text:
The BULLOCH COUNTY COURTHOUSE is a historic courthouse that is located in downtown Statesboro, Georgia. It was built in 1894 to house the county government.[1][2] On September 18, 1980, the building was added to the National Register of Historic Places.[3]

History

[Confederate Monument at courthouse]

18th century

Bulloch County was officially established on February 8, 1796. Bryan and Screven counties were the two counties that Bulloch County was created from by an act of the Georgia General Assembly. Bulloch County was named after Archibald Bulloch, who was Georgia's first provisional governor from 1776 to 1777.[4] In 1796 three men were appointed to be commissioners: Drury Jones, John Mikell and Israel Bird. They were in charge of finding a proper place to build the courthouse and the jail.[5] In May 1797 the first Superior Court was held in Bulloch County at Stephen Mills’ home and continued to be held there until the courthouse was built.[6][7][8] The fourth Mondays in April and October were the only two days that the superior court met each year. The inferior court, however, met every first Monday of the month. When Bulloch County first started having court, there were no local lawyers or judges. Bulloch County obtained its first lawyers and judges after the Civil War.[9]

The justices of the inferior court that were appointed by the legislature in 1796 were Israel Bird, John Rawls, and James Bird. The justices of the peace included John Douglas, John Everett, Robert Scott, William McCall, and Mark Pridgeon.[10]

19th century

Benjamin Richardson, Drury Jones, Joseph Rogers, and John Everett, and Stephen Denmark are the justices of the inferior court that were appointed through 1800. Jarvis Jackson, Hardeman Richardson, and John O’Neil were the ones that succeed them in 1802. The justices would now be compensated for their services in 1802 because of an act that was passed. Bridger Jones was appointed in 1808 as justice. S. Williams and Jonathon Roberts were appointed as justices in 1810.[11]

In 1803, in exchange for receiving of land to build the courthouse, jail, and other public buildings, the Georgia General Assembly was to name the new county seat “Statesborough.”[12] Bulloch County did not have a courthouse until 1806.[13] All of the court proceedings before 1806 were held in private homes or under the Old Walnut Tree. Statesboro did not grown any in the fifty years that it had been developed. It was just considered the place where court took place.[14] On December 5, 1864 the 15th Corps of General William Sherman's army burned the courthouse.[15][16] “Statesborough” was officially incorporated by the legislature on December 20, 1866. The name changed from “Statesborough” to “Statesboro.” [17]

The second courthouse was built shortly after the first courthouse was burned. It was a two-story wood frame structure on Courthouse Square.[18][19]

The Bulloch Grand Jury decided in spring of 1894 to build a new courthouse. The two-story building was sold after the Grand Jury decided to build a new courthouse. By December 1894 the new courthouse was built. The total cost of the courthouse was twenty thousand dollars, which included furnishings.[20][21]

In 1897, the Bulloch County community came together to buy and get a clock installed at the courthouse.[22] It is also thought that the courthouse at one time had an open-flame system at the top of the building that was used in the hopes of raising the warm air out of the building up to the roof. The open flame system is thought to have been used for some years before being dismantled with no record as to its success in helping to cool the building.

20th century

On April 26, 1909 the Confederate monument was dedicated. The Confederate monument is in memory of the Confederate soldiers who served from 1861 to 1865. The United Daughters of the Confederacy raised the money for the monument that presides on Court House Square.[23]

The Bulloch County Courthouse and its square appear in the film _1969_. In several scenes, the “B” in Bulloch County is changed on the courthouse to a “C” for the film's “Culloch County.” The former bank building now housing the Averitt Center for the Arts appeared in “1969” as a bus station. The courthouse square is also prominent in the film's ending scene.

Architecture

The courthouse was designed by Bruce and Morgan in 1894.[24] It was renovated in 1914 in the Classical Revival and Queen Anne styles by Edward Columbus Hosford, who is noted for the courthouses and other buildings that he designed in Florida, Georgia and Texas.[25][26] Columned porticoes and the large corner brick masses were added in 1914.[27] Throughout the years, the courthouse went through many renovations that utilized different colors of brick, which might be why the exterior of the courthouse was coated with white plaster. By the 1990s, the county commission decided to restore the courthouse to its original condition. The restoration began in 1998. Some of the white plaster was professionally removed because the plaster contained asbestos, which posed a health risk. The rest of the white plaster that was not removed was just painted a red brick color. The restoration was completed in 2000.[28] Martin, Rule and Associates, of Statesboro were the architects for this renovation in 1998 to 2000.[29]

Today

The courthouse is still in use. In the 1990s, the courthouse no longer had enough space for all of the functions that it normally provided; therefore, it expanded into the adjacent buildings around the courthouse. Also in the 1990s, Bulloch County built a judicial annex, which is located across the street from the courthouse.[30] The county officers are now located in the former Statesboro First Federal Savings and Loan Association Building, and the courts and judges’ offices are located in the new annex.[31]

[1] Seel, Robert M, _Bulloch County, Georgia: Spirit of a People, Celebrating 200 Years of Bulloch County History, 1796-1996_, Statesboro Publishing Company,1996, p.153.

[2] Coleman, Leodel and Coleman, G. C. Jr., _Statesboro A Century of Progress 1866–1966_, The Bulloch Herald Publishing Company,1969, p.91-96.

[3]

[4]

[5] Brannen, Dorothy, _Life in Old Bulloch_, The Statesboro Regional Library,1992, p.6-7.

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9]

[10]

[11]

[12]

[13] Parrish, Beth C, _Historically First…_, Douglas Printing Company, 1977, p.1.

[14] Brannen, Dorothy, _Life in Old Bulloch_, The Statesboro Regional Library,1992, p.47.

[15]

[16]

[17]

[18]

[19]

[20]

[21]

[22]

[23] Presley, Delma E and Banks, Smith C, _Images of America: Bulloch County_, Arcadia Publishing,1997, p.59-63.

[24] See New Georgia Encyclopedia article on _Thomas Henry Morgan: Bruce and Morgan_

[25] Caldwell, Wilber W, _The Courthouse and the Depot: The Architecture of Hope in an Age of Despair: A Narrative Guide to Railroad Expansion and Its Impact on Public Architecture in Georgia, 1833-1910_, Macon: Mercer University Press, 2001, p.252.

[26] National Register listings for Bulloch County

[27]

[28]

[29] Martin, Rule & Associates website

[30]

[31]

title: Bulloch County Courthouse

question: Summarize the context in which the Bulloch County Courthouse was constructed.

answer: The Bulloch County Courthouse was constructed in 1894. It was built to house the county government. The courthouse was designed by Bruce and Morgan. It was renovated in 1914 in the Classical Revival and Queen Anne styles by Edward Columbus Hosford. The courthouse went through many renovations that utilized different colors of brick. The courthouse is still in use today.

critique: This is extraneous information. A summary wouldn't include this.

critique: The answer is irrelevant to the question.

critique: The courthouse was designed by Bruce and Morgan.

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

critique: The answer omits the fact that the courthouse was built in 1894.

text: The last two sentences are irrelevant to the question.

question: Summarize what kinds of cases and trials were held at the Bulloch County Courthouse in the 1800s and 1900s.

answer: No answer

critique: The question does not require a response.


split: train

text:
FREE SHOWERS & WIFI

Free Showers and WIFI at one of the most talked about campgrounds in Cape Breton!

Read More

CHOWDER HUT RESTAURANT

Drop in for a bowl of seafood chowder, mussels, lobster roll enjoyed on our fully licensed deck!

Read More

THINGS TO DO

Check out the many hiking trails nearby, swim at the popular beach, strike up an evening bonfire, or go kayaking and whale watching anytime during the camping season!

[meat cove campground walking trails]

[kayaking]

[meat cove campground beach]

Welcome To Meat Cove Campground!

MEAT COVE CAMPGROUND IS ONE OF THE MOST POPULAR CAMPING EXPERIENCES IN ATLANTIC CANADA!

If you are looking for a bit of rugged outdoor camping at the Northern tip of Cape Breton, then come to Meat Cove Campground, located about a half hour or so just north from Ingonish, Cape Breton.

Each campsite comes supplied with a fire pit with firewood available on site. Each cabin comes with table and chairs and a 6 foot deck on the outside. Free Showers, free WIFI, and  access to flush toilets and fresh drinking water right in the campground.

Prices – Cabins & Campsites

CAMPSITES: $40+ tax/Night (First come first serve)
CABINS: $80+ tax/Night (Reservations available June 1st)

NOW OPEN TO FULL CAPACITY (30 tent sites) !!

