text:
WENTWORTH is a township municipality in the Laurentides region of Quebec, Canada, part of the Argenteuil Regional County Municipality, north-west of Lachute.

Its population centres are Louisa and Dunany.

Geography

[Louisa] The township is in the foothills of the Laurentian Mountains, not exceeding above sea level, with a rocky, sandy, gravelly soil that is not conducive to agriculture. However, much of the land was cleared by early Irish settlers for farming and there remains small pockets of pastures along the Dalesville River, especially in the Glen and around the town center. It is dotted with many lakes, such as Curran, Black, McDougall, Rainbow, and most notably Lake Louisa - the largest lake in the Regional County. These lakes attract many cottage vacationers and fishing enthusiasts.[1][2]

The headwater of the Dalesville River, the largest river in Wentworth, begins at the outlet of Barrows Lake on the western edge of the municipality and meanders for approximately 12 km through the municipality.

History

The Gale and Duberger map of 1795 already shows the Wentworth Township, but it was not officially established until 1809.[3] It is unclear if it is named after a village in York County, England, or that it is a tribute to Sir John Wentworth (1737-1820), Lieutenant Governor of Nova Scotia from 1792 to 1808.[4]

Around 1830, a group of settlers composed of Irish and French Canadians, began clearing the rough land with difficulty. In 1845, the Gore Municipality was established, which included the Gore and Wentworth Townships, but it was abolished two years later. In 1855, the Wentworth Township Municipality was formed.[5]

In 1914, a small portion of the Wentworth and Montcalm Townships separated and formed the Municipality of Lac-des-Seize-Îles,[6] and in 1958, Wentworth lost a large chunk of its territory when the Municipality of Wentworth-Nord separated.[7]

Demographics

Mother tongue:[8]

-   English as first language: 47.7%
-   French as first language: 47.7%
-   English and French as first language: 0.9%
-   Other as first language: 2.8%

Education

The Commission scolaire de la Rivière-du-Nord operates French-language public schools.[9]

-   École polyvalente Lavigne in Lachute

The Sir Wilfrid Laurier School Board operates English-language public schools:

-   Laurentian Elementary School in Lachute[10]
-   Laurentian Regional High School in Lachute[11]

[1]

[2]

[3]

[4]

[5]

[6]

[7]

[8]

[9] “Trouver une école ou un centre.” Commission scolaire de la Rivière-du-Nord. Retrieved on September 24, 2017. For attendance boundary information, click “Par bassin d'école”

[10] “LAURENTIAN ELEMENTARY ZONE.” Sir Wilfrid Laurier School Board. Retrieved on September 16, 2017.

[11] “LAURENTIAN REGIONAL HS ZONE.” Sir Wilfrid Laurier School Board. Retrieved on September 4, 2017.

title: Wentworth, Quebec

question: According to the passage, what is the demographic of the Wentworth town so diverse?

answer: Mother tongue- 47.7% English as first language, 47.7% French as first language, 0.9% English and French as first language, 2.8% Other as first language.

critique: The answer should be more specific about the language breakdown and not just mention the percentages.

critique: The answer should be more specific about what the mother tongue is.

critique: The answer should mention the percentages of the population that speaks English and French.

critique: The answer should mention that the demographics are diverse because of the settlers.


split: train

text:
EBENEZER BRIGHAM (April 28, 1789 – September 14, 1861) was a 19th-century American pioneer, businessman, and politician. He was one of the first Americans to explore southwestern Wisconsin and the first permanent settler in present-day Dane County, Wisconsin.[1] A militia officer during the Black Hawk War, he served as commander of Fort Blue Mounds (or Mound Fort) and was active in both the Wisconsin territorial council, and the Wisconsin State Assembly during the 1840s and 1850s.[2]

Early life

Born in Shrewsbury, Massachusetts, he left his home state for the Northwest Territory, traveling by canoe along the Allegheny River from Olean Point to Pittsburgh, then taking a flatboat down the Ohio River until stopping at Shawneetown. He walked the rest of the way, arriving in St. Louis in 1818.

Career

Working as a prospector, Brigham followed the Mississippi River by horseback and stayed at Galena in 1822. One of the earliest visitors to the area, he helped miner James Johnson build one of two log cabins at the camp. Returning to Springfield, Illinois, he left there with a team of oxen heading for the lead mines region of southwest Wisconsin to build his own mining camp.

He was originally part of a mining party which lived along the Platte River, only four miles from present-day Platteville, Wisconsin. However, the party soon left the area under threat from the local Winnebagos during the Winnebago War.[3]

In the spring of 1828, Brigham arrived in Dane County, Wisconsin to work the lead mines in and around Blue Mounds.[4] Although the mines had been previously occupied, the site had long since been abandoned and he built a cabin for himself. This was the first structure to be built in Dane County. His nearest neighbor was located 24 miles away in Dodgeville and, as of 1832, the only other recorded inhabitants were four French-Canadian fur traders south of Green Bay and east of Rock River.[5] Using such crude tools as a windlass, rope and tub, over 4,000,000 lbs. was taken from the mine and hauled by wagon to Green Bay, Chicago and Galena, in total a 15-day trip. He later accompanied William S. Hamilton and Henry Gratiot and several others to Green Bay to negotiate boundaries between the miners and local tribes.[6]

Brigham is said to have discovered a lead deposit by chance, by throwing his cap in the air and digging where it fell.[7] By 1828, he had established a successful lead mine operation at Blue Mounds, as well as operating an inn and general store serving the local miners, local tribes and other travelers. His tavern became a popular stopover along the Old Military Trail,[8] and soon his small mining camp grew with settlers arriving from Illinois and within the Michigan Territory. He was honored by the Michigan territorial governor Lewis Cass and appointed a magistrate. He held the position of magistrate for four years, serving as justice of the peace, and from the winter of 1830–1831 until 1837, as postmaster of Moundville.[9]

During the Black Hawk War, he served as a colonel in the Wisconsin Territorial Militia. Fort Blue Mounds was later built near Brigham's home, and he and his neighbors took refuge there during the conflict. While Brigham remained in command, he successfully defended the post against several raids by the Sauk and Fox. Involved in politics during his later years, Brigham was a member of the territorial council between 1836 and 1842[10][11] and a state representative in 1848,[12] and he served on the Dane County board of commissioners in 1845, 1848–1850, and 1854–1855.[13][14]

Death

He died at the home of his niece, a Mrs. H.G. Bliss, in Madison, Wisconsin on September 14, 1861, and was buried in Forest Hill Cemetery. Although the original cabins at the site had long since disappeared, the general store remained at Blue Mounds for over forty years as an historic landmark until it was destroyed in a fire in January 1877.[15] His part is now part of Blue Mound and Brigham County Park,[16] the latter being named in his honor.[17]

Legacy

In March 1910, his heirs donated the site of an old blockhouse from Fort Blue Mounds to the State Historical Society of Wisconsin having been used during the Black Hawk War.[18] A bronze tablet marking the site of the fort was unveiled by the Wisconsin Landmarks Committee in a special ceremony held on September 5, 1910. A replica of his general store is also on display at the Mt. Horeb Historical Society Museum in Mt. Horeb, Wisconsin.[19]

[1]

[2] Legler, Henry E. _Leading Events of Wisconsin History: The Story of the State_. Milwaukee: Sentinel Company, 1898. (pg. 153, 167, 176)

[3]

[4]

[5] Punchard, George. _History of Congregationalism from about A.D. 250 to the Present Time_. Boston: Congregational Publishing Society, 1881. (pg. 322)

[6]

[7]

[8] Heim, Michael. _Exploring America's Highways: Wisconsin Trip Trivia_. Wabasha, Minnesota: T.O.N.E Publishing, 2004, pp. 128–129

[9]

[10]

[11] Beck, J.D. _Blue Book of the State of Wisconsin_. Madison: Democrat Printing Company, 1903, p. 928.

[12]

[13] Strong, Moses M. _History of the Territory of Wisconsin, from 1836 to 1848_. Madison: Democrat Printing Co., 1885. (pg. 222, 224)

[14]

[15] Park, William J. _Madison, Dane County and Surrounding Towns: Being a History and Guide_. William J. Park & Co., 1877. (pg. 241)

[16] Green, Doris. _Wisconsin Underground: A Guide to Caves, Mines, and Tunnels in and Around the Badger State_. Black Earth, Wisconsin: Trails Books, 2000. (pg. 12)

[17] Bewer, Tim. _Wisconsin's Outdoor Treasures: A Guide to 150 Natural Destinations_. Black Earth, Wisconsin: Trails Books, 1997. (pg. 159)

[18] Shambaugh, Benjamin F., ed. _Iowa Journal of History and Politics, Vol. III_. Iowa City, Iowa: State Historical Society of Iowa, 1910. (pg. 305)

[19]

title: Ebenezer Brigham

question: What does the text say about the Apache tribe?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should state that the Apache tribe is not mentioned in the text.

critique: The answer should mention that the Apache tribe is not mentioned in the text.

question: Summarize what the text says about Ebeneezer Brigham.

answer: Ebeneezer Brigham was a 19th-century American pioneer, businessman, and politician. He was one of the first Americans to explore southwestern Wisconsin and the first permanent settler in present-day Dane County, Wisconsin. He was a militia officer during the Black Hawk War and served as commander of Fort Blue Mounds. He was active in both the Wisconsin territorial council, and the Wisconsin State Assembly during the 1840s and 1850s.

