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

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

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

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

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

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

-GP

title: Caught In a Cosmic Burp

question: Summarize the narrator's actionable options regarding the assassination.

answer: He has a unique opportunity to thwart the assassination of Governor Don Gomez Perez Dasmarinas. He knows the event, and it seems that he's back in time to the day the assassination took place. However, he's very far away from home, which can throw a wrench into such an opportunity.

question: What does the story say about angels?


split: train

text:
“Hands”
	It began almost as soon as I woke up. In fact, it was what caused my awakening. It sounded like there was something crawling within the walls of my bedroom. Mice, I thought. I rubbed my eyes and got out of bed.
	I shower silently. I never understood people who listened to music or sang in the shower. Silence is what I liked. Even the sound of the running water made me cringe. The warm water pounded at my back. I felt something soft on my shoulder. I turned around quickly, a chill running up my spine. I turned down the cold water.
	I tried to relax again, but the chill never went away. I stepped out of the shower and over to the sink. I pulled a razor and shaving cream out of the medicine cabinet. As I closed the cabinet, I saw the towel that was hanging up drop to the floor in the mirror. I turned around quizzically. Shaking my head and sighing, I bent down to pick up the towel and put it back on the rack just as I saw something scurry across the tiled floor to the sliver of space between the opened bathroom door and the wall. Fuck, it has to be rats. I quickly finished shaving and went downstairs to the kitchen.
Starting a fresh pot of coffee, I tried to remember if I had any rat traps left somewhere. Maybe that would warm me up. I opened the door to the pantry and stood on my toes so I could see the contents of the top shelf. I saw the outline of something and reached my hand in. I felt around until my fingers ran into something soft. It moved just as I went to grab it. I jumped and stepped back. Instinctively, I put my hand over my chest to calm myself. I heard the last few drops dripping into the coffee pot. I poured myself a cup. As I sat, sipping at my coffee, I convinced myself that it was only my imagination. Imagination? Wow, I haven’t used that in years. It was hard for me to even remember the last time my mind wandered elsewhere. Well, there were those times when I- no, I won’t go into that.
	I heard a child outside, screaming with joy. I stood up and walked to the kitchen window. Pushing back the curtain, I could see the young boy running through a sprinkler. He screamed again, causing my fist to clench and jaws to lock. There was a sudden, loud crash behind me. I whipped around to find the coffee pot lying in hundreds of pieces on the floor. How had it fallen? Did the rat knock it over? I sighed and went to the hallway closet for rags and a broom.
	I threw away the broken glass, and washed the mug I had used. I decided to check the garage for something to kill this rat that kept ruining my morning. I moved past the plastic containers, which were now starting to fill up the garage, to the tools. I really needed to clean them off from the last time I used them. I rustled through a box until I found an old poison rat trap. I opened it and saw it had already been used.
	I heard the clicking of heels on the driveway outside the garage door. I sighed to myself and threw the trap away. I heard the doorbell ring and started making my way to the front door. As I was closing the garage door, I felt a tug at the bottom of my pant leg. I looked down, hoping to catch the rat red-handed, but the doorbell rang again. I huffed and stomped to the front of the house. I opened the door halfway.
	“Hi,” a young blonde woman was standing on the old welcome mat, smiling at me.
	I opened the door fully, “Hello.”
	“I just wanted to introduce myself. I just moved in next door,” she smiled and held her hand out.
	I looked down at her hand for a moment, then back up to meet her eyes. I shook her hand slowly.
	When she pulled away, I noticed her fidgeting with her bracelets, “Well, it was nice meeting you. If you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”
	I flicked my tongue across my lips, still staring at her hands. I smiled at her, “I’ll be sure to do that.”
	I closed the door silently and wiped my face with my hand. I turned around and saw grey everywhere. Rats weren’t the cause of my shake up this morning. All around me were severed hands. Shit, I left the garage door open. They began to climb up my pant legs. I tried shaking them off, but they held tight. I began swatting at them. They covered my eyes and mouth. There were just too many.

title: "Hands" a short story I wrote for my English class

question: What caused the narrator's awakening.

answer: Sounds he thought were mice within the walls.

question: What happened after the narrator went to search for rat traps in the pantry?

answer: Something soft brushed up against his fingers.

question: Why was the narrator looking out of his kitchen window?

answer: He heard a child outside, screaming with joy.

question: What is the narrator's relation to the young blonde woman?

answer: She is the new neighbor who came over to introduce herself.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer:
The narrator has an awakening caused by sounds within his walls that he thinks are mice. He brushes up against something soft while searching for rat traps and tries to convince himself that it is his imagination.
His search for the rat is interrupted by the new neighbor coming over to introduce herself. After she is gone he realizes it is not rats but severed hands everywhere, climbing up him, covering his eyes and mouth.


text:
BIFF is a British cartoon strip, created by Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, which debuted in 1982[1] and has appeared in the newspaper _The Guardian_ from 1985 onwards (Biff Weekend ran there weekly for 20 years). The comic originated in a series of single-panel postcards before evolving into multi-panel comic strips.[2] It has also been published in the magazine _Viz_ and since 2001 in the magazine of the Rough Guides.[3]

The cartoons are notable for their absurd, ironic, satirical and metafictional edge.[4]

History

Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd met at grammar school in the 1950s and have collaborated on Biff since the mid-1970s. Chris Garratt creates the artwork (a mixture of collage, found images, tracings and original drawings) and Mick Kidd is responsible for the text. Kidd lives in London and Garratt in the Scilly Isles. They have created their strips and other artwork over the last 30 years by means of phone, post, email and occasional meetings.[5]

In 2007 Chris Garratt introduced a retrospective of Biff work in these terms:[6]

        _Raised on a diet of Hymns Ancient and Modern, Sartre and Joe Meek hits, Goldfish Virgins of the dodgems, Intrepid Riders of the Waltzers, wags of youth club literati and pioneers of skiffle, the Biff boys belong to a generation that said goodbye to trilby hats, pipes and National Service and ushered in the Golden Age of Rhythm & Blues, Existentialism and Vietnam. Their early work, retrospectively recognised as anglicised Situationism with its artless articulation of image and text détournement, montaging comic strip and philosophy, angst-riddled soliloquies and cowboy drawls, featured prominently in the sprawling publications and smudged ink mags of the Counter Culture._

        _Holding up a cracked and peeling mirror to a cracked and peeling generation of new adults who exchanged WRP for SDP, beanbags for Habitat and IKEA, Biff eschewed the tedious route of “political satire” and its toothless ranting-to-the-converted in favour of a bewildered but first-hand commentary on the mapless aspirations, pretensions and farcical antics of the baby boomer meritocracy. Threaded through this nonsensical catalogue of faux-academic posturing, management-speak, Baudrillardian ramblings and psychobabble set in the deathly milieu of wicker furniture and avocado dips was a continuing fascination for new frontiers in astronomy, particle physics, psychology and the arts, deliberately colliding such “serious” endeavours with the loonier fringes of self improvement such as cushion-bashing psychotherapy, astrology and sweat lodges._

        _Biff’s 20 year tenure in “The Guardian” effectively charted the Rise and Fall of the not-so-angry young things as they shambled from Grosvenor Square to Hay-on-Wye, from the Ugly Rumours to Iraq, into the present wilderness of collective paranoia._

They are still working and contribute to BBC History magazines with ‘A Biff History of Exploration’ and ‘A Biff History of The Media’, People Management with ‘Human Resources’, Latest Art with ‘Biff Art’ and Rough News with ‘The 6 Ages of Travel’.[7]

Quote

        _Biff quotes have a way of sticking in the mind. Is it ironical cultural commentary which pioneered a unique style of visual ‘sampling’ before the word had even been invented? Or is it Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, two mad old farts from Leicestershire, locked in a long-distance comedy partnership since childhood? In 1985 they got their big break, standing in for Posy Simmonds on the women's page of the Guardian. They stayed on after Posy’s return for a further twenty years. Then, as foretold by the sudden appearance of the Hale-Bopp comet in the western sky, Blairism began to bite. They were downsized, monochromed, shrunk and eventually berlinered out of the paper altogether. But fear not for their work continues in other magazines - so as their homepage advises ‘Relax and float downstream’_.[8] Steve Bell, 2007

Books

-   _The Essential Biff_ by Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, Pavement Press, 1982
-   _The Rainy Day Biff_ by Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, Pavement Press, 1983
-   _Desert Island Biff_ by Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, Corgi, 1985
-   _Sincerely Yours, Biff_ by Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, Corgi, 1986
-   _File Under Biff_ by Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, Mandarin, 1988
-   _Faxes From Biff_ by Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, Mandarin, 1990
-   _Best of Biff_ by Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, Impact Books, 1990
-   _Life on the Floor and Other Mattresses_ by Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, Impact Books, 1993
-   _Biff: The Missing Years_ by Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd, Icon Books, 1996

[1] Gravett, Paul, “1001 Comics You Must Read Before You Die”, Universe, 2012, page 438.

