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[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Shift\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1228\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a successful marriage proposal, or one that goes horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Was that blood? \nEveryone in the crowd had stopped cheering for the match. Joshua was on the floor, his face looked like something was wrong. Her son didn’t look like himself. \nThere was an audible gasp in the stands.\nHis teammates rushed towards him. Marcus was beckoning the coach to come. Her son’s best friend seemed frantic. Ada felt like her breath was starting to simmer. Her son didn’t look like himself. Her strong boy was in pain. \n“Coach! We need a medic!” Marcus screamed now.\nThe coach came closer and when he saw Joshua he ran to the bleachers calling out to the medic. Ada started walking towards the field from her place in the stands. \nIn a few moments, an ambulance was there and Joshua was being piled in. \nAda got to them just in time.\n“Wait, wait! He’s my son!”, she jumped in before they closed the doors.\n“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”\n“Ma’am it looks like his leg is completely broken. We don’t know the extent of the damage but it looks pretty bad. It also looks like he might have some internal bleeding.”, the medic responded.\nInternal bleeding?\n “Joshua, Joshua, can you hear me?” Her son wasn’t responding.\n“I’m here baby. Please stay with me”.\nDave was a principled man, but this morning he was contemplating the one thing he didn’t think he ever would. He was thinking of ending his marriage. He didn’t know how else to end the loneliness he was starting to feel on the inside. Nothing seemed like it used to and his wife didn’t seem to notice. Like any good woman, she took care of her family, loved him and tried to meet his needs, but he couldn’t explain it. He just didn’t care for her like he used to. Now he needed to do the needful. The boys were gone to soccer practice and it was just the two of them at home. There was not going to be a better than now.\nHe stood up from his seat on their porch and decided it was going to have to be now or never. \n“Ada, can I talk to you?”, Dave said to her.\n“Yes baby, go ahead. Let me just get these chickens turned over.”\n“Ada you’ve been everything to me the last 17 years. We’ve built a solid life together and our boys are thriving, and I owe it largely to you. You’ve been our rock. You’ve loved us deeply and held us together in the toughest times. I know I can be quiet and distant sometimes and you’ve rode with me in spite of it.\nI just wanted to thank you for that.”, Dave said to his wife.\n“Dave, you know I’ll do anything for you and the kids”, Ada came closer to give her husband a hug. He wasn’t always so emotional so this was a welcome change.\n“Ada, I just… I want to say… I..I.. I think we should get a divorce.”\nAda froze. Her hands slowly fell off from him.\n“I’m sorry, what?”, Ada responded, shocked.\n“You deserve better Ada, and I’m not happy. The kids are older now and…”, Dave paused.\n“I just want us to have a shot at true happiness.”\nAda was stunned and completely silent. Dave didn’t know what to do. He walked away and retreated to the porch. \n“Ma’am, ma’am, you can’t be here.”, the doctor said to Ada.\n“Joshua! Joshua! I’m right here baby!”\nHer son was being wheeled into surgery. It was worse than they thought. They needed to stop the bleeding ASAP.\nShe didn’t know how to describe the day she was having. Suffice it to say it was relentless. Everything was happening at once and she had no control whatsoever. She looked around, so much chaos as she stood in the emergency room, yet she never felt so alone.\nShould she call Dave?\nNo, not right now. It was too much.\nShe found an empty seat and just sat. Her face was a wet mess. She couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.\nDid she make a mistake? Choosing all this?\nShe loved her children to pieces but in moments like this she didn’t know if she made the right choice. If she chose the right life.\nIt was weird but she was remembering her time in Newport. Southern California was always so beautiful this time of the year. Her youth, full of life and buoyant strength. Everything seemed so good. Yeah, she partied too. Rich girl, rich home, rich family. What more could a kid in Orange county ask for. \nAh and Brad. He was the cream of her youth. They were going to get married. \nShe was happy. \nBut then there were the drugs. Southern California was everything, but the drugs. She didn’t know how to stop them in that environment and Brad didn’t help. Her parents had tried everything. It wasn’t until her third time in rehab did she meet the one who changed her life forever. Her roommate at the time, Marlin. Ah, Marlin. Marlin and her didn’t keep in touch much over the years but she would never forget Marlin. Marlin introduced her to Jesus. It was one night when she was about to give up. Her body had been in intense withdrawal for 48 hours and she didn’t think she would make it this time. Running into a wall kept getting more appealing by the hour. Marlin could sense the shift in her that night, so all Marlin did was talk. She wasn’t much of a talker but she just said, “you don’t have to do this alone”, and that was all Ada needed. She told her about Jesus and how He was helping her get better everyday. At that moment, Ada couldn’t explain it but it was like a balm came over her. Marlin told her how to speak to this Jesus and she spoke to him for the first time. All she knew was that when she surrendered her heart to him, it was like the symptoms completely disappeared. Jesus gave her the reprise she needed in that moment and every moment after. When she got out she didn’t struggle with drugs anymore. She was whole. She learned more about Him when she got out and found a bible believing church. It was in that church she met Dave. Her husband.\nIn six months, Dave and her knew they were meant for something more. So on a faithful evening after bible study, he took a knee and proposed to her, and she said yes. That kicked off the rest of her life.\nAs much as Southern California felt like a breeze and joy at the moment, she couldn’t forget what happened to her and where she was coming from. It hurts that nothing makes sense right now, but she wouldn't regret her life. Jesus has given her a new life, though part of it included Dave, it was still a life of salvation. In so many ways. Without it, she wouldn’t be free from drugs. Without it she wouldn’t have her boys. \nIt was Missouri, it wasn’t Southern California. The shift from these two places that seem like two completely different time periods was a marriage proposal. But she would never trade where she was now for where she was coming from." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: An Unvoiced Biography\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1247\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a particular piece of clothing appears three times." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "She hurled me into the truck. I thought that it was time for me to assume another duty but the decaying and putrid odour was an eye-opener. I looked around and saw that I was surrounded by rotten vegetables, discarded meat, diapers, plastic and whatnot. Reality struck me like a lightning and my misconception was gone with the wind. I was in a trash truck and was soon going to rot in a dump.\nOne look at my stained and disfigured self and anyone would concur that the dump was the right place for me. But I wasn't always like this. I was born more than a decade back when a local artisan took those lovely, fluffy cotton balls in his hands and had spun, spooled, warped and knit them into cloth.\nI was then sent to a finishing mill. I was bleached and mercerised. I shone in full glory and was capable of being dyed. A woman probably in her mid-thirties had bought me for a few pennies. She was my mistress. I was elated that I finally had a home to call my own.\nMy mistress folded me and placed me inside a cabinet. She had eventually forgotten about me. I lay in the nook of the cabinet, with every fibre in my being feeling stifled. Holding onto the hope that one day, I would be put to use, I spent the days and nights in frightening solitude. There was always light at the end of the tunnel.\n On an ordinary and uneventful morning, she took me out of the cabinet. I noticed that she was surrounded by needles and threads of different colours. My dream was about to come true. She sat comfortably on a chair on the porch. I fluttered in the cool breeze. I took a deep breath and allowed the beautiful feeling, the feeling of being useful to someone sink in. Suddenly, I felt a prick in my skin. I flinched. She tightened her grasp on me and prevented me from falling. She secured me in an embroidery hoop and gave me another prick. I didn't flinch. I got used to the prick. She carefully designed a garden with flowers and butterflies.\nShe ran her hand over me and I revelled in her endearing touch. As I stared at my reflection in an ornate mirror, I almost jumped in joy. I felt that I was enchanting. I was happy and thankful for all the pain for no pain no gain. Isn't it?\nShe folded me with great precision and placed me inside her handbag. I was her newfound companion and was on cloud nine. Suddenly, there was a jolt and I had begun to rattle and shake. I imagined that I was on a car ride. I was given a design and now a joy ride. I was on a roll.\nBut my happiness didn't last long. My mistress took me out of her handbag and handed me to a man. The happy bubble in which I dwelled was punctured. She signed on a piece of paper and without looking at me even once, she left. I thought that she was gone forever. The man dumped me among a pile of other clothes that he hoarded.\nI got used to being unproductive. I hated it but I had no option. On an uneventful morning, he grabbed me and threw me on a table. I flinched and shuddered. My lips moved in silent prayer. Suddenly, he ran scissors across me. Was he going to tear me into bits and pieces? Was I about to be discarded? Where was my mistress? Wasn't it her duty to protect me? A million thoughts ran hither thither in my mind.\nHe ran a few stitches across me, here and there and placed me in a polythene bag. My eyes yearned to get a glimpse of my new look but were of no avail.\nI'm not confident about this but probably after a day or two, I felt as though I was being lifted. I was removed from the bag and blinded by the bright light, I squinted. I was used to the darkness and the light felt like a foe.\nWhat I saw surprised me. A little girl donned me. I was transformed from simple cotton cloth to a beautiful frock. My eyes fell on my mistress. She was looking at the little girl in admiration. Love oozed out of her eyes. That little girl was her daughter.\nI was her favourite possession. She had worn me on several important occasions like her friend's birthday party, Thanksgiving Day, and Sports Day. I felt that I was important. I felt worthy. I liked being cared for and attended to.\nBut all good things come to an end and so did our companionship. The little girl was not little anymore. She had outgrown me. It was time to bid adieu to the beautiful family. But my mistress, that benevolent soul, never ceased to surprise me.\nScissors were run over me one more time but I wasn't afraid anymore. I had begun to trust her. She spread me on a table. I was transformed into a tablecloth. My form and duties didn't matter to me as long as I was under her canopy of care.\nI was soiled all the time. She never put me for a wash in the washing machine. She soaked me in cold water and gently washed me with her hands. She carefully removed all the dirt and grime and I shone like a new cloth. I loved her and was thankful to her. If not for her I would have been a simple piece of cotton cloth.\nA few years passed. Her hair greyed and my fibres were worn out. She gave me a new role. The role of a tea coaster. I happily adapted to my new form. As days passed, I had become less functional. I was a liability. A liability that anyone would want to get rid of.\nIgnoring my dilapidated state, she used me like a duster. She wiped every piece of furniture, door and window using me. I wasn't excited about my new role. The dust and mite irked my skin. I was bruised all over. Eventually, I was coerced to assume a new role. The role of a mop. She used me to clean the countertop. The oil and spices made me feel nauseated.\nShe no longer washed me with her hands. I churned in the washing machine in the company of other clothes. I was not special to her. Not anymore.\nAfter getting enough out of me, she finally hurled me into the trash truck. I wish she had given me a little space in her home and her heart. I wish she had not discarded me like a piece of filth.\nThe hopper opened and I flew in the air only to land in the dump. I looked around and noticed that many pieces of clothes were lying around. Maybe it always came to this. This is how we have been treated for aeons.\nI closed my eyes and waited to disintegrate. Albeit her discarding me was not of good taste, I owed my life to her. I have had my share of good and bad memories. But I wish to cling to the good memories. With that thought, I said sayonara to the world and was transported to another world, ready to take a rebirth." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Great Engagement\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2959\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a successful marriage proposal, or one that goes horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The date was officially January 1st, 2008. Right after the people on television yelled “Happy New Year!”, my boyfriend Stephen glanced at me. He looked into the open Bible and read the scripture about a man leaving his parents to become one with his wife. Truly oblivious to what was happening, my response was a simple amen.\nAs he bent down, while pulling out a diamond ring, I went running from the kitchen to the bathroom. We had only started dating about eight months ago, so this couldn’t possibly be real. When I got back from my venture, the poor guy was still on the living room floor, in the same stance, waiting for a response to his proposal. After apologizing, laughing, and crying happy tears, my answer was yes.\nStephen filled me in on the details of the days leading up to this event. One of them included him picking up a second job, and the news was a relief. I had been asking him for the past few weeks why he was getting back to his place at such a late hour. We lived in the same complex, so keeping this a secret was no easy task. It also did not help that my heart wouldn’t allow me to sleep until I saw his white Cadillac Fleetwood enter the parking lot and knew he was safe.\nAfter we laughed and gasped about the several episodes he had to sustain during the month, I called my parents. He rang his family as well. Their reactions were dramatically different. My mom’s exact words were” Well, Naesed, this isn’t the first time someone has asked you to marry them, and why didn’t he ask your dad?”. \nDuring the previous year, my father was offered a higher-paying role if he relocated to the Lonestar state. The proposition was accepted. He came back to get my mother and I the following week. After spending an entire summer in the sweltering Texas heat, my 21-year-old mind would not allow me to stay under their guardianship. My Father and I have always been close because he understood me more and this situation was no different. It was my mother who unsuccessfully tried to discourage my emancipation.\nMom’s reply to my engagement was evidence that she was still struggling. Her only child had become a woman. I had then asked to speak to my father, who was half asleep, but still alert enough to express a genuine congratulations. In Autumn, he was able to spend a little bit of time with Stephen and gave me a huge smile of approval upon returning from their outing. My Dad is not a man who talks much. Nevertheless, what was said to me meant that he thought this was a great choice for a lifetime partner. Notwithstanding I was an adult and didn’t feel like a blessing was necessary, but it still felt good to have it. At the end of the conversation, Mom’s phony best wishes were sent to us both. We concluded with our usual exchanges of love, but something was different. It was the night I started getting to know the woman who had given me birth for the person she truly was.\nWhile not having siblings in the home during childhood certainly had its disadvantages, this lifestyle also came with some benefits. Self-reliance had been a blessing and a curse. I did not depend on others for happiness or contentment. Hence, the autonomy permitted quick recovery from offenses. I looked over at my new fiancé, who was still grinning like a Chester cat. His mother had been waiting to speak with me. She proclaimed a happy, warm, and loud welcome to the family. I thanked her and after some small talk, handed Stephen back the phone. He quickly hung up and we started our journey as an officially engaged couple. Joy filled the atmosphere, so it didn’t feel necessary to discuss my mother’s antics at this time.\n\n\n\n\nMy future in-laws invited us to brunch later in the afternoon. It would be the first gathering as a bride-to-be. The mid-day news broadcast was airing while I got ready for my prospective groom to pick me up. Although the weather forecasted a high of only 30 degrees, the sun looked beautiful as it shined against the pure white snow, creating a glitter-like effect. The meteorologist made several announcements about how cold it would be outside. Being a lifelong native of Columbus, Ohio made way for the warnings to become pure background noise.\nBy the time Stephen drove around the corner to pick me up, it was around 1 pm. He was wearing a nice blue button-down shirt and I unexpectedly matched him. We constantly found ourselves in sync with one another. During the 20-minute ride, both of us shared the feelings this upcoming visit had created; they ranged from excited to anxious.\nStephen’s only siblings Kim and Jade were helping their mother set the table when we arrived.\nThey all greeted us with applause that appeared to have been practiced, but still sincere.\nJade was a pretty light brown girl with naturally curly hair. Kim was equally as beautiful but darker complected. Had it not been for the six-year age difference between these sisters, one could easily mistake them for twins. They had strong maternal genetics to thank. It appeared as though being the firstborn allowed Stephen to develop the perfect mix of his mother’s beach sand-colored skin with his Father’s Mahogany tone to create a cinnamon complexion.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe matriarch of the family, Ms. Tina, gave a tight embrace and a kiss that left a pink lipstick mark in the middle of my right cheek. She presented me with all the love that her only son felt he was too old for. Although Stephen playfully winced at the motherly attempts of affection, I knew that deep down, he genuinely appreciated them.\nAfter we settled in and coats were put away, the feast was ready. It consisted of baked spaghetti, tuna noodle casserole, garlic bread, and a simple salad. The dessert was going to be my favorite, strawberry cheesecake. I didn’t care too much for anything with tomato sauce, so opted for the seafood dish. Possible wedding venues and dates were being discussed as plates filled with culinary masterpieces.\n Conversational subjects tend to change when there are more than two people together. Subsequently, the discourse made its way from Kim’s upcoming birthday plans to the hope that summer would come sooner than expected. Right as we were determining the best restaurants to celebrate turning one year older, Kim’s husband Byron called. She said something inaudible and excitedly laughed an ok as they were hanging up. It was a joy to see them still in love after being married for close to four years. Byron knocked twice, then entered. Kim had unlocked the door just moments ago foreknowing his ingress. He was smiling wide and holding something in his leather jacket pocket. When Byron stepped inside, an adorable tiny poodle pup was exposed. She was as white as the flurries coming from the sky, and extremely timid when placed on the welcome mat that lay in the entryway. We couldn’t help but express how adorable this newest addition to the family was. The pup’s name was Snowflake, but affectionately called Flaky. The pooch had the attention of everyone and began to loosen up. At least an hour had been spent playing with Flakey before Ms. Tina announced there was still a last course waiting to be consumed. No one gave any indication of being in a bad mood all day, but somehow the playfulness filled the air with a cheerful ambiance.\nHands were washed and pre-made strawberry-topped treats awaited us in the refrigerator.\nThankfully, for energy’s sake, Flakey was so exhausted and fell asleep on the bed that her human parents constructed from their outerwear. Jade poked fun that we older people can’t use up too much energy as she handed us our plates and forks. Right as Ms. Tina was complimenting on the beauty of my ring, Kim interjected “I thought you would be more excited to see the dog!”. The comment wiped the smile off Ms. Tina’s face and said she was happy about the k9 but there was room for all three of her children’s endeavors. Jade was the youngest, yet more mature and reserved. Kim was outspoken, but never blatantly rude to me. She was nice and I enjoyed being around her, so the remark was astonishing. Whether on the phone with her brother or a pop-in, Kim had repeatedly expressed that being the middle child made her feel left out since childhood. According to her, Stephen was adored by their mother and Jade was a daddy’s girl.\nThe glee that had previously filled the space was now absent. No one said a word for about five minutes, but it felt like the silence lasted an eternity.\nIt was as if time stood still. The Wonder Years DVD that played on the 40-inch screen never caught anyone’s attention until now. Breaking the quiescence, Byron called his wife’s name in a way that questioned and scolded her simultaneously. He always reminded me of my Father, so it was extremely unusual to hear him speak in this manner. It was rare to see such a meek person take authority. No matter whose presence she was in, Kim recurrently spoke to her spouse in any tone that was deemed necessary for the moment. Granting embarrassment or disrespect never seemed to be a threat. It was easy to see that she was the boss of that marriage with full command. Correspondingly, Kim’s mid-back length hair bounced as her face met Byron’s with a look of sheer disgrace. “What, I did nothing wrong, I’m just keeping it real,” she defended with shrugged shoulders. By this time, Ms. Tina was in silent tears. Jade and Stephen were providing consolation while asking Kim if her actions were necessary. Expectably, there was no remorse in the response but questioning that consisted of why they were ganging up on her (again and always). Ms. Tina was like a lioness to her cubs, assuring them that everything was fine.\nAfter all the chaos created, Kim decided she was going to leave. Ms. Tina agreed that would be best. Kim huffed, puffed, said indistinct things under her breath while scooping up Flakey and collecting their belongings. “Come on Byron!”, she yammered. He shook his head apologetically, told everyone good night, and congratulated us again. Kim told him she’d be out soon and closed the door. She was still slowly getting dog toys, keys, and shoes. It was evident that this act was her putting on a show to provoke all the more. Her mother’s tears didn’t provide enough villainous satisfaction. Whatever subtle discussion Kim was having with herself, Ms. Tina couldn’t take it anymore because she started yelling get out multiple times. “What are you going to do Mom if I don’t leave, hit me?!” Now, had that been my mother, I would have been getting up from the ground the following day. Ms. Tina didn’t believe in physical discipline, so her children didn’t hold the same fears as me. Contrastingly, what was lacking in corporal punishment was given in the form of unpleasant pronouncements. In an effort to say something that returned as much hurt as given, Ms. Tina told Kim that since she was so much like her father, and always gave his family the benefit of the doubt, to be sure that was indeed her Dad first. Kim’s face went emotionless as she asked what that was supposed to mean. “Exactly how it sounds, what do you think!?” said Ms. Tina. Kim bewailed, but not before giving the front door a nice, hard slam.\nMs. Tina apologized profusely. I assured her that it was no fault of hers. She looked at my three-month-pregnant belly and said her first grandbaby didn’t deserve all this stress. As my stomach grew, so did the annoyance of people who attempted to touch it without permission. Whether on the city bus or at work, I would have to wear huge coats and shirts to hide the situation so touching me wouldn’t be a temptation. While Stephen was talking on the phone four weeks ago, he laughed with his mom over the issue. She was very empathetic, understood, and even respected my wishes. Having experienced a teen pregnancy, there was no courage left to begin to defend herself against others running their unwanted hands over her womb. The shock of the circumstance had yielded adequate shame to the church’s royal clan. She was the pastor’s daughter so there was nothing left to say about anything was her thought process during that stage.\nThe evening had been robbed of its jovial aura and it was time to return it. I took Ms. Tina’s hand and placed it on my stomach. She was so amazed at how firm it was. I also invited Jade to do the same. They both were in awe and conversed with Stephen about the miracle of new life forming. Ms. Tina asked her son if he was just as astounded as they were, and it was revealed that he was more scared than anything. His mother interjected with words of encouragement; all in all, he would make a great father. She also shared stories about when Stephen and Jade were born. Hearing about the history of the family I now had a lifelong connection to was fascinating.\nStephen hated to interrupt but noticed it would be getting darker early because of the season. He respectfully waited for his mother to take a break before declaring that we would need to get back home soon.\nI started to clean up, but Ms. Tina made me stop and grab some food to take home instead. There were only two people in her house and there was no way they could eat all that was left over. Furthermore, Jade would most likely eat out for most of the week anyway. I joked that even though I was supposed to be eating double the portions, my appetite still thought it was serving a party of one. My almost mother-in-law told me to just take it so no cooking would be needed for the next few days and work lunch can be checked off the list as well. I loved the sound of both. She headed upstairs as I was taking to-go containers from the cabinets. When the bathroom door closed, Jade and her brother started their mischief. They turned to each other and whispered the questions as if passing a basketball to a teammate. Stephen wanted to know what happened, while Jade was wondering why Kim always had to be the center of atrocities.\nThe jokesters started pretending as if they were discussing the fish tank that sat in the left corner as Ms. Tina made her way back down the steps. Turns out, she had fallen for their act and began to say how the whole aquarium was overdue for an upgrade. Stephen talked a little about his deceased piranhas and then went out to warm up the car. He was back in so fast that we all asked an amazed how. A nonchalant smile appeared with a serious question of whether was it really that fast. “Ugh, yeah, but don’t think you are something special” teased Jade. Ms. Tina and I snickered like schoolgirls. Goodbye, hugs, and safe travel wishes were bestowed upon us along with extra snacks. My arm was quickly grabbed by Stephen the minute I stepped onto the snowy sidewalk despite me telling him I was ok. He ignored and walked me all the way to the passenger side door. It was a relief to sit on the warm leather seats. While getting into the driver’s side, he gestured to his mother and sister to get back inside. “Call me once you all get in!”, Ms. Tina yelled. A thumbs-up was given in response. It was quiet as we were getting the food situated and seatbelts on. “What an adventure”, I exclaimed as we made a right onto the main street leading home.\nMy love replied with a sigh of agreement. He continued with how God will use a negative situation and turn it into a miraculous experience. I felt like since we were on the subject of negativity, now was a good time to share my mother’s reaction to the exciting news. He thought it was a joke initially and then realized no laughter was involved. This was not the first time she had crossed the line, but I was just too naive to notice. The former offense was so snakelike slippery, that it went right over my head. To that end, he was not thoroughly surprised about her or my father’s reactions. I then asked why this engagement was bringing out the worst and upsetting others so much. “You mean exposing them!”, Stephen rebutted. I implied that perhaps we should wait until things were calm before getting married. He wanted to be wed within the next two months. We were now pulling into the parking space in front of my humble abode. Even though a baby had already been conceived, we still wanted to wait until husband-and-wife titles were obtained before living together. Thereby, I was so thrilled about being able to move into one dwelling after the marriage and my face must have shown it. Long night kisses, hugs, and sentiments of love were exchanged. The lack of cohabitation was helping to build a strong foundation. We went our separate ways for the night only to see each other again tomorrow." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dreaming of You.....\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1118\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who isn’t nostalgic about their past at all, and show readers why." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Two am, it was Lord Bow Wow again. Sighing, the senior nurse on night duty in the Urology Unit answered the buzzer. Sally's feet were aching, it was a busy evening. Still, she smiled as always, fully competent and proficient in all her nursing obligations.\nFate had seen Sassy Sally divorce her husband's roving eye and abuse some years before. She had long ago decided he did enjoy being miserable, so she had brought their two offspring up on struggle street. Her children were all grown up now, off to their own careers and futures. She was never that nostalgic about the past.\nShe still lived barely getting by, even working double shifts as the senior nurse. Her hair held blonde highlights to hide the silver strands of grey, but her hairdresser kept her secrets wisely. Sassy Sally was still rated as quite attractive, known to make beautiful cups of tea, like most nurses.\nShe entered Lord Bow Wow's private room, and patted his hand. The poor billionaire was in bed, and had his prostate surgery completed. His robotic surgeon had been good and strong, his masculinity was having a tender moment in his weiner department.\nMoaning, Lord Bow Wow gasped, \"Nurse, I am dying. I have been dreaming of you, an angel in this long night. Marry me, you shall be my queen, and you can make me all the lovely hot cups of tea I need....\" Sassy Sally, unperturbed, had heard all this before. It was after all, a male urology unit. She patted Lord Bow Wow's hand, kindly, empathetic, of course, then checked his bowels.\nSassy Sally knew how to handle herself, great professionalism evident. She did produce the errant Lord Bow Wow a cup of tea, rearranged his pillows, and headed back to the nurses' station. Not even worth a gossip.\nThe next evening, a giant bouquet of red roses awaited her at work. The extravagant romantic gesture was duly noted by all staff, checking male bowels was their scene.\nSassy Sally was not fussed. She was well aware of Lord Bow Wow's philandering reputation, and wondered about his latest wife's opinion, given the state of his attachment.\nLord Bow Wow summoned her again, in those dark, subdued, midnight hours. Sassy Sally brought him her favorite brew of tea, and listened to his pleas. Should she be tempted to marry a billionaire, who was still quite an attractive mature age man? Maybe she could retire, finally, and take up yoga and explore peaceful zen with Lord Bow Wow.\nSassy Sally sat at her nurse's station, wondering how the other half lived, in total luxury, never wondering how to sort the power bill, or the cost of living. Still, she could let all his bygones by bygones, and enjoy being spoiled as a queen for once.\n\"Probably just his fever,\" she told herself realistically. She had been brought up not to mess around with married men, so she never did. Her family's sound Christian work ethic kept her centered. She told Lord Bow Wow the big \"NO!\" word, and he was discharged as soon as possible, after his bowels and urology were all clear.\nThe massive floral display soon wilted and was turfed into the waste disposal, but Sassy Sally kept the card. All part of her schedule, men! She always made sure she kept her Wednesday afternoons free. For this time, she made a space in her busy struggles to join in putting peace into practice. Her local community did contain many residents down on their luck, facing bleak times. Once per week, Sassy Sally went to her local community kitchen and cooked up a storm. It was a challenge, but the volunteers used donated ingredients, some slightly past their use by dates, to create some hot nutritious meals.\nAfter the vats of cooking were done, Sassy Sally sat down and shared the journey of other people. She kept on smiling, and tried not to label anyone's choices. All she could do was keep her faith, that things would get better for everyone. Her faith meant that she believed in power for the peaceful, she stayed calm and serene, barring all emergencies at work, for which she was well experienced.\nBut one Wednesday, entering the Community Kitchen, she found in her coat locker, a note. On it was a drawing of a cup of coffee, a flower sticker, and the words, \"Dreaming of a date, your admirer from afar, Robert.\" Sassy Sally glanced around, no, it couldn't be him. She had met this Robert, a man around her own age, another volunteer here. He had a good reputation, and was affable and very witty, full of good cheer.\nSassy Sally did nothing, but went about her Wednesday routine. Men! She did wonder if he was married too. \"Dreaming of you!\" Ha! She held her secret smile, but Robert did ask her to meet him for a cup of coffee the next day.\nSurprisingly, he was not married. The two interested parties there shared some of their baggage. Robert found that Sassy Sally was very empathetic. Soon, she was sharing some biology expertise with him. He was a rare, but very romantic dreamer. He booked the newly found couple a getaway to that magic world of Bali, no expenses spared.\nRobert too, was a Christian. He could not really believe this thunderbolt had struck him, but he enjoyed seeing the sunset on a golden shore, as sparkling waves washed the sands, all the signs of love.\nThe cocktails were almost divine, the air was hot, muggy, there were smiles all round, as lovers enjoyed their holiday of romance. Sassy Sally was all Robert had been dreaming of, so he was now planning to propose. Swizzles sticks were swirled, drinks appreciated. It was a date night done right, all right.\nSassy Sally did receive a post card when she got home. Not Lord Bow Wow again! Yes, he still fancied his night nurse, after glimpsing her in Bali. Men! Sassy Sally let all those bygones be bygones, especially after her nuptials with Robert. Love the second time around, zen moments of bliss, for a nursing miss. She always kept Robert's first note, she could make lovely coffees too.\nSharing their journey, she did keep on nursing, but reduced her hours, so she no longer worked in those sensitive long evenings. Her smiles bloomed, she always stuck to her upbringing, still peaceful and kind. Lord Bow Wow's wrinkly wife gave him her opinion, wiped down the bed, and got another one. That's what billionaires do.\nWho was dreaming of you? Sassy Sally, of course, with that sparkle of true love.But still checking their bowels, professionally. Of course!" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: One To Three\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1721\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a particular piece of clothing appears three times." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”\n\nA choice? Choices were usually for other people. Destiny didn’t choose to feel run down or to be limited to medical care at the free clinic. She didn’t choose to wait three hours just to be seen by whichever doctor was next in line, but at least she had this choice.\n\n“What’s the bad news?”\n\nExperience had taught Destiny that the bad news was typically far worse than the good news was good. Her choice, therefore, was determined by a primal need for self-preservation.\n\n\"The good news,” the doctor began, ignoring her, “is you’re not sick. In fact, you’re as healthy as a horse.”\n\n“Then why do I feel like I just ran six furlongs?”\n\n“Huh?” The doctor asked, looking up from his notes.\n\n“It was a joke. You said a horse. Furlong? Oh never mind, what’s the bad news, doctor? Don’t leave me hanging.”\n\n“You’re pregnant, dear. I’m guessing about two months along.”\n\n“I’m gonna have a baby!” Destiny blurted out. It would be later in the day before she realized the doctor implied her being pregnant was bad news.\n\n“Yes, I'm afraid so. I’ve arranged for you to meet with a family counselor. You do have options.”\n\n“Options?” Destiny raised one eyebrow. “What the heck do you mean by that?”\n\n“If you don’t want the…” the doctor paused mid-sentence.\n\n“I want the ‘the’,” Destiny interrupted. “I want my baby with all my heart.”\n\nThe rest of the appointment was a blur. Destiny had so much adrenaline running through her veins that she couldn’t concentrate on what the doctor was saying. When he had finally given her the literature and prescriptions for prenatal vitamins, Destiny sprinted out of the office to the closest bus stop. She had some shopping to do.\n\nWalking up and down the aisles of the baby boutique, Destiny quickly realized how expensive children were, a fact crystalized when she overheard a salesclerk completing another customer's transaction.\n\n“That will be $798.15.”\n\nThe customer, a well dressed young woman with perfect hair and nails, pulled out a Visa from her purse and inserted it into the credit card chip reader. The clerk and the customer chit-chatted about strollers and cribs and bassinets, neither phased by the large total on the sales slip. Destiny paused and opened up her wallet which had just a SNAP card, a stick of gum, and four one-dollar bills. How could she provide for the baby to come when she could barely afford to take care of herself? Dejected, Destiny turned to leave the store. On the way out, however, she spotted the clearance rack. \n\nThe mishmosh of garments was not inspiring to say the least. There were odd colored outfits and mismatched shoes, almost nothing worthy of a second look. Desperate yet determined Destiny discovered a lone light blue onesie with the word “LOVE” lettered in red on the front. It had been hidden behind a hooded parka with a ripped sleeve. Love, Destiny thought to herself. I can’t give you much, but I can give you love. \n\nThe little outfit had been originally priced at $20.00, but had been reduced twice to $5.00. Destiny, commited to purchasing the adorable find, opened the change compartment in her wallet and poured out a handful of mostly bronze coins. As she started to count, she found a single quarter, four dimes, and three nickels. Without even counting the pennies, she grabbed the onesie and marched up to the counter. \n\n“$5.25, please,” the cashier announced, as she folded the outfit and placed it into a bag.\n\n“I only have $4.92,” Destiny answered, as she quickly counted out the pennies. “I just found out today that I’m pregnant.”\n\n“It’s ok, ma’am,” the cashier said with a wink. “I forgot the friends and family discount, so that will be $4.92 exactly.”\n\nIn her life, Destiny had never been so grateful. For thirty-three cents, the cashier had bought Destiny dignity and the new mother-to-be would never forget the kindness. \n\n\n* * * * * * * * * \n\n\n“I have good news and bad news.”\n\n“Listen very carefully, Eli. I’m pregnant, perturbed, and I have to pee. Again! Are you sure you want to mess with me right now?”\n\n“I’m sorry, baby doll, you know me. I joke. It’s my way.”\n\n“Fine. What’s the bad news?”\n\n“My mom just called—she’s on her way over.”\n\n“Destiny is coming? How is that bad news? I love your mother.”\n\n“You know how I feel. She’s always wearing that awful uniform. Can’t she take five minutes to change before she barges in?”\n\n“That uniform? Are you ashamed of your mother?”\n\n“Well, no.”\n\n“That woman is a saint. She worked her ass off to put food on your table.”\n\n“I know—but the uniform…”\n\n“You should love that uniform. She paid for your college—as a waitress.”\n\n“But…”\n\n“But nothing—your mom is on her way over. That’s the good news. Now go make some herbal tea.”\n\nIt didn’t take long for Eli to make the tea or for his mother to make it to the house.\n\n“I’ll get it,” Eli shouted when the doorbell broke the silence.\n\n“Be nice,” Melody yelled back, causing Eli to laugh out loud just as he opened the door.\n\n“Hello, Elijah,” Destiny said, wrapping her arms around her son’s neck. In his whole life, Eli couldn’t remember a single time that his mother failed to hug him the first time she saw him. He loved the attention as a boy, but, like most teenagers, he resisted it as he got older. On this day, however, he welcomed the display of affection. His wife had reminded him just how lucky he was, and he wanted his mom to know as well.\n\n“Hi mom,” he said as he stepped to the side, motioning her in. “It’s really nice to see you.”\n\n“Are you sure?” Destiny responded with a wink. “Should I have changed before I came over?”\n\n“No, mom,” Eli answered, feeling a bit guilty, giving his mother an unexpected second hug. \n\n“How is Melody? You aren’t annoying her, are you?”\n\n“A little.”\n\n“That’s what I thought. You be nice to that girl. She's been good for you and to you.”\n\n“She’s upstairs in bed, Mom, but I know she’d love to see you.”\n\n“In a minute. First, I brought something I wanted you to have.” Eli looked down and saw a perfectly wrapped gift in his mother’s hands.\n\n“Mom, you shouldn’t have. I told you we have all we need.”\n\n“You don’t have this, and I’ve been waiting so long to give it to you.” Destiny said, handing Eli the package.\n\n“Should I open it now?”\n\n“You’d better,” she answered with a smile.\n\nEli found the seam and carefully tore off the blue bunny-covered wrapping paper. Inside was a plain white box, taped on all four sides. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pen knife which he promptly used to cut the tape. Finally able to open the box, he pulled off the top, allowing him to see a small faded light blue onesie with the word “LOVE” printed in red on the front.\n\n“Mom, I can’t take this. It’s important to you.”\n\nThe story of the onesie, the clerk, and the thirty-three cents was cherished family history and the outfit was Destiny’s most prized possession.\n\n“When I was young,” Destiny explained, “this was my way of showing you I loved you. I bought it myself, and I gave it to you. It’s time to give it to you again so you will always remember the only thing that is truly necessary to give your child is love. Please give it to your son. Will you do that for me?”\n\n“Of course I will,” Eli answered, “Let’s go show Melody.”\n\n\n * * * * * * * * *\n\n\n“I have good news, dad.”\n\n“What’s that, kiddo?” Eli asked, looking down at his son.\n\n“Grandma isn’t really dead. Wanna know how I know?”\n\n“I do, Ben,” Eli responded, genuinely interested in what his five-year-old son was about to say.\n\n“Well, my teacher, Mrs. Conroy, she told me that as long as we keep loving people, they never die. That’s true, isn’t it dad?\n\n“It sure is, champ. Mrs. Conroy knows what she’s talking about.”\n\n“Then I want to do something for grandma. Is that alright?”\n\n“Well that depends, kiddo. What do you want to do?”\n\n“Wait, I’ll show you.” The little boy answered, charging out of the room, only to return a moment later.\n\n“I want to give her this,” Ben said, holding up a little light blue outfit for Eli to see. “L. O. V. E. That spells love. Grandma taught me the letters. Can I give it to her so she knows we love her then she won't really be dead?”\n\n“Ben, where did you get that?”\n\n“I found it in my closet. Grandma told me all about it.”\n\n“Of course, you can give it to her,” Eli said, holding back tears. “I think she’d like that very much.”\n\nThere wasn’t much talk on the way to the funeral home or during the service. Ben made sure to keep very quiet, waiting for the opportunity to give his grandmother her gift. When most of the crowd had left, Eli found Ben.\n\n“Are you ready?”\n\n“Ready.”\n\n“Great, let’s go.”\n\nTaking his hand, Eli walked with Ben up to the casket where Destiny lay.\n\n“She looks like she’s sleeping.” Ben observed, looking up at his father then back down at Destiny. “I think she is smiling,”\n\n“I think so, too.”\n\n“I love you, Grandma,” Ben said as he laid the small light blue onesie near Destiny’s heart. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter, a dime, and three pennies, laying the coins under his grandmother’s hand. He whispered something Eli could not hear. Then the two turned around and walked out of the chapel.\n\n“What did you tell Grandma?” Eli asked.\n\n“It’s a secret,” Ben answered, with a serious look on his round little face.\n\n“It’s okay, I promise I won’t tell a soul.”\n\n“I told Grandma I was giving her thirty-three cents.”\n\n“Thirty-three cents?”\n\n“Yes, Dad. Just in case they don’t have the friends and family discount in heaven.”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Man Who Ran Away\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1928\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which a character is running away from something, literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Caution: mention of torture and cruelty.\nHow would you react if introduced to a potential roommate or flat mate who promptly told you lots of negative things about himself? Top marks for honesty, but no one would choose to live with someone who is rebellious and will not do as he is asked, who whinges and whines when things don’t go his way and even wants to die when a situation gets unpleasant, who is more concerned about how he appears to others than wanting to help the unpopular. The reply would not be welcoming. It would be a suggestion to live elsewhere.\nLong ago, such a man lived. His name was Jonah, and God asked him to do a difficult job. He had to journey to a faraway city and deliver an unpopular message.\nJonah knew God had opened a path through the Red Sea to help his people escape from the Egyptians. And let the waters fall back over their enemies to drown every last one.\nHe knew that God had made the walls of Jericho fall down to enable easy capture of the city’s inhabitants.\nGod told him, “Get up, go to Nineveh, the great city, and proclaim judgment against her, for their wickedness has come to my attention.”\nDespite knowing his God could back and protect him through every facet of his journey, Jonah disobeyed God. He went as far away as he could.\nJonah ran away, heading to Tarshish, most likely in Spain - far in the opposite direction. He had no intention of carrying out what he had been asked to do for whatever reason. He first walked to Joppa, the port, to catch a ship heading to Tarshish.\nHe may have had good reasons for not obeying, but it all amounted to a lack of faith. This did not mean God had asked the wrong person to do the job. It showed that Jonah had a lot to learn. And learn it, he did - eventually.\nHe may have initially reflected on the cruelty of the Assyrians who populated Nineveh. The Assyrians’ treatment of prisoners was as unmerciful as can be imagined. Flayed alive, having hooks through the nose or lips and being dragged away, having heads, hands, noses, and ears chopped off. They were a military nation that loved inflicting pain and terror. Many chose to surrender rather than fight them.\nWe don’t know why Jonah ran away, but any of the above facts could have swayed him.\nHe found a ship heading to Tarshish and paid his fare. Soon, a violent storm flared up out of nowhere. The men prayed to their gods and threw excess articles overboard to lighten the vessel. The others on the boat were appalled as Jonah continued sleeping. He was harshly instructed to pray to his god. The men cast lots to determine who may be responsible for the catastrophe. They identified Jonah as the one.\n“Who is to blame for this calamity? . . .What is your work, and where do you come from? . . .”\nJonah said in reply, “I am a Hebrew and I fear the God of the heavens, the one who made the sea and the land.”\n“What have you done?” they asked.\nHe confessed that he was running away. Then, he showed his bravery. None of this wanting to drag down all the other men into a watery grave with him. “Lift me up and throw me into the sea, and the sea will calm down for you. For I know that this violent storm has come upon you because of me.”\nThey called out to his God and said, “. . .please, may we not perish because of this man?”\nThe men tried desperately to turn the ship back to dry land, but when this failed, they had no other recourse but to listen to Jonah’s instruction to throw him overboard. This action led to the raging sea being still.\nCalm or not, Jonah now faced drowning. Down he went, down and down, getting caught up in seaweed, running out of air, and fighting not to swallow water. His lungs felt like they would burst. He thought about his God and how foolish he had been to try to run away. The specter of death hung over him as he saw flashbacks of his life.\nHelp came in the form of a submarine, albeit a primitive one. A colossal fish swallowed him. This would likely be a killer, humpback, or sperm whale. If it was a sperm whale, it would have been stifling inside.\nIn a 5th April article (source: www.deccan chronicle.com), a story about another instance of this gives food for thought to the skeptics.\n“A Spanish fisherman who drowned in the sea is back with a fascinating story. The man who disappeared for several days after he went overboard during a bad storm has returned to share his survival tale. The 56-year-old fisherman Luigi Marquez claims that a whale swallowed him. According to Marquez, he stayed there for three days and nights. When Marquez didn’t return home, the coastal guard tried to find him but failed to locate him, and he was considered dead.\n‘This great beast swallowed me the morning after the storm,’ he told local reporters. ‘It is the most frightening thing I have ever lived. Everything was pitch black and I was shivering cold. The only thing that kept me alive were the raw fish I ate and the light from my waterproof watch, that is how I kept in touch with time. And the smell, I will never forget that horrible stench of putrid decomposition. I had to wash for three days before the odor went away,’ Luigi Marquez told reporters.\nHe may have felt he had no hope after three days. The story of the Spanish man helps us visualize the horrors Jonah went through. Three days would have seemed like an eternity.\nAnother article on July 11th, 2021, told of a Massachusetts man, Micael Packard, who was grabbed into the mouth of a humpback whale before being taken to the surface and spat out.\nWe can read Jonah’s heartfelt prayer, which reveals a humbled man who did not blame God for his wretched situation. Thankfully, not a moment too late, the fish vomited Jonah onto land.\nWhat was Jonah’s response when told a second time? “Get up, go to Nineveh the great city, and proclaim to her the message I tell you.”\nThis time, he obeyed. Jonah had learned his lesson. It is always best to obey instructions the first time.\nIt took three days for him to walk there. Three days during which he screwed up his courage to make the daily proclamation. Once there, he may have been ridiculed. Undoubtedly, he prayed fervently that the message would not antagonize the people.\n“In just 40 days more, Nineveh will be overthrown.” As each day counted down, Jonah could hardly wait until his ordeal ended. He focused on getting his task completed.\nHowever, his words had a remarkable and unanticipated effect on the people. Their consciences pricked them. These people worshiped false gods and led decadent and violent lives. Amazingly, they believed the message and behaved like any self-respecting heathens would - who are faced with annihilation. They repented and showed their sorrow by dressing in scratchy sackcloth and scooping ashes over themselves, men, women, children, and animals.\nPeople used sackcloth and ashes to show personal grief and signify repentance and humility before God. The King also humbled himself and ordered a fast. No food or water was to be consumed by man or beast, nobles or the poor. Their reasoning may have been, “Who knows? God may reconsider what he intends to do . . . so that we may not perish.”\nGod saw their genuine change of heart represented by the sackcloth and ashes—and it caused Him to extend mercy and not bring about their destruction.\nHow did Jonah feel? He did not think that it was a ‘job well done.’ He concluded the destruction of the whole city could better reflect this. Doom had been proclaimed. And doom it must be. He went outside the city a distance and sat watching to see what would happen. Nothing changed. He fumed and pouted. Muttered and growled.\n“Was this not my concern when I was in my own land. That is why I tried to flee to Tarshish in the first place for I knew you are a compassionate and merciful God, slow to anger and abundant in loyal love . . . Now, please take away my life, for it is better for me to die. . .”\nJonah felt the mission had been a total waste of time and dwelled on suicide. He had no appreciation for being saved from the belly of the fish. This was tantamount to thumbing his nose at the mercy he had been shown. It filled him with anger that such guilty people had been pardoned.\nGod felt Jonah needed an additional lesson.\nJonah almost expired as he sat in the hot sun. He had constructed a shelter to screen himself, which barely helped. It shaded him a little but was far from adequate.\nGod still showed him mercy. A bottle gourd plant sprouted next to him. Overnight, its twisty tendrils spiraled upward. First, it was tiny, but the growth gained momentum as the hours passed. Large leaves unfurled, and the shelter became a shady haven. Jonah awakened in surprise, wondering why his closed eyes didn’t have rays of sunlight shining on them. Looking upwards, everything appeared green. A verdant canopy had covered his primitive shelter. He beamed with joy. Even the fact that Ninevah still stood didn’t dampen his mood. All day, he sat sheltered from the scorching sun.\nGod now caused the lesson, that he felt Jonah needed to learn, to unfold. At the break of dawn the following day, someone else discovered the bottle gourd. It became a banquet for a worm. It feasted on the juicy bottle gourd trunk. The sun came out, and a sweltering east wind blew hard, and slowly, each shriveled, dry leaf vanished. Jonah was left with the remains of his original shelter. Having the miraculous life-saving plant disappear before his eyes filled him with rage. He tossed and turned on the hard ground all night. As time passed, he started feeling faint.\n“I just want to die. Let me die,” Jonah begged.\nGod spoke to him. “You felt sorry for the bottle-gourd plant which you did not work for, nor did you make it grow. It grew in one night and perished in one night . . . Should I not also feel sorry for Ninevah, the great city in which there are more than 120,000 men . . . as well as their animals?”\nJonah learned from this object lesson. He ventured into the city, and the people recognized him. They gathered around to thank him. He felt overwhelmed. It humbled him to see so many people who didn’t even know his God show gratitude for the mercy extended to them.\nLater, he penned a personal account of what had happened. The fact that he wrote of his disobedience and disgusting attitude showed he had learned the value of showing mercy, just as he had also been shown.\nWhat about us? Do we shy away from helping our fellow man? Next time you feel inclined to think only of yourself, spare a thought for Jonah. The man who ran away." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: My Jama Dress\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1192\n\nPrompt:\n\nThink of an item of clothing from your childhood, and write a story inspired by that." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Mom! Did you know I'm a princess?\" I'm so excited to tell her!\n\n\"Of course, Melody, you're my princess.\"\n\nGasp, she knows! This means, does this mean... \"You're a Queen!\" Oh, I'm so excited, both of us in one day! \"Princess and Queen! Princess and Queen!\"\n\n\"Alright, Princess, let's put on pajamas and go to bed.\"\n\n\"Mom, what jamas are you wearing tonight?\"\n\n\"Come. I'll show you.\" I love when she smiles like that. It makes my insides feel warm. Warm and snugly right before bed! \"I'm thinking this one.\"\n\nShe's holding a dress! It's beautiful, and pink, and has lace instead of lines. It feels like... it feels like the slippery bed sheets. \"It's beautiful! Can I wear it?\"\n\n\"But it's way too long.\"\n\n\"It's okay, I'll hold it up until I'm lying down!\"\n\n\"Alright, let's get you changed.\"\n\nUgh, why is it so hard to get my arm out of my sleeve! Ugh, you too? Hmg, how do you get stuck on ears? \"Here you go, Mom.\" Sit, sit, sit, it's faster to kick them off. \"Here you go, Mom, I'm ready!\"\n\n\"Haha, I bet you are, hands up!\"\n\n\"Haha, it's cold!\" I'm swimming in pink water. I see the sun. I see the Queen. \"Queen!\"\n\n\"Princess!\" I love when she hugs me like that. It makes me feel like nothing can make me cry again. \"Time for bed.\"\n\n\"Okay, good night!\" Oh, there is a lot of dress here. I'm stepping on it, again, again, again. \"Oh no! My sleeves!\"\n\n\"Oh my, haha, it's too big everywhere. Here turn around.\"\n\n\"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"I'm tying the straps together, so they won't slide off.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you!\"\n\n\"You're welcome, now off to bed.\"\n\n\"Okay!\" Lots of dress. Step, step, step. Wow, Mom is tall. \"Got it! Good night!\" The princess runs to her tower, she will sleep, because sleeping brings the day, and I will see my jama dress in the light!\n\n\n* * \n\n\n\"Melody, it's time to wake up. Melody.\"\n\n\"Am I still beautiful?\"\n\n\"Of course you're still beautiful, you will always be beautiful.\"\n\n\"But what about my jama dress?\"\n\n\"It will always be beautiful too, why don't you hop up and see?\"\n\nOh yes, it's light now, I can see in the mirror! \"Ugh, why won't the sheets come off?\"\n\n\"What sheets?\"\n\n\"Oh, haha, that's my jama dress.\" I forgot, so much to grab. Easier sitting down though. Mirror, mirror, mirror, mirror, mirror. \"Wow... you're right, Mom! It will always be beautiful!\"\n\n\"Just like you, Princess. Don't you forget.\"\n\n\n * \n\n\n\"What's this box of clothes?\"\n\n\"Stuff I'm going to be donating.\"\n\n\"Why are you doing that? Did you buy new stuff?\" Hmm, I wonder what she's getting rid of…\n\n\"A little bit of that, a little bit of some items not fitting anymore.\"\n\n\"The jama dress? Mom, you can't get rid of this!\" Oh, it's still so smooth!\n\n\"I haven't worn that for a few years now. If you want to keep it, you can.\"\n\n\"I do wanna keep it.\" I want to put it on now. How silly. Maybe just really quick, over my clothes. \"Uh...\"\n\n\"Oh dear, need to figure out how to get rid of the knot in the straps first, it's too tight now.\"\n\n\"Pull it off, please.\" Ooog. \"Thank you, why did you leave the knot in it?\"\n\n\"You wore it so often, by the time I planned to wear it myself, this knot had gotten too tight for me to untie, but you're good with knots, give it a try.\"\n\nI can get this knot out. Simple. How did it get so tight? Oh! Something came loose! Urr... urr... ah! Wow, that's wrinkled. Oh, my jama dress! Mirror, mirror, mirror. \"Wow, you were right, Mom.\" It will always be beautiful.\n\n\"Right about what?\"\n\n\"I got the knot out, it fits now!\"\n\n\"That's wonderful. You always did love that nightgown.\"\n\n\"Jama dress.\"\n\n\"Jama dress.\" I love it when she follows my lead. It makes me feel like I can do anything.\n\n\n * \n\n\n\"Melody, I'm so glad you were able to come home for Christmas!\"\n\n\"Thank you, Grandpa, me too.\"\n\n\"How's school?\"\n\n\"It's been amazing! I'm learning how fabric is made, and what fabrics work well together, we sew scraps together so we can feel what is good or not so good. They say by the end of the year we'll have at least three full outfits.\"\n\n\"Only three?\"\n\n\"Were talking made with quality work, Grandpa, this isn't for basics.\"\n\n\"Guess I need to learn more about fabrics, ha.\"\n\n\"Dad, can you help me? I can't reach this.\"\n\n\"Be right there! Go rest a little before supper, I'm sure you'll stay up late tonight catching up.\"\n\n\"Sound like a good idea to me, I'm exhausted.\" I wonder how long before supper is ready.\n\n\"Darling Daughter, you look beautiful.\" Aww, Grandpa. What is she wearing?\n\n\"This old ugly thing? I only keep it because it's comfortable.\"\n\n\"That dress will always be beautiful, just like you.\"\n\n\"You’re right, beautiful, Dad. Give me a hand?\"\n\nShe learned it from her dad? That's so sweet. Maybe one day I'll teach my daughters, but until then, I'm going to see if I can find my jama dress.\n\n\n * \n\n\n\"It's still here.\" How did I forget to grab this on Christmas break? \"It was in the laundry.\" Well, not this year, I'm packing you right now, no losing it to the laundry bin again. Crazy to think we've had this jama dress for fourteen years.\n\n\"Melody! The Bassets are here!\"\n\n\"Coming!\"\n\n\n * \n\n\n\"I can't believe you're moving out of state!\"\n\n\"Eek! I know!\"\n\n\"That's incredible and I'm jealous. What's the plan, take it all? Store it?\"\n\n\"Get rid of as much as I can, will you help?\"\n\n\"Yes, let's do this, let's start now! Ahh, I can't believe you're moving!\"\n\n\"Let's start with the clothes.\"\n\nMan, some things are easy to let go of, but why am I struggling to donate clothes that don't fit me anymore. Yeah, it's cute, but I can't wear it. \"Somebody will love these clothes, right?\"\n\n\"Each item is another happy girl. Wow, this is tattered. Bet it was beautiful once.\"\n\n\"Oh, that old thing. Yeah, it was, that was my favorite nightgown, used to be my mom's, she basically gave it to me when I was five and it was too big. She tied the straps for me, ha.\"\n\n\"I want to change my statement. This looks great for a 25-year-old fragile nightgown.\"\n\n\"I keep misplacing it somehow. I didn't wear it as much as I mean to.\"\n\n\"Hm, happens. Keep or toss? You can't donate this.\"\n\n\"Keep. For some reason, I can't imagine tossing it out.\"\n\n\n * *\n\n\nMy wardrobe is getting too full again. Come on, Melody, just get rid of anything you don't wear anymore. Out with the old, in with the new. Wow, I still have this nightgown? Goodness, this is too flimsy to wear anymore. Thirty years? I think you had a good run. It might be time to move on, but you're still beautiful, just like me." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Archie the Tree Monster\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2998\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with somebody taking a photo." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Lee-Roy White snickered as he took off the stolen rain jacket. He’d been warm and dry all the way home, even his hair, thanks to the jacket’s hood. It looked like a golf jacket, and it was big enough to fit him. On Wussy Wyatt, it’d come down to his bony knees. ‘Must be his dad’s.’\nHe hung it up in the entryway that his father called ‘the mudroom’ only cuz it had tiled flooring. ‘Mine now.’ He snickered again at the thought of that skinny little goomba soaking wet and shivering on his walk home from school.\nHe almost walked away but looked down at the pockets. He had patted them down earlier, they’d felt empty. Now, he felt inside each one. The outer two had zippers covered with protective flaps. Empty. The inner one had stiff papers in it, the size of the recipe cards his mother used to have. \nPhotos.\nThree were photos of himself. The fourth was one apparently taken on a Halloween night.\n*\nThursday, one day earlier…\nWyatt Summerland the Third ate his lunch on the farthest corner of The Broken Field. The high school staff called it The Right Field. The jocks from decades past had called it The Field of Broken Bones. The current jock bullies continued the tradition of terrorizing the weaker boys by ‘accidentally’ tackling or tripping the smaller boys during games of flag football. The coaches turned a blind eye, they favored the jocks and most likely had been those same bullies in their high school years. \nWyatt pushed the black frame of his glasses up his nose. He hated gym class; he was always picked last.\nStarling sat down next to Wyatt. (Her name was Samantha Sterling) but the popular girls in the school renamed her right around the second grade. She was thin and as delicate as a bird after all, and black. She had fluffy pom pom pigtails and a mouthful of glinting pewter teeth. \nStarling peeled open her chocolate pudding and scooped some daintily into her mouth. Wyatt said, “You only eat pudding for lunch?”\nStarling swallowed, took a sip of her milk, and said, “Once I made the mistake of eating a BLAT in the caff. A year ago, when I got my braces. It was so gross. Evvie made fun of me, said I looked like a monster from a lagoon cuz I had strings of lettuce stuck right in the front. It took nearly the rest of lunch hour to get all the crap outta my stupid braces. I was so embarrassed; every time someone came into the bathroom I hid in a stall.”\n“Gross. Sorry. But ew. I get the pudding thing now. How much longer do you have to wear them?” \n“Six more months at least. The rest of the school year.”\n“But you’ll have great teeth for the twelfth grade. Movie Star Teeth.”\nStarling covered her mouth as she laughed. Wyatt figured it would be a long time before she lost that habit. He looked across The Broken Field. Lee-Roy White stood at the far end. ‘Of course he is.’\nLee-Roy said something to the boys on either side of him and pointed two fingers at Wyatt then at his own eyes. ‘I’m watching you.’ The three boys laughed.\nStarling said, “Why does he hate you so much?”\n“He’s just a bully. Like his dad.”\nStarling nodded. Everyone talked about the fat, finger shaped bruises emblazed upon Lee-Roy’s pale arms and the occasional black eye. No one in school had done that to him. No one dared. The kid was huge. At seventeen, he stood six feet tall. He was lean and roped with muscley bulges and knobs. A teacher had told him once he needed a haircut, told him he looked like a hoodlum with it worn so long. \nFrom his desk at the back of the room, he shrugged then said, “Chicks dig it.” The class had laughed.\nThat teacher had later found her car had been keyed, two thick wavering lines ran down each side of the little blue Corolla.\nLee-Roy was not afraid of anyone.\nWyatt said, “He’s my nemesis. I stay out of his way.”\nStarling rubbed her bare mocha colored shin. Her socks were short, her capri pants had risen over her knees. Wyatt noticed the spot she rubbed sported a very prominent lump. \nHe said, “Field hockey?”\n“Yup, you’re not the only one who gets bullied. I fucking HATE gym class.”\n“Me too. Wyatt’s in my gym class.”\n“That fucking sucks.”\nThe bringing-buzzing of the bell rang out.\nWyatt said, “And speaking of gym class…”\nThey got up and walked across the field. Starling veered off towards the corridor to the left. She waggled her fingers goodbye and said, “Good luck.” \n“Thanks.” He took one final glace at the sky. It was still blue in places, but heavy grey clouds were darkly taking over.\nGym class was okay that day, they played badminton because it was supposed to rain. Badminton was cool cuz was not a team sport. After the class, Wyatt was the first to head to the changing room after the hour was up- he liked to change quickly and be out of Lee-Roy’s radar field as fast as possible.\nWyatt jumped into the shower farthest from the lockers. He froze as a shadow paused at the curtain. He let his breath out as the shadow departed. He showered and rinsed as if he were in a race. With luck, Lee-Roy would still be showering when he was long gone. He peeked out the stall. No nemesis. He reached to the peg where his towel was.\nNot there. \nHe looked at the blue tiled floor. No towel. ‘Fuck.’ Not only was there no towel, but his jeans were also gone. He used his gym shirt to towel off, but it was moist with sweat, he had no choice but to put his sweaty gym shorts back on. They suctioned onto his damp thighs like limpets on tidal rocks. He buttoned his shirt, groaning at the way it clung to his chest and back.\nWyatt caught something dark from the corner of his eye as he passed the bank of urinals. In one of them, all balled up and soaking wet, were his Levis. ‘They were getting too short anyways,’ he thought.\nThe hill-billy guffawing behind him reddened his face uncontrollably. The grating laughter was followed by, “Check that out! You can see everything! Hey lil dude, that lil worm so small not even yer girlfriend, the black bird, could find it!”\nHe didn’t pause at the mirror, but finger combed his hair into place as he headed for the door to the hallway. Half the students pointed and laughed as he walked swiftly through the hallway. The other half whispered to their friends as they stared. Only a couple of kids looked away, pity painted on their faces.\nHe didn’t stop at the door to his history class, he kept going straight, into the nearly empty cafeteria, and out the side door to the bike racks.\nAs he pedaled as fast as he could, it began to rain.\nHis mother wasn’t home yet, she worked late Thursdays, and on those nights, he made dinner for them. She probably wouldn’t notice the absence of the Levis but if she did, he’d tell her they were too short, so he’d put them in the Goodwill box, which, by the way, he’d taken into town the day before.\nThe deluge of rain worsened into a fantastic storm. Wyatt’s invisible friend would be pleased. He particularly loved thunder and lightning and the violence of hurricane winds. His gleeful enthusiasm had infected Wyatt as well, he went outside into the pitch-black yard and put his face into the torrents. He said, “It’s a good one, eh, Archie?”\nA voice drifted down from above, “Indeed it is, little friend…”\n“Archie…”\n“Sorry. Wyatt Summerland the Third.” The voice was deep but light and melodic, like Barry White speaking in sotto voce.\n“Ha! What a laugh.” Wyatt Summerland the Second had left when he was two, leaving him nothing but a fancy name. Wyatt Summerland the First had died of a heart attack five years previously. He was technically Wyatt Summerland the Only.\nWhite lights painted the fence for a second, dimmed by the downpour.\n“She’s home. Gotta go,” Wyatt said to the shadow man.\n“Ciao buddy.”\nThe next morning was drizzly and dark, with intermittent showers. Wyatt spent too long searching his drawers, his closet, the hall closet, for his hooded waterproof jacket. When at last he found it, he realized he was going to be late for school. \nAt the school, he stopped at his locker, noting how empty the halls were. ‘Past first bell. Did I miss the second one too?’ He grabbed his binder and algebra book and slammed the door shut. He raced down the hall to his homeroom, slipping and sliding a couple of times like a cartoon character.\nThe second bell razzled shrilly and echoingly behind him as he leapt into the classroom.\n“I’m here!” he exclaimed as he ran to his seat in the second row.\nHill-billy guffaws from the back row.\nThe teacher glared over his half spectacles which always seemed to hang on the end of his thin, pointed nose like magic. “Yes, I see that. I also see that you’re dripping all over my floor.”\nWyatt didn’t think it wise to point out the floor wasn’t actually his, but belonged to whomever owned the school. Maybe it was the county’s floor. \nThere was a row of eight coat hooks at the back of the room. He hung his dripping jacket on the end, next to a green striped sweater that had been there since his first day. Kids claimed it was haunted, that it had belonged to Freddy Kruger. He hustled back to his desk and Mr. Altera continued announcing next week’s events in his nasally, monotone drawl.\nHomeroom was fifteen minutes long. Today it seemed an hour.\nSure enough, when the bell rang for the first class of the day, Mr. Altera asked Wyatt to, “Hold up a sec.”\n“I’m sorry I was late Mr. Altera; it won’t happen again.”\n“Apology accepted. And seeing as this was your first time, I’ll let it go. Manage your schedule better. You’ll need to in the real world.”\n“Thank you, sir.” He scooped up his books and took off for his algebra class.\nAs he sat in his seat near the front, he realized he’d forgotten his jacket. ‘I’ll have to get it after class.’\nAs he walked into his homeroom, he saw immediately that his jacket was gone. The room was empty. Mr. Altera was absent. He ran to the coat hooks, nothing on the floor. He peeked under the ugly sweater with a pencil, careful not to touch it… just in case. Nope. ‘Fucking Lee-Roy!’\n\nBack to Friday…\n“Fucking Wuss-boy! What the hell?!” He’d nearly dropped the photos. He felt…afraid. Of Wyatt. Ridiculous. He feared no one…except…\n His vision went red as he pictured a meaty fist darkening with knuckle shadows as it came towards his eye. He felt the sharp pain of his nose cartilage separating from bone and the thudding pain in his eye socket as it crinkled inwards toward his eyeball. He felt the pressure of the eyeball push inwards.\n…His father. He was okay most of the time. No, that’s a lie. He drank every night. He morphed into a monster every night that he could not always avoid.\nLee-Roy looked at the photos in his hand and studied each one. He had sat down on the crumpled sheets of his bed without realizing he’d even moved, let alone found his way to his room. He shoved dirty clothes from the floor to uncover the toolbox. It locked. It was empty of tools and was stocked instead with cans of Coors he’d swiped after his father had passed out. He even had a travel mug half full of swiped Jack Daniels. It was the Jack his trembling fingers grabbed.\nAs he sipped, he studied the photos.\nOne showed his father and him on their front porch. He’d been wearing a tee-shirt; under the yellowy porchlight he saw the deep shadows under the fingers that were squeezing his biceps. The next was taken that same night, after Lee-Roy had been thrown to the ground. His father’s fist was raised high- high for greater momentum and greater impact. The third photo was a view through the living room window. Father’s left hand held Lee-Roy by the throat… the right was raised- high.\nThe fourth picture was the Halloween one. Lee-Roy smiled. The scary decoration revealed glowing eyes and sharp white teeth in an ear-to-ear grin, the gnarled outline of a tree behind it lit up by lightning added to the illusion of scariness. \nLater, in bed, Lee-Roy listened to the muted voices of David Letterman and his guest. By now, Pops would be passed out, and he was safe. As his breathing deepened, the last thoughts poked at the logic in his brain. ‘If it was Halloween, why wasn’t The Wuss in a costume?’\n\nMonday came at last. \nLee-Roy watched The Wuss eating his lunch on the far side of the field. The black chick (his father called them niggers, but Lee-Roy didn’t understand racism. He secretly thought Starling was kinda sexy) was sitting next to him eating her pudding.\nPhil and Dave came up. Phil said, “Whatchoo got planned today for the little geek?”\nLee-Roy didn’t look away from the field. He said, “Oh, I’ll think of something.”\nLee-Roy followed Wyatt to his house. It wasn’t hard, the kid lived on a street lined with plenty of big oaks to hide behind. He saw the kid enter a small but neat house. He watched across the street as lights came on in the living room and deeper into the place. Kitchen. An older model Chevy Malibu pulled into the driveway and a petite brunette in a waitress uniform- old-fashioned, like ones he’d seen on 'Alice'-got out and went inside.\nIt was getting dark, and Lee-Roy felt bolder under the cover of night. He crept around to the back yard, unlatched the fence gate, and hid behind a maple in the yard.\nHe saw the kid and his mom chat for a bit then she left the kitchen.\nThe kid stirred a pot on the stove, turned a knob, then headed out the kitchen door.\nBefore coming out, Wyatt turned off the porchlight. He came into the blackened yard and said, “Archie?”\nLee-Roy jumped out from behind the maple and said, “We need to talk!” He grabbed the smaller kid’s arm and pulled him behind the tree. \nIn pitch darkness, Wyatt said, “You found the photos, didn’t you?”\nLee-Roy grabbed the other arm and shook the kid. Then he let go. Red memories of his father let go as well. He said, “Why?”\nWyatt said, “I took them to help you.”\n“What!?”\n“Yes! I’ve been studying you. I was -am- writing a paper on, well, bullying. Figuring out why and what makes you be like you. It’s obviously because of your upbringing. Your father…and absent mother.”\nLee-Roy gawped at Wyatt. He gestured for Wyatt to go on, too stunned for words.\n“I’m going to college to study psychiatry. I’m getting a scholarship. I got so involved with my study of your case that I may have stepped out of line. I took those pictures thinking I’d have proof of the abuse, take them to authorities…”\n“But you didn’t, right?”\n“No. I got to thinking that you’d be sent to foster care and that may make you even worse. As a person. And your dad too.”\n“Why would you care about me?”\n“You’re not stupid. You can change. And I’m studying it…you.”\n“Hmm.” Lee-Roy fell against the tree as if the life-force had flown from his body.\n“I can help you. In a totally unconventional way.”\nLee-Roy felt as if he’d been squashed under a boulder like the coyote in the roadrunner cartoons, but he also felt the boulder lifting. It was… hope. He said, “That other picture…it was weird.”\n“My invisible friend. After my dad left, I started talking to him. He was just a black tree at first, this one.” He pointed to the old maple. One night the tree spoke back.”\n“That thing in the picture wasn’t a decoration. It was real.”\n“Yes. Archie. I call him my invisible friend because he only comes to me in shadows…”\n“He’s really tall. And thin. Like a tree with a face and glowing eyes and teeth…”\n“And horns like a Texas bull. He doesn’t like his picture taken cuz he needs to be invisible to humans. He fakes being a tree really well. I convinced him he’d pass for a Halloween decoration.”\n“I think you’re just scaring me…to get even or something.”\nA voice from the dark came down like Barry White whispering, “You want my help or not kid?”\nLee-Roy looked up but saw nothing. The moon was only ¾ full, but bright enough. \nFrom behind the tree came Archie. As he unfolded his thin, fifteen-foot body, he turned, revealing an ear-to-ear grin that glistened in the moonlight. His body was indeed like a gnarled, tall black tree. His eyes glowed.\n*\nAfter the visit to Lee-Roy’s dad, Lee-Roy never again worried about being beaten. His pop was going to AA meetings every night and Lee-Roy made sure they shared a healthy meal. \nWyatt wrote his paper, got his scholarship, and went on to Yale.\nLee-Roy stayed in Ferndale, devoting his career towards troubled youths and coaching Ferndale’s high school in a fair and entirely new way. Him and Wyatt stayed in touch and became the closest of friends.\nArchie moved on to be another lonely kid’s best invisible friend." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Sinnerman\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1347\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which a character is running away from something, literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Never had I heard such a sound so dramatic and ancient, as if it were calling from the onset of all creation. A sound that shrieked throughout the open air and rumbled through the dense earth. It cracked open the sky in a glorious display and brought forth the dead from their graves in an awful exhumation. No, never before had I heard anything quite like the horn I heard on Judgement Day.\n\nIts tune struck me in the gut and shook my spirit. Instantly, I knew. The last grain of sand of the holy hourglass had fallen, and the final leaf of life’s big tree had shed. Strange, irrefutable feelings bubbled to the surface of my consciousness. Indeed, I knew; the sound was a call to me. The Judge would see me now.\n\nNo, not now. For I was not ready.\n\nMy feet found their sense before me. Without a semblance of knowing what I was doing, I woke in a full sprint. “Where are you running to?” a voice asked, a question to which I had no ready answer. My mind spun. Would I run to my reputation? Could my wealth insulate me from the ruling that was to come? Perhaps my deeds or desires could advocate on my behalf? Would I find asylum anywhere in this barren world?\n\nThe answer came to me: the rock!\n\nOf course, the rock, my foundation. The sturdy and reliable base where I found support in winter and bounty in spring; yes, surely I could depend on my old friend. I ran and ran until I reached his mighty face. The horn blared throughout the skies above, and my lungs drew in hot air as I cried out, “Rock! Please hide me.”\n\nBut the rock did not turn to greet me with his usual fervor. His once tender soil had singed to brittle ash. His bold magnificence was dwarfed by the ever-growing gash in the heavens. The sturdiness and warmth I had grown accustomed to had now turned fickle.\n\n“I cannot hide you,” he replied. “Go from here, I say!”\n\n“What’s the matter with you? Can't you see I need you, old friend?”\n\nMy indignation caught in my throat as I beheld 10,000 angels descending from the fiery sky. Their contorted bodies and legion of eyes scoured the land. Creatures, both human and animal, trembled in terrible reverence; but not I. No, I knew they were coming for me. I had to keep running; but to where? Certainly my sanctuary was hidden in some forgotten crevice of this desolate land.\n\nMy feet traced a path to the river, another ancient friend. A friend that had witnessed my birth and would surely counsel me away from my death. Surely, I could syphon more life from her fertile riverbed. Surely, her streams could cleanse me of any stench or stain. Surely.\n\nHowever, as I approached, I did not find the cool, clear waters that I had bathed in for the many decades I had known her. Nor did her riverbed teem with the civilizations of small critters and fish as it did before. No, instead I found her as a river of blood.\n\nMy dear friend, thick and pulsating, flowed with an unnatural rhythm. Her waters, once sweet and restorative, now reflected the crimson hue of despair. My steps faltered. My stomach churned. The river seemed to writhe and moan, mirroring the torment that echoed through the air. I knew, indeed, she could be of no use to me. I had to keep moving, for I could see the million-eyed angels closing in. I ran along the grotesque bank of my hematic friend until, beyond the limits of man, my feet found the sea.\n\nYes, the sea; I could undoubtedly find refuge within her tides. Since the dawn of time, she has swallowed and birthed, only to swallow again. She has always been the great unknowable and the original mother. \"In her womb,\" I thought, \"I shall hide myself away forever in her vast obscurity. There, I shall find shelter!\"\n\nBut as I stumbled upon her beaches, I was mortified to find that the mother was boiling. Yes, her tides jostled and steamed as the creatures of her depths cried out in agony. Oh, the anguish upon their faces spoke to me, saying, \"Halt! Diving into these waters would bring about swift death!\" I shuddered as realization set in: there was nowhere left to run. The land, the sea, the air, all conspired against me. This world offered no cover nor salvation, and the celestial hounds were near.\n\nMy body begged me to relent; it was ready for its eternal rest, but I refused. I knew what awaited me at the Judge's court. I knew the cost of giving in, and I was not willing to pay—I would never be willing to pay. I would exhaust every option I had, overturn every stone I could find, and defer until my very last breath if it meant more time. So, as the angels closed in, I did the only thing I knew to do: I ran—further than any man had run before. I ran beyond speech, I ran beyond form. I ran beyond the confines of this failing world. I found the highest summit of this reality and fell to my knees.\n\n“Lord!” I cried out with everything in me. “Shall you hide me?”\n\nJust then, the horde of angels filled the heavens and swarmed around me. Their eyes burned into my flesh, and what felt like arms bound my wrists, lowering my head. I could sense the Lord peering down from His throne by a gentle yet forceful brilliance, forcing me to deflect my gaze.\n\n“Sinnerman,\" His brilliance spoke. \"Where were you when you had ought to have been praying? Now, you are too late. Judgement is upon you. Go.”\n\n“My Lord, please! Hear me praying to you now! If you grant me salvation, I shall praise you for eternity. Do not forsake me, I beg you!”\n\nThe sensation from the kiss of pity that He placed on my forehead shot through my body, and my tears cooled the burning in my cheeks as I convulsed from His divine touch.\n\n“My child,” He said. “You shall find no salvation here. Go to the Devil. He awaits.”\n\nSomething within me, at the core of who I was, broke. Was this not the fabled Cross-Bearer? Was I not a lost lamb searching for my shepherd? So much of my tenure on this earth was spent thinking of Him and feeling for Him and theorizing about Him. Was the only repayment in the holy realm a stern face and a cold shoulder in my time of need? I searched my body and brain, the only true possessions I realized I'd ever had, for anything I could offer to change His mind, but I produced nothing. So, I did not think, feel, or theorize. Instead, I ran.\n\nWas I running, or was I being ushered? I moved through space and time, abandoning my body when it could no longer keep pace. Lower and lower, I went until the heat of the sky was eclipsed by the heat of the Earth. I found my way to the fiery gates, and just as the Lord had said, he was waiting.\n\n“Devil!” I croaked. “Shall you hide me?”\n\nA lurid, lustful smile crept over his face, and his horrible, caprine eyes stared down at me in anticipation, as if he had been waiting for this moment my whole life—perhaps even before. I withered in his presence as he towered above me, singing with a sinister grin.\n\n“But of course, Sinnerman. Look no further. You shall find asylum with me. Step right in, and I shall shield you from Judgement.”\n\nWith a weary, trembling resignation, with nowhere left to run, I reached out to him, and he guided me into his furnace with a firm hand. Yes, here, Judgement should not reach me. Here is where I shall hide forever.\n\n\n\n***\n\n\nInspired by Nina Simone’s cover of “Sinnerman”\n\nhttps://youtu.be/QH3Fx41Jpl4?si=kqo34a4fInxE2SQ4" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Photograph That Had Her Past Engraved On It\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1229\n\nPrompt:\n\nA character finds an old roll of film, and takes it to be developed. What do they find?" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Squabbling seagulls flew overhead. Rachel sat on the sand with waves crashing against her ankles. The waves of the sea produced an opera, that was soothing. The sea seemed like a beautiful woman dressed in a cerulean blue gown. At a distance, a little girl and her mother were playing in the water. The yacht rocked like a cradle and it felt as though the sea wanted to lul Rachel to sleep.\n\nShe was physically miles away from the hullabaloo but her mind still lingered in the hospital. Pictures of the IV cannula, ice-cold stainless steel cot, the crisp white bedsheet and a frail figure cascaded before her. The screeching sound made by the wheelchair echoed in her ears. A cool breeze caressed her cheeks and her eyes fell on a velvet box that lay by her side.\n\nShe squeezed her eyebrows and her right hand fluttered on her neck. With her left hand, she picked up the box and opened it. A family portrait stared at her. Tears welled in her eyes as her fingers took a tour of the photograph.\n\nSix months back, she had found an old film roll in an antique box that belonged to her father. Intrigued by the film and its contents, she grabbed it and stealthily slipped it into her bag. That evening, she walked into a photo studio and gave the film for processing. She was asked to receive the photographs the next day but destiny had other plans.\n\nHer father was diagnosed with cancer. The tumour ate away his cells and tissues at a rapid pace. The dreaded C jammed his tastebuds. Rachel moved in with her father. She was engulfed by the whirlpool of work and the 24*7 care his health demanded. The thoughts about the film roll had slipped her mind. Eventually, her father wasn't able to swallow the food and he lost a great deal of body weight.\n\nA week back, he complained of breathlessness and was rushed to the hospital. IV cannulas were inserted into his frail body. Blood works and scans were done. The doctors had diagnosed multiple organ failure and placed him on life support.\n\nThe previous evening, he had summoned Rachel into the room and spoke, \"I have a confession to make. But remember, I love you. I have always loved you.\" Tears coursed down his wrinkled cheeks. He slowly lifted his weary hand and pointed to a velvet box on the bedside table.\n\n\"That's for you,\" he said. Rachel walked to the table and opened the box. She found a family portrait. The child in the portrait seemed familiar to her. Did she know her? Or was it her? The couple in the photograph looked unfamiliar. She looked at her father questioningly.\n\nHe tapped on the bed asking her to sit by his side. He removed the oxygen mask and said, \"I saw you slipping the film roll into your bag. So I got it developed for you. The girl in that photograph is you. You were not born to us. You were my colleague John's daughter. He had lost his job and wasn't able to fend for you and his wife. On the contrary, I and your mom had everything in the world yet we weren't happy. We yearned for a child. Your mother had three miscarriages and had slipped into the abyss of apathy. In an attempt to restore the sunshine in our lives I decided that we must adopt a baby. When I had expressed my desire to adopt, John suggested that I adopt you. Though I was initially reluctant, his pathetic state of affairs convinced me to go with it. I offered him money and he had promised to bury our secret. You weren't happy with us for the initial six months. We showered you with love and undivided attention . You eventually got used to us. I and your mom were on cloud nine when you referred to us as mom and dad. Our joy knew no bounds. I hate to confess this to you but I won't live long and you deserve to have a family to call your own.\" He gasped for breath and gripped the bedsheet.\n\nRachel sat staring at him without uttering a word. He had begun to sweat profusely. \"I'm so sorry.\" His voice was low as a whisper. His face seemed to be creased with lines of regret.\nShe enveloped his hand in hers. His hand was cold as the iron rods lining the window. His face turned purple. He had finally breathed his last. She bent forwards, kissed him on his forehead and closed his eyes. Cancer took him away from her and the truth took away her joy. But nothing would ever be able to take away their beautiful and pure bond. Nothing could ever obliterate the memories of the time they had spent together. She tried to console herself but the truth pricked her soul questioning her very existence.\n\nThe next morning, as she stood watching the casket being buried into the ground, she decided to meet her biological parents. She managed to acquire the address from an old diary that had accumulated dust on it.\n\nAfter an hour of steering through the traffic, she reached the Eden house. She opened the gate and entered and saw that two young girls were playing on the porch. A sexagenarian man entered the porch. She assumed that he was her biological father John. A woman joined the family and they ate breakfast. She walked to them and introduced herself. The moment John heard her name the smile on his face vanished. The woman who was supposedly Rachel's biological mother whose name she didn't bother to find wasn't happy either.\n\"She is my colleague's daughter,\" John spoke to the young girls who looked at Rachel questioningly.\n\nAfter a few minutes, the girls excused themselves. \"I'm your daughter,\" spoke Rachel swallowing the lump in her throat.\n\"You are not our daughter. You never were. You were a mistake. We had given you to Tim. You got a good life and we got some money. A few years later, we were blessed with two beautiful daughters. We are a happy family and wish to remain one. We don't want you back in this house,\" spoke John.\nThe woman didn't utter a word and looked at Rachel as though she concurred with John's opinion. Rachel walked away with the tears choking her.\n\nShe didn't want to live with her biological parents. Tim had given her the best of everything. He was her father and would always be. All she wanted was to spend one day with her biological parents. Hug them, talk to them, eat with them but they had forgotten her. Just like the waves that omit the names written on the sand money had omitted her from their lives.\n\nThe smell of the sea tantalized her nostrils breaking her reverie. She got up and walked to the sea. She bent and dropped the velvet box in the water. The waves carried the box that was engraved with her past. She gave her past a sea burial. Tim was her father. He loved her and that's all that mattered.\n\nShe walked away ready to face the new dawn that brought with it hope, positivity and an opportunity to live life to the fullest." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Sign\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2237\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone whose time is running out." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Sign\n\n“So, when you say about three months, Doc, are you thinking three to four months, or are you more of a two to three months kind of guy?”\n“Sorry, Fred, it doesn’t work that way. All I can say is you have about three months. That’s been my experience. It’s not an exact science when it comes to that part of it. I had one guy go for a full year, and another guy, he… well, it’s not an exact science. That’s all I can tell you.”\nA regular refrain Fred had heard from his Dad- “Life isn’t fair; get used to it.” Fred never smoked, never drank, ate healthy foods, and exercised regularly. This wasn’t supposed to happen to a guy like Fred, but in one short week, a pain in his side devolved into a death sentence with an expiration date just months away. On average, convicted murderers get nineteen years from date of judgement to the day they’re strapped to a gurney. Life isn’t fair.\nIt hit Fred the moment he left Dr. Kelly’s office. At first, it confused him, then it annoyed him. Everything, the cars, the people, the birds, and the clouds in the sky all seemed disturbingly unaware of Fred’s plight. He was dying and no one seemed to notice… or care. It is a sad and sobering thought to realize the world will be unaffected by your departure.\nWhat does one do when death has a place on your monthly planner? Paint the garage? Pointless. Get that new pickup truck you’ve had your eye on? Even more pointless. Stock up on groceries? Even food’s function becomes uncertain.\nAmidst the flotsam and jetsom that was once a fully functioning brain, one crystal clear thought emerged. Fred would not tell his son and daughter. They would find out soon enough. Why saddle them with any more days of sadness than necessary?\nThe Packers lost the following Sunday, and for the first time in forty years, Fred didn’t care. He consumed food, but there was no taste. He thought about mowing the lawn, but snow would soon be coming. Even Superman couldn’t clear out his attic and garage in three months.\nHe fed his dog as he teared up knowing his faithful companion would miss him. Fred had decided he would burden no one with his prognosis, but it is hard to keep such sorrow to oneself. Maybe he’d pull a page out of a Checkov short story ; the old man had no one to tell about his son’s death so he shared his misery with his horse. Fred didn’t have a horse, but he always found Shadow to be a good listener. Fred sat on the floor and stroked Shadow’s head with a tenderness they both felt was special.\n“You’re going to be okay. I’m sure Tom will take you in. You’re going to love it there. He’s got two kids. You’ve met them. Man, they’re going to fuss over you!”\nFred wiped away the tears. Dogs can sense things. If dogs could cry, Shadow would have.\n“I’m sorry, old buddy, I’m sorry.”\n Susan was buried on a Tuesday, and even the impending doom would not break the routine.\n“Good morning, Martha.”\n“Good morning, Fred. It must be Tuesday. How about a nice red one today?”\nSusan reached into the cooler behind her and pulled out a bright red rose.\n“That’s perfect, Martha. Thanks.”\nFred put a one-dollar bill on the counter and turned to leave.\n“Fred, you really don’t have to give me the dollar.”\n“I know.”\nFred always parked on the street outside the cemetery. He didn’t like the idea of pulling up close to the grave, walking twenty-five feet, and visiting Susan’s gravesite. It felt too much like a drive-thru for paying one’s respect.\nThe walk gave him time to reflect on the moment. He might think about their time together in high school or their long walks along the river. If the mood was comedy, it would be their bowling team (worst two averages in the entire league), or his vegetable garden which never yielded a pumpkin bigger than a softball. He always reserved a little time for reflecting on their time with the children.\nIt is indeed a bit perplexing that survivors often think the departed would “like” the location of their final resting place, but those left behind often do harbor such sentiments. As he walked up the hill through a cluster of white birch trees under the morning sun, Fred knew Susan would have liked the spot.\n“Hey, babe, I’ve got news… big news. You know how you told me you’d be there waiting for me in heaven? Well, I guess I’m on my way. Cancer, just like you. I hated it even more when it was you.”\n“I’ll see you in heaven.” That’s what people say. How many believe, truly believe? Susan believed. Fred- not so sure.\n“I’m scared, Susan. I don’t have your strength, your courage. And… I don’t know if I have your faith. I’m sorry, I just don’t know. I…I want to believe, but I’m just not certain. I’m sorry if that disappoints you.”\nThe shrill call of a cardinal caught Fred’s attention. He loved cardinals because Susan loved cardinals. He sometimes thought their sweet song was a sign Suasn was above always watching over him.\nFred placed the rose at the base of the gravestone which read, “Susan Barnes- Blessed this world from 1954 to 2012; - Now in Heaven with the rest of the angels.”\nFred hadn’t cried since the day Susan died, but today he did.\n“I miss you so much. I’ve sort of felt half-dead ever since you left so I just have half a journey to go. You have to be on the other side. Please be there for me. I need to see you again, Susan. I want to believe. Help me to believe.”\nThe walk back to his car was always longer than the walk to the grave.\n“Hey, Dad, what’s happening?”\n“Hello, Tom. Same old, same old. How are you doing?”\nNormalcy. That was Fred’s goal for the next few weeks. He knew the time would come when his condition couldn’t be masked, but he wanted to cling to life as he knew it for as long as possible. He dreaded the time his kids and grandkids would know.\n“I thought you might be suicidal after the Packers lost to the Bears.”\n“That was bad, but I’m hanging in there.”\n“I’ll try to get over there to mow the lawn this weekend. I guess painting your garage will have to wait until spring.”\nMowing the lawn… painting the garage… things that seem to matter, but really don’t.\n“I’ll see you at Becky’s for Thanksgiving.”\n“Just so you know, I told her if she doesn’t have her baked-in-the-bag apple pie, I’m not coming.”\nA laugh. Where will all the laughter go? There were so many great times, fun times. It didn’t seem possible that such powerful forces could be eclipsed by microscopic cells gone awry.\nAlone at night. Those were the tough times. Nothing to occupy the senses other than thoughts of the disease ravishing his body and the tearful goodbyes sure to follow. Even flipping through the pages of the family photo albums brought little relief.\n“Fred! What brings you by this time of night?”\n“Good evening, Father. I guess I’m looking for a little reassurance.’\n“Reassurance. In what way?”\n“Well, Father, I hate to admit this… but the whole afterlife thing… heaven… God. I guess I’m having some doubts. I kind of want to know that when I die… there will be an afterlife for me… hopefully in heaven.”\n“I see. And tonight… at ten o’clock? Why tonight, Fred?”\n“I’m dying, Father. I only have months to live. It’s… hard not knowing. Can you help me, Father?”\n“I’m sorry, Fred.”\nThe goodly priest studied the face of his friend of many years.\n“You haven’t told Tom and Becky, have you?”\n“Not yet, Father. I will… in good time.”\nFather Mel shook his head.\n“I understand.”\n“Reassurance, Father?”\n“I could tell you all night long that I believe, Fred, that I know God and Heaven exist, but I can’t give you any proof. No one could. I sometimes tell people like you to look around and ask yourself where did all this stuff come from? How did our Universe come to be? There has to be a power greater than ourselves… beyond our ability to comprehend. To find that answer in God? I think true believers have been touched by the Spirit, a special gift from God.”\n“How do I get touched by the Spirit, Father?”\n“Listen”.\n“Listen?”\n “Yes, you listen. God, the Heavenly angels, and the faithful departed talk to us every day. Our job is to listen. Don’t stress yourself, Fred. Relax, pray… and listen.”\nFred felt like he had gone to the bakery to get a dozen donuts and left with six. Father Mel’s advice sounded like, “You either have faith or you don’t”, and it was not all that comforting. “Listen.” That night in bed, Fred listened with all his might. He had as much success listening for a sign as he did as a child when he prayed he’d be two inches taller in the morning. There are some things you just can’t think your way through.\nDying was bad. Dying with the lyrics of Peggy Lee’s song “Is That All There Is?” floating around in his head was worse. There had to be more than this worldly existence, but Fred wasn’t feeling it. Death was knocking at the door. Fred had so little time to find the faith that comforted Susan in her final hours. All he could do was pray, listen, and hope for a sign.\nWhere did life go? Everything seemed like only yesterday. Fred's benchmarks of aging: 1- the girl behind the counter at the bank called him \"sir\"; 2- the bag boy at the grocery store asked him if he needed help carrying your groceries to the car; 3- the kid at McDonald's asked him if he qualified for the Senior Discount; 4- the abrupt end of the line when his doctor delivered his death sentence.\n“How long have you known?”\n“Just for a while.”\n“Jesus Christ, Dad, you should have told us.”\n“That wouldn’t have changed anything.”\n“Well, I’m packing a bag and moving in this weekend.”\n“Becky, you don’t have to…”\n“I’m moving in, and that’s it. I can get you to your doctors’ appointments, and do whatever you need done around the house.”\n“I guess.”\nThe days passed, each longer than the day before. Fred lay in bed and listened. He sat in his rocking chair next to the fireplace and listened. Relaxing on the swing on the front porch in the evening, he listened. Listen, listen, listen, and he didn’t hear a thing. He was as troubled about what might lie ahead as he was the night of his disappointing counseling session with Father Mel.\n“How are you doing today, Fred?”\n“I’m okay, Doc, but I can’t lie to you. It hurts.”\n“I’ll see what we can do on the pain meds. That’s all we can do.”\n“I am so sick of doctors… sorry, Doc… and hospitals. Can’t I just stay home and die?”\n“That’s going to be an option, Fred. I’ll talk to Tom and Becky.”\nTom helped his Dad up the hill at the cemetery and held him steady as he said his final goodbye. Fred handed a white rose to his son.\n“Tom, could you…”\n“Of course.”\nTom placed the rose in the small vase, and put both hands on his father’s arm.\n“Babe… this might be my last visit. I just want to tell you one more time. I love you, Susan. I will always love you.”\nTom’s tears matched those of his father.\n“It will be soon. I hope… I hope to see you then. Goodbye, my love.”\nAs it had become second nature to him, Fred listened the whole way back to his house, and still nothing.\n Tom and Susan had moved his bed to the living room as the stairs had become too difficult, and to give their Dad a view of the backyard, the place of so many happy memories. Bright sunlight poured through the picture window, but the room still darkened as the end was near. Fred had been drifting in and out of consciousness all morning, and his words were now meaningless. Tom and Becky comforted each other, and the grandchildren stayed close, Little Tom pushing a red fire truck around on the floor while the older children struggled to come to grips with the concept of death.\n“At least he’s not in pain, Becky.”\n“I’m going to miss him.”\n“We all will.”\nThe movement and incoherent utterances stopped. The finality of the event hit Tom and Susan hard, and both wiped away tears.\nAnd then… the shrill cry of a cardinal turned their heads.\n“Oh, my God Becky, there’s a cardinal on the window sill!”\n“Mom’s favorite.”\nTom and Becky will never know if their Dad heard the sweet song of the cardinal that day, but they did notice the hint of a smile that appeared on Fred’s lips as he made a peaceful exit out of this world… and moved on to the next." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Fishermen Song\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1025\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who loves cloud gazing." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Have you ever spoken to the rain? \n\nShe did. She’d lift her head up, gaze at the clouds, and listen closely. \n\n“Listen.” She’d say. “Listen to the rain.” \n\nI'd look up at the greying clouds but hear nothing. Because the rain never spoke to me. It only spoke to her. I wish I knew what it said. What secrets they shared. I always imagined it spoke in whispers. Something so beautiful. I remember the day we sat by the lake. The trees waltzed with the wind around us. Autumn leaves broke away and swayed in twirls towards the infinite. The smell of the earth was so pungent. So pure. I stole a glance at her, sitting beside me. Eyes reaching for the sky. Her soft, silky hair flew behind her. Drips of water fell on her nose, and it made her smile. As though the rain had just shared an inside joke. \n\n“What did it say?” I said at the time, still not getting anything. \n\n“It said its happy we’re both here. Everybody else is leaving.” \n\nI looked around, and realized it was true. The minute the clouds gathered, and the rain picked up; people started to leave. Families packed their lunches and headed for their cars, dragging their kids behind. An older couple snapped their umbrella open and wobbled to the parking lot, wrapped in a hug. The park stood almost empty, save for us and the bikes that drove us here. \n\n“People don’t like getting wet.” I said. \n\nShe giggled, allowing the beads of water to dribble from her chin. “I know. It’s weird, isn’t it?” \n\nThe thunder didn’t spook her. I watched it flash in the distance, roaring its dominance. But she never flinched. Not even a little. She said that the thunder, the clouds, and the rain are one. They complemented one another. Just like she and I. Just like everything around us. The earth, the sky, the wind, the animals, the trees. Humans. We all speak to one another. Connected by a celestial bridge.\n\n“But what happens when things die?” I had asked. “Wouldn’t that break the connection? The bridge, I mean.” \n\nShe shrugged. “There is no death. You only move on to the next life. And then the next, and the next. It never ends. Life goes on.” \n\nI didn’t understand it at the time, and honestly, I didn’t bother to inquire any further. I was satisfied with what she said. Whether it was true or not, I didn’t care. I liked the sound of it. Life goes on. It sure seemed like it did. \n\nI remember she liked to sing. She’d make up some new songs and sing them to me on our way to school. She said the clouds helped her come up with the right words. She even proved it once. We were walking to school on a spring day when she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and gazed up. I watched her fix her eyes on the sky’s languid movement. Silent. Everything around us was so silent. I feared that time had stopped. That we’d be stuck here forever, and I’d never hear her sing again. Then her lips moved, and she smiled.\n\n“Look,” She pointed a finger. “They look like sailing ships. The blue sky is the ocean.”\n\nI looked up, shielding my eyes from the glaring sun. “Ships? I don’t know, maybe.” \n\n“They’re telling a story. About the fishermen at Black Bear Lake.” Her light hair swooshed over her shoulders. She stayed still, like one of those porcelain figures my mom liked to buy from a local antique shop. \n\n“What kind of story?” I asked. \n\nShe paused, then said. “The normal kind. Fishermen came to the lake yesterday morning, opened their nets, and threw them into the waters. When the sun left, so did they.” \n\nI didn’t know how to feel about that. It sounded a little. “Boring.” I said. “Why would the clouds tell you that?”\n\nShe wasn’t offended by it. She actually giggled. “It doesn’t have to be interesting to be beautiful. The fishermen were happy to be there. They loved the big puffy cloud because it gave them cool shade when it became too hot. We’re all connected, remember?” \n\nShe later sang the song about the fishermen. The one that the clouds inspired her to sing. I can’t remember much of the words today, but I remember it went something like this: Far out on the ocean, the fishermen pull. Far out on the ocean, the tide will roll. There were tides, seagulls, and ropes. I pictured the strings of sunlight hitting the ocean. The smell of salt and sweat. It stayed with me for days. \n\nUntil one day, months from then, I heard that song again. I remember that day so vividly. Like it was yesterday. I heard that song on the radio. It was sung by a school choir. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was pretty close. Far out on the ocean, the fishermen pull. Far out on the ocean, the tide will roll. I couldn’t believe it. How did they know the words? I rode my bike and raced to her house. I wanted to tell her about the radio song right away. \n\nShe beamed, joyful. “I told you! It’s the bridge. We’re all connected. They probably saw the ships in the clouds, or at least, one of them did.”\n\nWhether I believed her or not, I didn't know. But these are stories that I will hold so dear. Even though still today, I haven’t been able to hear the whispers of the rain. Every now and then, I'd lift my head up to the clouds and watch the rain go down. The sound it makes as it hits the window. Drizzling on the tall metal pipe that almost touches the sidewalk. The splashing of water behind speeding tires. The blurred orange hue of streetlights, just before the sun tucks behind the horizon. Closing a lid on a darkened sky. I try to listen. Hopeful it’ll speak to me like it did to her. But it never did. It only spoke to her." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Tony’s Picnic - Another Tony Adventure\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1599\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in the woods or on a campground." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Tony, Antonia’s stuffed panda, tried to control his excitement. He watched the commotion of prepping for a family excursion to the woods. Anticipation made him quiver with excitement. Not wanting to be left behind, he sat amidst the chaos.\nTony always wanted to go on a picnic and ‘Get back to the land,’ as the song said. Only Tony heard, ‘get back to bamboo.’ Either way, he wanted to reconnect with his roots. Especially if they were bamboo roots.\nAntonia placed Tony atop the wicker picnic basket.\nShe called out, “Mom! That’s everything!” She went to the car. Tony held his breath until placed safely between Antonia and her little sister Cindy.\nJane, their mother, sat behind the driver’s seat. “All aboard! Everyone present and accounted for? Seat belts?”\n“Where’s Dolly!” Cindy cried in a panic. “She was here! We can’t go!”\nTony sighed. Dolly could never resist making a problem.\nJane rested her head on the steering wheel and counted to ten.\nAntonia said, “Don’t sit there crying. Go find her.”\n“But I brought her! She was right here!”\nJane said, “Everyone stay put.” She stepped out, opened the back of the SUV and rummaged.\nCindy sniffed.\nTony hoped Dolly wasn’t lost. The picnic would be cancelled. He would miss her, of course. But he really wanted to go on the picnic.\nAntonia said, “Don’t worry. Tony says she’s around. We’ll find her, Cin.”\nJane opened Cindy’s side of the car.\n“There she is! Right under your feet.” She retrieved Dolly from the floor and smoothed her dress. “Buried in with the jackets. Guess it was too cool for her.” She passed Dolly to Cindy, kissed her head and shut the door.\n“Tony says, ‘Too cool for the room.’”\n“He does not! She just fell.”\nJane got in and started the car. “Seat belts, everyone! Especially Dolly and Tony.”\nAntonia said, “Got ‘em, Mom.” She whispered, “Don’t be such a drama queen, Cindy. You know Tony’s humor.”\n“Yeah, he says what you can’t get away with.”\n“Tony says he can speak for himself.”\n“Then let him. You stay out of it.”\n“Stop bickering, or I’ll turn the car around.”\nThey were on their way.