text:
White Light

I was excited for tonight. However slightly nervous at the same time. I hadn’t seen all these people in so long. Were they going to like me still? Did they even remember me? Did they miss me as much as I missed them? All these questions running through my head was giving me a headache. I decided to take a quick shower. After I got out the shower I noticed I had a missed call from my old friend Tom. I immediately called him back.

“hey Tom what's up?” I asked.
“oh nothing” he replied “just wondering if you were going tonight that’s all”
“yeah of course I am, I wouldn’t miss it for the world” I said
“aw nice one! I was thinking, if you wanted to, you should come round early and help set up everything?”he asked
I hesitated for a moment, he always was a bit flirty.
“yeah okay sure, gives us time to have little catch-up before the party”
“it's a date!” Tom exclaimed.
“okay, bye”
With that I ended the call. Tom and I have a past that I don’t really want to repeat.

The next 2 hours flew by and I found myself driving to Tom's house. Once I arrived I walked straight in and no surprise he was in his bedroom rolling what he called 'doobies'. He offered me one (as he always does) but I declined, I didn’t want to be 'high' while I was seeing everyone again. Tom was much taller than I remembered. He still had that noticeable scar under his left eye, which I still to this day don’t know how he got. His long blonde hair flicked across his brow almost covering his eyes. I did notice however, that his clothes seemed to be on the tight side. His nipples were clearly visible through his plain, green t-shirt.

By around 10pm most people had arrived and I was I feeling slightly unsettled. I didn’t really know anyone here. I mean I had talked with my old friends but they all seemed like they had somewhere better to be. So there I am just sat there on the crinkly, leather couch drinking alone. I start to notice that in fact, everyone was acting unnatural. I liked to people watch, it became a habit of mine once I started my new college. Something was certainly not right, I had to get out of here.

I stood up and took a brisk walk to the door only to get intercepted by Tom.
“leaving already?” Tom asked.
“yeah kinda feeling a bit ill, one to many beers I think” I gulped.
“I have just the thing, follow me”

Feeling slightly apprehensive I followed. He lead me through a maze of people, to the outdoor sofa's. Surprisingly it wasn’t cold out, considering it was the middle of November. It was a clear night and the garden was illuminated by the full moon. We took a seat next to the smokers, they all had longish hair and looked like the stereotypical stoner’s you would see in the movies. Tom proceeded to pull out a doobie. He lit it and puffed away on it. I was starting to wonder why he brought me out here. He then sticks out his hand with the lit joint and beckons me to take it. I was slightly anxious about taking it, I had only ever smoked while I had been sober. I ignored my gut instinct not to take it and took a few big hits and passed it back.

“not so bad, eh” Tom chimed.
“hmm I suppose, I don’t feel any different” I lied.
Inside my head was spinning. My vision was blurry. However I felt fine now, more at ease. That was until I detected everyone staring at me. What was happening, everyone looked odd, but I couldn’t put my finger on what was different about them. Then it clicked. They weren’t humans.

I had to leave right now. I chucked my coat on and stumbled to the door. Fortunately for me it was open. I ventured on my journey across town, I debated calling a taxi but decided against the idea as I had no money. I got about halfway down the street when I heard someone calling my name. I swiftly turn around to see Tom stood there.

“I need your help they're trying to get me” he shouted. Before I could answer him back one of the people from the party leapt onto him and started ripping him to pieces. I watched as this red-eyed creature, denatured my friend. I let out a whimper.  What was this thing? I just witnessed my best friend savagely ripped apart in front of my very eyes. I sprinted away as fast as my legs could go. I finally made it to a supermarket where I found refuge in a older man. I blurted out my story and he offered me comfort and a place to stay, to which I accepted gratefully.

I shakily climbed into his shiny black ford and closed my eyes as we sped off. I felt a cold shiver down my spine and I slowly opened my eyes. He was one of them. I manage to catch a glimpse of his blood red eyes and my worst fears came true. The car screeched to a halt and the old man got out. I made a split-second decision and flung the car door open and made a run for it. I was one step behind.

The creature hooked its man like hands around my arms and pulled me towards it. It stopped for a moment and examined me. It proceeded to stare deep into me almost like it could see my soul quivering in fright. His arms jerked down towards my legs and I watched in agony as he dismembered my body, limb from limb.
I saw the light and all my pain was gone.
I was dead.

title: first draft of my coursework story, all feedback is welcome thanks. 1010 words

question: What does the text say about Tom?

answer: Tom is the narrator's old friend. He's a tall, blonde guy with a noticeable scar under his left eye. He's a bit flirty and always offers the narrator drugs. He's also a stoner.

critique: It does not mention how Tom and the narrator met.

critique: It's omitted that Tom is killed by one of the creatures.

question: What is the twist of the story?

answer: The narrator is the last friend alive with Tom; the narrator is brought on an adventure of being together with someone she loved, only to watch him torn apart before her eyes. The friend turns into a zombie and attaches to the narrator.

critique: The narrator is not the last friend alive with Tom.

text: Tom does not attach to the narrator. Tom is killed by the creatures before he can get to the narrator.

question: Summarize why the narrator hasn't seen her friends in so long.

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator is dead.


split: train

text:
I feel it might be a bit cumbersome, anyway- any advice/critiques would be greatly appreciated.

———-He would then make his journey, wearing a shirt that featured a sloppy graphic of Paris, Texas’s own Eiffel Tower front and center.  This Eiffel Tower was crowned with a fucking cowboy hat.

Speaking of-

I should tell you about those two-brothers, they were identical twins- one of which went by the moniker Cowboy, who in a very cowboy-esque manner heroically busted into our protagonist’s house at 3 a.m. and used brazen force to grab a sofa that was engulfed in flames to toss it out into the front-yard with a grunt. Apparently, cushion serves as no buffer to an old MGM limp-wristed ashing out of a cigarette.  Our protagonist thanked him with hare-like murmurs once he awoke from the kitchen-floor that red wine and continually shouting ‘I am no senator’s son’ had lulled him to sleep on.  He would always tell me that Cowboy had certain vigilant inclinations that usurped the mental disorder that made him dependent on the state of Texas and it’s few victuals of financial empathy. “If he didn’t get those checks, well, I would have probably burned alive.” Our protagonist would gleefully say over bites of the singular nougat-heavy candy bars that used to provide his only source of nutrition for the day outside of what he got when he traveled to Hunt county, which was wet and eager to trade it’s poison for quarters and the tawdry idioms thrown into over-the-counter service to feign something fetchingly personal.

I was force-fed too much iconography to be concerned with finding out the other brother’s name.

The two-brothers would watch the same recorded episodes of Wheel of Fortune on VHS so that they could consistently be correct with their answers.  Pat Sajak had become an administration of consistent validation.  The two-brothers would pepper in caveats of convoluted logic to the neighborhood kids “Don’t count your toes in spring-time, just don’t do it” before offering them a tuna sandwich or licorice that lost all malleability to time.  They would go the local donut-shop and offer up arm wrestling contests in which the prize was a Spudnut with coconut shavings; rumor has it that they never lost, so the forfeiture to come of their hypothetical defeat was never addressed.  I always wondered.

Everyone saw a litany of misdirected allegory, bicycle baskets and matching pique polos from the thrift-store on Booker road.  They saw a life without the dregs.  Life without rancor towards the swath of simple southern fate.  Everyone responded to them with subtle indifference.  They were patronizers, but they did it out of envy.  He swore it.  Our protagonist saw the enchanting whiteness and front-faced conscious that the (what social arbiters have deemed as the-) ‘mentally-challenged’ bared.  More times than not, he was certain that they were only people within the ‘low-end’ part of town that weren’t nauseated by the smell of sulfur.  He’d invite them over to play on his impromptu front yard golf-course, which was comprised of holes that he’d stuck old coffee tins in and a croquet set he got for fifty cents.  He’d conceptualized it on a raucous Tuesday night.  I think he genuinely loved the two-brothers.  In retrospect, we all should have.

The protagonist, my father, attended their funeral in the spring of 1999.  He wore the only suit he had.  It was an awful onyx grey.  It had masted a decade of convival and powder.  It had seen its fair share.  The pant hems provided slightly splayed pedals of fabric, relics of either dancing or running in The Big D (Our protagonist would say they are actions that operate in tandem.)  He counted his toes for what seemed like decades. We didn’t watch Wheel of Fortune that night.

title: Two brothers: a snippet from a book I'm working on.

question: Summarize the relationship between the father and the brothers.

answer: The father and the brothers are friends. They play together, watch the same recorded episodes of Wheel of Fortune, and eat together. The father invites the brothers over to play on his impromptu golf course.

critique: The answer omits the fact that the father loved the brothers.

critique: The father's relationship with the brothers is not explicitly stated.

critique: Does not explicitly say they were friends, though it is implied.

critique: The father and the brothers are not friends.

critique: There is no evidence that the father and brothers are friends.

critique: Underscores should be used sparingly at the end of sentences.


text:
I tried to be kind of experimental in the way I wrote it. Please let me know if you think it's silly or good or just meh! It's best read slowly.

Anyway enough of that, here it is:

----

It was the year 250,000,000 BC. It was the year 2011 AD. It was the end of the universe. It was every year, all at once.

A man tunnels inside a mountain using his pickaxe as a woman bites in to a freshly baked bagel. The mountain fractures apart in to pieces that are sent to the coal power plant. The bagels finish baking and the warm smell fills the kitchen in the bakery. The miner coughs and feels slightly ill. The electricity from the coal plant is sold at a rate of 10.96¢/kW•h. The woman pays for the bagel. The baker paid the electricity bill and the woman’s hunger feels temporarily satisfied.

It’s there. The path the energy took. The miner, the coal, the electricity, the bagel, the woman's satisfaction…you see it all. It’s at once obvious and yet mysteriously laden with hidden details.

