Split (1)

train · 6.57k rows

messages listlengths 3 3
[ { "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 Speed of Music\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1037\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line “We have plenty of time,” and/or end it with the line “We were never going to make it.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“We have plenty of time,” Mom waved a hand at the dashboard clock. “You’ll get there with minutes to spare.”\n7:45 am. It took twenty minutes to get to school and classes start at 8:04. I rolled my eyes and fiddled with the radio dial—a soft voice crooned about a new love. Mom started to hum along but it was too slow so I moved to the next station. \n“You know, first period is the only class that I’m ever late for. If I get two more tardies, I’m going to get detention. What if that goes on my record and hurts my chances of getting into USC?” \n“...A special session saw the passing of a controversial bill requiring school employees to wear face coverings...” I turned it quickly, the last thing I wanted was for her to start lecturing me on politics. \n“The number of detentions you’ve had doesn’t go on your college application, Sunshine.”\n“How would you know? It’s not like you went to college.”\nA pop song blared out, upbeat and loud. I eyed my mom, unsure whether she knew it. She didn’t react, her lips pursed together. She was wearing lipstick. I sighed, all she was doing was dropping me off, why did she have to put on a full face of make-up. I didn’t even bother with it and I was the one going to school—it took away too many precious moments that could be spent in bed. \nI turned to the next station, 70’s rock. I looked up expectantly. This one worked sometimes. \n“I went to college, Sunshine. I only needed six more credits to get my Associate’s.”\n“Community college,” I corrected. “It’s not like you had to do a full application, anyone can get in.”\nI turned up the volume a bit and eyed the speedometer. She was staying at a consistent 35 mph. It wasn’t working. The song wasn’t upbeat enough. I needed her to go faster. \nI moved to the next station, jazz. Ugh, next. \n“I had to pay for college on my own. Community college was the most affordable option.”\nSalsa music blared out of the speakers. \n“I know. I know. But then you dropped out. So it’s not like it really mattered to you that much. I like school. I want to get my doctorate.” \n“You think I wanted to drop out? That I planned on never going back? Life happened, Sunshine. I got pregnant with your brother and-”\n“I know, I know. We derailed your dreams.” I flipped to the next station. “It’s not my fault you got pregnant,” I muttered. \nShe grabbed my hand. “Stop it! Find a station and stick with it.”\n“Okay, okay. Just one more” I flipped to the next station: Madonna. Yes! Mom loved Madonna. This one had to work. “I choose this one.”\nI leaned back into my seat and stared out the window and gripped my backpack tightly. I hated being late and Mrs. Petersen always made such a big deal out of it. She made you get a tardy slip from the office if you were even a minute late. \nI glanced at the clock, 7:54. “Can you go any faster?”\nSuddenly, mom swerved out of traffic and parked on the side of the road.\n“What are you doing! I’m already going to be late-”\nShe slammed her hands on the steering wheel and twisted in her seat to face me. “You are very lucky. You realize that don’t you? You get an allowance so you don’t have to work during high school. Your clothes aren’t hand-me-downs. We’re sending you to the best school in our district, even though it doesn’t have a school bus system, so I have to pick you up and drop you off every day. I make you breakfast before school, even though you never eat it. I make you lunch and I’m pretty sure you don’t eat that either.”\nShe ran her fingers through her hair before putting the car in park. “I had to walk to school or take the bus. I wore my sister’s hand-me-downs which were in turn hand-me-downs from our cousin. My dad spent more money on alcohol than on food so I often went hungry during lunch. And, I dropped out of school so that I could get a full-time job and support my family. I’ve worked hard to make sure that you didn’t have the same life that I did. You are very very lucky. And all you do is complain that it’s not enough.”\n“Look, Mom, I’m sorry. I’m just stressed about being late-”\n“I wanted to work in advertising. And, I was good at it. I got straight A’s in all of my classes. I had dreams. Just like you do now.”\nI looked at the clock, 7:58 am. \n“Do you understand that you’re lucky?”\n“What?”\n“Say ‘Thank you for all that you do, Mom. I’m very lucky to have you.’”\n“Are you-”\n“Say it.”\n“Thank you for all that you do, Mom. I’m very lucky to have you,” I ground out. \n“You’re welcome, Sunshine.” \n“Can we go now?”\nMom sighed and flipped on her blinker and merged back into traffic. It was now 8 am. I rolled my eyes in disgust and stared out the window. \nThe drop off line at the school was empty. Great, I was the last one. I jumped out of the car as soon as the car was parked and started toward the door. I looked down at my phone: 8:03 am. \n“Wait,” I heard her say. My hands curled into a fist but I turned around and pasted a smile on my face. Mom was digging in the cupholder. I waited, fuming, as she counted out $2.50 in quarters and handed them to me. “Take the bus home today.” \n“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I gaped. “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”\n“Leave your phone on and give me a call if you’re confused about which bus to take. The closest stop is one block that way.” \n“Mom!” \n“See you at home.” She hit the gas and peeled away from the curb, speeding through the yellow light while an 80’s pop song blared from the radio." } ]
[ { "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: Know-it-all\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1812\n\nPrompt:\n\nYour character is known as the town gossip. One day, it comes back to bite them." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The streets are exploding with joy. The world’s most beautiful woman on the arm of their beautiful, if slightly disappointing, prince. Helen and Paris. They glide over Troy’s stone-hewn streets, effervescent like a picture drawn by the gods.\nEven Hektor smiles. Hektor, who is usually far too serious to let himself be swayed by public spectacles. Hektor, who is commonly known as the less-disappointing prince.\n“Look, I’m just saying –”, I start, fruitlessly. For the fifth time.\n“I know what you’re saying, Kassandra”, Andromache admonishes me, “Threats of death, fire, and destruction. And, for some gods-forsaken reason, we should also be careful of horses. We’ve heard you loud and clear.”\n“Not clear enough”, I mumble, “And it was a wooden horse.”\n“Alright, Kassandra. I will make sure to remove all toys from your general vicinity”, Andromache jests mildly.\nI drown my tongue in a large sip of wine. I like Andromache. She’s like the boring sister I never had. Usually, she is supportive and kind, which counts for a lot when in the vicinity of a walking disaster zone such as Paris.\nBut like my father Priam, mother Hekuba, and my ever-so-sensible brother Hektor, she doesn’t want to hear about my vision.\nParis wades amidst the adoring Trojans. All the while Helen is firmly clinging to his arm as if she is incapable of walking by herself.\n“He’s such a fool”, I mutter.\nAndromache tuts.\n“He fell in love. It happens to the best of us.”\n“Okay, listen”, I say, my voice growing sharp, “Has it not occurred to you, or anyone else for that matter, that seducing the wife of king Menelaos might be a bad idea?”\n“Well…”\n“Menelaos who, may I remind you, rules the kingdom of Sparta? Which is famous for its navy? Which sounds like a pretty convenient set-up for taking your wife back from Troy, the coastal town?”\n“That’s –”\n“And did you know that Menelaos’s brother Agamemnon rules Mycene? Between them, they have more troops and more alliances amongst the city-states than Paris, bless his heart, can count to?”\n“That’s a bit harsh.”\n“Back in the day, Menelaos made all other competitors for Helen’s hand swear an oath of loyalty to him. Even Odysseus, the guy who –”\n“I’m sure that oath was more of a metaphorical sign of friendship…”\n“Andromache.”\n“Kassandra.”\nShe sighs.\n“I appreciate that you and Paris haven’t always gotten along.”\n“That’s an understatement. At his marriage ceremony to that river nymph, he made me sit in the splash zone!”\nAndromache continues without acknowledging my, admittedly childish, interruption.\n“And he can be a bit of an airhead, I’ll give you that. But it does not behove us to gossip about our new sister-in-law’s affairs before we’ve even met her.”\n“I would hardly call concerns of a military invasion gossip,” I protest. Andromache shrugs.\n“You don’t like your brother’s new girlfriend, so you’re making up a big conspiracy theory about why we should send her back to Sparta.”\n“I’m not making anything up, I –”\n“Has it ever occurred to you that we should support Helen’s choice to leave a husband she doesn’t love? If she’s happy with Paris, we should be happy for her. Just like we were happy that Paris and this weird river person could go their separate ways after their relationship had run its course.”\nI look at Helen, whose white arms gleam in Troy’s unrelenting sun. She seems tired and disoriented. Her fingers are still firmly locked around Paris, and I can see every bit of Aphrodite’s will wrapped around her body.\n“Yeah. She seems really happy”, I say drily.\nAndromache sighs.\n“Not everyone is as emotionally repressed as you, Kassandra.”\n“Excuse me?”, I protest.\nMy sister-in-law shrugs.\n“Remember the man who came courting you a while ago? I personally still think that –”\n“That was Apollo”, I interrupt her indignantly, “Who is, like, a trillion years old and is, by the way, very creepy for hitting on a teenage girl.”\nThe visions started just after I told him to shove his flattery where the sun doesn’t shine. Coincidence? I think not.\nBut unfortunately, the gods don’t accept returns on the powers of prophecy.\n“And here you go with your wild stories again”, Andromache says quietly, “Handsome as he was, there is no way that man was Apollo.”\nI can tell that I’m worrying her.\nAndromache always grows quiet when she’s worried. She isn’t a screamer or a fighter. She accepts things. She just… stops speaking. And, over time, her thoughts become harder and harder to read until her eyes are as black as the night sea and you’ve lost your guide amidst the waves of her mind.\nYou lose people like that. If they think you’re crazy and that they can’t help you. So, you contort yourself into something they can more easily understand.\nI move closer until we stand shoulder-to-shoulder, our soft gowns touching.\n“I don’t want you to think that I’m making all of this up”, I whisper, “Imagine you were in my place. Imagine you’d seen your home in flames and thousands of Greeks storming the streets, massacring everyone you’ve ever loved. Wouldn’t you want to warn people?”\n“Of course, I would”, Andromache says, “And you have warned us.”\n“But you’re not listening! You think I’m some kind of gossip!”\n“I don’t – I mean…”\nShe takes a deep breath.\n“What you’re saying is just so unbelievable. A war like that would destroy the world. There would be nothing left except for death and fighting. The gods can’t want that.”\n“The gods…”\nThe words rest on my tongue, and I don’t know what to do with them.\n“Kassandra, I grant you that you’ve been right about little things before”, Andromache says in that soothing tone Hektor likes so much, “But those predictions were the product of you being an observant, smart woman. They have nothing to do with fate.”\n“Do you not believe in fate?”, I bait her.\n“Of course I do. But fate is the remit of Zeus. Us mortals have no say over it. We cannot know it and cannot change it.”\n“Can’t we? What if we send Helen back to Menelaos?\", I suggest, \"And we could write a letter saying that Paris is a selfish idiot and not very capable of assessing risks and that Helen was probably being controlled by the goddess of love, who really needs to find occupations other than causing havoc amidst the mortals –”\n“Even if I believe you”, Andromache interrupts me, “You wouldn’t avert the fate you saw.”\n“And why not?”\nI sound more desperate than I want to. Like a child screaming into a sky full of gods.\n“Because Paris won’t send Helen back. And Helen, from the way she looks to me, won’t return to her husband. And Priam, old and kind as he is, won’t force anyone to do anything.”\nAndromache smiles.\n“And don’t act like you don’t love that about your father. He never forced any of you children to become anything other than what you are. But kindness can only save as much as it destroys. And perhaps here, your father’s kindness will let Paris and Helen destroy their happiness rather than save it. But it is their decision.”\n“It’s a stupid decision”, I mutter.\nAndromache laughs. Then she taps her hand on the stone bannister.\n“I have heard tales of Helen’s husband. This king Menelaos. He does not sound like a man who easily relents”, she finally says.\n“So, Menelaos won’t be swayed by a mere letter if he’s looking for an excuse to start a war”, I finish her thought. Andromache shrugs.\n“Nobody goes to war over love. They are ruled by contradictory emotions. Men go to war over hatred, greed, anger, or loss. And there are plenty of reasons to feel those.”\n“Then what can we do?”, I ask, and I mean it.\nI saw a thousand ships break the waves at the shores of Ilium. I saw walls of corpses piled outside the tents of the invaders, a labyrinth of flesh rotting in the sun. I saw our streets running with blood, white gowns drenched with it. I saw Hektor’s broken body dragged behind the chariot of a man as tall as a mountain, whose face was full of fury and tears.\nMy beloved brother. Who made me dolls when I was a girl and showed me how to fix them when they broke. Who still listens to every fear I have even if he doesn’t have anything to say that could help me.\nWho married the best woman I know.\nThe images lie heavy on my stomach, like a child I am trying to withhold from the world. They lie behind my eyes and sometimes I want to scream until I can find a moment’s reprieve in madness.\nSometimes I look at Hektor and think he’s already dead.\nAndromache lays a hand on her stomach. She and Hektor have been trying to conceive for a few moons now. I try to look away when the visions turn to her and her child.\n“We can be happy with what we have, sister”, she says and takes my hand. Such simple words.\nThe notes of flutes, lyres, and kitharas weave around the stone towers of our city. The sun god has decided to bless us on this day and as much as I want to call it a cruel joke, I also cannot ignore the gentle way in which the warm joy of his rays caresses my dark skin.\nI close my eyes and raise my head into the sun. All I hear is music, tempting my soul to leave its shell and float and dance across the dusty planes that stretch all the way to the sea.\nLife feels eternal and all-encompassing.\nBut then I open my eyes and I see the yellow flowers spread across Paris and Helen’s parade, as bright as a carpet of fallen stars. Elecampane, the flower that will become the symbol of Helen’s beauty. So like in colour to the yarrow the soldiers will rub into their seeping wounds as they bleed and die on either side of Troy’s walls.\nWhen I was a girl, growing up in the palace, I thought that there was nothing outside these gigantic walls. That the whole world was encased inside our city, and that we were floating through the heavens on our eternal search for Mount Olympus, where we would be welcomed into the gods’ realm of milk and honey.\nHekuba likes to tell stories. When I was a child, they always made me feel better.\nNow, I know that no walls are impenetrable. And I don’t know whether I pity or envy those around me that don’t.\nI turn Andromache’s warm fingers within my palm and the thought tastes like ashes in my mouth." } ]
