text:
Hi! I was trying to make this neither a poem or a short story, or maybe both at the same time? I'm obviously not very skilled. This is my first draft and I would love some tips if you've got a moment. Thanks.

~           ~             ~

Deep within the city of Piraeus the moon glowed with soft light. Merchants from Athens sold their wares free from the heat, and that comfort gave them much delight. Then appeared a young girl holding a basket no more than twelve. She walked up to a herbalist, and pointed to a shelve. The lass' red riding cloak fluttered softly in a breeze, and after the wind stopped it settled down around her knees. “Take this thyme, and your grandma will be just fine, now don't you dare offer me money, I wouldn't accept a dime.” Said a women to the girl. As quickly as she came, she was off in a whirl. Nearby atop a stone brick bathhouse a fowl and terrible creature perched. It's eyes darted back and forth like it was conducting research.

The young girl walked down a brick path and scanned dark corners for trouble. There were footsteps behind her so she picked up her pace on the double. The footsteps quickened like a downhill rolling boulder. The girl in the red cloak gasped as a hand latched down on to her shoulder. “Stay away!” yelled the girl in fear. From the shadows wearing a guard uniform the hand's owned appeared. “Little Red, what are you doing this late and all alone?” Asked the guard to the girl in a melodious tone. “I was at the market, getting something for my grandmother!” Quipped the girl to the guard without even a stutter. “Fine take your leave!” Spoke the guard like thunder. “But don't cry to me, when a mugger rips you asunder.”

Off strolled the mysterious girl clad in red. Unfortunately she wasn't aware of the beast that wanted her dead. Near the edge of the city was her home, it looked tranquil only at night when few stirred. Little Red spotted a cat, and smiled when he purred. She scratched behind his ears and he huffed acting lazy and fat. The sound was like music for an eavesdropping rat. Moving on, the girl took her basket and went inside. Waiting in the darkness the creature did hide.

The little girl approached her sick grandmother's bed. She had words in her mind but despite her best efforts they remained unsaid. In the dim light of the room the girl felt something was wrong. It's smelled as if something just didn't belong. She starred at her grandmother and saw a glow in her eyes. “I have medicine now, you'll be better by sunrise.” Just then it occurred to the girl she was in danger. “Grandma your eyes oh my, well I've never...”

“All the better for seeing you, my dear.” Growled a voice mired and queer.“Your tone. What happened?” Little Red said austere. “Just the flu sweet child, come closer” She said as she  gestured. “Your teeth grandmother. They've gone and festered.”
“All the better for eating you, my dear.” Little Red's eyes widen in panic, and she was filled with fear.

Just then wood splintered and crashed. The guard from earlier reappeared in a flash. The creature turned and it attacked. It's claws were menacing and it's aim was exact. Everything ended with a spear to it's chest. The creature was slain and later put to rest. Little Red thanked the guard, and then cried for her grandma. Only when she spotted her basket from earlier, did her expression change from sad to awe. She reached inside and withdrew a small green plant. “May this thyme grant me courage now that my grandmother can't,”  said the twelve year old girl, quietly in her head. Little Red pondered who her surrogate family could be, and came up with only despair and dread.

title: Once Upon Some Thyme

question: What does the story say what is the main event of the story?

answer: The main event of the story is a young girl walking down a brick path late at night who is attacked by a monster.

critique: It is omitted that the creature eventually attacks the guard who comes to the girl's aid and is killed. The girl returns to her home.

critique: "Later put to rest" is a phrase that can be omitted.

critique: It is omitted that the girl is attacked by a monster disguised as her grandmother.

critique: The answer should mention the guard's intervention.

critique: There is no evidence that the girl is attacked by a monster.

critique: The answer does not mention the guard who saves the girl.

critique: The detail about the path is irrelevant and should be omitted.

critique: The story is not just about the girl being attacked by the monster.

critique: Breaking point between narrative arc and main event is unclear.

critique: This answer is too vague and needs to be more specific.

critique: It's omitted that the monster is her grandma.

critique: The answer omits that the monster is her grandmother.

critique: "The main event of the story is a young girl walking down a brick path late at night who is attacked by a monster." - misses to mention why the girl was attacked. The monster was planning to eat the girl after it killed her grandmother.

critique: It is wrongly stated that the girl was attacked by a monster.

question: What does the story say about the grandmother's character?

answer: The narrator in not very clear about the grandmother's character as the story quickly changes to Little Red's escape from a creature which wants to eat her alive.

critique: The story is more about the grandmother than Little Red.

critique: The switch to Little Red's escape is not a critiqued element of the story.

critique: It is omitted that the grandmother's face is covered in fur and her teeth are rotten. She also wants to eat Red alive.

critique: This is not a relevant response to the question, and should be re-written.

critique: This makes it sound like the grandmother attacks Little Red, which is not the case.

critique: I added information about the grandmother.

critique: "The narrator in not very clear about the grandmother's character as the story quickly changes to Little Red's escape from a creature which wants to eat her alive." - this answer is confusing. It needs to be rewritten.

critique: The grandmother's character is not relevant to the story.

critique: The story does not actually change to Little Red's escape from a creature that wants to eat her.

critique: The grandmother is not the one who wants to eat Little Red.

critique: The answer should mention the grandmother wanting to eat the girl.

critique: The story is clear about the grandmother's character.

critique: The grandmother is not a monster; she is the monster.

text: Nothing is said about the grandmother's character

refinement: The narrator in not very clear about the grandmother's character as the story quickly changes to Little Red's escape from a creature which wants to eat her alive.


split: train

text:
I'm an odd memory in most minds.  Like a harrowing communal conscience of migratory birds or a sea breeze that took a train to the prairies and is seen walking along the street.  I suppose I'm a sort of stationary, a figment used to paint a portrait of understanding but this is really strange since I am not at all like a brush or ladle or roller or whatever would make sense to paint something.  I've been a transient congested throat in days gone by.  I swam from seashores to deep blue waters and sailed away.  All in all I think I've had things pretty good up until now.  But right now I feel like a bag of squeezed lemons left to rot, like I've gone through a garlic press alongside the garlic, I feel like I can't even like this situation and I really wanted to like it.

Let me clarify.

I believe in god about as much as I believe in myself.  If you get to know me you'll find I don't believe in myself that much.  But if you get to know me better you'd know that I've met him.  I'm not saying him in that god is male it's just that calling him *it* seems strange and it's a default.  With that in mind it was a day just like today with me on a stage but I was in the middle of a wheat field and opera singers dressed as vikings were scattered around looking for cues, lines and presumably marbles in the dirt.  It hit me that I shouldn't be there, I was supposed to be somewhere else but I felt if I left now to I would likely be eaten or worse, stood on, read then knocked around by the vikings.

It was at this point that god pulled up in a brand new jeep made out of a thunderstorm and waved his arms in a motion that very distinctly triggered a perhaps unbelievable but entirely real sense that he was god and I should get on his thunderstorm-jeep-of-love to ride away to eternal safety and abundance.  So I hopped up onto the cloud and into the passenger seat.  He looked at me in a way only god could with eyes as deep as artesian wells, with a sort of sisyphean tenure gained only after watching over everything for ten times eternity and then started speaking with a very plain voice.

"Would you like to take the wheel?" he asked and I didn't really want to but this was sort of troubling because.... why would anyone turn down an offer from god and he said "It's alright, with the exception of your neighbor nobody has actually wanted to drive the thunderstorm the first time meeting me.  In general it is an odd question to ask, isn't it?"

I smiled politely.

Then he said "Alright here's the deal.  You get three questions answered.  Anything in the realm of conceivable knowledge of the infinity that is me.  Three of them.  Just ask whenever and I'll answer but when I answer the last one you will die."

"What!? Why?" I blurted out of shock as he looked at me.  I looked right back at those constellations within constellations within a walmart parking lot folded over into itself and back out towards the sunrise.

I smiled realizing the game was ruined and asked "Are you serious?"

Then he laughed, we drove a short while in silence and he dropped me off a block away from home still a little agitated by his interactions with my neighbor the week before.

"You can't screw this up by just asking silly off the top of your mind questions.  Here is my email address.  Send your questions there and I'll have an answer for you written out within a day or two." god said as plainly as before from inside his thunderstorm with the window rolled down while gesturing blindly in the air to make a point or sign what he was saying but it was entirely lost on me.  He could tell by my glazed look it was time to go so he simply said "Get a job" and drove off.

