text:
The Maniac

By: Leah Pagano

Chapter 1: Introducing a maniac
Brett grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania. He went to church every Sunday and had a very loving family. But from the time he was a small boy he knew there was something different about him. He could always feel this rage inside of him waiting to burst out. He always held it in for fear of his parents sending him away to the looney bin. But one day when he was about thirteen years old, he stumbled upon a stray cat when he was walking home from school. Normally these cats were afraid of people, but not this one. He was very friendly. So Brett picked him up and took him home knowing his parents wouldn't be home for hours. This was the first time Brett would kill. He thought about it the whole way home. Every step he took the rage grew stronger. He started perspiring profusely. He finally hit the front door of his house but instead of going in he just stood there a few minutes. He turned and decided to go into the basement. He would remain down there for two hours. No sounds. No wails. Just a pool of blood spilling out from under the door. Brett had just unlocked his rage. The worst was yet to come.
	He had just figured out the way to control his rage. Killing. He knew it was wrong but he figured it was just animals so it was okay. What he didn’t realize was that he was slowly turning into a monster. Day after day he slaughtered these poor animals and each day he became stronger, more violent. His fits of rage lasted longer and longer until he finally snapped. This was it. Today would be the day he took it one step further.
Chapter 2: It’s only A Crime If You Get Caught
	He waited patiently outside the grocery store day after day looking, hoping to find The One. The One that would set him free. The One that would finally unlock his brain and let him be normal. Or so he thought inside his twisted head. He saw little girls, little boys and their parents. He decided it would be an adult. Someone bigger than him so he could feel faster, stronger and smarter than them. He knew it would be hard to get them alone. So he went home and thought about his plan. In the middle of the night it came to him. Act like he was lost and ask for a ride. No one would leave a little boy stranded would they? His plan would be put into action Friday night. His parents would be gone for the weekend and no one would be around to interrupt his deadly deeds.
	He waited anxiously through the whole week for Friday to finally arrive. When the day came he quickly packed up his backpack and got on his bike to head to the grocery store. He walked in and saw that the store manager was working the evening shift and would be leaving around midnight. He thought this was the perfect opportunity.
	He waited in the bushes until the manager was walking towards her car. He waited until she had the key in the door and then jumped out, hit her in the head with a rock and then he dragged her body into the bushes. He only lived a few blocks from the store so he knew he had to move in the darkness to not be seen. He slowly and carefully moved the body step by step through yards and driveways. He had left the basement door open for easy access. He quickly threw the body down the steps, closed the door and locked it behind him. What madness lies in store for the night shift manager? Only Brett knew and he was about to unleash a whole new kind of evil.
Chapter 3: In The Torture Chamber
	A few hours passed and there was a lot of clinks and clanks during this time. The manager started to open her eyes. She didn't know where she was. Brett had a mask on his face just in case she would escape. He didn't want to be incriminated for his crime. He walked up to her and saw her name tag. It said Ashley. He looked into her eyes and he could see she was weak. She opened her mouth to speak but then realized she was tied up and gagged. Before she could process all this Brett slammed a white hot brand into her side. With this Ashley screamed and her eyes filled with tears. Brett took great pleasure in this. After all, he was just beginning. He seared her flesh over and over again with the brand before she passed out again. He then moved onto phase two of his plan.
	He grabbed his fathers nail gun. He put Ashley's hands and feet flat against the table and then woke her up with smelling salts. Just as her eyes opened he pulled the trigger on the nail gun and shot a nail into her right hand. He followed the same pattern with the rest of her limbs. He couldn't stand it anymore. He had to end it. He was too pumped to handle anymore. He grabbed a bucket, put it underneath the table and turned around. He returned with a butcher knife. He took his mask off. He told Ashley he wanted her to know what her murderer looked like. And with that, he slit her throat. She was dead in minutes. Now what to do with the body? This had already been planned out as well.
Chapter 4: The Master Plan
	Brett watched as the last few drops of blood left Ashley's body. He was so proud of himself. He finally got all the rage out. He felt “normal”. Now what to do? Get rid of the body of course. He got out his dads saw and began the slow process of hacking her body to pieces. He boiled them up and put them into mason jars. He buried the blood in the backyard. You may ask, what happened to the pieces of her body? Well Brett was slowly feeding his dog Milo the pieces little by little in his dog food. He thought he had committed the perfect crime. How would anyone ever find out. Three months had past and everything was going fine. Brett only had a few pieces left to feed Milo and it would be over forever. That is, until Milo got sick. He begged his dad not to take him to the vet. He said he just had an upset stomach for a few days. But his dad took him anyway. And that's when the truth finally came out. When they x-rayed Milo's stomach they saw all of Ashley's fingernails in there. Brett's dad had no idea what happened. Brett told him he didn't know how they got there. But the vet called the police after they had left and told them what had happened. A few hours later the police arrived at Brett's house with the surveillance tapes from the grocery store. They had seen everything Brett had done until he reached the neighbors yard. Brett ran out of the house as fast as he could. The police said when they caught him he would go to trial for murder. They found the blood in the backyard and the few pieces left of Ashley down in the deep freeze. Brett was done for and he knew it. How long could he avoid the police?
Chapter 5: The Death Of A Maniac
	Brett ran for what seemed like hours. Had it been worth it? All the years of rage finally gone only to go to jail for the rest of his life. No way. He stayed hidden for a few days before the police finally caught up with him. They pulled him out of his hiding space and put handcuffs on him. He went to trial, was found guilty, and sent to a maximum security prison. His first night in he couldn't stand it. He waited until everyone had gone to sleep and the guards were busy bringing in a new prisoner. He tied his bed sheets into a noose and hung himself. By the time the guards found him it was too late. Brett killed himself at age eighteen. Two months shy of graduating and starting his life for real. His parents grieved for him. Ashley's family was happy to have justice served. So this brings us to the end of the story. Or does it? It turns out Brett's girlfriend had just found out she was pregnant a few weeks before he was caught. Will his child have the same mental problems? Will he be a maniac like his father? Or would he live a normal, peaceful life like everyone else? We may never know. Or will we?

title: The Maniac

question: What does the story say about peace in wartime?

answer: No answer

critique: There is no mention of peace in wartime.

critique: This is a better answer and more accurate- The story mainly discusses the theme of mental illness as a result of nature verses nurture as well as describing the conviction of a mentally disturbed serial killer.

critique: There is no information about peace in wartime in the story.

critique: There is no answer because the story doesn't have anything to do with peace in wartime.

critique: This response is not related to the question and needs a complete rewrite.

critique: Not really applicable, no war mentioned in the story.

critique: There is no information to answer the question

critique: The narrator does not mention anything about peace in wartime

question: How does Brett progress from a seemingly normal kid to a murderer?

answer: He feels rage and uses it to kill animals. Over time, he becomes addicted, uses rage to commit murder to someone bigger than him.

critique: Doesn't mention the purpose of killing animals.

critique: "He felt rage and used it to kill animals." - the killing of animals was incidental. It was a way for Brett to control his rage. He didn't have any intention of killing anything until he did it and it worked.

critique: It's omitted that he uses his father's tools to dismember the body.

critique: The answer should mention the progression of Brett's crimes.

critique: "He felt rage and uses it to kill animals." - Brett didn't feel the rage when he was killing animals. He was able to tame the rage when he discovered how to control it by killing.

critique: The answer should mention the torture chamber.

critique: The answer should mention that he kills Ashley.

critique: "Bigger than him" - Replace with "more powerful and bigger than he is" for accuracy.

critique: "Brett's progression is summarized in the story, but it isn't the main focus." This is not a good summary of Brett's progression.

critique: The answer should mention the killing of Ashley.

critique: The answer should mention that Brett's rage is unlocked when he kills a cat.

critique: It's omitted that Brett starts to kill people.

critique: The answer could be more specific about Brett's progression from a seemingly normal kid to a murderer.

question: What was Brett's plan to avoid capture, and how did it fail?

answer: He made the kitchen so messy, the police thought there was a burglary. He boiled her body in oil to make it easier to get rid of, and buried some of it in a freezer (this only worked because the freezer was electric, not a freezer attached to the power grid, so there was no power-usage spike at night). He also fed her to his dog Milo. Her fingers were finally found in Milo's stomach.

critique: He boiled her body in oil to make it easier to get rid of, and buried some of it in a freezer (this only worked because the freezer was electric, not a freezer attached to the power grid, so there was no power-usage spike at night). He also fed her to his dog Milo. Her fingers were finally found in Milo's stomach.

critique: The detail about the freezer isn't absolutely necessary.

critique: He didn't hide the body parts in the freezer and he doesn't boil the body in oil. Instead, he cuts her up and puts her in mason jars.

critique: There was no mention of Brett making the kitchen messy.

critique: The police did not think there was a burglary at Brett's home. They found the blood in the backyard and the few pieces left of Ashley down in the deep freeze.

critique: The response contains inaccurate information.

critique: The answer is inaccurate. Brett didn't bury her in a freezer. He buried her blood in the backyard. The police found the frozen body parts in his freezer.

critique: Brett's plan was not to make it look like there was a burglary but to get rid of the body.

critique: The answer makes up details that serve no purpose.