critique: The answer should mention his early life.

critique: The answer should mention Brigham's early life.

critique: His life and travels to Wisconsin are irrelevant.

critique: The answer does not mention that Brigham was born in Shrewsbury, Massachusetts and left his home state for the Northwest Territory.

critique: The answer could mention more details about Brigham's life.

question: What does the text say about Brigham's career?

answer: Brigham was a militia officer during the Black Hawk War and served as commander of Fort Blue Mounds. He was one of the first Americans to explore southwestern Wisconsin and the first permanent settler in present-day Dane County, Wisconsin. He was also active in both the Wisconsin territorial council and the Wisconsin State Assembly.

critique: It is omitted that Brigham was a businessman and politician.

critique: The answer should mention his career as a businessman and politician.

critique: The answer should mention his mining career.

critique: The answer should mention that Brigham was a prospector and miner.

question: What does the text say about Brigham's legacy?

answer: Brigham's heirs donated the site of an old blockhouse from Fort Blue Mounds to the State Historical Society of Wisconsin in 1910. A bronze tablet marking the site of the fort was unveiled by the Wisconsin Landmarks Committee in a special ceremony held on September 5, 1910. A replica of his general store is also on display at the Mt. Horeb Historical Society Museum in Mt. Horeb, Wisconsin.

critique: The answer should mention that Brigham County Park is named in his honor.

critique: The answer should mention that Brigham County Park was named in his honor.

critique: The answer should mention the county named after him.


text:
It wasn't beautiful. It was impressive, efficient and immense. But not beautiful. I looked out at the array of spaceships, moving in predetermined flight plans, weaving in and out of the buildings. I saw the careful positioning on the buildings to maximize the view and spoil others. Self lit brightly coloured advertisements littered the skies, diving in front of ships to garner any attention. The whole city was astronomical in size and miniscule in precision, an organism which has spread with cancerous intentions.
I have been unable to sleep recently. I stay up most nights watching the city. It is in a constant state of flux, but somehow staying the exact same.
I've stopped watching the news, I just take the averages now. A princess has died somewhere in Scandinavia or one has died, it’s almost the same story with no consequences either way. Religion has become stagnant, absolute tolerance has been the downfall of extremism and almost all protests are taken into account and given equal weight. All bullshit of course, the machines are running the show now. The nun can pray all she likes for the food she receives but it was grown in a lab beneath the city months ago as a result of progress, not Jesus.

There are things you can take to sleep now but I’ve been avoiding them thus far. Its not that I don't trust them, I do, its that it breeds complacency. That’s the future for humans, being complacent. My work is supervision of robots as is everyone’s. My salary is immaterial. All apartments are government owned as with any merchandise. Work now is just vanity, nothing is left to chance and any decisions are based on the past. Everything is tolerated but at the same time nothing is. There are thousands of groups you can join and hundreds of forums (government run) where you can post any opinion you want. But where is the true value of free speech when there is no contention? The joy of sleep comes from the reality of tiredness. Which is where I am. The reality. I want to die, but there is a 89% chance i'll be caught before I can commit it. Then you get put on suicide watch and its almost impossible to die if they are watching you. Its not recognised to have privacy complaints against machines. They are contextually aware but not sentient and as such, privacy and shame are entirely foriegn concepts to them. They have no sense of self and are neither happy nor sad. They don't lust, covet or panic either. Cold, silver and uninteresting.
My despondency has risen my heart rate and face recognition has noted my demeanour, my bracelet alerts me to this by briefly flashing a cool blue. Two flashes in quick succession and I am automatically brought in for evaluation. I have to remain calm. It is entirely up to you if you go in, however you won't be allowed into any contact with others unless you are deemed mentally fit. It’s a security system which has ensured no one has died from a killing or suicide since the system has been in place. Natural deaths still occur of course, but they keep you alive for so long it is often indistinguishable from life when you finally die.
The bracelet flashes again. I don't have much time.
I slowly walk over to the kitchen, and take a knife from the drawer. Automatic prompts are asking me if I want food. I ignore them and plunge the knife into my leg, slicing the femoral artery and creating an injury that will cause swift death. I immediately collapse and blood pumps freely through the gash, covering the pristine surfaces in wet, warm blood. Alarms are squealing overhead, but I am captivated by the disorder. The machines seem at the loss, they try vainly to clean, help or make noise but it’s too late. They are covered in my blood and seem to take on a trait which is distinctly human, panic. For all the pain and loss I am glad this is how I will die.
The gesture is foolish, unplanned and insignificant. But dying on my terms seems beautiful.

title: Very short story(700) (sci-fi ish), would love any feedback!

question: What does the story say about suicide?

answer: Looking at the response to a suicide attempt, the robots took immediate action and began to panic when the narrator cut their femoral artery. The narrator noted that for all the pain and loss, this is how he will die and leave this world. They wanted to die on their own accord because of the futility at their job.

critique: The response isn't a very accurate depiction of how the machines reacted.

critique: Although true, the response was to a particular event. The part of the response that refers to the robot carring out immediate action should be omitted.

critique: The response to a suicide attempt is irrelevant to the question.

critique: Everything after the robot panic reaction is irrelevant.

critique: The response to the suicide is a bit of a stretch.

critique: The response of the robots is irrelevant

critique: The response of the robots isn't relevant.

critique: The response to the narrator's suicide attempt is relevant to the question.

critique: The narrator doesn't say that they wanted to die on their own accord because of the futility at their job.

critique: The response to the suicide attempt is irrelevant to the question.

critique: The response to the suicide attempt is irrelevant.

critique: The response to the suicide attempt is not mentioned in the story.

critique: The story doesn't really discuss the implications of the robots' response to the suicide that happens.


text:
Scratches

She closed the book, and placed it on her kitchen table. Even with the heavy reading she struggled in order to keep her mind off them, the scratches continued to cut into her door, slowly whipping the soft flesh of the old wooden door. With each scratch the hair on the girls arm stiffened, leaving her frozen solid, without a waft of breath to leave her mouth.
	They were long, heavy scratches. Their owner must have been tall enough to reach the top of the door, where the scrapes sluggishly traveled down the outside of her door to the floor, where they finally stopped, only to resume a few seconds later. No other sounds could be heard on the other side of the door: no snarling; no hissing; no whimper. They were intensely simple, each gash ripping out sections of the membrane that kept the girls worst fears at bay.
	As she reached the window, she carefully opened up the blinds, as if they might turn to dust with too sudden a movement. Leaning to the window, she got a good look at the dark world she was trapped in. The stars were dimmer than usual tonight, making them a haunting background to the sinister gloom of the trees surrounding her house. Each one was taller than the girl could see, with dagger-like roots that stabbed the ground, only to reveal themselves a few inches later. They were like tendrils, slowly wrapping around the mind of the small girl, trapping her like a rat in a hole. The moon, with it’s deep pale glow, was like an eye, watching the girl convulse at the loud scratches at her door. The eye illuminated the smallest detail of the damp ground outside but with the new, somber grin of the world outside her window, the girl longed for the moon to return to it’s horizon.
	Stepping away from the window, the girl finally decided to open the door, and release the beast which hid behind it. As she got closer to the door, the scratches became louder, louder, louder. She gripped the doorknob, her hands dripping with frightened perspiration. They clawed at the deepest depths of her ears, pounding like the drums of war. Slowly turning the knob, she hesitated, afraid to follow through. As one scratch began, she swung open the door, and there was no more sound. There was no more scratching.
	The cold breeze of night caressed her arms, cradling her and keeping her safe. The scratches still echoed in her skull but she was pleased that they had finally stopped. Where had they come from? Why did they have such an effect on her door? Questions tunneled through her mind, and she had no answers.
Standing in her doorway, her heart started to beat quickly again. There was no scratches on her door, but she knew something was wrong. Perhaps it was the cold wind which left her, or the moon that almost seemed to turn from a glossy white to an infected tinge of yellow. Her legs started to shake, and a feeling of dreadful sickness fell over her, like the curtain at the end of a magnificent play. She felt delirious, as if she hadn’t eaten for days, and started to frantically run her hands around her waist  as if to make sure she hadn’t disappeared like a flicker of candlelight. She felt her hips, and moved her hands around her thighs, and then up to her stomach, where she felt something odd. Was she turning to liquid? There was a thick trail of fluid running down her stomach, like a deep river, and it was coming from her. She then lifted her shirt, and saw hundreds of scratches marked on her stomach and chest. They were deep, stained red with the broken soul of the girl. She collapsed in the doorway.

title: Scratches - A Short Story I wrote for English Class

question: What is causing the scratches?

answer: It is not stated.

critique: The girl is the one causing the scratches.

critique: The girl's fear is causing the scratches.

critique: It is not stated, but it is implied that the girl is being attacked by some sort of beast.

critique: It is not stated, but it is implied that the girl's door is being scratched by a beast.

critique: It is not stated, but it is implied that the scratches are caused by a beast.

critique: It is not stated quite accurately. It can be stated that the beast, whatever it is, secretes something into the girl and the scratches are a result of that. It also does not do this every night. The girl is trying to end the struggle.

question: How does the girl feel about the scratching sound?

answer: She is petrified by the scratching sound and afraid of whatever is outside the door.

critique: It is omitted that the scratching sound is so loud that it keeps her awake at night.

critique: The girl is petrified by the scratching sound and afraid of whatever is outside the door.

critique: The girl is not afraid of whatever is outside the door.

critique: The girl is not afraid of whatever is outside the door, she is afraid of the scratching sound.

critique: The girl is petrified by the scratching sound, but she wants to get rid of the source of the scratching.

question: What does the story say about the book the character is reading?

answer: No answer

question: What does the story say about the beast?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention the beast's origin.

critique: The response misses to answer the questions. The girl is attacked by a beast, though she didn't know what it was. The story shows the horrific effects of the beast's claws on her. The girl felt her body turning to liquid, so it's just a presumption that the fluid coming from her stomach is blood.


text:
[]
Providing Superior Health and

Balance Through Chiropractic

678-754-6877

[]
Providing Superior Health and

Balance Through Chiropractic

678-754-6877

[]

Dr. Z. Coleman is a board certified chiropractic doctor by the National Board of Chiropractic Examiners. She joins ANWAN Wellness Medical Center team seven years ago, as Dir. of Physical Medicine Dept., with a wealth of experience in preventive.

