text:
( So, this has been an idea I've been running with for a while now. I've been interested in continuing it, but I'd like to know what Reddit thinks. Please just give me some constructive criticism here. I just want to know if it'd be worth investing my time in this idea. Aaaand...enjoy the read! )

      Smoke billowed from the window of a broken-down truck that always sat at the edge of Potts farm. Nobody knew how or when the dusty behemoth of a vehicle ended up where it was. All that was known was that it had been there for years on end, never claimed and never moved. Incapable of any motion, the vehicle was often the place that delinquents and vagabonds aplenty decided to make their little niche in the world. Sitting in the front seat, Matthew Delaney smoked the Marlboro in his lips slowly.  A down-to-earth country boy, Matthew fit the part with a pair of dusty overalls and a tank top worn underneath. Scrawny to the letter and hiding his eyes behind a tangled mess of sweat-laced hair, he wasn't exactly the most attractive or noteworthy of people in the small farming colony of Plethora. A glance over brought attention to the old rifle he had stolen from his father's case. A Winchester by make, the rifle was known for its solid performance, even as old as it was. Today, it seemed, was the day that Matthew had decided to die. Another gentle puff of the cigarette brought his mind back, spiraling through the mesh of memories and thoughts he had locked away for the day. What had brought him to this point? The breakup. That's right. Amber McGraw, a girl he had been with for nearly two years had decided that they were looking at different ends of a circle. They would arrive at the same points, but regardless of how much they moved their plans around, there was never a solid corner to settle into. A shake of his head brought Matthew back to the present, a blemish of a day in his perfect plan of life. Everything he had known in the world had come to a close and there was no new chapter to this book. No sequels, no trilogy or saga to keep him wondering what came next.

      Sighing, Matthew flicked the cigarette from the door and grabbed the rifle from the passenger's seat. Kicking the door as he pulled the handle, the old metal swung open with a contesting creak and squealed to rest once open halfway. Squeezing out of the narrow opening, Matthew walked to the front of the truck and leaned back. The cold metal of the grill met his back with a smack and Matthew soon found himself sliding to sit with his knees propped up. Dropping his head back, he let it rest on the truck's grill as he gazed into the night sky. Earth had been a sight back whenever he had first lived there. The large white moon above with stars littering the sky had kept him rather enraptured as a young boy. At the age of twenty-seven, however, Matthew found the night sky of Plethora to be a bit lackluster. There was no moon, only stars. The sky wasn't even that dark here. A darker shade of red, perhaps, but the early sun's rotation did little to give a working man a real moment's sleep. Shaking his head, Matthew looked down once more at the rifle he held. At least he'd be found soon. People would be out and about in an hour at the latest. Since the old “Pott's Truck” was a landmark into and out of the primary farming community that the colony was known for, someone was bound to find the poor man's body where it would undoubtedly be lying. No coyotes or decay for him. He'd at least have the dignity of a decent burial. Firming his resolve, Matthew shifted the rifle until it was placed squarely in his mouth and moved his hand towards the trigger.

      Before he had even so much as touched the trigger guard, however, an explosion rocked the world around him. Wind, dust, and rocks flew towards Matthew, who was quick to drop to the side, evading a rather large rock that had been kicked up and sent his way. Forgotten was the rifle and his previous resolution, the old weapon hitting the ground with a dull clang compared to the sudden rush of noise and action around the man. Whenever his vision cleared up, Matthew went wide-eyed with disbelief. There before him, battling what Matthew had once considered friends and coworkers, was the lapdog of the Unified Colony Directorate. Aiden Desparius, a gene-soldier, was an impressive figure to find on any battlefield. Standing at just under 6 feet flat and sporting a goatee that looked as if it belonged on some cartoon villain's face, he was impressive enough without the gear he had strapped to his body armor. White flesh shifted as he dived to the side, evading a stray rifle's bullet. Muscles tightened and flexed as he punched one farmer, who dared to get close with his knife, in the nose. To see him battling a bunch of farmers and laborers was more than enough shock and confusion for Matthew, who could only watch in wonder before the desire to save his fellows overwhelmed the man's mind. Stumbling for the abandoned Winchester, Matthew raised it shakily to his shoulder and aimed at the soldier fighting his people. Unseen, he fired off the round and managed a hit. A small cheer lifted from his mouth whenever he saw Aiden crumple, one immediately copied by the farmer's around him. It died, however, whenever Aiden rose slowly from the ground. Spitting to the side, he glanced at the hole in his shoulder and turned to where the shot came from. “Mother fucker.”

      They were to be the last two words Matthew heard in his current life. Seeing Aiden vanish before his eyes, Matthew gave a startled yelp and attempted to flee from where he was hunched. He had intended to kill himself that day, but now felt the very real desire to remain alive now that he had an enemy who cared enough about him to want him dead. He knew Aiden's gift, as most did, and did his best to run before the soldier reappeared. He wasn't quick enough. Aiden reappeared explosively, his body forming in midair in the space that Matthew inhabited. Vitae and organs spread like a rain, Matthew's body unable to contain the sudden stress of someone else occupying the exact space it did. The poor man's master plan for dying peacefully and with a proper funeral were shattered in the same instant that Matthew simply ceased to exist. It didn't take long for Aiden to finish his compatriots after their morale shattered, seeing such gruesome brutality.

title: Plethora (First Post)

question: What does the story say about becoming a gene-soldier for the Unified Colony Directorate?

answer: No answer

critique: The response misses to mention that Aiden is a gene-soldier for the Unified Colony Directorate.

critique: The story does not mention what it takes to become a gene-soldier for the Unified Colony Directorate.

critique: There are details about Aiden Desparius, a gene-soldier from the UCD on the battlefield.

critique: No answer is given, but the story does give a few details about the process.

critique: The answer is not relevant to the question.

critique: It's omitted that the gene-soldiers are part of the unified colony Delpolis, which is led by a “Director”.

critique: The response is blank and is not a valid answer.

critique: It's omitted that the gene-soldier does not have to be a soldier to be one.

critique: No answer is given, but the story does mention that Aiden is a gene-soldier for the Unified Colony Directorate.

critique: No answer is given, but the story does give a few details about the gene-soldiers.

question: Summarize Matthew Delaney's story.

answer: The truck outside of the farm where Matthew worked happened to contain an old Winchester rifle, which was the weapon used to commit the murder of a Gen-soldier named Aiden Desparius. Aiden was a superhuman monster subservient to a civil organization, who could bubble up into people's body space when killed and vaporize them with rocks and boulders. The death of Matthew set off a rift known as an internecine war between the farmers and laborers.

critique: The answer is not related to the question.

critique: This is more a summary of the events as written in the story. The answer should focus on Matthew's story.

critique: The second sentence is false and should be removed.

critique: " bubbles up" is a twisted metaphor, and should be replaced by something less entertaining.

critique: There is no evidence to suggest that Matthew worked on a farm.

critique: The truck outside of the farm where Matthew worked happened to contain an old Winchester rifle, which was the weapon used to commit the murder of a Gen-soldier named Aiden Desparius. Aiden was a superhuman monster subservient to a civil organization, who could bubble up into people's body space when killed and vaporize them with rocks and boulders. The death of Matthew set off a rift known as an internecine war between the farmers and laborers. The story is not clear about the truck.

critique: Matthew Delaney is not the one who killed Aiden Desparius.

critique: There is no evidence that the murder of Aiden Desparius caused an internecine war between the farmers and laborers.

critique: "who could bubble up into people's body space when killed" - this is completely made up. There's no evidence in the text that suggests this. Replace with an accurate description of what happened instead.

critique: This is inaccurate. It is not stated that rocks and boulders vaporized Matthew.

critique: There is no evidence Matthew was a farmer.

critique: "The truck outside of the farm where Matthew worked happened to contain an old Winchester rifle, which was the weapon used to commit the murder of a Gen-soldier named Aiden Desparius. Aiden was a superhuman monster subservient to a civil organization, who could bubble up into people's body space when killed and vaporize them with rocks and boulders. The death of Matthew set off a rift known as an internecine war between the farmers and laborers." - this is the opposite of what happened. Matthew was killed by Aiden.


split: train

text:
was a Japanese architect.

Early career

[The Hall of Chamber Music, Yatsugatake, at Minamimaki, Nagano, 1988] Yoshimura dated his desire to become an architect to the day he first entered Frank Lloyd Wright's Imperial Hotel in Tokyo, shortly after the Kanto earthquake of 1923. "“It was the first time that I felt emotional when faced with architecture. I said to my myself, this really shows the power of space. I felt that architecture was something extraordinary. It’s certainly the main reason I became an architect.”[1]

In December 1928, while a student at Tokyo's Fine Arts College, Yoshimura began part-time work at Antonin Raymond's office, becoming full-time after he graduated in 1931.[2] Among other work, he performed on-site supervision for the Akaboshi Cottage (1931) for Japanese golfer Shiro Akaboshi, a house for Kisuke Akaboshi (1932) and the Kawasaki House (1934).[3]

In May 1940 he travelled to Antonin's home in New Hope, Pennsylvania, spending fourteen months living and working in the studio there. He oversaw the installation of a small tea house at the Japan Institute in New York City.[4]

Later career

[International House of Japan, Tokyo, 1955] [Nara National Museum, 1972] On his return to Tokyo in 1941 he set up his own practice.[5] In 1953, because of his connections with Raymond, Yoshimura secured the project to design a traditional Japanese Tea House in the garden of the Museum of Modern Art in New York.[6] This house, named Shofuso, or Pine Breeze Villa, was moved to Philadelphia, PA in 1957, where it remains as a historic site open to the public as Shofuso Japanese House and Garden.