[ { "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’ll Get Back to You on the Butterflies\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1304\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line “We have plenty of time,” and/or end it with the line “We were never going to make it.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "We have plenty of time\nThat’s what my mom said when we were at the pool together. It was second grade. We’d met 2 weeks before and were already inseparable. You were wearing a ladybug swimsuit and we laughed at the ruffles that made you look like a fancy cake. I got so cold that my lips turned blue, but when mom said we were leaving in 30 minutes we both rioted in protest. \n“We have plenty of time left,” she said, “now let’s go get some ice cream.” I got strawberry, you got chocolate and we both got it all over our faces. Your mom took a picture of us together with our messy smiles. I hadn’t seen that picture in 7 years. It made me cry for longer than we spent at that pool.\nWe have plenty of time\nThat’s what you said in 6th grade, lounging on your couch. You were tossing a tennis ball up and down, skillfully avoiding the project you were supposed to be doing half of. I’ve never met someone so good at procrastinating. We submitted that project 2 minutes before the deadline. I almost had a heart attack. I hated doing projects with you, but no one else would take you, and your lack of work ethic, so the duty fell to me. \n“We have plenty of time,” you said, “stop worrying about it.” I went over to your house 3 times that week and I swear we didn’t do a minute of work the first two. The only time I got anything done was when you were in the bathroom. You could distract me for days. It didn’t matter if there was nothing to do, you would pull something out of your bottomless mind and we’d be laughing for hours. Our project on Mars turned into making a cardboard mansion for your cat, dressing up and making a play about an evil British man, and making a blanket fort that you promised me we would finally do our project in. That blanket fort was amazing. 2 couches worth of cushions, 6 blankets, 5 chairs, all of the pillows from your bed, a mattress slide, and a grand total of 4 hours. Your mom was so mad when she saw it, but once we got her to look inside she did admit she was a little impressed. The next day when I came back, the last day we had to work, we crawled into our fort and finally got to work. I was surprised how helpful you could be when there were only 20 minutes left and we still had 5 slides and a script to go. We pasted pictures and wrote bullet points like there was no tomorrow. We got an A on that project. I only remember that because I would have killed you if we hadn’t. I’ve missed 5 projects. I haven’t been to school in two weeks. Maybe I’ll try to build a pillow fort today.\nWe have plenty of time\nThat’s what we said when we wrote up the massive list of things we wanted to do that summer. It was our last before high school, and the Disney Channel shows we watched had us terrified we were going to grow apart. Our remedy was to spend as much time as we could together before school started. We ate ice cream, went biking, had sleepovers, baked cakes, and helped each other with chores. I bet I cleaned your room more times than I cleaned my own. Once you even asked me where your nail polish was and I texted back, smiling, Only if you let me use the blue next time. \n“We have plenty of time,” we said, “we can do it all.” We were wrong, of course. We might actually have been able to complete the list if it hadn’t been 3 pages long and included things like riding in a hot air balloon and silly string party, whatever that meant. We imagined doing so many things. We got busy, though, and a lot of stuff didn’t happen. That was the summer that my hamster Zippy died. She died, like all hamsters do, tragically and oh so unfortunately. I woke up one morning and she was laying still between her wheel and the side of the cage. I thought she was sleeping at first but when she didn’t respond to my voice or my opening the cage I got scared and yelled for my dad. I called you right away, you were her godmother after all. We had a big funeral for her. We wrote eulogies and wore all black. We decorated a box with flowers and lovely words and put her inside. We cried hard as we lowered her into the hole that we dug in my backyard. You told me you didn’t want to be buried in the ground like zippy, with the dirt and the worms. You wanted to be cremated and spread somewhere beautiful. Preferably at sunset with lots of butterflies. I told that to your parents but they decided to bury you. I wasn’t going to argue with them. I hope you aren’t angry. \nWe have plenty of time\nThat’s what I told you when you said you wanted to hang out. I was busy with semester finals. You had them too, but you didn’t take them seriously like I did. We were juniors, though, and I needed perfect grades if I wanted to get into an Ivy League. I knew if I went over to your house I’d be there the whole night. You’re too good at distracting me. Looks like I won’t be getting into Princeton now. It’s not like I care anymore. I would have a good entrance essay though. \n“We have plenty of time,” I said, “we can hang out after finals.” I was wrong. I was wrong because 5 days later there was no time left. There was nothing left but your unbelievably ruined car and a scene I vomit just thinking about. \nThere was no time when I sat there on the floor, pieces of the plate I had been holding moments before shattered around me. I cried into that phone for hours. Your parents only stayed on for a few minutes, but I clung to it even after they left. At some point, I must have fallen asleep because that’s where my mom found me the next morning. Passed out in a pool of salty ceramic shards.\nI wish we had more time\nI wish we had more time. But we don’t. And it’s been taking me a long time to come to terms with that. \nI wish we had more time, but I’m thankful for all that we had together. I got someone that made me laugh so hard that I snotted on the lunch table, even when I was on the brink of burning out. I got someone who was so skilled at distraction that they could make me forget about anything for a few hours. I got someone that sang an original ballad to the hamster I’d only had for 4 months.\nI got you. And I wish we had more time. I know you do too. But we don’t. So next summer, when the pool opens up again, I’ll go get two dishes of ice cream: chocolate and strawberry. I’ll find a beautiful place and wait there until sunset. The ice cream will be melted by then, but I’ll wipe that stuff all over my mouth. Tip of the nose, fingertips, the whole shebang. With a sticky smile and salty eyes, I’ll spread your chocolate ice cream in that beautiful place. Sorry, but I feel like the butterflies might eat it. Actually, that sounds pretty cool. I’ll get back to you on the butterflies." } ]
[ { "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 Farmer\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2989\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character on the road — and on the run." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Whether or not he would ultimately end up being caught was of little to no consequence to Ralph at that moment. At that moment, he was more disappointedly fascinated by the agonizingly decrepit condition of his shoes. The shoes he had worked so hard to buy were covered in tragedy. Deep layers of mud concealed the traces of bloody evidence. The fresh rubber and lace odor had been vanquished within twenty-four hours. \nThe howling of searching sirens and screeching tires chasing shadowy suspects down alleyways felt like a distant memory already. In fact, it had been a couple of days since he’d even internally shrieked at the sight of a cop car. Now, though, he was in an entirely different state. He wondered if Indiana would be as vigilant in their hunt for him as Kentucky had been. The state border had felt like a finish line. Do they chase across state borders? He wondered. #ThingsYoureNotTaughtInSchool. The truth was, he didn’t even know how it played out in his absence-- or, perhaps more accurately, his fleeing. \nMadison’s survival was still in question. It was only in the arm, but a gunshot wound is a gunshot wound. Run first; dodge questions later seemed like the only logical thing to do at the time. Now five hundred miles from the original altercation, Ralph still couldn’t be sure if he should slow his pace and come out of the shadows just yet.\nStalks of fallen, dried wheat crunched under his newly unrecognizable sneakers. The amber rays of the Sun rose over the golden field he was aimlessly navigating. Figuring the farmers would be out cruising plots on their tractors any minute, Ralph thought it might be wiser to find a more inconspicuous path to travel. But where? He could only see a long-distance when he reached a peak in the landscape, and the last time he did, it was farmland as far as the eye could possibly see: combines and corn mostly. It might be a half day’s walk until actual civilization could be reached. Presently, he couldn’t wander in the fields much longer for fear of a farmer phoning the police for his trespassing. He couldn’t really walk along the edge of the road either. If a local blue-blood pegged his description, he’d be in cuffs on his way back to Kentucky in a squad car faster than a frog can snatch a fly.\nDespite being ‘on the run,’ Ralph’s pace had slowed considerably. The adrenaline of the circumstantial events had almost all but relinquished power of his muscles to the deep fatigue which began to plague him with each increasingly small step. The sound of distant, rustling, farm-equipment engines began to drown out the songs of the morning birds as the Sun rose higher into the morning sky. Ralph thought it to be ironic how the Sun could shine so beautifully during such dark circumstances. It was as if Mother Earth had no idea how much trouble he was in. He pulled off his ball cap to wipe the day’s first bead of sweat from his brow. There would be much more to come. The brim was grasped loosely by the tired, filthy fingers of the alleged fugitive. Ralph’s brown eyes glared into the etched logo on the front. Tossing it on the ground, he realized, but if not before that moment, he was in the clothes of a possible murderer-- a murderer wearing a hat and Nikes.\nThe hat, the shirt, the hoodie, underwear, jeans-- the shoes. He pictured them in a basement locker of some precinct, in a plastic bag marked as evidence. What had been a collection of random choices that fateful morning was now the ensemble of a violent criminal. At least, that’s what Ralph thought the journalists would write if he were later convicted of murder. Though his legs and feet felt the weight of the thousands of steps he’d walked in the past forty-eight hours, Ralph knew he couldn’t stop for even a blink of sleep until he changed his clothes.\nRalph took a moment to check his wallet. There was an array of gift cards with a few bucks left on each and a little over one hundred dollars in cash. Normally, there would be nothing but a Subway punch card to speak of in the billfold, but his birthday had passed mere days before the incident. The same birthday during which he was presented with a gun from his step-father. The same birthday Madison had missed. \nI had to. Right? Thought Ralph for a moment. She would’ve died if I hadn’t shot her. Right? Can someone really be convicted of murder for trying to save someone’s life? The teenage boy, wrought with guilt by the images left in his mind, fell to his knees and began to weep. Some of the tears that ran down his dirty, dried-sweaty cheeks were out of guilt, some of sadness, others of hurt, and many just from emotional exhaustion. Their salty wetness reminded him of the intolerable thirst and hunger he felt. Food or clothing first? He questioned. \n“What the--” spoke a voice from the field. In the gasps of his sobs, Ralph hadn’t heard the stranger approach. “Jesus, kid. You scared the wits out of me. What the hell you doin’ wandrin’ ‘round my field?” \n“Huh?” Ralph meekly responded. He was too tired and hungry to be excitedly startled, though he was obviously, deeply concerned.\n“What you mean, huh? You look half-dead. You ain’t on drugs are ya? I ain’t gon’ fool with no druggie-kid dying on my property.” The man, only discernible as a hazy form among the surrounding stalks with the sunlight backlighting his silhouette, waited for Ralph’s response. Ralph squinted his tear-soaked, dirty eyes, trying to pull the figure into focus. Finally, he wiped his face on his sleeve. It only added to the filth and merely pulled away a tiny fraction of the dirt from his cheeks, but his eyes had cleared enough to see the man in more detail. \nThe man was a farmer. He appeared to be in his 50s or so from what Ralph could tell. He had a speckled white and brown beard, a hat with no insignia on it, overalls, and work boots. His hands were already dirty to start his day and looked like he had pulled on ropes every day of his life. “Well?” He bellowed in a deep, yet concerned voice.\n“Well, what?” Ralph murmured, still confused.\n“You on drugs or ain’t ya? I don’t much like to start my mornings with ass whoopins, but it wouldn’t be the first time.”\n“Drugs?” Ralph thought of Madison.\n“God, damnit. Tell me what’s got you crying like a baby in my field, lookin’ like death or I’m gonna beat your druggie-butt till it can’t take a needle in it no more. I’ve seen your kind before.”\n“No, sir. Please. I’m not on drugs.” Ralph’s wits began to return to him.\n“Then what in the good Lord’s name are you doing, son? You in some kind of trouble?”\nFor the first time, Ralph looked into the farmer’s eyes. They sparkled green and didn’t have a hint of meanness in them. He doubted that the man would have ever laid hands on him, even if he had had the urge. Sometimes you can look into a person’s eyes and just know they wouldn't hurt you. “Trouble?” Ralph wasn’t at all sure of what he should reveal to the stranger before him. “I honestly don’t know.” His chin dropped to his chest and his eyes took blurry aim at the man’s boots. The farmer probably spent every day in that field, but his shoes were cleaner. Once again, tears began to stream down Ralph’s cheeks, leaving behind channels of carved-out sorrow.\n“Aw, hell. I ain’t even got time for this.” The farmer looked to the sky as if to ask God a question. He pulled his hat off, revealing a mostly bald head that’s remaining hair patches were buzzed down almost to the skull. As he scratched his head, he took a heavy, burdened sigh. It was hard for him not to feel pity at the sight of the crumbling shell of a teenager in distress. Against his own desired judgment to get to work, he questioned the boy some more. “You got someplace you can go? Family or a friend you can call or something? Surely you got some kind of fancy phone on you? All kids your age do nowadays. Right?”\nRalph recalled the lake he had thrown his phone into the night before after a helicopter had flown by. “No, sir. No phone. No friends.”\n“No phone?! What the hell kind of kid are you? You Amish? You don’t look like no Amish. And you ain’t got no friends? What kinna kid ain’t got no friends. I bet you got one or two.” Again, the farmer stared at Ralph’s raggedy hair as he shook his head ‘no’, his face still buried in his own chest. An answer was not presenting itself. With a regretful sigh, the farmer continued, “For Pete’s sake. Quit your cryin’ and pick your darn self off the ground, boy. No man ought to sit in his own tears in the mud.” The pregnant pause went on for longer than either cared to withstand. Ralph let his mind wander into a pit of self-loathing and despair while the stranger, deeply confused, contemplated his next move. The farmer scratched his beard and shook his head and jostled himself to attention. “Okay. Not kiddin’ now. Get your butt up and follow me.”\n“Wait-- are you going to turn me in?”\n“Turn you in? To who? Something I need to know?” He looked hard at Ralph who finally managed eye contact. The two kept their gaze as Ralph pulled himself to his feet.\n“No, sir. I just want to know where we’re going.”\n“Work. You put me behind already, and I could use a hand today anyhow. Rain’s gon’ and created a whole mess of work. Unless there’s somebody you’d like me to call for ya. We’d have to go back in the house though. I don’t carry one of them fancy phones neither.”\n“No, sir. I’ll help you. Just one thing.”\n“Yea? What’s that?”\n“You got anything to eat?”\n“That depends. You got a name?”\n“Yessir. Ralph is my name.”\n“Okay, Ralph. Jeremiah James Johnson.” He stuck out his meat hook of a hand to shake. Ralph grasped it with what strength he could muster. It was like shaking the giant palm of a gorilla holding sandpaper. “My friends call me Jerry. Family calls me Jimmy. Wife calls me JJ. Pick one. Don’t much care. Let’s get workin’ Ralphy. And we got to work on that handshake. That jus’ won’t do.”\n\n* * * \n\nRalph had no idea what time it was. As the shower water swallowed his body, he didn’t care either. He firmly ran his hands all over his body and face, looking down to see the brown mudwater pouring down the drain. He thought of when he had smeared it all over himself by the lake in an effort to camouflage. It had been pointless. The cop cars didn’t stop just as the helicopter hadn’t tracked him either. It dawned on Ralph that he may have not been chased much at all. After a time, the water began to run clear down the drain. \nAfter stepping out of the shower, Ralph began dressing in the clothes that Jerry had pulled out of a drawer for him. Ralph had never seen a barn quite like Jerry’s. It had a decent room with a bed, dresser, table, and a couple of chairs. It also had a full bathroom and a window with a nice view of Jerry’s fields. The water didn’t get all that hot, and the pressure was weak, but it was clean. Jerry had given Ralph a plain white shirt, a pair of jeans, a pair of thick, white socks, and some underwear. Finally, sitting on top of it all was a set of work boots similar to the ones he had seen Jerry wearing earlier that day.\nAs he exited the bathroom, he found Jerry sitting at the small table with two plates of food. “I went in the house and got us some supper. Grab a seat.”\n“You know, you really didn’t have to do all of this.”\n“I needed the help.” He held the slightest smile.\n“Still. Thanks.”\n“Eat.”\nThe two of them sat together for several minutes, the only sound to be heard was mostly the clinking of silverware to plates and two very tall glasses of lemonade being picked up and put down on the wooden table. When they were finished, Jerry wiped his mouth with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.\n“I got rid of your clothes. The Mrs. wouldn’t even let me bring ‘em through the house to get washed without hosing ‘em down. From the shape they were in, I jus’ as soon figured you could use a few new stitches of clothing on you. Hope that’s alright.”\n“Sure.” The evidence. Ralph thought. “What did you do with them?”\n“They’s burnin’ in that woodfire we set out back ‘while ago.” Before Ralph could entertain the idea that he could get away with murder, he wondered if he thought he should. “Listen.” Jerry began as he gathered the dishes. “You ain’t a terrible worker. If you’d like to sleep on that there bed, you can. I’ll be by at sunrise. If you ain’t around when I come knockin’, well I’ll jus’ get to work by myself as usual then.” Jerry’s work boots thunked on the floor as he headed for the door. He stopped in the door frame. “And, Ralphy,” Jerry said with a sigh. “I don’t know if it ain’t for nothin’, but I’ll tell you this. I don’t know who you were or what you done. There’s a whole mess of a world who don’t know you a lick either. Alls I know is, you ain’t terrible help, and you seem like an okay fella. Whatever it was you may or may not have gotten mixed up in, maybe it’s best to just let it go. I don’t know your life before today… and today was an okay day.”