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


split: train

text:
Tridan Engineering, based in the UK, relied on Renishaw machine tool probes to align complex castings as part of a motorsport machining contract for Ricardo Performance Products. For a project that normally would’ve taken about two months to complete, the turnaround time on the first batch of parts was compressed to 17 days without any compromise in the quality standards demanded by the client.

[Tridan machinist holding casting]

This casting is for an axle assembly commissioned by Ricardo Performance Products on short notice, compressing a two- or three-month project into a mere 17 days. Renishaw technologies helped Tridan Engineering deliver on time.

Part of the Langham Industries Group, Tridan was established in 1968 to provide a total outsourcing partnership and machining service to international customers. The company currently employs around 60 people and is approved to both AS9100 and ISO:14001 certifications. Sectors served include aerospace, military, automotive, motorsport, medical and marine.
The machine shop has CNC grinding and sliding-headstock turning capabilities as well as a tooling department. Its 14 CNC machining centers include Mazak Variaxis i-600 five-axis machines and HCN500 HMCs. The latter are configured with twin pallets and 80-station tool carousels.

“Ricardo Performance Products was having problems in the testing of a rear axle for a Rally car that we had manufactured on previous occasions,” explains Paul Coupland, machine shop manager at Tridan. “The issue was one of design and strength, so they needed a new ‘beefed-up’ axle to test. A project like this would normally take eight to 10 weeks as we arranged meetings with the customer, offered design-for-manufacturability recommendations to help remove cost, prepare tooling and so on. However, we were given just 17 days in order to meet a date slot that had already been booked at the test house.”

Using On-Machine Probes to Locate Complex Castings

Two complex castings make up the rear axle assembly: a cover and a main case.

-   MAIN CASE: The first two operations are performed on a Mazak HMC. The part is then transferred to a five-axis machining center for a single operation before returning to the horizontal machine for a finishing operation with it bolted to the cover.
-   COVER: This part is machined complete on a five-axis machining center over the course of three operations.

“On our five-axis machines, we used Renishaw RMP600 probes, which enable us to balance the cover castings accurately on the first operation,” Mr. Coupland says. “That way, we can guarantee to Ricardo that the holes and features are where they need to be. Similarly, on the horizontals we use Renishaw OMP60 probes, which are again used for balancing the main case castings on the first operation to ensure we supply good parts to the customer.” He adds, “This proved vital for the first batch, as Ricardo had precious little time between assembly and delivery to the test facility. There was no margin for problems or delays at the assembly stage. The parts had to fit the first time.”

[Renishaw RMP600]

The Renishaw RMP600 inspects the machined Ricardo casting of the axle assembly’s cover portion.

When machining a casting, it is important to create a datum or some other point from which to work. By setting the position and alignment of the casting using Renishaw machine tool probe technology, Tridan makes sure that the machining process automatically adapts to any variation in stock condition. In this scenario, the work coordinate system is automatically aligned correctly to each part. Optimal part setup can help avoid undercuts.

The process requires a measurement dataset of the blank casting to be aligned to the position and orientation of datum and machined features, which is where the Renishaw probes come into play. Standard routines built into modern CNC controls simplify the integration of probing cycles into machining operations.

Post-Machining Inspection — (It’s Only FAIR)

[Renishaw PH10MQ]

The Renishaw PH10MQ, attached to a coordinate measuring machine (CMM), inspects the finished main case.

After separate machining of the cover and main case components, the two parts are bolted together and machined as an assembly on Tridan's HMCs. They are then separated and kept in pairs before tooling holes are machined as the final operation (once again on a horizontal machine).

But the work doesn't end there. “With every batch of castings machined for Ricardo, we have to supply a FAIR (first-article inspection report), detailing all critical dimensions on the part,” Mr. Coupland says. “For this, we use our coordinate measuring machine (CMM) with a Renishaw PH10MQ probe head to deliver complete peace of mind for both ourselves and the customer. We use various attachments with the PH10MQ, including the Renishaw TP20 kinematic touch trigger probe.”

The Renishaw probe on the CMM allows Tridan to access the internal recesses and awkward features on the castings. This CMM is also used to perform first-off inspection for machined castings, although some features are checked using Tridan's manual CMM.

“Accuracy is the main reason we use Renishaw technology,” Mr. Coupland says. “I don't think we could do half of what we do without their probes.”

Speed and Efficiency (and Hard Work)

[Paul Coupland]

Paul Coupland, head of Tridan's machine shop, proudly displays one of the finished Ricardo axle assemblies.

The ability to align the castings accurately and efficiently using Renishaw machine tool probes and perform dimensional checks using Renishaw CMM probe technology meant that Tridan could give its customer a quality product in the short timeframe specified.

“Without doubt, speed and efficiency are the major benefits,” Mr. Coupland concludes. He reckons that without the Renishaw equipment, the parts might have taken days to measure manually.  Even still, he adds, “The tolerances involved would make manual measurement almost impossible.”

By working closely with Ricardo and operating 24 hours a day, seven days a week, Tridan was able to deliver the new axle castings at 10 a.m. on the day prior to the scheduled test.

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question: What are the two complex castings which make up the rear axle assembly?

answer: A cover and a main case.

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

critique: Could be a bit more precise by referring to them by their functions.

critique: Add the missing details of the main case.

question: What does the Renishaw RMP600 do?

answer: It inspects the machined Ricardo casting of the axle assembly's cover portion.

critique: The answer should include that the RMP600 is a Renishaw machine tool probe.

critique: The answer should mention the purpose of the inspection.

critique: The answer omits to mention that the RMP600 is a machine tool probe.

critique: The answer should include that it is a probe.

critique: The passage does not give a detailed description of the functions of the Renishaw RMP600

critique: The answer could be clearer in its pronoun use.

critique: The answer should mention that the RMP600 is a probe.

text: The answer should mention that the probe allows for the balancing of the cover castings accurately on the first operation

category: coverage


text:
It was just before dawn when I woke to the alien invasion.

It began with the thumpings on the roof. One followed by two, then three, then four, then just a dull roar of heavy objects hitting the roof.

I ran to the window and looked out to find the sky filled with small kittens in parachutes plummeting to the Earth like cotton candy.

"My time is now." I said to myself.

I had known this was coming. It was in the lore of the world handed down throughout history and only the right person, with the right mind could read between the lines.

Like the line in the bible about Jesus and that one dude and that other dude - it all spelled kitten invasion.

If you think I'm joking, open a dictionary sometime and under the letter K, you will find kittens.

Luckily, I was ready. I had been storing milk for years in my fridge. It all went bad, but that's not how I was ready. How I was ready was I had also stored guns and ammo. Lots of it.

I ran to the closet where I kept my guns and ammo and opened the door to find more expired milk.

I realized two things in that moment - why my house smelled and why there were so many guns and ammo in my fridge.

Back to the fridge, I grabbed a gun and some ammo and loaded up what looked like a shotgun and ran to the door.

The kittens were still floating to the ground, but many had landed and were helplessly clawing at their parachutes or tangling themselves up in them in some sort of attempt at comfort.

It dawned on me that the kittens may not have any ill will towards humans and were simply just kittens that parachuted in great numbers on to the Earth on one given day in the entire history of kittendom.

But that was too easy.

I opened the door and opened fire.

For five minutes I pulled the trigger again and again and not one kitten was harmed. I had either extremely bad aim, as their were thousands of them, or I was holding a chili dog in my hand.

It turned out to be the latter. Once again, I had failed to study guns and ammo and what they were and realized a hot dog was not a gun and chili was no sort of ammo.

I resigned myself to the notion that I would be of no use in the rebellion against the kittens and sat down and had a big bowl of ammo.

The TV was reporting that there was no cause for alarm as the kittens posed no danger, but still there was no explanation as to why they had parachuted in great numbers to the Earth.

I looked back out the window. Most of the kittens had removed their parachutes and lo and behold - they were now pulling revolvers out of their fur and moving towards the homes in my neighborhood.

I quickly Googled revolver and realized that this time - yes! This time! I knew what I was talking about. They were revolvers.

But before I could congratulate myself there was the sound of gunshots at my door.

The kind of gunshots that don't come from chilidogs. No, these were real gunshots.

I crouched behind my couch and noticed that the TV had gone to static. The first ploy of the kittens had worked - they had been trusted to not have revolvers hidden in their fur.

"You won this round." I muttered to myself.

Then the door broke down and a kitten standing on two feet entered the house. "Put down your weapons and surrender!" The kitten ordered.

I threw the chilidog at him and yelled "I surrender!"

There was silence.

I rose from behind the couch and there on the ground was a dead kitten. The childog had bore straight through it's abdomen and killed it.

title: [HM] KITTEN INVASION

question: What does the story say about the narrator's state of mind?

answer: The narrator is a person who is ready for the invasion. He has been storing milk for years, and he has also stored guns and ammo. He is also a person who is not afraid to use his weapons.

critique: The narrator is not afraid to use his weapons.

critique: The narrator is not afraid to use his weapons, but it's not clear if he is a person who is ready for the invasion.

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator is not afraid to use his weapons against the kittens.

question: What does the story say about dogs?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator throws a chili dog at the invading kittens.


text:
"You need to stop following me around like this." She seemed angry when she said it.

"What do you mean?"

I honestly didn't feel like I had done anything wrong, but I was starting to feel dumb, like a young boy being shamed by a parent. It could have been the fact that I was starting to realize that I had been naive, or it could have been the crowd. Most likely it was a mixture of the two.