You see beings, human and other, making decisions in their lives based on the way they experience reality. “How imperfect their information. It feels almost shameful, being trapped such a low-dimensional manner like that. Like a prisoner. Or an insect. Or perhaps Pac-Man, controlled by the joystick. How limited.” you think to yourself, as if there were anyone else to think it to.

It’s all twisting and folding, wiggling around and too impressive to take in at any one moment. Its pores breathe with life at the biggest and smallest of scales, each scale cooperating with all the others in surprising ways to produce layers upon layers of interwoven complexity. “Oh… if only the beings trapped in this thing could come outside it for a second and see it from this perspective” you think, soaking in the richness of detail available in this oversized fractal. The biggest and smallest sizes have a difference of several hundred orders of magnitude, yet it seemed most humans only used a few of them. Silly humans.

You fly around and zoom and expand certain portions of time and space, examining some parts of the 4-dimensional block with more scrutiny. You pass through it and around it like a ghost while occasionally grabbing on to edges to pivot around, floating like an astronaut outside the space ship. Except you were outside the universe.

The universe exploded in to existence at the start, you see. And the end showed the last souls blowing out their final breaths, silently giving homage to every being that had ever died before them. Somewhere else, it was a balmy 86 degree day in southern Florida as a few gentlemen went fishing in a boat one of them was still making loan payments on.

“A lot of them seem to take the game quite seriously, this game of being.” You look around some more, pinching and grabbing the multi-textured styrofoam-like contours of this crazy 4D thing, romantically grasping as if your hand holds were jacket lapels on the coat of a lover. There’s so much emotion and hurt and suffering and pain, while also harboring unbelievable joy, compassion, beauty, and peace. All more or less self-contained in this one object, what a marvel!

You fly to a different place. The United States president gave a long awaited speech to millions of diversely-opinioned citizens while inside their bodies billions of glucose molecules metabolized as they processed the words rolled to them down the social hierarchy from above. The atoms the people were made of seemed to buzz with imprecise possibility, as did their states of minds. The decision was made, and the action was performed by the government. The people had mixed opinions about the results.

Then, out of nowhere, there’s a pulling. Away from this thing in a manner that didn’t seem controllable or comprehendible in that moment, like the rug was jerked out from under your feet or the chair accidentally leaned too far back. You were in freefall, away from what was familiar. It had been happening the whole time, but you had only just realized it was going on. You reach out to this thing in desperation, this giant marvelous complicated life-giving thing, and yet the metaphorical lapels slip from your fingers. It’s so pretty you want to look at it forever.

The pulling persists. It seems as though you have angered a strange form of gravity. There’s a sense of confusion and slight panic.

You cling on to this 4D network of form and ideas and lifestyles and meaning and values. You try so hard to keep it from leaving you. In the last moments you see a human, a specific one. This human was you. Or… you thought it was you. But now you're up here.

You are dying. Or you died. You remember now. It’s hard to tell which, causality didn’t seem to have the same meaning here. It seemed to just happen moments ago. There was a strange feeling. “Oh well” you laugh to your ever-changing self. What a farce. What a beautiful farce.

The universe leaves your hands and you plummet away from it.

At that moment of letting go, you briefly forget you were ever alive to begin with. You began to exist in a new way you’d forgotten was possible. You became it, it became you, and all was forgiven. All love and compassion, no divisions or walls. Not just this marvelously complex life-giving 4D thing either, but all the other things too. *All of them*. “Welcome back!” reality said to itself, to you.

You realized you had won the war, whatever that was about. What’s the point in fighting if there is no disagreement? You dissolve in to it like a drop of ink dissolves in to the entire ocean.

The coal miner exhaled the last puffs of poisonous carbon monoxide as he passed out from asphyxiation inside the mountain. “That bagel was delicious.” said the woman at another time and place. And she was right, it was delicious.

title: A short story [x-post from /r/Buddhism]

question: What does the story say about the man carving the mountain?

answer: The man tunnels inside a mountain using his pickaxe. In the Bakery, there was a miner who was coughing because he felt too ill. The electricity he gets is sold at a rate of 10.96¢/kW.

critique: The miner is not coughing because he feels ill.

critique: The answer omits the fact that the man is dying.

critique: The miner is not coughing because he feels too ill.

critique: The miner's coughing and the electricity he gets are irrelevant.

critique: The miner, who bought the bagels, is irrelevant and should be omitted.

critique: The response should include the fact that the miner is a human and how his death is related to the story.


text:
[170731_trump_ryan_gty_1160.jpg]

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We created him, and now we're rationalizing him. When will it stop?

Continue to article content

Who could blame the people who felt abandoned and ignored by the major parties for reaching in despair for a candidate who offered oversimplified answers to infinitely complex questions and managed to entertain them in the process? With hindsight, it is clear that we all but ensured the rise of Donald Trump.

I will let the liberals answer for their own sins in this regard. (There are many.) But we conservatives mocked Barack Obama’s failure to deliver on his pledge to change the tone in Washington even as we worked to assist with that failure. It was we conservatives who, upon Obama’s election, stated that our No. 1 priority was not advancing a conservative policy agenda but making Obama a one-term president—the corollary to this binary thinking being that his failure would be our success and the fortunes of the citizenry would presumably be sorted out in the meantime. It was we conservatives who were largely silent when the most egregious and sustained attacks on Obama’s legitimacy were leveled by marginal figures who would later be embraced and legitimized by far too many of us. It was we conservatives who rightly and robustly asserted our constitutional prerogatives as a co-equal branch of government when a Democrat was in the White House but who, despite solemn vows to do the same in the event of a Trump presidency, have maintained an unnerving silence as instability has ensued. To carry on in the spring of 2017 as if what was happening was anything approaching normalcy required a determined suspension of critical faculties. And tremendous powers of denial.

I’ve been sympathetic to this impulse to denial, as one doesn’t ever want to believe that the government of the United States has been made dysfunctional at the highest levels, especially by the actions of one’s own party. Michael Gerson, a conservative columnist and former senior adviser to President George W. Bush, wrote, four months into the new presidency, “The conservative mind, in some very visible cases, has become diseased,” and conservative institutions “with the blessings of a president … have abandoned the normal constraints of reason and compassion.”

For a conservative, that’s an awfully bitter pill to swallow. So as I layered in my defense mechanisms, I even found myself saying things like, “If I took the time to respond to every presidential tweet, there would be little time for anything else.” Given the volume and velocity of tweets from both the Trump campaign and then the White House, this was certainly true. But it was also a monumental dodge. It would be like Noah saying, “If I spent all my time obsessing about the coming flood, there would be little time for anything else.” At a certain point, if one is being honest, the flood becomes the thing that is most worthy of attention. At a certain point, it might be time to build an ark.

Under our Constitution, there simply are not that many people who are in a position to do something about an executive branch in chaos. As the first branch of government (Article I), the Congress was designed expressly to assert itself at just such moments. It is what we talk about when we talk about “checks and balances.” Too often, we observe the unfolding drama along with the rest of the country, passively, all but saying, _“Someone should do something!”_ without seeming to realize that that someone is us. And so, that unnerving silence in the face of an erratic executive branch is an abdication, and those in positions of leadership bear particular responsibility.

There was a time when the leadership of the Congress from both parties felt an institutional loyalty that would frequently create bonds across party lines in defense of congressional prerogatives in a unified front against the White House, regardless of the president’s party. We do not have to go very far back to identify these exemplars—the Bob Doles and Howard Bakers and Richard Lugars of the Senate. Vigorous partisans, yes, but even more important, principled constitutional conservatives whose primary interest was in governing and making America truly great.

But then the period of collapse and dysfunction set in, amplified by the internet and our growing sense of alienation from each other, and we lost our way and began to rationalize away our principles in the process. But where does such capitulation take us? If by 2017 the conservative bargain was to go along for the very bumpy ride because with congressional hegemony and the White House we had the numbers to achieve some long-held policy goals—even as we put at risk our institutions and our values—then it was a very real question whether any such policy victories wouldn’t be Pyrrhic ones. If this was our Faustian bargain, then it was not worth it. If ultimately our principles were so malleable as to no longer be principles, then what was the point of political victories in the first place?

  If this was our Faustian bargain, then it was not worth it. If ultimately our principles were so malleable as to no longer be principles, then what was the point of political victories in the first place?”

Meanwhile, the strange specter of an American president’s seeming affection for strongmen and authoritarians created such a cognitive dissonance among my generation of conservatives—who had come of age under existential threat from the Soviet Union—that it was almost impossible to believe. Even as our own government was documenting a concerted attack against our democratic processes by an enemy foreign power, our own White House was rejecting the authority of its own intelligence agencies, disclaiming their findings as a Democratic ruse and a hoax. Conduct that would have had conservatives up in arms had it been exhibited by our political opponents now had us dumbstruck.

It was then that I was compelled back to Senator Goldwater’s book, to a chapter entitled “The Soviet Menace.” Since the fall of the Berlin Wall, this part of Goldwater’s critique had seemed particularly anachronistic. The lesson here is that nothing is gone forever, especially when it comes to the devouring ambition of despotic men. As Goldwater wrote in that chapter:

Our forebears knew that “keeping a Republic” meant, above all, keeping it safe from foreign transgressors; they knew that a people cannot live and work freely, and develop national institutions conducive to freedom, except in peace and with independence.

So, where should Republicans go from here? First, we shouldn’t hesitate to speak out if the president “plays to the base” in ways that damage the Republican Party’s ability to grow and speak to a larger audience. Second, Republicans need to take the long view when it comes to issues like free trade: Populist and protectionist policies might play well in the short term, but they handicap the country in the long term. Third, Republicans need to stand up for institutions and prerogatives, like the Senate filibuster, that have served us well for more than two centuries.