[2] Gravett, Paul, “1001 Comics You Must Read Before You Die”, Universe, 2012, page 438.

[3] Biff website

[4] Gravett, Paul, “1001 Comics You Must Read Before You Die”, Universe, 2012, page 438.

[5] Guardian retrospective, accessed 26 April 2008

[6] Press Release for 2007 retrospective, 1, accessed 26 April 2008

[7]

[8]

title: Biff (cartoon)

question: Describe the history of the BIFF cartoon.

answer: Chris Garratt and Mick Kidd met at grammar school in the 1950s. They have collaborated on Biff since mid-1970. Garratt makes the art. Kidd makes the text. Kidd lives in London, Garrat in the Scilly isles. They collaborate remotely.

question: Summarize the cultural significance of BIFF.

answer: BIFF is a countercultural artifact, typical of the generation its creators come from. It is concerned with Situationism, Vietnam and has been compared by critics to the work of Jean Baudrillard. It is seen as a form of political satire. It is an underground comic.


text:
[Evert Endt] EVERT ENDT is a French designer.

Early life

Evert Endt was born in Zaandam, the Netherlands, in 1933. He grew up in Switzerland and studied in Zurich at the Kunstgewerbeschule.

Career

In 1958, Endt started his career in the Compagnie de L'Esthétique Industrielle (CEI) by Raymond Loewy, a design agency based in Paris. He later became the Artistic Director and in 1968 the Director of the CEI, which is responsible for numerous programs of global design such as BP (British Petroleum), Royal Dutch Shell, Coop, and Elna Lotus (Permanent Collection of the Museum of Modern Art New York) and Rivella, Motta.

In 1974, he received French nationality. The following year, he set up Endt+Fulton Partners with American designer James F. Fulton. Since 1992 the agency participated in social programs focused on the environment. He works for various cultural and industrial bodies, under the Ministries of Health, Culture and French Justice.

He created exhibitions for the Centre Georges Pompidou and the Cité des Sciences et de l'Industrie de la Villette. His permanent and temporary thematic exhibitions include “Living in Space”, “Energies”, and “New Materials”.

In 1992, Evert Endt was appointed as director of Ensci/Les Ateliers - Ecole Nationale Supérieure de Creation Industrielle - in Paris.[1] The following year, he became director for the postgraduate program in research and management of new technologies in the Samsung Laboratory for Innovative Design.

Awards

-   Prix International “Intérieur 80” Biennale de Courtrai 1980
-   Label design français (esthétique industrielle) 1982-84[2]
-   Janus de l'Industrie 1985
-   Oscar du journal Nouvel Économiste 1986
-   Nomination of Chevalier des arts et lettres par le Ministère de la Culture 1998

Publications

-   France culture[3]
-   The New York Times [4]
-   Graphis[5]
-   Musée d'art moderne et contemporain Saint-Etienne Métropole[6]
-   The Washington Post[7]
-   ARTE[8]
-   ARTE 2017[9]

[1]

[2]

[3] interview to Evert Endt “Raymond Loewy. Une vie, une oeuvre”, 23 mars 2013.

[4] PATRICIA LEIGH BROWN, “GROUP SEEKS TO BUY DESIGNER'S PAPERS”, The New York Times, June 4, 1987

[5] Véronique Vienne, “Raymond Loewy: Speed Whiskers on Toothbrushes?”, Graphis, february 1998

[6] C.E.I. Loewy Raymond: machine à coudre “Elna Lotus”, Musée d'art moderne et contemporain Saint-Etienne Métropole, December 2012

[7] A.A., “The library's Loewy gift”, The Washington Post, July 10, 1987

[8] Interview in the film: “CITIZEN LOEWY - HOW A FRENCHMAN DESIGNED THE AMERICAN DREAM”, Arte, 2016

[9] Interview in the film: “Raymond Loewy, le designer du rêve américain”, Arte, 2017

title: Evert Endt

question: Where did Evert Endt start his carrier?

answer: Endt started his career in the Compagnie de L'Esthétique Industrielle, a design agency based in Paris.

question: When did Endt receive French nationality?

answer: Endt received French nationality in 1974.

question: What are Endt's permanent and temporary thematic exhibitions?

answer: Endt's permanent and temporary thematic exhibitions include 'Living in Space', 'Energies', and 'New Materials'.

question: Where did Endt grow up?

answer: Endt grew up in Switzerland.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: Evert Endt, a French designer, was born in the Netherlands in 1933, grew up in Switzerland, and studied in Zurich at the Kunstgewerbeschule. He is the director of the postgraduate program in research and management of new technologies in the Samsung Laboratory for Innovative Design. He  received Prix International “Intérieur 80” Biennale de Courtrai 1980, Label design français (esthétique industrielle) 1982-84, Janus de l'Industrie 1985, and Oscar du journal Nouvel Économiste 1986.


text:
Just a quick thing I wrote up for a contest. Wrote in H.P. Lovecraft style.

Am I still myself? No. Surely not. I’ve become someone else; something else. These disembodied hands scratch words and names onto unfamiliar parchments as mannequin strings twitch and twang from countless shadows. My mouth feels nothing more than a brass phonograph hissing out secondhand idiom from my predecessors, no doubt contrived by the same apparitions that distantly influence my feet; my fingers; my entirety toward places they formerly dared not go.

Who am I? I once stood for so much more. I marched upon my own two feet. No strings. No shadows. I made choices, formulated my own philosophies, and even shouted them triumphantly! I made wondrous inspirational speeches and helped transform my hometown of Arkham into something better. I could always catch a gleam of brazen conviction in myself as I observed my reflection in the broadcasts; a mirror of my soul.

“I’m the President.” I could say. “The President of the free world.”

That was before, standing on the precipice of the calm twilight of unfamiliarity and insignificance. Before my soul’s mirror was shattered and strung together into some abhorrent instrument used for insidious and unfathomable schemes, each sharp fragment echoing the deep blackness of others whom I now recognize as my masters.

If only I had recognized the perils into which I was advancing. If only I had observed the warnings from those in high up torch-lit places! They forewarned my approach into ageless rituals and hinted of reality within the dreaded Necronomicon, penned by the infamous “Mad Arab” Abdul Alhazred. Whispers of repugnant star-headed Elder Things, Shoggoths, and dystopian horrors beyond time offered no reason and ostensibly had no bearing on my political endeavors, and thusly went unheeded.

Once my authority was substantial enough, secretive individuals began to send eccentric letters to my home by digital communication, delivered deep into the evening with an electric buzz. They spoke of damnable statues, fatal chromatics, and referenced some incoherent language that declared “Cthulu Flaghn!”. What was I to think?! Gods and clandestine rituals own no residence in our realm of sciences, much less to a man of public service such was myself! Had I only known the truth! I would not be entombed as I am today, a prisoner in my own immobilized body!

It was not until that final ghastly dusk long ago that I grasped the consequence and severity of my condition. But alas! It was far too late! Memories are vague and muddled to me presently, but I obtusely recall chemical-sodden handkerchiefs, blackened descents into sunken metropolises, and grime-coated man creatures dancing demonically around cerulean flames. Oh, the horror! The foul parasites infesting my body, burrowing deeper and deeper into my soul!

Even now as I have my short respite of sanity and control, I feel the eons old miasma encroaching. Peripheral terrors noiselessly evaporate into nothingness as my eyes dart and strain anxiously to reveal their true form. The dull scraping tread of twisted claws cutting into slime covered soil tugs and contort my very essence. Surely, I am no longer a man. I am merely a cosmic vessel for all that control this world.

I have no control. The abhorrent choruses still sing inharmoniously into my head, knocking and shrieking! Cthulhu fhtagn! I’m losing my senses to the incantations of the primordial stars. It won’t be long now.

But I must try--… no… I must regain myself! I am a man! I am the President of the free world!

Ph’nglui... escape this house at R’lyeh!

I cannot.. wgah’nagl fhtagn!

Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn!

title: The Strings and the Vessel

question: Summarize the progression of the narrator's condition.

answer: As the narrator grew in authority, they began to be contacted by secretive individuals. Parasites infested the narrator's body. The parasites take control of the narrator, who becomes a prisoner in their own body. They lose their senses and their sense of self.

question: What does the story say about the theme of control?

answer: The narrator strived for control, attaining the position of President of the free world. But even in that position of power, the narrator was susceptible to outside forces beyond the realm of humanity. The ultimate theme seems to be that no human is above the control of the forces of nature.

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

answer: The story seems to question whether the narrator has any free will. The narrator doubts that they are still themselves. They believe their actions are controlled by the parasites and that they are merely a vessel.

question: Summarize the narrator's early life prior to becoming President.


text:
[Former Embassy of the Republic of China in São Tomé and Príncipe]

SÃO TOMÉ AND PRÍNCIPE–TAIWAN RELATIONS are relations between São Tomé and Príncipe and the Republic of China (ROC). Official bilateral relations began in 1997 and ended in 2016.