In 1955 he collaborated with Kunio Maekawa and Junzo Sakakura to design the International House of Japan in Roppongi, Tokyo. This cultural exchange complex is located within estates owned by samurai lords in the Edo period. It is constructed in-situ thin-set reinforced concrete walls, pre-cast concrete columns and beams and Oya Stone.[7]

Yoshimura's later works include the Tikotin Museum of Japanese Art (1959) in Haifa, Tokyo Imperial Palace (1968), Japan House (with George G. Shimamoto of Kelly & Gruzen, 1969–71) in New York City, the East and West Wings of the Nara National Museum (1972) and the Royal Norwegian Embassy (1977) in Tokyo.[8]

With his colleagues, he won the Prize of the Architectural Institute of Japan for Specific Contribution for the International House of Japan.[9]

Footnotes

[1] Gloaguen (2016) p190, note 317

[2] Helfrich & Whitaker (2006) p269

[3] Stewart (2002) p134-142

[4] Helfrich & Whitaker (2006) p272

[5] http://www.answers.com/topic/junzo-yoshimura-2

[6] Helfrich & Whitaker (2006) p59

[7] Japan Architect p72

[8] Tokyo Imperial Palace, Works by Major Architects: Japanese Architects (accessed April 24, 2008); Norwegian Embassy, Exhibition of Junzo Yoshimura - the architect for the Norwegian Embassy, Tokyo (Norway's official site in Japan, accessed April 24, 2008); Tikotin Museum of Japanese Art, The Tikotin Museum of Japanese Art (retrieved April 24, 2008); Japan Society, Japan Society, New York - Circle of Friends (retrieved April 24, 2008); International House of Japan, About IHJ (retrieved April 24, 2008; Nara National Museum, East Wing and West Wing (both accessed April 24, 2008).

[9] 日本建築学会各賞受賞者・受賞業績検索 （姓：吉村；名：吉村） Retrieved April 24, 2008

title: Junzō Yoshimura

question: What does the text say about Junzō Yoshimura's reasons for becoming an architect?

answer: Junzō Yoshimura's desire to become an architect dates back to the day he first entered Frank Lloyd Wright's Imperial Hotel in Tokyo, shortly after the Kanto earthquake of 1923. He felt emotional when faced with architecture and said it showed the power of space. He felt that architecture was something extraordinary. It's the main reason he became an architect.

critique: Yoshimura's feelings about architecture are repeated redundantly.

critique: The text doesn't say that he felt emotional when he first entered the Imperial Hotel. It only says that he felt emotional when he saw architecture there.

critique: The answer should mention that Yoshimura was a student at the time of the Kanto earthquake.

critique: The answer should mention his work with Antonin Raymond.


text:
The sand was warm beneath his feet as Kylar was lead out onto the floor of the arena. The crowd was deafening; raining down disapproval, admiration, and anticipation as the guards pushed him out towards the center of the grounds. Kylar stretched his neck as he took in the details of the scene: the blood from the previous fight drying in the warmth of the Sandoverian Summer, the smell of thousands of unwashed bodies pressed together in an orgy of sweat, and sex, and ale.

The manacles around his wrists bound his arms behind his back, and he was forced to his knees in the center of the arena. Kylar tossed a lazy smile to the guard who had been handling him.

"I will be looking for you when this is over, Bruno; to return your peerless hospitality."

Bruno just uttered a low grunt, resonating deeply within his massive chest. He was easily twice Kylar's size, and each muscle in his powerful body rippled with barely-contained aggression as he moved.

The Crown Prince of Sandoveria's voice echoed across the arena as the crowd fell silent.

"You are found guilty of crimes against the crown. Theft, piracy, the deaths of over 100 notable citizens of Sandoveria, among others I am sure, and the kidnapping, rape, and murder of my sister; the Crown Princess Oliviana. Have you anything left to say for yourself before your sentence is carried out?"

"My only regret is that I didn't get to burn you with that fucking witch, Darrien. But rest assured, I will have your head soon enough for what you have done to us."

Kylar spat upon the sand just before Bruno's mailed gauntlet cracked into the side of his head, sending him sprawling and setting stars swimming about his vision.

Darrien's face grew red with anger as he seethed; the veins in his temples throbbing visibly even from such a distance.

"Then you are hereby sentenced to death. Lord Warren, betrothed of my sweet sister has agreed to carry out your sentence in a trial by combat."

The crowd exploded again as the ornate gates below the Royal Box opened, and Lord Warren strode onto the sands, resplendent in his shining armor, each plate reflecting the midday sun. He drew his sword and spun around for the crowd, enjoying their affections as his long purple cape danced in the breeze that kissed the sands.

Kylar got to his feet, but it was clear that he was going to have to fight hands bound, unarmed and unprotected. Good. Maybe this way it would be a bit of a challenge. Warren closed the distance between them quickly, his arm already drawn back for the first strike.

"I will kill you in the name of Lady Oli-"

Kylar ducked just as the sword passed where his head had been only a fraction of a second before, braced himself, and drove forward with all his might, smashing the top of his head into Lord Warren's unprotected face. Blood erupted from his nose as he fell backwards from the weight of the blow. Kylar seized his chance and leapt forward onto Warren's breastplate as he fell, slamming him into the loosely packed sand. The fight ended when Kylar drew his knee up to his chest, and stomped directly onto the once handsome face of Lord Warren. He was dead before the dust had even begun to settle.

A wave of sound burst from the crowd, a writhing mixture of hate and awe. And Kylar's eyes met with the Prince's just in time for the realization to set in. He flashed a triumphant grin, and cracked his neck again.

"Guards! Destroy him!" Spittle flew from Darrien’s lips in a rather un-princely manner as he bellowed and soon all of the portcullises had been raised, and guardsmen were streaming out on to the sands.

Kylar hooked a foot behind him and up into his manacles, driving his shoulders forward as he kicked towards the earth; both of his shoulders dislocated with a loud pop. Wincing as he stepped his feet back through the newly widened space to get his hands in front of him, Kylar popped his shoulders back in to place with a shrug; contortion was one of the many skills honed by the eastern assassins to escape captivity. As he picked up Lord Warren's blade and tested its balance he looked into the eyes of the warily approaching guards. Only Bruno's eyes weren't glazed with fear and trepidation.

They would be soon enough.

title: [FN] The Escape

question: Why is Kylar on trial?

answer: He is found guilty of crimes against the crown.

critique: The answer should mention the crimes he is accused of.

critique: It is omitted that his crimes are theft, piracy, the deaths of over 100 notable citizens of Sandoveria, among others, and the kidnap, rape, and murder of the Crown Princess Oliviana.

critique: The answer should mention that he is also guilty of the crimes of theft, piracy, and murder.

question: What does the text say about Oliviana's father?

answer: No answer

critique: Add a line about Darrien's involvement with Oliviana's death.

critique: The response misses to provide an answer to the task.

critique: The response misses to mention that Oliviana's father is the Crown Prince of Sandoveria.

question: Summarize Bruno's role in the story.

answer: Bruno is a guard who is twice Kylar's size. He is easily twice Kylar's size, and each muscle in his powerful body ripples with barely-contained aggression as he moves. Bruno is the one who leads Kylar out to the center of the arena. He is also the one who beats Kylar in the arena.

critique: The response inaccurately mentions that Bruno is the one who beats Kylar in the arena.

critique: Bruno is not the one who beats Kylar in the arena.

critique: Mention that Bruno is implied to be loyal to his inmates.

critique: Bruno is a guard who is twice Kylar's size. He is easily twice Kylar's size, and each muscle in his powerful body ripples with barely-contained aggression as he moves. Bruno is the one who leads Kylar out to the center of the arena. He is also the one who beats Kylar in the arena.

question: What does the text say about the kingdom's navy?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer could mention the mention of the navy in the text.

critique: The response misses to mention that there is no answer to the question.


text:
Riot

The street was full, packed from side to side. Hundreds, thousands of people, streamed down the avenue.

A low roar came from the crowd. Windows shattered as they passed store fronts. Car alarms sounded, and then faltered and fell into submission. Street signs were bent, and then disappeared into the bulk of people.

They kept marching forward, an unstoppable mass of humanity. Maybe it was caused by ever increasing taxes, it could have been a court judgment that they didn’t agree with, possibly their sports team won a championship. They could have been rebelling against unfair laws, or wars they didn’t agree with.

The angry mob of people may have been supporting any cause that could be imagined, yet it didn’t stop the fact that they were marching through their own city, destroying their own stores and their own cars, ruining the streets that their tax dollars paid for. Their reasons for rebellion didn’t stop the fact that when a man fell down the crowd didn’t pause, it still pushed forward. Feet marched right over their fallen brothers and sisters.

Ahead of them was a monument. A depiction of freedom maybe, or possibly a building that housed their government’s leaders, ahead of them could have simply been an open area where the group could disperse. But blocking their way was a single line of armed troops.

Dressed in black riot gear, helmets with plastic visors hanging down over their faces, men stood holding tall shields, armed with large automatic weapons. In front of them were sandbags and red and white striped saw horses. Behind them were big black vehicles, armored to the teeth, like children’s toys.

From the top of one vehicle stood a speaker and from that speaker an emotionless voice demanded that the people halt and disband. The speaker warned of the use of deadly force if they continued.

But the crowd had no choice; even if the people in front stopped they would be trampled by the people surging forward behind them. That wasn’t what they thought though. The force behind them made them feel unstoppable. As a single unit of people they felt invincible.

The gap between the two forces closed. Weapons were drawn, cocked and aimed.

A final warning was given to the crowd, the speaker sounded like it didn’t expect any sort of change to actually occur.

A man, dressed in black, held a gun and aimed it into the crowd. His mouth moved, the word ‘Ready’ was heard. His eyes focused on where his bullet would be sent. He opened his mouth again, ‘Aim’ came out of it. Which was redundant, everyone had already planned on where their projectiles would be placed. ‘Fire’, was the final word that was heard before people started to fall down before them.