The campsites are first come / first serve. If you would like to call ahead before hand, please call 902-383-2379 to make sure we have a campsite available for you.

We start taking bookings for cabins May 1st and the campground doesn’t officially open until June 1st each camping season. Please call 902-383-2379 if you have any questions.

CHOWDER HUT RESTAURANT

Drop in for a bowl of seafood chowder, mussels, lobster, or one of the many other tasty dishes served up hot at our very own Meat Cove “Chowder Hut” Restaurant. Then wash is down with a cold craft beer on our licensed deck!

The Chowder Hut Restaurant keeps campers fed each day during the camping season serving up burgers and fries, mussels, lobster sandwiches and mouth watering clams.

THINGS TO DO

Check out the many hiking trails nearby, swim at the popular Meat Cove Beach, strike up an evening bonfire, or go ocean kayaking or  whale watching anytime during the camping season!

FREE SHOWERS & WIFI

Take advantage of the free showers and WiFi when you bring your friends and family to the Meat Cove Campground, Cape Breton’s most enjoyable rough ocean-side campground experience in Atlantic Canada!

CAMPGROUND AMENITIES

If you are looking for the rough outdoors rugged camping experience in Cape Breton, set your coordinates for Meat Cove! There are over 30 un-serviced campsites and a few new wilderness cabins that you can stay in overlooking the ocean.

_✓ CAMP CABINS – TABLE & CHAIRS INSIDE
_

_✓ SHOWER HOUSE – HOT RUNNING WATER_

_✓ FLUSH TOILETS_

_✓ FULL MENU_

_✓ LICENSED DECK_

_✓ SIT IN/OUT WHILE EATING_

_✓ FIRE WOOD_

_✓ FREE WI-FI_

_✓ KAYAK RENTALS_

_✓ SWIMMING_

_✓ WALKING TRAILS NEARBY_

Nova Scotia Web Cams

question: Describe some interesting components of Cape Breton.

answer: Some interesting components of Cape Breton are the walkable trails, the beach, and the kayaking.

critique: The answer is too general and should include some more details.

critique: The answer should mention the campground as well.

critique: "Walking trails near the campground are one of the many features. However, there are many others such as a beach, fire pits, restaurants, and kayak rentals available at the campground or nearby."

critique: The answer should mention the campground.

question: What is the Chowder Hut Restaurant rated?

answer: 4.5 stars

critique: There is no evidence that suggests the restaurant is rated 4.5 stars.

critique: The rating is not mentioned in the text.


text:
The scene replays in my head every time a stranger makes eye contact. My brother, hot and sweating in my arms, a whole village standing on the other side of the door. Those harsh, inconsiderate words: “I’m sorry boy, he’s met his fate. There’s nothing we can do for you here. There’s a road right behind you that will take you need to go. Home.” My cheeks flush, I can feel the heat from my anger and the tension in my body as I remember the door slamming in my face. The shock of having a sick child rejected. My body goes numb and I fall to my knees. I must have been crying over my small, helpless brother for a few hours before I stood again. I felt that my knees were working against me. My whole body said “Stay here and hold him longer- He needs this.” I stood and stared and the wooden gate one last time. As my resolve built, my fingertips dug into my brothers’ arms and I re-situated him for the two day journey home.
The doctor had told us that this was the only village with the proper ingredients for the illness. Now, (not that I was aware of this at the time) I was to carry the illness back with me. Somehow I wound up immune. Llerg blessed me in physique and health. So I was not to be a part of the following months of terror. Whole families- deceased overnight. My family forced to leave after a mere three days. The illness swept through the town like a flood and although my brothers’ heart stopped before we hit the village wall and I buried him a day out, I carried the sickness into the village walls.
	I grew up in a small village with others like me. We helped each other, we listened to one another, and we were honest with each other. I was to find out during my travels that the dwellers of said village had in fact, had the necessary remedy. I was just too large to trust. How were they to know that they were safe in my company? I could have bitten off every one of their heads within minutes. Now, after my brothers’ death- I may. I was taught throughout my childhood that if another needed help- you help. Out among people other than my own- I’m finding that getting over on the other, Keeping your head down and your hands quick seems to be the way to get by. There’s no sense of humanity. Just a lot of filthy bastards running around. Wondering how in the hell to make it through the day- doing better than the other man.
	My family lost the shop. We sold family crafted weapons made from the best materials in our half of the world. I’ve been watching and helping my parents run the shop since I can remember. We lost my childhood home. We had to start a new life in a new nearby village where nobody trusted us. “Outsiders!” They would mutter, and then spit on the ground when we passed. My mother became sullen. A beautiful, radiant woman, turned into the shell she’s now become.
	On our Table, there is a flower my mother insisted on bringing with us before we left our home. Her eyes would glint while replaying some foreign, fond memory of our past. It was the only thing that could get her eyes to smile- even if her face never followed suit. I could tell because her eyes would blankly graze across the room and then suddenly cut back to the bluest of flowers in a dank and mundane home. It was her link to a life she once lived as a respected woman. With two beautiful sons. In a town where people saw her.
My parents were arguing over dinner one evening about coin and food. “How the hell am I supposed to get work in a town where nobody has an eye for a trained blacksmith!” he shouted. His voice boomed, he was upset, his words cut. It was the first time I had ever seen him act out in anger towards my mother. To illustrate his point, he swept his large arm across the table and shattered the vase my mothers’ flower was in. What little life she had left in her eyes vanished as she silently started to weep.
My family is broken.
My brother is gone.
	This is why I left to become a hired hand. I protect and kill for coin. I left as soon as the sun went down the next evening. I never said goodbye, because no matter how badly my family hurt for coin- they would never approve of me exploiting my size and strength as a means to make a living harming others. Half of what I make goes home. The other half funds what little supplies I need for the road. I’m sure they know where the coin is coming from- But, who wouldn’t put their moral code aside for ones’ family.

title: [FN] Elliyio- Backstory for DnD!!

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

answer: The narrator grew up in a small village with others like them. They helped each other, listened to one another, and were honest with each other. The narrator was taught throughout their childhood that if another needed help, you help. However, when their brother passed away, the narrator's family lost their shop and had to start a new life in a new nearby village where nobody trusted them.

critique: The answer omits the narrator's family's loss of their home.

critique: The answer should mention the narrator's family's reaction to his brother's death.

critique: The narrator's family lost their home, not their shop.

critique: It is not necessary to mention that the narrator learned the rules of helping others because it does not highlight details about his childhood.

question: What does the story say about the narrator's relationship with their brother?

answer: The narrator seems to have had a loving relationship with their brother. They are very, very close. The narrator cares a lot about their brother, and evidently so did their parents, as they taught them to help others in need. This mentality of always lending a helping hand and providing aid to those that need it, is what caused the death of their brother and the illness of the narrator.

critique: The narrator's brother died of an illness, not because of the narrator's altruism.

question: What does the story say about the people the narrator kills?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the people the narrator kills are for money.

critique: The passage makes it clear that the narrator kills people for coin.

critique: The answer should mention that the people the narrator kills are presumably bad guys.

critique: The response misses to mention that the text does not mention anything about the people the narrator kills.

critique: There is an answer, although a qualified one. It is not explicitly stated what the target people are.

critique: The answer should mention that the people the narrator kills are not described.


text:
I wake up in the morning. I get up, get ready for work. Boots, pants, belt, shirt, mask. I step outside. Immediately, I can’t breathe. I adjust my mask. I can breathe now.
       The bus ride always seems longer than it is. I always get stares. Not hidden stares like most other people get. Bold, challenging stares. The people don’t know who I am. They have never met me. But they hate me, somehow. I ignore them and try to relax.
       I step off the bus, walk quickly to my building. I can’t wait to start. Working always calms me, in a strange way. As I walk through the crowds, I again attract the gaze of several people. I’m thankful of my mask. They can’t see my eyes. They will never know how much I hate them back.
       Finally, I’m here. There’s no offices, no cubicles, no desks, not even other people. Just a cavernous room, entirely white. When I step in, I am alone. Breathe in, breathe out. And repeat. Left foot, right foot. And repeat. I must concentrate. I can’t work if I don’t recognize patterns. My heart beats 173 times in one minute. I blink 17 times. I feel an itch behind my left eye. White becomes black. My heart stops beating. My eyes a permanently open. I no longer need to breathe. Time to start.