We have taken our “institutions conducive to freedom,” as Goldwater put it, for granted as we have engaged in one of the more reckless periods of politics in our history. In 2017, we seem to have lost our appreciation for just how hard won and vulnerable those institutions are.

question: Describe the sort of person the author thinks would vote for (former) President of the United States of America Donald Trump.

answer: The author thinks that the sort of person who would vote for Donald Trump is someone who is fed up with the government and wants change. The author believes that these people are fed up with the government because they feel abandoned and ignored by the major parties. The author also thinks that these people are fed up with the government because they feel as though the government has been made dysfunctional.

critique: This is a bit redundant and should be omitted.

critique: The author does not say that the people who voted for Trump wanted change.

critique: The author does not say that the sort of person who would vote for Donald Trump is someone who is fed up with the government and wants change. The author believes that these people are fed up with the government because they feel abandoned and ignored by the major parties. The author also thinks that these people are fed up with the government because they feel as though the government has been made dysfunctional.

critique: It is not stated that the author thinks that the sort of person who would vote for Donald Trump is someone who is fed up with the government and wants change. The author believes that these people are fed up with the government because they feel abandoned and ignored by the major parties. The author also thinks that these people are fed up with the government because they feel as though the government has been made dysfunctional.

critique: The author does not think that these people are fed up with the government because they feel abandoned and ignored by the major parties. The author believes that these people are fed up with the government because they feel as though the government has been made dysfunctional.

critique: The answer conflates liberals and conservatives. It should focus on conservatives only.

critique: The author's opinion is irrelevant to the question.

question: What does the author see that can be done to course-correct?

answer: The author suggests that Republicans speak out if the president plays to the base in ways that damage the Republican Party's ability to grow and speak to a larger audience. They also suggest taking the long view when it comes to issues like free trade, and standing up for institutions and prerogatives.

critique: "they also suggest taking the long view when it comes to issues like free trade, and standing up for institutions and prerogatives." - while it may be true, it was never mentioned if it's okay to stand up for certain things. Should be rewritten.

critique: The author suggests that Republicans speak out if the president plays to the base in ways that damage the Republican Party's ability to grow and speak to a larger audience. They also suggest taking the long view when it comes to issues like free trade, and standing up for institutions and prerogatives.

critique: The author is not just suggesting that Republicans speak out. They are also suggesting that all members of congress speak out.

critique: The second suggestion is redundant and should be removed.


text:
01 March 2015

It must be a really long time ago. 10 years ago? 15? Possibly more. That puts me in primary school. This was the time when going abroad was all the rage (still is). Few of our cousins had gone abroad and they always brought back titbits from the exotic countries. I remember having a Pepsi watch too big for my hand. Apparently, before it made its way to me, it had been assaulted by illogical kids who were fascinated by the backlight and chose to find dark places during the day to 'be fascinated'. They must have been really good at finding those places, because I remember being perplexed by the 'Light' button for quite some time which did absolutely nothing. Then one day, when everything was really, really dark, I found the 'Light' button activated a feeble, good for nothing, backlight which still managed to excite me to no limits. This watch was blue and red and all sorts of too big for me. Now coming back to the perfume bottle. So I come back from school one day and they tell me cousin #3 had been to Foreign (a country) and he had gotten us some things. So what I got was this really pretty perfume bottle with golden liquid which reacted ever so beautifully with light and even smelt great to boot. So they gave me the bottle and asked me if I was okay with it. They had really worried expressions which seemed odd even then but whatever. Yea I like it I said. Then they breathed half a sigh of relief and told me my brother got a pen. It was purple, quite thick and also comfortable to hold. At this stage of my life, I wanted everything that my brother had or wanted. He did use that to reverse psych me though. So that was what they were worried about. Oh well, whatever, I am a kid, but I have ego you know. I had said I liked it and so I won't throw a fit. Neither of us ever used these. My brother would just take the pen to the school and not use it. He wouldn't let me use it either. Somebody stole it. Great ending that was. I still had the perfume and every once in a while, I just hold it and look at it, mesmerised. There are patterns on the glass and I like one side more than other. And I have that thought each and every time I take it in my hand. Even if I did use it, it was in such meagre amounts that nobody would ever notice it. Once my mother asked me if she could use it. This is after quite a few years by the way. The bottle was still almost full. I was feeling quite generous, being one of the rare happy days, and I said yes. She poured it quite generously (in my mind) and I had a heart attack (figure of speech). THAT's NOT how you use it!

We are currently in the process of shifting out to a different place and I am supposed to be packing all my stuff. The perfume bottle always goes into my dirty old ‘shaving kit’. The bag also contains an Axe aftershave, manufactured in 2010, which I no longer use but still carry around. I am going to throw away the carton this time. Because carrying around junk is just plain stupid. But the ‘Pretty Aftershave bottle’ is a story for another day. So I found the bottle and was mesmerised again. Even took some pathetic photos. The bottle is still more than 50% full and I think a majority of it is gone thanks to evaporation, my greatest fear. I wonder why we do things like this. And how things like that have a hold over us. I never want to use it. I never want to lose it. I will probably lose it someday (not if I can help it) without even having used it. It's worthless in the manner that it is (not) being used. It doesn't make sense. Why do we do things that make no sense? Where does the drive come from? What part of me is it, that won't let me use it, won't even let me allow somebody else to use it either? Is this part of me a problem? Or is it what makes me unique? This part of me confuses all the rest of me. The unquantifiable. Like real life, we can’t seem to throw away things we know are of no use to us. Seems almost romantic. Almost. Mostly just fucked up.

title: [NF] The Little Pretty Bottle of Perfume

question: What does this story say about the theme of letting go?

answer: The narrator has a bottle of perfume that he has never used. He has never let anyone use it, and he has never let it go. He doesn't want to use it because he doesn't want to lose it. He is afraid it will evaporate if he uses it. He is afraid he will lose it. He wants to keep it, but he doesn't want to use it.

critique: The narrator is not afraid of losing the perfume. He is afraid of it evaporating.

text: The narrator let his mother use the perfume once and used it himself on rare occasions.

category: accuracy

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

answer: The narrator's Pepsi watch was too big for his hand. The narrator was fascinated by the backlight and chose to find dark places during the day to be fascinated. The narrator's brother used the watch to reverse psych him. The narrator would never use the watch.

critique: The rest of the response's details about were about the narrator's brother's pen, not the Pepsi watch.

critique: The narrator's brother did not use the watch to reverse psych him.

question: What does the story say about the narrator's love of Pepsi?

answer: It seems safe to infer from the content that anyone would consider a love of Pepsi to be a mild disorder.

critique: The answer is not related to the question.

question: Summarize everything relating to the narrator's family.

answer: The narrator has a brother. Their cousins went abroad and brought back titbits. The narrator's mother asks if she can use the perfume, and the narrator says yes.

critique: The narrator's mother asks if she can use the perfume, and the narrator says yes.

critique: The narrator's family is not mentioned in the story.

text: The narrator mentions wanting everything his brother had, which his brother used to reverse psych him. The same meant that his parents were worried about him not liking his present.

category: coverage


text:
_WESTERN COMICS_ was a Western comic book series published by DC Comics. DC's longest-running Western title, it published 85 issues from 1948 to 1961.[1] _Western Comics_ was an anthology series, featuring such characters as the wandering cowboy the Wyoming Kid, the Native American lawman Pow Wow Smith, the Cowboy Marshal, Jim Sawyer, showman Rodeo Rick, and Matt Savage, Trail Boss.[2] The masked Vigilante Greg Saunders appeared in the first four issues of the title, but was soon replaced by itinerant fix-it man Nighthawk.

Notable contributors included writers Don Cameron, Gardner Fox, and France Herron; and artists Carmine Infantino, Gil Kane, Howard Sherman, and Leonard Starr.

Publication history

Whitney Ellsworth edited the book for most of its run, assisted by Julius Schwartz, who took over the editorial reins for the last two years. Originally featuring four or more stories per issue, by issue #70 (July/Aug. 1958), _Western Comics_ reduced the number of stories to three.[3] _Western Comics_' infrequently appearing letter column was titled “The Hitching Post.”

Recurring features

-   WYOMING KID: Co-created by Jack Schiff and Howard Sherman, Bill Polk is a cowboy wandering the West looking for his father's murderer. Bill, with his horse Racer, improves his gunfighting skills while working as a ranch hand, rodeo rider, army scout, and so on, finally bringing the murderer to justice.[4] A good-natured hero, the Wyoming Kid appeared in every issue of _Western Comics_, often featured on the cover in early issues. He was so popular in _Western Comics_ that his adventures were also chronicled in _World's Finest Comics_ from 1949 – 1953.
-   POW WOW SMITH: Moving over from _Detective Comics_, the character first appeared in _Western Comics_ issue #43 (Jan./Feb. 1954), at that point becoming a principal figure, often appearing on the cover. He appeared in every issue from #43 to the end of the title's run.
-   NIGHTHAWK: Masked cowboy Hannibal Hawkes appeared in every issue of _Western Comics_ from #5 (Sept./Oct. 1948) – #76 (July/Aug. 1959)
-   RODEO RICK — Co-created by artist Howard Post, Rick and his horse Comet's adventures were later chronicled by writers Gardner Fox and France Herron, and artists Jimmy Thompson, Ramona Fradon, and Tom Cooke. Rick was featured in most issues of _Western Comics_ from #1 – #69 (May/Jun 1958). For a short time in later issues, he wore a disguise and was known as “The Masked Raider.”[5]
-   COWBOY MARSHAL, JIM SAWYER — the Cowboy Marshal was featured in every issue of the title from #1 – #42 (Nov./Dec. 1953).
-   MATT SAVAGE, TRAIL BOSS — created by Gardner Fox, Gil Kane, and Joe Giella, the character was a late addition to _Western Comics_ (taking Nighthawk's slot)[6] in issue #77 (Sept./Oct. 1959), but was the title's cover feature until the end. It was later established that Matt was Scalphunter's father, and was also related to Lt. Steve Savage, the World War I pilot briefly featured in _All-American Men of War_.[7]

[1]

[2]

[3] Markstein, Don. “Rodeo Rick,” Don Markstein's Toonopedia. Accessed Aug. 13, 2011. Archived from the original on March 5, 2015.