“Chiropractic care is more than just making the pain disappear. it is about learning, understanding and taking care of your body to improve your quality of life.”

As a chiropractor, we understand that although our patients may be diagnosed with the same condition, they respond very differently to treatments. for this reason, we tailor a specific plan of action to meet your needs, goals & unique medical and physical condition.

Our Process

We are proud to provide a state-of-the-art facility for the highest quality chiropractic care available. It is one of our top priorities to protect the well-being of our valued patients. We are confident that you will feel right at home in our office as we welcome all patients as if they were family.

If you would like to make an appointment, please contact our office by phone or email. Our office facilitates communications and emergency calls and appointments are available and welcome, especially for new patients seeking help.

We will be more than happy to submit all insurance forms for you and help you recover the most from your benefits. We will do everything we can to help you afford the treatment you need and want. Forms of payment accepted by the office are check, cash, or any major credit card.

If you are unable to keep an appointment, we ask that you kindly provide us with at least 24 hours notice. We ask for this advance notice so that we can offer this appointment to another patient. A fee may be charged if a patient does not show up for an appointment without sufficient notice.

“Subscribe to our news letter.”

[contact-form-7 404 "Not Found"]

WELLNESS TIPS

Posture. Posture. Posture. Make sure that you keep your chin up and don’t slouch. If you know that you are going to be standing for a long period of time, make sure that you wear comfortable shoes.

WORKING AT A DESK

[]

Make sure that you are getting up every 20 minutes to stretch. The type of chair you have is extremely important. It should fit you correctly so that your back touches the chair and your feet are on the floor with knees at a 90 degree angle. Try to avoid looking down at your computer screen. It should be at eye level.

SITTING

[]

Make sure you have a chair that is supportive. When you are forced to sit for a long period of time, for instance at a desk job, make sure to get up and stretch every 20 minutes. Sit with your back against the chair, feet firmly on the floor. Do not cross your legs.

LIFTING

[]

Lifting objects is one of the most common ways to injure yourself. Even if it is a light object, twisting or pulling in the wrong direction when you’re not stretched out can have a damaging effect on muscles and the spine. You always want to bend at the knees and avoid lifting anything you know is too heavy.

ASK A QUESTION

question: What is chiropractic if it is not just a way of care?

answer: The text doesn't answer this question.

critique: Chiropractic care "is about learning, understanding and taking care of your body to improve your quality of life"


text:
-   Home
-   THOUGHTS & FEELINGS
-   FINANCE & BUSINESS
-   FITNESS & HEALTH
-   VLOG
-   TEAM
-   __
-   CONTACT

1.  Home
2.  FINANCE & BUSINESS
3.  REASONS WHY YOU SHOULD PURSUE YOUR BUSINESS AND KEEP YOUR JOB TOO

Most of us wakeup each morning and get ready to go to a job that if we were asked “do you enjoy what you do?” Most probably the answer would be “no really”.  Perhaps it is the way many of us where brought up.  _"Find a job and make a living".  "Passion will not bring food to the table"_.  Dreams can always be pursued later... right?
INTERTWINED CYCLE OF JOB VS DREAM

The majority of millennials are a legacy or offsprings of the previous regime... in South Africa that is, and probably in many other parts of the world where colonialism and slavery reigned for many centuries.  The cycle there was that you were expected to join the workforce, for many, immediately after completing secondary education.  There was no time to think, plan or strategise on “making your own dreams come true” but those dreams were there.  Today many who are working in government did not want to be there, but circumstances propelled them to. Family expectations... the system.  Many of those dreams lay motionless in notebooks, in distant thoughts and were drowned on weekends in bottles of beer or wine. The “job” mattered. The “salary” and the activity of “waking up and doing something” is what this world has been built on.  Not for our benefit however, but for those who control the economy and yes, money.

SURVIVING THE “BAD DREAM”

Some have made it fashionable and even interesting to spend their biggest chunk of their daily time, by dressing up, having flashy hairstyles, makeup and catching a nice morning cappuccino from Mugg and bean or Starbucks.  So this makes them look forward to going back to the same stuff they do everyday... small chats in the kitchen or passage ways, starring at the screen -  scrapping off words to write a report, planning meetings and corporate events, presentations and those dreaded phone calls to clients. Counting days to the next pay-check.  Shopping online during breaks and social media pages.  So the dream lies asleep in their minds whilst they keep up an appearance that their current reality is actually interesting.

DECIDING TO PURSUE YOUR DREAM

It is no secrete that perhaps more than 50% of employees have their own “ideal” careers and its usually something to do with a business idea.  Due to the buzz and rush of office work, home time and social events, time is always never enough.  However, a few individuals do manage to pursue those underlying suppressed business ideas... by swifting through the maze and finding time to work and invest in their dreams

HOW YOU CAN WORK AND DEVELOP YOUR BUSINESS?

1. BE PREPARED TO WORK LONG HOURS
Over and above your 8-5 hours, you will need an extra 3 or 4 hours to invest in your business. The benefit here is that after working hours, no one will accuse you of using “company time” but perhaps company resources like the “internet” and occasionally the “telephone line” may not be such a bad thing. Remember you’re building a start- up with no resources initially.

2. WEEKENDS ARE NON EXISTENT
If this dream of yours is big enough, then you will come to realise that the weekend is the only time you have to do your business work. This could be meeting with clients, doing the actual work (once you start getting some) and investing in improving your business operations.

3. TIME MANAGEMENT
You don’t want to be accused of slacking at your day job even though you’re building your ideal career with your business. So managing your time and concentration, diving your tasks accordingly will ensure that you give both careers the attention they deserve

4. RELINQUISH YOUR SOCIAL LIFE
Friends, family, colleagues, events, outings... will have to be minimised.  Remember you have very little time to spare. Your boss still expects all his expectations of you to be met, you also want to see your dream come alive... somethings got to give.

5. HAVE STAYING POWER
That tenacity and keeping your eyes on the ball will ensure that you continue to pay your bills, eat and cover your petrol every month whilst the prospects of earning that extra income from doing something you love begin to unfold.

KEEP YOUR JOB, GROW YOUR BUSINESS
It might go on for a few more years and it will get harder as you get more clients.  But the lesson here is, perhaps the notion of “quitting” may not always be best... sometimes you need the security that you have had with what comes with a secure income stream, medical aid and life covers.  The banks will always consider that profile for lending or credit over your business profile. Keeping both could actually mean you nurture and grow your dream by not only using the advantages mentioned above,  but also the learnings you would have gained from the corporate environment.

Negotiating and networking, administration, presentations, preparing for meetings, systems, organisational planning etc are some skills you would need when your business begins to expand.  When you would have employees and perhaps an office of your own.  It is the hardest thing to do, draining too, but until your business is stable and can run itself... rather keep your job and grow your business. You get to have your cake and eat it.

question: What does the text say about how to ask for a salary increase?

answer: No answer

critique: The article does not mention how to ask for a salary increase.

question: What does the text say about the majority of millennials from South Africa and many other parts of the world?

answer: The majority of millennials are a legacy or offspring of the previous regime, in South Africa and in many other parts of the world where colonialism and slavery reigned for many centuries. The cycle there was that you were expected to join the workforce, for many, immediately after completing secondary education. There was no time to think, plan, or strategise on “making your own dreams come true” but those dreams were there. Today, many who are working in government did not want to be there, but circumstances propelled them to. Family expectations and the system. Many of those dreams lay motionless in notebooks, in distant thoughts, and were drowned on weekends in bottles of beer or wine. The “job” mattered. The “salary” and the activity of “waking up and doing something” is what this world has been built on.

critique: The last sentence is not relevant to the question.

question: What does the text say about surviving the "bad dream" and pursuing "the dream"?

answer: The author of the text says that the "bad dream" is the reality of working at a job that one doesn't enjoy. The author says that many people are a part of the "bad dream" because they didn't pursue their dreams when they had the chance. The author says that it's no secret that 50% of employees have their own "ideal" careers and it's usually something to do with a business idea. The author also says that some people manage to pursue their dreams by finding time to work and invest in their dreams.

critique: The answer should mention the author's advice for pursuing one's dreams.

critique: The author does not say that 50% of employees have their own "ideal" careers.

critique: This is irrelevant to the question and should be removed.

critique: The answer should state why not everyone can pursue the dream and investing in one's business requires a great deal of dedication and sacrifice.

question: What does the text say about how to work and develop a business at the same time?

answer: The author of the text says that you should be prepared to work long hours. You will need an extra 3 to 4 hours to invest in your business. Weekends are non-existent because you have to work on your business. You will also have to manage your time and concentration and have staying power.

critique: The answer omits the necessity of giving up your social life.


text:
A story I wrote while waiting for the train one day. I have never read it, or attempted to edit it after I was finished. It is how I felt during an argument with my girlfriend. Enjoy.