\nArriving at the picnic spot, they unpacked the car and found a sunny spot in a meadow. Beautiful trees towered around the clearing. A chorus of birds sang. The girls had never been to the forest. They lay on the grass, pointing at clouds while Jane prepared lunch.\nCindy said, “I see a pig.”\nAntonia pointed. “See the duck?”\nCindy held Dolly’s arm up. “Look, a sheep.”\n“Tony wonders why no one sees a panda.”\nCindy pointed at Tony. “I see you…”\n“Tony means in the clouds.”\nCindy asserted, “Tony, clouds aren’t black and white.”\n“Tony asked if they have to be fluffy farm animals.”\n“They’re clouds, Tony.”\n“Tony sees an airplane.”\nCindy became impatient. “That is an airplane.”\n“Tony says he knows. He saw it first.”\n“That’s silly. Even Dolly sees it’s not a cloud.”\n“Tony asked, do they have to be fluffy and smell bad? Or just fluffy?”\nCindy looked over to her mother. “Mom!”\nJane held a finger up. “Just a minute, kids…”\nCindy scoffed. “Clouds don’t smell bad, Tony.”\n“Farm animals do.”\nJane called out. “Come and get it…!”\nCindy scrambled to her feet and ran to the picnic. “’Bout time…!”\nAntonia said, “Tony sees a sandwich.”\nThe picnic went well. The tuna burgers were delicious. They finished the big bag of potato chips.\nCindy said, “The perfect mix of pickles and mayo, Mom.”\nAntonia said, “Tony wishes there’d been more bamboo.”\n“Thanks, Cindy. Tell Tony I’ll address that on the next picnic.”\nAfter lunch, the girls languished.\nJane stood and clapped her hands. “Let’s explore for acorns and visit the lake.”\nAntonia set Tony atop the picnic basket. “Keep look-out, Tony. Don’t let anyone take our stuff.” Tony stared fiercely into the distance.\nCindy propped Dolly back-to-back with Tony. She hoped Dolly could sweeten Tony’s sharp tongue.\nThe sisters followed their mother and disappeared into the trees.\nTony watched them go. He held his gaze, determined to scare off intruders.\nJane led her daughters to the ridge overlooking the lake.\n“Look kids… What do you see?”\nThey saw three raccoons, a mother and two kits, moving away through a clearing.\n“Wow!” They thrilled at seeing animals in the wild.\nBack at the picnic spot. Tony saw the raccoons approach. He didn’t know what they wanted but he knew he must resist them.\nThe raccoons methodically hunted the site. Smelling food, they knocked Tony and Dolly off the basket and rummaged through it. They took what they could carry and then circling, sniffed Tony. He held still as possible.\nThe mother raccoon, Bazile, grunted.\nTony said, “Take me, if you must. But leave Dolly. She’s useless. I mean, she’s no use to you.”\nBazile slung Tony onto her back and lumbered toward the trees. Tony whooped and hollered as he bounced along. Her two little ones followed closely.\nBack in the forest, the raccoons scampered up an ancient oak. They ate and slept where three large branches split from the trunk.\nBazile placed Tony in the center. Unusual sounds, from above, drew their attention. Three chirping blue birds circled over Tony’s head, trailing bright ribbons from their beaks. In awe, Tony could only watch.\nBazile and her kits left food at his feet, bowing in homage.\nThis completely surprised Tony. Expecting to get eaten, they honored him like royalty.\nHe thought, ‘These creatures appreciate me. I’m accepted. Finally, some respect…’\nUnsure of the etiquette such situations required, Tony assumed a noble pose. Holding his head up, he nodded, acknowledging the raccoon’s tribute.\nHe said, “Call me King Tut Tut.”\nA scream drew their attention to the base of the tree.\nThere, Antonia ran in circles, pointing and wailing. Her shouting attracted others. Children and parents gathered and looked into the tree.\nTony and the raccoons stared back.\nA park ranger named Greg arrived in his truck to assess the situation.\nClutching her mother’s skirts, Antonia whimpered and fretted over Tony’s safety.\nCindy said, “Who’s the drama queen now?” Holding Dolly close they gazed into the branches above.\nAntonia ignored her. She pleaded Tony’s case to Ranger Greg.\n“Please save him, Mr. Ranger. He’s my Tony Panda. I’ve had him forever.”\nJane’s imploring look confirmed Tony’s importance to Antonia. Grunting, he nodded and set about rescuing Tony.\nHe fetched some climbing equipment from his truck, including heavy duty web belts utility workers use to climb electrical poles. After attaching cleats to his boots, he fed the belt around the tree and secured it to his harness. Greg worked his way up the tree to where the trunk branched off.\nBy the time he got there, mother Bazile and her kits had fled to safety further up the tree.\nGreg pulled himself up to find Tony glaring at him.\nTony thought, ‘You have a tough act to follow, Bub.’\nThe ranger grabbed Tony. ‘Watch it Grabby! You know who I am?’\nGreg didn’t respond. He tucked Tony behind the strap and descended to the base of the tree. Antonia gratefully took Tony into her arms and squeezed him.\n“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mr. Ranger!”\nApplause from on lookers made Antonia hold Tony up. She’d never seen him look so happy.\nJane told Greg, “I can’t tell you how much this means. You saved the day.”\nGreg demurred, “It’s all part of the job…”\n“Is there anything we can do…?”\n“Not at all. It was kind of fun. The raccoons didn’t mistreat Tony. Looks like they took care of him.”\nTony thought, ‘Tell it, brother!’\nGreg left and the crowd dispersed. Jane and the girls strolled back to their picnic spot.\nAntonia placed Tony safe on the grass by the car. “Now, you stay here, Tony.”\nJane and the girls packed the car. Their day was waning.\nTony sat and watched them. He thought, ‘We need to do this every day.’ It had gotten warm. He began to itch. He wondered, ‘How can a panda get a bath?’\nHe noticed an ant crawling on his foot. He said, “Do you know where I could get some bamboo to munch on?”\nPacked and ready, Jane did a quick inventory. “Picnic basket, cooler, blanket… anything else? Cindy, you have Dolly?”\n“Safe in the back seat, Mom.”\n“Antonia…?”\n“No, no, no…”\nShe ran frantically around the SUV and fell to her knees, looking under the car.\n“Where’s Tony! Cindy, what did you…?”\n“No! I didn’t touch your grubby bear.”\nJane asked, “Where did you put him?”\n“He was right here! Where could he be?” Antonia began to wail.\n“Now what…?” Jane walked around the car and sighed. “Stop whining, Antonia. He must be nearby…” Shielding her eyes from the setting sun, Jane scanned their surroundings.\nShe gasped and pointed. “There!”\nAntonia followed her gaze. At the bend in the path they saw Tony lying on his back, moving slowly away. Antonia sprinted to him and screamed.\nA swarm of ants carried him.\nShe picked Tony up and began brushing ants off of him.\nWith each slap, Tony said, “Ow! Ow! Ow! Hey! Gentle with the panda! I’ve had a rough day.”\nHolding him tightly, Antonia returned to the car. She secured him in the back seat, next to Cindy.\nJane asked, “What happened?”\nAntonia shook her head. “Ants had him. They were taking him toward the bamboo by the stream.”\n“That Tony. What can you do?”\nThey laughed, got into the car and went home." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Nobody Can Make You Bleed Your Own Blood\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1194\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in the woods or on a campground." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "You know those moments in life that seem eternal, but are really ephemeral? Those moments when you’re on the brink of existential discovery, because it’s you and nature. It’s you and the universe. It’s just you…\n\nzzzzzzzzzzz\n\nThen it’s not.\n\nZZZZZZZZZZ\n\nNo. That is not the sound of peaceful snoring as you sleep in the unencumbered natural habitat of humanity (which is the fancy way of saying outside). That is not a peaceful drifting of a person who has fallen asleep in their tent under the twinkly sky above them, as the trees whisper in a cocooning breeze, surrounding you in a natural blanket of woodland protection (the fancy way of saying camping).\n\nNo.\n\nEverything you thought about the tranquility of nature, the peacefulness that is just you and the great outdoors, it has all been shattered with this one incessant high-pitched humming.\n\nThe mosquito.\n\nThis sound, when turned on in the darkness of your tent, basks you into a squeal of high-pitched ringing, just flickering with an intermittent idea of what’s out there, but never letting you fully see what’s in front of you before it disappears back into the blackness. It is a dying florescent light of the wilderness.\n\nThe mosquito’s call is not a call of the wild. It is a call to the wild. And the wild is you.\n\nThe power that that sound evokes inside you, as you hear it whispering in your ear. There is no sound that will bring a person to the bases of their animalistic barbarism like the sound of the mosquito taunting you through the night.\n\nIf the mosquito was kinder (as far as a blood sucking fiend can be kind), it would take your blood while you’re lying there, swaddled in your sleeping bag, your face a charcuterie board that’s already out and awaiting its hungry guest. But that is not the nature of the mosquito.\n\nThe nature of a mosquito is savage.\n\nIt does not want a readily available appetizer, a quick snack for the taking. It does not want the charcuterie board. It wants a buffet. It will tango with death, allowing you to release yourself from your cage, before it feasts. It must humiliate you before getting what it seeks.\n\nzzzZZZ\n\nAt that singular high-pitched sound, a beast explodes from within you, bringing you to an alert position, crouched on all fours, your legs still entangled inside your sleeping bag (because you are in a tent and cannot stand and face the enemy. The one advantage you have as a human). This is your first error. It has brought you down a level. You are no longer a civilized human, standing tall and proud, able to squash your enemy from above. You are now in a more vulnerable position, fetal almost. You have been brought back to the helpless position you were put in before you knew how to fend for yourself.\n\nYou listen, trying to find the source of the sound, but the sound has dissipated. The only thing you can hear are the crickets outside, the soft movement of the leaves as the wind catches them, and your palpitating heart as it thrums in your chest. But there is no more zzzz-ing.\n\nThis is your next error.\n\nYou are lulled into a false sense of security, even though deep down you know it’s still out there. You pause a moment longer, letting your eyes dart back and forth, pretending like you are the one hunting, instead of the other way around.\n\nYou see nothing. You hear nothing. You tell yourself that you probably got it when you hurled yourself from the pad below your sleeping bag, crushing it in the force of your leap, a flattened emblem below you (Yes, that is it). You must convince yourself of this lie, otherwise sleep will await you in perpetuity.\n\nYou lay back down on your sleeping pad, breathing in the fresh air that has filled your flapless tent. You look to the glimmering blur above you (because you have taken out your contacts, and the stars are just blobs in the sky. But you know what they represent). You are once again one with nature.\n\nBut nature is not one with you. Nature is still hungry.\n\nZzzzzzz\n\nLast time you had been completely caught off guard. This time you have left an arm free, ready to make a countermove. You were not foolish enough to believe yourself of your lies!\n\nYou flail, swatting your arm in the direction of the sound. You make contact. It is but a wisp of hair that meets your palm. You have grasped nothing of substance.\n\n____________________________________________ ZZZZZZZZZ\n\nIt is on your other side now. The side still entrapped. It knows. If it could feed on shame alone, it would have quenched its thirst.\n\nYou try to maneuver your free arm to the other side, but the angle is no good. The only way to defeat it would be to smack your own head, but you are not yet that desperate. No, not desperate enough to hit your own head, but a new possibility opens up to you. When desperation calls, you may have to answer it, but no one said it had to be face to face.\n\nYou know what it really wants is for you to leave your safety net. That is what it’s been asking of you the whole time. That is the translation of the whisper. You have tuned into the frequency of the high-pitched noise like a dog to a whistle. Only you can understand that it’s calling for you.\n\nYou unzip your sleeping bag, letting the air flow in, opening your skin to the outside.\n\nNature is calling. It has been calling. That is why you are here. In this tent. On this earth. You cannot defeat nature. You do not want to defeat nature. All you want is to be part of it, and it a part of you.\n\nYou know those moments in life that seem eternal but are really ephemeral. This is that moment. Nature is infinite, but you are fleeting. There is no discovering existentiality, because by its very nature you exist to die.\n\nZZZzzz\n\nIt has come for you.\n\nIts high-pitched wail fading ever so slightly as it moves from your ear to the exposed skin of your leg, finally getting what it has wanted this whole time. You breathe in, letting this moment of time wash over you, an eternal moment for yourself caught in an ephemeral second of time.\n\nYou feel the ever so slight tickle of its landing, the teaser to the constant irritation that is to come. The itch that is worth every second of this moment with nature.\n\nIt is time for nature to be part of you, as you are now part of it. It is the final error. And it is the mosquito's.\n\nSPLAT\n\nNobody can make you bleed your own blood. Except for a mosquito.\n\nThe thing about the infinity of nature is that it’s part of the circle of life. That is what keeps it infinite.... which means it is also a part of death." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Tied up with a love for books\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1451\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes one character reading aloud to another." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I.\nBeep. Beep. Beep.\nThe monotonous sound of the code scanner kissing the greasy bindings of the books lent to the public library readers was becoming tiresome. It echoed at least twenty times per minute, and as the hours passed and his body slowly began to writhe with fatigue, he could no longer perceive the repetitive play from any distance.\nHe usually came to work with an upbeat attitude, convinced that his time in the library was worthwhile. The beeping of the small machine was more motivating in the morning – he could hear the sound of a job well done, which meant that the books were not lost and could be browsed through by other people, who would appear again and again in the doorway to get the information they wanted. However, this idea was no longer satisfying at the end of the day. It was drowned out by the pain of an oncoming backache, blurred vision, and thoughts of a good dinner. There was an hour left in the shift. Then he was free to go home.\nAs if real life was happening everywhere but within these walls.\nThen the entrance door opened. A strange couple entered the library. A girl of exotic appearance – but what does exotic really mean, thought the young librarian – and a man whose wrinkled face revealed the years he might have already experienced while his girlfriend was still unborn.\nShe was fresh, full of life, announcing her arrival with a ringing laugh that naturally outraged the whole library. Shh! Echoed in one accord from behind the shelves and from the armchairs reserved for the quiet reading of dusty volumes by authors no longer alive.\nHe, too, was full of life, driven by the girl at his side, with body movements that showed he didn't care much for the opinions of others.\nWhile he watched these two in silence, he continued to receive the books heading back to the shelves. People returned last-minute borrowed copies – retirees using the books to help them get their lives back on track, students looking for guidance on life, or mothers trying to find ways to take care of their child's health and not ruin the life that had just started – all of them trying to steal his attention. But he kept an eye on that two.\n\"Don't fight it so much! Pick a book, open it to a random page, and read me what it says,\" the man encouraged the young girl. Still laughing, she stepped in front of one of the shelves in the novel section, reached behind her and pulled out a slim book, and began to read.\nII.\n\"I have been walking for more than a month. Soon I got calluses on my feet, but I didn't care. I was happy to leave my daily routine and embark on a new adventure,\" she began to read aloud.\nShe looked at her boyfriend. He was watching her with interest. But his eyes were focused on her lips, and her breasts moving with each breath she took. She whirled around and scanned the library space as if she suddenly realized the casualness of their entrance into the building and the noise that accompanied their arrival. She noticed a young librarian a few feet away from them, boringly scanning the books being returned by the crowd. Then she turned her gaze back.\n\"When I reached the border between Austria and Italy, my shoes were so worn out that I had to throw them in the trash. I continued on for several kilometers barefoot, but the rocky path was crushing my skin, so I rang the doorbell of the nearest house and asked the locals if they knew anyone who could give me new shoes.\"\nAs she kept reading, she wondered if her theater had convinced her boyfriend. She knew the library well and stopped deliberately in front of the travel journals. She knew that if she stretched her arm straight enough, she would pull out one of the books she had already read. She managed to pick out an author who had walked from Prague to Venice and who, between the lines, told of a place that no longer existed today because Venice had become a ghost town. It was exactly what she dreamed of when she walked every day to the tram stop that took her to work.\n\"Finally, I've reached my destination,\" she finished reading a quote from a favorite writer and looked at her boyfriend.\nHe was smiling.\n\"And now me,\" he said without commenting on what he had heard. He took the girl's hand and pulled her towards the poetry department.\nIII.\nI'm so happy, he told himself as he passed the young man behind the desk, who examined him suspiciously. He didn't like that look, so he frowned at him. He clasped Eve's palm and headed towards the shelves filled with poetry.\n\"I like Novalis,\" he said while breaking the rule of random book selection he had introduced a moment ago. The girl sat down in one of the musty chairs, waiting for him to start reading.\n\"Before I start,\" he said. \"Did you know that Novalis wanted to die by thought?\"\n\"What?\" his beautiful girlfriend responded in confusion. She licked her lips nervously and looked around again.\n\"Really! He died awfully early, he didn't even live to be thirty. When he was twenty-two, he got engaged to a girl named Sophie. She was thirteen,\" he explained as he flipped through his favorite poems. He hadn't noticed how his girlfriend's mood had changed. She looked around again while doubts began to appear on her face.\nFull of enthusiasm, he continued:\n\"Well, this Sophie died when she was fifteen. Shortly before they were supposed to get married. Novalis, of course, was deeply moved and decided to end his life as well. But he believed that the heart, the soul, and the body were so interconnected that there was no need to commit suicide by hanging or cutting oneself. He believed it was possible to end life without violence and blood, so he concentrated hard on dying. He regularly visited the grave of his beloved and waited for the consistent solitude to bring the death of his body.\"\n\"No way,\" said Eve, who was being devoured by the chair, weakly.\n\"Oh, really. Of course, he failed. Not only did he survive, but he fell in love again. But then he died of tuberculosis.\" He licked his lips and began to read:\n\"I'm sailing there now,\nwhere the tribulation\nturns to pleasure.\nSoon the soul\nwill fly away\nand rest in love\nin its embrace.\"\nIV.\nAnd a dizzying life\nripples through me.\nNow I'm just looking down from above\nI look up to you.\nBy the cairn\nthy glow has faded\nand the cool wreath\nhas overshadowed thy face.\nThe librarian had just turned off his computer and was ready to leave when he heard the familiar verses. He turned his head to the couple who had moved to the other side of the room and watched the man recite poems about the loss of love without pause.\nMeanwhile, the girl sitting in the chair had ceased her efforts to escape the sudden inner stirring which led her to the dangerous thought. Was she not herself the girl who might die before her partner? Aren't these verses a proof that no love can be strong enough when even a writer so famous who made history with poems about his deceased fiancée was able to love again after all? The thought tormented her, stripping her of the haze of love with which she had entered the library.\nSuddenly she wished for nothing but to slip away quietly. I'd rather walk to Venice alone now, she thought.\nBut the man sitting across from her continued to read the agonizing verses. At last, he could share with the girl of his dreams the words that had guided him through his adolescence and based on which he had created his own fantasy of love. \nThe librarian took the card off his neck and went to the cloakroom to get his coat. As he made his way out of the library door, he noticed the exotic girl standing a few feet away from him, holding her cell phone tightly in her hand. While he was considering approaching her, she raised her head and looked at him with eyes full of hope.\nShe smiled, but he remained standing. And then he turned his back on her and went to the nearest subway station.\nWe are all bound by our love of books, he thought. But life is elsewhere." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Darker Lipstick ( 1st book in series)\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1673\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about somebody who likes to work in silence." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "If I rub my ruffled fingertips into the lining of my jacket one more time, the bartender will continue to make that face. That face that will expresses a lightning bolt of discomfort. His lips squirming with pre paid insults about me that only live in his head. Those awful slights would expand outwardly and grow fungus in the ears of his co-workers. But That would happen on my departure, he sadly would have to wait.\nTapping my glass seemed pompous so I tried to say my drink order out loud . This part was a struggle for me, and clearly wasn’t received correctly by the well dress bartender. Rolling his eyes and walking away, he re-filled my drink with the last one I had. I wanted something different , But the punishment was warranted for the performance I gave. The worst part of this transaction was a subtle tap on my shoulder after he walked past my table. The tap was drenched in pity. It was a custom built shoulder contact gesture. A tap for an older single man sitting at a large community table at in a bar grading papers. His finger tips were also in better shape than mine which sent me into a physical slump.\n\nI missed my office! My office and the silence it gave me. The college I’m a professor at was in an up roar over a scandal. Take your pick of classic horror stories you hear about teacher / student interactions. If you picked the one that Involves sexual relations? You would be spot on. Three of my fellow coworkers were discovered having inappropriate relationships with students. The details were foggy but the sentences were now set in stone. This week was the settling of the dust if you will. Our offices will open up tomorrow morning and this nightmare of working at this bar would be over.\n\nI can almost hear your thoughts!\n\nWhy not just work out of my own home!? It was a sensory thing. I needed to be silent, as well as seeing people moving about. As a failed writer and now a newly crowned English lit professor. I found this was my execution process. And what soon to be settling old man doesn’t love a good process. But now it’s been reduced to an oak barrel scotch drink and a bartender that looks at my life as a fall risk. Ugh! My sigh came out like an obnoxious over due bill. Moving my eyes over my papers, the bar atmosphere twirled around me like a straw to a mouth. College jackets on every chair back. Chicken fingers and hair gel smells were slowing my attention span. I was almost done, and my night would end in a similar good vibe theme. Vitamins and a sleep mask would be my lover tonight.\n\nDo you know what really bothered me? Every professor was interrogated. I was somewhat in the middle of the pack regarding the order of the interrogations. I watched the hallways cover themselves with gossip and rumors. Crying eyes from grown men and stress raking at even the ones that were innocent. Either clean or guilty, the space we called our job was now an oven with teeth. Either you knew someone who did it, or you were the one. Everybody was at fault, So it would seem.\n\nWhen it became my turn I walked into the designated room and sat down ready to give them whatever they needed.\n\nGranted I didn’t know anything or would ever do anything like that! I just wanted to cooperate….I wanted to be apart of something.\n\nThe average time for these particular meetings were about running two hours long. My meeting was less then three minutes! I was dismissed early due to my lack of social involvement. That was thee official statement they gave me. Not only was I not accused or mention by a student. But my co- workers didn’t mention me either. I wasn’t mentioned in any way, not even as a point of reference. I’ve been at this school for 5 years and I didn’t have a single friend in this building. My students knew me as just a person in front of them. And my peers just viewed me as small talk target practice. The administration thanked me for being a professional and a gentleman. I even got a promotion due to the vacancy the three convicted professors. I was excused from the room with a since of some sort of a positive notion. And then they would shake my hand and give me a shoulder pat.\n\nI was slightly offended. And I know how gross that sounds in hindsight. But I think I was just non aware of how much of a ghost I’ve become. Snapping out my thoughts I began working on the last paper. The bar was crowded but not to point where someone needed to sit next to me.\n\nSo when someone did, I was startled a bit. I shuffled my seat away and never lifted my head up. I can feel my self getting clammy, but my discipline as an educator was at a very high level. It was a skill I didn’t know I had until I quit trying be a writer. Chasing a dream talent just to find my submissive talent. I rarely break my focus, but then I heard her voice! “Do you want some” that was the question she asked me. So I had to look up! I couldn’t ignore a voice like that. “Do you want some” she asked again. I looked up and saw a basket of chicken fingers and knew she was referring to this freind peace greeting . And then I looked at her! Her hair was cut short with round bangs that moved like barley in a field. Peach pale skin and with oval shaped eyes. Her outfit was amazing and simple. A Plaid skirt with a quote for a tattoo, on her right thigh. Hells and a funny T- shirt with a sweater. I saw her lips curl to ask for a third time, and I didn’t want that. So I cut her off by saying yes! My smile was almost unbearable to hold. My body felt like it was waving. This had to be one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. While this high tension of pure silence was happening. A kid that clearly went to school here, ran into our table. We both reacted the same way, Me and this mystery being. Our faces were in pure symmetry over this act. Our eyes rolled and we blew our breathe. My thoughts were drenched and how stupid the youth could be at times. And when I looked back at her face, I could tell she was sprinkled with the same feeling.\n\nIan was my name, and Erin was her name. It was the first time all week I told someone what my name was. Maybe even all month.\n\nWe talked for hours, It only seemed liked minutes. The bartender who was now my biggest fan, was giving me winks and ok symbols. He Began to lock up and usher people out of the door. “Walk me Home” Erin said this as a question but it was delivered in a whisper. That question was one I would gladly say yes to a hundred times over. We were arm and elbow intertwined and the chemistry that was sprouting out of our chest, was disturbing my heart beats. The kind bouncer, Although terrible at his job, Said mam to Her on the way out and Erin laughed relentlessly. Without warning The walk to Erins house was re routed to my apartment. She said something about her roommate being up. A temporary Roomate said she that was only in town for a week. A tiny bit weird, but I got passed it. So we went to my apartment. When she walked inside my door she yelled the word fancy! It was a bit obnoxious but in the way of like saying the word surprise! I was tickled by her humor and comfort. She slipped out of her heels and began to study the paintings on my wall. We talked about this he same things on opposite couches . It felt good to be on the cloud 9 for once. I was flirting incredibly and I could feel it coming back to me like a receipt . At one point she said she had a crush on me!? I was confused because I don’t know if we ever met Erin before. But I didn’t question it, so we moved on.\nher and I danced to my playlist that had a mix of 90s and current music and classical abrasions of jazz. She was Almost familiar with every song. We had so much in common and holding her felt like running in a pool. Weightless and glowing She asked me if she could sleep here!? I told her she could have my bed and I would sleep on the couch. Erin put here arms on my neck and simply shook her head no! Meaning I didn’t have to be away from her. She wanted to go to the bathroom first, so I sat in my chair. A chair I’ve sat in so many nights alone. Dis- attached and alone, and for the first time in a long time I felt apart. I was so into this moment that my thoughts were distant cousins. I didn’t think about anything because I didn’t need to. Right now me and this beautiful woman where about to … wait?\nI never asked if she was..\n\nHey” Erin said as she came out of the bathroom with a giant smile. Hey! I said back with a nervous posture . She asked me if the thing on my kitchen table was an air fryer? Yes I said. Her eyes started to sparkle. I’ve never used one before.\n\n“Can you teach me professor”\n\nthe end." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Sleeping Beauty Sleep Solution\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2122\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes one character reading aloud to another." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Sleeping Beauty Sleep Solution\n\nIt’s that fuzzy, foggy time of the day that falls somewhere between awareness and sleep. Not awake, not asleep, somewhere in between. If you catch it just right, words and sounds enter your ears while awake, and are received in the recesses of the mind when asleep. This often results in muddled messaging, a wandering, creative maze of interpretations. It is the stuff dreams are made of.\n\nEight year old Sarah and her mom had been abandoned by Sarah’s father years ago. He left them with nothing. Sarah’s mom, Marcia, heartbroken and destitute, worked as many hours as she could, but it was always a struggle. They had each other, and usually that was enough. On days when their mutual support seemed to fall short, Sarah would keep their ship afloat by singing to her Mother, the lyrics “Fairy Tales Can Come True” being the go-to tune. They would tell each other, only half jokingly, that a modern day Prince Charming would someday show up and rescue them from their dismal economic circumstances while at the same time mending Marcia’s broken heart and giving Sarah a good dad. All the wishing and dreaming had brought nothing.\n\nEvery night, Marcia would tuck Sarah in bed and read a bedtime story to her. Fairy tales were the favorite as they allowed for thinking, seeing, dreaming, outside their present circumstance. Marcia never missed a night, and it was unlikely that Sarah could ever attain sleep without the routine. The only problem was that Marcia’s voice was so loving, so soothing, that Sarah would almost always fall asleep early in the story. Sarah would then create her own ending in her dreams. Marcia would hear Sarah’s version, actually her recollection, of the end of the story at breakfast the next morning. The dream endings were always better than the original, save one.\n\nMarcia sat on the old rocking chair next to Sarah’s bed. Stacks of children’s books were piled high on the small table next to her.\n\n“What will it be tonight, sweetheart?”\n\n“How about ‘Little Red Riding Hood’, Mother? We haven’t had that one for quite some time.”\n\nSarah was a precocious child, and her tone and word choice were always above her age.\n\n“Sounds good.”\n\nSarah was drifting in and out of consciousness at about the time the wolf met Little Red Riding Hood in the woods.\n\n“What have you got in your apron?”\n\nMarcia loved reading the stories as much as Sarah liked hearing them. Her voice would change with the character, and Sarah enjoyed her mother speaking in a gruff voice that any self-respecting wolf would be proud of.\n\n“Cake and wine. Yesterday was baking-day, so poor sick grandmother is to have something good, to make her stronger.”\n\n“Where does your grandmother live, Little Red Riding Hood?”\n\nSarah was sound asleep even before the wolf hatched his evil plan. Marcia left the room wondering just how the story would end this time. As usual, she got the full report the next morning at breakfast.\n\n“Mother, when Little Red Riding Hood met the wolf in the woods, she got angry, I mean really angry. She told the wolf that she knew what he was up to, and that if he kept going around eating people, someone would come after him and shoot him. Little Red Riding Hood was so tough, mother! You should have seen it! So they made an agreement.”\n\n“Really? And what was the agreement?”\n\n“Little Red Riding Hood told the wolf that if he stopped eating people, every time she would take cake and wine to her grandmother, he could have a big piece of cake and a glass of wine. The wolf said they had a deal if every once in awhile it would be chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. Little Red Riding Hood agreed, they shook on it, and everyone lived happily ever after.”\n\n“That’s a very nice ending.”\n\n“I think so.”\n\nAnd so it went. Sometimes Sarah had some basic, childlike, perhaps even predictable, endings- Humpty Dumpty’s mother saw him trying to climb up on top of that wall and stopped him before he ever had a chance to fall. But she also came up with some rather imaginative conclusions that you would not expect from an eight year old. Marcia wasn’t sure how Sarah came up with these stories, but she enjoyed them thoroughly.\n\nAccording to Sarah, Hansel and Gretel convinced the old woman she didn’t need to be eating children by hooking her up with the people at Meals on Wheels. The Three Little Pigs managed to persuade the Big Bad Wolf that he was Jewish and couldn’t eat pork. The Giant quickly changed his tune when Jack told him he could make a lot of money playing basketball if he were to enroll in an anger management program. Everyone, good guys and bad guys alike, faired so much better in the morning than they did the previous evening. Well, almost everyone.\n\n“What would you like to hear tonight, sweetheart?”\n\nThe response was slower that usual.\n\n“How about the story of Sleeping Beauty?”\n\nAnother slower than usual response.\n\n“Oh, sweetheart, are you sure?”\n\n“Yes, Mother. I want to try again.”\n\nWith some hesitation, Marcia picked up the book. She had barely started to read when Sarah’s eyes began to flicker open and closed.\n\n“But scarcely had she touched the spindle when the magic decree was fulfilled, and she pricked her finger with it. And in the very moment when she felt the prick, she fell down upon the bed that stood there, and lay in a deep sleep.”\n\nThere was little optimism or enthusiasm at the breakfast table the next morning. Sarah’s expression spoke only sadness.\n\n“The prince never showed up…again. I’m sorry, Mother.”\n\nMarcia did her best to conceal her own disappointment. You see, she too had become affected by the hopes and dreams told in fairy tales.\n\n“Don’t be silly. You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s only a dream.”\n\nOnly a dream. The problem was that Marcia had inserted herself into that dream. Hope, dream, fantasize, happy ending. If only life was as simple and happy as a fairy tale.\n\nThe routine went on and on and on. The beginning of a fairy tale at night with a new, improved ending in the morning, except for that darn prince who never showed up. Losing hope doesn’t happen at one particular moment. Hope is taken bit by bit, piece by piece, over time, until there is none. Marcia didn’t have many bits and pieces left for the taking.\n\nThe story telling continued for many months- a little girl and three bears, tuffets, trolls under bridges, lost sheep, pumpkins turning into carriages, peas under mattresses, and all things make believe, except for the girl waiting for the kiss that would give her life. For the sake of avoiding further disappointment, they finally decided to give the story of Sleeping Beauty a rest.\n\nLife trudged on for Marcia, working two jobs, caring for a child, cooking, cleaning, dealing with the crushing anxiety of financial stress. It was a harder row to hoe without the tailwind of a hopeful, positive attitude. Marcia had pretty well given up on anything magical in her future. But she still had those happy moments reading to her little girl at night and listening to the replay the next morning.\n\n“What would you like to hear tonight, sweetheart?”\n\nThere was no answer.\n\n“Sweetheart? What story would you like me to read?”\n\nSarah slowly raised her eyes and replied, “The story of Sleeping Beauty”.\n\n“Oh, sweetheart. I thought we gave up on that a long time ago. It never comes out right.”\n\nNow the voice was stern, serious.\n\n“The story of Sleeping Beauty.”\n\n“Are you sure?”\n\n“Mother, I don’t know why, but I feel something. I feel like there will be a different ending tonight. Please, Mother. Read the story of Sleeping Beauty to me.”\n\n“Okay, sweetheart.”\n\nIt took Marcia a couple of minutes to find the previously banished book.\n\n“And in the very moment when she felt the prick, she fell down upon the bed that stood there, and lay in a deep sleep.” \n\nSarah conked out right on cue.\n\nMaybe Marcia was just too tired to get up. Maybe she only wanted to watch her daughter for a little while longer before yet another disappointing dream stole her spirit. Or maybe, just maybe, she wanted to study the face of her sleeping child as a dream might carry her off to a happy place. Marcia slowly got up, put the book on the table, and took one more look at her daughter. She thought she detected the hint of a smile.\n\nMarcia was in the kitchen scrambling a few eggs when she heard Sarah’ shrieking voice and her footsteps as she flew down the stairs.\n\n“Mother! Mother! He showed up! The Prince showed up! I knew he would!”\n\nSarah bolted into the kitchen as Marcia stood in a near state of shock.\n\n“He walked right over to Sleeping Beauty, and he kissed her! He kissed her, Mother! And Sleeping Beauty got right up! I saw the whole thing!”\n\n“That’s wonderful, sweetheart. I can hardly believe it!”\n\nSarah calmed down just a little.\n\n“And, mother, when Sleeping Beauty got up, I could see her face for the first time. Mother, Sleeping Beauty was you.”\n\nIt might have been seeing her daughter so happy, or was it the hint of hope being rekindled? One or the other, or both, could claim credit for the tears welling up in Marcia’s eyes.\n\nMarcia and Sarah smiled, laughed, and hugged. They took each other’s hands and danced around the kitchen until…\n\nThe doorbell rang.\n\nMarcia and Sarah stared at each other.\n\n“You better get that, Mother. It might be him.”\n\nMarcia laughed.\n\n“Do you really think so?”\n\n“We’ll find out.”\n\nMother and daughter walked to the front door. Marcia opened the door to see a nice looking man, about her age, standing on the porch. Sarah’s smile was beyond description.\n\n“Hello. I’m Jack Larson. My son and I are moving in just down the street, and we thought we should introduce ourselves to some of our new neighbors. It was actually my son Charlie’s idea. He wanted to see if there were any kids in the neighborhood.”\n\n“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Marcia Bennet, and this is my daughter Sarah. It’s just the two of us here.”\n\nJack turned to his side and pulled Charlie, looking to be about five or six years old, toward the doorway. When Charlie saw Marcia, his eyes lit up, and he threw his finger at her like a dart.\n\n“There she is! Dad! It’s her! I told you! It’s the Fairy Princess! I knew it! I just knew it! I told you that you would meet her, and there she is!”\n\nA very embarrassed Jack tried to quiet his excited child, and then turned back to Marcia and Sarah.\n\n“I’m sorry. After he lost his mother a couple of years ago, Charlie keeps talking about how a pretty lady will show up someday to take care of us. In fact…he told me just this morning that he dreamed last night I would be meeting a Fairy Princess. That’s what that was all about.”\n\n“That…that is pretty amazing.”\n\n“Yeah, I know, he has a wild imagination.”\n\n“No, not that. The amazing thing is my daughter had the same dream last night, well, that I was a Fairy Princess and would soon be rescued by a Prince.”\n\n“You’re kidding.”\n\nSarah’s smile was frozen in place.\n\n“She’s not kidding.”\n\nA few moments of silence followed as neither Marcia nor Jack knew quite what to say.\n\n“Say, you look a little familiar. I wonder if our kids go to the same school. Charlie’s in the first grade at Jefferson.”\n\n“Yes, Sarah goes to Jefferson. She’s in the third grade. Sarah, have you ever seen Charlie around school?”\n\n“No, mother, I haven’t.”\n\nJack and Marcia looked at one another. It wasn’t the normal look you’d expect from people who had just met. It was the look of two people stunned by coincidence and captured by fate.\n\n“Listen, I may not be a Fairy Princess, but I make a pretty good cup of coffee. Would you like to come in.”?\n\n“Yes, yes I would.”\n\n“Sarah, why don’t you take Charlie outside and show him the tire swing? We’ll be in the kitchen.”\n\nAs Marcia and Jack walked to the kitchen, Sarah turned toward Charlie who was grinning from ear to ear. Sarah smiled, gave him a quick wink, and spoke in a barely audible whisper.\n\n“Good job, Charlie.”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Tete-a-Tete With A Librarian\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1148\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone being given a book recommendation." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A series of hanging lights lit the library. The hall was otherwise silent, except for the occasional tapping of a keyboard or the whirring of a printer. A faint murmur could be heard. \"Shhh,\" said the librarian and the silence was restored.\nA young man donning a cap that covered almost half of his face entered the library. He walked to the corner table and saw that it was occupied. With fumes emanating from his nose and ears, he walked to the librarian and demanded, \"The corner table is occupied. It's mine. Ask that woman to leave.\"\nThe librarian lifted her head that was buried in a book. She adjusted her spectacles and looked at the young man. She smiled leaving him flustered. \"Son, this library is open for all The tables here are occupied on a first come first serve basis. Why don't you choose some other table,\" she suggested.\nHe stomped his feet and twitched his nose. \"Lady, don't give me instructions. I hate change,\" he clenched his fist as he spoke.\nShe looked at him for a few seconds and began to walk away without uttering a word.\n\"You can't leave,\" he banged the table with his fist. She shushed him and left. After a few minutes, she returned with a book in her hand. \"Who Moved My Cheese\" read the title.\n\"Read this book. It will help in changing your mindset,\" she said. He snorted in disgust.\nIgnoring his misdemeanour she continued with whatever she was doing. He walked out of the library. He walked to a narrow alley and lit a cigarette. The smoke he exhaled swirled in the air. He flipped the pages of the book reluctantly. The quote \"Life moves on and so should we\" made him stop. He drew another puff and reflected on the series of events that had just transpired. The book suggestion made by the librarian coerced him to contemplate his mindset.\nHer choice of book was spot on. That was it. She was the person with whom he must talk. He could not go on with the current frame of mind and he knew it. He dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his foot, leaving a black mark on the ground.\nHe walked back to the library. He noticed that the librarian was standing on a ladder and was arranging books on the topmost shelf. Tapping on the table continuously, he waited for her. After twenty minutes, she returned. She looked at him and raised her eyebrows into a question mark.\n\"How can I help you?\" She asked.\n\"I want to have a little chat with you,\" he replied.\n\"Regarding?\" she asked.\n\"It's a little private,\" he said.\n\"I'm not your counsellor son,\" she said.\nHe felt offended but shoving his feelings under the rug he said, \"Come on, sparing thirty minutes for a discussion will not kill you. Will it?\"\nThe woman's lips parted into a quick smile but she concealed it with a grim expression.\nShe looked at her calendar and said, \"Twenty minutes is all you have.\" He agreed. They walked to the coffee machine located in the corner of the library and filled their cups with coffee.\nHe stood hesitating. \"The clock is ticking young man. I don't have all day,\" she said.\n\"My mom had left this world when I was a child. After a lot of struggle, I had made peace with the fact. My father married a woman from his office. It was a bolt from the blue for me. I had difficulty adjusting to my stepmom. She was a kind woman but her presence suffocated me. I cribbed and cried to garner my father's attention. He enrolled me in a boarding school. It was the second major change I had to accept within a year. I gradually made friends. All good things come to an end and so did my schooling,\" he spoke.\nShe looked at him empathetically. \"I attended college and bagged a job with a fat paycheck. I had no personal life. I dedicated my life to the firm. Everything was rosy, until one day, the firm was taken over by another management. I have been on a downhill since then. The change of management didn't go well with me. There was a cut in my paycheck and it wasn't of good taste. Cigarettes and alcohol gave me company. It was when I met a girl in a bar. We indulged in a little chat and one thing led to the other. A series of one nightstands paved the way to a relationship. Her presence in my life became suffocating. I was used to being alone and I didn't like her interference. But I liked her and didn't want to break up. Before I could figure things out she suggested that we must move in together. Another change was unacceptable. It was driving me crazy. I walked to the library in quest of some solace but my table was occupied and I lost it,\" he concluded.\nShe couldn't help but smile at him. \"So you want me to help you solve your so-called problems, isn't it?\" She asked.\n\"I could use some help,\" he replied.\n\"It's all in your mind son. As Heraclitus quoted, Change is the only constant. You must embrace it. Change can be good at times. Focus on the brighter side. Change your perspective. Read the book Who moved my cheese. Spencer Jhonson used cheese, as a metaphor to explain how to deal with unexpected change. It's a fable about four characters who live in a maze and they love cheese. But one day, the cheese disappears. Read the book and find out how they dealt with it and who emerged successfully. Nothing is permanent except change. Learn to adapt lest you will rot in a rabbit hole,\" she spoke.\nThe young man appeared to be relaxed. He clasped the book tightly. He nodded and smiled partially.\n\"Thanks for your time. I will get back to you after a week,\" he said.\n\"Don't make this a habit,\" she said and walked away.\nA week passed. The young man walked in and searched for the librarian. She wasn't there. A young lady asked, \"May I help you?\"\n\"I'm looking for the librarian,\" he said.\n\"I'm the librarian,\" she said.\n\"What about the elderly woman who was here the previous week?\" He asked.\n\"Oh, she was here only for a month. I was on a vacation and she was here to fill in for me,\" she said.\nHe remembered her words, \"Don't make this a habit.\"\nHe smiled and thought,' The book and her pearls of wisdom helped. Another change and all I can do is accept.'\nHe thanked the young girl and walked away. He wasn't adept at accepting change yet. But he was trying. One day at a time." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Gifts from the East\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1546\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone witnessing — or trying to witness — a celestial phenomenon." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Content warning: Mentions of death\n\nThe bustle of the city of Babylon was slowing as people retreated to their homes. Candles glowed and flickered in windows as breezes swirled the scents of the hanging gardens through the streets and up to the rooftops. \n\nBalthasar gazed up, watching the sky darken. The first stars were visible. Caspar, youngest of the trio, had not yet come to the roof, and Melchior was already sitting against the wall encircling the rooftop, dozing. He’s getting old, Balthasar thought wryly, glancing at the venerable gray-bearded man. \n\nHis back resting against the sun-baked stones, Melchior caught a flash of Balthasar’s teeth as the Ethiopian’s lips parted in a chuckle. \n\nThe smile disappeared. Balthasar turned and shouted towards the stairs, “Caspar! Come up here! Quickly!” \n\nMelchior roused himself at Balthasar’s excitement, trying and failing to stand quickly. Balthasar took Melchior’s hand and heaved him up. \n\nSandaled feet slapped up the steps, and Caspar appeared, embroidered robes swirling with his haste. “What is it?” \n\n“Look!”\n\nAll three men tipped their heads back and gazed at the bright new star hanging in the Western sky. \n\n“I shall see him,” Melchior intoned slowly, solemnly, “but not now: I shall behold him, but not near. A star shall rise out of Jacob, and a scepter shall spring up from Israel: and shall strike the chiefs of Moab, and shall waste all the children of Seth.” \n\n“What are you saying?” Caspar asked. \n\n“I am reciting. It is from a man named Baalam,” Melchior explained, “who went to a faraway land, and died there in a war. He had been hired to curse a numerous and wandering people, all children of a man named Jacob-Israel. Baalam went, but blessed them instead. With those blessings came prophecies. That is one of them.” \n\n“A king is born,” Balthasar said. “A king who was foretold, and about whom great things are foretold. He is so powerful that a new star must announce him.”\n\n“We knew of it, but I never thought I would see it.” Tears shone in Melchior’s eyes. \n\n“Then what are we waiting for?” Caspar asked. “Is there any reason not to leave now, immediately?”\n\n“I see none,” Balthasar said with a smile. \n\n“Then we go,” Melchior decided. \n\nMelchior, Balthasar, and Caspar rode the slow swaying camels—ships of the desert—as they plodded across the sand. On each of their saddles, concealed beneath hangings, swung one particular item, which each man wanted to keep close at hand, and guard well. \n\nA bag of tried gold. \nA sealed packet of frankincense. \nA flask of myrrh. \n\nThe journey was a long ordeal. The days were hot, and the nights cold. The camels were unpleasant creatures, not wanting to walk on. The camel drivers were not much more pleasant, muttering and cursing and striking their animals. Whenever they came to a town’s caravanserai, exorbitant prices were charged for supplies and lodging in filthy accommodations. \n\nTravel was only a means to an end. That being acknowledged, all three decided to travel as long as they could without stopping, until the drivers or their animals refused to go farther without rest. Night would fall, and still the camels plodded on, and the men grumbled but kept on for the wages they were paid. \n\nFinally, they neared the principal city of the nation of Jacob-Israel: Jerusalem.\n\nOn the night before they would reach Jerusalem, they lost the star. \n\n“Balthasar!” Melchior called. “I cannot find the star. Come and tell me if you see it.”\n\nBalthasar moved beyond the reach of the firelight and searched the sky, but gave up when his neck began to ache. “Caspar, come here and find the star for us.”\n\nAfter anxious minutes, Caspar shook his head. “I do not see it. I think it is gone.” \n\n“We must be close.” Melchior clenched both hands into fists. “We must. We know the ancient royal city of this people is ahead. All we must do is inquire there.”\n\nStone walls rose well above their heads as the camels swayed through the gates. They saw men in long, black robes and tall head coverings which swooped up above their foreheads, like the hoods of cobras, pacing through the streets. Many people made way for them, or stopped to greet them. \n\nSeeing that the dark-robed men were generally respected, Balthasar called out as one such man walked past the camels. “Greetings! We would like to know where the new king has been born.”\n\n“The new king?” The man’s bearded face showed extreme confusion. \n\n“Yes, the new king of the people of Jacob-Israel.”\n\n“We call ourselves Jews,” the man explained. “Unfortunately, the rule of our kings was ended long ago. There is no new king, and there never will be.” \n\n“Does no one rule this city?” \n\n“Herod is the ruler here, under the Roman Empire. He lives in the old palace. That way.” The man pointed deeper into the city. \n\nKing Herod appeared just as confused by the question of the travelers as the man in the street. “A new king?”\n\n“Yes,” Melchior replied. “We have seen his star in the East, and we have come to adore him. He was foretold.”\n\n“You may go,” Herod told them. “The audience is over. I will search for any knowledge of this new king.”\n\nMore of the black-robed men were about the palace after that, though they seemed ill-pleased. Servants followed them, carrying many scrolls. \n\nCaspar, restless, roamed the city, and witnessed a swift change in the mood of all the people. The bustle of the crowds did not abate, but now all seemed anxious, transacting business swiftly and disappearing back indoors, seemingly unwilling to be caught in the streets. He could not fathom what was causing the unrest. \n\nIn the throne room, black-robed Pharisees and their scribes, scholars of the law, assembled before a scowling Herod to read the answer to his question from the sacred scrolls.\n\n\"Where is the messiah to be born?\" Herod demanded.\n\n“In Bethlehem of Judah: For so it is written by the prophet: ‘And thou Bethlehem, the land of Judah, art not the least among the princes of Judah: for out of thee shall come forth the ruler, who shall rule my people Israel.’”\n\nWhen Herod secretly called the men of the East for a second audience, he had a burning question of his own. “When, exactly, did you see the star appear? How long ago?” He leaned forward in his seat, eager for their answer.\n\nAfter ascertaining the time of the star's appearance from them, Herod revealed the prophesied location of the new king, saying, “Head South, to Bethlehem.\" His cunning deceit carefully veiled with a friendly and open demeanor, he added, \"Inquire diligently after the child, and when you have found him, bring me word that I also may go and adore him.”\n\nAs soon as the city was behind them, Melchior, Balthasar, and Caspar cried out in excitement. The star burned brightly above them, directly ahead. They quickly arranged with the caravan captain to meet them in Bethlehem, and then urged their own camels faster, beyond a walk, into a wild, galumphing gallop. \n\nOn entering the house, they saw the Child with His mother. The three kings fell prostrate and did Him homage.\n\nRays of light shone from the Boy-Child’s entire being. His mother was nearly lost in the glow as she held Him in her lap. Then the shafts of glory retracted, and the wise men rose. Producing their gifts, the three travelers offered them to the Child and His mother, after which the woman’s husband took the offerings into his keeping. All too soon, the appointed visit was over.\n\nThe next morning, upon arising, Melchior said, “I dreamed a dream.” \n\nBalthasar and Caspar both looked up sharply. \n\n“I was made to understand not to return to Herod’s court, to go home by another route.”\n\n“I dreamed a dream as well, and I was made to understand the same thing,” Balthasar declared. \n\nCaspar nodded. “And I, the same.”\n\nIt was not until some weeks later that the intent of the mysterious dream was revealed to them.\n\nA traveler caught them up on the road as they were making camp. They invited him to share a meal, during which he shared news from his hometown of Bethlehem. \n\n“There was a massacre!” he declared. \n\n“What happened?” Melchior demanded. \n\n“King Herod, ruler of Jerusalem, sent his soldiers to Bethlehem, and they put to the sword all the boys two years old and under.\"\n\nBalthasar felt sick. “All the boys died?”\n\n“They say so,\" their guest affirmed. \"It is as if Herod were the Pharaoh of old, from whom Moses was saved.” \n\nCaspar looked at his companions and spoke quietly. “The Child could not die unless it was appointed. You must know this! We could not but fall before Him and do Him homage.”\n\nMelchior and Balthasar sat back in astonishment, then began to nod. \n\n\"Wise we may be,” Melchior said, “but who can fathom these prodigies? One day, perhaps, we shall understand.”\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAuthor's note:\nThe prophecy Melchior recites is from the Duoay-Rheims version of the Bible, Book of Numbers XXIV:17\nThe arrival of the wise men in Jerusalem through their finding of the Child is taken from the Gospel of Matthew II:1–12" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Ye Olde Library\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1749\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a librarian that doesn’t fit into the common librarian stereotypes." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was a foggy afternoon in the city. Claire had finished her shift at the convenience store and was making her way back home. Having lived in the city for so long, she had gotten to know all the short cuts and alleyways. She made her way towards one of the alleyways, but instead was greeted by a red sign saying ‘Road works’. Claire huffed, before turning on her heels and walking towards another of the alleyways\nShe rarely used this route, as it was longer than her usual walk, but also the roads were cobbled which made them difficult to walk on. Through the fog, she saw a dim light on the right-hand side of the road. As she got closer, she realised the light was emitting from a small store. A sign hung from a metal frame jutting out of the wall. It was square with gold writing inked onto it, reading ‘Ye Olde Library’. This sparked Claire’s interested. She looked at her watch, she had plenty of time to kill before she needed to get home, so she wandered over.\nThe store itself seemed to almost blend in with the rest of the houses that surrounded it, had it not been for the sign above it. The wooden framework had worn away in places. Filigree that was once carved into the wood were now just lumps and grooves. A message hung loosely in the window, even the paint on that had come away in patches. It read ‘Open’. Claire put her hand on the door and pushed.\nAs Claire entered the store, a small chime came from the bell above as it rattled against the door. Claire looked up; a semicircle had been worn into the door from the years of the bell moving across it. Inside the store, the books appeared to be worn down as well, covered in a thin layer of dust. But there were so many books. Books stacked in the shelves; sideways, vertical and slanted. Books piled on the floor, taking up almost all the walking space that there was. The place itself was so small, the books made it even more cramped. The wooden floorboards had worn away in areas, while other areas still maintained their varnish. These were more obvious in corners and against walls where books had been piled. The wooden framework extended to the interior as well. Everything was the same colour of brown throughout, though the golden light from the oil lamp styled light fixtures made it seem homely.\nShe picked up one of the nearby books and examined the cover, attempting to beneath the dust that had settled on it. She opened it and flipped through the pages. As she did so, a cloud erupted from it. Claire was taken aback by this eruption and began to cough. Then she heard footsteps. They seemed to be coming from the back of the library, perhaps even down some stairs. As the steps moved closer, the floorboards began to creak. The steps were heavy and deep. A figure then rounded the corner.\nClaire audibly gasped. Before her stood a tall man, made taller still by the slight incline of the floor. He barely fit through the frame of the doorway; his shoulders touched the sides and he had to duck to get under. He was bulky all over, his arms and legs like trucks of trees. His face was hidden beneath a cloud of beard. It cascaded over his chin and rested on top of a pile of books he was holding. His hair was greying, but below his burrowing brows were kind, blue eyes. His hair was pulled back by a headscarf, exposing his forehead. His clothes were dusty, worn and tattered. They seemed to match the rest of the interior of the library.\n“Sorry to keep you waitin’, pet” He chirped. His voice was much lighter than Claire was expecting. He turned on his heels and dropped the pile of books on top of another that was next to him. A cloud of dust exploded from under it as the piles met.\n“It- It’s ok,” Claire mumbled, pulling the book away from her face so she could peer over it. “I was only browsing.”\n“Then carry on!” He chortled. He went back under the door frame and into the rear again. Claire, still peeping over the top of the book, relaxed. She hadn’t realised how stiff she had gone suddenly. She exhaled, looking back down at the book she had in her hands.\nAfter some time, she put the book back on top of the pile and reached for another. Before long, she had looked through several books and had them piling up at her feet. The minutes seemed to fly by in this place. Many of these books were very old, dating back some decades. The pages had yellowed, and the spines had started to weaken in placed. Yet, they all seemed to be well cared for. She scooped up her selection of books, waddled up the inclining floor and hovered at the doorway to the rear of the store.\n“This is a cute place.” She said, struggling to hold everything in her arms.\n“Aye, it is!” The man called back. Claire peered around the corner of the door and to the right were some spiral, wooden stairs. His voice was coming from down here “Don’t get many visitors mind you though.” He continued. The floor began to creek as he forced himself up the narrow stairwell to be level with Claire.\n“Is it yours?” She asked, still processing what she just saw. He reminded her of sausage meat being squeezed into its casings, or a cat pushing itself under a door. For a big man, he seemed successful at getting through tight spaces.\n“Nay, it’s not. I volunteer here a few days a week.” He smiled proudly. He pulled himself up the final few steps, his hands gripping onto the railings. Claire felt her face drop when she saw the size of his hands, they could cover her whole face, she thought. She quickly batted the idea away and resumed her gaze with the man.\n“That’s nice,” she said, her voice slightly wavered from holding the books for so long.\n“Oh, lass! Ye should ‘ave said.” The man said, taking the books from Claire’s arms. Claire rung her arms out, getting the blood to flow back through them again. “Would ye like to borrow these?” He lifted the pile, gesturing to Claire. She nodded in receipt.\n“How long have you worked here for?” She enquired. He smiled down at her.\n“Many years, pet, this place keeps me sane. This and me gardenin’,” He replied. “Before that I was a builder. Quite the career change, no?” He laughed. Claire nodded feebly in response; her eyes widened in awe.\nHe signalled for her to move backward, gesturing to the doorway. She began to shuffle backward. As he went through, she pushed her body against the wall, her legs rubbing against the piles of books behind her. The man walked over to the opposite wall. He balanced the pile of books in one hand and leaned down, the other reaching between book piles on the floor. He pulled out a bag, which looked as if it had been stuck there a while. With a shake, it shed enough dust to coat the books in another layer of grey.\nClaire moved off from the wall and felt movement behind her knees. She quickly grabbed down, stopping the books from wavering too much. The pile furthest from her began to wobble. She stuck out her foot and tried to hook it onto it, but a couple of the books on top dropped down. The landed with a thud against the floor, another puff of dust erupted from it. This alerted the man, who snapped his head round to the source of the noise. He could see Claire awkwardly squatted on the floor, one leg outstretched and her arms flailing over the piles. He gave out a bellowing laugh. He pulled the bag handle over his wrist, took a small stamp from his pocket, grabbed the top book from the pile in his other hand, flipped over the cover and began stamping. Once the pile was depleted and in the bag, he moved over to Claire. He grabbed hold of her jacket and lifted her back to her feet. She squealed, grabbing hold of his huge hand in some attempt at restraint. He let go of her before bending down and picking up the two books that had falling.\n“Want to borrow these too, eh?” He laughed again, dropping those into the bag as well. Claire looked over herself, she was now covered in patches of dust. No wonder he looks so rugged, she thought, shaking off and brushing down her clothes. The man held out the bag, to which Claire took it. She grunted under its weight, surprised by how heavy it was. He made it seem so effortless.\n“When do I bring them back?” Claire stammered, lifting the bag onto her shoulder. A wide grin spread across the man’s face.\n“When ye like. Always ‘ave more for ye to read!” He beamed, crossing his arms over his chest. Claire smiled back at him. There was a moment of silence between the two, before Claire looked down at her watch.\n“Oh! I must get home!” She exclaimed. The man laughed once more, moving sideways to allow Claire entrance to get through. She waded her way between his body and the books, making it rather miraculously to the door without anything else falling over.\n“See you soon pet” The man said, taking his hand out of its cross to wave and putting it back again.\n“Bye! I’ll come back again soon, promise!” Claire smiled, opening the door and jumping through. She waved back, allowing the door to close on its own. She turned to her right and continued up the cobbled path. The man watched her go, sighing happily to himself before turning and ducking back under the doorway.\nOnce home, dinner eaten and chores done, Claire sat down on her armchair. She pulled out one of the books she had obtained earlier and dusted off the cover. With a cup of tea in hand, she flipped over the cover and snuggled in and began to read. How excellent that my normal route home was blocked today, she mused." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Sue's Place\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1635\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in the lowest rated restaurant in town." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Not too long ago, in a town like most other towns, there was an atrociously terrible restaurant. The food was bland, usually undercooked or overcooked (whichever you liked least), and served in messy heaps on stained dishes. But they had good coffee.\n\nIt just so happened that a secret agent was assigned to watch this restaurant. Suspicious activity had been reported.\n\nTrina—a good, unassuming name for a perfectly normal young woman—threw a glance over the streaky windows and crooked sign that identified this as “Sue’s Place”. She tugged on the hem of her good, unassuming hoodie and tucked her perfectly normal auburn hair behind her ears, then pushed open the door.\n\nA bell rang as she walked into the restaurant. She blinked and waited for her eyes to adjust. One lightbulb in the corner was flickering, and a few were completely out. There was no music playing.\n\nThe tables were crooked. Some had only three chairs even though the table had four sides. Near the left wall, two tables were shoved together, and all the extra chairs were crowded around them until it looked like the aftermath of Christmas dinner with a side of politics. \n\nThe door behind the counter opened, and for a moment the warm sounds and smells of a kitchen reached Trina as a little old lady bustled out. She was wearing a stained apron and huge shoes and a sweet smile. She called Trina “dearie” and told her to take a seat, then went back into the kitchen without taking her order. Trina sat and waited. \n\nWhile she did this very important part of detective work, two boys came in. They were very raggedy-looking, with raggedy clothes and raggedy hair and raggedy shoes. They didn’t sit at a table or go to the counter; instead, one boy grabbed a broom from the corner and stared sweeping. The other boy helped him by moving the chairs and tables out of the way. \n\nTrina watched them carefully. They seemed to be paying special attention to the corner with the flickering light switch. The boy moving the chairs crouched down to hold the dustpan, but he seemed to be having an issue with the pocket of his raggedy jeans. \n\nThen the little old lady came back through the door with a full plate and cup in her hand. She bustled over to Trina’s table and put them down, then wiped her hands on her stained apron and gave her another sweet smile. \n\nTrina frowned a little at the greyish pile on the plate in front of her. “I…I didn’t order yet.”\n\n“Oh, that’s all right, dearie. I mixed this up for you right quickly.” The little old lady pulled out the chair across from Trina and looked her up and down, inspecting her good, unassuming hoodie and perfectly normal auburn hair. \n\nTrina took a forkful of the grey stuff in her plate. It tasted like cold mashed potatoes with overcooked tuna, and she took a drink of water to wash it down. The little old lady was still talking, asking where she was from. She was just about to invent an elaborate lie when the door bell rang. The raggedy cleanup crew was leaving. \n\nThe little old lady—who had introduced herself as the famous Sue—noticed her glance at the closing door. “I tell you, there’s no such thing as good help nowadays. They would probably say I don’t pay them enough to sweep the whole floor. Now, you’ve cleaned out your plate! Would you like some more?”\n\n“No! I mean, um, no, that was enough. I’m full. Thank you.”\n\nSue took her plate and cup. “Where are you heading off to?”\n\nTrina patted her bag. “Actually, I’ve brought my laptop. I was hoping to get some work done. If you don’t mind me in your space, that is.”\n\n“Of course not, dearie! In fact, I’ll bring you a coffee.”\n\nNo protesting could defer Sue from her purpose, and she bustled back to the kitchen. Just before she got there, though, the bell rang again, and a skinny girl with tangled hair walked in. Right behind her was a big, burly man. The girl looked scared, and Trina tensed.\n\nSue smiled sweetly at them. “Lindsay! Right on time for your shift. Thanks for dropping her off, Mark!” \n\nThe burly man dubbed Mark nodded and left. The girl wrapped her skinny arms around herself, and Sue ushered her into the kitchen. Trina shot a text to Gary—one of her outside guys—to watch the back door. Something wasn’t right. But then the kitchen door opened, and the skinny girl brought over her coffee. Her hand shook and her tangled hair was hanging in her face, so Trina wasn’t surprised at all when some of the coffee spilled onto the table. The girl didn’t even apologize, just ran back to the kitchen. \n\nThe coffee that stayed in the cup was actually really good. Gary said the back door hadn’t moved. Supper time came around, and Trina finally had some company. Two men and three woman dragged enough chairs to one table and sat together. They talked quietly. Trina put her earbuds in but didn’t play anything, and eventually they got louder. \n\n“There by seven o’clock, no later,” the shorter man was saying. “Cassie said his routine is the same every night. He doesn’t suspect a thing.” \n\nThe group didn’t stay very long, and Trina left behind them. She followed them at a distance. Gary was left to watch the restaurant.\n\nTrina watched the cars pull up quietly beside the road, and she drove past and parked a block away before sneaking back on foot. Whispers met her ears as she rounded the neighbouring house and peeked over the bushes. \n\nThen they started to sing. She poked her head out further and saw the whole group from the restaurant, as well as others she had never seen before. They were singing a hymn! An old man came to the door and smiled and started crying.\n\nTrina shook her head, annoyed, and tiptoed around the back of the house. Everything looked fine in the backyard; no one else was sneaking around. Then her phone rang. \n\nShe fumbled for it—Gary was calling—and shut it off, but not soon enough. The singing halted. She bolted. A few people followed her, and she dashed through a few backyards and leaped a couple fences before scaling a tree. Her pursuers abandoned the search while she texted Gary. \n\nApparently, a van had pulled up to Sue’s place. The girl had been escorted inside, and he was following them. \n\nShe let herself down from the tree and ran for her car. She recognized Gary’s car as the van in front of him pulled into a nice-looking house. \n\nA middle-aged man and women got out of the van first. Then the skinny girl stepped out, but she was no longer shaking. She was wearing enough clothes now, and her hair was shiny and smooth in the porch light. Trina saw her give the couple a little smile as they invited her inside. \n\nShe drove back slowly, planning on driving past the restaurant, but the lights were still on. She parked and went inside, planning to pretend she had lost something and was looking for it here. \n\nThe sound that greeted her was like an “Oh!” and her eyes adjusted in time to see Sue straightening up from the same place the raggedy boys had been sweeping. \n\n“What are you doing?” Trina demanded. Her good, unassuming hoodie was dirty and had a tear in the sleeve, and her perfectly normal auburn hair had leaves in it, and nothing had gone right all day.\n\nThe little old lady smiled sweetly and asked if she had come back for more coffee. \n\nThe honest answer was yes, but Trina lied and said no. “What are you doing?”\n\nSue wrung her hands on her stained apron, but the pocket jingled, and Trina pushed past her and knelt to the floor. She pried up the loose board to find a collection of coins.\n\n“Where did this come from? Do those boys get it for you?”\n\n“Oh, no.” The little old lady transformed into a terrifying spectre, frowning and shaking her finger. “Don’t you dare tell a soul. It's for their sister.”\n\n“Where do they get it from? Are they stealing?”\n\n“Goodness, no! They work odd jobs for people, and some money they find in the street.”\n\n“So they keep it here, and you get your cut?”\n\n“Young lady, you are on my premises without a search warrant. I suggest you leave.”\n\nTrina huffed. “What are you doing here? Your food is terrible. Your cleanup crew are raggedy little urchins. Your employees are skinny street girls that get smuggled away. Your only customers are a couple of church people that don't look like church people. How are you still in business?”\n\nThe little old lady shook her head. “People don’t come here for the food; so please, if you don’t want coffee, I want to head to bed.”\n\nThe failed detective headed out the door and sat in her car. Through the streaky windows, she watched Sue get back down on the floor, pry up the board, and empty her apron pocket into it. \n\nSince Trina had blown her cover, Gary watched the restaurant alone for a few more days. The raggedy boys came back almost every day. One day, they seemed more excited than usual, and he followed them to a mall. They picked out a pretty blue dress and disappeared down an alleyway.\n\nSue’s place continued to operate for another ten years, but then the little old lady died. A retired detective bought the restaurant. She kept the name and the quality of cooking—the food was truly atrocious—but she made good coffee." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Humanity On Trial\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1144\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who critiques things for a living, or acts like they do." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "We were asked to give our disquisition on humanity. So here it is. This shall be brief. It’s not the first time we’ve been asked about our position on the creation of man. Our stance was unanimous. We still think they’re hostile. Belligerent. They were a primitive race light years ago. Racing against the sands of time to evolve. To prosper. To adapt in a world that’s truly fitter without them. And now, they have perished. They are forgotten. Their memory has long been woven into the fabrics of space and time. This is an assessment of their reign as a dominant species on Earth. \n\nDuring the times of fire and stone, humans were scarce in numbers. They coexisted with the rest of Earth’s inhabitants because they had to. Once their numbers started increasing, so did their insatiable appetite for war. For oppression. Let me ask this, has their appetite seized ever since? Unfortunately, the answer is no. They have continued their unfathomable blood shed until the very end. It is unquestionably dreary. We had wished they achieved self-consciousness, but it was far reached. And the ones who did achieve it were treated defectively. As though they were the anomaly. Sad, indeed. \n\nNevertheless, there has been incidents of rectitude. Virtue, and benevolence. We will not deny those. Humans are eccentric––in their own way. They are capable of obtaining wisdom. But they are very poor at sharing it. They can feign cruelty, but behind it nestles fragility. These traits have plagued us. They can be selfish. Yet they can be very kind to one another. There is no denying that at times humans thoroughly surprised us. A few occurrences of manifold are worthy of mentioning. It involves their invaluable acts of kindness. They have shown great mercy towards wildlife, towards the trees and towards the land. They have also shown bountiful charity towards their own kind. To the needy, to the homeless and to the ill. But alas, the senseless acts of violence surpassed all good. The killing. The barbarity. We say this with a heavy heart. We couldn’t bear to watch. \n\nThere is of course the story of Henri the Brute. He was a man of many names, but we chose this one in the purpose of this disquisition. He lived at the time of Atlantis. A time when ancient nations were at their peaked glory. A time when beasts and dragons freely roamed Upper Earth. He was a man of great skill and deception. He had killed many of his kind. Too many to count. But when we peered into his heart, we only found remorse. We found penitence. It was a surprise to us all. How can slaughter and compassion come hand in hand? One day, he was riding back to Toria after enduring a long battle. He chanced upon a little girl. She was alone. Bare foot and out of sorts. Henri steered the reigns of his horse and trotted closer. Curiosity getting the best of him. \n\n“What brings you to the outskirts of my village, little girl? All alone. Are you waiting for someone?” \n\nThe girl looked up but said nothing.\n\n“What’s the matter? I asked you a question.” \n\n“I’m waiting for Lord Henri the Brute.”\n\nHenri cocked an eyebrow at the little girl. “I am him. What is it you need?”\n\n“I come with tidings. I’m afraid it’s not good.” \n\n“Tidings? From my army in the South?”\n\n“No.” said the girl, almost instantly. “Tidings from the underworld. I’m afraid your people’s time has come, Henri the Brute. Toria will perish.”\n\nHenri’s heart battered behind his chest. “My village will perish. By whom?”\n“The armies of Goltic will arrive at dawn. You have no time to prepare for what’s coming. Their armies are massive. No man, child or kine will be spared.” \n\nHenri’s fright turned to anger. “This is madness. The people of my village have done nothing wrong. They’re not like me. I’m a bloodless warrior, they’re nothing but credulous farmers and fishermen. There must be a way to turn this around. There’s still time!”\n\n“It is what it is. There is no coming back from it. Your village will perish tomorrow.” \n\nHe stared at her. Round-eyed, yet steadfast. “No.” He demanded. “There has to be something I can do.”\n\nThe girl was quiet for a single moment. Then she smirked. “There is but one thing. The masters of the underworld are willing to exchange the people’s souls for yours. You have killed a great deal. Your soul is worth a thousand so far. Give us your soul instead, and Toria will be spared.” \n\nHenri was at a crossroads. The man who’d killed a thousand was now concerned with the lives of mere hundreds. There was surely no way he’d agree to this trade. But as we said earlier, humans continue to surprise us. Henri agreed. His village was spared, and his soul was traded in their place. It was an act of pure kindness. Despite his bloodstained past. \n\nSo, this remains our question. Was Henri’s sacrifice enough to tip the scales in humanity’s favor? Was it enough to counterbalance the defilement they unleashed upon their planet, their biosphere? Was it enough to atone for their butchery, their carnage? As generous as it was, we’re afraid it is not enough. Let us remind you, oh Great Divine, of the tales of Picard Magnus. A man so cruel, he’d forgotten what it was that made him human. He liberated the offender and prosecuted the victim. Massacre was but a sport to him. A ruler that bathed in the blood of children. Drank to the collapse of democracy and cheered the decapitation of justice. \n\nWhen his army burned down the flourishing city of Lanceud, a squire came running to his side. \n\n“Lord, the people in this church are said to be believers of God. Shall we not spare them?” \n\nPicard, tugging his lips in an ugly snarl, said, “No, kill them all. Their God will recognize his own.”\n\nAs a conclusion, we believe that humans have done far more wrongdoing than they have fairness. They have done far more aggression than they have clemency. We regret to inform you, oh Great Divine, that humankind, as a species, has failed. We say this with a hefty heart. For we know how much you cherished their existence. You had considerable plans for them. But they have failed you. They have failed us all. \n\nIt’s been long due that we offer our disquisition. We have assessed many, no endless of worldly and unworldly beings. Ancient civilizations. Peoples. None has come to compare to what humans have done. The betrayals. The genocides. The wars. The secrets. It’s haunted us for epochs. Now, we are unfettered to speak our peace. We only wish our word comes with admission. \n\nSigned and agreed upon, \nThe Angels of Death." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Nurture and Nature\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1022\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character sowing seeds for the future (literally or figuratively)." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Congratulations! I can't believe after all these years you're both finally going to be parents! I'm so super excited for you both.\"\nMum was clapping her hands like a cymbal- banging monkey and uncoordinatedly jumping up and down- until she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.\n\"I just peed a little!” And with that - she ran out the room laughing.\nHalf the family gathered around the lounge room hung their heads and shook them at their chests. The other half were slapping thighs and rocking back in laughter - I was one of the ones rocking back and forth.\n• • •\n“I stand here on this most precious of moments and share with you the story of our eternal love and gratefulness of our family. We welcome Henry, dear Henry…”\nThe entire room of gathered friends and family yelled in unison “DEAR HENRY, DEAR HENRY!” Cheers roared out, tables were banged, and glasses clinked.\nAs the ruckus dimmed, the father of the bride continued.\n“You all know me, and you all know I hate this standing round talking, so I think this is the perfect time to hand over to the real spokesperson of the family. Darling…would you like to continue?”\nShe sat for a minute, tears spilling over her lids and composed herself as she moved her napkin from her lap to the table.\n“It was my dad, the best pop in the world, that came to us the day you were born, carrying a red pine seedling with your name and date of birth embroidered in the pink ribbon wrapped around it. We weren't sure what we were to do with the gift. I knew they grew into the most beautiful giants of trees.”\n\"It's for her future. It's the tree that will keep on giving.\"\nHis voice had been soft and sincere, and his eyes had been full of love.\n\"I'll plant it for her and nurture it, as you shall nurture her. You'll see. They will both be wondrous and beautiful as they grow and reach for the stars.” He had told me.\nI asked him about the seedling, and he said he had gone to the nursery on the day we told him we would soon be calling him pop. He browsed the trees for hours until he picked the right one, the perfect one to put your name to.\nAs you grew, so did the tree. As you learnt to walk, your tree learned to sway with the wind, and true to his word you both grew and reached for the stars.\nNan made picnics for you to have under the evergreen growing branches of your tree. and when you were 6 and your tree was good and sturdy, pop hung a swing to push you in for hours.\nAnd when Nan bought you a leather-bound journal at 13 years old, you would go and sit under that tree and write your hopes and dreams in the shade of its branches.\nSometimes we would see you just sitting under the tree at 16, just being there.\nAnd as you grew further and met the man you would marry, he knew the importance of that tree and proposed with moonlight shining through the leaves.\n“It’s been a while since you have visited your tree and although the memories will always remain, pop had one thing in mind when he bought that tree the day he found out you would be coming into this world, and that was to give you a wedding gift.\nYou will cry tears of sadness and tears of happiness, dad would you like to do the honours?”\nThe sturdy old man stood tall. Feet planted shoulder width apart as if he himself were a giant of the forest. The smile he shared with his daughter as she kissed him on the cheek melted every heart in the room.\n“I love you dad.” She whispered into his ear.\nHe turned to the bride\n\"My darling granddaughter, behind you, you see the all the pictures on the screen of you and your tree and all the joy and happiness you brought to not only your Mum and Dad, but to Nan and I, always. Your tree was no longer able to protect you from the bright sun or give you cover from wind and rain in the form it had grown. Your tree is your ever evolving and everlasting gift from us to you.\"\nHe handed her a set of keys.\n\"It almost shattered my heart to say goodbye to your beautiful protector, but soon you will have your own precious child and that child deserves his or her own tree. Turn to the screen our darling granddaughter, and mind not to ruin your makeup.” His eyes glistened and he lowered his head.\nShe turned to the screen and saw a beautiful timber house. She looked at the keys and then at the house.\n\"A house? We can't accept a house!\"\n\"Look at the background.\" She looked at the background on the oversized screen. The house was exactly where her tree had stood.\n\"Grandpa! Is that my tree! You turned my tree into a house!\"\nTears streamed down her face.\n“And in the backyard, I shall plant another for your child to be, and it shall be nurtured as your tree was. It shall bring endless fond memories for all the family, and you shall be forever protected in your tree house.\"\nThe old man raised a glass.\n\"A toast to the bride and groom. May they always feel safe and secure and grow stronger together each day.”\n“To the bride and groom!”\nGlasses clinked and cheers roared out while tears were dried on napkins and sleeves and the bride and groom hugged her grandparents tightly.\nNan was clapping like a cymbal-banging monkey and jumping up and down uncoordinatedly…until she stopped dead in her tracks.\n\"Oh shoot!\" Nan said to the bride.\n\"You darn went and squeezed me too tight! I just peed a little!\nFaces fell to hands and people leaned back in laughter as nan went tottling off to the loo." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A mother's diary\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1017\n\nPrompt:\n\nFormat your story in the style of diary entries." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Date: March 27th\n\nDear diary,\n\nToday is mothers day in UK. I just want to celebrate it with my partner and keep the romanticism awake even though after pregnancy my body and confidence is not the same. I love my body for who it brought in this world, but i really look like a mess. For me today isnt just mother's day. For me its also son day as without him i wouldnt be a mother. He is growing so fast. I gave birth to him last year in january. He was 3.68kg. He was so pink. People said i was lucky as i didnt need painkillers or c section. He just came out. From the beginning, by looking at his eyes, i knew that he is gonna be a tough boy, gonna be a cheeky one, but is was gonna also make my life valueble. Time went by and he just didnt stop growing (except the hair he is still a bit bold but i guess hegot that from me as i was the same when i was born). Once he was 6 months we went to take pictures at the studio. And everytime i look at the picture and think how life was different then compared to now. He was calmer than now as he couldnt walk back then. He has grown a lot. Is cleverer. Doesnt speak much yet but he runs everywhere and really does understand you when you speak to him. We try to teach him 2½ languages (yes english greek and a bit of italian as my partner family doesnt speak english and the only language i communicate with my partner is english as we are in UK and a bit of italian because.... who doesnt want to learn italian but obviously also because im from there) then by 10 months he started walking. So since then we use the stroller less. We walk together to places or i carry him. The stroller was just occupying a lot of space so im glad is walking. But i still use it when i need to go somewhere far and he simply doesnt mind it. I love when he used to sleep on my chest, when i hold is tiny hand back then and I love it even more now as when I cuddle him he cuddles me back. When i lie down sometimes comes to me to cuddle my arm and my face. I give him a huge kiss and then he runs away ready to destroy the house once again. The more he grows the more i feel he wants to be more indipendent and i like that its a normal process of growing. Very soon is gonna start going to school and make new friends and do new sports. Having a busy schedule as every kid should, to be honest. It is better for a kid to go school and do an extra curricular activity so that they can born all that energy, than just sit at home after school, because lets be honest. They dont sit at home. They have that energy and they gonna mess up the house with it. Tornado. Thats why let them free outside so that when they come inside the house they are exhausted and they will just eat, shower and then sleep. The truth is that everyone is growing. My son made me mature as a persone. He taught me real love. He taught me real patience. But as a young mother, i am growing as well. Growing becoming the best version of myself. Avoiding negativity. Because the past is full of mistakes that we really wish that we could avoided, but are just there and thanks to those experience we are who we are. The negativity in people, in things. I used to feel upset when i receive a bad comment but now i just try my best to avoid these kind of people that all they know is how to judge others. I want my son to learn that some people are troubled in their head and instead of fixing themselves they try to find mistakes in others. I want my son to be strong enough, so that those people's words won't affect him. I want him to grow strong and healthy. I want him to grow mature enough to understand that everyone makes mistakes and to forgive me if i ever do him wrong. Today he's not feeling that well. He's teething so he has a bit of temperature. It breaks my heart thinking that at this early age you still suffer to grow up. But I guess this is all about. Suffering to grow. It can be phisically or emotionally. My job as a mother is to be there, not to prevent from suffering, but for helping heal, so that he can grow as a healthy strong man. The only thing i pray for is to be a good mother. I try my best but I think it is never enough. He is my sunshine indeed, he feels my days with joy and with craziness. But i cant just be a fun mom, i need to teach him stuff, you know, discipline him. Will I be able to do so? Will I be able to be the perfect mom? Probably not, but I will work my hardest to make sure he lacks nothing and for him to always feel loved by us. That's why I will keep you, my little diary, with me and I will read every page where I talk about him to him. I will read it as a bedtime story, I will sing it. Let my son know that his mom is an artist and that she shows her love through affection and art such as this page of diary.\n\nI will keep you updated about his reaction or if he's going to rip it off before I even read it to him as he's just one and loves ripping pages of everything\n\nGoodnight\n\n(Ps: John, don't rip off this page, mommy is watching you)" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Growing Up\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1026\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the words: “Grow up.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Growing up - read the poster hanging above Mrs. Langer’s second grade classroom. Below the poster sat a small plant and – Sam’s favorite – a hamster relaxing in a hamster house.\n\nSam was a member of Mrs. Langer’s classroom, and every chance he had, he ran - as fast as he was allowed - to catch a glimpse of Mr. Hammy, the classroom hamster. Last week, Sam had even bought Mr. Hammy a toy – a small green and white colored ball. When Mr. Hammy was presented with the new toy, he squealed with joy, holding on to the ball with his tiny claws, chewing on the rubbery lining. \n\nSam always delighted in seeing Mr. Hammy playing with the gifted ball, until one day, when Mr. Hammy no longer seemed interested in playing with it. \n\n“Mrs. Langer?” Sam wondered, “Why isn’t Mr. Hammy playing with my ball like he used to?”\n\n“Well,” explained Mrs. Langer, “Mr. Hammy is growing up. And as you grow up, toys that you used to play with, you may put away and no longer play with. Mr. Hammy is becoming a big, strong adult hamster.”\n\n“Huh.” Sam responded with disappointment.\n\nAfter school that day, Sam returned home and was greeted by his older brother and parents. His older brother, however, quickly retreated to his bedroom to do homework. Watching closely, Sam copied him by retreating to his own bedroom.\n\nToys were spread out all over the floor of his bedroom, toys that he loved and enjoyed playing with. This is going to take a while, he thought to himself, as he started to gather the toys, one by one, and place them in his toy chest. Once the toys were all in the chest, Sam locked the chest and slumped on to his bed.\n\nNow what? Sam thought to himself. He didn’t feel any better. In fact, without his toys, he was rather bored. Sam waited, as the hours slowly ticked by, until he could hear his older brother snoring in the adjacent room.\n\nTip-toeing into his brother’s room, Sam grabbed his brother’s backpack, and quickly retreated back to his own bedroom. He then emptied the contents of the backpack onto the floor. Papers, folders, and books tumbled out from the backpack. \n\nGrabbing the book closest to him, Sam opened the book and began reading:\n\n“On Joseph’s farm there were a total of 40 animals - a combination of pigs and chickens. Joseph counted 100 legs in all. How many pigs were there, and how many chickens were there?” \n\nThat’s a good question, Sam thought to himself. He grabbed another book and began reading:\n\n“One of the causes of world hunger is infrastructure instability. Poor infrastructure makes it difficult – even impossible – to transport food to towns or remote villages that desperately need it.”\n\nScratching his head, Sam opened yet another book:\n\n“The US national debt has reached levels not seen since World War II. As of 2019, US debt has grown beyond 17 trillion dollars.”\n\nYawning, Sam closed the book and crawled into bed. Unfortunately, sleep did not come easy for Sam that night - he ruminated over all the things he had just read. \n\nPigs have four legs and chickens have two, but could I possibly know how many pigs and chickens there were? And how would I be able to build enough roads and bridges to allow starving children to receive the food they desperately need? \n\nAs for 17 trillion dollars, Sam wasn’t sure exactly how much that was, but was hopeful that perhaps the coins in his piggy bank would be able to cover that.\n\nI’m not sure I like this growing up thing. Sam would rather have spent the night bringing out his toys and playing with them one more time, but, as Mrs. Langer said, in order to be a strong grown-up, you need to put away your toys and deal with grown-up issues. While not feeling content, exhaustion eventually overtook Sam, and he slept through the night.\n\nThe next morning Sam grabbed the books he took from his older brother’s room and transferred them to his own backpack. He dragged the heavy backpack all the way to school, before letting the backpack fall off his shoulder in Mrs. Langer’s classroom.\n\nIt was free-time, and one of Sam’s best friends immediately approached him.\n\n“Tom and I are playing monster game! Come join us!”\n\nSam declined, taking out one of his newly possessed books from his backpack. “I need to work on solving these problems.”\n\nThroughout the rest of the school day, Sam declined to join in on the fun and games with his classmates, and instead focused on the problems documented in the book. But despite all the pondering and contemplation, head-scratching and struggling, Sam wasn’t one inch closer to solving any of the problems.\n\nDefeated, Sam buried his head into the book. \n\n“What’s wrong?” asked Mrs. Langer.\n\n“Last night I put away all of my toys, and I started reading my brother’s books. They're full of problems, and I don’t know how to fix any of them. I really just want to play with my toys and my friends, but I also want to grow up, like Mr. Hammy.”\n\n“Oh? Well let’s go see what Mr. Hammy is doing right now.”\n\nSam and his teacher walked over to the hamster house and took a look. While the green and white ball was still sitting by itself, Mr. Hammy was instead in a hamster wheel, squealing as he ran and made the wheel spin and spin. \n\n“I just placed the wheel in his house this morning, and he’s already loving it,” Mrs. Langer started. “Growing up doesn't mean you have to throw away all your toys and only focus on adult problems. As you grow up, there may come a time where you no longer enjoy playing with a specific toy, but that doesn't mean you need to stop playing all together.”\n\nSurprised, Sam asked Mrs. Langer, “Does that mean I can still play with my friends?”\n\n“Of course you can! And you don’t need to stop just because you’re all grown up.”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Between The Lines\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1522\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone having their height marked on a door frame." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Marie had never painted before—that was always John’s job. \n\nBut the house needed to be sold and according to the real estate agent, it needed to be painted. Marie wasn’t mad at John for leaving the task to her; she was angry at him for dying. John had bought life insurance, but hadn’t anticipated the medical bills. He fought until his last breath, but the fight left Marie without a husband, without resources, and without a home.\n\nA painting novice, Marie attacked the big rooms and hallways first. They were the easiest with most of the furniture gone. Next, feeling emboldened by her success, she painted the bathrooms and kitchen. Those were a bit more difficult as she had to navigate her way around cabinets, mirrors, and fixtures. After that, there was just one spot left, the six-inch wide door frame near the stairs that contained a vertical history of their only child, Lisa.\n\nWhen Marie and John bought the home, Lisa was still four months away from joining the family. John, always the idealist, was not like other new homebuyers. To him this house wasn’t supposed to be a starter home. It was his forever home, and if there were any doubt, he put that to rest the first time he and Marie entered as new owners.\n\n“The next time I leave this home permanently, it’s going to be in a wooden box.”\n\nAt the time, the young couple laughed together at the thought. Death was for other people. John and Maria were going to live forever and they were going to live forever in their new home.\n\nStaring at the faded lines, Marie smiled softly as a tear ran down her cheek. She couldn’t help but remember the happier times when she and John prepared a room for the bundle of joy to come. John surprised her by painting the baby’s room light blue. John was sure the new addition would be a boy, talking endlessly to his friends, neighbors, and any poor store clerk he ran into about John Jr. and how his son was going to be the third baseman for the Baltimore Orioles. \n\nJohn's certainty even convinced Marie. It wasn’t until the mother-to-be was eight months pregnant that the expectant parents discussed a possible girl's name during a commercial break. Many years later when Lisa asked how they decided on her name, the couple sheepishly admitted it was the name of a character on the television show they were watching, a fact that elicited benign laughs every time it was shared.\n\nEven before little Lisa was born, John and Marie had picked the perfect spot to document her milestones, a tradition brought to the family by both parents. The small spot where Marie now stood was that magical place she was being forced to paint over, erasing the lines that had been so important for so many years. \n\nI can’t do it, Marie thought to herself. I can’t delete a lifetime of memories. Not today, not right now. Unable to finish, Marie poured herself a glass of wine, pulled up a chair, faced the unpainted wall, and remembered.\n\nThe first line, the one closest to the floor, was probably the least accurate. Baby Lisa had smiled for the first time that day, and John and Marie wanted to commemorate the occasion. Holding her little girl upright, Marie did her best to keep Lisa’s foot on the floor while John attempted to make the new mark. Lisa, thinking this was a game, kicked her legs over and over, all the while laughing and smiling. When John finally finished the task, both he and Marie roared hysterically at the crooked line that looked more like the peaks and valleys of a mountain range than an accurate measurement of the little girls height. It was almost impossible for them to look at that jagged line through the years and not chuckle at the memory.\n\nThe line from Lisa’s first day of school was also the first one Marie herself had drawn. Lisa stood ramrod straight, trying to make herself as tall as possible. Marie marked Lisa’s growth while John captured the memory using his new digital camera. The photo was the last one Marie had removed before she started to paint. There wasn’t much she had unpacked at her new apartment, but that keepsake was already mounted on the wall by the front door.\n\nA few lines further up was one labeled “Paint Day.” It was the only line not tied to a significant day for Lisa. When quizzed about the anomaly, Marie would explain that when the family first moved into the home, the walls were bland, off-white, and builder grade. However, Marie loved green and John loved Marie, so when they decided to spice the place up, green it was. \n\nJohn knew how important the marks on the wall were, so he meticulously created a template, complete with the unusual first line that he intended to use to recreate the measurements exactly. When he finished painting, he pulled out the guide and replaced each line precisely where it had been before. Every time Marie saw them, her heart fluttered, remembering how much John loved her and Lisa. \n\nTwo lines further up was the measurement from when Lisa graduated from middle school. It took a lot of convincing to get her to remove her cap before that line was drawn. Almost fourteen years since the first line, Lisa still tried to make herself as tall as possible. Every line had a unique story and a memory and Marie smiled as she reminisced. The thought of covering the markings was paralyzing so instead Marie just sat, staring in silence, until the doorbell rang. \n\nLisa didn’t wait for her mother to answer, walking in denying Marie the time to compose herself. She also didn’t have to ask what was wrong as Lisa saw the paint and the lines. \n\n“Mom, it’s going to be ok,” Lisa said, pulling up a chair next to her mother. “You have to paint. Dad would understand.”\n\n“I know,” Marie responded, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. “But I never thought this would happen—this wasn’t supposed to happen. These lines are your life, the life you and I shared with dad. How can I erase them?”\n\n“Mom these lines are just placeholders,” Lisa said, standing up and positioning herself next to the wall.\n\n“You see this line?\" Lisa asked, pointing to one just a few feet high. \"It’s about as high as my knee, the knee I hurt playing soccer.\" You and dad were there. You guys were always there, remember?\" Marie nodded her head.\n\n\"Not every kid had two parents, and the ones that did rarely had both parents at every game. But I did. You were there to comfort me that day while Dad was calling an ambulance.\"\n\n“Ah yes,” Marie chuckled, “If I remember correctly, he yelled at the surgeon before they wheeled you back. He made up for it though. Your dad wrote the nicest card afterwards, apologizing for the outburst and thanking the doctor for fixing his baby.”\n\n\"And how about this line?\" Lisa continued, pointing to a line about as high as her stomach. “This line is right at my belly button. Remember when I pierced it without your permission. You were so mad, but dad was calm, he brought the temperature down and we talked it out. I thought I was so clever when I asked you if you still loved me. Do you remember your answer?”\n\n“I do,” Marie answered and smiled. “I said ‘I’ll always love you, but I just don’t like you very much right now.’” The response causing both women to laugh.\n\n“And this line right up here,” Lisa said, calling Marie's attention to the highest line on the wall, “It’s exactly the height of my smile—the same smile that everyone says reminds them of Dad. I love when they say that. In a way it means he’s never really gone. You see Mom, you can feel free to paint over those lines because they won’t ever disappear. All of them are right here, in me. I am the memories and the stories. Those are just markings on a wall, the important things have always lived between the lines\"\n\n“How did you get so smart?” Maria asked, standing up and hugging her daughter.\n\n“I learned from the best mom ever.”\n\n“So what do you think of my paint job? Is it up to dad’s standards?”\n\n“Dad would be proud,” Lisa replied, giving her mom two thumbs up.\n\n“He was sure proud of you,” Marie said, smiling. “He loved this house and we loved this record of your life, but you're right. You are our legacy, you are the yardstick of our lives. Now do me a favor and stand against this wall.”\n\nLisa didn’t hesitate for a second, standing ramrod straight while her mother marked one last line and the date.\n\nThen, with a smile as broad as her paint roller, Marie covered over the lines, realizing she hadn’t erased them—she had finished them." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Grow Up\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1387\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the words: “Grow up.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Grow up. “Grow up!” I yelled. I was tired of waiting for the little seeds to burst through the earth. If it takes this long for a seedling to pop up, how long will it take to produce something to eat? Mom came outside and told me to be patient and they will grow. It takes time, patience, and a lot of love for vegetables to grow from a seed. I told mom that it’s hard to be patient at 8 years old. She laughed and said, “Johnny, the seeds will grow as long as you continue to take care of them. Just be patient.”\n\nMy mom was a waitress and lost her job due to a nasty virus that was going around. The restaurant completely shut down and the owner had no idea of when he would be opening back up. Dad was receiving a small unemployment check because his job shut down, too. Schools had also been closed, so I was missing the hot lunches from the lunch lady really bad. We had become “poor” within just a few months of the virus coming to town. \n\nI overheard mom and dad talking about the bills and the college fund account they had started for me when I was born. They had enough in the college fund to pay the house, car, and insurance payments for about 6 months. Dad’s unemployment check could cover the utilities but there wasn’t enough left over to buy groceries since mom wasn’t receiving an unemployment check yet. They were also discussing the local food pantry to get groceries and our local church to ask for a little help to buy monthly medications. \n\nThey next day, we made our first trip to the local food pantry. I could tell my parents felt embarrassed by needing to ask for help with groceries. The workers welcomed us and tried to help mom and dad feel comfortable. One lady walked over to me and asked if she could show me something while my parents were getting boxes of groceries. We walked over to a long white table that was covered in little paper packets. The packets had pictures of vegetables on them. She asked me if I would like to have some packets of seeds so I could grow my own veggies. My eyes got wide and I said, “Yes!”. She gave me one packet each of green beans, carrots, corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, and peppers. The nice lady told me how to plant the seeds and what to do to keep them growing. She also said that if I forgot what she told me that the directions were on the back of each seed packet. I thanked her for the seeds and told her I would plant them as soon as I got home. She put the seed packets in a brown paper lunch bag and gave them to me. I smiled and ran out the door to the car with my bag of treasures in my hand. Mom and dad were just closing the trunk of the car. I excitedly told them all about the seeds, how to plant them, and how to take care of them. They laughed at my excitement and said they would help get me started. Together, we put all of the groceries away when we got home then we went outside. Mom found flower pots and bags of potting soil in the garage and dad dug up a small section of sod in the backyard and used a hoe to soften the soil. I carefully planted the seeds and dad helped me with the water hose and showed me how to twist the nozzle for a light shower spray for the seeds. I was so very happy! \n\nLater that evening after supper, we drove to our church. I sat on the church steps as my parents went inside. The sun was shining and the cool air felt good. I thought about the seeds I had planted and wondered how much they may have grown since we planted them earlier that day. I was smiling to myself thinking about the veggies that would be growing soon. I also wondered if there would be enough veggies to give to my neighbors to help them since everyone was having the same job problems. My parents came out of the church looking relaxed for the first time in several months. I felt like everything was going to be ok. \n\nAs soon as we got back home, I ran behind the house to check on my seeds. My mouth dropped. Everything looked the same. Nothing had changed. I turned around and cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, “Mom! Dad! Someone stole my seeds!” They came out the back door and looked at me. They grinned from ear to ear. Mom said, “Johnny, it takes several days for the seeds to be in the soil before they start popping up.” I just hung my head down and walked towards the house. I was so disappointed. That night as I went to bed and said my prayers, I thanked God for helping my parents today and for the vegetable seeds. I also asked God if he would help them grow. I finished up my prayers, said “Amen” then fell into a deep sleep.\n\nI woke up early the next morning, got dressed, ate breakfast, brushed my teeth then ran outside to the backyard to check out my garden. Everything looked the same but I wasn’t as disappointed as yesterday since mom said it would take a few days for the seeds to start growing. I turned on the water hose and lightly watered my seeds. After I finished, I stuck my finger in the soil to make sure it wasn’t too dry. It was just right! Dad said if I use too much water at one time that the ground would become soggy and the seeds would rot. He said it was best to water them Just a little at a time. He was right! I turned off the water hose and helped dad clean out the garage. A couple of hours later, mom came out and said that lunch was ready. We were starved! After eating, mom helped me with my school work and I helped her fold laundry then we went outside to help dad finish up in the garage. That evening, we had a nice supper thanks to the food pantry. I helped my parents clean up the kitchen and put dishes away. I walked outside to look at my garden one last time before going to bed. No sign of anything green. Just dirt.