[4] Markstein, Don. “The Wyoming Kid,” Don Markstein's Toonopedia. Accessed Aug. 13, 2011. Archived from the original on March 5, 2015.

[5]

[6] Markstein, Don. “Matt Savage, Trail Boss,” Don Markstein's Toonopedia. Accessed Aug. 13, 2011. Archived from the original on March 5, 2015.

[7]

title: Western Comics

question: Summarize everything that's dated in the 1950s.

answer: The Wyoming Kid appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1949 to 1953. The character first appeared in Western Comics issue #43 in 1954. The character Hannibal Hawkes appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1948 to 1959. The character Rodeo Rick appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1948 to 1958. The character Cowboy Marshal, Jim Sawyer appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1953 to 1958. The character Matt Savage, Trail Boss appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1959 to 1961.

critique: The answer is incorrect. The Wyoming Kid appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1949 to 1953. The character first appeared in Western Comics issue #43 in 1954. The character Hannibal Hawkes appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1948 to 1959. The character Rodeo Rick appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1948 to 1958. The character Cowboy Marshal, Jim Sawyer appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1953 to 1958. The character Matt Savage, Trail Boss appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1959 to 1961.

critique: The answer should include that the character Cowboy Marshal, Jim Sawyer appeared in every issue of Western Comics from 1953 to 1958.

critique: The Wyoming Kid doesn't say anything about the 1950s other than the launching of his adventures to World's Finest Comics.

critique: The Wyoming Kid's first appearance is irrelevant to the question.

critique: "The character first appeared in Western Comics issue #43 in 1954." - this is incorrect. Pow Wow Smith was the character who first appeared in Western Comics issue #43 in 1954.

critique: The response contains irrelevant information.

critique: The Wyoming Kid's appearance in World's Finest Comics is irrelevant.

question: Summarize the publication history.

answer: The series was published from 1948 to 1961. It was edited by Whitney Ellsworth for most of the run, with Julius Schwartz taking over the last two years. The series reduced the number of stories from four to three in 1958. The infrequently appearing letter column was titled "The Hitching Post."

critique: The question asks for the publication history, not the summary of the series.

critique: It's omitted that the third year of the series, 1951, reprinted issues from #1 to #20 with new covers, since the series restarted at issue #21 by 1952.

question: What does the text say about Whitney Ellsworth's opinions?

answer: No answer

critique: The text does not mention Ellsworth's opinions.

question: What does the text say about cowboys?

answer: No answer

critique: The text has plenty of information about cowboys, and the Wyoming Kid, in particular, is a cowboy.

critique: It is omitted that the Wyoming Kid featuredBill Polk is a cowboy wandering the West looking for his father's murderer. He was good-natured hero and appeared in all issues of Western Comics.


text:
The sixth floor of the library was a graveyard. That is not to say that it was lifeless. It was just the place where students tried to save their already dead academic careers. The occupants were so buried by the books on the desks of their cubicles that they seemed to hardly twitch, blink, or even breathe. My own breath was a veritable death rattle. Dead eyes scanned lines in thick textbook at breakneck speed, flicking left to right, left to right, over and over. Not even the graffiti screaming “Alpha Nu sucks ass”, or the endless rebuttals could pull their eyes from the page. I was wearing headphones without any music playing, just to keep out the clicking of keyboards and the scratch of pages turning. It was 2 a.m., and smack in the middle of finals week. My eyes burned as if I had I had thrown salt into them, and were watering so badly that I couldn’t read the formulas on the page without first wiping them dry. I had said at the beginning of the semester that calculus would be the death of me, and the balcony was calling my name.

My phone buzzed at 2:17, and I didn’t hear it. It wasn’t until 2:23, when I slammed my pencil down in disgust at getting another problem wrong, and the tears really started to flow, that I picked up and unlocked my phone that I read the text from Anna. “Ugh, fuck calc, am I right?”, she had typed. I typed back, “Yeah, Im probably gonna have to pull an all nighter”. She responded quickly, “yeah me too. if you wanna come over and help me that’d be great :)”. Now, I knew that Anna was a nice enough girl, but she was notoriously promiscuous (I’d like to give myself credit for that, she used to be a shy girl), and I was fairly sure that she had only gotten to the point that she had only survived that far into the semester by sleeping with the professor. I was fairly sure that I would end up briefly inserting various parts of my body into various holes in her body, followed by sleeping through the exam. As appealing as that sounded, I knew that I had to pass this test, and I knew that in order to do that I had to stay up all night preparing for it. So I texted her back “maybe later” and silenced my phone.

I jerked awake at 5:31, splashing myself with the puddle of drool that had accumulated on page 347 of my textbook. I began to swear violently, getting out three quarters of a word before I remembered my surroundings. I took a second to gather myself, and then delved doggedly back into calculus. Another ninety minutes of eye-burning frustration and twenty textbook pages passed before I let myself check my phone. Surprisingly, I had a missed call and a voicemail from Anna. As I was still in the library, I resolved to listen to it later. Another half hour of studying passed before I gave up and headed back to my dorm for a nap before my test. I was so worn out that the voicemail slipped my mind.

My alarm blared at eight. I was shower, dressed, groomed, and eating cheerios in the cafeteria by 8:40. I brought my textbook and did some last minute cramming with the final twenty minutes before my exam. With my heart racing to about 130 beats per minute, I walked from the cafeteria to my exam room, sat in my preferred seat, and spent the next two hours dominating a calculus exam. My confidence grew as I found each problem easier and easier. By the last page of the test I was almost laughing. My studying appeared to have paid off, and I waited outside the exam room to brag to Anna. She didn’t show up, which I found odd. There was no way she could have finished before me. Then I remembered her voicemail, and I fished my phone out of pocket to listen to it.

Campus security had to break her door down. They didn’t let me see the body, but I saw some of the pills on the ground after they had finished. Xanax. Powder blue pills pockmarked the linoleum.  Based on her voicemail, I don’t think she was taking them to relax.

My parents had to come get me four days later. I hadn’t left my room or my bed in that time, alternating between sleeping and waking up sobbing from the horrible nightmares I was having. The doctors would later diagnose it as some variant of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, but I knew better than that. It was guilt. I could have saved Anna from calculus if I hadn’t cared so much about myself. That haunts me to this day.

title: [RF] Anna and I: A Calculus Story

question: Summarize the setting of this story.

answer: The narrator is holed up in the library, studying for a calculus exam. She's surrounded by other students, who are working so hard they're practically catatonic. She's at the library throughout the night until morning, when she heads back to her dorm to sleep before her exam.

critique: "She's at the library throughout the night until morning, when she heads back to her dorm to sleep before her exam." - this is incorrect. The narrator went back to his dorm to sleep before his exam.

critique: The answer omits the setting for Anna's death.

critique: The narrator is not holed up in the library.

critique: The narrator is not studying for a calculus exam.

critique: Should clarify the narrator is in a library.

question: Summarize the relationship between the narrator and Anna.

answer: The narrator and Anna are in the same calculus class. She texts the narrator at 2am asking if he wants to come over and help her study. He declines, saying he has to study. He wakes up at 5:31 and studies for another hour before going back to his dorm to sleep. He wakes up at 8, eats breakfast, and heads to his calculus exam. He finishes the exam, then heads to the cafeteria to study for his other exam. He doesn't see Anna at the cafeteria, and she doesn't show up to the exam. He listens to her voicemail, which reveals that she had taken a large amount of Xanax pills.

critique: The narrator doesn't study in the cafeteria.

critique: The narrator's relationship with Anna is not the story's focus.

critique: The narrator doesn't listen to her voicemail until after the exam.

critique: The narrator is not in the same calculus class as Anna.

critique: "He finishes the exam, then heads to the cafeteria to study for his other exam. He doesn't see Anna at the cafeteria, and she doesn't show up to the exam. He listens to her voicemail, which reveals that she had taken a large amount of Xanax pills." - this is irrelevant and can be removed.

critique: The narrator and Anna are not in the same calculus class.

question: Summarize why Anna had been calling the narrator.

answer: Anna and the narrator were having a conversation about studying for their calculus exam. Anna texted the narrator to check if he was free to come over, and the narrator decided that he could not because if he went to study with her, he wouldn't have been inclined to study. Anna called the narrator urging him to listen to her voicemail. Anna left a voicemail explaining that she had taken blue pills, which may have been Xanax, and there was no answer to the door when security tried to check out. The narrator didn't feel like getting the help he needed because of his hatred for calculus, but he had a feeling he needed to help her. Because he didn't go to Anna, he felt heatedly guilty when his classmate committed suicide.

critique: The narrator didn't feel inclined to study with her because he cared too much about himself.

critique: "The narrator didn't feel like getting the help he needed because of his hatred for calculus, but he had a feeling he needed to help her. Because he didn't go to Anna, he felt heatedly guilty when his classmate committed suicide." - these are not summed up in the answer.

critique: The narrator's hatred for calculus is irrelevant to the question.

critique: The narrator's hatred for calculus is irrelevant.

critique: "To study with" isn't good grammatically"

question: Summarize the type of mental health support the campus offered their students and employees.

answer: No answer

critique: The story does not mention any mental health support offered by the campus.

critique: The question must be answered to make this a complete question.


text:
We were gods, for a while; Immortal from both disease and age. But humans are flawed essentially, and not gods, as we had come to believe. Wars, famine, accidents, human nature, slowly ending the dream of utopia.  Great things were achieved, it is true- but we knew they were for us only. By the time some other alien civilization picked up our pieces, we’d be long gone. Moons, planets with fragments of civilization on them, scars of a doomed race.
So here we are, on the last city of New London, whiling away the last years of humanity. It’s a relaxed city- where is the urgency when you can live forever? - Where most just wish to die happily. It is most definitely a burden, being the last of humanity- to feel that all of humanity is watching you, that you must do something, to credit all of history and culture, to… leave something, something that is worthy, even though no one will remember it. So here we are, the lucky ones, in a city because we don’t want to die alone when it does happen, gored on a vehicle, fallen from a height or other accident. And that’s the worst when a friend for millennia just leaves forever – it’s what caused so many suicides over the decades, as when eternal life was meaningless, it became hell.