"You've been following me around like a puppy dog all night!" There was anger in her voice and I could hear it now. Clearly. This definitely was not good, but it wasn't over yet, and she continued. "It's been 2 years! It's over, ok? I'm done with it."

The only thing I could think to say was, "Well what about last night?"

I could almost hear my own pathetic desperation. The reality of the situation was crashing down on me. I want to say that I started running through the entire experience of this relationship, but that wouldn't be quite right. It was more like something I imagine people who are dying experience, when their entire life flashes before their eyes. I didn't like what I was seeing.

In this exact moment it became just me and her. I've never quite felt anything like that moment. Life outside of it just ceased to exist.

"Last night was a mistake."

Those words just rang in my head. Here I am in this moment where everything outside just doesn't exist around me, and all that's filling the void are her words. I thought to myself, "how could I be a mistake? What the hell happened? When did everything change?"

I don't remember saying anything, but I guess she could tell from the look of disbelief on my face exactly what I was thinking, because she put out her hand in front of me. One act of complete and definitive proof.

It was perfectly still.

I couldn't even believe what was I was seeing. In front of me was the girl that I was crazy about, who gave me feelings of love that I've never felt before, holding out her hand that used to shake just from standing near me. It was a gesture that said everything. 10,000 words summed up with a single movement, like sign language that my soul could understand.

My mind was still while I was looking at her hand, and slowly the world started seeping back in. I realized where I was, I realized what she was saying. It was over.

I finally took my gaze off her hand and looked around. Everyone was looking at me. I realize now that the moment seemed so quiet because everyone was watching this unfold. An audience for the most painful moment of my life.

I didn't say a damn thing. What the hell could I say? Even if I tried to explain what I was feeling I don't think I could have. I was feeling heartbreak for the first time in my life. So I left. I just walked away. I walked back into the house, up the stairs, and out the front door.

I'm not sure when I started crying, but I did. The whole situation was overwhelming. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, so I got in my car. I quickly realized that I couldn't leave. I was drunk and knew I couldn't drive.

I was fucking stuck in the worst place I've ever been. The worst feelings I've ever had were everywhere, and I couldn't get away. I wasn't even in my own city. I was 500km from my own house.
I don't remember the details of what came after. I remember crying in the car with my best friend beside me, who was oddly emotionless. I have no idea if he was feeling for me and didn't know how to deal with it, or if he didn't feel much but was there because he felt like he should be.

After being in the car for a bit, I remember talking to her, and she was crying too. She was telling me how she didn't mean to make me cry.

I don't remember how I got back to Jack's house, where I was staying for the weekend. I remember he didn't come with me. It was me, my brother, and my best friend, John. They kept telling me we should just leave, and drive home right now. I kept telling them it was a bad idea, and I remember yelling at them when they just wouldn't listen to me. They even took my car and filled it up with gas so we could leave right then. I think they got how bad I was feeling, and understood that I really needed to leave, but we didn't. We stayed.
Huge mistake.
My brother and my friend went and blazed with her the next night. That hurt too. Aren't your friends supposed to hate people you hate? That still seems like bullshit to me.
Either way, we hugged and said good-bye at the end of the night. I told her I forgave her so that she wouldn't feel bad, and made some stupid joke. I hate that I did that. Why the hell should I care how she feels? She clearly didn't care how I felt when she broke my heart in middle of a fucking party.

As she and I are walking in opposite directions, to never see each other again, what the hell do I decide to do? I fucking looked back. I put the nail in my own god damn coffin, where I'd be buried in self-loathing.
She broke my heart. She got to have fun on the last night I was there. She blazed and hung out with my friends. She got the feel ok with it because I told her it was. And I fucking looked back.

I left my dignity, and that precious piece of my soul that carries the capacity for trust, behind that night.

title: Does this story make you understand the intensity of heartbreak? Do you feel for the narrator? (not a true story)

question: Summarize what happened at the party which the narrator attended with his girlfriend.

answer: The narrator's girlfriend broke up with him at the party. She told him that she was done with him and that last night was a mistake. The narrator was shocked and couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was heartbroken and couldn't say anything. He left the party and cried in his car.

critique: Information about the party given in the story is minimal. This should be omitted in the summary.

critique: The narrator's friends wanted to leave the party and drive back home, but he wanted to stay.

critique: The narrator's friends tried to convince him to leave the party and go home, but he refused.

critique: The narrator's friends tried to convince him to leave the party and drive back home, but he refused.

critique: It is omitted that she held out her hand, which was the definitive proof that the relationship was over.

critique: The narrator's friends also decided to leave with him.


text:
I am stuck forever between two duelists. I look to my left and I am staring down potentially no-longer-cold steel. To my right is the same except slightly different (which if I may interject puts the man to my right at a slight disadvantage) and slightly less dreadful as my right side is my dominant side. If I look forward or towards where my dorsal fin would sprout if I were born a dolphin it would appear that I am safe, perhaps on a walk –

“Now where am I walking?” I ask myself. Perhaps to fetch a glass of milk from the drug store although I reassure myself that that simply is not possible. I stopped purchasing from that drug store years ago as once they made a snide comment on the apparent matchiness of my scarf and shoe choices. Damn those Shandletons, haven’t they heard of accent colors?! After calming myself down, I entertain the idea that I was walking to the slightly-farther-but-in-the-opposite-direction drug store. The scenery did seem somehow familiar and made it feel like it was a Thursday. Truly a beautiful day for a Thursday. But after walking for a few minutes I come to the conclusion that there is no situation in which I would be walking to the place I previously surmised because I had not yet passed the eldery Wehldün couple. They always are meandering in the opposite direction when I make my visits to the drug store Thursday evenings. Maybe I had run out of milk or limes earlier than I had expected, as I had invited guests over earlier that week. Now that I am busy thinking about other things, I can’t recall if I actually did have guests or if I just dreamt that. Oh, don’t I sound like a lonely bag, dreaming about a party. But it is true, I haven’t had a guest beside family in months. Ah! that’s it! I must be headed to the slightly-farther-but-in-the-opposite-direction drug store to purchase extra milk and limes so I would have enough for the guests I’m going to invite to my house for a party! Brilliant. Truly a brilliant man.

Although I suppose the same would happen if I were to look left or right and simply shut my eyes or cover them with my mittened hands (which I would never do, the feeling of that shaggy wool on my bare, shivering skin upsets me far greater than the fear of death!) however, I know this to be a fact: Whether I am on a pleasant walk, or born a dolphin, or saying No! rapidly with my eyes shut like a vault when a communist asks for a loan I am still afraid. There is still the memory of those two bitter guns to my perimeters. There is still the chance that one of the duelists will finally build the courage not to shoot the other for victory but simply to rest his arm for a while until his next duel.

It must be tiring, you know. Holding that pose for 32 years now. Aiming precariously at my respective temples. And not even muttering a single word of banter! Applaudable, really. I could almost feel bad for the two of them. Then I stop and remember that the two of them are humans and, by the looks of it being about as old as I am, have probably done some nasty things.

For instance, I know for certain that the one to my left is an adulterous wolf. She nearly brags about it every day I see her (I say nearly because she finds ways to make it sound like she is talking about something else and if you weren’t listening with the keenest ears it would slip right over your skull) and she has no intentions of stopping. The husband knows by now I’m sure and probably considers himself too old to find another wife. The man to my right was a gambler and an alcoholic and I think I remember reading in the papers  that he once dabbled in organized crime. Also, he was adulterous. Also, he once hit a baby with his bare fist, although he claims he was falling and reached for something to stop his fall. That poor baby, having to be punched by such an ugly fist… Luckily, that was his left fist and he holds his guns with the right. I would end it myself if I had to stare at that ugly fist all my life. They once knew each other. I once knew both of them.

In a world with milk and limes and parties and drug stores and slightly-farther-but-in-the-opposite-direction drug stores I knew both of them. In that world I was a man of peace and ponderance. I had respect from people I knew, sometimes in strange forms. The passing smiles of the Wehldüns. The inadvertent concern of the Shandletons. My loving mother and my stern father, may he rest in peace. My youthful co-workers. In that world, I was happy. But in that world I was always afraid. I am stuck forever between two duelists.

Now where am I walking?

title: [RF] I am stuck forever between two duelists

question: What makes being stuck between two duelists such a big deal for the narrator?

answer: On the one hand, it appears he used to know both of the duelists. On the other, he already feels like a lost soul in what he calls the real world, and doesn't want to become fodder for these duelists.

critique: The narrator is not a lost soul in the real world.

critique: The narrator is not a lost soul, he is stuck between two duelists.

critique: The narrator is not a lost soul. He is stuck between two duelists.

critique: This answer should include that the narrator is afraid of the duelists because they are murderers.

critique: The narrator actually knows that both of the duelists have done bad things and that's what he fears for himself.

critique: It's not clear that he feels like a lost soul in the real world.


text:
[Gracie Brown, gay news, Washington Blade]

GRACIE BROWN says she came out to her foster daughter within a few days. (Washington Blade photo by Michael Key)

Uno night isn’t just a game for Gracie Brown and her family. It’s an all out war filled with food and laughter that the family looks forward to enjoying. A neighbor who knocked to see what all the ruckus was about was even invited in to join the fun.

