text:
ELIZABETH MARY NICHOLL (_née_ DALEY; born August 1952) is a British sports administrator and former netball player. She served as chief executive of UK Sport from 2010–19, and is the current president of the International Netball Federation.

Early life and education

Nicholl was born in Barry, Vale of Glamorgan, Wales, the sixth of seven children. Her father was a schoolteacher and coached his school's football and cricket teams. She played various sports growing up and tried to compete with the boys on her father's teams. She began playing netball competitively and played at university. One of her coaches at university was Sue Campbell, now Baroness Campbell, who also served as Chair of UK Sport.[1][2] Nicholl represented Wales in international netball competition including two world championships ,[3] with 22 caps between 1975 and 1979. She played as a centre and wing attack.[4]

Nicholl earned a Bachelor of Science degree in chemistry from the University of Nottingham and a Master's of Science in Recreation Management at Loughborough University.[5]

Career

Nicholl served as chief executive of the All England Netball Association from 1980 to 1982 and 1986 to 1999, and was director of the 1995 World Netball Championships held in Birmingham. Nicholl joined UK Sport in 1999 as the Director of Elite Sport overseeing the Performance Directorate. After 10 years in this role, she was appointed chief operating officer (COO) in 2009. In 2010, she was named chief executive officer.[6]

During her time at UK Sport, the United Kingdom has improved significantly in international sporting events. The UK finished just 36th in the medal table at the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta, but improved its performance at each successive Olympic Games. In 2016, the UK finished second in the medal count and made history as the first country to increase its medal count at both the Olympics and the Paralympics immediately after hosting the Games.[7] Nicholl has been called the architect of the organisation's strict “all or nothing” funding system, which has faced criticism due to its focus on medal count and budget cuts in sports that perform poorly.[8][9][10] In 2014 she was called “the most powerful woman” in British sport.[11]

Nicholl left her role as CEO at UK Sport in July 2019.[12] She is currently the President of the International Netball Federation. She was elected at the INF Congress 2019 in Liverpool ahead of the 2019 Netball World Cup.[13]

Honours

Nicholl was made a Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE) in the 2000 New Year Honours, for services to netball.[14] She was appointed an Officer of the same order (OBE) in 2006,[15] and appointed a Commander (CBE) in 2015,[16] both for services to sport.[17][18]

In 2016, Nicholl was awarded the Sports Journalists' Association (SJA) Gold Medal for services to elite sport.[19]

Personal life

She married Andrew Nicholl in 1980. They have two adult children. She and her husband, a retired sports management consultant, live in Hitchin, Hertfordshire.[20][21][22]

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[12]  UK Sport |url=https://www.uksport.gov.uk/news/2019/05/07/sally-munday-appointed-new-chief-executive-of-uk-sport |website=www.uksport.gov.uk |accessdate=7 May 2019 |date=7 May 2019}}

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title: Liz Nicholl

question: When was Nicholl born?

answer: August 1952

question: What is Nicholl's current job?

answer: President of the International Netball Federation

question: Where did Nicholl earn her master's degree?

answer: Loughborough University

question: What organization did Nicholl become the CEO of in 2010?

answer: UK Sport

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Elizabeth Mary Nicholl is a British sports administrator and former netball player. She was born in 1952, obtained a Master's of Science in Recreation Management, and served as the chief executive officer of UK Sport from 2010-2019. She is currently the President of the International Netball Federation.


split: train

text:
EDWARD DOCKRILL (1838 – 19 November 1927) was a New Zealand politician who served as the 8th Mayor of New Plymouth. He was known as a powerful advocate of public works, supported the protection of “indigenous land rights” and was a critic of pastoralism. He was also known to be an abolitionist.

Dockrill was born in the Bay of Islands district of New Plymouth, and was the first mayor of the port.

By the mid-1800s he had worked as a state-appointed surveyor, and by 1899 had formed a natural resource consulting firm, Jemmingit. He also began a company selling timber. In 1903 he was appointed New Plymouth's 16th Mayor.

Biography

Early life

Dockrill was born in County Wexford, Ireland in 1838. He left Ireland and moved to New Zealand in 1866 aboard the ship _Ballarat_, landing in Auckland.[1] He then spent fourteen years gold mining on the West Coast and later in Thames. In 1880 he moved to New Plymouth and set up business there as a shoemaker.[2] He later married Elizabeth Bosworth on 26 December 1882.[3]

Political career

In August 1885, Dockrill was elected to the New Plymouth council and served until he was elected as Mayor of New Plymouth in December 1897. He served until May 1903 and was re-elected for a second spell as Mayor between 1906 and 1908. He also served on the Hospital and Charitable Aid Board, the local school committee, and a member of the Board of Governors of New Plymouth High School.[4]

Dockrill stood for Parliament in the 1887 election for the Taranaki electorate, coming third.[5] He later stood in the 1907 Taranaki by-election as the officially endorsed candidate of the Liberal Party, coming a close second.[6][7]

Death

Dockrill died in New Plymouth on 19 November 1927.[8]

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title: Edward Dockrill

question: What nationality did Edward Dockrill hold?

answer: He was from Ireland but lived in New Zealand.

question: What office did Edward Dockrill hold?

answer: He was the 8th Mayor of New Plymouth.

question: Where was Edward Dockrill born?

answer: County Wexford, Ireland.

question: When did Edward Dockrill die?

answer: 19 November 1927.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This article is about Edward Dockrill, a 19th and 20th century politician in New Zealand who originally came from Ireland.


text:
BENOÎTE GROULT (January 31, 1920 – June 20, 2016) was a French journalist, writer, and feminist activist.

Life and career

Groult was born on January 31, 1920 in Paris. She was the daughter of André Groult and Nicole Poiret, sister of Paul Poiret and herself a fashion designer, and was raised in the Parisian upper class. Groult attended the Sorbonne, where she studied Latin and Greek.[1] After her studies in literature ended in 1953, she worked as a journalist for television. Before publishing her own book in 1972, she co-wrote three books with her younger sister Flora. On her own she eventually published twenty novels and numerous essays on feminism.[2]

Because Benoîte Groult was a feminist, her novels often deal with topics such as the history of feminism, the discrimination of women and misogyny.

Her novel _Les vaisseaux du cœur_, published in 1988, was called pornographic by some because of its explicit sexual depictions.[3] It was filmed by Andrew Birkin in 1992 as _Salt on Our Skin_.

[Benoîte Groult at the Comédie du Livre 2010] In April 2010, she became Commander of the Légion d'honneur.[4]

In popular culture

Benoîte Groult was the subject of several documentary films. Anne Lefant devoted the documentary _Une chambre à elle: Benoîte Groult ou comment la liberté vint aux femmes_ to Groult, who was 86 years old at the time. It includes testimonies of Josyane Savigneau, Paul Guimard and Yvette Roudy and was published in 2006 by Hors Champ Productions.[5] In 2008 the documentary _Benoîte Groult, le temps d'apprendre à vivre_, written by Marie Mitterrand and directed by Jean-Baptiste Martin, aired on France 5 as a part of the series Empreintes.[6]

In 2013 Grasset published a graphic novel based on the life of Benoîte Groult, called _Ainsi soit Benoîte Groult_, by the hand of Catel.[7]

Personal life

Benoîte Groult was married three times. In 1944, she married medical student Pierre Heuyer, who died soon afterward of tuberculosis. In 1951, she married journalist Georges de Caunes with whom she had two daughters, Blandine and Lison. She later married the writer Paul Guimard (1921–2004). The couple had one daughter, Constance.[8]

Benoîte Groult]] had a holiday home in Derrynane (Republic of Ireland) and spent the summer there from 1977 till 2003. The French president François Mitterrand visited her there in 1988.

Published books

-   1962: _Journal à quatre mains_, novel with her sister Flora Groult. Paris, Denoël. (English translation: _Diary in duo._ London, Barrie and Rockliff, 1965)
-   1965: _Le féminin pluriel_, novel with her sister Flora Groult. (English translation: _Feminine Plural_. Englewood Cliffs, N.J: Prentice-Hall, 1968.)
-   1967: _Il était deux fois_, novel with her sister Flora Groult
-   1972: _La part des choses_, Paris, Grasset.
-   1975: _Ainsi soit-elle_, essay on the social status of women, Paris: B. Grasset, 1975. (Also: sound recording in 2004)
-   1977: _Le féminisme au masculin_, essay on feminism
-   1981: _La moitié de la terre_, essay
-   1983: _Les trois quarts du temps_, novel
-   1986: _Olympe de Gouges_, text submitted by Benoîte Groult
-   1988: _Les vaisseaux du cœur_, Paris, Grasset.
-   1991: _Pauline Roland ou Comment la liberté vint aux femmes_
-   2006: _La touche étoile_
-   2008: “Mon evasion”, Paris, Grasset. . (English translation: My Escape: An Autobiography. New York: Other Press, 2012. )

Sources

-   Flitner, Bettina: _Frauen mit Visionen – 48 Europäerinnen (Women with visions – 48 Europeans)_. With texts by Alice Schwarzer. Munich: Knesebeck, 2004. , 100–103 p.

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title: Benoîte Groult

question: What does the text say about Benoîte Groult's writing style?

answer: Benoîte Groult was a female activist which led her to publishing twenty novels on feminism. Her novels often discussed topics such as the history of feminism. The novels also covered discrimination and misogyny. One novel was even labeled as pornographic because of its sexual depictions.


text:
_LICUALA CATTIENENSIS_, is a small fan palm, endemic to southern Vietnam.[1] The type locality is in Cát Tiên National Park in Đồng Nai Province, growing in seasonal tropical forest in flat areas near rivers at low elevations. It is recognisable by being much smaller (<2m) and single-stemmed, in comparison the larger _L. spinosa_, which is common in the Park and grows in grows in clumps.