\n\n * * *\n\nDays turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Fall clearing season came and went. Winter was upon them with Christmas only a few days away. In all their time in fields, the two men had barely spoken. With some people, bonds aren’t about words. Ralph found himself oddly at peace in the field with Jerry.\nAfter the first month or so, Ralph guessed that either he couldn’t be found, or for whatever reason, no one was looking for him anymore. He pondered various aspects of his old life. He thought about whether his stepdad cared at all where he was, concluding that it was unlikely. His father, a prisoner of the state of Kentucky, surely did not. With a dead mom and functionally no friends, Ralph figured he wasn’t missed by anyone in Kentucky. Over the passing months, he knew one of two things was true. Either Madison survived the gunshot or she didn’t. If she didn’t, he finally came to realize, it wasn’t truly his fault. She would have died if he hadn’t shown up. What’s the difference if she died because he had?\nRalph had been in his room reading a book that Jerry had given him: The Alchemist. He was on his back on the bed reading with the book in the air when there was a knock at the door and Jerry entered.\n“I’m glad you cracked it open,” said Jerry, noticing the book. Ralph hadn’t initially taken Jerry for a learned man but had since come to understand how wise he really was. “Fate and destiny. I love books like that. Did you get to the part with the glass shop? Funny how sometimes an old guy and a young guy get pushed together by the universe, huh?” Ralph smiled. “Listen, the Mrs. wanted me to give you something.”\n“Oh, yea? What’s that? You really don’t need to give me anything, Jerry.”\n“Oh, I know that, but the woman ain’t been wrong a day in her life. Stand up so I can give it to ya.” Not wanting to be rude for even a moment, Ralph swung his feet to the ground, standing up next to the same boots that Jerry had given him the day they met.\n“Well, what is it?” Ralph’s curiosity had been fully piqued.\n“This.” Jerry reached his arms out and pulled Ralph into the tightest bear hug he had ever felt. The warmth and strength of the embrace caused Ralph to fall weak. The men stood in their embrace, not speaking a word. The coming winter’s wind sang against the barn wood structure. Gentle creaks comforted the silence around them. Finally, the air left Ralph’s body with the exasperated sigh of a lifetime of pain, and he began to cry. Sometimes you don’t know you’ve been holding your breath until you let it out. Jerry continued to hold Ralph’s weight in his arms. After a time, Ralph collected his body and breath and calmly pulled away. He wiped the tears from his face and sniffed hard, wiping his nose with his sleeve. \n“Jerry-” Ralph practically snorted out, not even sure of what he wanted to say. \n“Yea, kid?” There was a long pause as Ralph searched inside himself for something kind to say.\n“Merry Christmas.”\n“Merry Christmas, Ralphy.” He smiled and began leaving, and like he had done many times before, he stopped in the doorway for one last word with the kid.\n“Ralphy-” he choked, his green eyes glowing with impending tears.\n“Yea?”\n“Call me Jimmy.”" } ]
[ { "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: Azgōn Unðá Blōðan\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1505\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character having a spiritual experience at a concert or a nightclub." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Amid a world brimming with clamor and chaos, Ivar Gunhild remained an enigma unto himself. A man perpetually shrouded in the veil of introversion, he navigated life with trepidation, his spirit burdened by an innate fragility. Fear seemed to be his constant companion, weaving its tendrils through every facet of his existence.\nIvar's days were plagued by the haunting specters of indecision and self-doubt. He was hesitant to venture beyond the confines of his comfort zone, a prisoner of his timid nature. Every step forward felt like a precipice, threatening to engulf him in an abyss from which he believed there would be no return.\nThe echoes of his grandfather's words lingered within him, a whispered reminder of a forgotten legacy. Tales of their shared Nordic Viking heritage resonated in his mind, conjuring images of a bygone era when strength and resilience coursed through their veins. But these stories seemed distant, almost mythical, unable to penetrate the barriers of Ivar's apprehensive psyche.\nIt was amidst this labyrinth of fears and uncertainties that Ivar's path intersected with a glimmer of possibility. A friend, recognizing the need to break the shackles that bound him, extended an invitation—a chance to witness the transformative power of music in the form of a concert. The band in question was Heilung, renowned for their spiritual melodies that wove a tapestry of healing and connection to ancestral roots.\nWith a flicker of trepidation and a surge of hope, Ivar accepted the invitation, steeling himself for an experience that would challenge the boundaries of his existence. As he stepped into the concert hall, he was enveloped by an atmosphere charged with anticipation. The air crackled with palpable energy, a potent amalgamation of primal beats and ancestral echoes.\nHeilung took the stage, their presence was ethereal, and their music an invocation that transcended the realms of ordinary sound. The haunting melodies, like whispers from the ages, seemed to penetrate Ivar's very soul. They wrapped around him, weaving an otherworldly tapestry that tugged at the depths of his being. The music became a conduit, a bridge connecting him to the forgotten essence that lay dormant within.\nForty-five minutes into the concert, Ivar, his senses both heightened and fatigued, began to experience an overwhelming weariness. The world around him blurred, and a sense of drowsiness threatened to sweep him away into the arms of slumber. And then, in a fateful moment, Heilung unleashed the song \"Traust,\" a transcendental chant that resonated with the depths of Ivar's spirit.\nIn that precise instant, as the song reached its zenith, Ivar's eyes shuttered closed. The ground beneath him vanished, and he was transported through the currents of time itself, hurtling backward to an era long since faded from memory. The year was 1016, and Ivar found himself thrust into a realm of epic proportions—the battlefield of Assandun.\nIt is at this juncture that our tale truly begins, as Ivar awakens in a colossal army of Denmark Vikings, armed with an axe and shield in hand. His mind struggles to comprehend the surreal tableau that unfolds before him. Across the field, a formidable host of English warriors awaits, their steely determination etched upon their faces.\nYet, amidst the confusion and disarray, Ivar's grandfather's tales surge forth, granting him a thread of understanding. He recognizes the significance of this moment, realizing he stands upon the precipice of history, thrust into the crucible of one of the most infamous Viking battles.\nAnd so, with his heart pounding and trepidation giving way to a newfound resolve, Ivar Gunhild stood amidst the clash of nations. The air crackled with tension, heavy with the scent of impending battle. Time seemed to slow as he took in the sight of the opposing forces, each bracing for the storm that was about to be unleashed.\nA resonating horn cut through the silence, its piercing sound echoing across the field, a clarion call that marked the commencement of the epic struggle. Fear threatened to engulf Ivar once more, his instinct screaming at him to flee from the impending violence. Yet, something within him shifted, a force awakened by the echoes of his ancestors.\nIn a surreal twist of fate, Ivar found himself moving forward, his feet propelled by an unseen power. The timid soul that had once inhabited his frame faded into the depths of the past, replaced by a vessel of ancient valor. His grip tightened around the hilt of the axe, his hands guided by an instinctual knowledge, a proficiency born of blood and history.\nThe battle raged with a ferocity that defied description. Ivar, a reluctant warrior caught in the maelstrom, fought with skill and efficiency hitherto unknown to him. Each swing of his weapon became a dance, his movements guided by an uncanny prowess that seemed to be woven into his very being. The ash of the battlefield and the blood of his veins merged seamlessly, creating a lethal amalgamation of power and purpose.\nTime lost all meaning as the clash of steel and the screams of the fallen filled the air. Ivar's senses were consumed by the chaos, his every instinct honed on survival and victory. The brutality of the battlefield became his canvas, and with each stroke of his axe, he etched his mark upon history.\nAs the battle raged on, Ivar's transformation became complete. No longer the timid soul that had entered this ancient realm, he emerged as a warrior infused with the strength of his Nordic ancestors. His movements became a fluid symphony of carnage and valor, his eyes aflame with an ancestral fire that burned brighter than the sun.\nHe swung his axe with a ferocity that defied his former self, each strike a testament to the indomitable spirit that now coursed through his veins. The blade bit deep into the flesh of his foes, tearing through armor and bone with unrelenting force. The metallic clang of weapon meeting weapon echoed around him, a symphony of violence that served as the backdrop to his inexorable advance.\nIvar's adversaries, once formidable and filled with bravado, now cowered before the might that he embodied. He moved with an uncanny grace, sidestepping blows and countering with precision. With every swing, he reaped a harvest of fallen warriors, the ground beneath him littered with the fallen and the defeated.\nHis shield, an extension of his indomitable will, deflected arrows and defied the onslaught of enemy blades. He seemed impervious to their attacks, a force of nature that defied reason and mortal limitations. The battlefield trembled beneath his feet as if acknowledging his triumph, while the heavens themselves bore witness to his ascendance.\nAnd then, as the last echoes of battle faded, Ivar stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving with exertion and victory. His eyes surveyed the aftermath, taking in the sight of fallen enemies and shattered dreams. The field lay silent, a testament to the power and resilience of the warrior he had become.\nWith a defiant roar that echoed through time, Ivar raised his bloodied axe to the sky, a salute to his ancestors and the spirits that guided him. At that moment, he knew that he had transcended his former self, transcended the boundaries of fear and doubt. He had become a vessel for the ancient and the eternal, a living testament to the strength of his Viking lineage.\nAnd then, as abruptly as it had begun, the battle reached its crescendo. The tumult of violence subsided, leaving behind a landscape of carnage and triumph. Ivar, gasping for breath, surveyed the aftermath, his eyes taking in the visceral scene before him.\nAs the concert came to its conclusion, Ivar's eyes fluttered open, his body trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and awe. He found himself once again in the familiar surroundings of the concert hall, the music slowly fading into silence. The weight of the experience settled upon him, a profound realization that transcended the realm of dreams or hallucinations.\nAwestruck, Ivar glanced down at his right hand, only to find it empty. The blood-soaked axe, the instrument of his transformation, had vanished, leaving behind no trace of its existence. Doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to erode the foundations of his newfound strength.\nBut then, as if to validate his journey, a lone droplet of blood fell from the ceiling, splattering against the floor before him. It was a haunting confirmation, a vivid reminder that what he had experienced was not a mere flight of fancy but an inexplicable connection to his ancestral lineage.\nFrom that moment on, Ivar Gunhild would forever carry the echoes of his spiritual awakening. The timid man who had once been a prisoner of his own fears had been reborn, infused with the indomitable spirit of his Viking forebears. With his ancestral past surging within him, Ivar embraced the path that lay ahead, ready to face the challenges that awaited him, for he had become the embodiment of his grandfather's tales—a warrior with a strong back, standing tall against the world." } ]
[ { "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: Kerfuffle in Yazoo County\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1140\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a couple who fall out on the road." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The white boy falls out of the Ford F-150 pickup truck first, hitting the road with a sickening thud. His left eye is already turning purplish-red, eyelid swelling to a most startling size. Moments later, a pretty dark skinned girl is launched from the Ford’s passenger side as well, but she elegantly falls, executing a dive, tuck and roll, ending up on her feet as if she’d been preparing for that particular move her whole life—all while keeping ahold of her purse.\nIt is impressive. \nWe almost applaud, taking the cigarettes from our mouths, quietly enjoying our break in front of the Yazoo County Circuit Courthouse before the tumult starts. \nWhere are the police when you need them? \nThe sheriff’s office is only a half mile away—certainly one of those doughnut-eaters heard the F-150’s turbocharged engine growl its hearty disapproval of the teenagers, the truck screeching its fat tires as it loudly sped off. Whoever drove that vehicle no doubt spent quite a bit of his paycheck on aftermarket mid-pipes, proudly displaying an oversized Confederate flag in the rear window. \n“Heritage, not hate—” We whisper, rolling our eyes. \nWe slowly stand up, stub out our cigarettes, make our way to the sidewalk. The young girl tends to the boy, now cradling his head in her lap. Seeing us come up on them, she helps him stand up. Though half his size, she has all but dragged him out of the middle of the street and onto the sidewalk. \n“How you doing, son?” we ask. \nThe boy just nods.\n“He got hit. Hard. In the eye,” the girl explains. She looks younger close up. Maybe seventeen. Maybe younger. \n“Son, you seein’ double? You seein’ everything just so?”\n“I’m good,” the boy replies, steadying himself on his feet. The girl hovers nearby, fretting over him like a favorite aunt. \n“We can take you to Fast Pace Urgent Care around the corner. They’ll fix you right up,” we suggest. “You got health insurance?”\n“No, but thank you though,” the boy says. “I’ll be alright.”\n“We have business with the Circuit Court,” the girl states, holding her purse more tightly. \nWe look at each other. What kind of business do these children have with the government?\n“Okay, just so you know—we work here,” we inform them, pleased to be of some service to the young pair. “How about we walk you inside and see what you need?”\n“Thank you,” the girl politely replies, her brow unfurrowing, a smile showing profound relief that lights up her entire face. It even makes her eyes sparkle. \n“Do we need to worry about—” We point vaguely in the direction where the pickup truck has sped off.\n“We don’t need to worry about that truck or that man ever again,” the young boy states firmly. \n“Well, then,” we say. “Come on this way. Let’s see how we can fix you two up.”\n🜋 🜋 🜋\n“Here are our blood tests,” the girl explains, opening her purse, eagerly handing us the folded up papers. She has a yellow Post-it Note on the top that reads: “Blood Test within 30 days” in her careful handwriting.\n“Well, we no longer require blood tests in the state of Mississippi for marriage certificates.” We hand her some standard forms to fill out. “But we will first need to ask you an important question.”\nThe boy and girl look at each other, her eyes water, his hand covers hers.\n“Are you older than 21?”\n“We are not,” he admits. “I’m 18 and she just turned 17 last weekend.”\n“But we have our ‘Out of Office Parental Consent Forms’—right here. Notarized. I went down to the bank—where they have a notary. These are notarized,” she repeats emphatically, handing over two documents, a coffee cup stain on one of them. “And here are copies of our parents’ drivers licenses.” Again, she has carefully affixed colorful Post-it Notes to organize their documentation.\n“Do you have your $21.00 application fee?” We ask, but if they don’t—we’ve already decided we’d pay for it ourselves.\n“Yes!” The boy quickly stands up. He unspools a number of one and five dollar bills from a wad in his pocket. He counts out twelve quarters to complete the financial transaction.\n“We’ll also need to see two forms of identification,” we continue, good bureaucratic clerks that we are. \n“I have my driver’s license and my baptismal certificate,” he says, motioning to his fiancée to pull them out of her purse. “. . . and—and she has her birth certificate and high school transcript.”\nWe look over the documents, noting her exemplary school grades. Smart girl.\n“We have to ask a few more questions,” we say apologetically.\n“Okay,” he replies. “Anything.” His face is utterly without guile, his battered eye now more purplish. \n“Has either party been divorced within the last six months? If so, we need a copy of the divorce decree.”\n“Uh, no?” she says. “This is our first marriage.”\n“This is our only marriage.” He takes her hand and looks at her intently. \nWe feel like we’re intruding on their private reverie, but there are more forms to fill out and boxes to tick.\n“Are either of you drunk or mentally incapacitated to the extent that you do not understand the nature and consequences of your actions?”\n“I guess I am crazy,” the boy laughs. The girl pulls back, giving him an incredulous look. “I’m crazy about her.” He leans over and kisses her on the cheek.\nWe secretly grin as we photocopy their documentation, printing out forms, signing and dating and stamping all the necessary paperwork to make the great state of Mississippi happy. \nWe also make a few phone calls.\nPaperwork ready, we call their names.\n“And here is your marriage license. It is effective immediately upon issuance.”\n“Can you marry us?” the girl asks.\n“I think we can do better than that.” We turn to each other, smiling as broadly as she is. “Pastor Greene at the Southside Baptist Church on Monroe Street is available at this moment.”\nThe young couple holds each other, then she jumps up and down. \n“Tom’s Restaurant on Main wants you to come over right afterwards for a wedding lunch. On the house. The special is baked catfish today—but the meatloaf is always good. Knowing Tom—that soft touch—he’ll probably throw in some of his bread pudding. Best in Yazoo.”\n“Thank you so much.” The young girl’s eyes tear up again. \n“I’m not sure how to repay you all,” the boy mumbles, overcome with gratitude and embarrassment. \n“Stay as happy with each other as you are right now—and consider your bill paid in full. Now run along now. Pastor Greene is waiting on you.”\nWe watch them fall into each other’s arms, a sight better than watching them fall out of a Ford F-150 pickup truck." } ]