An Afternoon In The Park

     There is an old man that everyday can be found on the same bench, feeding the same birds, and he always shows up at 12-noon on the dot. Although few take notice of him, he goes about his day and keeps to himself.
	It has been almost a year since his wife passed, and everyday his age starts to become more and more transparent. Every Saturday his son keeps him company. Usually the two sit in silence and face outward toward those passing by or the birds as they wrestle over crumbs of bread. Occasionally one nods to the other, and gets acknowledgments through a grunt. Call it guilt; call it the universal fear of regret that every son holds onto when they realize that they can lose a father without really ever knowing him. Today the son decides to reach out and learn something about the people who brought him into the world.
“Tell me about mom.”
	The old man stops moving. He looks out to the horizon, up to the sky, and finally right into his son’s eyes and offers a simple response of, “She was my heart and soul.” He maintained eye contact until he could no longer hide the weight of the tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. Even as a proud man he could not hide how much he truly missed his wife. Her death left him a hollow shell that could only continue on by maintaining the same mundane schedule.
	The son sat silently in a state of shocked disbelief. Throughout his life he thought he had seen every emotion possible from his father. Yet he had never seen grief such as this. When his father looked him in the eyes he could see an old lonely man. While the two had a loving relationship they had never really connected with each other. His father’s face displayed the many hardships and loss that go along with the happiness and joy in life. The youthfulness that he always attributed to his father had been replaced with a visage that resembled a young boy whose dog has ran away never to return. He wanted to lighten the mood so he tried to recall a happy family memory.
“Remember my first day of college and moving into the dorms? Remember how much mom embarrassed me by handing me a box of condoms in front of that big group of girls in the lobby?”
	Sitting on his left, all the son could see was a smile and chuckle as the old man replied, “Your face was redder than the school’s mascot.” His son would never know, but a single tear feel down the right side of the old man’s cheek as he relieved such a happy memory.

“Didn’t you and mom meet at state?” asked the son.

“Yep.” The old man replied.

“She always told me you went there to be with her and how romantic it was.”

“Nope, I went there for myself.”

	This surprised the son. He had grown up with the idea that his parents met because his father went to State to be with his mother; if this wasn’t the case, than what about all the other stories?

“Didn’t you quit drinking for mom?”

“Nope, I did it for myself.”

“What about your job? Wasn’t there a time you got offered a corporate position and you turned it down to start family?”

“Nope, I did it for myself.”

	Frustrated, his son couldn’t believe what he was hearing from the man he called father his whole life.

“What about all the money you worked for? The Corvette? The house you bought? Why you quit smoking and drinking?”

	With each question asked the old man would give the same response: “I did it for myself.” Fed up with getting nowhere the son stopped his inquiry, and the two sat in silence for a while. Eventually it became overwhelming to the son and he blurted out uncontrollably, “What did you do for mom then?” Once again the old man looked out, took a deep breath and replied:

“Everything else.”

	For the rest of the afternoon the two sat together in silence. For the first time in his life the son felt that he finally saw a glimpse of his father that he swore did not exist. The old man never made a claim toward achieving perfection in his life, but those two words will forever leave an imprint on the son’s impression of the man he calls his father.

title: An Afternoon In The Park

question: What is the message of the writer to the reader?

answer: That we can be lonely and not have to do much to make the person we are with feel lonely.

critique: This is a very confusing response. It needs to be re-written.

critique: The story is not about the old man making his son feel lonely.

critique: The passage does not have a message to readers. It is a story that the author wrote to reflect on her feelings.

critique: The answer is not related to the message of the story.

critique: The answer is not related to the passage.

critique: The father achieves his life goals on his own, not as a means to feel alone. This response should simply be rewritten.

question: What is the financial status of the family?

answer: They own a house and a car, which means that his father has good income, for an average person at least.

critique: The son asks about the Corvette, which is a car.

critique: The car is a corvette, which is a luxury.

critique: Corvette is a brand of car, not a car in general.

critique: The son has not seen a glimpse of his father, only an impression on his impression of him.

critique: The son asks his father about his job and his father says he did it for himself. This means that he did not have a corporate job.

critique: The son is not asking about his father's income.

critique: The son asks his father about his job and the father says he did it for himself. This means that he did not do it for the family.

text: The son lists off several milestones that the father achieved including getting a better paying job and buying a new house.

category: coverage

question: What was the writer feeling when they wrote this work?

answer: It is implied that the writer was feeling angry, sad, or frustrated with their significant other.

critique: The writer was feeling angry, sad, or frustrated with their significant other.

critique: The answer is incorrect. The writer was feeling sad, not angry or frustrated.

critique: The writer is not feeling angry, sad, or frustrated with their significant other.

critique: The story is not about the writer's significant other. It is about the writer's father.

critique: The answer doesn't happen to be factually correct. The writer was just feeling poetic.

critique: The story does not mention anything about the writer's girlfriend.

text: While the writer of the text mentions their girlfriend in the preface, there is not enough information to assume that they felt angry, sad, or frustrated with them.

category: accuracy

question: Identify the time period in which the story took place.

answer: That information can't be found

critique: The story takes place in the present day.

critique: The story does not explicitly state the time period, but it can be inferred that it took place in the present day.

critique: While the story doesn't explicitly state when it takes place, it is implied that it takes place in the present.

critique: The story doesn't explicitly state a time period, but it's implied that it takes place in the present.

critique: The story does not explicitly state a time period, but it can be inferred that it took place in the present day.

critique: It is implied the story is probably recent if the son is still alive.


text:
 Allow cookies deposit to access content.

Singles are under more pressure than ever

Fakeness affects all our interactions, including online dating. The rise of “easy to use” dating apps has transformed romance into a game: Catch them all, or play again. Egos are boosted by likes and winks, while profiles are displayed like products in a supermarket. We’re used to binge consumption; now too many of us are binge dating.
No wonder _57% of single women ﬁnd modern dating exhausting*_!
_“58% of single feel there are a lot of people who lie about their intentions or about who they are”_*
_“37% feel there are a lot of people who don’t want to commit”*_

Match is determined to continue to ﬁght for real connections

Many singles are looking for more than a swipe on a picture and “you got a Match” notifications. They’re looking for a deeper connection than just a “hello”.

_“34% of singles want to engage in meaningful relationship”*_

AT MATCH, WE WANT TO HELP SINGLES SHOW THEIR TRUE PERSONALITIES. Not simply through data like their height, hair colour or age, or the boxes they tick. We encourage singles to describe themselves in their own words, showing specific details of their personality. And we know not everyone is a writer! Our coach Lara will give you all the help you need to let your true self shine through your words.

_“70% engage into conversation even if don’t like picture”*_

At Match, we don’t believe singles should tolerate the disrespectful comments and conversations that are far too common online. Instead, we want to promote high quality, friendly connections. Women are empowered to reward singles who show respectful behaviour thanks to the Match Badge, so their profiles rise up the rankings. People with the Match Badge receive, on average, _15% more messages_**.

Like our singles, Match isn’t about playing games. That’s why we created our real-life events where everyone is single, and our hosts make it easy to break the ice. We organize events around music, food, coaching, charity and much more – there’s something for everyone. What’s more, they work: +/- 40% _of attendees tell us they met someone they want to stay in touch with at our Events_ ***

Looking for someone special takes more than swiping random profiles. Singles searching for love need the right tools. Match members can select the people they really want to meet, based on detailed criteria they’ve set up themselves.

But our most important asset is COMMITTED SINGLES READY FOR REAL STORIES.
Match isn’t a free dating service. Our subscription is a commitment in itself. We believe our singles are truly committed to – and involved in – their search for love. They know why they are here.

We know this isn’t news. But we also know that it isn’t fake. And it’s the only way online dating can do its job: helping people meet people to start real stories.

MATCH. START SOMETHING REAL.

*Source LoveConnection Nov. 2018 – Research conducted by Kantar TNS on the behalf of Meetic in Europe among singles aged 18 to 65 yo.

** Internal Data –Meetic Europe 2018

*** Internal survey Jan-December 2018 _37%_ _of_ _participants at Match Events_ _answered yes to“I met someone I want to stay in touch with”_

Related Articles

question: What are some characteristic of Match that make it unique?

answer: Match is determined to continue to fight for real connections. Match wants to help singles show their true personalities. Match wants to promote high quality, friendly connections. Match wants to empower women to reward singles who show respectful behavior. Match wants to create real-life events where everyone is single. Match wants to create events around music, food, coaching, charity, and much more. Match wants to create events where singles can meet committed singles ready for real stories.

critique: The answer is a summary of Match's characteristics, not a unique feature.

question: Would Tinder consider Match their competition?

answer: That information can't be found.


text:
A vulture floated high in the desert sky, circling around. It looked like an insect struggling in the spiderweb of the broken windshield. The taste of iron was heavy in my mouth as my nose began to drip to the back of my throat. The steering wheel of my Chevy was slick from my slit hand and the shotgun was still wet with blood in the seat next to me. The shadows of the setting sun behind me pointed me down the highway to where I needed to go. My phone rang.