The local name for fan palms is _mật cật_; the authors also cite _lá toi_. No uses have been recorded.

Description

[Inflorescence (as above)]

The authors describe the plants as having solitary stems (but sometimes with basal shoots), maximum: 2 m tall and 40 mm in diameter. There are typically 18 leaves; leaf sheaths are not known in their entirety, they are extended above the petioles into “ocreas” (extensions of the leaf sheath), which are 200 mm long. Petioles are 1.36 m long, 4 mm wide at the apices, with widely spaced, recurved, thorns. Leaf blades are approximately 800 mm wide, split into 12 segments, these with straight sides; middle segment not wider than the others (and not split with no petiolules) 465 mm long, 65 mm wide at the apex; indentations leading to adaxial folds 5 mm deep, those leading to abaxial folds 3 mm deep, indentations deeper on lateral segments.

Plants are monoecious: with inflorescences up to 1.2 m long, erect among the leaves; prophylls and peduncles are not known. The rachis is 0.5 m long, with 2–4 partial spiky inflorescences, subtended by tubular bracts; rachillae 1 on each partial inflorescence, 160–220 mm long, 1.5–2 mm diameter, covered with scattered, very short, glandular hairs, with prominent floral stalks giving the rachillae a bumpy appearance. Flowers are not known to date, borne in pairs.

Fruits are 8 mm long, 6 mm diam., globose to ellipsoid, with the perianth appressed to base of the fruit, ripening from green to yellow to bright red.

Note: In Gagnepain and Conrard[2] the plant would key-out to _Licuala radula_. _L. cattienensis_ differs from the latter in its segments which have straight sides (versus curved) and rachillae which are not zigzag and are covered with scattered, very short, glandular hairs (versus zigzag and densely covered with golden brown hairs). It also differs in habitat: _L. radula_ occurs on steep slopes in montane forest more than 500 km to the north, in Thừa Thiên-Hue Province.

[1] Henderson A, Ban NK, Dung NQ (2008) “New species of _Licuala_” from _Vietnam Palms_ 52: 148. http://www.palms.org/palmsjournal/2008/palms52no3p141-154.pdf (accessed 19/12/2016)

[2] Gagnepain F, Conrard L. (1937) Palmiers. Pp 946–1056 in H. Lecomte. Flore Générale de l'Indo-China. Vol. 6. Masson, Paris.

title: Licuala cattienensis

question: What is the local name for fan palms?

answer: mật cật

question: How tall does the plant grow?

answer: 2 meters tall.

question: How many leaves does the plant have on average?

answer: 18 leaves

question: Does the plant bear any fruits?

answer: Yes. The fruit ripens from green to yellow to bright red.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer:
In southern Vietnam grows a small fan palm called Licuala Cattienensis. Its uses haven't been recorded yet. The plant is locally called mật cật. The plant grows 2 m in height and 40 mm in diameter.

The plant has on average 18 leaves and does not flower. Its fruits are 8 mm long and 6 mm in diameter, they ripen from green to yellow to bright red.


text:
	Long ago, there was a beautiful winter day, the sun shone bright and sparkling white snow lay undisturbed across the ground, silencing the world which it covered. It was on this day that I decided to take a long walk in the woods outside of the hustle and bustle of the city.
	As  I walked in the woods, I came upon an elder tree who had lived a great many years and whose bark harbored a great number of wounds. I brushed the thick, gleaming snow off of the tree’s tangled roots, which spread far and deep in all directions. Unto the roots I sat, and the tree accepted me as a friend upon its lap, though he knew not who I was or of what nature my intentions were. Naught else in this world would have ever accepted me so quickly and graciously, let alone trusted me so easily.
	For many hours there I sat, nurtured and nestled deep in the ancient and deep-reaching roots. In my time sat comfortably upon the tree I asked in a hushed tone what the tree had seen and felt in his many years, seated forever upon the land where he stood. The tree answered in words of silence, and by it I was taught to listen with my eyes, not my ears.
	‘I have been built upon.’ said he with the rotting plank in his branches; with the scars in his skin he said ‘I have been wounded.’; ‘I have been shelter for many lives.’ he said with the hole in his trunk and the abandoned birds-nest in his uppermost branch. He spoke very little, yet told very much.
	‘I have travelled far,’ I said in reply. ‘I have been very many places, yet I fear I have seen less than you have, though you are rooted in this singular area. I have found little happiness to no avail, and I am plagued by my solitude which hangs over my head as a metal weight. I am not so wise as you are, my time is short on this planet and I, who has been born before you, is fated to die before you. I fear whether the choices I make in my life will be ill choices.’ I said, despair was shown so heavily in my voice.
	The tree listened well, and said nothing.
	‘I have no one on this earth who listens so well as you, tree.’
	The tree said naught, though I waited in vain for many hours.
	No advice was given to me that day, the tree never responded, but it held me tightly in its roots and I felt warm inside, despite the cold weather. The tree accepted me blindly, as nothing else would, or possibly ever will, it had done enough for me. Perhaps this tree had helped others, such as it had helped me; it had taken me in my pity.
	I walked to the woods that day with only the intention of feeling the cold air nip at my exposed skin; I left the woods that day enlightened, inspired by the kindness and unconditional love which the tree so openly gave out. I was changed, by something so simple as the comfort of a tree. Love can be found in the simplest things, I learned that day, and we are never alone so long as we choose to see the life around us.

title: My first completed short story: The Elder Tree

question: Where is the narrator travelling from?

answer: The narrator seems to be travelling from a city.

question: How long has the tree been alive?

answer: Answer is unclear.

question: Why is the narrator talking to a tree?

answer: Answer is not explicitly stated but it seems as though the narrator is looking for acceptance and trust.

question: Where is the tree?

answer: The tree is in the woods.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator decides to leave the bustling city and journeys into the woods. They encounter an elder tree and they sit there for hours, speaking to the tree. The narrator leaves the woods that day feeling enlightened and inspired by the kindness of the tree.


text:
[Alamgir Sahib] Gurdwara (Sikh place of worship) MANJI SAHIB (also known as Alamgir Sahib) is located near the village of Alamgir, Ludhiana district, Punjab, India. Guru Gobind Singh, tenth guru of the Sikhs, stayed here for a short while. Upon reaching Alamgir, Guru Gobind Singh is reported to have shot an arrow into the ground; a spring appeared from that place (now known as Tirsar). He was also presented with a horse here by a devoted follower.[1]

Gurdwara gallery

Image:Alamgir inside.JPG|Guru Granth Sahib Image:Maingate alamgir.JPG|Main gate Image:Alamgir boorasahib.JPG|Bhoora Sahib Image:Boorasahib.JPG|Path to Bhoora Sahib Image:Alamgir diwan.JPG|Alamgir Sahib Image:Alamgir backside.JPG|Front view Image:Alamgir slok.JPG|Alamgir Sahib Image:Alamgir sideview.JPG|Alamgir Sahib

[1] Manji Sahib Alamgir – Ludhiana, Punjab Retrieved 2011-05-11.

title: Manji Sahib

question: What is Manji Sahib?

answer: A Sikh place of worship.

question: What is it also known as?

answer: Alamgir Sahib.

question: Where is it located?

answer: Near the village of Alamgir, Ludhiana District, Punjab, India.

question: What is notable about the place?

answer: Guru Gobind Singh, tenth guru of the Sikhs, stayed there for a while. It's reported he shot an arrow into the ground and a spring appeared. He was also presented a horse by a devoted follower there.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Maji Sahib, also known as Alamgir Sahib, is a Sikh place of worship near the village of Alamgir, Ludhiana district, Punjab, India. Guru Gobind Singh, tenth guru of the Sikhs, stayed there for a while. It's reported he shot an arrow into the ground and a spring appeared. He was also presented a horse by a devoted follower there.


text:
By grinding out the biggest victory of his career, senior John Morrissey provided the No. 36-ranked Stanford men with their most memorable tennis weekend in recent memory.

Morrissey's 6-7 (5), 7-6 (2), 6-3 win over 19th-ranked Roberto Quiroz at the No. 2 spot clinched Stanford's 4-3 upset of No. 5 USC on Saturday afternoon at Taube Family Tennis Stadium.

It was the first win for Stanford (15-4, 6-0 Pac-12) over USC (19-4, 5-1 Pac-12) in 10 attempts, with the most recent triumph coming on Feb. 19, 2011, in the form of a 4-3 decision in the consolation round of the ITA National Team Indoor Championships in Seattle. Stanford had not beaten USC at home since Feb, 3, 2006.

But thanks to gritty play and inspired by a raucous crowd, which included approximately 50 alumni in town for weekend events on The Farm, Stanford completed its first sweep of the SoCal schools since 2009 after shocking No. 15 UCLA 4-3 on Friday.

What it means: Stanford has clinched at least a share of the Pac-12 title, something it last accomplished in 2010. With a victory over visiting Cal next Saturday (2 p.m.), Stanford can claim the conference crown outright for the first time since 2003.

Friday's 4-3 win over UCLA was a pleasant surprise, although with seven straight victories, Stanford had been building for another signature victory to enhance its postseason resume. But a second straight upset, this time against USC -– which has won five of the past six NCAA championships -– presented a much more difficult challenge.