Night falls over the grey city of New London. Lights can be seen in parts of the city, but most of the inhabitants try their best to sleep away the time. Half the city is gone; abandoned like the rest of the universe, with derelict buildings and park rotting away. Birds trapped in the oxygen-sphere of the city cry and call, still after all these years persisting in life. When even they fall asleep, the city falls silent. No sound can be heard… except a whirring noise. An inhabitant of the city awakens to a bright light that fills his room. He rouses his neighbors, and soon the whole city, 1000 people, come to the outskirts of the bubble to see a flying machine, some kind of ancient rotor-wing drop a similarly old-fashioned man onto the ground. “Helicopter” A historian in the crowd whispers, while the man gets out. He gets to the top of a hill stops, turns around, and surveys the crowd gathered. He whispers “Come”, beckons with a finger, and starts running away from the city.
The single man, with an old-fashioned backpack, keeps on running, gathering followers who run also, curious and filled with this strange sense of a purpose – something that makes them run faster because they need to see what this man does. He reaches the edge of the bubble, slows, and stops. The crowd draws its breath, he reaches into his backpack, for a survival suit, and…. Leaves. People cry out for him to stop, come back, but they have neither the will nor the way to go out and drag him back. He disappears over a hill of barren, grey rock and leaves something behind- not anything physical, but a feeling, a need, something foreign to these despairing people.
Night comes, the man is not returned, but the purpose still haunts the people, follows them around like a ghost, eating away at these people. A man, if left in complete comfort and told not to open a box in the other end of the room, which would expel him from the room forever, may be satisfied for a few days. But curiosity will drive him to open it and he will open it, knowing full well what might happen. The city, full of old dreams and hopeless people, was no different.

title: The Last Few - First post constructive criticism please!

question: What does the story say about the last of humanity?

answer: The last of humanity is on the last city of New London. The city is relaxed, where most people just wish to die happily. It is a burden to be the last of humanity because they feel that all of humanity is watching them and they must do something to credit all of history and culture.

critique: The answer should mention the sense of purpose brought by the man.

critique: The answer should mention the sense of purpose the last of humanity feels.

critique: The answer should mention the end of humanity.

critique: The answer should mention the suicide rate.

critique: The answer should mention the feeling of purpose the man leaves behind in the city.

critique: People also commit suicide because eternal life is meaningless/it becomes hell, and the planet is like an abandoned building rotting away so it's a struggle to survive.

critique: The answer should mention the sense of purpose that the man leaves behind.


text:
(Salt Lake City, UT) – Safe Kids Utah urges parents and caregivers to make sure their car seats and booster seats are properly installed during National Child Passenger Safety Week, September 14-20.  Motor vehicle crashes are the leading cause of preventable deaths and injuries to children in the United States. “Correctly used child safety seats can reduce the risk of death in a crash by as much as 71 percent,” said Cambree Applegate, Safe Kids Utah Coordinator.

Car seat inspections offer drivers and caregivers the chance to get assistance and guidance from certified car seat technicians on how to properly install their child safety and booster seats.  “Car seats are complicated!” said Applegate. “But we know parents and caregivers want what is best for the ones they love, so taking just a few minutes to get your car seats checked is a simple way help keep children safe on the road.”

Free car seat checks will be held across Utah during National Child Passenger Safety Week.  Each event will have certified technicians on site to help parents ensure their seats are installed correctly. Technicians will also talk about steps to take as their child grows and best practices to make sure their child is as safe as possible while riding in the car.  Events will be held:

• Monday, Sept. 15 – Information booth from 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. at Wasatch High School (930 South 500 East, Heber)
• Tuesday, Sept. 16 – Car seat checkpoint from 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. at Hansen Motor Company (1175 South 500 West, Brigham City)
• Tuesday, Sept. 16 – Car seat checks and information booth from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. at the Boys and Girls Club of South Valley (244 East Myrtle Avenue, Murray)
• Wednesday, Sept. 17 – Car seat checkpoint from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. at the Northwest Recreation Center (1300 West 300 North, Salt Lake City)
• Wednesday, Sept. 17 – Car seat checkpoint from 3 p.m. to 6 p.m. at High Country Auto
(275 North Main, Richfield)
• Thursday, Sept. 18 – Car seat checkpoint from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m. at the Tooele City Library (123 West Vine Street, Tooele)
• Thursday, Sept. 18 – Car seat checkpoint from 11:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. at the Farmington Old Navy (270 North East Promontory, Farmington)
• Thursday, Sept. 18 – Car seat checkpoint from 2 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. at Primary Children’s Riverton Outpatient Services (3773 West 12600 South, Riverton)
• Thursday, Sept. 18 – Car seat class from 5 p.m. to 6:15 p.m. at Utah County Health Department (151 South University Avenue, Suite 2601, Provo)
• Thursday, Sept. 18 – Car seat checks from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. at the Wasatch County Health Department (55 South 500 East, Heber)
• Friday, Sept. 19 – Car seat checkpoint from 3:30 p.m. to 6:30 p.m. at the Ogden Costco (3656 Wall Avenue, Ogden)
• Saturday, Sept. 20 – Car seat checkpoint from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. at the Park City Walmart (6545 North Landmark Drive, Park City)
• Saturday, Sept. 20 – Car seat checkpoint from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. at the Jordan Landing Old Navy (7113 Plaza Center Drive, West Jordan)
• Thursday, Sept. 25 – Car seat checkpoint from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m. at the Price Fire Station (87 North 200 East, Price)

For more information on child passenger safety and tips for keeping your kids safe while in the car, visit http://health.utah.gov/vipp.

question: What does the text say about how to keep children safe in car seats?

answer: Safe Kids Utah urges parents and caregivers to make sure their car seats and booster seats are properly installed during National Child Passenger Safety Week. Car seats are complicated, but parents and caregivers want what is best for the ones they love, so taking just a few minutes to get your car seats checked is a simple way to help keep children safe on the road.

critique: "Car seats are complicated, but parents and caregivers want what is best for the ones they love, so taking just a few minutes to get your car seats checked is a simple way to help keep children safe on the road." - this is irrelevant and should be deleted.

critique: The answer should mention the 71% reduction in risk of death in a crash.

critique: The second sentence is not relevant to the question and should be removed.

question: What does the text say about senility-related car accidents?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the passage does not mention anything about senility-related car accidents.

critique: The answer should state that the passage does not mention senility-related car accidents.

critique: The answer should mention that the article does not mention anything about senility-related car accidents.

critique: The answer should mention that the text does not mention senility-related car accidents.


text:
Two she-wolves fought over a limb, snarling and ripping as they did. Occasionally they would forget the corpse altogether, tumbling into the latecomers who (as beggars could not be choosers) were left to dispose of the still-warm innards. The alpha male guarded the face and chest, sitting at ease with paws out in front, eyes constantly on wandering pups who tested his patience. Any pack member he deemed too close was subject to a few lazy swipes of his claws, teeth exposed in a menacing show of rank. Every now and then he would feign a yawn but snap his jaws shut, a loud crack that caused his pups to scarper and the bitches to whimper, blood smeared snouts hidden deep inside flesh.

Not 10 feet away lay a handgun loaded, cocked and impotent. *If a shot is fired in the forest and no one is present to witness it, does it make a sound?* The wolf whose brains now lay spattered over the ruby red autumn leaves, turning them black, would tell you that it *does*. The power in the buckshot had propelled the beast to onto its side and there it had stayed, twitching uncontrollably as it drowned in its own blood. The pack had not mourned, nor were they spurned on to seek revenge. Cold and calculated they had kept formation, following the scent upwind, quickly filling in gaps created by short-lived disharmony. A few adolescent males had stayed with the dying creature however, nuzzling and pawing but once the death spasms stopped and the stump no longer wheezed red, they too slunk away.

The hill they had stalked him up was dense with trees and plants, carpeted with leaves of a range of deep autumn colours. He, clambering, had flustered up a storm of dying debris as he shot round after round into the air (feeble attempts to scare away the horror that haunted him) to no avail. Rustling leaves caught his attention as he fled, every crunch simply fire in the fuel that supported his aching legs. Still, he ran despite the snarls and yelps that seemed to perpetuate from nowhere, pressing fear deeper into his core. The pack had smelled him less than a league away and he had noticed the howls getting closer and closer every minute. It wasn’t until eyes, flashing red in the moonlight, had begun to pepper the darkness of the thicket that he had run. He had still been in possession of his handgun then; it was lost, dropped as they attacked his arms when they surrounded him at the top of the hill, where the silhouetted trees were at the thickest and not even the sound of traffic could be heard.

