her walk had a swing in it, he hips swayed. Mark found him self fantasizing that she had seen him watching her and was putting on a show  just for him. she had caprices on that hugged her form, emphasizing her womanly curves and a form fitting blue t-shirt. he couldn't help but notice her breasts. she stood about five feet 2 inches but she wore a slight heel, five foot even with out. proportionately her breasts seemed large.

   An over weight elderly man in an old three piece suite that barley fit had made his way to the counter and placed him self directly in front of mark on the opposite side blocking his view. He had lost all focus with what he was doing, perhaps this mans unfortunate placement was for the best. looking down at the pamphlet in his hand he realized he's been flipping through a"

title: stolen love:unfinished:

question: What type of person does Mark seem to be?

answer: After "that Friday" he seems to be someone who is particularly invested in their appearance.

question: How do you think Mark feels about Bill from HR?

answer: Mark seems to find Bill annoying.

question: Summarize what happened on "that Friday in March".

answer: Mark loses his bank card. After suffering conversation with Bill from HR, he heads to the bank. At the bank he is very distracted by a woman he finds attractive.

question: What is the most negative event in the story?

answer: It's probably when Mark has to suffer through conversation with Bill from HR.

question: How does the author feel about architecture from the Industrial Revolution?

answer: They seems to enjoy this style of architecture.

question: Why does Bill see a friend in Mark if Mark doesn't like Bill?

answer: Bill seems to not be able to take a hint, and probably sees the times he converses with Mark as pleasantly mutual.

question: If the story continued, would Mark talk to the woman at the bank?

answer: It's possible that he does because he's attracted to her.