So now.  Slightly but not entirely glazed in circumstance I am struggling with this interaction.  I can know anything in the universe via email at the cost of my life.  I don't really have a desire to acquire knowledge or a need for something like this... so here I am a bag of lemons staring off at the sky like it is staring back in part of that endless crashing gaze of god wondering what the hell I should do with myself.  Aside from getting a job.

title: I've been writing a lot of poetry for a while but then I started reading Richard Brautigan and his stuff made me want to try short stories.  Here is my attempt at something weird and relatively short.

question: What does the story say about the location of the story?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention the setting of the story.

critique: The answer should state that the narrator is in a wheat field.

critique: The story does not mention the location of the story.

question: What does the story say about the narrator?

answer: The narrator is an odd memory in most minds. It is a figment used to paint a portrait of understanding but the narrator isn't a brush or a roller. He has had many experiences, good and bad. He is not a part of any permanent state but is a transient. He has been a sea breeze that took a train to the prairies, a memory, and a congested throat. He believes in God but he doesn't believe in himself. Heaven seems to be a place he's been to before.

critique: The story doesn't say the narrator has been to heaven before.

critique: The narrator is not a part of any permanent state.

critique: The narrator isn't a memory in most minds. He's not a part of any permanent state either.

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

critique: The narrator might not go to heaven. ' became a sea breeze'.

critique: The narrator is not a part of any permanent state but is a transient. He has been a sea breeze that took a train to the prairies, a memory, and a congested throat. He believes in God but he doesn't believe in himself. Heaven seems to be a place he's been to before.

text: It is omitted that the narrator does not know what to do with himself and that he has no job.

category: coverage

question: What does the story say about God?

answer: God is a man who drives a jeep made out of a thunderstorm. He has deep eyes and a plain voice. He offers the narrator three questions answered. Anything in the realm of conceivable knowledge of the infinity that is him. The narrator can ask anything, but when he answers the last question, he will die. God drops the narrator off a block away from home.

critique: The narrator doesn't know that God is a man.

critique: The answer should mention that God is the narrator's neighbor.

critique: The answer should mention the deal God offers.

critique: Doesn't mention willing to give the narrator eternal abundance and safety.

text: God is not a man.

category: accuracy

question: What does the story say about God's deal with the narrator?

answer: God offers the narrator three questions answered. Anything in the realm of conceivable knowledge of the infinity that is me. Three of them. Just ask whenever and he'll answer. However, when he answers the last one, the narrator will die.

critique: The narrator isn't dying when he answers his last question, he'll die when God answers his last question. The detail about death should be omitted.

critique: The narrator wants to know why he has to die when he asks the last question.

critique: The narrator is not sure if he wants to ask the questions.

critique: The narrator is struggling on what to do with the deal. They don't have a desire or a need to ask the questions.

critique: The narrator doesn't know what to do with the deal.


text:
The Civilized

Pushed out into the dusty arena, Kuru looked around. A roaring crowd surrounded him, but he couldn’t understand a word. Though they obviously weren’t cheering for his victory, they’re cheering for his sacrifice.

Rewind, this isn’t where the story begins.

In shackles Kuru shuffled along one of the famed roads that lead to Rome, as all the roads did. All the beaten and bruised men of different coloured skin shambled along the road led by the soldiers.

Kuru heard someone speak something in front of him. He realized that the words were in a language he didn’t understand. Then he heard the voice cry out in pain. The line of men didn’t slow down at the cry though, they kept marching.

Rewind further, something’s still missing.

His daughters tanned skin, his wife was teaching her how to work leather. Kuru was watching them as he sharpened his scythe. He smiled, the scene made him remember the times he spent learning from his father. The proper way to sharpen an edge, the best way to swing a blade, his father taught him the right way to do things.

Kuru would work in their family’s field with his father and they would talk. That’s where Kuru first learned of Rome; the wondrous city, the running water, the books of letters, of laws and democracy.

His memories were interrupted by a scream, then another.

Kuru stood up just in time to greet a trio of soldiers as they entered his home, swords already drawn. He saw a flash of iron and was barely able to dive out of the way as the sword came down where he had just been smiling.

He got to his feet as his family screamed again. The solider that flashed the iron stood between him and his family as the other two soldiers grabbed his wife and daughter and took them from their home.

Kuru was confused, scared and angry, but mostly confused. He didn’t know what was happening. He took a step towards the women he loved but had to jump back to avoid being struck by the iron blade.

Kuru had never fought a man, but now he had no choice. Gripping his scythe, he swung attempting to cut the soldiers legs down, but the soldiers bronze leggings stopped the blade short of flesh.

Pulling back his scythe, Kuru looked at the man’s face. A smile was on his lips as he swung his sword again, narrowly missing Kuru’s shoulder.  Kuru regained his balance in time to catch the soldier’s fist in his stomach.

His breath was driven from his lungs. He panicked, his mouth reached for air as he fell to the ground, scythe fleeing his hands. He heard the solider speak, “Roma Invicta” right before he felt the hilt of the sword on the back of his head.

Fast forward through the chained march with strangers, a march that lead him to the city he had dreamed about, and ended with him entering into the largest building he had ever seen.

 Fast forward to after the sword and shield had been forced into his hands and he was shoved into a dusty arena, surrounded by more people he had ever seen, screaming in a language he didn’t understand.

The sword in his hands felt heavy and as foreign as the words that the people were shouting. He stepped in a circle, seeing a spectacle that he couldn’t have imagined, Rome.

While Kuru didn’t understand the words spoken he could read the faces. They grimaced as they spat angry syllables at him. Fists were directed at him, thumbs pointed downward, fingers sliced throats as he looked at their eyes. Hate, anger, evil was the language they spoke.

He feared the mob that surrounded him, prayed that they would be held back by the massive structure.

Kuru cringed as the crowd erupted, even louder than they had been, deafening him.

A man in a gleaming golden suit of armor stepped out from behind a gate. His muscles rippled beneath the metal, his chiseled face shown only one blemish, a scar from his hairline to his chin.

Slowly the earsplitting noise organized into a chant of ‘Spartacus’, their hero, their God. When the man raised his sword in response to their love for him the crowd’s chant devolved back into a thunderous roar.

Kuru was at a loss, the sword and shield hung limply at his sides as he watched the spectacle. The scene seemed like a dream to him, no a nightmare.

Spartacus, their God, lowered his sword and pointed it in the direction of Kuru who looked to his sides, behind him, looked for what was being pointed at. Then he recognized it was himself. He began to tremble as the people’s idol began an effortless run at him.

Kuru was shocked that he was able to get his shield up in time to deflect a blow from being delivered. He thought the force that was delivered may have broken his arm through the metal that protected it.

The world broke into flashes of metal on metal, pain and blood.

Kuru’s body burned, his chest heaved, blood and sweat dripped from his frame as Spartacus paused to rally his supporters. Even Kuru marveled at what seemed to be a marble carving of a man glistening with perspiration, standing merely feet away with his back turned.

Time slowed for Kuru. He breathed in a breath that felt like ice as the peoples God turned, thrusting his sword into Kuru’s middle.

Kuru looked up into the cold eyes that held the sword. He was no God, he was a monster.

Falling to his knees Kuru looked to his chest, he saw blood leaking from around where the metal entered him. His hands trembled as they slowly reached up to the sharpened blade. In slow motion his fingers wrapped around the blade, red flowing from where they touched it, and pulling the sword out from whence it had entered.

Existence spun in Kuru’s eyes, the hard dirt hit his side. As the world faded to black Kuru heard the name of his reaper cheered.

So this is civilization, he thought.

title: The Civilized

question: What does the story say about how Kuru gets to the arena to fight?

answer: Kuru was chained up with a multitude of other beaten and bruised men, marched slowly into Rome. They must be prisoners of war, slaves, or both. He was summoned for sacrifice for being a prisoner of Spartacus. He held a sword and shield that were forced upon him. Kuru was terrified of the crowd as he walked into the arena.

critique: The answer should mention that Kuru was pushed into the arena.

critique: The answer says that Kuru was in chains because of Spartacus, which was inaccurate. Spartacus rallied the people by pointing in the direction of Kuru.

critique: The answer omits the detail that Kuru was first taken to Rome.

critique: The answer should mention that Kuru was forced to fight.

critique: The answer is a bit misleading. Kuru was not summoned for sacrifice for being a prisoner of Spartacus, but for being a prisoner of Rome.

critique: It is omitted that they are taken to the arena.

question: What does the story say about Kuru's fight with Spartacus?

answer: Kuru was pushed out into the dusty arena and realized that the crowd wasn't cheering for his victory, but for his sacrifice. He was shackled and surrounded by soldiers, but the memory of his family lives on. He was taught the proper way to sharpen an edge and how to swing a blade by his father. He was then interrupted by a trio of soldiers who entered his home, swords already drawn. The soldiers grabbed his wife and daughter and took them away. He was confused, scared, and angry but mostly confused. He was then forced into a sword fight with Spartacus, their hero, their God. Kuru was shocked that he was able to get his shield up in time to deflect a blow from being delivered. He thought the force that was delivered may have broken his arm through the metal that protected it. The world broke into flashes of metal on metal, pain, and blood. Kuru's body burned, his chest heaved, blood, and sweat dripped from his frame as Spartacus paused to rally his supporters. Even Kuru marveled at what seemed to be a marble carving of a man glistening with perspiration, standing merely feet away with his back turned. Time slowed for Kuru. He breathed in a breath that felt like ice as the people's God turned, thrusting his sword into Kuru's middle. Kuru looked up into the cold eyes that held the sword. He was no God, he was a monster.

critique: The answer has too little to do with the Spartacus fight.

critique: The response is a summary of the story and not about the fight with Spartacus.