Guns fired rapidly, automatic weapons built for slaughtering people sawed through the oncoming mass of humanity. They fell in lines. Like waves they crashed to the cold asphalt.

The gunmen showed no emotion as they laid people down to rest, they were coldly following orders. There was no moral objection; morals played no part in their job.

The onrushing people marched over their fallen brethren, stepped over the slippery bodies and pushed closer to the men who were firing upon them before they fell in heaps themselves.

Guns began smoking. Empty shells popped out and piled up on the ground at the feet of the men dressed in black.

The crowd seemed to be never ending, only slightly slowed by the mounds of the fallen bodies that they had to overcome on their way to their goal behind the men who protected it with deadly force.
The men worked like machines reloading their weapons, bodies lubricated by sweat, silently repeating trained motions.

Guns began to overheat, and were automatically discarded, traded for side arms. The mob of people seemed to pick up their pace, getting closer as hot assault rifle after hot assault rifle was replaced by cool, single shot, side arm.

The crowd over took the saw horses first, still falling to bullets, still piling up and being walked over. The wood splintered crushed under the trampling force of the publics will.

Next they overcame the sandbags, which were soon hidden underneath the smashed and bleeding faces, arms, legs and torsos of those who fell while crossing them. Bullets screamed, cutting through air and flesh, destroying.

Finally, as they approached the men dressed in black, whose job it was to protect what was behind them, whose task it was to keep order, while they were still falling to bullets being fired and they over too even them. Black uniform after black uniform, the men were engulfed by the oncoming crowd. One gun after another went silent.

In the end, after hundreds of bodies had been tallied, after the crowd had stormed whatever had been their destination. Men and women were laid into the ground. Those men in black who shot down the oncoming crowd were laid in graves besides those who they shot. Their tombstones shared the same last names as those people from the oncoming crowd that they were laid next to.

In the end, we seek a moral. Yet we may find only chaos.

title: Riot

question: How does the whole passage support its final sentence?

answer: The passage states that once you start to play God, you will be overcome by the chaos. The armed soldiers shoot the rioters, and the rioters retaliate. It is a cycle.

critique: There is no evidence that states the rioters are playing God.

critique: The answer is not related to the question.

critique: It is omitted that the armed soldiers and rioters are the same people.

critique: The phrase you start to play God is unattested and should be deleted.

question: Summarize the primary source of tension in the article.

answer: The primary source of tension is the riots that occur between a group of people and the police, who are trying to stop them from rioting. The police feel justified in using deadly force, and the rioters feel that the police may be trying to stop them, but the rioters are unable to reason with the police. The rioters are also outnumbered, so they continue to fight against the police in order to advance their cause.

critique: The police are not trying to stop the rioters from rioting.

critique: The police are not trying to stop the rioters from rioting. They are trying to stop them from advancing.

critique: The police do not feel justified, only that their job is to stop the rioters.

critique: The police are not trying to stop the rioters from rioting. The police are trying to stop the rioters from advancing.

critique: "those people who they shot." - subsequent deaths aren't the main source of tension.

critique: The police are not trying to stop the rioters from rioting. They are trying to stop them from moving forward.

question: Summarize the positive events in this text.

answer: No answer

critique: There are no positive events in this text.

critique: No answer whatsoever, so create a response

critique: The answer should mention the positive events in the story.

question: What was the plan for this event?

answer: That information can't be found.

critique: Granted that the story doesn't say what the plan was, it's safe to assume that it included "keeping order".

critique: The plan is to march through the city, destroying stores and cars and damaging the streets.


text:
[Christopher Voelker] [Christopher Voelker with Hope Award]

CHRISTOPHER VOELKER (born February 2, 1961 in Los Angeles, California - Died September 11, 2014) was an American photographer.

General information

Voelker was a full-time wheelchair user due to a spinal cord injury (quadriplegia) from a high-speed, motocross accident at 16.[1]

He was predominantly self-taught, freelance studio photographer specializing in capturing counter-points of the human landscape in large-format (Hasselblad and Linhof), black and white. Hand developed prints which are an interpretation of his negatives are characterized by starkly voluptuous contrasts of body and space. The prints are expressions of something that is both personal and available for individual interpretation. With the arrival of digital photography it was a challenge that Voelker embraced. His true love, however, remained the mystery of emulsion; and film is the medium he reserves for his artistic output.

Major studios and TV networks

He became the first photographer with a mobility impairment to work professionally for major studios and TV networks such as Universal, Paramount, Touchstone, NBC, CBS, Lorimar Productions, UPN, WB and CW networks. Voelker has also photographed such artists as Mick Fleetwood, Billy Zane, Carmen Electra, Robert David Hall, Christina Applegate, Bow Wow, Beyoncé, Chris Burke, Brandy, Chingy, Omarion, Ruben Studdard, Fantasia, Angela Simmons and Tony Orlando.[2]

Publications

His work has appeared on national and international covers for magazines along with movie posters including _The Hollywood Reporter_, _V Life Magazine_, _Teen People_, _TV Guide_, _Angeleno Magazine_, _Zink Magazine_, _944 Magazine_, _New Mobility_,[3][4] _Mobilitá Magazine_,[5] _Jewel Magazine_[6] and _RYK Magazine_.

He has developed a penchant for photographing bookjackets and has completed over 20 different covers ranging from Mystery writers to a book by Holly Robinson Peete on a Woman’s guide to watching & understanding NFL football, titled _Get your Own Damn Beer I’m watching The Game_.[7]

His photographs have been exhibited in both Los Angeles and New York City and will be featured in his upcoming book of black-and-white studio nudes due to be published in November 2008 by Dennis McMillan Publications.[8]

Voelker Studio

Voelker worked for network gallery sessions, album covers and intimate portraits. He has spent the last 15 years at VOELKER STUDIO, a synergistic space in Northridge, California. Going through different physical experiences has given Voelker unique empathy and insights into things that other people don't see. He has become a photographer of humans.[9] Voelker was compiling “Portraits of Ability”.[10] The book, set for publication in 2009 celebrates the physicality of power as realized by personal accomplishment of disabled people.

Awards and prizes

-   1984 – _Photographer of the Year_ for his work in the Journalism State of California Magazine
-   2002 – _Annual Anthony Award for Best Cover, Print Magazine Design_ for the quality of his work
-   2013 - Christopher and Dana Reeve Foundation _Hope Award_ for his ongoing support to the disability community[11]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5] http://pixelpastahome.blogspot.com/search?q=voelker

[6] » Meagan Good Covers Jewel Magazine // 'Concreteloop.Com' - 'Glowin' In The Dark'

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

title: Christopher Voelker

question: What health condition did Voelker have?

answer: He was a quadriplegic.

critique: The answer should mention that he had a spinal cord injury.

critique: The answer could be phrased as a complete sentence.

question: What profession did Christopher Voelker practice?

answer: Christopher Voelker was an American photographer.

critique: Note that he was a "full-time wheelchair user due to a spinal cord injury"

critique: Doesn't mention that he was a freelance studio photographer.

critique: The answer could be phrased as a complete sentence.


text:
“Once more, Mr. White.”

   Dr. Chapman stared  intently at his antique pocket watch as the machine started to hum. “Eight thirty” he thought to himself, as he recorded the start time of this test in his pocket book. His eyes glanced  up once in a while to check on what Mr. White was doing to the machine. He leaned back in his chair, and it let out an old wooden squeak. Sometimes a voice would be heard mumbling on over the low drone of the machine, even though Mr. White wasn’t talking to anyone.

With a raised voice, and without looking away from his work, Mr. White spoke, “we can only fail so many times, Doctor. We’ve been at this for days!” Dr. Chapman sat up in his chair and rested his watch on the desk in front of him, giving Mr. White his full attention.

“I would have to disagree with you Mr. White. There is one thing you must remember when working with time.” Dr. Chapman’s chair rolled out of the way, and his shoes clacked as he strolled towards Mr. White, stopping at the top of the short stairway. Mr. White looked up at him, and the doctor continued his thought, “there’s always enough. Time, that is.”

It was like second nature. Dr. Chapman stepped down the stairs, running his hand through his thin, grey hair. As he walked down the stairs, the machine became much louder He had to almost yell to talk with Mr. White.

“Do you remember when you agreed to be my partner on this project, Mr. White?” Dr. Chapman reached into his coat pocket, realizing the familiar weight of his watch was not present.

“Of course I do. It was December of 1987. You had contacted me with some--” Mr. White was sharply cut off by Dr. Chapman.

“1987. Thirty years ago. Do you remember how long our planning and theorizing phase lasted?”

“Yes sir. Uh, about 11 years I think.” Mr. White changed his tone, “Are you okay doctor? You look a bit uneasy.”

Dr.Chapman was uneasy. He had left his precious watch back on his desk. He disregarded the comment, and carried on with his lecture, “And how long did it take to build this monstrosity of modern science?”

He motioned up and down the length of the machine. It stretched twenty feet in both directions, five feet back, and was six feet tall. Made up of thousands and thousands of tiny gears from various watches and clocks, all surrounded in glass, and the only control panel was right in the center of the machine, with a very simple interface. On, Off, Go, and a small window to set a time, date, and location.

“We just finished a month ago, Doctor.” Mr. White was becoming irritated with Dr. Chapman and his insultingly easy interrogation, and let out a frustrated comment, “I really don’t see where this conversation is going, Doctor.”

Dr. Chapman laid a hand on Mr. White’s shoulder, and wagged his finger with his other, hoping to hide how uncomfortable he was without his watch.
“Mr. White, my point is that we've spent all this time developing this machine, and you want to quit after a few day of failed tests?”

A sudden boom came from within the machine, shaking the rusted pipes along the wall, filling the air with red dust. Everything seemed to be in working order, all gears intact and still spinning, but now the machine was silent.