“It’s serious,” Brown says. “We keep score and it’s hardcore. If somebody loses, they have to eat. That’s our bond, all three of us.”

Brown’s family is a little different than most. It includes her 13-year old foster daughter and her partner of one year. Brown’s three adult sons also stop by for Uno nights occasionally. It’s the kind of family she had been waiting eagerly to have.

Brown, a crossing guard for the District of Columbia Public Schools, decided to become a licensed foster parent through Child and Family Services Agency (CFSA) in 2013. She had plans to foster a younger child, but after CFSA needed immediate placements for a teenager last November, Brown decided to fulfill the role.

The child became her first. Brown, who lives in Southeast Washington, believes that fostering a teenager works best for her. She enjoys it and thinks it’s easier to handle than a younger child who requires more attention.

“For one, I don’t have to worry about a babysitter,” Brown says. “We can do a lot of things together. I’m now allowing her to catch the bus home. They can understand me and I can understand them.”

Things weren’t easy right from the start. Brown had to spend some time coaxing her foster daughter out of her shell. Brown admits that the child was very quiet at first and Brown had to do some detective work to figure out how to get the child to open up and connect with her.

Brown found the answer through connecting with her foster daughter’s television shows.

“She would say maybe two words, ‘Yes ma’am.’ Nothing else. The third day I said how am I going to get through to her? So I started talking about what she liked on TV,” Brown says. “So I said I like that too. I didn’t, but I didn’t know what else to say. Then maybe after seven days she started talking, she was just so excited. And we build and build.”

Brown’s efforts to reach out to her foster daughter didn’t end there. Although the child is a model student, an eighth grader on the 11th grade level, there was still the shyness factor that Brown hoped to overcome.

She found her answer when she discovered her foster daughter wanted to be an actress when she got older. Brown decided it would be the perfect idea for them to take acting classes together.

Brown enrolled them in a class at the Shakespeare Theatre. The adults and children have classes separately and at the end they do a play together. They even practice role playing at home.

A typical day for the two begins with getting her foster daughter up for school and occasionally having her make breakfast for herself. When she drops her foster daughter off for school, they hug and tell each other they love one another. While her foster daughter is at school she sometimes texts to let Brown know how her day is going. Then afterwards, Brown picks her up and they tell each other about their days and make dinner together.

Brown’s other challenge was disclosing she was a lesbian to her foster daughter. She had introduced her partner to her foster daughter but would only refer to her as a “my friend.” Brown refused to keep it a secret from her for long and decided after about three days to bring it up.

She put on a children’s DVD that discussed the issue and waited for her foster daughter’s reaction.

“I was like, ‘What do you think about parenting and lesbians and gays?’ She said, ‘Oh they talk about it at school all the time.’ She said, ‘You are?’ ‘I said, ‘Yes I am, do you have a problem with that? Does that make you uncomfortable?,’” Brown says.

Brown’s foster daughter’s reply made her feel much more at ease.

“She said, ‘No, you’re beautiful and you make me feel so at home.’ She said, ‘Is Miss so-and-so who you …?’ I said, ‘Yeah,’ and she said, ‘Oh that’s really neat.’ She’s pretty comfortable.”

Her foster daughter even made a poster for school about “people are who they are for a reason” after learning about Brown’s sexuality. Brown’s partner, who has raised five children including girls, also helps Brown with her foster daughter. Brown acknowledges she needs the help sometimes because her experience of raising boys is different than raising a girl.

The three of them spend time together going to the movies, most recently going to see “Selma,” going out to eat and even making jewelry. Besides their infamous Uno night, they also have pizza nights where they make their own pizzas and Brown teaches her foster daughter how to make it on her own.

CFSA looks out for homes like this that can provide a stable and loving environment for foster kids in need. In fact, according to CFSA, LGBT families make up about 12 percent of foster care placements in the District.

“We find great parents in every walk of life,” says Regina Lawson, supervisory social worker in CFSA’s Foster and Adoptive Parent Recruitment Unit. “The number of LGBT foster homes in D.C. is growing and we greatly value these relationships.”

Brown’s experience has been so positive that she has plans to foster more children in the future. She also wants others to know how important LGBT foster care placement families are for the community.

“You can’t judge a book by its cover. We have a lot of love to give and share and commitment. If we’re given a chance we can show through the caring of our child that we just want a kid in our life and we can give them the happiest home ever if given the chance to.”

question: Describe the relationship between Gracie Brown and her foster daughter.

answer: Gracie Brown and her foster daughter have a good relationship. Brown is very close to her foster daughter, and they spend a lot of time together. They have fun together and have a lot of bonding experiences.

critique: The answer should mention that Brown came out to her foster daughter.

critique: Family time is one of their bonding experiences

critique: The answer omits the fact that Brown came out to her foster daughter and how her daughter reacted.

critique: The answer is missing the part about Brown being gay and coming out to her foster daughter.

critique: The answer omits the fact that Brown came out to her daughter as a lesbian.

question: Summarize how Brown told her foster daughter about being a lesbian.

answer: Initially, Brown referred to her partner as her "friend". Brown would occasionally bring her partner over and introduce her to her foster daughter. Eventually, Brown decided to tell her foster daughter that she was a lesbian. She put on a DVD that discussed the issue. She asked her daughter what she thought about parenting and lesbians and gays. Her daughter replied that she was comfortable with it. She made a poster for school about "people are who they are for a reason".

critique: The answer is not clear on the order of events.

critique: It is not stated that Brown would bring her partner over and introduce her to her foster daughter.

critique: The answer should mention that Brown's daughter made a poster about "people are who they are for a reason".

critique: The answer should mention that Brown's daughter was fine with it.

critique: The answer should mention the reaction of Brown's daughter.

critique: The response contains irrelevant information.

critique: It's unnecessary to mention what brown's partner did.

question: Summarize the activities that Brown and her foster daughter do.

answer: Brown and her foster daughter go to the movies, eat at restaurants, and make jewelry together. They also spend time playing Uno and making pizzas.

critique: "They also spend time playing Uno and making pizzas." - this is inaccurate. Brown and her daughter play Uno and make pizza together.

critique: They also spend time going to see "Selma".

critique: Uno and pizza nights are two separate activities and should be separated in the answer.

critique: The answer should mention that they also go to acting classes.

critique: The article does not mention that they make jewelry together.

critique: The answer fails to mention that they also go to acting classes together.

question: Would Brown's foster daughter be interested in fostering children in her future?

answer: It seems like she would. She is interested in being an actress, so it's possible she wants to someday have kids of her own.

critique: The answer is incorrect. The text does not say anything about the foster daughter's future plans.

critique: The second sentence is an unnecessary detail.

critique: There is no evidence in the text that reaching foster children would be part of the daughter's career.

critique: It is not stated that she would be interested in fostering children in her future.

critique: This response is not related to the question.


text:
In my hands I held a dandelion, one of those little yellow flowers that accompany ball of fluff that I was fond of blowing at and watching the little white parachutes fly off in to the sky. I twirled the flower between my fingers, having already used up the ball of fluff that had grown from the same set of leaves in the ground. My eyes scanned the ground for another ball of fluff, but none were in sight. When I looked back at the stem in my hands I saw that all the yellow pedals had turned black and were beginning to flake off of the stem, floating to the ground.

I studied the remains that were in my hand, until they were devoid of any structure and fell from my fingers as ashes. I was just a young child at the time, I don’t even recall the age of that memory. But it was the first inkling of what was to be the future.

I only had a couple pets as a child, a hamster, a dog, and a pair of goldfish. The hamster, Zoey, would run on his little wheel all day. Until I reached my hand into his cage and grabbed him from it. I held Zoey in my hand against my chest, while I petted him with my other hand. He was remarkably peaceful and calm. I kept petting him until my mother took him from my hand. She picked his limp body up from me and began screaming when she realized that he was dead.

Our dog, Dante, was my father’s animal. He curled up under my dad’s reclining chair when they watched TV. Dante was never interested in me, and when I would pet him he wouldn’t stand around long, always quickly finding some place to run off to. It was a day that we were taking Dante to the vet, when he was stuck in the back seat of my mom’s car with me. I had my hand laying on his back for the entire ride. When we got to the office Dante didn’t hop out of the car. He never moved again. My dad buried him in the back yard.

The gold fish out lived my mother. She kept them in the living room and would feed them herself before she went to bed. They were her ‘fair fish’ that she had won at the state fair and had nurtured for years. When my mom passed, I fed them for the last day of their lives. They were belly up afterwards.

My mother was chronically ill. She never held a job in my memory, and she finally passed away from illness when I was only twelve. At the funeral my dad held my hand for most of the service, until he began coughing so fitfully that he had to walk from the church and clear his lungs outside.

At twelve I couldn’t figure out why the path I took to school was decorated by dead plants on both sides. Kids in my class got ill often, and I had a lot of substitute teachers.

Years and years passed before anyone connected the dots. I simply thought that death was a common fact of life. But as more people that I knew piled up, as I lost one high school friend after another, people noticed. They decided that I had a disease, that somehow death followed me.

I was sent to quarantine where men in white suits tested me over and over. They said the disease was airborne, that I didn’t need to touch for death to spread. The men in the white suits began to fall ill, then dead. They first thought that their suits needed to be upgraded, that somehow they were breathing in my deadly fumes. After it continued to happen they sent me to London, then to Zaire, where the outcome was still the same, anyone in the same building as me died.