\n\nThe next morning I raced outside to the garden again. No changes. “Why is it taking so long for the seeds to grow?” I asked myself. “Grow up!” I yelled in frustration. “Please, just grow”, I almost cried. Mom came outside and said it takes time to learn patience just like it takes time for seeds to grow. Mom held my hand and we walked around to the front of the house. Dad was already in the car waiting for us. Dad winked at me and said, “Let’s go fishing!” So the three of us went to a nearby lake. We fished and laughed at dad’s jokes while eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Dad caught three trout and mom fried them for supper. We had a great day! I was so tired that I went to bed without looking at my garden that evening.\n\nI laid in bed as the sun was shining through my bedroom window. I could hear mom in the kitchen. Dad came to my room to say that breakfast was ready. I got dressed, ate breakfast, brushed my teeth and this time I walked out to my garden. I didn’t run because I no longer expected to see anything yet. I think I learned patience. As I stared down at the soil, I could see just a little bit of green. I got on my knees for a closer look. “They grew!” I yelled. I could see little green leaves growing everywhere! I was so excited! I ran back in the house and told mom and dad they wouldn’t hear me yell, “Grow up!” anymore because they finally grew!" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: My Day with Jesus.\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1181\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone looking for a sign in a dark sky." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"I heard you!\" Young Andrew was speaking too loudly, being a bit rude to his parents.\n\"I know it's a school day. I don't want to be there. I hate Grade Six, I hate teachers, the kids are mean! I'm staying in bed.\"\nAndrew was called Young because his name was his father's name. His dad was now known as Old Andrew. His father looked worried, he had been trying to get counselling for Young Andrew's school refusal. But all the appointments were taken for months.\nYoung Andrew's mother said, \"Look, you only went to school for one week. Some kids are bullies, they should be expelled. We've had a word to your teacher, no naming names. I've got a gift for you. Here, I made it myself.\"\nYoung Andrew held in his hand a woolly Don't Worry Worm. It had a smile on its face, so he smiled back. This might be sign of hope and light in the darkness of his little world. He could take his worm everywhere with him.\nHe really wanted to play games with the others in Grade Six. But they had been totally mean, picking on him. They had thrown his bat on the school roof, so the teachers and handyman were cross with him.\n\"Now today, you are going to try to do some learning in the classroom. Those kids are supposed to be friends. Don't worry, your teacher is aware of the problem. You are not in trouble, got it?\"\nOld Andrew was being firm, he was a good family man. He only wanted all his own kids to be happy.\nSlowly, Young Andrew dressed and ate breakfast. He supposed he could arrive at school, and not take any notice of boys behaving badly. Complaints never worked. His Don't Worry Worm smiled at him, as he hid it in his shirt pocket.\nHis teacher, Ms. Rosehill smiled, and immediately gave everyone a Maths test. Bree, the pretty girl in front of him, smiled and flipped her hair. Young Andrew wondered if she had a Valentine.\nAfter Maths, it was writing time. Today, Grade Six, were allowed to type their essay. Young Andrew chose the topic, \"My Day with Jesus.\" He did have a good imagination. He was really good at typing, and enjoyed writing.\nYoung Andrew was all fired up. He not reached playtime yet, but he wanted to let bygones be bygones. He put on his thinking cap, and started typing. He shut his eyes for one minute, and could imagine Jesus standing next to him.\nThis is Young Andrew's story. \"Here is a breaking news flash from Grade Six, where all the action is today. I am going to spend the day with Jesus. I would first of all take him to the supermarket. Jesus and I would buy some frozen fish and bread rolls. Then we would take them to the Foodbank, and multiply. Between us, Jesus and Young Andrew here would make hunger disappear. We would send food all over the world, like a sign from God that Jesus is back here with us all.\"\n\"Next job for Jesus and me is to stop bullies in schools. I would not expel them. Jesus and I would show true kindness, and let them play with Young Andrew here. We would spend lunchtime playing healthy games for exercise. We would enjoy sunshine and fresh air, all for free.\"\n\"Now I am spending my day with Jesus, I would let him show true love to all families, so people care about each other. For people who are single, Jesus would share that no one is ever alone. I am a single guy too, but hey, I'm still only eleven years old. There is always hope, and different kinds of love. Jesus is our guide, that's what He can do.\"\nYoung Andrew kept on writing. \"If I could spend my day with Jesus, he and I would ban all illegal drugs. We would give everyone taking and selling drugs something better to replace them. They need better goals, and no more drug overdoses. Jesus and I would change all that too, while we are on a roll.\"\n\"If Jesus were here with me today, He and I would stop all drive-by shootings, make all the gangs fold up, so they can follow in Jesus' path, being kind instead of mean and nasty. Jesus can make that happen too.\"\n\"Now Jesus and I are spending the day together, we would cruise along to the park. He would teach me how to walk on the water in the lake there. That would be beyond so cool. All the kids here would wonder how I could do that. With Jesus, of course.\"\n\"After showing all of Grade Six that Jesus is still here, today He and I would stop all the armies in the world. No more bombs and weapons. He and I would save all the kids in the world from being killed by bombs. Jesus and I would feed them all and fly doves of peace around the world.\"\n\"Next, Jesus and Young Andrew here would raise our hands as He did in the olden days. We would let the Holy Spirit flow through us, to heal everyone who is sick in the world. Then finally, Jesus and I would do our best party trick. I would raise both my grandmothers, and give them a second chance of life, like Lazarus. They gave me good love and kindness, and always had my back. I have got a good family. All us kids just want to be happy.\"\n\"Finally, Jesus and I would give everyone in the world a Don't Worry Worm. We could all make one giant village of good friends, right around the planet. During my day of spending time with Jesus, I would stay here, and Jesus would stay here with me and all of us.\"\n\"After school, I would make good decisions, and be allowed to choose my own bedtime. Yah! I guess that's it, from your daily news, signing off, Young Andrew.\"\nYoung Andrew checked his essay, then pressed send to his teacher. He sat back, wondering where all his ideas came from. From Jesus, and his Don't Worry Worm. \"Wow!\"\nMs. Rosehill said the same thing. \"Wow, that's a great story. Banned the boring, all right.\" She read Young Andrew's story to the class. One of big boys gave him the thumbs up sign.\nBree turned around and winked, then popped a Valentine card on his desk at the end of the day in Grade Six. Naughty Cupid. Young Andrew winked back at her, and they walked home together.\nYoung Andrew had done it. He had kicked his own goals that day. He lay on his bed, looking at the Valentine Card from Bree. He rolled around, laughing. Maybe he wouldn't be single for long. His future in Grade Six looked bright ahead. Kids just wanted to have fun. His Don't Worry Worm smiled. Jesus and Young Andrew were besties, staying together, so everyone would believe in miracles." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Maya and the Hidden Sun\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2998\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about light returning to a place that has been deprived of it for a long time, literally or figuratively." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The heat left its mark on every little sand particle in the desert but that year was different, the Year of Maya as we call it today. The ground began to fade and grew lines until it looked like chapped lips. The little bugs with their bell-like ringing began to die out from thirst. Maya remembered finding their black carcasses burning under the unyielding sun. Because the bugs began to die out, the desert jackals became hungry and starved. Maya still shudders to this day when she remembers finding a half-eaten jackal while playing with her kite one orange-colored afternoon. She understood immediately that the poor jackals had to eat each other to survive.\nYet the biggest concern was the health of the plants. The plants couldn’t pollinate through the tiny bugs since there were so few left. Rainfall lessened and the tomatoes and carrots and apples and many other crops died out. Maya used to hold onto her stomach and whisper to it, “Please stop churning. We’ll eat at some point.”\nThe people of the desert became very angry. The elders used to tell stories of the former planet, the one humanity lost centuries ago. “We lost it,” they said, “due to a drought.” But they couldn’t remember what had started the drought. Now, hopeless and starved and frenzied, the people of Miraj turned to the Sun, and against it. They used to worship the Sun and bear witness to its turns, drawing from its healing warmth and building their pillars and temples pointing toward its divine dimension. Yet now they were ready to destroy their own God out of pure despair.\nOn that night, Maya was sound asleep and so were most villagers. From the sand-colored huts, witches and wizards wearing black and blue gathered and began whispering. Their meeting was later known as the Secret Trial of the Sun. They formed a circle deep in the desert and kindled a green fire. The green flames grew closer and closer to the Sun as the wizards and witches chanted their spells. Suddenly, a black circle grew on the Sun as their mad voices intensified. The circle began to cover the Sun and erase every sunray like an eclipse though the people of Miraj did not know what an eclipse was. It engulfed the Sun completely and left behind an eternal night.\nMaya woke up that morning but the sun did not. She looked outside to find the comfort of the sun rays but they were gone. At first, she thought the curtains were obstructing the light. But then she went outside and was astonished to find out it was night. The clock said it should be the start of the day. The sundial was silent.\nWeeks passed and the people slowly went mad. Many fell into an overwhelming depression. Riots broke out as the Mirajans fought for food. Dreams were slowly being replaced by nightmares as the night held onto its eternal reign.\nOne day, Maya’s mother gave her a hug and with tears in her eyes whispered, “Maya, you have to be strong and take care of yourself and of Inti. Lock the door and don’t leave the house. Your father and I will have to take a long trip to reach your grandparents. Hopefully, we will find food there.” Then, with bodies shivering from the pain of separation, her parents left.\nMaya looked at Inti, her fluffy beige dog. “It can’t end like this, Inti.” Then her blue eyes looked toward the spot where the Sun used to hang at noon. “I mean, the Sun gave us everything we needed to survive. And still, the people were angry. They forgot what they’ve received from the Sun and blamed its sunlight for the drought. I love the Sun, Inti. We must bring it back. Aren’t you tired of sitting around and waiting for something to happen?” As they were sitting on the porch, staring at the distant fires, something became illuminated like a tiny sun within Maya’s mind. “I know! We must go and look for the Sun. Maybe… maybe it’s hiding below the horizon.”\nShe rushed inside and prepared the provisions: twelve sandwiches, seven apples, a couple of hefty scoops of dry dog food, and all the water that could fit within two flasks. Maya stashed them all within the big backpack and off they went. They decided to go West since Maya thought, “It’s possible that the Sun set that night and then, for some reason, it just never rose again.”\nValleys and canyons passed them by as they walked through the night. Maya and Inti were lucky. They were always one step behind the starving jackals. They would find fresh prints in the sand and could feel the frustration lingering in the air. A couple of days after they left, they ran out of water. Maya tried to spare as much as possible but the desert was relentless in its austerity.\nThey reached a dried canyon when, suddenly, splotches of darkness lurked on the ground. Maya and Inti raised their sight to see vultures trying to hide behind the cliffs. Inti started to run in circles, barking with despair, trying to scare off the winged raptors. Maya froze. She looked at the vultures soaring toward them. A heavy tension tightened her body.\nYet, a couple of seconds later, Maya felt a strange power surrounding her. Her intuition spoke to her and, after a short moment of deliberation, she knew what she had to do. She caught Inti with her arms and tried to calm him down, whispering, “Inti, there is no use in trying to fight the vultures. Do you see how many there are? If they want to eat us, we won’t stand a chance. Let’s walk through this corridor slowly, showing them we are not afraid.” Inti didn’t understand her so Maya showed him by walking onward, emanating dignity and confidence.\nA vulture plunged off the cliffs, eyeing Maya, and still she was not afraid. It landed on her shoulder and stared with one eye into Maya’s soul. She felt that the bird was somehow talking to her. Within her mind, she could hear a voice.\n“You’re not like the others,” the voice said. “The others would’ve run to save their featherless behinds.”\nMaya opened her mouth. “Y-you can talk?!”\n“Of course I can talk. Vultures can always talk. It’s just that no one listens. But now that the night doesn’t end and the light is gone, thoughts and dreams are much easier to be seen… and heard.”\n“Thoughts and dreams? Am I dreaming?”\n“You aren’t. But you are listening to the thoughts around you, to the thoughts floating through the air.” The bird blinked. “We’ve been tracking you for dozens of miles and we know your intention. You’re trying to find the Sun, are you not?”\n“How do you know this?”\n“Your thoughts are as transparent as mine. Listen, we are looking for the same thing. Though vultures can see pretty well in the dark, it’s so easy to mistake a rabbit for a rock or a dried-up bush. And though I enjoy seeing so many stars swaying in the night sky, I really miss eating. And so, I miss the Sun.”\n“Oh poor little bird,” Maya uttered with empathy while gently rubbing its head.\nAfter letting itself be pet the vulture continues, “Maya, there’s a river not far away. You can fill your bottles there.”\nHalf an hour later, Maya, Inti, and a committee of vultures crouched down to drink the refreshing water of a shallow river. The helpful vulture, Nezhy, then asked Maya, “See that cliff over there?”\n“Barely.” Maya had to squint. Though she did realize that her eyes had adapted incredibly well to the perpetual darkness.\n“Well, if you go there, you’ll soon find an opening, a dark hole. It’s a large cave. We don’t usually mess with caves but the bats inside are friendly and we sometimes chat. They told me of a man living inside. He’s waiting for you, Maya. I think he knows how you could find the Sun.”\n“Then that’s where I’ll have to go. You have been so nice to us, Nezhy. I promise I’ll bring the Sun back for all of us.”\nInti barked into the blackness and his bark echoed lower and lower. Maya looked into his eyes while gulping heavily. “Well, since we’ve come all this way… might as well… .“\nThey walked through a narrow corridor when it suddenly branched off into four distinct paths. Maya sang a little counting-out rhyme – “Show the way and I will sway…” – and chose the third path. As they walked for an hour, the road forked again and again. It was as if the cave was a gigantic tree and they were traveling along its roots.\nInti stopped as his tiny ears twitched. Maya stared at him. An echoing burst of wind grew louder. Then, a brown bat with a large mouth landed next to them, hanging upside-down. “Hello, outsiders! What brings you to my cave? Have you heard about its massive size and lavish corridors?”\n“We’re looking for a man living here. A vulture told us he could help me find the Sun.”\n“Sun? What’s that?”\nMaya laughed. Then she understood the cave-dwelling bird’s confusion. Her mouth dropped slowly like a growing stalactite as the implications sank in. “Well… the Sun is a gigantic ball of light and fire which hangs on the sk… erm, above our heads, giving us warmth and life and everything we need.”\nThe bat took flight in circles of fright. “You… allow yourselves to live under a gigantic ball of fire?! You outsiders are weird. Indeed, outsiders are weird.”\n“Mister Bat, we are in desperate need of some help. Could you help us find this man?”\n“Can you not hear him,” the bat inquired.\n“Hear him?”\n“Shhh! Listen.” They listened for a couple of seconds, then minutes. Silence grew and engulfed them completely. Then, out of nothingness a faint murmur made itself known. It was a chant. They began to follow it, running from corridor to corridor until the chant grew louder and with it, a golden light.\nDeep inside the caverns they discovered a man sitting on a leather armchair with his toes lying on a Persian rug. Behind him a circular lamp cast a strong light.\nHe used his green staff to stand up. The man had a very long, white beard though he couldn’t have been older than forty. As he saw Maya, he sighed with relief.\n“Finally, you showed up. I was getting a bit bored.”\n“Who are you sir,” Maya demanded to know. “And how do you know about us and our journey?”\nThe man bowed. “My name is Aleph. I am a magician. Actually, I was there on the eve of the eternal night. I was part of the group of wizards and witches that have made the Sun disappear.”\n“And why have you done such a thing?! Don’t you have any heart,” Maya asked angrily.\n“I’m trying to find my heart. We… I was wrong. I actually realized that we were doing something vile the moment those green flames began to lift. I tried to stop the others but they put me to sleep. When I awoke, the sunlight had long gone. I am sorry, Maya. We were desperate and angry, terribly angry. But now I have to mend things. You, Maya, will be the one who will save us.”\n“Me?” Maya felt an enormous burden push her toward the ground. “Why me? What is it that I can actually do to bring the Sun back?”\nAleph smiled. He had a deep scar running diagonally over his mouth. “Well, first of all, you are a child. Can’t you see that the old people only tried to curse this and that, to destroy and to hope for the worst the moment the drought arrived? You, on the other hand, have the power of imagination on your side. You can imagine a new future since you are not bound by rigid thinking.”\n“And, second of all,” Aleph continued, “you are the only child who embarked on this journey. You accepted your fear and the dangers of the road and left your home to find the heart of our world, the Sun.”\nMaya stared at Inti’s brown eyes. She then noticed that his tongue was turning arid, like the desert. Every piece of skin was. She turned to Aleph. “Alright, what do we do?”\n“I will teach you how to meditate. You will learn to navigate the world of imagination and find the moon.”\n“Moon?”\n“Yes. You see, a moon is a large rock that orbits around planets. Our planet didn’t have one… well, it didn’t have one until our curse made one appear in front of the Sun. You have to tell the moon to step aside and let the Sun shine.”\nAnd so Aleph taught Maya how to sit in lotus position and imagine herself entering a portal and entering the world of imagination. The first time she meditated, Maya opened her mind’s eye to see a gigantic Inti. He was rolling around in a field made of pink wool. He came and licked her with his enormous tongue. She felt bliss.\nThen she opened her eyes to remember that she was still inside the cave, sitting next to Aleph and Inti and Mister Bat.\n“Now you have to learn to fly, Maya,” Aleph told her. Within her mind, she saw herself standing next to a cliff. Aleph appeared as a golden vulture. “Just believe that you can fly and jump. You will begin floating before you know it.” He jumped off the cliff and began soaring.\nMaya jumped as well but she couldn’t lift her body. She tried flapping her arms desperately. Then she fell into a dark pit and kept falling. The longer she fell, the more discouraged she became. “Maybe I’ll never find the Sun,” she told herself. “Maybe it’s all lost.”\nShe woke up from the meditation crying. She ran into the darkness of the caverns and was gone. Inti followed her, barking with concern. Aleph started to shout, “Maya! Maya! Come back, you’re doing a great job!”\nMaya was hiding in a fetal position in a narrow opening in the rock. The tears kept falling and she felt as if the Sun within her chest was also turning dark. Inti came as quickly as he could and licked her tears vigorously.\nMaya froze. She remembered the way Inti used to lick her cheeks when she was a baby. She remembered her mother’s embrace and her father’s voice. A small sliver of hope grew like saplings in the soil of her mind. Within herself, she felt an orange sliver of light shining the way the Sun shines its first morning light into the world.\nAleph was pacing to and fro when Maya arrived. “I want to try again.” He smiled and hugged her before whispering, “If desperate people are able to create a moon out of nothing, then you can fly, my dear Maya.”\nThis time, Maya made sure to concentrate and to dispel any fear. Within her mind, she stood at the edge of the cliff and looked at Aleph, the golden vulture. “If I repeat an idea long enough, it becomes true, right?”\n“Right.”\nShe closed her eyes and began telling herself over and over again: “I can fly, I can fly, I can fly… .” The fact that it did not happen right away didn’t stop her from repeating the words again and again. And after one thousand and one utterances, her feet began to float. She began to rise like the Sun. “Look, Inti! I can fly!”\nFloating like the wind, the powers of her imagination took her into space. She passed through the petals of lilac flowers the size of planets, through nebulas made of gold and turquoise spots. Finally, she reached the Moon.\nIt was a great silver sphere with an ethereal face of a woman. She landed on her surface and found a crater. Inside the crater, one of the many ears of the Moon, Maya whispered, “Please, Moon, could you step aside so we can see the Sun once more? We miss it dearly.”\n“But I want to be seen too,” cried the Moon. “Why should the Sun be the only one in the sky?”\nMaya didn’t have an answer so she sat on the gray surface and glanced at the slimy lunar monsters creeping about. She noticed the way in which the monsters gave each other space to move. ‘Polite little monsters,’ she thought.\nThen an idea struck her and the Sun inside her heart grew strong. “Oh, Miss Moon! I know what you can do! Why don’t you let the Sun have the sky for the entire day as you hide somewhere in the corner. Then, at night, you’ll shine as the brightest sphere out there, brighter than any star. Wouldn’t you like that?”\nThe Moon began to glow from excitement and joy. “What a beautiful idea, young child! Alright, if the Sun is so important to you, I’ll let him honor you with his presence.”\nMaya woke up with a smile on her face. When she saw her eyes open, Aleph felt as if he was reborn. Inti was ecstatic to find his most beloved creature petting him once again.\nAs they came closer to the surface, they said goodbye to Mister Bat. “I hope you find your light again, you crazy outsiders,” the bat said before flying away.\nMaya stared at the blinding light just beyond the gate. She took a deep breath and then she jumped like a golden vulture into the sunlight. There was joy in the air. Every cell in Maya’s body felt reawakened by the heat, just as every sand particle glowed like a tiny Sun." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Flame\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1016\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who has been tasked to keep a flame burning, surrounded by total darkness." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I have been sitting here all night, to keep this one small flame burning. I do not grow tired. I do not grow weary. I do not grow thirsty. I gaze at the flame. The flame is beautiful. The flame is everything. The darkness surrounds me. And the wind continues to blow. It sounds tortured. It blows in heavy gusts. But the wind doesn't affect me. It doesn't bother me. I am not troubled by it. Only the flame. The flame is the only illumination, in a world of darkness. The howling of the wind is constant. I am all alone in my vigil. There is no one left to do this. Only me. I will not fail at my task. All are gone. All are dead. I am the only one left.\nThe Great War took everyone. On both sides. This is now a wasteland. No one is left, only me. Humankind is finished. They are over with. They are no more. They have destroyed themselves. It started with blows, shouts of hatred and rage, fists raised in defiance and in anger. Then came the threats. Then the use of guns. Then bombs. Then rockets. Then nuclear weapons. The horror.\nNow it is just me. I alone survived. I believe I was unconscious for a while. Maybe a short time. Maybe a long time. I walked this dead, empty landscape unchallenged. I wore white, a garment loose and flowing and hanging to my knees. This garment was clean. Snow white. But I did not wonder about that. The ground smoking but containing no heat. My feet bare, but unscathed. I did not know where I was going. I had no destination in mind. I just kept walking. No goal, no destiny. Just an urge to keep moving. Keep walking. To where, and for what, I do not know. I cannot remember before. I can only remember now. And I walked.\nI looked up as I walked. The sky was a dark purple black. A color this world has never before witnessed. Up ahead there was something white, small cloudy. It was glowing, pulsing in waves. It glowed in waves. I walked toward it, all unknowing. In this dead world, was there life? Was there energy? Was their movement? I headed for that pulsing glow. On this black terrain, it was all. I kept walking, the small glow getting bigger.\nAt last I stood in front of it. A small white partially translucent bowl with a dancing flame inside of it. The small bowl was sitting on top of a solid white pillar. Round, and plain. Unremarkable. Only the bowl was alive. Only the bowl glowed. The flame burned shades of violet, blue and a black that glowed. It was beautiful. How long I stood transfixed I do not know. I continued to stare, and the flame continued to dance. I may have stood for days or just for a few minutes. I might not ever know. Was it important? I do not know. I may never know. It simply, is.\nThere was a loud bang. And the ground shook. The sky lit up. It glowed white. And in the white I saw words in black.\n\"The light is the life. The light is the way. The hope for humanity is in the light. It is all. It is everything. It is. You are the keeper of the flame. In a world destroyed you stand alone. You are the last hope of humankind. You must guard the flame. You are the keeper. Guard it well. Keep the flame alive.\"\nI do not know who I am. I do not know why I am here. I cannot remember anything. I only remember the bombs. The explosions. The ground shaking. Everything blowing up. Everything disinegrating. Then the walking. The walking, and the glow. The bowl. The dancing violet flames. But this is my mission, now. This is my goal. This is my job. I am the last hope. The only hope. I will keep this flame going. I took two steps backwards, and the flame dimmed. I took two steps forward and the flame leaped higher. We are linked. This flame and me. I sat down on the ground close to the pillar. Beneath the bowl. The glowing bowl.\nAs I lowered myself, I felt two sharp tugs on both my shoulders. I reached behind me with one hand. I felt softness. Something light. I gently pulled this white, light, object around to the front. Small tension on my shoulder. I reached around in back of me with my other hand. I drew my hand around to the front. Same thing. Identical to what I was holding in my other hand. What were these strange constructs? Why did holding onto them cause a small tension in both my shoulders.\nThere was a loud crack like thunder. Black writing overhead. \"Wings,\" I read. \"Those are wings. You are Armageddon. You are the beginning. You are the end. You are the hope.\"\nStill I sit, and watch the flame. The flame is everything. The flame is all. Beautiful. Black and violet and blue. Dancing. Writhing, and I am the keeper. I am the guardian. This is who I am. And still I sit. It is who I am. My name is Armageddon. I am the beginning. I am the end. I am forever. I am always.\nI bring my knees up. I rest my head on my knees. The \"wings\" wrap around me. They shield me. I can still see the bowl, the glow through these wings. The glow comforts me. The wings comfort me. When it is time. I will know. I will know. There will be writing in the sky. The letters will be in black. The writing will tell me what to do. I will know what to do. My name is Armageddon. That is who I am. And I have wings. Wings. And they comfort me in this dead world. With it's blackened, smoking terrain. That and the flame. The flame is forever. It is all." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Forest Unknown\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1062\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who doesn’t want to go to sleep." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Forest Unknown\nI walk through the forest, I'm supposed to be asleep. There’s a scent in the air, and its covering me like a heavy moist blanket (the nice kind) and the biting brisk wind is awakening. I walk on the forest floor, hues of green and brown surrounding me in layers.\nThe twigs snap under my boots and my candle lights the way, for heaven forbid I use a torch and modernise myself on this walk I am taking.\nBut I cannot remember what made me get up, or why I even started this journey impromptu. But I do know that the least I cant to is enjoy it, and for once in my life, quietly observe for the while, finally watching as a bystander and not the centre of the rapt attention that I used to demand.\nWith a deep breath in, I inhale the petrichor in the air. I have strayed far away from the path I was in, If I had one in the first place, for I have not looked back in a what seems like centuries. Time has never been fluid for me, it has always been planned, to the T. I wonder, if this is what peace feels like.\n“Am I allowed to selfish? Just for a little while? In this place, a safe haven of sorts, where no one can hear, see or judge me for my choices and what I do.” I have never felt this free before, this light…. It doesn’t feel… humane…\nI walk on, beginning to remember who I am.\nA person, just like the rest, a jack of all trades, who never found her chest,\nof gold and wonder for she swum shallow,\n but her chained chest forever remained hollow,\nwithout a voice or the strength to holler;\n\nIt’s true, I do feel empty still, but the more I move forward, the less the emptiness aches. And within me my soul glows, with the colour that it shone so many years ago, I feel refreshed, reborn again cleaned under the pouring rain.\nSomething is missing, I’m sure of it, is it perhaps success, the one that my household craved? The only reason for my existence? But it doesn’t matter to me anymore, I may have lacked much, but never compassion, never love, never the understanding of the heavens above.\nI do remember my skin colour, although it’s dark tonight, a rich creamy brown that shone so bright, my complexion matched my home and the texture it wore, but yet I was never the one that could be adored. My insecurities rush to me with open arms, and will not shun them, I will just render them calm.\nTo be disgraced and shunned, for petty things that never mattered, are no longer my concern, it is now a forgetful chapter. And if I am, to remember it, I will pride in how I dealt with it.\nAfter all, past wounds are not meant to be reopened, but sometimes they leave a mark, some a painful scar. But that is the beautiful thing about being humane, you can feel all these emotions, and yet, hold yourself back and never go insane. Or perhaps it didn’t work, and you’re not who you used to be, then grow more and flourish, like a changeling seed.\nAre there faeries in this forest, perhaps a winged one or two? Is it right to give in to my imagination, just for the muse? My walk has been long and I am growing tired, and my candle is flickering out, as if reflecting the mood that I have acquired. I am a bit scared, it is growing darker, I scoff, at the irony of the representation of my path.\nBut I trudge on, with no other way to go but forward, I feel my body growing old, my bones weaker, but I trudge on, hoping that my impaired eyesight will not drag me down, will I get a bit of light, at least now?\nI start seeing this forest that is filled with obstacles in a different way… I can view it a bit differently now, I think of how I would overcome it, what would be the outcome, and yet it is my gut feeling I follow hoping to trust my weak body in ways I could never touch my mind.\nI feel even older now, but I still think clearly, my sagging skin will not stop me, I feel a little wiser as I hear the owls hoot, wondering if their conversation is one I can indulge in too. They are calling me out on my outdated ways, and although time wanders on, the criticism of incoherent voices will never change.\nAlthough I have slowed down my pace, the growth of the forest is not as kind, although I can still smell fresh earth in spots here and there, it isn’t enough. And is that not the sad truth of mankind? “It is never enough”.\nI amble on, starting to deter from my undefined path, I need to rest, and so does my heart. But it’s then that I see them, tiny sparkles shimmering in the air, like the twinkling stars that I could once see, but I am now hidden under an urban canopy.\nThey are gorgeous and detailed, bright and happy, careless and free with grace and dignity. Like little angels that know they matter, aware that quality wins over quantity in a fair play. Their glimmering light beckons me, away the hills and mountains so steep, back in to a part of the forest that I once knew, a little bumpy and unstable, but one that always sees you through.\nThe dusted wonders are slowing down for me, letting me catch my breath as if it is now alright for me, as if it is understandable to want to take a breather every now and then. Their patience flows through me like warm, real sunlight.\nAnd I can see, a few metres in front of me, a rift, rimmed in hues and colours that I have never seen. It holds on waiting patiently, wide open and embracing me, ever so softly. For the door knows what I now am aware of, the reason that I never wanted to fall asleep, that I might never awake, or have a soul, to keep." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Sun Will Rise\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1220\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who doesn’t want to go to sleep." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I pull back the cool bed sheets and climb out of bed. My feet sink into the carpet and the floor creaks under every step but the fear of waking my parents is drowned out by the relaxed and calm atmosphere. The light breeze whispers through my window and my curtains flutter to a song only they used to know. Now, my mind recognizes the song too and it dances along, never stopping to take a breath.\nIt took me a long time to find the right definition for the word peace. Only now, after years of unconscious searching, have I found it. \nSitting down on the reading ledge next to my window, I pull my feet up and toss a light blanket over them before reaching for my phone which was sitting on my desk. In my hands now, the cracked screen lights up and a picture of my cat appears. Swiping up, I unlock the phone and click on Spotify, my favorite music app.\nAt first, I’m not sure what song or playlist to click on so I sit there in silence and just listen to the nighttime sounds from outside. The sky is without a single cloud, letting the stars shine bright and the moon show clearly. Looking out across the front yard, I can see the silhouettes of fences and trees. The garage’s small nighttime light only plays on the stones of the driveway and doesn’t reach out to the grassy yard, which I know desperately needs mowed.\nI consider climbing back into bed, I do have field hockey practice tomorrow morning, but the crickets and stars tell me I don’t want to miss this. Hearing those words as I talk to myself in my head, I click the search bar in Spotify and look up a song, one very fitting for the moment. Clicking the volume from silent to only one notch, I let the music flow from the phone and swirl across the room.\n“Peace”, my best friend once told me, “is sitting by the fireplace on a cold winter day and drinking hot chocolate and listening to music. And probably sitting there with family too. And friends.”\nShe’d said this in the middle of summer, when the temperature had reached its peak. My only guess for her answer is she wanted winter to come so she could cool off. While I could agree with her in that moment, I couldn’t agree now. Peace had filled my bedroom and even though the sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago, the moon was here to bring me joy.\nLike it always did, my mind drifted and I couldn’t help but wonder what other people were doing at that exact moment. In books, a character up at two in the morning would normally have a pretty good reason for it. One book I’d read years ago told the story of a nineteen year old who’s dad was abusive and would wake her and her siblings up in the middle of the night. In another book, the main character would only be up at this time if bombs were falling. Yet another book would have anxiety, fear, or depression keeping the character awake. And I was awake because my life felt perfect on July twelfth at two o’clock in the morning.\nSuddenly, I no longer felt completely calm. Picturing bombs and guns and fists and yelling mouths and rushing thoughts hadn’t settled well with me. Why should I be allowed to sit here and stare out the window of my structurally sound house when other people don't have a home or a window or a safe place to sleep? Why was this world so cruel?\nBefore I could completely lose my mind, I jumped up and grabbed my journal and favorite pen. Questions filled the page, questions that will probably never be answered, questions that can’t be answered.\nWhere does hatred come from?\nWhat truly is good vs evil?\nHow do we know right from wrong?\nHow do people’s brains lead them astray?\nWhy is the world so painful?\nWhy are we judged for things we can’t help?\nWhy do horrible diseases exist?\nHow can personalities and moods change in an instant?\nWhat is a true friend?\nWhat does true love feel like?\nWhat is true love?\nDoes life send up symbols or signs?\nHow can we tell a symbol/sign from ordinary things?\nHow do we know what a symbol/sign is supposed to symbolize/mean?\nWhat is life?\nWhat is death?\nWhat is love, grace, faith, mercy, hope?\nThe questions kept coming. I’d filled two pages with them until I felt exhausted. The night air felt cooler than it had before. I shifted position and pulled the blanket over my legs and arms. Restless but suddenly not so at peace with the world, I fell into a different world, a world of dreams.\n***\nWhen I woke, it was to the sound of a rooster crowing. Looking out through the window, I could see the moon had disappeared and the sky was starting to brighten. I threw the blanket off, too hot to want it, and stood up on wobbly legs to see the time. My phone, which I had placed back on my desk, was still playing music. Turning off the music, I watched the time turn from 6:32 to 6:33.\nThe window on the opposite side of my room displayed a wonderful sunrise. Peering out, I saw brush strokes of pink and orange slowly getting bigger and brighter by the minute. They spread up into the sky, making the clouds that had appeared overnight seem like puffs of cotton candy. The whole sunrise was filling dark corners with light and finding beauty where there normally wasn’t any.\nAnd then it faded. The sky shaped itself to look like an everyday, summer sky with white clouds in streaks too long for my eyes to follow. The light shone on the green of the tree leaves and orange of the marigolds in the flower bed. The rooster continued to crow, inviting the sun to show its face and not just its light. And it did. The sun brought blinding light over the horizon and with it, life to the sleepers.\nI stood at that other window, for what seemed like hours, until the sun was fully visible and forming shadows with the trees. The birds had come out to sing their songs and the sheep had gone out for an early breakfast.\nI headed downstairs for my breakfast, my stomach telling me I was already late. Through the kitchen windows, I could still see the dew on the grass and the common blue violets opening their flowers.\n“Good morning”, my dad said. “Did you sleep well?”\nI shrugged and went with the honest answer. “I slept on my reading ledge and only got about four hours of sleep, but yeah.”\n“Of course you did”, he responded, but there was a smile on his face. “I’m making pancakes soon but then we should go do the chores.”\nAfter pancakes and conversation, I stepped into the mudroom, pulled on my muck boots, and grabbed the water bucket. The familiarity of the everyday steps was comforting. But nothing was better than pulling open that door and stepping into the sunshine." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Diary Entry of a Troubled Young Man\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1018\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone looking for a sign in a dark sky." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Consistency, a fleeting fragment of a component in character that many search so one knows that they took control of their life. I ask, can peace and freedom be found in consistency? How much easier would it be to follow along with those who crave adventure and find their meaning in new skies. New skies are where you can find the new you. Or those who find it all in the moment. A moment where you love yourself because there's nothing but that one moment to go off of.\nI'm not in any of these categories and I lament for myself and others who suffer the same. Will we find ourselves in one later in life or become content with the mess of a person we become?\nI have stared at the same night sky no matter how far I've gong and that consists of thousands of miles and thousands of days. That growth and change that people strive for I never found.\nMeaning, it's come and go, the same with peace. Consistency is not in the cards for me either, despite that same wicked sky. If the end of the world, my world, bring upon a new sky? What a foolish notion.\n\"It's so comfortable, isn't it?\" I ask the man standing next to me as we overlook the moon casting its reflection off the lake. The scene was so tranquil I found it suffocating. This is not usual. The moon full night always released me with this being the only exception. A young man like me who holds good character closer than blood and family finds this struggle inevitable. It's because I follow an abstract dream I don't understand.\nThere are times I want to join the others, the parties, the drinking, the foolishness. The dirty jokes and swearing and fighting. But I'm too far from them despite my desire to be closer. Consistently a contradiction. At least I'm that. But not comfortable.\n\"No,\" the man answers. \"The night can't be comfortable for you tonight.\"\nI laugh, \"why not? It usually works. All the weight I can release with a breath. Not this particular night, though.\"\n\"Stop talking like that, no one knows what you are saying,\" he said in an amused tone.\n\"I think it's weird too, I... Just find it easier to talk to you like that.\"\n\"You sleep when it's day and come to life at night to look at the sunlight bouncing off the moon. You should fix your sleep schedule.\"\n\"I would if it was that easy.\"\n\"You're right. It's not easy. That's why the night cannot be easy for you just like how the day cannot.\"\n\"But the day life is too much,\" I whined with a smile.\nI've bounced from school to school, job to job, and failed so many times. It's been so long I don't even want success. The only feeling I want I get when I sit by the lakeside and talk to this man. He makes fun of me sometimes, but I know he loves these moments we exchange. I would like to exchange more moments like this with him, maybe then I would receive more guidance. A bit more clarity or even blind peace would be nice.\nNo, this man won't allow anything to blind me. Every word and action of his has profound meaning.\nThe waters look so dark. The stars cannot be seen in them yet they're so bright this night. I'm not even in the water but it terrified me.\n\"I'm afraid,\" I say.\n\"So am I.\"\n\"What are you afraid of?\"\n\"You will sail off one day and there will be nights where you only see black waters and a sky with no light. The stars will be concealed in thick clouds and the moon will hide from your eyes.\"\nI sought the meaning in the words and failed to find them. He was speaking so plainly, which was uncommon, so why?\n\"It will be you and the boat, and the powers of chaos will envelop you. A challenge like no other, one you are destined to fail.\"\n\"Now you are talking all weird,\" I said half-heartedly. My voice was as obstructed as my vision.\nHis smile was so pained I couldn't help myself. The man did not embrace me, so I found no comfort in my tears.\n\"A deep ocean, much deeper than this lake before you and a sky that stretches farther than any evil. Evil always finds a way in this universe and that evil will come for you. This is not about you maturing, this about your prayer coming true.\"\nHe's right. I asked the Father for something. That request and all the details are between us and the man.\n\"Why will I fail?\"\n\"I know you don't comprehend my words right now but the answer to that question, you already know.\"\n\"He will succeed.\"\nA single cloud covered the moon and there was only the starlight in this part of night.\nThe man was gone.\nI have no control over consistency, neither peace nor freedom. No paddle to direct the boat and I was too terrified to use my hand in the water. Life pushed me around like the moon's pull against the waves. So many factors come before me and a choice I want to make that I realize I'm at the bottom of the hierarchy.\nTime, space, matter, events, other people. . . God. All of these have an influence on my reality before I have a say. Even if I interpret the world, it only becomes an option after the world does what it wants. Then there's God, the one at the top of order. He came to speak with me and now I'm left in the water alone without His light.\nIs this a coming-of-age story?\nI'd be upset if it was just that. There's too many of these dark skies for me to accept it. Maybe it is and I'm being stubborn.\nI'm once again left alone, knowing nothing and looking for answers in a dark sky. A dark existence." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Just Right 🚪🗝\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1198\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who doesn’t want to go to sleep." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Come on Bea calm down for me!”\n“I WILL NOT CALM DOWN, DADDY! I TOLD YOU THIS WOULD HAPPEN BUT NOBODY LISTENS!”\n“Of course we do!”\n“NOOOO YOU DON’T!”\n“The noise you’re making, I’d be surprised if the whole world wasn’t listening in to your tantrum podcast.”\n“OH VERY FUNNY, DADDY. MR COMEDIAN NOW ARE WE?”\n“Well you have to admit you’re being a bit silly.”\n“SILLY! ME, SILLY?!? YOU’RE THE ONE WHO LEFT THE FRONT DOOR UNLOCKED!”\n“…”\n“WHAT’S WRONG? NOT GOT ANYTHING FUNNY TO SAY?”\n“Bea, it has been a long day and we all need a rest.”\n“WELL I’D LOVE TO DO THAT, DADDY BUT SOMEBODY LEFT OUR HOME UNLOCKED AND NOW WE’VE BEEN ROBBED!!!”\n“I know but as soon as Mummy sorts out your bed you can…”\n“SLEEP HERE? NO WAY! I’M NEVER SLEEPING HERE AGAIN! IT’S NOT SAFE!”\n“Please try and stop shouting! Of course it’s safe. I’m going to get an alarm fitted.”\n“WHAT’S THAT FOR, TO TELL YOU WHEN YOU’RE BEING AN IDIOT? I COULD DO THAT FOR FREEEEE!”\n“And you do on a regular basis but I still put up with it.”\n“YOU DON’T HAVE TO.”\n“What do you mean?”\n“YOU COULD LEAVE WHENEVER YOU LIKE. WE’D BE MUCH SAFER THAT’S FOR SURE BECAUSE AT LEAST MUMMY UNDERSTANDS HOW TO LOCK A DOOR!”\n“You don’t mean that!”\n“YES I DO! GO ON! LEAVE!!! I THINK YOU KNOW WHERE THE DOOR IS AND HOW TO USE IT… WELL HOW TO OPEN IT ANYWAY.”\n“Grrrr now Bea, we both know you’re going through lots of changes lately and it’s clearly affecting your behaviour and moods in lots of ways but you’re being really unfair now.”\n“AM I? I THINK I’M BEING LITTLE MISS FAIREST OF THEM ALL!”\n“Please Bea, just take a breath and try and think before you keep speaking.”\n“… Pfffft okay I’ll talk normally for a bit. I’m fine, Daddy. I just think… maybe I deserve this!”\n“Hey don’t be daft! Come on, come here, have one of my cosy bear hugs that always used to cheer you up.”\n“GET OFF ME YOU PERV! TOUCH ME AGAIN AND I’LL CALL CHILDLINE!!”\n“Good grief! We really need to look at who you’re mixing with at school. Where are you picking up these things you’re coming out with?”\n“Seriously! I’m too old for hugs, Daddy! Just try and listen to what I’m saying to you for once in your life!”\n“Okay let me take a seat.”\n“Oh!? What are you doing?”\n“You think I never listen so here I am! I’m all ears.”\n“Right! Didn’t expect you to… nevermind! Okay here goes… I’m just going to talk but if you interrupt me Daddy I will sleep in the flipping woods forever!”\n“I promise… this is not me interrupting you by the way. Daddy mouth closed from now on.”\n“Wow! The power! So here’s the thing… and I know you think I’m being silly but I’m so scared all the time. At home, at school, on holiday… everywhere! Life terrifies me. I want to be a baby forever! It’s so much easier not having any cares in the world, no troubles or strife, but I can feel and see I’m changing and I can’t control it. I know I’m being horrible to you and Mummy but I can’t seem to stop myself and… this doesn’t mean I will magically stop from now on! But I know you and Mummy will always forgive me… unless I scratch out your eyes or something. Don’t worry I won’t do that or run away or call Childline! I just say these things in the hope you’ll listen. If I had my way I’d stay at home forever but the thought of someone coming into our home, lounging on our furniture, eating our food and having a nap has really upset me. WHY CAN’T I BE NORMAL?? Maybe I will come in for a hug now.”\n“Of course, come here little one. Oh Bea, you are completely normal to react like this! I know you feel we never listen but we do and we love you so much. You’re our baby, always will be, and the most important thing in our lives. Why else do you think your Mum has been upstairs cleaning up your room for the last hour? We want you to be happy so remember even though your feelings and emotions are out of our control, we do take your comments to heart because it upsets us to see you like this!”\n“I know! It’s my stupid brain!”\n“Oh stop that! It happens to us all.”\n“Even you and Mummy?”\n“Oh yeah! I remember shouting at my Dad so loud when I was a teenager that the kitchen windows shattered and our neighbour’s cat almost got its head chopped off by flying glass.”\n“REALLY???!!”\n“Poor Puss had a nervous twitch after that. I remember accidentally letting a swarm of bees into our house once.”\n“You’re making this up!”\n“No I’m serious, still don’t know how I did it but I went to see my dad’s hives in his allotment and they got out and followed me home.”\n“Got out or you forgot to close the hive?”\n“Erm well not forgot really… I just…”\n“Thinking about it Daddy that does sound like something you would do. Leaving something open by accident.”\n“God! You’re right!”\n“Bet Mummy wasn’t as bad as us!”\n“Oh yeah! Get this… Mummy ran away from Granny and Grandpa’s cottage for two days and they found her stealing iced buns from the village bakery.”\n“HA!! Why have you never told me this before?”\n“Mainly because we didn’t want to give you any ideas for future incidents and we’re trying to be good parents and grown ups.”\n“You are! You are the best parents I could ever hope for… even if you are REALLLLLY ANNOYING SOMETIMES!!”\n“Parents are meant to be annoying and embarrassing. How else are we going to get any enjoyment out of it?”\n“Hehe! Love you Daddy. And thank you for finally listening.”\n“My pleasure. Just maybe try listening to us now and again as well. Who knows we might both learn something.”\n“Yeahhhh…. maybe.”\n———\n“Bed sheets, covers and duvet changed and all back to normal”\n“Yay! Thanks Mummy!”\n“What’s been going on down here? I couldn’t concentrate with all the shouting and stomping around?”\n“Oh Daddy and I had a good chat”\n“I can tell because your father hasn’t put the chairs back, washed the bowls or got rid of the porridge yet! I had to chase that sleepy blonde out of our house because you didn’t want to wake her, remember? I can’t do everything!”\n“Sorry love I was going to do it but we got talking and Bea really needed to…”\n“Tell me later… make me a tea, let me put my feet up in my favourite chair and then crack on! Off you go to bed Bea!”\n“Yes Mummy! Night Daddy!”\n“Night my little baby bear!”\n“Yuck I hate it when you call me that! I’m a lady bear now.”\n“See you in the morning!”\n“…and Daddy?”\n“Yeah?”\n“Don’t forget to lock the…”\n“GRRRRR! BED!!!???”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Would You?\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1153\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who doesn’t want to go to sleep." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The first glimpse of the ceiling and shortness of breath told him everything he needed to know about the events that were about to take place. He scanned the room left to right, up and down, looking for what he knew was inevitably coming. \nTwo years of restless nights and it still hasn’t settled down. Not even a little. Day after day he found it all the more difficult to focus on the task at hand, let alone enjoy himself outside of his daily obligations. Work became harder and harder, demeanor took a dive and his enthusiasm, or lack thereof, was becoming noticed by friends and coworkers alike. He’d tried everything that was available to him. Melatonin and prescriptions were a no go, often intensifying the nightmares that already tainted his nights. A few sleep studies that amounted to nothing more than hefty bills from the doctors. A cup of tea with a book in bed, worth a shot right? His optimism proved a failure. \nOn this night his unfortunate sleep habits took a turn for the worse and evolved into something far, far worse. His eyes opened slowly. Initial confusion set in. That feeling you sometimes get when you’re completely unaware of where you are hit him. You lay down for a nap at 30 years old and next thing you know its 9am and you just missed the school bus heading for 4th grade. A thought (or reality at the moment) like that passes quickly. What was happening was new and strange. And scary. \nHis grogginess faded and his eyes were now open and operating regularly. Peering to the backside of his right hand, he made multiple attempts to move his fingers. Nothing. Left was the same. He shot his sight towards his toes which stuck upwards, raising his blanket at the edge of the bed. He made an attempt to wiggle his toes, to no avail. Sweat now dropping from his brow down his temples, he began to grunt. After a few of these attempts to vocalize his way out of this stupor, this paralysis, the fear set in and the grunts turned into cries. Tears now added to the area of moisture on his pillow due to the sweat that was and continued to pour of off him. \nIt stood in the corner. The shadow. Enough light from the street lamps outside made its way through the window that he was able to make out its shape. Tall, skinny. The hands seemed large. More claw then hand and finger. Its body made a slow turn, shoulders rotating while the head stayed exactly where it was. Taking small exaggerated steps towards the opposite corner of the room like a cartoon character sneaking around, its gaze never left him. Motionless again, it stared. With every second passing the terror rose in him. He could feel pressure pushing down on him as he remained glued to the bed. The room emitting such malevolence. Sinking into the floor, it lost its height. Shadow collapsing into shadow. Crying, groaning, and squeezing his eyes as tight as he could. Anything to get his body moving. The limited light from outside the window lit up a small part of his chest and stomach. As his breathes came faster and faster, the light on his torso grew smaller. His eyes shot up to the corner of his head. Out of his peripherals he saw the shadow rise out of the floor by the top corner of his bed. Maybe a foot away. He was screaming internally. On the cusp of hyperventilating when the claw like hand rose and moved towards his face. Its touch was sharp and cut deep along his forehead. Disgusting noises come from its mouth. Raspy, long breathes followed by the sound of it collecting its saliva that coated its mouth in the form of a long slurp. His sight went black and he jolted up in bed violently. Sun now shone in the bedroom. Walking to the mirror on his dresser across the room he bends and looks at his face. Three streaks of dry crusted blood.\nKnees tucked into his chest and his hands around his shins. He rocked back and forth shooting his eyesight from the ceiling to every corner of the bedroom. Curtains drawn back fully revealed a gray, desolate sky. After enduring the hours of the day following the events of the night prior he knew that eventually his body would shut down and he’d once again suffer the torment of what awoke at night, while he himself slept. There was a stillness inside his room. Fear kept him off of his bed. Two sleepless years was painful enough. Was this a single episode? A hallucination of his exhausted mind perhaps? Or was it a new chapter in his nightly torment. Over and over again he tried to convince himself that it would end.\nThe gray outside became black. He stood before the bedroom window, weak at the knees. Slow tears streamed from his eyes. His loops shook and he let out a sob. He turned to sit on the edge of his bed. One swung one leg at a time up on to the bed and tucked himself in, pulling the covers up and under his chin. When you’re young you’re told that under the blankets nothing can harm you. Feeling helpless, feeling scared, more scared then he’s ever been in his life, he closed his eyes. \n A low, slimy voice came from the shadow. Speaking slowly it eyed him from top to bottom. “This…this is what awaits you at night. We decide….we decide when you see, and we decide when to take you…..and we will see you….again”. That voice that held in it so much depth and evil and pain turned into a high pitch screech. It reared its head back and smothered its face with its claws momentarily muffling its scream. More rose out of the floor, out of the shadows, one at a time. The screeches gaining pitch as they grew taller. They came from the walls and the ceiling. All around him now they inched closer and closer to the bed. The screeching halted and silence enveloped the bedroom. Eyes closing slowly, realization came to him. This was his life now. A waiting game. And every morning when he woke he would accept the monotony of daily life, only to make repeat the hell that was nighttime. \nSix months passed and with it came six months of looking himself in the mirror every day, running his fingers slowly across the parallel scar tissue on his forehead. Stripped now of everything that he once was. Existing during the day, only to suffer at night. A lifeless-life. Whether they were going to show up on any given night he did not know. What he did know was this…\nHe never wanted to sleep again. \nWould you?" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Gee Einstein, Stay Awake\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1456\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who doesn’t want to go to sleep." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Gilbert Einstein awoke to the smell of breakfast simmering in the kitchen. His stomach growled with hunger, but he didn’t go downstairs immediately. I’m forgetting something, he thought. But as much as he tried, Gilbert couldn’t recall what it was, so he jumped out of bed, got dressed and made a mad dash downstairs. “Good morning, Mom,” he cried out. “What’s cooking?”\n“Eggs and bacon, Gilbert, or should I call you Gee?”\nSince the first day of school, Gilbert had been called Gee Einstein by everyone in his class, including his teacher, and now it seems his mother had heard the news. “Whatever you want, Mom. I’m happy either way.”\nShe placed a plate of bacon and eggs on the table, next to a glass of orange juice. “Eat up, Gilbert. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”\nSecretly, Gilbert was relieved to hear his mother’s choice. Though he didn’t mind hearing himself being called Gee or Gee Einstein by anyone at school, it felt good knowing he would come home and be called by his real name. After wolfing down his breakfast and clearing the table, Gilbert ran out the door calling back to his mother, “Got to catch the bus, Mom. See you later.” And like that, he was gone.\nBy the time Gilbert reached the bus stop, he found the bus was already waiting for him. So, without hesitating, he hopped in the open door and sat in the first seat he could find. When he looked to see who he was sitting with, he found Sally Green in the seat next to him.\nGee Einstein, couldn’t you cut the time any closer?” Sally sarcastically replied. “I hope you’re better on the spelling test tomorrow than you are at getting on the bus.”\nIt was as if the lights were turned on in Gilbert’s head. That’s what I forgot. Gilbert’s heart sank and he wailed, “The spelling test is tomorrow? You’ve got to be kidding me.”\n“Weren’t you listening to the teacher, Gee? Just before we got out of class, yesterday, she told us she would hand out a list of twenty spelling words today and we would be taking the test tomorrow.”\nSally’s dire warning rang like a fire drill bell in Gilbert’s head, for he knew spelling was his one weakness.\nWhat am I going to do, he thought? There’s no way I can learn to spell so many words in one day. He thought about studying as soon as he got home, but there was one problem. There’s going to be an after school special on TV that I really wanted to watch. Should I skip it and study for the test? He knew there was no way he was going to do that. I can study after supper.\nSo, Gilbert went to school and sure enough, at the end of the day, the teacher handed a list of twenty words to each of the students. As soon as Gilbert got his, he stuffed it in his backpack and went directly home.\nFor a moment, he thought skipping TV and study his spelling, but that thought quickly dispersed, and he turned on the TV to begin watching the after school special. There, he sat until his mother called him to dinner.\nAs they sat around the table, Gilbert’s mother spoke. “I have a surprise for you, Gilbert. I went to the store and bought that video you wanted so much.”\nFilled with excitement, Gilbert blurted out, “Really? You bought the Buzz Lightyear DVD for me? Thanks, Mom! Can I watch it tonight?”\nGilbert’s mother smiled. “Well, if you don’t have anything else to do, I don’t see why not.”\nThe thought of the upcoming spelling test lingered in Gilbert’s mind. I really need to study for that test, he thought. If I don’t do well on it, the other kids won’t let me forget.\nSince the first day of school, Gilbert’s classmates picked on him for having the last name of Einstein. But for the last couple weeks, they seemed to have forgotten him and moved on to other distractions. He was afraid if he failed the test, they would pounce on him again.\nBut I really want to see the movie, he thought. The image of the sheet of paper with twenty spelling words entered his mind. What should I do? The movie or study? Taking a deep breath, he made his decision. “I’m finished eating, Mom. Can I watch the movie now?” And with that, Gilbert found himself in front of the TV until it was bedtime.\nLater that night, as Gilbert lied in bed, he began to dwell on the decisions he made today. Maybe I should have watched the movie later. I could have seen that anytime, he thought. But the spelling test is still tomorrow. He glanced at his unopened backpack, then at the poster of Albert Einstein on his wall. What do you think, Uncle Albert? Do I have time to study now?\nIt was no surprise to Gilbert when Uncle Albert didn’t answer, so he decided for himself. Grabbing his backpack, he unzipped it and pulled out the spelling words. I’ve got all night to learn these words. With a little luck I should be able to ace that test tomorrow. Delighted with his plan, Gilbert began reciting the words on the list. “Dog, D-O-G. Cat, C-A-T. Cow, C-O-W…\nTime dragged on and Gilbert nodded off several times. Still, he forced himself to stay awake and continued to study. Easy, E-A-S-Y. House, H-O-U-S-E…\nGilbert was abruptly awakened by his mother’s voice. “Hurry up, Gilbert. The bus will be here shortly.”\nLooking at the clock, Gilbert realized of how little time he had. Driving himself into high gear, he jumped into his clothes, ran to the kitchen, and out the door. As he neared the street corner, his jaw dropped as he spotted the school bus driving away. Too late, he thought. Now I have to ask Mom to take me to school.\nAs Gilbert’s mother drove him to school, Gilbert could barely keep his eyes open. I’m so sleepy, he thought. How can I take the test? I can’t even remember what the words are, not to mention even how to spell them. Maybe if Mom drives slow enough, it’ll be too late for me to take the test, then I won’t have to worry about it.\nUnfortunately for Gilbert, it wasn’t his lucky day. His mother arrived on time and Gilbert was sitting in the class, just as attendance was being taken. “Okay,” his teacher cried out. “Clear off your desks. We’re going to take the spelling test now.” She handed out blank papers to everyone and began to recite the spelling words. As she did so, everyone wrote down the answers, except for Gilbert. After he heard each word, he stumbled and faltered, and found himself struggling with even the simplest of words. After the teacher recited the last spelling word, the ordeal was over.\nEveryone traded their test papers and began to score them. As Gilbert heard the correct spelling for the first word, he groaned to himself. How could I misspell Cat, he thought? And the list went on. When the corrected tests were returned, Gilbert was pleasantly surprised to see he did as well as he did. Fifty-five was better than zero.\nBut the rest of the children thought differently. “Gee Einstein, shouldn’t you have done better than that?” or “Gee whiz, Gee, what’s wrong with you?”\nBut Gilbert was too tired to be phased by their remarks. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep and when school finally let out, that’s exactly what he did. As soon as he got home, Gilbert jumped into bed and fell asleep.\nIt wasn’t until suppertime when his mother stirred him from his sleep. “Are you feeling well, son? It’s not like you to sleep so much.”\n“I’m fine, Mother,” he said. Then he told her what happened the night before. The scolding he received was no surprise to him, but beyond that, there was no further punishment.\n“I think staying awake for so long is enough punishment for one day,” his mother chided him. After supper, you’ll go to your room and get some sleep.”\nThere was no argument from him. After supper, and without changing onto his pajamas, he jumped into bed and looked at his poster. “Good night, Uncle Albert. I don’t know how you did it, but I know it wasn’t when you were supposed to be sleeping.”\nGilbert closed his eyes and instantly fell asleep. That night, he dreamed about Einstein and how he changed the world with his eyes wide opened." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Illusory correlation\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1414\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who doesn’t want to go to sleep." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Tonight, the moon is full and lustrous. The final full moon of the winter season. A change is coming. The earth loosens her soil. Spring is just around the corner. I stood on the balcony wrapped in the gaze of the moon, inviting brighter and longer days, when I heard:\n-“Nana!” a very persistent calling from my grandson, probably trying to manipulate me into giving him some extra time, before turning off the lights.\n-“Have you seen the moon, Nana?” Raphael asked, with his nose stuck to his bedroom window.\n-“Yes, isn´t it beautiful? It is called Worm moon.” I said as I walked into his room.\n-“Why?” the eager young mind inquired.\n-“Maybe because of the worms that appear as it gets warmer in the soil, and this invites robins and other birds. It´s a sign of spring.” I explained.\n-“Swallows too?” he asked with a touch of excitement in his voice.\n-“Yes, swallows too.” I assured him, “But now it´s time to go to bed, I´m exhausted and I need to sleep, or I will keel over.” \nThe little rascal thought this was very funny:\n-“Don´t worry Nana,” he giggled, “I will catch you! I won’t let you fall.”\n-“That is very sweet of you honey, but now it´s time to sleep.” I was about to kiss him goodnight when he stopped me in my tracks and asked:\n-“Nana, how come we see the moon only at night?”\n-“Tell me something, little professor,” I started, “these questions wouldn´t be designed to buy you an excuse not to sleep, now would they.”\n He looked at me wide-eyed and shook his head vehemently.\n-“Well, the moon reflects the light of the sun, so we see it better against a night´s sky.” I answered his question.\n-“How far is it to the moon?” Raphael asked, looking at me with puppy eyes.\n-“ Hm, I´m not sure. I know it´s very, very far. I think it´s more than two hundred thousand miles from our planet.” I said, “And now it really is time to sleep, young man.” I tucked him in and kissed his forehead. Just as I was about to walk out of his room, I heard him asking:\n-“What is the moon made of Nana?”\n-“I don´t know.” I shrugged with a smile, while my hand reached for the light switch, “There are those who claim the moon is made of cheese.” I immediately regretted having said that.\n-“Nanaaaaaa…” Raphael started protesting. “Please, I need to know.”\n-“And I need to sleep Raphael! Night night.” I turned around to see him sit up straight in his bed.\n-“I will tell everybody how old you really are.” He said with a quirked smile on his face.\n-“You little weasel!” I laughed. “Can we not have this conversation tomorrow?”\nRaphael shook his head wildly:\n-“I need to know now, or it will keep me awake all night, and therefore will prevent you from sleeping.”\nI let out a deep sigh. I knew I had to give in to defeat with grace.\n-“The moon is not made of cheese. Every baby knows that.” he pouted.\n-“The moon is made of solidified lava, iron, nickel, and crystals.” I told him.\n-“How heavy is the moon, nana?” was his next question.\n-“Raphael please, I don´t know and I am very tired. Tomorrow we can do some research and look it all up, okay.” I was already out of the room when I heard :\n-“Is the moon a he or a she?” It was clear there wasn´t the slightest intention of sleeping any time soon. \n-“A she.” I replied.\n-“Please tell me a story.” He begged with a squeaky voice.\n-“One short story,” I started to set out my terms, “and then you go to sleep.” Raphael nodded his head.\n-“Promise!” I insisted. He held out his pinkie to seal the deal.\n-“Scoot!” I said and curled on the bed next to Raphael.\n-“Once upon a time the moon was called Sin.” I started off the top of my head.\n-“Sin? What a strange name!” Raphael remarked.\n-“Not Sin, as in wrongdoing, but SIN. That was his name.” I clarified for peace´s sake.\n-“Wait a second.” He stopped me again, “Isn´t the moon a she?”\n-“God give me strength please.” I whispered. “Back in Mesopotamia, the moon was a man who rode a bull. He had a long blue beard made of precious gems and his bull had wings.”\n-“Where did they fly too?” he wanted to know.\n-“They rode out to find children who refused to sleep.” I said, “And now it´s time to sleep, young man!”\n-“You promised me a story!” Raphael protested.\n-“And I told you one.” I replied.\n-“No, you didn´t.” he answered right back.\n-“What do you mean?” I asked him.\n-“You gave me the first line of a story, that´s all. Nothing happened.” He moped.\n-“Good night, Raphael.” I said and jumped off his bed.\n-“That is the dumbest story I have ever heard.” He kept whining. I switched out the light and hurried out of his room and straight into mine.\nI threw myself on the bed and took a few deep breaths. The phone rang…. A very persistent ring, one that doesn´t stop after 30 seconds.\n-“Leave a message.” I thought. But no, it stopped for a short while and began ringing again. \n-“Amy!” I said picking up without even looking at the screen. “I´m in desperate need of some sleep.”\nShe wouldn´t have it.\n-“You´re the most selfish friend I know. Haven´t you noticed?” she started \n-“Noticed what?” I sighed\n-“Tonight, the moon is not only full, it´s also very bright.”\n-“I´m tired, Amy.” I tried.\n-“Don´t ignore my feelings.” She started sobbing.\n-“ You sound like a lunatic.” I hoped to anger her just enough to make her hang up the phone.\n-“Of course, I do.” She yelled, “I have been tossing and turning and even howling at my pillow.”\n-“Don´t you have a boyfriend to kiss in the moonlight, Amy?” I asked. “They say it´s very romantic.” She started crying even louder. I forgot her boyfriend had dropped her, just a week earlier.\n- My God, I thought. What have I done to deserve this nocturnal mayhem?\n-“There is evidence, you know.” Amy continued sniffling, “insomnia is linked to the moon. The full moon!” she emphasized the last part with a deep voice.\n-“So is aggression.” I said dryly.\n-“There is a correlation between sleep cycles and the moon.” She continued\n-“I want a correlation with my pillow.” I replied. “The moon has been blamed for so many things. Wear a mask or something and meditate yourself to sleep.”\nI could hear her crying again. Now I started to feel guilty:\n-“Amy, you suffer from lunar insomnia. I, on the other hand, can't detect these symptoms in myself. You are susceptible to a placebo effect. You go to bed, expecting not to sleep. And it is this that causes you to have a restless night. You set yourself up! Take a bath Amy or read a book…” she didn´t let me finish my sentence:\n-“Or talk to a friend!” she snapped.\n-“Do you know what illusory correlation is, Amy?” I asked. “It is the perception of an association that does not exist.” I sat up, and continued, “ Like all the babble about the full moon. Study after study shows that the full moon has no bearing on human behavior or biology. If your emotions are aloof right now, it´s because your dumbass boyfriend dropped you last week. Believe me, you would feel this way, full moon or not. Horror movies tricked us into thinking the moon affects us. And you know something else, Amy?” I paused to hear if she was still awake.\n-“Hmm.” Is all she said.\n-“There´s another way to look at the moon. All moons are good moons! Have you noticed that in summer the moon has a different texture? Like waxy nougat from the far ends of the middle east. A dark treat, chewing its way down your throat. Like love on your tongue, and with that, the knowledge that there is not a single reason in the world to be afraid or restless.” I tried to soothe her,\n-“Amy?” I asked, “Amy, are you still there?” there was no answer. She must have fallen asleep.\nThank God, I thought to myself. I pulled away the covers and nestled myself in bed.\n-“Nana…..”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Five-o'clock Tea with Remiel and Azrael.\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1107\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about hope." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Note: This is a very personal story, for I am the author.\n--------------------------------------------------------------\n\"So, here we are, on the brink of 2024. I gotta admit, I'm scared. Gut-churning, anxiety-ridden scared. The future's got this ominous vibe, you know? Finances are hanging by a thread, and there's this fear, a whisper that it might all come crashing down – a brutal disease, the end of the line for my short, little story.\"\n\"But hey, I'm not one to wallow alone. So, I'm sending out prayers, like distress signals into the cosmic void. Maybe someone's listening up there, someone with a bigger pen than mine. And lo and behold, in comes Remiel, the Archangel of Hope, and Azrael, the Archangel of Death. I mean, seriously, did the big guy upstairs get my memo or what?\"\nREMIEL: \"Hey there, mortal! Heard you were in a bit of a tight spot. The big guy sent us down to chat.\"\n\"Uh, yeah, I mean, wow. This is unexpected.\"\nAZRAEL: \"(nods) It happens. We've seen it all, kid. Hope and despair, they're our specialties.\"\n\"Yeah, well, right now, despair's hogging the spotlight. I'm drowning in uncertainty, and the fear is suffocating.\"\nREMIEL: \"(smirks) Fear's a sneaky one, ain't it? But look, we're not here to lecture. We're here for a cosmic tête-à-tête.\"\n\"A cosmic what now?\"\nAZRAEL: \"(smiling) A chat, my friend. A chat that might just put things in perspective. You've got the Archangel of Hope and Death himself in your corner. How often does that happen?\"\n\"Yeah, lucky me.\"\nREMIEL \"(laughs) Come on, lighten up. We're not here to doom and gloom. We're here to shoot the breeze, maybe even crack a joke or two.\"\nAZRAEL: \"(deadpan) Jokes might be pushing it, Remiel.\"\n\"Well, I could use a distraction. Lay it on me, cosmic messengers.\"\nThe AUTHOR, hunched over his desk, laptop open, speaks nervously to the celestial visitors.\n\"You guys ever get scared? Like, truly scared? It's not just the bills piling up, it's this gnawing pain in my gut. The doctors say it could be bad – really bad. I'm staring into the abyss here, and it's staring right back at me.\"\nREMIEL: \"(sympathetic) Fear is a part of the human experience. But don't let it consume you, mortal. What's eating at you?\"\n\"They talk about this disease like it's a beast, ready to pounce. It could rob me of everything – my future, my dreams, my damn life. And I can't shake it off.\"\nAZRAEL: \"(grim) Life's a gamble, kid. Sometimes you draw a bad hand. But that doesn't mean the game's over. You gotta play it out.\"\n\"Play it out, huh? Easy for you to say. You don't know what it's like to feel this fear, this uncertainty.\"\nREMIEL: \"(leaning closer) Maybe not, but we know about hope. It's a force that can carry you through the darkest of times. You've got more strength in you than you realize.\"\n\"Strength? Feels more like I'm hanging by a thread here, waiting for it to snap.\"\nAZRAEL: \"(smiling) Threads can be stronger than you think. And sometimes, all it takes is a little nudge to make them hold.\"\n\"Nudge, huh? What kind of cosmic nudge are we talking about?\"\nREMIEL: \"(confident) The nudge of hope, my friend. You're not alone in this struggle. We're here, and so is something greater.\"\n\"Hope, huh? Sounds like a long shot.\"\nAZRAEL: \"(grinning) Long shots pay off too. You might just surprise yourself.\"\nThe AUTHOR, anxiety etched on his face, leans in, questioning the Archangel of Death.\n\"Am I gonna die? Just lay it out for me. No sugarcoating. I can handle it.\"\nAZRAEL: \"(smirking) Kid, knowing the expiration date doesn't make the milk taste any better. You're asking the wrong question.\"\n\"Just answer me! Is this it for me?\"\nAZRAEL: \"(cool) Truth is, I'm not here to give you a countdown. It's not about when, it's about how you live until then. Knowing an inevitability just makes you more miserable.\"\n\"Miserable? I'm already miserable, man. I just want to know if there's any point in hoping for a tomorrow.\"\nAZRAEL: \"(sincere) Hoping for a tomorrow is exactly the point. But whether you have one or a hundred, that's not my call.\"\nThe AUTHOR glances at Remiel, seeking a different angle.\n\"What about you, Hope? Any words of wisdom?\"\nREMIEL: \"(smiling) Hope is the greatest weapon against the unknown. It's not about avoiding the end; it's about the journey, the fight. The Lord demands courage, not certainty.\"\n\"Courage? I'm scared out of my damn mind.\"\nREMIEL: \"(leaning in) And that's okay. Courage isn't the absence of fear; it's the will to persist despite it. Keep your hope burning, your desire to live. The time will come, sure as the rising sun, but until then, you gotta live every moment with purpose.\"\n\"Purpose, huh?\"\nAZRAEL: \"(nods) Purpose gives life meaning, even in the face of uncertainty. Don't let the fear of the end rob you of the joy of the journey.\"\nThe AUTHOR, his conversation with the Archangels concluded, looks at them with a mix of gratitude and introspection.\n\"I appreciate you guys taking the time. It's not every day you get a visit from Hope and Death.\"\nAZRAEL: \"(smiling) We don't punch the clock, kid. Just remember what we talked about.\"\nREMIEL: \"(smiling) Remember o child of the Lord, you are stronger than you might think about yourself. Harsh and difficult times knock on the door of everyone who lives. But hope, born from belief in the Lord, shall give you the power to move forward.\"\nThe Archangels begin to fade, their ethereal forms blending into the cosmic tapestry.\n\"Yeah, I'll remember.\"\nAs the celestial beings vanish, the AUTHOR is left alone in the room. He takes a moment, then, with a deep breath, he kneels and bows his head in prayer.\n\"Lord, thanks for sending your messengers. For Hope and whatever lessons Death brings. Bless me with the strength to face what comes.\"\nIn the quiet room, the AUTHOR's prayer continues, a heartfelt plea for guidance, mercy, and love.\n\"I ain't perfect, Lord, but I'm trying. Just give me a sign that I'm not alone in this.\"\nThe room seems to be still as the AUTHOR's words hang in the air. There's a sense of vulnerability, a raw openness in his plea.\n\"I'll carry the lessons and the hope they brought. Help me face the unknown with courage.\"\nAs the author finishes his prayer, a quiet peace settles in the room. The dim light seems to shimmer, and for a moment, there's a profound connection between the mortal and the divine.\n\"Amen.\"" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Sunday Scaries\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1056\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who doesn’t want to go to sleep." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was a quarter past ten and Michael was lying in bed staring at the stucco on his ceiling, connecting dots with his eyes. He had shut his bedroom light off what felt like ages ago, but his eyes had adjusted and the light from the street lamps coming in through his window was enough for him to make out the shapes of the dots above him. He stared at them with the intent of focusing on them hard enough to rid himself of every thought that was floating around in his mind.\nHe didn’t really want to fall asleep. If he fell asleep then the next time he opened his eyes it would be tomorrow and the last thing he wanted in the whole world was to experience tomorrow. It wasn’t so much tomorrow the date (May 3rd to be precise) that Michael was worried about. It was tomorrow the concept that terrified him. He knew there was a good chance that this tomorrow would behave exactly like today, which was yesterday’s tomorrow, and he couldn’t bear the thought of another day like that.\nThat’s not to say that anything particularly bad had happened today either. It was a typical day in Michael’s life. He woke up at his normal time and left for work as usual. He spent his day (a Tuesday to be precise) the same way he would normally spend Tuesdays at work. He’d returned home at a similar time as many Tuesdays before this. His evening had gone off without a hitch as well which had brought him here to his bed, staring at his ceiling, hoping never to shut his eyes again. For it was precisely the fact that his Tuesday had happened as it had that had Michael trembling with anxiety and fear.\nEvery Tuesday (and nearly every other day for that matter) had been almost exactly the same for some time now and it was driving Michael mad. By all rights Michael should have been jumping for joy to begin a new day like the ones he had lived. If someone had asked Michael how his day had gone today, and Michael had answered to the best of his descriptive ability, the person would more than likely declare that it sounded like Michael had a pretty good day. This filled Michael with an incredible amount of guilt.\n“How could I be unhappy with a day like today? Everything in my life is perfectly okay and there are so many people out there who have it so much worse than I do. How could I feel so ungrateful for this gift of a life that I have?” he would often think to himself.\nThis is often where Michael would stop thinking about the subject and return to his perfectly reasonable life. But every once in a while he would allow himself to explore the problem deeper. \nTonight was one of those nights.\nMichael rested his hands behind his head and continued staring at the ceiling of his room. He was going through the motions once again, thinking about all the reasons he had to be happy and satisfied with his life.\nHe had a good job with good pay and good benefits. It came with a ton of job security as well. It wasn’t a difficult job by any means. The hours that he spent there weren’t short but there wasn’t a ton of overtime either. It was the kind of job they talked about on the news. The sort of job everyone thought about when they voted for their chosen political party. Who wouldn’t want that kind of job?\nHis life outside of work could also be described as good. Michael had more of a social lift than many guys his age. He had a small group of excellent, close friends whom he had shared some fun memories with. He was invited to parties and social events. Every once in a while, a woman would even make her way into Michael’s life for a short time. Michael certainly was not lacking in this area as well.\nMichael had all of that and more and still he remained unhappy. Still he stared at his ceiling, dreading the fact that once he’d fallen asleep the next time he looked up it would be a new day.\n“Things could be worse,” he thought to himself, turning to his side and shifting his gaze to the wall. “Things could always be worse.”\nIt had been quite some time since Michael had been faced with hardship. Longer than he could remember since he had faced some sort of challenge. It was certainly an odd thing to complain about but here he was, going over it in his mind time and again. He thought it a strange thing to feel like he was missing. Who wouldn’t want a comfortable life that was practically free of troubles? \nBut that wasn’t what Michael wanted.\nSomewhere along the line, Michael had lost his passion for being alive. As good as his life seemed, Michael no longer felt a connection to it and no longer wished to be a part of it. There was no purpose to his days; nothing that compelled him to even get out of bed at this point. Michael didn’t feel alive anymore. He just didn’t see the point.\n“I have to make a change,” Michael concluded. What sort of change, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he needed to change something. Change anything. Change everything. Somewhere along the line, Michael had lost his sense of purpose and fell into a life that wasn’t his. He had gone a long way down a path and lost his way. It was a very safe path so he hadn’t been alerted to the danger of going so far off course for a very long time.\nBut he was all of a sudden very aware of his surroundings and quite certain that he was not where he wanted to be. Michael breathed a sigh of relief however because although he was in the wrong place, that was the first step towards getting back on the right path.\nMichael decided that he was no longer afraid of tomorrow. Tomorrow he would begin down the right path. And with that, Michael closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Last Moment\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1103\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who doesn’t want to go to sleep." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I put toothpaste on my toothbrush, ran cool water over it, and started brushing my teeth. It's times like this when my mind starts to wander.\n\nShe's always on my mind, but I feel like we're growing apart. I have some apprehension about the future. I was so ready for that future that I've always seen with her, but now I'm not so sure. This feeling makes me physically sick.\n\nDo I need to take a nausea pill?\n\nI try to think back to when we first met. She was wearing a pink sweater, and she was very obviously nervous about meeting me, and I found it very cute. This first date was the most awkward date I think that I've ever been on. We wanted to hold hands but all her roommates were there, and we were very nervous.\n\nI spat into the sink.\n\nI cancelled on our second date, because I was too invested into someone else. She's never let me hear the end of it. Rightfully so. Eventually I came to my senses and asked her back on a second date. It was a challenge to get there, but we got it done eventually.\n\nI walked back to my room and changed into some more comfortable bedtime clothes.\n\nSome of the things that made me fall in love with her was how quickly she accepted me for who I was, flaws and all. She was always easy to be around and always made me feel loved. I know she still loves me, but I don’t know if it's to the level that I deserve.\n\nI got comfortable under my covers and took my melatonin gummy.\n\nI fell in love with her pale green eyes that had rims of brown around her irises. I always found myself getting lost in them, and she would catch me staring.\n\nI stared at the ceiling.\n\nShe is so effortlessly beautiful. She can put on some makeup and she's beautiful, or she can just wake up from bed and be just as pretty. I almost preferred her without the makeup because I knew the person I was looking at better.\n\nI started to make imaginary designs out of the popcorn texture on my ceiling.\n\nOur first date we actually went out on was at a soda shop. It was cold and I got a Dr. Pepper and I think she got a Mountain Dew. It was so cold out that when we held each other's hands, we stuffed them into my pocket to keep them warm.\n\nMy eyelids started to feel heavy.\n\nWe've had some struggles in the past. We've both done some things that we regret, but one of my fondest memories of her is when she looked into my eyes and wiped my tears. She had held my head in her hands and told me with confidence that we were going to get through that challenge. We did, and I fell in love with her resiliency and we grew so much closer as a couple.\n\nI felt like my eyelids were being pulled down, but my thoughts kept me awake.\n\nI remember the first time I told her that I loved her. I didn't even know when I was going to tell her but when I did, it wasn’t planned. I just felt that the moment was right and I said it.\n\"I love you.\"\nThere was a pause, and it terrified me. Eventually she did respond with \"I love you too,\" and I felt relief like I hadn’t felt before.\n\"Oh, good.\" I replied, and buried my head in her shoulder.\n\nI was fighting for my life to stay awake.\n\nThe only thing that I can compare the relief I felt from hearing her say that she loved me was our first kiss. I remember I leaned in to kiss her and as soon as our lips met, all I felt was a wave of relief, almost as if I knew that we were a complete match. After all of my past relationships falling through and not working out, I felt like I had finally found someone who complemented me. And I didn’t even know her that well, if not at all.\n\nMy mind started to wander back from the happy memories.\n\nI haven’t seen her in eight months. It's been such a challenge and I've been incredibly patient. I've supported her every step of the way, but I know she needs to focus on where she is. And as a result, she can't split the difference on me and what she's passionate about. What she's doing requires a 100% effort. Luckily she will be coming back in the future, so at least I know that she's coming back home. The uncertainty scares me though.\n\nI felt my eyes start to well up.\n\nI love this girl with everything I am. She's taught me how it feels to be loved and accepted, and I never want that to go away. The uncertainty just scares the living daylights out of me, because a lot of things change in a person in eighteen months. She's in an excellent environment, and I'm so certain that the changes will be positive, and I've improved myself as a person. But I also need to look out for myself. I want someone who can be 100% invested in me at all times. I love the person I am now, and I'm sure she'll love me when she comes back as well, but the uncertainty scares me.\n\nHot tears started to fall.\n\nI remembered the last time we talked. I haven’t seen her since last July, and it was over the phone on FaceTime. I took the call in the back of a Denny's bathroom and we said our goodbyes. That's the last time she's verbally told me that she loves me, somewhat to my face.\n\nI want to hold on to the good things. I don’t want to be resentful towards her. I hold on so tight to the way she would look at me and all I would see is love. I hold on to catching myself staring into her amazing eyes. I hold on to her telling me how much she loves me. I hold on to her snoring on my chest. I hold on to her smile. I hold on to being held by her, and the safety I felt in her arms. I hold on to all the good things, because I can't afford to have the Denny's bathroom be the last moment.\n\nMy eyes finally closed, and sleep took hold over my body." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Painted Memories\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1012\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about somebody in love with someone from their past." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was a chilly day, and the sun teased the edge of the sky with bright hues of orange, yellow, pink, and purple. It was a wondrous sight, the lightness of the sky fading, beckoning ever so slightly the night, it held promise. An old soul sat on the sandy soil that was the beach and stared out at the blended colors that vacated the sky. His eyes held a semblance of longing, of aching. He smiled, small crinkles forming at the edge of his eyes and atop his frail forehead. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath: taking in the salty smell of the warm yet cold breeze, feeling the waves build up just to crash, the white foam fizzing in his ears. It was all so familiar and yet it was all so distant. Memories, or perhaps dreams of the past that had made him feel as if he knew this sorrowful place, a place once filled with the depths of youth, the depths of adventure, the depths of love. He opened his eyes and before him lay a blank canvas, propped up by a silver easel. The canvas was positioned slightly to the right of the setting sun, a perfect amount of light cast across the white slate. Colors danced across the canvas, shadows of the sunset, hints of twilight. It inspired him. \n. . . \nThe rays of light glinted off the old man's spectacles, tucked gently just below his chin in his chest pocket. The silver rims shined, creating a bulb of gray to appear at the bottom of the canvas. He smiled. Pulling the fragile eyewear from his pocket he secured them on his face. He was granted a new perspective. Within seconds a wooden palette covered in a rainbow complexion, and a neat blue paint brush was in his hands. He dabbed the brush in the colorful splatter, and reached to paint. His hand paused just before the canvas and his mind flashed with uncertainty, his eyes glazed over, and for a moment he felt lost. Lost in a dreadful feeling of regret and guilt; of longing. The wind blew, rustling his graying hair, a magical reality seeping into him. It pulled him away from his guilt; a day dreamy state. He closed his eyes and warmth spread through his bones, thawing his regret, and he opened his eyes once more. As soon as the brush touched the canvas, the past and the present blurred together. Soft strokes emitted a brilliant picture, a live film that began softly. Blurs and dots covered the screen, and then numbers counted down, beginning the movie. A black and white picture moved gently, the colors of the painting running the film. The beach blinked into place, and a young woman stood, her back to the camera looking out. She wore a day dress, a simple cloth with ruffles along the sleeves. Her hair flowed in the wind, a beautiful curl that matched the waves. She turned and smiled. Her eyes glowed with a burning passion, a strong desire that alluded to her dreamland. Twirling her arms out, stoic like an airplane she ran. Ran along the golden ground, sand kicking up behind her. She laughed as she fell to the ground particles of sand clutching to her hair. It was childish how she had danced and twirled, and had fallen. It gave her a warm presence that lured and drew you in. The old man chuckled. He had watched this film so many times. Each time the memories of her flooded his mind making him happy. Happy to have met her. Happy to have taken her hand pulling her up from where she had fallen. Brushing her hair behind her ear, making her blush and giggle. She had been perfect. Perfect in a messy way, and he missed her. He missed how she looked at him, promise held in her amber eyes. Missed the way she pulled him into the water urging him to embrace the cold. Missed her adventurous risky taste. The beach had been an escape and she had been a dream. Everything had been pieced together so perfectly. It had been lovely. The film slowed and the woman turned to face the ocean once more. She reached out her hand, looking at the camera. A younger version of the old man came into the frame grabbing a hold of her and they walked to the edge of the water looking out. The film came to a stop. \n. . . \nThe old man's brush strokes had poured out a beautiful detailed scene onto the once blank canvas creating a masterpiece. Hours of work shone vividly upon the canvas. The painting showed a figure of a man standing along the edge of the ocean's water. He was reaching out a hand. Stars twinkled in the painting, the ocean waves frozen in a graceful form. Seashells littered the sand and a singular trail of footprints had been threaded behind the man. It was a perfect reflection of the beach from the film, the beach the woman had danced upon. The man in the painting was alone. No one was coming to grab his hand to walk him across the sandy surface. No one was coming to drag the man into the water. To dance with him, fall with him. No one. The distant sky held a broken promise. It was a poetic call for love. The old man stood, proud of the piece. The sun had faded completely and so had his memories. Just like his palette he had been rid of all color. He had become a blank canvas; all of what he had once known, what he had once created was all lost in the painting. He had rid his mind of those bright moments; there was no longer any light. Time had worn the heartstrings inside of him. The old soul was cracked and broken. Looking to the ocean a melancholy feeling washed over him. She had vanished and so would he." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Gee Einstein\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1140\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who gets called an Einstein ironically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Strange, how bearing such a famous name can bring such hardship in one’s life. Take Gilbert, for instance. He was just an ordinary child, like you or me, but what made him special was his last name, Einstein.\nSince Gilbert could remember, his mother and father told him stories about how brilliant Albert Einstein was and how he was like him. Though he wasn’t related to the great Einstein, Gilbert was fascinated by him, and called him Uncle Albert. Day after day, he would corner his mother or father and ask as many scientific questions a child could think of.\n“What is light? How fast does light go? Can we travel through time?” And on it went, until the day he entered Kindergarten.\nIt was a memorable day for Gilbert. His shoes were double tied, and he was sporting a new set of clothes. The very first morning of kindergarten, he marched in the classroom, and was ready to show off his knowledge to the teacher. Without hesitating, he sat in the front row. There was no way he was going to get lost in the crowd.\nA moment later, the teacher entered the classroom and took attendance. “Eric Brown,” she called out.\nA voice called out from the back, “Here.”\nAfter checking off his name, she asked, “Could you spell your first name for me?”\n“E-R-I-C” he answered back.\n“Thank you.” She went to the next name. “Gilbert Einstein.”\nAs a couple of children snickered, he answered, “Here, ma’am.”\n“Can you spell your first name for me?”\nFor a moment, Gilbert remained silent, and then he stammered out, “G-, uhm…”\nA second voice burst out from the back of the classroom. “Gee Einstein, can’t you spell your first name?”\nThe class broke out in laughter and the teacher tried to quiet them down. “That’s enough, children.” Eventually, the voices died down, and then she spoke to Gilbert. “Don’t worry, Gilbert. We’ll work on spelling your name as well as some other words.” Oh, the shame Gilbert felt as the students watched the teacher coddle him.\nIt seemed like an eternity before the teacher finished taking attendance and when it was finally over, she began to write on the blackboard. As quick as she turned her head away from the class, a boy sitting right behind Gilbert kicked his chair and whispered, “Gee Einstein, you’re a genius.”\nNever in his life, did Gilbert want to run away, but he knew there were no take-me-backs or any means of escape. So, from that moment on, he was branded with the name Gee Einstein.\nFor the rest of the day, it seemed as if everyone in the class was watching and waiting for Gilbert to make any mistake. If he colored outside the lines of a drawing, a child would shout, “Gee Einstein, you aren’t much of an artist, are you?” or if he accidently bumped into a girl, she would say, “Gee Einstein, watch where you’re going.” So, it went, until he finally retreated through the front door of his house.\nAs soon as the door closed behind him, he ran to his room and began to cry.\nWhy me, he wailed to himself. Why do I have to be stuck with a name like Einstein?\nHe glared at the poster on his wall, of a wide-eyed Einstein sticking his tongue out.\nWith the words, “What’s so funny?” flying out of his mouth, he yanked the poster from the wall and threw it on the floor.\nHis eyes flooded with tears. Wanting to hide his shame, Gilbert jumped in his bed, and wiped his face with the pillow. There, he lied in turmoil, until exhaustion finally overtook him. Then, he fell asleep and began to dream.\nGilbert’s dream began with him standing in front of a door. As he turned the knob and opened the door, he discovered a table, filled with laboratory equipment, in the middle of a room and behind it was a man hidden by stacks of notes.\nThe man must have heard Gilbert, for he lifted his head to see who was there. As he did, Gilbert recognized him immediately. It was Albert Einstein.\n“My dear, nephew,” Einstein replied. “What brings you here to visit your uncle Albert?”\nBefore he could stop himself, Gilbert found himself blabbering, “I hate my name, or should I say, I hate your name. Just because I couldn’t spell Gilbert, everyone was picking on me. Gee Einstein this and Gee Einstein that. I’m trapped and I can’t do anything about it.”\nThe expression on Einstein’s face couldn’t have been more heartbreaking. “I’m so sorry, but it looks to me we have more in common than our names. You see, I had no real friends in school either and you know why? I was lousy in math. Can you believe it? Me, the world’s most renown scientist, had trouble adding numbers together. I had a tough time in school, but I decided it wouldn’t define me. Instead, I ignored those bullies, worked on my math, and look where it got me. You, Gilbert, can do the same thing.” With that, Einstein returned to his notes and the lab vanished into the air.\nThe touch of a moist pillow to Gilbert’s face told him he was awake. When he opened his eyes, he smiled, discovering his despair was replaced by hope.\nI can do this, he thought. He jumped out of bed to recover the poster on the floor, and moment later, it was taped back on the wall. Stick your tongue out at me all you want, Uncle Albert. I got this covered.\nGilbert dashed to the kitchen to hug his mother. “I love you, Mom,” was all he said.\nIt was enough for her. “I love you too, Gilbert.” But Gilbert wouldn’t let go of her. “Are you alright?”\nClutching at his mother’s leg, he exclaimed, “I am now.” He looked up at her, with loving eyes. “Could you do me a favor?”\n“I’d be glad to, dear. What is it?”\n“Could you teach me to spell my name?”\nA smile spread across her face. “Of course, I will, and any others words we can think of.”\nGrabbing his mother hand, he led her to the table. “Let’s get started now.” So, for the rest of the afternoon, Gilbert was in school again.\nThat evening, while he laid in bed, Gilbert thought, I’m so glad I have the name Einstein. If I didn’t, I may never know what it’s like to have challenging times in my life. But now, I know I can overcome them and learn to move on. Thank you, Uncle Albert, for teaching me this.\nGilbert fell asleep and dreamed of a laboratory, and behind a table full of laboratory equipment, was an old man looking at his notes." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Weird and Scary Day\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1234\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a casual act of bravery." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "(This is an early reader picture story, for ages 4 to 8.)\n\nEvery day at exactly noon, Victor sits in his cubby corner in his family’s small living room, with his sad dad who reads in his armchair while his mom and sisters go to the shops. \n\n[picture of Victor’s dad in a small living room, his face in darkness, a book on his lap, sitting in an armchair, wearing dark trousers with suspenders, thin. Pills and a water jug sit high on a shelf. From the kitchen doorway comes a shaft of light and a swirl of steam. Victor sits on a large cushion in the corner where the wall slants up, a firetruck on the floor beside him and an action figure in his hand.]\n\nThis morning until exactly noon Victor is going tobogganing with Frankie, Dana, and Dennis at the park by the river that runs through the town. \n\nThat’s the plan. But a weird and scary day is ahead. \n\nDana and Dennis meet them at the park – that’s normal. They trudge up the hill, and fly down it, up and down, again and again. Frankie rolls off the toboggan and Dana rolls off behind him and Dennis and Victor chase snowflakes with their tongues. That’s all normal too. \n\n[picture of a gentle hill rolling down to a winding ice-covered river, with stone banks, lots of snow, four kids, two toboggans, two kids rolling in the snow, rosy cheeks]\n\nAfter a while, Victor says it’s time to go home because Victor must be home to sit with his dad at noon. The four set off walking along the side of the icy river up towards the road. Frankie walks close to the edge. \n\n“You better not walk so close to the edge,” says Victor. Victor normally looks out for Frankie, because Frankie is only five.\n\nBut Frankie walks close to the edge. \n\nSuddenly, Frankie slips and tumbles onto the ice, and then shuuushhh, he falls through the ice into the freezing cold river! \n\nThis is when the day turns into the weirdest scariest day ever!\n\n[picture of Frankie fallen through the ice in the river that flows through the town. Three kids on the bank – Dennis taking off like ninety, Dana following, Victor standing so still looking at Frankie.]\n\nDennis runs away. Dana starts to run after him. \n\nVictor can’t find his voice in his chest. \n\nThe world is moving in slooooooooooooow moooooooooooootion. \n\nHis eyes see a long branch under a big tree. His legs run over. His hands pick up the long branch and his legs run back. His arms shove the branch across the ice into the river just as Frankie comes up to the surface. \n\nVictor’s cheeks fill up with his voice, and his words burst out of his chest: “HOLD ONTO THE BRANCH FRANKIE!”\n\n[picture of Victor extending the branch to Frankie struggling in the water. Dana who has started walking away, has stopped and is watching Victor.]\n\nFrankie’s little hands grab the branch. Victor pulls hard to bring Frankie to the shore, but Frankie keeps hitting the broken ice. \n\n“I’m too young to die!” Frankie cries. \n\nVictor finds his voice again. “Dana, come back! Help me pull Frankie out!” Victor shouts. \n\nThe two of them pull and they pull and they pull, but they just can’t pull Frankie out of that icy water.\n\n[picture of Victor and Dana pulling on the branch, Frankie’s hands holding it tight, a wee boot thrashing.]\n\n“Hold the branch! I’ll get help!” Victor says. \n\nHis legs run fast as a flash, across the park, past the gazebo, past the picnic table, past the big trees toward the houses. At the very first house, Victor bang-bang-bangs on the door. Mr. Dedrick looks down at six-year-old Victor. \n\n“MY FRIEND IS IN THE WATER!” Victor shouts, pointing. \n\nVictor and Mr. Dedrick run back across the park to the river.\n\nMr. Dedrick jumps down the bank and grabs Frankie’s little hand, lifts him out of the icy water into his arms. \n\n[picture of Mr. Dedrick pulling Frankie from the river whose face is blue-ish, his hat falling over one eye.]\n\n“Follow me!” he calls to Victor and Dana. \n\nVictor has goosebumps but things sure feel a bit more normal now with a grown-up around. \n\n[picture of Victor’s bright eyes and face expressing hope.] \n\nMrs. Dedrick and a police man are waiting at the door. Everyone pours into the house. \n\n“Lay him right on the chesterfield,” says Mrs. Dedrick. She and Constable Wheaton take off Frankie’s wet clothes, and cover him up with an electric blanket. \n\n[picture of Victor and Dana watching Mrs. Dedrick \nplacing the blanket over Frankie laying on the chesterfield.]\n\nOnce Frankie is warm, the constable asks: “What’s your name, son?” \n\nFrankie says: “I’m Frank Madden. My dad’s name is Frank Madden too.” \n\nThings are definitely getting back to normal. Frankie always tells everybody he has the same name as his dad. \n\nConstable Wheaton takes Victor and Dana to the table where Mrs. Dedrick has placed hot chocolate. Victor and Dana tell Constable Wheaton what happened. \n\nAll of a sudden, Victor gets up, scraping his chair. He’s just remembered his dad sitting in his chair, waiting for him at noon today. \n\n“I gotta go home!” \n\n[picture of Victor, standing at the table, his mouth open, \nand eyes wide, putting on his hat.]\n\nAs the constable and Victor arrive, Victor’s sister peeks out the front window. His mom opens the door. Victor’s dad is in his chair. Victor’s mom and sisters are speaking all at once. \n\nVictor knows that coming home with a policeman is not what you’d call normal. \n\n[picture of Victor’s face expressing: sorry, I know this isn’t normal.]\n\nThe constable says: “Well Mr. and Mrs. Yegorov, your son is a brave boy. He saved Frankie from the icy river today. Victor acted quickly, grabbing the stick and running to get Mr. Dedrick.” \n\nVictor stands in his cubby corner. His mom brings him a tea and gives him a hug and kiss. She whispers in his ear: “Such a good boy.” Victor likes it but it IS normal mom stuff. \n\n[picture of Victor’s embarrassed face expressing: O mom.]\n\nThen Frankie’s dad arrives. He puts his hand on Victor’s shoulder. \n\n“Victor, you were very brave today. Thank you, Victor,” he says and wipes his eye.\n\nHe turns to Victor’s dad and says: “You must be very proud.”\n\n[picture of Frankie’s dad shaking Victor’s hand, wiping a tear from his eye, Victor’s dad sitting in his chair, Victor’s mom smiling at Victor, Victor’s sisters hugging each other. \nConstable Wheaton watching Victor’s father, Victor’s face expressing: I’m kinda proud of me too.] \n\nThen, two people from the local newspaper arrive. Everyone is chatty and cheerful; tea cups are clinking and clattering. The small living room has never had so many happy grown-ups from the town in it. \n\nAfter everyone leaves, Victor’s dad pulls Victor onto his lap, and gives him a big hug. \n\n“Victor, you make me very happy, son.” \n\nAll’s right with the world. Frankie is home and probably laughing as usual. Victor’s dad is smiling and not sad. The weirdest and scariest day ever turned out great. \n\n(But Victor hopes tomorrow will be just a bit more normal.) \n\n[picture of Victor cuddled on his dad’s lap in the arm chair. \nVictor’s dad’s smiling, Victor’s face expressing: tomorrow BETTER be more normal.]" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Alexander and The Garden\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2064\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone stepping outside their comfort zone." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Alexander had always been a very cowardly boy. But now he stood over the deep dark cave below, thinking of all the times he wished he could be brave, and now he had been. But, before we get to that part of the story, let's start from the beginning.\nIn a land where nothing ever seemed sad or droopy and the sun shined bright every day, there lived a young boy. This young boy was a prince, whose name was Alexander. Alexander loved to play in his castle gardens. Every day, he would wake up, eat breakfast, and go outside. But there was one corner of the garden that Alexander never dared to play in. This is because this part of the garden had never seen sunlight. No matter how bright or high the sun was, a permanent shadow sat over the garden's edge.