Dr. Chapman’s eyes widened and his face paled, transparent almost, lowering his head in shame he ascended the four steps, and took his place back at his desk. He ran his fingers through his hair, and held his head low in his hands, forgetting the comfort he seeked in the weight of his watch.

“What happened?” said Mr. White. “We’ve done nothing wrong this time. All that happened was the machine just went silent, which, should not be possible. Let’s take a look in the power room, maybe the problem is there.”

Dr. Chapman and Mr. White both looked towards the door to the power room. Dr.Chapman made sure not to forget his watch this time. Massive amounts of electrical cord could be seen emerging from the cracked door. They both got on their feet, and Mr. White opened the door for Dr. Chapman. Bending and crouching through wires, the men made it to the back of the room where a computer monitor showed the status of all the machine’s power supplies.

“Nothing seems to be wrong, Doctor. All levels are normal and there’s no fluctuation anywhere. All circuits are in check and so are the fuses.” Mr. White looked up at the doctor with apologetic eyes.

“I guess you’re right Mr. White. We can only fail so many times.”

Shaking the walls, a boom thundered throughout the warehouse again. The familiar hum of the machine starting up took over as the boom died away.

“Oh look! It’s fixed, Doctor. Let’s go see what it’s doing.” Mr. White tried to get the doctor excited about the event, but Dr. Chapman let out a defeated sounding sigh.

“What’s the use, Mr. White? We’ll just fail again.”

They looked silently towards one another for a moment, then heard an easily recognizable voice come from outside the power room.

“Once more, Mr. White.”

The men froze, and Dr. Chapman quickly pulled out his pocket watch. He gazed down in disbelief and astonishment.

Eight Thirty.

title: [SciFi] Once More

question: Summarize everything related to the theme of repetition.

answer: Mr. White and Dr. Chapman have been working on the machine for days, and they have been failing to make it work. Mr. White is frustrated that they have been failing so many times. Dr. Chapman reminds Mr. White that they have been working on the project for thirty years, and that they spent eleven years planning and theorizing. Dr. Chapman also reminds Mr. White that they have been working on the machine for a month. The machine finally works, and the men hear a voice say "once more, Mr. White." Dr. Chapman pulls out his pocket watch, and it reads 8:30.

critique: The answer should mention that the time is 8:30.

critique: The phrase "once more" isn't used in the story.

critique: The answer omits that the time on the watch is the same as the time the machine started.

critique: It is irrelevant that they hear a voice say "once more, Mr. White." since it has no impact on the theme of repetition being explored in the story.

critique: It is omitted that the machine finally works and the time is 8:30.

critique: The answer omits the fact that the time on the watch is the same as the time the machine started.

critique: It's omitted that the voice is the time on the pocket watch.

critique: The answer should mention that the time is the same as when the experiment started.

question: Summarize everything relating to failure.

answer: Mr. White voices his frustration with the failed tests of the machine. Dr. Chapman reminds him that there's always enough time, but Mr. White disagrees. Dr. Chapman reminds him how long their planning and theorizing phase lasted, and how long it took to build the machine. Mr. White doesn't see the point in continuing the tests since the machine keeps failing.

critique: The answer omits the final result of the test.

critique: The answer omits that the machine finally works after a period of silence.

critique: The answer omits the time paradox at the end of the story.

critique: The response misses to mention that the machine finally works after a series of failed attempts.

critique: The response doesn't cover the end of the story.

critique: Mr. White also mentions that all they'll have to show for their time is yet another failed attempt.

question: What does the story say about the science behind time travel?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should explain the science behind time travel in the story.


text:
I never got lucky before. Never won anything. Used to buy the lotto tickets, every paycheck. Just $20 in scratchers. Anna in Accounting won a cool thousand my first week there. I played for 5 years and never once won.

Course, Anna in Accounting is dead now. Same as everyone else.

I spent the last month of the world in a cell. Oh, they didn’t call it a cell, they called it a research wing. The Red Death had already killed half the globe by that point. Asia was pretty much gone, North America was right behind them, and Europe was down to only 1 in 4 alive. 100% mortality rate, they said. No one could survive it, they said.

Then there was me.

I put on the mask as I prepare to leave. Gotta wear the mask. Maybe it’d be better if I left the city, but can’t leave the city, so gotta wear the mask. Sure, I was the Last Hope for Humanity, the One that Lived, or so the papers said, but doesn’t mean I can’t get sick. Just not the Plague. One in ten billion chance, apparently.

I grab my shovel.

The irony is, the Red Death started because some nutjob in Japan thought he had found the key to immorality. A retrovirus that would completely halt the natural aging process. And this nutjob? He decided that this was a gift to humanity, he didn’t want money or accolades, so he made the goddamn cure to age into a contagion, stuck himself with it, and took a flight. Tokyo to LAX. LAX to O’hare. O’hare to JFK. JFK to Heathrow. Heathrow to Charles DuGalle. Charles DuGalle to Moscow. Moscow to Dubai. He died in the terminal in Dubai, after having spent six hours walking around each of those airports, contagious as all hell, and all on the weekend before Christmas.

“Fucker,” I mutter to no one as I shoe away some crows.

They’re big bastards now. I’ve started calling them Crovus Rex. They don’t seem to mind me much, but they watch me. Read an article once, before the plague, about how damned smart crows were. Seems with us gone, they’ve been getting smarter. I hear them cawing at each other all the time. I think it might be language. Sometimes I think I can understand it. That one sound, a Caw with a harsh start and a slight lag at the end? Sort of a Kchraaaaw? I think that’s me. I wonder what they think of me.

I grab my newest find and shove it into the wheelbarrow.

Funny side effect of the Red Death? You don’t decay, bacteria don’t eat you anymore. You just bleed out and then sit there. Mummified. That bastard mummified the whole world. Except me, although he still kinda did. Everyone else died. Unless something kills me, I never will. No one could figure out why. Just a fluke of genetics that kept me ticking.

The wheelbarrow’s heavy now.

Time seems funny these days. Goes by so fast. Maybe it’s just because I’ve had so many days they blur together even while I’m living them. Either way, time to head out. I’m in New York, right now. Obviously. Well, maybe not. Dunno who I’m talking to these days. But I get out of the city, and then I walk a ways more. Been in New York for…for awhile. Couple hundred, maybe? Just about done here, though.

Ahead of me stretch the Stones.

I try to include a name when I can. Find it in wallets. Well, what’s left of them.  It’s getting harder and harder as things decompose or get lost. If not, I put some details. Anything I can make out. “Wearing Red.” “Woman With Four Rings.” Anything, though it gets harder and harder to make it out each time. Still, I think I’ve got maybe a week or so left.

Then I’ve buried the entire state of New York.

Oh, I’m sure I missed some, and I’m sure the animals have eaten some. Some of the graves are no more than a fingerbone. But I keep digging. There isn’t anything else to do. Humanity may be dead, but it’s gotta be buried too.

And I’ll be the Gravedigger.

title: Response to a Flash Fiction Prompt that went way over the limit - "You are the last person on Earth..."

question: Give a summary of what caused the Red Death.

answer: A Japanese man created a retrovirus that would halt the aging process. He decided to make it into a contagion and give it to humanity. He boarded a plane with the virus and traveled to different airports. He died in the terminal in Dubai, and the virus spread.

critique: The answer should mention that he died in the plane.

critique: The man boarded a plane and traveled to different airports. However, he didn't do it with the virus.

critique: The answer should mention that the virus was released accidentally.

critique: The answer omits the man's goal with the virus.

critique: The virus doesn't make people age quicker, it halts their aging process.

critique: The virus was not airborne, so the man did not spread it through airports.

question: What does the story say was the negative impact of the Red Death on the world, and what was the possible solution?

answer: The Red Death was a plague that killed everyone in the world except for the narrator. The Red Death started when a Japanese man decided to make a retrovirus that would completely halt the natural aging process. He decided to make the virus into a contagion and took a flight from Tokyo to LAX. He died in the terminal in Dubai, after having spent six hours walking around each of those airports, contagious as all hell, and all on the weekend before Christmas. The Red Death was a plague that killed everyone in the world except for the narrator. The Red Death started when a Japanese man decided to make a retrovirus that would completely halt the natural aging process. He decided to make the virus into a contagion and took a flight from Tokyo to LAX. He died in the terminal in Dubai, after having spent six hours walking around each of those airports, contagious as all hell, and all on the weekend before Christmas.

critique: The response is a copy and paste of the passage.

critique: The answer is a copy-and-paste of the story.

critique: Clumsy sentence structure and redundancy

critique: The response includes a lot of irrelevant information.

critique: This is the same answer as the first line, and it is not useful for the question asked.


text:
SIR WILLIAM ARROL & CO. was a leading Scottish civil engineering and construction business founded by William Arrol and based in Glasgow. It built some of the most famous bridges in the United Kingdom including the second Tay Bridge, the Forth Bridge and Tower Bridge in London.