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

critique: The response contains irrelevant information.

question: What does the story say about how Kuru feels about Rome?

answer: Kuru first learned about Rome from his father. He was fascinated by the city and dreamed of going there. He was excited to finally go to Rome, but he was shocked by the cruelty of the people there.

critique: It's omitted that Kuru was shocked by the cruelty of the people there.

critique: It's omitted that Kuru was horrified by the arena and the gladiator fight.

critique: The response doesn't need to say that Kuru was shocked by the cruelty of the people; it should just say that he was shocked by the mob that surrounded him.

critique: The part about Kuru's father and his fascination for Rome is irrelevant to the question.

critique: The response misses to mention that Kuru was shocked by the cruelty of the people there.

critique: The response should include that Kuru was excited to see the city but was then forced to fight in an arena.

question: What does the story say about what happens with Spartacus after the fight with Kuru?

answer: No answer

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

critique: The response misses to mention that Spartacus is cheered by the crowd.

critique: No information is provided about Spartacus' fate after the fight.

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

critique: This answer does not reveal anything about the rematch in the story.


text:
1984

Declassified documents from the CIA Inspector General begin with a heavily redacted 21 July 1984 cable to the National Security Council, stating that Gen. Gustavo Álvarez Martínez, head of the Honduras military, ordered the establishment of the 316th Military Intelligence Battalion (316 MI Bn).[1]

1987

Florencio Caballero was a former Honduran Army sergeant and interrogator until 1984. He stated that he had been trained by the Central Intelligence Agency,[2] which the _New York Times_ confirmed with US and Honduran officials. Much of his account was confirmed by three American and two Honduran officials and may be the fullest given of how army and police units were authorized to organize death squads that seized, interrogated and killed suspected leftists. He said that while Argentine and Chilean trainers taught the Honduran Army kidnapping and elimination techniques, the CIA explicitly forbade the use of physical torture or assassination.[3] Although it forbade torture and assassination on paper, the CIA knew it was happening in Honduras.[4] Indeed, the CIA helped train hundreds of Latin American dictatorships' police officers via both its infamous training manuals and the School of the Americas, now renamed the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation (WHINSEC).[5]

Caballero described the CIA role as ambiguous. "Caballero said his superior officers ordered him and other members of army intelligence units to conceal their participation in death squads from CIA advisers. He added that he was sent to Houston for six months in 1979 to be trained by CIA instructors in interrogation techniques.

“They prepared me in interrogation to end the use of physical torture in Honduras - they taught psychological methods,” Mr. Caballero said of his American training. “So when we had someone important, we hid him from the Americans, interrogated him ourselves and then gave him to a death squad to kill.”

"The C.I.A. had access to secret army jails and to written reports summarizing the interrogation of suspected leftists, according to Mr. Caballero and two American officials. The Americans also said the C.I.A. knew the Honduran Army was killing prisoners. The American officials said that at one point in 1983 the C.I.A. demanded the killings stop. In 1984, a C.I.A. agent was recalled from Honduras after a prisoner's relative identified him as having visited a secret jail, two American and one Honduran official said. According to Mr. Caballero, the agent was a regular contact between the interrogators and the C.I.A. Thus it seems likely that the C.I.A. was aware that killings were continuing.

1995

In 1995, "The special prosecutor for human rights brought charges in July against eight retired and two active-duty members of the armed forces for their role in the kidnapping, torture, and attempted murder in 1982 of six student activists.... They survived their captivity in a clandestine prison because two of those abducted were the daughters of a government official....With the exception of one suspect, those under investigation were connected with Battalion 3-16, a secret Honduran military unit whose members were instructed by and worked with CIA officials...Although Human Rights Watch/Americas has pressed for several years for an accounting of U.S. involvement, the Clinton administration did not take steps to begin to examine the complicity of the United States in Honduran abuses until 1995. In mid-June, CIA Director John Deutch began an internal review of the agency's relationship with the Honduran military during the 1980s. Deutch stated that the investigation, which he characterized as an “independent review,” would yield “new information” and “lessons about how not to do things while I'm director and in the future.”

Deutch's announcement came after _The Baltimore Sun_ published a four-part series in June on U.S. support given to the 316 MI Bn. _Sun_ staff correspondents Gary Cohn and Ginger Thompson obtained formerly classified documents and interviewed three former 316 Bn members to document the breadth and depth of the battalion's close relationship to the CIA. The _Sun_ series followed revelations in March that linked the CIA to serious human rights violations in Guatemala."[6]

He was removed from his post at the end of March 1984. According to the cable, a Honduran human rights group claimed the battalion was responsible for almost all disappearances. At first, the new military leadership was going to dissolve the battalion, but later decided to replace senior officers and keep it intact.

The CIA Inspector General investigator asked questions including whether any CIA employee was present during torture or hostile interrogation, and what was known about some disappearances and killings. It was also questioned if an employee lied to the House Intelligence Committee.

While the findings were heavily redacted, apparently one employee knew that torture had gone on, but not who was present. An individual was later identified, who denied participation. The Inspector General concluded there was no CIA participation in torture.

The IG did verify that a Honduran hostage rescue force had captured and executed one individual who had been freed under an amnesty; it was unclear from the report if he had rejoined an insurgency. Another case concerned Father James Carney, a priest who had renounced his U.S. citizenship, and died under questionable circumstances while being pursued by the HRF. He had been reported to be “cadaverous” and may have died of starvation, or may have been killed by the HRF. The IG concluded no US personnel had been involved with this HRF operation.

Further congressional inquiries generated more responses. It became clear that the HRF definitely executed some guerrillas, including the aide to the priest. The details were redacted, but there was some, but not conclusive, evidence that Father Carney had starved. The IG concluded the cause of his death is unknown.[7]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7] NSAEBB27-4

title: CIA activities in Honduras

question: Summarize the CIA activity in the Honduras in the year 1987.

answer: In 1987, a Honduran Army sergeant claimed that he had been trained by the CIA and that the head of the regiment ordered them to end the use of physical torture in Honduras. The interrogator said that the CIA forbade physical torture, but it knew that it was happening in Honduras.

critique: It misses to mention that the interrogator said he was sent to Houston to be trained by CIA instructors in interrogation.

critique: The account is further corroborated by three American and two Honduran officials

critique: It is omitted that the CIA also forbade assassination.

critique: The answer should mention the death squads.

critique: "The interrogator said that the CIA forbade physical torture, but it knew that it was happening in Honduras." - is extra information that isn't central to the question. Delete.

critique: The text includes a lot more detail than the answer provides.

critique: The response is missing the information where the sergeant was trained and how the CIA knew it was happening.

critique: The interrogator was a former Honduran Army sergeant, not the head of the regiment.

critique: This is not the only thing that happened in 1987.

critique: The interrogator also said that the CIA forbade the use of torture and assassination in Honduras.

critique: It is omitted that under the command of the Honduran military, interrogation and killing were carried out while using psychological methods and not physical torture.

critique: The interrogator's name is Florencio Caballero.

critique: The response failed to mention the fact that the CIA knew about the human rights violations.

critique: Caballero said CIA forbade "physical torture or assassination" so he's probably talking about two different things

question: What does the text say about US-Honduran relations?

answer: In CIA documents from the Inspector General there is a cable originally sent to the National Security Council 21 July 1984 that details their establishment of the 316th Military Intelligence Battalion. In 1987 Florencio Caballero said he had been trained by the C.I.A. which was later corroborated by two American and three Honduran officials.

critique: The response should include further detail from the text to cover the rest of the relationship between the US and Honduras.

critique: Does not mention the fact that the CIA knew it was happening.

critique: The text also mentions the discovery of these actions in 1995.

critique: The text also expresses that the CIA was involved with Honduran activities during the 1980s, which makes Caballero's claims more relevant to this task.