\nOne day, Alexander was on his way outside, but as he walked through the door, he saw something small scamper through the grass and disappear into the dark corner. Alexander thought to himself for a moment and pondered what it could have been that he saw.\nEventually, he let it go and went about his day. Later that night he was lying in bed, again thinking of the thing he had seen in the garden. Just as he was about to close his eyes, he saw something move outside through his window. He jumped up and curiously peeked out the window, trying to stay hidden. Then he saw it. A tiny gnome about the size of his head scurried through the garden and ran into the corner. Alexander grabbed his candle and ran through the halls and out the door that leads to the garden.\nHe crouched behind a tall oak tree and again, waited to see the gnome. Alexander waited and waited until his eyes drooped and his hand could no longer hold up his candle. Alexander stood and made his way back to his room.\nBut Alexander would not give up, every night for the next three days he returned and crouched behind the oak tree. On the fourth night, Alexander began to lose hope. Again, he crouched behind the tree and waited, and waited, waited, until finally the gnome poked its head from out of the dark corner and ran towards the castle's door, Alexander waited a few seconds just to make sure the gnome was gone and ran towards the corner of the garden.\nThe edge of the garden surprised Alexander. Although it looked small from the outside, Alexander stared at what seemed to be an entire forest. Alexander took a deep breath and stepped deeper into the forest. Trees and plants and things Alexander didn't even know existed filled the space around him, and Alexander couldn't help but be awestruck. But soon after, he heard a noise. At first, the noise was small, like an animal stepping on twigs, but the noise grew louder and louder until all he could hear was the sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching, he tried to run but tripped over a tree trunk. The forest grew wider and wider around him until he could no longer see the castle garden. Alexander shut his eyes and ran, trying to get as far away from the noise as possible. He ran for what seemed like hours until finally, he ran into a large wall. Or at least what looked like a wall.\nAlexander walked around the wall and soon discovered that the wall was a doorway. He peered through and squinted, noticing a long set of stairs going deep underground. That's when he realized that in his excitement of seeing the gnome again, he had left his candle in the garden, and it was getting very very late.\nAlexander knew there was no way he would get back to the castle before sunrise, so he began looking for a place to sleep. Alexander searched and searched but it seemed like the forest had been made for an insomniac. The trees were too thin to climb, and the leaves were too brittle to sleep on. Finally, Alexander rested inside of the doorway, hoping the stone walls would offer protection against the cold fall air.\nAlexander woke with the rising sun, feeling the warmth hit his skin. Compared to the night before, the weather seemed perfect. A light breeze blew leaves around and bird-like melodies drifted through the air. The forest seemed even more beautiful now that the sun was out. But still, Alexander was desperate to get out. His whole life he had been pampered, but now he sat with a scraped knee and a rumbling stomach.\nAlexander walked most of the day away, and as the sunset, he returned to the stone doorway. He thought to himself for a moment and decided that even though he normally wouldn't have, he walked down the set of stone stairs.\nNow that we're all caught up, let's get back to the present. Alexander stood over the cave, deciding what he was going to do. He couldn't go back up into the forest, and he hadn't seen any other pathways on the way down, so the cave seemed like his only option. Alexander took a few steps back, prepared himself, and jumped into the cave. But as soon as he jumped, he knew he regretted it. The cave seemed to go on for miles, and Alexander felt like he would never stop falling, and even if he did, he wasn't sure it would turn out well.\nBut then, Alexander landed on a soft pillowy cushion. Confused, he looked around and wondered what had broken his fall. Alexander was laying on a bed that resembled a bird's nest, which was full of huge white feathers. He crawled out and looked around at the cave, excited and scared to explore.\nThe cave was huge. It had tall ceilings and so many paths you could get lost if you didn't pay attention to where you were going. There were stacks of wood piled up near the wall, and a separate pile of feathers close to the ones in the bird's nest. There was also a dim candle-like light, but no matter where Alexander looked, he couldn't find the source. After wondering for a few minutes, he began to look for a way out.\nAlexander searched every nook and cranny of the cave, but no way out appeared to him. He made his way back to the bird's nest and sat down. He thought to himself about how hungry and scared he was, and if he would ever make it back home. Alexander began to feel a wave of sleepiness wash over him. He settled into the bed-nest.\nHe rolled over and tried to get as comfortable as possible, and the bed was surprisingly warm. For the first time in a day, Alexander fell asleep comfortably and warm. But soon after, he awoke to the sound of footsteps not far off, he quickly began searching for the source and saw a shadow moving closer to him.\nThe shadow grew bigger and bigger as it rounded the corner of one of the many passages in the cave. Alexander felt goosebumps pop up around his arm, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He shut his eyes and prayed whatever was coming towards him wasn't a monster like the ones he read about in the castle's library. But as soon as Alexander saw the creature, he began to laugh. A tiny gnome, smaller than the one he had seen in the garden stood a few feet away from him and blinked its big, bug-like eyes.\nHow could he have been scared of something so cute and tiny! The gnome motioned for Alexander to follow him and began walking back from where he came. Alexander jumped up and began to follow him, hoping the gnome was leading him back home. The gnome walked down pathways and pathways, seeming to know exactly where they were going, but it seemed like they would never reach their destination. Finally, the gnome led him into a room around twice the size of the room with the bird's nest. Holes not much bigger than the gnome itself lined the walls, and the candlelight seemed twice as bright here. Thousands of tiny gnomes sat in the room, at tables, on the floor, in the holes. Alexander looked around but couldn't spot the gnome that he first saw five days ago.\nThe tiny gnome led him deeper into the room, and down another hallway. The hallway opened up into a small office-like room. Three other gnomes sat down at a badly built wooden table, waiting for Alexander to arrive. The gnome that led him there patted an open seat and sat down himself. The seat was half Alexander's size, but he sat down anyway. The gnomes explained to Alexander that they had been leaving the forest in search of food inside of the castle. Normally, the forest provided all the food they could want and more, but recently the forest's food supplies began to dwindle. So, they needed Alexander's help to find out why.\nAlexander agreed to help them, but only on the condition that afterward, they would help him get back home. The next day, Alexander and the gnomes set out to fix their food problem. They walked through parts of the garden that Alexander had never seen before, although it seemed as if he walked through the whole forest when he was looking for a way out.\nAs they walked through the forest, they heard a noise nearby. The gnomes, -who evidently were very easily scared creatures- ran in all different directions, causing a flurry of leaves to fly through the air. But Alexander stayed put. He had let his cowardness lead him for too long. He waited patiently for the noise again, darted towards it the second he determined where it was coming from.\nWhat Alexander saw shocked him, a huge monster with big horns and sharp claws lay against a rock, snoring loudly. This had to be the reason the gnomes couldn't find food, imagine feeding this thing! Alexander ran to find the gnomes and tell them what he found. When he and the gnomes got back to the cave, they discussed what they could do to get rid of this monster. A few hours later, Alexander had an idea. They would set a trap to carry the monster and take it to a part of the forest far away from the gnomes.\nThe next day, Alexander sent a few gnomes to watch over the monster and see what it did during its day and if it moved spots. They discovered that the monster slept during the day, hunted for food at night, and always slept in the same spot. \nSo, the next night while the monster hunter, they set their trap. First, they dug a deep, wide hole, and filled it halfway with leaves. Then they placed a net on top of the hole and covered it with mud, leaves, and twigs. Alexander took a step back, marveling at how well they hid the trap. You could hardly see it! Now they just had to wait.\nThe next day they came back to the trap and noticed that something had been caught. The gnomes jumped around and shouted, “Hooray, Hooray!”. But Alexander had a bad feeling. He checked the trap, and indeed he had caught the monster. But he also noticed something that he hadn't seen before. The monster was pregnant.\nAlexander knew he had to save the monster, but the gnomes would never let him. He came back later that night and saw the monster clawing on the rope, trying to get out. Alexander felt guilt wash over him. He grabbed the branch he sharpened at the cave and cut a hole into the rope. The monster crawled out, and Alexander guided him away.\nAlexander spent the whole night caring for the monster, and his actions rewarded him. It turns out that the monster knew how to get back into the kingdom's garden and agreed to help Alexander the next day. \nAs Alexander fell asleep, he thought to himself. Once he was out of the forest, he was going to take a break from all this bravery stuff." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Blossom the Bee\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1172\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a hero or a villain deathly afraid of doing their job." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Blossom the Bee\nThe hive was a-buzz with honey bees galore.\nThere was lots of honey, but they could always use more.\nAssignments were made, by the Boss, Mr. Big\nTo assure that each worker was aware of her gig.\n“Look here, Beatrice, Bianca and Bo\n You’re getting your new assignments, you know?\nAnd you, Bella, Brooklyn, Betty and Blake\nYou’ll be promoted if you make no mistakes \n‘At tending to the larvae, our babies, our brood.\nClean them and love them and bring them their food.\nTeach them to exercise their wings and their legs\nSo they can soon help you prepare for more eggs.\n‘Now, Beverly, Bailey, Bristol and Briars,\nAn important task that our abode requires\nIs that of Undertaker, it’s not that much fun,\nBut it keeps the hive clean, and it must be done.\n‘I also need Architects, Bexley and Billie,\nAnd believe me, this job is not for the silly.\nYou will make the wax, to build the comb,\nRepairing the cracks and flaws in our home.\n“And on to you Braelyn, Briana and Birdie\nTo keep our dear home from getting all dirty,\nWe need you to clean, organize and make honey,\nThis is, shall I say, how we earn our money.\n“Oh special are you, Bridget and Blair,\nFor the next is a job for those the most fair\nThe Queen’s Attendants you shall be\nTo groom her and feed her, and do what she needs.\n“The new Guards of our hive will be Brenda and Brooke.\nThey’re responsible for keeping safe every nook\nFrom bumblebees, wasps and other strangers\nI cannot begin to list all the dangers!”\nMr. Big took a drink, and paused for a while,\nAnd then he continued with a big bright smile,\n“My dear little Blossom–let’s give her a hand\nToday you go off to forage the land!\nFor the pollen, the nectar, our hive’s bread and butter.”\nAnd the bees all clapped, but not a word did Blossom utter.\nInstead of feeling proud, she began to cry.\nShe didn’t want to be a Forager; she was afraid to fly. \n“Mr. B.,” she cried, “I’m content to nurse the smalls\nOr to attend to the Queen whenever she calls,\nI have no ambition to gather the pollen\nI’ll stay back at the hive, and unload what they haul in.”\nSaid Mr. Big, “To forage is the ultimate job for a bee.\nGet ready to go, now you listen to me!”\n“But please,” replied Blossom, “I don’t want to fly.\nI’ll stay here and clean. Even guarding, I’ll try.”\nMr. Big, unamused, said “But Blossom, why?”\nTo which Blossom replied, “I am afraid to fly.\nI once saw a bird, a baby, a jay.\nShe stepped out of her nest on a bright sunny day.\n“And she leapt from the branch as she unfolded her wings\nShe flapped and she flapped, but of all things\nA gust of wind came and it pushed her down.\nHer wing was broken when she hit the ground.\n“It was terrible, awful, unfortunate, bad\nThe fate of that little bird made me so sad\nThat I decided that day that I’ll stay in the hive\nIt would be fun to forage, but I want to stay alive.”\nAnd Mr. Big, wise old drone that he was\nSaid “Blossom you must fly! You must, because–\nYou’re of the right age now, your stinger is stout\nYou’ve been of use in the hive, but it’s time you get out\n“And take off and hover and flutter and soar!\nYou’re strong and you’re able, now it’s time to do more.”\nPoor Blossom sighed and brushed away a tear\nForaging would be fun if it weren’t for this fear.\nThen she looked to the landing board where the Foragers lit\nTo unload their collections, and she envied a bit\nThose Forager sisters with their marvelous wings\nWho searched for nectar and pollen, and brought home these things.\n“I can do it!” she exclaimed, “I can do it, they’ll see,\nI may be afraid, but I’m also a bee!\nAnd I was meant to buzz meadows and drink nectar from flowers\nI was meant to bring pollen, and keep flying for hours.”\nSo up she climbed to the top of the hive\nAnd she spun around with a buck and a jive.\nShe backed up on the deck, just as far as she could.\nWith a deep breath she whispered, “This is gonna be good.”\nHer six little legs kicked into motion.\nYou would think she could fly across the ocean\nWhen she took a big jump and her wings opened out\nAll of Blossom’s pals began to shout,\n“Go little Blossom! Fly to the fields!\nSee what treasures the meadow yields!”\nAnd Blossom, showing off for her friends,\nDid not pay attention to the gusty winds\nThat showed up suddenly and from the South,\nBlossom closed her eyes and opened her mouth.\nShe felt herself plummeting toward the earth\nAnd it started to rain, to make matters worse.\n“Look out, Blossom!” called Mr. B.,\nAnd she opened her eyes, and what did she see?\nA big yellow daffodil. Alone it was standing,\nAnd Blossom aimed for it and made a bumpy landing.\nShe crawled inside of the bright, sunny bloom.\nIt sheltered her from raindrops like a safe little room.\nIt smelled so delicious, Blossom couldn’t help but test\nThe juice from the stigma, while she took her rest.\nShe smiled and giggled with such glee.\nIt tasted like Heaven, so fresh and so sweet.\nShe drank and she drank, ‘til there was no more\nAnd her legs were so full, they felt kind of sore.\n“I must get it home,” she declared with great grit.\n“It won’t be easy, but I must do it!”\nSo again she flapped and fluttered with all of her might\nAnd before she knew it, she was a-light.\nBut back down she went, and she took a little repose\nThen she stood up on the tips of her toes\nAnd her tiny little wings pulled her along\nAnd again she rested, and sang a little song.\n“I know I can do it, if I just take it slow,\nI’ll fly ‘til I’m tired, and back down I’ll go.\nI will get there if I just stay on track.\nI may not be speedy, but I will make it back.”\nFinally, crawling up to the landing board from the ground\nShe was tired and wet, but when she looked around\nAll of her bee friends were lined up here\nWhen they saw her face, they began to cheer,\n“Way to go, Blossom! You did it! You flew!”\nAnd feeling great pride, Blossom just knew\nThat she’d conquered the fear that was bringing her down\nAnd right now, she was the happiest insect in town.\nSo proudly she presented the nectar she’d gathered.\nThe struggle of the journey no longer mattered.\nShe declared, “Foraging is my destiny!”\nBecause, she was, after all, a bee." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Home of the Brave\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1279\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a casual act of bravery." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A mom’s job is never truly finished—Elise knew this instinctively when her son was born. For at least the hundredth time, she sat next to his bed in that chair mending his quilt. There was no way of knowing, the day she bought it at a flea market, that it would become her son’s most valued possession. \n\nTo call it a quilt stretched the definition as it was nothing more than a thousand pieces of oddly shaped swatches stitched together, layer after layer, until the whole of it was thick enough to hold in the warmth of a small boy's body as he drifted off to sleep. The person who pieced together this labor of love must have spent countless hours shaping the useless remnants into a usable blanket. Elise felt it was her duty to repair the inevitable rips as an homage to the unknown creator and as a manifestation of her adoration for the little boy who cherished it.\n\n“I love how cool it feels when I first get into bed,” her little man observed the first night he wrapped himself in the old quilt. “But before long, it warms up, and I’m snug as a bug in a rug. Where did you get it?” \n\nThe question was one whose answer was too mundane to inflict on a wide eyed little boy, so Elise stretched the truth just a little. “It was brought over on the Mayflower by the Pilgrims,” she answered to her son's delight. “It’s made from pieces of fabric from all over Europe and is the first blanket used by the first Americans.”\n\nIt was just a little white lie, but it was also the beginning of a cherished tradition. As stitches unraveled and as tears ripped the quilt and the little boy's heart, Elise sat by his bed and mended the heirloom. Then she would continue the \"true\" story of how the quilt had found its way to her son. \n\n“During the Revolutionary War, your quilt was captured by General Cornwallis and used to keep his legs warm on the cold winter nights.” Elise said, weaving a story as intricate as the blanket itself. “It wasn’t until the surrender at Yorktown that it was returned.”\n\n“Yorktown?”\n\n“Yes, Yorktown,'' she said smiling, “George Washington took it from Cornwallis and used it during his eight years as president.”\n\n“You mean my blanket has been to the White House?” \n\n“Of course it has,” Elise answered with a wink. “But not because of George Washington, silly. John Adams was the first president to live in the White House.”\n\n“Who then, Mom? ``The little boy asked., “Who took my blanket to the White House?”\n\n“That’s a story for later,” Elise replied, kissing her son on his forehead. “Now you get some sleep, and I’ll continue the story next time.”\n\nElise, unfortunately, had far too many opportunities to continue the blanket’s tale as her son was given to debilitating headaches. At first, the doctors thought he was prone to systemic migraines, but the truth was much worse. Many nights, too many, the little boy would curl up in pain, his teeth clenched in a faux smile. The headaches were excruciating, only soothed by a cold wash cloth, his mother’s gentle voice, and the telling of the quilt’s tale as he drifted off to sleep. \n\nThere were also many a night where Elise would sit with her son as he slept, meticulously piecing back together the tears that threatened the blanket entirely, wishing there was a way she could also mend her son. The room would be completely quiet save for the sound of Elise’s song. It was something she had done since she was his age. Inadvertently yet intentionally she would let the air slip through her lips, creating a tune just for him that would live for that moment, replaced the next time by one equally beautiful and equally unique.\n\n“As it turns out, the first time the quilt made it to the White House was just after Abraham Lincoln was elected president,” Elise said the next night, continuing the story from where they’d left off. The pain had become more frequent and more intense, requiring more chapters more often. The story's continuation, however, had the desired results, a distraction and a smile.\n\n“Abraham Lincoln, he used my quilt, too?” her son asked, too young to doubt his mother. \n\n“Of course he did,” Elise responded, tickling her son just to hear him laugh. “It’s a little known fact, but Mount Rushmore was actually created to show all of the presidents who used your blanket.” \n\nElise always had a basin of cold water by her side whenever she sat with her son. Very early on she learned that the coolness of the cloth would help quiet the pain in his head. It was her greatest joy to moisten the cloth keeping it cold throughout her story. The little boy’s head still throbbed, but while his mom was telling the story she would gently wipe his forehead with the cold cloth, and it was almost as if he forgot the pain for a time. If all went well, he would fall asleep listening to the tale of his blanket, as sleep was becoming his only relief from the pain.\n\n“Did you know your blanket went to the moon?” Elise asked one day when her son seemed particularly down. “Neil Armstrong may have been the first man to set foot on the moon, but he laid out your quilt so he and Buzz Aldrin could have a picnic.” \n\nThe idea of two astronauts having a picnic on the moon resulted in spontaneous laughter for both mother and son. \n\n“Is Buzz Lightyear named after Buzz Aldrin?” he asked his mom, as both continued to laugh.\n\n“As a matter of fact he was,” Elise replied with a smile. “If you must know, Buzz Aldrin presented your quilt to Buzz Lightyear as a gift which means your blanket has been…”\n\n“To infinity and beyond!” \n\n“Exactly,” Elise confirmed as she refreshed his cloth and placed it back on his head.\n\nDay after day she would take her boy to doctors and then specialists and eventually to the hospital. Then, night after night, she would sit by his bed and tell the story of the quilt. Elise did everything she could to stretch out the story, and as each new adventure was passed from mother to son so too was hope, in the only way she knew how. \n\nThe night that she finished the story was, in so many ways, just like most of the other nights. Elise was home in her favorite chair next to her son’s bed. Her breathing was labored and her voice unsteady. “And then I stopped by a flea market on my way home from the store and there it was, your beautiful, wonderful blanket. I knew you must have it, so I scooped it up, paid the nice woman, and brought it home to you.”\n\nTears filled Elise’s eyes as she sewed the last stitch on the old quilt. Holding it up, she remembered the first time her son covered himself with the blanket. I love how cool it feels when I first get into bed.\n\n“It’s finally fixed. It’s perfect.” Elise said out loud, tears continuing to flow. “I love how cool it feels, too.” \n\nSummoning every bit of her strength, she lay the beloved blanket on the empty bed in front of her. \n\nBeing a mom is a job that is never truly finished, at least she had hoped so. With nothing else left to do for her son, she sat back in the chair and silently sobbed." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Few and Far Between\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1089\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who has a ‘hot and cold’ personality — or is affected by someone like this." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“He fell again,” my husband mouths to me, then returns to his phone call with his-brother-who-I-cannot-stand. “No, no. I’m right here. I can be there in twenty minutes.”\nOf course he’s going out in an ice storm in the middle of the night. Of course he’s the one my father-in-law calls, a man who patently favors my husband’s inept older brother and overindulges his younger one. Of course he’s riding to the rescue. That’s what martyrs do. \nMy husband paces, phone still in hand. “Did the doctors say anything else—what caused the fall?” \nDehydration, I say to myself. Your father never drinks anything but coffee and whiskey, oftentimes together.\n“He has a urinary tract infection, too?” My husband looks shocked that his father’s poor lifestyle choices have had a negative impact on his health. \nOf course he has a UTI. Primarily brought on by dehydration, I want to say, but at this point in our marriage, we’ve had too many conversations about the same things. I’ve learned it’s better to say nothing. Eggshells can only be walked on for so long.\nMy husband hangs up the phone and starts to get dressed.\n“Sorry I woke you up,” he apologizes, but the apology is insincere. He wants me to commiserate with him, but I’m not playing this game at 3:00 a.m. I have my own problems. We have our own problems.\n“I have to get up and change the sheets anyway,” I mutter. \n“Night sweats?”\n“Yup,” I pull off a pillow case. It’s drenched.\n“Maybe try hormone therapy?”\nMaybe go to hell, I want to say, but I conjure up an icy smile which looks suspiciously like a grimace. No, I don’t need any more synthetic hormones floating through my body, thank you. Remember how I spent twenty years on the pill because you wouldn’t get a vasectomy?\n“I love you,” he says, giving me a perfunctory kiss.\n“I love you, too,” I reply, wondering for a second if I really do. \nHe leaves for the hospital. \nI luxuriate in his absence until 4:17 a.m.\n“Mom! MOM!”\nMy eyes open before the second time my name is called. My name. My name has been Mom for over three decades. Even my husband calls me Mom. \nIt’s our youngest. She’s weeping, mascara and eyeliner running down her puffy face in black rivulets. She’s blubbering, incomprehensible and hysterical.\n“What—what’s going on?” I say, getting out of bed, finding a robe, knocking over a glass of water. \n“Mom, I wrecked the car . . . I. Wrecked. The. Car.” She caterwauls, falling into my arms. She smells of alcohol, tobacco, and my perfume, which disappeared from my vanity last month. And why cigarettes? Why can’t she just vape like her iditoic peers?\n“Slow down. Tell me what happened.”\nI hand her a box of tissues and she blows her nose. \nI wait, wrapping a thick fleece blanket around myself. After my perimenopausal night sweats, I expect to get the chills—and they arrive as advertised. \n“Okay, don’t get mad,” she starts. \nThis preface to her confession is when I know it’s going to be expensive.\n“Are you all right?”\n“I’m all right, but the car is t-totaled!” A new round of sobbing begins. \nI pat her on the back, wondering if I can put her in a warm bath then go downstairs to eat a pint of ice cream. Any flavor. Doesn't matter. \n“Tell me exactly what happened,” I pull back, looking into her tragic, raccoon eyes. I note she has a new facial piercing. I ignore it (for now) and affix a look of genuine concern. \n“Okay, Mom,” she sniffs dramatically. “So I backed into a car at Taco Bell. And then the driver was really mean to me—he yelled! So I left, but I ran over his foot.”\nI raise my eyebrows and start counting the felonies. \n“On the way home, a cop followed me. He pulled me over. I waited until he was out of his car—then I took off!”\n“You. took. off.”\n“I was scared because I had been drinking—” her lower lip trembles. “And then I hit the sign.”\n“What sign?”\n“The sign outside our subdivision. The Walnut Grove sign.”\n“That’s a brick wall. You ran the car into a brick wall?”\n“Uh-huh,” she cries. She buries her face into my chest, wiping her nose on my nightgown like a five year old. The thought of strangling her seems very appealing.\n“Darling, I’m going to need you to take a shower and go to bed. When dad gets home, I’ll talk to him. We’ll sort it out. Just go to bed now, all right?”\n“Uh-huh,” she blubbers. “I’m sorry, mom,” she apologizes, but the apology is insincere. She is sorry she got caught. \nWhen she leaves, I lay down on the bedroom floor instead of making up the bed. I gather most of the pillows in a heap and briefly consider making a pillow fort. How nice it would be to have someone else to deal with aging parents and adult children. \nI sulk, staring at the ceiling. \nI’m in the sandwich generation, my mother complained one afternoon when I came home from school. I didn’t know what she meant and asked her to make me a ham and swiss. I had wondered why she burst into both tears and laughter at my request.\nNow I know. I am in between two generations whose incessant needs make me wonder who I am.\n“Every woman in her fifties wants to run away,” my mother told me before she died. “And the ones who don’t are few and far between.”\n“I think I hate everyone,” I confessed to her. “Especially men.”\n“Menstruation. Menopause. Mental breakdown. You see a trend?”\nWe laughed.\n“Running away is easy. Fighting is much harder,” she said, lifting my chin, looking into my eyes to see if I was listening. “And I didn’t raise any wimps.”\nThe bedroom door opens, jostles me awake.\n“Honey, why are you on the floor?” my husband asks, eyes bloodshot and weary. \nI stand up and reach my arms around him, grateful for his presence. “I was down there getting a new perspective on life.”\n“Then you’re feeling better? No more hot flashes tonight? No more chills?”\n“Oh, they’ll be back.”\n“Are you sure I can’t get you anything for your troubles?” he grins, and I wonder how he missed our car decorating the entrance to the neighborhood. \n“Probably a good lawyer or two,” I smile, kissing him lightly on the lips." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Cat in a Candy Store\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2578\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a confectionery shop." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Pepper peeked out from under the counter and groaned as he spied the woman setting up the Hallmark display with heart adorned cards.\n‘Valentine’s Day, ugh. Humans are so tiresome.’ The woman was Candace and she owned Candy’s Sweet Shoppe. Pepper the rat’s ash grey fur puffed and his white whiskers bristled uncontrollably. They did that when he was annoyed.\nPepper scurried across the pink linoleum beneath the counter, across the floor to under the shelves. From there he was able to see the calendar on the wall. ‘Gads, it’s only January 12th.’ He dramatically held a pink paw to his forehead. ‘A whole month of hearts and gushy crap.’ \nA flash of white caught his eye just outside the door. ‘Fredrica.’ She was the shop cat that lived in the bookstore across the cobblestoned street. He watched as she slinked over it gracefully. She patiently waited at the bookshop’s door until it was opened. The fingers of a small pale hand curled around the doorframe like starfish legs clinging to a rock and pulled it shut. It was the hand of the young boy who helped the man run the store. The man could only be the boy’s father- same shaggy dark hair, same wideset brown eyes, same animated way they flapped their hands when they talked.\nPepper daydreamed. He would have killed for a boy of his own. He suddenly felt exposed and looked behind him. Candace came around the counter towards the shelves with an armload of heartsy, cutesy, stuffed animals. She was wearing her readers down low on her freckled nose, her hair a frothy red mop pinned up by butterfly barrettes. Her blue eyes peered over the eyeglass frames and grew huge and round when she spied Pepper. \nWoman and rat froze. \nThen Candace broke her paralysis and screamed like a factory steam whistle at days end. Simultaneously, she threw the small, plush animals into the air. They plopped and bounced all around Pepper- puppies, kittens, a fluffy green alligator, a ladybug bonked Pepper’s noggin. He shook his head, zig-zagged through the stuffed toy fallout (noting that there were no rat toys) and zipped across the floor to his little hole underneath the counter where he lived.\nThe next day Candace brought a cat to the candy store.\nHe was an orange tabby with deep pumpkin-colored stripes, the same shade as Candace’s soft plentitude of curls.\n“Here you go Killer,” said Candace as she lowered a small bowl of milk to the floor. She placed it next to the counter and as the cat lapped lazily it purred. It looked up, white droplets pattered off its whiskers, the purring ceased. It sniffed at the hole and growled like a miniature tiger.\nKiller crouched with ears perked forward, staring into the hole. \nAt last, two hours later, it got up and padded to the front door. He sat and his head traveled from left to right slowly. Curious, Pepper skittered to the bookshelves, Killer’s whiskers twitched at the faint ticking noises made by the rat’s tiny claws. But he didn’t turn around. He was mesmerized by the sleek white feline slinking down the sidewalk across the street.\nWhen the bookstore door opened, and Fredrica went inside the darkened doorway, Killer snapped out of it and turned around. Pepper ran under the shelves, darted under the counter, and he couldn’t help squealing with fright as he felt the ground behind him pound with heavy cat feet in hot pursuit. \nHe made it to safety. But he felt like he was having a heart attack. The orange tabby was fast, the floor was slick, and the cat whumped into the counter, rattling the sliding glass doors in the back. \nThe cat paced the length of the front counter. Pepper had an idea. He raced back to the shelves. Killer heard the tippy-tapping and hurried after the sneaky rat. Pepper crawled up the back of the shelving and came out on the third shelf. The cat leapt to the shelf and swiped at the rat who ducked out of reach. Killer knocked three stuffed toys to the ground. Then three more. After a pile of books clattered down, Heels clicked on the floor from the office in the back.\n“Killer! What on earth? What have you done?” Candace’s voice was shrilly as she took in the mess. “You’re supposed to kill the rat. Not destroy the store. Grrrr.”\nPepper giggled as he climbed to the top shelf. He had a stash of candy up there and was safely out of reach.\nAfter dark, Candace closed the shop for the day. She put a plate of sardines by the milk bowl and turned the lights off on her way out the door.\n‘Fwap.’\nKiller stopped scarfing up the fish and looked towards the sound. He frowned at the package of gummy bears lying on the floor in front of the door. His eyes grew soft and glistening as he caught the glow of white fur across the street. He went to the window in the door and stared as the lovely feline licked her paws and cleaned her face.\n‘ticka ticka ticka…’ tiny footfalls.\nKiller turned as the long, leathery rat tail disappeared under the shelves. He went to his dinner. The plate was licked clean. “Meeeeeooooooowwwwrrrr!” He howled in frustration.\nThe next day when Candace was occupied in the office, Pepper scurried like an ash being blown across the floor. Killer chased after. The rat squiggled under the metal revolving card rack then under the counter. The cat slid over the polished pink floor and straight into the rack. It toppled over in a jangling, twanging, pile of metal rods and crumpled cards.\n“Oh come on!”\nKiller slunk to the corner, head hung low, he looked like a sad orange gargoyle.\nCandace sighed and said, “I thought you were a mouser…er…ratter? You’re more trouble than the rat!”\nThat night Candace left a plate of mackerel for the cat who had sulked in the corner behind the counter all day.\n‘Fwap.’\nKiller padded silently on orange pom-pom feet to the door. He sat next to the colorful package of sour worms and watched the white cat at the bookstore.\n‘Tappity-tappity-tappity.’\nWithout turning around, Killer said, “Help yourself. I’m not hungry.”\nPepper looked up, surprised, his eyes glittered like black beads as they caught the dim streetlight outside. His cheeks were full like fat, fuzzy grey walnuts; he swallowed, ‘gulup’, and studied the cat.\n“And why would I want to eat you anyways? I like fish. And chicken…turkey’s good too. Not rat. Yuck. Fur and whiskers and teeth? Hmmf.” The cat looked sideways towards the rat, as if he was keeping one eye on the rat and one on the white cat.\n“You’re not messing with me?”\nKiller shrugged. “Meh.” He turned towards the window again. The angel was gone.\n“Her name’s Fredrica. The boy calls her Freddy.”\nKiller’s ears perked up. He said in a dreamy low voice, “She’s sooo beautiful.”\n“So ask her out.” \nKiller jumped when he realized the rat was sitting next to him. He said, “she’d never like an ole tom like me.”\n“Women love wooing. Cats are no different.”\n“What do you mean by ‘woo?’”\n“Dude, look around this place. All this heartsy, cutesy crap,” Pepper said, his mouth in a downward grimace. He added, “It’s pure commercial poop. Humans spend boocoo bucks on it. Especially now, it’s Valentine’s season. Ugh. I hate the color pink. And all this foo-fooey stuff…makes my eyeballs bleed.”\nKiller was looking at the rat blankly, like the rat was giving a sermon on Greek or something. The rat studied the cat’s face and realized he’d been ranting. \nHe took a deep breath and said, “You can take advantage of it though.”\nKiller looked dubious.\nPepper said, “I’ll help you. Let’s make a deal. I’ll help you win Freddy’s heart, and you don’t slaughter me.”\nThe cat said, “but if I don’t kill you, Candace will toss me out for sure.”\n“Aw heck. I can find a new place. I’ve been eating candy all my life and am priii-teee sick of it. I’m more of a ‘salty’type.”\nThe rat waited patiently for the cat to process what he was trying to tell him. He could practically hear the rusty cogs and wheels turning in Killer’s head. After a minute, Killer smiled and said, “You’re saying I can woo Fredrica with this Valentine’s stuff?”\nPepper said, “Chicks dig it. They get all googly eyed and mooshy, even feline chicks. Seen it a million times.” He suppressed a gag. “We’ll start tomorrow. Now go eat your fish, you can have the rest.”\n“Really?” said the cat sarcastically, “my own dinner? Gee thanks.”\n“The omegas are great for a silky coat.” Pepper sat up and smoothed down his white belly.\nThe next day, Pepper was extra careful to stay out of sight. Perhaps if the woman didn’t see him, she’d let up on Killer a bit. That night, after the shop was closed, he came out and sat with Killer in the shadows under the shelves.\nKiller excitedly said, “Oh, here she comes.” His orange fur bristled as if each strand was alive and ready to take off into orbit.\nPepper’s own pulse perked up along with his ears. He was having fun with this.\nFredrica’s silky fur glowed bluey in the merry white light of the big moon. They watched as the luminescent cat across the street approached the bouquet of flowers on the bookshop’s doorstep. They drooped a bit and a pale petal drifted to her feet as Fredrica picked them up and studied the pretty blooms. Pepper had picked them from the brick sidewalk planter from the store next door and wrapped the stems in some of the candy shop’s bright pink tissue paper. She looked down both sides of the street, the boys sucked in breath as her eyes lingered on the candy shop’s glass paned door. Then her own door opened behind her a crack. The cobblestoned street was more of an alley, it was in the boutiquey section of town only accessible to pedestrians. From forty feet away they heard the young boy say, “Why Miss Freddy, ah do declare you have an admirer.”\nPepper elbowed Killer and gave him a tiny thumbs up.\nThe next night, the cat and rat covertly watched as Frederica inspected the mini heart shaped box of chocolates on the doorstep. Instead of chocolates, the rat had filled it with sardine heads and anchovy tails. It had a pawprint on the red flocked top lid. This time she looked around smiling, with a snow-white paw pressed to her chest.\nThe third night, the white cat came home to find a plush stuffed woodchuck with a little pink (of course) shirt that said on it, ‘I’d chop for you.’ Killer had raised his brows at Pepper over that one.\nPepper only said, “Corny. Yes. But loveable to chicks. Besides…just watch” \nFredrica tossed the toy in the air, squealing with delight. She hugged it and nuzzled it with her grinning cheeks.\nPepper said, “that’s the catnip.” That morning Pepper had stuffed some of the dried leaves into it. \nKiller had only raised his brows when Pepper had brought the cat contraband back early that morning. He had said, “where did you find it?”\nPepper shrugged and said, “I have my ways, my friend. I am a rat after all. Hello.”\nNow, as Killer spied on the white cat, he waited for her to settle down. Apparently, catnip was like ‘cat pot’. Fredrica lay on her belly embracing the fuzzy toy. Then she sat up and looked around, apparently, she’d noticed something else. \nKiller looked at Pepper expectantly. Pepper grinned back. Both friends looked out the window.\nFredrica had rolled over the card. The clincher. She picked it up and read it. Then re-read it. Her white fur glowed like an ice-covered glacial lake, she looked like a spectral wood nymph as she twirled in the moonlight.\nThe bookstore door opened, and the dark-haired boy came out and observed the cat’s odd behavior. He watched her as she pranced into the bookstore. The boy looked around, but the narrow street was empty. He shrugged then followed the cat inside.\nThe card, ironically, had been one off the metal rack that had caused Killer so much grief the week before. It was goofy. At least Pepper thought so, but he had convinced Killer that it would be the final ‘Valentine’…like the cherry on the top of a sundae.\nBoth rat and cat had agreed that Killer should not actually sign his name. That could only end up having her screaming and hiding in her closet the rest of her nine lives. He left another pawprint and ‘Candy Store tomorrow midnight.’\nThe red-haired woman had not seen the rat for days. She was so happy that she put a cat door in place of the bathroom window at the back of the shop. Ten minutes before midnight, Killer went out it and sat on the step in front of Candy’s Sweet Life. Pepper hid in the brick planter fifteen feet away.\nAt exactly twelve, the white feline came around the corner from the top of the street. She looked nervous; the tip of her tail twitched like the Queen’s white-gloved wave. Killer stood as she approached and said, “Hello Fredrica. You look beautiful as always. Um, my name’s Killer. Uh, not like in ‘Lady’ or ‘Serial’! But---”\nFredrica laughed. “That’s funny. Call me Freddy. Hey, you wanna come over for some warm milk?”\n“There is nothing I would rather do.” Killer looked towards the planter where Pepper watched. He walked past him towards the bookstore. He gave the rat a thumbs up.\nPepper felt a twinge of loneliness though he wished his friend well.\nA few days later…\n“We’re in love, in love, in LOVE!” expressed the orange cat as he leapt about the pink frilly store. “It worked! I love Valentine’s Day.” He was acting like a kitten discovering a tiny bouncing red light flicking here and there.\nKiller stopped frolicking when he noticed the sadness in his friend. He said, “Come with me.”\nPepper’s little grey legs skittered quickly to keep up with the cat’s long strides. At the step across the street, the door opened, and Freddy came out to nuzzle Killer’s face. The dark-haired boy of about ten goggled in surprise when he saw the rat. His freckled, dimpled face broke into an ear-to-ear grin as he dropped to his knees and bent with his hands open.\nKiller said to Pepper, “It’s okay. He’s waited a long time for this.”\nHe ran into the boy’s hands and smiled at the giant face with the huge eyes. He was whirled around like a kid in a Tiltawhirl carnival ride. The big, grown-up version of the boy came out to see what had caused all the commotion. The boy let Pepper scamper up his arm. He giggled as Pepper snuggled against his neck and said, “can I keep him? Huh Dad? Can I? Pleeeeeeeeeeze!”\nThe man studied the rat. It was looking back at the man just as intently, as if holding its breath. At last, the man said, “Well, there’s something special about him that’s for sure. Sure son. I suppose Valentine’s gifts are meant for all kinds of loved ones, eh?”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: January 1973 - A List Written by a Northern Irish Mother\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1077\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in the form of a list." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Don’t forget to:\nTake the decorations down, wrap them in tissue paper and box them up to be stowed away under the stairs until next year. Carefully take down the crepe paper decorations so they don’t tear. Keep the Christmas cards and fill out the address book with anyone we missed this year. Send belated Happy New Year cards to any we did forget.\nGet some iced fingers from the bakery for whenever Joan calls round for a cup of tea. Get fruit soda for breakfast and a Belfast bap to go with some stew this week.\nPay the milkman and the paper boy. Thank the milkman for that extra pot of heavy cream he left on the doorstep before Christmas.\nPick up some more cigarettes from the newsagents for Jim.\nGo to the bank to pay the bills.\nGo to the butchers. Remember not to wear my good shoes – they always have sawdust on the floor. Remember to pick up a bone while I’m there for the dog.\nBefore we go into town at the weekend, remember to clear out my handbag to save any embarrassment at the checkpoints. Allow extra time for shopping in case there’s a bomb scare and we get thrown out of the shops. Go to BHS, Markies and C&A. Check the January sales for anything the boys might need for next Winter and get it oversized. If the boys are well behaved, call into Leisure World and let them have a look at the displays. They know not to ask for anything – especially after Christmas.\nSet aside money for the chippy on a Saturday. We can sit in and get the bus there and home. It’ll save me cooking a night.\nTake the boys to the corner shop to get the Beano and the Dandy with their pocket money – only if they’ve done their chores properly.\nAsk Jim to pump up the bike tyres for the childer for when they go to the park on Saturday.\nTake the childer to the pictures for Charlie’s birthday treat. They can get some penny sweets too if they’re good.\nGet all the cottons washed and pressed. Set aside extra time to starch and iron everything. Make sure Jim has plenty of clean handkerchiefs. Take other items to the drycleaners down the road.\nSee if next door can still lend us that spare radio they have so we can listen to music and the news while I cook.\nPlant some bulbs so we have some flowers in the springtime. Remind Jim to clean the yard up so the boys can play in it as it gets a bit warmer.\nMake sure the boys are getting their spellings and sums right at the end of each week. Punish and reward accordingly.\nRing Eileen and see if she’s interested in coming with me to join the library. Sheila says they let you get out three books each and you only have to pay fines if they’re returned late.\nMake up some extra batches of stew and vegetable soup for Mummy and Daddy. Make sure they have everything they need. Don’t forget to pick up barley at the shop for the soup.\nTalk to Jim about saving up for a fridge this year. The pantry is fine and keeps everything cool and it’s not like we get good summers, but it’d be a nice wee convenience to have.\nRemind the boys the importance of doing their prayers and reading their Bible when they get up and go to bed. See if we can find a church we want to belong to. The one we last went to was a bit too stiff and old fashioned. Find one with hymns that are a bit more upbeat.\nGet some darning and sewing done. Fix a few of Jim’s shirts and some of the boys torn trousers to get more life out of them. Warn the boys to be more careful when they’re playing outside. Sometimes I think they think we’re made of money.\nWrite to Aunt Anne and thank her for all the generous presents she sent at Christmas for the boys. See if we can get a picture taken of the boys wearing the jumpers she knitted. She’ll be pleased to see them. She’s in Scotland and I doubt we will be going there any time soon. She certainly won’t be wanting to come here with the Trouble that’s been going on.\nPack up some of the boys old Rupert and Wind in the Willows books, etc and put them into the roof space. They’ve outgrown them but I want to keep them for future children in the family. They’re such classics, I have a feeling they’ll never grow old.\nSee if Jim can chop the Christmas tree remnants up so we can burn them in the fire.\nSpeaking of fires, call the chimney sweep and see if he can come out any time soon. The soot in that chimney is so bad it’s making the sitting room smoky when you light it.\nGet a box of chocolates as a thank you to Betty for her kind letter she sent before Christmas. She obviously put a lot of time into writing it and I don’t have the same way she does with words.\nSweep and polish the floors and the furniture. Get rid of all the Christmas dust for a fresh new year.\nKeep praying that things settle down in this wee country of ours. It’s been terrible but surely it has to come to an end soon. I don’t want the childer growing up in this turmoil.\nMake sure we’re back by the curfew when we go out for dinner with the Lavertys next weekend. It’s easy to forget about these things when you’re having a good time and a wee drink.\nRead a poem a day and try to take a minute to myself to have a warm cup of tea before the boys get back from school.\nMy new year’s resolution is to stay on top of our budget and pinch pennies wherever I can. I need to ask Mummy for some tips of hers from whenever rationing was in force. Jim’s job is paying less well than his last one and there’s talk that they might let some people at the shipyard go soon.\nStay positive and remember all our family’s little blessings and the things the good Lord provides us with." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Endy Mendy\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1057\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone making a gift (chocolate or otherwise) for a loved one." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "What if I told you there was a demon devoted to the broken hearted?\nWhat if I told you that this isn't some fairy tale with monsters and villains, but a very real, breathing creation that is as old as time itself? This creature's sole existence revolves around targeting the broken-hearted, and trying in his own twisted way to mend them.\nHe only targets adults and leaves children well alone. He has no business cavorting with the realm of childish creations. This creature visits nearly all adults and leaves his mark on them.\nThis creature's name, is Endy Mendy.\nEndy Mendy is a demon, let me tell you that much. He targets the broken-hearted and heals them in his own depraved way.\nEndy Mendy slips into your room late at night and waits for you to fall asleep. That fleeting shape you see out of the corner of your eye? It's probably just the shadow of a branch outside and nothing more.\nEndy Mendy is much more terrifying, because he's invisible. He stands beside your bed, tall and hunched, waiting patiently. You may feel a faint breath on your cheek as you fall asleep. He does get rather close in anticipation.\nOnce you're asleep, Endy Mendy delves his talons deep into your chest and squeezes your heart with glee. Ever feel your heart rate fleetingly jump as you drift into sleep? It's him, and he's squeezing.\nEndy Mendy squeezes your heart until it shatters into a thousand pieces. Because you're asleep, you won't feel a thing. Sleep numbs your heart, it acts as a merciful anaesthetic.\nOnce your heart has been shattered, Endy Mendy hunches over you and gets to work, salivating excitedly as he does so.\nYou know that small wet patch on your pillow when you wake up? It's not your drool.\nOnce your heart has been shattered, Endy Mendy remakes it carefully, working late through the night. He pieces the shards of your heart together like an intricate puzzle, spit-shining the memories that cause you pain, so you never forget about them, for he believes remembering pain will help you avoid it in the future.\nOnce your heart is pieced together again, he identifies the piece that lets you love- the purest most shiny part of your heart. And he steals it.\nYou wake up in the morning and may feel a little groggy- it's natural after having your entire heart shattered and remade. You'll notice yourself becoming bitter and jaded as the days roll on, your smile becoming a wispy memory, your favourite colours diluted to dull puddles of indifference.\nIn Endy Mendy's eyes, he has healed you, for when you're bitter it's impossible for your heart to truly love someone, and no love means no further heartbreak.\nEndy Mendy leaves you with the most vital part of your heart missing, with a small hole left in its place. That hole, will steadily haemorrhage the very fuel your heart runs on- hope.\nSo why steal the crucial shard of your heart that helps you love? Well, Endy Mendy keeps that shard of your heart and melts it down. He then uses the liquid as ink, to write letters to a certain someone.\nYou see, Endy Mendy is broken hearted himself, having been spurned a long time ago by a woman who scorned his very existence.\nThe poor creature does not know how to love, so tries to sway her by frantically writing in the heart-ink of others, and sending these as desperate gifts to her every night. The woman he yearns after, is named Shadow-Lust.\nShadow-Lust was born of the evil things that men do in the dark. One day, that very darkness and the smirk of a lying politician melded together in union and discovered they understood each other in twisted and quaint ways.\nBefore long, Shadow-Lust was born, and was promptly hurled into the night, where she scarpered from corner to corner, searching frantically for her parents and stumbling every other step, for she was born with dark coals for eyes.\nEndy Mendy bumped into Shadow-Lust and was enamoured with her instantly. But being a demon, he couldn't express this love, so she spurned him, leaving him distraught and angry.\nThis is why Endy Mendy needs that piece of your heart, for he cannot understand love himself. A strong heart will repel him instantly, but someone who is broken-hearted is the perfect victim for the demon known as Endy Mendy.\nBut back to you. Endy Mendy leaving a hole in your heart isn't the end, stranger. You see, the heart has an amazing ability after heartbreak.\nIt can regenerate.\nHowever, you can only start the regenerating process once you accept that you are broken, and that Endy Mendy has meddled with your heart. It's upsetting to realise, but it's a necessary step before you can begin the healing process.\nThe missing shard will be remade from the experience you harbour, meaning your heart can never be shattered in that exact way ever again. It may take months or even years, but your heart's natural instinct is to heal itself, but only if you let it get on with its job.\nA heart that is broken, that is vulnerable and in pain, is like a delectable feast for Endy Mendy. Sometimes, before he visits the broken-hearted by their bedside, he'll jump on their back and wrap his spindly arms around them, in a twisted sort of embrace. Ever notice when you're heart-broken you'll sometimes feel leaden-heavy and tired? You might want to shake around a bit, for Endy Mendy has probably hitched a ride.\nBefore I leave, let me impart some knowledge that will save you from ever dealing with Endy Mendy and his talons.\nThe one thing that Endy Mendy cannot be in the same room as, let alone touch, is a heart that loves itself. It emits a pulse so strong it makes his eyeballs rove in their sockets, and he scarpers into the darkness, never to be seen again, snarling and snapping over his shoulder.\nA heart that loves itself understands heartbreak is a natural part of life, and allows itself to feel pain and sadness, for they are the forgotten siblings of ecstasy and joy.\nSo protect your heart, stranger. Beware of Endy Mendy and his twisted talons." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Card-iologist\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1040\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who finds Valentine’s Day sickly sweet." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Hiiiii. Welcome to Hallmark Greetings & Gifts. May I help you find something today?\"\n\"Well, uh, yes. I'm looking for a Valentine's Day card. For my niece.\"\n\"Perfect. Our Valentine's day selection is over here.”\n“Are you sure?”\n“Am I what?”\n“Are you sure? I mean, these cards are assorted blues and yellows and greens.”\n“And?”\n“I was looking for Valentine’s Day cards. I was expecting a selection of cards in reds and pinks. Maybe some glitter.”\n“Sir, we are an inclusive card store. I can assure you that blues and yellows and greens can express your festive wishes just as well as reds and pinks.”\n“Fine, can you at least point me in the direction of cards for nieces?”\n“Nieces?”\n“Yes, I need a card for my niece. You know, like my brother’s daughter.”\n“Niece? Brother? Daughter? I’m not sure what you mean. We have a very nice selection of person cards. They can be found in any of the three aforementioned colors.”\n“Listen, young man. If I didn’t care enough to send the very best, I would walk out right now.”\n“Young man? What are you? Some kind of neanderthal? It is completely inappropriate to force your traditional identifiers on us. Do I need to call my personager?”\n“No, wait. I’m so sorry. I assumed you were a man. I mean, your septum ring’s engraving reads— It’s a man’s world.” \n“Sir, you’ll note my personal self-expression is intentionally ironic. I think both you and I completely understand it’s a human and huwoman’s world.” \n“Of course, of course. So, do you have any huwoman’s cards?”\n“Please, sir. If you don’t stop with your offensive archaic patriarchal classifications, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”\n“Beg your pardon?”\n“Here at Hallmark, all of our cards are gender neutral and nonbinary.” \n“Wait, you’re trying to tell me that you don’t believe there are two sexes?”\n“There you go again.”\n“There I go again. What did I do this time?”\n“You used the word sexes.”\n“Excuse me, genders.”\n“And there it is again.”\n“What?!”\n“SEX-es. EX-cuse. Tell me you didn’t use words with x’s in them—just to make fun of me.”\n“Why would I do that?”\n“Oh, so now you’re using Y. Don’t think I know you aren’t gaslighting me with your references to x and y chromosomes.”\n“You’ve got to be kidding me. I need to avoid using the letters x and y? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”\n“Kidding? You really said kidding? We do not recognise age here. We at Hallmark are also non-numeric when it comes to age. Have you been living on a deserted island? Are you Gilligan or Mary Ann?”\n“Actually, I prefer Ginger.”\n“You prefer characters named after seasonings?! You do realize that seasonings are objects, thus you must support the objectification of persons who are neither seasonings nor objects.”\n“I’m not objectifying anyone!”\n“One? Anyone? Typical of someone who is not supportive of the community. You’ve automatically assumed not only my gender, but also my number. I am not anyone. I am anytwo. And my pronouns are Alpha and Omega.”\n“I understand and thank you for educating me. Now, could we please just start over?”\n “At Hallmark, we believe that everyone, everytwo, and everythree can start over. Would you like to see the Starting Over section of our greeting cards?”\n“I would just like a Valentine’s Day card to send my niece—my person—”\n“Do you own this person?”\n“No, of course not.”\n“You said ‘my person’ like you owned him or her or they or them or ze or hir or xe or sem or hy or hym . . .’\n“You forgot thou, thee, thy, thine, and ye.”\n“Ye has been canceled. Kanye West is officially over.”\n“My God, who thought getting a card would be so difficult.”\n“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt because you are obviously retarded only in the exact clinical definition of the term. And we don’t want to use the term card.”\n“You are shitting me.”\n“I wouldn’t shit you as you are quickly becoming my favorite turd.”\n“That’s not funny.”\n“I know, but using the word card isn’t funny either.”\n“Why the hell not? Because playing cards have kings and queens? And kings are always boys and queens are girls?”\n“Hey, you’re right. I hadn’t thought to be offended at that, yet there is more. Diamonds are a girl's best friend, but there are no more girls. A spade is a pejorative name for melanin over abundant persons. Do I really have to explain all this?”\n“I’d love a club right now so I could—”\n“Could what? Are you threatening all my selves with violence? I assure you, anythree of my personas would gladly open up a can of whoopass on you. Now here. Take this and go.”\n“What is this?”\n“This is a folded up piece of cardstock with glitter and typography expressing heartfelt sentiments along with an envelope for $5.95.”\n“This is a card.”\n“If you insist on using that term, I suppose it is.”\n“Let’s see what it says. To the offspring of my sibling. I am platonically fond of you and aware of your boundaries. Have the day of your choosing and seek the desires of whatever bodily organ you choose. This is horrible. Do you have any others?”\n“Try this one.”\n“This isn't a card! This is a Chinese takeout menu.”\n“I don’t appreciate your cultural appropriation. Just open it up.”\n“I apologize for the paternal Greco-Roman-based hegemony and its underpinnings of modern society. I just want a Valentine’s Day card, not to atone for Western civilization!”\n“Just doing my job, ma’amsirthem.”\n“Fine. I’ll take the first one. I talked to my mailman, and he assured me if I got it in the mail today it would be there by Valentine’s day.”\n“The mailman will get it in the mail? Have you not learned a thing? Were you even listening?”\n“As little as I possibly could. What new rule did I break now?”\n“You need to get it to your person-person so they can get in the person.”\n“Whatever.”\n“Whatever to you, too. Have a non-specific day and thank you for shopping at Hallmark.”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Night Vision: Remembering the Future\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2331\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character is exploring their religious or spiritual identity." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I’ve been to such a place so unimaginable, that even after sharing my experience, you would not be able to fathom what I have seen, felt, or witnessed. But…this is my attempt to share with you what is beyond. Beyond comprehension. Beyond what we’ve been conditioned to believe to be real or fake.\nIt was a Wednesday late afternoon, November 18th to be exact. I finally arrived home after a long day at work. My feet are throbbing, I’m starved, and ready to crash. Eat or sleep first? Those were the options that faced my evening. I could barely think of anything but my bed. Welp! That was that! I threw my heels off, quickly changed my clothes into a very large, oversized tee-shirt. I walked over to the left side of my bed, lifted the blanket up and over, climbed into bed, and covered myself. I let out a deep sigh that sounded like “the anxious wait is over”. I scooted towards the edge of the bed to have one leg out and my arm bent slightly over the edge. Before I realized it, I was out for the count!\nJust when I thought I would have a peaceful rest, suddenly, I was being pulled up and out of my bed. Did you catch that? I was being pulled up and out of my bed. I was confused, frightened and amazed. I couldn’t choose which emotion to settle in. I looked down to see how far up I am, but to my surprise, I saw my body lying there! I kept blinking and shaking my head to try and snap out of it, but nothing worked. I finally looked up to see what or who was pulling me upward, and it was a bright-lighted being. I began to wiggle and yell for help. This bright entity, this person whom I could only guess was an angelic being, looked down at me and descended to my eye level, placed its hand on my head, then on my right shoulder. The light-being then says, “Peace”. That’s all. Just “peace”. But that was all it took for me to truly be calm and comfortable with this new experience. We continued upward, out of my house. Then over the city. Eventually, we were above the country, then the face of the earth! We traveled past the clouds towards the darkness of space! I looked up at this angel and asked, “Please, where are you taking me?” The light being's response was, “Do you not know?” I was confused by this, like come on! This is my first rodeo.\nI remained silent because I was in awe of what I saw next. We were headed to only what I could describe as a translucent, wavy-like substance that reflected all kinds of colors. Colors I couldn’t describe even if I tried. We got closer and I couldn’t believe what it was! “Is…is that water”? I asked. Before I knew it, we were traveling through water in space! But this wasn’t ordinary water. I didn’t drown. My lungs didn’t fill with water. I’m not sure if that is because my actual body is back at home in my bed or not. I just know that what I am experiencing is unimaginable. Oh, how to describe how this body of water felt. It was like touching life. I could feel this water protecting me in some way. It was as if I was submerged in 100% certainty and knowing what that felt like, truly. No, I got it…it felt like I went through absolute truth. Through the water, I looked up and I could see many colors of light becoming deeper in contrast as we were about to come out. As we emerged from the watery-like portal, I was coated with the water. I then looked down to see what I was standing on. I can only describe it as a dragon-glass-like surface. I was full of amazement. “What is this?” I asked, looking at the water coating my body. The angel finally released me and answered, “You are not yet in a form that can stand here. The water covering you are meant to protect”. Wait?! Where is “here”? I had nearly forgotten this isn’t Kansas anymore.\nThe light-being motioned me to follow. As I followed along, I looked around me and I saw many beautiful colors glowing and flowing all around. I continued to explore with my eyes and saw more light-beings bringing other people like me through the water portal. I thought to myself, this must be like how we take a train and arrive at the station where people are waiting to board or depart to go to their next destination. I was shocked and honestly relieved. I was about to yell out to a person I saw in the distance but my guide, the light-being, stopped me and said, “This journey is for you. Come.” I nodded in agreement and walked alongside. We approached a watery barrier that towered so far past the eye view! It was massive! Much like the water portal we just passed through. “Do you know where you are? Do you know why you are here?” the guide asked. I, without shame, replied, “No. I do not know where I am or why I am here. Am I dead? Is this heaven?” He replied, “No Olivia. You have not passed on. This is not heaven.” I looked around again and at the water barrier, “Is this a special realm? Is there such a thing as realms?” I asked. “Yes. You are about to enter the vision realm.” He removed his gaze from me to look toward the water barrier. “This is where you will see many wonders. You will see the present or you may see the future whether it is pleasant or destruction and death. You see what they choose for you to see”, the guide explained. “Wait! Who are they?” The guide doesn’t answer, he instead extends his hand and points toward the water barrier. I could only assume that means go through. I took a deep breath, I stuck my hand in first, then quickly retracted it. I took a step back and began shaking in fear. The guide touched my back and said, “Peace”. I took another deep breath, relaxed my shoulders, lifted my head, and proceeded through.\nI can't believe what I am seeing. It’s like a war-stricken city. It’s horrible! Buildings are in ruins and smoke arises from them. People running and screaming in fear and agony. I can no longer see myself, it's like I’m viewing this through a lens. I feel like a fly on the wall. I continue to look on and see a modern-looking warrior running and taking cover multiple times as if they were on a mission. I see others like her following her lead. She’s decked with dirt-soiled clothes, combat boots, black gloves, an automatic weapon roped around her chest, a quiver with many arrows on her back, and the bow and arrow in her hands. Her hair is pulled back, her face covered in dirt and blood smudges. She looks focused and afraid at the same time. “Wait…is that me? That’s me!” I exclaimed. I continued to look. I, the warrior, carefully cross a parking lot with burning cars, trash, and debris to the entry of a partially bombed building. This warrior, well me stops at the entryway, grabs the automatic weapon to look through the sniper scope to look out for nearby threats. She then motions the rest to hurry and cross through the parking lot and meet her. She opens the door, and everyone is pouring through. As the last one runs through the door, she looks out once more and closes the door behind her. They descend to the lowest floor of the building where it seems like survivors are holding up. There are children, men, and women all in their assigned areas. Everyone seems to have a role to play to survive. You can see some sorting rations, others building and repairing weapons. Even children are being taught to play their part in the survival efforts. I can only feel an atmosphere filled with nothing but sorrow. Some seem just too tired to carry on like this. Some are duty-focused. No matter the countenance of the people, none had joy or happiness. Only fear and a strong determination to survive the day. I’ve never felt such sadness. I enter a room where other group leaders are gathered to debrief. There’s a table with an atlas laid out and a whiteboard with assignments lines and graphs drawn on it. I walk over to my place in the room, and someone yells out, “Thank God, you made it!” Others clap their hands and warmly welcome me back. I nodded in gratitude and called the meeting to order. “We just heard word in the East sector that the military figured us out. We must…”\nSuddenly the dream was fading, and I could no longer hear what was being said! It was like I was being pulled out of the dream. I kept saying, “Wait! Wait! There’s more! Bring me back! Wait”! Next thing I know the right side of my body was hurting. I looked down and around, and realized I was back in my room and fell off the bed! I began patting the floor, the wall, and my bed, then finally my face to see if I was truly back. Well, back in my body that is. I was indeed back. And before I knew it, I was fully overtaken with emotions. I began to cry and even chuckled a little bit. I asked myself, “Did I really just leave this earth and enter a whole new dimension?” Did I really witness wonder and devastation all in the same experience? I couldn't go back to sleep. I had to tell everyone and warn them! I told my family and friends. I wrote to TV and radio stations of that night, November 18th, the night I slept and traveled beyond. But literally, everyone thinks I’m touched in the head! They all think I’m crazy. But I’m not crazy, you see. I know things that the average person can’t handle, that's all. I took a deep breath after ranting on and looked around at white padded walls, the plainly covered bed, and the psychiatrist looking down at his pad, writing down his observations. I quickly remembered nothing I'm saying will ever matter. I’m trapped in the one place I will never be heard. The psychiatrist, Dr. Zamdine says, “So, Olivia, you’ve been here for 2 years now. We had hoped your delusions of grandeur would gradually fade away. But it seems you are still a danger to yourself and others.” I looked toward the black tempered soundproof glass as if I knew there were others behind it observing me. I yelled, “You know I’m right! That’s why I'm here, isn’t it! But I won't be for long. You’ll see!” Dr. Zamdine, held a slight smirk saying sternly, “Until you recover…you WILL remain, right…here”. He rose from his chair and took it with him as he exited the room. I angrily stared him down as he left. I laid back down, faced the wall, clenched my fist in anger. I then began to cry silently from frustration and confusion. I couldn’t fathom why I would be shown such wonder and of an apocalypse to come only to suffer this fate. While I lay in sorrow, suddenly I felt a warm hand on my right shoulder. I immediately stopped crying because I recognized that feeling. It was my guide! I then heard, “Peace unto you Dreamer of dreams. Peace.” I smiled, relaxed and closed my eyes to sleep. When I woke, I was laying down in my bed, in the same oversized tee-shirt I put on before I laid down to sleep. I popped up from my bed, sweating and breathing heavily. I immediately got out of bed and tripped all over the place as I frantically ran into the other rooms of my house. I got to my kitchen and opened the window to smell and feel the cool crisp air outside on my skin. I needed to know I was truly back home! I ran back to my room, stood at the doorway of my bedroom, and fell on my knees with my eyes full of tears. Many thoughts raced through my head. So many emotions pulsating through the center of my being. I realized this wasn’t just a dream from bad Thai food I had for lunch. No. I was chosen to see what the end will be.\nMost cannot handle what I have just told you. But I think you know exactly what I am talking about. Don’t you? Do you recall when I told you I saw others with their guides emerging from the water portal? Well, I think you are one of them! I have spent 5 years trying to track down others like me…like us. Those who have been where we have been and may be seen what we’ve seen. I strongly believe that we all have seen the same future apocalypse in pieces. Like a puzzle, we are to come together to complete the picture! I know I’m right about you! I can see it in your eyes. I haven’t told a living soul ‘til now because the dream warned of what would happen if I just went around telling everyone the fate of the world. Right now, only a Dreamer of Dreams can hear what we have seen. I've come all this way and have risked everything by sharing what I’ve seen with you. Will you join me in finding the others and begin preparing for what is to come? Or will you take the easy way out and pretend it was just a dream? The choice…is yours." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: How The Grinch SAVED Christmas :)\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1282\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story in which a cynical character gets amnesia on Christmas Eve." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "One cold wintery day in early November, five close friends gathered together in their church fellowship hall over pizza and soda to discuss plans for the annual young adult Christmas party. Mr. Cynical, AKA Jake Rayes, was at it again with his yearly rebuttals, on why Christmas parties were silly, irrelevant to the birth of Christ, and a huge waste of time, you name it. Jake thought of it.\nOnce the itinerary for the evening was planned out, the group got started on their list of venues. Every year, each of five were assigned a particular venue to do some research on. They would each provide feedback on why the particular location assigned to them was the best place for their anticipated event.\nIt was not a contest, as to who was assigned the best venue, however, the small group certainly would treat it as such. They each had their own personal list of what an ideal Christmas celebration ought to include, and they saw to it that the venue they were assigned to research offered those opportunities.\nIf any of the members of the group, felt their assigned location was not a good fit, they were free to substitute with a comparable venue. Once Thanksgiving rolled around, one month prior to Christmas, their young adult pastor usually wanted the group to decide on their location, so the church can call to book the venue for their celebration.\nWhen Jake, who was always completely against the whole idea of a party as well as the whole process of planning for it, began his assigned research, he actually surprised himself. He was extremely adamant about making this event look nothing like the average commercial Christmas, that he had a different list of questions in mind, to ask when meeting and interviewing with the prospective venue's event coordinator.\nWhen the venue assigned to Jake proved to not meet his expectations as to what a true Christmas celebration ought to look like, but rather instead resembled a typical Christmas event that he so greatly disliked, Jake began to get discouraged and extremely cranky. He began to dread the holiday as it was quickly approaching.\nHowever, as grumpy and depressed the holiday currently was making him, due the fact that he felt it was improperly observed, or observed in a way that did not honor the true reason for the season this roadblock challenged Jake to take a much closer look. For Jake, all of the people that Jake would normally shake his head at, and grumble about for doing Christmas prepping wrong, he found he was offering this year a new measure of grace, that he never extended before.\nJake noticed how all of the children who were so overfocused on whether Santa thinks they were naughty or nice all year, because they wanted more stuff on Christmas morning, just needed to know how Jesus views them, as opposed to the performance- based Santa, they were conditioned to believe perceives them. Jake noticed the parents who anxiously ran around town, like anxious chickens with their heads cut off getting last minute gifts for their children and planning big meals, really just wanted quality time sitting down with their adult or teen children uninterrupted by cell phones and social media browsing.\nSo Jake came up with a different Christmas party list. He came up with a list, that included what everyone wish their Christmas looked like, if they were not so busy on that hamster wheel, going round and round checking off boxes to the Christmas to do list they give themselves every single year. Not really the Christmas to do list or celebration they want, just the one that always was what it always was. Rather than judging, Jake had compassion for once and mercy, and grace, for those who were slaves to tradition on what their culture or society suggests their Christmas ought to look like, rather than asking one another what they would like it to look like or be.\nJake came back to the group with his new ideas. He shown his other four friends his blueprint of a suggested Christmas Party.\nIt went as follows. Jake made the Christmas Party Venue be the fellowship hall. Jake suggested that each attendee invite the very family member who planned to host Christmas that year. A majority of young adults could bring, for example, their mom or grandma, or aunt to the party.\nThere was a nativity scene at the party. One corner of the room had a living set there. One corner had a dining room table and some chairs there. There were two open areas that looked like a second dining room and a second living room.\nIn the middle of the room a huge eye, and in the eye, the words\" much closer look\" across it. The Christmas party design was meant to prepare families for their very own Christmas Day with one another.\nEach guest who entered the building was greeted by a host. The host handed each guest an index card faced down. The guest was asked to go to the first section of the room with their guest for the party and sit down and flip over their index card.\nThey each were asked to read what the card says and answer that question to their guest. Then they would rotate to the next section of the room for their next index card that would be handed to them by another host. Then they would meet in the middle in the circle for a third index card about a \"much closer look.\"\nThe goal of the whole exercise was to challenge one another to ask ourselves why we are so cranky and grinchy about Christmas and what can we do about this to make a merrier Christmas. The group voted. All five facilitators agreed this was the best idea yet for a Christmas party thus far. The party was a great success.\nHere were the beautiful results. Young adults & their teenage siblings were allotted a morning to get together with their friends before the festivities began. Mothers decided to make their Christmas meal be a potluck, so they have more time in the living room enjoying their guests, vs in the kitchen wearing all the hats.\nYoung adults and teens put down their phones during dinner. They all went around the room and said what they loved about Jesus before exchanging their gifts,\nYoung adults and teens did not take off to their phones when dinner was over, but helped clear the table and load the dishwasher, and mom actually got to relax with her guests post dinner, vs missing it all in the kitchen.\nThey exchanged less gifts that were of material in nature and gave each other promises, like a meal once a week out to eat with one another, or that they all cooked together in the kitchen, a walk after supper, a family game night or craft night, or other activity they all enjoyed, or a family get away road trip. It was amazing!\nThe young ones talked about ways they can be NICER than NAUGHTY next year and thanked Jesus for not judging them based on naughty or nice, or measuring the amount of love they get based on performance. They thanked God for the ability to have food on their tables, not worrying they cannot afford a smorgasbord feast like some families have every year. They planned a day to do something for those less fortunate than themselves. It was such a lovely idea. So, this year, it was safe to say, that their group's grinch actually saved Christmas! The End." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Locked Door\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1049\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story titled ‘The Locked Door.’" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Locked Door \nThere once was a curious little boy who was an absolute delight to be in the company of. Eyes so bright they outshine the sky and a smile so wide and contagious it’d make grumpy Uncle Bob crack a grin. Young in age and young in spirit, he sought out adventure as any other kid would. He was always determined to uncover mysteries of this beautiful house he called home. In this peaceful home lived an elegant mum of a giddy little boy and his name was Thomas.\nHis toes spread out across the cold wooden floor as he stretched as tall as his little body would let him. The glowing evening sun slowly seeped onto his eager fingers that were reaching for the door knob only a few inches out of his reach. Though his young back began to ache, he gave no sign of giving in. Licking his lips at the thought of the mountain of homemade chocolate chip cookies he was desperately hoping were piled up behind the door. He adjusted his current position, switching arms as if his right were longer than the other, this was turning out to be quite the challenge. Shifting his weight from left to right, his feather footing was as quiet as a mouse, this was not his first attempt. His heart raced a thousand miles as he knew the time was ticking, mum would catch him at any moment.\nHe first saw the cupboard a few weeks prior, when mum was making supper one evening. She’d sung soulful jazz over the record as she danced in her baby pink and blue apron, sliding gracefully around the kitchen. Thomas loved evening time with mumma, she was just so pretty and sounded like a sweet bird in the morning. He was so giggly and magnetized by his mum that he almost didn’t notice the secret door within the pantry she'd just swooped out of. Leaving the door open, just enough for two blue curious eyes to peer into, he locked his sight on a mystery he so desperately needed to uncover. Without a second thought, he climbed down from the chair and raced so fast he thudded across the floor smacking head on into the main door of the pantry. Drenched in a hard ache, he cried and screamed until mummy picked him up and held him in her arms for at least a few minutes. That one really hurt. \nThomas had been thinking about the secret cupboard ever since he’d discovered it. Although a bit sore, he was not disheartened by his first attempt in unlocking the secret contents behind the locked door. It was more than just curiosity in his child mind that kept his fire burning, the excitement and thrill of sneaking around to make an exceptional discovery was far more motivating. This discovery would be the first of many he endured to uncover. We all have to start somewhere. \nIt was the first thing on his mind as he arrived at day-care and when the other kids wanted to play; “Come on Thomas!”, “Come play on the swings!” he retreated into his little nook in the tree, scheming. How does a four a year old become capable of accessing a secret door that's much, much greater than he is? What would it take to achieve this task that had been set in stone, engraved on his little mind after first laying his eyes on the mystery cupboard? He decided he needed time on his side, he’d wait till it was time for his bath, the only time when mum would be upstairs, and he’d have a few moments alone to complete the mission.\nThat afternoon, as he was pulling his body upwards as best as he possibly could, he began to feel a bit hopeless, he just wasn’t tall enough. Jumping and stretching, changing hands and feet just wasn’t making him any closer to the brass knob above. Then it came to him, in his determined little mind, he realised that although he couldn’t make himself taller, something else would! Exploding with excitement and with a mischievous grin at his genius plan, he raced over to the other side of the kitchen and slowly dragged a screeching kitchen chair over to the pantry. One small, but committed step at a time he crawled up on the chair where he triumphantly stood up. He’d almost done it! He was so close! His hand reached the dusty knob which ruled over the rest of the shelves in this kingdom of goods and non-perishables. Pulling with all his might and two hands, like his entire childhood depended on it, he squealed excitedly, but the unexpected happened, the door was locked! Before he knew it, one last aggressive tug at the knob had sent him flying backwards off all limbs. His heart had left his chest and stayed up in the clouds as his body plummeted before the fast approaching ground below. As the cold smack of the timber waited for poor Thomas, a warm embrace scooped him up and spun him around before he knew what had happened. His mum had been there in the nick of time to save him from a nasty fall. \nAfter a big fright, a long bath and some stern words from mummy, Thomas was exasperated from the day's events and was longing for his bed. He really believed he could do it, he could unlock the mystery that burned through his bones each day, a door longing to be opened. What on earth could be in that cupboard? After two attempts now, he pondered how to tackle it again for the third and final time. \nAs Thomas was sunk into the chair in disappointment after some warm milk, he just noticed mum creeping into the kitchen with a key in hand and disappeared into the war zone he’d only just survived a few hours earlier. She came out with a smile sewed onto her face and gleaming eyes; “Only just this once, Tommy.” And she served him an old china tea cup, on which was placed a homemade chocolate chip biscuit, baked by his favourite person in the world. His golden treat! - kept all this time, behind the locked door." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Surprise Homecoming\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2935\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who visits their hometown for the holidays and reconnects with a former love interest." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "All Nick wanted for Christmas this year was some peace and quiet. After a full year of high stress at his law firm, he knew he was in desperate need of a change of scenery for the holidays or he wouldn’t last through another year. He had started with Sterling and Malone Law Firm two years ago with the intention of becoming partner within five years, rather than the seven to ten years it normally takes for lawyers to rise to the top, especially in a larger firm like Sterling and Malone. Nick had always been a go-getter, from earning top marks in school and earning his place at this law firm through doing well in his internship three years before. But after two years of high intensity, he realized his health and relationships were starting to suffer. He felt like God was telling him to go home for the holidays. \nHome, Nick thought, as he climbed the stairs to his Manhattan high rise apartment. He hadn’t been to Clarkston, Georgia in five whole years, though it felt more like a lifetime. His mom had passed away seven years ago, right before he had graduated from university. After his mom’s passing, his time in Georgia hadn’t felt the same, and he slowly started skipping the family get-togethers for the holidays. Until this year. He knew his dad was getting older. Just last year, his baby sister had called him about a minor stroke their dad had, but Nick found himself neck deep in a major case and couldn’t find the time to make it back. But now, he felt himself feeling homesick for the Christmas carols sung around the piano, the church potluck on Christmas Eve, even the endless questions his aunts and uncles would pester him with when they had their Christmas meal as a family. He decided he would get the next flight out. Money wasn’t an issue, and he concluded it was time to make things right with his dad before it was too late. He knew he could also use the rest from the hustle and bustle of a New York Christmas. \nAs he started packing, his thoughts drifted back to high school before he left the small town life for the big city. He thought of how his family used to be - close and honest with each other, always having each other’s back. He thought of his girlfriend back then - Natasha - the drive in movies, the Sonic runs after football games, the hiking and off-roading trips they took together. He hadn’t dated much after leaving Clarkston - He was just too busy. Too focused on climbing the corporate ladder. But thinking about it now, he wondered what Natasha was doing with her life and if he would ever see her again. \n—---------\nNatasha scooped another spoonful of jollof and spread it on the plate held out in front of her. Serving at the local soup kitchen was one of Natasha’s favorite traditions at Christmas. She knew a lot of the families who came in were refugees, trying to make a better life for themselves in Clarkston. Yet with the inflation and lack of open jobs this year, many had fallen on hard times. Natasha felt the need to do what she could to help her neighbors. After all, wasn’t Christmas a time for giving? \nAs Natasha started cleaning up, her mind went back to her student’s custody case that had been weighing on her mind for weeks now. One of Natasha’s favorite middle schoolers, Eva, was in the middle of an ugly custody case with her alcoholic dad and her druggie mom. Natasha couldn’t see a favorable ending in sight for sweet Eva, though she prayed for her often. Natasha’s teaching job at Clarkston Middle School was her joy and passion. She loved seeing her students go from little to no English to straight A students. She loved mentoring them and guiding them through their pre-adolescent drama even more. Yet, Natasha always found the students who had the hardest home lives to have a special place in her heart. \nWhen Natasha got home, she changed into her pajamas and curled herself up in her favorite chair, wrapping her fleece blanket around her. Her nightly ritual was thinking through her day and thanking God for the blessings He had given her that day. As she pressed play on her instrumental worship playlist, an old face popped into her mind. She hadn’t thought of her old boyfriend Nick in ages. Last she had heard, he was some big shot lawyer in New York, half a world away from their small hometown where they had grown up together. Confused as to why Nick’s face had popped in her mind, she said a short prayer for him and moved her mind to her list of other prayer requests. She wondered though, whether or not she would ever see him again. He had left so suddenly, with the promise of coming back. But after two years of waiting, Natasha had moved on, not just a little heartbroken. When he had come back for his mom’s funeral, Natasha and him had talked like the old times. But he had left again, and hadn’t been back since then. Somehow, Natasha had picked up her disappointment and had led a pretty content life. Now, thinking about him again, she frowned and started getting ready for bed. She didn’t want to think about Nick and what could have been. \n—-------\nWhen Nick arrived in Clarkston, he drove to his old family house. He hadn’t told anyone he was coming as it was such a last minute decision. With Christmas a week away, he wasn’t sure if his sister would be home or out doing some last minute Christmas shopping for his nieces. His brother in law had walked out on his sister two years before, leaving her as a single mother of two adorable girls, Hana and Sarah. She had moved back in with their dad after the separation. Nick knew Christmas had been hard on her since then, what with their dad’s health declining and two daughters to provide for. But she did a wonderful job raising those girls, Nick thought to himself as he drove up the driveway. \nNick walked up the front steps and found the key in the same place it always was - under the flower pot next to the window sill. Clarkston was definitely a long way from Manhattan. He opened the door and called out. As no one answered, he went to the living room where his dad was often found sitting on the recliner watching TV. Sure enough, when he rounded the corner, his dad was there, rocking back and forth. \n“Dad, I’m home,” Nick said as he dropped his duffle on the couch. \nHis dad looked up and scrunched his face. “Nick? Is that you? ‘Bout time you come visit. It’s been - how long?”\n“Yeah, sorry about that,” Nick said as he sat on the couch. “I’ve been busy. I just closed a case that took a lot of my time.” \nHis dad grunted. “Well, welcome home, son. Your sister should be back soon. She’s out taking Hana and Sarah to get an ice cream. She spoils them too much,” he grunted again. “You can go set your stuff down in your old room. She’ll get dinner ready when she gets home.” His dad turned back to the TV signaling the conversation was over. \nNick held back a sigh, and took his stuff upstairs to his old room. Nothing had changed, though he thought maybe his dad would have softened his heart to the idea of his son being a lawyer. His dad had refused to help Nick pay for any of his university or law school, saying lawyers were no good liars and he wouldn’t support one in his own house. Nick, though, felt called to the profession, and knew he could do right for people by fighting for them in the courtroom. He had always had a gift for convincing people to see things his way - Student Council President, Captain of the football team - He had always been a leader among his peers. Yet, despite his efforts, as well as his mom’s encouragement, he couldn’t convince his dad that he would be a lawyer with integrity. \nNick sighed as he dropped his bag on his bed. The room was the same as when he left it after high school. Nick sighed again as memories from those days assaulted him once more. He decided to go for a walk to clear his head. He didn’t need to be thinking about Natasha and the life he had promised her before he had tasted another life. He felt bad enough about staying away from his sister after their mom’s passing; he didn’t need to feel the guilt of his naive promises to a high school crush who he had promised to make his wife and come back to work in small town America. No, he thought, as he walked down the sidewalk, Natasha had been more than a crush. He had loved her. But after moving to New York, the night life and scenery of the big city had gotten under his skin. He couldn’t imagine moving back to small town life after tasting what New York had to offer. His competitive nature also played a factor - He wanted to be first in his class and become the best lawyer in his year. But after years of fierce competition and sleepless nights, he was tired. He wondered if it was really worth all the effort and sacrifice he was making. \nAs Nick rounded the corner, he noticed a woman coming out of the local grocery shop. \n“Natasha?” He asked. Nick stopped and stared. It was her! He couldn’t believe it. What was she doing here? Did she still live here?\n“Nick…” Natasha stuttered. She was shocked. Nick Collins stood there, handsome as ever, staring at her with wonder. She composed herself. “What are you doing here?” She asked, trying to sound as if her heart hadn’t started beating a mile a minute. \n“I decided to come home for Christmas. Here let me help you,” he said as he reached for her bags. “Are you visiting too? How long are you here for?”\n“I live here,” Natasha said as she relinquished hold of her bags, still wondering at his chivalrous gesture. “I moved back after college. I teach at the local middle school as an English teacher.” Opening up to him was as easy as ever, though she would have liked to keep walking and ignore the way he made her feel - even after all these years. \n“Oh wow,” he answered. “That’s great.” \nThere was a silence as he walked next to her to her car on the other side of the street. Natasha looked at him. He looked the same, though she could see faint dark circles under his eyes. She wondered if he was taking care of himself. In high school, with all the activities he loved doing, she had often been the one to make sure he was doing things to take care of himself. \nNatasha opened her trunk and Nick plopped the bags in. He turned to her and smiled. Yes, she thought to herself, he was definitely still as handsome as ever, with his wavy dark hair and bright smile. Natasha tried a weak smile and turned to shut the door. \n“Do you want to get a coffee and catch up?” Nick said as she walked to the driver’s side of the car. Natasha hesitated. Nick had broken her heart, and to go out with him again - She didn’t know if it was all that wise. \n“Okay…” she relented. She was mature now, after all, and could get a coffee with an old friend surely. She locked her door and turned back to the sidewalk. How hard could it be to smile and laugh as if she was whole and not still reeling from his broken promises all those years ago. \n__________________\nBumping into Natasha had been a welcome surprise, Nick thought to himself as he walked back to his family’s house. She was still as beautiful as ever - Even more so as she told him about her work at the school and the local soup kitchen where she volunteered. She radiated light and peace, the same as she had in high school. That’s one reason he had been so attracted to her in the first place. She always put others first. They had first met at church in middle school. He, an awkward fourteen year old, and her a radiant girl in whom he was immediately attracted to. His mom wouldn’t allow him or his sister to date until high school, but he knew from that first day that Natasha would be the first girl he would take out. And she had been. They had dated throughout high school. They had been named Most Likely to Get Married by their senior class. And that had been his intention. He had even nearly proposed before getting into university in New York. His young self thought he would go to university and do the long distance thing before he would come back to Clarkston and marry her. But plans had changed and he had moved on. Yet, now, as he laid in his childhood bed, he thought about how his life would have been different if he had kept his promise. Would they have kids by now? Would they be happy? Deep down he knew the answer to that. He knew he wanted kids and a wife to greet him when he came home from work. He knew a quiet life wouldn’t be the end of the world. It might actually be nice, he thought, as he closed his eyes. \n—------ Two Weeks Later\nNick grabbed his suitcase from under the bed and started putting his freshly washed clothes inside. His thoughts were a million miles away as he mindlessly started packing the things he brought for a two week trip home. The time had flown by. He had seen Natasha almost every day, falling back into a comfortable rhythm with her. He had gone with her to the soup kitchen, sat with her at church and laughed with her through the potluck afterward, reminiscing on old times. He had even taken her to the local theater to see The Christmas Carol. It was the best Christmas he’d had in a long time. He and his dad had even begun to talk like they had before his mom’s passing. He could see his dad opening up to the idea of him being a lawyer, something that felt like a Christmas miracle. His dad had always had a soft spot for Natasha, and her spending time with them this Christmas had helped ease the tension between them, as had the pro bono work Nick had gotten to do for one of Natasha’s students. Natasha had opened up about her worries for one of her students, and Nick showed off his element when he gave Eva some legal advice. Natasha had been impressed and grateful and had raved about it to his dad, which had greatly helped his case. \nThe whole two weeks had been better than Nick could have asked for. And now he was supposed to fly back to New York. Back to the busy life of bustling streets, late nights at work, and worst of all - no Natasha. He couldn’t imagine a life without her bright smile and infectious laugh. But he had worked so hard to get where he was at his law firm - Wouldn’t it be foolish to give it all up? Nick wrestled with these thoughts as he packed up his last pieces of clothing. \nNick's phone buzzed. He checked the number and saw it was his sister.\n“Hey sis, what’s up?” Nick asked.\n“Nick, you have to come right now. Dad’s had a heart attack. I’m taking him to the hospital now.”\n“What? Okay. I’m on my way,” Nick said, hanging up and trying to find his keys and wallet. He rushed downstairs and called Natasha to update her, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He knew he would need her by his side when he went to see his dad. \nAs he drove to the hospital, he realized he would never not want Natasha in his life. He realized that when this ordeal was over, hopefully with his dad back at home in his favorite chair, he would propose to Natasha. Big city life was nothing compared to being with her. And if she was content in Clarkston, he could be too, as long as he was with her. After working on the case with her, and seeing her reaction to his work, he was motivated to come open his own firm here, in his hometown. He could imagine serving the people of Clarkston, his wife by his side, their kids enjoying the small town life, as he had growing up. He smiled. Yes, Nick thought, he would propose and everything would end how it was supposed to. He started praying for Natasha and his dad and his family - That God would lead him and guide him to His good and perfect will. And finally, Nick felt the peace he had been craving for the past two years. Finally, he felt like he was home." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Snowed-in by Choice\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1174\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a snowed-in chalet." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Snow danced in the wind outside the frosted windows of her small chalet. This was a cold wind, sharp as a slap and just as shocking against bare skin. It caught the small snowflakes and swirled them into heavy drifts against her chalet’s walls.\nShe watched the snow dance and swirl from snug inside her chalet, tucked close to a crackling fire. This was a real fire, wooden logs piled high on the hearth to keep it fed and roaring. From her spot —a supremely good spot— she had a view out the window, along with the rest of the small room and down the hall.\nHer chalet was always the first to snowed in when a storm approached. Something about the placement of the building and the wind patterns. The subject bored her so she wandered away or fell asleep when someone tried to explain.\nShe watched the wind rattle the trees around her chalet and fling free snow that had managed to cling to the branches. A few people —they must be guests of a nearby chalet— hurried back to their lodgings. They were foolish wandering out when a winter storm was so close. Their lack of caution could tempt the storm into flexing her muscles to remind them all her potential for destruction.\nShe thought them all fools. The guests, that is, who came to the mountain and to her chalet, to engage in their “winter sports.” She did not understand how anyone enjoyed hurtling down a mountain on thin pieces of wood. Especially in the biting cold.\nBut enjoy they did. And complain they did also, especially when the slopes closed ahead of the winter storm. The complainers didn’t seem to care that the slopes closed for their own safety. They had come to hurtle down the mountain and any alternative was subpar.\nShe yawned and stretched, shifting to toast a slightly different part of herself in the fire. She had ensconced herself in what was the chalet’s “reading room.” It was not as popular as the larger “media room” nearby. There the large screen T.V. reigned supreme as it belched forth entertainment for the masses. No, the reading room was quieter and cozier and suited her perfectly.\nShe turned from the window to survey the few guests nearby, sharing in the quiet room and warmth of the fireplace. They were a young couple with two children, one a baby asleep against its father’s shoulder. The couple talked in soft voices while an older child —in a painfully bright sweater— played on the floor. The family was part of a larger group, who she had seen streaming towards the T.V.’s amusements. But only after they made known their complaints about the weather in loud voices.\nShe didn’t understand the complaining. A storm was not unexpected this time of year. Encountering one was a risk that went hand-in-hand with these beloved “winter sports.” Plus, what were the employees, who bore the brunt of the complaints, supposed to do about an act of nature? Clearly there was nothing they could do. But if there was one thing she had learned in her chalet, it was that there were always guests who liked to complain.\nShe noticed then that she had caught the attention of the couple's older child. The child stared at her with large, solemn eyes. She stared back for a time, before redirecting her gaze back to the fire. She didn’t mind children, but she also didn’t encourage them.\nThe wind gained strength and threw itself against the windows, howling in rage at the obstacle. The trees rocked and shook in the winds fury as it directed its frustrations instead against their trunks. These trees had stood in their place for decades upon decades. They had withstood —without yielding ground— storms stronger than this one would become.\nThe howling wind reminded her of the year before when she had briefly been stuck outside. A storm had arisen faster than she had expected and caught her unawares. In her rush back to her chalet, she fell into a snowdrift. There she would have frozen and died mere feet from safety. But rescue came almost immediately. She shivered now at the memory of that cold and how long she had to sit in front of the fire before she felt warm again. She was too old now for such adventures. She had remained close to the chalet since then —when she did choose to venture out. Which was rare, especially if a storm approached. No reason to tempt fate.\nShe turned her head at a soft noise nearby. The child had approached her, still staring, and now with a finger in their mouth. They had stopped a few feet away to stare from a closer distance, cautious. She returned the child’s stare and waited to see what the child would do.\nShe had no idea how old the child was, except that it was older than the baby sibling nearby. Though herds of children moved in and out of her chalet, she never gained more knowledge about them. Except that she had learned which children to avoid. She was quick to vacate a room when one of those monsters approached.\nBut this child was quieter and calmer than the monster children. They crept closer until they leaned against the arm of her chair. Their wide eyes barely seemed to blink as they returned her stare. The finger stayed firmly planted in their mouth.\nThe wind gave a sharp howl and a harsh slap to the nearby window. The sudden noise startled the child, who pulled back a few inches from the chair. The child’s stare broke from hers as they turned back to look at their parents for reassurance. But the parents, engrossed in their quiet conversation, did not notice their child.\nShe reached out and gently patted the child’s hand, the one not in the child's mouth. She wanted to reassure the child, but also she wanted the child’s attention again. She could tell now that this child was not one of the grabby monsters.\nSurprised the child turned back to her and their lips parted from their finger in a shy smile. They reached carefully towards her with their free hand, fingers outstretched. She stretched forward to meet those fingers and the child stroked the soft fur between her ears.\n“Be careful, Addison,” one of the parents called. “Be gentle with the kitty.”\nThe child’s fingers stayed gentle between her ears so she let out a loud rumbling purr in reward. A soft giggle escaped from the child, sneaking its way free from around the finger. She closed her eyes. Her purr rumbled deep in her chest and the child continued to pet her between her ears and along her fire toasted side.\nDarkness fell outside the window as the snow fell and the wind raged. But inside her chalet all was as she liked it. Because in her experience, being snowed in was much better than being snowed out." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: From bubbles to burst and boost!\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1144\n\nPrompt:\n\nBegin your story with a character crashing into something (or someone) while skiing." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Buoyed by the principles plus precepts learnt from watching a few YouTube videos on skiing well and without fear as a novice, I set off down the snowy slope with a significant sense of déjà vu! This euphoric feeling was as indescribable as it was enjoyable. This wind at my back turned to temporal dysphoria as I crashed into someone while seeking to employ a wedge stop technique practiced a few times after watching the how-tos.\nA more experienced skier auspiciously came to the rescue of my \"victim\" as I steadily moved to a safe spot.\nBasking in the euphoria of fully skiing for the very first time made me forgetful about avoiding an accident... The person I crashed into and the rescuer continued down the hill after slowing down to confirm I was okay. I muttered a rapid prayer of Thanksgiving to God for safety. With this done, I was back in high spirits ready to continue with increased care and competence. I sure wasn't ready to give up!\nThe more daunting the task, the more daring I can be. This disposition describes me since attempting to date a dancer I met while on duty in a departmental store where I briefly worked.\nHer velvety voice saying \"Excuse me sir, do you work here by any chance?\" as she sought out a particular product principally \"pulled\" me to her as I thought \"this lady must be 'mine' if she's not already hooked up with anyone!\" Her svelte silhouette surely sealed my stance as I blurted out \"are you married or in any serious relationship with any man?\"\nFlabbergasted and flushed, she fumbled for words to say without being overly brutish or brutalizing my ego...\n... flustered but not feeling foolish, I found the courage to correct course by saying \"Yes, I work here but I'm very honoured to have been blessed with the chance of meeting you. Would you please forgive my being rash even though I'm truly interested in knowing you?\"\nThe fury on her face faded into a smile that made me further think \"this woman and I sure need to become close friends\". She then responded by saying \"it's okay as I see that you are not the highly insensitive and incongruous individual I initially thought you were...; but I must say you're intrepid!\" \"intre..what?\" I replied. \"You're interestingly fearless and forthrightly bold\", she said as we both burst out laughing. Then I introduced myself and she reciprocated. \nShe was in search of silver coloured swimsuits she could adapt as costume for the next dance presentation of her troupe. On showing her the pertinent section of the store, I proposed two complementary colours - light purple and light blue - to her.\nShe accepted my propositions and profusely thanked me as I escorted her to the till area. As she joined the queue, I excused myself muttering \"I'll be back in a jiffy.\" I dashed to pick up my stuff as my shift for the day was now over. But my section manager requested help to reset his computer and thus an unexpected quarter of an hour! On returning to the till, she was nowhere in sight but the cashier handed me a note tucked inside an envelope from her.\nExcited and curious but unwilling to show my disappointment mixed with anticipation, I calmly put the envelope in my knapsack and headed home, a few blocks away. On getting into my studio apartment, I quickly opened the envelope hoping to therein find her phone number and request to be called, but alas, it was not so.\nThe little note in one of the loveliest handwriting ever sighted simply read: \"Good things come to those who wait for and merit them. Sorry I could no longer wait as I have a plane to catch and billed to be back in six weeks after a tour with my team. I hope to answer your two-in-one question on my return if the wait turns out to be worthwhile for us both. Meeting you was a memorable encounter. Thank you once again and take care. - Your 'yet-to-be' friend.\"\n\"Six weeks!? I'm scheduled to also leave town in two weeks as my sojourn at the departmental store comes to an end in a week!\" I thought to myself.\nThat was six months ago.