[ { "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: it's just one round\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2986\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a game of ‘truth or dare’ that goes horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The music thumped just a little too loud, the lights flashed a little too bright, each room was just a bit too crowded. Sasha drifted out of the kitchen to the outskirts of the living room, shifting the red solo cup from hand to hand, the cheap beer gone flat and unwanted. She scanned the room for her friend, Claire, but she could not be found among the crowd. With a sigh, Sasha slipped through the other guests, writhing to the music, and resisted the urge to snap at each drunk teenager that bumped into her. Finally, she broke free from the room when she reached the basement stairs, hurrying down to meet the voices drifting upwards. The music became blessedly quiet, and the air wasn’t heated with the cramp of bodies. It was all the more relieving when a familiar voice called her name from the other side of the room, where Sasha spotted Claire among a small group seated on a circle of couches and loveseats. She crossed the room easily, only having to dodge the rowdy boys playing pool.\n“There you are! We were just about to play truth or dare, you, like, have to join us!” her friend said from her seat at the end of one of the couches.\n“Actually, I was hoping we could leave, I haven’t studied for our history final yet and I don’t want to be here all night.” Claire frowned and twisted the beaded necklace she wore.\n“Don’t have a cow, it’s still early, we’ll split soon.” The boy beside Claire leaned over then, sliding his arm over her shoulders.\n“C’mon babe, you said you’d stay for a while.” He looked up at Sasha, his nose wrinkling in annoyance. “Just get a ride with someone else.” Sasha never did like Claire’s boyfriend; Jared, a football player that thought far too highly of himself, and seemed to think that, because she was his girlfriend, he was in control of Claire. Not to mention everyone suspected he was older than 18, as he claimed. She ignored him.\n“Everyone here is too drunk to go anywhere. If you won’t leave, give me your keys and find your own ride home.”\n“You don’t get to just leave with her car,” Jared answered for her with a sneer. Claire nodded emphatically, sending her bright earrings swinging.\n“Just play one round with us and we’ll go. Cross my heart,” the girl promised solemnly, giving Sasha no other option than to reluctantly agree. As she perched on the arm of the couch, Jared caught the group’s attention, and the game began.\n“Jessica,” Jared started, looking pointedly at a girl that sat across the circle. “Truth or dare?”\n“Truth,” she answered, pulling at her frizzy hair with a nervous giggle.\n“Who in this circle would you do?” Everyone waited intently as Jessica blushed, stammered the start of a few words, and finally coughed out an answer.\n“Brian.” The circle erupted in cheers or jabs, and Sasha’s gaze drifted over to the named boy, who looked thoroughly disgusted. Though she felt a small amount of pity for Jessica, she laughed along with the rest of them. Claire announced it was her turn next, grinning at Nick, a goth kid whose boots made up his entire personality.\n“Truth or dare, Nick?”\n“Dare.”\n“Let me give you another ear piercing.” Nick merely shrugged.\n“Sure.” \nThe ordeal of Claire piercing Nick’s ear took much longer than it should have, had the participants not been tipsy, and a majority of the group insisted on trailing Claire as she retrieved ice and searched for a needle. A few guests had left by the time everyone was seated again. It was Sasha’s turn then.\n“Johnny, truth or dare?’ she asked the boy on the opposite couch. He shook out the cuffs of his leather jackets and flashed her a smile.\n“Truth.”\n“Are you going to ask anyone to prom?”\n“Well, I was thinking about this one righteous chic with a blue blazer,” he answered, flicking his brows up. Sasha glanced down quickly at her bright blue sleeves and smiled back at him, then the game was continuing. The girl in the seat to Sasha’s left asked Brian if he would get back with his ex were he given the opportunity (yes) and the next girl, Megan, dared Jared to take off his shirt (who was more than happy to oblige). During that time, Johnny and another girl in the circle dismissed themselves from the game. Nicole inspected the circle closely before training her steady gaze on Michael, a boy who spent more time fiddling with computers than he did talking with people.\n“Truth or dare?”\n“Truth.” Nicole sucked her lower lip between her teeth and an odd look came over her eyes.\n“Have you ever...hurt anyone?”\n“Yeah, but he deserved it.” Michael answered firmly, crossing his arms. Sasha shifted where she sat. What the hell did he mean by that? What made it all the more unsettling was that no one else seemed to react to his answer. She leaned over to whisper her concern to Claire, but before she could open her mouth, Tony was asking Sasha truth or dare.\n“Dare,” she decided, making a mental note to ask Claire about Michael later.\n“I dare you to chug this.” Tony stood, took a step across the space between them, and shoved the cup he had been holding into her hand.\n“What even is this?” she asked skeptically, setting down her old drink.\n“It’s just beer, don’t be such a square,” he rolled his eyes, pushing up the glasses that had slipped down his nose.\n“That’s it? Fine.” Sasha knocked back the drink and Jessica waited to take her turn until Tony had taken his seat again. Once more giggling nervously, she asked Nicole what she wrote about in her journal, which she was often seen carrying around or scribbling in. She revealed she kept tabs on many students from Cherry Creek High, recording bits of gossip she overheard, secrets she was told or picked up in passing, events she witnessed that one might not want remembered. Sasha eyed Nicole carefully then, beginning to sift through her memories, wondering if she had any incriminating information against her. Nicole keeping to herself was beginning to make more sense, and her habit of staring seemed all the more intrusive. Nick’s bleak gaze slid to Claire after a moment.\n“Truth or dare?”\n“Dare,” she chose cheerfully, seemingly unaffected by what their classmates had been revealing.\n“I dare you to shave your head.” The girls in the group all gasped, protesting such an unfair dare, telling Nick to pick something else, though Claire seemed to be deliberating silently.\n“I’ll do one side,” she finally answered. The goth boy nodded, agreeing to the compromise.\n“Claire you can’t! Your mom might literally kill you,” she warned the other girl, who only seemed mildly troubled by the idea.\n“I’ll part it differently when I’m at home, she won’t know,” Claire said, attempting a reassuring smile, though she wouldn’t meet Sasha’s eyes.\n“Yes, she will! You don’t have to go along with every stupid dare.”\n“Let her do what she wants,” Jared interjected, frowning.\n“God, don’t be such a wet blanket. What fun is truth or dare if you don’t actually play?” said Claire, turning her back on Sasha. “I’ll do it.”\n“I’ll go find a razor,” Jared volunteered, standing and passing out of the circle, shooting Sasha a glare. She frowned back at him. With a pause in the game, the group started up conversations, but with her attention no longer trained on the questions and answers from everyone, Sasha realized the boys that had been playing pool were gone, and the murmur of conversation from upstairs had quieted.\n“That dare is bogus, you shouldn’t have agreed to it,” she tried again, hoping without Jared present Claire might start to see reason, but her friend crossed her arms, her annoyance growing more apparent.\n“I’m doing it, and you can’t change my mind. It’s not like they’re asking you to shave your hair, so lay off,” she snapped, again outright ignoring her by turning away, striking up a conversation with Michael. When Jared returned, he came with an electric razor dangling from his hand, a horrible smile parting his lips. Sasha watched, horrified, as Nick took the razor, plugged it in, and waved Claire over. The truth or dare players cheered when he took the razor to her head and the first chunks of her hair fell at their feet. Sasha turned, unable to watch, and found Nicole coming down the stairs with two drinks in her hands. She hadn’t even noticed her leave.\n“You seem troubled,” Nicole muttered, holding out one of the red cups to Sasha, who accepted it gladly.\n“No shit! Claire’s making a horrible decision,” she grumbled, taking a long swig of her drink. It tasted different from the beer she’d had earlier in the night, but she didn’t dwell on it.\n“Well if she regrets it, it’s her problem. She seemed pretty happy to do it though.” Nicole lifted a hand to her own hair, tugging at the choppy, blonde ends. The glint in her eyes, and the way she watched the crowd around Claire, made Sasha wonder if Nicole would be willing to mutilate her own hair for a chance in the spotlight. The two watched quietly from the back of the group for a moment until the buzzing of the razor stopped and a hush fell across everyone.\n“So?” Claire asked tentatively, a tremor in her voice where she had sounded so sure before. “How does it look?” Nicole produced a mirror from a pocket in her trench coat and pushed forward. Through the parted group Sasha caught sight of Claire as she took the mirror and, turning it to herself, clapped a hand to her mouth. Sasha expected her friend to be as horrified as she was, but when her friend dropped her hand, she was beaming.\n“Oh my God, it’s kinda killer!” she squealed, peering into the mirror while running a hand over her newly shaved hair. She handed the mirror back to Nicole and stepped past the others to stand in front of Sasha, the set of her smile stubborn, her hands on her hips.\n“See, I knew it would turn out fine,” she insisted.\n“Whatever,” Sasha mumbled, unsure if “fine” was the right word. As the group returned to their seats, Sasha was now tempted to physically drag Claire from the party so they could go home. Instead, she said nothing as Brian took his turn, who asked Megan what she would do, if she could do anything, to get even with the girls who had messed with her throughout middle school. She told everyone that she’d like the chance to blackmail her tormentors, perhaps exploit their own insecurities, until they were on the bottom of the social food chain themselves. Sasha, troubled by Megan’s desire for revenge, became even more uneasy when Jared told her such a thing wasn’t entirely impossible, a wicked grin slashed across his face. Michael chose Tony next, who picked truth, and asked him what his darkest secret was. He thought for a long moment.\n“I once slept with a girl just to get free comic books at that store by the school,” he admitted, though the cheers that went up from the guys quickly turned his apprehension to pride. Finally, it was Jared’s turn again.\n“Sasha, truth or dare?”\n“Dare,” she chose again, unsure she wanted anyone in this group learning a single secret from her. The awful smirk on Jared’s face turned more sinister.\n“Strip for us.” For Sasha, that was the last straw.\n“What the hell? No! Alright Claire, we stayed for a round, let’s leave.” Sasha stood, ready to storm from the room, but a wave of dizziness came over her, causing her to sway on her feet. When she made for the exit, Brian’s large form blocked her path. Confused and disoriented, she turned to ask Claire to tell him to move, but as she did so, Brian’s hands closed around her wrists, pinning them behind her back. She tried to struggle, to demand he let her go, ask what was happening, but her mind had suddenly gone foggy, her vision blurred at the edges. She mumbled a few incoherent words before Nick rose and struck her across the head with the razor still in his hands, knocking her unconscious..\nThe world came back in pieces, first with the smell of pine, then the chill of the night air. When Sasha finally managed to open her eyes, she found herself looking at the wood slats of a ceiling. The pounding in her head dulled the questions running through her thoughts to an unintelligible buzz, but voices only a few feet away cut through her confusion.\n“I’m not sure I can do it,” a voice whispered. Claire?\n“It’s way too late to back out now. Do it quick and get it over with,” a male voice replied. Footsteps creaked towards her, and a moment later Jared was looming over her.\n“Shit, she’s awake now, you waited too long,” he snapped over his shoulder. Fighting the sharp pain shooting through her skull, Sasha struggled to stand, but her efforts were halted when Jared grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet himself. She searched her surroundings frantically for an escape. She appeared to be in a treehouse, with tree branches visible through the open windows, and no exit other than a square whole cut in the wooden floor to the far left\n“Do it now,” he ordered and, as she struggled to free herself, Sasha caught the glint of a knife in Claire’s hand.\n“No, Claire, don’t listen to him. I don’t know why you’re doing this, we’re friends!”\n“Jared’s a better friend,” Claire mumbled, edging toward her. “I’m sorry, Sasha, really, I didn’t want it to be you, but he said it had to be.” She continued forward, and when Claire stepped into the moonlight slanting into the tree house, Sasha saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. But Claire's grip on the kitchen knife did not loosen. Without thinking, and with no real plan, Sasha gave Jared a swift kick to the shin. He cursed and lost focus just long enough for her to wrench her arms free and lunge for the hole in the floor. She tumbled through the air for a breath before hitting the ground with a jarring thud. Sasha ignored the searing pain that tore through her arm and scrambled off the forest floor, taking off at a stumbling run in what she hoped was the direction of the house. She heard yelling and cursing behind her, the crash of brush as she was pursued, but continued on until she spotted the house lights through the trees. Running across the yard to the house, Sasha came to a skidding halt as realization came crashing in. She wouldn't be safe in that house, not when the truth or dare players were still there, when they were in on this plot. She stumbled back a step and veered right to the side of the house, running through her very limited options of escape, vowing that if she survived she would never go to a party again. Her scattered plotting was interrupted as she slammed into someone, who caught her in their arms. She panicked, writhing to get free, but paused when the person spoke.\n“Sasha?”\n“Johnny?”\n“Oh my God, are you ok? I came back for my jacket and saw them dragging you out of the house. I didn’t know what was going on so I called the police, what happened?” Sasha could only shake her head, frightened tears coming in full force now that she was no longer in immediate danger. Refusing to return to the house, Johnny hurried Sasha to his car, where they waited for the police to arrive.\nA week later, Sasha came sleepily down the stairs, shuffling into the kitchen to pour herself a bowl of cereal. After plunking herself down on the couch in her living room, she switched on the T.V. and flicked through the channels, though not much was on that Sunday morning. Sasha paused and sat up straighter as she landed on the news. Pictures of her classmates were lined up on the screen. She turned up the volume, shoving a spoonful of cheerios into her mouth.\n“Last week, seven highschoolers from Cherry Creek were questioned about the drugging and assault of their classmate, Sasha Evans, and just last night they were taken into custody and placed under arrest. After several interviews and investigation by the local police department, they have all confessed to a variety of crimes including theft, blackmail, the reselling of illegal drugs, and even attempted murder. A majority claim they did so under the direction of one Jared Fletcher, though he has not been seen since last weekend’s events. Please contact your local police if you or anyone you know has seen this man.” Jared's most recent yearbook picture filled the screen, looking as innocent as any other highschooler. One would never guess the horrors he was capable of, nor what he might do if he were to remain free. Sasha changed the channel as the news reporter began going into detail about that night, not wanting to relive a single moment. She hoped that wherever Jared was at that moment, he knew that justice would be someday served.\nLess than a month had passed since the night of the party, but it was far from Jared’s mind as he strolled into the administration building of Rocky Mountain High School.\n“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” asked the woman at the front desk.\n“I’m here to enroll? My name’s Mike Dwyer.”" } ]