History

São Tomé and Príncipe declared independence from Portugal on 12 July 1975 and recognized the People's Republic of China (PRC) on the same day.[1][2]

Bilateral relations between São Tomé and Príncipe and the Republic of China were first established on 6 May 1997.[3][4] In accordance with the One-China policy, the PRC suspended relations with São Tomé and Príncipe on 11 July 1997.[5] In February 1998, ROC Foreign Minister Jason Hu made an official visit to São Tomé and Príncipe. São Tomé and Príncipe President Miguel Trovoada visited Taiwan in June of that year.[6][7] São Tomé granted Taiwan landing visa privileges in 2012.[8] In 2013, the PRC established a trade office in São Tomé,[9] and the next year President Manuel Pinto da Costa visited China in a private capacity.[10] Bilateral relations between São Tomé and Príncipe and the Republic of China were terminated on 21 December 2016 by Taiwan due to exorbitant amounts of financial aid being requested.[11][12]

Aid

ROC aid to São Tomé and Príncipe focused on agriculture, energy, and technology.[13] Another area of cooperation was public health. Many Taiwanese medical professionals have lent their expertise in an effort to stop the spread of malaria in São Tomé.[14][15][16][17] Taipei Medical University began offering medical aid to São Tomé in 2009, and ended the program upon the cessation of official ties in 2016.[18][19] Prior to the end of bilateral relations São Tomé was a member of the Taiwan Scholarship program.[20]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

title: São Tomé and Príncipe–Taiwan relations

question: What is the main topic of this post?

answer: This article covers the relations between São Tomé and Príncipe and the Republic of China from 1997 to 2016.

question: São Tomé declared independence from which country?

answer: They declared independence from Portugal.

question: What is the difference between the People's Republic of China and the Republic of China?

answer: Although not directly addressed in the article, they are two seperate entities. Republic of China is also known as Taiwan.

question: Why did the Republic of China end bilateral relations with São Tomé and Príncipe?

answer: Taiwan ended the relations because São Tomé and Príncipe was requesting exorbitant amounts of financial aid.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This article covers the relations between São Tomé and Príncipe and the Republic of China from 1997 to 2016.


text:
There came a time when silence fell.
But before that, there was noise. Explosions and screams and cries for help that were never answered. Grating metal screeches as corporate buildings fell, collapsing under the weight of their own lies. Children of children killing children.

Yet, remarkably the sun still came up the next morning and shone down over the cold metallic remains. No cries. No screams. No breaking glass. Just silence and sun and an iron-like tang at the back of the throat. You would be forgiven for thinking that this happened in a different place, at a different time. It didn't.
And that's when I awoke.
"Hello?" I heard you call.

"Hello!"

"Where are you?" The voice was faint, thready.

"I'm here!" I began to search.

"No." A belligerent statement of fact. "No, I'm here. I'd see you if you were too. Don't you know where you are?"

But we found each other, eventually. Together, we took off our clothes, and walked 'round our little town. We tore the paper from the walls, the carpet from the floor. We burnt those framed photographs and ripped out the wires. We returned all that oil to far underground, where it belonged. We took it all down, every building, brick by brick, until only scrub-covered ground remained.

And then we sat, and compared notes on what it means to exist. And in a thousand years time when the aliens finally discover this lonely blue dot, they'll see us and they'll know that you and I, we didn't destroy ourselves. Or they won't, because we will be gone.

title: The End

question: What is this story about?

answer: The collapse of civilization.

question: Who are the characters in this story?

answer: Two people, one addressed as you, the other called me.

question: Who are the hypothetical observers in this story?

answer: The aliens who come at the end and view the remains of humanity.

question: What do the two characters meditate on, and what are their actions of dismantling the buildings supposed to signify?

answer: Ambivalence about civilization.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This story is about a catastrophe which occurs on planet Earth, and how two people meet in the rubble to take civilization apart.


text:
[An image of multiple chromosomes, taken from many cells]

PLANT GENETICS is the study of genes, genetic variation, and heredity specifically in plants.[1][2] It is generally considered a field of biology and botany, but intersects frequently with many other life sciences and is strongly linked with the study of information systems. Plant genetics is similar in many ways to animal genetics but differs in a few key areas.

The discoverer of genetics was Gregor Mendel, a late 19th-century scientist and Augustinian friar. Mendel studied “trait inheritance”, patterns in the way traits are handed down from parents to offspring. He observed that organisms (most famously pea plants) inherit traits by way of discrete “units of inheritance”. This term, still used today, is a somewhat ambiguous definition of what is referred to as a gene. Much of Mendel's work with plants still forms the basis for modern plant genetics.

Plants, like all known organisms, use DNA to pass on their traits. Animal genetics often focuses on parentage and lineage, but this can sometimes be difficult in plant genetics due to the fact that plants can, unlike most animals, be self-fertile. Speciation can be easier in many plants due to unique genetic abilities, such as being well adapted to polyploidy. Plants are unique in that they are able to produce energy-dense carbohydrates via photosynthesis, a process which is achieved by use of chloroplasts. Chloroplasts, like the superficially similar mitochondria, possess their own DNA. Chloroplasts thus provide an additional reservoir for genes and genetic diversity, and an extra layer of genetic complexity not found in animals.

The study of plant genetics has major economic impacts: many staple crops are genetically modified to increase yields, confer pest and disease resistance, provide resistance to herbicides, or to increase their nutritional value.

History

The earliest evidence of plant domestication found has been dated to 11,000 years before present in ancestral wheat. While initially selection may have happened unintentionally, it is very likely that by 5,000 years ago farmers had a basic understanding of heredity and inheritance, the foundation of genetics.[3] This selection over time gave rise to new crop species and varieties that are the basis of the crops we grow, eat and research today.

[Gregor Mendel, the “Father of genetics”]The field of plant genetics began with the work of Gregor Johann Mendel, who is often called the “father of genetics”. He was an Augustinian priest and scientist born on 20 July 1822 in Austria-Hungary. He worked at the Abbey of St. Thomas in Bruno , where his organism of choice for studying inheritance and traits was the pea plant. Mendel's work tracked many phenotypic traits of pea plants, such as their height, flower color, and seed characteristics. Mendel showed that the inheritance of these traits follows two particular laws, which were later named after him. His seminal work on genetics, “Versuche über Pflanzen-Hybriden” (Experiments on Plant Hybrids), was published in 1866, but went almost entirely unnoticed until 1900 when prominent botanists in the UK, like Sir Gavin de Beer, recognized its importance and re-published an English translation.[4] Mendel died in 1884. The significance of Mendel's work was not recognized until the turn of the 20th century. Its rediscovery prompted the foundation of modern genetics. His discoveries, deduction of segregation ratios, and subsequent laws have not only been used in research to gain a better understanding of plant genetics, but also play a large role in plant breeding.[5] Mendel's works along with the works of Charles Darwin and Alfred Wallace on selection provided the basis for much of genetics as a discipline.

In the early 1900s, botanists and statisticians began to examine the segregation ratios put forth by Mendel. W.E. Castle discovered that while individual traits may segregate and change over time with selection, that when selection is stopped and environmental effects are taken into account, the genetic ratio stops changing and reach a sort of stasis, the foundation of Population Genetics.[6] This was independently discovered by G. H. Hardy and W. Weinberg, which ultimately gave rise to the concept of Hardy–Weinberg equilibrium published in 1908.[7]

For a more thorough exploration of the history of population genetics, see History of Population Genetics by Bob Allard.

Around this same time, genetic and plant breeding experiments in maize began. Maize that has been self-pollinated experiences a phenomenon called inbreeding depression. Researchers, like Nils Heribert-Nilsson, recognized that by crossing plants and forming hybrids, they were not only able to combine traits from two desirable parents, but the crop also experienced heterosis or hybrid vigor. This was the beginning of identifying gene interactions or epistasis. By the early 1920s, Donald Forsha Jones had invented a method that led to the first hybrid maize seed that were available commercially.[8] The large demand for hybrid seed in the U.S. Corn Belt by the mid 1930s led to a rapid growth in the seed production industry and ultimately seed research. The strict requirements for producing hybrid seed led to the development of careful population and inbred line maintenance, keeping plants isolated and unable to out-cross, which produced plants that better allowed researchers to tease out different genetic concepts. The structure of these populations allowed scientist such a T. Dobzhansky, S. Wright, and R.A. Fisher to develop evolutionary biology concepts as well as explore speciation over time and the statistics underlying plant genetics.[9][10][11] Their work laid the foundations for future genetic discoveries such as linkage disequilibrium in 1960.[12]

While breeding experiments were taking place, other scientists such as Nikolai Vavilov[13] and Charles M. Rick were interested in wild progenitor species of modern crop plants. Botanists between the 1920s and 1960s often would travel to regions of high plant diversity and seek out wild species that had given rise to domesticated species after selection. Determining how crops changed over time with selection was initially based on morphological features. It developed over time to chromosomal analysis, then genetic marker analysis, and eventual genomic analysis. Identifying traits and their underlying genetics allowed for transferring useful genes and the traits they controlled from either wild or mutant plants to crop plants. Understanding and manipulating of plant genetics was in its heyday during the Green Revolution brought about by Norman Borlaug. During this time, the molecule of heredity, DNA, was also discovered, which allowed scientists to actually examine and manipulate genetic information directly.