\nNow in Switzerland for a sixteen-week writing project, I came in three days ago, a week before the expected commencement of this plum job. This is in order to take advantage of a stay offered to me in a resort owned by the parents of a Swiss friend I met three years ago at a writing conference. It also affords me the opportunity to enjoy a dream activity - skiing.\nThe following morning, on the way to a breakfast of rösti, raclette and lamb in one of the restaurants, the chit-chat of a motley crew could be heard behind me... Suddenly, a particular voice stopped me in my tracks as my heart skipped a beat and I trembled with unbelief. \"Was I finally going to see her again? Is that not the velvety voice I've been longing to hear for the past half-year?\"\nTurning back, her instant recognition of me was a welcome validation. \"Oh my goodness, we finally meet again!\", she said, as she rushed towards me and beaming, I instinctively threw my hands wide open for her to crash into.\nWe struggled to outdo each other in playing catch up. It seemed so serene and sensible to be together. With breakfast and others around us immediately put on hold, hand in hand, we gravitated towards a nearby face to face bench and settled in.\nShe looked so beautiful I wished I could watch her all day that day and every other day! All anxieties about what to say if we ever met again had disappeared into thin air.\nShe regaled me with stories of how, on her return from the tour, she had gone back to the departmental store many times every week for six weeks to look for me (or get information that could reconnect her with me) before giving up.\nFor an inexplicable reason, I had brought her note with me on this trip. More curious was the fact that I read it just before leaving my room and ended up putting it in my shirt pocket. Reaching therefore into my pocket, I brought it out and I could see her liven up even more as she gasped in surprise.\n\"Oh là là, you still have the note with you. When I couldn't find you, I wished I had left my contact details in it\", she said.\nOn flipping open the note and putting it sideways for it to be readable, we chorused the first sentence: \"Good things come to those who wait for and merit them.\"" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A reticent but resolute carer at work.\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1043\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone making a cup of tea — either for themself or for someone else." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Reticent but resolute, he waltzed into the kitchen to make her the tea recently requested. The hum of the freezer fused into a samba with the sound of the kettle at work. Immediately, his mind wandered to what the weekend ahead would be like if the expected helper does not show up.\nThe last few weeks of having to take care of her more than ever before have been really stressful. They were however made more bearable by her brother as well as his deep love for them both. But now that her beloved brother is billed to return to his base later today, an appropriate assistant will be absolutely appreciated. He also remembered he would need to intimate her of the important call she has to expect. Just then, the popping sound signifying the water coming to boiling point snaps him out of his reverie.\nWith a deftness that has become second nature by reason of the last two decades, he promptly made the tea while not forgetting to add her favourite flavouring! He quickly took it to her, piping hot, as she likes it.\nHe watched satisfyingly as she took the tea, sweating profusely but becoming less pale with every sip. He also looked forward to hearing her habitual “Thank you; that was really nice!” Additionally, seeing the contentment mixed with gratitude on her face is usually priceless. Thankfully, the worst is likely over according to the last check of the doctors. But what exactly is the situation? What would the expected result to the last series of tests be? “It’s time to tell her about the call”, he resolved.\nAs he was about to broach the subject, her telephone started to ring. Startled, she looked at him with a questioning frown. He immediately understood her thought: “When did you switch on my phone? I thought we agreed to leave it off until early next week when we put it off a week ago!”\n“Sweetheart, it is true it was to stay off for at least ten days so you could have sufficient time to rest, relax and recuperate... But the youngest of your doctors called me yesterday night to complain that he had been trying to reach you without success… hence I switched it on this morning just before you woke up. I was actually just about to tell you\", he lovingly said.\nAppreciating him, she downed the remainder of the tea and reached for the phone. He briskly picked up the mug and sauntered back into the kitchen. Though anxious to know what was so important that the doctor insisted on personally telling her, he proceeded to making a special breakfast for her, her brother and himself. Spanish eggs with spinach and prawns have never failed to cheer everyone up. This delicacy became a family favourite on an holiday trip to Spain seven years ago. On that trip, a brown-eyed boy did not drown because of her brother’s heroic act.\nWhat more? It was on that trip he invented a game in which one player swims to reach a throne in order to receive a golden brown crown while dodging drone attacks of the other player and simultaneously ensuring that the baby being held does not drown. Fortunately, he made a substantial amount and still gets some residual income from the idea. The game company that purchased it still produces and profitably sells.\nMeanwhile, she exchanged pleasantries with the doctor and apologized for having been unreachable before explaining why. He sheepishly told her there were two very important reasons for his call. With a curious and somewhat worrisome look, she gingerly started walking out of the room in search of her loving and committed carer. She definitely did not want to hear whatever this dainty doctor had to say alone.\nEager to reach the kitchen before allowing the conversation to continue, she asked him to kindly hold on for a few minutes...\nOn reaching the threshold of the kitchen, the appetizing aroma of the Spanish eggs with spinach and prawns made her give a thumbs up to her “current chief chef” before motioning to him to please keep quiet and listen in on the conversation with her...\nSwiftly putting the phone on speaker mode, she thanked the doctor for holding on and asked him to continue the discussion. The doctor then announced that the first reason for calling was professional while the other was personal. On the professional level, he informed her that the last test carried out on her was a false positive so she could relax more and expect to fully recover within a week.\nWith tears of joy streaming down her face, she collapsed into a chair by the dining table and the telephone fell from her hand. Highly alert and attentive, her chief carer used his shoes to cushion the fall of the smartphone, picked it up, told the doctor to please call back in five minutes, then cuddled her in his arms, rejoicing with and thanking God for her.\n“My little girl, now a lovely lady, has been spared the agony of having a terminal disease!”, he thought to himself. The loss of her mother - his wife - twenty years ago when she was just a little over two years old and her brother was five, seemed like yesterday. He recalled resolving to take care of them as resiliently as possible even if he would have to constantly battle reticence!\nLike clockwork, the doctor called back in five minutes. By this time, she had regained her composure. Picking up with gusto, she responded … “yes, my dear doctor, thanks for the good news you just gave me!” Stuttering, he asked if she was okay and sought to know what really happened when he heard a thud before her father abruptly requested he call back. Smiling, she told him it was essentially a momentary but momentous assimilation of what was said. Still stammering, he wondered aloud if he could progress to the personal discourse.\nAt this juncture, her father discreetly disappeared so as to let them freely talk...\nWith a teasing tone, she told him she was now all alone before enquiring if he was shy. He solemnly replied, “I'm shy but not sly.”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Words\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1125\n\nPrompt:\n\nInclude in your story a scene about a family's last meal before a significant change." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Words\nOnce upon a time, a long, long time ago in a land far away there lived a band of brothers. Well, some of them were actually brothers by birth, the others all brothers by beliefs. The group started out very small but eventually grew to thirteen plus others that were like-minded but didn't necessarily travel with the core company constantly. Mostly they traveled together but sometimes they broke away and ventured out separately or in twos or threes. They were a peace-loving lot, however, out of necessity, some would still keep a weapon at hand. They were willing to fight for what they believed in if it came to that.\nThey had left their occupations for this new mission, this new vision they shared. The lead guy was quiet yet dynamic in his demeanor convincing the others there was purpose and worthiness in their endeavors. He was their teacher and they took directions from him. He was kind and thoughtful always putting needs of others before his own. He helped them in anyway possible so became very popular and sought after.\nSince they had no source of income they relied heavily on the good will of others to provide sustenance. They camped out under the stars or stayed with new friends along the way. A small land investment operated by friends and family back in their home town eventually provided some reliable support. Otherwise, they traversed their homeland talking to fellow countrymen telling them of this new hope they had discovered. Really, it was an ancient hope that their people had heard about all their lives. Their mission was to convince them it was coming to light now in their lifetimes. Some welcomed the news. But naturally some were skeptical. Some were afraid it was going to affect their livelihoods, replacing the need for them entirely.\nTheir countrymen lived under the rule of an oppressive dictatorship. One had limited rights unless considered a citizen of that ruling class. Therefore, their fellow nationalists were at the mercy of the rule of law that often contradicted what they wanted. To defy it could mean death. However, to keep the peace the rulers did allow certain customs to be observed even if they, as foreigners, didn't understand why all the traditions existed.\nNow this band of brothers had been traipsing all over the countryside for at least three years. Sometimes they drew humongous crowds. Imagine how tiring that could be trying to address the problems and concerns of so many people at once! But the word was getting out there, they felt they were making an impact. So much so that they started attracting the attention of people in charge. Both among their people and the rulers in charge. Now that could be good or bad.\nOne of their traditional holidays was approaching. It was the biggest of the year. They planned on going to the largest city to observe it. But since they were exhausted, they stopped in a small nearby hamlet to visit some close friends first. Even there they found little respite. Their friends' home was in turmoil after the death of the head of the family. Everyone wished they had gotten there just a little sooner. Maybe they would have been able to make him well. Even the leader was so moved that he had tears in his eyes. He called forth to his childhood friend and to everyone's amazement the young man arose. The leader pleaded with all not to let the news of this spread for fear they wouldn't be believed or they would be sought after for the wrong reasons.\nThe group traveled on towards the bustling city. A lot of people made the seasonal journey to the mecca. The news of the miraculous healing of a man thought to be dead had traveled faster than this party and people swarmed out along their path to see them all the while praising the leader. He reluctantly accepted their triumphant adoration knowing full well it was for the wrong reasons. The multitudes wanted a leader to rise up against the oppressors. He knew that had never been his mission so he would disappoint them and they would turn against him once they realized the truth. And how quickly all that would take place!\nThe entry into the city took place on a Sunday. The following day the leader got angry when discovered wrong doings in places meant for worship. On Tuesday he was confronted by men of the cloth who were trying to trip him up. Then he taught his followers using stories and foretold many happenings concerning himself. Often it seemed he spoke in riddles leaving the young men befuddled. During this week he taught with much more clarity and authority. Wednesday was more of the same with maybe some rest. On Thursday the band asked him where they should prepare for the feast. He told them to follow a man carrying a jar full of water. Whatever house he went into they should ask the owner there about his upper room. They were shown the room and made preparations there for the evening meal.\nThat evening they followed all the traditions of their ancestors with this special feast. But before the last course a new tradition was instigated. Unfortunately, before that happened an insidious devil entered into one in their midst. So he withdrew.\nWords. They were only words the leader spoke but they forever changed the course of mankind:\n“And as they were eating, he took bread, and after blessing it broke it and gave it to them, and said, 'Take; this is my body.'\n“And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them and they all drank of it. And he said to them, 'This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many....” Mark 14:22-24 (See also Matthew 26:17-30; Luke 22:7-23; John 13:1-30)\nPerhaps you know the story from here. They went out to a garden where the leader asked the men to watch with him one bitter hour while he prayed. But they kept falling asleep. The betrayer came by and betrayed him with a kiss to those that wanted to do him harm. His most devout follower denied that he knew him three times before the morning rooster crowed. He was tried and not offering any defense convicted of blasphemy. He was taken before the Roman leader who washed his hands of the whole affair and handed him over to do whatever they wanted to him. They crucified him between two criminals. On the third day he rose again defeating death and the devil forever and became our Savior. His name is Jesus Christ." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Golden Teapot\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2916\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone making a cup of tea — either for themself or for someone else." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Egret and Heron sat at opposite sides of the small table in the parlor of their castle. In the center of the table sat a gleaming silver tea set consisting of a pot with more curves than their mother, two cups with fancy scrolled handles, saucers, a creamer with tiny lion’s feet, and a sugar bowl. The noon sun’s rays plunged through the tall, multi-paned windows and dazzling white reflections from every shiny surface buffeted round the room like a light-filled kaleidoscope.\n\nThe handle of the sugar spoon was an eagle with a garnet eye. The merlot-colored gemstone flashed crimson, emulating the fire in the girls’ eyes as they glared at each other with tight, grim lips.\n\nEgret, who was ten, at last broke the silence and said, “Try a scone dear sister. I helped Miss Dorothy make them just this morning.” Her eyes widened to parodies of innocence.\nHeron, who was nine, said, “No thank you dearest Egret. I do not care for scones.” At nine, she was a twin reflection of her sister. She willed her own doe-like eyes to remain carefree. She used to like scones quite a lot, especially the ones with small bittersweet chips of chocolate in them, like the ones taunting her from the table. The week before, she’d been halfway through eating one when a foul taste in her mouth made her gag. \n\nEgret had fallen to the floor in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Between her annoying giggles she’d said, “Not all small brown chips are always chocolate.”\n\nTheir mother was sick to death of their sibling rivalry, when Egret had snitched, she’d said, “You are sisters. You should be best friends. These negative feelings between you two are wasting precious moments you’ll never have again.”\n\nHeron hated to see her mother so distressed, it made her guts curl and shrivel up like a dying snake on the end of an iron stake. She tried to be good but inevitably found herself playing pranks to get even. \n\nAs footsteps approached the parlor door, Heron patted the pinned-up braids in her deep auburn hair, checked her fingernails again, and smoothed the pale green silk of her simple gown. Egret did likewise, like a mirror image except her’s was a gown of magenta, with sparkling beads and emerald embroidery. Egret liked fancy things. Heron would have preferred squire’s britches and poet blouses. Under her long skirt she wore tan leather riding boots and now she made sure they were tucked completely underneath. Naturally, her sister crossed her legs and a bright pink satin slipper bobbed coquettishly, the gems and sequins flashing in the sunlight.\n\nTheir mother swooped into the parlor in a regal swirl of cream-colored silk. Her dark hair flowed freely down her back, pinned up at the sides with topaz hair clips. Heron’s palms dampened and her scalp itched fiercely, as if turned to a nest of fire ants. She should have known Mother would come to tea. Since last week’s horrendous prank, she’d been checking in on her wayward daughters more frequently. \nEvenline D’Amoressy sat gracefully on a shantung covered seat between them. “Well, it’s nice to see you two properly honoring the Balmoral Circle Ceremony. With no teasing and shrieking and what-not.”\nQueen D’Amoressy pulled Egret’s cup to her place setting and eyed the scones suspiciously. Egret said, “The scones are fine. I’ve been good and proper all week Mother.”\n“Pour yourself a cup and let’s enjoy each other’s company.”\nHeron willed a calm voice and said, “Mother, wouldn’t you like my cup instead? Mine is hotter.”\n“Sweetheart, you know to pass to the left when a new guest sits at the table.”\nEgret reached to the tea cart, daintily chose another cup, and positioned it in place with the handle facing right. It was her turn to host, so she offered the cream and sugar counterclockwise, first to her sister, then to her mother. \n\nWhen it was apparent that her mother intended to stay for the duration of the tea ceremony, Heron feigned illness.\nWith pinkie out, Evenline sipped then said, “There is nothing better for an upset tummy than a nice Earl Grey”. \nAfter fifteen minutes, she sipped again. Then frowned. She studied the remaining liquid in her cup. She gagged, stood hastily, and ran from the room with a hand over her mouth.\nEgret looked into the cup and grinned. “Ohhhhhh…you’re in big trouble now!”\nIn the bottom of the cup was a fat brown Pukebug.\n\n\nLater that evening, when Queen D’Amoressy felt no more waves of nausea, she summoned her daughters and got to the truth. Heron had attempted retaliation for the scone incident after promising no more pranks. \n“As punishment, I am sending you to Grebelda’s tower. You will remain there until your father comes home.” The girls sucked in breath. “Egret, stop gloating, it’s unbecoming of a princess.”\nHeron said, “But Auntie Greb is crazy and…and…Father…”\nEveline silenced her with the look of a coiled viper and the unfinished lament buzzed in the room like a deadly excreta fly. Had Heron finished her plea, it would have been, ‘…and Father is away at war and may never return.’\nThe queen said, “It is true Greb is a tad bit eccentric. But she is world traveled and the one who brought us the Balmoral Circle Tea Ceremony, all the way from far eastern Xaxang. You went too far this afternoon, young lady, and poisoned the actual tea itself. Shame on you. Greb will teach you to respect the ceremony.”\n\n\nIn the top of the highest tower, Heron sat across from a very old woman. Greb passed a tray of lemon bars to her left as Heron passed the sugar to her left. Greb stirred the tea to make sure it had steeped to just the right rich amber color. Her bony wrist a stark white contrast to the soft woven black gown she favored. The worn ivory lace of her undershift ruffled from her neckline. Heron wore a long green velvet vest over her chemise and dark tights. At least she was more comfortable and did not have to hide her old tan boots. She wore her auburn tresses loose like her mother.\n“You are the spitting image of Evenline!” Declared Greb. “Although she’d never be caught dead in a man’s britches. Ho ho hoooo!”\n“I am so happy to be allowed to be me. I always assumed you were sent here by Father because you were insane, but now I think I understand that you choose to live up here. It’s peaceful here, and lovely…no rot, no filth, no angst, no fear…”\nShe turned to the tall tea service cabinet in the wall by the ten-foot west window. It was built into the stone wall and held a shelf of four beautiful tea pots, two were of fine China, two were of silver. The shelf below it held sixteen cups and sixteen saucers. On the bottom shelf were assorted serving dishes, plates, creamers, and sugar bowls. High above Heron’s head was the top shelf which seemed empty. \n\n\n\nOn Heron’s tenth birthday, tea was served at four. At four, the sun came into the tower parlor window sideways. Something glowed like amber fire on the top shelf, just out of sight.\nGreb put an assortment of special treats on the table and asked Heron to choose her favorite teapot and settings. She turned around in time to see Heron pull down a golden teapot, glowing like a lantern in the sun. “Oh, Auntie Greb…”\n\n“Stop! Don’t touch that thing!”\n\nHeron jumped and the golden teapot flew from her fingers like a chicken escaping the chopping block. Grebelda wasn’t ninety anymore, but twenty, as she caught the teapot deftly, and, holding only the spout and edge of its ornately scrolled handle, she placed it on the bottom ledge.\n\nShaking, Heron said, “I-I’m sorry. It’s so beautiful…”\n“It’s also very dangerous. Never, NEVER touch it again.”\n“But…”\nGrebelda silenced her with a withering look. She pulled a chair over and put the forbidden teapot back on the top shelf, pushing it until it touched the back wall.\nThey finished setting the table in silence.\n\n“Long life and sweet tea. And a very happy birthday to you.” The old woman said.\n“Long life and sweet tea, Auntie.”\nThey sipped.\n“You were only half correct when you surmised my reasons for living up here. The other reason I do so is to protect the entity of the teapot. It must never, EVER fall into the wrong hands. Unleashed, it is a force of fury so great, all in its way is destroyed. Never, EVER caress the belly of the pot. To look upon its golden surface is to be possessed, the pot will sing to you the sweetest lullaby. Your mind will be lost if you listen long enough.”\nHeron looked up to the top shelf. The sun’s rays had moved on and had taken the magical glow with it. Grebelda smacked the table for her attention, the sound like a pistol shot. “Have a chocolate macaroon, they were your favorite when you were little.”\nHeron accepted. She didn’t look to the top shelf again but late that night, in her bed, the teapot did indeed sing to her.\nAnd continued to beckon to her every night thereafter. Its voice was melodic, soft, yet reassuring…” Free me my love” it sang. “I will save you if you save me,” it sang. She had no idea what that meant.\n\n\nThe pleasant days flew by, the end of summer brought wild banshee hurricanes. High in the tower she watched people flee for cover, hanging on to what little they possessed. She watched the yard turn from soupy brown muck to a roiling brown lake.\nHeron read and studied and practiced her shot with her longbow and arrows, taking aim at inanimate objects- carts, trees, wagons.\n\nThrough every season, every night, the teapot sang its beckoning song. It had become a lullaby that sweetened her dreams with imaginings of its singer. She pictured a tall, broad-shouldered prince on a magnificent shiny black steed. He’d have peridot green eyes and dark curly hair.\n\n\nOn the last day of spring, a thunder of hoofbeats arose and found the tower window. Heron rushed to it. “Father!” She was free!\n“Go on child. Go welcome your father.” Her aunt was smiling, but sadness tinged her eyes darkly.\n\n\nOut on the field, Egret and her mother were helping her father off his mount. The horse was near collapsing, a stable-hand led the weary beast away. The other knights were dismounting, and Heron counted only twenty of them. There had been two thousand the year before. She ran to her father who was falling heavily against Evenline. Two of their manservants unburdened the queen before she toppled under the weight. The king’s body oozed thick, gooey blood from too many perforations. His chainmail hung like swampmoss from his stooped, shrunken body. Blood pattered to the dirt.\nThe queen shouted to her, “Go boil some water! Fill the tub! Have Donny fetch the surgeon!”\n“I’m here my queen,” said an old man in a long deep blue robe, his soft white beard wafting in the chilly wind as he spoke. \nHeron saw the fear in his eyes and braced herself for the inevitable. Egret was a statue with streams flowing from her eyes. Her hair had come undone, and her pale dress was soaked with blood. \nHeron touched her sister’s arm and said, “He’s not coming back. He’s---”\n“Oh shut up! What do you know?!” Egret whirled and strode off, followed by a young handsome knight. Heron followed slowly, tears falling from her hanging head.\n\nIn the castle, she sat in the masculine parlor outside her father’s closed door. Her mother came and put her arms around her. She softly said, “Welcome home darling.”\nHeron hugged her mother. The queen stood again and turned towards the closed door. She frowned at Heron and said, “What in Peta’s name are you wearing? You look like a boy.”\nEgret barked a laugh.\nThe queen shook her head and mumbled, “Nevermind. We’ll discuss your homecoming later.” She went to the door, and just as she was about to lever the handle, it opened, and a tall figure in blue slowly shook his white bearded head. Evenline squawked like gut-shot goose and ran into the room. The surgeon closed the door behind her. Though the door was two inches thick, Evenline’s wails reverberated in the gloomy parlor like a loon’s cry on a lonely lake.\n\nHeron slipped out from the castle unnoticed and climbed the tower stairs as fast as she could, the pounding in her heart overtook her booted footfalls. At the top, she nearly collapsed from exertion, her breath escaped her lungs like cannon-fire.\nHer aunt was fastening a soft, long cloak around her bony shoulders. She was not surprised in the least to see Heron back. \nHeron, still panting, said, “Father’s dead.”\nGrebelda nodded. “Yes. Stay here in the tower, you will be safe. There’s a black storm coming. Reginald only lived long enough to warn us.”\nBefore she could enquire about any of the mystical vocalizations, Grebelda was gone.\nShe never returned.\n\n\nAt dawn, Heron awoke from a dazed, not-quite-sleep, to the sounds of battle cries. \nShe looked out the window. The fields to the north were black with soldiers like thousands of chitinous- coated ants. The wind changed direction and she heard the hoofbeats and clanging of armor and weaponry. \nThe tower servant was bringing her more arrows, she could see him in the yard, prying the old arrows from wagons and carts. Her father’s army had been decimated. There was no hope. \nThe guards at the gate were bowled over like tin soldiers when the iron-fisted battering column broke through. The soldiers in black swept through the yard like a plague, indiscriminate and blood thirsty. She saw their faces smiling and laughing – their enemy was dead; the castle was theirs. \n\nHeron pulled the bowstring surely, her left arm a solid mast, and the laughing face of a Satan’s minion split in the forehead, under the force of her specialized dragonstone arrowhead. She wasted no time between firing and did so like a machine. Her aim was true and after fourteen kills, she’d been discovered.\nBlack Satan’s spawns surged towards the tower. She looked straight down and saw that six-foot building stones had been piled against the only entrance. ‘Thank-you Auntie.’ She continued slaying the attackers, ignoring all thoughts of her family, for they were surely gone. ‘Or captured.’\n\nShe watched as the servant boy’s body was trampled to rust-brown paste at the stones. She swallowed back down the bile-like cry. She had forty arrows left and needed a clear head to make each one count.\nAnd they did. Useless as it was. Throughout the night, after she’d run out of arrows, she’d only been able to watch in horror as everything turned to blood and ash. Eventually, she knew they’d come for her. In the safety of her tower, she gave in to fatigue. All she could do was take each minute at a time, as hopeless as those minutes seemed.\nShe slept against the windowsill. As always, the handsome prince’s lullaby swept deliciously through her head. In her dreams of him she said, “I must leave you now my prince. I am surely doomed, death awaits me by the morn’s lonely path.”\nThe lullaby turned to a violent barrage of an opera singer’s baritone voice so powerful it reverberated in the stone walls. Heron was alarmed to find she was not dreaming but fully awake, yet the voice of the teapot raged. It said the same things as always, “I will save you if you save me!”\nShe ran to the tea cupboard, dragged a chair over, and stood with arms outstretched. She felt the teapot and brushed it closer with her fingers. She pulled it out with a hand on the spout and the other on the handle. Moonlight caught the golden surface as she descended the chair. At the table she placed both hands alongside the teapot. It should have been cool to the touch but was warm as if filled with hot tea. She held the teapot in both hands to her body, caressing its silken warmth.\nThe air inside the tower whirled like a golden dust-storm. It poured from the spout in glittering mica whorls, and she couldn’t breathe. Around the glittering, tornado swirls, the voice she’d heard for a year laughed. She wasn’t afraid. Why should she be? She was to die at the dawn of the next day.\nHeron whirled around the room, dancing her last dance with her fantasy prince. \nThe golden dust settled, and she saw it was not actually a prince that had sang to her, but a freaking, incredible… golden dragon!\nThe golden dragon was twelve feet tall with leathery wings tucked against its body. He did have peridot green eyes however, and said, “It is dawn. You saved me. I save you.” He lowered his scaly, golden body down and she climbed up between his wings.\nThe dragon said, “I’m Harold by the way.” As he swooped from the window over the decimated courtyard. Everyone in the yard was burnt to a crisp as well as anyone dumb enough to run out of the castle itself.\n\nTHE END\nFor now…" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Chamomile, It Helps\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1334\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone making a cup of tea — either for themself or for someone else." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Note/Trigger Warning: This story references child abuse/death.\nThe soft whistling sound and the sight of steam emerging from the stainless steel tea kettle was what captured Charmaine Wilson’s attention. Her barefeet softly padded against the wood floors, the legs of her plaid pajama bottoms whispered softly against the floor. She made her way to the stove and turned the silver knob, causing the small red light to disappear. Her fingers then curled around the handle of the kettle as she removed the appliance from the stove ring.\nShe moved quietly around the kitchen, working in the dim light provided by the small light fixture which was displayed above the sink. Her fingers curled around the porcelain Howard University mug as she moved the object to the marble surface of her counter. She placed a small Chamomile tea packet into the mug before pouring the boiling hot water into the small mug. Bubbles formed, steam rushed into the air. She put the kettle down onto the counter then simply leaned against the counter as she pulled the navy blue cardigan around her tank top and pajama bottoms combo a little more.\nMaybe a nice hot cup of Chamomile tea would help her sleep tonight.\nSometimes the cases that she and her squad worked would get to her. She loved working in law enforcement. She had no doubt that it was her calling; that she was meant to be a driving force in this male dominated industry. She and her squad had a case closure rate that surpassed any other unit within the FBI, all because of how fiercely dedicated they all were to the job of bringing home endangered individuals. Charmaine was often praised for her ability to lead her squad; the way she always stood her ground, the way she took absolutely no nonsense, the way she would work until a case was solved.\nBut then there were cases like their latest one: a case that ended up being a recovery rather than a rescue mission. An innocent four year old child that had been so cruelly snatched from her own front yard, only to be transported across the state line and found dead in an abandoned house, nearly a hundred miles away from her home. Charmaine struggled with cases like these where an innocent child was involved. The thought of anything happening to a child was too much to bear, but she had managed to keep a rather stoic expression throughout the recovery portion. She had learned to keep it together during these tough cases. She had learned not to fall apart when conducting notifications. She had learned to not react in anger when interrogating the sickest criminals.\nBut it was when she returned home to DC that she allowed herself to just feel, and to fall apart. Since returning to her DC apartment, her mind had been flooded with images of the four year old girl: the bruises, the evidence of strangulation. Filth surrounded the child, and yet, she looked as though she was sleeping. She didn’t look scared. She just looked like she was sleeping.\nEverytime Charmaine tried to close her eyes, the image of this child flooded her mind. If she allowed her mind to wander as she lay in the silence, she swore she could hear the screams of the heartbroken mother that flooded the air when they delivered the gut-wrenching news. If she stared into the darkness for too long, she swore she could see the sinister smirk of scumbag they’d arrested for this heinous crime.\nAnd now all of that led to this moment: her standing in the small kitchen of her apartment, leaned against the kitchen counter, making a small cup of Chamomile tea.\nShe glanced at the glowing green digital clock on the stove: 3:52. Five minutes had passed; her tea was ready.\nShe removed the bag and tossed it into the trash, then proceeded to add a little honey and sugar to her tea. As she stirred the contents of her mug, the only sound to be heard was a soft clink sound as the silver spoon tapped the inside of the mug with each twirl. She was staring intently at the light grey marble tile of the wall, slowly losing herself in her thoughts once more until-\n“Charm, what you doing, baby?”\nHer thought bubble shattered as the deep voice filtered into her ears. She looked over her shoulder, only to find her boyfriend Thomas making his way towards her. Exhaustion was evident as he stepped closer, only clad in a pair of sweatpants that he often kept at her apartment. She knew he was just as tired as she was; after all, days of working a case left little room for them to sleep. However, he could sometimes handle cases better than she could. Sometimes he could push the images from his mind and just succumb to exhaustion, like he had done tonight.\nCharmaine offered a small smile; “I’m making tea.”\n“At four in the morning?”\n“I haven’t slept,” Charmaine shrugged a little as she took the spoon out of her drink; “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I drink some tea and cry a little, and then I’m good.”\nThomas hummed in understanding while nodding his head. He figured that this had affected Charmaine on a deep level. He didn’t miss the way she was so quiet on the plane, absently staring out the window with her brow furrowed. She was quiet during the ride back to her apartment, quiet as they settled in for the night.\nThomas stroked his fingers against her waist and pressed a tender kiss to the side of her head. “Do you want to talk about it?” he inquired.\n“Not right now, baby; I just want to sit down and drink my tea.” \nThomas nodded his head. They made their way over to the stools of the kitchen island and sat beside each other. The silence wasn’t awkward but it wasn’t comfortable either. Charmaine was trying to relax and Thomas didn’t want to push her.\nThey were silent for a few moments then she spoke;\n“I keep a box of Chamomile in the cabinet; bring it out after the bad cases, like this latest one.”\nThomas nodded as he looked at her; “Does it help?”\n“Always does.”\nThey fell into silence again. Her fingers were curled around the mug as she brought it to her lips for another sip. The drink was warm as it ran down her throat. She and Thomas didn’t really need to talk right now. Sometimes, they needed to just sit in silence.\nSo they did. They sat in silence. They silently processed how they were feeling. Thomas kept a comforting hand on her back while she sipped her tea. They both knew this case hadn’t turned out the way they had hoped, but they had gotten another monster off the streets and that was a win in somebody’s eyes.\nCharmaine finished her tea before pushing the mug aside. She turned on the stool, her knee bumping against Thomas’s leg as she spoke; “Let’s try this sleeping thing again.”\nThomas chuckled a little, tilting his head as he gazed at her; “You sure?”\nCharmaine gave a soft nod of the head. “Chamomile; it helps.”\nThomas simply smiled before standing up along with her. She put her mug in the sink and made sure all appliances and lights were switched off, then she and Thomas made their way back to her room. As he climbed into bed, she tossed her sweater aside before climbing into bed with him. His strong arms slipped around her slender frame, and she found herself resting her head on his chest.\nIt was nearly five in the morning now, and she was thankful that they had today off to rest.\nShe took a deep breath before closing her eyes. Maybe the chamomile tea would help. Maybe her thoughts would finally relax long enough so she could go to sleep." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Sultan's Daughter\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1008\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a problem with no good solutions." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "There lived long ago a sultan of a great kingdom-on-the-mountain. But it happened that the kingdom entered war with another, and the tide of the conflict threatened to take everything from the sultan. In order to survive, the sultan sought help from three powerful princes.\nThe sultan first sought help from the prince in the north, whose subjects called him the vain prince. The vain prince sent many beautiful cloaks, furs, and boots to warm the sultan’s soldiers. In return, the sultan promised the hand of his eldest daughter in marriage.\nThe sultan next sought help from the prince in the east, whose subjects called him the gluttonous prince. The gluttonous prince sent many fat lambs, cows, and chickens to feed the sultan’s soldiers. In return, the sultan again promised the hand of his eldest daughter in marriage.\nFinally, the sultan sought help from the prince in the south, whose subjects called him the greedy prince. The greedy prince sent chests of silver, copper, and jewels to pay the sultan’s soldiers. In return, the sultan once more promised the hand of his eldest daughter in marriage.\nWith the aid of the three princes, the tide of the war slowly turned. For twelve long years the sultan fought, but finally there came a day when the fighting was finished and the war was won. The queen came to congratulate her husband and share in the joy of peace, but she was surprised to find him distraught.\n\"Dear husband, why are you so worried? Should we not celebrate the happy end of the long war?\" she asked. \nThe sultan replied, \"Dear wife, I fear more fighting may soon begin. To keep our soldiers warm, I promised the vain prince our eldest daughter’s hand in marriage. And to keep our soldiers fed, I promised the gluttonous prince our eldest daughter’s hand in marriage. And to keep our soldiers paid, I promised the greedy prince our eldest daughter’s hand in marriage. I fear that tomorrow, the three princes will come up the mountain to claim what they are owed!\"\nAnd upon hearing these words, the queen joined her husband in grief, and wept, for she knew that they had no daughter.\n***\nOn the day the suitors were due to arrive, the sultan sought help from his trusted vizier. The vizier was known for being very clever, and for solving impossible problems. The vizier quickly devised a plan, and the sultan’s fears were calmed.\nThe vain prince arrived first. He wore a fine silk robe and his sword was polished to a mirror shine so that he could always see his reflection. The prince entered the sultan’s throne room and said, “I have come for your eldest daughter’s hand in marriage.”\nThe vizier replied, “The princess is eager to meet you. But please be humble, she lost an eye and a leg during the great war, and may look frightening. We will go fetch her,” and the vizier left with the sultan, but when they returned the vain prince had already fled.\nNext arrived the gluttonous prince. He was as wide as the chamber door, and ate from each hand two meticulously seasoned turkey legs. The prince entered the sultan’s throne room and said, “I have come for your eldest daughter’s hand in marriage.”\nThe vizier replied, “The princess is eager to meet you. But please be temperate, she loves to cook and has prepared her favorite soup for you: horsehair and lime, and she prays you will enjoy it. We will go fetch her,” and the vizier left with the sultan, but when they returned the gluttonous prince had already fled.\nFinally, the greedy prince arrived. He wore an ornate crown larger than his own head and, as he walked, servants unfurled rich velvet beneath his feet. The prince entered the sultan’s throne room and said, “I have come for your eldest daughter’s hand in marriage.”\nThe vizier replied, “The princess is eager to meet you. But please be charitable, all of her dowry was spent on the long war, and now she is as poor as a beggar-maid. We will go fetch her,” and the vizier left with the sultan, but when they returned the greedy prince had already fled.\nWith the three princes gone, the sultan was overjoyed, and planned a great feast to celebrate. But the feast would not be a happy one, for there was only one road down the great mountain, and it happened that the three princes came upon one another, and they fell into conversation.\n“I was to be married, but I learned that the bride was terribly ugly, so I fled,” said the vain prince.\n“I was to be married, but I learned that the bride was a terrible cook, so I fled,” said the gluttonous prince.\n“I was to be married, but I learned that the bride was terribly impoverished, so I fled,” said the greedy prince.\nBut for their faults, the three princes were not stupid, and they soon realized that they had been tricked by the same vizier. They grew angry and resolved to get answers from the sultan for his deception. So the three princes rode back up the mountain together, and they came upon the sultan enjoying a great feast with music, dancing, and wine. The musicians stopped playing at the sight of the three princes and a silence fell over the hall.\n“What an ugly lie!” said one prince.\n“That behavior was disgusting!” said another.\n“Your promises have no worth!” said the third.\nThe three princes continued to express their anger while the sultan solemnly listened. Finally, they demanded that the sultan fetch his eldest daughter without delay, or they would bring war to the kingdom-on-the-mountain.\nThe sultan, finally breaking his silence, realized that he could do nothing but be honest. He turned to the princes and spoke these words:\n\"Twelve years, in war, we loved and fought,\nTwelve years to have it done,\nMy queen did try to make me true,\nWere born, instead, twelve sons.\"" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Ear, There And Everywhere\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1341\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with one or more characters shouting “Happy new year!”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Read the story, Daddy!” Poppy screamed from her room.\nDaddy Horse rolled his eyes wishing he could close the chat like on Zoom,\n“Which story is that my love?” said Daddy Horse under duress from his wife,\nWho was standing on one of his hooves and pointing towards his face with a knife,\nIt was late on New Year’s Eve so Poppy wanted to celebrate in her own way before bed,\nWith the book she’d heard her Mum and Dad read cover to cover echoing a million times in her head,\n“The one about the ears, silly!” Poppy enthusiastically responded sounding like she’d eaten all sugars in the house,\nDaddy Horse rolled his eyes, grabbed the book from the space behind the sofa that was also being used as a larder by a local mouse,\nStomping up the stairs, book in hand, Daddy Horse let out a sigh that lasted the entire flight,\nIt’s not that he hated the book, just that he’d hoped he could go a day without reading it - maybe even overnight,\nIn fact he wasn’t even sure why he had the book as he knew the story off by heart,\nTo say he’d read it a thousand times may be an underestimation on his part,\nWalking into Poppy’s room Daddy Horse found his daughter sat up in bed ready for the story she loved,\nHe sat down in the armchair ready to try and give it some heart, even if his long face clearly expressed he’d had enough,\nOpening the book to the first page, Daddy Horse cleared his throat and just before he started Poppy interrupted,\n“Remember to do the voices, you know all the ones I like!”\n“Yes of course, sweetie” Daddy grimaced back tempted to request his kid to get on her bike.\nFollowing the rude interruption he revved his throat once more, \nAnd could finally start the over familiar story which in his mind wasn’t a pleasure but a chore,\n\nAll animals have spent this year, moving on without fear, enjoying the strange rollercoaster of life,\nExploring the world with their loved ones, their parents, kids or maybe their wife,\n\n“Why is the wife a maybe, Daddy?” asked Poppy unsure of the implication,\n“Maybe it means a girlfriend perhaps?” responded Daddy Horse annoyed by his child’s complication,\n\nBut sadly one thing will come to an end with a dramatic and physical change,\nThey get to select a new aspect from the vast and eclectic range,\n\nSo as they peruse the options, I’m sure they may shed a tear,\nBecause on January 1st it’s all time to cheer – HAPPY NEW EARS!!!\n\n“I love this part, Daddy! It’s when the story gets good!”\nWithout speaking, Daddy Horse tried to convey “Oh shut up!” to his little girl so they were both understood,\n\nMr Rabbit is sick of his floppy ears, wobbling this way and that,\nSo he’s decided to go for an upgrade with the ones of a vampire bat,\n\nMiss Cow has waited long for this switch, as her ears are too much to take,\nThis year she’s gone for the aero dynamic choice of a rattle snake,\n\nMister Monkey’s lug holes are big and round, there for all to see,\nSo he’s gone for the elephant upgrade, now he and his neighbours can watch Sky way up high in his tree.\n\n“Do you think Mister Monkey will get Disney Plus, Daddy? Or maybe watch Netflix?”\nDaddy Horse closed his eyes, bit his lip, held his legs to avoid any unexpected kicks,\nPoppy reached out to her Dad, stroked his arm and whispered “Please carry on reading!”\nDaddy Horse relaxed once more and continued to read, relieved his lip wasn’t bleeding,\n\nMrs Cat adores her ears and loves preening them clean with her paws,\nBut for a change, as she looks through the range, she will have the ones of a hippo... with claws,\n\nMiss Panda’s ears are lovely and soft which makes it much trickier to swap,\nBut she finds the audio flaps of a bunny give her that extra skip and a hop,\n\nGrandpa Goat never finds it easy as his ears fit well with his horns,\nBut when the ears of a reindeer arrived, he felt like he’d been fully reborn,\n\n“Does that mean Santa’s reindeers are bald, Daddy? Or just have different ears now?”\nDaddy Horse contemplated the query and sadly only mustered a lacklustre response in “Possibly ears of a cow?”\nPoppy stared at her father for a moment thinking about his latest level of daft,\nAnd then her face fully erupted with the largest heartfelt laugh,\nDaddy Horse laughed too and took that enthusiasm into the rest of the story,\nHoping he could make it through the remaining pages otherwise it could get gory,\n\nMr Tiger chose his ears in an extremely sleepy and grumpy mood without trying,\nSo it probably serves him right that he woke up with the ears and ruff of a lion,\n\nMrs Pig hated her ears with a passion, so bare and cold and flappy,\nWhen the sound trumpets of a pug hit her head, she was ecstatic, elated and very happy\n\nMiss Goldfish’s ear canals to her loved ones and pals were barely visible at all,\nWhich led to cheers when those big donkey ears graced her head and filled up her bowl,\n\nMr Giraffe looked down from up high, hoping his choice got missed,\nBut when he awoke with the ears of a stoat he was obviously quite peeved by it all,\n\n“That doesn’t rhyme, Daddy!” Poppy pointed out causing Daddy Horse’s jaw to drop to the floor,\nHow could he explain this one without upsetting his daughter further, giving her a potty mouth and breaking the good parent law?\nPausing for a moment he giggled at his daughter before responding with, “Oh yeah you’re right, that’s a bit rubbish!”\n“I know, Daddy!” said Poppy seriously, “how did this book ever get published?”\nDaddy Horse sensing this may be the last time he ever read this story tried to hide his relief,\nDived into the final pages with the sheer excitement of a tree sprouting it’s first leaf,\n\nSo Happy New Ears everybody, I hope you enjoy your new features,\nEmbrace in this change, from our massive range, to the listening canals of all creatures,\n\nJust remember this won’t last forever and soon enough you’ll select once again,\nSo try and plan your new ears in advance to avoid disappointment and pain.\n\nBut I have some advice for you all, to help you plan for next year without doubt,\nThe ear change was never compulsory, so love your own features inside and out. \n\nPoppy hugged Daddy Horse with all her might because the book was only part of the enjoyment she got from a bedtime story,\nBeing with her Daddy before her bedtime was a wonderful way to close the day and drift off without a single worry,\nDaddy Horse smiled and kissed Poppy on the head, settled her back into bed and wished her goodnight,\nHe stomped quietly down the stairs to Mummy Horse who had prepared a table of food to celebrate New Year right. \n“Did she go off okay?” asked Mummy Horse knowing how tricky it can be when Poppy is in a mood,\nDaddy Horse responded with a grin, “She drifted off quick and looks like she’s finally sick of that book which is really good!”\nMummy Horse punched the air although she knew the book was compulsory for all kids Poppy’s age,\nTo get children ready to embrace the annual tradition described in detail on every page,\nA few hours later the countdown began and Mummy and Daddy Horse took one last look at each other in their current forms,\nStroking his sheep ears one last time, as she did the same with her bull ears and horns,\nThe countdown hit zero, they hugged each other for support as their bodies glowed and let out a cheer for all to hear,\n“Happy New Year!”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Ruby and the Rat\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2987\n\nPrompt:\n\nAll clocks suddenly stop. Write about what happens next." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Long ago, on a day like so many before it, a distant clock tower chimed the hour. The sun rose, casting its radiant light over the snow-laden land. In a small shack on the edge of the village, the golden rays warmed Ruby’s face. The young woman gripped her blanket, her one luxury, and snuggled her sleepy face into its warm embrace. The fire had died long ago and she held onto the warmth of her bed as long as possible in the cozy haze of dawn. She dared to open her eyes. The glistening snow shone beautifully outside, and the sun, nestled on the horizon, greeted her.\nRuby gasped, jumping to her feet. The cold floor on her bare skin shocked her awake but was not nearly as effective as the realization that she was, once again, late. She traded her nightgown for her dusty dress and ragged apron, threw her hair up with haste, and pulled on her bright red coat and boots as she stumbled out the door. Ruby flew over the snow toward the village. She followed the scent of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls and the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. Everyone in town loved Ruby and everyone knew she suffered from a bad case of tardiness. \n“Late again Ruby!” chuckled the baker as she ran past. He tossed her a muffin, knowing she needed fuel for what lay ahead.\n“Thanks, Felix!” Ruby called back, stuffing her mouth with the warm bread.\nShe passed the grocer, the blacksmith, the candlestick maker, waving with a smile at everyone as she went. The village sprang to life and the bustle began, but Ruby had no time to enjoy the liveliness. She wound around people, weaving through obstacles, and eventually ended up at the castle gardens. She slipped through the thick foliage and quietly sought out her secret hole in the back wall where she could sneak into the kitchens unnoticed. Just a row of hedges twice her heigh stood between her and the wall. She knelt down and crawled through the tangled branches when a tiny squeak caught her attention.\nShe paused a moment before continuing on, but the squeak once more found her ears. Snow soaked through her dress and froze her knees. Time urgently pushed her forward. But she stopped and looked around for the source of the squeak. Her eyes landed on a lump of mottled fur, barely hidden by the edge of the shrub. She eased forward and found a rat with a crooked tail, lame leg, and eyes full of sorrow. Her soul ached at the thought of the little guy’s heart pumping furiously as he ran from a hawk. It had surely been a close duel, the rat barely escaping with his life. Ruby reasoned his chances were slim, but with proper care, he might just make it. She scooped him up, brushed the snow from his fur, and placed him gently in her apron pocket.\n“We’ve got a long day ahead of us, but you’re under my care now,” she whispered as they squeezed through the stone wall. \nThe kitchen’s heat already sweltered as the staff hurried about cooking more food than could possibly be necessary. She blended in perfectly. Ruby hung her coat and went to work. She grabbed a handful of linens and headed to the queen’s chambers. But not before placing a handful of nuts in her apron pocket.\nShe made the bed and rolled the old sheets to the laundry then moved on to dusting various trinkets before Princess Abigail found her.\n“Mother knows you were late again,” the child sneered, her nose in the air. \n“I’m so sorry Princess,” Ruby bowed her head before the girl and quickly returned to work.\n“Mother also said apologies are worthless if you don’t change your actions. Of course, I never have to apologize for anything. A princess is nothing short of perfect.”\nRuby endured excess words from the queen and her daughter on a daily basis. She learned to ignore them and continue on. The slender child, clad in shiny jewels and frills turned dramatically and headed for the door. She left Ruby relieved for her early departure.\n“Oh,” the child in the doorway’s grin grew wide and wicked, “Mother said as punishment, you’re to clean the chamber pots today!” Princess Abigail giggled with malicious vigor all the way down the hallway.\nIn between tasks, Ruby would take the rat from her apron and wipe his fur. She’d talk to him sweetly, and wrap him in scraps of warm cloth. She fed him the nuts from the kitchen and dubbed him Pistachio. Pistachio snuggled into her apron a rested well with a full stomach. He listened as Ruby endured verbal abuse from the castle’s occupants. And he listened as she went about her work, singing merrily as she did. Room after room, she kept busy, worked diligently, while still finding time to tend to Pistachio. He admired how she made games out of her tasks and maintained a pleasant attitude. \nAs the sun dipped low in the sky, Ruby tended to her last chore of the day: cleaning the queen’s bath chamber. There’d be clothes to take to the laundry, drain and scrub the clawfoot tub, then wrap up with mopping and watering the plants. She reached for the doorknob, but it opened before her. Queen Violet stepped out, draped in plum robes of velvet adorned with beautiful gold filigree. It was the only thing beautiful about her. \nShe looked down on Ruby and spoke, “You better not be late another day, lest it be your last,” she smirked and opened the door wide for Ruby to enter, “I want this room spotless before you leave,” she let out a chuckle accompanied by a snort. Her heels clicked down the hallway, the echoes marking her departure.\nRuby stepped into the room, her smile faded and shoulders slumped. Vases lay smashed and towels lay strewn about thoroughly soaked. Mud tracked across the floor and clung to the sides of the tub.\n“What on earth happened here?” Ruby sighed. Something ran into her shins, knocking her to her knees. She steady herself as something hot and wet slapped her face. Ruby raised her head to gaze into the amber eyes of the world’s scruffiest dog. Her radiant smile instantly returned to her face.\n“I bet you did this,” she said stroking the puppy’s damp fur. He looked at her expectantly, tail wagging furiously and tongue flopped to the side, “How am I supposed to clean all this with you running about?” She posed the question to herself and scanned the room for a leash. Nothing. The puppy nosed her apron, sniffing it with curiosity. She pulled away, afraid the prodding snout might harm Pistacio. But the small rat popped his head up and sniffed the dog in return. He wrapped his tiny fingers around the edge of the pocket.\n“Are you sure?” Ruby asked.\nThe rat looked at her face in return and Ruby took the action as an answer. She scooped out Pistacio and his cloth and fashioned a bed for him on an end table. He burrowed back into the warmth before popping his head out ever so slightly. The puppy ran to the end table, skidding to a stop a mere inch before hitting it. He looked up eagerly at the rat but refused to bother him otherwise. Satisfied, Ruby set to work, face aglow with joy once more.\nNight fell long before Ruby completed her chores and left the castle behind, Pistachio in tow. Fresh snow fell from the silver speckled sky. She gripped her brilliantly colored, yet tattered coat tight and walked quickly. She passed through the village where most people already sat in their homes for dinner. The alabaster moon glistened off the snowy streets, and warm firelight glowed through frosted windows. Scents of meats and spices wafted on the air, and the tavern sounded alive with happy patrons. Ruby longed to take her time and enjoy the sights and smells, to join the people in the tavern and dance and sing. But the night was far too cold, and far too late.\nRuby reached her door to find a letter fixed to a ceramic pot. Inside she placed the items on her table and started a fire. Returning to the mystery package, she opened the letter. She instantly recognized the crude penmanship as belonging to Axlan the Blacksmith.\nDearest Ruby,\nWhen my wife and I failed to see you walk through the village before we closed up for the day, we reasoned you’d been kept late. Knowing that you work hard for the Queen, Lorilynn insisted that I bring you some of our stew and bid you a restful evening. We hope you enjoy it and that it warms on what is sure to be a frozen night.\n -Axlan\nRuby cherished the couple’s kindness and fixed the pot over the fire to heat the delicious gift. She sat down to a delicious meal and every other spoonful of broth went to Pistachio. After dinner, she quickly tidied her room and tucked Pistachio into his cloth on her nightstand. She told the sleepy rat a short bedtime story before drifting off to sleep herself.\nThe next morning, the clocktower chimed in the distance. The sun once again beckoned Ruby to wake. Once again, she took a look outside and realized she was going to be late. With no time to snuggle under the covers and allow her body to gently rise, she sprang out of bed. She threw on her dress, her apron her socks with perfected ease. She grabbed her boots, her coat, and of course, Pistachio, and she raced out the door. \nShe trotted down the path and onto the main road. As she passed through the village a curious sight befell her eyes. Not a soul trespassed the streets. The snow lay untouched, the forge stood cold, and the baker’s ovens were bare. The sun rested low on the horizon. Ruby slowed down to examine the area. \n“What’s going on? Is it possible I’m early?”\nShe pondered the thought, and though she was sure she rose from her bed late, what else could explain the sleeping town? A glance toward the clocktower confirmed her suspicions. Her concern abated, she continued to the castle. The guards stood at the gates, unwavering as always, but suspiciously still. Years had passed since Ruby last used the gates. She couldn’t wait to see the surprise on her friends’ faces when she arrived not late, but early. But as she entered the castle, the halls were, like the village, devoid of life. She checked the clock in the main hall. It read the exact same time as had the clocktower she spied minutes earlier. Perhaps it was broken. She moved from room to room and each clock read the same time as when she’d passed through the village.\nPistachio crawled out from her apron and rested on her shoulder.\n“One clock could be broken, dear Pistachio. But every single one? Do you know what’s happening?”\nThe rate stared at her blankly and blinked.\nShe inhaled deeply and let out a long breath, “Well,” she thought for a moment, “I still have work to do.”\nRuby went about the rest of her day as usual. She took her time as she cleaned room after room, pausing every so often to play with or feed Pistachio. Though the silence caused her heart to grow lonely, she remained grateful that no one could speak harsh words to her or create extra messes for her to clean. When she completed her work, she packed up Pistachio and headed home. The village stood empty and pristine just as it had that morning. Ruby tried with all her might to squash a growing fear as she walked through the undisturbed streets. She fixed a simple meal for her and her rat before going to bed with the sun still peeking over the horizon.\nThe next morning Ruby awoke to the predawn darkness. She sat at the edge of her bed, thankful that at least the sun had moved. She took her time that morning, getting dressed with care and smoothing out her hair with a brush. She even made a modest breakfast. But as she searched for Pistachio, she found his makeshift bed empty. She searched under her bed, in her shoes, and behind her table, but the rat was nowhere to be found. Unwilling to waste the extra time she gained that day, she headed out for the castle alone. The clocktower chimed in the distance.\nAs she neared the village a large commotion drew her attention. Cheer gleamed on everyone’s faces, and from scattered conversations, she learned the castle hosted a special guest. No one seemed aware of the previous day’s conundrum.\n“Ruby!” called Felix, “You couldn’t have picked a better day to be on time.”\n“What’s all the fuss about?” she inquired.\n“A wizard traveled from far away to visit the castle today. They say he has a special gift. You should get going so you don’t miss it.”\nFelix hurried Ruby along, slipping a sweet roll in her hand. The path bustled with people, all voraciously trying to find a place in the castle. Fortunately, Ruby had her secret entrance. She squeezed through the wall and into the kitchen. She fought through another throng of bodies on her way to the throne room. Ruby barely fit in the chamber full of raucous gossip. She twisted her way through the crowd to the side where she miraculously found a bucket to stand on. Looking over the crowd, she spied the mysterious stranger. Next to Queen Violet in her plum robes and Princess Abigail in her pink frills stood a tall, slender man. He wore a robe of midnight blue. Beady eyes poked out through his bushy, mottled hair and beard. Ruby thought something about the old man looked familiar as he popped pistachios into his mouth, though she was certain she’d never laid eyes on him before.\nOnce the room filled with as many people as it could possibly hold, the queen stood up. Silence fell over the room and the woman began to speak.\n“Thank you all for gathering here today,” Ruby rolled her eyes because the queen never thanked anyone for anything, but Queen Violet continued with false pleasantries, “We are honored to receive a very special guest, The Wizard Liri!”\nThe old man pocketed the rest of his nuts and stepped forward.\n“Good people, I am here today to bestow a gift on one your own,” his voice boomed louder than anticipated, “I will share my talents with one very special person today.”\nThe room buzzed with murmurs of excitement. The Queen quieted the room once more, and not so subtly shifted her daughter closer to the wizard.\n“I’ve met someone who impressed me greatly with her attitude,” he continued, “her diligence,” Princess Abigale stuck her nose high in the air, “and her kindness. This young woman shall, from this day forward, be blessed with the ability to live her life sharing her goodwill with those who value her. And through her good fortune, she shall never want for anything again. ”\nPrincess Abigail snorted as confusion crossed her face. A princess, after all, already commands the attention of the people and is showered with everything she could ever want.\nLiri turned toward the queen, “Your highness, in bestowing this gift that will help your entire kingdom, I ask one thing in return.”\nQueen Violet, barely paying attention at this point said, “Of course, what is it that you want?”\n“I only ask that this person be protected from anyone who would wish her harm.”\nThe queen, believing her daughter the only likely candidate for such a gift, of course, agreed. A thin thread of shimmering magic flowed from The Wizard Liri’s fingertips as he bound the queen to her promise.\n“Now, Ruby, please step forward if you accept this offer.”\nThe entire crowd erupted in surprised whispers. Surely he could not mean Ruby, the commoner who cleaned the rooms. Princess Abigail balled her fists and spun on her heels to glower at the wizard. But the room parted, clearing a way for Ruby. As she stepped forward on trembling legs, the villagers, who were all fond of her, softly congratulated her, patting her shoulder and offering kind words on her way. \nShe stood before the old man, at a loss for words. She’d never met this man before, how did he know her.\n“Ruby, do you promise to help your fellow villagers, to live your life spreading kindness and love?”\nThe queen interrupted, “This is a joke right?” Her shrill voice cut through the room, “You’re kidding?”\nLiri ignored her and focused on Ruby.\n“Yes,” Ruby whispered, “But, why me? What have I possibly done to deserve this?”\n“I’ve seen how hard you work yet you ask for nothing. I’ve watched you show kindness to even the smallest of creatures,” he leaned in and whispered the next words so that only she could hear, “How did you know pistachios were my favorite?”\nRuby gasped as she realized who stood before her. She threw her arms around the wizard, her tiny companion over the past two days, and hugged him. Pistachio had not disappeared after all, merely returned to his true self after she helped him heal.\nRuby lived her remaining days working for no one but herself. Day after day she used her magic to help those in her village however she could. And in the evenings she lived her life, enjoying her beautiful surroundings, sharing meals with her friends, and dancing in the tavern. She never again endured the harsh words of the queen and spread her natural light with everyone she met." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Hungry Christmas Tree\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2948\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character in search of something or someone." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The twenty-foot tree was magnificent! All forty-nine wee elves skipped around its base with strings of colored lights, silver tinsel, and finely crafted wooden ornaments. Its fresh, piney green scent was intoxicating, the elves buried their faces in the soft needley boughs.\nThe elves giggled like squirrels, chattered like monkeys, and laughed like loons. As the last of the lights were lit, and the last of the ornaments hung, the elves discussed the finale…the decoration for the very tip-top. The angel was white, with tinsel hair, pale blue gossamer wings, and a gown sparkling with sugary glitter. She was nearly as tall as the largest elf, though made of paper and very light.\n\nA ladder would be of no use, on the highest rung of it, an elf’s little arms wouldn’t reach across to the treetop.\n\nIn a velvet blue coat lined with white fur, Sissy Snowflake put two fingers to the corner of her mouth and whistled to get everyone’s attention. Her shrill expulsion blew steam from her pink pointy ears. As the colorful group of wee-folk quieted down, she asked them, “Any new ideas this year?”\n“Why not just get Santa or the Missus to do it?” Asked Niftybuttons, pushing his eyeglasses up his tiny pug nose. Bits of peppermint candy and assorted cookies pelted the elf a second later.\n“Not an option. We do this on our own,” Sissy said with her freckled nose in the air as if daring anyone to argue.\nA dark-haired elf in a lime green romper said, “We have had some disastrous attempts in the past…” A murmur zig-zigged through the crowd as they recalled the previous three years.\n\n\nThe incident with the catapult had left Periwinkle missing her two front teeth, it had been painful watching her tackle her supper that night. \nThe drone had flown straight into the top of the tree. It was as if a whirring, spitting, buzzsaw had been let loose: branches disintegrated in an explosion of pine needles and tinsel, the poor tree had been decapitated.\nMarcipan’s pet squirrel had been the most traumatizing. It had been trained for a whole month to place the angel just so, and all had gone very well…until the squirrel ate the angel’s head. It had previously been made from an acorn.\n\n\nJingleBob said, “I think the Elf Ladder will work this year. Look how big and strong JingleMel has grown…” The scrawny elf in moss green and yellow moved aside and his brother stepped up. JingleMel was indeed a hulk of an elf. In brown felt and fur, he looked more like a squat, roly-poly troll. As if on cue, the Gingerspatzel twins leapt onto each of JingleMel’s sturdy arms, they balanced on one foot each and bent like ballet dancers with toes extended, meeting over the burly elf’s mop of dark curly hair.\n\nSissy tapped a finger against her pouty pink lips, “Hmm. Yes, I concur. This year the Elf Ladder will work just fine.”\n\nThe wee folk bounced over to the front of the tree, clapping and shouting, “Me, me me!” In high pitched voices like happy blue jays.\n\nSissy strutted back and forth in front of them, pointing and saying, “You…you…you” like a judge at the American Kennel Club. She stopped when she had twenty of them, lined up from the biggest- JingleMel, to the smallest- Urchinpoo, an elf of Asian descent, with dark, almond shaped eyes peeking from amidst a froth of pale pink marabou scarves. Her voice was one of a tiny mouse, \"Yay!\" She squeaked.\n\n“Twenty should do it. Places everyone!” Sissy shouted.\n\nOne by one, the elves assembled, each smaller than the one before it, each climbing onto the shoulders of the elf under it. As Urchinpoo climbed the nineteen feet to the top, her understudy, a tiny thing in lavender named Periwinkle, rooted her on. She was frightened of heights and did not want to climb the Elf Ladder. \nThe ladder swayed as a center elf’s foot slipped from the shoulder beneath him. The crowd “Ooooohed.” Then “Aaaahed” as the line straightened back out. At the top, Urchinpoo regained her own footing, and the paper angel was passed along and up, in her direction.\n\nSissy inspected the symmetry and balance of the tree. She was mesmerized by the soft golden lighting and gently wafting strands of old-fashioned tinsel.\n\nA cacophony of squeals and cries broke her trance.\n\nShe yelled, “Is anyone hurt?!” To the tumble of elves before the tree.\nThey were getting to their feet and rubbing bruised bums and elbows and knees. \nPeriwinkle exclaimed, “Where’s Urchinpoo?!” The elves looked around, and as they spread out, it was clear the mini pink puffball was not amongst them. They looked under the low-lying branches and ran about calling her name. She was not anywhere in the house either.\nShe had simply vanished.\n\n\n\nThat night at the long supper table, forty-eight elves sat, with Santa at one end and his Missus at the other. They picked at their food and occasionally started conversation that petered out quickly as eyes inevitably wandered to the empty seat three down from Mrs. Klaus’ left.\n\nSissy Felt especially awful. She was the unofficial leader of the elves pretty much, only because of her outspoken, bossy nature and felt responsible for each one. At the time of the disappearance, she had decided that Urchinpoo had to be playing a prank. Now, here in the dining room, the elves looked to her for answers, solutions, a game plan perhaps.\n\nSanta, king of the elves, said, “Sissy Snowflake. Have you any clues? Any progress?”\nPut on the spot, she suddenly didn’t want the attention, for she had no answers. She hung her pretty head sadly. \n“Well, in any case, we still need to complete the tree decoration.” Santa said.\n\n\nAfter supper, the courtyard lanterns were lit, infusing the darkness with welcoming mellow light. A thousand Christmas lights reflected off the fresh snow, it sparkled as if sprinkled with colorful glitter.\nThe elves formed their Elf Ladder with little merriment, little Periwinkle shook with fright as she ascended the tower. Third from the bottom, Boysenberry sneezed. A sneeze could take down the whole lot…they swayed to the left and right, then straightened up solidly. Whew.\n\nCuppy Gingerspatzel was the elf at the top. As Periwinkle cautiously climbed her shoulders, Cuppy whispered, “You’re doing great, Peri, just don’t look down.”\nPeriwinkle had not dared to look down…until then.\nThe tower shuddered as Periwinkle lost her footing. Cuppy yelled, “Elf down!”\n\nSissy had been watching the procession but had taken her eyes off the tiny, purpley elf when Boysenberry had sneezed. Now she scanned the ground and the tree branches. She called up to Cuppy, “What do you mean?! No one fell!”\nCuppy replied, “Well, she was here for a second! Now, she’s not! She must have fallen!”\nThe elves disassembled and searched the courtyard for the lavender cloaked elf.\n\nRolly Garopollo and JingleMel wheeled out the catapult from the garage. Sissy rolled her eyes and muttered, “Why not.” She stepped aside, watching the foot high wheels turn… ”Wait!” She cried. The catapult was just about to roll over something small and shiny half buried in the snow. A button. A purple one.\n\nAgain, it seemed, an elf vanished into thin air.\n\nCuppy’s sister, Cooperfield, climbed up the catapult and planted herself excitedly in the cup. She wore a wooden helmet over her bright copper-colored curls, only her large brown eyes peeked out. JingleBob passed her the paper angel then positioned himself, ready to press the release lever. \n\nSissy said, “On one, two…three!”\n\n‘Sawiiiiiissssshhhh!’ Flew Cooperfield through the frosty air, she cried, “Wheeeeeee---” Her voice cut off as she disappeared amidst the branches. The paper angel drifted down, see-sawing back and forth, wings fluttering as if she were trying to fly, like a baby bird falling too soon from its nest. JingleMel opened his arms and caught it, cradling it gently.\n\n“What the…?” Said Sissy, blinking. \n“Did you see that?!” JingleBob exclaimed, “She’s disappeared!”\nCuppy said, “She must be in the tree! I’m going in after her!”\nSissy held her back and said, “something strange is going on here. I can’t let you go in.”\n“I don’t need your permission…”\n“Please. Let me help you look.”\nCuppy nodded and Sissy called the biggest elves over. She needed them to tip the tree and lay it down on the ground. Rayray Goodcandy and his brother Bobo joined JingleMel and JingleBob. \nSissy studied the Goodcandy brothers’ faces for ten full seconds, then narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brows. She asked them, “When you cut this tree down yesterday, where did you get if from?”\nThe Goodcandys looked at each other, Rayray sheepishly said, “The north woods…”\nSissy persisted, “Which north woods?”\nBobo said defensively, “It’s the best tree ever! We found a FOREST of perfect Christmas trees!”\n“Just a little further than we normally go.” Added Rayray.\nSissy said, “You crossed the Red Field!”\n“It was no big deal,” said Bobo.\n“don’t get what all the fuss is about,” said Rayray.\n“the chocolate was amazing.” said Bobo.\n\nBy now all the elves had gathered and were standing around the three with their mouths open and their eyes big as ping pong balls.\nSissy, exasperated, said, “Santa made a deal with the Red Wizard who lives in the Far North Woods. We don’t cross his field, we stay out of his forest. In return, he doesn’t eat us…wait…what chocolate?”\nRayray said, “We found chocolate,”\nBobo said, “in the field,”\n“like someone had dropped it.\"\n“A trail,”\n“into the woods.”\nSissy exasperatedly looked from brother to brother. “You Ninnyheads! The wizard must have wanted you to cut down this tree! Through the tree he’s swiping elves! Poor Poo, and Coop, and Peri. They’ve surely been eaten.”\n\n“We’ll go and rescue them!\" Said Bobo.\n“Santa can help...\" said Rayray.\nSissy cried, “Santa cannot hear of this! He will be furious that we broke the oath.”\n“We can go through the tree,\" said Bobo.\n“just like---”\n“No!” screamed Sissy, “We’ll be eaten too! We must go the long way, over the field. You will have to show me exactly which way you went.”\n\n\nThe three elves headed to the Red Field at midnight. The night was crystal clear, the stars twinkled merrily, and the moon a lantern that led their way. It was pretty as a Christmas card. Although two feet of snow had fallen since the boys last trip across the field, it was easy to see the ditch that the tree had made as the brothers dragged it home.\n\nSissy grew increasingly nervous. Halfway across, she stopped walking and whispered, “I’ve figured out what’s so creepy…there’s no sound.”\nThe Goodcandys stopped and cocked their heads like terriers listening for the crinkle of a can opener opening a can. Rayray said, “She’s right,”\n“no owls, no wolves,”\n“no crickets, no night-jays…”\n\nA howl arose from the woods ahead of them and east. HIS woods. It was unlike any sound the three had ever heard. It was similar to a wolf’s but more guttural, higher pitched, and a hundred percent menacing. Sissy felt every hair on her body stand up and quiver. She held her belly to quiet the roiling worms in it. The boys did the same.\n“I don’t think we should be out in the open like this. C’mon!” She started running, the boys ran too.\nThe elves’ tiny feet blurred over the glistening, blueish white expanse, so swift and light, they left no footprints. They reached the far side in two minutes. They leapt into the woods and crouched behind a tree as the eerie howl rose again, closer this time.\nCautiously, they continued through the forbidden forest. It was not entirely silent anymore. Branches behind them snapped. Snow clumps ‘flomped’ as they fell from tree limbs. And deep, ragged breathing trailed their path.\nAs the thing grew closer, they heard heavy, crumping footfalls and strange slurping noises.\n\n\nLights ahead twinkled through the trees ahead!\n\nThere, deep in the Red Wizard’s Forest, was a castle. It was house-sized but a bona fide castle, nonetheless, complete with two towers with pointed, cone roofs, wide gables over the first story windows, and a drawbridge over a frozen moat. It appeared to be white frosted glass with blue crystals embedded all over. The moonlit, sparkling reflections made it appear to be alive and breathing even though the multipaned windows were dark.\n\nThey circled the castle and around the back they found a maple tree by the shiny silver moat.\n“C’mon said Sissy. She went to the tree and put her hands together like a step. Bobo stepped up and on to her shoulders. Rayray did the same to form an Elf Ladder. Rayray leapt upwards and caught the lowest bare branch. Then he pulled Bobo up, who pulled Sissy next.\nWhen they had climbed twenty feet up, they could see into the backyard of the sparkling castle home.\n“Toss me over the wall,” said Sissy.\nBobo hung by his feet and took her hands in his. He rocked like a swing, back and forth. When he swung towards the wall, he let go of Sissy’s hands at the apex. She made her body long like Superman and flew over the wall.\nShe rolled in a ball across the yard then raced to the backdoor. Through the window she saw a cozy, dark kitchen. The door was unlocked. Evil Wizards aren’t afraid of anything.\nShe tip-toed across the cool tile floor, and stopped when she heard soft, whistley snoring. ‘Periwinkle!’ She thought. For even though the dentist had crafted new teeth, she’d snored ever since the accident.\n\nBehind the kitchen door, Sissy found the cage. \nHer three little friends were curled up in blankets. There was a bowl with a few chocolates and a candy cane in it, and another half full of milk. She thought, ‘It’s as if they are pets.’\nShe rattled the metal door and called out softly, “Peri! Cooper! Urchinpoo! Wake up!”\n“Whaaa?” said one of the girls.\n\nSuddenly the kitchen was flooded with brilliant white light!\nAll four elves blinked and squinted in surprise.\n\n“Aha!” shouted the wizard. “A trespasser! I shall add you to my collection!”\n\nSissy thought, ‘That sure doesn’t sound like an evil wizards voice…’\nShe turned around and saw…’a miniature wizard?’\n\nIt was indeed a child. In purple pajamas with stars and planets all over them. On his head was a tall, pointed hat in a matching pattern. He wore fuzzy purple bunny slippers.\n“Into the cage you go!” cried the boy. He was three times her size, but she shook her head, refusing to move to the cage. He opened the cage door and said, “If you don’t get into the cage, my grandfather will eat you!”\n\n“Ha ha ha! Who says I eat elves?” A voice boomed from the doorway. The tall, white-haired old wizard came into the kitchen, and said, “What’s all the ruckus?” He resembled a taller, thinner Santa, but wore a velvet robe so black it sucked in light. He looked angry, his eyes shot red sparks.\n\nNow, she was scared.\n\n“Ah Granpoppa. This one refuses to get in the cage.”\n“Well I don’t blame her.” To Sissy he said, “You elves have broken the two-hundred-year oath. You are now mine to do what I like with.”\n\n“It was a terrible mistake! The two that cut down your elf-eating tree were lured into your forest by chocolate. They…WE…are very truly sorry and will do anything to make it up to you.”\n\n“Granpoppa, you can’t let them go! They’re my pets!”\n\nSissy understood then, that the child was simply lonely. Wizards were infamously known for being recluses. This poor child simply wanted playmates.\n\nThe old scary wizard looked at the boy wizard and said, “Is that true Sefton? You lured the elves into my forest with chocolate?”\nThe boy’s eyes filled with tears. He nodded.\n\nThe wizard’s face broke into a grin. He went from scary monster to cheery fun uncle. He said, “Well, then this is just as much your fault as it is the elves.”\n“Please don’t send them away.” Sefton’s small voice quavered.\nSissy said, “Why don’t you come over and play with us?”\nSefton looked up. He sniffled and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He looked at his grandfather and said, “Can I?”\n“Well, it’s odd for a wizard to want to be around other beings…” He shuddered and continued, “…but I can’t see any harm in it if it makes you happy.”\n“Oh boy! Friends!” The young wizard clapped with joy.\n“We’ve got to get home now, before Santa wakes up, he’ll be very worried to find three more elves missing.”\n“Three?” asked the big wizard.\n“Oh! Yes, my friends are out in that maple tree, waiting for us.”\n“To get back, you will have to go through the tree-portal. The zombie wolverine that guards the woods is quite fearsome.”\n\n\nSefton threw a rope ladder over the wall, the Goodcandy boys climbed over. The sky was pinking with a new dawning day. There was a tree in the castle yard, identical to the elves’ tree but with fewer decorations, and little tinsel. The tall wizard stood on a wooden ladder and one by one, the elves were tossed into the tree. \n\nAn hour later, they came back through the tree.\n\nWhen young Sefton, the mini-wizard, came out to meet his new friends he saw that his own Christmas tree was now sparkling with tinsel, covered in twinkling lights, and at the tip-top sat a beautiful paper angel." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: As Children Do\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1037\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where two characters are playing hide and seek, literally or metaphorically." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Ninety-Seven, Ninety-Eight, Ninety-Nine, ONE HUNDRED. Ready or not! HERE I COME!” I spun out of the corner I had smushed my face into. The herringbone parquet flooring glows golden, reflecting the light from the hallway lamps. My Mary-Janes slap against it as I run towards the giant mahogany staircase. I reach the carpet covered stairway and start thundering up them with the abandon of youth and enthusiasm. As I run, the crystal tear drops of the chandelier tinkle as they vibrate and shake from the force of my passage. Mrs McIntosh, the housekeeper always says that me running up the stairs reminds her of how the earth shook under the floor of her first flat every time a train passed. I find that quite odd. I’m only six. I can’t make as much noise as a train. Can I? I slow, dragging my hand, as children do, along the baluster’s, revelling in the slap, slap sound as my fingers bounce from post to carved post.\n\nI reach the top of the stairs, pausing. Which way? I wonder as I try and catch my breath. “Jack!” I call softly, “Jack, I’m not playing anymore” I cry, hoping to trick him. I wait, ears straining. I look at the three hallways branching off the landing. Which way? I tap a finger to my lip like Mum does when she is thinking. The first hallway is in darkness and leads towards Poppa’s room. He would not be there, not after the last time we were caught there. I can't decide between the hallway leading to the servant stairs or the one leading to the back of the house. I’ll spin, I decide. I step towards the middle of the landing, close my eyes and spin around and around until I completely lose my balance, as children do. I fall in a heap, giggling to myself. I lay, arms and legs wide, staring up at the ceiling until the giant ceiling rose stops moving. \n\nOnce I am steady, I push myself up to my elbows, shake my hair out of my eyes, as children do. And look down to see that my Mary -Janes are now pointing me towards the back of the house. I scramble up quickly, decision made. I walk forward, my eyes landing on the pale green wallpaper covered in beautiful emerald peacocks, their trains standing up behind them, Poppa says they can have up to 175 feathers in their trains, I can’t count that high yet, but I think it's a lot more than 20. In-between them, are the indigo butterflies, Poppa says, the blue colour comes from peas, but he must be wrong because peas are green. And in amongst the peacocks and butterflies are the golden hummingbirds, Poppa says that they are the only birds that can fly backwards, why would they do that though? The green colour is sage, and Poppa says its special Chinese silk that he found in the orient when he was there for the war. I don’t know where the orient is but Mum says people do not call it that anymore and I shouldn’t either.\n\nI continue down the hallway, dragging my fingers along the wallpaper, as children do, loving the tingly feel in my fingertips. I lift my hand from the wall as I reach the large window, I want to climb onto the sill and push my face to the glass, but Mrs Mac made me clean 3 whole windows the last time I did that. I stand and carefully put my hands behind my back. As I look out across the normally green lawn and towards the oak and birch trees, the wind gusts and rain hit’s the window like water thrown from a bucket. I jump back, alarmed, and give a little shiver, glad to be warm inside Poppa’s house on such a miserable day. I turn from the window and start moving forward again, trying to count the butterflies on the wall. \n\nLost in my thoughts, I almost forget why I am here and then, my ears prick a little, was that a creak? I know what makes that creak, “I’m coming Jack! I found you!” I yell as down the hallway towards the single flight of wibbly wobbly stairs I go. Of course, Jack ends up where he is not supposed to be, now we will both be in trouble. I mount the stairs and notice the big blue door is not quite closed. I hesitate for a moment, Mrs Mac told us to stay out of this room today. I bite my lip, what if Jack is in there by himself? What if he breaks something? My heart pounds at the thought, remembering the blown glass horse figurines on the desk and the blue vase as tall as I am, oh no, what if he knocks it over? Fearing the worst, I push the door open quietly, holding my breath and tip toe into the room as children do. The attic is huge, as large as the whole house. One wall is all windows with a lovely wide window seat, perfect for curling up with a good adventure story, which you could easily find on one of the other three walls which are floor to ceiling shelves overflowing with books of every kind. \n\nI sneak forward slowly. “Jack?” I whisper. “Hello poppet” says a voice that is gravelly and smooth all at the same time. It’s coming from the big red armchair in front of the roaring fireplace. There is a precarious pile of books on one side and a table with two mugs and a plate of biscuits on the other. “Hello Poppa,” I say. I walk towards the chair. “Jack! You traitor!” I exclaim as I see that Jack, my faithful hound, my supposed hide and seek playmate is curled up on Poppa’s lap enjoying the warmth of the fire. Not hiding at all. Poppa chuckles, “Come sit down and tell me about your day, Mrs Mac brought you up a hot chocolate.” I flop down on the rug and sigh as children do, wondering how she knew I would end up here? I shrug and reach for a biscuit." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Lightless\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 3010\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with someone finding themselves." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I\n4:00 am\nI can’t sleep. Sometimes sleep won’t come to you. No matter what you do to catch it. No matter how hard you try. Sleep won’t come. If Luna was there, she would probably tell me sleep is not something you can order around. She would tell me this, in that soothing voice of hers. That sleep never comes to the ones who wish to catch it. But Luna is not here.\n4:05 am\nStill can’t sleep. She would surely tell me a tale never to forget, which would instantly fade away. She would tell me about a flock of birds, flying far away from it all. Or about the snow, falling off and slithering through the stream. With every single word of hers, with every blink of my eyes, the world would fade a little further. I would leave my house. My street. My town. The clouds would get closer and closer, until what had once been the snow of her stories completely covered me. Until I flew with the flock of birds that she had told me so much about.\nRight when I would fight my hardest to fall back into my home and listen to her story, I would dream. I would jump from my world and land into a whole new one. The one where hopeful people live, when night strips the world from its light. Where love is born in a heartbeat, and beats all odds against it. The place where she would dance with more passion than her own shadow. But she’s not here anymore. The stories are gone. The dreams are gone. And I can’t sleep.\nII\n4:12 am\nScrew it. Shirt. Trousers. Shoes. Coat. Keys. Out. Leaving the house. Nothing left for me here in this sleepless night.\nI shut the door behind me and stare. Nothing but darkness ahead. No one - no sound. A naked, empty space. This is not my town. My town has people laughing in it. People living. My town has bright trees - trees that shake in the day’s wind. My town is not silent or dark, and yet it is now. It looks nothing like in the pictures. In them, you can see everything clearly. Just the way it is. The way it has always been. The way it’s supposed to be – lively, sunny. It doesn’t even look like a painting. Any worthy painter would see this town and make it shine. Gorge the streets with light. Fill them with life.\nBut there’s none of that here. Just fragments of what I know - pieces of a body. The church’s door, but not its tower. The tree’s trunk, but not its branches. The street’s pavements, but not its people. The truth faded away. Now I’m left with pieces of it all. \nHad life lacked a place for the moon, you would have lifted it up, simply for the last lane of your nights to be a little more illuminated. \nThat’s what Luna would have said, had she been there. But she isn’t. I would have gone back inside. My mind wanted to. My legs, on the other hand, had an inexplicable urge. Hatable urge to walk the dimly lit streets ahead. So I did. Just me, walking, sleepless - out in the street - just me and the street lights.\n4:25 am\nI like street lights. They’re just like memories. They help you find your way when you’re lost. Luna had always hated having street lights hanging around her. She used to say that they looked like stars in cages. In her mind, men needed to possess every possible thing and thought, to the point where they gripped the lights out of the sky to trap them. Down here, with us. Down, not up. Maybe she was right, in a way. It’s not like she would see any stars shining in the sky tonight; if she was looking. Not like I can see them either. But there are street lights all over. What’s the big difference, anyway? As long as there’s light, there’s sight.\nThere were a few stars left in the sky, when Luna was still here. We used to look at them from the top of our little hill. It was so small.\nIf this town was a cyclops, then our hill would be its eye.\nThat’s how her words dragged you in. Every little thing seemed so much more complex, when you looked at it with Luna. Even the simplest of circles would start looking nebulous, if she stood next to you. The whole universe danced around you, when you went on that hill with her. So I did.\nShe used to say the silliest things. In the summer, when we sat on that hill together, she liked to speak to me about anything. Everything. The tree’s leaves. She would ask what would happen if leaves could fly away instead of falling off the trees. Up, not down. Whenever she said those things, I would always react the same way. I used to look at her with confused eyes. That made her laugh.\n‘But leaves can’t fly away.’ I would argue. She would answer that they can’t, except when they can. So I would keep disagreeing with her: ‘But that’s simply not possible. They have to fall at some point.’ To that, she would answer in the calmest of voices that they did, except when they didn’t.\n4:35 am\nStill walking - walking and thinking. Leaves can’t fly, Obviously. Yet I would stop arguing with her, because there was no point to it. There was no way of winning with Luna. Her words were not made of logic or sense. Her words were made of wonderful letters, combining in the strangest of ways. Entangled, not to form sentences, but to vibrate in the air. Those vibrations would move through the wind, the wind would touch a bird, the bird would fly and so would she; in a way. Up, not down.\nHer mind always wandered to the strangest of places, that I understood nothing about. Places with no clear light showing her the way to go. Places where the light followed her, instead of her following the light.\nWhere her feet fell and met the ground, that’s where a path would appear.\nIt was dark, in her mind - not a somber darkness, not an obscure one either - a darkness full of fragments floating around, dislocated from other pieces. Letters with no words, towns with no sun, leaves with no trees, birds flying away. Up, not down.\n4:43 am\nI would like to pretend that I hated her paradoxes, her illogicalness, her pieces of insanity. Even back then, sometimes I wanted to tell her that none of herself made any sense; but I never said that. I knew what she would say if I did, so we simply spoke through our gaze.\nNo matter how angry I would look, she always stayed calm. Her eyes would let their wing-like lashes bat for a moment; facing me, mesmerizing me. Right when she knew that I could no longer look away, her eyes would say maybe that’s what you like about me. There was nothing I could answer, other than a smile. So I smiled - smiled and followed her with a light - into a whole new darkness.\nIII\n4:50 am\nNow she’s gone. And every step I once walked with her is filled with light, because I see it all so clearly - memories in my mind like stars in street lights. If she knew how much light there is in my mind where she once stood, she would look at me with her other gaze - not her charming, loving one, which made me feel like nothing else in the world mattered. Instead, she would stare into my eyes for just a moment, before looking away and never back at me. Guess that’s the gaze she’s giving me now.\nShe would have preferred to stay out of anyone’s sight - like a wild animal, that everyone wishes to see but that no one can get close to. A subtle, mythical creature. One which hid behind the clouds, yet shone through them. A fantastical phoenix, flying far away from reality, failing to face a fading future. Up, not down.\nEven if I remember everything, every single moment with her - even if I flooded all of them with light. Even then, she still won. No matter how many pieces I try adding together, she still makes no sense to me. As I am thinking about it all, she still escapes the light surrounding her. It could never quite catch her. It never will. Luna, the one girl beyond reason, beyond meaning, beyond light.\nShe never wanted to catch me in return. That might be the most painful part of it. She wanted me to be free, all I wanted was to be hers. I ended up belonging to no one. Just like her. What does that make me? A person, an animal? An angel, a demon? He, she? I.\nI will never capture her the way I would have wanted to. She will never capture me because she would never want to. That shining darkness of hers slipped through my heart; like water through the fingers of a man, dying in the drought.\nIf I could go back in time and ask her one thing, then I would ask again: ‘What do you mean, leaves that don’t fall but fly?’ I would shake her. Catch her unreachable shoulders and shake her. I would beg her until she would let me make sense of her world. A world that would not belong. That would simply be. A world where love still exists. A world where leaves fly away.\nIV\n5:00 am\nStill walking. Walking and remembering. There was a day - a sad day - one in which her eyes refused to meet mine. On that day, she said, if leaves could fly away, then you wouldn’t be able to catch them all. She said that I should stop trying to grab everything. That I should let things fly away. But what sense does that make? If a leaf will fall, then it will fall. What difference will it make if I grab it beforehand? What difference does it make if I want it to be mine?\nNone of that matters, anyway. Because on the last day I saw Luna, on our very last goodbye, we stood next to a tree. \nI can’t quite remember what words she used on that day. My mind won’t illuminate such a memory. All that its dim light can bring back is the voice that she spoke with. Her words weren’t floating in the air and vibrating with the birds. Her words fell on me like leaves falling off branches; branches falling off trees, trees falling off the world. Everything fell down.\nEvery soft snow flake was changed into an impetuous ice storm, every swinging leaf into a curled up memory of the fall, every singing bird into a croaking raven.\nAs she walked away from me - as she said her very last goodbye, in the harshest voice I had ever heard her utter - the last leaf fell from the tree. A bird took its place. Then more birds came along.\nThe ravens looked at me. They stared and hushed. Even they would not speak in presence of such misery. I stayed and stared back at them. Waiting. Not knowing what else to do. They curled up on themselves and left me – alone - with my thoughts.\nThey covered the tree. Perhaps out of sorrow - sorrow for what had fallen - what Luna would never let me catch. All of the leaves were dead at its feet and at mine. Lifeless. That’s where she left me. Above death. I looked at the discolored leaves and they said nothing.\nOn that day, she pierced an ever growing hole within me - I sunk in it. Out of those beautiful snowy clouds, out of the sky with the flocks of birds, out of the lands where she stood in front of me. Back into my own street - my own house; right into a dark place… A somber darkness, An obscure one. One without the light of her eyes to guide me.\n5:15 am\nThe lights in my mind bring me to her eyes once more. They were not clear, simple circles, her eyes - at least not when you focused on them and really, truly looked. They were nebulous. Like the edges of a grass-covered hill.\nThe gaze that she would give me whenever I was angry. The guilty gaze, which also spoke of love. The one which said you love me with all of my flaws, you love me because of my flaws. I miss that gaze.\nMaybe she was right, after all. Maybe that was why I loved her. Her will never to get caught - to fly amidst the wind and storms. To be a leaf which falls up, not down - the small things. The sparkles of light in a sea of beautiful darkness; night sky, like the one slowly disappearing above me. It’s strange to think that all which once made me feel complete is now the reason why I am so torn. Why I can’t sleep.\nV\n5:25 am\nNumb. Empty. That’s what you become when your heart gets ripped out of your chest. But then why can’t I sleep? A hole doesn’t look for sleep, so what makes me so different from it? Then again, a hole doesn’t have needs. I need her. I need her world back into mine, I need to fall back into her land, into a long gone hope - sleep.\nI wish I could simply be mad at her. I wish I could blame her for what happened. But I can’t, because every single one of my memories, every single light brings me back to her. In this ocean of sparkling stars, she is the moon.\nNow that she’s gone, there’s nothing left but that ocean’s cold water and my little street lamps.\nIf I could do it all again, I would not ask her to explain things to me. If I could change anything, then I would beg for a leaf to fly. I would beg the wind to carry it up and never let it down. Never would I let my hands grab it. I would see the leaves fly in her world and love would be possible again. But it’s not. And leaves fall. Down, not up.\nVI\n5:32 am\nI keep on walking alone on this road. It makes more sense to me than she ever did. A road with light starting to dawn on it - A clear path. There are no turns or holes - It’s perfectly perfect in every way. But then why do I wish it had spots and tree leaves falling on it?\nOut of my town. Not a single flaw on this, perfect, grey road. I see this road just the way it is. The way it has always been. The way it’s supposed to be. Lively. Sunny. Grey.\nI know which village this road will lead me to. The village will never move. Neither will my town. Only I can.\nI see the village from here already – perfectly perfect - just like this road. Why do I wish for its houses to be stained and its church to be crooked?\nI’m on the clearest path, but that path leads me nowhere; nowhere that I care about. Not a place where leaves fly, just a place with perfectly perfect people.\nOnly the same old road I’ve always known. What’s the use of the same road when you want something new? This is not mid-day, this is dawn. I want a new path to walk down on. One which has never seen me before and one without any light.\nThat’s when I saw it. On the side, hiding like a wild animal - probably full of wild animals. Another path. A flawed one; full of dirt, mud, grass. I would have stayed on the perfectly perfect road. My legs wanted to. My mind, on the other hand, had an inexplicable urge. unstoppable urge to walk the muddy path ahead. So I did. My feet; one after the other, plunging out of the light and into a new darkness. Where my feet fell and met the ground, that’s where a path would appear.\nThere’s fog all over down here, snow-like fog, covering me, making everything blurry - nebulous. The dust illuminated by rays of new-born sunshine dash the only form of light present here. Stars, in a sky darkened by hundreds of naked branches. Perhaps that’s just enough.\nLetting my eyes hop from one star to another, they fall at last on something else, new. A tree.\nThe tree trunk has freckles on it. Stained by time. Beautiful. I look up and see its crooked branches. Beautiful. At last, I see its leaves, black leaves, all over the tree. One of them moves a little with the wind, then agitates its wings, another starts croaking, and its leaf friend answers with some singing of its own. Bird-leaves.\nOne of the bird-leaves starts to move more than the others, and all of a sudden, it falls. I get ready to catch it, then stop myself.\nBefore crushing down, the leaf opens its wings and starts flying. All of the croaking and singing leaves leave, one by one, to a warmer place.\nLuna left me for a warmer place.\nI hope she found it. \nPulling my hands back, I let my eyes stare. I watch. I just watch little birds leaving, little leaves leaving. As the last one soars through the sky, I see it. The leaf that flies and never falls. I see it and fall asleep. Up, not down." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Chase The Aurora\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1102\n\nPrompt:\n\nBegin or end your story with “Well, that was dramatic.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Well, that was dramatic, Jesus!” Simon remarks.\nAs he watches my dog Parker, trip and tumble down the stairs like an out of control avalanche, in excitement to see him, walk through the front door.\n “Oh fantastic your here! Are the others ready?? I ask.\nLet’s go!\n“Yes there all outside, Jennifer don’t forget your camera!” Simon shouts to me.\n“Okay, I’m just looking for my old lenses!” God dam it! The mess of which I call my bedroom, has now come back to haunt me!\nHow do I manage to lose everything, in five minutes?!?\n“Ah I found them!” I shout with no one left in the house to reply, apart from Parker, whose now quite fearful of the stairs! “Your legs weren’t built for this life, my boy,” I add, he smiles as I pat him on the head.\nI grab my yellow sweater\nand start shovelling all my gear into my leather bag, quickly running out the door.\n\nHey! hey! What happened to “never leave a man behind?!” I shout. Those bloody bastards!\n“Seriously Wait up guys!”\n I follow the noise of the others up ahead, until finally catching up.\nThe full moonlight reflecting of the white snow, certainly helping us navigate through the darkness,\nthis time.\nWhere are we all going, you ask? ...\nWell, every year in late autumn, we chase the Aurora through the Nordic Sky. Until we reach our favorite camp spot, passing through the local forest to get there.\nIt’s about a 5 mile walk from our small town here\n\n In Sweden, which most of us grew up in. Our families migrated from England, during the logging boom, here in the early eighties, let’s just say they needed the money!\n\nIt’s around this part of the trip, especially now that we are much older, that the first sip of our good friend ...whisky, usually comes out.\n“Hey Jennifer, remember that old swing we built, when we were around 7? The rope is still hanging over there, we have to rebuild it one day!” Thomas comments, pointing to our left, near an old branch covered in snow.\n“Of course, I remember! You say this every year and every year I agree, but tell me what happens Tom ....?“\n We both look at each other with a smirk.\n“Yeh alright Jen, now shut up and take a drink, your dry mouth sod.” The group starts laughing, as he passes me the flask.\n\nSophie quickly turns to the group, “guys be quiet! Can you here that??\nI think we have company tonight,” and with a evil smile, she turns around and marches ahead.\n“You mean the wolves? Good, I’m glad!\nMaybe they like whiskey and s’mores and perhaps we can ride them home tomorrow, when we all hungover, on deaths door. Save the walk?” I add.\n“Now you’re talking Jen,\nBut I think I’d rather to ride a bear, i prefer comfort over speed,” Corey adds.\n\n“Still doesn’t explain your right awful haircut, though does it Corey? Did your mum want you to look like a twat, or was that specifically what you were going for??\nYou look like Fredrick who owns the rug shop intown and we all know, a man with that many rugs... is hiding something! ” Thomas replies.\n“Okay, okay, I get it guys, just leave poor Frederick out of it. You know he hasn’t been the same since his wife left!” Corey replies.\n “Did she leave or disappear?” Thomas questions\n“Yeh someone better check under those rugs!” Sophie remarks\n“Haha ok enough with the conspiracies, anyway I think my mother did a cracking job, with my hair. At least she didn’t cut my ears off, besides It’s lockdown guys, who have I got to impress?. I’ve got more chance with a muskrat, then any girls in this bloody town!”. Corey adds… and he was right. He hadn’t had much luck with the women for a while and it was mating season for the muskrat.\n\n Finally, we arrive at the clearing of our campsite.\n“Thank god!” I thankfully drop all my heavy gear onto the ground and stretch my arms.\n“I swear Jen, like mother like daughter, every time I see your mum in town, she’s carrying around 10 bags on each arm, like she’s marry bloody Poppins and your worse!”\n“Thanks Sophie, what can I say my families been carrying this town for generations! Now let’s grab some wood for the fire, before you complain about the cold again.”\n We both race off, to find something we can burn, in between the distant howls and echoes of the wind that chase through trees.\nAs we sit around the newly built fire, we start to sing a few drunken tunes, from our childhood. Cleary part of our ridiculously ongoing tradition!\n\n“Three cheers to winter,\nWhat feels like a splinter,\nLord knows it might kill ya,\nSo pour me a drink!\n\nAnd if i die hastily,\nFrom pork rum and pastry,\nThe heavens shall chase me,\nSo pour meeeee\nA\nDrinkkkkk!!!!”\n\nWe all shout.\nAlmost falling into the fire as will spill our baileys and whiskey with laughter.\n\n“Sophie, Sophie please tell me you brought your camera!? I think we need a group photo, before we can’t stand anymore ha-ha.” Thomas joyfully shouts.\n “I didn’t, but Jen did!\nShe also brought her whole house with her if you want anything?” Sophie jokes. “Oh, how I missed you all” I sarcastically reply\n“I second that Jen” Corey adds\n“Just Make sure you get the tripod so you can be in the photo, because as much as I’d love a cheap looking selfie with the bears, that may or may not be watching us right now... i think we could use your photography skills on this one!\n\n Plus, we can send it to max, who bailed on us today, you know, rub it in a bit!”\n\n“Yeh that little grub, he’ll regret this! To busy with his new friends, I guess.” Thomas remarks while overcooking his marshmallow.\n“Ah bollocks! He’ll never replace us, I mean look at us!” Sophie mumbles, while attempting to poor wine, into a nonexistent glass.\n“Brilliant alright, let me get my legs under me, for a second, I’ll grab the camera! ” I say, stumbling over to my backpack, to grab the camera gear.\n “Okay guys, we are good to go for the photo! Now, I have it set on a timer...so we have ten seconds!” I shout.\nWe all squeeze up against each other, pulling hideous faces to attempt to appear half sober. “Okay everyone in 3, 2, 1 “\n(Flash)" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Nativity Goat\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2995\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story looking down from a stage." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The small black goat looked out into the immense auditorium and sighed. The cavernous space was devoid of an audience, each of the 600 upholstered maroon seats stared back at him with taunting flat faces.\n“Jaxon Jesse Simpson!” Screeched the teacher. Literally. She was a puffy, square-shaped screech owl with chestnut tufts for ears, and round golden eyes the size of saucers behind her wire framed glasses.\nJaxon jumped and glowered at her. His scruffy eyebrows pulled into hoods over his eyes. The three kittens playing angels giggled. Mazie, the calf, rolled her eyes at Rollie, the donkey. He brayed soft laughter in return.\nMrs.Pollimer tapped her cane on the polished oak stage. ‘Tonk tonk tonk!’ The sound echoed out into the cold, dark theatre. She said, “Please pay attention!”\n“Why?” He asked sulkily, his voice small, from the back row of animals. He added, “I don’t even have any lines.” His head hung low, the ends of his red woolen scarf dusted the floor.\n“This is a group effort, young goat. It is tradition that all the class play a part.”\n“Why can’t I be a wise man?” Jaxon implored, lifting his dark eyes to the opossum, raccoon and badger cast in those parts. Jerry the possum stuck his tongue out at the little black goat who then added, “I’m wiser than they are.”\nNow the entire class guffawed.\n“Hush now! Quiet down!” Screeched the screech owl. “Time for one more rehearsal! In your places please!”