[ { "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: Daisy\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1803\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character having a spiritual experience at a concert or a nightclub." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "(It’s not a concert, it’s not a nightclub, it’s the 19th century, but that day of the poetry recital did have a spiritual experience for Susan, which lasted a lifetime.)\n(This is part of a chapter from a book. Excerpts of the book have already been adapted for short stories. This is a chapter with the underlying theme of karma “The law of growth” – Daisy the dog that inspired Denise with her writings, after the cataclysmic failures of her lovers.)\n**********************************************************************************\nAs she tore up the parchment papers, Denise’s manuscripts of poetry that day, Susan was destroying literature for the benefit of future humankind, like a feminine Adam turning her back and preventing the fruits and seed of the apple from the tree of knowledge, Denise’s unique prose would never be shared for the future literary appreciation of humankind forever.\nSusan was destroying the equivalent of the base creative AI program of poetry, as the scraps of the parchment paper, the lines of ballad stanzas, and slant rhymes, the use of trimeter, and tetrameters piled up in the container, then lit with a flame, and as the parchment flared, the flames blackened the penned lines, and crumpled the paper into a black charred mess, never to be read, never to be printed, never to be shared by readers forever.\nSusan was destroying a private written secret of their tempestuous love affair, but at a cost of generations of poetry lovers, it was like obliterating Shakespeare’s words from the English language, her act of self-protection was complete as she stared at the charred remains of Denise’s writings gone from the sight and readership of an ignorant human literary consciousness forever. It was poignant, what started with fiery passions of desire was being destroyed by the same element – fire.\nThe thoughts in her head, as she stared down at the charred remains, were of the first time she met Denise that day in the church hall for a poetry reading. Denise was in white, as she always dressed throughout the years, that boyish innocent face, but with eyes that shone, those eyes had a life of their own, Denise’s eyes shone from the inside, something unique, the spiritual essence of her being, her recital came from a voice, but it also came directly from her soul. Those eyes were a warning to all that met her, of something special, a gift from the gods, a uniqueness of a human being, her poetry and writing, a gift to humankind. Like all unique creative gifts, it would not be realized for years to come after her death, but Susan was already censoring the amoral parts, that could lead to a tarnishing of Denise’s talents, her reputation, to a less appreciative audience, a moral judgmental audience to those God- given gifts.\nSusan was mesmerized that day, that first sight of Denise, standing behind the lectern, reading the poetry, with that innocent altar boy appearance, but her reading was passionate and inflamed, the voiced words only enhanced the brightness in her eyes, whenever she looked towards the listening audience. She demanded attention.\nThe church meeting hall was in the backcountry of Massachusetts, the people of the Amherst town came from generations of puritan, God fearing folk, escaping with their views from the oppressive regimes of Europe. These people were the bedrock of the new world, in the early part of the 19th century.\nSusan waited for the audience to dissipate from the church hall, as she lingered behind to speak to the girl with the boyish looks, and sparkling eyes. Their eyes locked before Susan said quietly.\n“You read with so much eloquence, so much passion.”\nDenise looked at Susan with so much intent, taking in every minute detail, it was more than a stare, it was a confident searching look, her serious young face didn’t react to the compliment, only the sparkling eyes stared continuously searching out Susan’s, before Denise replied.\n“Meet me here tomorrow at 10, we’ll go for a picnic by the river, it will be our secret.” Denise said without any emotion, but it felt to Susan like a command not to be refused.\nTheir love affair ignited the day of the picnic beside the quiet river, on that warm midsummer day. Two innocent young girls, carrying the picnic basket, and Daisy the Jack Russell terrier, Denise’s best friend and companion, the only silent, mute witness. The girls sat under the shade of the weeping willow, beside the calm waters of the river, Denise reciting words of poetry, of young innocent love, the desire of two young female hearts enraptured by the poetry, and the promise of love. Their young hearts were intoxicated by the words, the ambience, the shared passion for the poetic words of promised love, lingered in the air with the heat of the day.\nWhen Denise slipped out of her loose-fitting dress, she wore no underwear, her elfin white figure glistened in the sunlight, as she lifted her head with laughter, and gay abandonment. She lifted her arms above her, which emphasized her boyish figure, small breasts, with boyish hips, it seemed that she was stretching to the skies reaching for the blue skies, as she then skipped and slowly, but tentatively entered the warm waters of the river, like a mercurial wild Pan, coaxing Susan to follow her lead. It was a sight of intoxication, and complete abandonment of morals and virtue, the sight sent Susan’s mind and senses to a place, never to recover, the sight of Denise’s nude lithe body disappearing into the waters of the river that day would be etched vividly in her memory, never to be blurred with time.\nSusan started to unbutton her constrained clothes, seduced by the feline wild Pan, entering the inviting waters of the river. Susan’s womanly body was fuller, he young ripe body, fully bosomed, full hips, but as she looked down at the white bleached skin of her body, she enjoyed the sight, it wasn’t only intoxicating to her spirit, her nakedness, her mind inflamed with the thought of joining Denise in wild abandonment in the warm calm water.\nThe water temperature was cool against her warm skin, as she reached out with her arms to move into the invading waters that now caressed her nude body, the watery embrace soothed her body and mind. The contrast of their white bodies only partially visible above the water, both their arms paddling to keep their bodies afloat, and their heads above the waterline. The two girls moved towards each other, and it was only natural that they touched, and embraced. Their fingers touching tenderly, searching another body, tracing lines, feeling contours of another body, this was a new exploration of physicality, the young prepubescence of innocence, an intoxication of virginal senses.\nThe tension was broken as they both started to play in the river splashing water at each other, as Daisy the dog joined in the gaiety, chaotically barking, and jumping on the riverbank. Daisy wanted to join in the fun as well.\nWhen they both came out of the warm waters, their nude bodies dripping droplets of water, their inhibitions had disappeared completely, they lay together on the grass, under the shade of the tree, and embraced, and kissed with passion, the vipers of their shared desires now released from its enslavery, and their minds were consumed, abandoned to one mutual shared desire – love making.\nThat day of uninhibited, unadulterated, yet innocent sharing of love, would haunt Susan for the rest of her life. Looking down at the sight of her arson, the sight of the charred black remains of Denise’s poetry writing was viewed with personal satisfaction of a secret never to be shared with any other living person, but at the same time, Denise’s poetry was inspired by that day of passion, she went on to write the most original work of art that the world will ever read, but now without the explicit verses of poetry, the shared love between Denise and Susan. It was a loss to humankind, but a protection of an amoral love affair that could never breach the future infamy of the dead poetess.\nSusan later married Denise’s brother, Austin, and Susan became Denise’s sister-in-law. Susan and Austin moved to New York, shortly after their marriage. Denise stayed with her infirmed mother in Amherst, living a reclusive life. She became a prolific writer of poetry, but her writings were one of many hidden secrets of this unique artist, and she never published any of the thousands of poems and writings while she was alive. It remained an undiscovered work of art while Denise was alive.\nOnly, Daisy the dog watched keenly, as Denise scratched, and penned the masterclass in the art of poetry over her living years and tended to her infirmed mother, as life in the 19th century passed by, and Denise always in white flowing frocks and dresses led a reclusive life, never traveling, never communicating, except writing with her unique style to her friends, and family. But her poetry was hidden from all.\nHer mother died after suffering with ill health for decades, but with the care and dutiful attention of Denise. Some people will say that it was Daisy the dog’s death, that was the biggest loss to Denise, the townspeople only infrequent sight of Denise was her walking the Jack Russell terrier upon the hills or in the nearby woodlands. Some of the townspeople overheard her talking to Daisy, the dog was a constant loyal companion.\nDenise died alone.\nSusan on Denise’s death made to search throughout her room, her belongings, and found an opus mountain of poetry, years of writing by the recluse. After destroying any poems that would expose the truth of their amoral relationship, Susan sought out a publisher in New York, and started to publish some of Denise’s compositions of work.\nHistory will record that her divorced husband, and Denise’s brother Austin, challenged his ex-wife Susan regarding her discovery, Denise’s poetry, and for many years Denise’s opus of work was published separately, by Susan, and Austin. Their personal and divisive handling of Denise’s complete works was handled by her sibling brother, and ex-lover in a contentious and malignant manner, like primitives fighting over the crown jewels of classic poetic literature.\nIt was only sixty years later after the death of Denise that the complete works were published together, and then the world could fully appreciate one of the world’s most famous poetesses, and her unique style and gift to the English language.\nBut the truth and inspiration of her body of work, their love affair, the epicentre of the Denise’s poetry died with both the demise of Denise, and later Susan, in those far away days of the 19th century." } ]
[ { "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: Truth be Told\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2265\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who tells a lie which turns out to be true - or a truth which turns out to be a lie." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Eleventh grade and Margot had been a newbie six times. Sheesh! Margot never expected to get used to being the ‘new kid.’ Once high school lay in the rear view mirror, she could get on with her life.\nHer immediate task was breaking into a group, so she wouldn’t spend the next two years alone. Margot knew too well, gaining social traction after school started, sucks, big-time. By week two, the cliques have gelled. Breaking into anything but your own locker is a pitiful pipe-dream.\nThe kids gathering tonight were lifelong friends. Breaking into a tight-knit group was Margot’s lifelong goal. If she could do it.\nGrace dropped her purse next to Margot. “Where is everyone? Some people are such wanks,” said Grace as she checked her phone. “Nobody texts. No one calls.” She looked at Margot. “Sorry about this…”\nMargot shrugged. “No pressure. Really.” Grace softened. “By the way, no matter what happens today, I love your hair.”\nGrace beamed. “Thanks, Margot.” She looked around.\nA couple of young women entered the café and waved. A guy came in and headed toward them. He offered his hand to Margot. “I’m Ted. Glad to meet you.” He told Grace when he came in, Gwen had parked.\nGrace introduced Margot to May and Tammy. Gwen joined them at the big corner booth. The waitress brought their usual orders.\nGrace loved holding court. She addressed everyone, but kept focused on Margot. “You know the rules, except you, Margot. I don’t want to bore everyone, so I’ll keep it short.” Grace explained that to gain trust, each member had to share a family secret.\nMargot nodded. The rest paid superficial attention. Old news. She looked for connection.\nTed put down his Rubik’s cube and grinned at her. Margot smiled back, taking care no one mistook it for flirting. She hadn’t yet divined how Ted fit into this constellation of young women.\nMay smiled. Her manner gave Margot the sense this meeting was a mere formality for a done deal. She was the only one Margot knew at all.\nShe’d approached May the first week of school and casually asked directions to their Biology class. Margot got her laughing about their teacher, Mr. Knox’s, attempts at humor.\nSitting on Grace’s right, Tammy stared at her coffee cup and stirred. The rhythmic clinking of spoon against cup distracted Grace. She gently touched Tammy’s hand. She came out of her reverie, and set her spoon onto the saucer, but continued to stare at the swirling coffee.\nSitting to Grace’s left, Gwen couldn’t take it seriously. She mimicked Grace’s attitude, moving her mouth like a ventriloquist’s dummy. Everyone tried to stifle their laughter.\nGrace concluded, “…you know the secret needs to be more scandalous than…” She feigned shock. “…‘Jenny got a used pony for her birthday, not a new one.’ Got it? This isn’t gossip. Embrace the nitty-gritty.” Everyone murmured assent. Grace relaxed. “We’ll introduce ourselves to Margot by sharing our secrets, one-by-one. I’ll start.” Her gaze settled on Margot. “Everyone knows this… Margot, I’m a real bastard.”\nThey all roared with laughter.\nTed pounded the table. “She is! She really is…”\nGrace continued, “Margot, you should know my parents never married. My Mom shacked up with my Dad, abandoning her marriage when her husband was stationed in Iraq. Though she never got around to getting divorced, here I am… Ted, you’re next.”\nTed cleared his throat. “It’s always hard to follow an act like yours Grace, but here goes. Back in the last century, during Prohibition, my Grandfather got rich, bootlegging liquor from Kentucky to New York and Chicago.”\nMargot interjected, “You mean like the…?”\nTed finished her question. “The Kennedy’s? Exactly. Only my Grandfather stayed out of politics. But he did get richer…”\nGrace added, “These days, that’s hardly scandalous. Pretty tame, though the picture of him with Al Capone is cool. Talk to us, May…”\nMargot listened while searching her memory for a family secret. Her Dad said she’d make new friends. ‘Tell me again, exactly how many times that’s necessary?’ Saying ‘hello’ to strangers and ‘good-bye’ to best pals were well-honed skills. ‘Enough already.’ Margot had more friends, never seen again, than most people have all their life. She kept in touch with some, of course. ‘Facebook is a great depository of people you stood next to for a photo.’\nNot that her Dad was around much lately. He and Mom were ‘on a break,’ as they say. If she read things right, it looked like this time would be permanent. How many lawyers does it take to screw up a family? How much money do you have? Margot figured they had plenty.\nYup, just her and Mom these days. ‘Too much fun. But not to worry. Dad said he’d ‘always be her Dad.’ If only. Take a number, Pops. What’s your name again?’\nNot that Margot thought herself cynical. But she had limited capacity for false hope. ‘Let’s get real. Please? Even once?’\nLaughter brought Margot back to the present. Grace spoke again. “You have to update your scandals, May. Something more current. Within the last century? Pirates are romantic. But, come on… who wasn’t a pirate, or Cleopatra, in a past life? Step up, May. You can’t coast on being a Biology genius forever.”\nMay laughed, “I’ll try. But my parents are so boring!”\nGwen said, “It’s true. I’d stick with the pirates, May.” Everyone laughed.\n“So, what’s your secret, Gwen?” said Grace. “Lay it on us.”\nGwen looked at Tammy. “You want to cut in, Tam?”\nLooking up from her cup, Tammy seemed to awaken from a dream. “My turn, already? Okay. When my Dad was in high school, he came home one day and found a note from his Mom. She’d taken his sister and moved to Florida. His father was traveling on business, and Dad had to tell him when he got back. He saw his sister after college, but never spoke to his Mom again.”\n“Wow!” Margot couldn’t believe it.\nGwen said, “It’s okay, Margot. You don’t have to top that.”\nGrace kept it moving. “You’re next, Gwen.”\nGwen made a show of trying to think of something. Everyone laughed and nudged each other.\nLosing her patience, Grace spoke up. “Stop stalling, Gwen.”\nGwen settled and waited for the laughter to subside. She put her hands on the table and smiled at Margot. “Everyone but you knows this so, I’ll cut straight to the punch line, okay?” Margot nodded, not knowing what to expect. “My parents are cousins.” She paused for effect. “As in, ‘their parents, my grandparents, are siblings.’” Margot tried to grasp the implications. Gwen leaned in to whisper, “That explains my odd number of toes. I’ll show you later.” The laughter grew. Gwen gestured for silence. “But the bigger surprise… they aren’t from Appalachia.”\nHilarious laughter exploded at Margot’s expression. She had to laugh at the absurdity of it all.