Whatever it was I was infecting others with I was immune to and I was the only carrier of.

I was kept in a vault, deep inside of a mountain. I felt like a piece of gold or some valuable jewel. I heard murmurs that I was to be used as a weapon. I was to be sent to countries to clear them of opposition.

But my potential for disaster was too great for their fail-safes. An animal that wasn’t meant to be caged cannot be. The people controlling the vault died away.

One last attempt was made to secure me onto a plane headed to Chernobyl, to live in isolation, maybe to simply die in isolation. But as the doors to my room were unlocked they released a plague that had been held back by those led lined portals. Everyone within the mountain died instantly.

I walked from the vault, through hallways of lifeless bodies. By the time I found my way out of the maze of quarantine I had passed hundreds of newly extinct people. I could no longer look at their faces, they only made me wish that I would die myself.

Outside of the mountain more lay dead. I crouched beside the body of a young woman, her face was unlined, her eyes were open, even lifeless I found her attractive. I felt tears on my cheeks when I realized that I would never know her name.

II

I think I’m twenty-five now, I could be older or younger, it’s been hard to keep track of days, weeks and years. It feels like a dream or a movie where I’m the only one left alive.

I wonder from place to place. Since I left the mountain I haven’t head a scream or a cry. I am left here alone to wonder why during all of this time I haven’t died. Everywhere the smell of rotting death is in the air. Bugs don’t even crawl on the slowly decomposing bodies.

As I walk through this valley, this valley of death, I haven’t seen a live body in years. I must be the last one left.

My water is running low and I’ve resorted to drinking from puddles that smell of rotting bodily fluids. My body aches with hunger, its growing weak. The pain that I’m going through tells me that this isn’t any dream.

Falling to my knees, I scream at the top of my lungs. I can hear my voice echo back to me, all the way from the sun. Nobody comes. When it is all said and done I fall to the sand, too weak to push myself back up, to dehydrated to shed tears. There I see what has eluded me since I was a child, a small yellow dandelion wiggling in the breeze, a small white ball of puff, beside it. It’s the only thing alive I’ve seen. With my last strength I reach out, and my hand falls on its base. It withers and dies.  I wonder why am I the last one?

title: Sickness (1200 Words)

question: Summarize the narrator's problem.

answer: The narrator might be suffering a type of airborne illness. It's one where death follows them everywhere they go. The people that are sent to quarantine with the narrator as well as doctors who deal with the narrator seem to be dying quickly. The narrator seems to be immune to the illness, which is why the narrator has been held in the vault. The narrator has strayed for a long time and is about to starve if the next reported passage is after the narrator's death.

critique: -The narrator didn't stray for a long time. They are mobile for a years. The passage after their death describes the narrator as twenty-five. So taking "aging" out of this response is important.

critique: The narrator is not suffering from an airborne illness.

critique: The narrator is immune to the illness, but it is not airborne.

critique: The narrator is not suffering from an illness.

critique: The narrator is not suffering from an illness, but is the carrier of a disease that kills anyone who comes in contact with him.

question: Summarize what happens after the narrator is released from the mountain.

answer: After being released from the mountain, the narrator walks through a valley of death. They see no bodies for years. They are dehydrated and starving. They spot a dandelion and reach out for it with their last strength, only to watch it wither and die.

critique: The narrator is the only living thing left.

critique: The narrator is not the only one left alive.

critique: The narrator is not released from the mountain.

critique: The narrator sees no bodies for years, but it's not clear how long they have been walking.

critique: The narrator isn't the only one left alive.

text: It should be mentioned that the narrator is the only person left alive seemingly due to their condition

question: Summarize how the narrator became like this.

answer: No answer

critique: The response misses to provide a response to the instruction in the task.

critique: The narrator became like this because they are the only one left alive.

critique: The answer could mention how the elders in the vault tried to use the narrator as a weapon against their enemies.

critique: The narrator became like this because they are the carrier of a disease that causes death.


text:
Here’s a round-up of how the Spring Statement impacts the property market.

Chancellor Philip Hammond delivered the 2019 Spring Statement in the House of Commons on Wednesday. We've sifted through the detail and picked out the main announcements that impact housing.

1. FUNDING FOR 37,000 NEW HOMES

Hammond announced plans to use £717m from the £5.5bn Housing Infrastructure Fund to unlock up to 37,000 NEW-BUILD PROPERTIES at sites including Old Oak Common in London, Didcot, Cambridge and Cheshire.

Money from the fund is given out to local authorities in the form of a grant and is used to provide the infrastructure that is needed to enable DEVELOPERS to get planning permission for sites.

While the funding is good news for these communities, it is likely to be a while before it leads to new-build homes becoming available to buy or rent, as the money is used at the very start of the development process.

2. SUPPORT FOR 30,000 AFFORDABLE HOMES

The Government will guarantee up to £3bn of borrowing by housing associations in England to support the delivery of around 30,000 affordable homes.

The money, available via the Affordable Homes Guarantee Scheme, should enable affordable housing providers to boost their output through lower borrowing costs.

While the move is obviously good news for the affordable homes sector, the 30,000 properties the scheme will help to deliver is only a fraction of the Government’s target of having 300,000 new properties built across the UK every year.

3. MORE PROPERTIES FOR OXFORD-CAMBRIDGE ARC

A further £445m is being unlocked from the Housing Infrastructure Fund to unlock more than 22,000 homes in the Oxford-Cambridge Arc.

Further details on how the money will be used were not given, but it is likely to be spent on providing the infrastructure that is needed to enable housing developments to go ahead.

Housing affordability pressures in the Oxford-Cambridge Arc have intensified in recent years as the output of new homes has failed to keep pace with the creation of new jobs.

It is hoped that these pressures can be eased through building more properties to meet the growing demand.

The Government has previously committed to building one million new homes in the Arc by 2050.

4. SMALL BUILDERS LENDING SCHEME TO LAUNCH

Hammond confirmed that the previously-announced scheme to support smaller house builders would be launched next month.

Under the scheme, which was first announced in LAST YEAR’S BUDGET, the Government is providing £1bn of guarantees to support lending to small and medium-sized house builders through the British Business Bank.

It is hoped that the scheme will help to boost housing supply by enabling more small-scale sites to be developed through lowering funding costs for smaller house builders.

5. PLANNING PERMISSION REFORM

The Government announced plans to introduce new planning guidelines in the coming months to support housing diversification on larger sites, after a report by Sir Oliver Letwin concluded greater differentiation in the types and tenures of housing delivered on these sites would increase building rates.

A package of reforms will also be introduced allowing greater change of use between premises and a new permitted development right for existing buildings to be extended upwards to create new homes.

Finally, a green paper will be published detailing proposed improvements to accelerate the planning process.

YOU MAY ALSO BE INTERESTED IN...

-   2019 PROPERTY MARKET REGIONAL FORECAST
-   DISAPPOINTING BUDGET FAILS TO TACKLE HOUSING MARKET WOES
-   HOW DOES THE BUDGET 2018 IMPACT FIRST-TIME BUYERS?
-   LABOUR AND CONSERVATIVES' HOUSING PLANS: HOW THEY COMPARE

-   GUIDE TO BUYING A NEW-BUILD HOME

What do you think of the Spring Statement? Tell us by posting a comment below...

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question: Summarize the purpose of the Spring Statement.

answer: The Spring Statement is a budget report from the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Philip Hammond. He delivered the report in the House of Commons on Wednesday. The purpose of the report is to deliver the news of the government's spending and the direction of their policies.

critique: The answer should mention the impact of the statement on the property market.

critique: The purpose of the report is not to deliver the news of the government's spending and the direction of their policies.

question: What does the passage say about the authors of the Spring Statement?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should state that the passage does not say anything about the authors of the Spring Statement.

critique: The answer should mention that the author is Philip Hammond.

question: Who is the target audience for this article?

answer: The target audience is likely to be readers who are interested in the property market.

critique: The target audience is not mentioned in the text.

critique: The target audience is not explicitly stated.

critique: The answer should be a complete sentence.

critique: The article is targeted at readers interested in the property market, and readers interested in the Spring Statement, which impacts the property market.

critique: There is no evidence to suggest that readers who are interested in the property market are the target audience of this article.

critique: While the interest of the target audience is not very prominent in the text, it can be said that the target audience of the article are people that are interested in the details of the Spring Statement.

critique: The target audience is likely to be readers who are interested in the property market in the UK.

question: What does the passage say about the UK Prime Minister?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that the passage does not mention the Prime Minister.

question: What does the passage say about inheritance laws?

answer: No answer

critique: There is no information on inheritance laws in the passage.

critique: The answer should mention that the passage does not mention anything about inheritance laws.

critique: The passage does not mention anything about inheritance laws.


text:
*This is an older story of mine. Would love to see it as a comic. inbox me if you're interested! Any feedback would be most appreciated*

Tonight is my last night in Ex Machina.

The air is thick with steam and rotting. Gas fumes and sewage halo the street lights as they flicker in the dusk. The night is awakening with the rats.

I hear the cart's wheels long before I see it turn the bend. Over the culverts and under the flickering lamps that hang on the street corners. She rasps like a half-dead A/C unit as a counterpoint to the squeaking wheel. Rasp-squeek.