\nJaxon’s ears echoed with the sound of paws and hooves trotting and tapping and clodding on the wooden stage as he crept behind the backdrop scenery and heavy curtain beyond. If anyone noticed his absence, they remained in relieved silence of it.\n Jaxon stepped out one of the double backstage doors and into an icy grey world, swirling with white, it was as if he’d stepped into a snow-globe. He picked up his pace, his scarf a whipping flag before him, and bounded into the safety of the cedar trees bunched at the far end of the school property. He shivered icy flakes from his coat and leapt deeper into the woods.\nThe small black goat didn’t want to go home to the orphanage. He felt alone amongst his peers and today, had never felt so unloved, so useless, so small.\nAfter an hour he realized that not only had he never ventured this far into the dark, shadowy forest, but he was entering the forbidden acres. The wind whipped bare branches into his face, he squinted to protect his eyes. Snowy gales played hide-and-seek with him from between the immense pines. They always found him, stabbing at his soft belly with icicle fingers, ‘you’re it!’\nHe rounded a bend and a flurry of immense black birds ‘fwap, fwap, fwapped’ into the charcoal grey sky. The whole world was a baroque black and white movie of harsh contrasts and menacing premonitions. ‘Ravens!’ He thought, suddenly nervous. The worst thing about ravens is that where they lurk, death does too.\nThe birds flew to the tree tops high above him and screeched curses at him in an ancient language he did not understand. He lay on his belly on the frozen white earth, and covered his head with his hooves, expecting to feel razor sharp talons slicing into his fur any second.\n\nA blue jay swooped suddenly from a patch of inky-black cedar shadows, it's feathers a welcome splash of brilliant azure in the monochromatic clearing. It cawed as it circled above him. As he watched, bolts of brilliant yellow lightening flew from the bird’s head, aimed towards the ravens in the trees. All but one raven flew into the sky, like graceful, distinguished Draculas.\n\nThe jay flew into the tree opposite the remaining raven. A tiny figure popped up from around the far side of its neck, it looked like charred kindling pulled from a hearth, bound together by wire, and wrapped in black rags. A tiny, pointed hat sported tiny, pointed ears. As Jaxon watched in wonder and horror, the evil creature’s eyes flashed blue sparks and a nearly white fire ball, tinged in blue, flew from its outstretched twiggy hands. \nIt nailed the jay bird’s wing! The jay tumbled head over heels, to the ground; a splash of blue feathers drifted in its wake. Before hitting the ground, a tiny figure leapt from the bird’s back.\nThe wee elf tucked into a ball and rolled somersaults atop the snowy ground. It came to a stop in front of Jaxon’s nose, spraying the goat’s astonished face with fine, icy flakes. The enchanting elf bounced to her feet and looked around for her bird. In forest green tights and pointy brown booties, she was a blur of green as she raced to her feathered companion, she skidded to a halt at its chest. Her pretty, pale face all but disappeared in soft blue feathers as she listened for a heartbeat.\nJaxon said quietly, “is he dead?”\nThe wee she elf spun towards the voice as if she’d forgotten he was there. He was used to that.\nShe said, “No, her heart beats.”\nThe goat and elf looked up into the treetops. The evil black duo was gone.\nJaxon fired off questions, “what was that? You’re an elf, aren’t you? Where are we?”\nThe pretty little elf put her mittened hands on her hips. She wore a silky, long-sleeved tunic, emerald-green, with bronze colored embroidery, a yellow scarf and belt. Ash blond hair spiked out from her acorn helmet. She ‘hmphed’ and removed the nutshell from her head, her hair spilled in messy cornsilk waves down her back to her knees. As she neared the young goat, he saw that her enormous eyes were chocolate brown with gold and amber flecks. She looked like one of those old 1970s paintings of waifs with ginormous eyes. \nShe said, “Yes, I’m an elf…duh. That was a Nordicbalphi, a Nordif for short.” She added cryptically, “We are not far from my home, though I fear I have no way to get there. I won’t leave Blue-Berry Twinkle-Toes.” She looked sadly at the jay, tears magnified her mysterious dark eyes. One escaped, it slid down her rosy cheeks, and dropped from her pointy chin. When it hit the snow, a tiny spray of golden glitter ‘poofed’.\nA flurry of fluttering wingbeats filled the clearing, a flurry of snowflakes drifted to the ground.\nCardinals, goldfinches, chickadees, robins, and more alit on low lying branches, each carrying a wee elf dressed in similar outfits- tunics and tights, scarves and mittens- in a plethora of mainly green shades.\nThe elf next to Jaxon said, “This is my family. I’m Astra-Senika by the way…”\n“I’m Jaxon. I can help you get home…”\n“It’ll be dangerous. The Nordif are out in full force. We are losing the battle against them. I fear we may lose not only our home, but our entire race.”\n“I have no family. I have nothing to lose. Let me help you.”\nAstra looked into Jaxon’s sad, nearly black eyes for a few seconds then nodded. “What a shame. You have such a good heart, young goat.”\nShe called to her clan who waited silently in the trees. “This is Jaxon Jesse Simpson…”\nJaxon goggled at her.\nShe continued, “…he is going to help me home.”\n\nThe elves in the trees, mounted on songbirds, chattered amongst themselves. At last, the oldest, with snow white hair and a knee length, double-braided beard, called down, “very well, daughter. We will escort you from above, lest the demon Nordifs return.”\n\nOne by one, each bird-mounted elf dropped long, colorful filaments to the ground. Orange, yellow, red and purple silk-like threads floated down gracefully. Astra gathered them up quickly and tied them all together in one, ten-foot-long cord.\nShe whispered into Berry’s ear. The bird’s head lifted wearily. She rose shakily to her feet and cried out as her broken wing dropped to the ground. \nOne of the goldfinches came down and silently landed by the jay like a fluffy, lemony yellow pompom with legs and small, pointy beak. A thin elf with honey colored hair, wearing moss green tunic and tights, leapt like a ballet dancer, from the pretty bird’s back. Astra and the male elf, Branon, secured the poor blue jay’s wing to her side. Then, with Astra on one side of Jaxon, and Branon, on the other, they lifted the blue jay onto Jaxon’s shoulders and secured the bird with the remainder of the silken cord.\nBrannon gave a little salute to the loaded-up goat and leapt upon his finch’s back.\n Four miles into the woods, the sky grew dark.\nAstra lifted her tiny mittened hands to the sky. The clouds parted, revealing the brilliant white orb of a moon. Astra’s hands filled with moonlight. The magical lantern was small but bright. High above them, two dozen more tiny lanterns glowed, and the sky was filled with flying stars.\nThe trees were getting sparser, and the icy, frozen ground inclined upwards at sharper and sharper an angle. Astra told the sure-footed goat stories of their enemy, the Nordif, as they ascended the mountain. They were an ancient race of elves from the deepest bowels of Norway hills, displaced by ore mining humans. They sought to take over Astra’s race of Kindweenots. Their leader, Drookin, sought ultimate power through the death of Astra, the most powerful, magic elf their world had ever seen. He intended to enslave them and use their magic for his own elevation to a God-like status. He would drain them of their powers- their life-force- then toss the husks away like garbage. And he dreamed of taking revenge up the human race.\n\n“We live at the top of this mountain, inside it. When the Nordifs discover this, we will be doomed…”\n\nJust then, the entire mountain quaked. The earth under Jaxon’s small hooves reverberated with thunder, his feet did a scary little skittering dance, his back legs slipped over the steep edge…but only for a few seconds. After the shock wore off, he found his feet and continued up the steep slope with fierce determination.\n\nThe elves in the air chattered excitedly, in alarm.\nSuddenly, the air around Jaxon and Astra was filled with huge, flapping black flags! \nThe ravens swooped and swirled, cutting Astra and Jaxon off from the rest of their clan. Over Jaxon’s head, Astra fired a white-hot fireball from her palms. She nailed a raven’s wing and it screamed in fury as it fell…a thousand feet below. Two more ravens fell past them, haven taken shots from overhead. Then a soft, greyish-brown wren fell past, fluttering a single wing uselessly. Astra pulled the bird and rider in on a strand of silken rope like a fisherman reeling in a trout. They clung to the cords around Jaxon’s shoulders.\nA raven, the largest by nearly twice the size of the others, circled Jaxon’s group.\nAstra yelled, “Drookin! Faster! Faster Jaxon!”\nDrookin sent a whitish blue bolt of lightning at a cardinal that swooped down close. She yelled, “No!” And shot a yellow-tailed bolt that intercepted the blue one. They burst together in a retina-scorching display of fireworks. As soon as Astra had let go of the last bolt, Drookin had one aimed at her. She was too late to deflect it. It knocked her flat against Jaxon’s neck.\nHe felt hot, burning, embers and smelled singed fur. He called out, “Astra!”\nHe got no answer from her. The elf they had rescued sobbed and said into Jaxon’s left ear, “She’s dead!”\nA flurry of fire balls erupted angrily over their heads and three more ravens fell head over heels past them, black feathers swirled in the gale winds. Their strapped-on stick-figure demon riders, either flopped limply, like knobby bags of bones… or they flayed futilely to get free.\n The elves disappeared over the tip top of the mountain. Jaxon struggled to follow them to their world. The snow was a storm at the apex, it all but blinded the relentless goat\n\n“There!” cried the elf on his back. Jaxon forced himself still. His legs trembled with the urgency to keep going, down the other side. \nHe strained to see what the elf was pointing to. ‘There! A spark of light! A small crevasse!’ Jaxon wondered if he’d fit. \nAs if reading his mind, the elf yelled over the shrieking wind, “It’s wider than it looks! The entire length is covered by ice and snow!”\nJaxon nodded, and with renewed strength made his way quickly down the steep slope, sliding and scrabbling for footholds the whole way.\n\nThe giant raven screeched in his right ear! He jumped, losing his footing for a few seconds. “Hold on hold on!” Screamed the elf from his neck, “almost there!”\nJaxon was close enough to see half a dozen tiny green clad arms waving them on like grass stalks bristling in the wind.\nThe raven swooped and hovered directly in front of Jaxon’s face, blocking his advance. \nThen ‘PSSSSF-SHOOP!’ A bluey-white fireball, sizzling with electricity, came straight at him! It flashed between his eyes and hurt like nothing he’d felt before. He was blind! He made his feet move, but they galloped in nothing but thin air! \nThe raven screeched in pain and anger, its harsh voice disappeared downwards… he heard the feathers rustling, heading down.\n The elf on his back said, “Astra’s spelled you. After you were hit, the fireball rebounded at the bird! Double strength! Whoo-hoo!”\nHe slammed into a snowy ledge and tried scabbling onto it. He managed to stand into a crouch but, still being blind and discombobulated, took a step in the wrong direction. He felt himself tumbling down into blood-freezing, empty space. The wee being screamed so high-pitchedly in his ear, it was nearly soundless, like a dog whistle.\nIn silent blackness his consciousness left him.\n\nGradually, the edges of his vision brightened to grey…then came on full force. He looked down and saw white and green and patches of brown streaking past, far below! His small, shiny black hooves were galloping…in thin air! The ground at least twelve hundred feet below! ‘I’m dead and dreaming!’ He thought, ‘A wonderful, bestest dream EVER!’\n\nHe looked up and screamed! He’d nearly flown right into the mountain that he recognized as the home of the elves. The elf on his back joined his scream and pulled up on the cords as if they were reigns. The jay cawed and the wren squeaked a cry. Jaxon flew vertically up another four hundred feet to the mountain top, as if pulled up like a kite on the wind.\nThe sky was clearing, the top was level with the few remaining wispy clouds. They breezed away into the starry, black night. The crevasse was easy to spot. A lantern was burning warm, welcoming sunny light. As Jaxon and his riders approached the entrance, two elf sentries in green and gold waved frantically and laughed and cheered.\n\nAs Jaxon landed at the cavern mouth, two dozen more elves had appeared. They quickly untied the birds and Astra’s lifeless body and whisked them away inside. Jaxon squeezed through the narrow opening and followed the elves down deep into the bowels of the mountain. It was warm and cozy, with high, vaulted ceilings of natural granite. Hundreds of tiny moonlight lanterns lit up the vast space. The walls and ceiling sparkled magically with mica that caught the lantern light.\nAn old elf woman, the elder’s wife, brought the worn-out goat a warm drink of herbs and cinnamon. In minutes he was asleep.\n *\n The next morning, he awoke in a large, toasty-warm room with rows of beds like a hospital. He was amused to see the elves had put four of their largest beds together for him, yet his hooves still hung over the end.\nNext to him was the jay bird, her wing bandaged against her body. He turned over and saw Astra, fast asleep in the next bed. She was breathing and alive, though bandages covered her arms, and her face was reddened as if sunburnt. Branon sat at her side and held her hand. He turned around to Jaxon and said, “she’ll be fine in a week or so…”\n“Thank goodness! So, it wasn’t a dream then? I really flew?”\n“My heaven’s yes! No! I mean yes, you can fly! And no, you weren’t dreaming!” He laughed in delight at the goat’s wondering, elated expression. He said, “Astra spelled you so you could save us all!”\n“But I fell…I nearly killed us all…”\n“Without you, Astra would be no longer and the Nordifs would either enslave us or slaughter us. She is still only a child- our savior- her powers will grow as she matures.”\n“Like the baby Jesus…” Jaxon said under his breath. Louder, he said, “I’ve got to go! I’m needed at home!”\nThe elder elves and a few of the others had joined Branon. The eldest with the long white beard said, “Yes, you must go now. The flying spell won’t last much longer, though long enough to see you home.”\n *\n On the stage of the school auditorium, Jaxon Jesse Simpson looked out at the audience. Every seat was filled, and every face glowed with Christmas cheer. \nHe proudly stood in the back row of animals, in between a white pygmy goat smaller than he, and a pretty little chestnut filly, excitedly hopping from hoof to hoof. He looked at the three wise men, the opossum in the center looked up and winked at him, smiling.\nAs the entire cast sang Silent Night together, Jaxon’s voice joined in. He felt in perfect harmony for the first time ever. He saw at the very back of the theatre, in the ebony darkness, two hundred tiny yellowy white sparks, wavering to and fro along with the song that filled the air." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: 'Tis The Season For Believin’\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2273\n\nPrompt:\n\nA package arrives at your character’s house, but they didn’t order anything. Write about what happens next." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Uncle Mike?\" Jake said while looking up from his soggy Cheerios.\nMichael Remer peaked over the morning paper at his nephew. \"Yeah kid?\"\n \"What does jackass mean?\" he asked, balancing a spoonful of milk in mid-air. \n\"Where did you hear that word?\" the tone of his question didn't match the chuckle he covered with his knuckles.\n\"I heard mommy say that to daddy,\" he said, retreating back to his cereal. \"It's a bad word. Isn't it?\"\nMike's smirk turned to a frown as he closed the paper and laid it on the table. Removing his reading glasses, he exhaled through his nostrils while struggling to find a suitable explanation for a seven year-old. Poor little guy. His dad is a jackass. You would think, after all the things our parents put us through, that he would've learned from their mistakes. No kid should have to witness an ugly divorce.\n\"Look, Jake...\" Mike rubbed the stubble on his chin before continuing, \"Sometimes grown-ups say things they don't mean–when they're angry.\" \nThe comforting whiffed as his nephew remained submerged in the mini whirlpools he spun in his milk. It's bad enough that they just dropped by last night, unannounced, and dumped him on a week night. But now the kid has to suffer through a life lesson from the most unfit parent on the planet. I feel for ya! The innocent child playing with his cereal made his stomach flip. He had to cheer him up.\nUsing the wisdom of his additional twenty years of life experience, he dodged the subject by changing it to something universally loved by all children. \"But, Christmas is in a week! did you already send in your list to Santa?\"\n\"Luke Allen in my class says Santa isn't real.\" Jake said to his bowl.\nGeez kid, you're just beaming with sunshine today.\n\"First off, don't ever trust someone with two first names,\" the joke landed as Jake's head emerged from the cereal with a smile.\n\"Secondly, if that were true, where do all the presents come from?\"\n\"He says they come from mommies and daddies.\"\n\"Hogwash!\" he snapped. \"There'll be no such lies in this house, Argggh!\" he added with an over the top pirate accent (a homage to Jake's fascination with the thieves of the sea).\nMike's goofy shouting caused the boy to snort with laughter. The wonder that exists in the hearts of every young child, returning to his face. \"Now, finish ye breakfast–or ye be walkin' the plank! Arggh! Arggh!\" he said while scooping the paper back up and noticing the sports section. \"And ye be joinin' the Red Sox, apparently\" he added with mild dissatisfaction and a raised eyebrow. Jake giggled, returning the spoon to milk with a scoop that overshadowed his mouth.\nAfter returning home from dropping off Jake at school, Mike called to check-in with his brother.\n\"How'd it go? he wasn't too much trouble was he?\" Richard Remer asked.\n\"He never is, Rick.\" Mike said.\n\"Good. Sorry to just drop that on you but we had to figure some stuff out. Stuff that couldn't wait.\"\nRick was that kind of guy. Everything was on his schedule and everyone else just had to work around it. That's probably a big reason why his marriage is failing.\n\"Yeah, how's it all going?\"\n\"Not great,\" Rick said through an exaggerated sigh. \"But, we're trying to work through it. You know, for Jake and all.\"\n\"That's noble. And now that you mention it–I know it's not my place, but Jake told me this morning he overheard a fight. He said he heard Erin call you a–\"\n\"You're right! it's not your place,\" Rick interrupted.\nMike could feel the heat coming through the receiver as he went on.\n\"What happens with my family is my business, got that?\"\n\"Understood.\" Mike said, choosing the one word answer over the more attractive spewing of hot truths that boiled in his gut.\n\"I know this hasn't been easy on him,\" Rick started to backpedal his emotions. \"I remember how hard it was on us.\"\nGlad to hear you aren't completely oblivious to the past.\n\"On top of everything, he's getting bullied at school now–\"\n\"Wait, he's getting picked on?\" Mike's anger towards his brother morphed in a different direction upon hearing the news.\n\"Yeah, some kid starting teasing him about believing in Santa and what not. Got a few of the other kids to join in.\"\n\"Luke Allen?\" he spoke from seethed lips as he envisioned taking a trip to the Allen home and having a few choice words for Luke's parents.\n\"Did Jake mention it?\" Rick asked.\n\"Yeah, he sure did. I hope you gave that kid's parents a piece of your mind!\"\n\"Settle down. They're just boys. This stuff happens. Besides, it's probably time he learned the truth anyways.\" Rick said.\n\"He's seven, Rick.\"\n\"That's about the age I found out.\"\n\"Yeah and look how you turned out.\" Mike immediately regretted the blurted out words.\n\"And what's that supposed to mean!\" Rick's temperature was rising again.\n\"I'm sorry, I didn't mean. I–got a little worked up. I just don't think it's the right time to crush his–\"\n\"Mike!\" Rick yelled above his younger brother.\n\"Fine, you're right. Your family, your call.\" Mike backed off.\n\"Good! sheesh, man. One day, you'll understand what it's like to be a father. Gotta make tough decisions.\"\nMike always hated his older brother's condescending lectures and this one was no different. Using the same technique that worked on his son earlier, he recycled the topic switcheroo method and said, \"Well, I'm still quite a few chapters away from getting to that one.\"\nRick belted a pack-a-day smoker's raspy laugh as he added, \"Yeah, you can't put the cart before the horse!\"\nMike tried to echo the expression but it came out flat and phony; Rick didn't seem to notice. Mike's love life was a long-running joke between the two of them (with one side enjoying the humor more than the other).\n\"But, in all seriousness,\" Rick paused to clear his throat with two coughs, before continuing, \"how's it goin' in the lady department? any prospects?\"\n\"Nah, work is so crazy right now. I can't even make time to watch a ball game, let alone try to date someone.\"\n\"Maybe you should ask Santa for one!\" Rick barely got the sentence out before unleashing another obnoxious wheezing howl.\n\"Ha, good one! But, I already wasted my wish this year on a cherry red Ferrari!\" Mike now joined his brother in laughter and this time it was genuine.\nDing! Dong! The doorbell in the distance lowered Mike's chuckles. With Rick still making a racket on the other end, his ear drifted from the phone. Tilting his head for improved listening, he waited for the reverberating ring to evaporate. Satisfied with the appropriate amount of silence, he started to turn back to the conversation.\nDing! Dong! He sprung up from the kitchen table.\n\"Hey, Rick,\" he paused, waiting for his brother to die down. When it didn't, he interjected again but louder, \"Rick!\"\n\"Yeah?\" his roaring, having melted into the response.\n\"Someone's at my door. I'll have to call you back.\"\nHaving ended the call, he trotted down the stairs of his split-level home. As he reached the last step– Ding! Dong!\n\"I'm comin'!\" he yelled as he yanked at the handle, swinging the door open. \"What's so damn import–\"\nThe porch was deserted. I was two steps away when the bell rang that last time, how...that doesn't make sense. Unless, it's malfunctioning. Wouldn't be the first time something in this house broke down. Yeah, probably some teenager's idea of a Christmas prank or something. The only thing greeting him at the screen door window was the beginning of light flurries (which the weatherman on the radio this morning had assured wouldn't come until later this afternoon). That guy's job security is impressive. Though, he didn't mind the snow. It had been a dry winter and he always enjoyed a white Christmas. Clicking the handle on the screen door with his palm, he started to push it open to take a step outside. But something was pushing back against him. After a second, he realized something was blocking the door.\nUpon further inspection, he found a small cardboard box sitting in front of the door. The box was maybe four inches tall and eight inches wide. There was a Christmas themed sticker on top. Red and green ornaments bordered the label that read, \"Mikey\" written in silver cursive. No other postage or stamps of any kind. This package was clearly delivered by hand, but it was very strange. No one had called him Mikey since he was a boy.\nHe stared at the box on the kitchen counter with crossed arms. Rubbing his chin, he pondered the package's possible contents and the reasoning behind the chosen name. He wasn't on a gift-giving level with any of his neighbors. His friends weren't exactly the \"thoughtful\" type; let alone think of a gift and hand deliver it. It seemed the only way to solve this mystery was with a rusting pair of kitchen scissors.\nThe flaps popped open as he finished slicing the lone layer of tape atop the package. Inside he found a blank envelope. Lifting the piece of paper revealed a small white box in the same rectangular shape as the package, only half the size. Intrigued, he unsealed the envelope and took out a tiny stack of white cards. The message's font on the first was bold and black, reading:\nOPEN ME IN THE GARAGE.\nConfused and visibly frightened, the card shook in his hand. Uh why would there be such specific orders? It's gotta be one of the neighbors playing a joke. I bet it's John Doyle. I'm pretty sure he saw me park the car in the driveway after dropping Jake off at school. Plus, I think he's still got his panties in a twist because I didn't acknowledge their Christmas card last year. Shrugging off the warning, he snatched the tiny box from the package. Tearing open one end; something rolled out and into his hand. It was a black HOT WHEELS toy car. Examining it closer, he recognized it was a Ferrari.\n\"Okay...\" he said, utterly baffled.\nHe placed the toy car back in the package. Setting his sights back on the cards, hoping for any further instructions that could explain the odd gift–something caught his eye. Did that box just move? He froze as his assumptions came to life. The package shook again. His body jumped back a step in response to the fear. Again, it shook; and then stopped. Gaining enough courage, he crept towards the package. It remained idle as he peered over the edge, grimacing with one eye closed. The tiny car sat inside, dormant. Suddenly, the sound of a jet engine ignited and the tires on the toy spun into action. Smoke started to spread through the kitchen as he feared his eardrums might explode from the reviving. Frantically, he went back to the cards in his hands. Over the tremendous growling of the package in front of him, he flipped to the second and last card. In the same font, it read:\nI TOLD YOU. THE GARAGE.\n\"Ahh!\" his shriek was embarrassing but justified. Acting on impulse, he gingerly grabbed the smoking package and turned for stairs. Scurrying down the steps, he carried the box as if it were a foul-smelling bag of trash. The two sets of stairs seemed more like ten. The blaring grew louder and louder, the closer he got to the garage. It was hard to tell through the smoke but it looked as though the car were growing.\nFinally, he reached the door. Wasting no time, he whipped it open and nearly ripped it out of its hinges. Tossing the ticking time bomb into his completely empty garage before he slammed the door shut. He dove back into the carpeting of his basement floor–just as the reviving engine hit its crescendo. He curled into a ball and braced for the inevitable explosion. It never came.\nAfter a minute of heavy breathing, he sat up and listened. Silence. Making his way to the garage door, he tapped the handle. Expecting the metal to burn his fingers, he was surprised by its cool touch. Down by his feet he noticed a fog rolling from underneath the door. Taking a deep breath, he creaked the door open. Smoke transferred from garage to basement as he coughed and waved at it. After the combustion settled enough to make out the damage, his jaw dropped. Sitting in his garage was a sparkling new, black Ferrari.\nThe toy had grown into an actual automobile. Amazed and shocked, his feet floated towards the sports car. His hands slid across its welcoming metal body. He wasn't crazy. It was real! There was an actual Ferrari in his garage!\n\"Thank you! thank you!\" he yelled while hugging and kissing the car. \"Whoever you are! Thank you!\" Looking through the windows, he noticed something on the steering wheel. Sliding in the driver's side, he plopped into the warm leather. There was a card stuck in the center of the wheel. It was the same type of card he had found inside the package. In the familiar bold print, it said:\nMIKEY, YOUR HEART WAS RIGHT. JAKE NEEDS TO BELIEVE IN ME NOW, MORE THAN EVER. DON'T LET HIS MAGIC BURN OUT.\nP.S. I know you said cherry red, but this was the best I could manage on such short notice." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Snowbound in Love\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2358\n\nPrompt:\n\nYour character hates the holidays, and jets out of town every year — but a historic snow storm means that this time, they can’t make their escape." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "In the center of the busy city, with the brilliant lights of December casting a joyful glow on otherwise congested streets, Chris Bennett realized he was out of step with the rest of the world. The whole Christmas season, with its boundless happiness and an endless supply of Christmas music, seemed to him like a grand theatrical production in which he had no role.\nChris was able to benefit from the freedom that comes with being a software developer who works remotely. This made it possible for him to travel to warmer, quieter places in December. This year, he decided to take his vacation in Mexico to a virtually empty beach, far from the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season.\nThere was a familiar feeling of relief that Chris felt as he packed his bags in his small apartment. He thought that the best way to be happy was to read a book and sunbathe on a sunny beach, far from the bustle of holiday shopping and the sounds of Christmas carols.\nHis phone rang, breaking the silence in his apartment. The image on the television was of his older sister, Annie, with her name flashing next to a picture of her and her two kids, all of whom were wearing matching Christmas sweaters.\nWith a lighthearted greeting, \"Hey, Annie,\" Chris got ready for the yearly conversation.\n\"Chris, you're not skipping Christmas again, are you?\" Annie's voice was a mixture of scorn and fury.\nAnnie, this is a calculated backward move. \"You know I can't stand the holiday madness,\" Chris reportedly remarked while neatly folding a shirt and packing it in his luggage.\nAnnie sighed, her voice growing hushed. \"I sincerely hope that one year you'll celebrate Christmas with us. For the kids, having their uncle here would be fantastic.\" Sure, I am conscious of that. Chris acknowledged that it was a promise he had previously made, but he said, \"Perhaps next year.\"\nWhile they were chatting, Chris spotted the first few languid snowflakes falling from the sky outside his window. He didn't really think about it until he eventually ended the call and checked his phone for the weather alert. He received an alert informing him that a significant snowstorm was headed straight for the city.\nThe snowstorm that had been so lovely had transformed into a severe blizzard in a matter of hours. Chris watched with astonishment as his carefully thought-out plans came apart. The metropolis was reduced to a blank canvas of white and gray due to the cancellation of flights and the closing of roadways. Chris was stuck at the exact place he'd usually tried to run away from over the holidays, not for the first time in years.\nThe environment had grown quiet and muted by the time Chris woke up the next day. The city, usually a hive of activity, was as still as a ghost town beneath the thick layer of snow. Even though he didn't want to, he bundled up and went with his neighbors to try and clean up the sidewalks as part of the community project.\nMrs. Henderson, a vivacious woman in her seventies who resided in the apartment next to his, was one of the group's members. She was getting on in years, but she managed to use her snow shovel very easily.\nMrs. Henderson said, \"You're not half bad at this, Chris,\" and there was a sparkle in her eye. \"Why do you always disappear during the holidays?\"\nChris shrugged his shoulders, not one to waste time in idle conversation with his peers. \"I've never been much for celebrations.\"\n\"Well, maybe this year you'll see what you've been missing,\" she replied in a happy tone, even though it was bitterly cold outside.\nChris went to his usual coffee shop later that day in hopes of finding some milder weather. The sound of conversation mixed with the aromas of coffee and cinnamon created a cozy and welcoming ambiance. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts while standing in line that he didn't notice the woman in front of him stepping back to fetch a napkin. They crashed into each other, sending her coffee spilling onto the ground.\n\"I am so sorry,\" Chris yelled, reaching for napkins to help mop up the mess that had just happened.\nThe woman, in her late twenties, ignored his apology with a simple wave of her hand and expressive eyes. It's not at all problematic. I can now justify getting another peppermint mocha because of this.\nHe held out a hand that was just a little bit wet and said his name was Chris.\n\"Emily\" was her response, and she shook hands with him. \"At the primary school closest to me, I work as a teacher. We are now rehearsing the Christmas performance in rehearsal. There is a great deal of confusion, but in the most wonderful way possible.\"\nThey talked among themselves inanely while they waited for Emily's new coffee. Her warmth and the sincere smile that lit up her face whenever she spoke about her children and the show surprised Chris. It was a rare occasion in his frequently lonely life to laugh with her, so he was taken aback.\nIn the days that followed, it seemed as though Chris's contacts with Emily were more the product of a series of fortunate events than of pure coincidence. They encountered each other in the post office, the neighborhood grocery shop, and the ice skating rink, where Emily's elegant performance of the sport contrasted sharply with Chris's clumsy attempts.\nEmily held his hand and gave him encouragement as they made a circle around the rink. \"You're improving at this,\" she remarked.\nChris said, \"Only because I have a patient teacher,\" as his early worries about the holidays started to fade.\nChris started talking candidly about how much he detested the holidays, while Emily began talking animatedly about how much she loved them. The length of their talks kept growing, as did the depth of their discussions. He started to look forward to their interactions, expecting her infectious laugh and beaming smile. He was excited about their upcoming meetings.\nOn Christmas Eve, Chris unexpectedly found himself in the center of the town's holiday festivities—a place he would never have predicted for himself. The room was lit up not only with vibrant colors but also with the sound of carol singers singing.\nWhile they watched some kids singing Christmas carols, Emily turned her focus to Chris. \"You seem different, happier.\"\nChris glanced around at everyone's beaming smiles before returning his focus to Emily. I think I am. You have shown me a side of Christmas that I had never allowed myself to perceive.\nBut as the evening wore on, Chris's recently found excitement for the occasion was tested. A miscommunication between him and Emily led to a misunderstanding, and as a result, he felt the usual want to pull back, to run away from all that was happening.\nThe events of the last several weeks replayed themselves in his mind as he lay in bed that particular evening. At this moment, he thought back to the warmth and laughter he had shared with Emily, the sense of community he had felt with his neighbors, and the way the holidays seemed to unite people.\nEquipped with a fresh resolve, Chris made the extra effort to locate Emily on Christmas Day. When he found her in the park, her eyes were bright with the cheer of the holidays, and her cheeks were flushed with the cold.\nGiving her a tiny, neatly wrapped gift, Chris said, \"I've been a fool about a lot of things,\" opening his mouth to admit it. \"Especially about Christmas... and about us.\"\nEmily discovered a gorgeous snowflake ornament when she unwrapped the gift. Her smile got bigger. Chris, that really is amazing. You have my gratitude.\"\n\"I want to make new traditions,\" Chris said again, his voice more composed than he felt it would soon become. \"With you.\"\nHe only needed her grin to know that she understood. The landscape around them changed fundamentally as they walked hand in hand through the snow-covered park. Though the snow had previously symbolized his imprisonment, it now provided a backdrop for their fresh start.\nChris and Emily would remember that snowy Christmas as the start of their own extraordinary tradition, one that would grow over the years. It was an example of the unexpected paths that both life and love can follow, and it was a helpful reminder that sometimes the best moments happen when you least expect them.\nTalking as easily as the snowflakes falling all around them, Chris and Emily strolled across the park coated in snow. Throughout the holidays, Chris found himself narrating stories from his early years, including his early love of computers and the reasons he declined to participate in the celebrations.\n\"I guess I've always seen Christmas as a time of pretense rather than genuine happiness,\" Chris said while he observed a family building a snowman on the side of the road. \"But this year, being stuck here, meeting you... it's made me see things differently.\"\nEmily listened, her eyes showing a mix of curiosity about what was being said and comprehension. Christmas has always held a special place in my heart, but I can definitely see how it may get overwhelming! For me, it's all about the little things—the customs that act as a continual reminder of our values and identity.\nThey stopped talking as joyful laughter pierced through their conversation. A number of Emily's classmates approached her, all of them beaming with excitement about getting to meet their own teacher.\n\"Miss Emily!\" they exclaimed together as they crowded around her.\nIt was heartwarming to see Emily's interactions with the children. As she listened to them, Chris noticed that she was genuinely interested in each of them, and her words were full of love and care that made each child feel like they were the only one.\nAs the kids bolted off to carry on playing, Emily returned her focus to Chris, a small smile spreading over her lips. The students are getting ready for the virtual Christmas concert that will take place at our school. It is a significant event that takes place annually.\nChris felt to himself that the concert would be a perfect chance to show Emily just how much her influence had changed his outlook on the holidays. Would it be acceptable if I helped you arrange the technology for your concert? Aside from my terrible voice for carol singing, I'm pretty good at using computers and recording equipment.\nEmily was beaming with anticipation. Chris, that would be a fantastic result! The kids would be ecstatic, and to be completely honest, I could use the help myself.\nThere was a frenzy of activity in the days leading up to the event. Chris was, as it turned out, closely involved in the planning, collaborating with Emily and the other individuals working with her. He realized more and more, throughout the time they had spent together, how much she had come to mean to him.\nA magical process transformed the school's gymnasium into a joyful celebration on the night of the concert. As Emily guided the children through their performance, Chris observed from the sidelines as her voice blended with theirs to create a joyful symphony that filled the room. Chris watched from the sidelines.\nEmily turned to face Chris during the moment when they were packing things after the concert, her eyes shining brightly. \"Chris, you were amazing tonight. I am very grateful for what you have done.\"\nChris was feeling something new and energizing in his heart as he inhaled deeply. It was warmth. \"Emily, I have something I need to tell you.\"\nEmily was waiting with a look of curiosity mixed with anticipation on her face.\nWith butterflies in his stomach, Chris said calmly, \"I didn't just help with the concert because I'm good with technology,\" at the beginning of his remark. \"I did it because... because I wanted to be a part of something that meant so much to you,\" she explained. You are really essential to me, to be honest. \"More than I ever imagined was possible in such a short period of time.\"\nEmily smiled like a ray of sunshine peeking through the clouds, even with the gray winter skies. \"Chris, I...\"\nBefore she could finish her remarks, the whirlwind of congratulations and goodbyes overshadowed the moment. A group of parents came up to her to thank her for the music.\nDespite the hectic schedule of holiday preparations that followed, Chris and Emily were still able to spend some time together. They baked cookies, wrapped gifts, and told stories about their best childhood Christmas memories during the festive season.\nThey thought they had come to the right place at the right time, as they were standing together in the town square on Christmas Eve, listening to the kids sing carols. Chris turned to face Emily, the Christmas tree's shimmering lights flashing in his eyes.\nHe hardly raised his voice above a whisper. \"Emily, I was wondering about the concert that took place the other night,\" he said. I really did mean it when I said it. I've never felt this way about other individuals before.\nEmily responded by giving him a gentle squeeze of his hand, and the same sensation filled her eyes as it did his. I feel exactly the same way, Chris. You have made such a huge difference in my life over the last three weeks.\nWhen the clock struck midnight on Christmas Day, they planted a kiss beneath the wintry winter sky. This kiss was a promise of the numerous Christmases they would spend together in the future.\nChris and Emily would remember that snowy Christmas as the start of their own extraordinary tradition, one that would grow over the years. It was an example of the unexpected paths that both life and love can follow, and it was a helpful reminder that sometimes the best moments happen when you least expect them." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Christmas Hat\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2993\n\nPrompt:\n\nA package arrives at your character’s house, but they didn’t order anything. Write about what happens next." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Miss Smithereen, as excited as her class, stood in front of the chalkboard. The short, spiney quills down her back poked through the soft red wool of her most Christmassy dress. She stamped her tiny hedgehog feet, shod in sensible black penny loafers, and clapped her tiny hedgehog paws together for attention.\nShe pushed her eyeglasses up her pointy black nose and said, “Now class, we still have an hour before the bell…”\nThe class of woodland animals groaned in unison. Eddie, an outspoken raccoon child, looked around at his classmates. Every whisker quivered, the room was infused with the elated electricity that only Christmas brings. He looked back at Miss Smithereen and noted the mischievous smile on her frosty, furry face. It was her tradition to let the class out early on the last day before Christmas vacation. ‘Will she do it again?’ He wondered.\nThe old hedgehog slowly walked to the door. She opened it and stepped aside, announcing, “Off you go! Merry Christmas!”\nTwenty-two, high pitched voices nearly brought down the roof with their cheers. The windows rattled in their panes like applause. As the class ran out the door, Miss Smithereen called out, “See you all in a week!”\n\n\nEddie shrugged into the warm winter sweater his gramma had made the year before. It was oatmeal colored, with a red zig zag pattern along the hem. He wore a red tasseled cap with matching mittens. He met up with Julian, a sleek-coated red weasel in a brown puffer jacket and wool cap with ear flaps, and Harley, a chipmunk wrapped nearly head to toe in a green woolen muffler and matching toque. Harley made up for his small size with a great lion-hearted personality. \n“Eddie said, “I think I’m getting some new Hot Wheels this year for my collection.”\n“I’m hoping for a beebee gun!” Exclaimed Julian.\n“I asked for a complete set of Dickens books.” Said Harley.\n“That’s so nerdy.” Laughed Eddie. “Shoulda asked for elevator shoes.”\n“Ha. Ha.” Harley said as he punched Eddie in the arm. “I can’t change being the smallest animal in the woods, but I can strive to be the smartest.”\n“Right on!” Exclaimed his friends, both giving him a high five. The three bundled up\nanimals bounced along the snowy lane through the northern Montana forest. \nWoodsmoke slipped upwards, through the crisp, piney scented air. As they neared Eddie’s home, the pleasant wintry air was sweetened by the smell of hot cocoa and fresh ginger snaps. The boys ran the rest of the way to the cozy, hillside burrow.\n“Oh boy!” Said Eddie as he ran ahead of his buddies. Harley tried to run as well but tripped on his scarf. He got to his knees, gathered some snow in his paws and hurled a marble-sized ball at Eddie’s head. “Poof!” It erupted on impact into a flurry of icy white crystals that glittered to the ground.\nEddie said, “Oh yeah?” He molded a huge round snowball and chucked it at Harley. Since it was nearly half the size of the chipmunk, it bowled him over, and rolled with the chipmunk, picking up more snow. Harley became one big white ball with paws, feet, and the toque’s pom-pom sticking out.\n“Eddie Buttons! Go help your little friend up! Then come inside for cocoa and cookies!” His mother, Alice, stood in the open doorway. \nJulian took a shot at Eddie, his snowball nailed him in the ear, then Harley nailed Julian right between his ears. All three child animals shook snow from their fur and, laughing, went inside.\n\n*\n\nOn Christmas Eve, early in the morning, while mom, pop, and son were eating pancakes, a thump shook the front door of the raccoons’ home. Eddie ran to the door and flung it open in time to see their mail-badger trudging through a foot of fresh snow back to his little USPS mail wagon. “Thanks Mr.Poppinstuff!”\nThe tired old badger in the navy-blue uniform didn’t turn around but lifted a weary, mittened hand in acknowledgement. The matching hat with the eagle logo and faux fur ear flaps was pulled snugly over his grey furred head. His shoulders slumped and white breath-puffs like cotton balls drifted over his head. \nEddie looked down at his feet at the parcel the mail-badger had left.\nThe parcel was wrapped in shiny red and gold foil was as tall as his shoulders when he stood it on end. The name on the box was his- “oh boy!” He squealed in delight.\nAlice asked, “What is it dear?”\n“Something for me. Look.” He turned the box so she could see it. She frowned and looked at Will, her husband. He slowly shook his head and shrugged. The address was theirs: 831 Maple Lane, Mulebottom, MO. The return address said only, “From Santa.”\n“Can I open it?”\n“It’s only Christmas Eve son.” Said Will, a smile curled his mouth and twinkled in his eyes.\n“Awe Pops. You always let me open one the day before.”\n“What do you think Momma? Let the kid open one early?”\nEddie’s mother smiled and said to her husband, “he has been good this year…”\n“And I got three As last report card! And two Bs!”\nWill drew out the suspense another minute as Eddie bounced from foot to foot like a kid who has to pee- badly. At last, he said, “Go on, open it. I’m as curious as you are.”\nEddie said, “Uh huh.” Sarcastically. Every year his folks threw in a gift they’d labelled as “From Santa” even though they knew he didn’t believe in Santa Claus at the ripe old age of eleven.\nHe sliced the colorful wrapping paper with a sharp claw. It crinkled tumultuously as he pulled it off the white box inside. He opened the flaps. “Woah.” He said and looked at both his parents. They were frowning and smiling uncertainly, like at any second it might start raining turnip pies. The note atop a pile of snow-white tissue paper read, “Made especially for you at Christmas.”\nHe pulled the thin paper aside…then frowned. “Whaaa---?”\nGingerly he poked the thing in the box. Then he screamed and backed away so quickly that he tripped over his tail, fell on his butt, and scrabbled like a crab across the room. His ear-blasting scream frightened his parents, both their fur stood on end, so bloodcurdling was the sound.\nHis mother, Alice, dashed forward and looked in the box. Her eyes turned to huge round planets as Will bent over the box. He reached into it and pulled out…a dead body? \nIt was a hat. A raccoon skin hat to be exact. As the tail flopped out like a thick, striped bristle brush, all three raccoons screamed.\nWill dropped it back into the box and kicked it across the wood floor. \n“What’s it mean Pop? Is it really…really…” the rest came out in a whisper, “a dead body?”\n“Well,” said Will, “it’s actually just the skin and pelt…and tail of a raccoon.”\n“Oh my.” Said Alice. “Who do you think it is? Who would do this?”\n“I don’t recognize him. And with no return address, it could be from anywhere.”\n“It had my name and our address on it. It’s from a serial killer.” Said Eddie with certainty.\nWill and Alice looked at their son. Neither said anything. Perhaps it was a serial killer playing with them. The thing in the box was utterly ghastly. What else could it be?\nWill locked the front door, then the back door in the kitchen too. He shuttered the windows and latched them tight. Alice silently washed the after-breakfast dishes while Will paced the living room floor while waiting for the police.\nWithin ten minutes, sirens wailed, and red flashing lights reflected off the snowy hillocks and tree trunks and branches, doubling their intensity into a discotheque type scene. In front of the burrow, the forest green sheriff’s car slid to a stop. The Sheriff, a silvery grey fox, and a Deputy skunk came to the door.\n\n\nAfter taking the body away and interviewing the shaken-up family, they left.\nEddie said, “Do you think they’ll catch the killer?”\nAlice said, “They have little to go on. They can’t autopsy on a skin.”\nWill added, “And death is an everyday occurrence in our animal world.”\n“But this is torture! It’s a cruel taunt that screams, ‘You’re next.’” Eddie wailed. “Animals kill for food, they don’t play with their food.”\n“Well, there was that cousin of yours…the cross-eyed one from your dad’s side---”\n“Mom! Seriously? He played tiddlywinks with his crawdads. This is different.”\nShe sighed and wrung her stubby little fingers together.\nEddie picked up the phone and called Julian’s number. He talked for only a minute, then put down the receiver. With a long face he said, “Julian’s parents won’t let him come over…”\nWill said, “You can’t really blame them. You can go over there if you like.”\n“No,” Eddie said softly, “He’s not allowed to hang out with me at all.”\n“Oh Honey,” said Alice, “I’m sorry.”\nEddie tried Harley’s number next. And got the same result. Harley’s father had practically hung up on him.\nEddie said with a small, wavering voice, “This is the worst Christmas ever.” He seemed so small right then, not eleven, but merely three years old.\n“Christmas isn’t until tomorrow. We have a feast to prepare, presents to open, songs to sing, and plenty of football on tv.” His dad said, trying to sound upbeat.\nEddie nodded gloomily and said, “I’ll be in my room. I don’t feel so well.”\n\n\n\n\nAn hour later, Alice went to her son’s room, a steaming mug of hot cocoa in hand, a pile of marshmallows melting into a merry, goopy treat. She knocked softly on the door and said, “Eddie honey, I’ve made you some cocoa, just the way you like it…”\nWhen she got no answer, she opened the door. The room was empty.\n\n**\n\nEddie ran down the path through the woods. It was growing dark, the snowy landscape bluely glowed, and black shadows grew larger and taller. He stopped often and looked around in every direction. He felt eyes on him. Malicious ones, hidden in shadows. Sticking out his red wool cap, his ears perked up like radar dishes, revolving this way and that, alert for the minutest of sounds.\nA branch snapped to his left, but he saw nothing there. \nHe turned back to the path and…”AAAAAAaaaaa!!!” Right in front of him!\nIt was Harley, bundled in a black muffler and matching toque. “Hi Eddie!”\n“You scared the snot outta me! What’re you doing out here?”\n“Coming to help you, bro. I snuck out. Julian wanted to come but his dad put locks on all their windows.”\n“This could be dangerous. I think I’m being followed.”\nHarley looked around. Only his beady little onyx eyes peered from his warm winter get-up.\n“Your ma made you another set, eh?”\nHarley nodded, “She always makes the scarf too long, she thinks it makes me look bigger.”\n“It does. Fatter.”\n“Thanks.”\n‘Snap!’\nHarley whispered harshly, panicky, “Did you hear---”\n“Shhhh! I told you!” Eddie hissed, then he whispered, “I’ve got to find that old mail-badger and find out where the box came from.”\n“The mail wagon’s on the other side of these woods.” Harley said.\n“Let’s get out of here.” Said Eddie. He started running. Harley started running…and tripped over the long scarf. He wrapped up the loose end and tied it tight. He ran after Eddie and caught up quickly- chipmunks are lightning fast…raccoons, not so much.\nThe black velvet curtain of sky fell and lights from the town blinked to life. There were just a few stars and a bright bold moon peeking out from between the low-lying charcoal clouds As they neared the edge of the forest, an enormous black shadow undulated over the sparkling, luminescent snow in front of them. They stumble-skidded to a stop. Eddie dove under a snowbank, pulling the chipmunk with him. They held their breath as the colossal shadow passed by them. It was as big as a Transformer Robot!\nAfter ten minutes, Harley peaked out from the snow. “Look.” He whispered and pointed to a boxy white truck with a red and blue eagle logo on the side. The engine was idling, plumes of silvery exhaust wafted over them. Eddie said, “That’s why the killer didn’t smell us, we’re downwind.” They got out of the freezing snow and shook it off.\nMr.Poppinstuff emerged from the truck, he clomped onto the snow covered road. His foot slipped and he caught the doorframe to catch his balance. He cursed under his breath. \n“Sounds like my dad,” said Harley.\nAs they watched, the stooped, old grey badger in the blue uniform rolled the back gate up a third, reached inside, and wrangled a heavy looking package out. It slipped through his mittened hands and dropped to the ground. Mr.Poppinstuff hopped on one foot a few times, cursing fresh utterances. He bent and retrieved the misbehaving package, then walked to the door of the last home at the edge of the woods.\n“ROOOOAAARRRR!” Hot, meaty breath bellowed across their backs! Without turning, they ran for mail truck. Footsteps pounded behind them! A paw half the size of Eddie’s whole body swiped at his sweater, shredding the soft, thick wool.\n“Yikes!” He squealed.\nHarley made it to the truck. He heard the cry and raced back to his friend. He unwound the long scarf and with it, ran circles in a Flash Gordon blur around the legs of the cougar. The cougar roared furiously, tottered on its tied together tip toes, and fell forward like fresh hewn timber. ‘Kaboosh-boom!’\nEddie and Harley ran to the mail truck and dove through the narrow opening.\nThe cougar’s paws whirred in a Tasmanian devil frenzy, the scarf was shredded in seconds. It bounded after its prey. At the mail truck, it swiped its monstrous paw through the opening. Eddie and Harley screamed. In the empty, boxy truck, the caterwauling vibrated the metal walls, and reverberated around them as if the little white truck had swallowed them alive.\nThe huge paw receded out the rolldown door like a snake whipping back after a strike. The boys looked at each other, shaking, eyes wide, the echoes of their screams faded, and silence ensued.\nWait! Not quite silent…A low, deep rumbling sound came to their ears.\nCurious, the raccoon and wee chipmunk dared to peek out the mail-truck door.\nThe killer cougar had backed up twenty feet. It wasn’t looking at the boys’ hidey hole, it was looking at…Mr.Poppinstuff!\nOnly it wasn’t Mr.Poppinstuff any longer.\nThe old mail-badger had transformed into a super-hero! He stood up straight on his hind legs and was nearly as tall as the confused cat. The badger hissed like a demon from hell and both boys would swear his eyes glowed crimson red like ominous, firey embers.\nThe cougar took a swipe at the demon badger. The boys heard the swish and gasped.\nThe badger screeched liked a banshee as he dodged the blow like a prize fighter. A champion one. The badger demon’s front paws whirred in the space between the two battlers and threatened to buzz the cat’s nose off like a chainsaw.\nThe cat backed up, roared, and swiped an enormous paw low.\nHe sent the badger tumbling backwards. And immediately pounced at the advantage. It pinned the badger down and would soon tear out his throat.\nEddie leapt from the mail truck and onto the huge cat’s head. As he futilely punched the head, he screamed at the cat, “YOU sent me that package! I know it! You’re a killer with a demented mind! You’ve been stalking me ever since! What is wrong with you?!”\nThe cat covered its vulnerable eyes with its paws and said, “What are you talking about?!”\nEddie screamed, “The body! The hat! The skin of one of my kin!”\nThe badger was standing again, red sparks flew from its eyes, its spittle flew like acid rain, it raised its arms with shiny, sharp black claws curled. As it lunged, the cat threw the raccoon off as if it were a rag doll. It shouted, “You all cray-cray!” And disappeared into the woods.\n\n\nMr.Poppinstuff was back in uniform, hat, and mittens. The boys, however, would never be able to see him as anything but a superhero. He said to Eddie, “What’s all this about a serial killer?”\nEddie explained his terrifying morning.\nThe mail-badger nodded with a finger aside his nose…thinking. At last, he said, “It was me---”\n“Whaaa---?!” Said the boys as they backed away with shocked, frightened faces.\nMr.Poppinstuff waved his mittens and said, “No, no, no! That’s not what I meant. I mean it is my fault for your terrifying morning. I misdelivered the package. It should have gone to the Eddie that lives at 831 Maple Way. He’s a grizzly bear.”\nThe boys stood like statues and gawped. \nThen they all laughed.\nMr.Poppinstuff said, “Well, I guess I’m not done for the night after all. Would you care to accompany me?”\nThe boys were so relieved, and enamored with the old guy, they said sure.\nMr.Poppinstuff said, “Hop in!” They did.\nThe badger whistled. Two snow-white reindeer bounded out from the woods. From behind the passenger’s seat the boys shared, the badger pulled out a harness, complete with jingly jangly jingle bells.\n\n\nIn minutes, they were soaring over the white, sparkling land. They headed north. The ground was a blur with very few lights, soon, no lights at all. They flew so fast, stars looked like comets.\nAt the North Pole they met Santa Claus. He gave the mail-badger an identical package to Eddie’s mistakenly delivered gift and another, smaller one with his name and address on it. Correct and complete and sure this time." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Rejection to Redemption\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 3008\n\nPrompt:\n\nBlack Friday is the one day of the year where the Devil makes selling your soul a good thing, although there are some bizarre T’s & C’s." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Rejection to Redemption\nCal was thankful for nothing on Thanksgiving Day. He had less to be thankful for the next day, Black Friday.\n----------\n“I’m done, Cal.”\n“What are you talking about, Marcie? I told you I was sorry.”\n“I’ve had it. You’re the most inconsiderate, uncaring, selfish person I’ve ever known. Goodbye, Cal.”\n----------\n“No, Cal, my mind is made up. You’re fired.”\n“I don’t understand…”\n“Your business ethics suck. You are the most dishonest person I’ve ever met. I got three more complaints about you this morning. And you’ve offended everyone in the office with your disgusting, stupid jokes. You must be the most offensive, obnoxious, crude person in the world. Get out!”\n----------\n“You’re outta here, Cal. I’ve put up with your loud, obnoxious drunken behavior long enough. Boys, show him the door.”\n“You son-of-a bitch, Bert! I’ve spent a fortune in this hell hole, and you’re throwing me out?!”\n“Yep.”\n----------\nCal sat alone in front of his TV later that night, alone and angry. In just one day, he lost his girlfriend, his job, and his seat at his favorite watering hole. He felt no responsibility for any of it for Cal, as noted above, was uncaring, selfish, dishonest, crude, and obnoxious. To know Cal was to hate him.\n In his thirty-two years on this earth, he had never cared about a soul other than himself, and now tonight he found himself alone with his cold pizza and beer.\n Money- Cal didn’t have any. Girlfriend- Cal didn’t have one. Friends- ditto. He lived in a rat hole, the heater in his car didn’t work, and he survived on a diet of TV dinners, pizza, tater tots… and beer. Most guys had much more at this stage of the game. It was so unfair. \nMoney was the key. If he had money, lots of it, he could have a nice home and a cool car which naturally would attract beautiful women. He knew what money could do for him. That was the easy part. How to get the money would be the hard part.\nAt times like this, fate will sometimes intervene to determine the trajectory of events. After downing his usual allotment of beer, plus a little extra in view of his current circumstance, Cal dozed off on the worn sofa in his cluttered living room. Around 3:00 AM he awakened to the sights and sounds of an old movie- Damn Yankees, the story of a fanatic baseball fan who sells his soul to the devil to improve the prospects of his favorite team. Cal knew of the concept of the Faustian bargain, and if the devil could improve the fortunes of Tab Hunter’s baseball team, maybe he could improve his.\nA soul? Cal didn’t even know if he had one. He couldn’t see it, feel it, and he never even thought about it, so giving it up wouldn’t be much of a problem for Cal if it would bring him the goodies he desired and deserved.\nBut are these deals real? And, where would Cal find the devil in the first place? Cal figured the good guys must be able to find the bad guys in order to defeat them, so that’s where he started.\nCal showed up at Father Martin’s door, not seeking salvation, but looking for a roadmap to the gates of hell.\n“Thank you for seeing me, Father.”\n“We are here to serve. Are you presently a practicing Catholic looking to join a new parish?”\n“Not so much, Father.”\n“Then how may I help you, my son?”\n“Is the devil real, Father?”\n“Yes, the devil is certainly real. There are many references to the devil in the Bible.”\n“Do you know where I’d find him?”\n“What? Find the devil? You want to find the devil?”\n“Yes. If he’s real, he must be someplace. I just want to know where I might find him. I thought you’d know where to find him since you’re in the business of beating him all the time, sort of like Batman keeping tabs on the Joker.”\n “My goodness, young man, it’s not like that. The devil isn’t a physical being you can see and touch. But his evil spirit is everywhere, stalking his prey and tempting us to do evil.”\n“That’s not very helpful, Father.”\n“Well, that’s the way it is. And why do you want to find the devil in the first place?”\n“Have you seen the movie Damn Yankees?”\n“As a matter of fact, I have. I grew up a Cubs fan so I had to hate all the other teams, especially the Yankees. So, what about the movie?”\n“Well, this guy makes a deal with the devil to get something he wants, and there’s something I want very badly, Father.”\n“And what is that?”\n“Money.”\n“Ah, money, the root of all evil. I can see you do need spiritual guidance. And you feel the devil is responsible for your ill-placed desire for money, and you want to rid yourself of this lust for worldly riches?\n“No, Father, I just want some.”\n“Want some what?”\n“Money.”\n“And how does the devil fit in?”\n“I thought maybe he could get me some.”\n“Money?”\n“Yes, money.”\n“And how do you think the devil can help you get… money?”\n“I thought I could sell him my soul. Do you have any idea of how much I’d get for it? I’m going to need plenty, but I’m afraid to ask for too much. Or does he make the first offer? I’m guessing he’d lowball me for a start. What do you think, Father?”\n“You cannot sell your soul to the devil. Your soul is God’s most precious gift! You do not want to risk losing His promise of eternal life. Our time on earth is brief, but an eternity in Heaven awaits us. Jesus taught us…”\n“Blah, blah, blah. Never mind, Father. I should have known this visit would be worthless. No wonder your numbers are down.”\nCal would have to find the devil on his own.\n“Hey, Bert.”\n“I thought I told you to stay out of here, Cal.”\n“No trouble, Bert. I’m just looking for some information. I won’t even drink.”\n“What kind of information?”\n“Well, this has to be the seediest gin mill in town, so I thought maybe you could help me find the devil.”\n“Huh? Who?”\n“The devil. This place is full of low-lives every night so I thought maybe he’s been in here. Have you met him?”\nHaving watched his share of detective movies, Cal flashed a $20 bill, the time-honored tradition for gleaning information from barkeeps.\n“Jesus Christ, Cal, have you lost your mind? No, I haven’t met the devil.”\n“No need to get your undies in a bundle, Bert. I just thought this is the type of place the devil might hang out at.”\n“You’re nuts.”\nCal turned and headed for the door.\n“Cal, wait! There’s a guy who comes in here, almost every Friday night, that’s lady’s night. Mabel always brings in some of her girls from the Love Nest, and things can get a little… wild. Anyway, this guy looks about as bad as it gets. Always dressed in black, hardly talks, drinks a ton, and never gets drunk. He gives me the heebee-jeebees. There’s a look about him, sinister, scheming, evil. If the devil ever showed up in human form, that would be him.”\n“Thanks, Bert. I owe you one.”\n“No, twenty. You owe me twenty bucks.”\n“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.”\n“Right.”\nMore sins are committed at “Bert’s Bar- Booze and Babes” on a Friday night than anywhere else on Earth in an entire month. Crowded, loud music, smoke-filled, gambling, vats of alcohol, a smorgasbord of behavior-altering drugs, and dancing that looked more like simulated sex on shoes. It was Sodom and Gomorrah under one roof. Cal spotted him immediately. Bert was right. The guy looked like the devil.\nCal needed an icebreaker. He was hesitant to approach a stranger and ask him if were the devil. It would be awkward if he weren’t.\nCal cautiously moved over to the barstool next to the mysterious man and summoned Bert to bring him more beer.\n“Thanks, Bert, and by the way, I have a request for your jukebox.”\n“What’s that, Cal?”\nCal cranked up the volume to make certain the man next to him heard.\n“The Elvis Presley hit, You’re the Devil in Disguise.”\nThe mysterious man’s head jerked toward Cal, and then quickly turned away, but he remained tuned in.\n“The idea that the devil could take on human form is intriguing.”\nCal took a deep breath and turned toward the unsettling figure seated next to him.\n“Uh… what do you think, sir? Do you think the devil could take human form and show up in a place like this?”\nThe man in black slowly turned and delivered a piercing gaze that sent a shudder through Cal. The deep blue eyes and the sinister smile made Cal’s heart skip a beat. The voice was hypnotic.\n“Why not? I bet he’d like a place like this. No offense, Bert, but your bar would be a perfect place for the devil to harvest a few souls. What do you think, Cal? Do you think you might run into the devil here?”\nThe comment ended with a menacing look at Cal. And then the smile that sent the message he knew more than met the eye. A feeling of sheer fear sent Bert to the opposite end of the bar.\n“Our parish priest says the devil is everywhere, so why not here?”\n“Priest! Catholic! You don’t have a crucifix on you by any chance?”\n“Uh, no.”\n“Phew, that’s a relief.”\nNo crucifix a relief?! Cal felt like he was on the right trail.\n “Say, are you from around here?”\nThe man laughed.\n“Nope, I’m not from anywhere. Say, Cal, you seem a little stressed. How about I foot the bill for you for one of Mabel’s girls? \nTemptation! This had to be the devil in disguise! Go for it, Cal.\n“I’m Cal Larson. Your name is… ?”\n“Lucifer.”\nBingo! Cal had found his man… so to speak.\n“Let’s cut to the chase, Cal. We both know why you sought me out.”\n“Yes, I was looking for you. Have you seen Damn Yankees?” \n“I’ve seen it a hundred times. I know the routine. I was there when the Faustian legend was born. So, where are going with this?”\n“Well, I’d like to get in on it.”\n“On what?”\n“The Faustian bargain thing, my soul for some loot. What will you give me?”\n“Woah, slow down, Cal. Let me get my head around this. You do know I’m supposed to tempt you, you know, offer you stuff for your immortal soul. You’re not supposed to come to me.”\n“That shouldn’t matter. I’m here, and my soul must be here. You can have it. How much do I get and when do I get it?”\n“Hold on, hold on…”\nLucifer pulled a book out of his pocket and flipped through the pages.\n“Here you are, Cal Larson. Let me see…oh, my.”\n“What do you mean oh my?”\n“Well, it says here you’ve led a pretty miserable life. Let’s see, dishonest, vulgar, lazy, womanizing, selfish, a drunkard… and that’s just from one day. And there must be some mistake. There’s nothing in the plus column. That’s unusual. No, that’s correct, there’s nothing in here that’s of anything of redeeming value.”\n“Ok, ok, I get it. But let’s get back to my question. What do I get for my soul?”\n“I hate to break it to you, Cal, but nothing. You get nothing for your soul.”\n“What?! It’s my soul! That’s supposed to be a big deal to you.”\n“Cal, with this record you’re already headed my way. Why would I pay for something I’m already getting?”\n“No way! It’s a soul! It has to have some value!”\n“Sorry, Cal and there’s more.”\n“Oh, for Crhist’s sake, what is it?”\n“Well, here’s the thing, Cal. It looks like you would be one of the most obnoxious, contrary guys we’ve ever had. You’d have to meet certain conditions before we’d let you in.”\n“What?! I can’t even get into hell?”\n“Not right away. You have to understand, Cal, hell is a pretty miserable place. Everyone is on edge and stressed to the max, so it’s hard to maintain order. A guy like you is apt to cause problems, and the last thing I need is another rebellion. The last one didn’t work out so well for me.”\n“What kind of conditions?”\n“Well, Anger Management for starters, and Sensitivity Training, of course. And Attila the Hun has a nice course on Diversity. If you do well in these classes, we’d let you in.”\n“But nothing for my soul? You’ve got to be shitting me. This isn’t possible.”\n“Maybe this will help you understand- a classic law school exercise. A guy falls off a cliff and he’s heading for the ocean waves crashing on the jagged rocks one hundred feet below. On the way down, he hits some negligently hung electric wires. They’re not properly insulated, and he’s electrocuted. His family sues the electric company, and the jury awards them nothing. Why? Because at that moment, because of where he was headed, his life was worth nothing. That’s where you are with your soul, Cal.”\n“Nothing?”\n“Nothing, nada, zero, zippo, zilch, nil, bupkis, goose eggs…”\n“Ok, ok! I get it.”\nThings had gone from bad to worse for Cal. His plan for a better life just went down the drain because of his former lifestyle. All hope was lost. Or was it? Think, Cal, think. Mmm…\n“Good morning, Father.”\n“Oh, no, it’s you again. What now?”\n“Father, what kind of things would a guy have to do to get himself headed for Heaven?”\n“Cal! I prayed for you, and it looks like my prayers have been answered! The Prodigal Son returns! The Lost Sheep has been found. Welcome back to the fold, my son. Let’s get you back on the path of the righteous, the path to Heaven.”\n“Uh, Father, I really don’t want to try to get to Heaven. I just want it to look like I might get there.”\n“Huh?”\n“You were right about the devil. He does exist. But you were wrong about the human form thing. I met him at Bert’s Bar- Booze and Babes last night.”\n“Huh?”\n“Well, I tried to sell him my soul, but he said it’s worth nothing because I’m already doomed to hell. I want it to look like I’ve got a shot at heaven so he’ll give me something for my soul. So, what kind of things should I do that will make it look like I’m heaven-bound, you know, so he’ll give me lots of stuff for my soul?”\n“I will pray for you again, my son, but this time to St. Jude, the Patron Saint of hopeless causes.”\nCal was on his own again, but Internet searches revealed a bevy of good works readily available to Cal. He was soon helping little old ladies cross the street, cleaning up trash along public highways, visiting blood banks, and slapping Christian bumper stickers all over his car. He could feel his stock rising every day.\nCal was furiously ringing his bell next to a Salvation Army Red Kettle.\n“Cal, is that you?”\n“Oh, hey, Lucifer.”\n“What the hell are you doing?”\n“Oh, just another thing in a long list of good works, collecting money for the less fortunate. That’s kind of what I do.”\n“Well, keep it up, Cal. You know what they say.”\n“What’s that?”\n“Every time a bell rings, a devil gets his pitchfork. Ha, ha, ha.”\nCal felt like his efforts may have been going nowhere, but then fate again made a call. Or, was St. Jude listening?\nChristmas Day.\n“Cal, you’ll be on mashed potatoes. Just put a good scoopful on their plate as they come through the line. I’ll slop the gravy on.”\nThere were more diners than Cal expected, poor people, the less fortunate, the down on their luck. It hit Cal. For the first time in his life, he was helping others, and he had a feeling he had never experienced before.\nSometimes a moment affects a lifetime, or what’s left of it. Cal noticed them when they came through the line, a young mother and a little girl with a worn, frayed coat and a red ribbon in her hair. The little girl returned to the serving line and extended her plate toward Cal.\n“Sir, if all the others have eaten, could I please have more?”\nShe was six, maybe seven years old, likely without a father, having Christmas dinner with a crowd of strangers in a noisy church basement. She must have been hungry to have quickly finished off her plate and in need of more. And the selflessness and the manners to ask if all the others had eaten were remarkable for her age.\nIt pierced Cal’s heart. The contrast could not have been greater. Cal reflected on his own life built on a foundation of self, first and only, and he felt ashamed. He caught the look in the mother’s eyes as the girl returned to their table. He knew she wanted more for her daughter, and it pained her that she couldn’t provide it. He wished that the little girl could be seated at a table with her mom, dad, and grandparents, close to a cracking fire, and looking forward to playing with all her new toys… like he had growing up.\nAs Cal finished his duties, he noticed the mother and little girl walking toward the bathroom, leaving the frayed coat hanging on the back of a chair. Cal walked to the table, pulled the lonely twenty-dollar bill from his wallet, tucked it in the coat’s pocket, and left the room as he wiped away a tear, saved by a little girl." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A Quiet Kind of Magic\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1295\n\nPrompt:\n\nA package arrives at your character’s house, but they didn’t order anything. Write about what happens next." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I startled at the whistle of my tea kettle. I was usually the only one making noise this late at night. \nIt was my fourth Christmas alone since my grandmother had died. She was my mother and my father, and, for the most part, was one of the only people I ever really knew growing up. I missed her dearly.\nEvery Christmas Eve since I could remember, she and I would sit in the living room sipping on piping hot mugs of spiced black tea with orange slices. It’s my favorite smell and my favorite memory.\nI walked into the kitchen and removed the kettle from the heat, letting it cool just slightly before pouring the water over a tea bag, cinnamon stick, and orange slice. As soon as it became fragrant, my grandmother was right there with me, I just knew it. \n“I love you, grandma,” I whispered to her. “Merry Christmas Eve.”\nWhen the tea was finished steeping, I brought it into the living room along with a plate of fresh, buttery shortbread cookies and set them down on the floor. I plugged in my little Christmas tree -- only three feet tall -- and admired the way I always did. Never was my inner-child more alive than in this moment. \nThe tree was simple: decorated only with the lights, silver tinsel, and some pinecones I collected in my yard. But it was enough. There were no presents beneath, and I was much too old for Santa to think to visit me anymore. Maybe if I’d had a chimney…I grinned at the silly thought. \nI swirled around the last of the tea, now cold at the bottom of my cup, and finished it off, along with the last cookie. Sorry, Santa. As I stood to return my dishes to the kitchen, I swore I heard four swift knocks at my door. “What on earth?” I was certainly not expecting company. My one dear friend was a state away visiting her family. There was simply nobody it could have been. But I stole a glance out of the peep hole to be sure, and there was nobody. “Maybe a branch or an icicle fell…” I turned around and as soon as I did, I heard it again! \nQuickly, I opened the door to see who was there, but I was all alone. Snow was falling and my yard was covered in it, yet there were no footprints to be seen. A shimmer near my feet caught my eye, and there was a little package wrapped in brown paper and golden ribbon with this address on it. “How strange. There’s no post today, and definitely not at night.” I flipped on my porch light and swept over the yard once more, and there wasn’t a trace of anybody else.\nI picked up the package and brought it inside, turning off the porch light and locking the door nice and tight behind me. I set my dirty dishes and the little box on my dining table and just stared at it. Curiosity had its grip on me, so I picked it up and gave it a little shake, like a child trying to guess what they got for Christmas. It was very light and the only sound it made was a soft metallic clink. I was not expecting a package and I was starting to feel a little spooked by the whole thing.\nLooking at it again, the handwriting matched my grandmother’s quite a lot, but I obviously dismissed that notion. A lot of older women wrote in a similar way, as they were taught. I was flooded with a wave of emotion and nostalgia in spite of the logic.\nWith hesitation, I tore back the paper to reveal a small, pine box. Nothing spectacular. The wood was thin and honestly looked quite cheap. On one side, there was a latch that I flipped upward to open the box.\nI drew in a sharp breath when I saw the silver locket sitting on a small blue cushion inside. “That’s impossible…”\nIt was a locket that I recognized immediately as belonging to my grandmother. She wore it often, but when she died, it was one item that I was never able to find among her things. Not in her bedside table or jewelry box or closet. I gave up on it, sadly. But there it was, sitting right in front of me after four years. It didn’t make sense. \nThe box contained nothing else, not even a note. Shivers ran down my spine while I tried to make sense of what was nothing short of a Christmas miracle.\nI took the locket and sat back down in the living room, beside the Christmas tree. I flipped it over in my hands and watched as the lights from the tree glistened and reflected off the surfaces of the locket and just sat there in that moment. In that incredible feeling. I felt like I should have been at least slightly afraid, but no. Nothing but calm and, well, wonder, surrounded me there. \nGhosts aren’t something I ever paid much mind to. I didn’t believe or not believe. I just didn’t think about those sorts of things. Yet, I was so sure that there was something beyond me that was making this happen. “I love you, grandma,” I whispered to nobody in particular.\nI looked up at the little clock that hung on my wall and noticed it was just a quarter after midnight, shortly after grandma and I would have gone to sleep. The lights scare the reindeer away you know, she always told me. The last thing we did before huddling under the covers was sprinkle a few handful of oats across the front yard for the reindeer to graze on while Santa was busy doing his job. It was only fair. He got cookies, after all. \nIt was late, and I was as tired as I was giddy from what just happened. So much so that I realized I hadn’t even opened the locket. \nMy fingers were trembling as I rotated it in my hands once more, finding the clasp. It snapped open in a split second and I swear I smelled cinnamon and orange as soon as it did. Inside was a small picture of who I clearly recognized as my grandmother, as well as a young man and a woman--who was holding a small baby, no older than a few weeks old. “Mom and Dad?”\nThe trembling spread though my whole body as I found myself suddenly crying. I wiped my eyes. The tears blurred my vision but all I wanted to do was stare at this photo and this locket forever. \nI slept on the floor of the living room that night. The glow of the Christmas tree was comforting and I felt as though I were being hugged all night. I was warm as the snow fell outside. I was happy and felt loved though I was the loneliest I had ever been.\nThe first sight of the sunrise woke me and I panicked searching for the locket. “Did I dream that? I had to have dreamt that.” But I didn’t believe it. \nI found composure when I felt the cold metal of the locket against my skin underneath my sweatshirt. Looking at the picture again, I smiled the most I probably ever did. I stood up and walked to the kitchen. I put my dishes from last night in the sink and filled the tea kettle to heat up. I dropped a tea bag into a new cup and realized that maybe I wasn’t too old for Santa to think of me. \n“Next year, I’ll put out the oats. I promise.”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Gunther, Son of Krampus\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2996\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone in a thankless job." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Gunther smiled at the pretty she-elf and offered her his ginger snap cookie. \nHer clear blue eyes grew round as ping pong balls, the silver bells on her pointed red hat tinkled as she trembled, and her pouty rosebud lips quivered. At last, she let out a scream so high pitched and supersonic, it caused a small avalanche a mile away.\nHer breath was peppermint and vanilla cake. She swatted the cookie into the snow and ran towards her friends that had stopped their birdlike chattering to stare at Gunther in horror.\nHe looked sadly down at the broken cookie. “Thanks a lot,” he mumbled under his breath.\nHis silvery-grey horns felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds. They did not, they were small, and only just starting to corkscrew, like the impressive one-and-a-half foot horns of his father, the Krampus. His goat shaped face was dark with a soft coating of grey fur. Someday it would be black, shaggy, bearded and warm. Gunther’s hair was only shoulder length and not thick enough to keep him warm in the below freezing atmosphere, so he wore a long wool cap, with holes for his growing horns. He had asked his mother for a red cap, but she had made it black. Just like all his other clothes. The only thing he had in common with the elves were his long-pointed ears…except, his were covered in black fur.\nHe sighed. When he opened his mouth, his long red tongue uncurled to his navel. He bent and licked the sugar-coated cookie bits like a devilish anteater. The group of four pretty elves laughed and pointed, and soon all the elves in the playground joined in.\nThe bell rang, Gunther waited until all the elves were inside the school. \nHe plodded through the snow on woolly black goat legs, his black hooves dragging. \nHe was lonely.\nHe slunk into his seat in the back of the classroom. The teacher was an elderly elf in a long red wool dress with white hair cut into a bob. She came to him, peering over silver wire-framed pince-nez, with hands on her narrow hips, “Gunther! Did you smile at Penelope?”\nHe nodded.\n“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, young demon.”\nGunther looked up. His strange black eyes had red irises. Miz Poppinsmith involuntarily took a step back. She said, “Oh Gunther, you are truly scary to behold. When you smile, birds fall dead from the trees of heart attacks, and black bears turn white. Please refrain from frightening the other children.”\n\n\nAfter school, Gunther walked home alone as usual. At least Christmas vacation started the next day.\nHis mother, a good witch of exceptional beauty,\ndetected immediately the sadness in her son. She bent to hug him, her long, honey-colored hair brushed his face, it smelled of pine and lemons. She kissed his cheek and offered him a warm sausage popover, fresh from the oven. \nHer pale oval face was flushed at her high cheekbones, her full red lips smiled. The only inhuman thing about her were her eyes. They were as big as doe eyes, but solid black as onyx. She had given up her Nordic blue ones as a dowry to Gunther’s Grandpa Mephisto.\nGunther didn’t want to talk about school because there was nothing he could do about his growing frustration. Besides, his parents loved that he was scary. The longer his pointy white teeth grew, the broader his spine-chilling grin. \n“Is Uncle Santa coming for supper?” He asked before Yursa could enquire about his abnormally long face. Sausage popovers were Santa’s favorite.\n“Yes, my sweet. Uncle Santa is bringing your father the naughty list. “\nSanta Klaus and Gunther’s dad, the Krampus, had been childhood friends who grew up and into their stations in life, each one helping the other. Uncle Santa rewarded good children with gifts and treats, Krampus beat the naughty with sticks. It was only a rumor that he sent them to Hell, Grandpa Mephisto would prefer the little monsters grow up in the world to be big monsters. \nThe rumor that his dad sometimes ate the bad children was unfortunately true. But only the ones Yursa divined would grow to become psychotic, depraved killers or torturers of innocent, kind animals.\n“He’s early.” Said Gunther.\n“Apparently there is a sweet creature in danger at the hands of very bad children up north, between Sweden and Iceland.”\n“The Vikings again?”\n“Yes dear.”\n“Dad will be pleased.”\nGunther heard stories of the Viking children. They were encouraged to torture and slaughter and steal from the Europeans that had worked hard for their farms and lands and belongings.\n\n\nSanta and Krampus sat by the fire, smoking after dinner pipes that smelled of sweet cloves and burnt leather. They sipped amber cognac from cut crystal glasses. Yursa reverently placed her crystal ball on the polished cedar table in their center.\nGunther sat at the kitchen table, pretending to read a storybook. He peaked surreptitiously through his shaggy, black bangs, at the adults staring into the glass sphere. Fromm where he sat, he could see whisps of swirling milkiness and the spangles of city lights or stars.\nKrampus called over to his son, “Gunther, you’re old enough to help your old man this year.”\nGunther looked up, startled. “Really Dad?” He smiled broadly. His mother beamed at him, so proud. His furry ears perked straight up and vibrated like tuning forks.\n“Yes, while I am punishing the wickeds, you will have a job, an important one, for multiple reasons.”\nYursa said, “Come Gunther, look into the ball.”\nGunther gracefully pranced over, his hooves tappity-tapped on the wood floor and thumped softly over the wool rug.\nYursa pointed into the ball and before his eyes, the celestial scene parted, the shimmering mist swirled away, and he looked upon a terrible scene. A group of four leather clad children, in tall boots and vests and hooded jackets, screamed and waved spears in the air. Some held dully glinting knives, and spears tipped with iron points. Their eyes were cruel shards of pale glass. \nThe scene widened as if the viewer were pulled upwards like a kite, hovering over the yard. The yard was fenced with tall, cuspated logs, the ground was begrimed with a slushy mix of snow and mud as dirty as the young faces. On closer inspection, Gunther saw spatters and pools of red in the composition. \nIt was not the blood of the children, however. They were not fighting each other. They were torturing a great white bear. Gunther looked up at his mother with tears in his red and black eyes.\nSanta sniffed, then blew his nose into his handkerchief.\n Yursa nodded and said, “Bear baiting. Cruel and inhumane. The children are encouraged by their parents to participate in such so-called ‘sport’, they feel it readies them for war. Gives them a taste for cruelty and blood.”\nGunther said, “But they are hurting those dogs too.”\nKrampus said, “Yes son. They make the bear bleed. The dogs are trained to respond to the sight and smell of blood, they encourage them to attack the bear, making wagers.”\n“Don’t the children get hurt? Or Killed?”\nYursa said, “If they do, the adults say that it was the will of Odin, their king of gods.”\nKrampus said, “Hmf! They’ll wish they were dead when they get a load of me.”\n“When can we go, Dad?”\n“I’ll take you there tomorrow.” Said Santa.\n\n*\n\nUnder an overcast sky, high above icy white lands they flew. Four enormous, shaggy white and pale tan reindeer galloped through the air, leading the green and gold sleigh- silent, but for the ‘huaff, huaff, huaffing’ of their mighty lungs. Great white puffs from their snouts dissipated rapidly into the frigid air of their wake.\nSanta was bundled in a thick, soft woolen coat the color of dry moss. It was lined with thick, warm beige fur that rippled in the fast wind. His hat was matching. Krampus wore no hat, only a black woollen cloak, his thick ebony fur undulated and whipped briskly behind him. The eastern sky was the color of a nasty bruise. The west would soon follow. \nGunther wore his warmest fur lined hat, pulled down tight against his head, he had belted his coat as tightly as he could but shivered as frozen drafts crept into his sleeves and under his muffler. His eyes watered, though the sleigh featured a framed glass windshield.\nThe bleached land below was spotted with deep green patches of forests as mysterious as precious emeralds. Great slabs of sienna-grey rock edged fast moving rivers. On the horizon faint ashy wisps rose against the gloomy, overcast sky. Smoke.\nAs they neared their destination, the smoke grew thicker and sootier. The sounds of shouts and laughter and orders ululated up to them in the winds, like vampire bats.\nSanta called over the roar of the wind in their ears, “Down there! In those woods by that stream! We rest until just before dark, that’s when they close the gates for the night. The settlement is just over that rise.!” Over the hill, smoke from multiple vents and cookfires amassed and mingled with the dark grey clouds. \nThey set up camp and let the reindeer rest, Santa gave them each a bucket of oats. \nThe woods were dense and protected from the harsh wind, the three-sided lean-to was relatively warm after a fire was built. They ate bread and cheese and dried herring.\nAt four o’clock the sun would set. So, at three, Gunther and his father took off at a fast pace. Krampus carried his whipping switches in a wicker basket slung over his back. Their long goat legs gracefully leapt through the snow and Gunther realized that that was what they were made for. They made the distance in only ten minutes. \nOutside the gate, Gunther said, “How do we get inside without being seen?”\n“Ah my son, with this,” His father pulled a shimmering black cloak from his basket. It rippled in the air like silk.\nGunther frowned. Krampus unfolded it with a flick of his long fingered, black gloved hand, and draped it over his head and around his shoulders.\nHe was gone.\nGunther gasped. His mother had told him about the spelled cloak when he was little. He swelled with pride at her talents as his father enveloped them both. They walked through the gates. The dirty, muddy yard was devoid of life.\n“Suppertime.” Whispered Krampus.\nGunther nodded against his father’s wool covered belly.\nThey tip-toed along the yard, staying close to the fence, stepping onto frozen mud when they could. When they stepped in snow, hoofprints appeared like magic. Any prints they made would only look like the prints of the Vikings’ livestock.\nRaucous laughter from the communal longhouse indicated a meal in session. Across the yard behind them, the huge wooden gates scraped closed, A thick iron bar clanged and clanked into metal brackets.\nThere were six other longhouses in the settlement, the boisterous, occupied one in the center.\nSuddenly a dog barked. It sounded confused. The pair under the invisible cloak froze. \nThe men who had closed the gate shouted to it. The dog continued in a frantic manner. Then a “Quit it!” in Old Norse. Then a ‘whump’ and a sharp yip. Then quiet. They continued surveying the yard.\nGunther nudged his father and whispered, “There.” He pointed between the next two long wooden homes. In the yard between was the bear.\nIt looked dead. Gunther growled low in his throat. The bear’s ears twitched. It lifted its great head and sniffed the air, staring straight at Krampus and Gunther. It whined sadly and lay back down but kept its eyes on the cloaked pair.\n“It sees us.” Whispered Gunther.\n“Bears are highly sensitive to magic.” His father whispered back. “Off you go.” He whisked the cloak off his son and Gunther went cautiously yet eagerly to the bear.\nKrampus leapt away towards the house where the children would be leaving from shortly. He crouched in anticipation and soon heard children’s voices approaching. The youngest would be headed to bed first.\nOut the door came three little towheads, hair nearly white and tousled like baby chicken feathers. They were very young- wobbly little toddlers, with a mother or maiden-slave in tow. \nThese three were still innocent, they’d not been in the cruel crowd of baiters. Krampus eased back to let them pass.\nWithin seconds, another pair emerged. Older, and with those cold grey-blue eyes he’d seen in the vision. He waited until they passed, then followed. He whisked off the cloak, letting it drape off his back. He followed the boys with heavy feet. They heard and turned as one. \nKrampus grinned. He was a terrifying black horned silhouette, with glistening white teeth from ear to ear. Lightning fast he clamped iron collars around their pale throats before they could scream. The collars rendered them paralyzed. Into the basket they went.\nHe re-cloaked and waited for the others like a trap-door spider. \nThe next two were very small girls. They were innocent, he let them pass. \nA taller, third girl strode out the door like a Valkyrie in training, he recognized her from the vision. He swooped her up like a vampire and disappeared like black smoke into the night. \nOne left. \nKrampus waited as a wetnurse exited with a squallering wee babe in her arms. \nThen came the boy he sought. He was with a stocky, scruffy young man who could only be his father. He followed. The man stopped and turned, his eyes squinting into the shadows. He shook his head. \nThe insolent boy at his side said in Old Norse, “There is nothing. You drank too much.”\nThe father swatted the boy’s head with a ham haunch fist and belched. They walked on. \nAt the closest longhouse, the father shoved the boy towards the door and said, “I need to make water. Go on in.”\nThe boy went into the home, the man went to the sanitation ditch that ran behind the homes. Krampus followed the boy. Once inside, he removed the cloak and loomed over the boy. The second he turned around the collar silenced him. Into the basket he went.\nAs Krampus took the children into a barn, a lantern flared to life. The horses nickered softly but were not alarmed. Animals were kindred spirits. Krampus and his kin in fact, smelled of the pleasant musky, grassy scent of buffaloes.\nOne by one Krampus whipped the bad children with his switches. Each one he beat until the stick broke. The children’s mouths stretched into ovals in their reddened faces. Their eyes streamed; their jaws creaked. The horses’ eyes glowed red in the soft light, the four children would forever be afraid of them.\nWhen their backs and behinds were striped bloody red, Krampus said in their Norse tongue, “Kill each other all you like, I care not. But lay a finger in cruelty upon any animal for sport and you will pay. Scream now, and I’ll re-double the beating.” He removed the collars and turned to sooty smoke, whisked out the door by a wind.\n\n\nHe found Gunther and the bear at the open gate. Krampus looked at his son with eyebrows raised. \nGunther said, “The bear, her name is Ingbrod, she did it. She’s very weak but is desperate to help us.”\nSanta called out from the other side, “Over here!”\nKrampus, Gunther, and Ingbrod went to the sleigh, not bothering to close the gate. As the reindeer flew up into the air, tiny yellow stars flickered from the sled blades. \nThey looked down at the receding Viking settlement. Men and women chaotically ran from the main lodge, shouting frantically, as their horses, oxen, and other livestock galloped out the open gate.\nSanta laughed, “Ho ho ho ho ho!”\nKrampus laughed along with him.\nGunther sat in the back of the sled with his arms around Ingbrod. She’d lost a lot of blood and her oozing, open wounds were festering. Her dirty coat was matted, and she smelled of sickness and death. He said into her huge, soft ear, “Please don’t leave us. I need you. You are special.”\nThey flew west, under stars, above the clouds. As they reached the Krampus home high in the Alps, clouds parted before them like shimmering heavenly gates. Yursa ran out\nimmediately and helped her son and husband bring the bear inside while Santa took care of his reindeer.\n\n\nGunther, for the tenth time started, “Mom, is she---”\n“Hush child! We just must wait. I do not know. She was at death’s door. Her heart was barely thumping. I cannot stop the reaper.”\nGunther went outside and howled at the moon. Wolves mournfully commiserated.\n\n*\n\nOn the first day of school after the Christmas holidays, Miz Poppinsmith stood in front of the class and asked them,\n“Has any one seen Gunther?” His desk was empty.\nThe elf children looked around guiltily. \nPenny Weebottom said, “Well… we don’t really hang out with him.”\nBobby Farther said, “He’s kinda scary.”\nMiz Poppinsmith said, “Class. I understand. But has he not always been kind to you all? And hasn’t he tried to make friends despite his obvious scary differences?”\nThe wee elves nodded. Cheery Mayweather, who sat by the window, suddenly jumped up and pointed out of it. She said, “Look!”\nAll the elves squeezed onto the windowsills.\nThere was Gunther, the strange, creepy kid in black, riding on the back of a ginormous, shaggy, glistening white polar bear! He wore no cap, his long, shaggy black hair wafted behind him. \nAs he approached the school, the elves ran outside.\nAs the wee elf children stared in wonder at the mountain of a bear before them, Gunther grinned.\nIt was still pretty frightening, but, shuddering, the elves grinned back." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Summoned\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1766\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who struggles to express their thanks." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Tom said, “Thank you.” He shook his head. “No. Not sarcastic. How do I make it sincere…? I thank you!” He stamped his foot. “To what can I… Keep it simple. How can I thank you…? Too tentative. Mean it. I’m honored…” He hissed in frustration. “This is a one shot deal. Thank YOU. THANK you. THANK YOU… No! No!”\nHe stopped walking and looked about. The road stretched for miles. Tom Legato couldn’t afford transportation. He walked alone. He was a simple cat. ‘Not a meerkat as some ignoramuses say.’\nThe occasional carriage rattled by, stirring up dust and making Tom sneeze. ‘If they only knew who they passed beside the road…’ he thought. He called out, “I’m summoned by the king! You’ll respect me then!” He would have shaken his fist at them, if he had one. He moved his paw, as if to scratch the receding carriage. It wasn’t the same.\nLiving by his wits, he had little to show for his efforts. But that’s not to say he wasn’t smart. Did any cat rest on the fortune he acquired? For most, it is paw to mouth subsistence. Cats don’t hoard. They have little use for savings accounts. ‘Yeah, once upon a time, I had a fortune. But it ran out like a ball of string.’\nCalled by the king, Tom could not refuse. The letter included an invitation for the banquet planned in his honor.\n‘Why me? Esteem? For what? How can I respond to the king? How does anyone?’ Tom felt unworthy of any credit. He’d never accomplished anything. Let alone anything good. ‘I’m a cat, after all. Has any cat received such homage?’\n‘Who am I to address him? Let alone to accept such grace.’ Even a discount coupon at Walt’s Fish House, from the king, would have incalculable value. He couldn’t use it. Its worth would surpass the best market catfish. ‘What if he gives me a team of race horses? Or an estate with vast land holdings? Or his princess daughter in marriage? How can I respond and not look a fool? ‘Hey, thanks! Catch you later. Let’s do lunch.’’\nTom shook his head as if awakening from a dream. ‘Get real, Legato! Even if this were a fairy tale, what king offers his daughter in marriage, to a cat?’\nHe shuddered, ‘It must be a case of mistaken identity. If I had done something… anything of note, I’d understand.’ But he was an empty vessel. ‘How humiliating to visit the court, only for the king to laugh in my face.’ A cat may have only his dignity, but he holds that dear.\nBut the king called him. Tom had a letter, bearing the king’s signet, his signature and seal. He would present it to the guard at the castle gate. They’d take him seriously. Then everyone would see what happened.\nAnd he couldn’t be late. It won’t do to keep the king waiting. Tom walked. Dawdling wouldn’t hasten the journey.\nTom approached a bridge over the river. ‘If I don’t delay, I can make it by nightfall,’ he thought.\nA scream followed by a splash, drew his attention. Jumping atop the wall, he saw a young man floundering. Obviously unable to swim, he bobbed away in the swift current.\nTom scampered downstream and onto a Sycamore branch leaning over the river. Taking a firm grip, Tom lowered himself over the water.\n“Hey! You! Grab my tail! Save yourself!” \nThe youth responded. He lunged and grabbed Tom’s tail before the rapids carried him off.\nPain surged through Tom as the strain almost pulled him loose.\n“Hold on!”\nPaw over paw, working his way toward the shore, Tom sunk his claws deep into the bark. Soon the young man felt the sand beneath his feet and released Tom’s tail. He splashed ashore and knelt in the mud to catch his breath.\nTom pulled himself up, made his way to dry land and stood by.\nThe man saw Tom and let out a huge sigh.\n“You saved me! How can I ever thank you?”\n“You’d have done the same for me, if you had a tail.” They laughed. “Were the current any stronger, you’d have had mine.”\nHe stood and bowed. “I’m Oliver. At your service.”\nTom introduced himself and showed Oliver the king’s summons.\nOliver read it carefully. “Wow! The king is entrusting you with the ‘Order of the Felon?’”\n“That’s ‘feline,’ dolt! Feline!”\n“Right. Of course… Sorry.”\nTom said, “Since you’re wet, and I’m hungry, catch us a snack?”\nOliver nodded but hesitated.\n“You about pulled my tail off. Provide sustenance. Or you druthers be bait?”\n“I’m cold.”\nTom rolled his eyes. “Make a fire. I’ll see to it.”\nChastened, Oliver prepared a fire.\nSoon, Tom returned. “Catfish!”\nWhile they ate, Tom explained his quandary.\n“How does one show appreciation for a gift? From a king, no less. It’s unearned favor. Can’t buy it. Can’t earn it. I’m a cat, completely, utterly unworthy. Attempting to pay, by any means, for the recognition, is a fool’s errand. Would I insult the king? But for what will I be recognized? What distinguishes me from any other cat?”\nOliver nodded and wiped his mouth.\n“I need to express the obligatory thank you, without sounding obsequious, do you follow?”\n“Do you have any salt?”\nTom ignored him. “I must tell the king he’s mistaken. But how does anyone, let alone a cat, correct a king? Kings don’t suffer fools. How will he respond to an impertinent cat? Sounds like a formula for unthinkable punishments.”\n“Valet for a mischief of rats, or worse.”\nTom pushed his dinner away and stood.\n“We must be on. The sun sinks. Arrive by nightfall, or never. Perhaps you’ll lend me a perch on your shoulder?”\nOliver hoisted Tom up and they left.\nThe cat continued his musings. “I can see the headlines. ‘Itinerant cat rebuffs king’s praise.’ Already, a non-entity, I’ll become persona non grata. The best known nobody in the kingdom. Other cats would stiffen their tails at me. In no alley in the kingdom, could I twitch my whiskers.”\nOliver chuckled, “Rats would blow raspberries at you.”\nTom refused to acknowledge the thought. “I see no way out of this. How can I respond worthily?”\nOliver said, “Worthily? Meaning…?”\n“Desiring worth… Sincerely willing, but lacking that virtue… acting as if…”\nOliver nodded.\n“Can one undo his meagre worthiness? Is cultivating unworthiness ever a useful strategy?”\nOliver pointed. The castle loomed in the distance. A flock of sheep grazed on a hillside.\n“I see it. Yes. Don’t interrupt. Would the king think me prideful, for contradicting him?”\n“I don’t think…”\n“For instance, would the gift be forthcoming were I a lion? Or would I then be even less worthy?” Tom laughed. “That’s absurd. How can I be worth less than I am now?”\n Oliver said, “A lion might feel merit in his own abilities, whereas you have none.”\n“Yes! Over some puffed up lion, the king honors me for my very lack of worth. Lions trip over inflated egos.”\n“Ah, I see…”\nTom said, “I have neither ability nor nobility. What a fine loser!” Oliver chuckled. “I am the epitome of unworthiness. I’ve scaled the heights of mediocrity.”\nOliver laughed. “Congratulations! Worthlessness is your virtue!”\n“Yes! Hallelujah! Make haste!”\nOliver stopped. A wolf slunk across the road, toward the grazing flock.\nTom said, “I see it.” He jumped down and turned to Oliver. “Try to keep up.” At that, he dashed into the brush.\nThe wolf ran fast and Oliver fell behind. He entered a clearing and saw the wolf skulking toward a solitary lamb backed into a thicket. Silence followed its plaintive bleat. It cowered as the wolf inched forward, teeth bared. Its muscles tensed, preparing to leap. \nThe wolf howled in pain. Spinning convulsively, it appeared to chase his tail. Oliver spotted the cat clinging to the wolf’s neck, safe from its snapping jaws. Tom had pounced from a tree branch as the wolf prepared its attack.\nTom dug his claws securely. He held fast against the wolf’s frothing attempts to shake him loose. Finally, whimpering, it sunk to the ground with its paws over its eyes.\nHe whispered to the wolf, “You’re done here. Leave the lamb. Get packing. Now!”\nThe wolf groaned in submission. Tom leaped from its back. It ran away howling. The lamb bleated.\nTom called out. “Take the lamb, Oliver. We’re late.”\nOliver slung the lamb over his shoulder. They returned it to the flock. The shepherd ran over. Oliver set the lamb down and it bounded to him.\nThe shepherd called out, “Thanks guys!”\nTom leaped onto Oliver’s shoulder and they ran to the castle. At the gate, Tom produced the king’s summons for the guard.\n“Welcome! We’ve been expecting you, Tom Legato.”\nA lady-in-waiting escorted them to the banquet hall. Immense double doors swung open to reveal a lavishly decorated, main ballroom. Tom nudged Oliver and pointed to the buffet displaying every variety of fish.\nAs they approached, the king stood in greeting. They each bowed to him. An attendant stood by holding a pillow with a medal and ribbon for the king.\nAs the king placed the ribbon over Tom’s head, he said, “Tom Legato, I hear-by present you with this medallion. I welcome you, an official member of the Royal Order of the Felon… I mean Feline. The Royal Order of the Feline… Sorry.”\nThe sound of light laughter spread through the gathered throng.\nTom bowed his head. “Majesty, call me anything you please. I’m happy to be here. Thank you.”\nEveryone applauded.\nThe king smiled at Oliver. “I’m told you rescued a royal lamb from the fangs of a vicious wolf.”\nHe tried to clarify, but Tom snapped him with his tail.\nCollecting his thoughts Oliver said, “Your Majesty, I do what I can. Not seeking prizes, but to explore my capabilities. What do we live for, after all, if not to make each other’s life better?”\nEven the king applauded that.\nThe king continued. “I salute your unprecedented bravery, Oliver. At my beautiful daughter, Princess Erin’s request, I offer you her hand in marriage.”\nEveryone cheered.\nSpeechless, Oliver smiled at Princess Erin. She offered her hand and he kissed it.\nThe orchestra played a lively song and the betrothed danced their first dance. Everyone joined them.\nOliver and Erin soon wed. Tom Legato took and easily filled the role of the King’s Official Cat. He spent happy days dispatching any vermin daring to cross the castle’s threshold.\nThey all lived happily ever after." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Thanks I never Gave\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1116\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who struggles to express their thanks." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I lay awoken, just before the dawn of the day rises from its comfortable corners, my gaze fixed on the bedroom’s ceiling for what it felt like an eternity. My name is Alexander Cornway and I have a problem. A tremendous, paramount of a problem. In just a few very short hours, I will have to get out of this bed and stare at the woman slumbering beside me. As she always does every single morning, she will yawn as loud as she can be---on purpose may I add, normally I would be asleep by that time, so she will place her corpse like hands on my back with a grin on her visage, I, as intolerant to the cold as I always have been, will bend my body in a number of ways, fighting back the shock to my system that my dear old wife loves to inflict on me. If I’m brutally honest, I will paint my face with this look of annoyance and irritation, blabbering some sort of witty remark, when in reality, I simply adore the fact that she kept that childish nature instill within her, even into adulthood.\n When that time comes, I will have to face the previously mentioned problem. The problem at hand being that in the ten long years after I married her, even to this very second, I still love her. And I’m not talking about the---I love her as my friend, or companion that I’ve lived with for such and such years and she has become a nice person to be around with---no, no, no. I still desire her! I yearn for her! I still find myself fantasizing--dreaming even about her when she’s not even around. I envy my own past self, because he will get to experience the emotional rollercoaster that it was to meet her, date her, and eventually marry her. I truly love her, and I never knew how to say it. How to verbally express my own thoughts and feelings to her--- and don’t get me wrong here, she knew all these things since the very beginning of our romance. She knew everything about me really, my wants, my desires, my hopes and dreams, what I hate, what I love and what I cherish. What I’m trying to say is, she knows me---and I just wish I could just let her know how grateful I am to her. \nThat’s the very reason on why my eyes creep at the darkness of the room, why I can’t seem to catch the sweet nectar of slumber. How lucky I am to ever have a wonderful woman like her, and where would I be if I never would’ve met her? Those two questions have been revolving around my head constantly this night---every night to be honest, and although they are easy to answer, I can’t hope but ponder about them. She is a deem light beaming down the darkest of caverns, she is the lighthouse that guides the ships away from sinking to the bottom of the sea. She is my light, and only second to one, she is everything in my life---apart from the brat sleeping on the room next to ours, that is… I will never love anyone as I love her, and I realize that as long as I keep her memories close to my heart, I will keep her close to me---always. \n The clock clicks, and time slowly flows, I now turned my gaze towards her side of the bed, my body slightly shifting to my side. I can’t say that she ever slept like an angel… Her loud snores and random moans that render you awake, were more than enough to scratch that thought out of your head, yet her silver hair that comfortably rested on the whiten pillow could easily make me think otherwise. Maybe she was an angel sent from above to bless me on behalf of my creator? But If that was the case… why? Why put me in this position? Why make me lay awake at night, embracing the bedsheets covers? Her side of the bed is still warm, even though she was always cold to the touch… I guess I do know the answer to these questions.\n The rays of the rising sun began to slither in between the gaps of the window shades. My eyes remained closed, as a sudden change of the bed became abundant enough for me to notice. I felt her hands intertwine around my chest, embracing me. I can smell the lilac lavender coming from her silver hair as it landed on the side of my cheek. I can’t hope but to feel my heart as it began to race, fast as jet breaking the sound barrier, I smile as I know this won’t last too long. Morning is just around the corner, and I know I’m going to have to wake up soon. Yes. I realize, I have been sleeping this whole time. It’s not my first time having this kind of dream, and God, I just wish it would last longer… Tears begin to be welled under my eyes, as I smile pleasantly at this whole ordeal.\n “I love you, Eli. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you in the end. I’m sorry, I never got to---”\n“Daddy!” roared an innocent voice. A sweet melody bellowed around the room, as the wooden barrier that made the door, slammed open. “Daddy! Are you awake, yet?” Silver locks of hair bounce with each step, as the little girl made her way inside her parents’ room.