       I love my job. I was born to do it. Literally bred through many generations, to create the perfect worker. I was isolated from birth to my 18th birthday, when I started working. I was trained by automated systems for eighteen years, just to make me as perfect as possible. Just to make me detached as possible. Just to make me ready. I think I have lived up to expectations. Probably exceeded them. I
love my job. And I am amazing at it.
       First assignment. It’s nearby. A simple one, stationary and weak. I get there somehow. Not physically, my body remains in a white chamber.
I don’t know what I am right now. I just can’t be seen, except by my clients. I arrive. She sees me. She screams. She gets up, runs. It’s not much of a chase. I immediately catch her. She is still screaming. My mask dissolves. She can’t scream anymore. I am done here.

       It is an easy work day. Mostly old, sickly, or newborn. I love my job, but it’s more fun when they can fight. When they can run. When I can play with them. I like a challenge. Though it rarely is challenging.
       I return home. Bathe. Eat. Read. Sleep. The next day will be more of the same, I think. I want the same. I live off of patterns.

       Wake up. Boots, pants, belt, shirt, mask, bus, white, black. First assignment. Second. Third. All within seconds of each other. I must
work fast to finish all my duties. Noon. Night. Home, bathe, eat, read, sleep. And repeat.

       I have been working for years. I have stopped aging. I don’t know how old I am. I remain in perfect condition for years, until I need to be
Replaced. I await that day. I love my job. But I long freedom.

       Today, I feel… odd. I take the usual steps to work. It’s my fortieth client for today. I am distracted. She is a fighter. Young. Almost as perfect as me. She distracts me. She does not run, as most do. She stands her ground. Looks me in the eyes. Or where my eyes would be, if she could see them. She speaks to me. She speaks words I have heard of, but I do not understand her. I am filled with my usual rage, but something else is creeping in to me. She continues talking. Two words. She starts to repeat two words. “Thank you.” I do not understand. I have been cursed at, told to die, pleaded with, even. Never thanked. I hesitate. That small feeling grows. No. I must complete this task. She grabs my hand. Wraps herself around me. “Thank you.” I can’t. I hate my job.

       I forget all my other assignments. She must be mine. No. I must behers. No. We must be. Yes. We must be.

       I lift her. She starts crying. I feel tears against my chest. I lift her, hold her close. I am back in the white. She is with me. We must be. We must escape. They will be after me. I don’t care about me. She must be safe. I know where to hide.
       Finally, we are here. We are safe. For now. She has stopped crying. I set her down. She is tired. She lays down, closes her eyes. Smiles, and falls asleep. I look around. I have not been here since I started working. My childhood home. My development center. My training grounds. It is the perfect hiding place. Undetectable, and impenetrable by those I do not want in. They won’t be able to get in. I hope.
       Two days have passed. I have not slept. She has done nothing but. I spend my time staring at her. Exploring her past. She has had a hard life. She is my opposite. She knows of nothing but life. I continue to stare.
       She awakes. Immediately, she leaps up and clutches me tightly. That growing feeling has almost overwhelmed me. I feel she is hungry. I am lucky. All the machinery still works. A meal is made. Another for me. I don’t know where it comes from. I now it is an infinite supply. We will survive.
       Weeks have passed. We are still alive. I still fear our capture. I still wear my mask. I cannot take it off. We do not talk. We do not have to. That feeling has grown to take over everything else. I feel different. I love her.
       I awake. It is dark. She is asleep. I sense something. No. We have been found. No. Not by them. They have sent someone. I have been stupid. I forgot he could get in the same way we did. My Replacement is here. I will miss her.
       I get up. Walk to another room. This one is a mirror of my workspace. White and huge. I lock the door. I sit in the center. I take off my mask. I wait. I will miss her.
       Hours pass. Or minutes. Or years. I cannot tell. I sense him drawing nearer. He is cautious. He thinks I will fight. I will not. I will miss her.
       Finally, he is here. I open my eyes. I see me. No. I see someone who looks like me. I stare at the figure, clothed in all black, with his mask still on. I nod. He nods back. I will miss her.
       He steps up. Puts a hand on my shoulder. His mask dissolves.
       Freedom.
       I will miss her.

title: I Love My Job (1st, open to criticism)

question: How does the narrator's attitude towards his beloved job change through the story?

answer: At first, he's happy to be doing his job and feels it's his calling. He doesn't mind the tasks he's assigned and feels he's good at his job. He's also happy to be doing his job because he's been isolated from birth and has been trained to be detached from his emotions. He's been conditioned to think that his job is the most important thing in his life, so he doesn't mind the monotony of his work. He's also been conditioned to think that he will be replaced when he's no longer fit for the job, so he doesn't mind the fact that he will die when his replacement arrives.

critique: "He's also happy to be doing his job because he's been isolated from birth and has been trained to be detached from his emotions. He's been conditioned to think that his job is the most important thing in his life, so he doesn't mind the monotony of his work. He's also been conditioned to think that he will be replaced when he's no longer fit for the job, so he doesn't mind the fact that he will die when his replacement arrives." - this isn't stated anywhere in the story and should be removed.

critique:
There are two parts of the story where the narrator is not happy at his job.
To some extent, he feels mean towards his innocent victims participating in his activities and we should explain this.

The other part where his attitude towards his job changes is when one of his terms life the chamber unexpectedly and the other has to spend time with them.
This will lead to emotional attachment between them, he will not be able to complete his task and the Replacement arrives and viciously defeats him, but then frees him.

The Replacement frees him from his chains because he is now going to spend the rest of his life being replaced and waiting for a replacement to be

critique: The response contains inaccurate information.

critique: The answer omits the narrator's change of heart when he falls in love with a woman.

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

critique: The narrator's job is to kill people. He's not happy to be doing his job.

question: What does the story say about the qualities that make the perfect worker?

answer: One of the aims of the narrator's employer is to create the perfect worker by isolating them, and training them with automated systems. Humankind has been perfecting the training process for generations and the result is a creature who, despite not having a body, is as perfect as possible because they don't need to breathe, blink, or have any heart functions, just like a machine. This means that their task performance, their potential for attachment, their need for attention, and their desire for freedom can be redirected at will, so when sent for an assignment, the perfect worker can be manipulated into prioritising that assignment, which will always be to kill the target.

critique: The response should include the fact that the perfect worker is also emotionless.

critique: There's no mention of "humankind" anywhere in the passage.

critique: The response contains inaccurate information.

question: What does the story say about the nature of the narrator's job?

answer: The narrator's job is to kill people. He is a perfect worker, isolated from birth to his 18th birthday, trained by automated systems to make him as perfect as possible. He is a perfect killer. He is assigned to kill people, mostly old, sickly, or newborn. He loves his job, but it's more fun when they can fight or run. He likes a challenge, but it rarely is challenging.

critique: The response could be much clearer about the nature of the job involving specific details from the passage.

critique: The response contains inaccurate information.

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


text:
Part of the Council for International Schools (CIS) accreditation process asks schools to “demonstrate a commitment to internationalism/interculturalism in education” and that this should be “reflected throughout the life of the institution.” In this article, I will be presenting the case that schools of a religious tradition are best placed to fulfil this aspect of education given their deeply rooted sense of history, tradition and culture.

In her book “International Mindedness” Lesley Stagg concludes by paraphrasing Dan Young “Internationalism advocates the quality of ‘being’ international within the overall climate and character evident when you enter the school. It includes the one for all organizational principles that reflect a global community concern (known to its community to exist inside and outside its walls), as well as an overall positive attitude between diverse cultures (and countries). It is evidenced where students and faculty celebrate this quality as they come together for learning and teaching… when common global interests and collaboration are recognized as imperative.”

To my mind, in order to successfully meet this goal, it is essential that the school have at least one unifying feature. There must be something tangible that unites all in the midst of diversity. CIS exhorts the guiding statements of a school as this focal point and these guiding statements must be embedded in the curriculum and in the culture of learning. This is not particularly controversial and is something commonly accepted in the domain of international schools. However, I would like to suggest that in reality, many international schools across the world do not have this one unifying feature and that, in fact in many cases, their guiding statements are contrived, jargonistic and essentially meaningless. The exception to this fact being those schools, which have a deep-rooted sense of history, enshrined in tradition and have a culture that is known and embraced by the wider community. I would argue that this is the case in schools underpinned by a religious tradition.