Early history

The Company was founded by William Arrol, born in Houston, Renfrewshire in 1839, the fourth child of Thomas Arrol, a cotton spinner. He started work at the age of nine in a cotton mill, having passed himself off as thirteen. In 1850, the family moved to Paisley and William found work at Coats’s Cotton Thread Manufacturing making bobbins. At the age of fourteen he was apprenticed to a blacksmith at Paisley, supplementing his practical education with night school classes and the purchase of books on engineering.[1]

At end of his apprenticeship William Arrol worked as a journeyman blacksmith with mixed success. Work was not easy to find and in 1858, now aged nineteen, he took a job at Ker’s factory at Paisley. Eventually he was engaged as a foreman at Laidlaw’s Engineering Works in Glasgow. Here he was entrusted with his first bridges: the Greenock and Ayrshire Railway at Greenock in 1885 and the West Pier at Brighton 1866. After two years, Arrol had saved enough money to set up with a friend as boiler and girder makers. However, they incurred heavy losses through non-payment by customers and the partnership was dissolved. On his own again with his small works in Glasgow, in 1871 he was given the construction of railway bridges on the Balerno line in Edinburgh.[2]

In 1872, now in his early thirties, Arrol left his old works and moved to Dalmarnock in south Glasgow. His first important contract was for a bridge over the Clyde at Bothwell for the North British Railway. This bridge, which was 120 feet above the water, was notable for Arrol’s introduction of the idea of building the girders on land and rolling them out pier to pier. In 1875 he built the first of the two great bridges for the Caledonian Railway over the Clyde. Faced by a strike by the riveters he invented a hydraulic riveting machine, later to enjoy widespread use in the shipbuilding industry. [3]

The Great Bridges

December 1879 saw the great Tay Bridge disaster where the railway bridge collapsed under the lateral pressure of high winds, barely a year after it had opened. William Arrol was awarded the contract for the new bridge. Construction of the new Tay Bridge was started in 1882 and it opened in 1887. Almost simultaneously, William Arrol was also working on the Forth Bridge. Construction began in 1882 and when it was opened in1890 it had the longest single cantilever bridge span in the world. William Arrol’s commitment to these two bridges was rewarded with a knighthood: Sir William Arrol & Company Ltd was incorporated in June 1893.[4] The completion of the two Scottish bridges gave Sir William Arrol an international reputation and in the succeeding years bridges were built around Great Britain, Europe and as far as Australia. Perhaps the best known was London’s Tower Bridge opened in 1894, where Sir William Arrol erected all the steel work.[5]

Diversification

The development of Dalmarnock Works to cope with Arrol’s increased business involved the construction of new buildings with large spans and roofs of steel and glass which let in light throughout the building. Their size allowed the installation of large overhead cranes with up to 100 tons lifting capacity. This became an activity in its own right as similar buildings were constructed for other companies.[6] Also arising out of Dalmarnock Works and bridgebuilding were cranes. particularly for shipbuilding; they had a loading capacity ranging from five to 150 tons. The most famous crane. the largest of its time, is the Titan Crane completed in 1907; a gigantic cantilever crane of 150-ton capacity. for John Brown & Company.[7] With this increased range of activity, the Dalmarnock Works occupied 17 acres and employed 2000 men plus thousands more working on outside contracts. Sir William died in 1913 but the Company continued as an independent entity until 1969.[8]

Notable projects

[View of the cantilever construction of the Forth Bridge] [The Forth Bridge built by Sir William Arrol & Co.|alt=Colour photograph of the Forth Bridge. ]

Bridges

Bridges built by the company include:

-   Caledonian Railway Bridge across the River Clyde completed in 1878
-   Tay Rail Bridge completed in 1887
-   Forth Bridge completed in 1890
-   Tower Bridge in London completed in 1894
-   North Bridge in Edinburgh completed in 1897
-   Redheugh Bridge in Newcastle upon Tyne completed in 1901
-   Connel Bridge completed in 1903
-   Nile Bridge at Cairo completed in 1908
-   Tees Transporter Bridge completed in 1911
-   Warrington Transporter Bridge completed in 1916
-   Keadby Bridge completed in 1916
-   Southwark Bridge in London completed in 1921
-   White Cart Bridge completed in 1923
-   Jubilee Bridge (Walney) completed in 1908
-   Jubilee Bridge (Queensferry) completed in 1927
-   Corporation Bridge in Grimsby completed in 1928
-   Wearmouth Bridge completed in 1929

[A closeup of the central section of the second Tay Bridge|alt=Colour photograph of the central section of the second Tay Bridge]

-   Tsoelike Suspension Bridge in Lesotho completed in 1930
-   Forth Road Bridge completed in 1964
-   Deptford Railroad Bridge completed in 1964
-   Severn Bridge completed in 1966
-   The second Craigellachie Bridge completed in 1970
-   The Humber Bridge completed in 1981

Cranes

-   Titan Clydebank, completed in 1907
-   Titan Crane, Fairfield, completed in 1911
-   250-ton crane, HMNB Portsmouth, dated 1912, demolished 1984[9]
-   Titan Crane, James Watt Dock Crane, completed in 1917
-   Titan Crane, Barclay Curle, completed in 1920
-   Blocksetter Travelling Titan (South African Harbours and Railways); for use at Durban, completed prior to 1932[10]
-   Blocksetter Travelling Hercules (South African Harbours and Railways); for use at Table Bay, completed prior to 1932[11]
-   Blocksetter Travelling Hercules; for use at Ceuta, completed prior to 1932[12]

Titanic

[Workers leaving the Harland & Wolff shipyard in early 1911. The RMS _Titanic_ can be seen in the background, underneath the Arrol Gantry.] The company was contracted by Harland and Wolff Shipyard, Belfast, to construct a large gantry (known as the Arrol Gantry) for the construction of three new super-liners, one of which was called the RMS _Titanic_. Like the ships themselves, the gantry crane was one of the largest built at the time, comparing with transporter bridges in length, height and capability.[13]

Hikitia

[Hikitia at the Taranaki St wharf in Wellington] The company also built the crane for the Hikitia in 1926, which is thought to be the last fully operational self-propelled steam crane in the world.

Demise of the business

The company was acquired by Clarke Chapman in 1969 and the Dalmarnock Works were closed in 1986.[14]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9] 20th Century Naval Dockyards, Devonport and Portsmouth Characterisation Report, Naval Dockyards Society, 2015

[10] Arrol Catalogue ca. 1932

[11]

[12]

[13]

[14] NZR Cranes

title: Sir William Arrol & Co.

question: Summarize William Arrol's life before his thirties.

answer: William Arrol was born in 1839. He started work at the age of nine in a cotton mill. He worked in a cotton thread manufacturing making bobbins. He was apprenticed to a blacksmith at the age of fourteen. He worked as a journeyman blacksmith. He worked as a foreman at Laidlaw's Engineering Works.

critique: The answer omits the fact that Arrol worked as a boiler and girder maker.

critique: Went over the 2-line summary requirement

critique: The answer should mention his education.

critique: It's omitted that Arrol's first important contract was for a bridge over the Clyde at Bothwell for the North British Railway.

critique: The answer omits the fact that Arrol was given the construction of railway bridges on the Balerno line in Edinburgh.

critique: The answer omits the time period between his apprenticeship and his work at Laidlaw's Engineering Works.

question: What does the text say about why Dalmarnock Works had to close?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the company was acquired by Clarke Chapman in 1969 and the Dalmarnock Works were closed in 1986.

critique: The answer should mention the company's demise.

critique: The answer could mention the company's demise.

critique: The answer should mention the demise of the company.


text:
First things first- I've never seen The Birds. This story is influenced solely by the final scenes within Stephen King's *The Dark Half*. If you have read it, I hope you appreciate my take/twist on it. If you haven't, enjoy anyway.

...

The crows outside his window grew in number every night. He first noticed them with the arrival of what they called the “storm of the century.” Exaggeration or not, it certainly was a powerful storm by anyone’s standards. He, as he always was during these kinds of events, was sitting by his window watching the lightning dance and leap across the glowing sky. Storms had caught his love early in life. He had regularly stood by his front door with his father searching for signs of trouble in the sky while the rest of his family sought shelter in the closet. That’s what confused him most: The skies themselves took the opportunity to communicate with the ground below; why ignore them? They were destructive, yes, but they were beautiful.

This destructive beauty was all around him: The winds swept up a miniature twister of dead leaves, whipped the rain to nearly horizontal angles, shook the trees until they cried out in protest, and then shook them some more. He thought he even heard Ms. Lear’s old oak succumb to the stress, though he couldn’t be sure over the explosions of thunder.

The intensity of the storm almost made it seem calmer than it actually was. The glimpses of the outside world illuminated by the flashes of lightning were more frequent than not; it was almost as if it was midday and there were flashes of nighttime instead.

Caught in this light was a gnarled dead tree. Its bark was long gone; its leaves he’d never seen. He almost imagined that, with them, its branches had been like ragged hands, grasping at whatever ventured near them, waving to people in the breeze. Perhaps it used to walk the Earth, finally settling down here to wither away and die. That tree always bothered him; he didn’t exactly know why. It wasn’t like he’d ever had reason to distrust it, that is, if one could call what he felt toward it distrust. All that it’d ever really done was stand there, gently swaying, branches slowly tracing their fingers through the air. Nevertheless, he’d done his best to avoid going near it whenever possible.

The lightning seemed to have begun to die down. The lapses into darkness between the strikes became longer, but, as if to reaffirm its might, a bolt with the brightness of a star’s filament of flame suddenly lit up the sky. He slammed his eyelids shut yet the light burned through. He summoned the strength to open them no more than a hair’s breadth and, his face contorted in the light’s overwhelming intensity, collapsed to the floor with his face buried between his knees when the blast of thunder came. His house shook from the force: photos crashed off their spots on the wall and his collection of odds and ends he’d picked up over the years jumped off its resting place on his desk onto the floor as if in search of shelter. He feared his roof would collapse: luckily, it held. Whoever said that it was the lightning to fear, not the thunder, obviously never experienced such an explosion. Instinctive fear and deep respect reverberated through him.

After the last echoes passed, he slowly raised his head and focused his eyes back out the window onto the grey tree. What he saw there on one of the spindly branches stunned him more than the storm did. A lone crow sat there, its eyes met with his. Its gaze never wavered; it seemed completely oblivious to the tempest around it even as the branch it was perched on shook violently. He sat there staring for what felt like eons. He felt powerless to break his gaze until, without warning, the bird opened its beak (he didn’t know whether or not it cawed; he could hardly hear anything but the sound of the deluge bombarding the ground) and, with a sudden leap, took flight and disappeared in another flash of lightning. Equally without warning, a wave of lightheadedness overcame him and he toppled over.