DNA

[The structure of part of a DNA double helix] Deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) is a nucleic acid that contains the genetic instructions used in the development and functioning of all known living organisms and some viruses. The main role of DNA molecules is the long-term storage of information. DNA is often compared to a set of blueprints or a recipe, or a code, since it contains the instructions needed to construct other components of cells, such as proteins and RNA molecules. The DNA segments that carry this genetic information are called genes, and their location within the genome are referred to as genetic loci, but other DNA sequences have structural purposes, or are involved in regulating the use of this genetic information.

Geneticists, including plant geneticists, use this sequence of DNA to their advantage to better find and understand the role of different genes within a given genome. Through research and plant breeding, manipulation of different plant genes and loci encoded by the DNA sequence of the plant chromosomes by various methods can be done to produce different or desired genotypes that result in different or desired phenotypes.[14]

Plant Specific Genetics

Plants, like all other known living organisms, pass on their traits using DNA. Plants however are unique from other living organisms in the fact that they have Chloroplasts. Like mitochondria, chloroplasts have their own DNA. Like animals, plants experience somatic mutations regularly, but these mutations can contribute to the germ line with ease, since flowers develop at the ends of branches composed of somatic cells. People have known of this for centuries, and mutant branches are called “sports”. If the fruit on the sport is economically desirable, a new cultivar may be obtained.

Some plant species are capable of self-fertilization, and some are nearly exclusively self-fertilizers. This means that a plant can be both mother and father to its offspring, a rare occurrence in animals. Scientists and hobbyists attempting to make crosses between different plants must take special measures to prevent the plants from self-fertilizing. In plant breeding, people create hybrids between plant species for economic and aesthetic reasons. For example, the yield of Corn has increased nearly five-fold in the past century due in part to the discovery and proliferation of hybrid corn varieties.[15] Plant genetics can be used to predict which combination of plants may produce a plant with Hybrid vigor, or conversely many discoveries in Plant genetics have come from studying the effects of hybridization.

Plants are generally more capable of surviving, and indeed flourishing, as polyploids. Polyploid organisms have more than two sets of homologous chromosomes. For example, humans have two sets of homologous chromosomes, meaning that a typical human will have 2 copies each of 23 different chromosomes, for a total of 46. Wheat on the other hand, while having only 7 distinct chromosomes, is considered a hexaploid and has 6 copies of each chromosome, for a total of 42.[16] In animals, inheritable germline polyploidy is less common, and spontaneous chromosome increases may not even survive past fertilization. In plants however this is no such problem, polyploid individuals are created frequently by a variety of processes, however once created usually cannot cross back to the parental type. Polyploid individuals, if capable of self-fertilizing, can give rise to a new genetically distinct lineage, which can be the start of a new species. This is often called “instant speciation”. Polyploids generally have larger fruit, an economically desirable trait, and many human food crops, including wheat, maize, potatoes, peanuts,[17] strawberries and tobacco, are either accidentally or deliberately created polyploids. [Arabidopsis thaliana, growing from between a crack in a sidewalk; it is considered a key model organism in plant genetics.|thumb]

_Model organisms_

_Arabidopsis thaliana_

_Arabidopsis thaliana_, also known as thale cress, has been the model organism for the study of plant genetics. As Drosphila, a species of fruit fly, was to the understanding of early genetics, so has been arabidopsis to the understanding of plant genetics. It was the first plant to ever have its genome sequenced in the year 2000. It has a small genome, making the initial sequencing more attainable. It has a genome size of 125 Mbp that encodes about 25,000 genes.[18] Because an incredible amount of research has been done on the plant, a database called The Arabidopsis Information Resource (TAIR) has been established as a repository for multiple data sets and information on the species. Information housed in TAIR include the complete genome sequence along with gene structure, gene product information, gene expression, DNA and seed stocks, genome maps, genetic and physical markers, publications, and information about the Arabidopsis research community.[19] There are several ecotypes of arabidopsis that have been useful in genetic research, and the natural variation has been used to identify loci important in both biotic and abiotic stress resistance.[20]

_Brachypodium distachyon_

_Brachypodium distachyon_ is an experimental model grass that has many attributes that make it an excellent model for temperate cereals. Unlike wheat, a tetra or hexaploid species, brachypodium is diploid with a relatively small genome (~355 Mbp) with a short life-cycle, making genomic studies on it simpler. _(Agronomy, Molecular biology, Genetics_

_Nicotiana benthamiana_

_Nicotiana benthamiana_ is often considered a model organism for both plant-pathogen and transgenic studies. Because it is easily transformed with _Agrobacterium tumefaciens_, it is used to study both the expression of pathogen genes introduced into a plant or test new genetic cassette effects.

Genetically modified crops

Genetically modified (GM) foods are produced from organisms that have had changes introduced into their DNA using the methods of genetic engineering. Genetic engineering techniques allow for the introduction of new traits as well as greater control over traits than previous methods such as selective breeding and mutation breeding.[21]

Genetically modifying plants is an important economic activity: in 2017, 89% of corn, 94% of soybeans, and 91% of cotton produced in the US were from genetically modified strains.[22] Since the introduction of GM crops, yields have increased by 22%, and profits have increased to farmers, especially in the developing world, by 68%. An important side effect of GM crops has been decreased land requirements,[23]

Commercial sale of genetically modified foods began in 1994, when Calgene first marketed its unsuccessful Flavr Savr delayed-ripening tomato.[24][25] Most food modifications have primarily focused on cash crops in high demand by farmers such as soybean, corn, canola, and cotton. Genetically modified crops have been engineered for resistance to pathogens and herbicides and for better nutrient profiles.[26] Other such crops include the economically important GM papaya which are resistant to the highly destructive Papaya ringspot virus, and the nutritionally improved golden rice (it is however still in development).[27]

There is a scientific consensus[28][29][30]But see also:

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and

 that currently available food derived from GM crops poses no greater risk to human health than conventional food,

[31][32][33][34] but that each GM food needs to be tested on a case-by-case basis before introduction.[35][36] Nonetheless, members of the public are much less likely than scientists to perceive GM foods as safe.[37][38][39][40] The legal and regulatory status of GM foods varies by country, with some nations banning or restricting them, and others permitting them with widely differing degrees of regulation.[41][42][43][44] There are still ongoing public concerns related to food safety, regulation, labeling, environmental impact, research methods, and the fact that some GM seeds are subject to intellectual property rights owned by corporations.[45]

Modern ways to genetically modify plants

Genetic modification has been the cause for much research into modern plant genetics, and has also lead to the sequencing of many plant genomes. Today there are two predominant procedures of transforming genes in organisms: the “Gene gun” method and the _Agrobacterium_ method.

“Gene gun” method

The gene gun method is also referred to as “biolistics” (ballistics using biological components). This technique is used for in vivo (within a living organism) transformation and has been especially useful in monocot species like corn and rice. This approach literally shoots genes into plant cells and plant cell chloroplasts. DNA is coated onto small particles of gold or tungsten approximately two micrometres in diameter. The particles are placed in a vacuum chamber and the plant tissue to be engineered is placed below the chamber. The particles are propelled at high velocity using a short pulse of high pressure helium gas, and hit a fine mesh baffle placed above the tissue while the DNA coating continues into any target cell or tissue.

_Agrobacterium_ method

Transformation via Agrobacterium has been successfully practiced in dicots, i.e. broadleaf plants, such as soybeans and tomatoes, for many years. Recently it has been adapted and is now effective in monocots like grasses, including corn and rice. In general, the _Agrobacterium_ method is considered preferable to the gene gun, because of a greater frequency of single-site insertions of the foreign DNA, which allows for easier monitoring. In this method, the tumor inducing (Ti) region is removed from the T-DNA (transfer DNA) and replaced with the desired gene and a marker, which is then inserted into the organism. This may involve direct inoculation of the tissue with a culture of transformed Agrobacterium, or inoculation following treatment with micro-projectile bombardment, which wounds the tissue.[46] Wounding of the target tissue causes the release of phenolic compounds by the plant, which induces invasion of the tissue by Agrobacterium. Because of this, microprojectile bombardment often increases the efficiency of infection with Agrobacterium. The marker is used to find the organism which has successfully taken up the desired gene. Tissues of the organism are then transferred to a medium containing an antibiotic or herbicide, depending on which marker was used. The _Agrobacterium_ present is also killed by the antibiotic. Only tissues expressing the marker will survive and possess the gene of interest. Thus, subsequent steps in the process will only use these surviving plants. In order to obtain whole plants from these tissues, they are grown under controlled environmental conditions in tissue culture. This is a process of a series of media, each containing nutrients and hormones. Once the plants are grown and produce seed, the process of evaluating the progeny begins. This process entails selection of the seeds with the desired traits and then retesting and growing to make sure that the entire process has been completed successfully with the desired results.