\n“Wait a minute,” she said, “Is this real?”\nEveryone assured her of the truth about their families.\nGrace stopped the chatter with a raised hand. Ted did an impromptu drum roll on the table top. “You’re on, Margot. Whatcha got?”\n“Uhm…”\nMargot’s brain revved into high speed at the opportunity now within reach. With each change in schools, Margot enjoyed inventing a new persona. Who could say she wasn’t herself? Kids are supposed to ‘stretch their horizons,’ exploring their ‘identity.’ How many teen magazines and child-development texts sing that song in three-part harmony? Margot needed an extra closet to store her discarded personas.\nSome of those books identify being the ‘new kid’ as harder on girls than guys. Because girls are more relational, and all that. Maybe so. Observing her mother’s behavior gave Margot valuable insight on the distinction between ‘relational,’ and garden-variety promiscuity. Purely anecdotal, of course.\n“Margot...?” Grace waved her hand. Everyone watched.\n“Sorry. Pretty overwhelming. I’ll try to explain things. Not used to entertaining… But you guys will understand, I’m sure.”\nGwen gave her a thumbs up. “Relax. You’re amongst friends.”\nMargot nodded. “Here goes. My folks have split up. That’s not fun, but these days it’s hardly a scandal. But after we moved here, Mom told me she’d slept with so many guys, she isn’t sure he’s my Dad anyway.” Margot looked around. Everyone stared. She looked to Grace. “Should I explain more? Is that what you want…?”\nGrace shook her head. “That’s fine, Margot. I’m sorry to hear that. We all made fun of each other because we know the stories. But what you told us isn’t funny. We support our friends.”\n“Yeah, I wasn’t sure… when no one reacted… Who knows? But that’s what she said. You must know how divorcing parents…”\nTammy reached across the table. “Are you close with your Dad?”\n“Yeah… We’re cool… Thanks.”\n“Here’s to Margot!” Gwen raised her Coke. Everyone else chimed in and drank to Margot.\nThe conversation settled into chatter about the day and morphed into homework issues.\nMay spoke up. “Listen up, guys. I almost forgot. Mr. Knox, our Bio teacher, said those genetic samples you provided on the first day are being processed. Results will arrive soon.”\n“What? I didn’t give anyone a urine sample.”\nMay’s eyes rolled. “You forgot? They got a grant to provide us with genetic profiles. Everyone signed a card and gave them a saliva sample. This is huge.”\nMargot said, “I remember.” Her stomach tightened.\n“Thank you!”\nSoon after that, the group paid up and dispersed. Margot was in.\n~\nOver the next few weeks, things settled into some normalcy for Margot. She had people with whom she could share time, troubles, and laughs. The pending results of that genetic test haunted her. \nHer Dad took her out for dinner every week. He made an effort to maintain their father/daughter connection shared her whole life. He asked about school, her studies, and her friends. He didn’t pry. She felt safe. And seen.\nHe supported her getting involved in extra-curricular activities. She told him she’d been cast in a play. He hugged her and said, “You’ve always been my favorite drama queen, Mar.”\nBut the secret she told Grace and company worried her. She’d been honest about what her mother said. But what if it were true? What if this genetic test made her a bastard? What if word got out about her Dad? She could never get over hurting him.\nWhatever the outcome, he raised her. Whatever the technicalities, he was the only father she’d ever known. The best she could hope for.\nShe lost sleep, awaiting the results she discounted, but knew could be life changing.\nAnd now she had no one to talk to about it. Her new friends, took her statement as fact. To introduce doubt could make her a liar. She’d be an outcast. And fatherless.\nHer Dad called. “Still on for dinner tonight, kid?”\n“Tonight? Yeah. I forgot.”\n“Another night be better? School stuff?”\n“No… No, I want to see you.”\nThey set a time and signed off. Margot could not sit still. She paced until he drove up.\nShe ran down and they left for their favorite restaurant. They bantered as usual fashion all the way. But Margot felt outside herself.\nOnce seated, her Dad pulled out a letter.\n“This is for you. I started to open it, but then saw your name. Here.”\nMargot took it and stared at the return address. It was the results to the genetic test. She stuffed it into her purse.\n“Don’t you want to read it? It looks important.”\n“No. It can wait. I want to spend time with you.”\n“Sure?”\n“Positive.”\n“Okay. Let’s order. You want your usual?”\n“Yeah.” Margot looked down.\n“What’s up, Mar? You okay?”\nShe felt busted. Unsure.\nHe leaned in. “Margot, honey. Whatever it is, it’ll work out. Don’t let anything throw you off course.” She began to tear up. “You have a great future. You know how proud I am…”\nShe sobbed, pulled the letter from her purse and shoved it toward him.\n“What’s this?”\nMargot stammered, “It’s… I don’t know… I’m afraid.” She sobbed into her napkin.\nHer Dad took the envelope with a scowl. He would have dismissed it as foolish but for Margot’s reaction.\n“Let’s see what you’ve got.” He deftly opened the envelope and scanned the contents. Margot composed herself. “This… this is…?”\n“It’s for school. A bio project… genetics.”\n“This is yours?”\nMargot nodded. He began to grasp the source of his daughter’s stress. He perused the genetic data and softened.\nHe leaned in and offered her the letter.\n“Hey, kiddo… I don’t know if your mother has a ‘type,’ but unless she has a thing for Lithuanians, that’s me on the page.”\n“Lithu… what?”\n“Lithuania. Where my parents came from.”\n“You mean it’s real?”\n“Sure. I told you about it.”\n“I thought it was another of your made-up words. You always joked…” He shrugged with a smile. “Where is it?”\n“Eastern Europe. The Baltic Sea. Sandwiched between Latvia and Poland. Down the block from Estonia.”\nMargot was incredulous. Tremendous tension flowed from her body. Eyes glistening, she ran to embrace her father.\n“I love you Daddy.”\nHe hugged her back. “Of course you do, Mar. I’m your father. Always. I love you too.”\nAfter a while, she returned to her chair. She giggled. “So, tell me more…”\nTheir dinner arrived.\nSuddenly, everything her Dad said was hilarious to Margot. She laughed so hard, her milk shake came out her nose. Her Dad covered his eyes and she laughed even harder.\nThe truth didn’t hurt." } ]
[ { "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 Real Page Turner\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1089\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who finds someone’s diary, and tries to reunite it with its owner. It’s up to you whether they read it or not!" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "As John Jordan turned over the first shovelful of soil at the groundbreaking ceremony for his new insurance office in the Rehobeth Beach Coastal Mall he struck an unusually hard object. He reached down to retrieve what felt like hardened cardboard. \n He had found some type of book, like a journal or diary. \n John wanted to begin a new chapter in his life with his new business, so he hesitated to open the book. He could be opening himself up to negative vibes that definitely would bring the bad luck he was in no mood for.\n Well, he already had turned the first page, why not rip the Band-aid off and get on with more pleasant tasks?\n His hands shook as badly-smeared ink scrawls revealed the entries on pages stuck together by what looked like dried blood. \n Jordan knew about the tales of an unsolved murder in the area, but still had outbid a number of others for this prime real estate. He would not let a sordid tale from the past stand in the way of his dream.\n The body of Mary McFee, a successful financial planner at the firm previously located next to John’s office site, had been found 51 years ago near Harley’s Market in an adjacent area of Sussex County. Looked like a sexual assault had preceded the murder. \n Many Rehobeth Beach residents believed the clues to Mary’s disappearance and death lay buried near the site of her former office. \n The mall’s new owners had guaranteed they had thoroughly cleared the area before reopening of the newly-refurbished mall. \n “The time has come to put baseless speculation behind us,” John said, “this site has an excellent view of the Atlantic Ocean and excavations already exist for utilities. We stand here today ready to write a new, positive chapter in this area.”\n He then examined his discovery more closely:\n “Seems like an investment account book that the financial planner also used as a diary. The client, Joseph Callihan, apparently ran into a bad streak in the stock market and the accounts administered for him took a nosedive. Looks like his planner also mixed business with pleasure. She writes about a love affair with Callihan that went South the same time he went bankrupt. He apparently blamed his girlfriend for his bad luck and decided to delete both the red ink in his ledgers and the blot on his personal life.”\n Another clue—airplane ticket stubs for a one-way flight to Colorado tucked into one of the back inside covers of the diary.\n Some more light shed on the story by Frank Thompson, retired editor of The Rehobeth Beachcomer, a local newspaper that had existed from the 1940s to the 1970s, who stood nearby during the ceremony:\n “Stories we ran at that time said Joseph’s wife found out about the affair and told him to end it. Shortly after they dug up Mary’s body Callihan also disappeared. Noone ever found him, but they found his pickup ditched near Harley’s Market. Mrs. Callihan died about five years ago.”\n Jordan didn’t realize, however, that Callihan had kept up with the news of his old neighborhood on Google every day from the backwoods cabin 20 miles outside of Denver where he had hidden from the authorities for more than a half century. He had read the notice of the groundbreaking and returned to the scene of his crime in a carefully-crafted disguise. \n The murderer stood in the back row during the ceremony waiting for his chance to completely destroy the evidence and keep his secret hidden. He knew that he could put an end to the life of anybody who got in his way—just as he had put an end to Mary McFee 51 years ago.\n Callihan shouted from the back of the crowd,\n “Don’t make another move Jordan. I didn’t hide in Colorado for a half century just to wind up in the Delaware pen. Bury your so-called evidence again and find another site for your office.”\n However, another onlooker also had made her way to the beachfront ceremony.\n When the paramour “crossed over to the other side” she had made a number of friends. Among them, one of the Eastern Shore’s most famous personalities, former Cambridge resident Annie Oakley, one of the greatest Wild West sharpshooters of all time. \n Annie had “retired” from life on earth but she never completely hung up her .22 caliber rifle, even in the “great beyond,” and, just as Callihan did, she also kept tabs on her old neighborhood. Mary stayed in touch with her during shows Annie performed for her fellow residents of their new neighborhood.\n During the 51 years since the slaying of Mary, time travel technology had made great strides, as had communications between the present and the future. The two friends kept close watch on these advances as Annie mapped out a plan to return to Delaware and set matters right with Callihan. \n They read everything they could get their hands on about scientists seeking the most efficient way to travel across the continuum to the era of the groundbreaking. \n The sharp shooter appeared in a dream to Professor Frank Thompson of Johns Hopkins University, then considered the most prominent expert in time dilation. She convinced him to engineer her travel across the Timeline. The inventor trained her for six months on his newly-invented Duration Travel Mobility Device and prepared her to cross through the barriers to time and space.\n Although Annie planned to avenge Mary’s killing, she convinced the professor that she aimed only to reverse a loss she had unfairly suffered in a rigged shooting contest during her time on earth.\n Thompson launched his time machine and set it to take off for Delaware on the date of the groundbreaking, Callihan had just taken aim at Jordan and the diary, but Annie Oakley materialized and drew a bead on the murderer with the most powerful rifle she owned.\n Just as the sharpshooter squeezed the trigger, Sheriff Jason Morehead fired a shot that hit the sharpshooter in her hand and caused her to drop her weapon. \n He screamed, “Both of you drop your guns now. Annie, thanks for your help, but I will take it from here.”\n Morehead cuffed Callihan and took him into Rehobeth Beach City Jail and the legendary gunslinger disappeared back into the ether in a cloud of smoke. Six months later, Callihan was found guilty of the murder of Mary McFee and the people of Rehobeth closed the book on the tale of the investor’s revenge." } ]
[ { "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: First Crush\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1542\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character pretending to be someone they’re not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "There are some people who are just impossible to shake. Amber checked her schedule and felt herself shrink when she saw his name in the 12:30 time slot. Steven. He had signed up Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday for tutoring. \nDespite the nearly two weeks he’d spent with Amber in the computer lab, Steven had made meager progress. She had told a classmate about him, and this classmate called him a creep, a weirdo, gross. He’d originally shown up to get help with his English paper, though this classmate speculated that he was there exclusively to pick up girls. At the start, he’d been quiet, agreeable, willing to try unlike many other students who’d been pressured or incentivized to receive tutoring by their teachers. But as the tutoring continued, he’d become what Amber called “distracted” and even “deceitful.” Upon seeing his name on the sheet, she felt a sort of nervous dread.\nAmber logged into one of the school computers and waited for Steven to show up. The computer lab was empty except for one other pair of students who were huddled close to the computer monitor like cavemen around a fire, their faces basking in the blue glow.\nSteven, dressed in all black and purple, showed up a few minutes early but he stated anyway: “sorry, I got done with lunch late.” He slung his backpack to the ground and promptly sat in a chair next to Amber, scooting close to her so that he could get a good view. Amber cringed inwardly, feeling herself scrunch together like an accordion. Her face grew warm. He flipped his brown hair out of his eyes, attentive.\nAmber didn’t know many other boys like Steven; at least she’d never talked to other boys like him. He wore band t-shirts, and Amber was unfamiliar with all of them. Sometimes his fingernails were painted and his shoelaces were colored with Sharpies. Despite his appearance which might have suggested he was an unruly punk, he was actually rather mild-mannered. His fatal flaw was not the neon green on his fingernails or the marker streaks on his shoes but his poor ability to read and write.\n“Hi, Steven,” Amber greeted him mechanically, tapping her pencil on her chin like a pendulum.\n“Hello, Amber,” he smiled warmly. “Hey, I like your bracelets,” he said, gesturing to them. “Those are sweet.” \n“Oh, thanks,” she said bashfully, twirling her wrist. She opened his essay on the computer. “Okay, do you remember where we were?” she asked.\nHe chewed his lip as he watched her scroll. “There!” He pointed at a paragraph in the middle with more zeal than was probably necessary.\n“Oh, right.” Amber began to reread the paragraph. After she finished, she turned to Steven to offer him her feedback. It was clear he was not very interested. When she looked at him, he was suddenly shocked to life, blinking and chewing on his lip again, as if he’d been in some sort of trance.\n“See here, Steven?” she said, highlighting a sentence.\n“Mhm.”\n“You can just take this out. It doesn’t really fit in with the rest of what you’re saying.”\n“Mhm.”\n“Can I delete it?” she asked with her index finger resting on the backspace key.\n“Yeah, sure.” Steven leaned back in the chair with concession, his hands clasped on top of his head. \nNot only was Steven consistently punctual, but he also began appearing at their 12:30 pm meetings with his lunch tray. He would push the keyboard at the neighboring station aside, sit his tray down on the desk in its place, and open his milk carton and ketchup packets. Steven even asked Amber to join him for lunch in the computer lab once to which she’d agreed simply to humor him. Often, he would inexplicably spill something on his shirt or jeans: mustard, milk, applesauce, etc. His messy eating habits were not quite as offensive as his apparent laziness, however.\nIt seemed like every time Steven showed up for tutoring, parts of his essay had disappeared or been significantly altered so that they were no longer coherent. That, or whole sections were left uncompleted although he and Amber would talk explicitly about his goals at the end of each meeting. If Amber confronted him about his lack of effort, he was avoidant, or he’d outright deny knowing anything about the rearranged sentences, the plethora of misspellings, and the jumbled paragraphs.\nOnce, he’d pulled out a half-finished ‘Sudoko’ puzzle while Amber was making little edits to his title page. “I’m not here to do this for you, you know,” she’d reminded him. \nDespite his reluctance to participate in the tutoring at times, he grew increasingly concerned about finishing the essay. He was worried about summer school and what his mom would say if she found out he failed. He’d told Amber as much and she’d assured him that they were making headway.