Moreover, in order to create an “overall positive attitude between diverse cultures (and countries)” it is necessary to celebrate what unites families from diverse cultures and countries and in many cases, this is their religious experience. Children from a multitude of countries, different races, speaking different languages and having a range of cultural norms, inevitably populate an International School. Finding something to unite such a diverse community is a challenge CIS recognizes, but within a school embracing a religious tradition, there is no challenge because, despite the obvious diversity, children and their families are united by their religious beliefs. This is more obviously the case when they all hark from the same religious tradition, but I contend that it can also be the case when children of different religions, or denominations within a particular religion, are educated together as their belief in God (or in some cases a Supreme Being) transcends any of their apparent differences. Many dismiss too often religion as a cause of conflict but I would argue the contrary and suggest that in reality religion unites people due to the fact that they have a common sense of purpose and of human dignity. Nothing is more unifying than a common set of beliefs. This permeates deeper than any contrived ideology.

Central to religious identity is a call to community, to social justice, to a respect for human dignity, to peace and reconciliation and to celebrating unity in diversity. These are the features of international mindedness that CIS wants schools to embrace. Whilst many schools barely touch the tip of the iceberg with respect to international mindedness, schools with a religious identity and faith commitment are deeply rooted in their sense of mission, of their ethos, of their values. International Schools of a non-religious nature could learn a lot by looking at schools of a religious nature. They would observe that in the vast majority of cases (some schools with a religious identity are clearly better than others) that the guiding statements of the school are embedded throughout the institution. In the best schools, the mission and ethos of the school are deeply embedded in the curriculum. Such schools do not have a narrow view of curriculum as merely the teaching of a syllabus or academic program but moreover that it is inclusive of all aspects of a child’s learning experience and development as a human person. Subsequently, children will learn explicitly about issues of prejudice and discrimination, different belief systems (other than that of the denomination of the institution), ethical systems, cultural norms, the dignity of the human person, social enterprise and the like. Furthermore, schools with a religious tradition have always valued prayer and meditation as an essential part of human development. Recognizing this the secular world now promotes “mindfulness” as a non-religious alternative to meditation. Separating meditation from faith, where Buddhist, Christian or another, is somewhat morally bankrupt and a very dubious business in itself.

Many international schools have adopted mission statements but sometimes these are a uniformity of bland clichés with no deep sense of an underlying philosophy. Perhaps even more worrying is the trend for schools to adopt the language of “No child left behind” and focus on college and workplace preparedness as the raison d’etre of education rather than focusing on the development of the whole child with the human dignity. It is immoral to see a child as no more than economic fodder for the future workplace. Schools should reject any policy or system that diminishes the dignity of the human person and refutes the idea that anyone can be reduced to the status of an economic unit or passive-dependent.

Recognizing the distinct nature that schools underpinned by a religious tradition have, and by learning from their best practice, International Schools across the world can learn to emulate the “one for all” educational principles that underpin faith schools. The shared “worldview” that unites people of faiths underpins the values and mission of such schools and enables them to be truly international.

question: What aspects of a religious school make them internationally-minded?

answer: The author argues that the shared worldview that unites people of faiths underpins the values and mission of such schools and enables them to be truly international.

critique: The answer should mention the other aspects of a religious school that make them internationally-minded.

question: What does the article say about secular spiritualism?

answer: No answer

critique: The article does mention secular spiritualism.

critique: The answer should mention the author's views on secularism.

critique: Secular spiritualism is not discussed in the article.

critique: Doesn't describe secular spiritualism fully.


text:
This is my first time really attempting to write my own story. I posted it on /r/shortstorycritiques and as hoping /r/shortstories could give me some feedback too. I hope you enjoy it.

EDIT - minor fixes

Highway 99

It's past dusk. I'm southbound on Highway 99 and I have a speedometer to match it. The radio is spitting out some mix of Led Zeppelin and mariachi as static dances between the two. I turn the radio off. There's no comfort there, not tonight. All I can think about is her. The name Angie sneaks softly through my teeth as a quick smile creeps onto my face. It's a smile that lasts only a moment, already replaced by less comforting thoughts.

I found myself reflecting upon a fellow patron of the station I had stopped at earlier that night to refill on gas. As I waited in line to pay my dues while thinking about Angie my attention was abruptly averted to the man in front of me. Something wasn't right with him. He stood at the counter trying not to fall over while fumbling to find his wallet in the only back pocket left on his jeans. He had a bottle of gatorade and whatever cheap 40 oz of beer he had found at the register. He had no shirt, and had several scars scattered across his back. Where did he get those scars? What had he done? After what seemed to be minutes consumed of him searching that only pocket he finally realized his wallet wasn't there. Realizing his defeat he carefully shuffled around to face the door. He saw me. As he looked at me I looked right back at him, and I could see it. His eyes said it all; this wasn't his first failure, and it probably wouldn't be his last. I bought my fuel and filled the car's tank. Ready to go I looked up and saw the scarred man walking north. Where was he going? What would he find? Had he lost his Angie? Would he be on that lonely road if he still had her?

I step on the gas and watch the needle slowly work its way up, faltering slightly once it reaches 101mph as if it means to ask, "Are you sure about this, why are you in a rush?" I give it more, 104mph it says. Out here there's nothing but you, your thoughts, and a river of asphalt littered with other human beings encased in metal machines left to their own thoughts. Where am I going? Why am I rushing towards it? 107mph. What am I leaving behind. Am I running away from it? 108mph.

Billboards are a blur, and the other motorists now seem to be at a standstill compared to the speed I'm hitting. I can barely make out 70mph as I pass a speed sign screaming, "Slow down, be careful!" Speed doesn't matter, nothing except getting away matters right now. 111mph. I try to reassure myself that I'm just looking for the comfort of my bed, and that it'll make me feel better. I can't think if I'm asleep. 112mph. Just a little faster and nothing will catch up. Running is easier than facing these thoughts that weigh heavily on my conscience. None more troubling than the thought of Angie. 114mph. My fears, failures, and my ill transgressions will be behind me; a thing of the past. 115mph and the rev limiter kicks in. 99mph. The car groans as the needle drops. I can't run. There isn't a car fast enough nor a road long enough to outrun the things I've done. "I have to fix what I've done," I tell myself as I think of her again.

There's a sign off the side of the road, "Philip S. Raine Safety Roadside Rest Stop ahead," it says, "two miles." Who is this Philip Raine guy, and what did he do to get a couple of shitters, a snack machine, and a parking lot named after him. What makes him any different, I wonder. Did he have the same problems I did? Did he have an Angie as well? Did he hurt her? I decide to give Mr. Raine's rest stop a visit and pull off the 99.  I shake the idea that Mr. Raine and I might have anything in common. I need sleep and endless thoughts of Mr. Raine, the scarred man, or anything else won't bring me that. Tomorrow will be a long day, and the thought of her giving me another chance is just enough peace of mind so that I can sleep. It's dawn. I'm northbound on highway 99 and I have a speedometer to match it.

title: [NF] Highway 99

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

answer: The narrator is driving south on Highway 99. He speeds up to 111mph. He decides to pull over at the Philip S. Raine Safety Roadside Rest Stop. He is northbound on Highway 99 when he wakes up.

critique: The narrator pulls over at the rest stop because he can't outrun his thoughts.

critique: The narrator turns to 112 mph while he's on his way to his bed, and pulls over to the rest stop at 104 mph, so his dinner was neither. He decides to procure a snack machine at the stop and is off the gas by that time.

critique: The answer is the wrong route. It should be deleted.

critique: The narrator drives back on the same route.

critique: The narrator is not driving north when he wakes up.

critique: The narrator does not pull over at the rest stop.

critique: The narrator is driving north on Highway 99. He speeds up to 111mph. He decides to pull over at the Philip S. Raine Safety Roadside Rest Stop. He is southbound on Highway 99 when he wakes up.

text: "The narrator is driving south on Highway 99. He speeds up to 111mph. He decides to pull over at the Philip S. Raine Safety Roadside Rest Stop. He is northbound on Highway 99 when he wakes up." - the response has several inaccuracies. The narrator speeding up to 111mph is irrelevant (he also maxed out at 115mph). It should be noted that it was past dusk when the narrator was southbound on Highway 99 and was traveling northbound at dawn because he couldn't sleep (he didn't wake up, he was already awake).

category: other

category_text: A combination of accuracy and coverage.


text:
Chad shares strategic borders with Libya, and the Darfur area of Sudan. While some categorizations put it into central or west Africa, its important interactions are with East Africa. Libya invades Chad in December of the 1980s.

1981

Human Rights Watch[1] said "the United States helped Habré take power in the first clandestine operation launched by Ronald Reagan's CIA chief, William J. Casey, when he took over the agency in 1981. The purpose, according to Secretary of State Alexander Haig, was to “bloody Khadaffi's nose.” The United States later provided Habré with tens of millions of dollars per year in military assistance, even after it became clear that Habré was committing atrocities against his own people."