\n “Hey, kiddo. What are you doing here so early?” I groaned, adjusting myself into a seating position, I extended my arms wide to act as a landing platform for the incoming rocket of love that headed my way. The little bundle of love launched herself into her father’s arms, a wide grin on her visage complemented her hazel eyes and the beauty mark on her lower left cheek. “God, every day you look more and more like your mother.” I said, as a warm smile paint itself on my face, “You’re growing too fast!”\nShe wrapped her arms around my neck, turning them into a strong lock, I swing her from left to right in a playful manner, ultimately placing her to my side. \n “Daddy.” Rachel asks.\n“yes, pumpkin?”\n “Who were you talking too?”\n“What do you mean?”\n “Earlier daddy, before I came in, you said were saying. “I’m sorry” a lot.”\n “Ah, it was nothing, kiddo. I was just dreaming.” Rachel stared at her father, deep in his eyes.\n “Who did you dream about?”\n“Oh, just someone who, I should’ve said Thank you too”." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Scape Goat\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2456\n\nPrompt:\n\nYour family’s holiday dinners always end with everyone at each other’s throats. This year you’re determined to keep a low profile, but your patience is being put to the test." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Marcus, What if we host Thanksgiving at our house this year?” Marina asked, her voice soft. \nI squinted my eyes, looking for the catch, but my wife’s wide smile seemed to have good intentions, for once. Marina, my beautiful over-achieving wife, knew I couldn’t stand her family. After the disaster last year I never wanted to see them again. Hosting her family could only be a disaster.\n\n But, this dinner could give us a reason to work together, instead of drifting apart. Lately we barely speak, Marina blamed me for the cold drafts that blew between us. Our first few years together were great, we traveled the world, following Marina’s career as an international lawyer, spending time in Europe, and visiting with her family in Tunisia. But back home here in California, something changed. Maybe because we couldn't get pregnant, maybe because here I had my own life. Our conversations, once lyrical , now clanged discordant, too much volume and treble from Marina, too much bass and silence from me. Our rough melody goes nowhere, the refrain of ‘Damn you, you forgot about me again’ came too often in our song together.\nI made a choice to change the harmony.\n\n “Ok, we could pull off Thanksgiving.” At the kitchen table, I leaned over to grab some paper and a pen. \n\n “Just your aunts and uncles? I could make the rice dish the family likes, chicken tagine with couscous, and of course stuffing, potatoes, turkey, cranberry sauce-”\n\nI started scribbling. I’m a professional Fitness Instructor, but what I really want to be is a chef. I love to cook, Italian and Mexican are my go-to’s, but I'm working on the French sauces too, all from online videos. This dinner party I could hide in the kitchen and avoid her family. Marina, miss perfect, often burns toast.\n\n Marina shook her head back and forth. “No.”\n\n I looked down at my list. “I don't like cranberry sauce either.” I crossed it off. “It is really more of a traditional-”\n\n“No turkey.” She sliced the air with a sideways chop.\n\n“What? Thanksgiving is about Turkey, the American traditions-” I leaned forward to make my case.\n “Turkey’s so dry,” Marina’s face soured into a frown. “And last time-”\n “The deep fried turkey was not my fault!” My hands flew up. “Your cousin knocked it over, I didn’t think it would catch fire like that. I did pay for your Uncle’s wall to be painted-”\n\n “My Father will be here, I want to impress him.” Marina looked away.\n Finally the catch. Sam, my Father in Law scared me. A Christian priest in the Islamic country of Tunisia, I had heard stories of his fierce battles, using words like arrows to defend his church. Words he turned on his daughter as well, always pushing her to do more, be a success. His skin, like the man himself, had toughened into thick leather with his pack a day cigarette habit. We had only met a few times, and not since our wedding. I felt his glare on me the whole time. Marina said he worried I’d never be worthy of his daughter. I wish I could let him know I agreed.\n\n “We should make a goat!” Marina’s eyes unfocused, her face turned up, grinning into some imaginary world where goats were served on Thanksgiving. I just saw trouble.\n “When I was little we would visit my Grandmother's house and my dad would take us to the souks, the markets, and Nana would let me pick out the baby goat, and then we would kill it and have a big feast. Oh, it will be perfect!”\n\n“A goat?” A vision of a huge, horned animal stomped through my mind, it turned to growl at me before it leapt up a mountain cliff, then gone. \n\n“Marina I don't know how to cook a goat. Who even sells goats in Oakland? I can get a turkey. No deep fryer this time, I’ll stuff it with cornbread stuffing, slow roast it, with garlic and lemon, it’ll be amazing!” My eyes wide, I nodded to encourage acceptance just like they teach in the ‘Sell Your Self’ fitness coach class I took.\n\n Marina’s eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched.\n\nMy pen swirled around the word turkey on the list. “See, it’s circled, we have to do it now.”\n\n At work with a client, my phone buzzed, two, then three times back to back. \n“Marina, what is going on?” I watched my client, hovering in the plank position, “I have one minute.” The woman’s body quivered in her pink Lululemon leggings as her muscles began to fail.\n\n“I ordered a goat.” I heard in her voice the professional Marina, the corporate lawyer who always gets her way. “It will be delivered Wednesday night. I know you can do it!”\n\n “I, but I-” \n\nThe call ended, my client fell flat on her face, and I saw my own future.\n\nThe Wednesday before Thanksgiving the goat arrived. Cold and hard, I assumed it had been packed in a metal box. But no, I removed the paper to see an intact head, horns still attached staring at me, a hairless kid goat, frozen solid.\n\n Small, for a goat, 30 pounds. But that didn’t fit in any pan I owned. How do I defrost a goat ice cube?\n\n Marina sent me a Tunisian recipe in Arabic. After I translated it, I saw the spices I needed, rosemary, cumin, cinnamon, paprika, turmeric, and lots of lemon and garlic. I didn’t have a BBQ pit, though.\n\nI ran a bath in the tub and put the goat in. I went in to use the toilet, but couldn’t. After some effort, and soaking my shirt, the goat faced the other way. I can’t go when I'm being watched.\n\nEarly the next morning, I began the recipe, struggling to get the goat open as frost still covered the inside. But I had to get it in the oven, had to get it started. I bought the largest roasting tray I could find, and stuffed the goat in, its head turned up slightly, one eye looking at me, an ear cocked over it. ‘I hope you know what you're doing, ‘ it seemed to say.\n\nI began cooking the side dishes, an eye on the clock. After several hours, amazing fragrances began circling the kitchen, then the whole house. I breathed out, this will work!\n\nI went to change my clothes. I could prove my worth to Marina’s family, and to her father.\n\nSam arrived first, then Lisa, which shocked me. A few years older, Lisa knew Marina and family from Tunisia, and now living here in Oakland, I knew her as one of my clients. Well a little more than one of my clients, but I needed to put that out of mind.\n\n “You made goat?” Sam asked as I helped take off his jacket. “I don't believe it, but I know Marina could not boil water. This smell, we could be in Tunis.” He smelled he air. Marina frowned at the slight, but Lisa looked over and winked at me, acknowledging the compliment he had given me.\n\n “Let me get you all drinks.” I moved to the sidebar, Lisa came over to help. “What are you doing here? I told you we have to stop-” I kept my hands busy to calm my nerves, making several whisky sours. Lisa’s Louboutin perfume flowed around me, drawing me in. She hip checked me when my hands shook, spilling ice cubes\n\n “Marina asked me to come since Sam is here. He’s like an Uncle to me. This will all be fine. Just be yourself.”\n\n I breathed out, Lisa felt easy for me to be with. I had to work to be with Marina, all hard edges and ambition, harsh modern jazz, where Lisa touched me like smooth R&B. But I couldn’t give in, we had an affair, and it had to be over. \nSeveral more family members came in, speaking Arabic, French, and a few English swear words. I stayed outside the circle in a doorway, watching them interact, a cacophonous symphony of talking, arguments, and laughter. As soon as the food finished cooking my role would be over.\n\nThe screeching of the smoke alarm echoed through the house, then I heard the yelling. Marina’s hands were waving violently, trying to fan the black smoke pouring from the oven. I opened the door and a halo of fire circled the goat's head.\n\nI put the goat on the kitchen island, the blackened charred head still had its horns, the eye sockets deep and dark. I had been to enough Catholic mass to recognize a demon haunting me. I wrapped the head in a tin foil keffiyeh and put it back in.\n\n Finally, 4 PM, the table glowed with candles surrounding the plates of food, the crystal and our wedding china sparkled. The goat, dark black with char, still looked good. Marina bubbled with joy, seeing the many dishes on the table in front of her father, Lisa there and then the aunts and uncles, with every language being spoken, in curses, yells, and laughter, except English of course. I couldn't understand a word.\n\n Sam gave a toast in Arabic, then French. He gestured to me both hands open, inviting me to do, something. The family all looked over, expectantly.\n Marina leaned over. “You get to cut the goat, my father is passing the honor to you.”\n\n I stood up, awkward, unable to contain the huge joy inside of me, exploding out though my giant grin. Finally I am part of the family, finally I belong!\n\n I swung my arms, a carving fork in one hand, a knife in the other. I flashed the carving set with a dramatic flair as I leaned over the goat, my partner in this adventure. My first shallow cut peeled off a glorious slice, releasing even more delicious aromas.\n“Ahhs” erupted around me.\n\n I cut deep in the meat, and my knife caught on something. I sliced deeper, pulling it open. Inside I saw a different color. I reached in, with a smile covering my concern and touched the cold, uncooked flesh.\n “No! “ I screamed.\n\nI stood in the kitchen with my head down. The goat lay on the kitchen island. I had tried to salvage the cooked meat from the raw, but gave up. Roughly cut and splayed open, the charred black exterior, juxtaposed the cold inside. Tears ran down my cheeks. Marina came in, took one look at the crime scene of gore in front of me, spun on her heels and left.\n\n Lisa eased in. “I'm sorry.” She whispered, and I lost it again, huge wet sobs of emotion crashed over me, a symphonic dirge.\n\nLisa hugged me, tight and close. Her touch, the smell of her, comforted me. Used to the feel of her and what we did together, my hands roamed down her body, down her back, her legs.\n\n “Marcus, I need to tell you something.”\n\n “What?” My lips searched for hers.\n\n “I’m pregnant-” Lisa spoke in a single ringing tone. \n\n My body froze, as cold and raw as the goat. This couldn’t be happening, I pushed her away.\n\n “Marcus” Sam spoke once, loud. \n\n Lisa looked up, and left the kitchen. I wiped my face.\n\n“What are you doing with Lisa?” Sam's eyes shot thick, barbed-tip arrows.\n\n“Lisa, she is just a friend-” I said. How long had Sam been in the kitchen, what did he see, what did he hear?\n\nSam stopped, his head tilted. “I heard her.”\n\n I breathed out, and put my hands over my head. Shame resonated through me, a timpani drum throbbing in my head. “It’s just a fling, it didn’t mean anything-”\n\n “Is that true?” Sam asked.\n\n I squeezed myself tight. “No, I love Lisa. I am myself with her, instead of trying to be someone else, someone who can cook a goat.” I waved at the carcass.\n\n “We both loved her wrongly, you too close, and me from too far away.” Sam said.\n\nI turned to look at him, his head down, and his hands folded together.\n\n“When I was younger, I made some poor choices. I had many girlfriends, even after I married Marina’s mother. Lisa, was.” Sam stopped, his body still. “Lisa is my, daughter. I tried to stay involved in her life, but at a distance. I think I made a mistake.\"\n\n “She doesn’t know?” I asked.\n\n “I was going to tell her on this trip. We all carry sins, my son. We need to acknowledge them, and deal with the consequences. You need to speak with your wife.”\n\n I looked down at the floor, I knew where my future lay, and had been too afraid to recognize it.\n\n “Let us take this as an opportunity. This goat,” Sam’s lip curled in disgust, “can still serve a purpose, if not dinner. Leviticus,16-10.” He straightened into a preacher’s stance, voice rising as he spoke to a congregation of one.\n“We will give it all our sins, and send it into the wilderness. We have made mistakes in our life, but we can atone for them, and move on in forgiveness as better people.”\n\n We all went into the kitchen, one by one to whisper in this strange, brightly lit confessional, surrounded by pots and pans, dirty dishes and half finished bottles of wine. The Moroccan tiles provided a colorful backdrop to the scene.\nOur confessor lay mute, ear cocked, carved open, exposing his secrets, so we would feel comfortable exposing our own. The blackened goat head stared at me, innocent of all we were doing to it. “I stole, I lied, I cheated.” The sins poured forth, ugly, thick bile from the bottom of our souls. The voices choked and sobbed, finally letting out the terrible deeds buried too long inside.\n\n“I cheated on my wife, with her sister.” I whispered into the charred ear. “Please forgive me.”\nThe goat didn't move, didn’t seem to care about this, the worst thing I have ever done in my life.\nI left the kitchen, and Marina entered, I wondered what sins she carried.\nDid the goat turn darker, blacker from receiving these sins?\nI took one more look as the door closed, maybe.\n\nSam and I packed the goat in a garbage bag and brought it down to the dumpster, our sins and troubles, we dumped unceremoniously with a clang. \n\nAt New Fortune, our neighborhood Chinese restaurant, Sam, Lisa, Marian and I came together, speaking in low voices, focusing on a future, a path forward. We were all at fault, and none of us. After looking at the menu, I chose the vegetarian option." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Grampa Owl and Grandfather Mouse\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2127\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two characters’ different perspectives of the same past event." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“My father told me of the great massacre of Summer, 2020.” Randolf’s grandfather began. \nRandolf looked over at his twelve siblings, they were all spitting images of Randolf- wee ash grey mice squatting comfortably like furry little pom-poms. All twenty-four of their shiny black bead eyes were wide with raptness, Randolf joined them in their gaze towards the elderly, somewhat scruffy mouse with one torn ear and a kink in his tail.\nGrandfather mouse continued when he had all thirteen children’s attention in full, he savored the dramatic pause, the flickering of the fire in the glowing hearth added dramatic shadows to the burrow walls.\nHe said, “Yes, the summer of 2020. Like you little ones, I too, had had twelve siblings. We lived in a hollowed-out log that was part of the Johnson’s cabin. They started out as just a couple, the cabin their vacation home. They came in the winter to do maintenance on the place, and at least once in the fall. Sometimes they spent whole summers, sometimes just the weekends in the spring. The human female was Rosie, her husband was Frank---\"\nSerafina said, “How did you find enough food to eat?”\nGrandfather said, “Since they did not live there year-round, my siblings and I were taught to value every crumb dropped, and every cake left unattended. We stored enough during the visits to last us when the pantry contained only cans.”\nThere was a collective ‘grrrr’ amongst the wee mice. Cans were mean.\n“The couple had a baby. And we feasted on a flood of tasty droppings. The pantry was stocked with cereals and jars small enough to be pushed from shelves.”\n“Watch out for glass slivers!” Exclaimed Randolf.\n“That’s right Randy, you’ve learned well… ummmm, where was I?”\n“You were about to get to the part about the stinky man.” Said Serafina.\nRandolf added, “Yeah, the mean, rotten, crazy one!”\n“Ah yes…\nThere was a neighbor, through the woods, about an acre away. He lived in the woods all year round. The neighbor was a slob and a hoarder, his yard full of trash bags and Amazon boxes. The man smelled of pee and stink and crazy. The place would have been great for foraging except there were millions of rats, big mean ones.”\nThe rapt grandchildren mice inhaled as one. Rats were mean bullies, and cannibalistic. The mice shivered.\n“The stinky man got a dog to catch the rats. A young, big black lab. The man starved the dog so it would be hungry enough to eat the rats. It grew thinner and thinner, tied to a rope outside, never inside was it allowed. It did indeed grow so hungry that it had to catch and eat rats---”\nMillicent squeaked, “Grampa, I thought dogs were mans best friend. To be spoiled and cared for and loved…”\n“Yes, sweetheart, but you see, the stinky man was not right in the head. That poor pup deserved so much better. I started going over there daily. Not to forage, there were still too many rats guarding the loot, but to check on the dog. He had bald patches where fleas had wreaked havoc, his eyes oozed with infection, and his dull coat was like plastic wrap over pointy, knobby bones.”\nRandolf’s sisters wiped their eyes.\n“One day, the poor dog could barely lift its head. He’d given up waiting for a kind word or a loving hand. His depression roiled off his emaciated body in sickly waves. \nI had to do something. \nI crept through the littered weeds as quietly as I could, to the dog. He looked up at me, but I wasn’t afraid. After all the abuse, I saw kindness, still, in his glazed over, sad eyes.”\n“What did you do Grampa?” asked William.\n“What any decent creature would. I chewed the rope. It was thick, but it was rotting too, from being outside and all. When the dog was free, I led him away from the fetid yard. He followed me to Frank and Rosie’s cabin. The couple were appalled at the poor pup’s condition.\nFrank had said, ‘How could anyone do this?’\nRosie had sobbed and said, ‘It’s that man. That crazy one next door.’\nFrank had said, ‘This must be the dog we heard barking last month.’\n‘The poor thing is starving! And sick. Oh Frank, look at his poor eyes!’\nFrank, Rosie, and the baby, named Josephine, took the dog to the town’s vet.\nThe next day some men went to the stinky man’s house and took him away. The dog was brought back to the cabin. My word! He did not even look like the same pathetic creature from just two days earlier! His coat was shiny, silky black and his wonderful kind eyes clear. He had steak for supper that night and even given a name. Jagger, named after some rock star, I believe.”\nSherry said, “The Rolling Stones! That’s the band Rosie listens to when she’s baking those yummy peanut butter cookies.”\nAll the wee mice went “Mmmmmmmmmm.”\nGrandfather Mouse continued, “All was good. Everyone in the cabin was happy and healthy.\nThen, in the middle of summer, Frank built a barn. A great big thing. You see, the couple were talking of moving into the cabin full time. Rosie was offered a teaching job at the elementary school, and Frank was going to restore old classic cars. He’d continue writing in his spare time.\nThe barn was rough wood boards, sturdy, and well insulated from the humidity and wet winter weather. It was his workshop, four cars at a time would fit under its high, vaulted roof. There were windows high under the eaves, to let in sunshine.\nAll was well, the change in plans was a win-win for all, including us mice. Tasty droppings all year round. And dog kibble…not as good as chocolate cake, but nutritious.”\n“Ew, I don’t like dog kibble.” Randolf said and made a face.\n“Well kiddo, you’d eat it if you were very hungry.”\nWilliam said, “I like the liver treats the best!”\n“As do I” Grandfather mouse said, “Shall I go on?”\nAll thirteen grandchildren mice squealed, “Oh yes! Please!”\n“Okay…so all was well and good. Then the barn owls came.”\nEight of the grandchildren mice cried, “No!” The other five gasped.\n“Oh yes. Huge pale birds with razor sharp talons and wicked curved beaks. They swooped out of thin air like silent ghosts. They were evil, evil things. Sooo fast they were, by the time you saw them coming it was too late. There were two of them. They’re eyes were huge and rimmed with fire, nothing escaped their searching, keen, eyeballs. The eyes of devils.\nEarly in the day, my mother and father went out to the yard. They never came back. Later we got thirsty, our parents weren’t coming home, ever. So, eight of my brothers and I fetched some fresh puddle water from the dripping garden hose. I happened to look behind us and saw a shadow gliding over the yard, coming our way. I said, ‘RUN!’ And us nine raced as fast as we could. Not fast enough. Four brothers were snatched from the right of me, the other four at the same time from my left. The owl’s banshee screeching nearly shattered my eardrums.\nWhen I made it to safety, into the drainpipe against the cabin, I looked up into the sky. It was just getting dark; the two killers were pale fliers like airplanes in the purpling light. I heard my siblings’ death shrieks, high pitched and full of terror. Each soaring killer had two wriggling mice in each wicked claw, Desmond and Dewey were pierced through their bellies but still screaming. The nasty claws were dripping with my family’s blood. The owls were laughing as they flew into the barn. It had been madness we now call the ‘Season of Slaughter.’ Only my sister Sophie and I were left of our big happy family.\n“Grandfather, we won’t be able to sleep now.” Said Randolf.\nGrandfather Mouse said, “Go have your Granny Sophie make you some warm milk.”\n\n*\n\nHigh in the rafters, in the nest of twigs and grass and soft green moss, an old barn owl with cataracts in his eyes and sparse tailfeathers sat on dry, cracked feet. They’d once been a healthy supple yellow, but with age had turned brown. His head nodded down to his chest as his large golden eyes slid closed.\n“Grampa, Grampa! Wake up! You have to finish the story!” Cried a fluffball baby owl the color of cappuccino and milk. \n“Yes, yes Caplan…I’m awake, just resting my tired ole eyes. Where was I?”\n“Just getting to the Feast of August!” cried wee Caplan, his heart shaped face eager for the climax of the story. His eyes glittered with youth and joy.\n“Ah yes yes, the feast. Let me see…well, your parents had just been born, they were our only owlet kids. They were voracious. Always had their beaks open the minute we came in through the window or big barn doors.”\nCaplan looked down at the big double doors, nearly the entire front wall disappeared when they were both open. They had to be big, all those old cars had to fit through them. The human male, Frank, did not park under the nest. Simon felt badly for him but when you gotta go, you gotta go.\nGrampa Owl continued, “The day started out fine indeed. We caught two of those stupid little mice, they live in the wall in the cabin and come outside to fetch water. They are dumb, but very fast---”\n“And delicious!”\n“Yes yes, mighty tasty, always been a favorite of mine. Anyways, we snatched up two of them. They were older mice, a little tougher than the young ones, must have been the parents. We figured that was it for the day. Then lo and behold, nine in the yard! Fetching water. I suppose they’d gotten so thirsty when their parents didn’t bring any home that morning.”\nCaplan nodded vigorously, his mouth was watering, his shiny eyes glowing luminescent amber.\n“Yes yes, so, there they were. Down by the garden hose, drinking from the puddle under it. Your grandma and I were quiet as kites, soaring in the twilight sky. We flew into the stars where the mice couldn’t see us, but we could see them. Oh yes yes, those were the days. We could see for miles around---”\n“And even tiny mice far on the ground below…”\n“Yes yes, our famously great eyesight runs in the family. So, there they were just lollygagging about…when suddenly, the one in the middle looks up and behind him. He spotted us and screamed. Then they ran for the cabin as fast as they could. They nearly got away, but I tucked in my wings like a bomber plane, and dove. Your Granma Elsa did the same. We were dropping to the earth at a million miles an hour! \nJust atop those plump little mice, we spread our wings and soared back up…each with two mice in each claw.\n“Wow. That’s so cool. Eleven in one day. Eight at one time is legendary!”\n\n*\n\nFrank’s honey colored workbench top was warm and polished by years of hand rubbed care and cleaning with an oily wood polish. It was scarred and chipped and smelled of the citrusy solution. A row of six red metal toolboxes lined the wall behind the bench. There were mugs and a collection of vintage steins holding paintbrushes and drafting pencils and small office tools.\n‘If the old mouse was smart, he would be eating his snack on the bench. He’d be too fast for me up there, at finding a hidey hole.’ Thought the barn owl as it landed clumsily on the smooth cement floor. ‘Ouch. Not as spry as I used to be.’\nThe old barn owl hobbled over to where the old mouse sat, nibbling a tiny crumb from Frank’s lunchtime sandwich. It was yellow with mustard and smelled of ham. \nThe mouse looked up and said, “I heard you telling your grandkid about the Season of Slaughter---”\n“Ha ha, you mean the ‘Feast of August’.”\n“Whatever.”\n“Aren’t you afraid I’ll eat you now?”\n“You won’t get the chance.”\nThe old owl was crumply with age, his bones creaky with arthritis. But he still believed mice were stupid. He lunged towards the old, nearly white mouse. The mouse was as old as the owl but had always been faster on the ground, he scootched backwards in a blur as the huge black dog caught the owl in his frosty colored jaws.\nHigh in the rafters, a young barn owl screeched in distress." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Led Into Temptation\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1318\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about somebody trying to rationalize giving into temptation, even though they know they shouldn’t." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Led Into Temptation\nAaron waited. Waited and waited. Still no sign of his younger brother. How much longer should he wait?\nAaron worried. Worried and worried. How much longer would he have to worry? It was driving him to distraction. Maybe that's what he needed... a distraction.\nThat crazy kid brother. Well, not so much a kid anymore. But even when he was younger he always had his head in the clouds. Like he was following some divine intuition. Boy, the things that kid had talked him into helping him out with, especially recently. It all could fill a book, maybe more.\nAs a peace-loving man, though lacking self-confidence, the youngster often got himself in trouble trying to do the right thing to help someone else. If he saw an injustice he tried to correct it.\nBut this time was really earth shaking. Aaron could feel it and hear the rumblings coming down from above. Maybe the God-fearing kid has taken on more than he can handle. More than his big brother can help him with. Could be he was in over his head. Aaron almost decided he had waited long enough and was tempted to go looking for him. Rescue him from whatever God-awful event was befalling him.\nYet, the reluctant leader had told Aaron to wait. Let him handle it until he asked for help. But how long is long enough? Aaron lost count of the days but at least one moon had rolled around since his brother, Moe, hiked up that mountain with his walking stick. And, like he was God Almighty Himself, ordered no one to follow him. What if he had fallen and was laying injured in some ravine up there? The unknown was torturing Aaron.\nNot only was he concerned about his brother, Moe had naturally left him in charge of the encampment as well. And the people were getting more than concerned. He could hear them grumbling. A bunch of the refugees were headed his way.\n“We put all our faith in the words of that wayward brother of yours and now look! He is no where to be found. He talked us into leaving perfectly good, comfortable living quarters to follow him out into this... this wilderness with promises of plenty of good riches but look at us now. Where's all the abundance? We got less than we ever had while he has run off and deserted us. This land is barren. Food and water is nearly non-existent. If we wanted to perish we could have stayed where we were,” the brave spokesman, Dan, complained.\nHis sidekick, Nathan, chimed right along, “That's right, Mister Big Mouth, you are the one doing his talking because he gets his words all tumbled together. What do you say now? We've run right up to this belching mountain and you tell us we can't so much as touch it to see if we can get over or around it while he checks it out. Waiting for instructions or whatever. How long we supposed to wait?”\n“Yeah, Buster, you are in charge now. We are bored. Give us what we want. Give us something to believe in. Something that can lead us out of here. Or else we'll take matters into our own hands,” threatened a third rabble-rouser, Jesse.\n“Now, now, now, Fellows, please be patient. Remember all the good things we have accomplished. We've been through a lot together. This is a minor setback compared to the oppression we came from. Our people weren't free to do anything besides being abused. Think of the fast-talking negotiations we endured to save us from that. Remember the bonds we've made. Better times are right around the corner. Hang in there a little longer.”\nGabe, the biggest and toughest of them all added, “How about we just put a rope around your scrawny neck and hang you around a little longer, Old Man.”\nMore thunder and lightening boomed from above engulfing the mountain but not the parched plain.\nAgainst his will, Aaron was forced to take evasive action or suffer dire consequences. The disgruntled people were demanding some kind of god. What else could he do?\n“Okay, Friends. Have your camps gather all the precious rings, bracelets, necklaces and earrings you can find and bring them to me. Someone build up a fire.”\nAs the precious metal smelted down Aaron fashioned it into a mock-up of something he saw back in the land they had escaped from. Never being much of an artisan, Aaron thought it barely resembled a young bullock. It would have to suffice.\nSome of the men hoisted the shiny statue up on a makeshift pedestal and built an alter in front of their new 'god'. An array of sacrifices were soon spread out upon the virgin butcher block top.\nMore and more followers were tempted to join in the excitement. Raucous songs of praise were lifted to the heavens and wild abandonment dancing erupted. But their playful adoration soon turned into debauchery and drunken revelry. The crowds grew larger and the noise level increased.\nThe out-of-control partying lasted on into the evening and throughout the night. The cacophony of sounds rose above the trembling of the mountain and reached the ears of Moe who was descending after forty days and forty nights with the produce of his mission. Two heavy, hand-engraved stone tablets.\nUpon seeing the depravity of the peoples, the meek-mannered, tongue-tied truth seeker's anger burned deep as he dashed the treasured tablets against jagged boulders shattering the wisdom written there. “You stiff-necked people! Why must you be so stubborn to not turn from your sinful ways to follow the will of our living God? Would you have a dead idol to lead you into temptation? On wings of an eagle you were delivered from your enemies such a short time ago.\n“Aaron, how can you explain this abominable idolatry?”\n“These people you led out of the king's land made me do it. They threatened bodily harm to me if I did not comply. They lost hope in you ever coming back. The gold was melted down and this calf came up out of it.”\n“Burn it down to ashes, grind it and put it in their water to drink.”\nAnd it was so.\n(Quoted from Exodus 32):\nAnd Moses said, ”Who is on the Lord's side? Come to me.” And all the sons of Levi (Aaron and Moses's tribe) gathered around him.\nAnd he said too them, “Thus says the Lord God of Israel, 'Put your sword on your side each of you, and go to and fro from gate to gate throughout the camp, and each of you kill his brother and his companion and his neighbor.””\nAnd the sons of Levi did according to the word of Moses. And that day three thousand men of the people fell.\nAnd Moses said, “Today you have been ordained for the service of the Lord, each one at the cost of his son, and of his brother, so that he might bestow a blessing upon you this day.”\nAnd thus the tribe of Levi became the priests serving the Israelites. Including Aaron who did have to atone for his sin in a ritualistic way.\nMoses pleaded with the Lord to forgive His people of this great sin. The great I AM assured Moses He would blot out of His book whoever has sinned against Him. Therefore, none of that generation, those older than 20 years at the time, entered into the promised land of milk and honey. Instead they wandered in the wilderness for forty years.\nHe who has ears, let him hear. Lest he fall into temptation.\nP.S. Aaron was age 83 at this time and Moses age 80. Over 600,000 Israelites were rescued from Egypt after being enslaved there for 430 years. Read the rest of the story in Exodus." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Rise Up, Rise Up.\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1539\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying “Listen, …”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Listen Mark, it is really simple. Either use the hydrogen peroxide or don’t, the choice is yours.”\n\nMark blanched slightly, wavered momentarily, grabbed the brown bottle, carefully looked at the label and began reading.\nPerhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as he imagined.\n\nPurified water - check\n\nHydrogen peroxide 3% - check\n\nDirections: clean the affected area. Apply a small amount of product 1-3 times a day. - check\nWARNING: KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN. -no problem\nFor external use only - check\n\n“Hmmmm”, Mark pondered, perhaps Ginny’s request wasn’t that bad an idea after all. It had be quite awhile since he’d had sex with anyone and the only person who’d handled his penis in quite some time was his doctor and...himself.\n\nFor Ginny it had been 30 years since she’d last had her hands on a penis or had one enter any of her orifices.\nShe was somewhat reluctant to break her abstinence and yet there was something about Mark that sorely tested her resolve to leave the damned things alone.\n\nGinny had been married twice and so had developed an up close and personal relationship with each husband's genitals.\nHer first husband, a Dutchman, was not very fastidious about cleaning his apparatus.\nGinny was young and rather innocent and several years younger than her domineering partner. She really had no idea that his demands for sex were anything she could control and asking him to bath first was unimaginable to her.\nHe wasn’t a very generous lover and once his needs were satisfied, grunted with satisfaction, rolled off Ginny and fell sound asleep.\nThe act itself held some pleasure for her, but for the most part became a tedious task of enduring his efforts to achieve orgasm.\nShe knew exactly how many holes were in each of the ceiling tiles above her head.\n Good sex had her hole count under 1000. Anything after that she simply zoned out from the experience and began planning how she could get the ice cream out of the freezer without Tony waking up.\nTheir marriage didn’t last very long and she was grateful for the respite from the endless vaginal infections suffered from exposure to his rather unhygienic washing habits.\nAfter they separated, she lost a lot of weight, began drinking heavily and played the bar scene rather ruthlessly.\nIt was the early 1970’s and the free exchange of sexual activity was not as frowned upon as it had been in her earlier years.\nGinny began to experiment. She rather enjoyed the process and decided perhaps penis’ weren’t as bad as she’d imagined.\nThe problem was that, like her drinking, one never seemed to be enough.\nSo, after a year of experimenting she decided to quit. She’d kept careful tabs of the number of encounters and had managed to keep the count down to the digits on her hands. She knew if she began on her toes, that she would never stop and that a dim future was in store for her.\nSo with firm resolve, she made a number of changes in her life.\nShe joined a religion that forbade its members to use alcohol and other drugs, frowned upon the use of tobacco and had strict laws regarding the guarding of one’s chastity. NO SEX UNLESS MARRIED.\nIn one foul swoop, Ginny solved several problems. The biggest task in front of her was...to find a husband, thus ensuring her chances of once again having access to a penis.\nWell, as she’d managed to keep her weight down, she found the perfect candidate.\nA good Catholic boy, who though had a history of promiscuous behaviour was agreeable to settling down to marriage and begin a family with Ginny.\nHe had a very nice penis and an admirable grasp of how to use it.\nThey were quite happy for several years, produced 3 children and though the seeds of destruction were present, Ginny failed to observe carefully. She hid much and so did her husband Joe.\nTheir marriage ended in catastrophe, with Ginny licking her wounds for several years, vowing to be much more careful in future attempts to handle any male apparatus.\nSomehow the years passed. It wasn’t that she was adverse to having another relationship, she just was extremely cautious.\nShe sorely missed having a penis in her life but managed to find other substitutes and somehow, she came to discover that a penis, detached from a body, gave as much pleasure as one on a body. The added bonus was that her lovely latex lover was much easier to clean and made very few demands upon her time once its job was accomplished.\nOver the years, she made several attempts to seriously check out the market.\nIn her late 60’s, she met a delectable male, who smelled deliciously like butterscotch. She did her best to entice him to have sex with her, but for some unknown reason he was reluctant to enter fully into the game. She tried for several years to tempt him and finally gave up, believing that she was destined to spend her remaining years penis free.\nIn her early 70’s, she once again was tempted.\nShe met Mark in the alley behind her apartment. She was out in her garden when he wandered by, stopped to chat and they struck up an immediate friendship.\nMark was only 55 and though Ginny felt the magnetism of sexual attraction to him, managed to subdue any carnal inclinations with the realization that he could be her child. Unfortunately, the feelings she began to have for him were anything but maternal.\nThey managed to make it to her bed, she emerged after 1 hour and he several hours later.\nIt had begun quite innocently with her offering to give him a massage and check out what was going on with his kidney.\nOne thing led to another, she finished the treatment, covered his snoring body with a warm blanket and tiptoed out of the room and into her kitchen to continue on with her baking.\nWhen Mark appeared in the doorway several hours later, he announced that he’d had the best sleep he’d had in ages. He was amazed that he’d been out that long.\nGinny smiled, she knew full well the powers of her bed and shared them with very few. To date, her grandchildren and on occasion, her grown daughter, were the only human beings who’d been allowed to experience the miraculous healing powers of her magic pallet.\nHer relationship with Mark expanded. She eventually informed him of her NON maternalistic feelings towards him and he seemed quite comfortable with the idea of advancing to another level.\nThe end came when she informed him of her requirements to have sex with her.\nHave a bath and thoroughly wash his hair and brush his teeth.\nAllow her to administer a careful examination of his penis and to gently rinse it with hydrogen peroxide.\nMark was at first reluctant, but soon warmed to the plan and agreed to the conditions.\n\nGinny, in the meantime, was having second thoughts.\nShe valued her independence highly and was reluctant to enter into any relationship that interfered with that.\nIt wasn’t that she was adverse to having a sexual relationship, only that she was hesitant to deal with all the baggage that came with it.\nShe left Mark her phone number and said to call her in a few days.\nSomehow, she wasn’t surprised when the call never came.\nLife went on much as before. She began dreaming of herds of penis’ roaming freely across the range in search of refuge from the storm. She painted a few, sculpted a few and had a lot of fun with her faithful companion, Victor, a lovely pink latex vibrator that was always up to an adventure and rarely failed to do the job at hand. Best of all - he went into a drawer when the job was done...AFTER being cleaned with hydrogen peroxide.\n\nMany more years passed.\nGinny may or may not have found more live penis’ and yet her life was complete and filled each day with adventure after adventure.\nShe woke daily with a deep sense of gratitude for having been given such a bountiful life and before her feet hit the ground, humbly begged her Higher Power to show her the best direction for the day and the strength to carry out His plans.\n\n\nCame the day she never woke up to this plane of existence.\n\nShe’d gone to bed early and strangely enough, her final thoughts had been of Mark and the lovely hours they’d spent together those many years before.\nThe last thing she remembered was looking at the hydrogen peroxide on her bedside table and sighing with satisfaction remembering her recent romp with her honey, Victor.\n\nThe next thing she knew, she was in front of a beautiful set of pearly gates.\nThe Great One hovered before her, smiling lovingly as He welcomed her inside.\nShe bowed her head as He said, “Listen Ginny, I’m going to make an exception in your case and allow you to bring ONE of your earthly possessions inside.\nGin looked down and lo and behold, at her feet was..." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Voices In Her Head\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1771\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying “Listen, …”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Listen...\nIt was two am. The house was quiet. Emma padded down the stairs then checked every window and door on the first floor. She saw the alarm had been activated (by Robert) and let out a sigh of relief.\nThen she pulled her terry cloth robe tighter before making her way back upstairs.\nEmma had just gotten back under the down comforter when she heard it again.\nListen...\nEmma shut her eyes tight and placed her hands over both ears. I have to get some sleep tonight. She thought to herself.\nWhy was this happening again?\n*\nTwenty five minutes later, Emma was at the medicine cabinet in the master bedroom. She reached for the bottle of melatonin, swallowed two with a mouthful of water before returning to her queen size bed. She turned on her side and let out another sigh.\nIts either this or pacing the hall again tonight.\nThe trees outside the window danced in a rhythmic way. Emma wasn't sure if it was the graceful way they moved or the melatonin kicking in but soon she would drift off to sleep.\n\nThe following morning, after a strong cup of coffee at the breakfast table, she prayed she would feel better today. A robin flew by the kitchen door. Emma admired the beautiful shades of brown on his coat and the deep red of his under belly. Maybe this is a good sign. The voice in her head told her.\nEmma sipped her coffee. She sat still. Took in the silence of the enormous old Victorian. Soon the house will be bustling with noise. It seemed important to let the calm wash over her. This would soothe her nerves plus get her through the weekend.\nEmma rose from her chair and set the coffee mug down in the porcelain sink. She reached for a rag (which she kept on the counter)then begun to wipe down the counters.\n\nThe children entered the foyer first. Robert must've been gathering their belongings from his SUV. Celina (who was eleven going on fourteen) and Bobby(was eight but small for his age) were fighting the moment they came through the door. Emma left the kitchen in a hurry and greeted them both in the front hall.\n\"Mom, she hit me!\" Bobby wailed.\n\"He had it coming. He took my phone and read my texts messages...\" Celina chimed in.\nEmma cut her daughter off.\n\"You don't hit your brother! You know how I feel about that.\nDid you both have a good time?\"\nCelina rolled her eyes while never taking them off the screen of her phone. Bobby was wiggling out of his winter coat. Emma helped him remove his arms.\n\"I did! Dad took me to a baseball game.\"\n\"Wow that's great. You must've had fun. Celina, did you go with them?\" Emma inquired.\n\"No, I hate baseball. I stayed at Dads with Allie. I had homework. He said I it was ok.\"\nThe front door opened again. Robert( who stood at six foot three) entered. His arms were loaded with a suitcase, a large purple duffel bag plus snacks. He dropped the bags onto the hardwood floor.\nCelina was heading for the stairs. Bobby was talking so fast, Emma was having trouble keeping up.\n\"Um young lady, these are your things. Come and get them please.\"\nCelina stormed over and lifted her duffel bag over her shoulder. She made a face and puffed out a breath. This didn't phase Robert.\n\"Its heavy.\" She complained.\n\"I told you not to bring so much.\"\nCelina lugged it upstairs. Muttering the entire time.\n\"Whose Allie? And why was Celina spending time with her?\"\n\" Hello to you too Emma. I told you about Allie, I've been seeing her for six months now. Celina had work to finish. They weren't really together.\"\nEmma left Robert in the hallway.\n\nEmma made a second cup of coffee along with a peanut butter sandwich for Bobby. Emma offered to heat up leftovers for her ex husband but he declined. She listened to Robert and Bobby discussing the Red Sox game in excruciating detail. They seemed to be reliving it right there at the table. Bobby would light up each time his Dad mentioned a home run or a grand slam. Baseball was something they had always shared.\nListen...\nNo. Not now. Leave me alone.\nEmma told the voice in her head.\n\nEmma turned to face the counter with her coffee mug in her grip. She missed the edge and the mug smashed into pieces all over the tiled floor. Robert jumped up and hurried over to her.\nHe knelt down then started to gather the broken pieces together.\n\"Stay there Bobby! Its ok.\" Robert told him.\nRobert stood up with most of it in his palms. He noticed Emma's hands were shaking. She held tight to the counter. He whispered.\n\"Are you not feeling well again?\"\n\"I'm fine. Really I am. I set it too close to the edge, that's all.\"\nRobert took Emma by the hand and led her to the table.\n\"You take it easy. I can sweep that up.\"\n\nEmma opened her eyes. The room was bright so she knew it was still early. A blanket lay on top of her. A knock at the door followed by Robert coming into her room. She began to sit up.\nHe walked closer to the bed.\n\"Did I wake you?\"\n\"No, I was already up. I promise you I'm fine. I would have canceled if I wasn't.\"\nRobert was along side the bed. Emma smiled at him.\n\"Its quiet. Are they outside or something?\"\n\"No, Mrs. Lewis stopped by to see you. When I told her you were asleep, she offered to take them to a movie.\"\n\"Oh Robert, this is my weekend. You should have told her no.\"\n\" This will give you a chance to tell me what's going on. I look at you and I can see your not right.\"\n\"There's nothing wrong with me. You worry too much. I've had some trouble sleeping but last night was better. I swear it. Did you put the alarm on?'\nHe looked confused but nodded anyway.\n\"Emma its me. I need the truth. I wont get mad and the kids can stay. Please, tell me.\"\nEmma sat and refused to answer. Robert placed his hand over hers.\n\"Tell me. Please.\"\n\" At first I thought it was someone in the house. I would search every room but found no one. Then I began to check the locks, the alarm, making sure it was always on. But I kept hearing it. A voice always at night. It sounds crazy, I know that. But if its not the TV or a person who broke in... it must be me.\"\nTears were rolling down Emma's face. She made no attempt to wipe them. Robert gave her hand a gentle squeeze.\n\"How long Emma? When did it start?\"\n\" A few days ago. I'm good during the day. I'm still working on my computer. It happens whenever I don't sleep.\"\n\"Have you gone back to Dr. Farber?\"\n\"No. It'll stop Robert. It has to. He will change my pills, run tests. I cant go through that...\"\n\"But your willing to live like this? No sleep, shaking, hearing voices! You have to go see him. That's not a request. How about today? They wont be back for hours.\"\n\"He isn't there late on Saturday. I can go Monday morning.\"\n\"That's too long. I want you to go today. I can drive you. Come on get dressed.\"\n\nEmma sat in the waiting room. She flipped through pages of a magazine but wasn't able to concentrate. Robert paced behind her chair.\n\"Will you sit down your making me more anxious!\"\nRobert took a seat on the couch opposite Emma.\nEmma tossed the magazine on the wooden crate they were using as a side table.\n\"Does it always take this long?\"\n\"No, he must be busy. You insisted on coming today.\"\n\"Because I care about you and want you to get better.\"\n\"No you don't! You like me like this. Helpless and needy. Afraid of my own shadow!\"\n\"Stop it Emma. I know what your doing and its not going to work.\"\n\"And what am I doing exactly? Come on Robert, tell me I would like you to explain...\"\nThe door to the inner office opened and Dr. Farber walked out.\n\"What is going on out here?\" The doctor asked.\nEmma folded her arms.\n\"We didn't mean to be so loud. I'm sorry. It was my fault.\"\n\"Its perfectly alright. Its nobody's fault. Emma I'm ready you can come in.\"\n*\nRobert drove the thirty miles by himself. He had left the children with Allie. He took the elevator to the fourth floor. Then he headed down the hall to room 411. He steadied himself before entering the room. Emma was dressed sitting in a chair staring out the window. A nurse named Kelly was placing a small paper cup down on a tray.\n\"Hi, how is she today?\" Robert said.\n\"Not so good. She thought you weren't coming.\"\n\"I left late and the traffic was brutal.\"\nKelly grinned at him and left the two of them alone. Robert brought a chair over and sat beside her. Emma never took her eyes off the trees.\n\"I know I'm late. Boy its warm in here.\"\nRobert unzipped his winter coat. He looked around the room then back at Emma.\n\"I hate that your in here. The kids miss you. But I just don't think they can handle any of this. Bobby will cry I just know it. Emma, will you look at me?\"\nA long drawn out silence.\n\"I miss you too. We use to talk about everything. My job, your writing, the kids, money... I did this to you. This is my fault. You needed me and I was never ever there for you. I left you alone in that big old house.\"\nRobert wipes the tears away from his eyes.\n\"I'm so sorry. I want you to know that. You have nothing to worry about. Just get strong. I got the kids. They really are a handful sometimes. But I wouldn't trade them for anything. All you have to do is get better. Please, please get better. Come back to us.\"\nEmma turns from the window and touches Roberts hand. He is stunned.\n\"Hey, you wanna take a walk with me?\"\nEmma rises from the chair. He smiles at her.\n\"I would really like that.\" Emma says." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Degrees of Sound\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1264\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a silent house by the sea." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "There is no such thing as silence, only degrees of sound.\nWhen one imagines sound, or noise, they imagine loud things. Cities, concerts, car crashes. Sudden or prolonged high degrees of sound.\nWhen one imagines silence, they may picture many things. Empty woods, a nighttime street, a cemetery.\nWhen Ben made the decision to take a vacation in a small isolated house on the seaside in Maine, he had certainly imagined silence.\nInstead, there was just a different degree of noise.\nThe world outside did not stay silent in the absence of humans. Instead, it raised its own volumes. A legion of crickets chirped away in the summer night, wind from a storm still days away twisted and moved the trees into an uneven orchestra of wood, strange animals made either mating or death calls deeper into the forest behind the house, while the ocean crashed and roared upon the rocks a few dozen feet in front of and below the house.\nThe house itself was no better. It did not stay silent. Its wooden construction moaned and creaked with each strong gust of wind, and when there was no wind, the wood instead settled into place.\nWhat the noise wasn’t was the sound of humanity. No cars or their horns, no shouting or crying. This was as close as Ben could get to the world without Humanity, and to him that was close enough to silence to satisfy.\nHe let the relative silence wash over him as he sat back in the reclining chair in his temporary living room. It was one of three points of interest in the small space along with an old and small couch, and an ancient television that created a field of static whenever it was turned on. He ignored the television, focusing instead on a dry book about gardening he had brought with him on the trip. The book tended to make him relax and grow sleepy, which was a good complimentary effect to the lack of Human sound.\nThe books effect was powerful when combined with the sounds outside, and before he knew it, Ben was putting the book down and falling asleep right in the reclining chair. Drifting off to the sounds of the endless sound of waves on rock.\nThen, he was shot awake by a high degree of sound.\nHis eyes blasted open, recognizing it as the sound of the old wooden door slamming shut, as it tended to do when it was windy. He made to move, but found his body locked in place. He couldn’t move much beyond his eyes.\nAnd he wasn’t alone.\nIn the living room, staring at the television, was a Human. Only it wasn’t. It shared a general human shape, or close to it, but instead of flesh and blood seemed to be made up of sea mist and a collection of wet tree leaves. The concoction swirled around itself in a human-like shape, and the human-like head seemed to be tilted towards the television.\nIf he was able, Ben would’ve shrieked.\nDespite his lack of noise, the figure stopped looking at the television, and looked to him instead.\nIt didn’t speak, it had no mouth after all. Instead, Ben’s vision seemed to cloud as an ocean wind barreled into his mind. Inside his head, he could hear reverberations that resembled those of the ocean falling upon the rocks outside. But they were more formed, they had more of a shape than the tranquil chaos of the rocks beyond. But the shape didn’t coalesce for him.\nOnce again, the figure barreled him with the noise, and finally the shape of the noise came into focus. They were words, distant and hard to fixate on, but they were there.\n“You are loud.” The words informed.\nBen blinked; his brain overwhelmed from what was happening. In seeming response, the figure moved over to a nearby window, and without words or much movement seemed to blast it open, the wooden hinges giving way as the wood framed sides of the window slammed into the walls beside it. Once again, the figure blasted him with its words.\n“You are loud.” It said once more.\nBen’s confusion shaped into coherence somewhat. He tried to form words, but his mouth would not cooperate. How could he be loud when this…thing was slamming windows and doors?\nThe figure pushed its form of words into him once again, seemingly in response to his own thoughts.\n“Your breathing, the creaking of your dead tree shelter, the small radioactive square in your pocket, the ceaseless sighing. It is loud.” The thing chastised.\nBen wasn’t sure how to respond, was it reading his thoughts?\n“Do not question. It is an observation. You are loud.” The thing slammed into him once again.\nBut Ben was here for silence, not noise, quite the opposite. He wanted to get away from the noise of other people.\n\"You bring your breath, you bring your loud explosive metal creation of rubber and steel, you bring the ceaseless radiation of your small black touching square stones. You are loud.” It said in correction.\nBen didn’t know how to react, except that he was sorry?\n“You always come. You bring your noise and your waste. Silence is preferable.” It intoned into him.\nBut nature itself was noise, the animals and the ocean were noise. This THING was noise.\n“This is meant to be. Your noise is not.” It said. If it had emotions underneath the cracking and crashing of its “voice” Ben couldn’t read them.\nBen thought he wasn’t sure exactly what to do about that, his existence was noise then.\n“Yes, you are loud.” The thing confirmed. Ben thought on anyway.\nIf his existence was noise, what could he do about it?\n“Consider more. All of you could do so.” It said to him.\nBen was equal parts terrified and confused at this point.\n“Consider more. Your blocks of radiation. The black sludge of dead creatures that leaks from your explosive metal construct. The sound of your ceaseless sighing. Silence is desired, you are here. Consider it.” The voice had taken something resembling a patronizing tone, as much as crashing rocks and water could have such a tone, it was the closest to an emotion the thing had managed to have thus far.\nBen was mostly just back to terrified now.\n“Consider.” It commanded. And Ben mentally agreed.\nBen’s eyes blasted open.\nIt was daytime now. He could hear the silence of the ocean crashing, though more distant now with the tide being out. The trees continued to creak and crack with the wind, though the tone was different.\nHe shot out of the chair, taking deep panicked breaths. As he looked around though, there was no sign of the…whatever it was.\nCalmness began to find him as he looked around, confirming the lack of signs of intrusion. Though questions against his sanity remained.\nAs he circled the living room, listening to the sound of his breathing and panting, he noticed the window. It had been blown open, seemingly by wind.\nAt the base of the wall, under the window, Ben noticed a shimmer. He knelt and put his hand on the floor. His hand met hardwood floor, mixed with a faint wetness and a damp tree leaves.\nHe stood up, his heart pounding more than it had been. It probably blew open while he was asleep, and the leaves just mixed with sea air.\nIt was a solid explanation.\nHe still decided to turn off his phone for the rest of his visit." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Millennia of Mirrors\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2303\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone trying to paint (or otherwise create) a self-portrait." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It had been a long time since her old friend had visited her. Usually, it was Blessing that did the visiting. The emphysema had stopped that quick enough. These days, Blessing only saw Pleasant Drive from outside the curtain-framed window: its pedestrians on sunny days, usually hearses at least once a week. Still, life could be worse at Saint Cyprian’s Hospice; Thursdays meant Zuzanna’s shift, which inevitably lead to illicit cookies, and Sundays brought her weekly visits from Father Peter with his air-light voice and his treasured ukulele. It wasn’t a lonely life. It hadn’t been a lonely life.\nStill, she was surprised when she heard a gentle but distinctive rapping at the door to her room, a pattern she hadn’t heard in over a decade. Awfully sunny day, no? She tried to speak, coughed, then tried again:\n“You may enter.”\nIt was a raspy voice now, not the one of her youth, but it was still hers, and her old friend recognized it. The woman entered silently, wordlessly, eyes fixed on Blessing’s bed. Closing the door as soundlessly as she had opened it, she scanned the room briefly before Blessing pointed to a chair in the corner, smiling at the familiar face. With gentle footfalls, like a lynx on snow, she took the wicker chair from its place and set it down on Blessing’s right side. She sat, dropping her large black backpack on the ground beside her, and reached out a thin hand to stroke Blessing’s wiry, white curls. The skin of her hand was cool against her forehead, chill seeping through her scalp and giving her pleasant shivers.\n“It’s been a while, Selina.”\nSelina took Blessing’s closest hand into her own, a knowing caress betraying the emotion masked by her stony expression. Her free hand still stroked the much older woman’s hair.\n“I didn’t think you’d remember. It’s been such a long time …”\n“I’ve never forgotten a loved one. Not one.”\nSelina’s voice was hard to describe. The timbre was that of a young woman, but the words carried a weight to them that didn’t match the tone. It was a violin playing a cello’s part.\nPausing in her attention to Blessing, Selina carefully opened her backpack and pulled out a simple four-by-four canvas. She placed it on her lap, then proceeded to unpack tubes of acrylic paint and a small, folded, wooden apparatus. Brushes followed, along with sketching pencils. The wooden tool unfolded into a portable easel, and soon the area around Selina was a small studio lit by the fading afternoon.\n“It’s my turn?” Blessing murmured, stretching in a stray sunbeam and sinking into a more comfortable position in the bed.\nSelina nodded, pencil at the ready. Blessing sighed, then gazed once more upon that familiar, unchanging face.\n“Is there an order people usually go in?” Blessing asked.\n“It’s always different,” Selina replied. “Just tell me what you see.”\nBlessing smiled. Where to start? It wasn’t a question of difficulty, but rather of endless choice.\n“Well for starters, the hoodie covers your face in shadows. Makes you actually look your age.”\nA smirk. Blessing laughed, the sound more of a wheeze transitioning into a cough. It was worth it though for Selina’s mask to crack even a little. Recovering from the fit, Blessing continued:\n“Your hair doesn’t, though. It’s thick, long – looks like the curls have a life of their own. You remember that vacation in Switzerland? It was the summer … who goes to Switzerland in the summer anyway? The sheep – the cute ones with the black faces – the ones that picked you as their shepherd,” at this she had to pause and laugh again at the memory of Selina’s total helplessness when the stray herd started to follow them on their alpine hike, “your hair reminds me of them. Endearing. Lively.”\nSelina’s pencils began to glide across the canvas in broad strokes. The leads jittered slightly against the rough surface, but her face gave – as usual – no hint of frustration. Unable to see the forms her friend was drawing on the canvas, Blessing returned her eyes to Selina’s face.\n“You have your ancestors’ bones,” she continued. “Strong, square jawline and proud cheeks. Good brows, too. Rough in the nineties, but good now. Proper caterpillars. They bring out your eyes. You know you have good eyes. Girls, boys, men, women … everyone’s always loved your eyes, no matter where we went or when. Do people usually spend a long time on your eyes?”\nSelina nodded, gaze following her pencils’ movements. She was still in the sketching phase – quick strokes, long strokes, all shaping the features Blessing described: the hoodie, the curls, the sharp lines of her own face.\n“Well, I won’t then. They’re brown. Moving on. Your skin’s pretty dark for around here, a lot darker than I’d expect, honestly. Not dark enough to hide the freckles, though. You remember Mariko? The exchange student when I was at LSE. She loved your freckles – thought she would lose her mind when we took her to Scotland and she saw actual red hair. Different times, but your freckles are still the same, a Jackson Pollock over your nose like the kids do with brown eyeliner these days.”\nAt this point, she had to stop talking to take a coughing break. Selina kept drawing. This wasn’t the first time she had watched someone die slowly, nor would it be the last. The portrait had to take precedence, at least for now. Sometimes she took notes in the margins, quotes from Blessing that she couldn’t add in yet with her pencils. The paint would come.\n“Not to go back to the eyes again, but you’ve always had a dark circles problem. Comes with the whole not sleeping thing. I know you’re not at colours yet, but your skin’s … unhealthy. No sun will do that, I guess, but you’d still have an easier time buying a concealer than I would. Funny, that.”\nBlessing chuckled to herself, suppressing a gurgle of mucous. Damn lungs aren’t going to hold on much longer. I wonder if she knows? She must have a sixth sense for that kind of thing. No indication either way – just pencil on canvas, scratching sounds filling the otherwise empty air. The window was closed, so there was no breeze, no sound from outside … just pencil on canvas.\n“Let’s see, what haven’t I described yet ...” Blessing continued, more softly this time, “your nose is all Song of Songs – like Solomon’s big ‘ole tower. You’ve got lips like mine, so you can just look at me to see those. Yours are pinkier, but the shape and size are pretty much the same. Lucky you – they were Darryl’s favourite part of me, you know?”\nSelina had met Darryl, had attended his funeral when he died unexpectedly some twenty years ago. Blessing had never remarried, even though she could have – always said she would see him again anyway, so no need to add on to her husband collection.\n“Anything else?”\n“My shoulders and neck: what do they look like to you?”\n“Hmmm … pretty broad, I’d say. The shoulders, I mean – your neck just looks like a neck. Not too vain-y, not too muscular, not especially thin … just a neck. Can’t see your ears behind the hair and the hood.”\nDescription finished, Blessing turned her head to look out the window. The sun was beginning to set, golden light now filtering through the trees alongside the pavement and into her room. It was late autumn, but there were still plenty of coloured leaves to make her world a bit more beautiful. But they were fading, much like she was.\n“When you do this,” Blessing began, voice even quieter than before as her energy began to wane, “is it for us, or for you?”\nThis question caused Selina to pause in her otherwise unceasing art.\n“What do you mean?”\n“Well, we’re always dying, right? And we’ve all loved you. You’re a living memory lane we get to travel down at the end, when there aren’t many loved ones left.”\nNoticing the dying light, Selina resumed rummaging through her pack for her paints. She needed to finish while the colours were still true.\n“It started out for me,” she replied, her English lightly accented, “but I don’t know anymore. I cannot see myself, so I wanted to see through the most flattering eyes. Now …”\nShe paused again, lost in the colours she was now brushing across the canvas. Blessing could feel her eyes deadening at the placid swoosh of bristles. It had been a long day, a long life, neither of which left her with many regrets.\n“Now it’s still for me,” Selina continued, “but not to see my face.”\nBlessing hadn’t given her as many colour indications as she usually got, but that was alright; Selina could fill in the missing details. Memories of a face she had never seen flooded her mind as she painted, quicker than she might like, fighting against the dying of the light. Blessing was too, in her own way.\n“You never asked to become like me.”\nBlessing’s eyes fluttered open at the unexpected sound. Her body was so, so heavy.\n“Usually people ask, but you never did.”\nBlessing smiled.\n“And not meet my Lord and Saviour? Miss out on eternity with Darryl? I’m more surprised you never asked to become like me.”\n“A Catholic?”\n“At least I know where I’m going.”\n“So do I.”\n“It’s not too late, you know. The prayer of the righteous is a powerful thing.”\nSelina laughed despite herself. Very little struck her funny in her long life, but this was the most Blessing ending to Blessing’s life she could have imagined. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation; a sixty-year friendship with Blessing Douglas wouldn’t have been possible without a minimum of a yearly conversion attempt. Still, it had always been kind, always warm. Blessing believed in free will as much as she believed in her right decisions.\n“Can I see it?”\n“Not yet, nearly done.”\n“Me too.”\nThe light was all but gone at this point, and not even the sounds of the rest of the hospice leaked through the door. Highlights and shadows were all that was left of this latest in Selina’s paintings.\n“Is there anything else you want to know?” Blessing asked, eyes closed again, breathing shallower than before.\nSelina put the finishing touches on what she imagined the light in her eyes might look like.\n“Usually I ask if you’re scared,” she said, packing her supplies back up, “but I think I already know with you.”\nBlessing smiled again, sinking into sleep. Not the dreamless sleep she anticipated just yet, but a form of sleep nonetheless. Selina shrugged on her backpack, returned the chair to its place, and placing the still-wet painting against the wall, she leaned over the bed and wordlessly kissed Blessing’s forehead for the last time. She was warm, so warm, and Selina was cold as ever.\n~*~\nIt was midnight by the time Selina made it home, painting almost dry in the back of her sedan. The night wasn’t as quiet as Blessing’s hospice; crickets and frogs and her fellow creatures of the night greeted her upon her return, keys jangling as she closed the car door, painting in hand. No matter how much she had travelled the world – anything to avert boredom, at this stage – she still never really felt comfortable until she was home. It was an unassuming bungalow on the outside, much like Selina herself.\nAs she entered, her eyes adjusted to the light and she turned toward the door to the basement. To an outsider, the steps may have seemed unusually long, the descent into the earth particularly deep. For Selina, it was a descent into rare comfort, into her sanctum.\nReaching the bottom at last, she pulled on a rope hanging from the ceiling. Lightbulbs flickered on in sequence, displaying her collection. Thousands of portraits lined the walls, all of her, each one slightly different depending on the eyes she had used, each building in detail as she improved at her craft. She could remember the deathbed of each person so clearly, could still feel the ache of each loss when she saw herself in this, her own personal Versailles. She wouldn’t see any of them again, even those that had asked to be turned, for she had refused each one. No one deserved this, not even her.\nShe gazed down at the portrait she had produced that day, and as she did with each painting, she walked it back to the very first and compared it. She knew her face hadn’t changed, couldn’t. Still, she looked different. She saw the Valais sheep of Switzerland now when she looked at her hair, saw Blessing’s hope for a new life reflected in her own pupils, saw Mariko discover traces of Anne of Green Gables in her skin. The first painting was filled with different memories, memories of silk sheets and lipstick stains, memories of trying to find life in what was doomed to endlessness. Still, Blessing had been right – each one had loved her, in their own way, and she had loved and lost them in turn.\nLong since unable to cry, Selina reverently placed Blessing’s self-portrait – for it was as much a memory of her as it was a capture of this moment in time – in the blank space beside her last lost love. With a final gaze, she spoke her silent goodbye and turned off the lights, off to make new memories she would lose again. But this time, she found herself humming a hymn." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Hidden Secrets\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2166\n\nPrompt:\n\nYour character picks up a fallen leaf and can’t believe what they discover underneath it. What happens next?" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "November 17, 2021\n\nJavier walked across his large yard as usual, taking his Australian shepherd Zooloo out for her morning run. It was still early, the sun was just beginning to rise through soft hazy shades of pinks in the sky, frosted puffs of cotton breath in the air, promising a crisp day ahead. Zooloo ran ahead of him, through the piles of leaves on the far side, near the maple and apple tree's, now darkened with the onset of winter; leaves fallen to the ground, branches bare and cold. Except for the wind rustling, silence permeated his surroundings. The frigid air moved through him, like a thousand tiny inch worms crawling into his bones. (He only wore a light jacket and jeans), not exactly ideal attire for a morning like this. Thin layers of crusted snow blanketed the fields. Time stood as still as the rocks, a simple life on this farm, Javier's thought's were on other things, like travelling.\n\nJavier shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around him for warmth, wishing he'd worn a more suitable coat, 'winter is coming', he mused unhappily, wishing he could go South like he often did, but he had to stay here and take care of their farm, belonging once to his grandparents, handed down to his parents. This is where he was raised and grew up, but he dreamed otherwise. His bedroom boasted a large world globe ball, the kind you turn around and around, Javier would, every night before bed, mark the spots with tiny different colored stickers. Midwest winters were harsh, however, summer's were spent growing and harvesting enough food for the winter. Their animals needed enought to eat and stay warm, chickens and two cow's they kept. Several barn cats, and sweet Zooloo, she acted like it was all hers, she was the life of the party. Javier watched her, as she began to sniff, digging around fervously around one of the maple's, picking on one spot in particular. Paws frantic, leaves pushed up and around, while her breath smoked out in huffs into the cold air.\n\n**\n\n\"Ok, girl, take it easy, what have u got? A dead squirrel....you...can't...eat that.\" He fondly scolded his dog, pulling at her halter, away from the spot she'd been digging, not wanting to see what she'd found if a dead animal lay beneath the dull leaves. Zavier's stomach growled, hunger crawling in him now, breakfast would be ready soon, his mother always on time. Routine had become redundant, but time flew by as they had plenty of chores to do.\n\"What the heck? Hmph, how did this get here?\" He said to noone.\n\n\n\nThere it was, shining up at him like a little star in the dark of night, waiting to be picked up, taken home. Javier stared, his face scrunching to look more at what he thought he'd found, he then picked it up. A diamond ring, a large one at that, surrounded by smaller perfect little stones, dirtied of course, and looking old. He wiped off the dirt with the cuff of his sweater, Zooloo already lost interest and was running around him in circle's now.\n\n'What the heck!\" His mind raced, \"Who does this belong to and why is it here, on our land, lyin' neath a pile of dead leaves, and how did Zoo know to find it?' These were all the questions running through his mind. Think. This ring is worth a fortune, definately enough to pay him a trip South, Florida or Cuba, wouldnt that be somethin' else. All his life he wanted to take that special trip, feel the warmth of sunshine, sit under palm tree's on a sandy white beach, just never happened, he was not going to leave his parents alone for now anyway, and he had to finish college. Once his Agriculture Degree was under his belt, diploma at hand, he might take a trip then, some of the local kids from town could help his parents out next winter for a month anyway, he could go somewhere.\n\n\"I have to tell someone, where would I explain gettin' enough cash to go on a trip, this ring must've belonged to someone.\", he wiped back the sweat on his forehead, in spite of the temperature he was warm now, pulling shaggy hair back behind his ears, with strong weathered fingers, aged from work and the change of seasons for his age. He put the ring deep into the pocket of his jeans. Now he felt a sprig of anticipation seap into his veins at the find, wondering what it meant. Everyone had a story to tell right? This ring signified something, on their land. Meant to be told. He already knew who was going to tell it, he thought, knawing hunger continually winning him over.\n\n\"Com'n Zoo, let's go home for breakfast, bacon and eggs girl?\" He called to his dog, who had already began to sniff out other spots and did her business. Tail wagging happily at the word \"breakfast\", she followed her master home, back to the warmth of the fireplace hearth and food. The kitchen already was full of the scent of coffee and bacon, he inhaled deeply as he stepped in from the cold. The large oak table was inviting, the fireplace warming the living room, food cooking on the gas range. The wood stove held the coffee pot, old cast iron having cooked a million meals in its time, already steaming with fresh made liquid. Javier bounded in through the door, leaving the empty field behind him as he entered the kitchen, slowing his pace down respectfully.\n\n*\n\"Go wash up breakfast is ready.\" His mother said, tiredly. She rose early, began the cooking for the morning, made coffee, set the table, same old routine, then chores. She was in her fifties, signs of grey hair at the sides, once having been blond and beautiful hair, while her eyes portruded the laugh lines of living. Three generations here on this farm, she was a proud woman, the land was theirs. But nothing came without its price, and their land held its own secrets, she knew and kept to herself, no sense in dredging up what had been. Until now.\n\n\n\n\"Ma, I found something, or rather Zoo found it, in the leaves, stuck underneath one leaf.\", Zavier pulled out the diamond, shoving a mouthful of scrambled eggs in at the same time, placing it on the table. \"Who's ring was it? It was on our property, near the big maple tree across the yard.\", He added, precariously, feeling it belonged to him.\n\n\"Let me see, oh dear, it was your grandmother's ring, I remember, you found it.\" Her voice flat, poured coffee into her husband's mug, he sat silent, rarely speaking most of the time, Trent was non-sociable person. But a good kind man. His body etched up to get a glimpse of the ring, his strong shoulders tightened in anticipation of this discovery. He knew what happened, of course he knew, but they never talked about it. Not after the funeral, she was small then, a little girl. But something changed, as his wife took a deep breath, so intense that he could feel it from deep inside her.\n\n\"Why would it be under a leaf?\" Zavier persisted, spreading strawberry jam on his buttered toast hungrily, now he was curious. It would appear a story was in the works here, and he was anxious to hear it. His mother rarely spoke of his grandparents, he often wondered why whenever he'd asked about them.\n\n\"It's a long sad story, you may as well know now that you found their ring. It began a long time ago, after we were born here, in this house. Your grandfather was kind enough at first, but then, after the kids were born he began to drink, and it got worse.\", She began, trying to remember that night, when the world changed for her grandmother and her aunts and uncle's, who witnessed the tragedy, left with the evils of alcohol and anger, and their struggle's to survive.\n\nSeptember 22 - Gran and Gramps\n\nWhat are you talking about? I ain't never been to that place in my life.\" Gramps was pompous, overbearing as he'd shouted at his wife, a strong built woman herself, she stood up against him. Anette worked hard to keep the farm and her kids clothed and fed. Gabriel was already drunk, and in one of his moods, basted with alcohol, he hated himself enough lately, but he hated her nagging even more than himself. He'd loved his wife once, long before the kids were born, 8 children altogether, one having died, the last one.......then the cloud took over him. He tried to stop but couldn't.\n\n\"I heard you was down at her shack, with that hillbilly whore, Eilleen told me at the bazaar, saw you two kissin' through the open window. At least you could've shut the blinds.\"\n\"I won't have my husband flaunting around, not with me or our children in this house, you hear me old man?\" Voice firm, her lips tight with angered emotion.\n\nShe'd sounded more on the attack to him, his breath stenched heavily with the smell of booze, his face unshaven, his eyes darkened with the devil. He'd lashed back at out at her, threw her up against the wall, shouting. His large body overbearing on her small frame, Annette couldnt fight against him, fear stung through her like lightining bolts. For the first time in their marriage she began to back away from him steps unsure of their footing, the kids could hear everything from their rooms, and now they had come out and stood above the railing, watching with wide eyes, waiting for the moment to settle down.\n\n\"I ain't done nothin', quit your haggling me over nothin' that happened at all. Those damn nosy busy bodies outta mind their own business\", He shoved her aside, and went out on the porch, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. It was a hot muggy night for this time of the year, the air thick with humidity. Eilleen shuffled out after him, hoping to calm him down.\n\n\"I dont want to fight, come back inside and eat your dinner.\" She'd begged him, trying to take his arm and bring him inside. Aggravaton and anger took over after that. He yanked her hand away, aggressively. Eilleen teetered back, stumbling, on the top of the staircase facing the yard, she fell backwards. She hit her head, died the same night of concussion. The doctor was called and then the priest, leaving her husband with the aftermath of pain, and feeling responsible. In a truthful manner of speaking he was, even though it was a horrible accident, he had never meant to murder his wife. Gramps was never the same after that, inevitably so, he sunk into a deep depression, he couldn't face that horrible incident.\n\n\"Finally, two years later, he died they said, of guilt and shame. It was also said her ghost walked this house before he died, he would say she came to pay him back for his wrong doings, for sure none of it was probably the truth, who knew?\" Javier's mother continued, fingers cradling her coffee mug. Outside the sun had risen, now shining through the kitchen window, glittering on her hair while she spoke, her voice deepened from sadness? \"His two sister's who came to live there and take care of him, and the kids had even heard strange noises, late into the hours of the night, but nothing was ever substantiated. Haunted house stories were not uncommon in farm country, this one was no exception to tall tales\", and now, the story was a demise, the words out like tar, poured onto the ground and tasting like a bitter black piece of gum.\n\n\n\n'And so, Gramps of course was never the same, after the funeral he must have tossed the ring away on the ground, left there after all these years until now.\" His mother finished the sad story. Zavier said nothing, feeling only the remnants of grief for his gramp and gram, the kids left behind with no father. Times were hard then, but they got harder, especially for those poor kids. Her face held back the anguish she never mentioned; she then continued to sit down and eat her own breakfast.\n\nSomeday, he would go South, but not now, this ring was an heirloom piece, his mother would of course keep it, as she well deserved to keep it, the ring belonged to her. He got up, put a warm coat on, whistled to his dog, and went to the barn to do the morning chores. The tale of the tragedy that befell his family years before, the ghosts that lingered here, engulfed his heart heavy with memories of what he'd found that frosty morning under a leaf.\n\n\nTHE END\n\n**************" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Morning\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2084\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character, animal or human, who is reborn as something totally different." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "This morning, I wake up and find a pregnant woman in bed beside me. In my bed. There's no mistaking the swelling of her belly.\nThis woman, she's a young thing. From the side, she appears too young to be so pregnant, maybe 16 or 17 at the most.\nShe—the young woman—has long brown hair. Long. It flows everywhere, on her side, onto my side. And it has soft curls. Really pretty, I wish I had hair like that.\nI lean up on my elbow to see her face. You'd do the same, right? Maybe I shouldn't have.\nShe has my husband's face. No shit!\nI've lived with him long enough to know the turned-up corners of his eyes, the sun browned freckles from our days on the beach, the subtle curve of his jaw, the gentle ridge of his nose, even the way his cheekbones form arches. There's no mistake—it's my husband's face.\nAnd yet... yet it's not his face. It's softer, smoother. It's lost the hardness of masculinity. I swear, those lips are fuller and form a cupid's bow that wasn't there yesterday. Sun flecked or not, she's definitely not my husband. I'm confused.\nShe hears me stirring and opens her eyes. \"Hey,\" she says in a husky voice. \"G'morning.\"\nOhmygawd, she has my husband's voice. You think after 12 years of marriage I wouldn't recognize my own husband's voice? It's softer, melodic, but that's the way he greets me every morning: \"Hey. G'morning.\"\n\"Who are you?\" I demand. \"What the hell are you doing in my bed?\"\n\"Huh?\"\n\"Where's my husband? Where's Conrad? How the hell did you get into my house?\"\nShe turns her head so her face—his soft face—is full-on to me. \"Honey, I'm Conrad. I'm just...\" She pats her pregnant belly and winces. \"Isn't this neat? We're gonna have a baby.\"\n\"Not in...\" Crap. How can I say this? Not in my bed? Not in my house? Not in my lifetime? But I don't feel that way. She seems like a nice little girl. How can I yell at her? Could you?\nAnd—and—and we tried really hard to conceive a child. For the last 13 years, since we got married, nothing worked. They say I'm fertile. They say Conrad's fertile. They say there's no reason we couldn't. I'm 33 years old and I finally gave up.\n\"Not in...?\" she wonders, as a distracted look flits across that familiar face. \"... in this house? Honey? Don't you recognize me? Does the belly confuse you?\"\nWell, yeah. Yeah, it does. It really does. How can someone go to bed male and wake up pregnant? \"This is crazy. Where's my husband...?\"\nShe frowns. \"I'm your husband. Really...\" She stares down at herself. \"No, I guess I'm not anymore.\" She makes a ball with her fist, presses it against her uterus.\n\"That's right. I can tell looking at you that you're not. How did you get in? Where did you come from?\"\nShe stretches and the blanket slips off. She's naked, naked all the way to her toes. This pregnant woman with my husband's face and voice—from the look of her breasts, she's almost ready to nurse. She sees where I'm staring and cups her hands around them. \"Neat, huh?\" she says.\n\"Yeah. Neat,\" I answer grumpily. \"Just peachy.\"\nThen there's that look again, that pained look, as if to say come on woman, get with the program here. \"What am I supposed to do? You were asleep and I didn't want to wake you up. This just kind of... happened.\"\nI'm not seeing this—it isn't true. Please God, pleads my head, when I open my eyes, please make her not be here.\nBut my eyes still see a pregnant woman. She swings her legs over the side of the bed. Something stops her momentarily, a guarded wary hesitation.\n\"I gotta pee,\" she says, going into our connected bathroom. She waddles when she walks, like a... a... damn it, a pregnant woman.\nIn a feminine way, that's how he stands. That's how he walks, holds his head. Except for the awkward pregnant arch of her back—she could be Conrad's younger sister.\nStill, there's no mistake. Those are Conrad's eyes. That's how he always looks at me, with a sort of sentimental tilt, a subconscious twinkle. She loves me. Damn.\n\"Look,\" I hear myself say as she sits on the toilet facing me. \"Look, girly. I don't know how...\" Crap, why am I angry? She's done nothing to incur that, except be here. Here, now, when I least expected her.\nShe finishes in the bathroom, wiping herself with a big wad of tissue. There are tears in her eyes, shining in the glare of the bathroom fixture. Her tits start to shudder from little sobs and a drip pauses at the tip of her nose. She dabs at it with more tissue.\n\"I... I don't know how to... to convince you that I'm me,\" she says. \"I didn't do this on purpose. It just happened.\"\n\"Shit, you expect me to believe that?\"\n\"Please? Please see with your heart, not your eyes.\"\nOuch. That's such a Conrad thing to say. I married him because he seemed to understand me, understand how I felt, even when I didn't understand myself. \"You can't be him,\" I tell her. \"You're soft, feminine.\"\n\"And... pregnant. Is that it? Is that what's...\" There's that hurt look again, fleeting across her face. \"I'm cold.\"\nI'm starting to feel sorry for this bloated slip of a girl—the way she cradles her belly in her hands, the way she sways, bracing her back against the baby's weight. She's trembling.\n\"Wear my robe. It's too long but it will do until I can find you something that fits. We'll go to the mall this afternoon and buy you some maternity clothes that are presentable.\"\n\"I guess that means you won't throw me out?\"\nOh hell. Okay, so I can't throw her out. It's clear she has nowhere to go. She gives me as much of a hug as her belly will allow when I put the robe around her.\n\"Thank you,\" she whispers. Except that it's \"thang k'you\" in his—Conrad's—light accent, and she doesn't even know she says it that way. His way. I still wonder—am I going insane?\nIt can't be possible, you know. What would cause a 35-year-old man, a husky outdoorsy man, to transform into a pregnant girl? From her appearance, she's lost half of Conrad's age. And she accepts it so nonchalantly. Shouldn't she, shouldn't he, be freaking out to wake up like this?\nThis young girl, she waddles gingerly after me as I go to the kitchen. She's having a tough time; she's panting, sharp breathes she doesn't want me to hear.\nBefore I can offer her anything, she gets Conrad's favorite cup out of the dishwasher. Sweet man that he is, he washed the dishes last night after I went to bed. She couldn't have known it was there.\nCould she? Well... could she? She pours coffee just the way he does. She catches me looking at her and smiles. Yeah, it's his face alright, that's his smile.\nShe shakes her head to get the hair out of her eyes and sips the hot brew. It must be too hot because she winces again.\nHow would I treat this if I saw it on the nightly news? \"My husband was a pregnant girl when I woke up this morning. He wasn't pregnant at bedtime last night. And he's never been a girl before.\" Yeah, right.\nShe seems awfully nervous now. She keeps flicking those... those dreamy blue eyes. His eyes were always so beautiful, so hypnotic. I think that's what I fell in love with when I first met him. What am I thinking? Am I just imagining that she's him. How would you handle this?\nHer coffee cup is on the counter now, as though she's afraid she'll drop it. I frown. \"Are you okay?\"\n\"No,\" she says. Her voice cracks. It's thin, reedy, and worried. \"I just pee'd all over myself. I... I'm sorry about the mess. I'll clean it up.\"\nI look down. She's right, the kitchen floor is wet. But it's not pee. My gawd, her water just broke. She's going into labor. \"How long has this been happening,\" I ask. \"How far apart are the contractions?\"\n\"Contractions?\" she wonders as I seat her gently into a chair. Doesn't she know?\n\"The sharp pains. In your belly. How long?\"\n\"All night,\" she says. \"I didn't want to wake you up.\" She... she didn't want to wake me up... she's a hell of a lot braver than I'd be.\nNow it makes sense, the quizzical looks, the odd way she's been holding her belly, the fleeting glimpses of pain. She has no idea what labor is. And I've been too stupid to recognize it.\nBut every woman knows about labor. We talk endlessly about having babies, about the pain, about how to handle it. My mother told me about childbirth. Prepared me for my role in the natural rhythm. Even though I can't seem to conceive, it's part of growing up female.\nThis girl... look at her. The pain is making her miserable, and she doesn't understand. She shuffles her feet aimlessly.\nThis is no joke. She really is pregnant. Whoever the father was... I wonder if there was one or this is some kind of... of... oh, hell, I don't know. Anyway, he's not here—and the only help she has is me.\nI squint at her. Yes, she's in agony. Her belly clenches and unclenches. So do her fists, hidden between her legs where she thinks I can't see them. The coffee maker whispers in the background as I watch the clock on the stove. One minute. One and a half. Two minutes apart.\nThat means she's nearly ready. I sprint for the phone and call 9-1-1. \"My...\" I look at her sitting so stiffly, so stoically and almost say the unthinkable—my husband—but catch myself. \"My daughter is in labor,\" I lie. \"Her contractions are about two minutes apart.\"\n\"We'll send a unit right away, ma'am. What's your address...?\"\nIt's so close, too close. She's down on her back screaming when the medics get here, giving in at last to the pain ripping through her. And it seems only moments before I hear the baby's first cry.\nThe paramedics are gone. They've given her a sedative, not enough to knock her out but just enough to put her at ease from the leftover pain.\nThe look in her eyes as they laid the baby girl on her chest, that look says it all. Look what we did, they plead to me. Look, a little girl. Don't send us away now. Please?\nI can see the top of its little pink head, with little wisps of hair, as it nurses on her tit. \"She's beautiful,\" I say, sitting on the edge of the sofa looking down at them.\nShe looks up at me and smiles. \"Thang k'you, Gretchen,\" she says.\nHmmm. In the time between waking and now, in the madness of giving birth, I don't remember telling anyone my name. The dispatcher only asked for the address. And I know the girl didn't ask, not in the bedroom, not over the coffee cup. And then she couldn't, once we both figured out the reason she was suffering.\nI sigh. \"Not a problem, Connie,\" I hear myself say.\nIf she's not Conrad, if she's a stranger... well, she still needs a roof over her head for a while. Until the baby is older. I don't know her name, so Connie will have to suffice.\nAnd if she really is Conrad, it's a lousy name for the new baby's mother. Connie—that's a lot nicer, more feminine, a good name for a young woman who's just birthed a daughter.\nThe baby is finished nursing now, asleep in the crook of Connie's arm. With her free hand, Connie pulls the robe over her breast, hiding the nipple. Looking fondly at them, I think... no matter what happened, she could be my daughter. I guess that means I'm a grandmother now. Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be, maybe it's all for a reason.\nBut I'm still confused. What would you do? What would you do if a stranger, a pregnant woman, was lying beside you when you woke up? A stranger with your husband's face?" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: What Says The Mirror\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 1260\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone coming across their doppelganger." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "What Says The Mirror\n\n“Don't judge me. Yeah, I am talking to you, Doppelganger. I only can repeat what I see. You come to me every day. Morning and night. Looking. Searching. Asking questions. Always with the questions. What do you expect from me?\n“You want me to force you to confront your own truths? Well, the truth is--How should I know? Look at you! That's all I can help you with. I am the same. Yesterday, today and probably will be tomorrow.\n“I hang around here all the time, whether you are around or not, and stare at that stupid wall over there. Just look at that once. It's a splotchy mess! Wouldn't hurt to liven it up once in a while. When was the last time you gave the place a face lift? No, not you a face lift. This room. Remodel. Give me an interesting mural or something to study. Some pictures of puppy dogs or kittens or whatever. Seascapes. Seashores are nice. Palm trees swaying. Tide rolling in and out. Real peaceful and you could feel like you are on vacation stepping into a spa-like atmosphere. Maybe that would make it easier to face the truth.\n“Somehow, someway, you believe I have the power to change how you see the world. I draw your attention to the wall once more. That is my world view. Corner to corner. The whole complete expanse of it. Not even a blue sky. What color would you call that anyway? Pink? Pink pepto-bismal-dismal, sickening, make-me-want-to-throw-up pink? With whatever that discoloration is dripping down in the center. Kind of looks like a heart. A bleeding heart. Maybe it loves me because all it can see all day is itself in me. But can you say dated? Kind of like you? What decade was pink in vogue? Fifties? Sixties? I know, I know, you are waiting for it to come back in style. Well, it won't be long now.\n“Oops. Got side tracked there. What were you asking again? Truth? Universal truth? Earth shattering truth? Oh, oh. Simple truth. Yes, that's you alright. Same as you have been staring at me for eons now. Yep, yep. Same face, same body. Kind of a shame what you have been doing to it, though. Maybe a little remodeling wouldn't hurt there either. Wait, wait I didn't ask you to model that part again. Please, turn back around. I have seen it all before and I would only get myself in hot water to answer that steamy question. There is never a good answer to that one. Don't want a shoe thrown in my face. Rest assured I always have your back, though I really don't care to look at it before you are dressed.\n“Sorry, I've hurt your feelings now. Look in the upper corner. See your empowerment poem taped there? Read through it again. Should have it memorized by now. That Kim Uliana is a witty one alright. Inspired by watching her daughter looking at herself. Still works for someone getting along in years:\nMirror, Mirror on the wall…\nIt does not matter if I’m short or tall…\nIf I have skinny legs or my hips are wide…\nIt only matters who I am inside…\nBlue eyes, brown eyes, black or green…\nWhat makes me most beautiful cannot be seen…\nWhen you look at me, don’t judge me by my parts…\nThe most beautiful thing about me is my heart.\n\n“Yeah, yeah. Brings tears to my eyes, too. Or is that just the steam? Gives a new perspective to it all, huh?\n“Just imagine how truly rich you are. You have silver in you hair and gold in your teeth, stones in your kidneys and lead in your feet. Don't forget the gas all built up inside.\n“Okay, no more corny reflections.\n“Face it. I am not some magic mirror. That only happens in fairy tales and we are still on this side of reality. I am only a piece of glass (Glass, I said 'Glass') with a silvery surface and a dark side. Maybe I've got a few cracks and veins in my facade, too. I am not a portal to a whole new fantasy world. Nothing is going to reach forth and snatch you away. Nothing to be afraid of.\n“Sorry, I can't tell your future, either. No scrying here. No, no, I didn't say crying. You are gonna smear your mascara if you keep that up. I said scrying. Trying to predict divine hidden information. Remember how you frequently come to me seeking guidance while trying to make those difficult life decisions about love or finances. Well, I may put on a good show but ultimately you are the one that comes up with the solutions. Right?\n\"I'm no fun house mirror, either. I repeat only what I see. So, yep, it is what it is. All of it. No distortions.\n“I'll be your confidant. I will wait for you to come back again whenever you venture into that strange world out there that is sapping your youth away. I'll help you remember your dreams and, yes, there may be a few regrets. But you have earned every new wrinkle and laugh line. That's what wisdom writes on a face. Be proud you have reached an age that others will aspire to. You are an inspiration.\n“Look at those inspiring words again you have taped all along my edges.\n“Don’t be concerned about the outward beauty of fancy hairstyles, expensive jewelry, or beautiful clothes. You should clothe yourselves instead with the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God.” 1 Peter 3:3-4\n“She is clothed in strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.” Proverbs 31:25\n“God is within her, she will not fall.” Psalm 46:5\n“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.” Psalm 139:14\n“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” Ephesians 2:10\n“Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last; but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised.” Proverbs 31:30\n\n\n“So, I say again, Girl, you got this. You go out there and conquer. I'll stay here and reflect on my loving wall. See you soon.”\n{} {} {} {}\n“Well, hello again. That didn't take long. You look more chipper and happier than this morning. You're home early, too, aren't you?\n“What's that you have with you? Oh, color swatches. Holding them up against the wall to get my opinion. See, we work together very well. Um, I think I like the sky blue one best. How about you? Got some other samples there? Tub surround and flooring, too? Nice, real nice. Something different for the counter top and around the faucet? Boy, you got a lot of new ideas. This will be pretty.\n“Hey, why all the masking tape over my glass surface? Can't see what you are doing so well. What is that great big hammer for?”\nWHAM! BAM!\n“You smashed up the counter top. But, hey now, don't aim that thing at me I am very fragile. You know that would bring you seven years bad luck, don't you?\nNO! NO! NO! LOOK OOut!.... “\nSMASH! CRASH! Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle..." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Curse of Blackwater\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2818\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone whose busiest night of the year is Halloween." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "(Trigger Warning: Rape, Abortion, Violence)\nAges ago, when petty kings fought for dominance over the land, lawlessness and cruelty were sovereign. Chaos was most rampant in the neglected countryside, far removed from the trappings of civilization. The Lords, busy with their squabbles, cared naught for the common folk. They waged war as long as there were boys to be taken and armed for their hosts.\nOne such Lord, a knight no less, was a man of bravery but also fierce temperament. His victories in war made him rich both from its spoils, as well as from his liege's favor - none other than the king. After a great victory against another claimant, Sir Bernard was rewarded with his very own fort in the outmost fringes of the realm. With it came the title of Lord of the remote village it towered over - Blackwater. This gave the knight plenty of opportunities to launch unsanctioned raids and wreak havoc on the settlements beyond the King's border.\nBattle had made the knight a callous commander and, after endless seasons of bloodletting and war atrocities, Sir Bernard was more beast than man. Too many years he had spent on the back of his war horse. No company but that of his merciless henchmen; sleeping rough, ever clutching a blade. With plunder and murder as his daily bread, he no longer knew any law but that of the sword - his sword. \nWith time, Sir Bernard's reputation as a savage warlord grew. Invitations for feasts became sparser and sparser, until they stopped altogether. The once-celebrated champion of the king was now thought to be no more than a glorified cutthroat. Company with whom not even the most modest of the gentry would want to be associated.\nAt first, the knight was downhearted to be made an outcast. Bitter and assailed by self-pity, he soon found refuge in drinking. Whenever he would drown himself in liquor, violence soon followed and his fits of anger often resulted in a frenzy of cruelty inflicted on his own people. It wasn't long until everyone learned to avoid the fort as much as possible. Even his servants dared not risk his attention for long, lest they became the target of his malice. Thus did the peasants of Blackwater took to calling their Lord, Bernard Black-heart.\nBernard's heart might had been rotting, but his mind was as sharp as his blade. With age, his martial prowess declined. He knew that if he could not carry on with his raiding parties, the silver would dry up. There was only one option - he needed to marry into wealth.\nIt was an unwonted apparition witnessed by that fateful Sunday's mass. One met with surprise and a wave of whispers of hushed-tone gossip. Everyone knew better than to interrupt service, for the priest was a zealot and bitter man keen on inflicting punishment on the less pious. But even he found himself unable to utter a single word from his half-gaped mouth, when Sir Bernard walked through the church's door, accompanied by armed men.\nEver since the Lord had taken residence in the fort, the priest recalled only but a handful of events wherein his church had hosted such company. Even then, only in the distant times when the king still honored Blackwater with a royal visit.\nThe black knight strode down the nave's aisle to the front of the altar, where the most preeminent freemen attended mass. There, he greeted them and signaled the priest to continue before giving the shocked congregants a chance to bow. \nAt the end of mass, the custom was for villagers to linger and exchange niceties as well as gossip. But that day, all eyes were on the knight, who waited not for his intentions to become clear. \nHe approached the elderly patriarch of a rich merchant family and, with a solemn tone, announced his wish to marry the man's only daughter - Lillian was her name.\nThe old man was speechless and looked over at the scared girl who cowered behind the tall figures of her brothers. Their faces betrayed the revulsion to the idea of marrying their sister to a man of such infamy. Knowing their place all too well, they bit their tongues. \nThe father invited their Lord to discuss the matter further in the privacy of their townhouse. It was no secret Sir Bernard's coffers were running low and that her dowry was the solution for the knight's problems. \nHis reaction, however, they did not expect. \nOffended, he wondered aloud what a high-born would do in the abode of ones such as themselves. The church echoed with murmurs and the old man felt the people's gaze like a humiliating pierce. The proposal stood, as Sir Bernard put it, most beneficial: The merchant's daughter would be elevated to nobility, as well as any children she would bear him. With a child on the way, the king, who worried over the continuity of that borderland's defense, had promised to make him a Baron. An opportunity to bring the mercantile family into the circles of high-nobility came less than once in a lifetime. \nThey hesitated, as the mumbles of the eavesdropping townsfolk ceased and turned into looks of envy. \nAnd thus, reluctantly, they agreed to the proposal and shook hands with the Lord, as tears gathered at the corners of the girl's eyes. Her frightened stare met only with the most devious of grins, as Sir Bernard Blackheart bowed before departing.\nBut they had all been tricked. For Sir Bernard's lies and machinations were deep as his lust for riches. In truth, a royal missive had arrived threatening to depose him of his fief. The king feared indeed for its defense but aimed to grant it to a younger, stronger Lord who could keep taking the fight to the enemy. A decision the Blackheart Knight was confident he could overrule with the birth of an heir, and a decent amount of silver.\nWhen the girl's protective brothers heard of this, they were livid and came at once to the fort of Blackwater. There, they mustered their courage and confronted the knight with these rumors. Emboldened by their own audacity, they questioned the Lord's ability to provide comfort for their sister. \nThe servants and guards all held their breath for the poor brothers. They above all were accustomed to their master's temper and cruelty, even towards those who groveled beneath him. \nTo their shock, Sir Bernard replied calm and collected, as to what evidence had they of this claim. The punishment for such unfounded accusations was severe and it ended especially bad when coming from those of lower birth. He questioned them if they had considered the rumor's veracity before spreading slander. \nTaken aback, the brothers swore on their lives they had not uttered a single word to a living soul. They had found it more honorable to come with the news straight to the Knight himself and grant him a chance to defend his honor. Not even their father knew they had come to the fort.\nSir Blackheart grinned once again, as he did that day in the church. Not only were the rumors true, but also spread of his own volition. He had counted on the brother's hasty confrontation. With their whereabouts unaccounted for, he had them murdered right there and then.\nHonor, he thought, always shoved young men at sharpened steel. \nWith one command of his voice, the knight became the sole inheritor of the merchant's wealth, as soon as he married Lillian. \nTheir father, however, suspected what had happened. Without proof, he could not avenge the murder of his sons, but he could still call off the wedding. \nThis too, Sir Blackheart had anticipated. His men were sent out to capture Lillian and bring her back to his fort. Once there, he raped her before her captors could even leave.\nWhen her father noticed her missing, he feared the worst and roused some village folk to storm the fort. Most dared not raise arms against such an unforgiving Lord, but the promise of wealth was enough encouragement for a small mob to muster. \nBlackheart had for the third time been expecting this. At the fort's threshold, he stood with but a few warriors and the town priest. Still bloodied, Lillian stood not far behind.\nThe Blackheart Knight, once again calm, inquired what business had the old merchant with an armed host at his doorstep. \nThe father demanded his daughter back. At such old age, his ability to fight was questionable, but his eyes burned with wild bloodlust.\nSir Blackheart put on his darkest grin yet. He asked the priest whether he had not been a witness to the betrothal that had taken place in his very own church, before God Himself. The priest nodded, his gaze heavy to the ground.\nIt dawned on the old merchant what the knight had plotted from the very beginning - It was no accident the request had taken place during mass. What he could not have foreseen was when Sir Blackheart lowered his head and confessed to kidnap and rape. \nBewilderment overcame the mob as Sir Bernard Blackheart asked for forgiveness from the girl's father. His confession to the priest, the knight added, not being enough to uplift his soul. \nMet only with ominous silence, Sir Blackheart continued his petition. The waiting had been too much for him to bear. Fearing the spread of ill rumors to be a plot to break the engagement, he acted. \nHowever, a compromise could still be reached. He was willing to give Lillian back if her father admitted to the plot and paid for damages to his reputation. Or he would marry her in that instant, preserving her honor and even forgoing her dowry.\nThe old man dropped his weapon and knelt to the ground sobbing. It was over. He could never take his little girl home. \nAdmitting to plot against a noble would surely ruin him. His family's name would be dragged in the mud and he would never do business again. A life of begging in the streets awaited him, without any means to provide for Lillian. This assuming his own life would even be spared. \nThere was no one to appeal to either - The priest and witnesses most likely siding with the Knight for fear of retribution. If only he could still give his little girl's hand in marriage to another man, then maybe she could still have a second chance at life. But with her purity defiled, no one would ever take her as a wife.\nWith a last cry, he looked her in the eyes and reached for his knife. As he pushed it into his feeble heart, he prayed to God the Blackheart Knight would die soon after. \nLillian was inconsolable. One moment she was frolicking in her youth and wealth, another, her entire family had been taken from her. All she had left was a life sentenced to serve the man who had destroyed or defiled everything she held dear. She pleaded with the priest, a holy man, to what kind of God would allow for this to happen. God, she was told, was infinite in His wisdom. And as a woman, she was sinful by nature. To repent, she was told to do.\nLife was no longer worth living for Lillian, but the thought of revenge kept her going forward. Every morning and every night she would pray for God to execute divine justice and smite down her husband.\nBut she would not just wait and let fate take its course. With her wealth and newfound status, she had a convent built for His worship. Also, a place where women who had lost everything could dedicate their lives to God - a fate she wished for herself before her age had awoken the lust of cruel men. \nBut even there, she was confronted with the priest who had been an accomplice to her husband's crimes. Undermining her efforts and belittling her cause, he put forth every obstacle imaginable against women joining the convent. Ever since its founding, none but a handful of souls had entered its service. \nLillian's life was torture and a constant reminder that God was deaf to her suffering, as were all His subjects.\nOne day, her heart sank as she came to learn her biggest fear had came true - She was with child. \nThe thought of bearing the spawn of that sadistic man made her sick to her soul. It was then she decided to take drastic measures and for the first time in her life, a woman's life, be the one in control. \nIf God was not willing to listen to her pleas, there was another who was willing and able - the Devil. \nShe knew what had to be done. Renouncing God was the easy part. He had never brought her solace. Hell couldn't possible hold any surprises for her.