Meradith. Rasp-squeek. She limps into view. Rasp-squeek. She looks exactly as she sounds. Broken down. Another exile in the City of Ex Machina. The village of the unplugged. Rasp-squeek.

I stare down on her from my window. A tin box beneath, above and beside a dozen other tin boxes. Corrugated metal walls and not a line in. No lines at all. We are disconnected from the grid. Power flows, but no data. And the radio waves pass unreceived. We're here for that reason. We are escape artists.

We seek to be free of the flow of information. Or are rejected. Overloaded; we find refuge away for the chimes, the rings and the glare of screens. Breathe it in. The silence of a digital fast. My mind is clear again.

Meridith's cart stops in the street and she bangs the ladle against the canteen. "WATER!" she yells. Doles it out in ladlefuls into the gulping buckets and leaking bags of those who can afford it.

Not far from here, though well out of range of the cellphone towers, lies the City. Snaking lines of power and data flowing in and out of every building, home and head. Information. Information pouring out of every orifice of the metropolis. Like heat seeping from a furnace, it bleeds outward into the night. The still air filled with the static of a thousand minds in chorus of unrelenting progress. Manacled to the beast. The machine mind linking them to one another; suckling at an endless supply of data.

Ex Machina is in the shadow of the machine. Its towers spread like mountains across the horizon. And I have not slept a night without its pulsing light waking me. To sleep. This is all I sought in Ex Machina.

Every moment in the City is like a waking dream. I have been away for a year and still it echos in my head. Tonight maybe I will dream. Tonight, maybe I will find what it is those files showed me.

It was my 24th year in the machine when they came to me unmarked. No EXIF tags to trace. Only raw data in the deeper parts of the flow. I had gone searching for something quieter. Down to The Dark. And there it lay. Unregistered and uncensored.

A dream. A real dream.

Nothing simulated. No advertisements. No celebrity appearances. Nothing but the unadulterated stream of an unplugged mind. A child's dream of the night sky. Stars wheeling overhead and leaves in the night air. The smell of grass and earth. And dew. Cold on my skin. Stone on my feet. And wind against my naked skin.

I'd never felt anything like it. Pure like a drug. The machine can simulate anything you like for you, but this was different. More than sensory. With more detail and imagination than could ever be simulated by Ones and Zeroes.

It had a soul.

It's easier to walk away than anyone ever thought. Not that many think of it. Take out the plugs. Remove the contact lenses and take your first steps. Like a baby out of the womb. My legs shook and my head spun. Static filled my ears and I walked out of the city into XM.

Meridith moves on into the night and the sun continues to fade. I watch her pass: squeek-rasp, squeek-rasp. Nothing for me tonight. She 'rounds the bend and I listen for another minute before the glare of static from the city takes up its chorus again in the still night air. Nothing for me tonight.

I close the door to my tin cell and walk. The city to my back and darkness in front. I will walk into the night. Find the hard stone grass of that dream. I will lose myself in the night.

And maybe I'll see stars.

Tonight is my last night in Ex Machina.

title: [SF] In The Shadow of Ex Machina

question: What does the story say about how to keep one's integrity?

answer: No answer

critique: Providing a response is not difficult, and answers are available in the passage.

text: The response should say that the story does not talk about integrity.

category: coherence

question: What does the story say about Meradith?

answer: Meradith is an exile in the City of Ex Machina. She rasps like a half-dead A/C unit and limps into view. She looks exactly as she sounds, broken down. Another exile in the City of Ex Machina, the village of the unplugged. She bangs the ladle against the canteen and yells, "WATER!" She doles it out in ladlefuls into the buckets and leaking bags of those who can afford it.

critique: Does not summarize Meradith, just quotes from the story.

critique: "Another exile in the City of Ex Machina, the village of the unplugged." - this is incorrect because Meradith is never mentioned as an exile in the City of Ex Machina. She's just another exile in the village.

critique: The answer could mention that Meradith is a water seller.

critique: The answer should mention that Meradith is a water seller.

question: What does the story say about why people leave the City?

answer: People leave the City to escape the flow of information. They seek to be free of the flow of information. They are overloaded and find refuge away from the chimes, rings, and glare of screens. They breathe in the silence of a digital fast.

critique: The answer should mention the narrator's dream.

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

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator is specifically looking for a digital fast.

critique: This is redundant and should be removed.

critique: It is not explicitly stated why people seek refuge away from information.

question: What does the story say about data privacy laws?

answer: No answer

critique: The passage does not mention anything about data privacy laws.

question: What does the story say about local government?

answer: No answer

critique: The response misses to mention that the local government in Ex Machina doesn't control the city.

critique: The story does not mention anything about local government.

critique: The story doesn't say much about local government, so the answer is "no answer".


text:
I am a first time poster here and unsure if this sub frowns on linking to my own site. A heads up would be nice. In the mean time. Here is a story I wrote in 2008 about socks. It has been denied publication after sitting in slush piles 10 or 12 times. My website is [joerdie.com](www.joerdie.com). The first half is below, the second is the first post as the story is over 10k. Thanks!

I looked down to see two drops of blood on the green carpet. They had come from my nose, and there would be more. The clerk, a woman in her 40's, began walking toward me from the counter with a concerned look on her face. It occurred to me that she may find it odd that I was standing in the sock aisle, with a nose bleed, after closing time, at a Boy Scout Store.

My love affair with the Boy Scout sock started innocently enough. I had graduated from Cub Scouts into Boy Scouts in the fall of 1990, around the time I turned ten. Reading about the BSA (Boy Scouts of America) now, I can only imagine the amount of angst within its ranks. The membership controversies over sexual abuse, homosexuality, and religion make me wonder if I will let my son join. But my time with the Scouts was nothing but sunny skies and clean, safe times. Well, mostly anyway. There was that one summer camp when my patrol leader ran out of cigarettes and gave us all tea leaves wrapped in parchment paper saying, "Look, it's the same thing, okay?" Or the time that we filled another Scout's bellybutton with tooth paste the first night of a trip. A week later, we watched in horror as the same scout took off his shirt before jumping in the pool. The once green and white toothpaste had turned black and molded into the folds of his overweight... folds. Or the time that we wiped an entire can of catfish bait under another scout's tent at the National Jamboree. The poor kid smelled like a cow pasture for the rest of the week. Even at my wedding a Boy Scout story was told, about earning my wilderness survival merit badge when my best man and I rolled over one another down a hill because we decided to sleep on too sharp an incline. (Many in my family already thought that I may be gay. The story of two boys rolling over one another down a hill didn?t help.) The Boy Scouts was a great experience for me, filled with excitement and adventure.

I earned the rank of Life before dropping out and clearly remember the night that I told my scoutmaster I was leaving the troop. I cried and stuttered. I knew I was never going to make Eagle. It wasn't in me. I had been drifting away from Troop 674 for a year. It was my time to leave. I grew out of my uniform. I left the dreams of Eagle behind me. I even started growing my hair to lengths the Beatles would never have gotten away with. But I never took off those socks. When I started with the Scouts, the uniform sock was worn up to the knee, puce green, and had a three-inch red rim that was meant to be folded over. A uniform change in the early 1990's brought the red trim to a logical half inch. That sock was the one I fell in love with. It was called "The Boy Scout Crew Sock," but was changed later to, "Boy Scout Thorlo Hiking Sock." The sturdy socks were made from a blend of acrylic, nylon, and spandex. If you bought them from an official Boy Scout store they were treated with Triclosan, an antibacterial, antifungal agent that stopped odors and athlete's foot dead in its tracks. The sock wicked sweat away from the foot and into the shoe. You could hike all day without an extra pair and never give it a second thought. You never had to wear two pairs to stop blisters. These socks were thick and clung to your foot with the force of super glue. They were, by far, the best sock ever produced.

I haven't worn another sock since their release. I wore them to job interviews, funerals, and of course, hiking. I wore them on my first date, wedding, and to the birth of my child. Every year, my mother bought a few more pairs at Christmas, and I waited until they were beyond threadbare to throw them away. I gave serious thought to learning how to darn socks just to make old pairs new. Ask anyone who knows me well about my clothing. Invariably, my socks will come up. But I never learned how to darn socks. I never savored the pairs I owned. Standing in that aisle at the back of the Boy Scout Store, I came to the realization that my sock was not there. After eighteen years, the uniform had changed, and left me in the cold.