But once again, Stanford came out ready to play, capturing the doubles point for a 1-0 lead. Coincidentally, the Cardinal's lone point in a 6-1 loss to the Trojans on Feb. 27 in Los Angeles also came from doubles.

USC tied the match at 2-2, with Stanford gaining some ground thanks to a 6-3, 6-4 win from David Hsu on court six.

Stanford freshman Tom Fawcett notched his team-leading 25th victory with a 4-6, 6-2, 6-4 upset of No. 6 Yannick Hanfmann at the top spot of the lineup, extending the Cardinal's lead to 3-2.

The Trojans responded with a 6-3, 3-6, 6-4 win on court three, squaring the match at 3.

It would eventually all come down to Morrissey, who entered Saturday's match with a 2-8 career record against USC. Things looked bleak as the match progressed, with Morrissey dropping the first set and facing deficits of 5-2 and 6-5 in the second.

But after prevailing in the second-set tiebreaker, Morrissey raced out to a 4-1 advantage in the deciding frame and held on for the 6-4 win before being mobbed by his teammates after a shot from Quiroz sailed long and wide.

"I started playing more aggressive tennis and really went after my serve," said Morrissey. "I just wanted to keep the points short, stay and aggressive and do more with the serve and volley. This was a great match and the whole weekend was just phenomenal."

The afternoon contest was part of a stacked lineup for Cardinalpalooza, a free all-day sports festival that included six other Cardinal teams in action.

Stanford next hosts San Francisco on Tuesday at 4 p.m.

question: Who is John Morrissey?

answer: John Morrissey is a Stanford tennis player.

question: What is the article about?

answer: The article is about Stanford tennis, highlighting Morrissey's victories.

question: What is Cardinalpalooza?

answer: A free all-day sports festival.

question: What does this statement mean "Stanford next hosts San Francisco..." ?

answer: It's not directly addressed, but it must refer to a San Francisco school's tennis team.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The article is about Stanford tennis, highlighting Morrissey's victories.


text:
I picked out a whiskey I had never seen before from the shelf at the liquor store. It promised a bevy of flavours I didn’t care for, but it was obscure enough to impress and cheap enough to afford. I brought it to the front and cashed out, after being glared at incredulously by the cashier for some time. My license picture was remarkably unfortunate.

I returned with my prize to a friend’s barren apartment. The previous tenants had systematically extirpated the meager quarters, leaving cracked windows, a broken faucet and sagging door frames. No furniture had been moved in, and the electricity had yet to be engaged.

We began to drink. I wondered politely if there might be a mixer or a chase. He called me a pussy. I cracked the 26 oz bottle and suckled at it, proclaiming to him about the intricacies of this craft whiskey, and how lucky I was to have found it at such a shitty liquor store. It tasted like gasoline.

It was her birthday tonight. I had driven almost two hours to sleep on the floor in a shit hole just to see her and go to her party. I didn’t know anyone there, except my buddy who was also going. We all went to highschool together. It was only 5, but she had texted me asking me to come earlier. I needed a good buzz before that.

I sucked at the bottle, my throat burning. God that’s the good shit I said. My buddy grabbed the bottle and took a swig. He shuddered slightly and told me how good it was. What time did we want to go? Soon I said. Soon? It was only 5. Well she wanted us there early. Yeah but not that early. I called him a fucking retard.

We proceeded out of the dilapidated apartment. My belly was warm and the air was warm, and sweat pooled in my armpits and groin. We called a cab, and waited on the corner of a street for it to come. We got in. It smelled of curry and moist asshole. My buddy sat in the front seat and I leaned in the back fingering my necked whiskey. After a few minutes the cab arrived at her house, and I reached into my back pocket for a damp bill which I passed forward. I exited the fusty vehicle, clutching my 2-6 and rang the doorbell before my buddy had even closed his door.

She answered, surprised. We were there too early. I said we wanted to help set up. She told me we were sweet. It was a worthy prevarication.

I went in the house and introduced myself to her roommates. They were pretty, talkative, and vapid. She went among them, the alpha. Literally taller. In the better program, from the better family. Beautiful. I took a powerful slug of whiskey, and smiled and laughed. I lifted and organized and joked with my buddy and drank more. As I was lifting the keg into an ice-filled tub, she came up behind me and touched my arm. Thanking me. I told her it was my pleasure and concealed my erection.

More friends of hers showed up. The girls went into a room and changed into shorter skirts. The men shook hands firmly and discussed drinking and other important things. I pulled away at my whiskey, receiving fervent compliments for my fortitude with hard liquor. I went on at length about its quality. The liquid pooled hotly in my gut, like blood.

The girls came out of their room shortly before a horde of guests arrived. The keg was tapped and the party began in earnest. She hurried between guests, a red cup in her hands. She drank and laughed and talked. I looked at her and she smiled at me. I felt hot and flushed. Another swig and I’d go talk to her.

But my buddy summoned me to a cramped room. Large men sweating and shouting. Cups askew on the table top. We played a game. I threw the ball disinterestedly across the table missing often. My buddy screamed obscenities and gesticulated wildly. We both drank frequently and lost the game.

I had to sit down for a minute. She was smoking pot in the next room. I could hear her laughter. Had to collect my shit.
One of the players from the cramped room came out. He handed me a bottle of whiskey barbeque sauce and suggested I use it to chase. I dissented. My buddy came out. Don’t be a fucking pussy. Alright. I tilted the nearly empty bottle to my mouth and pulled long. I clutched for the sauce and tipped that to my mouth. People laughed. It tasted better with the sauce.

There she was. Coming at me. Man up. Hey how are you feeling. Real good. You’re really fucked eh. Nah I do this all the time. Drink some water. Okay.

I put my face under the kitchen sink faucet and turned it on. Water ran into my mouth, over my face. I walked back to her, water dribbling down my chin, my shirt wet. Maybe you should go sit down. Alright.

The whiskey barely covered the bottle bottom. I went to take off the cap but it was gone. Fuck it. I killed the bottle and dropped it to the floor. Watch it man. Fuck off dude.

I wandered out the front door. My buddy came up. You gonna puke man? Nah. I do this all the time. He went back inside and I puked all over her porch.

Staggering against the side wall I pulled myself towards her small backyard. I lay down, shivering and vomiting. I felt for the phone in my pocket, and brought it to my face, the tinny blue light illuminating the patch of ill-kempt lawn around me. Fumbling with the microscopic buttons I typed out I’m sorry. I puked three more times before I sent it to her.

Eventually my buddy collected me. You need to go to the hospital dude? Yeah. Well I’m just gonna take you home OK? Alright.
He handed me a bag for the cab. No puking in the cab. I pressed my face against the cool glass, and shut my eyes.

When we arrived at his place I couldn’t climb the stairs. He lifted and pushed me most of the way. We got inside and I went to the washroom and I puked on the floor.

He went to his room; I could hear him talking on the phone. Couldn’t hear what it was but it was about me. I lay on the cool floor, trying not to smell my own vomit. I took out my phone and there was a message from her. It’s fine, thanks for coming.

There was a smiley face.

title: How 'Bout Last Night: A Tale of Drunken Despondency

question: What does the story say about the narrator's friend?

answer: They are friends from high school and are both invited to a mutual friend's birthday party, a girl from high school. The narrator's friend lives a couple of hours away from the narrator in a house with no furniture. They drink some whiskey before going to the birthday party. The friend eggs the narrator on, saying he doesn't need anything to dilute the whiskey. After the narrator gets very drunk at the party, he takes the narrator back home.

question: What does the story say about the birthday girl?

answer: She, the narrator, and the narrator's friend know each other from high school. She asked the narrator to come early, but he arrives earlier than she thought he would. The narrator notes that she's the better-looking, better-educated one in her group of friends, from a better family. He seems interested in her but doesn't get a chance to talk for real. She drinks pot with another group of her friends and tries to help the narrator after realizing he's drunk. In the end, she doesn't seem too bothered by the narrator's behavior.

question: What does the story say about how to organize a party?


text:
In spite of the distance and the obstacles in between, the man could still hear muffled voices coming from outside. The sounds reach through the door, having already gone past the thick blue curtain that he will soon pass. The man rubs his hands together, and mutters to himself, that he will not cry, he will not cry, he will not cry. He paces inside the waiting room. So quiet, but considering the walls, there must be thousands of them watching. He sits down on the small chair provided, then immediately gets up and resumes pacing. He knows some of the ones outside want to see him fail. He can imagine their cutting words- so casually cruel, they will grab hold of anything at all, his hair, his weight, whatever it takes to reduce him. So he says to himself: a giant attracts many stones.

There is a round mirror on the wall, in front of the man's inhaler, his lucky dice and the baseball cap he's worn to every game since he was thirteen years old. He tries to avoid his reflection. Even back when he was thirteen he took it more seriously than the others. Over a decade of people telling him he wasn't good enough. Countless memories of mockery and naysayers. Oh god what are they saying outside? He wonders if she's there- I mean no chance, he rebukes himself for daring to hope. Too late, the flame catches, and it's igniting- that enthusiastic voice inside himself says: She's there. She'll be watching, even if she doesn't understand. Besides they may mock him, sure, they always have. But they aren't up here. And also, some of them will cheer.

A lot of them will cheer.