---

The rain had yet to drain out of the yard by the next evening. Leaves and other debris floated lifelessly on the unnaturally still water, giving them the appearance of resting upon giant mirrors. The sky was a dead grey and still; the winds had ceased completely. A dense fog carpeted the ground: He could hardly see beyond what he guessed to be thirty feet. The dead tree was just within the reach of this fog; it was the only thing assuring him that the ground still existed below the mist.

He was leaned back in his recliner, *The Dark Half* in hand. Thad Beaumont and Alexis Machine were about to face off; the battle between good and evil was nigh. Shame I don’t have any sparrows on hand, he thought with a slight chuckle. He was about to flip pages when the sound of rustling feathers broke the silence. A feeling not unlike a trickle of cold water inched its way up his spine as he slowly closed his book. Setting it down, he rose, head slightly cocked, and approached his window. Outside, sitting in the tree’s open hands, were crows. Nineteen crows, all perched on the dead tree’s limbs, all facing directly at him. They shuffled their feet, their wings, but not an eye moved from him. He knew not the purpose of their gathering and was highly unnerved; he dared not move but, betraying his will, blinked once. As if the spell was broken, one of the birds on the tree’s left let out a cry. The rest of the group silently took flight and disappeared into the low clouds. He watched them quickly disappear into the fog. It was as if they vanished: One second they were churning up the air, the next it was as if they were never there.

He hoped never to see them again, that this was their last visit to him.

---

It wasn't.

---

title: The Murder - First shot at creative writing (Little longer, split it up)

question: Summarize the storm that took place.

answer: The storm that took place was a storm of the century. The storm was so intense that it almost felt calmer than it actually was. The storm was filled with lightning and thunder. The storm was so intense that the man's house shook from the force of the thunder.

critique: The storm was not "filled with lightning and thunder". It was filled with lightning.

critique: The storm was not "filled with lightning and thunder".

critique: It's omitted that the storm was destructive.

critique: The storm was not "filled with lightning and thunder"

critique: The storm was not "filled" with lightning and thunder. The storm was intense and had lightning and thunder.

critique: The answer could touch on the specific effects of the thunderstorm.

critique: The answer should mention the storm's aftermath.

critique: The house shook from the lightning and not the thunder.

question: What role do the crows play in the story?

answer: In the first part of the story, the crows are symbols of the storm because they appeared shortly after the "storm of the century". In the second part of the story, the crows have a menacing presence as they circle the protagonist. There is ominous foreshadowing that there are more crows to come.

critique: The crows are not a symbol of the storm. They are a symbol of death.

critique: The crows are only menacing to the protagonist and he is the only one who is afraid of them.

critique: The role of the crows is not to be symbols of the storm.

critique: It is omitted that the crows are antagonists.

text: The answer should mention that one of the crows appears during the storm--inaccurate to say they only appear after it.

category: accuracy

question: Summarize the surprises in the plot.

answer: The narrator is startled when the tree he has always avoided becomes the perch for nineteen crows who all stare at him. He is surprised again when he, himself, is startled when one of the crows makes a sound and all the crows leave.

critique: Less important-they came during the storm, the tree was a surprise

critique: The surprise is not that the narrator is startled, but that the crows are there in the first place.

critique: The surprise is not that he is startled by the crows, but that he is startled by the crows.

text: The answer should mention the first crow, whose screech knocks the narrator unconscious.

category: coverage

question: Summarize the similarities between this story and Stephen King's The Dark Half.

answer: The Dark Half is a book by Stephen King. The narrator of this story is reading it. The Dark Half is about a battle between good and evil. The crows in this story are also a symbol of evil.

critique: The crows are not a symbol of evil, they are evil.

critique: The Dark Half is a battle between good and evil, but the second sentence is unnecessary.

critique: The answer should mention that the book influences the story.

critique: The narrator is not reading the book, he is reading it.

critique: The answer should mention the similarities between the crows and the sparrows from The Dark Half.

critique: The crows aren't a symbol of evil, they're a symbol of death.


text:
is Thelma Aoyama's second official single, released on January 23, 2008, featuring SoulJa. It is an answer song to her previous collaboration with SoulJa, “Koko ni Iru yo.” B-side “My dear friend” was used as the ending theme to anime Shion no Ō, and the opening theme to television show Ryuuha-R.

The single reached the number 1 position on Japan's Oricon charts in its second week and sold over 450,000 compact discs. In addition, it sold over 7 million downloads, including 2 million complete downloads, by July 2008.[1] In September 2008, the Guinness World Records certified the song as “the best selling download single in Japan” for the number of full-track downloads.[2][3] On May 28, 2009, however, it was announced that the record was replaced by Greeeen's song “Kiseki”.[4] It was later admitted by the Guinness World Records.[5]

It was also the best-selling download single on the iTunes Store 2008 yearly charts in Japan.[6]

Taiwanese band Da Mouth sang their cover version of “Koko ni Iru yo” on their album _Wang Yuan Kou Li Kou_.[7]

“Soba ni Iru ne” was also covered by Sly and Robbie on their album _Amazing_.[8]

Track listing

1.  “Soba ni Iru ne feat. SoulJa”
2.  “My dear friend”
3.  “This Day feat. Dohzi-T”

Charts

Oricon Sales Chart (Japan)

+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| Release   | Chart     | Peak      | First     | Total     | Chart run |
|           |           | position  | week      | sales     |           |
|           |           |           | sales     |           |           |
+:==========+:==========+:==========+:==========+:==========+:==========+
| January   | Oricon    | 1.  1     |           |           |           |
| 23, 2008  | Daily     |           |           |           |           |
|           | Singles   |           |           |           |           |
|           | Chart     |           |           |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| January   | Oricon    | 1.  1     | 50,158    | 464,835   | 46 weeks  |
| 23, 2008  | Weekly    |           |           |           |           |
|           | Singles   |           |           |           |           |
|           | Chart     |           |           |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| January   | Oricon    | 1.  2     |           |           |           |
| 23, 2008  | Monthly   |           |           |           |           |
|           | Singles   |           |           |           |           |
|           | Chart     |           |           |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+
| January   | Oricon    | 1.  7     |           | 456,479   |           |
| 23, 2008  | Yearly    |           |           |           |           |
|           | Singles   |           |           |           |           |
|           | Chart     |           |           |           |           |
+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+-----------+

Total sales as of 11th Feb '09 - 464,835

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

title: Soba ni Iru ne

question: What does the article say about the single's reception?

answer: The single reached the number 1 position on Japan's Oricon charts in its second week and sold over 450,000 compact discs. In addition, it sold over 7 million downloads, including 2 million complete downloads, by July 2008. In September 2008, the Guinness World Records certified the song as “the best selling download single in Japan” for the number of full-track downloads. On May 28, 2009, however, it was announced that the record was replaced by Greeeen's song “Kiseki”. It was later admitted by the Guinness World Records. It was also the best-selling download single on the iTunes Store 2008 yearly charts in Japan.

critique: The response includes extraneous information not useful for the task.

question: What does the article say about the popularity of J-Pop?

answer: No answer

critique: The response can't be considered an answer all.

critique: The answer should mention the sales of the song.

critique: The answer should state that the article does not provide an answer to the question.

critique: It is omitted that the article does not say anything about the popularity of J-Pop.

critique: The answer should mention the Guinness World Records.

critique: The answer should mention the sales figures of the song.