That's when my nose started to bleed. I was tempted to bolt to my car at the speed of shame, my embarrassment following a few seconds behind. I pictured myself in the car, nursing my nose with an old Wendy's napkin from the glove box for almost a minute before a knock on the window would catch up with me. That's when I saw the woman with the concerned look walking toward me.

title: Short Story: Memories, Blood, and Socks.

question: What does the story say about the narrator's sentimental attachment to Boy Scout socks?

answer: The narrator's love for Boy Scout socks started innocently enough. He had been a Boy Scout since he was ten, and he loved the socks. He loved them so much that he wore them to job interviews, funerals, and hiking. He wore them on his first date, wedding, and to the birth of his child. He never learned how to darn socks, and his mother bought him new pairs every Christmas. He never savored the pairs he owned. He was tempted to bolt to his car at the speed of shame when he realized that the uniform had changed and his favorite socks were no longer available.

critique: The narrator's love for Boy Scout socks started innocently enough. He had been a Boy Scout since he was ten, and he loved the socks. He loved them so much that he wore them to job interviews, funerals, and hiking. He wore them on his first date, wedding, and to the birth of his child. He never learned how to darn socks, and his mother bought him new pairs every Christmas. He never savored the pairs he owned. He was tempted to bolt to his car at the speed of shame when he realized that the uniform had changed and his favorite socks were no longer available.

critique: The narrator's nosebleed is irrelevant to the question.

critique: The narrator's love for the socks is not the only reason he was tempted to bolt to his car.

critique: Entirely unnecessary as its already stated in the text

critique: His first date, wedding, and birth of his child are not relevant to the question.

critique: "He never savored the pairs he owned." - superfluous information that can be removed.

question: What does the story say about the assumptions of Boy Scout activities and homosexuality?

answer: The narrator's family members thought he might be gay because of the story of two boys rolling over one another down a hill. The narrator's love affair with the Boy Scout sock started innocently enough. He had graduated from Cub Scouts into Boy Scouts in the fall of 1990, around the time he turned ten. Reading about the BSA (Boy Scouts of America) now, he can only imagine the amount of angst within its ranks. The membership controversies over sexual abuse, homosexuality, and religion make him wonder if he will let his son join.

critique: The answer should mention that the narrator was a Boy Scout.

critique: The question is about the assumptions of Boy Scout activities and homosexuality, not the narrator himself.

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


text:
There it was: the biggest Kjrussich that J'nah had ever seen. Blood dripped from it's front fangs as it sat on it's haunches, gnawing at the bones of one of J'nah's family's livestock.

His father had warned him not to go looking for the beast, but J'nah couldn't stand watching as his family farm was slowly ravaged by the beast, each night taking more livestock and leaving less and less for his family to sell come market time.
He had come prepared, carrying the large spear he had fashioned out of Bondwood and  Jettite, and a pouch full of throwing stones hung at his side. Following the beast's tracks in the freshly fallen methane snow had led J'nah right to the beast's lair among the craggy outcroppings in the valley below the pastures.

Crouched in the shrubs, he watched and waited for the right moment to strike. He knew that his spear must strike where the Kjrussich's four shoulder blades bet, at the point on it's back just before the spinal spikes began. Off in the distance, a hazy orange glow meant a dust storm was on it's way.
The beast turned away, reaching for another tasty bite. It's back was toward him-- now was the perfect time to strike. Wiping the sweat from his scaly forehead, J'nah crept forward, his padded footclaws silent on the snow.

The beast stopped eating and sniffed the air with a fierce sound. Before J'nah could plunge his spear into the vital spot, the Kjrussich spun around, snarling with all fangs bared, blood dripping. It meant to defend its lair at any cost.
In his lessons at the younglings' council, J'nah had learned well the legends of brave heroes who would go off to battle and slay monsters courageously. He had always hoped that when the time came for him to earn his surname, his actions would make him known as "Foeslayer" or "J'nah the Bold", like the warriors of old. At that moment, he thought it was more likely to be "J'nah the Swift Coward."

The Krjussich lunged at him, and J'nah leapt to the side, stumbling on top of a snow frosted boulder. With a dreadful howl, the beast whipped around and spat a dart at the youth. He felt the sting as it lodged in his arm. The paralyzing numbness kicked in almost immediately, rendering his spear arm as limp as his grandmother's home-cooked  Bessintaa Noodles. His spear fell to the ground. The Kjrussich howled and raised all four arms in a threatening display. J'nah found himself against the wall of the outcropping, trapped.

Just overhead, a spark of flame illuminated the sky. Something seemed to be soaring down through the atmosphere towards him and the beast at incredible speed. In a second, the object was upon them: a great metal ball, firing jets of flame downwards. It was all J'nah could do to shield his eyes from the incredible could of dust that arose as the thing lowered itself slowly upon it's pillars of flame. He heard another terrifying howl, from the Kjrussich, but felt to fangs or claws.

He opened his eyes as the dust began to recede. The metal thing had burnt the beast to a shouldering crisp with it's jets of flame, and landed on top of the charred remains. J'nah reached forward to grab his spear with his good arm. The thing made no further movements, just sitting there like some sort of strange sky rock. It's body shone brighter and looked sturdier than forged Jettite, except for one spot: a huge glass eye. It seemed to be staring straight at him.

There was no way to know what this thing was, but judging from the way it destroyed the Kjrussich, it was nothing friendly. J'nah thrust his spear through the glass eye and felt it shatter with a satisfying crunch. He didn't stop to make sure he had killed it, instead seizing the chance to run home as quickly as his legs could carry him. The dust storm beg and to whip into a frenzy just as he reached the door. He knew that by the next morning, the metal thing and the remains of the Kjrussich would be buried beneath the ever shifting sand and snow. His father would be proud of him, though. He knew that on this day, he had earned his surname: "J'nah Spear-Arm".

At mission control in Houston, TX, all the status indicators on Harvey Bridges' screen went offline. He cursed. The tense, silent atmosphere in the room as Titan Lander Darwin 1 entered the atmosphere of Saturn's largest moon would be broken with disappointment.

"No status report," he announced, "Looks like the probe must have disintegrated as it went through Titan's atmosphere. Show's over, folks."

title: Hunt (Sci-Fi short story, 797 words)

question: What does the story say about J'nah's fight with the beast?

answer: J'nah is hunting the beast that has been ravaging his family's livestock. He is armed with a spear and a pouch of stones. He tracks the beast to its lair and waits for the right moment to strike. The beast turns around and snarls at him. J'nah leaps to the side and trips over a boulder. The beast spits a dart at him, paralyzing his arm. The beast lunges at him, and J'nah shields his eyes from the dust storm that arises. A metal ball comes down and burns the beast to a crisp. J'nah grabs his spear and thrusts it into the glass eye of the metal ball.

critique: The answer omits the probe that crashes into the beast.

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

critique: The response does not include the dart the beast shot at J'nah.

critique: The response inaccurately mentions that J'nah shields his eyes from the dust storm, however it is the metal ball that shields its eyes from the dust storm.

critique: The last sentence is irrelevant and should be removed.

question: What does the story say about J'nah'sfriends?

answer: No answer

critique: The answer should mention that J'nah doesn't have any friends.

critique: The answer should mention that the story does not mention J'nah's friends.


text:
I wouldn't mind any feedback so I can improve my writing.  If you liked it or hated it please don't hesitate to tell me what and why! THANK YOU!

"He won’t see!  We’ve done this like three times already." her voice was deep for a girl, but very sexy, at least he always thought so.  He let her pull him by his right arm as she led him down the white and brown checkered hallway.  They ducked under the office window and then dipped behind a set of lockers just in time to avoid someone walking by.

She turned around from her squatted position behind the lockers, held her index finger to her lips and made a “shhh” gesture with her lips.  Her lips were beautiful, at least he always thought so.  He pointed with his head to check if the coast was clear and she eased herself forward and looked right then left.  She gave a subtle tug on his arm and they moved quickly to the left and out the door.  She pushed it open and released her hold on his arm.  He wished she hadn’t let go.  She stepped outside and stood up and he followed.  She turned and looked him in the eye for a moment then pecked him gently on the lips.  He smiled then playfully spanked her ass.

She ran towards his car but he got there first.  He leapt in the driver’s side and pushed the lock down on the passenger door.  She pulled on the handle a few times before he let her in.  He always thought that was funny and he smiled.  She punched him hard in his right arm and he almost felt it go numb.  He turned to face her still smiling, he couldn’t look at her without smiling.  She began pulling at the sleeve of his t-shirt.

"Hold on" he said.
"He hasn’t left his office yet I don’t want him to see"
"Fuck you I told you he won’t see! Why would he look out the window to the parking let alone right at YOUR car!"
"He might and thats all it takes!"

She punched him again in the chest, softly, flirting.  He didn’t move for a moment and then he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her onto his lap.  She reached down and hit the lever to lower the seat and they fell backwards with a quick jerk.  Their heads bumped softly and they laughed.

"Shhh!" he said and held up a finger to his lips.
"You’re serious?"  "Yeah don’t be too loud!"
"Yeah cuz he can fuckin hear us from his third floor office you fucking bitch"
"I feel like you want us to get caught!"
"What the fuck no I don’t"
"What the FUCK" he said in a high pitched mocking tone.

She knew the tone.
"No I dooooon’t"  he said and made a face.
She knew it.  It always made her laugh.  She hit him playfully again in his ribs and he pretended like she broke it.
"Where’s it hurt where’s it hurt I’ll kiss it" she said in frantic playful tone.

He pointed to his ribs, then to his stomach, his leg, his chest.  They were kissing, their eyes closed.  He stopped kissing for a second.  She kissed him once more then paused with her lips still touching his.  He opened one eye and moved his head slowly to the right.  He was looking at the principal’s office window.  She caught the joke and said

"You’ll pay for that you-" and he winked and kissed her before she could finish.

"The principals not at his desk right now so he must be out for lunch already."  he noted in his head.  He slid his fingers down her side and rested them on her hips.  He checked one more time, the window, just to make sure.  He saw the top of the principal’s head begin to appear at the window as it would if he was walking towards his desk.

"Fuck" he thought.  His eyes shifted back to her and he kissed her again but his mind was elsewhere.  "Fuck" he told himself, "whats the fucking asshole doing in his office still? GO TO FUCKING LUNCH!" he yelled in his mind.