critique: The response misses to mention that the US-Honduran relations were not good.

critique: The answer is a summary of the article but it should mention the attitude of the U.S. towards Honduras.

critique: The answer does not give any information about US-Honduran relations.

critique: The answer should mention US-Honduran relations in general.

critique: The answer should mention the allegations of human rights violations.

critique: The answer should mention the actions of the US and Honduras.

critique: It misses to mention the charges made against the CIA for the actions of the Honduran military.

critique: The response misses to mention the CIA's role in the death squads in Honduras.

critique: The CIA training and death squads history should ideally be integrated into this answer in order to fully describe US-Honduran relations.

critique: The response misses to mention the US-Honduran relations in the 1980s and the US government's involvement in the country.

question: Describe a precedent for the Us-Honduran relations in the 1980s and 1990s.

answer: The U.S. military fought a war in Honduras in 1916. This may have had some bearing on the decisions that were made in regards to the Honduran coup d'état in the 1980s.

critique: This is not a precedent for the U.S.-Honduran relations in the 1980s and 1990s

critique: There is no evidence that the U.S. military fought a war in Honduras in 1916.

critique: There is no precedent or related information in the response

critique: The answer is unrelated to the question.

critique: The answer is not related to the question.

critique: "The U.S. military fought a war in Honduras" - never happened. The U.S. military never fought in Honduras. The reason given is too vague. This can be omitted.

critique: This is not a precedent for the relations between the U.S. and Honduras.

critique: Honduras doesn't become a U.S. territory until 1919.

question: Summarize how two perhaps-innocent people are thought to have been killed in error due to the actions of the CIA.

answer: A priest and a former secret service agent were the targets of a covert hostage rescue mission in which the CIA and HRF were involved. Combining this with interference from the special prosecutor for human rights, and not being able to get more information about what was happening, it's possible to get to a use and/or misuse of authority that killed innocent people.

critique: The priest and secret service agent were not killed in error.

critique: The second sentence is confusing and unnecessary.

critique: The response is not related to the question.

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

critique: The line about the special prosecutor is unattested

critique: The answer does not mention the deaths of the two students.

critique: The response is unrelated to the question and needs to be re-written.

critique: It is not stated that the priest was a former secret service agent.

critique: A special prosecutor for human rights is mentioned in the first sentence, and his involvement against the CIA is described in the second sentence. This is incorrect, however, because the special prosecutor isn't involved in the deaths of people. The answer makes him seem like the bad guy. Either remove the special prosecutor or mention his role.

critique: It was falsely blamed on the CIA that Father Carney was the victim of the HRF

critique: The answer is not related to the question.

text: There is no direct mention of a former secret service agent in the text.

refinement: A priest and a former secret service agent were the targets of a covert hostage rescue mission in which the CIA and HRF were involved. Combining this with interference from the special prosecutor for human rights, and not being able to get more information about what was happening, it's possible to get to a use and/or misuse of authority that killed innocent people.


text:
BULQIZË (, ) is the name of both a town and a municipality in Dibër County, eastern Albania. It was formed during the 2015 local government reform by the merger of the former municipality of Bulqizë with the adjacent municipalities of Fushë-Bulqizë, Gjoricë, Martanesh, Ostren, Shupenzë, Trebisht and Zerqan. The seat of the municipality is the town also called Bulqizë.[1] The total population is 31,210 (2011 census),[2] in a total area of 678.73 km².[3] The population of the former municipality at the 2011 census was 8,177.[4]

Bulqizë lies in the lower north-east of Albania and shares a border with Macedonia. The municipalities of Mati and Tirana lie to the west while at the south is the municipality of Librazhd. The administrative center is the town of Bulqizë with 16768 inhabitants. The locality has 1 municipality and 7 communes; Fushë-Bulqizë, Zerqan, Shupenzë, Gjoricë, Ostren, Trebisht and Martanesh and the town of Krasta with 5969 inhabitants. In both Bulqiza and Krasta are significant sources of chromium, which supports most of the economy of the area. Despite being rich in resources, the quality of life is very low and many live in poverty. Future economic development is currently centered on eco-tourism with the development of the new road of Arbëri it is expected to become a popular tourism destination

History

[Bulqiza and its chrome mine] The people of this region has always been a great example of resistance, against the enemy, Ottoman, Serbian, Italian and so on, because the valley of Bulqize is situated in a crossroad, and is the main entrance to go to the inner side of Albania. It is very famous the Battle of Vajkali Plain, (April 1465), Gjorica (1844),e Xixulla (1860), the spring of Mure (1921), etc. at the beginning of the Renaissance, the people of this region have fought and won against the army of Hajredin Pasha. Local people contributed to the historic events as the patriots of this region have been part of the declaration of Independence at 1912.

The people of Bulqize participated in the 2nd World War against the Italian and German invaders where 68 heroes sacrificed their life. The liberation found the country in a very deep poverty statement. The Communist Party took every piece of dignity, exchanging the promises for the great freedom and prosperity, in a long wild dictatorship. The people of Bulqiza remained very far away from his aspiration for freedom, democracy and prosperity, which had characterized it during every époque. At 1990, step by step, Bulqiza encouraged the creation of the private market and economy, the democratic forms of life, and again started to aspire the join of the European civilization.

Geographic position

Most of the area is surrounded by mountains, which range from 420 meters to 2101 meters in height. The town of Bulqizë and many of the surrounding villages rest in the valley of Bulqiza, which is 25  km long and 1  km wide. The valley harbors Bualli Pass at an altitude of 842 meters. The national road runs through the area connecting Burrel, Bulqizë, Peshkopi, and Macedonia. The gravel spring which feeds the Black Drini River also cuts through the valley.

Climate

The climate all around Bulqiza is continental, cold in winter and dry in summer. The valley is open from the east side and so, very weather-beaten. The medium degrees goes to 10 °C and the maximum until 35 °C in summer. During winter the lowest degree is –18 °C. the quantity of precipitation is 980 mm

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

title: Bulqizë

question: What does the text say about the history of the town of Bulqizë?

answer: The people of the region have always been a great example of resistance against the enemy, Ottoman, Serbian, Italian, and so on. The valley of Bulqize is situated in a crossroad, and is the main entrance to go to the inner side of Albania. It is very famous the Battle of Vajkali Plain, Gjorica, Xixulla, the spring of Mure, etc. At the beginning of the Renaissance, the people of this region have fought and won against the army of Hajredin Pasha. Local people contributed to the historic events as the patriots of this region have been part of the declaration of Independence at 1912. The people of Bulqize participated in the 2nd World War against the Italian and German invaders where 68 heroes sacrificed their life. The liberation found the country in a very deep poverty statement. The Communist Party took every piece of dignity, exchanging the promises for the great freedom and prosperity, in a long wild dictatorship. The people of Bulqiza remained very far away from his aspiration for freedom, democracy, and prosperity, which had characterized it during every époque. At 1990, step by step, Bulqiza encouraged the creation of the private market and economy, the democratic forms of life, and again started to aspire the join of the European civilization.

critique: The text does not mention the 2nd World War.

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

critique: The text says nothing about the people of the region being a great example of resistance against the enemy.

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

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

critique: Parts of the response were changed to form a coherent and well-written summary. The parts of the text that describe resistance or the places where that resistance took place were removed.


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

title: A series of stories

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

answer: The narrator is very sensitive to touch, and loud noises make her cry. She also wears her clothes inside out.

critique: The response misses to mention that the narrator is also very energetic.

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

answer: The narrator and her friend were drawn whiskers on their faces.

critique: The answer does not mention that the narrator and her friend were dressed in a way that was not considered normal.

critique: The answer should mention that they were trying to be different.

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator and her friend were trying to be abnormal.

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

answer: His name was Alex

critique: The boy's name is not mentioned in the story.