Don't do this.

I listened, but there was nothing she could say.

They're your family. He's your brother.

Not any more.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I pushed open the side door of the bank and hurried to my truck parked in the alley. I opened the door and I traded the velvet pouch in my hand for some of the gauze inside the glove box. I rolled two strips and put them up my broken nose. I went around to the driver's side and got in. I reached for the shotgun under the back seat and it in the seat next to me. I started the engine and pulled onto the street in front of the bank. Dale came stumbling, bleeding, down the steps of the bank and ran into the middle of the street and held his hands up in front of me. I didn't stop.

He tried to jump when he realized it was too late. He rolled up onto the hood. Dale's head shattered my windshield before he rolled off onto the street. Then I stopped. I grabbed my shotgun and got out. I slowly walked over to Dale, writhing on the black pavement. Some people ran on the sidewalk. Some watched stunned. There were sirens in the distance.

Where are you going?

He knew the answer, but I guess he saw a little hope while looking at that light at the end of the tunnel. He spat the words out of his blood filled mouth again.

Where are you going!

I didn't answer. I stood with the shotgun, him under me laying on the blackness. I got down on one knee to look into Dale's eyes one last time. He didn't want me to see. He grabbed his knife and slashed. He opened up my hand. That was my fault. I underestimate the desperation of a man who no longer had anything. I stood back up and raised my shotgun, my right hand bleeding on the trigger. The anger was gone from his eyes and he was crying now. He muttered one last pitiful time.

Where are you going...

I pulled the trigger.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My brother, Eddie, Oliver and I walked into the bank clean cut and in our nicest suits. I fired my revolver into the air and they pulled their knives and ran towards the patrons.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry for the inconvenience, but we are here to make a withdrawal. Please follow my associates into the room to your right so I can have some privacy with our bank. This will all be over in a minute.

My brother and Eddie herded the 9 patrons present in the bank into the small side room of the bank and collected their wallets. Oliver and the security guard locked the front door. I hopped the front desk to speak to the tellers.

You, take me to the safe deposit boxes. You, money better be in the bag by the time I get back.

I left a duffle bag with the young woman at the front desk and the young man took me back to the safe deposit boxes. I holstered my revolver. He took me to the room. I told him thank you and went in.

I felt my brother come up quick behind me. He had left his job of hero control in the side room. He grabbed my revolver from my side as he jumped in front of me and pointed it at my face.

You think you can sneak off like this?

What are you talking about?

I know why we are here. Give me the key.

Calm down.

He drove the butt of the revolver into my nose as hard as he could. I fell to a knee.

I'm not stupid. You thought I was your whole life. Well look where we are now.

He kicked me in the chest. I fell onto my back. He stepped up and pointed the revolver down between my eyes.

We aren't just here to take this bank. This is your stash. He laughed. They always said you were the smart one. Give me the key or I can just take it.

You know I won't do that.

You know I will.

Do it.

You have three seconds. If you don't give me the key, it's over for you, bro.

One.

I didn't say anything.

Two.

I smiled at my brother standing above me, pointing my revolver between my eyes.

Three.

He pulled the trigger. The silence was deafening. I grabbed his hand to use as leverage to kick him in the ribs. He was too stunned to counter and he fell to the ground. I got up and gave him another kick in the face. Dale never retaliated. He couldn't understand what had just happened. I beat him senseless in that room. I slid a bullet in the revolver and spun it shut. I looked at Dale, slumped in the corner of the room bleeding on his suit.

That a chance you want to take?

I opened my deposit box and grabbed the velvet pouch and left Dale in the room. I walked out to the lobby and gave the entire duffle bag to Eddie and Oliver and went to the side door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Eddie, Oliver, my brother and I were sitting around Eddie's table discussing the plan of action for tomorrow. This was a small bank in a small town. Another day at the office for us.

Sounds good boys.

So you are really going to be done after this?

Yes sir. Hanging up the spikes and leaving Tucson for good tomorrow.

Who's gonna get the gun?

My brother laughed. We all get guns after this. No more knife bullshit. I trust you guys. He shot a sly smile at me.

Eddie gets the gun.

My brother looked at me. What about your stash?

Don't worry about my stash.

Well how much you still got left? How are you going to get it?

I looked at my brother. What's it to you?

He smiled. Just looking out for my older bro. Loosen up. He changed the subject. Mines in gold. 1.2 mil right under my house.

Eddie shook his head and took a drag from his cigarette. Why the fuck do you keep 1.2 million in gold in your house when your wife is there all day?

Under the house. She don't know about it. She's too worried about the baby all day to ever figure anything out. She don't know that right under her feet there is 1.2 mil in gold..

Christ baby brother, we know about the 1,196,000 in gold bars you have. Stop flaunting it. You should have more.

Says the guy with the brand new 1995 Chevrolet. He smiled. Seriously man, how much you got left.

This meeting is adjourned. See you tomorrow, fellas. It's a big day. Look sharp.

I walked out and got in my truck. I thought about how my brother was acting. He seemed off. It didn't feel right. If it had been Eddie or Oliver, they would have been out of the job. But he's my own brother. I couldn't just trust my gut. I needed to see him stab me in the back. When I got home I took 5 of the bullets out of my revolver.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

My brother walked through Eddie's door for the meeting. He left his wife and kid in El Paso to help us pull one last job.

title: [MF] Reservoir Fiction

question: Summarize the plot twist.

answer: The narrator and his brother are discussing the plan of action for tomorrow. The narrator is about to leave when his brother asks him how much he has left. The narrator tells him that he has 1.2 million in gold bars under his house. His brother tells him that he knows about the gold. The narrator realizes that his brother is going to betray him.

critique: The narrator does not know that his brother is going to betray him.

critique: The narrator and his brother are discussing the plan of action for tomorrow. The narrator is about to leave when his brother asks him how much he has left. The narrator tells him that he has 1.2 million in gold bars under his house. His brother tells him that he knows about the gold. The narrator realizes that his brother is going to betray him.

critique: The narrator's brother does not ask him how much he has left.

critique: The narrator realizes his brother is going to betray him, not that his brother is going to betray him.

critique: The passage does not state that the narrator is leaving.

critique: The narrator doesn't realize his brother is going to betray him. He knows.

text: The answer is incorrect. The plot twist of the story is when Dale betrays his older brother, the narrator, while they are robbing a bank.

question: Summarize the prevalence of bank robberies in Texas.

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the story is set in Texas.


text:
	When I first came across the box of tapes, I didn't even think twice. I placed it in the front room, the sun room, where we toss everything we don't need, but don't want to leave in the leaky basement. It wasn't until the following Christmas it even became an issue.

	My wife wanted to set up the Christmas tree in that front room, which meant I had some cleaning up to do. So, I began moving things around. Coming across the box of tapes, I asked her where she wanted them. This triggered a bit of an argument, since she had never seen the box, and I had always assumed that it was hers. The first idea that was thought out loud, once it was established these tapes didn't belong to either of us, was the old owners left them. I reasonable thought. Unfortunately, two years ago when we moved into the house, it was totally empty. I don't mean there was no furniture, no dishes, no bed sheets. I mean empty. Nothing.

	Firstly, all the walls had been painted white. The same white as the ceiling. All the light fixtures had been removed, and besides the three wires poking out of the openings around the junction box, you wouldn't even know the house had ever had them hooked up. Further, there were no sinks, bathtubs, shower stalls, toilets. Nothing. The house was a total decorative blank slate. Now, normally, this house would have been a fixer upper. We looked at it more as a modular opportunity. With the money we saved from buying such an empty space, we were able to afford all the items to simply bring in and install. We never gave a second thought to why the house was so empty, and as soon as I pointed out just how empty the house was, I could tell I wasn't alone in the sinking feeling I got, looking at the box of tapes.

	The second issue we immediately had was all the tapes were in different formats. Different qualities. Some I had never even seen. Everything from old beta max recordings, to hi 8, to CD+R's to bluray discs. None of them marked. None of them dated. No reason to think they were related, besides being stored together, until we watched them.

	It took me the better part of two months to assemble all the video equipment to view everything. I was able to play most of the newer formats on my laptop, or DVD player in the house. Some creative flea market shopping procured me some player I required for most of the rest. Unfortunately there are still some tapes that I am unfamiliar with. And not just me. To be exact, I have four tapes remaining that I haven't viewed, that I have never been able to nail down what type of media they are. Nobody can give me an answer. The worst part is, after viewing all these videos, and sorting through the incredible story that unfolds on them, those four tapes seem to contain the ending. Which means that they were filmed last. On some format nobody has ever seen. And then placed into this box that has somehow made it into my home.