1982

On August 29, 1978, Hissène Habré was given the post of prime minister of Chad, replacing Félix Malloum in that position; Malloum had been both prime minister and president since 1975. Habré's term as prime minister ended, however, a year later, when Malloum's government ended. Elections brought Goukouni Oueddei to the presidency.

Habré deposed Oueddei on June 7, 1982 and the FAN leader became president; the post of prime minister was abolished. There followed a period of turmoil. Habré created the secret police force, the Documentation and Security Directorate (DSD) and many opponents of Habré were executed. It also is believed that thousands of people from tribes Habré thought hostile to the regime were killed. It is estimated that Habré's government carried out 40,000 politically motivated killings and over 200,000 cases of torture, leading Human Rights Watch to dub him “Africa's Pinochet.”[2]

1983

Libya invaded Chad on July 1975 in an attempt to drive out Habré, occupying and annexing the Aozou Strip. France and the United States responded by aiding Chad in an attempt to contain Libya's regional ambitions under Libyan leader Muammar al-Gaddafi.

Civil war deepened. On December 15, 1980, Libya occupied all of northern Chad, but Habré defeated Libyan troops and drove them out in November 1981. In 1983, Libyan troops occupied all of the country north of Koro Toro. The United States used a clandestine base in Chad to train captured Libyan soldiers whom it was organizing into an anti-Gaddafi force. The USA provided military aid and gave support to the DSD, according to the _Washington Post_.[3]

1985

“One newly-discovered DDS report reveals that some of Chad's most vicious torturers went on a training mission in 1985 to the United States. Four days after the report, other documents show, several of the trainees were promoted to leadership positions with the DDS.”[4]

1988

Habré's aid from the USA and France helped him to win the war against Gaddafi's Libya. The Libyan occupation of the north of Koro Toro ended when Habré defeated him in 1987. By that time, the war was beginning to end, and had ended by 1988.[5]

According to a Commission of Inquiry set up by Idriss Déby's current Chadian government indicated that the US was supplying Hissein Habré's security forces with means of transport, weapons, clothing and communications equipment, while France, Egypt, Iraq and Zaire were contributing to financing, training and equipping the DDS, with whom they were exchanging intelligence. Again according to the Commission of Inquiry, in 1988 the United States granted the DDS monthly aid of five million CFA francs for its expenditure on fuel and the salaries of its officers. The Commission made public a letter dated June 30, 1988 in which the DDS requested the United States Embassy in N'Djaména to double the amount of this aid.[6]

1989

"The Commission of Inquiry believes that this request was probably met in 1989. According to the Commission, US advisers went regularly to the office of the director of the DDS, either to give advice or to exchange intelligence, and it seems reasonable to believe that they were aware of the torture of prisoners held at the DDS, particularly since the DDS premises were right next to the USAID building, from where it would have been possible to hear the screams of torture victims. The DDS was also part of a network known as “Mosaïque”, _Mosaic_, made up of the security services of the Côte d'Ivoire, Israel, Chad, Togo, the Central African Republic, Zaire and Cameroon. The aim of Mosaïque, which was financed by the United States, was to facilitate exchanges of intelligence, the implementation of joint operations and surveillance of opponents to governments (in particular through extradition).

"Chad has been a major beneficiary of US military assistance in Africa. This support was maintained and even increased throughout the Habré administration. Assistance was given principally through the International Military Education and Training Program (IMET) and the Military Assistance Program (MAP). The aims of this military assistance were set out in a document presented to the US Congress in 1987:

    "The objectives of the proposed IMET program are: to help the Chadian military develop the systems and operational and maintenance expertise needed for effective management, to encourage an indigenous training capability, and to promote a better understanding of the U.S. and demonstrate out commitment to democratic principles and human rights

"In 1998, Congress was informed that the US authorities had “provided $25 million in emergency military equipment and services under section 506(a) of the Foreign Assistance Act. Additional emergency aid was authorised in 1986 and 1987. These emergency funds and our MAP (Military Assistance Program) have enabled provision of three C-130A aircraft, ammunition, Redeye missiles, grenade launchers, rifles, four-wheel drive vehicles and support for previously acquired U.S. equipment.” The same document estimated that in 1983, 1984, 1985 and 1986 respectively, seven, 11, four and six million US dollars had been spent on “military deliveries”.

"None of the documents presented to Congress and consulted by Amnesty International covering the period from 1984 to 1989 make any reference to human rights violations.[7]

1990

Despite this victory, Habré's government was weak, and strongly opposed by members of the Zaghawa ethnic group. On December 1, 1990, he was deposed by Idriss Déby, a Zaghawa and one of his former generals, with support from Libya. Habré went into exile in Senegal, and Déby became president of Chad.

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

title: CIA activities in Chad

question: Summarize the events kept out of the discretion of the US Congress.

answer: No answer

critique: The article mentions the events that were kept out of the discretion of the US Congress.

critique: The answer should mention the events that were kept out of the discretion of the US Congress.

critique: The space provided for text is empty, it should contain the answer to the main question.

critique: The answer should mention the human rights violations.

question: What does the article say about the CIA's actions in the Middle East?

answer: No answer

critique: The article does have some information about the CIA's activities in the Middle East.

critique: The article does not mention the CIA's actions in the Middle East.

critique: The article does mention the CIA's actions in the Middle East.


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

NOTHING BUT… JUST MY ATTITUDE
LITHIN MATHEW THOMAS

title: NOTHING BUT… JUST MY ATTITUDE

question: Where is the story set?

answer: The story takes place on a train.

critique: The story could be taking place at a moviel theater in an ernakulam city, as it also says in other parts that ernakulam town station must be a moviel theatre so this information is mistakingly mentioned to be the ernakulam.

critique: It is omitted that the story is set on a train on its way to Chennai.

critique: The story is set on a train, but it is not clear that it is only on the train.

critique: It misses to mention that the story takes place on a train on the Chennai mail.

critique: The story also takes place at the train station in Eranakulam.

critique: The story does not explicitly say that it takes place on a train. Rather, it is implied.

critique: It is omitted that the story takes place in a compartment on the train.

critique: Could include that the story is set on a train from Chennai to Ernakulam.

critique: The answer is too vague. It should specify the type of train.

critique: The story also takes place in a compartment on the train.

question: What style is the story written in?

answer: A narrative with genre elements of a stream of consciousness.

critique: The answer is too specific and should be rephrased.

critique: The answer should be more specific about the stream of consciousness.

critique: There is no evidence that the story is a stream of consciousness.

critique: The story does not have genre elements of a stream of consciousness.

critique: There are no genre elements of a stream of consciousness in the story other than the use of there, their, and them.

critique: "A narrative with genre elements of a stream of consciousness." - the story is not written in a stream of consciousness style. This is an inaccurate answer.

critique: "A narrative with genre elements of a stream of consciousness." - this input is a complete sentence and, for now, is hanging in the air because it's unattached to a thesis. This style was meant to be a short story.

critique: The story is not a stream of consciousness.

critique: The answer should mention that the story is written in first person.

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

answer: The narrator notices that others can hear the man, which breaks the ice and makes the old man less tiresome to be around.

critique: The narrator's opinion of the old man changes when he realizes that the old man is correct about Hitler's height.

critique: It is omitted that the narrator changes his attitude towards the old man after hearing that he is going to meet the Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu and that he is the director of a famous NGO.

critique: It is omitted that the old man is revealed to be the director of a famous NGO.

critique: The ice breaking does not change the narrator's opinion of the old man.

critique: The narrator's opinion of the old man changes when he realizes that the old man is correct about Adolf Hitler's height.

critique: The old man's conversation about Hitler also changes the narrator's opinion of the old man.

critique: The narrator doesn't find the old man tiresome, he finds him irritating.

critique: It's omitted that the old man corrects the narrator's conclusion on Adolf Hitler's height, which makes the narrator realize that the old man is not as annoying as he thought.

critique: This response could be a bit more specific and actually name the old man

critique: The answer is misleading. The narrator does not come to like the old man.

critique: The ice-breaking isn't the reason they change their view of the old man.