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

answer: She sprays water on Ellie with a hose.

critique: "To me, it sounded like a realisation. His eyes were bright, and I’m sure that mine were shining with emotion. He hugged me to him once again, and I kissed his neck serenely." is evidence of how the guy feels when Ellie tells him she loves him. Include that in the answer.

critique: "She sprays water on Ellie with a hose." - add that she was laughing like a hyena.

critique: The answer should be a complete sentence.


text:
…and as he lay there against the wall, resting on a bed of pillows on the cold floor of a tiny bathroom, he knew it was time.
The rain beat steadily against the thin roof, like four thousand tiny hooves of a thousand tiny horses.  Or at least that’s how it sounded from the bed in the room below.  He’d always liked the rain; there was a sort of natural, chaotic peace that resonated in him. It was the sound of home.
	It was 1.37am on Wednesday and just like the week before and the week before that he couldn’t sleep.  The dog across the road was barking again, always at this time, always on a Wednesday.  He rose from the bed and approached the window.  Unsurprisingly there he was, the drunk. The same drunk that stopped to throw rocks at the dog every Wednesday. What a wonderful display of millions of years of evolution and thousands of years of culture.  He returned to his bed because he didn’t want to watch it again, there are only so many times you can watch a man get mauled by a dog.
	Thursdays had been hard recently, it’s difficult to concentrate on uninteresting things when you haven’t slept properly and don’t care to begin with. He rose from his cubicle chair and headed towards the break room. On his left was the coward, who watched her son get beaten on a daily basis. On his right was the boring man who was slowly siphoning company funds into his own private bank account and just ahead was the new one. He didn’t know her secret yet.
	The break room was a dull affair, bland coffee, cheap tea and chipped mugs.  The mistress was there, her whip wasn’t. She was one of the few people he liked, at least her secret didn’t hurt anyone…
	Friday, that day most people look forward to because the weekends near, but he didn’t. The weekend was no different, he just worked on personal things; shelves that needed repaired, chairs that needed sat in. You know the stuff.  The new girl was there today, she seemed like the hard working type. He wondered what she was hiding.
	Monday, he awoke again to the sound of rain and looking out the window he saw the new girl. It was her dog apparently. They smiled at each other at work. The drove home just behind each other but they both just got on with it, like everyone always does.
	And then it was Wednesday again, it was 12.23am when the barking started. The drunk was early tonight, maybe one less drink, maybe a new more heavy handed bouncer. Either way maybe this meant he’d get a decent night’s sleep.  The dog went quiet, and then the screaming started. Maybe this time the dog would finish him off.
	Thursday was unusual this week. He’d slept well.  He even had time to get a paper, he noticed new girl wasn’t there but the rest of them were. He sipped the shit coffee and began to flick through the paper. There she was, he wouldn’t be finding out her secret. Not from her. Strangled by a drunk, no witnesses but a confession and all for a good night’s sleep.
 	The rain beat steadily against the thin roof, like four thousand tiny hooves of a thousand tiny horses and as he lay there against the wall, resting on a bed of pillows on the cold floor of a tiny bathroom, he knew it was time. The paper was calling.

title: Subtract

question: What does the story say about the bar the drunk goes to?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the drunk goes to a bar to drink.

critique: The drunk throws rocks at the dog, so it can be inferred that he throws rocks at the bar.

critique: The answer should mention the drunk's routine.

text: It is not stated.

refinement: No answer

question: What does the story say about the narrator?

answer: The narrator doesn't seem to care about the days passing. He just listens to the sounds. His toughest days are Mondays and Thursdays. Mondays sound like rain. Thursdays were hard lately because he couldn't concentrate on uninteresting things. He likes Mondays because he seems like the type that is organized. He's not expecting things to change.

critique: There is no evidence to suggest that the narrator has organizational tendencies.

critique: The narrator doesn't seem to care about the days passing. He just listens to the sounds. His toughest days are Mondays and Thursdays. Mondays sound like rain. Thursdays were hard lately because he couldn't concentrate on uninteresting things. He likes Mondays because he seems like the type that is organized. He's not expecting things to change.

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

critique: The narrator is not described as organized or expecting things to change.

text:
-The answer omits that the protagonist sleeps in a tiny bathroom.
-The story does not say Mondays sound like rain. This is made up.

category: other

refinement: The narrator doesn't seem to care about the days passing. He just listens to the sounds. His toughest days are Mondays and Thursdays. Mondays sound like rain. Thursdays were hard lately because he couldn't concentrate on uninteresting things. He likes Mondays because he seems like the type that is organized. He's not expecting things to change.

category_text: Coverage and accuracy.

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

answer: No answer

critique: The response misses to mention the narrator's colleagues.

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

critique: The response misses to mention that the narrator's colleagues are the people he works with.

text: The answer should state that the protagonist's colleagues are the cowardly woman who watched her son get beaten daily, the boring man who was embezzling company funds into his private account, the mistress, and a new girl whom he didn't know much about.

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

answer: The narrator can't sleep because the drunk neighbor always throws rocks at the dog across the street on Wednesday and the dog would maul the drunk. His neighbor can't sleep either, because the drunk neighbor terrorizes the dog throughout the week.

critique: The neighbor doesn't throw rocks at the dog every Wednesday.

critique: The neighbor is not mentioned as being unable to sleep.

critique: The narrator's neighbor doesn't throw rocks at the dog.

critique: The narrator's neighbor is the new girl, not the drunk.

critique: 'a dog across the street' doesn't necessarily mean it is the narrator's neighbor's. It strikes me as funny that the narrator has a dog as a neighbor.

critique: The neighbor doesn't throw rocks at the dog, he throws them at the dog's owner.

text:
'His neighbor can't sleep either, because the drunk neighbor terrorizes the dog throughout the week.'
The neighbor the narrator refers to in the story is the drunkard that stays in the protagonist's neighborhood. There's no other neighbor mentioned in the story except the drunkard, so this is inaccurate.

refinement: The narrator can't sleep because the drunk neighbor always throws rocks at the dog across the street on Wednesday and the dog would maul the drunk. His neighbor can't sleep either, because the drunk neighbor terrorizes the dog throughout the week.


text:
Elder Jon sat before the fire at the center of his village. He was the last elder in his tribe to

carry the ancestral power. The magic that allowed him to summon the elements, change the weather,

and destroy the enemies of his people. He had been the most powerful of his people, now he was

the last.

Assassins had come in the night, cowards who hid themselves from the spirits with paint on their

faces. He forgave them though, they didn't have a choice. Sent forth to commit great crimes against the spirits on fear of death at the hands of their own elders if they failed. He also knew that this was a precursor to war. Many other tribes had been destroyed recently, and it always started with

similar tactics.

He had only survived himself because of the blessings of the spirits. He had been summoned by nature to relieve himself, and while he was out in the bushes, He caught sight of one of the assassins approaching his tent a mere stones throw away from where he stood. with just a thought the assassin was immobilized by the power of the air around him. It was a simple trick taught early to those blessed by the ancestors. Turn the air around a person as thick as stone. It required little effort and allowed him to make sure it was an enemy and not some fool child playing a prank. It was an enemy and it was exactly the last peoples he wanted to find sneaking into his camp at night.

Tonight he had to commune with his acestors and ask them what could be done to save his people. He

had to save his people. If it cost his life, if he himself would be sacrficed, he had to save his

people.

"Hello Jon."

His father was there before him, a shadow in the flames of the fire.

"Father," Jon started "Please help us. I am the last Elder left to defend our people, and I am certain that our enemies mean war. Is there anything that can be done to stop this? I will pay any price. My life means nothing if I cannot defend our people."

His father held a sad look as he stared down at Jon.

"There is only one thing that could be done, and it will cost much more than your life."

"What must I do?"

"You must seperate the world of the living and the world of the spirits."

"But then how will you protects us?"

"Some of us think that the time where we were needed has passed. We are no longer needed to protect you from the great beast, most of them now fear you. We are no longer needed to protect you from the floods since you found these plains. Now our presence hurts our peoples. The spirit worlds connection to the world of the living is what allows magic to exist in this world. It is what allows these powers that so many have abused of late to exist."

"But father, That price is just too much. How can you ask this of me?"

"Listen son, it may be the only choice. The greed of those with the power is too great, they wish to be the only ones with power, the only ones who words carry the weight of the spirits. They will destroy everybody to do it. You may not know this but Many of the peoples of the plains have already died. And more will continue to die, to satisfy these peoples blood lust, unless you do what must be done, it is possible that none of the peoples of the plains will survive."