	None of this struck me as a warning. It should have. If I had just thrown the box away, or sent it to someone else to look through it, I might still have my wife, my home, my life. But instead I am sitting in a tent, typing this up on a stolen laptop, powered by those portable solar panels that you never thought you needed. I've learned how to hunt, build shelter, and grow my own crops. I'm approximately seven hours north of the closest major city. Nobody knows I'm here. Which might be the only reason I'm still alive.

title: [HR][SF]Videos

question: What does the story say about the family that used to live in the narrator's house?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the family is not mentioned.

question: What does the story say about the house?

answer: The house was totally empty when the narrator and his wife moved in. All the walls were painted white, and all the light fixtures were removed. There were no sinks, bathtubs, shower stalls, or toilets. The house was a total decorative blank slate. It was a fixer-upper, but the narrator and his wife looked at it as a modular opportunity.

critique: The answer omits that the house was empty when they moved in.

critique: The house wasn't empty when they moved in. They bought it that way.

critique: The answer should mention that the house was empty when they moved in.

critique: "It was a fixer-upper, but the narrator and his wife looked at it as a modular opportunity." - superfluous details not needed for the question.

critique: The answer should mention the box of tapes.

critique: The answer should mention that the house was empty when the narrator and his wife moved in.

question: What does the story say about the box of tapes?

answer: The box of tapes was found in the narrator's home by him. The narrator and his wife argued about who the tapes belonged to. The narrator assumed the tapes belonged to the previous owners of the house. However, the previous owners of the house left everything behind when they moved out. The tapes were in different formats and were not marked or dated. The narrator decided to watch the tapes and he assembled all the video equipment needed to view everything. The narrator watched all the videos and sorted through the incredible story that unfolds on them. However, there were four tapes remaining that the narrator couldn't identify what type of media they were.

question: What should the narrator have done with the box of tapes when he first found them?

answer: He should have thrown them away or sent them to someone else to look through.

critique: It's omitted that the narrator should have realized that the tapes were a warning.

critique: "He should have thrown them away or sent them to someone else to look through." - this is incorrect. The narrator should have just thrown the tapes away.


text:
*Now I think it is time that you should go away, young master, for I find this conversation uninteresting and exhausting. I think you ought to go away really almost at once, in case my disillusioned mouth should suddenly determine to introduce you to my great gills, which have teeth in them also. Yes, I really think you might be wise to go away this moment. Indeed, I think you ought to put your back into it. And so, a long farewell to all my greatness.*

Brian O’Brien was a Man. Not merely a man, a Man. Upon his entering a busy room, its female occupants would run restless fingers through their hair or press out the creases in their skirts, while the other, lesser men inside would glance at their feet or crack their knuckles and shift their feet. His driver liked to tell the story of a common thief who, after thrusting a gun at the tall, dark-haired passenger exiting the car, dropped his pistol and almost tripped over his feet turning away from O’Brien. Another time, at an important meeting, some young upstart had dared to interrupt the silence O’Brien’s presence demanded. Though he reacted calmly at the time, glancing briefly over his papers to identify the youth, something had happened afterwards that the shattered underling would never take upon himself to repeat, something that drained the color from his face every time he thought of it.

With all the stories he’d heard of O’Brien, it was of little wonder that the young accountant sitting before the magnificent oak door labelled “Brian O’Brien, Partner” could barely stop his foot twitching, or that his hair had begun to itch as the pores on his scalp slowly began to ooze sweat. Having started at the law firm only three weeks earlier, the college graduate could not imagine what the great O’Brien wanted from him. If it were up to him, Julian Zachary would not have taken the job in the first place. His parents, concerned that Julian would never use the talents he’d developed in the college education they’d paid for, had pushed and pressured him into working at the partnership. Julian had obliged them, as always, and allowed them to pursue the accounting position. But now things were getting far too serious; Julian had no problem dealing with simple, objective numbers, but the thought of confrontation with O’Brien was enough to make him twist his clammy hands.

At precisely three thirty, just as the email had instructed him, Julian stood - well, Julian jumped - and approached the door. Before he could raise his hand to knock, the clerk heard that distinctive, powerful voice echoing from within:

“Enter.” Straightening abruptly in surprise, Julian waited a moment before turning the bronze handle. Julian had a moment to take in the room, the rows upon rows of nondescript books, the expensive furniture, and the large window looking over the grey city skyline. Finally, hesitatingly, Julian’s eyes fell to the Man himself. Even sitting in the chair, O’Brien filled the room, emanating a power entirely unfamiliar to Julian. Though he was not an old man, O’Brien’s sharp eyes suggested an uncanny wisdom that bordered on omnipotence; as they focused in on the unexperienced accountant, the generic greeting Julian had so carefully prepared dropped from his mouth as a confused jumble of muttered syllables and vowels. O’Brien, after disdainfully waving away the weak speech that polluted his office air, directed Julian again:

“Sit.” The Man moved one of his large hands towards the chair in front of his stout wooden desk. Had he been a more athletic person, Julian might have noticed that O’Brien moved with the grace of a dancer or, more fittingly, a boxer. Instead, Julian thought of that mighty hand swinging down to smite the chair at which it pointed. Julian swallowed and sat, silently praying that his nervousness would not betray itself to the demigod in the chair across the desk from him. O’Brien’s expression of smug competence told Julian that it already had.

“I did not inform you as to why we were meeting today.”

Julian started, having almost forgotten himself, “No.” O’Brien waited a moment, as though waiting for Julian to add something in his defense, explaining how he could have been so lazy as to decline to determine the purpose of the meeting,

“I like to acquaint myself with everyone in this firm.” He fixed his gaze even more closely at Julian. Julian swallowed. “As one of the two names in this partnership, the actions of this firm reflect upon me. Your actions reflect upon me. Your actions will not fail to reflect positively upon me. Do you understand?” Julian understood. His parents were no longer the only ones watching his every step. He attempted an understanding, competent nod. Judging by O’Brien’s immediate smirk, it must have come out far faster than the accountant had intended. Disappointed, Julian tried to be still, though he still could not control his tapping foot.

O’Brien stood, turning his back to Julian to gaze out upon the city, presenting his inferior with a full view of his broad, muscular back.

“There is much work to be done here, and more will be expected of you than what you have done so far.” As he spoke, O’Brien moved towards a small vitrine built into one of his bookshelves. Inside were an assortment of small cases, vials, and mechanisms, all of them foreign to the seated accountant. O’Brien opened the glass door to retrieve a thin, wooden case about six inches long and two wide. After returning to his leather armchair, O’Brien brought his attention back to the skinny clerk in front of him, “This was most unwisely left in my possession by a man that I am defending. A murderer,” he pushed the case towards Julian, leaving it in front of the trembling youngster. “You will destroy it.” O’Brien snapped open the golden clasp that held the case shut. Julian blanched, his eyes darting around the room for something - anything else - to focus on. “Do you understand me?” Julian, looking far away, coughed. “Mr. Zachary: do you understand me?” Julian looked down at his feet,

“Yes.”

Later that evening, as he took the bus home from the firm, Julian fingered his belongings nervously, trying to think of anything but the severed finger wrapped in plastic lying in the tiny coffin in his suitcase. Had he been a cleverer man, Julian might have pondered why O’Brien would prescribe him with such a task. Had he been a braver man, Julian might have thought about bringing his grisly baggage to the police. Being neither of these things, Julian pulled a pencil out of his pocket and, with a shudder, slipped a notepad out of his briefcase. He began the process of forgetting his vicious cross-examination by constructing a maze for himself. And with that, the young, nervous man on the train began to accept that he would do as he was told.

title: Man and man (1776 words)

question: Why did O'Brien assign Julian the task of destroying the case and its contents?

answer: O'Brien is a lawyer defending a murderer. The case contains a severed finger that O'Brien has been instructed to get rid of.

critique: The answer should mention that the case contains the finger.

critique: The answer should mention that O'Brien is the murderer's lawyer.

critique: The reason for the case is not in the text.

critique: The answer fails to resolve the principle reason.

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

critique: It is omitted that the case contains a severed finger that O'Brien has been instructed to get rid of.


text:
I could feel the powerful throbbing of my racing heart against the wet stone floor. As I laid there I could sense every motion within my body from the blood rushing from my fingers to my toes and the expansion of my lungs as I inhaled, the following emptiness as I exhaled and every single hair standing up on my back from the cold.

I was naked and I felt cold. There was naught but a light breeze breaking the thundering silence. I opened my eyes only to close them again. They felt so very dry. After I rubbed my eyes I once again opened them to find myself lying down in the dark. I stood up and noticed my lack of clothing. The cool breeze had stopped. The following silence was so unbearable that I started tapping my bare feet against the stone floor. Not a sound. I tapped harder. Not a sound. I crouched down and started smacking the floor with the palm of my hand. Not a sound. I stomped on the stone floor trying to create the smallest inkling of a noise as my desperation grew more intense. Not a sound. I jumped up and down but not a sound wave was produced.

That's when the roar that can only be described as infinite started. The mind numbingly powerful roar the likes of which I have never heard. It was a sound that had no source and had no end. A sound that traveled indefinitely and that could not be escaped. I turned around cowering while covering my ears, screaming, trying to overpower the sound, to no avail. That is when I noticed the sliver of light in the dark. I made my way towards it and it turned out to be the crack of a door. On the other side of the door was a desert and the warmth of the sands heated the air through the doorway and I felt beckoned to lie down in it.