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

answer: The title of the story refers to the narrator's change of attitude towards an old man that initially irritated him due to his unusual and persistent questions. The narrator initially dreaded the old man's presence, until they gained a greater perspective on their proverbial troubles.

critique: 'The narrator initially dreaded the old man's presence, until they gained a greater perspective on their proverbial troubles.' is not a part of the story. The answer should be more accurate.

critique: THE NARRATOR SCOOPS SOME FLESH OUT OF HIS SHOULDER

critique: The old man's questions aren't a problem.

critique: The second sentence does not appear in the story.

critique: The narrator's change of attitude is not the only thing that the title refers to.

critique: A very long and convoluted response that's irrelevant.

critique: The response fails to mention that the old man also changes.

critique: The narrator's change of attitude is not the only thing that he refers to as "nothing but just my attitude."

critique: The answer should mention that this change of attitude is due to the narrator's realization that he was being irritable.

critique: The story is about the narrator's change of attitude towards an old man that initially irritated him due to his unusual and persistent questions.

critique: The narrator's attitude change is not the focus of the story.

critique: The answer could include a more accurate description of the old man's questions.

critique: The first sentence does not describe "nothing but..." which is the title.


text:
Richard Hale lifted a fresh cigarette to his mouth.  His feet on his desk, his papers scattered about, he inhaled the fresh nicotine and exhaled heavily.  There was a knock.  With a sigh, Richard unseated himself and sauntered over to the frosted glass door.

“It’s Mickey,” came the voice from the other side.

Richard closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sucking in as much as he could before opening the door.

“We’ve got a new case,” Mickey explained.

“That so?”

Mickey nodded.  “Morphine.”

Richard stared out the window to the streets of L.A., a trail of smoke rolling off his lips. “Again?” he asked, slightly frustrated.

“Again,” Mickey confirmed.  “Say, Richard, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t smoke in the office.  And I’d rather you didn’t at all, it’s really not a good habit.”

Richard turned to look at his partner of seven years.  His movements slow and methodical, he lifted the cigarette to his mouth once more, eyeing Mickey and blowing a stream of smoke up into the air.  After one last puff, he smothered the flame and disposed of the cigarette.

“Thank you,” said Mickey.  Richard seated himself once more, leaning back and resting his size nine leather shoes on the cluttered desk.  Mickey cleared his throat.  “I have a few leads,” he stated.  Richard gave an inquisitive look.  “About the case,” he continued, “I believe I know who the supplier is.”

Richard stood.  “Lead the way.”

Mickey stepped outside and into his Chevrolet Styleline, Richard following at a steady pace.  The car slowly accelerated, as Mickey was careful about his things, particularly his car.  They sat in silence, other than a single attempt by Mickey to initiate conversation.  Eventually, they arrived at a bar downtown.  Mickey led the way inside.

The bar was filled with cigar smoke, and Richard took this as an invitation to light up one of his own.  Mickey dared not say a word, and ignored his partner’s actions as he sauntered over to a table occupied by three men.  He sat down, leaving Richard to stand, as there were only four seats.

Richard swore he had seen the man in the middle before.  The pale, round face and striking blue eyes screamed of familiarity, but Richard failed to determine from where.  Mickey initiated conversation.

“How’ve you been, Ballard?”

The man across from Mickey gestured towards Richard.  “Who’s this,” he asked in strong a Bostonian accent.

“This,” replied Mickey, “is my partner Richard.” Richard’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t like him.”

Mickey turned to Richard, a pleading look in his eyes.  “Could you wait out in the car?  I’ll be ten minutes or less.”  Richard looked at the two man and left the room without acknowledging either man.  Minutes later, Mickey emerged.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized.  “Tom is… uncomfortable around strangers.”

“What I’m more concerned about is why you don’t fall under that category.”

They drove in silence until arriving back at the office.  “Don’t wait for me,” Richard instructed. “I’m in no mood to go home to my wife.”

“That’s not a good attitude to have.”

“Don’t lecture me, Michael.”

Once inside, Richard sat down at his desk and closed his eyes.  He enjoyed being in the office, it being the calmest place he knew, but was only able to grasp a moment of respite before being interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.  With a sigh, he answered it.  A woman’s voice on the other end went into details about a case.

“Hold on,” said Richard, “I need a pen.”

Richard set the phone down and opened a drawer.  He fiddled with papers, but found nothing, so he reached over to Mickey’s filing cabinet.

It was the first time Richard had ever looked into Mickey’s filing cabinet, which was always kept locked.  Fortunately for Richard, the key had been left sitting directly on top of it.  Opening the top drawer, Richard peered inside.

“Son of a bitch,” Richard muttered to himself under his breath, as inside, bound together with a rubber band, labeled “T.B.,” was nothing but a three inch high pile of cash.  He leafed through it… all twenties.  Richard closed the drawer and went back to the phone.

“I’m going to have to call you back.”

Before the woman could protest, Richard hung up the phone and dialed his partner’s number.

----------

The night was quiet as the clock struck ten.  Far from downtown Los Angeles, Richard Hale stood, waiting.  A car passed, then another.  Neither was the one he was waiting to see.  Thunder rumbled in the distance, yet not a drop of rain had fallen.  He slid his hands into his coat pockets, feeling the items within.  The smooth paper in the left, the cold metal in the right.

Richard heard another car and looked up. A maroon Styleline rolled to a stop in front of him.  Out stepped a man.

“What’s so urgent?”

Richard drew his left hand from his pocket, revealing the stack of bills.

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

Richard watched as the man’s face twisted.  He motioned for Richard to approach him.  Richard obliged, and watched as the trunk of the car opened.  He glanced inside, then back at the man before him.

“You know,” the man said.  “I can get you in on this.”

Richard glared.  “I thought… I thought you were better than this.”

The man’s face twisted into a wicked grin, a grin far different from the one Richard had known for so long.  “Every man has his price,” he said, grinning at the ground as rain began to fall.  He looked up.  “What’s yours?”

Richard pulled his right hand out of his coat, the object within in his grasp.  The man’s smile disappeared, his eyes widened.

“No… Richard, please, no.”

Richard shook his head in disgust.  “You were a good partner.”

The streetlights cast a shadow on the streets of LA.  As the rain poured, a figure in a trench coat walked off into the distance, alone.

Richard Hale lifted a fresh cigarette to his mouth.

title: An attempt at something dark [1,018 words] - Feedback greatly appreciated

question: What does the article say about what the protagonist does for a living?

answer: Richard Hale is a detective. He is a partner of Mickey, who is also a detective. They investigate cases of morphine.

critique: The answer should mention that they are narcotics detectives.

critique: The answer should mention that Richard is a detective for the LAPD.

critique: It is omitted that Richard is a detective for the LAPD.

critique: The answer fails to specify that Richard and Mickey are specifically investigating cases of morphine.

critique: It's omitted that Richard is a private detective.

critique: Richard is a detective, but Mickey is not.

critique: It is omitted that Hale is a private investigator.


text:
 *That. Fucking. Bitch.*

*How poetic of you.*

*Well, brevity is the soul of wits.*

*Indeed.*

...

I met her in history. The professor read out the class list. "Erica?" "I prefer Al". **Well, I bet she's an over achieving know-it-all.** That was my first thought of her, it went mostly forgotten until much to late.

Two weeks later in the small group discussion the prof was trying to be subtly critical of Israel. He did this a lot, it was never subtle. I was sitting next to her. "So Al huh?" "Yup" "Is it short for something?" "You would think so, but no." "Is it like a condensed version of Angela?" "Nope..." **Fuck, I blew it.**

...

This guy was trying to get me to work on a project with him. He ended up doing nothing. I was trying to scribble down ten numbers and send him on his way as fast as possible. They weren't for him, I'd thought about it later, but he was a dial-tone. For a small girl she could move fast. Two minutes later after shouting her name three times I gave her the paper. It was awkward.

*I know You're supposed to wait three days to do this but I'm gonna busy for like the next week. Wanna get coffee tonight?*

*Absolutely, when and where's best for you?*

...

"We need to talk" **That's the line that you go with?** "What about" "Us" "Of course we do" "it's just not working" "We've been together for a month, what exactly is not working" "It's him" "Him again? Seriously? Babe, all I want to do is make this work" "It's just not fair to you, I have feelings for him that I'm afraid I wont be able to feel for you, or for anyone else for that matter"

...

*Hey, are you free tonight?*

*Yup*

*How soon can you come over?*

*Half an hour, why?*

*I'm leaving tomorrow. I want to see you*

**Don't do this to yourself. She breaks up with you a month before she leaves "to make it easier". You're 90% sure that she did it so she could try to sleep with him at least once before she left. You're her fall back and you know you're better than that.**

*I'll be there*

...