\nWhen Amber reported about their meetings to Steven’s teacher, she’d concluded quite frankly that he must be lonely (not a creep or lazy as Amber’s classmate had said), and so that was why he was showing up to tutoring with his lunch and his Sudoku puzzles. His teacher thought that it was admirable that Amber would be so nice as to continue to “tutor” him regardless of the lack of real progress Steven made. \nAs their days together stretched into weeks, Amber continued to find little mistakes that needed corrected and instances where entire sentences had vanished. Steven said he couldn’t remember how the changes had happened; he’d claimed to have spent time working on his essay (ask the librarian!), and he swore that the errors Amber was pointing out hadn’t been there before. Amber would chastise him lightly, sigh, and roll her eyes. The classmate who she’d confided in previously told her not to try too hard; he’s just a dumb boy who couldn’t care less about his schoolwork.\nAmber twisted her hair, a little bit vain, while she continued to scroll through his essay. “Steven, why haven’t you been working on this yourself?” Steven shrugged. Eventually, she settled on an arbitrary error. “I think you meant to say ‘can’ not ‘could’ here.” Amber highlighted a word with her cursor. Steven was silent. “Do you think so?”\nHe leaned forward in his chair and looked open-mouthed at the screen. He rubbed his chin. “Does it matter which one?” he asked. It was true; in this context, the words were interchangeable.\n“It does actually,” Amber fired back.\n“Hm.” Steven glowered at the essay. “Hey! There’s something missing here.” He underlined a sentence with his finger.\n“What do you mean?”\nSteven was irritated. “There was another word here. I remember, I remember typing it.” His eyes searched the essay fervently for the missing sentence.\n“It looks the same as last time to me. It all looks the same as it was the last time we met.” Amber continued to twist her hair. Steven squinted at the screen, almost hard enough to see through to the otherside. He threw himself back in his chair once more in defeat. He crossed his arms.\n“It’s okay,” Amber soothed. “We’ll get through it together.” \n__\nAmber was flitting through Steven’s essay, waiting for him to appear for their scheduled meeting. She spent most of the block alone, because he didn’t show up until only a few minutes before the end of Amber’s shift. He was distraught. “Mrs. Johnson is going to fail me because I haven’t turned my paper in yet,” he explained. “I tried to tell her that we’ve been spending a lot of time on it but she won’t listen.” Agitated, Steven shifted his weight back and forth, back and forth. He held tight onto his backpack straps as if it were a parachute that wouldn’t deploy. Then, he posed a solution: “Maybe you can talk to her and tell her too that we’ve been working hard on it? I really don’t want to have to do summer school.” His face was pleading.\n“Sure, Steven, I’ll do that for you,” Amber agreed in a calm voice, very opposite from the anxiety Steven was experiencing. \n“Aren’t we almost done?” Steven stopped to ask before leaving the room.\n“It depends,” she said. “I’m still reviewing it.” He looked at the ground, dejected. He walked over to the wall where the tutoring sign-up sheets were posted and wrote his name in the boxes next to Amber’s shifts. With a sad sigh, he headed toward the door.\n“Hey,” Amber called after him. He turned around. “Maybe we can have lunch here together next time?” Her cheeks were rosy, radiant.\nHis expression didn’t change. His skin had a certain greyness about it, as if this essay had sucked all of the joy from him. “Okay,” he agreed after a brief consideration. Amber smiled warmly. Steven stalked out of the computer lab.\nAfter he left, Amber turned back to the computer where Steven’s essay was pulled up. She highlighted a paragraph and deleted it. Next, she inserted the cursor into a sentence on the following page and deleted it too. Finally, she added a string of irrelevant sentences to the conclusion. Satisfied, she saved the document and closed out of the word processing program." } ]
[ { "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 Another Psychopath in Small Town America\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2265\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a game of ‘truth or dare’ that goes horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "TW: murder\n\nBuzz, Buzz, Buzz.\n\n Stella glanced down at her phone, watching the post notifications increasing second by second, before returning her gaze to the vanity mirror. This was the crucial stage of her eyeliner after all, ruin this and she might never make it to Ben’s annual Halloween party extravaganza. Whoever was blowing up her phone could wait. Knowing her luck, it was probably just Alice double checking for the one hundredth time today whether they were still dressing up as sexy Mario and Luigi. Stella finished off her last flick of red eyeliner and reached into her dresser drawer, pulling out a fake moustache and sticking it above her lips.\n\n Knock, Knock, Knock.\n\n “Come in!” Stella yells, putting the last of her water bottles filled with vodka in her bag, her dad comes through the door, opens his mouth like he was going to say something, but stopped immediately as soon as he saw the moustache on Stella’s face. Stella could tell he was holding back a fit of laughter, a cheeky smirk kept resurfacing on his face before he had the chance to straighten out his lips and act like everything was normal. “Whatever joke you were going to say, just say it.” Stella groaned, she was going to be stuck in a car with him for thirty minutes, and she knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut for that long. Her dad looked directly at the moustache, this time letting a huge grin completely engulf his face.\n\n“Oh, nothing dear, you know I just never realised that sexy Mario would have such a big moustache.” He just about managed to hold in his laughter. Stella rolled her eyes, as she walked out her bedroom door, bag filled with vodka by her side. Her dad caught a glimpse of one of the ‘water’ bottles and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “I didn’t realise that water would be so popular at a high school Halloween party?” He announced as he followed Stella down the stairs. The grin gone from his face and instead a look that said, ‘I know what you have in those water bottles Stella Barton, and I don’t think it’s going to be very hydrating.’\n\n “I know right!” Stella exclaimed as she walked out the front door and across to the car, opening the door and jumping into the front seat. “I thought It was strange to, but you know, you’re asked to bring something to a party, and so you do, no questions asked.” Stella said, eyes widening with every word that came out to her mouth. In all honesty she wasn’t sure how her dad would react to his seventeen-year-old daughter taking litres of vodka to a party, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to risk finding out tonight. Her dad nodded slowly as he got into the driver’s seat and started the car, pulling out onto the main road.\n\n Her dad pulled up next to Ben’s house, where the party looked like already to be in full swing, She could see people standing out in the front lawn, already on a smoke break, she looked down at her phone, ignoring the thousands of messages and instead looking at the time. It was only eight o’clock, she wasn’t even late.\n\n “Thanks for the ride.” Stella said as she opened the car door\n\n “Hold on there a second kiddo.” Her dad said, she looked back at him, slightly fearful that after seeing how crazy the party had already become, he was just going to drive her straight home now. Her dad sighed, “just stay safe, and I know you said Alice was going to drive you home, or you were going to stay over at Ben’s, put please call me no matter the time if you need a ride back home, okay?” He said, his eyes darting back and forth from window to her, window to her. Stella nodded, and gave him a quick hug before getting out the car and walking towards the front door of the house. She watched her dad drive away before opening the front door and walking through towards the kitchen. She had been to Ben’s house plenty of time, she was dating him after all. It also just so happened that her best friend Alice, and Ben’s best friend Jason were also dating. So of course, it was the boy’s idea to do a four-way couples costume, her and Alice as Mario and Luigi and the boys as Princess Peach and Daisy.\n\n “Stella you made it!” Alice shouted excitedly from the kitchen, before running over excitedly to wrap her up in a tight embrace. Stella couldn’t help but laugh at the sexy Luigi costume that Alice had on. “Come on, Ben and Jason are through here, we’ve been waiting on you…” Alice said tapping her fingers together, slowing backing away from Stella and towards the living room. Stella followed, Alice a big grin on her face.\n\n “Hey guys!” Stella greeted as she walked into the living room behind Alice and she saw Ben, Jason, and two more of their friends Lacey and Steven sitting on the floor in a circle. They all looked round, saying their various hello’s to Stella.\n\n “Come sit next to me babe, Ben chastised. “We’re going to play a classic party game, you did bring that vodka right” Stella nodded, as she sat down next to ben, taking the water, or more like vodka bottles out of her bag and putting them in the centre of the circle.\n\n “let me guess, were playing never have I ever?” Stella said with a hint of boredom in her voice, She hated party games like this, they were just so boring and unoriginal to her. It was always just a competition to see who was the sluttiest or had done the most drugs etc.\n\n “Ah, so close.” Ben said, a small grin now building on his face, “We’re playing Truth or Dare of course!” He finished, the grin now formed and full on his pale lips, bright white teeth shining through like a shark who had just laid eyes on its prey. Almost menacing. Everyone else started cheering as the cracked open the bottles of vodka she had brought and started pouring them into classic red solo cups, passing them round until everyone had one.\n\n “I’ll start!” Lacey shouted eagerly, taking a gulp of vodka before the game had officially started. She laid down one of the now empty plastic bottles of the floor in front of them, and spun. Everyone enchanted by the bottle, watched it spin, and spin, and spin before it eventually came to a stop. “Steven! Truth or Dare.” Lacey said excitedly, one eyebrow rising carefully as she awaited his answer.\n\n “Truth.” Steven said, squeezing his eyes shut as he awaited his fate from his girlfriend. Lacey nodded, taking another gulp of vodka, despite that technically not being the rules.\n\n “Did you cheat on me at summer camp with Molly Brambles?” Lacey demanded, her piercing blue eyes tearing through Stevens pale face, seeping into his body, making his blood, and sweat run cold. Stella’s mouth dropped open. Everyone else in the circle remained silent. None of them looked phased or even surprised at the question, well everyone apart from Steven who now had the skin tone of Casper the friendly ghost. \n\n “Fuck this! Steven shouted as he stood up quickly, if perhaps a little off balance, throwing his full cup of vodka across the room, narrowly missing Jason’s head as it smashed against the ash white walls. He stormed out of the room, pushing past crowds of people, the group heard the sound of slamming door in the distance.\n\n “Holy shit Lacey.” Stella remarked, now taking the first sip of her own vodka, it felt like the perfect moment to do so. Lacey smiled sweetly turning her head towards Stella, but saying nothing. “Did you guys know that was going to happen?” Stella addressed the rest of the group, everyone nodded in unison.\n\n “I’ve been planning this for weeks.” Lacey said joyfully, \"anyway who’s turn is it next?”\n\n Stella looked around the circle trying to make eye contact with at least one another person but neither Alice nor Ben was giving her the chance to make a ‘what the fuck is going on’ face like they normally would do if something like this were to happen. I’ll go Ben said confidently reaching over and spinning the bottle. Stella took another sip of vodka before glancing down at where the bottle was pointing, which thankfully wasn’t at her.\n“Jason, truth or dare?” Ben asked, a sly look on his face, as Jason began laughing. In a normal game of truth or dare Stella knew she would be doing the same if the bottle landed on her, she would prepare herself for questions like; ‘where is the weirdest place you and Ben have done it?’ or others along those lines.\n\n “Dare.”\n\n “I dare you to take a knife and carve a ‘B’ into your own forehead.” Ben said, eyes narrowing jaw clenched, his muscles tensed like any second he could spring into action like a tiger. Jason laughed, a slow, small laugh which quickly fizzled out when he saw Ben slowing pulling a knife from his pocket and pointing it at Jason, the smile still plastered to his face.\n\n “Ben, stop it, put the knife down.” Stella murmured. ‘was this some kind of sick joke?’ Ben shook his head, moving the knife closer and closer to Jason who sat still, not knowing what to do or how to react. Stella looked at Alice, who for the first time tonight looked like she might vomit. But Lacey. Lacey still looked as cool as a cucumber, healthy colour filling her cheeks, the same sick smile plastered to her face as it was to Ben’s.\n\n “Okay, Ben that’s enough, put the knife away man.” Jason said as he shuffled his seat closer towards Alice and away from the shining knife that was following his move at Ben’s hand. Ben began to withdraw the knife, Stella watching him closely, he was still smiling. Suddenly he threw the knife at Lacey, Stella couldn’t help but let out a scream as the handled grazed her nose. Lacey caught the night square in her palm and stood up. Now hovering in front of Alice, who was now wrapped in Jason’s arms. The two of them looked terrified. Stella stared back at Ben whose eyes were fixated on Jason. Unmoving focus, unmoving intent.\n\n“Do it.” Ben said, a spit of venom covering the letters. Jason shook his head. “Well, I guess your girlfriend will just have to do it instead.” Ben’s eyes moving ever so slightly to meet Lacey’s, who was still holding the knife tight in her palm.\n\n“What the fuck man, this isn’t funny anymore, come on Alice were leaving.” Jason announced as he stood up, holding Alice’s hand in his owns, helping her to her feet. Her legs shaking, Stella could see her knees almost collapsing in fear, unable to hold up her own body if it wasn’t for the help of Jason.\n\n“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Ben murmured, Jason looked at him with a mix of fear and confusion, as he began to strongly walk away, dragging Alice behind him. Stella wanted nothing more than go with them to pick herself up and run after them, but she couldn’t move, she felt frozen to the ground, she couldn’t even drink anymore vodka. This all seemed so wrong and she couldn’t move. Paralysed by fear, confusion, and sadness.\n\nLacey looked down at Ben who nodded, eyes still fixated on Jason and Alice who were moving out of a now near empty living room. Lacey moved like a cat, knife between her fingers like one dark claw of fate ready to bring darkness on whatever or whoever it touches, She crept up behind Alice and before Stella could understand what was going on. Lacey moved the knife in front of Alice’s throat, pulling it back towards her own body. As a tidal wave of red poured down Alice’s neck and she fell to the ground in complete silent, her soul gone before herself could even notice. Screams ran out throughout the house as teenagers fled from the murder scene. Jason fell to his knees beside Alice. As he was quickly met with his own fate. In the Madness, Ben had now moved so he stood behind Jason’s crumpled body, a gun in his own hand. Smiling across at Lacey, whose white top had now been sprinkled with blood, as she wiped the bloody blade on her face, laughing. Stella felt tears rolling down her cheeks, but no noise was coming out of her now dry lips.\n\nBen put the gun to the back of Jason’s head and pulled the trigger, as if in slow motion his body fell on top of Alice’s more blood spraying onto Lacey who now had her mouth wide open, laughing. As if she was trying to catch the blood and brain splatter. But not Ben, he wasn’t laughing, it was still that same smirk plastered to his face as he looked back at Stella who was still glued to the floor.\n\n“It’s Stella’s turn now!” Lacey started clapping, jumping up and down on the spot, the knife blade now cutting her own skin as she began swinging it around manically. Ben nodded, as he began walking towards where Stella sat.\n\n“Truth. Or. Dare.”" } ]