[1]

[2] Hartl D, Jones E (2005)

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14]

[15]

[16]  Colorado Wheat|website=coloradowheat.org|access-date=2018-06-20}}

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21] GM Science Review First Report , Prepared by the UK GM Science Review panel (July 2003). Chairman Professor Sir David King, Chief Scientific Advisor to the UK Government, P 9

[22]

[23]

[24]

[25] Weasel, Lisa H. 2009. _Food Fray._ Amacom Publishing

[26]

[27]  The Source {{!}} Washington University in St. Louis|date=2016-06-02|work=The Source|access-date=2018-06-21}}

[28]

[29]

[30]

[31]

[32]

[33]

[34]

[35]

[36]

[37]

[38]

[39]

[40]

[41]

[42]

[43]

[44]

[45]

[46]

title: Plant genetics

question: What is Arabidopsis thaliana?

answer: Arabidopsis thaliana, a plant also known as thale cress, is the model organism for the study of plant genetics. It was the first plant to have its genome sequenced in 2000.

question: How did Gregor Mendel discover genetics?

answer: He tracked the phenotyic traits of pea plants, showing that the inheritance of these traits followed two particular laws.

question: Describe the economic impact of plant generics.

answer: It allows staple crops to be genetically modified to increase yields or have increased resistance to pests, disease, and herbicides. It also increases their nutritional value.

question: What are polypoids?

answer: Polypoids are organisms that have more than two sets of homologous chromosomes.

question: When were plants first domesticated?

answer: There is evidence of plant domestication dating back to 11,000 years before th present (at the time of the article).

question: Hows does plant DNA differ from human DNA?

answer: Plants are different from other living organisms in that they have chloroplasts, which have their own DNA.

question: Describe the "gene gun" method.

answer: The "gene gun" method is a method for genetically modifying plants that involves shooting genes into plant cells and plant cell chloroplasts. The DNA is coated onto particles of gold or tungsten and propelled at high velocity through a vacuum chamber. The particles are intercepted, while the DNA coating continues into the plant.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Plant genetics is the study of genes, genetic variation, and heredity specifically in plants. Genetics was discovered by Gregor Mandel in the late 19th century. Plants differ from other living organisms in that they produce energy-dense carbohydrates via photosynthesis using chloroplasts. Plant genetics is useful for modifying staple crops to increase yield, nutrition, and resistance to pests, diseases, and herbicides.


text:
As the team at Audrey Press have traveled the journey of publishing the new and unique diverse children’s book, _SISSY GOES TINY_ by Rebecca Flansburg and B.A. Norrgard over the last year, we’ve had the chance to learn and understand the life choices that go along with choosing to live in a home that is under 399 square feet. These revelations and lessons have come to us courtesy of co-author, B.A. Norrgard who has been living small for over five years.

It was her experiences, paired with the creative imagination and knowledge of the children’s book industry of co-author Becky Flansburg, that inspired these two long-time friends to pen a picture book about a family that chooses shake up the traditional concept of “home” to live Tiny and do More with Less.

And…::drum roll::…Sissy Goes Tiny is now available on Amazon!

[]

FIRST, LET’S CLARIFY WHAT *TINY HOUSE LIFESTYLE* REALLY MEANS.

The “tiny house movement,” also known as the “small house movement,” basically describes the architectural and social movement that advocates living simply in small homes. The typical Tiny House is less than 399 square feet and often as small as 100; a far cry from the national average in 2014 of 2,453 square feet. Tiny Houses can be placed on a permanent foundation like a regular home, or on a trailer for a more mobile living lifestyle.

[]

B.A. shared that the Number One question people asks her was where she goes “Number Two.” We’ll spare you the earthy and organic details, but long-story-short, composting toilets are popular amongst Tiny Housers and have come a lllooonnngg way in the last handful of years.

Other questions posed to B.A about Tiny House living has to do with managing severe weather, security, and storage.

“Many Tiny House communities have storm shelters on the property and as far as security, I honestly have no concerns in that area. I just installed a tiny air condition in my Tiny House so that will help with the Texas heat. I also have an Envi brand convection wall panel heater that hangs on the wall for this cooler temps as well. I did also wire my house in such a way that it would be very easy to convert to solar. As far as storage, those serious about living minimal and going tiny need to really reevaluate everything in their life because storage is so limited in an under 300 square foot house.  Many tiny house dwellers utilize their outdoor spaces so much that they consider it part of their daily living space.”

Being self-sufficient is a huge part of Tiny House living and Beth Ann admits being close to resources like shopping and supply stores is key. “Because storage space is limited, you can’t load up on food like you can in a typical house,” she added. “My lifestyle demands that I shop more frequently and being close to larger towns with abundant resources is very important to your convenience.”

Is going tiny in the cards for _YOU??_

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

Looking for a beautiful and unconventional diverse picture book for kids? Check out the upcoming,_SISSY GOES TINY!_

[]
Sissy Goes Tiny by Rebecca Flansburg and B.A. Norrgard
_In SISSY GOES TINY, eight-year-old Sissy and her parents make the bold choice to downsize their life and embark on a journey of living tiny and doing more with less. At first, Sissy struggles to get used to the idea of living in a tiny house on wheels and traveling around the U.S, but as she and her mommy and daddy learn about downsizing, repurposing, and how “stuff is just stuff,” she soon understands that a life of “living tiny” will be filled with the big adventures and learning._

This gorgeous diverse picture book will be available July of 2019 and you can READ THE FULL STORY OF THIS JOURNEY HERE and also reserve your hardcover COPY HERE.

_“I believe that Sissy Goes Tiny is going to open so many minds for people! A tiny house is absolutely not for everyone, but we all like to dream and step into the shoes of another lifestyle in our minds. Learning about this lifestyle I think will help people be more supportive of people who do choose to live unconventionally. Sissy and her family are a great example of that.”_ Co-author, B.A. Norrgard

JOIN US IN CELEBRATING THE IDEA OF TINY LIVING AND BIG ADVENTURES!

[]

This diverse picture book is now available on IndieBound and Amazon!

Connect with Audrey Press on Social Media

question: What does the article say about the challenges faced by those who decide to live in a tiny house?

answer: There's no proper toilet, so composting toilets are popular amongst Tiny Housers. Tiny House communities have storm shelters for severe weather. There's also limited space for storage. Tiny Housers have to be self-sufficient because they can't load up on food.

question: Summarize everything relating to author B.A. Norrgard.

answer: B.A. Norrgard authored Sissy Goes Tiny along with Rebecca Flansburg. She told the team at Audrey Press all about her experiences living in a tiny house, which inspired the picture book. The number one question people ask her is where she goes to the bathroom. She also frequently gets questions about managing severe weather, security, and storage. She explains that Tiny House communities have storm shelters and there are no security concerns in the area. She admits that being close to resources like shopping and supply stores is key.

question: What advice does the article provide for people considering a tiny house lifestyle?

answer: Those who are serious about it need to reevaluate everything in their life due to the limited capacity for storage. It is also key to be close to resources like shopping and supply stores.

question: What does the article say about the history of the tiny house movement?


text:
Woman trying on a ring

Craig Warga | Bloomberg | Getty Images

Diamonds may be losing their shine.

Retail sales of diamonds are slowing globally as a younger generation of consumers appears to be less attached to traditional diamond jewelry than their parents and grandparents, according to industry analysts.

"Millennial consumers have distinctive preferences, which in many ways diverge from previous generations," Bank of America Merrill Lynch analyst Ashley Wallace said in a research note this month. "They tend to be more value conscious, more concerned with sustainability and ethical production, and often value unique and individual products versus items that are standardized and mass-produced."

They are also marrying later. The median age for millennial women to marry is 27 and for men 29, according to Pew Research. That's a challenge for the diamond business.

The bridal category, including engagement or wedding ring purchases, represents as much as half of the total merchandise sold by some of the major U.S.-based jewelers.

And when they do marry, some consumers are opting for more gemstone engagement rings, such as sapphires, or fashion jewelry with lab-grown diamonds, according to industry analysts. Synthetic diamonds can cost 30 percent less than mined diamonds.

"Millennials don't want what all their friends have and don't want what they've been told to have," said Amanda Gizzi, a spokeswoman for Jewelers of America, a trade association with more than 8,000 member jewelers.

In an attempt to counteract the trend, the Diamond Producers Association, a global trade group of seven of the world's leading diamond producers, launched an advertising campaign to win over the hearts, minds and wallets of millennials. Its slogan is "real is rare, real is a diamond." This effort follows the relaunch last fall of the iconic "a diamond is forever" advertising by De Beers, the world's largest diamond marketer.

The challenge is that diamond jewelry appears to be low on the buying lists among so-called millennials.