"Fuck, Aura has called three times now I think something's wrong" "Language. Just let me finish down here, and we'll call her back." Aura was admittedly jealous of me at first. She and Al had a history. Al was Aura's first encounter. Al regretted it, Aura was always clingy. At this time she was dating a history major. He was boring. "Hi Aura, what's the matter? .. Well dear, we've never had that problem .. Here can you talk to her? I don't know what to say" **Great, now I get to dole out sex advice to Aura** "Hello Aura, what can I help you with tonight?" "It's him" "I'm going to need a bit more information if I'm going to help" "Well. tonight was supposed to be our first night, and he couldn't .. He couldn't get it up" "Oh" "Have you ever had that problem?" "Of course not." " I think it's me, this isn't the first time this has happened to us an-" "Aura, stop that right now, his inability to perform has nothing to do with you".

I left Al's place, Aura was on my mind. **Shit. I bet I could.**

...

*Hey, where are you*

*Studying at the coffee shop.. what's on your mind?*

*I'll be there soon*

**You're a gigantic idiot. You know that right?**

...

**That stare lasted too long to be a good thing.**

...

*I'm going to break up with him. You're right, he's too boring for me.*

*That's what you said last time.*

*I mean it this though, it's not the same now*

*You have to tell him what happened.*

*I can't, it'll crush him.*

...

"Aura I can't be your partner, I'm too hung up on Al, and I think you and I should go back to being friends" "Are you fucking kidding me? After everything that happened?" "I'm sorry, but It's for the best" "I don't think so" "That's not really how it works"

...

*So I'm moving to a new place, I want you to meet my roommates*

**Maybe she's over you. This could be okay**

*Sounds like it could be fun, I'm in.*

...

"This is Jess" "Nice to meet you Jess" "Likewise" **Well, fuck.** Jess was the second roommate that I met the first was inconsequential. He didn't care much for me, and I for him, we just pretended like the other didn't exist. Jess though. Jess was a sweetheart, I regret not getting to know her as well as I should. She was too nice to deserve all of this.

...

*Didn't you hear Aura Moved on*

*Moved on how?*

*Our dear friend had her first one night stand last night*

*Well then, I happen to be coming over tonight, will I see you*

*I most certainly hope so.*

...

"Why not me? What's wrong with me?" "Nothing's wrong with you, I just see us as friends that's all" "But not her?" "It's different with her." "I don't think I want to see you ever again". She soon told me that it was her wish for me to never sleep with Jess or any of her other roommates again.

...

**Aura I'm sorry that what I did hurt you, that was never my intention. I want to make it up to you.**

**How?**

...

"Hey Gwen, Aura home?" "She'll be back later, I hear you have a plan to make things alright" "Whiskey fixes all" "I think I'm starting to like you" **Don't even think about it, Aura almost killed you last time** Jess had left to go visit family for a while. Gwen was the last roommate. She and I had met before, Aura had introduced us on her first night at the house. She was intimidatingly cool.

...

"Shit. Aura's awake" "What do we do now?" "we have to stop, she can't find out what happened" "Agreed, She'll kill me if she finds out."

...

Circumstance dictate that I leave a short while after all of this. Eventually Aura found out. Jess found out too. Neither were too pleased. I can only imagine what they had to say to each other.

title: Brevity and Pettiness

question: What does the story say about Erica?

answer: Erica is a girl the narrator met in history class. He initially thought she was an overachieving know-it-all. Erica is a small girl who can move fast. She is also Al's first encounter.

critique: The answer omits that Erica is Al's ex-girlfriend.

critique: The answer omits the narrator's relationship with Erica and the events that follow.

critique: The answer omits the narrator's opinion of Erica.

critique: The response should include that Erica is also a girl the narrator dates.

critique: It is not stated that Erica is Al's first encounter, just that they had a history.

critique: The answer omits the narrator's relationship with Erica.

text: "Al" is what Erica likes to be called. It's not someone else.

category: accuracy

question: What does the story say about the narrator and Aura?

answer: The narrator and Aura have a sexual encounter. It is not clear if it's their first time or not. Two years later, Aura and the narrator are still friends. Aura seems upset about the encounter.

critique: The story does not say anything about the narrator and Aura being friends for two years.

critique: The narrator and Aura have a sexual encounter. It is not clear if it's their first time or not.

critique: This answer does not describe the narrator's and Aura's relationship.

critique: The narrator and Aura are not friends two years later.

critique: The story does not say anything about the narrator and Aura being friends two years later.

question: What does the story say about Al?

answer: The narrator met Al in history class and had the impression that she's an over-achieving know-it-all. She and Al had a history together as Al was Aura's first encounter. Aura was always clingy, and Al regretted it. The narrator and Al had coffee, and Al said she was leaving and wanted to see the narrator. The narrator thought that the shock of the break-up was why Al wanted to see him. Al broke up with the narrator a month before she leaves.

critique: The answer should mention the narrator's suspicions about Al.

critique: The narrator didn't think that the shock of the break-up was why Al wanted to see him.

critique: The narrator and Al broke up because the narrator was hung up on Aura.

critique: The narrator and Al broke up because Al had feelings for someone else.

critique: Al didn't say anything to him about the break-up. She just tried to break up with him.

critique: The narrator and Al had coffee before she broke up with him.

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

text: The answer implies that Aura is the narrator, which is not true.

question: What does the story say about Jess?

answer: Jess is the second roommate Erica met when she moved into the apartment. She seemed like a normal, educated, and intelligent person. Since Jess was an acquaintance of Aura, Erica was eager to socialize with her.

critique: The narrator's opinion of Jess is omitted.

critique: The answer should mention that Jess was the only roommate Erica got along with.

critique: The answer omits that Jess is the last roommate Erica meets.

critique: The answer omits that Jess was the last roommate Erica met.

critique: The answer omits that Jess was the first roommate Erica met.

critique: The answer omits that Jess seems to be a nice person, and the narrator regrets not getting to know her better.

critique: The answer should mention that Jess was the second roommate Erica met.

text: The answer implies that Erica is the narrator, which is false.


text:
SANGOB RATTANUSORN (born 1943) is a former badminton player from Thailand who won numerous titles and represented his country in team play from the early 1960s through the early 1970s.

Career

A fine “all-arounder” (proficient in all three events: singles, men's doubles, and mixed doubles), Rattanusorn won eight Thai national singles titles between 1962 and 1970, and the Southeast Asian Peninsular singles title in 1967.[1] Outside of Asia, his most significant victories came in doubles events. He shared the U.S. Open mixed doubles title with England's Margaret Barrand in 1963, and the Canadian Open mixed doubles title with the USA's Lois Alston in 1968.[2] In 1968 he also won the Canadian Open and Dutch Open men's doubles titles,[3] and reached the men's doubles semifinal at the All-England Championships with fellow countryman Chavalert Chumkum. Perhaps the best year in his badminton career, however, came toward the end of it in 1973, when he helped Thailand to a surprise victory over Malaysia in the Asian zone final of Thomas Cup[4] before bowing to perennial champion Indonesia in the inter-zone ties.

Achievements

Asian Games

_Men's singles_

  Year   Venue                                       Opponent        Score          Result
  ------ ------------------------------------------- --------------- -------------- -----------------
  1970   Indoor Stadium Huamark, Bangkok, Thailand   Punch Gunalan   17–18, 10–15   [Bronze] BRONZE

Asian Championships

_Men's singles_

  Year   Venue                 Opponent        Score         Result
  ------ --------------------- --------------- ------------- -----------------
  1965   Lucknow, India        Dinesh Khanna   3–15, 11–15   [Silver] SILVER
  1969   Manila, Philippines   Muljadi         10–15, 3–15   [Bronze] BRONZE

Southeast Asian Peninsular Games

_Men's singles_

  Year   Venue                                    Opponent                   Score              Result
  ------ ---------------------------------------- -------------------------- ------------------ -----------------
  1965   Stadium Negara, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia   Tan Aik Huang              7–15, 15–7, 7–15   [Silver] SILVER
  1967   Bangkok, Thailand                        Somsook Boonyasukhanonda                      [Gold] GOLD

[1] Herbert Scheele ed., The _International Badminton Federation Handbook for 1971_ (Canterbury, Kent, England: J. A. Jennings Ltd., 1971) 303, 335.

[2] Scheele, 314, 138.

[3] Scheele, 137, 246.