The man punches his hand, once, twice, three times. The same old sweat on his forehead. Music plays inside his mind- old tunes, like the sound of horns. Battle songs. His heart is racing, chest bursting, the fear is cackling now. He goes towards the door of the trailer, puts one clammy hand on the steel knob and turns. Sound rushes past him, fills the empty place he's leaving. This is it, this is the point. This is everything he's ever wanted. He approaches the velvet wall. The curtain is there, soft beneath his clammy hand- big and blue, and behind that the spectators. He waits. He's got to wait for his turn now. The fear grabs at his gut, and pummels him with questions- what if's. What if you forget the build. What if you're too slow. What if you slip and what if you choke. There are no two ways around it, he either clenches hard, somewhere inside, and lets the doubts have their moment, or he finds some kind of inspiration to override the niggling fears. He is a samurai preparing for battle.

The voice that led him all the way here says: In order to win you must be prepared to die.

Everyone told him it was just a game. He always knew it wasn't just a game. It was The Game. He's died so many times, and he's always felt it. The man is prepared. Now, thousands of people outside sit on the edge of their plastic chairs, hoping or cursing him. And all smiling with anticipation. His name is called, through the velvet curtain. Not the name his parents gave him but the one he defined, the one he chose, the one that people know, even if they've never seen his face, when his name comes up on the screen they know. They call his name. The curtain begins to part so slowly, and for a moment the entire thing overwhelms him. He never dared to dream, as he spent so many sleepless nights training, that one day he would be here, at the top. A history of insults, of self-doubt, of tears that no one thought were worthy of shedding and finally....

Big bright white stars on his face. He resists the urge to bring up an arm. They told him during the rehearsal that there would be a glare. The what if's stop. The fear settles, coils, hardens into that adrenaline moment, that sheer edge. That's his blade- concentration, skill, and courage. He walks towards his seat. An ocean of cheers vibrate around him, flowing like a cape. All that he's worked for, and still, it isn't enough. He's not the best yet. Not unless he wins. He takes his seat in front of the computer. Puts on his headphones and gives his mouse a few clicks. He couldn't explain to most people how the game works.  The voice says: Just like cricket. Or ice hockey. Or shogi. The man couldn't easily explain about last hitting, or micro, or good opening strategy. He couldn't tell a layperson exactly what he was about to do- only someone that played might understand.

And yet as the crowd began to coil, into silence, and wait, he realized that right now, for these few minutes, he shared a moment with champions. With anyone that's ever had to contend with the exhilaration and the final challenge. For a moment he was kin to boxers, gladiators, olympians and chess masters. With anyone that has had to measure a lifetime against one opponent. The man's opponent takes his seat, receives his share of cheers. His opponent is the only reflection worth comparing himself to. The man imagines she's watching, and even if she does not understand the game, she'll understand what this is like- the moments before.

He nods, and types: GL HF.

The rules are different. The game is different. The feelings have always been the same.

He smiles, feeling the phantom hands of winners on his shoulder.

In front of thousands, with his headphones on he mouths:

Let's dance.

title: Another short story by me, on my unending quest to become a decent writer: "The Finalist"

question: Who is the main character?

answer: He's a professional gamer in the finals of a tournament.

question: Why is the main character worried?

answer: He's having some stage fright due to reaching the highest stakes of the game he plays.

question: Why does the main character think the hands of champion boxers, gladiators, Olympians, and chess masters are on his shoulders?

answer: He feels the same kind of pressure as they did in the highest stakes of competition.

question: What soothes the stage fright of the main character?

answer: He realizes that more people will cheer for him than the naysayers will boo and that someone special will be there watching him.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: The finalist is flooded with anticipation and worry as he waits to be called to the stage. As his name, not his given name but the one he chose is called onto the stage, he feels the pressure to perform at the highest level. His resolve hardens as he takes to the stage in front of his computer, feeling the hands of champions of all sports that felt the same things he does now. He mutters into the microphone: Let's dance.


text:
COSMIN-ȘTEFAN MARINESCU (born 29 March 1976) is a Romanian economist and professor of economics at the Bucharest Academy of Economic Studies. On 22 December 2014, he was appointed Presidential Advisor on Economic and Social Policy to the President of Romania. Previously, he served as Advisor to the Romanian Minister of Economy, Trade and Business Environment (2012), and the Advisor to the Romanian Minister of Public Finance (2013). He is also the founder of the Centre for Economics and Liberty - ECOL, a Romanian non-profit educational and research initiative aiming to promote the principles of democracy and economic freedom.[1][2]

Background

Born in Târgoviște, Dâmbovița County, Romania, Marinescu attended high school between 1990 and 1994, following a mathematics-physics specialisation at “Mihai Viteazul” National College in Ploiești. He then pursued his university studies in economics at the Bucharest Academy of Economic Studies, completing his Bachelor studies in 1998 and his Master studies in 1999. During his last year as a bachelor student, Marinescu also studied in France, at Lille University of Science and Technology. In 1999 he started his doctoral studies at the Bucharest Academy of Economic Studies, obtaining his Ph.D. in economics in 2003.[3][4]

Career

Academic

Marinescu started his academic career in 1998, when he became a Junior Teaching Assistant. He became Teaching Assistant in 2000, Lecturer in 2003, Associate Professor in 2007[5] and, starting from 2015, he is Full Professor at the Bucharest Academy of Economic Studies, where he teaches Macroeconomics and Microeconomics.[6] In 2005, he founded the first Institutional economics course in Romania, addressing the role of institutions for economic development,[7][8] and published an Institutional economics textbook. At the same time, he brought an important contribution to the area of Institutional economics through research and analysis work focused on interpreting the transition process and the EU integration through an institutional perspective. He also co-authored several editions of the economics textbook published by the Department of Economics at the Bucharest Academy of Economic Studies.[9][10]

Marinescu has led economic research projects since 2005.[11] Over time, he won numerous research grant competitions and conducted research work on topics such as institutions, economic freedom, and quality of the business environment.[12] In 2011-2012, he obtained a postdoctoral scholarship from the Romanian Academy - “Costin C. Kirițescu” National Institute of Economic Research[13] and, as part of this project, he was invited by Claude Ménard as visiting researcher at Centre d’Economie de la Sorbonne (in June 2012). Previously, he conducted research work also at ESCP Europe (June 2010), Middlesex University (April 2008), Institut d'Administration des Entreprises Lille (June 2002), and Maison des Sciences Economiques (October 2001).[14][15][16][17]

Marinescu has published a large number of books and papers as coordinator, author and coauthor, on different topics, the most important being: “Education: an Economic Perspective” (2001), “Liberalization of Foreign Economic Exchanges” (2003), “Institutions and Prosperity. From Ethics to Efficiency” (2004), “Performance in the Context of Lisbon Agenda” (2006), “Market Economy. Institutional Foundations of Prosperity” (2007), “Economic Freedom and Property” (2011), “Capitalism. The Logic of Liberty” (2012), “Transaction Costs and Economic Performance” (2013).[18][19][20] In 2008, Marinescu received the “Third Prize for Economic Literature” from the Association of Economic Faculties in Romania. His book, _Capitalism. The Logic of Liberty_, published by Humanitas Publishing House and constructed as a collection of essays aiming to explain and defend the true logic of capitalism and economic freedom, was selected as “The Book of the Year 2013” at Wall-street.ro Gala.[21][22][23] The book also received the support and endorsement of famous international members of the academia, such as Pascal Salin, Leszek Balcerowicz, János Kornai, Walter Block, Vasile Ișan and Aurelian Dochia.[24]

Marinescu is accused of plagiarism by RePEc plagiarism committee.[25][26] He has a double plagiarism accusation so far.[27]

Professional

Between 2013 and 2014, Marinescu was the Vice-president of the Commission for Budget and Finance of the National Liberal Party, where he contributed to the development of government policies and programs. He was the Advisor to the Romanian Minister of Economy, Trade and Business Environment in 2012, and the Advisor to the Romanian Minister of Public Finance in 2013. he also served as the Economic Advisor to the President of the National Liberal Party between June and December 2014. On 22 December 2014, he was appointed Presidential Advisor on Economic and Social Policy to the President of Romania.[28] H

In 2008, Marinescu founded the Centre for Economics and Liberty - ECOL, a Romanian non-profit educational and research initiative that gathers together students, researchers and professors with the aim of promoting, in Romania, the principles of a free economy and society. ECOL reflects the initiatives of a group of young intellectuals whose scientific and editorial interests aim to enhance and disseminate the knowledge regarding the workings of economics and society. The Centre publishes regularly economic articles and studies, as well as translations of famous international texts.[29][30][31][32] He publishes constantly in leading Romanian newspapers, magazines, and online platforms, such as Ziarul Financiar, Bursa, Hotnews.ro, and Contributors[33][34]

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[25] https://plagiarism.repec.org/marinescu.html

[26] http://www.romaniacurata.ro/un-caz-de-plagiat-in-echipa-lui-klaus-iohannis-economistul-cosmin-marinescu-raspunsul-lui-cosmin-marinescu/

[27] https://plagiarism.repec.org/marinescu2.html

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title: Cosmin Marinescu

question: At what age was Marinescu appointed Presidential Advisor on Economic and Social Policy?

answer: 38 years old

question: What is Marinescu's research area?

answer: Institutional economics; study of the role of institutions in economic development

question: What are his political affiliations?

answer: He affiliates with the National Liberal Party, having served as an advisor under two such presidents.

question: Where did Marinescu attend college?

answer: Bucharest Academy of Economic Studies

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This article discusses Cosmin Marinescu, a Romanian economist and professor of economics. It lists his educational background, some of his publications, his political appointments, and his non-profit work.


text:
A Short Story I had the urge to write, This particular story took about 15 minutes