I thrust myself through the doorway to be engulfed by the warm sands but I could not feel it. I knew the sand was warm but I could not feel it against my skin. I dug deeper trying to get the sand in closer against my skin but I could not feel the heat. I could feel the weight of the sand pressing against me as I made my way down in the sand but could not feel the heat. I kept digging until I could no longer breathe. The pressure against my chest was immense and yet I did not feel the need to breathe, so I continued digging.

Light. I was instantly blinded as it hit my eyes. I felt shaken and the weight was unloaded but there was still an overbearing pressure and there was the cold, the now much more extreme cold cold. As I looked towards the horizon of the desert I could see the outlines of another person. A person wearing something that was being carried by the wind. A dress perhaps? Charging through the sand with not a care for anything but to reach this dress wearing someone I thought, what is this place? What am I doing here? Why am I here?

As I reached the figure in the dress I grabbed it's arm and swung it around only to see a young woman bloodied on one side of her face with a cut splitting her head on the left side. On the right side there was but the remnants of a what was once a face, now charred beyond recognition. I could recognize her. I closed my eyes and as I opened them again I came to.

I was in a car. In the driver's seat. There was smoke everywhere, as well as shards of glass. I looked up and there she was just opposite to me, in a car crumpled up in to the hood of mine, engulfed in flames. My sight got blurry and I heard sirens in the distance. What is this?

title: A desolate inside

question: Summarize the painful sensations the narrator experiences.

answer: The narrator feels the powerful throbbing of their racing heart against the wet floor, they feel the expansion of their lungs as they breathe, they feel the cold on their back. They feel the extreme cold of the desert and they feel the pressure against their chest when they are buried in the sand.

critique: The narrator never feels the cold of the desert.

critique: The narrator's hair standing up isn't mentioned.

critique: It's omitted that the narrator also feels excruciating pain when they crash into the woman.

question: Summarize the story's plot twist.

answer: The narrator wakes up naked in a dark room. They start tapping to make a sound, but there is none. They try to create a noise, but there is no sound. Then they hear a roar, and they realize they are in a car. It's on fire. The narrator sees the person opposite them in the other car. They wake up, and it's revealed that they are the one in the other car.

critique: The narrator doesn't wake up in the car. They are in the car.

critique: The implied answer is the narrator is dreaming the last two segments, which is the starting of the story.

critique: The first part of the answer is inaccurate. The narrator is not naked. They are clothed but are cold.

critique: The narrator is not the one in the other car.

critique: The narrator is not naked in the dark room. They are naked in a dark room.

text: The first three lines are unnecessary--the twist is simply that the narrator was dreaming and that the reality of the situation is that they've been in a car accident.

question: What does the story say about how the narrator wound up in the place with the wet stone floor?

answer: No answer

critique: The narrator woke up naked and cold on the floor. The roar that can only be described as infinite started, and the narrator made their way towards the crack of a door.

critique: The narrator was in a car crash and wound up in the place with the wet stone floor.

critique: The response misses to mention that the narrator was in a car crash.

critique: The narrator does wind up in that place, but the answer does not give any details about how she wound.


text:
	Kurt was taking his time walking down the street, his feet moving him ever forward as small droplets of water fell down from the sky, splashing all across the city. Everyone around him was rushing, with umbrellas, hoods, newspapers covering their heads. Kurt's sweatshirt had a hood, but he didn't think of placing it over his head. The cold orbs of water felt nice running down his shaggy brown hair, dropping off of curls in front of his face, onto his nose and then down to the ground with a “plop.” The water had just started to fall from the sky, but, unlike most times it rains, it did not start off slowly. There was no build up toward the release. One moment, no rain, the next, it felt like the massage setting on a shower head. Kurt forgot where it was he was going, but continued walking anyway, to get his feet wet. As people ran by, they looked at him oddly, as if he was insane to act as he did.
	After about thirty seconds, Kurt's clothes were soaked through. His hair was dripping completely, it looked as if head been in a shower for a few minutes. His sweatshirt clung to his body, dark gray from the moisture. In the pockets of his jeans his cell phone had short-circuited, the water had soaked into the electronics and caused too much energy to be placed on the motherboard, killing it forever. Kurt didn't care. He didn't notice that fact until a day later, when he went to clean up, and the phone fell from his pocket to the floor. His feet kept leading him down the street, which was growing increasingly familiar to Kurt, as he looked around him. He still did not know where he was going, but let his feet lead him.
	After five minutes of walking in the rain, his feet brought him in front of the door to an apartment building. The building he recalled knowing, but he did not know where from. Water still dripped down his brow to his nose, and off to make a “plop” in the puddle created under his feet. It was still raining, but a canopy provided relief. Kurt's right hand made its way to his pocket, where it found cold metal, damp from the cloth around it. The metal fit into the door in front of him, and his feet pulled him into the stair well, and up the stairs in front of him. He left a trail of water as his feet trotted up the steps, one by one.
	Everything around him he knew well, but Kurt could not figure out why. His feet had brought him in front of a door now. On the door were the numbers four, zero, and seven. His right hand lifted up, and knocked twice. The sound of flesh on wood was thick and loud, echoing down the hall. The water dripping off of Kurt soaked a floor mat that read “Welcome!” Kurt heard some shuffling inside, and the door opened. Standing there, staring at Kurt was a woman. Kurt remembered her. She stood in the doorway, wearing gray sweat pants and a t-shirt much too big for her. Her auburn hair was tied above her head in a ponytail that reached down past her shoulders. Her eyes were puffed and red. Inside the room, Kurt could see tissues and an open bottle of wine on the coffee table. He looked at her and said quietly,
	 “Angela... You're beautiful. Marry me.”
	“Fuck off.”
	Water went “plop” on the now-soaked floor mat.
	The door slammed shut, followed by the sound of metal clinking with metal.  Kurt turned, and started walking back down the stairs. As he got to the bottom, he realized that it looked brighter outside. When he walked out of the apartment, he looked up into the clouds. They were thinner. Water dripped from his nose and went “plop.” His eyes were red and puffy.

title: This is the first story I have written in the longest time. I give you: Plop

question: What does the story say about how Kurt feels?

answer: Kurt seems to be in a daze. He doesn't realize that he's been walking in the rain for five minutes, or that he's soaking wet. When he reaches the door of the apartment building, he doesn't know why he's there. He only realizes that everything around him looks familiar. He demands to marry Angela. When she tells him to leave, he does, but is visibly upset.

critique: The answer should mention that Kurt is a little sad at the end.

critique: It's omitted that Kurt is in love with Angela.

critique: The answer should mention that Kurt is in love with Angela.

critique: The response incorrectly mentions that Kurt was in the rain for five minutes. He actually spent that time walking in the rain.

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

answer: The girl, Angela, is home, crying. One can assume Kurt was upsetting her before. It is also possible that she took some drugs, making her in "a state". Kurt comes drunk and proposes marriage, thinking it is still Alana, the woman he actually loves. She rejects him, waving him to "fuck off".

critique: The answer is a lot of assumptions. Kurt doesn't know the woman's name, and it's not stated that she's crying.

critique: The story does not say that she may have taken some drugs.

critique: The answer is incorrect. Kurt does not think it is still Alana, the woman he loves. He does not think it is Alana at all.

critique: The answer is not clear on what the girl's state is.


text:
Feedback welcome! I really like the idea and want to do it well. Let me know if there are any grammatical errors I missed. thanks!

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

I stop to catch my breath on the 43rd floor. On especially foggy days you can't see the top of the Columbia tower from the ground below. Your imagination doesn't strain to picture it rising up forever. The fog could clear and you would see black windows stretch on for miles into the the sky until you lose sight of it in the distance. This illusion is not shattered from the inside of the building.

Once a year there is a fundraiser where firefighters climb all 69 flights of stairs with full gear on to raise money for leukemia. Even if the cure for cancer was on the line, I still would have stripped my backpack off 10 stories ago. climbing these steps Isn't as bad after shedding 50 pounds.

I haven't slept in two and a half weeks. I know because I keep a tally of the passing days. 20 parallel lines and four vertical slashes etched into the base of the clock tower in King Street Station are the only reason I know I haven't been here for years. That fucking tower. Home of the only working clock in the city. All the others are simply stopped. Digital clocks and watches are just a series of random numbers. a new sequence every few seconds. The result is a change in perspective, the center of the city seems to have shifted to the station. It is where I first woke up 24 days ago and it is where I always return. So much time spent sitting at the base of that tower listening to the tick tick tick of the second hand.

Still climbing. Out the window I see the city sprawl into the distance. Not a sign of life. Not a single living thing as far as I can see. I'm alone here. 56th floor now. Not far from the top.

I tried to leave at first. See if there was life elsewhere. Maybe I was unconscious through an evacuation. Maybe there were electrical issues that would explain the clocks. I found that that wasn't the case. Something bigger is happening. Since there are no cars that will start I packed some food and water and tried to leave the city on foot. The fog made it impossible to leave. I must have walked for a day through the thick consuming grey that was heavy as water around me, making it impossible to see more than a couple feet ahead. I tried to tell myself that I just got turned around when the fog cleared and I came out in exactly the same place I entered it.