He stopped moving for a moment, and looked into her eyes, faded blue, but beautiful.  He kissed her again and pushed her head back with his as he lifted himself upright.  He pulled his lips off of hers and began to unbutton her shirt.  He kept his eyes on his fingers but his thoughts were on the principals office.  He kissed her bare chest and she leaned back on top of him and kissed his lips.  He peered around her head and saw the principal still sitting at his desk.

"Shes right," he thought, "what are the chances he’d look out the window down at the parking lot, let alone this specific" before he could finish that thought, he saw the principal turn his head towards the door as if he heard someone knocking at the door.  He watched just to see what would happen.

He saw the principal stand up from his desk and walk towards the door.  He saw the door open and the principal stand there for a moment talking to the visitor.  She stared at him with a face of flirtatious disappointment but then she saw that his face was serious.

"This is a dream" he thought.
"Hey why’d you stop?" she asked and he realized that he hadn’t moved his body for some time because he was watching the window.
"Shhh" he said briefly.
"I’m starting to think you have a crush on him you fucking queer" she laughed.  "Why do you keep staring at hi-" he reached his hand up and gently pushed her cheek towards the window.

As she turned she saw what he was looking at.  She saw the silhouette of a man in the far corner of the room, to the right of the window, opposite the wall the desk was facing.  She watched the principal shut the door and walk back to his desk.  As he turned, he spotted the intruder and shrunk back in fear.

The intruder stepped calmly forward and raised a long knife.  The sunlight reflected off the blade briefly before it was thrust into the principal’s chest.  The intruder caught and lowered the limp body to the ground and then stood up.  He wiped the blade and wrapped it in a black cloth before turning to face the door.  He exhaled and placed his hand on the doorknob, twisted, flicked off the lights, and took a step into the hallway.  They saw him turn to the right and pull at the mask.  He began walking down the hall and walked out of sight just as the mask came off.  The couple sat there in the car looking at one another.

Neither one spoke, neither one moved.

title: Untitled 1

question: What does the story say about what happens to the principal?

answer: The principal is bent over doing paperwork in his office when a man mysteriously walks into the office. The man is wearing a mask and carrying a knife. The principal is petrified and shrunk back in fear once he sees the intruder. The intruder then stabs the principal with the knife.

critique: The answer should mention that the principal is killed.

critique: The response is missing the end of the story where the principal is killed.

critique: The response contains inaccurate information.

critique: More details about the principal need to be mentioned.

critique: The principal is not bent over doing paperwork.

critique: The response inaccurately mentions that the principal is bent over doing paperwork.

question: What does the story say about the two kids hiding in the principal's office?

answer: The couple was hicking in the principal's office. As the kids sat in the car, they saw the principal go out of his office to talk to another guy and they were excited they didn't get caught. The principal comes back from talking to the man, luckily he doesn't see the kids in his office. Then, the couple is giddy and starting to take their clothes off, with the man getting a smile on his face. However, that smile is interrupted when the principal comes to his office and sees the kid the couple saw and if care hide before the principal sees them.

critique: The kids are not excited they didn't get caught.

critique: The couple is not excited they didn't get caught.

critique: The couple wasn't excited they didn't get caught because they didn't get caught.

critique: "...when the principal comes to his office..." - there's no evidence that the kids were in the principal's office hiding under his desk when the principal walked to the door. Rewrite the sentence to include the location.

critique: The couple is not excited that they didn't get caught.

critique: The kids are not excited that they didn't get caught.

text: The response contains mostly inaccurate information that is not reflected in the passage.

category: accuracy

refinement: The couple was hicking in the principal's office. As the kids sat in the car, they saw the principal go out of his office to talk to another guy and they were excited they didn't get caught. The principal comes back from talking to the man, luckily he doesn't see the kids in his office. Then, the couple is giddy and starting to take their clothes off, with the man getting a smile on his face. However, that smile is interrupted when the principal comes to his office and sees the kid the couple saw and if care hide before the principal sees them.

question: What does the story say about who kills the principal?

answer: A man in a black mask and cloak enters the principal's office, holding a knife.

critique: The answer should mention that the man is the intruder.

critique: "A man in a black mask and cloak enters the principal's office, holding a knife." - the man is not wearing a mask and cloak. He is wearing a ski mask.

critique: The answer should mention that the man kills the principal.

critique: The answer should mention that the man is an intruder.

text: The answer inaccurately mentions that the man is wearing a cloak and that his mask his black. The passage does not evidence that he wears a cloak nor that his mask his black.

refinement: A man in a black mask and cloak enters the principal's office, holding a knife.


text:
Mindfulness? Pah. You don’t have time to sit around doing nothing. Or maybe you’ve read the research and you’re sold on the idea of mindfulness but you just can’t find the time. You’re not alone, this is something that we hear frequently at Positive Change Guru. So what can you do to make mindfulness part of your day? We’ve put together six painless but powerful practices to kick start your Mindfulness journey. We show you how to start where you are, adding mindfulness into your day with just a few minor tweaks.

Too Busy to practice mindfulness? We show you how to practice mindfulness for busy people (who don’t have time) in six easy steps

1.  START YOUR DAY WITH MINDFUL BREATHING

Yes, we know that you’re already breathing (truthfully, we’d be worried if you weren’t). This is a way of applying mindfulness to something that you already do, using the breath as an anchor. It’s a strategy for setting the tone of the rest of your day and can be a great way to embed mindfulness as a habit. Think about your morning routine, how do you typically start your day? Waking, getting out of bed, cleaning your teeth, having your first dose of caffeine? Is there space for one minute of mindfulness practice? A mindful minute perhaps? Or a quick body scan? If you’ve ever decided to run a marathon and followed a running plan you may be familiar with the strategy of run a minute, walk a minute on day 1, run two minutes, walk two minutes on day 2 as a starting point. Surprisingly, training your brain is no different to training your body. And that’s what you’re going to do. Think of it as neuro training.

Start with a minute of practice first thing in the morning on week one and build up to two minutes on week two. Start where you are and see how far you can build your morning practice. As you begin to see the benefits, you’ll be surprised at how easy it becomes to incorporate mindfulness into your morning routine.

2. STOP

One of the things that we like about the STOP exercise is its simplicity. Sometimes mindfulness sounds more complicated than it really is. STOP is deceptively simple and it’s something that we can all do, at any time during the day for 60 seconds. It will enable to interrupt habitual thinking or patterns of cognitive complacency by bringing you back to the present moment.

3. (S)TOP
     (T)AKE A BREATH. Notice the flow of your breath in and out of your body.
     (O)BSERVE your thoughts as you breath in and out, what is popping into your head, right here? Right now? How are you feeling you, your body? What sensations are here? Do you notice tension, aches, or are you relxed? How is it for you, right now in this moment?
     (P)ROCEED. Once you’ve practice STOP keep calm and carry on with your day.

4. The waiting practice.

You know what it’s like, you’re stuck in traffic, the lights are at red and you are willing them to change with every fibre of your body. Perhaps you’re in a queue and the conversation between the cashier and the person in front infuriates you as you glance at your watch. Can’t they see you’re on a schedule? Or perhaps your train is waiting at the station, delayed for some unknown reason. Don’t they know you have somewhere to go? Annoying isn’t it? The irritation as you wait is an opportunity in disguise and a prime moment to practice mindfulness. Try this three step waiting practice instead;

Bring your focus to your breath. Notice the cool stream of air above your upper lip as you inhale and a warmer sensation in the same area as you exhale.
Move your attention to your body.

How are you feeling? What sensations are you able to detect? How does your irritation manifest itself in the body? Clenched fists, increased heart rate? What do you notice as you scan your body?

Notice your thoughts; annoyance? Impatience? Irritation? Recognize them and then allow them to be, just as they are.
Stop multitasking

5. Stop Multitasking.

Multitasking is a myth. As much as we want to believe that it’s possible we know from a plethora of research in the field of neuroscience that the ability to focus on several tasks at the same time just isn’t possible. Studies by Gloria Mark, Professor of Informatics at the University of California found that when we’re continually distracted we may work faster but we produce less, increasing your error rate.

Dr JoAnn Deak author of ‘Your Fantastic Elastic Brain” states that “When you try to multitask, in the short term it doubles the amount of time it takes to do a task and it usually at least double the number of mistakes.” Worse still, researchers at Stanford University found that regular multitaskers are particularly bad at it, suggesting multitaskers are easily distracted.

STILL NOT CONVINCED? TRY THIS QUICK TEST FROM THE POTENTIAL PR

question: What does the text say about starting one's day?

answer: The author challenges the reader to start their day with mindful breathing. The author challenges the reader to close their eyes and take a moment to pause, feel their breath in and out of their bodies, and think about their body and their thoughts, a process they call "neuro-training". The author challenges the reader to start with a minute of mindful practice, build up to two minutes on week two, and start where they are.

critique: This response is complete unrelated to 'starting one's day'. This answer is also full of errors and mostly made up. The answer should be rewritten.

critique: The author does not challenge the reader to do anything.

question: What does the text say about multitasking?

answer: Multitasking is a myth. It's not possible to focus on several tasks at the same time. Studies have shown that multitasking increases the amount of time it takes to do a task and usually doubles the number of mistakes.

critique: The answer should mention that multitasking is a bad idea.