text:
“Where do we go from here?”  I thought as I laid on the rickety, old hotel mattress, my hands resting behind my head to avoid direct contact with the well-used pillow.  I stared at the ceiling while I pondered, trying to create a map in my head of where the next destination would be.  “Hey, Kale, should we travel north or west?” I turned my head toward him as I said the last word of my question.
	“Up to you.  You’re the master planner here,” Kale replied, a smirk growing on his handsome face.  I pondered further, my foot rapidly fidgeting as it dangled off the edge of the bed.  “But honestly, we need a better hotel next time,” he added, a few moments later.  I finally looked away from the ceiling as I removed my left hand from behind my head.  I started to examine my hand, slowly turning it and observing as if I had never seen it before.  My fingernails were chipped and dried blood rested around the edges.
	Kale was in the corner of the room sitting in an ancient armchair, his backpack in front of him so he could search through it while remaining seated.  He rustled around as if looking for something.  “Kale, do you think we can ever escape?” I asked, a hint of concern in my voice.
	“Our only limits are in our minds.  I know we can, and we will,” he assured me.  At that moment I realized that we could be running for a long time.  Cult leaders don’t let people leave easily.  Not alive, anyways.
	“Why did I join that stupid group anyways?” I thought to myself.  It was like signing up for a credit card - once you sign, you’re pretty much stuck with it for life.  I finally sat up on the rather lumpy bed and swung my legs around to the side.  I stood up, stretched my arms out, and casually wandered over to the window.  The tattered curtains were translucent and I could see the sun setting over the water without even moving them.
	“It’s a beautiful night,” Kale whispered from behind my neck, his breath sending a shiver down my spine.  I hadn’t realized he had gotten out of his chair.  He wrapped his hands around me, clasping them over my belly button.  “We should just forget everything and go out for a walk.  We can’t pass up a beautiful sight like this.”  Kale moved his left hand along my back and reached for my right hand.  He grabbed it gently and started to lead me to the old, wooden door.  I was in a state of infatuation and stupidly allowed him to guide me.  Kale and I walked down two flights of creaky, wooden stairs and exited the Lands End Hotel.  The truth behind the name of the hotel put me on edge, making me feel like there really was no escape other than to swim.  Or boat, but we had no way of getting one.
	We began to walk along the dirt path.  The hotel was in a forested area with a nearby beach.  Mosquitoes buzzed by my ears and I tried to swat them away with my free hand.  I realized that every aspect of my life involved getting rid of something, more accurately someone.  Renaldo sure was not happy when he found out that Kale and I left the cult.  Romance was not permitted there so we ran off together.  Betrayal was not permitted either.  Renaldo had likely sent Hugh and Gregory - two very strong men - after us.  Either that or he was chasing us himself.  I’d rather test my chances with Hugh and Gregory because Renaldo certainly had issues.
	Every time a twig broke beneath my feet, or a rodent scurried in the distance, my heart would beat faster.  I broke into a cold sweat.  Kale noticed the worry in my face and said, “Rita, don’t worry, we’re going to be fine out here.  There’s no way Renaldo could find us so quickly.  Just relax and enjoy the scenery.  It’s not every day that you get to visit Nova Scotia.”  He was right.  I tried to focus on the briney air coming in with the ocean breeze.  It calmed me and I became lost in the orange-pink sky.
	After walking for about a half hour, Kale suggested that we turn back.  He once again guided me and I once again allowed him to, only this time I really wanted to.  I felt safe with Kale.  The sun was barely visible, it was nothing but a thin gash on the canvas that was the sky.  With all the trees it was difficult to see, but the comfort of the air and Kale’s warmth allowed me to stay relaxed.  “Okay, we’re almost back,” I thought, “Only a few more minutes to go.”  I remembered the uncomfortable bed and suddenly heading back was less desirable, but I wanted to get away from the mosquitoes and the openness of the unfamiliar area.
Kale led us around a large tree; it must have been hundreds of years old.  I didn’t remember seeing it on the way out and felt a bit uneasy.  As I took my next step, my left foot caught on something.  I fell to the ground and the air escaped my lungs.  “Kale!  Where are you? I can’t see!” I shouted with the last bit of breath I could scrounge up.  A hand grabbed mine to help me up.  I instantly felt relieved.  But I soon realized that the hand was too big to be Kale’s.  I tried to let go but the hand clamped down on mine; the hand was so large that it completely consumed mine.  “Kale!  Help!” I tried my luck again, but there was no response once again.  I felt my heart break.  “Something is wrong,” I thought.  I figured that there was no point in wasting my energy on trying to escape my captor’s grasp, so I decided to save the effort for a better opportunity for escape.  The man ironically led me back to the hotel, but rather than going in the main doors, he opened a cellar that was accessible on the shore-side of the hotel.
	As I was forced to descend down the cold, cement stairs into the darkness below, I worried about Kale and whether he was okay.  “Sit,” said the man before me.  His dark silhouette pointed to an empty milk crate.  I obeyed without hesitation, a scrap of hope in mind.  The man aggressively tied my hands behind my back with a rope.  He took out a flashlight and shined it in my eyes so that I could not see what he looked like.  I heard a cough in the background, revealing that a second person was also in the room.  Using my energy that I saved from earlier, I headbutted the man in the groin.  The flashlight dropped to the ground and I rushed to pick it up, freeing my hands easily along the way with the adrenaline running through my veins.  I was shaking but I managed to aim the flashlight around, slowly at first, then quicker as I was trying to locate the second person in the room.  The man on the ground, sure enough, was Hugh.  I assumed the mysterious second person would be Gregory since they were always paired up together, but it wasn’t.  The circle of light allowed me to catch a glimpse of the second person’s shoe.  I slowly aimed the light up toward the face of the person.  “It can’t be... it just can’t...” I whispered aloud.
	“I’m so sorry, Rita,” whimpered Kale as he pointed a gun at my chest.

title: Trust Ends as the Ocean Begins - wrote this in 75 minutes for a Writer's Craft exam in grade 12

question: Summarize the plot of the story.

answer: Rita and Kale are on the run from their cult. They are in a hotel, but it isn't safe enough. Rita falls asleep while they are still there. Kale takes her out for a walk and is captured. Rita finds Kale and they take her to a cellar in the Lands End Hotel. The person who is holding her at gunpoint is Kale.

critique: The response is missing the part where Hugh and Gregory are sent after them.

critique: The answer omits the part where Rita is captured.

critique: "The person who is holding her at gunpoint is Kale." - this is incorrect. Kale is the one holding the gun.

critique: The answer should mention that the man who captured Rita is Kale.

text: It is Hugh who brings Rita to the hotel. Also mention that Rita tries to escape but is caught again but it is Kale who holds her at gunpoint.

question: Summarize Rita and Kale's hotel room.

answer: Rita and Kale are staying at a very run-down hotel. Their room isn't in good shape, with rickety beds and a well-used pillow. Their room is in a forested area with a nearby beach and they are being chased. Rita wonders why she decided to join the cult.

critique: The answer is not a summary of the hotel room.

critique: Kale is in the corner of the room searching in his backpack.

critique: The answer should mention that the hotel is called Lands End Hotel.

critique: The hotel is not in a forested area with a nearby beach.

text: mention that it also has an ancient armchair

question: Summarize the cult that Rita and Kale are running from.

answer: No answer

text: Mention that the cult prohibits relationships and that as a member, Rita has had to get rid of people. Also mention that the cult has a person with issues named Renaldo who appears to have a high position and has underlings such as Hugh and Gregory, and like most cult leaders, Renaldo will not let Rita and Kale leave easily.


text:
[]

[] [] []

Taylon Hope is a singer, songwriter, musician from West Jefferson, NC, located in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains and now makes her home in Music City, Nashville, TN. She began singing at the young age of four years old and music has been her passion ever since. She loves singing and performing and making a difference to others through her music. Her musical influences include Dolly Parton, Vince Gill, Carrie Underwood, Martina McBride, among others. Taylon has a love for both traditional and modern Country Music and has a great appreciation for all kinds of music. Taylon Hope values her roots and believes in being who you are and country is who she is!

In 2014, Taylon Hope released her first EP titled, "What This World Needs", which was produced by Multi-Awarding Winning Inspirational Country Artist, Tommy Brandt. The title track broke the Top 30 on The Power Source Inspirational Country Chart.

In 2016, she began working with Grammy Nominated Producer, Kent Wells, who is also Dolly Parton's producer and band leader. In December of 2016, Taylon released her second CD, "Showin' My Roots" to much success. Taylon co-wrote all of the songs on the project and the title track broke the Top 100 on Music Row. She was featured in both Billboard Magazine and Music Row Magazine.

She released her first Christmas EP, "Carolina Christmas", which was also produced by Kent Wells, in December of 2017. The project includes two original songs co-written by Taylon, along with familiar Christmas Classics.

Taylon Hope has been blessed to perform at many wonderful venues in different areas of the country. She has had the opportunity to open shows for Shenandoah, T. Graham Brown, Suzy Bogguss, Adam Crabb, and recently in Kansas she opened up for Ned LeDoux, son of Chris LeDoux. She has performed at the legendary Bluebird Cafe, The Listening Room, The Schermerhorn Symphony Center, The Texas Troubadour Theatre, The Nashville Palace, John A's, and Puckett's, all in Nashville, TN. She has also performed at The Lyric Theatre in Lexington, KY, MerleFest in Wilkesboro, NC and is a regular guest and performer at WBTV Channel 3 in Charlotte, NC. Taylon Hope is a signed artists for Dolly Parton's DreamMore Resort and performs at her resort throughout the year. In the Summer of 2017, she completed a Summer Tour with Boot Barn and she continues to perform in their stores throughout the South. Taylon Hope performed as an invited guest at the CRS Radio Seminar and at CMA Fest last year in downtown Nashville, TN. Taylon loves giving back through her music and is an on-going performer at the Ronald McDonald house and is scheduled to begin working at St. Jude's hospital with the children's unit. Taylon Hope has been a guest on three occasions this past year on WSM Radio, the broadcast home of The Grand Ole Opry. Taylon continues to do on-going writer's nights in downtown Nashville, TN.

In October of 2017, Taylon Hope was blessed to perform on the legendary stage of The Grand Ole Opry House at the tribute show for the great Ralph Stanley. Playing on this stage was a dream come true for Taylon as she is a great fan and supporter of The Grand Ole Opry and the history of this legendary show.

Taylon Hope is excited and looking forward to an exciting and productive 2018! She plans to release a new single to Country Radio this year and pursue another new EP of country music songs that she has been writing.

[] []

Josie Show Music Awards - 2018 Winner

"Entertainer of the Year - Young Adult Division"

Josie Show Music Awards - 2017 Winner

"Artist of the Year - Junior Division"

Josie Show Music Awards - 2016 Winner

"Vocalist of the Year- Junior Division"

Inspirational Country Music Awards - 2016 Winner

"Youth in Music"

Inspirational Country Music Awards - 2016 Nominee

"New Artist of the Year"

King Country AgapeFest - 2015 Winner

"Rising Star"

Inspirational Country Music Awards - 2015 Nominee

"Youth in Music"

Josie Show Music Awards - 2015 Nominee

"Junior Artist of the Year"

King Country AgapeFest - 2014 Nominee

"Rising Star"

Inspirational Country Music Awards - 2014 Nominee

"Youth in Music"

AMG Heritage Awards - 2014 Nominee

"New Artist of the Year"

AMG Heritage Awards - 2014 Nominee

"Youth Artist of the Year"

[] []

Taylon Hope CD

[]

[© Taylon Hope Music - All Rights Reserved] []

question: What kind of music does Taylon Hope create?

answer: She creates country music.

critique: The answer could be phrased as a complete sentence.

critique: Add that she also has an appreciation for all kinds of music.

critique: The answer should mention that she also sings traditional country music.

critique: The answer should mention the subgenre of country music.

critique: I would add what I interpret "country music" to mean.

text: The answer should mention that Taylon Hope loves both traditional and modern Country music.


text:
I don’t know how much longer this search can go on. I am in dire need of repairs and all the parts I need are damaged or not compatible. Time is slowly dwindling away and soon I am going to be another heap of metal populating this ever growing “graveyard” for robots like me.