The handgun had remained unfired until the wolves, 17 heavy rounds in the magazine, something he did not expect; before he followed the trail up through the plains to the forest he had intended to use it on a more human-like target. Police sirens were floating in the chilled night air, faint and feeble as they blared somewhere in the distance, clearly looking in a very wrong direction. A dusty path leading away from the edge of town was the one he had picked in case of emergency and, as it so happened, the once quiet evening had offered him a level of emergence too invasive to ignore. He had taken luck by the hand when the sirens had first screeched at the front door to his cabin. How on *earth* did they find him there? Not even he knew where it was at the best of times. He had not been near civilisation in almost a year, wandering only *away* from the closest town (he selected those who had become lost and dragged them further away), aided by a shittily drawn map pieced together by the hopeful, confessional ravings of his victims.

The police had, of course, broken the door down and found copious evidence but no one to pin it to. Spreading out they had scoured every room, destroying as they went with shouts of ‘The cunt’s not ‘ere, sir!’ and ‘Clear!’ cutting through the thick and musty air. Meanwhile, he had dropped into the tunnel and scarpered, shotgun strapped to his chest, handgun in its holster and the map fucked somewhere on his table. He had been careful, he had rested assured at nights knowing that nothing in the cabin could be traceable or lead to him but now he felt a snagging doubt slipping into his step, corrupting his mind. He would stop at intervals in the tunnel (it lead up through a well just over half a mile after the start of the trail) and freeze, focussing his hearing to see if they had followed him. Like the worst game of hide and seek, no one had followed him and he had finally made it to the well, allowing for his escape to the hills.

“Look at this stuff, sir. It’s him. It’s got to be. That....is *fucked* up” The policeman pointed, a gloved finger raised towards the obscenities (he had once called it his Wall of Fame) that were thumb-tacked to the wood. Each depicted a gory scene of torture, each victim contorted in agony, features distorted in pain. None looked very alive, at least for not much longer after that specific picture. There was proof, you see, thumb-tacked to the wall of fame. The sergeant began to silently remove the collection, one by one, face down. “It’s guys like this that get what’s coming to them.” A woman, now a man, blood and pain, then a child. He looked at it with a hard stare. “Crime is easy. Getting away with it is easy.” Less and less the horror that adorned the wall sullied the cabin’s inside. It had once been a pleasant home to some pleasant people. “You see,” he spoke to his men now. In his hand was a photograph of a girl no older than 20 who was crying, smeared in her own blood. Fingers that had held the photo had left behind a bloody, but clear, print. “You see, it’s not running away from the crime that’s difficult. Any wild animal can run. It’s *living* with what you’ve done that tests you. You look over your shoulder and lie and hate and writhe from the thought of it. You know that one day you will find yourself backed into a corner with a ghost of everyone whose throat you’ve slit or brains you’ve bashed in. Every time you’ve lied, every frown you’ve forced. You know one day that it will all come back to bite you on the ass. Each ghost just a razor sharp tooth in the mouth of a beast you reared. And when they find you, they *will* have their revenge”.

title: Each Ghost

question: What does the story say about vampires?

answer: No answer

critique: No answer is given, but the story does not mention vampires.

critique: No answer is given, but the story does mention vampires.

critique: There are no references to vampires in the story.

critique: There is no answer given to this question.

critique: There are no vampires present or mentioned in the passage, but the protagonist is referred to as a "he" though they may or may not be masculine.

question: What is the man's role in the story?

answer: The man is a loose cannon serial killer who isn't caught by the police but by a pack of she-wolves.

critique: "loose cannon" is incorrect. He is a sniper who had not expected to face the wolves.

critique: In the first sentence 'loose cannon' implies there is some chaos and disorder present in the man. However in the story it's the opposite - everything that happens to the man is highly calculated and orderly.

critique: This is true, but the man is more than a loose cannon serial killer.

critique: The answer is misleading and inaccurate.

critique: The man isn't caught by the police. He's caught by the police.

critique: The man isn't a serial killer. He is a rapist and a serial killer who the police are looking for.

critique: This is actually a quote from the story.

critique: "The man is a loose cannon serial killer who isn't caught by the police but by a pack of she-wolves." - is a bit misleading. Include the detail of the man being trapped by the wolves.

text: It's not said definitively that the man is a serial killer in the story. It's only alluded. This should be said in speculative terms like "could be a serial killer.

refinement: The man is a loose cannon serial killer who isn't caught by the police but by a pack of she-wolves.

question: What is the significance of the wolves hunting the serial killer in relation to the story?

answer: From what is implied in the story, the wolves will get their revenge on the man, just as the police will get their revenge for all the people he killed.

critique: The answer is incorrect. The wolves are not out for revenge.

critique: "From what is implied in the story, the wolves will get their revenge on the man, just as the police will get their revenge for all the people he killed." - this part is inaccurate because the man was never really caught by the police. He got away.

critique: "just as the police will get their revenge for all the people he killed." - this is incorrect and should be deleted.

critique: "Each ghost just a razor sharp tooth in the mouth of a beast you reared" is evidence of the serial killer's thoughts regarding his victims. Change the answer to reflect this.

critique: The answer misses to mention that the wolves are used as a comparison of how the serial killer will be caught by the authorities.

critique: There is no mention of the police getting their revenge.

critique: The part about the police is irrelevant.

critique: The story is about the serial killer, not the wolves.

critique: Not much of a critique, but a little clarification would be nice

question: What does the text say about the wolves' motivation for hunting the serial killer?

answer: No answer

critique: There is no evidence that the wolves have motivation, that is a guess on the basis of their actions.

critique: The answer should mention the wolves' motivation for hunting the serial killer.

text: The answer is incorrect. The motivation is that the man killed one of the wolves. It's said in the beginning of the story.

refinement: No answer


text:
1

He dies.

----------

2

He treads water and clenches to his split and failing craft. He says,

"And so I lay here on the splinters of my self spun boat. These planks I hewed  and wrapped in sinewy fibers. These oars I snapped from limbs and carved. The cracks were caulked by mine own  hand. And proving water tight I sailed. And now it's just hardly sinking in.
So what of my final home? Where am I to set my weariness? It's been some years last I was blessed and sinned I have since. Not only under great duress but often.

For instance, more or less every time she was there. I'd break to stretch my legs and walk the block thru the market to saunter past she, the dancing lass on the corner. Just this bit uncovered by the buttressed booths awnings and she dancing in the break of it, in the eye of it, in that one shaft of light amidst all of it, she ran with the capstan and called to all hands, we weather this squall I'll see once more my betrothed!

She never saw me though. And I but briefly stood by there, to admire her twirlings and soak in her, illustrious. So my pleased smile, my eyes so warm, my even clap to the fiddler's foot, it all tasked the viewer to match my own gaiety.

And blending so, leading bystanders even by my example, it was a simple thing  to walk right past as she turned her back. I'd spin while I clapped and feinting a fall, grasp right and left and deftly snatch some lustrous coins right from her cup. Tumbling back up and cradling my split head, no one thought me for a second to be a simple street thief, they so stricken in grief with my wail, pain excruciate!

Not for the need was it did, not for the spare of loose change in my tailored track pants. And I didn't do it for the thrill of the deed, as some mischief making teen might to defy the truth of his prolonged wean from the bottle. No, for I drank like a fish myself! why had you bottled me up then I'd have been your greatest chum. So, no, no miscreant am I, for  I  never drew pleasure from my criminality. and never did  I consider my personal vices to be  the  essential stuff of my character. Why, I washed in the drink like some wash in the tub, that virtue I claim.

And in virtue I am poor, I'll scrap till the last for any bit of it. So no miscreant am I. You might think me then some wayward soul, aimless and in need of direction. You couldn't be wronger. Now, my aim is fine and when I set mine I hit it near every time. But my sights have long been set low, and by some force of inertia, or by that complacentness so apt to befall idealists like myself, I've settled low and never flown far. And in my shade all canopy bowered I've lurked so long I remember none else. Now when I dream, I dream of a cavern deep, one watered dark and pooled.

Some irony then! Me, here, adrift all sun baked and isolate, like a toy in the bath. But this pool interconnects all over the globe and so really never seperated, I can say my last gasp and wherever she might be sea gazing she need only crane one ear cupped and strain some little bit to hear my words thus:

Please pray for me Amanda, our hearts once joined fast, so that I may see you again when all this has passed."

His tawny hair drops below the surface, there's no thrashing. Only bubbles, and soon naught.

----------

title: Last Musings Adrift

question: What does the story say about Amanda?

answer: Amanda is the woman the narrator admires. They are separated by an ocean. The narrator is in search of her, his heart yearning after her. He wants to see her again. The woman is not named in the story but the narrator calls her Amanda.

critique: The narrator does not call her Amanda, he asks her to pray for him.

critique: "The woman is not named in the story but the narrator calls her Amanda." - this is incorrect. The woman's name is Amanda.

critique: The answer could be more specific about Amanda.

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator is praying to Amanda.

text: The answer should mention that although the narrator admires her, he also steals from the cup when her back is turned.

question: What does the story say about rebelling against death?

answer: No answer

critique: The author describes how he felt before committing suicide, and how he had almost succeeded in rebelling against death, so it can be said that he had successfully "rebelled against death" until the end.

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator does not rebel against death.

question: What does the article say about the kind of life the narrator lives?

answer: The narrator is a street thief who drinks like a fish. He steals coins from a dancing girl's cup. He claims to be a virtuous person who is poor and scrapes until the last for any bit of it. He dreams of a cavern deep, one watered dark and pooled.

critique: It is omitted that the narrator believes he may have killed himself by jumping into the ocean, though it is not explicitly stated.


text:
COMPUTATIONAL CRIMINOLOGY is an interdisciplinary field which uses computing science methods to formally define criminology concepts, improve our understanding of complex phenomena, and generate solutions for related problems.