I awaken in a daze, search around the room, it is dark, but a small amount of light is streaking through the window, and I can see enough to make out that it is indeed my room. I slowly stand up and realize i cannot feel my legs, they are completely numb. My head is pounding, and i cannot remember anything. There is a creak at my door, and suddenly it slams open. There is a silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. I ask who he is, yet It continues to stand there breathing heavily. I ask again, who are you. It begins towards me. I don't know what to do so i did the only thing that came to mind, the window. I clumsily leap out of it. A short fall, that was brutally painful. i begin to turn my head and It is standing outside of my window, staring at me. It slowly walks towards me as I turn and clamor for the woodline. I Run slowly and almost trip multiple times. It is walking slow, but still managing to close in on me, and just before he catches me a surge of pain bolts through my leg as i step on something sharp, without time to look to see what it was, i realize i can again feel my legs, the grass and dirt beneath my feet. No time to stop and admire the scenery. I begin to run much faster and dash into the woods. It is very far behind so i turn, hoping to lose It, and I spot a large tree, and since i doubt i can take a single step more, I get behind it, and hope he doesn't find me. I turn to look around the tree, and it is nowhere to be found. With a sigh of relief i turn back. It is standing there, staring at me, with something in its hand. It lifts the object up high above his head. With no time to run I Move my arms above my head, close my eyes, and hold my breath. I have a moment to think, This is the end. An incredible pain rushes through my entire body, but I am still here, I am still alive. A few seconds passed, and no more, I am still alive. I open my eyes and look around. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see that I am in my room. It was just a nightmare. I let the embrace of safety grab hold of me, and with a sigh of relief drop back onto my bed, and hear a creak at the door.

title: Eternal Nightmare

question: What happens to the narrator in the story?

answer: They wake up to an unknown presence at their door, they fall and are transported to another location where they are attacked. They wake up in their room and hear a creak at the door.

question: Is the person in the story dreaming?

answer: Yes.

question: What happens at the end of the story?

answer: The narrator wakes up and feels safe again, only to hear a creak at their door.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: A person has a nightmare where they run from an unknown assailant, only to wake up in the safety of their own bedroom, hearing a creak at the door.


text:
DR CHALLONER'S GRAMMAR SCHOOL (also known as DCGS, CHALLONER'S BOYS or simply CHALLONER'S) is a selective grammar school for boys, with a co-educational Sixth Form, in Amersham, Buckinghamshire, England. It was given academy status in January 2011.

It was founded in 1624 in accordance with the last will and testament of Robert Chaloner. Chaloner, a Doctor of Divinity, was Rector of Amersham from 1576 to 1584, when he took up office as a Canon of Windsor, Berkshire, a post he held until his death in 1621.

History

In his will, Robert Chaloner left money to establish a grammar school in Amersham.[1]

  “… the like sume of twenty pounds yearly out of the said lands at Wavendon I give unto my wellbeloved friend Mr. William Tothill Esquire and Mr William Pennyman Esquire to erect a free gramar schoole in Amersam in the County of Bucks to be established by Deede of Feofment or otherwise as their wisdome can devise The towne and pish allotinge the Churche house for the schoole house or my successor a tenemt in the occupation of Enoch Wyar now or of late for the dwellinge house of the schoole maister whome I will to be chosen by my exequitrix my successor and Mr. Tothill afterwards by my successor and sixe of the eldest Feoffees and cheefest This I leave as a testimony of my loce to them and theire children. Orders for the school—I desire my successor to pcure from the best ordered schooles”

[The original school building] The school was situated in Old Amersham for almost three centuries before moving, with the support of Buckinghamshire County Council, to its present position in Amersham-on-the Hill in 1905. At this time, the school embraced the principle of co-education for the first time which, according to the school’s first prospectus in 1906, was “practically universal in America”. Each year the boys at Challoner's celebrate Founder's Day where they attend St Mary's Church in Old Amersham where Robert Chaloner was rector.

By 1937, Challoner's was incorporated into the state system of education and by the early 1950s, the school had about 350 boys and girls on roll. However, plans for expansion to 550 pupils were overtaken by rapid population growth in the area and the decision was made to establish a separate school for girls in Little Chalfont: Dr. Challoner's High School, which opened in 1962. The two schools continue to maintain relatively close links, collaborating especially in music and drama productions, whilst Dr Challoner's Debating Society has staged numerous collaborative events.

The continued expansion of the grammar school to its present size of over 1,200 boys saw major building projects in the 1950s, 1980s, and 1990s, followed by the construction of a large astroturf pitch and improvements to the sports fields. Another floor has been added on top of the old library and the new library was reopened in early 2013.

In 2002, Challoner's became one of the first Science Colleges in the United Kingdom. The school started a second special focus as a Language College in April 2007. In 2005, the school celebrated the 100th anniversary of the move to the current site on Chesham Road, also building the Centenary Sports Pitch. The school was commended by the 2007 Ofsted inspection team and rated outstanding in all 51 criteria.[2]

On 1 September 2008, the school officially changed its status from a Voluntary Controlled school to a Foundation school, on the basis that “the additional autonomy which foundation status offers will enabled the school to provide an even better standard of education in the future”.[3] In January 2011 the school became an Academy.[4]

Extracurricular

Robotics

Since the school founded its robotics team in 2015, Challoner's has competed in national and international competitions. In 2017, the school competed in the Student Robotics competition led by University of Southampton and won two awards.[5] In 2018, a team entered into PiWars, a competition involving Raspberry Pi computers hosted at the University of Cambridge. The competition consisted of autonomous and remote controlled challenges with tasks requiring computer vision. The team came out winning the whole competition and having podium finishes on the majority of the challenges.[6]

Model United Nations

The school has had large amounts of success with its Model United Nations society. Almost entirely student-led, teams have traveled to attend multiple international conferences including HABSMUN and LIMUN. The teams have been successful: at LIMUN 2017 over half of the 16 Year 12 students attending won awards and the Challoner's team won the conference overall.[7] In March 2018 the society competed at SPIMUN (St Petersburg International Model United Nations) where five students won awards.[8] In 2017, the society won the 'We Made a Difference Award' in the 2017 Speaker's Schools Council Awards.

In January 2018, the school hosted its first conference, Challoner's MUN. With over 130 students from 11 schools,[9] the conference was one of the largest student-led activities to have ever been undertaken, having been organized by an executive team of 13 students.[10]

Houses

The house system was re-established in 2004. An earlier house system with four houses named for those listed in the original school song as “Buckinghamshire's four mighty men”—Challoner , Hampden , Milton and Penn —was abandoned in 1976. The chorus of that song appears below.

  England of shires has a good two score Each of them brags of her mighty men Bucks she can boast of her famous four Challoner, Hampden, Milton and Penn

There are currently six houses, each named after a previous headmaster:

  House     Colour
  --------- --------
  Foxell
  Holman
  Newman
  Pearson
  Rayner
  Thorne

Academics

Dr Challoner's has a strong reputation as one of the country's top performing schools.[11] It was one of two schools named by the Department of Education (the other being Royal Grammar School, High Wycombe) as the best performing schools nationwide in the 2003 GCSEs[12] and named the country's best grammar school in 2011.[13] In the 2011 GCSEs, boys achieved a 100% pass rate with 50 of the 183 candidates earning all A*-A grades.[14]

School buildings

The school accommodation comprises a number of major buildings. The West Court area (Music, History and Religious Studies). 'A' Block (Business Studies and Economics, Graphics and Art). Admin Block (School offices and Information Technology), Loarridge Centre and Language Block. 'Q' Block (English and Library). New Court (English and Geography).

The Tower Block (Mathematics and Modern Languages) and Science Block (Biology, Physics, Chemistry and Electronics). The School Hall and Drama Studio is directly above the canteen. Finally, there is a sports hall with PE classrooms. Work on a new sixth form centre and library in 'Q' Block began in January 2012 and was finished in February 2013. The three storey building houses a new sixth form centre, study room and library.

Notable former pupils

Notable former students include:

-   Peter Atkins – physical chemist and textbook author
-   Tom Blomfield – Founder, Monzo Bank Ltd
-   Chris Cleave – author
-   Dame Sandra Dawson – Master of Sidney Sussex College, Cambridge University[15]
-   Graham Fitch – concert pianist
-   Roger Hammond – professional cyclist[16]
-   Greg Hands – Conservative MP for Chelsea & Fulham and former Minister of State for International Trade[17]
-   Elizabeth Laverick – engineer[18]
-   Dave Legeno – actor (Fenrir Greyback in _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_)
-   Margaret Mee – botanical artist[19]
-   Roger Moore – actor[20]
-   John Mousinho – footballer[21]
-   Kenneth Page Oakley – anthropologist[22][23]
-   Alexis Petridis – music critic[24]
-   Dominic Raab – Conservative MP for Esher & Walton,[25] and Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs
-   Arthur Reynolds – missionary and author
-   Justin Robertson – DJ and remixer
-   Steve Chandra Savale – guitarist with Asian Dub Foundation
-   John Shepherd – scientist
-   David Wands – academic and educator
-   Rick Warden – actor
-   Matt Watson – cricketer[26]
-   Mark Watson-Gandy – barrister
-   Sam Westaway – cricketer[27]