Des Kilalea

analyst, RBC Capital Markets

"The role of the DPA is to focus on ensuring a strong, vibrant demand for our diamonds," association CEO Jean-Marc Lieberherr said. "That's really what underpins the 'real is rare' strategy, which is to connect at a deep emotional level with millennials, who are an important group now. That's the biggest generation in the U.S. and within a few years they'll be the biggest consuming generation. They are also the generation getting married, and the bridal or kind of romantic engagement cachet is still the cornerstone of this industry."

Lieberherr added that millennials "really relate a lot to what a diamond is and the idea of a diamond, but a little less to all the rituals and conventions that are associated with it." He said the new marketing campaign includes social media well as radio and television.

"While the Diamond Producers Association has put the stimulation of demand growth high on its agenda, the challenge is that diamond jewelry appears to be low on the buying lists among so-called millennials," RBC Capital Markets analyst Des Kilalea said in a research note published this month.

BofAML estimates worldwide retail sales of diamonds will grow just 2 percent this year, well below the 7 percent compound annual growth rate from 2009-2014. The U.S. remains core to the diamond industry with an estimated 42 percent share of the global market for diamonds, according to DPA figures.

The U.S. market is actually what's helped maintain the overall worldwide growth rate in recent years. The Chinese and Indian markets, which were the strongest engines of growth from 2010 to 2014, have slowed.

Meanwhile, RBC expects diamond "supply will exceed demand until at least 2020." Also, their research suggests that the "growth in synthetics will become an even greater challenge to natural diamonds" in the future.

Synthetic diamonds are a small fraction of the total amount of diamonds sold today, said Edahn Golan, an independent diamond analyst based in Israel. He doesn't see the lab-grown diamonds as an immediate threat to the traditionally mined diamonds.

"When you propose to your girlfriend and want a symbol of your enduring love, the chance is you won't propose with a lab-grown diamond," said Golan. "Not a big sign of affection — kind of cold. They are not capturing the bridal market. The lab grown diamonds as it looks today … is a very good niche that fits fashion jewelry."

Lab-produced diamonds are primarily made in Malaysia, Singapore, China and Russia, although there are some U.S.-based companies such as California-based Diamond Foundry, a company backed by Silicon Valley investors and actor Leonardo DiCaprio, whose movies include the 2006 film "Blood Diamond."

In the year-to-date period, shares of major diamond sellers such as Signet Jewelers, Tiffany & Co. and Blue Nile have sharply underperformed the broad market by falling 19 percent or more.

About 50 percent of the Signet Jewelers' total merchandise sales are tied to the bridal category. Company spokesman David Bouffard said the jeweler does not carry synthetics because "current research has shown that our consumers significantly prefer natural diamonds in fine jewelry."

Josh Holland, a spokesman for Blue Nile, said the online diamond jeweler has no plans to sell lab-grown diamonds but is "looking at them and evaluating what the market might be."

question: What is happening to the retail sales of diamonds?

answer: It is slowing globally.

question: Which demographics are partly to blame for the slowed sales?

answer: Younger generation of consumers and millennials.

question: What are some reasons younger generations have contributed to the slowed sales?

answer: Ethical concerns over production and later marriages

question: What are some consumers opting for instead?

answer: Gemstone engagement rings

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer:
Retail sales of diamonds are slowing globally. Millennial and younger consumers are partly to blame. They appear to be less attached to traditional jewelry and have distinctive preferences.
Some reasons include that people are marrying later and are generally more concerned with sustainability/ethical production.


text:
_THE WOUND_ (Xhosa: [1] ) is a 2017 South African drama film directed by John Trengove.[2] It was screened in the World Cinema Dramatic Competition at the 2017 Sundance Film Festival[3] and the Panorama section of the 67th Berlin International Film Festival.[4] The film opened the Tel Aviv International LGBT Film Festival 2017.[5] It was selected as the South African entry for the Best Foreign Language Film at the 90th Academy Awards,[6][7] making the December shortlist.[8]

Plot

The story tracks a closeted relationship between two men in the context of the Xhosa initiation ritual of _Ulwaluko_.[9][10] Xolani, a factory worker, joins the men of his community at the annual ceremony in the mountains of Eastern Cape. In addition to serving as a mentor to the initaties, Xolani looks forward to the event as it provides him the opportunity to reestablish his sexual and romantic relationship with Vija. When Xolani is assigned to be the mentor of Kwanda, a young man from Johannesburg, he quickly realizes that Kwanda is also gay, and Kwanda soon realizes the nature of the relationship between Vija and Xolani. Tensions soon emerge between the three.[11]

Cast

-   Nakhane as Xolani
-   Bongile Mantsai as Vija
-   Niza Jay Ncoyini as Kwanda
-   Siphosethu “Seth Singer” Ngcetane as Nkosi
-   Loyiso Lloyd N Ngqayana as Vija's Initiate
-   Sibabalwe Esbie Ngqayana as Zuko
-   Halalisani Bradley Cebekhulu as Lukas
-   Inga Qwede as Ncedo

Production

Inspiration for _The Wound_ came after director John Trengove read _A Man Who is Not a Man_, a novel by Thando Mgqolozana on the topic of the Xhosa initiation ceremony.[12] Trengove wished to challenge the notion that homosexuality was a product of western culture that posed a threat to traditional African culture.[13] The film received funding from the National Film and Video Foundation.[14] Cultural experts were consulted to ensure the authenticity of the material.[15]

Reception

On review aggregator Rotten Tomatoes, the film holds an approval rating of 89%, based on 44 reviews with an average rating of 7.3/10. The website's critical consensus reads, “_The Wound_ uses its complex, timely story as effective grist for a thought-provoking exploration of the human dynamic.”[16] Metacritic gives the film a weighted average score of 80 out of 100, based on 14 critics, indicating “generally favorable reviews”.[17]

_Inxeba_ received 19 awards at 44 festivals worldwide; received eight South African Film and Television Awards (Safta) nominations, including Best Actor, Best Directing and Best Film; and was short-listed for an Oscar in the Best Foreign Language Film category.[18][19]

Controversy

The film has been accused of cultural insensitivity because it portrays secretive initiation rituals. However, other media covering the same topic, like Nelson Mandela's _Long Walk to Freedom_, have not received similar criticism, leading to accusations that complaints about the film are instead motivated by homophobia.[20][21][22]

A day after the film's release in South Africa, cinemas in the Eastern Cape province were forced to cancel screenings of the film and offer refunds because of protests, intimidation and vandalism. Nu Metro Cinemas subsequently cancelled screenings countrywide, while Ster-Kinekor continued to show it outside of the Eastern Cape. The film's producers filed complaints with the Human Rights Commission and the Commission for Gender Equality over threats and violence.[23][24] Crew and cast received death threats and were forced to go into hiding.[25]

Reclassification

The film was initially classified as 16LS by South Africa's Film and Publication Board (FPB), but was later reclassified as X18 by the FPB's Appeal Tribunal after complaints by the Congress of Traditional Leaders of South Africa and other cultural and Christian organisations. X18 is the rating reserved for hardcore pornography, although Inxeba contains none, and meant that distribution was limited to premises licensed to show pornography, resulting in the film's removal from all South African cinemas.[26][27][28] The Democratic Alliance criticised the decision of the Appeal Tribunal, characterising it as “nothing short of censorship” by “patriarchs and homophobes”.[29] FPB classifiers themselves have concluded that the Appeal Tribunal's rating amounted to unlawful censorship based on homophobia.[30][31]

Urucu Media, the producers of _Inxeba_, and the SA Screen Federation intended to challenge the film's X18 rating in court, on the basis that they were denied an opportunity to make representation to the Tribunal, and that the Appeal Tribunal's decision is incompatible with the principles of the Constitution of the Republic of South Africa.[32][33]

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[4] s Main Programme / Focus on “Black Worlds” and “Europa Europa” |publisher=Berlin International Film Festival |author=Press Office |date=20 December 2016 |accessdate=21 December 2016}}

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title: The Wound (2017 film)

question: Who directed the film?

answer: John Trengove

question: Who are the main characters?

answer: Xolani, Vija, and Kwanda

question: What ritual does the story follow?

answer: Ulwaluko, a Xhosa initiation ritual

question: How was the movie received?

answer: It received positive reviews from critics and was nominated for many awards, but due to threats of violence and an appeal to reclassify the film as X18, it had to be pulled from many theaters

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The Wound is a 2017 South African drama film about a closeted relationship between two men in the context of the Xhosa initiation ritual of Ulwaluko. It received positive reviews and many award nominations, but due to threats of violence and an appeal to reclassify its rating as X18, it had to be pulled from many South African theaters.