"Yes father, tell me how this can be done and I will do it."

title: [OC]Tribal Prologue; The Book of Jon

question: What does the article say about magic?

answer: The magic that allows the elder to summon the elements, change the weather, and destroy the enemies of his people. The magic requires the elder to commune with his ancestors. The elder's father says that the spirit world's connection to the world of the living allows magic to exist in this world. The elder is the last elder to carry the ancestral power.

critique: The answer does not focus on the connection between magic, elder, and the spirit world, but on Jon's life. This should be fixed.


text:
An autumn tapestry lies before me. I approach this landscape of fading greens, subtle reds, and overbearing yellows. The ground squelches as my boots break the surface of the mud; it's still very much in the transition of solidifying after the late summer rain. The wind twists around the semi-dormant maples and stretches like elastic as it weaves through the dense wall of ash trees. What's left of the breeze binds itself around me and holds on.
	Rays of glistening sunlight peek through the cloak of powdery overcast. There's no happy medium of temperature; heat exists in the light, goosebumps in the shade. My path, pitted and trampled from years of use, follows along edge of a strong string of intersecting pines. At a point where the pines meet the path, an opening is made. The path continues past the aperture into a wide pasturage littered with goldenrod and burdock. The breeze picks up the goldenrod pollen and sends it dancing, twirling, twisting, and then off into the world.
	The path continues along, winding and weaving through the sea of soon-to-be hay, until it finally stops near a pile of long-dead logs. The logs were cut a few years back by my grandfather, but that’s as much as I know about them. I was back here last week, so the wood splitter is still here, but I didn't get much done. I have a problem with paying attention to what I'm doing. I'd like to say that it's nature's fault for being so damn beautiful, but I don't feel that way. I would just rather be somewhere else, although, I do like staring vacantly at the sky. Ever changing clouds distract me as they perform their celestial puppet shows. Above me, a quick nimbus fox jumps over the mammatus of the lazy dog. As the wind blows, the clouds dance and move; their movements close to identical, yet not. The more they’re pushed and pulled by the winds above, the more they morph. The quick fox changes to an anamorphic slug, slowly streaking across the sky.
	A nearby branch begins to shake, I give it no notice at first, but as the trembling continues, my attention is drawn. The rustling persists until a dry, crispy, brown leaf falls from branch, revealing a bluejay. The bird’s crested head tilts as it stares at me; we both stand motionless, staring at each other and waiting for the other’s reaction. His beaded eyes begin to widen and narrow and his talons wrap around the thin maple branch. A sudden flap of his sky blue wings sends the garrulous bird flying into the cold air and beyond.
	I turn back to my chore. The wood’s already cut into identical logs, although they still need to be split. I look down at the several colorful shades of brown and gray. Each strain has different qualities. Ash is easy to carry to the splitter, but maple is heavy and takes multiple attempts to lift. I tire pretty quickly the more wood I split. The warm air expelled from my lungs permeates the cold, creating a mass of haze that fogs my glasses.
	The wood screeches and cries as it’s forcibly divided, fiber by fiber, until it relents and splits apart. Some wood cries differently, their fibers held together tighter than others. The splitter snaps them regardless, only pausing momentarily while I provide it with more. Each piece is harder than the last. My muscles stretch with each lift, leaving them exhausted and drained. The sun position, directly above me, tells me it’s time for a well deserved break.
	I sit my weary body on top a fallen poplar, and unpack the lunch I carried. A small bunch of magnolia warblers fly by, their bumble bee-like bellies bouncing along the wind currents. Their melodies, comparable to a Mozartian piece, flutter down from the heavenly scene of altocumulus overcast. Ruby-throated hummingbirds weave their way in between the flying group of warblers, their wings flittering at magnificent speeds. I look in awe while chewing my slightly stale tuna fish sandwich. The moment the birds make their way behind the tall pines, and out of my sight, I finish it and walk back.
	The rather large pile of logs that once lay next to the splitter is gone and in its place are small remnants. The final cry of cracking wood echoes through the dense forest, proceeded by the near silent sound of sighing. Leaving the finished job behind, I make my way back. The path once again takes me through the gap of pines, the squelching sod, and the weaving winds. The rays that once cut through the clouds, now tries to make its way past the trees as its source begins to set. As the sun’s stream of shine loosens its grip on the land, the temperature drops. The once-subtle amount of fog left by my breath looks like smoke. I childishly hold my fingers up to my mouth and blow the smoke left in my lungs from my imaginary cigarette.
	I give a momentary glance back at where I’ve been. The walls of autumn-colored trees, the boot tracks in the mud, and the pile of perfectly split wood are all behind me. The path suddenly ends as I turn around and a door lies before me. I take one last deep breath of the chilled outdoor air, before heading inside, where a mug of hot cocoa waits for me.

title: Story I wrote in school: Splitting Wood. Tell me what you think. Enjoy.

question: What are the themes of this story?

answer: Autumn, nature, feeling lost, loneliness, and having a day to reflect on your life.

critique: The narrator is not lonely, but he does like to daydream.

critique: It misses to mention that the narrator is finding peace.

critique: "The moment the birds make their way behind the tall pines, and out of my sight, I finish it and walk back." is evidence that the narrator leaves the woods and heads home to have hot cocoa. Include this in the answer.

critique: The story is not about feeling lost or having a day to reflect on your life.

critique: There is not enough evidence to suggest that the narrator is feeling lost, lonely, and having a day to reflect on his life.

critique: "I childishly hold my fingers up to my mouth and blow the smoke left in my lungs from my imaginary cigarette." - I think the author is trying to convey something with this. I believe he is trying to show the themes of loneliness and confusion. It shows the theme of loneliness because while he is out in the wilderness, he is alone. I think the confusion comes from the fact that he can not focus. It is almost as if he is trying to have a day to reflect on his life, but he is at a lost to what it all means

critique: It's misleading to say that the narrator had a day to reflect.

critique: I think the themes should be replaced with ones the above answerer didn't list themselves

critique: The wording of this response is confusing and the themes aren't described very well.

critique: The story is not about feeling lost or lonely.

critique: The answer is mostly accurate, but it misses a few important points.

critique: "autumn, nature, feeling lost, loneliness, and having a day to reflect on your life" - only the third one accurately describe that there is a moment of looking inward at the conclusion of the story. Remove the other four quotes.

text: This is a story about paying attention to nature and its manifestations around you. The author seems to observe the natural phenomenon of autumn around him and marvels at its beauty.

refinement: Autumn, nature, feeling lost, loneliness, and having a day to reflect on your life.

question: Summarize the obstacles the main character faces throughout their day.

answer: Throughout the day, the main character faces several difficulties. The first obstacle the main character faces is their thoughts, acknowledging how easily they are to be distracted. At some point the main character becomes physically sore due to the chores they do, most of them involving lifting heavy logs. They also get hot, both from the sun and their own breathing. In the end though, most of the obstacles felt by the main character are from self-doubt and a sense of not measuring up, as well as when they start to wane in their self-confidence about being able to complete the job at a certain pace.

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

critique: The answer is not accurate. The main character never feels like they are not measuring up to the task.

critique: The answer is not related to the question.

critique: The response is vague and doesn't fully address the question.

critique: The second sentence of the response is inaccurate for the time period.

critique: The narrator's self-doubt and sense of not measuring up is not an obstacle.

critique: It is not stated that the main character becomes physically sore.

critique: Almost any of the previous points are entirely inaccurate in their details. "The first obstacle the main character faces is their thoughts." - this statement is not true. There is no evidence that the main character, the narrator, is the one thinking all of these things. The description about their awareness about the weather is mostly inaccurate. Logs are not heavy, and there is not a prescribed "pace" at which the wood needs to be split.

critique: The answer is not relevant to the question.

critique: This answer is incorrect and doesn't describe the obstacles the main character faces in the story.

critique: insufficient mention of physical obstacles in the response

critique: There are no hints that the main character feels that they don't measure up or wane in their self-confidence.

critique: This response is inaccurate and does not answer the question.

text: The main character is distracted by his observation of nature, being mesmerized by the beauty around him. The narrator's thoughts stayed his hands from working - acknowledges this fact by commenting on his lack of attention on his task. He was also tired from the exertion on his work, which is splitting wood. He commented that the work was getting harder as time passes by.

refinement: Throughout the day, the main character faces several difficulties. The first obstacle the main character faces is their thoughts, acknowledging how easily they are to be distracted. At some point the main character becomes physically sore due to the chores they do, most of them involving lifting heavy logs. They also get hot, both from the sun and their own breathing. In the end though, most of the obstacles felt by the main character are from self-doubt and a sense of not measuring up, as well as when they start to wane in their self-confidence about being able to complete the job at a certain pace.

question: What sort of person enjoys this work, which exists in solitude and is physically arduous?

answer: The narrator, as shown in their attention to the magnolia warblers and their willingness to put up with some discomfort for the sake of remote engagement.

critique: The narrator is not the only person who enjoys this work.

critique: - their willingness to put up with some discomfort for the sake of remote engagement (could be removed)

critique: The narrator is not necessarily the person who enjoys this work.

critique: There is no evidence that the narrator is a person.

critique: The magnolias are really just detail that's nice to see while he takes a moment to breathe. You can argue magnolias have to do with the hummer birds and not really anything else, so an answer could fit their presence

critique: Theoretically, to translate the 'the other birds' part into a proper noun would do it justice.

critique: This is not a very good argument. The narrator is not a person who enjoys this sort of work.

critique: This response is too specific. It would be better to say that it may be someone who enjoys the outdoors and nature.

critique: It's not clear if the narrator is male or female.