Headmasters

-   Mr Edward Rayner 1624–1640
-   Dr Angell 1640–1650
-   Mr Humphrey Gardiner 1650–1676
-   Mr John Hughes 1676–1697
-   Mr Crowfoot 1697–1702 (Dudley Penard officiated – 1698)
-   Rev Benjamin Robertshaw, MA 1702–1706
-   Not Known 1706–1790
-   Rev Richard Thorne, BA 1790–1822
-   Rev Henry Foyster 1822–1826
-   Rev Matthew Stalker, BA 1826–1849
-   Rev W.S. Newman, BA 1849–1850
-   Rev Edmund J Luce, BA 1850–1862
-   Rev W. H. Williams, BA 1862–1880
-   Rev Frederick Weller, MA 1881–1883
-   Rev W.J. Foxell 1883–1886
-   Rev Colin J. Creed 1886–1888
-   Rev Lewis H. Pearson, BA 1888–1889
-   Rev E.P. Cooper, BA 1889–1897
-   Mr E.H. Wainwright, BA 1897–1908
-   Mr R.E. Yates, BA 1908–1935
-   Mr J.E. Simpson, BSc 1935–1937
-   Mr T.P. Oakley, BSc (Acting) 1937–1938
-   Mr Neville Harrow, MA 1938–1956
-   Mr R. Simm, BA (Acting) 1941–1945
-   Mr W.C. Porter, BSc 1956–1964
-   Mr D Holman, MA 1965–1972
-   Mr J.A. Loarridge, RD, BA, OBE 1972–1992
-   Mr G.C. Hill, MA 1993–2001
-   Dr Mark A. Fenton, MA, MSc, 2001–16[28]
-   Mr David Atkinson 2016–[29]

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title: Dr Challoner's Grammar School

question: For what reason(s) did Chaloner bequeath his money and lands to William Tothill and William Pennyman?

answer: Even though it was not outrightly stated, it may appear that they were his most trusted lawyers, and he believed they would put his property to good use. Ultimately, they did; thus, Dr. Challoner's Grammar School came into existence.


text:
Edit: this is going to be a running story!

Below my running feet pieces of earth lift. I look behind to watch the stir settle, and instead trip on a branch that came down during the last big storm. Well, if I was trying to catch a glimpse of myself, then getting as close to the bottom of my gravity is about right. So there I am with my nose huffing away ants and my fingertips using dirt and pebble as an exfoliant. I puff out any air left in my lungs. More earth lifts and now settles upon my face. With my eyes closed I turn on my back and sob until tears path their way down my face and neck. I take a deep breath and turn on my stomach and puff up some more earth that now stick to my tears. These dirt trails look like roots found below the lowest point I can hit with my face.

My lips pucker and some wet dirt collects in the creases. I press my face to the ground and settle. My hands are stretched out hugging the horizontal space around me. My fingers pulse like I'm slow playing a piano and the music exists only in thought.

Like the beautiful stars lining the sky above me, an energy below resists flight.

title: tracking myself

question: Why did the narrator cry?

answer: Because they tripped.

question: What is the narrator running from?

answer: Information can't be found.

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: Information can't be found.

question: What happened after the storm?

answer: Information can't be found.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator runs through the rubble that was caused by the last big storm then drops to rest and admires the stars.


text:
She calls him over, “Its been a long time, why don’t you come over for a chat?”
An offer he cannot refuse, already into her, he accepts the invitation.
As soon as he arrives she is already opening the door, he is shocked and impressed by her, is it eagerness?
She got straight to it.
“Oh my god I have found the greatest of all secrets to life. Have you met Jesus Christ?”
He thought to himself, she has become a nut job, time to get out, but he likes her so he lets her continue.
“While meeting Jesus I used the internet as one of the tools for my study, and after all my research I have found his meaning.”
He was confused and wanted to leave. He gets up and starts walking toward the door, and she stops him mid way.
“The internet told me that his coming required sacrifice, on this day, myself, and many others on the internet will take a mate in mass expiation. I will complete my task”
She goes for him with a quick stab, right in the stomach, she then goes for herself. It’s the fear that killed them.

title: Accepting the Invitation

question: What's the relationship between the girl and the guy?

answer: It appears they were familiar with each other, and the guy was attracted to the girl.

question: How did they meet?

answer: That information is not known.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: A guy unsuspectingly graced the invitation of a girl he was attracted to, thinking she wanted to chat, only to discover she was a religious fanatic. According to some information she got from the internet, she believed she had to perform a form of sacrifice to pave the way for Jesus Christ's coming. Thus, she murdered the guy and then committed suicide.


text:
BACK CREEK is a stream in eastern St. Francois County, in the U.S. state of Missouri.[1] It is a tributary of Wolf Creek which it joins about four miles southeast of Farmington, Missouri.[2]

The headwaters arise about one mile north of Libertyvile at and the stream flows northwest to west to its confluence with Wolf Creek at .[3][4]

Back Creek was named for the fact due to its irregular mouth, the creek backs up during high water.[5]

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[2] _Missouri Atlas & Gazetteer,_ DeLorme, 1998, First edition, p. 57

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title: Back Creek (Missouri)

question: What is Back Creek?

answer: a stream in eastern St. Francois County, Missouri, US

question: Of what body of water is Back Creek a tributary?

answer: Wolf Creek

question: Which direction does the stream flow?

answer: Northwest to West

question: How did Back Creek get its name?

answer: Due to its irregular mouth, Back Creek backs up during high water.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: Back Creek is a stream in eastern St. Francois County, Missouri, US.


text:
_The Wellcome Trust has just posted my science writing prize entry(with minor edits, including a couple added typos). Here’s the unedited original:_

It’s early May. Along with 15 other Oxford biology students, I am in a seminar as part of a course on ecology and conservation. The room is dark and hot, and the last of the afternoon sunlight streams through a narrow gap in the curtains. But all eyes are fixed on Rory Wilson, a professor visiting from Swansea University. “After we’d made the magnets small enough to fit in their bums,” he explains, “the difficult part was figuring out how powerful to make them.”

Curiosity drives people to do strange things. Isaac Newton famously inserted a long needle into his eye socket, carefully noting the effects upon his vision. Charles Darwin covered his billiards table in earthworms and besieged them with tobacco smoke and bassoon music, just to see what would happen. Professor Wilson’s curiosity about penguins is how he ended up with three or four of them in his backyard, magnetically (and accidentally) affixed by their bottoms to a nearby piece of corrugated iron.

I have been obscure; let me explain. Wilson is not a deranged lunatic, he is a biologist who specialises in studying hard-to-observe animals using a variety of bizarre and ingenious devices. It is relatively easy to watch the behaviour of conspicuous, terrestrial animals like buffalos or chimpanzees. However, animals that spend their lives underground, under water or in the air – in other words, most animals – are impractical or impossible to study by conventional means. Sadly, there will probably never be a Jane Goodall of sperm whales. If we are to learn anything at all about what, say, walruses do under water, we must be creative.

This is where Wilson and his colleagues come in. They study animal behaviour through remote observation, by attaching (and, with luck, eventually retrieving) tiny contraptions that record detailed information about an animal’s activities. One such invention is a bit of engineering wizardry called the “Daily Diary.” The Daily Diary is a tiny, 30-gram cylinder that contains, among other gadgets, a triaxial accelerometer – a device that measures and records acceleration along three axes (up, down, and side- to-side). This information encodes animal movement on a fine scale, from the soaring spiral of a vulture catching a thermal to the sudden lunge of a penguin catching a squid.

How do we know that it was, in fact, a squid? Wilson has developed a device called a “beakometer” that consists of a tiny magnet and a transducer; one attached to the lower half of the beak, one to the upper. The transducer responds to the strength of the magnetic field, recording the opening and shutting of the beak. This conveys a surprising amount of information, since activities such as breathing and eating leave unique, identifiable signatures in the data. By analysing the erratic patterns in a spidery line graph you can tell whether a penguin is swallowing a fish or a squid, and even how big the prey is. There is also a parallel device called a “bumometer” – hence Wilson’s backyard R&D with magnetic suppositories.

The bumometer measures not only the obvious bodily function, but also heart rate, body temperature and breathing rate. These enable accurate estimates of energy expenditure, giving us an idea of the energetic cost of particular behaviours. Perhaps surprisingly, it turns out that penguins catch fish fairly effortlessly. They use their natural buoyancy to swoop up at fish from below, as graceful in water as they are ungainly on land. (I have focused here on penguins, Wilson’s specialty, but these devices can be used on virtually any large animal).

What is the point of all this information? Is it merely gratuitous voyeurism? Not at all. It gives us insight into the inner workings of ecological systems that humans activities threaten to disrupt or destroy. The more we know about these ecosystems, the better our understanding of how to minimise our own impact upon them.

However, it is not only the practical applications that matter. At the heart of remote monitoring is a deep curiosity about life on earth; a profound aesthetic appreciation that remains undiminished even after nature has been translated into digital information. At the end of the seminar Professor Wilson shows us an early animation from his next project; a short 3-D film of a leatherback turtle swimming past an enormous seamount. It is a splendid reconstruction, based purely on remote monitoring data and landscape data from Google maps. Ultimately, Wilson’s idea is to weave together these threads of information, creating open-access digital movies of real animals going about their lives in exquisite detail.