Finding replacement parts can become an aggravating chore for a robot who has become unwanted by consumers interested only in making their lives easier and “less complicated.” My sole purpose was to provide entertainment and company to the children whose parents could afford me. I was built to be able to respond to children’s commands. I could even talk back if I was asked a question that I was programmed to answer. I was built to move around on a wheel that resembled a small bicycle tire. I guess my creators figured that it would provide more excitement for the younger generation to have such a unique way of moving around.

But, as technology advances, newer models are created that provide not only entertainment for kids but also luxuries for adults. No longer do people have to do their own cooking or clean their own houses. There are models built for just about anything a person could desire; work, entertainment, pleasure, even crime if bought from the right seller.

Along with these advances in robot technology come cheaper prices tags. More people can afford these luxuries of a robot companion. There is just no place for a robot like me in the world today. I mean, I’m built like a unicycle. I can’t get around like the models built with two or even three legs. It takes a considerable amount of time and effort just for me to climb a set of stairs. Along with the handicap of transportation, I have only six fingers, three on both hands. Gripping things can become quite complicated for me at times. Simply put, I’m an antique.

The only thing keeping me going is the knowledge I was programmed with to repair myself. As long as I have the parts, I can fix myself. But, I’m not alone in this “graveyard.” This place is populated by robots, like myself, that no longer serve a purpose in this world. Over time, our circuits and parts grow old and become useless and since we can’t heal like our creators and owners, we must replace. The older we get, the less likely we will be able to find the parts we need. Eventually, time will do its thing and our circuits will die and we will become nothing more than recyclable scraps.

On the left side of my lower back is a switch that is barely reachable with my left arm. I think I must have been one of the last models built with such a switch as I have not seen it on many models that has been dumped here since my arrival. Whenever my previous owners would reach back and flip it, my internal clock would jump forward an uncertain amount of time and suddenly I would be in another room with different people or with the same people, just wearing different clothing. I’ve never been able to understand how it works.

This “graveyard” has run dry of the parts I need. I can’t go on much longer here. That switch might be the only way left for me to get out of here and take me somewhere I can continue to survive. Maybe it will take me to some new owners that have piles of old, working parts that would be a perfect fit for me. Maybe they’ll have children that appreciate the simplicity of my purpose. The thought of this makes me feel the same kind of happiness that I think my previous owners felt when they use to play with me.

With little effort, I reach back and place my finger on the switch. Click…

title: Antique

question: What does the text say about the robot and advancing technology?

answer: For robotics, technology is advancing quickly and robots can now do more than provide entertainment, they can also provide many other services. Robots are now ubiquitous in society and there is no need to do anything manually because they can do even the most menial of tasks. Robotics also saw the need to create affordable models to everyone because they are now widely available.

critique: "Robots are now ubiquitous in society and there is no need to do anything manually because they can do even the most menial of tasks." - this is incorrect. Robots are not ubiquitous in society and there is a need to do things manually because robots can't do everything.

critique: The answer does not mention the end of the robot's existence.


text:
I met Randall Finn two years ago, when I was working at Stevens Laboratories in Boston. At the time, I was the manager of a drug research project, testing the safety of an antidepressant. We had just about finished our trials on mice, and I was looking for a chance to do a human trial. Problem is, there aren’t too many people out there who are willing to risk their own safety for the sake of scientific advancement. I didn’t have the budget to pay well, either. So when I heard that a white male in his mid-thirties was offering to participate in any scientific studies, I called him immediately. On the line, his voice was rich and warm, like I imagine some kind of singer or a good movie dad would talk. He said he’d come right over.
Randall lived about an hour away, so I spent the intervening time imagining what he would look like. That voice made me think of a rustic cowboy, retired and raising a family of three kids, by himself. He was probably a burly guy, with just a day or two of stubble on his chin. I sat down in my little office and Googled him. As it turned out, I didn’t get much right except that he was a burly guy with a day of stubble on his chin. In fact, he worked at a lab like mine in Sharon. Actually, he ran a lab like Draper Labs in Sharon. Randall had a classic rags-to-riches story; he was born into a poor family, did extraordinarily well in school, got a scholarship, and graduated cum laude from Stanford. He started working at Sharon Labs immediately after graduating, and within eight years, he was running it. I couldn’t think of why he was trying to be a test subject. Maybe it was a publicity stunt to get more test subjects for his lab.

When my secretary let him into my office, I couldn’t believe it. This time, the only thing I recognized was his stubble. He was thinner than most of my lab rats, and just as pale. He looked like a man who’d never seen the sun in his life.
“Dr. Wilson, I will try to be as honest as possible, and I hope you will do the same. I do not have the energy for politeness or sugarcoating.” He spoke quickly and precisely, as if he were reading cells in a spreadsheet, but he paused every few words to take a shallow breath. I felt my eyes lock with his as he leaned forward to emphasize his next sentence.

“I am dying. Quickly. I have approximately four months before I die. I have not come to you for help. My illness is terminal, and has no cure. I do not expect you to find one in the time I have left. I plan to make myself useful in my final months. As you might guess, I have no objections to anything that will kill me within a year, or nine months, or six. Do you have a problem with this?”

He gripped the edge of my desk tightly and pushed himself back up to lean back in his chair. I could feel him staring at my head as I looked to the side. At one level, I was overjoyed. Here was the ideal test subject: he has no fear of death or injury, and for good reason. He could walk straight up to Chernobyl and kick the reactor walls and it wouldn’t shorten his life by a millisecond. On the other hand, I couldn’t imagine not trying to help him. If nothing else, I had to know what was killing him.
“That sounds…fine to me, Dr. Finn. Now, if you’ll allow me, I’ll try to explain briefly the experiment that you’re signing up for…”

For the next three hours, we talked through every nuance, every control, every damn data point in my entire experiment. True to his word, he did not spare my feelings. Twice, he made a hissing noise through his teeth and said “Bullshit.” He didn’t shout, but he said it with such intensity that it felt like being slapped. As we went over the experiment, I realized that he was testing not just the rigor of the experiment, but also my intelligence. I was a new graduate student again, doing my thesis defense against a jury of scientists much smarter and older than me. It was possibly the most intense three hours of my life. Just as I had started to explain what exactly he would be doing in the lab, he stopped me.

“Thank you, Dr. Wilson, you’ve been very informative. I’ll be here tomorrow at eight o’clock to begin work.” He buttoned his suit as he stood up and walked towards the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out.

“Wait!” He turned around smoothly, pivoting on his left foot to face me.

“Why are you dying?” I came out from behind my desk. I had a sudden thought that if he tried to walk away, I would grab him and hold him in my office until he told me. He gave a little smile, just using the left side of his mouth.

“It’s a genetic illness. At the moment, my body is consuming itself. I can’t process enough food to keep myself alive.” His smile widened, looking more like a wolf’s grin.

“Funny, isn’t it…all those starving African children dying of malnutrition, and here I am, surrounded by wealth and power, dying the same way. Some kind of karmic justice for my sins. I wish I could remember what I did to deserve this.” He nodded slightly and walked out the door, moving so quickly and quietly I didn’t have a chance to decide whether to keep him or let him go.

That night, I researched everything I could on genetic diseases, wasting syndromes, ketogenesis…I couldn’t find anything like what he was describing. His male ancestors did seem to have wasted away; every obituary I could find said that the Finn men had simply grown weaker and thinner until they died. It was incredible. I felt like stopping my experiment and devoting my next four months to studying Randall Finn. He really was a mystery. But he didn’t want me trying to cure him. There were other mysteries to be solved, ones that didn’t involve my own test subjects.

(continued)

title: Randall Finn [unfinished] [feedback much appreciated]

question: What does the story say about Randall Finn?

answer: Randall Finn is a white male in his mid-thirties. He was born into a poor family, did extraordinarily well in school, got a scholarship, and graduated cum laude from Stanford. He started working at Sharon Labs immediately after graduating and within eight years, he was running it. He was dying quickly, and he had approximately four months left. Randall was the ideal test subject because he had no fear of death or injury, and for good reason. He could walk straight up to Chernobyl and kick the reactor walls and it wouldn’t shorten his life by a millisecond.

critique: The answer should mention Randall's genetic illness.

critique: It's omitted that he has a genetic illness that causes his body to consume itself. Randall is also testing Dr. Wilson's experiment.

critique: It is omitted that he is dying of a genetic illness.

critique: The text contains more information about Randall that is not in the answer.

critique: The answer should mention that Randall is dying of a genetic disease.

critique: The answer should mention that Randall is dying of a genetic illness.

critique: The response should include that Randall is dying from a genetic disease.

question: What does the story say about Dr. Wilson?

answer: Dr. Wilson was the manager of a drug research project, testing the safety of an antidepressant. He is debating whether or not to ask someone to participate in the trial. The person eventually agrees after choosing which drug to use. Three days later, Dr. Wilson tests the trial drug on Randall, who agrees to participate in the trials. Randall is quick to point out any inconveniences within the procedure, gauging the abilities and intelligence of the narrator.

critique: The story does not say that Dr. Wilson tests the drug on Randall.

critique: The answer is inaccurate. There is no mention of Dr. Wilson choosing which drug to use.

critique: It's omitted that Randall is interested in volunteering for a scientific study, as he is dying and wants to make use of his time. He wants to find out what his condition is and how it will affect the experiment.

text: "He is debating whether or not to ask someone to participate in the trial. The person eventually agrees after choosing which drug to use. Three days later, Dr. Wilson tests the trial drug on Randall, who agrees to participate in the trials. Randall is quick to point out any inconveniences within the procedure, gauging the abilities and intelligence of the narrator." - extraneous and inaccurate information.

category: coherence

question: What does the story say about how to set up controls for a drug trial?

answer: No answer

critique: The question asks for information about how to set up controls for a drug trial. The story does not answer this question.

critique: The story offers a good example of how to set up controls for a drug trial.

critique: The answer should mention that the story doesn't delve into the details of how to set up controls for a drug trial.