text:
As a child, I was always a tiny ball of never-ending energy. Concentration? Non-existent. I was the type of child that was most at ease when I was doing something with my hands, although I was very particular about just what that activity would be.
I had always been extremely sensitive. Not in an emotional way; on that front I had always been shut-down and rock solid. No, I was sensitive to the touch, and I would cry at any loud or sudden noise. As a result, I wore my clothing inside-out and isolated myself from most other children.
Bullying was prominent in my elementary school. Even as a first-grader, children would pick on me for my strange outfits and social ineptitude. As a teenage, I'm still fairly socially awkward, but it's nothing compared to how bad it was then.
The day I met my best friend was snowy. Elementary school was just as rough as it'd always been, and I was sitting near the swing sets alone. A girl- I think her name was Natalie- came up to me and began the usual routine of taunting me. I took in my characteristic stoic silence, sitting with a blank expression on my face.
Just as the girl turned away from me to go back to her friends, a voice sounded from behind her.
"Don't make fun of her! She only wears her clothes like that 'cause she doesn't like the seams."
When said aloud, it sounded perfectly logical. Of course I didn't like the seams; I failed to understand how anyone tolerated them. This girl understood the world.
Her name was Sophie, and she quickly became my best friend. Still is, in fact. I love her dearly, and miss her dreadfully.
_________________________________________________________
The day that I met him was incidentally the same day that I realised just how underused and unappreciated the word 'wonderful' is. The four of us were on the floor, and his best friend accidentally rolled headfirst into a wall. His laughter filled the room as best friend sat up, rubbing the back of his head with an irritated expression.
"That was wonderful!" he exclaimed in the way that I would soon learn was extremely characteristic of him, and what would become one of his most prominent defining features in my eyes.
Wonderful, as it seemed, was his go-to word for anything that happened that he found amusing or even just worth positively acknowledging. Whether it was something that made his ribs hurt from mad laughter, or something that awed him, it was always the same three words.
"That was wonderful."
__________________________________________________________
I twitched my nose in mild aggravation. It itched terribly, but I knew that should I relieve that itch, my finger would come away blackened with marker. I crossed my eyes, attempting to peer more closely the cat whiskers that my friend had hastily etched upon my face. I looked over at her, and smiled slightly at her own whisker-marred face. At least we were ridiculous together.
Of course, I was perfectly aware of how 'normal' we actually appeared in our pursuit of abnormality. This was all so typical, but I remained enthusiastic nonetheless.
"Ellie, why're there whiskers drawn on your face?" Asked the girl sitting across from me on the crowded bus. She pushed her curly brown hair away from her face, looking at me expectantly.
I answered her quickly, giving some brief explanation about youtubers. Our conversation quickly moved on to the upcoming season of our mutually-favourite television show: Doctor Who.
Our conversation-turned-debate was quickly growing heated when a voice sounded, just to her left. It was clear and soft, low and husky, but easily heard over the noise of the bus.
 	"The Angels could take the Silence any day."
I looked over at the owner of the dulcet tones, determined to find out why I hadn't been acquainted with him before. I stopped short, however, as I saw him.
He was sitting casually beside my debate companion, one arm draped over a metal pole and ankles crossed. He wore a dull blue-purple button-down and blue jeans. His dark hair was neatly coiffed, and he was smiling crookedly.
I stared intently at him for a brief moment before opening my mouth and proclaiming, much to my present and ongoing embarrassment, "You're going to be my best friend."
He smirked, giving me a small two-fingered salute. "Alex."
___________________________________________________________
My sock-clad feet dangled off of the splintering wooden porch. It was a blisteringly hot July afternoon, and the palm of my right hand rested against my jaw. I blinked slowly, the summer heat rendering my brain sluggish and nearly useless. Across from me, my best friend and constant companion of almost six years had struck a similar pose. I gazed aimlessly at her for a while, my eyes tracing the gentle slope of her jaw and the soft waves of her chin-length blonde hair.
	I was pulled from my warmth-induced reverie by the sound of her voice. “Ellie,” she began, her tone rough with discomfort, “I’m hot. Can we do something else? Preferably cooling.”
	I blinked rapidly a few times, trying to jumpstart my uncooperative brain. “Yeah,  sure,” I told her. “Any suggestions?”
	“No...” she said thoughtfully, getting up and beginning to walk around the back of my house. Thinking that she had simply grown weary of laying on my porch, I let her go.
	Just as my eyes had begun to sag closed once again, I felt a startlingly cold splash of water against the hot flesh of my back and arms. I uttered a small shriek and jumped up from my position, turning to see my friend holding my garden hose with a maniacal look upon her face. She sprayed me again, all the while laughing like a hyena.
	“I’m cooling you down!” came her excited voice. I grinned then. I did feel better, and the heat was nearly as unbearable now. But still, there were principles that must be upheld.
	“I’ll get you back for that!” I yelled, racing across my lawn in pursuit of my attacker.
___________________________________________________________
	I inhaled deeply, my face pressed against the warm, delicious-smelling flesh of his neck. I loosened my grip around his neck, leaning against the back of the front seat so as to get a better look at his face. We were curled around each other in the backseat of a friend’s car; my arms around his neck and his around my waist as was characteristic of us. The slight bumpiness of the ride didn’t faze us anymore, as we had long since gotten accustomed to the severity of the driver’s turns.
	After a few moments of smiling wanly at him, I lowered my head down to his shoulder. Squeezing him tightly, I tilted my head slightly and place my lips against the shell of his ear. “Love, love, love,” I murmured gently.
	He pushed me away slightly, his eyes locked on my face for a brief moment before he shook his head. “You really do love me.”
	To me, it sounded like a realisation. His eyes were bright, and I’m sure that mine were shining with emotion. He hugged me to him once again, and I kissed his neck serenely.
	“I really do.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________
EDIT: I don't know what's up with the formatting. Sorry.

title: A series of stories

question: How is the narrator in the first story different from the norm?

answer: The girl is completely incapable of concentrating. Loud noises make her cry out loud. Her skin is sensitive to the touch so she wears her clothes inside out. This is because the seam irritates her skin. She is also socially awkward and the children tease her about her strange ways.

question: Describe what was odd about the narrator and her friend in the third story.

answer: They both looked ridiculous because they had drawn whiskers on their faces with black marker pens. In addition, the narrator crosses her eyes in an attempt to see the artwork on her face. Their pursuit of abnormality had not worked.

question: What is the name of the boy in the second story?

question: What is Ellie's friend's response to the heat?

answer: First, she asks Ellie if they can get do something a little cooler. Then she gets up and walks away. As Ellie's eyes close, she is splashed with cold water from the hose. Her friend laughs like a hyena as she wets Ellie.


text:
  All of us have a muse. Just be thankful that most us can't see them.  She's been with me, as long as I can remember, a pale woman, never a girl, always just a few steps away from me, no matter where I am. She never speaks to me. Not in words that I can hear, but I can feel her in my mind, when I sit down to write, when the ideas start to flow.

  When I was little, I used to try to convince my mother of Her reality, it was always dismissed as a game, a little bit of play acting. She had an imaginary friend when she was young too she'd say with a smile. After a while I could see the worry on her face whenever I mentioned “The Woman.” - I never really had a name for Her, didn't understand what exactly She was, I didn't have the words. Not back then. - And so I let it drop. I stopped mentioning Her, started to try ignoring Her, though as I got older this grew more difficult.

  I'd see Her every time I looked over my shoulder, every time I looked in the mirror, and I soon came to realize that She was beautiful, Her plump lips always slightly upturned as if we were sharing some private joke. Though this smile never seemed to reach Her eyes which were a pale shade of green, always fixing onto mine when I looked at Her. Her hair long, and richly black, and She always wore the same long green dress, old fashioned, like something from a story book without the lace and the ruffles.

  I've always been creative but mercurial, my passions shifting from one pursuit to the other, first drawing, then painting, playing instruments, anything that involves an expression of myself. But my true love has always been writing. When I write I lose myself in the story, it pours out of me like a torrent. I'm almost never at a loss for words. But I find it so draining. A few hours of writing and I feel like I've been working a full day, bone tired fatigued. And I never really understood why until I was in my late teens.

  I was home from school and rattling around my empty house, Mom was working and Dad was out of state. So I decided to go down to the local coffee shop and try to get some work done. There'd been a particularly complex story that I'd been working on, my first real attempt at a novel, and I wanted some time to proofread, but I didn't like being alone with Her. As I pushed through the doors of the shop, I noticed something odd. A man who looked to be in his late fifties sitting and typing feverishly, this in itself wasn't strange. But what was behind him was...There was a woman standing there, similar enough to mine to be her twin, the same generous features, the same green eyes, but her hair was red, a brilliant fiery red. As he wrote she leaned in close her lips pressing against his ears, her hands resting on his shoulders, she seemed to be whispering something, though he was not responding, simply typing away. I started to approach them, to talk to him, to her, but then I saw her nails. They were long, curving slightly downwards, sinking into his flesh through his shirt and as I watched I could see a faint pulsing glow rising upwards along them, from him into her and he began to droop visibly, reaching to take a deep sip of his coffee, fatigue suddenly registering on his features.