critique: "Ruby-throated hummingbirds weave their way in between the flying group of warblers," is evidence that the author is fascinated by birds. Rewrite the response to take this into account.

critique: The narrator is not the only one who enjoys the work.

critique: The answer misses the fact that the narrator is a poet because he gets distracted by nature.

text: We do know that the narrator enjoys this kind of work, but the response fails to tell us other kinds of people who might enjoy this type of work.

refinement: The narrator, as shown in their attention to the magnolia warblers and their willingness to put up with some discomfort for the sake of remote engagement.

question: What does this story say about the main character (the narrator)?

answer: The narrator has an affinity for timeless beauty in nature, unlike paying attention to his work (the wood cutting of an arbor that his grandfather left for him). After a tiring task that has taken hours, he is grateful for the hot cocoa inside his homestead waiting for him. He has a craving for a sweet treat after a long day of work. The narrator seems okay with appreciating the beauty of small things (the song of birds) in life.

critique: The pumpkin spice cocoa was meant to be cocoa powder and milk.

critique: This is not a critique, but it should be noted that the cocoa waiting for the narrator is not hot.

critique: The rarity of the robin does not justify the presence of the bird in the narrator's life.

critique: It is not stated that the narrator has a craving for a sweet treat after a long day of work.

critique: The narrator's appreciation of the beauty of small things is not the same as being okay with appreciating the beauty of small things.

critique: The narrator's appreciation of small things is not relevant.

critique: It implies that the narrator is male, which isn't clear from the story.

critique: This is not a good summary of the story.

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

critique: The narrator's grandfather was not the one who left the woodcutter for him.

critique: The source of flavor for the cocoa is unclear.


text:
[]
Friday

Sep 7, 2018 at 5:00 AM

Mathew Gunkel, of Mount Laurel, was recognized as the national "Hero of the Year" by his company for his work with fellow Mount Laurel resident, Dominic Sutton.

MOUNT LAUREL — Mathew Gunkel grabbed the blue bicycle sitting outside the door of Dominic Sutton’s home and wheeled it over to him in front of the driveway. Despite the fact that it was over 90 degrees outside, Dominic’s face lit up and Gunkel, his pediatric nurse, began to unstrap him from his wheelchair.

The bike, which is an adaptive one to accommodate the 16-year-old who has cerebral palsy, was purchased thanks to Gunkel’s fundraising efforts, something he did on top of his daily care and work with the Mount Laurel resident.

As they rode around Dominic’s house on Wednesday, Dominic did most of the pedaling, while Gunkel ran behind him, playing music and keeping a hold on it.

“This is pretty usual,” said Gunkel, also of Mount Laurel, laughing as he wiped the sweat from his face after the hot September ride was over.

Gunkel’s work, however, is anything but usual, according to his company, Bayada and his colleagues.

That’s why he was recognized as the National Registered Nurse Hero of the Year by Bayada Home Health Care. This is the second year in a row the national award was given to a nurse from Burlington County.

“As a nurse, you can't compare him to anyone,” said Chantel Denny, Bayada’s clinical educator and Gunkel’s supervisor. “I couldn't think of a better person to receive that award — just knowing all that he went through with Dominic and then to receive that recognition, I was just so happy for him.”

He was chosen from thousands of nominees across the country, Bayada officials said in a statement, for “exemplifying the highest standards of care.”

The Sutton family nominated him for the award after seeing his dedication, care and help that he’s provided their son for about the last six years.

“Mat gives Dominic the attention that a boy his age deserves and wants,” David Stratton, Dominic’s father, said.

His mother, Joanne, highlighted the fact that Gunkel consistently goes above and beyond for her son’s care.

“Mat raised the money because he knew the bike was going to be beneficial for Dominic,” she said. “How do you thank somebody for doing that? How do you let them know how much you appreciate them?”

Going above and beyond is something Denny spotlighted as well, especially after Dominic was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

“I just remember Mat — all the training that he went to when Dominic was diagnosed as a diabetic on his own free time and then taking the time to train all the new nurses coming in here (to work with Dominic),” Joanne Stratton said.

For Gunkel, all of that was just a part of his everyday life in the career he loves.

“It's also really amazing to be able to work with him — he has some complex medical needs and it's challenged me outside of things that I've known,” Gunkel said. “It's really kind of forced me to go out and go to symposiums and get my hands on new literature and bring that back to the family and bring that back to the nursing team and so it's been rewarding as a nurse as well as a person working with Dominic.”

Besides just providing him care, Gunkel said he also likes that he can relate to some of the challenges and emotions Dominic is going through as a teenager.

“It's really rewarding to be able to relate to him and talk to him about the struggles he's going through as a teenager, which is why I go out and I play angsty, angry music and ride around on his bike and let him blow off some steam,” he said. “That means a lot to me because I know what it meant to me as a kid, to get on a bike and ride around with a friend and burn off steam.”

Receiving the award from his colleagues meant a lot to Gunkel.

“We work to be happy and to find purpose in life, and I think the people I work with have found that purpose because it shows through in things like the award that I received,” he said.

He even got a special surprise, thanks to his coworkers, who told him to come into the office because it was Dominic’s birthday.

“I'm coming into the office thinking that it's Dominic's birthday celebration so I'm like, ‘OK, they don't often have kids in for birthday celebrations, sometimes they do, but OK,’” he said. “I just pushed it to the side ... so I walk in a room and it's just like a whole bunch of people standing there (yelling), ‘surprise!’

"So I'm like, ‘Oh, it's a surprise for you (Dominic)’ and then they point up on the wall and it's ‘Congratulations Hero of the Year’ and I don't have words for it.”

question: Summarize what the text states about Gunkel's work.

answer: The text states that Gunkel is a pediatric nurse and has been working with Dominic Sutton for more than six years. Sutton is a 16-year-old with cerebral palsy who rides a bike and requires a special adaptive one. Gunkel went above and beyond to get Sutton a bike and was recognized as the National Registered Nurse Hero of the Year and the Sutton family nominated him for the award for helping. He raised money for the purchase of Sutton's bike and trained extra nurses for Sutton's care. He was admired for going above and beyond for Sutton and helping him with his type 1 diabetes. He also troubleshoots complex medical needs.

critique: The answer should mention that Gunkel's work is anything but usual.

critique: The text doesn't say he "troubleshoots complex medical needs"

critique: Replace 'raising' and 'train' for 'raise' and 'train'

critique: The sentence about the bike is irrelevant.

critique: Doesn't mention how he went above and beyond to help Sutton.

question: Will Mathew Gunkel continue to help other patients/residents at Mount Laurel?

answer: That information can't be found.

critique: It's not necessary to say "that information can't be found" as the answer should be clear.


text:
STOKVELS are invitation-only clubs of twelve or more people serving as rotating credit unions or saving schemes in South Africa where members contribute fixed sums of money to a central fund on a weekly, fortnightly or monthly basis. The name “stokvel” originated from the term “stock fairs”, as the rotating cattle auctions of English settlers in the Eastern Cape during the early 19th century were known.[1][2][3]

Stokvels generally have a constitution which dictates the size of the contributions, when the accumulated money is to be paid out and the roles and responsibilities of the members. Each month a different member receives the money in the fund, which was collected during that period. Defaults on contribution are quite rare as other members will know if you haven't paid your contribution, and also because the regular meetings are a reminder of what you will gain when it is your turn. Depending on the type of stokvels, the members can use the collected fund for their own use, for payment or investment purposes.

It is estimated that one in every two adult South Africans is a member of at least one of 800 000 stokvels. South Africans invest approximately R50 billion in stokvels a year.

Different Types of Stokvels

CONTRIBUTION STOKVELS
    Traditional savings scheme in which members contribute a fixed amount of money to a common pool weekly, fortnightly or monthly. Members would receive the lump sum on a rotational basis, and they are free to use the money for any purpose.

BASIC STOKVELS
    Differ from the contributions stokvel in that it functions as a savings scheme that pays out for specific events, such as for a death, or at Christmas.

GROCERY STOKVELS
    Collects the grocery or cash coupons that members receive from supermarket chains when they buy provisions for the stokvel parties throughout the year, and distributed these coupons at the end of the saving period.

PURCHASING STOKVELS
    Collects pool money on a regular basis and uses it to purchase big items that can be used by the group to generate an income for example, a marquee that could be rented out to the community for use on special occasions.

FAMILY STOKVELS
    Invest the pooled money in formal bank accounts or financial services. The money is paid out according to the needs of the family, but generally the funds are used for buying land or cars, for business investments, or for deposits on bank loans.

INVESTMENT GROUP
    Invests money in order to benefit from the interest. When an investment pays out, the money is split but, in some cases, part of it will be kept back for reinvestment.