It is an amazing prospect, and a rare example of technology bringing us closer to the natural world rather than distancing us from it.

question: What is Rory Wilson's profession

answer: He researches animal behavior

question: What does the narrator do?

answer: They are a student in a seminar

question: Where are the "bumometers" placed in the penguins?

answer: They put them in penguins' butts.

question: How can Wilson tell what prey a penguin has eaten?

answer: He has a device in the penguin's beak

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: In this short story, a student describes different devices designed by his professor to study animal behavior. Rory Wilson researches penguins and sea turtles and hopes to create videos for people to watch. The narrator also describes the goals and past studies conducted by animal researchers.


text:
 Announcement    *****PLEASE READ***** COMING SOON +++++SAMPLES OF OUR PRODUCT
We value our customers and aim to meet our customers expectations and needs. Due to COVID-19, some items displayed and photos presented in our shop may be different than what you receive due to available supplies from our vendors.

We know everyone is concerned about the COVID-19 outbreak and the impacts the virus may have on our daily lives. We take the health and safety of our customers, staff, and community very seriously. As such, we are taking precautions to do our part in mitigating the spread of COVID-19. We are continuing to provide service and we are confident that our facilities and practices are safe. We are following the Health Department and Center for Disease Control (CDC) guidelines relating to COVID-19. We are being extra vigilant with maintaining a sanitary environment in our facilities and ensuring we have what is needed to stay healthy. In addition to sanitizing surfaces regularly throughout the day and encouraging good handwashing practices (a great practice all the time, not just during an outbreak!), we are also wearing gloves while packing orders as an extra level of protection.

Our bath bombs DO NOT have the ingredients or the combinations of the ingredients that leads to infections. Our Products are made with all natural organic ingredients, no chemicals added. In addition, we do not use clay or corn starch in our bath bombs, so there is no risk of infections. We only touch our products once and gloves are warn as well as when we make our bath bombs. Our products are for MEN, WOMEN, BOYS, and GIRLS. We also have product for Babies too!

UPDATE: WE ARE ALMOST FINISH WITH THIS PROJECT. You may have noticed that we changed our logo and brand; therefore, we are slowly replacing our photos to reflect the new look. You will see some photos with old look and the product may arrive with the new look.

With every order you get a 20% off coupon code. OFFER: if you make more purchases and referrals you will be eligible for bigger discounts with future purchases and offers. THE MORE YOU BUY THE MORE REWARDS!!!

Join our FACEBOOK GROUP "Bath and Body by HeartNSoul"
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Announcement

Last updated on Aug 4, 2020

*****PLEASE READ***** COMING SOON +++++SAMPLES OF OUR PRODUCT
We value our customers and aim to meet our customers expectations and needs. Due to COVID-19, some items displayed and photos presented in our shop may be different than what you receive due to available supplies from our vendors.

We know everyone is concerned about the COVID-19 outbreak and the impacts the virus may have on our daily lives. We take the health and safety of our customers, staff, and community very seriously. As such, we are taking precautions to do our part in mitigating the spread of COVID-19. We are continuing to provide service and we are confident that our facilities and practices are safe. We are following the Health Department and Center for Disease Control (CDC) guidelines relating to COVID-19. We are being extra vigilant with maintaining a sanitary environment in our facilities and ensuring we have what is needed to stay healthy. In addition to sanitizing surfaces regularly throughout the day and encouraging good handwashing practices (a great practice all the time, not just during an outbreak!), we are also wearing gloves while packing orders as an extra level of protection.

Our bath bombs DO NOT have the ingredients or the combinations of the ingredients that leads to infections. Our Products are made with all natural organic ingredients, no chemicals added. In addition, we do not use clay or corn starch in our bath bombs, so there is no risk of infections. We only touch our products once and gloves are warn as well as when we make our bath bombs. Our products are for MEN, WOMEN, BOYS, and GIRLS. We also have product for Babies too!

UPDATE: WE ARE ALMOST FINISH WITH THIS PROJECT. You may have noticed that we changed our logo and brand; therefore, we are slowly replacing our photos to reflect the new look. You will see some photos with old look and the product may arrive with the new look.

With every order you get a 20% off coupon code. OFFER: if you make more purchases and referrals you will be eligible for bigger discounts with future purchases and offers. THE MORE YOU BUY THE MORE REWARDS!!!

Join our FACEBOOK GROUP "Bath and Body by HeartNSoul"
To get new product announcements and demos, promo codes, exclusive product sales and discount.

question: What is the purpose of the announcement?

answer: The announcement reassures customers that the company is following appropriate regulations to handle COVID-19. It assures customers that they are valued and their needs are placed first. It also reassures customers their products are safe.

question: What kinds of products does the group sell?

answer: The products are bath bombs and other self-care items made with organic ingredients. However, their items are not made with clay or corn starch. These products are spa products for everyone.

question: What kinds of customers are the products targeted to?

answer: The products are for men, women, boys and girls. They also offer products for babies. A more concise sentence would be that the products are for everyone.


text:
We got a taxi after dinner back to hers. She looks absolutely stunning under the light of the security lamp above her front door. She’s wearing a small, black cocktail dress that fits her perfectly. She’s still holding my hand from the walk up the drive.
  She leans in, eyelashes fluttering. "Would you like to *come in* for a coffee?" God, those words coming from her mouth are intoxicating.

  It’s a shame that it’s getting late and I'm far too tired. I decline and thank her for a great night. I leave. I wish all my friends were like her.

title: Coffee

question: What does the woman mean by coffee?

answer: Sex


text:
1.

The soldier slowly awoke to the sound of rain tapping out Morse code on his windowpane. Amid the murmuring drumming he lay already defeated, simply staring above into the white paint swirls of the high attic ceiling. The room itself was enormous, in the far corner away from the bed a few ladder rungs poked up from the moist floorboards, whilst the soldier’s bed and a few old boxes scattered throughout the room provided the only real decoration.

The doctors had urged sunlight, yet ever since they hauled his bed upstairs and dragged it beside the enormous bay window; it simply had not stopped raining. Jenny though had seen the bright side of the dismal days, arguing as they ate their meals together in the attic that the rain could help him relax. That in a certain respect he should think of himself lucky with such a sea view, that he should feel sheltered and secure near the window rather than the imprisonment he oft complained of. To the soldier it was all white wet noise, unrelenting and monotonous. With great effort he shifted on his shoulder to see the clock just tick to six, his hand reached for the bell beside the bed but he knew it was far too early to wake Jenny. Just as the young man was about to fall back into sleep, a brief cry escaped down below from the beach outside.

The sea view from the back of the house had been the main reason they had bought the place, and even in the gums of winter the mixture of crashing ocean and bone white beach exuded a consummate calm. From the back porch of the house, a small sandy garden that begun at the bottom of the patio steps gave way to the pale beach that rolled out before the lapping waves.

2.

When the two of them had climbed the ladder to the attic with a few other newlyweds all those years ago, he had gripped Jenny’s hand in excitement upon spying the open space before the vast bay window. They hadn’t even asked a price yet and already he was eager, seeing in his head a thick wooden desk before the perfect view, with rows upon rows of bookcases encircling the high white walls. Now his books collected in various corners, falling out of cardboard boxes that flaked from the moisture of the mostly empty room. The window itself was enormous with a cross work of black mesh on the pane shaping the various frames within it. It took up much of the attic wall, almost doing justice in its size to the sea that unfurled out before it. Though he was physically fine to write after the assault in France, the desk was never bought, all his previous passion for Literature seemingly seeping away upon his return to Jenny and the house.

As soon as the soldier found the source of the yelp, he questioned if what he was seeing down below through the window was some form of hangover from the relentless medication. Propping himself up, both elbows clearly defined through his skin against the windowsill he spied two boys, one fairly young standing beside what seemed to be merely the head of the other submerged in the sand. The children appeared to be chatting amiably, though the boom of the surging surf behind them smothered anything said. The soldier soon smiled however as he noticed it was merely the angle of the window lattice from where he was looking out that had suggested a severed head on account of the boy. It seemed the child was just standing in a dug hole, one that looked surprisingly deep and wide as the tall child climbed out unaided with much effort amid the moistening sand.

The downpour was growing heavier now and the boys appeared to the soldier from above, to hasten as they began to dig even further into the now clay-like ground. Shovels lay flat beside the pit but for whatever reason they were now clawing with their palms, tossing sand in every direction, stopping every now and then for a breath of two. It took a few minutes of surveillance but the soldier realized that he had seen them a few times around the town, two brothers. Before his view of the siblings, thick droplets were now amassing quickly on the pane. Rarely was the rain this insistent or obscuring.

They were always together in his mind; an image in particular of them sharing a single ice cream before one of the town square storefronts struck him as oddly memorable. Most vividly however he recalled their rowdiness at the parade for the departing soldiers that had been held almost a year before. Amongst the bulging crowd they charged and darted with no concern but that the other not get ahead, seemingly reveling in the chance of an audience. A few of the crowd disputed, attempting to grab them in an effort of respect, but they were too liquid. This was before the rain came and the small square was unfittingly beautiful that day. Near everyone in the town crowded all around as convoys of men waved uncertain goodbyes to people they had only really considered background. After the last truck disappeared beyond the beachhead, Jenny had helped him walk away from the crowd and argued that the boys were too young to understand the prescience of what was happening, that they meant no disrespect. The soldier snapped back quickly however that a Second World War was something to be respected universally, regardless of age.

3.

Turning his head for but a second to check the time again he found the children down below had disappeared from view. The void in the sand remained but even that was vanishing before his eyes as giant dewdrops splattered onto the window, distorting the outlook from the attic. The two quickly returned however through the view of indistinct condensation, with the small boy becoming magnified suddenly through an odd angle of refraction through glass and rain. The shower itself was growing relentless now, practically smothering the window into a thick fog. The soldier could make out little but it seemed the boys had returned carrying a small body between them. Two clearly defined legs lifelessly dangled between the young carriers.