  I fled as soon as my mind registered this, pushed back out the doors and ran all the way home. I didn't stop till I was in my room, throwing myself beneath the covers and hiding there for all the good it would do me. They looked so much alike, that strange woman and my Muse, was She doing the same to me? I let the idea go, tried not to thing about it. To force it out of my head then one day on the front page of the paper I saw a story about a local writer who had died “tragically early.” The picture was of the man I'd seen at the coffee shop just a few months previously. His age was listed as thirty-five, but he'd apparently been quite prolific, eight novels to his name. The cause of death was hear attack. This couldn't be right I told myself, from the picture alone he seemed to be on the cusp of seniority, sixty I would have believed. I went to the computer, googling his name, confident the paper had been a typo. It was not. The information was accurate. There were all kinds of theories about his appearance, about his gray hair, including drugs, but I knew better. It was her, it was whatever she had been taking from him. And I now knew what I had to do. I had to see if She was doing the same to me as his woman had done to him. I had to know. I set up a mirror on my desk, she never appeared on film, placed it just in front of myself, so I could glance up at a moments notice and I began to write. Nothing at first, my interest more on staring at the mirror, trying to catch her then the act of writing itself. But finally I found the rhythm of it, the words pouring forth once more. And I glanced up. And I saw Her, looking back at me. Her nails in my flesh, her lips on my ear, I could have been the man in that shop in that moment. I threw the notebook away from me, vowed never to write another word, hoping to starve her.

  But the ideas, they just kept coming, flooding into my consciousness at the worst moments, drowning out everything else. I lasted a little over a year till I had to give up. I sat down at my PC, and I typed, for hours, the words flowing forth like a river breaking a dam. When I finished I could barely move the short distance from my chair to my bed. I collapsed, not even having the energy to pull the sheets over me and woke sixteen hours later, the bed beneath me, and my clothes soaked with sweat, my entire body aching.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, trying to tell myself it was nothing, just a fever, it couldn't be anything else Then I looked into the mirror, and I found the first streak of gray. I was sixteen. My mother nearly fainted when I came downstairs, she immediately drove me to the doctor. He told us he couldn't find anything wrong, said it was probably just stress, nothing to worry about and sent me home.

  I learned my lesson then. I didn't try to bottle it up anymore...Eight years later, that's still my only streak of gray, but I easily pass for thirty. My face is lined my bones ache. Every time I set pen to paper or finger to key she feels a bit more solid, I can feel her touch even now, feel her lips brushing against my skin. It's addictive, her presence. Comforting almost. feel a little bit of myself flowing out of me every-time I write but I can't stop.  I don't want to stop, and I know that She'll take me if I do, I'm sure of it. She'll take me all at once instead of in pieces, my face the next in the paper.

title: My Muse

question: Summarize the supernatural elements of the story.

answer: The narrator's Muse appears to them as a pale woman always lurking just a few steps away from them. At the coffee shop, he sees a woman identical to his Muse sinking her nails into the flesh of another man and draining the life out of him. The man dies of a heart attack at the age of thirty-five, despite looking sixty. The narrator then sets a mirror on his table, and next time he writes he realizes his Muse is also sinking her nails into him.

question: What does the story say about where the Muse came from?

question: What does the story say about the benefits of the Muse?

answer: Whenever the narrator starts to write, he can feel her in her mind and the ideas start to flow. The words pour out of him like a torrent and they are never at the loss for words. The Muse allows writers to be prolific, such as the writer at the coffee shop, who published eight novels by the age of thirty-five.


text:
He was speeding. Driving twice the limit,
full of excitement and anticipation. He slowed down as his
automated direction giver announced a shorter distance
to his destination with every turn. Eventually he arrived,
his six hundred mile journey had finally reached its end.
And now his heart could start his first step. He parked
behind his arrival location, making every movement
discreet as possible. He looked over himself,  in his car's
mirrors, trying and hoping that he looked as good as
possible. When he deemed himself presentable, he grabbed
something from the glove compartment, and set out.

He was going to surprise her, the two hadn't spoken in
months; and now that they were of age, he could
finally make his intentions clear. He walked slowly, trying to
keep his composure, and his cocktail of emotions under wraps.
Excitement and nerves, it would be the first time that the two
would meet, yet they've known each other, and loved each other
for years by this point. They dreamed of this day, and hopefully
this would live up to all of their dreams and imagination.

He exhaled, and continued the final leg of his journey with
confidence in his strut. His hands in his coat pockets, fumbling
with the item he pulled from his car. He stepped up the steps to her
door, and knocked with three heavy knocks, quick in their repitition.

He could hear heavy footfalls coming from the other side of the door.
Hoping she would answer, he held a certain kind of joyful stance. The
composure would die as quick as a short breath after calisthenics. To his
surprise, she did not open the door, but a taller much more somber looking
woman answered. He tried to hide his intial disappointment, and cleared
his throat.

"Is Breanne there?"

There was a pause in the air, a lingering feeling of doubt, as if he asked the
wrong question. His doubts were answered as tears rolled down the woman's
face. He was clueless, wondering how such a question could cause this reaction.

"What's your name, son?"

He answered quickly."Edgar, Edgar Williams."

She nodded. "She's talked about you, I recognised you from a photo she shared with me"

There was a curious look on his face, then she motioned for him to come inside.
He walked in, and the door closed behind him. She pointed to the small, black
leather couch in the living room in front of him. He sat down, anticipating either
bad news or a stern talking to. She, though aware of the stranger in her home,
walked upstairs to get something. Edgar sat there in silence, observing the area
around him. She then came downstairs, hold a few pieces of paper in her ebony hands.

"This is for you, you were the only person she wrote to besides her actual note.
Seeing as how you're here, I can only assume you don't know."

She handed him the papers, her hands shaking, and him looking at her with a look
of curiosity.
"Don't know what, ma'am?"

She coughed, but then spoke. "She died last month, she killed herself."

Edgar's world just came crashing down on him. He looked at her in agony,
his caucasian complexion redding as he broke down in tears. She sat down
next to him, a smooth arm wrapping around him, consoling him as he cried.

"I didn't read the note she did put aside for you and you only. Not to push
you, but what did she say?"

He stopped, sniffed, and wiped his eyes. He took ahold of the papers. He looked
down at the papers to see a letter, a picture, and a folded paper heart. He
unfolded the heart first, and to his surprise he saw it was one of his own writings
to her, a poem he wrote to her when they first starting falling for each other. He
placed that down to the side, as the mother  picked it up and read it intently. He
looked at the photograph, a self potrait polaroid of Breanne. On the back of the
picture, it read this. "Don't ever forget my love is always here. I'm sorry"
Breanne's mother spoke up. "The letter"
He wiped his eyes from freshly falling tears, and held the letter up so he could read.

"Edgar

Our love may last forever, but alas, I cannot outlast Death. I could write novels as to
how I came to make this decision, but I will simplify. Life hit me in a wave that I could
not handle. I hope my mother is sober enough to provide further points of clarification.
I hold nothing against her, but she wasn't there like you were. So even if I pushed you
back, I always loved you. And I hope you know that for forever. And while we could
never be, I'll always be your darling, your darling, your life and your bride. I ask you
not to hate me for what I have done, as I know it may seem I've cheated you out of
forever, but I did what I thought was necessary. My heart is, and always was yours.

With love and apologies,

Breanne"

It was short, and to the point, like most suicide notes. No tears rolled down his face nor
the Mother's. The subsiding sniffles from earlier were dying out.
"Take me to her" He asked, almost demandingly.
"I don't think you want to do that," She said with a caring inflection.
He looked at her puzzlingly, and with a twisted look on his face, he was enraged.
"WHY!? She's dead and maybe because of you!"
He realised the sudden pang of his words, as he watched her collapse onto him.
He kept muttering apology after apology. Instead she just gripped harder, and
inbetween her sobs, she began to ask: "Her heart was to you, she told me that"

He was thinking about what she was going to ask.

"Did you love her back completely?"

"Take me to her, and I'll show you how much."

They collected themselves, and they went for their vehicles. Before they set off,
she asked where her other children were. She told him that she lost them in an
even more recent event, a divorce. He found it as a miracle that this woman could
hold her own, but her job as a soldier with military training can help greatly with
emotional silencing. they went to their cars and drove off. The drive was lengthy,
a decent 45 minutes until they reached a suburban environment,filled with green fields.
They reached a small cemetery, and stopped. Her grave was the only fresh one, flowers
still colored and soft from her recent burial. He, dressed in all black, fell to his knees on a
strangely cold summer day. From his coat pocket he pulled out the object from the glove
compartment, a ring box. The mother gasped at the object, staring in both awe and pity.
He opened the box, and placed the ring on her tombstone. Muttering, no one hearing but
her and him.

"One day after this life."

title: Shattered Promises

question: Where is the driver going?

answer: To visit a person named Breanne

question: How far would the narrator need to drive to make their destination and get back home?

answer: 1200 miles

question: How did the driver want to surprise Breanne?

answer: He wanted to propose to her

question: Does the main character meet Breanne?

answer: No, she is dead. She killed herself

question: What was Breanne's mother's profession?

answer: She was a soldier.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: This story is about a man who drives to propose to a girl, but finds out that she killed herself months ago. He meets with the mother and visits the girl's grave site.