PARTY STOKVELS
    Arranges street or jazz parties, often with live entertainment. An entrance fee is charged, and food and drink is sold. Members then share in the profits. Some of these stokvels have grown into sophisticated businesses

BORROWING STOKVELS
    Which loans money at high monthly interest rates (between 20% and 50%) to members and sub-members from its regular pool money.

Burial Societies

A burial society provides “informal insurance” to help families with the costs of a funeral in the event of a death. Burial societies also provide practical support for the family during the preparations; for example, by helping to prepare food. This is similar to a stokvel, in that monthly fees are collected. However, the main difference is that periodical payouts are not made and new member can only benefit after a three-month waiting period.

Burial societies are invariably intended for poorer and less educated people. Burial societies can be seen as the product of urban living and appear to have evolved in order to aid migrants from the rural areas who find themselves facing problems in a strange and hostile environment. In South Africa, the disadvantaged, and the poorer and less educated classes, have historically been black and coloured people. The burial societies help alleviate the expenses incurred when burying a loved one. It therefore comes as no surprise to find that burial societies tend to be more popular in these communities.

Benefits of joining a Stokvel

-   The peer pressure will force you to save.
-   Pooled money can earn better returns, at a lower cost. Banks offer higher interest rates on bigger amounts and banking costs are lowered (or in some cases, free) if the amount is large enough.
-   Some of the added benefits are a sense of community and socialising. Stokvel members traditionally meet regularly and make an occasion of the meetings.
-   You may learn something. Some stokvels operate like investment clubs and invest in the stock exchange or companies. Members do their homework, deliberate about which shares or companies to invest in and make investment decisions.
-   Knowing when you will receive a windfall amount makes it easier to plan your finances.
-   Reduces chances of savings being stolen if the money is moving rather than saving the money at home.

[1]

[2]

[3]

title: Stokvel

question: What does the text say about the popularity of stokvels?

answer: It is estimated that one in every two adult South Africans is a member of at least one of 800 000 stokvels. South Africans invest approximately R 50 billion in stokvels a year.

critique: The answer should mention the popularity of stokvels in the black and coloured communities.

question: Summarize the process of cattle auctions.

answer: Cattle auctions were rotating auctions of cattle. English settlers in the Eastern Cape during the early 19th century were known for holding cattle auctions.

critique: The answer should mention that the name "stokvel" comes from the term "stock fairs".

critique: The answer should mention that the name "stokvel" originated from the term "stock fairs".

critique: The answer should mention that the auctions were known as "stock fairs".

critique: The answer should mention that the term "stock fairs" is where the name "stokvel" originated.

critique: The answer is too vague. It should mention that the cattle auctions were known as stock fairs.

question: What are the main differences between types of stokvels?

answer: The main difference between the types of stokvels is the purpose of the group. Some groups are more concerned with food and entertainment, while others are more concerned with financial investment. The burial societies are more concerned with financial support during difficult times. The most common type of stokvel is the contribution stokvel, which is a group where members contribute a fixed amount of money to a common pool weekly, fortnightly, or monthly.

critique: Burial societies and family stokvels (the latter of which performs a similar function to burial societies) should be labeled as types of stokvels.


text:
This is the updated version of a short story I wrote a few years ago, and my first submission to this r/Shortstories. Tell me what you think? Also, apologies for the block of text, I have no idea how to format this shit.

**jello shot to the heart**

   In hindsight, everyone agreed that the party was well on its way to crashing and burning long before I did anything.

   Maybe that’s a good thing; if anyone had actually been enjoying themselves there, maybe the whole telenovela-get-this-shit-on-film level drama wouldn't have happened and I wouldn't be sitting on a 98 in Compositions right now. So good for me that the beer was excessively warm and light and the music was excessively Nicki and Miley. I might’ve wanted to cut off an ear at the end of the night (a la van Gogh, obviously. If you’re going to self-mutilate, at least make it classy), but at least *I* got something good out of it.

   In hindsight, everyone also agreed that Kevin and Lindsay were also well on their way to crashing and burning; honestly, more of us were surprised that their relationship had lasted the 6 months that it did. Who would've thought that the ~~entitled douche~~ confident extrovert of a senior with a fake ID and a winning smile would've cheated on her the minute she left town for a family reunion? Or that the already high-strung, already drunk girl would take it…less than well when she found out?

   It got bad.

   I’m a writer and I don’t think I could’ve come up with such colorful comparisons to barnyard animals and washed-up celebrities, or suggestions quite so anatomically improbable. The fact that there were so many shot glasses around, and that Lindsay was the star pitcher for the girls’ softball team, just made everything worse, along with the fact that Kevin’s “bros” were just as eager to see this shit go down as everyone else. So yeah. In hindsight, there was no way this could’ve ended well.

   Of course, you can’t blame me for not exactly trying to stop them. These were words that needed to be said. Maybe without the hurled shot glasses and curse words as punctuation, but hey, you can’t have it all, right? So maybe I had been the one to make sure Lindsay got sufficiently drunk, less “I looove you, man” and more “YOU WANNA FUCKING GO?!” drunk. So maybe I had been the one to dig up his incriminating status report and show it to her (and that’s his own damn fault for even posting it to Facebook, private or not). So maybe I dragged Kevin away from his beer pong and told him that Lindsay was looking for him, and no, nothing’s wrong, man, just head to the patio. I wasn’t doing anything but hastening the inevitable and making it a bit more entertaining to watch for the rest of us.

   What?

   Don’t look at me like that, all right? I was desperate – when your well-intentioned but woefully out-of-touch Comps teacher tells a group of introverted, Kafka-reading, notebook-carrying types to write about a failed relationship, don’t expect much first-hand knowledge. Of course my parents have the indecency to be in a loving, stable, relationship, and I’m not exactly beating off the ladies with a stick – for once, I had absolutely nothing to work with. So when the chance came to break a happy couple apart, I grabbed onto it as if it was my last chance at survival, and more importantly, a 4.0. That’s just how it is.

   Am I proud of what I did? Not exactly; engineering someone’s romantic downfall solely to boost my grade another 3% isn’t the highest on my life’s list of achievements (maybe 15th? 14th?)

   I mean, it *was* a damn good essay.

   And I stopped that relationship from reaching its inevitable conclusion on a Lifetime movie special.

   And really, I don’t remember regretting any part of my decision that night, the bitter taste in my mouth quickly being replaced by the even more bitter taste of cheap beer.

   …In hindsight, maybe I am just a little proud after all.

title: [RF?HM?] jello shot to the heart (afterparty remix)

question: What are the justifications given by the narrator for taking part in destroying a friend's romantic relationship?

answer: The narrator is a student who needs a good grade for his compositions class. He is also an introvert who doesn't have any romantic experience to write about. He sees a chance to make his compositions paper better by engineering a breakup between Kevin and Lindsay.

critique: The narrator's justification for engineering the breakup is omitted.

critique: The narrator seems to be a young man, not a student.

critique: This is false--the narrator isn't an introvert, he just prefers to be this way--indeed, he kind of rates his extrovert nature


text:
[]

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Because of our commitment, area drivers opt to visit us when it comes time for a new ride. Once you visit our team, that's something you'll see first-hand. Better yet, you'll find you've discovered your friend in the automotive industry for the miles ahead.

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Each member of our team takes pride in what they do. Whether it be a salesperson or a trained technician. You'll find a dedication to customer service unlike any other at our dealership. The last thing we want is for you to leave our dealership feeling underwhelmed, or even worse, disappointed. To avoid that, we offer a team who are prepared to listen to your automotive wants and needs in order to help you find a solution to any problems you may have.

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When you opt to shop our pre-owned inventory, you can get a model from your favorite auto manufacturer. Better yet, because we inspect each of our offerings heavily, you'll know it's something that you can count on for miles to come.

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Visit Our New Volvo Dealership Today

If it's time for an automotive change, visit our dealership. Once you experience our vast inventory and friendly staff, you'll be glad you took the time to see our new Volvo dealership in Knoxville.

question: What does the text say about used cars?

answer: The text says that the dealership stocks a large variety of used cars from a number of different manufacturers to fit the needs of customers. They inspect each of their offerings heavily to ensure that customers can count on them for miles to come.

critique: The answer should mention that the dealership offers financing for used cars.

critique: The text doesn't say a number of different manufacturers. Instead it says a variety of types.

critique: The answer should mention that the dealership offers used cars.

critique: The answer should mention that the dealership also offers used Volvo cars.

critique: The answer should mention that the dealership offers used cars as an alternative to buying new.

critique: The answer should mention that used cars are a good option for those who cannot afford a new Volvo.