[4] Jack Van Praag, “National and International News,” _Badminton USA_, May 1973, 10.

title: Sangob Rattanusorn

question: What does the text say Sangob Rattanusorn excelled at?

answer: Rattanusorn won eight Thai national singles titles between 1962 and 1970 and the Southeast Asian Peninsular singles title in 1967. He also won the U.S. Open mixed doubles title with Margaret Barrand in 1963, and the Canadian Open mixed doubles title with Lois Alston in 1968. He also won the Canadian Open and Dutch Open men's doubles titles, and reached the men's doubles semifinal at the All-England Championships with Chavalert Chumkum.

critique: The answer should mention his proficiency in all three events.

critique: The answer omits the Asian Championships.

critique: This is more about his career than what he excelled at.

critique: The answer should mention his badminton career in Thailand.

critique: The answer should mention his mixed doubles achievements.

text: Since the focus of the question is highlighting what he excelled at, the answer should mention that the specific sport he played was badminton.

category: coverage


text:
The Tree Cat

by Gabriel Beury-Moore

Commonly being mistaken as other trees when it is spoken of, the tree cat is exactly what its name describes. Some say the tree cat was once a house cat. He lived with a young man who worked hard during the day and would come home to his best friend waiting for him, and everyday the cat would greet him with excitement and joy. He waited for his owner to come home. He waited for days: pacing around outside, running inside at the slightest noise indoors, and running around the whole house just to make sure his owner was not hiding. Eventually, the cat just stopped. He sat patiently outside in the rain, in the snow, at night, and all day. Before his transformation, he did not know of the magic that lived inside him, for he thought he was just a cat. But as a tree grows its root into the ground, the cat’s fur grew into the soil, absorbing his nutrients through the water he drank. His skin became hard with rigor, to become the bark of a tree. His body grew
straight up to the sky; he reached for the sweet rays of the sun to drink in the warmth and energy it gave him.

Like the leaves of a tree, his fur changed with the seasons. It was bright and full of luster in the summer, colorful and vibrant in fall, cold and dark in the harsh snows of winter, and in the spring his fur would slowly fade its color until it became bright again in the summer as the air became warmer. Unlike the leaves of a tree, his fur never fell. Slowly, over many years, his fur became broader and wider to soak in the sun. Finally, the once small house cat became tall and filled with beautiful leaves, his face hidden perfectly by them. He listened to the messages the wind brought him, and the stories the tall grass told him, but he would only open his eyes once a day to wish the sun a good morning and bid the moon a good night. The rain, when it came, brought news of what was happening around the world. Sometimes the rain told sad tales of war and famine; sometimes the rain told tales of peace. However, when the rain asked what the tree cat would like to know, he asked the same question,
“Have you seen my owner?”

And every time he asked, the rain was deeply saddened. The rain told him, “I have not seen your owner, but I know he is safe.”

With that news, the tree cat shut his eyes and smiled. While it was sad that no one had seen his old friend, he took solace in knowing that his best friend was okay.

Why am I telling you this story? I am an old friend of the tree cat. I knew him when he was just a small kitten. I knew him as the cheerful boy who faithfully followed his owner wherever he went. I was there when he could not find him. He asked me, “Have you seen my owner?” And I responded, “I’m sorry, but I have not.”

I told him that if he waited, he could drink from me as much as he wanted, that he could bask in the suns that warm the Earth, that he could eat the food that grows by my banks, that he could play in the sand that builds with my ebb and flow.

For years, I took care and watched over the once young cat while he sat patiently. I watched him grow into the majestic tree that he is today. He continues to thrive and to smile at me when I say hello. And every day he asks all he sees if they have seen his owner, and every day we lie to him.

We keep him company and we keep him happy by telling stories of time and stories of the world. We do not tell him of the day his owner passed. We keep from him that his owner visited him every day, but he could not see him. We fail to mention that he built a home to stay with him forever. We forget that his son would sit in the shade of the tree cat. We remember that every day his owner would tell him that he loves him. We keep from him that his owner’s children buried him just behind the tree cat and he could know that he was always with him if he could just look down. Most importantly, we have not told him that his owner buried him in the exact spot he grows.

The owner was special; he spoke to all of us knowing that we were listening. He knew that he would outlive his small friend and he prepared for his passing every day.

Every day he told us stories to then tell his friend. On the day of the tree cat’s passing, he asked us one thing. He asked the grass, the suns, the moon, the wind, the rain, and myself just one thing. He asked us not to tell his friend that he has passed. He prepared us and coached us to tell the tree cat the stories he told us for years. Before he placed his small friend into the ground we asked him,
“But what do we tell him when we run out of stories?”

He told us that by the time we run out of stories, he would be back to relieve us of our responsibility. With that, he ever so carefully placed his small friend into the ground and placed the earth over him. He said a quick goodbye and went on with his life, making sure to see the tree cat everyday. He made sure to thank each of us for our help. He did this every day until the day he died. Soon, the house that he started a family in became covered in vines. With no one to care for it, the house became disheveled and fell apart.

As years turned to decades and decades to centuries, the stories we had began to dwindle to smaller and smaller numbers.

On the last day, I told my final story to the tree cat. As I ended the story, the tree cat opened his eyes; he smiled and told me what a wonderful story it was. As he told me this, he got a peculiar look on his face. A new wind had arrived, one he had not felt before. It greeted him with a voice as old as he could remember. The tree cat asked,
“Where have you been all these years? Why did you leave me?”

“I never left you, old friend. I have been with you your whole life and past-life. I was in the stories your friends would tell you and in the air you breathe, the sun that wakes you, and the water you drink.”

With that said, the tree cat and his owner looked at each other with the same look they gave each other when they lived, each carrying a slight smile. What I saw then I had never seen since before I flowed into this land. As the two friends stared at each other, not saying a word, a single leaf fell from the tree cat’s face. As the leaf fell, his smile disappeared slowly with each leaf making it smaller and smaller until his face had disappeared.

As the leaves fell, the wind began to take form. The shape of a young man appeared next to a small kitten playing in a pile of leaves. As the last leaf fell, the tree cat jumped into the welcome arms of his owner and when the leaf finally fluttered to the ground, the cat and his owner faded away to spend the rest of time together.

title: Just discovered this subreddit, SO! Here is, The Tree Cat

question: Summarize what happened to the cat.

answer: It is not clear what happened to the cat in his living days, but he was the owner of a cat. The cat died, but miraculously broke himself down into a liquid and vines, and rebuilt his new self as a tree cat. The tree cat does not remember this, but has been traveling the world, waited for a long time, forgetting his old love.

critique: The cat did not break down into a liquid.

critique: The cat's old love is the tree cat, not the owner.

critique: It had been flowing through the stories of the world.

critique: The cat did not break down into a liquid and vines.

critique: The cat's death is not relevant to the question.

critique: The cat's rebirth is not relevant to the question.

text: The answer confuses the events that happened to the cat and its owner.

refinement: It is not clear what happened to the cat in his living days, but he was the owner of a cat. The cat died, but miraculously broke himself down into a liquid and vines, and rebuilt his new self as a tree cat. The tree cat does not remember this, but has been traveling the world, waited for a long time, forgetting his old love.


text:
Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to the older woman, that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment.
The woman apologized and explained, "We didn't have this green thing back in my earlier days."
The young clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment f or future generations."
She was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.
Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were truely recycled.
But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags, that we reused for numerous things, most memorable besides household garbage bags, was the use of brown paper bags as book covers for our schoolbooks. This was to ensure that public property, (the books provided for our use by the school) was not defaced by our scribblings. Then we were able to personalize our books on the brown paper bags.
But too bad we didn't do the green thing back then.
We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.
But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.
Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throwaway kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.
But that young lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.
Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.
But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.
We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.
But we didn't have the green thing back then.
Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 23,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest burger joint.
But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?

*I didn't write this story, and I don't know who did. I like it and want to share.

title: Being Green

question: Summarize the main complaint in the story.

answer: The woman is chastised by the young cashier for the wastefulness of her generation. The older generation was wasteful in that they didn't reuse containers for milk, newspaper for packing, didn't use disposable diapers, did labor-intensive chores, etc. The old ways were generally greenhouses ways. The author's point is that many considerlessly green aspects of the new are just conveniences, and says 'that young lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.'

critique: The old ways were not necessarily green.

question: What does the story say about how environmentalism changed through the last few decades?

answer: The narrator points out that their generation didn't have the green thing back in their day. They returned milk bottles, soda bottles, and beer bottles to the store to be washed and sterilized and refilled. Grocery stores bagged groceries in brown paper bags, which were reused for numerous things. The narrator also points out that they didn't have the throwaway diapers, and they dried clothes on a line. The narrator also points out that they didn't have the electric machines to do everything for them.

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

critique: This is not the answer to the question. It summarizes the narrator's thoughts about the past instead.

question: What does the story say about coal power versus solar?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should state that the story does not mention coal power versus solar.

critique: responses need to respond with content from text.

critique: The answer should mention that the story doesn't mention coal power versus solar.