Unwavering consciousness is maddening. After a week you would kill to sleep for even an hour. A couple days in I was in a panic, tearing through medicine cabinets in an empty apartment,  I took everything I found. A handful of Valium and Ambien and I just laid there for two hours staring at the ceiling, clear headed and wide awake. Eventually my gaze dropped to look at the pictures on the walls. I felt nauseous. Not from the pills but from seeing the photographs around me. on the walls, on the dressers and bed side table. there were no people in them. Baby pictures with no babies. Empty cribs. Cheap family photo backdrops with no family in front. Pictures taken of people minus the people. I stood up and walked back into the bathroom to confirm my fear. In my frenzy I hadn't even taken a second to look in the mirror. No reflection. I broke the mirror and walked back to the station.

68th floor now.

For a while I was in a haze. Almost catatonic. What could I do? For days I wandered aimlessly, my footsteps the only sound I could hear.

A  couple days ago I broke the window of a house in a more residential part of the city and climbed in. In the living room I sat cross legged in front of a crate of vinyl records. I am unable to see another person but maybe I can hear one. I pull Abby Road from the crate and feel the chills roll down my spine when I see the cover. For some reason the reality of all of this really set in when I saw the empty street. The Isolation and hopelessness of my situation somehow came over me full force while I stared at the sleeve. The familiar scene was all there, the yellow bug on the left, the trees over the peaceful street lined with cars stretching into the distance, but no one in the crosswalk. I knew it would be anything but reassuring at this point but I put the record in and dropped the needle down. There was music, but no vocals. I should have enjoyed it anyway but it was only unsettling. I decided to go with Beethoven while I sat and tried to figure out what to do next.

Here I am. Looking down on the city from the observation deck of it's tallest skyscraper. The view is incredible. A vast concrete landscape meets beautiful blue water encompassed be blanket of fog in all directions. Like living in a snow globe. I take a moment to really appreciate it before picking up one of the heavy wooden chairs on the far end of the room. Luckily the glass is single pane and after three or four tries I swing the chair as hard as possible against the window and it finally gives, shattering outward, sending a glistening cloud of glass to the streets below. Looking over the edge, the ground looks miles away. I start to feel a breeze. The air has been still as long as I can remember. In the wind I hear a sound. It sounds like voices. Whispering. incoherent but there is no mistaking it. I take a deep breath. Then, exhaling every ounce of fear in my body, I jump. The street comes rushing toward me a thousand miles an hour, then black.

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

My eyelids are heavy but I force them open. I'm blinded by fluorescent light. Plain white walls and sterile impersonal steel. Hospital. I feel the tubes all around me. The needles. Unnatural extensions of my body. Then a voice.

"Oh my god. Doctor! he's awake! Get in here now, he opened his eyes!"

A frenzy of motion all around me. Scuffling footsteps. A man in light blue scrubs is hovering over me, shining bright light into my eyes.

"Can you hear me? Blink if you can hear me. Are you able to speak?"

I understand but am unable to react. My body is not under my control. Dead weight.

"Keep your eyes open. Listen to my voice. stay with me!"

I can't. My vision begins to blur and sound begins to fade. The voices becoming unintelligible, far away.

"just stay with me."

Then black again.

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

I wake up and feel cold concrete. I'm confused and all I see is grey. Straining my eyes to look upward I see that familiar tower. It's dead silent
except for a Tick Tick Tick from the clock above.

title: short story I wrote today

question: What made the narrator jump down from the top of the skyscraper?

answer: He can hear voices.

critique: He can hear the voices, but it's not clear if the voices are what made him jump.

critique: The narrator hears voices while he's on the tower, but it's not clear if that's what made him jump.

critique: The narrator hears voices but it is not clear why he jumps.

critique: The answer should mention that he believes the voices are calling him.

critique: The narrator hears the voices after jumping down. This is evidence that the voices he hears are the reasons that he did jump down. Change the question.

critique: The narrator hears voices, but it's not clear if that's what made him jump.

question: What caused the city to be empty, without people?

answer: The narrator doesn't know.

critique: It is omitted that the narrator is suffering from insomnia.

critique: It is omitted that the narrator believes that something bigger is happening.

critique: "On especially foggy days" is evidence that the disappearance is caused by a grey fog.


text:
Damn. Now I really didn't see this happening. Of all the things to happen at this bland school and this is the shit that happens. Wow. I guess I'm getting a bit carried, let me start from the beginning.
          My school, Jefferson Middle School, is rather boring, nothing really exciting happens here except the occasional girl drama that usally goes like, "Brian likes me! Not you, skany hoe!" And ends in a matter of three days. I'm usually quiet, if you were to call me "popular girl," you would be wrong but calling me a "nerd" wouldn't be right either. I was just sort of there. I had my friends and that's all I needed. That's where this story starts. With my friend, Daniel. Daniel was a pretty intresting boy. All acceralted classes, loved video games and comics, and wasn't bad looking at all. Over the first year of middle school, Daniel and I became pretty close. Hanging out after school and learning about eachother. It was pretty nice. Daniel loved life and he wasn't afraid to show it. If he had something to say, oh would he say it, but he was never disrespectful about it. He was always being a gentlemen. People always said shit about him.
         "Oh! Did you hear about Daniel? I heard he was sucking cock in the bathroom!"
         "Daniel the fag!"
         "Daniel should go burn in fucking hell with all the other fags that enjoy buttsex!" Get the trend here? They kept on saying he was gay, over and over. Through messages on Facebook, notes, or even writing on bathroom walls, which is very cliche. There have been times where I have asked if he was gay and I would get the same answer every time.
          "Do you think I am?" Over and over, he never changed it. Daniel was really proud and he felt as if he shouldn't state if he were gay or not and I really admire that about him. 8th grade started and I assumed that the gay jokes would have gotten old by now, but they didn't. They actual got worse. More people started calling him a "fag, dick-sucker," and spreading rumors that I don't even wanna remember. I noticed a change in Daniel, he wasn't as outgoing, didn't speak his mind, became less quite, less proud. I tried helping him, I really did but it never worked. He seemed to just become more depressed. Those kids never noticed either, they just attacked him more and more, getting more ruthless with each insult. This drama was lasting way more than three days and I wasn't sure what would happen. Shit even got worsed.
          That's when I heard the intercom come on one day during class.
       "Students, I am sad to announce that our student, Daniel Rigsbee, has died yesterday." They didn't tell us how he died, but we all knew. He killed himself. The voice of the principal announcing his death was so fucking emotionless, it made it seem as if Daniel was some character in a movie that died. Everyone was silent. I was filled with anger. Those ruthless bastards did this. They didn't know when to stop. The minute the bell rang, I sprinted to his house asking if it was true was they said today. His father simply nodded and beckoned me in. He said that there was a note left in his room directed to me and "bitches." I walked to his room, feeling as if I was going to puke. I found the note, all directed in rainbows, colors, and smiley faces. It made me sick. I opened the note with nervoness and read.
        "Dear Juno and the son of bitches at school. Let me make this clear. I am not fucking gay. I am as straight as the pole your mom dances on. I should not have to tell people this, it's my life and you shouldn't be butting in. Pun intended. You caused this and I hope you feel great. You did it! You've killed me! I'm not gonna say that this wasn't your guys' fault because fuck that. It totally was. I hope you live with that burden that you killed me for your whole life. Juno, I hope you live a great life and don't cry over me, you didn't cause this. You are amazing and don't let people do what they did to me to you. I would punch their neck. (:
                                            Bye,
                                                  Daniel-Not fucking gay-Rigsbee
        What the fuck? That wasn't sad at all. This was the Daniel that I knew. He killed himself because he was done of the shit. I don't think he felt sorry or anything. I don't even know. As I turned to leave, I found something else. It was another note reading, "I hope this was exciting enough for you, Juno. I am a coward. I wasn't gonna deal with this anymore. They didn't win, remerber that. I won. They get to deal with my death. -Daniel"
         Fucking. Daniel.

title: Uhhmm...Well I'm 13 and I would like to be a writer when I get older so here's one of my short stories. Reviews? Be honest.

question: What does the story say about bullying?

answer: The author believes bullies didn't care about Daniel and that their bullying tactics might have made Daniel commit suicide. She believes the bullies are the ones who killed her friend. She points out that the bullies were unrelenting, and the only resolution he could find was to kill himself.

critique: The first sentence is a bit confusing. It would be better to say that the author believes bullies didn't care about Daniel and that their bullying tactics might have made him commit suicide.

text: Change author to narrator. Author refers to the writer of the story, the narrator is the girl who is the main character of the story.

question: Summarize the narrator's relationship with Daniel.

answer: Juno and Daniel are best friends and have been since 8th grade. She cares deeply for him. However, she didn't notice the student body's cruelty towards him. She was angry when she heard he committed suicide.

critique: The answer should mention that Daniel is the one who committed suicide.

critique: The narrator's anger at Daniel's death is omitted.

question: Summarize the school's reaction to Daniel's death.

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the school's reaction was emotionless.

text: Mention the specific action that the school took (the announcement) and convey the fact that the narrative shifted before the reaction of the rest of the school was shown.

question: What does the story say about the bullies' reaction to Daniel's note?

answer: No answer

critique: The response can include the actual content of the note because it's declared to be public in the story.

critique: The response is incorrect. The story does not say anything about the bullies' reaction to Daniel's note.

critique: The response is not related to the passage.

critique: The answer should mention that the bullies did not react to the note.

critique: The answer should mention that the bullies didn't have a reaction.