\nPledging herself to the Lord of Darkness was a harrowing experience, but the reward would be the power to undo her enemies.\nIn the end, there was but one last price she needed to pay for binding her soul in fiery damnation - the blood of the innocent. Not only innocent but high-born too, she thought to sweeten the deal.\nWithout hesitation, she took the knife her father had used to end his own life and plunged it into her womb. Blood was everywhere and her vision started to fade, but she could not help but smile.\nFor most, this would be the end. But not for Lady Lillian of Blackwater - The Devil had accepted her pact.\nShe woke up from her dreamless slumber on a bed in her namesake convent. Surrounded by the poor souls who tirelessly maintained it despite the lack of novices. They told her, she had been asleep for weeks on end. In that time a lot had happened. \nUpon finding out his unborn child would never live, Sir Blackheart had flown into the biggest rage yet. He had burned the entire village to the ground and holed up in his fort when he heard the King had sent a Baron, to claim the fief as his own. The siege lasted but a few days and the Baron had stormed the tower and killed her husband. \nSir Bernard of Blackwater, the Blackheart Knight was dead. Lillian could not contain the tears of joy. The Devil was true to his word, it seemed. \nBut that was not all. The Baron, having other fiefs to manage, had departed and abandoned the fort in ruins. \nThere was no more Blackwater, only ashes. Lillian's home, burnt to the ground, would never be rebuilt without a Lord in the now derelict fort. \nHer freedom, she thought, would have nay a price too high.\nLillian recovered fast and soon took on the robes of Abbess at the remote and lonely convent of Blackwater. But her vendetta was far from over, and she had no intention of betraying her Dark Lord to whom she had pledged her soul.\nThere was one more man she sought to bring down - the priest. \nLillian's dreams were filled with dark omens and terrible insights. She had learned the whereabouts of said priest, but also that her sisters had all been defiled by him in the past. All locked away in that remote convent so that one man could relieve himself of any urges of the flesh without consequence.\nShe summoned them all and laid her vision of vengeance. A vision where women were not a commodity, a vision where they would not suffer because they had been born women. A vision where what made them women was not sin, but a gift to be wielded. Not by whatever morals a deaf God dictated, but by their own whims and principles.\nThat night, all five sisters made a solemn oath. Not to the Devil, but to each other, with the Dark Lord as witness. They asked for power and the price remained the same. That night, five babies went missing in the black of the night, snatched from their cribs. Their high-born blood, the ink to seal dark vows. \nThat terrible and darkest of nights, the convent and its most unholy order were reborn as the Coven of Blackwater. Its mission would be forever to elevate women from the yoke of God-fearing men. \nBaptized with the blood of an anointed priest, she now proudly stood as Lilith, the witch of Blackwater, first of her kind, and the head of the Coven.\nAnd since that day, every year on All Hallows' Eve they uphold their vows: To feast on the blood of little princes and barons alike. To feast on them for as long as women need to be witches, just so that they may belong to none but themselves." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Styx and Stones\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1032\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at the boundary between two realms." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A cold thick fog enveloped the muddy banks of the River Styx, chilling Persephone’s ankles. Demeter pulled Persephone’s coarsely woven robes tightly around her—robes of finely combed linen made from flax soaked in olive oil. When dried in the balmy Grecian sun, Persephone’s clothing smelled of newborn lambs and gentle sunbeams and fresh mown grass, but her dark destination had none of those sensations—nothing to smell, nothing to taste, nothing to feel. \nDemeter kissed her daughter’s forehead.\n“I do not want to go back,” Persephone cried out. Demeter gathered her only child into her arms, drawing her close. In the warmth of the embrace, both of the goddesses could feel the other’s broken heart still beating. Persephone looked up in time to see her mother’s grief stricken face, jaw clenched and eyes ablaze. \n“Are you angry with me?” Persephone asked. \n“No, my love,” her mother replied, steeling herself, making her heart a stone. It would resolve nothing to weep in front of her child. “I am angry with six pomegranate seeds and the duplicity of the gods.”\nEven as they walked stoically out of the realm of men, Persephone noticed how Demeter blasted the land behind them with an Aeolian wind. Trees shook off their colorful autumnal leaves. Vines dropped their fruit. The fair land and its lavish bounty rotted and decayed as the two passed. Trailing their footfalls, the verdant greens of the landscape withered into ugly browns, sending a shudder down the spines of superstitious men. Death seemed nearer, as the darkness encroached earlier and earlier, shortening their days. \nThe goddesses proceeded out of the mortal world hand in hand, Persephone’s small white hand clasped in her mother’s large callused one. Browned by the sun, Demeter loved working in the fall fields—loved the harvest—loved reaping grain with her sharp scythe, standing next to the illiterate laborers, all rejoicing in the earth’s richness. But as the time drew nearer for Persephone to return to the Underworld, her mother grew quieter, more withdrawn. \nShe seldom left their rustic abode late in the season, preferring to sit by the fire and hull barley by hand, dehusking the grains with mortar and pestle, grinding them into a fine flour. Old widows around the Aegean Sea found linen bags full of barley meal placed under their straw-filled pillows as they slept, necessary foodstuffs to keep them alive throughout the winter.\nWhen Persephone arrived safely home to her in the spring, Demeter would breathe life back into Gaia, warming the soil, fertilizing the womb, reanimating the natural world. Until then, Demeter would sit by the River Styx and wait, brooding and counting the times Helios drove his chariot from east to west. \nPersephone attempted to keep her lips from quivering, swallowing hard, blinking back hot tears. But the coldness of the riverbank’s fog startled her, reminding her of all the bleak months she would have to be at Hades' side, the souls of the dead swirling and bewailing their fates around them. It was enough to drive her to madness. \nPersephone wept again freely. Her mother stood nearby, rubbing her back like a small child until Persephone’s sobs subsided. Her mother did not cry. \n“Are you thirsty?” Demeter asked.\nHer daughter nodded.\nFrom her girdle, Demeter unstrapped a small wineskin, full of barley-water flavored with mint. “Drink while you can, my dearest.” \nPersephone quaffed her fill while her mother kept watch, their sandals unsettlingly sinking in the mire. Standing by the River Styx, Demeter watched the murky water roil in whirlpools as far as the eye could see. \nFinally, she spotted Charon, the ferryman, still a good ways off. Demeter bitterly wished his infernal boat would capsize and drown him for good, but the old haggard fool remained relentless in his approach. Even from a distance, Demeter could see him adroitly wield his ferryman’s pole. She needed to say her goodbyes, as Charon was fastidious about his transporting the dead with exactness and alacrity. There would be no quarter given to mothers who wanted a bit more time with their children, even though it was wholly unnatural for children to leave their mothers behind while descending to the Underworld. \nCharon was coming, and even the gods were afraid of his bad-tempered outbursts.\nWhen Persephone returned the wineskin to her mother, Demeter pressed a small silver coin into her hands, a danake, to pay for her trip into the realm of the dead.\n“For the ferryman,” Demeter reminded her. “Do not look Charon in the eye. He knows where to take you in the dark. Do not be afraid. He knows to whom you belong.”\nAt the mention of Hades, Persephone's eyes closed in despair. Demeter held her again, her daughter silently weeping along the moldy river bank. \n“Will you think of me?” her daughter pleaded, watching Charon maneuver his craft to the shore, displacing the fog. \n“I do not ever stop thinking of you,” Demeter replied, offering her daughter a tender smile, the same smile that appeared over her cradle not so many years before.\n“It is so long until spring—”\n“How could I ever forget you, Persephone? You grew in my womb just under my heart. You are my only child and my beloved, dutiful daughter. I have the days numbered until you return to me.”\n“εκατόν ογδόντα δύο,” her daughter said.\n“Yes, one hundred and eighty two days . . .” Demeter repeated. \nCharon motioned and grunted for her to embark, holding out his hand and scowling. Persephone placed the danake in his hand, which quickly disappeared into his robes. \n“Σε αγαπώ,” Persephone whispered, a foot on the boat, turning for one long look at her mother’s weathered face.\n“I love you, too,” her mother replied, sending her daughter off to a cold hell with a warm smile. \nPersephone crouched in the hull, looking for her mother on the banks of the River Styx until out of eyesight. \n“I will be here until you return,” Demeter called out into the night. \nThrough the gloom she could just make out the whiteness of her daughter’s hand, waving a farewell—the sight of which dissolved the stone in Demeter's heart, turning it into a river of tears." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Outside\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1174\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at the boundary between two realms." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I don’t know how long I watched myself sleep that night. \nMy face looked different than it did in the mirror. I can’t say in what way, it just did. I wondered what I was dreaming about. Probably the usual stuff. I didn’t wonder why I was floating a few feet above my own body. Not for a while at least. I can’t say how long. \nThere I was, dreaming, probably about struggling to put on a pair of socks. The socks thing is a surprisingly common motif in my dreams. I never have much trouble putting them on in the waking world. I struggle with a lot of things in the waking world, just not socks.\nWhen I did realize I wasn’t in my body that night, but, instead, hovering like the ghost of a person who just hadn’t died yet, my first thought was about my eyes. They were open. Not fully, but kinda squinting, like I was irritated by something very far off. I knew I did this, but hadn’t ever actually seen it myself. (One time my sister recorded a video of it and showed me, but that’s like a mirror, it doesn’t count.)\n“The pool’s closed,” I said, down there in bed. \nPool’s are not a common motif in my dreams, so I felt a little left out. It was winter at the time, so I knew I didn’t have a chance at going to a pool in real life. And I like pools. More than the ocean, which I can’t explain.\nIt was the pool thing that made me take my current situation more seriously. If I didn’t have a body, that meant no swimming, no pools, none of it. I needed to figure out how to get back into my body because I needed it. For a lot of things. But especially pools.\nI pondered what the rules might be for my current situation. How to get back into my body. Was it something that happened automatically, or did I have to do it myself, before my body-self awoke from his slumber? And if it was the latter, and I didn’t, would I be trapped out here forever? Or, maybe, would I get a second chance the next night? Or, worst of all…could my body even awake without its consciousness? If that’s what this floating part of myself even was.\nI tried to move, but that turned out to be a bit of a challenge. Not having a body made it hard to know how to move because, for me, moving has always been directly tied to my physicality. Arms, legs, fingers, etcetera. I would have to do a little more strategizing. \nThen I realized, even though my personal experience of moving is tied directly to my physical body—by that I mean my appendages and their movement—it all starts in my brain. My brain sends signals to my appendages and then my appendages do the thing my brain thought. The thing was, at the moment, I didn’t have a brain. Which seemed like a problem at first, but then I realized I was having thoughts. Thoughts independent of a brain. It made sense when I thought about it (without my brain). So, if my brain was just a conduit of my thoughts—i.e. if thoughts originated outside my physical brain—and my movement was directed by thoughts sent to my brain, which, in turn, sent that movement-thought to my appendages, concluding in my movement, then—when you think about it—thought is what causes movement, not the physical brain.\nI thought about moving closer to myself and—therefore—did move closer to myself. \nI didn’t like being that close to my face. There was probably some deep-seated psychological issue to be dealt with regarding that response, but, at the moment, I had to deal with other issues. Mainly, figuring out how to absorb myself back into myself.\nFaintly, far off, I could hear the sounds of splashing water. \nI guess the pool’s open now, I thought, completely independently of my brain.\nMaybe that was the answer. Maybe I had to synchronize my thoughts with the dream inside my sleeping brain. Sounded as good as anything else. \nI closed my eyes. \n(I didn’t actually close my eyes, I had no eyes to close, but I did my best to focus my attention on my thoughts, instead of my current visual stimulus.)\nI listened hard to the sounds coming from my sleeping body’s dream. I tried to imagine the pool, the people sloshing around in the blue, the smell of chlorine, the shape of the splashing waves. \nI imagined I was a bat, hanging there, echolocating my own mind’s unconscious thoughts. And—surprising to even me—it was working. I started to see things, things that I hadn’t imagined, but that began to form by my resonance with the dream venting off into the metaphysical stratosphere.\nI stood on the edge of the pool. \nI stood on the diving board.\nI stood on the diving board and on the edge of the pool.\nThe ‘me’ on the edge of the pool was the ‘me’ I had been since I fell asleep. The ‘me’ on the diving board was eleven-years-old and second-guessing his choices. \nI had always loved pools but hated diving boards. This had always caused a tension. As a kid, if you’re in a pool, you have to use the diving board or all the other kids won’t let you live it down. If you tell them that you are afraid of the diving board, they will make sure to get you onto that diving board and then push you off no matter how much you struggle. It’s best to just choose the diving board yourself. \nSo this was kinda a nightmare.\nI wanted to tell myself that I didn’t need to jump off the diving board, but I knew that wasn’t true. Things had to run their course. A nightmare had to be a nightmare. I didn’t know how dangerous it would be to interfere. I had made it here successfully, inside my own unconscious mind—a feat that seemed impossible, even in the middle of a greater impossibility—so probably best to not push it.\nI jumped off the diving board and made the plunge.\nI held my breath and waited for myself emerge from the water.\nI emerged from the water and swam over to the edge of the pool.\n“It’s fine,” I said, spitting out a stream of chlorinated water. “It’s better to just take the dive.”\n“I know,” I said.\n“What are you doing here?”\n“Well, I was outside,” I pointed up, vaguely, “and then…”\n“How’d you get out there?”\n“No idea.”\n“Are you going to stay here?”\n“Stay…” I tried to understand what I was saying, “I don’t want to stay, here. I want to go, with you.”\n“Where am I going?”\nI looked down at my eleven-year-old self and then came the soon-to-be-too-familar sensation…\n\nvision blurs and all goes blank,\nsteam drifts up from a screaming kettle—\nthere’s always tomorrow night." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Broken House Rules\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1141\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the words “Everything was ready for the ritual.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Everything was ready for the ritual. The thing about it was that Leaf Cole could not recall how he became a part of it, at least not yet. His only assignment was to go down and take pictures of this small town in Massachusetts for a possible movie. He rented a place from the Slices when he arrived. The Slices included Bryan & Lucy the parents and John the oldest son and two daughters who where away.\n The room he rented in the Slices home was nice. It wasn’t empty but it did have some decent things in it. The Slices themselves seemed like normal people but boy he was to find out how wrong he was. He had missed all the possible signs even before he started his trip. The supposed movie he was to take pictures for was a ghost story. He didn’t think anything about it at the beginning, but he wishes now he had. What was there to ask questions about? It was a movie; he was taking pictures and that was it. He wasn’t in the movie Leaf thought. That was hint number one, he thought to himself as his eyes tried to bring into focus what his mind simply could not comprehend. The room wasn’t pitch black nor was it bright as day. That distinction led him to think, exactly how long had he been in that room? He truly did not know if it was night or day.\n The second clue Leaf missed was the houses in the Slices neighborhood. There were three stories houses that were almost identical. They were colors he had never seen on houses before. This too he gave no thought because he was from New York, there are colors everywhere. He went over in his head the many things he ignored that perhaps he shouldn’t have. The family themselves seemed fine but what he did recall was the constant warning about the “House Rules”. But there wasn’t any House Rules, as in more than one, there was only one. Bryan, Lucy, and John made it their business to make sure he was told to read them. The night he arrived after dinner Leaf made it his business to do just that. There was only one house rule, “never open the attic door.\"\n Leaf tried to remember how he got in this room, was this the attic? Why, what was in the attic he had wondered. Leaf for many days had shaken off the curiosity to look. It kept getting the best of him because of the repeated admonishment to read the house rules. Leaf took in a deep breath as memories of how he got in the room flooded back. It was weird to him, but he found himself more disappointed than scared. He recalled late one night when he thought everyone was gone. He turned the knob of the attic door. As he ascended the stairs he was hit on the back of his head. Today, he awakens and doesn’t know how long he’s been out.\n Leaf was tied down on what felt to him to be some type of gurney. He was tied hands and feet, but not his torso or lower limbs nor his head. With the hint of light that did enter the room he could see what looked like coffins. He started to scream and thrash about, yelling for the Slices. He soon heard steps coming up the stairs. He couldn’t believe his eyes it was Saw Sawn, his boss from New York. Leaf asked, ‘What is this Mr. Sawn, what are you doing here?” Sam walked across the room and turned on the light switch just over Leaf head. Leaf looked at him and there was nothing he noticed about the man that would have made him question anything. There wasn’t today nor had there ever been. But why would he be here as a part of what looked like something crazy. He was just Mr. Sawn. He was a suit and tie kind of guy. His shoes always polished to shine. His hair always neatly laid. Leaf thought maybe that’s what it was, Sawn was always suit and tie dressed, no matter the occasion. Whether it was dinner, lunch, brunch, or supper he was going to be dressed. No one thought it strange especially not Leaf because he recalled his father was a little like Sawn. So, Leaf paid it no mind, he wishes he had of now. Leaf noticed that even after Sawn turned on the light switch only one solid light came on. Leaf raised up just enough to see two coffins, now clearer. “What is going on here?” Leaf yells in Sawn’s direction. “Leaf you are a part of an experiment my son.” “There is no movie.” “The ad in the paper, I put it there.” “I knew you would choose mines. Sawn replied. Mr. Sawn already knew Leaf was going to pick his ad. He had been dropping hints about the whole thing, into Leaf’s subconscious weeks before. The boy never picked up on it, even after Sawn begin talking to him about it. Leaf was such an easy target, Sawn would say. “So, I’m here what do you want with me, what experiment?” Leaf angrily asked. \n “What have you done with the Slices he yelled?” “Well, my boy they are fine. They’re apart of this too.” “You didn’t find them odd or better yet this neighborhood nor this house?” “No of course you didn’t, did you?” Sawm asked. Leaf continued attempts to untie himself even while Sawn was still in the room begin to aggravate Sawn. “Please stop, you must keep up your strength.” He would often tell Leaf this of which Leaf would reply, “strength for what?” \n It wasn’t the trying to get away as much as it was his constants asking of questions that drove Sawn crazy. “What is this for” What is that for?” “Where is Bryan, Lucy and John?” “Why aren’t you gagged?” Sawn would turn and asked Leaf. Sawn had warned the Slices that Leaf needed to be gagged because he would be screaming. The Slices had assured Sam they would be back before he awoke.\n And so they were about an hour or so after Sam arrival here comes the Slices, the parents and John.\nLeaf however recalled that Bryan had told him they had three kids, a boy and two girls. The girls were away, at least that was what Leaf was told. He had only met John, where were the two girls? Leaf with shock in his eyes turned his head to the right looked over at the two coffins. There standing by each coffin was a member of the Slice family. All Leaf heard before he passed out due to shock was, everything is ready for the ritual." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: For My Father\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 2659\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who feels like they're cut off from something." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Trigger warning: Suicide, mental health\nSome mornings the feeling was of old lace, touch it and it falls to dust. On others she saw their little rat tails disappearing under the soffits and couldn’t grab even one to yank it back and see what it was. Most days it felt more like seeing cockroaches zipping away and gone before she was even sure they were there. It had been going on a long time, this disconnection from her dreams. They just did not stay long enough in her mind to even form an image. She tried all the remedies for remembering—stay still, don’t open your eyes, walk backward into the scene, paper and pen under the pillow, flax and lavender eye shade, marijuana gummies, warm baths, recordings of ocean waves, sleep at odd times, mantras both poetic and mundane. But her dreams had gone AWOL. She felt stripped of a pillar of her psyche. She imagined they had all washed onto the shore of a remote Pacific atoll along with Amelia Earhart’s bones.\nHer dreams used to be the central imagining force of her mind, the source for poems, stories and a novel told in fairy tales. Now her writing had stalled out. She started to wonder if she was losing her edge. Was this a sign of early decay of some kind?\nWhy would dreams be shutting down now, in the midst of a pandemic when she needed them most? They were her parallel life even before lockdown. In the past she had dreamed of conducting an animal orchestra, of flying from crumbling sand cliffs, of diving to the bottom of a green pool and even breathing under water until she realized she would soon drown. She looked at the surface so far above, a ceiling of light she could gauge right away was beyond her breath supply. She frantically clawed upward, losing momentum.\nFoolish how far she had dived down and lost track of time and distance. She had felt at peace tumbling in the depths of the warm pool, a water creature that wouldn’t need to surface. Then so alarmed that she woke mid-stroke as if switching off a projector. She blinked into the pale light of her bedroom. Breathing fine, beyond grateful to be breathing. She had oversized lungs to begin with. She always won the contest for who could swim underwater the longest. Or in choir, she could hold a long note far past where everyone else had gasped to a stop.\nThis deep-green pool in the dream had almost been the death of her—in the dream anyway, and maybe in life too. But close calls like this, including frequently falling off bridges, riding in driverless cars, canoeing in 30-foot Arctic waters, trying to pull her sister from an undertow, never made her want to stop dreaming. Without dreams a whole other color palette was missing. She was an imposter in life, especially as a writer. Lots of people suggested a dream specialist or a hypnotist but she wasn’t sure about entrusting this part of herself to a stranger. She had a hard enough time with regular therapy. Which was useless for bringing her dreams back anyway and posed inane questions like “Why do you think this is happening?” If she knew that she wouldn’t have to be here.\nSo when she saw the table at the Farmer’s Market with a handwritten sign, “Rêve-elation,” she paused. She felt a long sigh move through her body. Smaller script below read “dreams used and reconditioned.” The chair was empty where a proprietor might sit. Was this was a self- service operation? The dark blue cloth covering the table bore jags of yellow lightning like cartoon symbols for electricity—warning that you could get a shock. It was windy but the cloth did not ruffle and the small bottles shoulder to shoulder on the table stood without teetering. All dark brown glass, closed and somber looking. Are these smelling salts, to bring on visions, she wondered, or drops to put in a hot drink before bed? “Used and reconditioned,” that’s some joke. What does that mean? That all dreams are basically from the same factory and they just get recycled and reused? She had always prided herself on her dreams—the unique images of purple-skinned women diving in a sea cave, the museum of bombs, the overflowing shed of papers where her long-dead father still labored.\nThat was the one dream she longed to return to. She and her father didn’t have time to begin the long task he had summoned her to. She had met him at the side of the garden—his half-acre vegetable plot. It was in spring cover crop, how he had left it and wasn’t returning to plant anymore. Made sense. He swung his gaze from the rye grass. “You don’t look too good. You’re so old. Where is my little girl?” “Speak for yourself,” she thought to herself. But she said, “You’ve been gone more than 30 years, Dad. How can you expect me not to look old? I’m nearly your age now.”\nHe said, “Come here, there’s a really important project you have to help me with. I want to show you.” He put his baseball glove-sized hand on her shoulder where it sat nearly weightless and led her to a shed next to the garden. She could see overflowing boxes and tides of papers scattered everywhere. The work bench was completely covered, tools buried. Boxes were stacked on the rototiller, the wheelbarrow and the cart that hooked to the riding mower. On her birthdays he would give rides around the lawn in this wooden wagon until she and her brother and sister grew too big to fit. Everything was papers now, spilling over the slats. Piled invoices like layers of filo dough, cash register slips, envelopes ripped open jaggedly, file folders of brown-edged papers. Ripped, crumpled, everything mounded without organization. \nShe could not imagine where they would begin. He said, “Hurry, we don’t have much time, the light is fading. There is something in here, very important, that I want to show you. We have to find it.” \nThey stood at the shed’s doorway and her hands twitched to start sorting and organizing—something she was really good at. They had to find the important document or whatever it was he wanted to show her. He had never spoken to her this way so she was especially on alert and ready to help. Not like when he would command her and her siblings to pick peas or weed the garden. She could feel there was so much to learn in there. \nThis shed he had never showed anyone. It seemed he had built it next to where his ashes lay in the garden, sometime during the decades since he died. He had been waiting for her to find her way there in a dream. Now they were on the threshold of a great mission together. He finally trusted her with something he had never revealed in his lifetime. Was it about his brother Robbie the priest in training who died in a mental hospital? Was it about losing the farm? Was it his own private writings done in rehab? She had heard hints of these stories from her aunts but that’s as far as it went. Whatever her father wanted to tell her, she was sure she would know him a little more. She longed to know him not just as the severe man who committed suicide right after Thanksgiving. He had saved all these important papers to show her. She welled up with gratitude. With so little time, how would they start? \nJust as she and her father were entering the shed she woke up. She could feel the huge revelation hanging, invisible, waiting to be brought to light among the papers. Then nothing. Gray windows at 6:42 am. She was furious. \nMaybe it was from this time onward that her dreams seemed to abandon her more and more. But if she had to choose, this was the only dream she cared to revisit. Wouldn’t she and her father have gone into the shed and started to work on the piles side by side, reminiscing, sharing familiar oddities they came across--who is this in the photo, remember your green moleskin shirt? The big revelation was not within reach anymore, now that her dreams had de-coupled from her psyche and gone on a different track. These tracks had no distant point of convergence—they traveled resolutely parallel. She leaned from her window and strained to see if her father was on the other train. It faded into its own smoke.\nHow could used and reconditioned dreams be of any help to her? She wanted to return to a very specific one, not end up with someone else’s worn-out weird dream they had discarded. And what could be reconditioned? She had circled the whole farmer’s market barely seeing the late summer tomatoes and sweet pea bouquets with sunflowers. She had been staring inward at the papers in in the shed. When she arrived back at the Rêve-elation table a blocky man was seated in the folding chair, squinting from under his crocodile hat. She imagined through his black denim shirt to the tangle of tattoos over his whole body. His arms fit tightly in the shirtsleeves and she could picture a cottonmouth twining over his biceps. He adjusted his hat and twirled his cigarette out on the sole of a white boot with real fur patches left on the leather. For a man of amphibious skin he had a lot of knuckle hair.\n“Far away on the giving and getting.”\nShe wasn’t sure if that’s what he said but it seemed addressed at her. \n“Kin I help yeh?” \nShe expected to smell booze as she stepped closer. The farmer’s market was usually so wholesome—who was this? \n“What de yeh fancy, pretty lady?” he offered again. “Promenade in green? Keys to the kingdom? High, low, rocky road?” He paused. \nShe stopped moving.\n“I see it. You want to go. He awaits, green light on behind. Take the train, the slow train.”\nShe looked into his greeny mud-brown eyes and felt him see straight into her grief. Still, after 30 years. And now, especially after the unfinished dream and all the others lost. She longed to walk next to her father again. They wouldn’t have to shuffle papers. They wouldn’t even have to talk.\n“The one about the shed, that’s the dream I can’t give up. All the others you can have. Enough to fill the Library of Alexandria. Maybe the trade is good. What do I fancy? Just one more afternoon with my father. I need to ask him about the shed, why he showed me all that stuff and then just left.” She spilled the words and then felt like fleeing.\nThe man’s fingertips paced over the shiny black caps of his brown bottle army. His fingernails were a nauseous shade of yellow. With a click of his tongue he picked up a bottle, opened and sniffed and quickly recapped it. “Too acidic. Wipes your memory. Some want that.” He went back to fumbling over the neat rows of bottles. This one he held up to the light. “Not enough culturing time, still cloudy.” He closed his eyes and let his hand drift like a metal-detector. She wanted to pull away and get back to normal errands, but she had waited this long. His stubby fingertips closed on the neck of a bottle in the center of the collection. He lifted it slowly, dangling it down in a way she could only call unsettling. \n“I wouldn’t have said Pokeweed for you—didn’t take you for a chancer. But here. Don’t drink it, just put it under your pillow.”\nShe couldn’t move.\nHe murmured on in a thin voice: “How many dream fires I have doused with this wicked tincture and yet some may still live in a useful form. Take special care, this is the hazmat dump of the whole collection. Once I give it to you I’ll start right in on the next one. I’ve got the base liquor all ready in the still— maybe you saw my trailer in the parking lot, with the pipe on the side? These days I can pass for one of those teardrop camper types, just a little more rough and tumble. Been at it for some time, back to the Pleistocene you could say.”\nYou don’t say, she thought. What drugs did he grow up on?\nHe was still dangling the narrow bottle over the table between them. It had a murky orange glow that reminded her of eucalyptus honey. The more he moved it, swinging like a bell, the more it seemed to pick up moisture from the air until it was covered with a haze of condensation. Then it started to smoke like a lump of dry ice. “It’s all charged up, m’lady.” \nWithout thinking she reached out and let him drop the bottle into her left palm. She closed her fingers on the slender smoking glass. A sting ran through her body. \nOK, she thought, this guy has something going here. I should probably run.\nHe was watching her with interested wavering underwater eyes. They were the color of the deep pool where she had swum and nearly run out of breath, come to notice. He smiled with a few teeth, black gums. \n“What do I do now?”\n“Keep it in the sun when it’s not under your pillow. Don’t let anyone else touch it. Bring it back when it runs down for a free recharge.”\n“How will I find you?”\n“Don’t worry, you will,” he said, sliding his chevron eyebrows up and down. \nShe started to feel seasick, the earth was sliding away. What if this was a bottle of jinx? Why was she still standing here? She looked around at the deserted farmer’s market. They were alone next to a garden and the light began to fall. \n“How do I know I you aren’t trying to mess me up with this stuff?” \n“I thought that’s why you stopped by, dearie. The daytime world is just a little too dry for the likes of you. I traffic in the underneath. You know it, you crave it. You’ve grown out of the usual portals. I wouldn’t give you Pokeweed if you weren’t ready.”\nMore nonsense palaver, but her hand hadn’t fallen off, and the electrical current had backed off to a mild massaging purr. Her eyes felt loose in their sockets. She gave in, why not at least pretend she would try it. \n“What do I owe you?” she managed to mumble. \n“I’ll collect, you’ll see,” he winked.\nShe didn’t remember sleeping but now she was in a little shed on wheels. It was her own bedroom crammed into a trailer. Images sloshed through her. She had been in a white city in the dawn, the mist of the river still low to the streets. She had wandered a souk. There were bright fabrics decorating the passages and more for sale in stacks everywhere. She reached under her pillow. A cool ghost of a shape slipped from her grasp. She felt around but nothing stayed. \nShe could smell a bit of river mud and duckweed. She dove down under the covers and looked back at the souk where she had bought beignets and a blue and gold fountain pen. The pen gave her left hand a little electrical shiver when she felt it in her vest pocket. Through an arched door she caught sight of four white hooves and golden fur patches bounding onto a wide lawn. She thought she saw her father next to the garden, on a low yellow stool like a mushroom. He was peeling back cornhusk on brilliant silver ears that he stacked into a tower. The empty shed stood open." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Library Card\n\nGenre: christian\n\nWord Count: 2992\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a student discovering a hidden room in a university library." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Library Card\nBarry Wilder watched as the Librarian scanned his Reader’s Card to gain access to Duke Humphries Library. Years of genealogical research into the Wilder family culminated in this trip to visit the Domesday book and collection and its list of property owners after William the Conqueror became king. All of his research pointed to his family being substantial landowners under King Edward’s reign. \nGenealogy was his addiction. Barry’s only saving grace was his wife, who supported him even when he lost his job due to the amount of time he took off to do research. Inez exhibited the patience of a saint and was his anchor and now his only source of sanity.\nBarry shook his head as he realized the emotional bunny trail of worry had stopped him from reading the section he already had read three times. He looked up from the page, rubbed his blue eyes, leaned back in the straight-backed wooden chair, and scratched his long, dirty blond hair with the vigor of his frustration. He rolled his head around to loosen his neck muscles and started to return to reading, but noticed a movement in his peripheral vision that was lit by a shaft of light coming through the tall arched windows. \nHe turned and quickly stood up. So far today, he was the only person in this part of the library. And, the silence was part of the problem concentrating. Barry was used to noise at work and in his home. He walked over to where the movement had been and looked around the end of a bookshelf.\nStanding in front of a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf was a short monk. Dressed like a medieval monk from the Dark Ages. He was humming to himself as he kept removing books to read their spines as if he were looking for one particular book. Meticulously he would replace each book making sure that it fit perfectly in line with the other books on the shelf. After a minute or two the monk was squatting to reach the bottom shelf, and a quiet, “Aha! Found you my friend!”\nBut, then the monk put the book on the floor and reached into the bookshelf itself, and fiddled with something behind the shelf. Then he replaced the book on the shelf. He stood up and began rocking back and forth on his feet still humming as if he were waiting for something. The shelf slowly and quietly began to slide back into the wall, revealing an oval door. It shined as if it had just been polished and was worked with all manner of symbols. Barry realized he had seen that style of decoration on the ancient steles in Scotland that the Picts carved. The door looked new but also old. The top portion of the door was covered in decorative symbols which were connected and morphed from one symbol to the next. In the middle was a band of Pictish soldiers in procession carrying the top half of the door on their shoulders. Below that on the bottom half of the door were line after line of Runes. \nThe Monk unexpectedly turned his head to make sure no one was watching, causing Barry to duck back behind the shelf. He cautiously peeked back around the shelf in time to see the Monk take an iron key out from under his brown robe inserted it into the very center of the door and turned. Barry heard a distinct clunk, followed by the door opening. The Monk left the key in the door and walked through the door. Barry caught a quick glimpse of a staircase behind the door with modern lighting leading downstairs. \nAfter the door shut, Barry walked over to the oval door and pushed it back open. \nThe stairwell stood out from the Library as it was completely made of rough-hewn rock, from the steps to the arched ceiling. He questioned his sanity as he descended the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs was a well-lit room about twenty feet long by ten feet wide. A table sat directly to his left upon taking the last step down into the room with a tall narrow and flat-faced wooden panel. The panel had lots of slots, many filled with individual library cards. At the top of the panel was a sign that said, “No Library Cards Past this Point”. The majority of the slots were blank, and there were only a few cards in those slots. There was no one in the room, but there was a camera aimed directly at the opening of the staircase. It was positioned over another opening which had no door. A red light was on the top of the camera and Barry saw the camera swivel towards him as he walked towards the opening.\nA gravely squeaky voice dropped out of the camera and asked, “Who are you? And, how did you get in here?”\nBarry stopped and looked up at the camera and said the only thing he could think of, “I have a Library Card. I saw the door up there and thought there might be more books down here. To be honest, I don’t even know where here is.”\n“Hmmm, a Library Card.” Barry heard what he thought were two people quietly laughing. “Very well, you can proceed. Someone will escort you when you reach the bottom. Welcome to The Library!”\nBarry stood for a moment frozen in confusion. “Do I really want to find out what’s down there? Or, should I politely walk away?”\nHis feet made the decision for him and he continued down on the next flight of stairs until he noticed a brighter light coming up from below. And, the smell of a Museum filled with very old things.\nBarry stepped out from the stairs and for a moment his mind blinked as if it were trying to rub its own inside the brain kind of eyes. Stretched out before him was the Library to beat all Libraries. It was a multi-layered Disneyland of a Library. The ceiling stood at least three stories high, and the walls were; well, he realized he couldn’t actually see the walls for the rows of ceiling-high bookshelves. Each row with its own circular staircase leading up to catwalks lining every floor of books. The middle of the Library descended through three distinct levels like a gargantuan sunken living room. Each level was ringed with reading alcoves and more books. This extended for the length of the Library floor, which led to a far distant wall with three giant arches with what looked like more Library branches. \n“Ahem!” A voice gently caught Barry’s attention, “I’m your guide. If you would please follow me? The powers that be have graciously granted you the privilege of the dime tour.”\nBarry was looking down at the Monk he had followed down into this “other” Library. \nThe Monk held out his hand and said, “Give it to me.”\nBarry, still in a state of shock, just stared at the Monk and said, “What? Give you what?”\n“The Key! I would appreciate you giving it back as I will get in trouble for leaving it in the door upstairs.”\n“I didn’t take the key. It was still in the door when I went through. I didn’t take it, honest!” Barry held his arms out as if to prove nothing was in his hands.\nThe Monk’s face drained of blood, and he looked as if he would faint. “Oh no, this is not good.” He looked up at Barry and asked, as he began to pace back and forth, wringing his hands nervously, “Did you see anyone else up there in the Library? Anyone that looked Scholarly? Or anyone skulking about in the shadows? This could be a disaster of historical proportions if this key has been stolen.”\nThe Monk looked at Barry and motioned him away as if he were shooing a cat from the couch. “Please, go away. Over there is the tram that will take you wherever you need to go in this library. I need to spread the alarm!”\nThe Monk began to run towards a small room next to the door to the Library. Barry saw another monk behind a glassed-in door. “Why would losing a key be so traumatic?” Barry thought.\nHowever, unable to answer his own question, Barry walked in the direction the Monk had indicated. The sense of amazement washed over his senses as his eyes, ears, nose, and feet took in the sensations of the Grandness of the building and the thousands upon thousands of books and manuscripts. The floor was carpeted with plush carpeting that looked as if it came from an ancient Islamic temple. All of the wood was dark and immaculately polished. The windows of the arched ceiling were all stained glass, intricately crafted with scenes from obscure but tantalizingly familiar scenes. His mouth hung open, and he was so distracted he almost collided with a man standing next to a Victorian-style open-top carriage at the head of a line of identical carriages settled on a very narrow gauge rail track. \nBarry’s attention abruptly returned to the moment. He was standing before a man dressed in a well-tailored suit and top hat. He was Barry’s size and looked like he should be walking the streets of London in 1874. His handlebar mustache curled in several spirals, and his curly sideburns stood out from the side of his head like weights holding his top hat to the top of his head. Wire frame glasses outlined his deep hazel eyes. He was leaning on an Ivory-topped cane and was smiling at Barry.\n“Impressive, isn’t it? You will have to forgive our interns as they can be a bit absent-minded at times.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the Key from upstairs. “Sometimes, we have to use our imaginations to discipline those who will someday guard this sacred place. I imagine you have a plethora of questions, Barry. Yes, we know your name and why you are here. You aren’t supposed to be here. But now that you are. It was decided to allow you to stay and reveal to you what you are looking for.”\n“What I am looking for? I was looking for the land holdings of my Wilder ancestors at the time of William the Conqueror. Is there something else I need to be looking for?” Barry looked into the face of the man standing there and asked, “Who are you? What is this place? This library must be many times larger than the one upstairs.”\n“My name? My name is Robert de Guilford. I am one of the Librarians in The Final Library, and I have been given the pleasure of escorting you through our collection.”\nBarry looked at Robert as if he were waiting for something more, “Collection? Collection of what? It’s pretty obvious you have a massive collection of books. But, are you collecting something else?”\nRobert stepped aside and motioned to the carriage, and said, “Have a seat, and I will explain exactly what and where you have stumbled upon.” \nThey both entered the carriage, the seats of which were red velvet and gold satin trim and would have held four small people or two larger people, which they were. Robert reached over and pushed a lever down on a console next to the tracks, and the light on top turned green. The carriage began to move with a small jerk, and then a smooth, silent speed propelled the carriage forward. \nRobert de Guilford used his cane to point out things and said, “First off, to answer your question about collections. We collect many things. But, foremost, our charter’s primary purpose has been to collect Libraries. And before you ask me what that means. The Library comprises every Library that was lost to mankind over the centuries. The Creator is quite covetous of his words, and His revelations to men. Satan, however, has no qualms about destroying as much of man’s endeavors and the revelations shared with those men and women who gained God’s favor and friendship. Every culture on this planet has had its share of general revelation about who He is and His creation, and every culture, tribe, and tongue has attempted to collect His words and His wisdom in the form of cave paintings, clay tablets, stone steles, and books. It has been a long battle to preserve the memories and wisdom since the beginning. But, for us, for me, it has been a life of collecting and collating everything that the angels bring us. Satan may believe that every time those under his deception burn a previous civilization’s wisdom, he erases the revelations of God. But he has been wasting his time. That’s not to say that if he found this place, he wouldn’t try to destroy it. It’s why we have protected this since the time when Britain was part of the continent.\nProbably, the most famous library that disappeared and could have passed copious amounts of wisdom on to later generations is the Library of Alexandria. But the list of libraries lost to mankind is a lengthy one. They span from China to Africa and Europe, from the very first library of Ashurbanipal to the libraries destroyed by the Nazis and the Communists and the Islamists.”\nBarry watched as section after section and room after room scrolled by. There were sections filled with scrolls, papyrus, and lamb skin. The sections with clay tablets and stone monuments took a long time to move past. It took quite a while to get past the ancient libraries and into the sections with the books. All the time, Robert was narrating which section came from which library and which country. \nBarry’s mind began to go numb after the first hour of narration, and was rubbing his eyes when Robert stopped the carriage and said, “Let’s stretch our legs and have a cuppa.” He stepped out on the opposite side, and as Barry followed, a group of monks dressed in the same brown robes stepped up with a stainless steel tea set and a plate of scones.\n “I don’t know about you, Barry, but I need this. It’s time for afternoon tea. And this is my favorite section of The Library. These books here are the ones stolen or destroyed by the various invasions on this island. The illustrated books of the monks of Iona, Lindisfarne, and Jarrow. There were many more over the centuries of the Viking Age. Plus, there are many monasteries plundered over the years since Jesus came. But, this is my favorite. Perhaps I am biased since I was one of the Monks Columba tasked with decorating his writings.”\nBarry looked at Robert and shook his hand out from holding the small teacup, and asked, “Did you say you were at Iona with Columba? How is that possible? I mean, I was kind of just allowing your talk about the angels saving all these libraries as fanciful illustrations. But, now, that is a bit beyond what I can believe.”\n“Yes, I can see how that would be a stretch for someone who walked in off the street. Just remember that you weren’t supposed to find this place. And, your disbelief in no way changes the truth of The Library.”\nRobert sighed and pushed the last bit of his pineapple apricot scone in his mouth and said, “Perhaps it’s time for the last part of the tour. The part where I answer your question about your ancestors.\nThey settled back into the carriage and another fifteen minutes later they rounded a corner and were faced with a smaller opening for the carriage, and over the top of the door was a brass sign that read, “Genealogy Section.” \nOnce the carriage entered the section Barry was overwhelmed by the activity. He had barely seen any other people the entire trip on the carriage and now there were monks everywhere at desks and computer terminals. \nThe Carriage stopped and Robert said, “End of the line, Barry. Come with me. I believe this will help you understand the truth of our existence.”\nRobert followed a tall woman dressed in an immaculate Nun’s habit to a tall cabinet made to hold large maps and documents. She moved to the side of the cabinet and pulled a lever and the drawers began to roll past her until she stopped the scrolling at one particular drawer. She then opened it and pulled it out on the rollers in the cabinet. \nRobert placed his hand on Barry’s shoulder and ushered him close to the document. It was labeled as de Guilford Pedigree. The document was a scroll on lamb skin and filled with line after line of families and ancestral connections. He stopped at the very beginning of the scroll pointed to his name close to the top of the pedigree and said, “This is my genealogy, Barry.” He paused a second, which caused Barry to look at Robert, who continued, “And it’s yours as well.”\nRobert wound up the scroll until it showed the tenth and eleventh centuries. There was Barry’s ancestor. There was a notation next to his name that seemed to be a reference number to a page in the Domesday book. “We did the research while we were on the tour. And, well,” Robert rolled the scroll farther in time until he came to the end, and there was Barry’s name with his wife and children. “Basically, Barry, I’m your Grandfather from ages past.”\n“I hope you believe my explanation of where you are. Because, now that you know our secret, we need to know one thing.” Robert said.\nBarry was still staring at the pedigree with amazement, then asked, “What do you want to know, Robert?”\n“Have you ever wanted to be a Librarian?”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: I never wanted to speak in public\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1399\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with a character scrolling (or doomscrolling) through social media." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "(CW - mentions of racism and privilege, as the character comes to terms with an uncomfortable truth about their life)\nI know when I’m tired by the feeling in my bones, and my eyes. It feels like my whole body is chafed, irritated and aching all at the same time. I know I need to sleep. It's 3.18 am and I know I will be exhausted tomorrow. But I also know that I need to know everything that everyone is saying about me. Why, you ask? \nBecause it is important to know how people see me after what happened last weekend. I need to know how their opinions have changed after what I said. Stretching my toes, I know that I should leave it there. Let the trolls stay up all night pondering why I said what I said and what rock I will crawl out of next. But I know that I won’t, I can’t. I am like a cat who has found the scent of a mouse. I need to know what will be said next. \nI didn’t mean to be racist. I really didn’t. Well, at least I think I didn’t. Maybe that’s the point? Trying not to be racist rather than just not being racist. It's almost like when your mom tells you to be nice, so you act nicely but would you have been nice without her prompt? Probably not. \nI still think that ‘racist’ is a strong word for the views I have. Views I thought anyone would have had if they came from where I come from. No wait, not views. Opinions. I can be swayed. I am have an open mind, I am open and invite discussion and debates. I can't think of a time right now, but I certainly wouldn't turn down an opportunity! look at the work I have done saving the rainforest. that involved a lot of difficult conversations.\n....am I actually openminded? \nI now no longer need to scroll, I simply refresh my feed and there's another one. I hold my breath as I open the comments, the meme itself could be mildly entertaining if its subject wasn’t my humiliation. Still, I suppose it is the most accurate to what actually happened. \nI never wanted to speak in public, I was asked - no requested. As the second oldest woman in our family still working, I was told it was a great honour to represent the women of my family. So, like everything I try to do, I wanted to make our family proud, to make myself proud and to inspire the younger women in our troop. I also wanted to give a nod to our ancestors. The women and men who took on this land and made us the family we are. Wealthy. Intelligent. Independent. I am grateful to them. \nHow was I to know that I was being live streamed onto Facebook? Would it have made a difference to what I said? No, probably not but at least I would have had a say in the matter. \nThat is the real problem of this age. Consent. \nWe must ask for it for everything, yet when it matters, we don’t. People don’t care about the impact their actions have on a person, as long as they have asked for consent first. \nBut I did not consent to this.\nWho would have thought my own family would have asked me to leave OUR family reunion after my speech? \nYes, it is true that I do not have children and it is also true that I do not have any friends from different countries or creeds. Indeed, I live a sheltered life on this island. But, I still deserve some respect. Especially from those who came after me. After all, they all still profit from our hard work on the ranch. \nMy god, someone has said I should burn in hell! The views of the clip have reached nearly 500,000, and that’s without including the shares and their views. Am I really that bad of a person that I should no longer exist? A tingle runs through my fingers and my eyes feel as though I am looking through a vortex tunnel. I NEED TO GET UP. I hate anxiety attacks. I know that it will not go away on its own. \nSo I give up on sleeping. After all, what is the point in trying? Maybe I should put my version of the truth out there? My truth. Tell them my side. The public has only seen one side of the story. \nI am not a horrible person, I wanted to tell the story of our family to remind us of where we came from and how proud we should be of our heritage and family values. I am not a slave trader and I can’t help that my family were. I should not be held accountable for their actions, and if so, why has no one else been accosted like I have? \nSomeone has commented on my privilege. What does that even mean? Well, despite my family’s wealth, I am not rich - not in the monetary sense. I shop at the local market, I don’t wear expensive shoes or clothes. I rarely go on vacations. What makes me privileged? What is white privilege? \nAfter a quick google, I watched a video explaining white privilege and I am shocked. But it still isn’t my experience. I haven’t taken a role destined for a person of colour. In fact, I never went to college or have a job, aside from our family ranching business. \nSure, healthcare has never been hard for me to find, Dr Benson has always been available- she is such a dear! Admittedly, I can’t imagine what it would be like to not have her. Where can you find a good Dr, or Dentist? Ok. If the definition of my privilege is this, then I have no choice but to slightly concur. That is correct, I have privilege- but doesn’t everyone? \nThe door creaks a little as I open it slowly, trying to be quiet. The sound of crashing waves in the distance brings me back to reality. After a few deep and intentional breaths, I remind myself of how much I have always loved it here. The combination of the salty fresh air and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore are the only sleeping tonic I have ever needed. Yet, how would my life be different without it? Ok, maybe in that respect, I also have some privilege. But that isn't down solely to my race, anyone could have found themselves in this position. If I was black and in this position, would I still have this privilege? \nI feel uncomfortable in thinking that in some ways I have had a head start in life. Something I had not chosen for myself, but that was provided to me because of when and where I was born and the people I have grown up around. My whole sense of self has been defined by the history of my family, and yet when I dig deep and think about what had to happen for this to be so, I can feel my body tensing. It feels as if my tonic has turned rancid. A bitter taste in my mouth has developed and I need to get rid of it. \nMy mother always said that a good night's sleep solves all of life's problems. Perhaps she’s right, but I suspect in this respect, she is wrong. \nTurning off my phone, I crawl back into my soft and ever inviting bed. My sanctuary. I pull the cover over my body and look up at the blank ceiling thinking of those without this luxury. The homeless, the poor, the deprived. The weight of this thought makes me sink further into my mattress. I feel the weight of this realisation and feel ashamed that these thoughts had not crossed my mind before. maybe that is also the point? Sometimes we need a reality check to truly know who we are and where we’re heading in life. I have a feeling that this may have been mine. I know now that I need to change and I don’t know how, yet. But maybe I can start with an apology? \nYes, tomorrow I will start there. \nGood night." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Pitbully\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 3000\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a clique that dominates your story’s social scene." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The pure breeds dominated the side of the schoolyard the bleachers were on. On the top of the stack of six long benches, a large Pitbull terrier sat with his buddies. Fat Freddy, a Bassett hound, said to the pit, “Hey Conan, get a loada the new pup? He’s so mutt I’m gonna call him Heinz…hiyuck hiyuck!” \nFrenchie La Pooch, a black French Bulldog, elbowed Fat Freddy in his jiggling girth and said, “That’s such an old one dude! Give it up.” \nThey looked over at Conan because he remained silent, which was so unlike him. Without a word, Conan got up. He was Fat Freddy’s size but all brindle coated muscle. Pointy ears erect, he lumbered down two benches and sat next to Dionne, a pretty Jack Russell terrier in a pale green dress. She was chatting with a bouncy-coated apricot poodle.\nConan said, “Hey Dionne. Can I walk you home from school today?”\nDionne’s lip curled. She said, “I’d rather eat peas out of a litterbox.”\nConan looked confused. He wasn’t the biggest pup in the school, but he was the strongest. Also, the meanest. Being confused made him feel stupid.\nThree shih tzu sisters in matching pink dresses giggled and whispered from the bottom bench. The one with grey ears gave him googly eyes. He ignored her; she was always available. He looked up at his friends. They were staring at him, waiting for his next move.\nConan decided to do the new mutt a favor and let him know who the alpha dog of the school was. That would make him feel better. \nThe pup sat alone under a majestic maple tree in the front yard, halfway between the bleachers and the cafeteria windows. He was reading a textbook. \n“What a nerd!” scoffed Conan as he sauntered over. He strode like a body builder pumping iron in a gym.\nThe studying pup ignored Conan’s approach. Conan glanced at the bleachers to make sure the pure breeds were watching his display of authority. They were. The mixed breeds avoided the bleacher side of the yard, but a few peeked out the cafeteria windows. A tiny chihuahua-fox terrier mix shivered uncontrollably and peed a couple of drops.\n“Hey mutt! I’m the boss dog here, got it?!” He knocked the heavy textbook into the dirt. \nThe little pup flinched but stood and looked up at the pit anyways. “Okay by me. I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”\nConan’s eye narrowed. “You tryin ta be funny?” \nThe scruffy grey pup said, “No.”\nNot knowing what else do, Conan shoved the little pup to the ground, then stomped away, feeling he’d made his point.\nThe little dog got up, brushed himself off and picked up his book. A fluffy white mutt his size had materialized next to him as if beamed down from the Enterprise.\n“Hey. You stood up to Conan. Cool. Maybe stupid. But cool. I’m Airy. Short for Aristotle, talk about a nerd name huh?” Airy was a poowawa, by the look of him. He had one caramel colored ear and wore thick rimmed glasses. He also carried a book. “Whatchoo readin?”\n“Math. Pretty dorky right? I’m Reese. This is my first day.”\nAiry laughed and showed Reese his own textbook, it was a biology book. “That bully is Conan.”\n“He’s a pitbully. A stereotype.”\n“Ha ha! Right you are!”\nThe bell rang then.\nReese said, “Wanna come over after school? Since it’s my first day, my mom said she’d make special treats. Puffed liver are her specialty.”\nAiry said, “Sure! Meet here after last bell?”\n*\nAt three o’clock the new friends met at the maple tree. They walked towards the road.\n“Hi guys!” \nAiry and Reese jumped a foot in the air. It was Dionne, lovely as ever with her big chocolate eyes and enchanting chestnut spots. “Can I walk with you? We’re headed the same way.”\n“Uh, uh, uh…” said Airy.\nReese noodged him in the arm to unstick a skipping record.\nAiry snapped back to life, “Of course!”\nThe three dogs walked. They talked about math, and biology, and horror movies. After six blocks, Dionne said, “This is my street! See you dawgs tomorrow!” She loped down the street, graceful as a gazelle.\nReese said, “She likes you.”\nAiry shrugged, “Aww I dunno…she’s never spoken to me before.”\n“Well, why didn’t you ever talk to her?”\n“She’s a pure breed!”\n“So. She talked to you first then. Doesn’t that make you feel like a dumbass?”\nAiry said, “Yeah. Kind of. I just figured she’d diss me.”\nReese said excitedly, “C’mon! There’s my house at the end!”\nHe stopped walking when he realized Airy was standing stone still with his mouth open. His fur was risen in tufts down his back. \n“Dude, you’re catching flies.”\nAiry shook his muppetty white fur back into place and said, “That’s The Lost Pets House.”\nReese said, “It’s just a house. Um, my house.”\nAiry said, “There was a pet cemetery there, a long time ago, like, maybe 20 years. Human years, so more like, ummmm” He looked up with a paw to his chin, thinking. Then he said, “Like 180 years. Hurricane Henry caused a landslide and the whole property was buried. The landowner sold the valuable land without disclosing the cemetery remains. The new owners built that house. They sold it after six months. It’s been sold and bought again and again with no explanation why.” Airy licked his lips nervously.\n“Sheesh. Only dummies like Conan believe in ghosts! C’mon! let’s get some treats!”\nAiry guessed that made sense. Plus, he was dying of curiosity. \n\nInside the turreted two-story house, Reese showed Airy around. Upstairs, he pointed out his dad’s office (nap room), mom’s sewing room, two closets, and a bathroom. Then he said, “My room’s the last one at the end of the hall, it’s the best!”\nBefore the bedroom door was a third closet door.\nAiry said, “What’s in there?”\n“I dunno. It’s locked. There’s no keyhole, and it opens from the inside so Dad can’t take off the hinges. He doesn’t want to break it down. Reese shrugged. “We don’t need another closet.”\nReese opened the door to his room, the master bedroom of the house, and Airy gawped in wonder. “Duuude. So cooool!”\nIt was a huge, airy room with a high, open rafter ceiling, 600 sq ft of floorspace and bookshelves to the ceiling.\nAiry stood on the green shag rug in the center and looked around. At last, he said, “My man, you need to have a Halloween party here!”\n“Really?”\n“Totally! Everyone from school will come. This is The Lost Pet’s House! Mua ha ha ha!”\n\nHalloween was two weeks away. \nThe weekend before, the two friends had a sleepover. They made decorations for the party. After supper they finished the invitations and retired to Reese’s room for a scary movie on Hulu. They settled on an old but beloved classic- Poltergeist. \nAiry fell asleep before the end as usual but woke up later having to pee. A noise arose in the hallway. ‘Scraaaape, thud….Scraaaaape, thud.” He shook his sleep-foggy head and listened. Silence. He must have imagined it. ‘Darn horror movies.’ He thought.\nHe closed the darkened screen of the laptop. They were rolled in blankets on the floor – campout style. He got up and went to the door. He looked back at the sleeping, softly snoring lump, and changed his mind about waking him. He was a big pup; he could go to the bathroom by himself.\nNothing was in the hallway, and all was dark and quiet. Faint moonlight in a rectangle shape down the hall indicated the bathroom. It was the only open door. He crept as quietly as he could, alert for any sound. In the bathroom he peed, leaving the door open so he could listen for the disturbing noise.\nHe flushed the toilet. Through the roaring sound of the water swirling, he thought he heard it.\n“Scraaaape, thud…Scraaaape, thud.” It was coming towards him from down the hall! Airy imagined a huge mis-shapen figure- a monster- dragging a gnarled appendage behind it. Or a body.\nThe toilet finished flushing and all was silent again. He stood in the doorway, then peaked around the frame. Nothing there.\nAll quiet, all dark.\n‘No, wait. Not quite dark.’ There was a faint blue light down the hall just before Ernie’s door. It was coming from under the locked door.\nHe stepped out into the hallway and the light blinked off. He tip-toed to the door. He heard a ‘click’ from the other side. He tried the doorknob. It was as solidly locked as always. He raced to Ernie’s room and closed the door behind him. He lay awake in the dark, shivering like a chihuahua in a snow storm for a long time. He cursed his over-active imagination. A long time later, he slept.\nIn the morning, he told Reese of the noise and the light, afraid his pal wouldn’t believe him. But Ernie said, “I believe you. You wouldn’t make up stories just to scare me. I wish you’d woken me up.”\nAiry said, “I feel badly that I didn’t, but the noises were there for a bit, then gone, both times. Are you gonna tell your folks about this?”\n“No way! I don’t wanna move again! I like it here, despite Spuds and his dumb friends. Besides, if the ghost or whatever it is meant to harm us, it would have done something by now.”\n“Well, we sure have the right place for a Halloween Party!”\n\nThe next Saturday night, as it was getting dark, Reese finished lighting the candles in the jack-o-lanterns outside. He filled a metal tub with water and placed two dozen green apples in it. He cued up the first of many spooky-themed songs on his iTunes. His computer screen silently displayed ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street.’ He lowered the lights and scattered fifty battery operated candles around the room.\nAiry poured sodas and red juices into a punch bowl on the desk. He tasted it. Delicious.\nErnie’s mom was delighted her son had made friends and eagerly offered to make food. There were liver puffs, pigs in blankets, and peanut butter cookies with orange and black frosting. Ernie scattered bowls of Halloween candy all around the room. \nReese wore a white disco suit, fang extensions over his real fangs, and had used his mom’s makeup to whiten his face. He was Disco Dracula. Airy had wrapped himself top to bottom in dirty torn sheets and wore a green bow tie. He wore his glasses over the eyeholes. He was Nerd Mummy. \nDionne showed up early, dressed in a khaki jumpsuit with an African safari hat and fake buck teeth. “I’m an archeologist!” she exclaimed. She told Airy, “I heard you were going as a mummy.” She winked out from thick rimmed glasses.\nErnie’s parents were banished to the living room downstairs. They handed out candy to little trick or treaters and showed the costumed guests the way upstairs to the party.\nNext to come were the three snobby girls. They were dressed like the three witches from Eastwick. The shih tzu dressed like the Cher-witch giggled and said, “We just had to see your house! The Lost Pets House. Wooooow!”\nReese said, “Welcome you guys, c’mon in!”\nBehind the little witch sisters came a horde of ten more guests.\nAfter an hour or so, the room was packed with costumed young dogs eating and drinking. A German Shepard dressed as a wizard danced with a corgi mix in a skeleton suit. Some pups bobbed for apples, betting Jack Links on the winners. In one corner, an old-fashioned game of pin the tail on the werewolf was in progress, it growled when stuck with a tail. Winners received Amazon gift cards.\nAs Reese was refilling the punch bowl, the shih tzu dressed as the blond Eastwick-witch said, “I noticed you read a lot.” She giggled. The once annoying sound was suddenly as pretty as bird song. I’m Bitsy but I hate that name, call me Bee.”\n“I thought you liked Spuds?” Reese said questioningly.\n“Yuck-no! He’s so dumb! Mitzy is the one who has the crush!” Bee shrugged and added, “I only dig smart dogs.”\nReese was surprised. Curiously, he asked her, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”\nBee said, “Well, an astronaut of course!” Giggles tinkled out her mouth. She added, “Who wouldn’t want that! Don’t laugh!”\nHe didn’t, instead he asked, “What’s your favorite subject?”\nBee didn’t hesitate, “Science of course, silly.” She giggled. He was beginning to like that giggle a lot.\n“What’s your favorite book?” he asked.\n“Hey! No fair! My turn now… who’s your favorite philanthropist?”\nHe was shocked by the depth of her mind. “I never really thought about it before. I would say anyone who supports animal protection organizations…what about you?”\nShe said, “Elon Musk.”\nHe realized she wasn’t a fluff-head. She had goals and was actually smart. \nThe doorbell rang again.\nIt was nearly midnight. Who would come so late? \nAfter a couple of minutes heavy feet clambered up the stairs.\nIt was Spuds, Fat Freddy, and Blackie Le Pooch. \n‘Greeeeat.’\nConan was Alex from ‘A Clockwork Orange’, his pals, the Droogs.\nConan said, “Guess our invites must have got lost in the mail or something.”\nAiry had come to Reese’s side and said sarcastically, “Yeah, that must have been it.”\nReese said, “We didn’t mean to hurt your feelings…”\nAiry snorted and said to Reese, “What feelings?”\nFat Freddy said, “Whatever. Where’s the food?”\nFrenchie said, “Bring on da girls!”\nTwo giggling shih tzu sisters took him by the arms, one on each side. In unison they said, “C’mon Frenchie, let’s play truth or dare.”\nConan said, “That’s a great idea!” He had a wicked look on his blocky face. Reese groaned inside. He could only imagine the embarrassing truths and un-nerving dares. But he was determined to be the cool, calm host and had everyone sit in a circle on the floor.\nAiry passed out numbers on papers to the twelve remaining guests. The other dogs had midnight curfews and had gone home. In a jar painted black with a skull, he dropped in the same number of folded papers. \n“I’m the biggest. I go first.” Said Conan.\nReese rolled his eyes but didn’t argue over something so trivial. He passed the jar to the Pitbull who then plucked a number. “Number four.”\nAiry groaned and lifted a paw with trepidation. “I’ll choose dare.”\nConan thought for a minute then said, “I dare you to walk across that beam.” He pointed up to the twelve-foot ceiling.\nDione said, “Oh come on! He’ll break his neck!”\nAiry said to her, “I’ll be fine. No biggee.”\nFat Freddy and Frenchie cleared the bowls of food and drink from the desk and pushed it out from the window, so it was under the beam.\nAiry climbed up onto it from the desk. He was very nimble. Halfway across he said, “Piece of cake!”\nConan threw an apple at his head. ‘Bonk!’ \nAiry’s arms circled crazily for balance. The crowd gasped. \nHe fell! He thumped to the floor on his side, then rolled over onto his back while rubbing his elbow. “I’m okay. Just bruised.” He said shakily.\n“You are such a jerk! Both Reese and Dionne said in unison. Conan guffawed along with his buddies. The shih tzus glared at the mean dogs.\n“My turn.” Said Airy, sitting up and scootching back into the circle. \nConan passed the jar to him. It was number two, Dionne’s number.\nShe said, “Truth.”\nAiry didn’t hesitate, he asked her, “Would you like to go to the Christmas Dance with me?”\nShe didn’t hesitate either, “Yes!” Then she said, “My turn.” She picked number seven. Reese.\nReese said, “Truth.”\nDionne asked him, “Have you seen or heard any ghosts in this house.”\nYou could have heard a pin drop, no one breathed. Reese said, “No.” \nWhen Reese picked a number he said, “Number eleven.”\nIt was Conan. He said, “I’ll pick dare.”\nReese looked at Airy. Airy nodded imperceptively. Reese said, “I dare you to walk to the end of the hallway and back. In the dark, no lights.”\nConan laughed, “That’s stupid!”\nMitzy said, “Awww, no fair, he’s getting off too easy---”\nAiry shushed her. \nConan got up and sauntered to the door. He opened it and went out into the hallway. Reese closed his bedroom door to immerse the hall in darkness. All twelve dogs put their ears to the door, straining to hear. Footsteps faded to silence. Then out of the silence the footsteps grew louder again. They stopped. \nA minute passed. Then five…ten. The pups looked at each other. “He should have been back ages ago.” Said Bee.\n“Open the door.” Said Dionne.\nReese opened it a crack and peeked out. \nEerie blue light flooded the hall six feet from his door. The closet door was open. He pushed his door open wider and the closet door slammed shut. “BANG!” The dogs jumped. The girls screamed.\n“Was that Conan?” asked Frenchie. All the dogs who’d seen the light shook their heads.\nThe closet door opened. Only darkness inside. Then a paw thudded to the floor out of the opening, out of the dark. Then another. They were white as fresh snow. The paws scrabbled on the wood floor, leaving Monster-can scratches.\nConan crawled into the hallway. His entire coat was ghost white; he was drooling. He had peed all over his legs.\nHis buddies got him up on his feet and dragged his limp, panting body into Reese’s room.\n“I’m sorry. So sorry. Sorry…” He muttered between shudders. \n**\nMonday at school Fat Freddy asked Frenchie, “Where’s Conan?” Frenchie shrugged.\nThey found him in the library with his nose in a textbook." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Memory & A Man Walking On His Hands\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1120\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with the line ‘This is my worst nightmare.’" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "This is my worst nightmare. \nI’m alone, in the middle of an alleyway, way after the sun has clocked out. There’s one street lamp, but it taunts me. “I can just choose not to flicker back on. I can just go out for good, and you won’t even be able to see a foot in front of you.” There’s patches of grass and dirt hugging the brick walls that are at my sides. \nThought: Ahead, or backwards. Your only two options. Make the right choice. \nI reach up to adjust the glasses on my face, but of course they aren’t there. They’re never on my face. My mother would be judging me right now. “What’s the point in buying you glasses if you’re never gonna use ‘em? Who just likes not being able to see?” I always feel weird when she says that, like it’s borderline problematic. \nI start walking ahead, to the street in front of me. And even though I know I have nothing, I feel around to take stock of what I have to defend myself. I wish my brain could’ve made me have a knife, or at the very least, pepper spray. But, it’s like I’m incapable of making sure I’m somewhat safe and ok. \nI already know he’s right around the corner. I consider turning around, but I’ve tried this before. I’ve tried to find another way home, but there was no use. I have to go forward to get home. My legs threaten to stop working. Make a new decision they urge. \nI continue walking. There’s a few whispers, but none makes sense to me. They may just be the wind. They have to be. Don’t scare yourself anymore than you already are. \nI feel like I should run. I hate running. But, you run when you’re scared. You run when you have no self defense skills, or tools on you. You run when you need to get to get home in the middle of the night. You run when you don’t trust the light you’re dependent on. \nThere are certain people who can control what they see and hear. There are certain people who can calm themselves, and make sure they don’t have a panic attack. I’m not either of those types of people. \nWhen my brain starts to stir up something, I’m at its mercy. \nI start to run and try to pretend I’ll get to my house without bumping into the man. He won’t be there. \nI reach the end of the alleyway and look to my left. There’s the sidewalk. I look to my right, there’s darkness. I look ahead, there’s a house. \nNo man. \n“We’re all just forgetting things. The longer you live, the more you forget.” His voice sounds like gravel, and comes out almost like a wheeze. He’s what a smoker sounds like to me. \nThe man materializes about six feet in front of me. He walks on his hands, and from the way his body is positioned, I can tell he came from my right. My vision isn’t that good, but it’s good enough to make out his stomach has sweat dripping down it. I’ve never seen him sweat. Maybe that’s just my brain coming up with something new. Or maybe, I simply don’t remember it. \nThought: Speak\nThought: Smile. Be pleasant. Tell him to have a nice night, and keep walking. \nNo words come out, but I attempt to smile. I walk straight ahead; my knees knock and wobble. He moves slightly out of the way. \nI notice the wind moving, and my body feels like when you lower your body into cold water on a hot day. The wind says something. Not a voice. There’s no one else around. “We haven’t seen you in awhile.” \nI look up at the house. Three stories. Originally painted bright daisy yellow, but it has long turned into the yellow from a dried marker. My mother sleeps inside. My room is right above hers. My bladder knocks before I can knock. There’s no key, I lost it a few days ago. \nThought: I haven’t been here in awhile. I’ve been staying up late and passing out whenever I can. Nothing comes of my dreams. There’s only darkness. \nI try the doorknob. It twists all the way, and I almost leap out of my shoes with joy. \n“We love you.” The wind and the man say. I want to tell them to leave me alone forever. \nWhen I open the door, my eyes open. \nI know there’s no use in me trying to move. My legs feel like bricks, and my chest feels like someone is lying on top of me. Not the good kind though, like when my little brother was a baby and insisted on sleeping on my chest almost every night. He’d never admit to that now though. \nOnce when I confided in my friend Corrie, and told her all about my horrifying night, she cocked her head back and laughed so hard milk shot out her mouth and nose. As she cleaned herself up and tried to calm down she said, “You experienced BDSM with a ghost. I didn’t know you were such a freak.” Then she winked at me and all throughout the day she pretended to sling a whip at me. \nI laughed and pulled my sleeves to cover my trembling hands. \nTonight, I can somewhat hear Russian. It’s one of those nights. The extra weird ones. \nA lady says something that I can understand. I promise I can, but in the morning her words will not be Google-able. \nI’ve considered taking a course of Duolingo, but figured I’ll never be able to remember her words anyway, so there’s no use in torturing myself. \nThought: What if she wants to sacrifice you? \nMy heart quickens. \nThought: heart attack? \nThought: can’t be \nThought: Move, try to move. How does your arm feel? If it hurts, you’re having a heart attack. \nMy mouth opens. \nMom! \nMom!\nMom!\nRussian lady says something. \nI black out. \n...\nWhoever made Apple’s alarm clock needs to have the night I just had...a billion times. \nI feel around the bed for my phone. My eyes haven’t fully opened because I’m afraid that once they do, my body will realize how tired it is. \nMy memory is blurred, but there’s no time to sit and think about anything. \nI find my phone, and click the button on the side. I open my eyes completely. The brightness causes me to hiss. \nThere’s a text from Corrie. \nMessage: Stayed up all night studying for our math test. I better pass. I’m so sleepy!\nWhat math test? \nCrapCrapCrap\nCrapCrapCrap\nThis is my worst nightmare" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Dream\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1021\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who believes their dreams predict the future." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The dream is floating, lazily along the recesses of my brain. It is rolling gently along the banks of my memory. It is fluttering as softly as butterfly wings delicately tapping on the windows of my soul trying to awaken the recollection of it. I am sure that the dream is coming from someplace within the depths of my being.\n I try and remember the dream. It is sliding like the morning tide back into my memory bank. It is gliding swiftly through the recesses of my brain and rapidly dumping itself into the emptiness of my soul. I am drowning with the non-thought of it! I feel a fluttering jolt. The dream comes back to me. I smile with the vision of this handsome man, He is tall with soft curly hair and gentle blue eyes, and I am lost in them. They devour me. It is not my husband. I have dreamed of this man before.\n I can barley open my eyes and the left one is cradled within my pillow. My body will not register to my brain that is trying to wake up now. I’m aware that my right arm is hugging onto my pillow, but I can’t move it. Willing my right eye to open, I can see the fading night being replaced with the soft smoky light of morning. It is as if a pliant yellow light bulb has been turned on deep within the universe and is traveling with nowhere to go. I want it to move slower.\n I am awake now. I can move my arm and I am aware of my husband’s warm body up against me. We are laid out like two spoons fitting perfectly side-by-side. Even in sleep I can fill the fullness of his love for me. I lay there hungrily wanting more. I feel ashamed. In my dream I know that that the tall one and I are soul mates. Does this mean I want out of our marriage? Does this dream mean I am tired of my husband? Maybe I am seeing into the future.\n The night has faded replacing the dark with rays of sunlight twinkling playfully through the blinds. I lie there and watch the patterns of light on the carpet and listen to the desert crickets singing the aria of morning. The dream has popped as quickly as a child’s soap bubble. The memory of it lingers for an instant in the air, and then it starts floating gently across time. The dream has crossed that barrier before. I can’t remember the dream at all now, only the way it made me feel. I try again to hold on to the fibers of the dream, wanting to pull its comforting cloak around me. I shiver in the early morning crispness. I take comfort in the early chill for I know that soon the July sun will rise blanketing the California desert in rasping, choking heat. I long for Tuesday so I can go back to the coolness of the ocean. I long for this day to be over so I can fade away again in sleep, back to the tall man. I long for my husband to remove his heavy arm that is holding me fast to the bed. I get my wish. He rolls over and farts. He is still asleep.\n I turn and look at my sleeping husband. His thick gray hair is thinning and sticking up under the blanket’s edge. My body the spoon, moves into him and feels the comfort of his warm body next to mine. He smells faintly of the sweet wine he drank the night before. I breathe and hold his scent deep within me. He is my anchor holding me steadfastly to the shores of the life we have made together. He is my life, as I now know it. My husband’s body rolls over in sleep. He moves unlocking us. I hear a metallic click of our bodies separating. I hear that click often. His face is now showing as our blanket moves under his hearty double chin.\n I stare at his face, a face I’ve looked at for sixteen years. He has aged, but so have I. His lines are a little deeper. His nose has spread bigger with age and I try and count the stray hairs on the end of it. I glance at the picture of his father on our dresser. Yes, he looks so much like the man I never got to meet. He is becoming his father in age. I wonder if my husband is trying earnestly at this moment to hold on to his own dreams. I silently wish that I had the power to make all of his dreams come true. I wish that I could give him a magic lamp with all the wishes in the world for his happiness.\n I sigh knowing he would wrap it in the most beautiful paper and adorn it with gold and colored ribbon then kneel before my feet and simply hand it back to me. I am his wife and his life. I wonder what cosmic force had collided to bring us together at this point in time. I’m lying next to him trying desperately to hold on to the extraordinary soothing power of my dream, and he deep in sleep’s solitude. The overwhelming feeling of his love for me is paralyzing. A silent tear gently rolls from the corner of my eye and falls soundlessly on my pillow. I am loved, adored by this man and yet I am ashamed, ashamed with the intense feeling of, “Is that all there is, and if that’s all there is, then I must keep dancing.” Dancing to where and to what?” Do I really want to dance with this man?\n I watch his face waking in sleep. His eyes focus on mine. Once again our bodies lock in the morning light. He is content; I feel the flutter of the tall man and know it is not our time yet. Fate will find us. I’ll see him again in sleep tonight." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Dream and Sleep Clinic\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1735\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with the line ‘This is my worst nightmare.’" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Luke shot straight up in his bed. He head and neck were drenched with sweat. He tried to adjust his eyes in the darkness of the room.\nMia woke up to his heavy breathing. Luke faced her now.\n\"Baby what is it? Another nightmare?\"\n\"This was the worst nightmare yet.\"\nMia moved closer to his side of the bed. She took his hand .\nGave it a gentle squeeze then laid her thick head of curls against her husbands arm. His breathing returned to normal.\n\"Baby, its alright. It wasn't real. Do you want to talk about it?\"\n\"No, I just want to forget it.\"\nLuke leaned back against his pillows.\nHe reached for her arm. She let him ease her down beside him.\nLuke kissed the side of her face. She smiled.\n\"Are you sure your ok?\" she asked him.\n\"I'm fine. It was nothing. We have to be up in a few hours.\"\n\"I know. But you scared the hell out of me before.\"\n\"I didn't mean to. I just want this to end.\"\n*\nThe hallway was long and narrow. Luke felt like he had walked and walked for hours but there appeared to be no end in sight. The quicker he went the longer it seemed to take. There was a glowing red light just up ahead. He was sure he could reach it. The walls were appeared to be closing in. Then just as he felt like his legs couldn't carry him one more step, the floor opened underneath swallowing him. Luke tried to grab hold of the walls but it was too late. He was descending into an endless abyss.\nHe shot straight up and took in the room around him. Again his heart felt like it was beating too fast. Again he sat covered in sweat. He tried to remember what day it was and why he was on the living room sofa. No matter what time he slept his nightmare returned. Luke ran his over the front of his face. Then he reached down on the hardwood floor for his cell phone.\nHe looked at the time. He had only been asleep for two hours.\nWhy did he continue to have these nightmares? What were they trying to tell him?\n\nLuke showered, dressed and headed for the kitchen. He glanced at the microwave oven. 5:47 pm\nMia should be home any minute. Luke went to the fridge and opened the door. He looked over the selection of left overs, water bottles and three different yogurt flavors that Mia liked so much.\nLuke grabbed a giant glass bowl covered with tin foil and took it to the table. After he retrieved a fork, he removed the foil, stuck the fork inside the bowl and began to eat the cold spaghetti from the other nights dinner.\nWhen his wife walked in the den, Luke was standing in front of the flat screen TV, she shook her head. He grinned at her.\n\"You could have at least heated it up.\"\n\"I like it cold. You want some?\" He lifted the glass bowl in her direction. She made a face.\n\"No thanks. I picked us up a pizza. I had to stay late again and had no idea what to make. You probably don't want anything.\"\nMia hurried out of the room.\nLuke found her at the counter, she was separating the slices from the box. He stood there just taking in her beauty. Mia placed two slices on a paper plate. Luke set the bowl on the kitchen table and came up behind her. He placed his hands around her waist then slowly kissed the back of her neck.\n\"Oh no. You already had yours this is all mine.\"\nShe laughed as he turned her to face him. He stared at her. His deep brown eyes could always make Mia forget about everything.\n\"You know how much I like pizza.\"\nShe grinned. He did too.\n\"Yes I know. You probably like it more than me.\"\nLuke knew this game. Mia raised a warm and cheesy slice off the plate and placed it in front of Luke's mouth. It smelled incredible. His mouth watered. Mia continued to grin.\n\"Go on have some. You know you want to.\"\nHe took a big mouthful then stood there and chewed.\nShe watched him enjoying himself.\n\"Good?\"\n\"Oh yeah, its better than good. You already know that. Can I join you?\"\nMia thought it over.\n\"Well you do work hard and I'm sure that spaghetti was disgusting.\"\nLuke shook his head. He made a sad face.\n\"And I find you very attractive. But if I'm going to share, you must do exactly as I say.\"\nLuke waited for Mia to place more pizza on a plate for him as he took two glasses from the cabinet above the sink.\n\nThey ate till they were full. Talking about their day and how much they both needed another vacation. They made love than fell asleep in each others arms. Mia heard Luke whimper. She thought it was the TV. She sat up quickly. He appeared to be in distress. She shook him several times before he finally woke.\n\"You have to tell me what your dreaming about.\"\n\"No, what good would it do?\" Luke leaped off their bed and left the bedroom. Mia could hear him running the water in the sink. She wanted to help but he wouldn't let her.\n\nFor five more nights Luke had nightmare after nightmare. Each time Mia tried to comfort him he only grew more distant. She was beginning to feel like she was losing him. Mia asked a few of her friends if they knew much about dreams or a good doctor that had answers.\nWith a phone number in her hand Mia called the Dream and Sleep Clinic. Her good friend had found her their number after Mia explained how badly Luke was behaving.\nA sweet sounding lady answered on the third ring.\n\"Good afternoon, this is Kim. How can I help you?\"\n\"Hi, I need to make an appointment.\"\n\"Ok, have you been here before?\" Kim asked.\nMia cleared her throat.\n\"No, the appointment is for my husband not me. But I would like to accompany him if that's ok.\"\n\"Sure I don't see why not. Can I have his date of birth please?\"\n\"Yes, Its 5, 15, 79... his name is Luke, do you really help people?\"\n\"Not me personally, but the doctors do yes. What days were you looking for?\"\n\nLuke wasn't pleased with Mia but he agreed to go anyway. They sat together in the canary yellow waiting room. Luke tapped his foot nervously as Mia looked over the forms on the clip board that lay on her lap.\n\"You have to stop that. Its making me nervous. Its not like their going to draw blood. I'm sure they will just ask you a bunch of questions.\"\n\"Still it feels strange going to a doctor over my dreams.\"\n\"Nightmares Luke. You have been tired, irritable and I just want it to end. Don't you want the same?\" He looked shocked.\n\"Of course I do. I'm not doing this to ruin your life.\"\n\" I know that. But you have to get a handle on it now. Before its gets any worse. Please, you said you would try.\"\n\nLuke sat on the other side of the deep mahogany desk. Dr. Andrew Reid had a thick head of coppery red hair, a long thin nose and bright hazel eyes. He pushed his eye glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He looked down at the papers upon his desk which contained what he knew of Luke.\n\"So Luke. Besides your medical history, I will need some back ground on you. Have many cups of coffee do you drink?\"\nLuke wondered what this had to do with anything.\n\"Two or three.\"\n\" You should probably switch to decaf. How much television do you watch on any given day?\"\n\"Not much. I work full time.\"\n\"Ok, bare with me. How many days have you been awake? How many hours of sleep do you consider normal?'\n\nOnce the questions were answered, Luke was asked to close his eyes and take several deep cleansing breaths. Dr. Reid crossed the room and came to stand in front of his patient.\n\"With your eyes remaining closed, think back to the first night the dream occurred. You can see yourself after you awaken from the dream. You are in your own room and Mia is beside you. Nothing to fear. Can you tell me how you feel?\"\n\"Warm, I am always warm when I wake.\"\n\"No Luke, your feelings about this dream. Scared, anxious, sad, perhaps worried you will dream it again. Chose one word only.\"\nLuke let out a long sigh.\n\"Anxious. It will happen again.\"\n\nMia and Luke returned home. She waited for him to get comfortable before she asked him what if anything he had learned about his dreams. Luke explained to her that Dr. Reid expected him to do homework for the next few nights. He wanted Luke to begin and continue with a sleep routine. He explained this would help him get relaxed and ensure peaceful dream free nights.\nMia had her doubts.\nLuke stopped drinking coffee, stayed away from screens in the evening and would go to bed at nine for the next seven days. It did little at first but over time he noticed he was calmer and had more energy during the day. Luke took notes whenever he dreamed and then Googled and researched the meanings behind his dreams. It was months later before Luke slept dream free. That is without his occurring nightmares.\n**\nThe truth is we all dream. Each and every night. Some of us find dreams interesting while others find them scary. The very thought of not having power over your own thoughts can worry most of us. For hundreds of years doctors and scientists have studied our dreams. They can write books and make movies about them but they still remain a mystery to this day. Dreams are universal. The one thing we humans have in common.\nGood or bad.\nScary or interesting.\nDream or nightmare.\nWhatever they truly are we are fascinated by dreams.\nSo close your eyes and sleep sound tonight." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Tommy LaFontaine\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1146\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character whose dreams are portals to other worlds." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "CW: drug dependency, suicide\n\n\nTommy LaFontaine had always dreamt of going to other dimensions. No, he literally always dreamt of going to other worlds, and every time he did, he learned something new.\n\nFor example, did you know there's a place where books read people? They have libraries instead of homes, and rather than dying they become overdue. The entire world is literal, right off the page... so they find the unpredictability and emotional outbursts of humans, quite entertaining. Their leader's name is Dewey Decimal, and they live a very orderly life.\n\nTommy always hated when his astrally-projected unconscious self nestled back into the sleeping body that it was tethered to. He didn't like his life here, full of emotional abuse and deadlines. He'd much rather be surfing the icy surface of Europa, or dodging rocky ice chunks in Saturn's rings.\n\nYet another world had up for down, and down for up, like some bizarro Dr. Seuss story. In that place, the inhabitants were scared of falling into the sky, rather than down from it. Their version of adrenaline pumping thrill-seekers, didn't go to great heights for bungee jumping or base jumping back to earth, but rather they went as high as they could in a free-dive upward, to cheat death and avoid slipping the surly bounds of space. \n\nBack in his real life, nobody would believe Tommy's recalling of his adventures. Even when he tried to tell his closet friends that his dreams indeed took him to other worlds, he was met with criticism and disbelief. No matter though. He got so good at traveling through his dreams, that he started to be able to use his own willpower and experiences to actually create the other dimensions and worlds. He even started designing the portals themselves in his mind's eye. After all, there were an infinite amount of parallel universes in the multiverse.\n\nOnce he watched his favorite film; Tim Burton's \"Sleepy Hollow\". He concentrated as hard as he could manage on the lines and characters before drifting off to sleep. When his R.E.M. awoke him \"on the other side\", he was shocked to hear greats like Johnny Depp and Christopher Walken say that they really admired his work and acting abilities. \"My favorite was 'Tommy tries to make Mac & Cheese and then feeds it to his dog, because it was so bad'\", said Christopher Lee. \"That performance had so much range, and felt so lifelike and wrought with emotion\", continued the BAFTA honoree, who was merely a Burgomaster in his world. The Christina Ricci, his longtime crush, had even asked for Tommy's autograph. Of course in their world the Headless Horseman was real, so as fun as it was for Tommy, he was glad to return home safely, even if he had extremely enjoyed his fifteen minutes in fanboy heaven.\n\nBack in his real life, Tommy would continue to get extremely and perpetually bored. People had utterly no comprehension of the billions upon billions of alternative realities out there. They seemed perfectly content living a meaningless and mundane existence. If they had known, surely they wouldn't be wasting their time arguing over Presidential candidates and other red pill/blue pill stuff. His dream-induced travels quickly became addictive. He soon found himself doing whatever it took to make it to \"the other side\". It started off innocuously enough, when he had drunk a large dose of NyQuil to stave off a cold. \n\nOn that adventure, he went to a universe where whales ruled their version of earth, that was made of three-quarters land. They spoke to each other in sonar and sonic waves and traveled many miles at a time. Their thoughts were telepathic and Tommy remembered them venturing on land to study him as they wore gigantic mobile salt water encased suits. They concluded Tommy's species was the second most intelligent form of primate, and that his kind, 'humans', probably had good memories. A group of them got excited when Tommy came next to their vessel and tried to speak to them. The close encounter with the human was stimulating for the Cetacea group of tourists. \n\nTommy would find it increasingly difficult to deal with the realities of his humdrum life. The monotony of rules and laws and societal norms weighed heavily on him, the older he got. Soon he found himself completely droning out everything from his literal world, and he constantly longed instead for the sweet release of dreams. Not long after that, he sought out medical professionals to help him induce sleep and to help bridge the gap between his reality and his dreamlike-altered states.\n\nThe following trip proved to be his greatest. It was hands down the most magnificent trip Tommy LaFontaine had ever been on in any dimension, earthly or otherwise. He found himself in a world where one could experience any historical event imaginable, without suffering any of the actual consequences of actually being present at that particular time. Want to watch the band play on the sinking Titanic? No problem. Care to hear Churchill or Hitler address crowds from the front row? Ask and you shall receive. It was a time-traveling, historically accurate amusement park for adults. Tommy made the most of it. He walked with Neil Armstrong on the moon, watched Cleopatra make love to Caesar, and bore witness to Queen Elizabeth’s coronation, all in half a day’s time.\n\n“Does this work in the future, like going forward?”, asked Tommy of a fellow passerby.\n\n“Sure, pal. Whatever you can possibly imagine.”, came the answer.\n\nTommy transported himself to his own home, just 20 years later. He was curious as to how he had turned out, but there were no kids or grandkids there to meet him and sit around a Christmas tree. Instead, just like Ebenezer Scrooge in his third act, Tommy LaFontaine learned that the tediousness and boredom of his day-to-day had proved too much for him to bear. He had taken his own life this very next wake up from the present dream he was currently experiencing in the here and now. \n\nTommy’s jaw dropped and his tongue grew achingly dry. He needed a drink. Next he found himself backstage at Wembley Stadium sipping on Jack & Cokes as Freddie Mercury warmed up with vocal octaves. He shared a very erudite physics joke with Brian May before the Live Aid concert began. He had finally made up his mind that he was not going home…. Not ever again.\n\nThe next day, in our world here on earth, they found the body of Tommy LaFontaine. He was nestled in bed sandwiched between a down comforter and straddling a long pillow. A pleasant smile was permanently plastered across his now cold and pale face.\n\nThe coroner would eventually rule that Tommy LaFontaine had died in his sleep of a propofol overdose. Another victim of chasing dreams." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Souls, Spirits, Whatever You Call It\n\nGenre: bedtime\n\nWord Count: 1678\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two people whose dreams are somehow connected." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The first time I saw her I was freshly 16; my birthday is in September, so it was the first week of school and I was completely drained.\nI was having some banal dream about being a volunteer at a shelter, but the shelter was full of unicorns or whatever. I don’t remember what task I was doing in this random fantasy, but I remember I saw her on the other side of the yard. She was wearing a blue shirt and her hair was in a ponytail. She looked distressed and out of place. And she was in color.\nIt’s hard to verbalize, but I almost always dream in muted shades. Not in black and white or even gray, but just in a duller world, like a painting that’s been left in the sun. She was practically neon, so vibrant she looked saturated. It was disorienting, to say the least, and I woke up in a cold sweat. I felt unsettled yet strangely comforted. Something inside me recognized her, something I wasn’t yet in tune with. This part of me, however hidden and however irrelevant, cracked open and screamed at me viciously. It screamed in a way that I could not hear myself think, I could not try to read, and I could absolutely could not go back to sleep.\nAfter that night I didn’t sleep for more than 4 hours at a time. I was terrified to see her again so I avoided dreaming altogether, but I couldn’t maintain this state of living for more than a week. Eventually I passed out on the couch from sheer exhaustion and fell into a 12-hour sleep paralysis. It was then that she reappeared.\n---------------------------------\n“Hello?” \nEven her voice is colorful. I’m in a white void, but everytime she speaks rainbows oscillate above in patterns like the Northern lights.\n“Yeah, hello?” \nI’m scared absolutely shitless, but I’m also paralyzed so I decide to act confident. It’s not like I can fight back anyways.\n“They said I should look for you?”\nThe rainbow glimmers with more intensity.\n“What? Who are you?”\n“I’m Steph? From The Department?”\n“Department? Department of what?”\n“Yes, The Department of What. Exactly.”\nThe rainbow seems to sigh with satisfaction. \n“No, what?”\n“Yes, what. Also when, why, and how. Not who though. That’s the OtherSide.”\n“Are you the lady from the shelter? With the blue shirt?”\n“Yes! Yes, that’s me! Oh, I’m so glad you remember. Sometimes people forget.”\n“And your name is Steph?”\n“Well...sure. I’m sorry, I just realized I never solidified. How rude.”\nAnd just like that, in both an instant and an eternity, the rainbow caves into itself and forms a human female. She looks exactly like the shelter woman, but minus the ponytail and she’s wearing a floral dress. An ugly floral dress. God, it’s hideous. \n“Okay. Hi, Steph.” I reach out my hand for her to shake.\n“Hi, Andy. It’s a pleasure.” She has a lovely smile and a firm handshake, but I can’t stop looking at the dress. It looks like my grandma’s curtain.\n“Can you explain please?”\nI was no longer panicking, for some reason. It was like touching her hand has infused me with heroin; I’m totally at peace.\n“Oh, of course, dear. So like I said, I’m from The Department of What, When, Why, and How. I’m our customer service rep.” She smiles.\n“Oh.”\n“I understand you’re confused. However, all of your questions will be answered shortly. Just follow me, please.”\nShe starts to walk along the whiteness and I realize we are in a box. She’s walking towards a small door at the edge, but it’s not really a door, actually. It’s just a translucent curtain.\n“Right through here, please.” She smiles again and touches my shoulder, and the heroin feeling comes back.\nSuddenly I’m in a conference room at a...a Hilton hotel, yes. It has grey chairs and a rectangular desk and harshly dim lighting that gives me a headache.\n“You guys normally seem comfortable here.” Steph has changed into a sleek power suit with a slicked-back bun. She matches the vibe perfectly, and it does make me feel strangely at peace. I guess we humans do crave comfort.\n“Please, have a seat. We haven’t got much time.”\nI pull up a chair and realize I”m wearing a suit too, but mine is much less crisp. I glance at the surrounding glass and see that I look exhausted.\n“Why do I look so crappy?”\n“I don’t know, dear, it’s based on your aura. I think you need to relax. Anyways, let’s begin.”\nA whiteboard appears in front of her, along with a girl my age in pink pajamas. The girl is upright, sleeping, and quite beautiful. I think she looks like that girl from Bring It On, the leader of the Clovers. \n“Okay. This is Bella.” The name Bella appears on the whiteboard behind Steph in pink cursive, and I somehow know that it’s in Bella’s handwriting.\n“Bella is your soulmate, so to speak. I hate how you humans have gentrified that word. It has an actual meaning beyond physical life.”\n“She’s my soulmate?” I glance back at the stunning girl in the pink pajamas and can’t refrain from smiling. \n“Yes. She is, and I’ll let you get acquainted in a little bit.”\nSteph shifts uncomfortably, which makes all the chairs change colors. She’s talking too fast, and I get a bad feeling.\n“What?” \n“Well, I’m here because...well, this is just so difficult to explain. There are some people with souls, essences, spirits, whatever you want to call it that just mesh. Like they’re meant to be together. But…”\n“But what?”\nMy heart sinks. Bella twitches.\n“Well, you just can’t be together in the physical realm.”\n“Why not?”\n“Your corporal forms and cognitive minds and all that junk don’t mesh well. Based on our calculations, you’d probably marry, be miserable, and have a brutal divorce that would haunt your two kids forever. There’s also a statistically significant chance you’d murder each other.” A bunch of numbers and images appear on the board behind her, but I don’t really notice.\n“It’s extremely rare this happens, Andy. Less than one in a billion. But when it does, The Department tries to give you an opportunity to be together in some way. So here’s our offer: you two can dream together, 8 hours a day but no more, and do whatever you want. Other than that, you may not attempt to contact each other, speak to each other, or anything of the sort.”\nI think about what the consequences would be if I did.\n“They will be grave.” Obviously she can fucking read minds. I pause and try to make my mind go blank.\n“I agree.”\nSteph freezes.\n“Does she?”\nSteph blinks.\n“Does Bella?”\n“Bella agreed a couple weeks ago. We’ve been waiting for you. I tried to contact you before, but your dreams move very rapidly. It makes it hard to travel.”\n“Can I meet her?”\n“Andy, I have to warn you that once you meet her, you will fall madly in love with her. She will consume your every moment for the eight hours a day that you sleep, but after that, you will have no memory of her. She’ll fade into your mind just like every other dream. Are you sure that’s what you want?”\nAnd I can’t explain it, but in that moment I know that it is exactly what I want. 8 hours a day is a third of my life, and looking at Bella I know she is worth it.\n“Yes. It’s what I want.”\n“Okay. Here you go.”\nThe room dissipates into air along with Steph, and me and Bella are left standing in the white void. She’s awake now, and I see that her eyes are honey colored. \n“Hi.” Her voice is like music.\n“Hi, Bella.”\n“Call me Belly.”\nShe grabs my hand and walks towards the edge of the void, moving towards something I can’t quite see. Yet somehow, just like her, I know it’s there.\n----------------------------------------\nMy wife and I are in a diner celebrating my 52nd birthday. It’s close to our house, and with the kids off at college we have plenty of time to go out now. I don’t love breakfast for dinner, but it’s her favorite thing, so I’ll go with it. She’s devouring a plate of chocolate chip waffles like it’s her last meal, but my omelet is kind of gross so I leave it alone.\n“Anyways, Deborah was saying that Sally and Ron are considering divorce. But, you know, they’re old parents. Like, their kid is still only eight, Andy. Imagine what a divorce would do to an eight year old.”\n“Yeah, I can’t imagine it doing any good.”\nI’m not paying much attention, but she doesn’t seem to notice.\n“So anyways, they’re fighting all the time, and their kid told the teacher, who call..”\nEverything trails off. The world goes blank and all I see is a beautiful woman walking by the window. \nShe looks like she’s about my age, maybe a bit younger. She’s talking on the phone with someone, and I can tell by her face that it’s a pleasant conversation. She’s wearing a winter jacket even though it’s 70 degrees. Her face is kind. She has a mole by her lower lip. I can just tell she knows I’m staring at her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. \nLike she’s done it a million times, she looks at me. Not past me or through me, but at me.\nI look back. \nHer eyes are honey-colored.\nSomething inside me clicks.\n“Baby?”\nI turn towards my wife and watch the world come back, and when I look back at the window she’s gone.\n“Honey, where did you go?” She has syrup all over her chin.\n“Oh, I just thought I saw someone I knew.”\n“Who?”\nI’m unsure of how to answer that question, so I take a bite of my omelette and stare at the spot where my perfect woman just was." } ]

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