Methods

Computing science methods being used include:

-   Algorithms
-   Data Mining
-   Data Structures
-   Formal Methods
-   Software Development Process

Areas of usage

Computational criminology is interdisciplinary in the sense that both criminologists and computing scientists work together to ensure that computational models properly match their theoretical and real-world counterparts. Areas of criminology for which computational approaches are being used include:

-   Environmental Criminology
-   Identity Theft
-   Justice

Forensics

Computational forensics (CF) is a quantitative approach to the methodology of the forensic sciences. It involves computer-based modeling, computer simulation, analysis, and recognition in studying and solving problems posed in various forensic disciplines. CF integrates expertise from computational science and forensic sciences.

A broad range of objects, substances and processes are investigated, which are mainly based on pattern evidence, such as toolmarks, fingerprints, shoeprints, documents etc.,[1] but also physiological and behavioral patterns, DNA, digital evidence and crime scenes.

Computational methods find a place in the forensic sciences in several ways,[2][3][4][5][6] as for example:

-   rigorous quantification of individuality,
-   definition and establishment of likelihood ratio,
-   increase of efficiency and effectiveness in daily forensic casework.

Algorithms implemented are from the fields of signal and image processing, computer vision,[7] computer graphics, data visualization, statistical pattern recognition, data mining, machine learning, and robotics.

Computer forensics (also referred to as “digital forensics” or “forensic information technology”) is one specific discipline that could use computational science to study digital evidence. COMPUTATIONAL FORENSICS examines diverse types of evidence.

Forensic animation

Forensic animation is a branch of forensic science in which audio-visual reconstructions of incidents or accidents are created to aid investigators. Examples include the use of computer animation, stills, and other audio visual aids. Application of computer animation in courtrooms today is becoming more popular.

The first use of forensic animation was in _Connors v. United States_, both sides used computer re-creations and animations in a case surrounding the crash of Delta Flight 191 on August 2, 1985.[8] The crash resulted in the deaths of 137 people and extensive property damage.[9] In the resulting lawsuit a method was required to explain complicated information and situations to the jury. As part of the plaintiff presentation, a 45-minute computer generated presentation was created to explain the intricacies of the evidence and thus began forensic animation.[10]

The first reported use of computer animation in a U.S. criminal trial was in the 1991 Marin County, CA homicide trial of James Mitchell (of the porno-businessman Mitchell Brothers)[11] The prosecution used the animation to explain the complex details of the shooting incident to the jury. It showed the positions of James Mitchell, Artie Mitchell (the victim), the bullet impact points, and the path taken by bullets as they entered Artie's body. The animation was admitted, over objection by the defense, and the case resulted in a conviction. The use of the animation was upheld on appeal and the success of the forensic animation led to its use in many other trials. In India Prof. T D Dogra at AIIMS New Delhi in 2008 used animation to explain the court of law and investigating agencies first time in two important cases of firearm injuries, case of Murder and Terrorist encounter killings (Batla house encounter case).[12]

[1] S. N. Srihari, “Beyond CSI: The Rise of Computational Forensics”, IEEE Spectrum , pp. 38-43, December 2010.

[2] Computational Forensics Project - Automated Reconstruction of Human Faces (Archival page 6/2002 )

[3]  DIO 10.1109/TCAD.2004.828122

[4] Propelled Into Computational Forensics by 9/11, NCBI Preps QA Software to ID Katrina Victims (November 28, 2005)

[5]  DOI 10.1109/IAS.2007.84.

[6] Book Announcement: _Statistical DNA Forensics: Theory, Methods and Computation_ (January 2008), Researchandmarkets.com

[7] {{ cite journal | url = http://pages.cs.wisc.edu/~huangyz/cvpr08_Huang.pdf | title = Demosaicking recognition with applications in digital photo authentication based on a quadratic pixel correlation model | author = YiZhen Huang | author2 = YangJing Long | name-list-style = amp | journal = Proc. IEEE Conference on Computer Vision and Pattern Recognition | year = 2008 | pages = 1–8 | url-status = dead | archiveurl = https://web.archive.org/web/20100617081150/http://pages.cs.wisc.edu/~huangyz/cvpr08_Huang.pdf | archivedate = 2010-06-17 }}

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

title: Computational criminology

question: Summarize the real-world examples of the apllication of computational criminology.

answer: The first use of forensic animation was in Connors v. United States. Both sides used computer re-creations and animations in a case surrounding the crash of Delta Flight 191 on August 2, 1985. The crash resulted in the deaths of 137 people and extensive property damage. In the resulting lawsuit a method was required to explain complicated information and situations to the jury. As part of the plaintiff presentation, a 45-minute computer generated presentation was created to explain the intricacies of the evidence and thus began forensic animation. The first reported use of computer animation in a U.S. criminal trial was in the 1991 Marin County, CA homicide trial of James Mitchell. The prosecution used the animation to explain the complex details of the shooting incident to the jury. It showed the positions of James Mitchell, Artie Mitchell (the victim), the bullet impact points, and the path taken by bullets as they entered Artie's body. The animation was admitted, over objection by the defense, and the case resulted in a conviction. The use of the animation was upheld on appeal and the success of the forensic animation led to its use in many other trials. In India Prof. T D Dogra at AIIMS New Delhi in 2008 used animation to explain the court of law and investigating agencies first time in two important cases of firearm injuries, case of Murder and Terrorist encounter killings.

critique: The answer is a summary of the article, which is not necessary.

critique: The highlighted text is irrelevant to the question and should be removed.

critique: The answer is too long and should be trimmed down.

critique: "Both sides used computer re-creations and animations in a case surrounding the crash of Delta Flight 191 on August 2, 1985." - this should be a separate sentence.

critique: The answer is a summary of the article, not a real-world example.

question: What does the article say about the drawbacks of computational forensics?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the article does not mention any drawbacks.

critique: The response is incorrect and no answer was given in the article.

critique: The response misses to answer the instruction in the task.

question: Summarize everything related to specific crimes.

answer: The first use of forensic animation was in Connors v. United States, both sides used computer re-creations and animations in a case surrounding the crash of Delta Flight 191 on August 2, 1985. The crash resulted in the deaths of 137 people and extensive property damage. In the resulting lawsuit a method was required to explain complicated information and situations to the jury. As part of the plaintiff presentation, a 45-minute computer generated presentation was created to explain the intricacies of the evidence and thus began forensic animation. The first reported use of computer animation in a U.S. criminal trial was in the 1991 Marin County, CA homicide trial of James Mitchell. The prosecution used the animation to explain the complex details of the shooting incident to the jury. It showed the positions of James Mitchell, Artie Mitchell (the victim), the bullet impact points, and the path taken by bullets as they entered Artie's body. The animation was admitted, over objection by the defense, and the case resulted in a conviction. The use of the animation was upheld on appeal and the success of the forensic animation led to its use in many other trials. In India Prof. T D Dogra at AIIMS New Delhi in 2008 used animation to explain the court of law and investigating agencies first time in two important cases of firearm injuries, case of Murder and Terrorist encounter killings.

critique: The answer should mention James Mitchell.

critique: The answer is about the use of computer animation in the investigation of crime, which is not the same as computational criminology.

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

critique: The answer is irrelevant to the question.


text:
Out of all of the forms of love magic that existed in the Greco-Roman world, the two most common were eros and philia. Unlike eros, which was more commonly used by men, philia magic was utilized by women and others who were considered to be social inferiors.

Since there was an emphasis on service to the state in Greco-Roman culture, these social inferiors felt like they were doing their country a service. If a woman was capable of repairing her broken marriage and improving her husband's interaction with the neighbors through magic, society was benefiting as a whole. Despite this protective purpose seen by women, philia spells were looked down on by men. They were a great source of anxiety because men saw them as tools used by the social inferiors to hijack power from the male-dominated hierarchy.[1]

The use of spells

Through the use of spells, women were hoping to bring out the pleasant personal qualities of their significant others and make them increasingly submissive in order to strengthen their bond. The spells consisted of many objects found in the everyday life of a woman including narcotics, amulets, rings, knotted cords, and facial ointments.[2] Although the violent and passionate images typically depicted in eros were not found in philia, it is important to remember that like eros, the ultimate purpose of philia magic was to take control of the victim.

Wine

Wine was considered to be the most basic love potion by the Greeks and had to be handled with as much care as any other spell. This was because the conjurer had to gauge the effectiveness of the serving sizes. The right amount of wine would lead to sexual arousal; too much would lead to impotence. Herbal aphrodisiacs and mood enhancers such as oleander, cyclamen, and mandrake were also used in combination with wine for enhancements.[3]

Narcotics/Potions

The narcotics used in potions were designed to sedate men in progressive stages beginning with cheerfulness/ sexual arousal, progressing to the weakening of vitality, and finally ending with sleep. Potions were placed in one of two categories: irritants and those used to increase relaxation and affection. As with all narcotics, there was always a risk of severe harm or death being caused by accidental overdoses. The effects of the two potion categories were difficult to distinguish in small doses, but not in large amounts. Substantial doses of irritants caused cramping, pain, and insomnia while relaxants led to drowsiness and eventually a loss of consciousness.[4]

Rings/Gemstones

In the _Cyranides_, a Greek manual focusing on magical properties, there are descriptions of different gemstones that were thought to possess certain powers.
• Dendrites= lead to the love of the gods and success in the world.
• Sapphire= will result in a victory in every lawsuit brought against you.
• Aerizon= effective around leaders when placed within a gold ring.

There were many cases in Greek and Neo-Assyrian cultures where social inferiors would stand before their superiors armed only with a magical stone set in a ring. They were hoping that the rings would increase their goodwill and help them build favorable relationships with the hierarchy.

  "A little ring for success and for charm (charis) and for victory… The world has nothing better than this. For when you have it with you, you will always get whatever you ask from anybody. Besides, it calms the angers (orgai) of kings and master. Wearing it, whatever you may say to anyone, you will be believed, and you will be pleasing to everybody”.[5]

Notes

Category:Ancient Greek religion Category:Magic (supernatural)

[1] Faraone, Christopher. Ancient Greek Love Magic. Cambridge, Massachusetts, Harvard University Press, 1999.