The soldier simply didn’t think in that moment. Didn’t dwell upon what they might be being buried, or why and indeed how they felt the beach behind he and his wife’s house was the apt place. He simply acted like his sergeant before had taught him to. Pounding the window once before him with a rare burst of energy, he cleared the view before him of condensation and muddying droplets. He had hoped to have the sound of the slam swallowed by the sea, but the boys clearly heard something and scurried away with their secret. The soldier waited, starting for a few seconds at the open grave and the waves behind gesturing forward.

It seemed that the rain on the window however had led to misinterpretation; it was a dog they were carrying between them. Its tongue hung lifeless from its mouth; from high up he found it difficult to determine exactly what was wrong with it, but it was clearly dead. The two quickly returned kneeling down beside the hole and slowly lowered the animal into the beach. Rain had kicked up once more. The soldier suddenly felt angry and was about to ring for Jenny regardless of the hour. He stopped with the bell in his hand however when he noticed that they were saluting at the graveside. Their silhouettes cut out against the surf. The taller boy who he had at first believed to be but a head was clearly much disturbed by the whole event, staring straight down, gaze never from the void. The smaller child turned around and looked directly at the soldier for a few seconds without even realizing, the rain so driving now that he squinted when looking away.

Dogs had grown rare around the town since the departing parade, most mothers preferring to keep the animals inside as surrogates for their departed sons than to allow them free to roam. With this in mind the soldier struggled to place the animal, perhaps it was the brother’s own rather than that they had killed it, or maybe they had merely discovered it in this condition and wished better for it than to merely be slumped in some passageway. The answers he would never really know, and oddly felt no real need to as he watched them fill the grave slowly with the shovels in hand.

With the grave filled the two walked slowly towards the sea, just stopping as the waves lapped at their shoes. The rain was growing strong again, and the soldier lacked the energy to clear his view once more. Straining out past the precipitations he spotted the older brother placing his arm around the younger one until finally the rain obscured them indefinable from the crashing waves and the sodden beach.

title: 'Bury'

question: Why was the soldier sleeping in the attic?

answer: It seems that the soldier is either sick or injured and bedridden. The doctors had urged sunlight, and the attic's enormous bay window facing the ocean was perfect.

question: Why did the soldier snap at Jenny during the military convoy for other soldiers leaving for the war?

answer: Because she was defending the two boys as being too young to know that the Second World War was something to be respected, regardless of age.

question: Why was the soldier raging at the two boys he spied burying something at the beach behind his house?

answer: The soldier thought the boys were burying a small child but realized that they were burying a dead dog.

question: What act made the soldier's anger dissipate?

answer: The soldier's anger left him when he saw the boys saluting at the graveside. They were clearly disturbed by the dog's death.


text:
When we were schoolchildren she always insisted to me that her eyes were aqua colored. I used to goad her saying they were just plain old blue.

Now they were anything but plain old blue. They were the only blue colored things left in the world. They were bluer than the sky, bluer than the ocean. Whenever I looked into her eyes I saw the world when it was still alive.

And from those bluer-than-the-sky-eyes tears formed and started coming down like rain.

I turned my back to her and started down the path again. "We have to keep going."

She wiped away at  her shut eyes, fighting back the tears.

I was reminded of the time I saw the river at the Old Creek and its mighty flow get stifled by the new dams the summer I left. The dams held at first, then they were overrun by the water. The water would always be too strong. It would always overpower anything trying to keep it back.

I knew she would cry again.

I looked ahead but felt a tug at my chest, pained by her display of emotion. I used to cry. Somewhere deep down inside I wanted to. But that feeling to cry was one of the many ghosts inside of me, parts of me long dead that haunt me but will never come back. I drained that river of emotion inside of me the day I saw everything come to an end.

To survive meant letting parts of us inside die to make ourselves immune to our surroundings. The bodies we passed by just a small number of one of the thousands to come. The millions. They no longer move or breathe but the dead still talk. Their contorted figures and pained expressions told me their last moments. They told me my feelings had no reason to come back.

The only feeling that remained was love and it protected us as long as we had each other. We needed to find some place to release ourselves. Somewhere away from all this. A small pasture, the shade of a still living tree, somewhere, anywhere where Mother Nature was still alive, something that still resembled the world before so the departure of our souls after taking our own lives would not be tainted by the death around us.

Even holding a flower would  give us what we needed, a key to our escape from this hell. But we had not yet found such relief. The day before I came across a dandelion on the ground. But it had been waiting so long for the light to touch its face again that the life had been sucked out of it. It lay there, wilted. I never told her I found it.  I didn't want her to know for I feared everything we might find would be dead.

As we went on down the path we held each other tighter than before. Our bodies were getting colder and colder. Ever since the world had been painted the color of death by the heavy killing strokes of the bombs the temperature had dropped steadily every day. Hardly anything stood out in the landscape except for the dead and scorched outlines of buildings, shadows of what used to be.

We were heading to the park we used to play at together when we were children, hoping that we would not discover another grave site, another nightmare waiting for us. We went by memory hoping to find parts of the sidewalk that used to be on the streets but journeying in my mind made the road seem so much longer.

title: Wilted

question: What is the narrator looking for?

answer: The narrator and their lover are looking for any piece of nature which may have survived the nuclear winter seizing the region.

question: Why do the narrator and their lover want to find a surviving piece of nature?

answer: They would like to be in communion with other living things when they kill themselves.

question: Why do the narrator and their lover want to kill themselves?

answer: In the aftermath of a nuclear apocalypse, they do not feel any hope for the future and suspect they will die very painfully if they do not commit suicide.

question: Why is the narrator's lover crying?

answer: The world has been destroyed by nuclear bombs.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator and their lover survey a world ravaged by nuclear winter for a suitable place to commit suicide.


text:
**I apologize for the bad formatting. Copied and Pasted from a word doc.**
**I'd like opinions and Creative Criticism**

"Up we go!" She shouted in a cute and childish manner as the elevator brought us up to the third floor of the parking garage.  "So, which one is yours?" She asked. I pointed to a grey Saturn Ion parked at the back of the garage.

"Not that cool I know, but hey I make do." We walked to the edge of the garage and stared at the buildings below us. "This would be an awesome place to play frisbee." She said as she took a seat on the edge of the wall.
"I guess, but what if you throw it off the roof?"

"Ya that would suck"
We sat in silence for a few moments. Only the muffled harmony of the cars below us could be heard.
I reached out and placed my hand on hers. She looked up and we locked eyes. Giggling she turned her head and looked out in the distance.
“Listen.” I spoke. “I... you know.”

“No I don’t.” She replied suddenly, slowly moving her hand out from under mine.
“Yeah you do.” “I mean, isn’t it pretty obvious?”

“I’m just confused.”

“Should I spell it out for you?” She ignored my question.
 “I like you. I want to be with you.”  The silence drew on even longer. “There…” I finished angrily.

“Why would you?” She finally said.

“I dunno. It’s one of those things you know, but can’t explain.” “I guess I like how you find happiness in small things. I can’t do that on my own. I focus too much on large problems. I need someone like you. Someone who isn’t afraid to have fun… The fact that you’re absolutely beautiful doesn’t help either.”

“Shut up” She mumbled.  “I’ve liked someone else for a while now. I kind of just want to try pursuing things on my own.” She added. “To be honest, I envy you. At least you can act on impulse and tell me those things. I can’t even talk to the guy.” She crossed her arms and turned away from me.

“It’s not impulse.” I interrupted. “I guess it’s stupidity.”
“This… is impulse” I turned her around and placed my hand on her cheek. As I moved myself closer to her she pushed me back and turned around again.

“No… that’s stupidity.” She said in a scolding manner.

Upset, I too turned my back. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a lighter. Lighting a cigarette I hopped up on the wall and stared off at the building tops. We sat like this for what seemed like ages. Looking down over the edge of the roof I started thinking. If I were to fall, I thought, would she care very much? Would she remember this night? The night I slipped and fell to my death.  I looked at my phone, it was getting late and obviously the night was over for me anyways. The humming of the cars seemed softer now, almost non-existent.

“Listen.” I finally spoke. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. I just know that I’m sorry.”
She remained silent.
Annoyed by her silence, I stood up, threw the rest of my cigarette on the ground, and walked over to her. I grabbed her again, but this time I embraced her. Soon I felt her arms wrap themselves around me. I buried my face into her neck, wishing I could do this more often.  Her skin was soft and smooth, I almost thought of kissing her neck, but soon remembered that I had no right to. I held her for maybe a few minutes. Longer than a standard hug, that much is for sure.

“You’re shorter than me.” She giggled.

“I know.” I forced myself to let go. I walked to the opposite side of the garage and leaned over the railing. Would she come over and grab my shoulder? I thought. Maybe she’d spin me around and tell me to stop frowning. Maybe she’d try to cheer me up. Maybe she’d hold me a bit longer.
I heard a door shut behind me and I fell to my knees.
“Fuck.” I whispered as I slammed my fist into the ground.

title: Impulse (First "story")

question: What is the aim of the narrator?

answer: The narrator appears to want to form a romantic relationship with the woman in the story.

question: Why isn't the woman interested in the narrator?

answer: She says that she has 'liked someone else for a while now.'

question: Why does the woman envy the narrator?

answer: Because he is able to act on impulse.

question: Does the narrator know the meaning of consent?

answer: The narrator appears to struggle with his ability to control his urges, however he's aware that he shouldn't do something that he has no right to do. This suggests he is aware of the rules of consent.