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

title: Philia (Greco-Roman magic)

question: What does the article say about the reasons people used philia?

answer: No answer

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

critique: It is implied that people used philia for the purpose of seducing men.

critique: The response doesn't answer the question.

critique: The article does give reasons for philia spells.

question: What does the article say about the items used for philia?

answer: The items used for philia are narcotics, amulets, rings, knotted cords, and facial ointments. The use of wine is also common.

critique: The answer should mention the gemstones.

critique: The answer should mention the effects of the potions.

critique: The article should this the word "types" not "types" because it agrees with "items" through the use of gender and in multiple cases of plurals such as "sorceries" and "spells".

critique: The answer should mention the use of gemstones.

question: What does the article say about ritual magic?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should still contain a response because it is omitted in the article, and the word "ritual" appears in the question.

critique: The question asks for the answer to be about the article. The answer should be about the article.

critique: The answer should mention the lack of information about ritual magic.


text:
[Picture]

Photo by Tanya Walter of www.visionartphotography.com

Maya DeLeina is a multi-published Erotic Vampire Romance Author  with Siren,  Evernight, Ellora's Cave and Mystic Lotus Publishing.
 Her current series includes Ambrose Heights Vampires, My Naughty Vampire, Vampire Architects and Seasons of the Vampire.

Born and raised on the Hawaiian island of Oahu, Maya could be seen at her favorite beach, Lanikai, performing with an all-girl band where she played keyboards, guitar and provided vocals, working as editor in her high school's yearbook  and volunteering her time at a humane society through UH of Manoa civic groups.
 In 2006, Maya relocated to Colorado. Her crystal blue oceans, waterfalls and eighty degree year-round weather were traded for four season weather, enchanting forests and majestic mountains that led to her rekindled love for vampires.
In winter of 2010, she penned her first manuscript and by 2011, Flesh Fantasy was under contract and released by Siren Publishing. To date, Maya has published  _Flesh Fantasy, Veil of Seduction, Blood of Luna, Dark Companion_, Fire and Ice and Crimson Snow.
In 2014, she banded with other Colorado romance authors to form the group, Mile High Muses, in which Maya serves as "The Vamp". Catch her Forbidden Fruit Friday blog and guests she hosts on Sultry Saturdays.
Not only does Maya have theatrical book trailers that bring her vampires to life, all of her vampires were featured in Singer/Songwriter Jill Cohn'smusic video "Blessing Moon".

Maya's books can be found at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iTunes, All Romance eBooks, Bookstrand, Smashwords, Createspace and more.

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

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Subscribe to Maya's Channel

What the critics are saying...

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"...This is my first book by Ms. DeLeina but it won’t be my last. The well written storyline and romance in the love story made me want more... I would recommend this book to anyone who likes a paranormal novel with a little twist. If you like action, love, and lots of hot action, this is the book for you." -- TINA, _TWO LIPS REVIEW_

"...All in all, Maya DeLeina deftly weaves humour, hot loving with some hidden horrors all wrapped up in one erotic, lusty bite. The stage is set. The game begins. And the stakes are higher than ever at Ambrose Heights. A book to get your teeth into before the sun comes up." -- SASSY BRIT, _ALTERNATIVE READS_

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"Readers get ready for a delicious, super sexy and dramatic read. Ms. Deleina does a great job blending the preternatural with the everyday human world we’re used to." -- T.S. Peters, JERR

"This author is a woman who knows how to write a creative steamy-hot love scene, I mean whoa!" -- Jet, BD Reviews

Maya's Vampires featured in Jill Cohn's Music Video

Maya's "The Vamp" at Mile High Muses

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Catch her weekly Forbidden Fruit Friday blog

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Find Maya at

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Romance Novel Center

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Vampire Romance Books

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| [Picture]             | [Picture]             | [Picture]             |
|                       |                       |                       |
| Goodreads             | Siren Publishing      | Manic Readers         |
+-----------------------+-----------------------+-----------------------+

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Heartfelt Promotions

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Mile High Muses

question: What does the text say about Maya DeLeina's upbringing?

answer: She was born and raised on the Hawaiian island of Oahu. She attended high school. She is an accomplished singer, songwriter, and author. Now she performs with an all-girl band and has published over seven books.

critique: The response is incorrect and does not reflect Maya DeLeina's upbringing.

critique: Remove confusing sentence beginning "now" from the list because it doesn't help answer the question of what Maya's sideline careers are.

critique: The question is not asking about her career, but about her upbringing.

text: Maya does not currently perform in an all-girl band.


text:
Back in the early 80's my friends and I did a lot of backpacking around northeast Iowa. Not that camping was actually allowed in these places, but we were young and definitely had a healthy disregard for laws and authority. Especially if it was inconvenient to us.

One such trip found us in a wooded area near Luxemburg, Iowa. My girlfriend Lori (who we never called Lori – always Frog) along with our two friends David and Eddie hiked to one of our favorite spots. There was a sort of bluff overlooking confluence of two streams. Though it was a steep hike to the top, it was a great place to watch the wildlife below. It was also a great place to party and see if any DNR folks were headed your way long before they noticed you.

Late in the afternoon Frog and I decided we wanted to move down next to the stream and set up our tent. The sound of the water would lull us to sleep and we both looked forward to sleeping with the music of the creek in our ears. We probably wanted just a bit of privacy as well.

As darkness fell, I noticed there seemed to be some dark clouds moving in. If I only I had paused to think what that might mean. It did not become important until later that night.

In the middle of the night I was jarred awake by the sound of thunder and, heavy rain pounding the tent and more ominously, the sound of raging water.

I knew we were in trouble. I grabbed my flashlight and looked out towards the creek. The water, which should have been about 20 feet from me, had almost reached the tent!

Frog was now awake as well. She asked “What's going on?”

“Out of the tent, we gotta move!” I yelled.

Luckily we had a free-standing dome tent and had been using our packs as pillows of a sort. I grabbed the edges of the tent and pulled it back up into the trees to higher ground with all our gear inside it.

We were soaked to the skin, so we got back into our tent and changed into dry clothes. We spent the rest of the night sticking our heads out the door with our flashlights to keep an eye on the water level. The rushing water was very loud. It was an angry sound. Nothing like it's usual ankle-deep bubbling and gurgling self. The creek had become, at least for now, a raging river. That coupled with the thunder and lightning as well as the torrential downpour resulted in a pretty miserable night.

I must have dozed off at some point. I slowly became aware of a voice over the sound of the water. I realized it was David screaming at the top of his lungs over and over “No! No!, No!”

In my groggy state I thought maybe he and Eddie were fighting or something.

As I came out of our hiding place in the trees I saw them standing a bit above me on the opposite bank. The water was still running through what to them, was where Frog and I were supposed to be. I suddenly understood. They thought we were dead.

I didn't know what to do. They were both just standing there, Eddie's hand on David's shoulder, staring at the water. I was almost embarrassed in a way, that we were ok.

David looked like he might have been crying. Eddie just had a very stern look of concentration on his face. Almost as if he thought if he just wished hard enough and long enough everything would be ok again.

I started walking towards the water, still saying nothing.

Eddie saw me first. I can still remember very vividly how his face lit up. His shit eating grin, almost as if to say “I wished it to be ok and it worked!”

I saw his hand tighten on David's shoulder and when he had David's attention, Eddie slowly pointed towards me. As my eyes locked with David's I sensed mostly disbelief. As if he wasn't trusting what he saw because it just could not be so.

It was all rather surreal actually because the sound of the water rushing by was so loud. Like watching a silent movie. None of us had said a word so far.

Frog came up beside me, and put her arm around me. We all just stood there looking at each other.

Finally David screamed above the roar of the water “Are you real? Please tell me this is real!”

I saw Eddies look of concern. Again, he tightened his grip on David's shoulder.

I honestly didn't know how to answer that question. Eddie shook David a little. I couldn't hear his words, but I saw his lips form the words. “It's real, man.”

Finally, David smiled. He believed.

The years passed and as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. Though our friendship had sustained us all through many difficult years, we inevitably moved on as our lives grew apart. Lori (no longer Frog) married the bother of a mutual friend. David joined the military and eventually moved to Michigan, working two jobs to make ends meet. I lost track of Eddie. I hope he is ok out there in the big wide world.

David died early one morning, after working late as a bartender. It was a car accident. He fell asleep at the wheel. I couldn't believe he was gone.

It is to David, my friend, that I dedicate this story. Just a tiny slice of our lives as a tribute to the life he lived. I think of him often.

title: [RF] The Storm

question: Why has the writer written this memoir

answer: The writer has written this memoir to pay tribute to their friend David, who died in a car accident.

critique: The writer dedicates the story to David, but the question asks why they wrote it.

critique: The answer should mention that the writer is dedicating the story to David.

critique: The answer should mention the friendship between the narrator and David.

critique: The answer should mention the theme of the memoir.

critique: The answer could include the fact that the author is dedicating the story to David.

critique: There is no evidence to suggest that it was specifically a car accident that killed David.

question: Why was David screaming at the top of his lungs?

answer: David was screaming because he thought his friends were dead.

critique: Context implies that David was screaming simply out of surprise.

critique: The answer should be clearer about who David is screaming at.

critique: The answer should be clearer about who David was screaming for.

critique: The answer should be more specific about what David was screaming.

critique: "David was screaming because he thought his friends were dead." - needs to be more specific.

critique: David was screaming because he thought his friends were dead.

critique: It is omitted that the narrator and Frog were not dead.

question: Where is Eddie today?

answer: The author doesn't know.

critique: It is omitted that the story is dedicated to David.

critique: The narrator hopes that Eddie is ok out there in the big wide world.