[ { "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 I call 'Daddy'\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1459\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character finds out the truth about something they thought they’d known their whole life." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Man I Call ‘Daddy’\nBy: Ireland Lorelei\nI was still in so much shock. How could he be here one day and then gone the next? I had just given him a hug and a kiss on his cheek as he left for work and I left for school this morning.\nMy dad would never see me dressed up for my senior prom, or see my graduate high school next year, he wouldn’t be here to see which scouts came to my games and what colleges I got accepted to. He wouldn’t see any of my college games. He wouldn’t walk me down the aisle or play with his grandkids. I don’t understand why this had to happen. Why did God take him away from me? Why now?\n That day will forever be etched in my memory. It was scorching hot outside. The sun was beaming down on the infield making it as hard as concrete. The practice was pretty normal, but we had a huge game the next day with our biggest rivals. About thirty minutes or so into practice a police car drives up and out stepped my mom and an officer. I knew right then that something was wrong with my dad. But I was not prepared for what they were about to say.\nThey spoke to my coach first and then came out to me on second base, stopping the practice. My whole team met us on that base as they told me he had been in a car accident on his way home from work and didn’t make it. I couldn’t believe it. I knew he wasn’t going home, he was coming here, to my practice. This is my fault, I thought. That was the worst day of my life. He had been the only person who understood me. She didn’t, my mother. She didn’t understand me at all. She didn’t even try to console me. She just stood there crying as my teammates built a tight circle around me. Those closest hugging me. Those who couldn’t have their hands on my shoulders and arms. All of them crying uncontrollably with me. They all loved him. He had practiced with us so much and gave so much help and encouragement to them too.\nAfter the funeral, I had gone back to playing softball, not because I felt like it, or because I wanted to, but because I knew that would make him happy and proud of me. My mom never tried to come to one game, much less practice. I felt so alone. My teammates understood and did their best to keep my spirits up. After practices and games, a few of us would go hang out at the beach or the waterfront for a while. Most weekends my best friend, Mel and I would rotate staying at each other’s houses. Her parents had been a great support.\n I woke up on Saturday after school was finished for summer break and just wanted to stay in the bed. It was the first Saturday that we didn’t have practice. The summer softball league didn’t start until next week. Good thing because it was raining outside. It was as if the sky was expressing all of my emotions for me today. I made it to the bathroom and took a shower, brushed my teeth, and headed downstairs to grab something to eat before heading back upstairs to my bed in a clean pair of PJs. I had decided that was the best place to spend my day.\nWhen I got downstairs my mom was already in the kitchen making breakfast. She had gotten out of her own depression. It took me months to realize that the reason she couldn’t console me was because of her own grief. I had to understand that everyone grieved in their own way. Now she was back to being the hands-on mom that she had always been, of course, that was still minus supporting me in sports and we still didn’t have that connection and understanding as mother and daughter should. My dad used to say that it was because we were so much alike and it would come together with the older, I got. Maybe, I would say.\nI set down at the bar in the kitchen as she finished cooking. When she was done, she sat beside me and we ate in complete silence. I could tell something was bothering her. After we ate and cleaned the kitchen she asked if I would come to sit in the living room with her for a few minutes, there was something she needed to tell me.\nAs I sat there listening to her, it was as if everything had gone black. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. What in the world is my mother saying? I couldn’t even hear her voice anymore. It was as if I wasn’t even in my own body anymore. She had to be lying. There was no way the man that I called ‘Daddy’ was not my daddy. It was exactly one month and four days since my dad passed away and it still felt like yesterday. I was still numb inside. Why would she tell me something like this and why now?\n I ran upstairs to my room and locked the door. My mind just went races back through the memories of my childhood, of my daddy. For as long as I could remember I had been a daddy’s girl. My dad and I did everything together. He was my biggest supporter, encourager, motivator, and best friend. From the time I started playing sports, he never missed a game. It didn’t matter how many hours he had worked that day, or what time he got off. Even if he got off late, he would make sure he showed up for the rest of the game. He would get off work during the week and when he was off on the weekends and through the softball with me or shoot hoops with me to perfect both my skills in both sports.\n I called Mel some hours later. She came over and we set in my room and talked for hours. She convinced me that I needed to hear my mom out and that she would stay with me if I wanted her to. So, we did.\n Mom started to tell the story, “When I met your dad, Ally, I was already pregnant. About fourteen weeks. I wasn’t looking for a relationship. He knew I was pregnant and that I didn’t want a relationship, but he didn’t care. He pursued me anyway. We had been good friends in high school and he just wanted to be there for me. Eventually, that friendship turned into so much more and we became the love of each other’s lives. You were five months old when we got married. He had already signed your birth certificate and in his heart, blood never mattered to him. You were and will always be his daughter. So, he never wanted you to know any different if you didn’t have to. Your biological father was never in the picture. Once he found out I was pregnant, he broke up with me and left. I never saw or heard from him again. Sean never wanted to feel that abandonment. He never wanted you to feel that you weren’t wanted or loved by your father.”\n“If dad didn’t want me to know, then why are you telling me now? Why are you ripping my world apart now?” I asked through tears.\n “Because he left a letter in the safety deposit box with our wills that I never knew about until after he passed. In the letter, he told me that if anything happened to him before me that I needed to tell you the truth. He wanted you to know that not even death could take him away from you. That he had wanted you before you were born. That he had always wanted to be in your life and that he always would. He wanted you to know that you would never be alone because he didn’t leave you. He knew that you would feel angry like he had left you and you would feel guilty. He also left a letter for you,” she said as she handed me an envelope through her own tears.\n I took the envelope and looked at Mel for strength. I opened it and read it silently to myself. And everything she had said he had left in her letter, he left in mine. He apologized for not being the man I thought he was, my father, but he was so blessed and honored for me to call him ‘Daddy’." } ]
[ { "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: MORE THAN WORDS\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2137\n\nPrompt:\n\nA mundane ability suddenly becomes a superpower. Write about someone or something affected by this." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My name is Destiny. There is nothing special about me. My older sister, Antia, is beautiful. People constantly talk about how pretty she is. She has won every beauty contest she's ever been a part of and her picture is in several magazines. There are modeling agencies fighting over the privilege of having her as their client.\nMy younger brother, Tye, is a genius at the age 13. He completely skipped the sixth grade. They have not made a standardized test yet that he can not pass with one hundred percent in record time. The kid already has companies offering to pay for his college education if he will agree to work for them after he graduates. How do I compete with that? It's simple, I can't! \nMy mom and I were home alone one day. I went into the room where she was watching television and blurted out,\n“Mom, is there anything special about me?”\nShe thought about it for a moment then muted the volume on the T.V. My heart beat fast in my chest. My mom does not turn down the television unless it is serious. 'This is it,' I thought to myself. 'This is where I learn that there is some secret concerning me that no one wants me to know. Something that could over shadow my sister's looks or out shine my brother's genius!'\nMy mother motioned for me to sit down beside her. She took a deep breath, took my hand and exhaled.\n“You have the ability to say just the right thing at just the right time.”\nI stared at my mom, blinking my eyes to hold back the on coming flood.\n“Really! Is that it, words?” I brought my hands to my face and massaged my temples. I tried to keep my voice steady but I could hear the inflection even as I fought to control it. “I have a sister whose drop dead gorgeous, a brother whose a freaking genius, and even a best friend whose one Olympic trial away from being declared the fastest woman in the world. And the only thing I have going for me are words?”\n“It's more than words, Destiny,” my mom said as she took my hands and cupped my chin prompting me to look at her. “I never told you this but when you were four years old, my mother was in a nursing home. I got a call one day telling me that she was having another one of her episodes. She didn't recognize anyone or know where she was. She was yelling at the staff and wouldn't let anyone get near her. When we got there, she did not know who we were but you weren't afraid. You walked over to her and took her by the hand. In a calm, soothing but firm voice you said, 'It's alright, Nanna. I'm here now.' Then you led here to a chair where she sat quietly holding your hand until we left. She didn't have another episode from that day until the day she died.”\nI know my mother meant well but I felt worse than ever. I was able to make it to my bedroom before I burst into tears. Why was I even born? What was the point of me? I was just taking up valuable space and breathing air that someone else could use. There was only one thing for me to do.\nSeveral week ago, my mom had oral surgery. The doctor gave her hydrocodone for pain. My mom hates to take medication and choose to tough it out instead. She still had the bottle of pills tucked away in a drawer. A few of those and all my troubles would be over.\nI slipped into Mom's room and found the bottle of pills. I took a few out and replaced the bottle, then went into the bathroom where I filled a glass with water. Back in my own room, I looked at the four pills in my hand. 'This is me making the world a better place,' I said to myself with what I considered to be conviction. \nThe pills were large and impossible to swallow all at once. I took them one at a time. The first one hurt as it went down my throat. I swallowed more water when taking the second one so it went down more smoothly When I brought my hand to my mouth to take the third pill, the fourth pill fell from my hand onto the floor. I looked for it but did not find it. It must have rolled under the bed. It didn't matter. I was small so three pills should be enough to do the trick. I swallowed the third pill.\nI wasn't sure what to do next. Do I stand here and wait to fall to the floor? That might take a while. I might as well be comfortable while I waited to die. I lay down on my bed pulling the covers up to my arm pits with my arms on top of the covers. The inside of my head started spinning. I felt myself drifting. In a sudden moment of panic, I realized that I forgot to leave a note. There's always a suicide note! 'Oh well,' I thought to myself as I gave in to the feeling of euphoria that was slowly overtaking me. 'They'll figure it out...I wonder who will find me?'\nThen I found myself in a garden surrounded by flowers bathed in sunlight. I was not alone but this did not surprise me. A few feet in front of me and standing on ground higher than where I stood was a woman bathed in sunlight like the flowers around us. I though at first I must be imagining her but than she spoke. Her voice flowed like the steady running waters of a gentle stream. The sound of it was soothing to my ears and comforting to my soul.\n“You shouldn't be here,” she said.\n“I had to leave where I was,” I confessed. “I don't fit in,”\n“You are not meant to fit in.”\n“But I'm surrounded by people who have so much talent, with so much to offer and I have nothing!”\n“You have a gift, Destiny.” She spoke with such gentle command. I felt drawn her presence.\n“My mom says I have words but I can't do anything meaningful with that.”\n“A gift that is not used is of no use to anyone.”\nAs she spoke I realized that her lips did move. With all her speaking her mouth never opened. This did not frighten me. Nothing about this person was intimidating but I wanted to know more about her.\n“Who are you?” I finally asked. This time her lips parted as though she where about to speak but the spoken words came from my mouth. It was as though someone else were speaking through me. I did not recognize the sound of my own voice. “I am your voice,” I heard myself say. “Use me.” The beautiful woman standing in front of me slowly bowed her head, spread her arms and faded away right before my eyes.\nMy eyes opened. I sat straight up in my bed. The room was dark. It was obvious that I was not dead but how long had I been asleep? All of a sudden my head started spinning and my stomach churned. I bolted from the bed and ran to the bathroom where I knelled before the alter and offered up my guts as a sacrifice. After rinsing my mouth and washing my face I returned to my room to ponder the strange dream I'd had. Nothing about it made any sense so I lay down and sleep till morning.\nThe next day is when my whole live changed. I went to school as usual but my best friend Sherri wasn't there so I had no one to talk to. I noticed Darwin sitting across the room which is strange because no one ever notices Darwin. He's smart, not as smart as my younger brother but smart. I don't know if it's because he thinks he's better than everyone else or because he thinks he's not as good as everyone else, but he stays to himself. In fact, the only time anyone knows Darwin is in the room is when some of the other kids are picking at him and that happens often. Sometimes it's just verbal insults and threats but sometimes it gets physical when bullies shove him back and forth from one to the other or take something from him and throw it from one to the other over his head. No one was bothering Darwin at that moment. The bullies weren't showing any interest in him at all. The thing that caught my attention was his jacket. It was a nice jacket but the temperature outside was 96 degrees and the air conditioner in the classroom was not working. I also noticed that he didn't take his hand out of his pocket.\nThe bell rang and the last of the kids hanging outside in the hall dragged themselves into the classroom. From that moment everything appeared to happen in slow motion. Darwin stood up and brought his right hand holding a gun out of his jacket pocket. Pointing it at the substitute teacher at the front of the room he yelled, \n“Close the door!” \nShe quickly complied holding her hands over her head without being asked. Darwin pointed the gun at his classmates.\n“Everyone against the wall,” he ordered pointing the gun in the direction of the wall opposite him. “On the floor!”\nI did not move. I could hear screaming and crying but the sounds seemed distant as I focused my full attention on Darwin six feet in front of me. My heart beat rapidly. I deliberately slowed my breathing and I felt my heart rate slow down. I felt the words swell up in me like a brewing storm that would not be held back. \n“Darwin,” I heard myself say with a calm, steady voice. \nHe turned his attention on me as if seeing me for the first time. He blinked as if uncertain. \n“Are you deaf,” he said pointing the gun directly at my head. “I said get on the floor by the wall?”\n“Yes, I will,” I calmly replied. “But I'd like to talk with you first.”\nDarwin looked at me as though he thought I was not right in the head but he didn't shoot me.\n“Go ahead and say what you have to say!” He swept the gun from me to the group of kids lined up behind me and back to me again.\nThe words came automatically. I didn't think about what I was going to say I just let the words come out.\n“I feel totally invisible sometimes. Even you didn't see me standing right here in front of you. I have family and friends with so much talent and potential and I have none. There is nothing special about me.” From the counter of my eye, I could see the teacher as the inched toward her desk. Once there, she placed her hand under the desk where the button for the silent alarm was. I continued talking. “I watch you everyday in class. You are so smart. You can answer questions that the teacher hasn't even asked yet.” \nMy voice flowed from me with the soothing rhythm of a lullaby. Darwin blinked his eyes a few times and shook is head. I continued.\n“Do you know that everyone in this class is envious of you?” \nDarwin's ears perked up. He wanted to hear more.\n“That's right, we all know that with graduation our glory days are over, but yours will have just begun.” His gun hand was not as stiff as it was before. I moved a step closer. “You'll probably go to a good college...” I moved a step closer. “Marry a women who is just as smart as you are...” I moved in closer. “The two of you will build a successful empire...” I had the gun. \nS.W.A.T. rushed in and took Darwin away. The officer who took the gun from me shook my hand. \n“That was a great job you did, Young Lady. Superman could not have done a better job than you did here today. You may have saved a lot of lives.\nCan you believe that! He compared me to Superman.\nWell, I work at a suicide prevention center now. There is a cork board over my desk filled with thank you cards and letters from people who say they owe their lives, careers, or their family's to my words. But to me, they are more than words...they are my super power!" } ]
[ { "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: Onion Love.\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1075\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with a character noticing the beauty in something they've seen hundreds of times." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Ssssshhhh. Ok, ok, class, settle down please. Could you all please settle down and be quiet.\"\nMiss Taylor glanced around the room, waiting for the class to listen. “Thomas! Can you get your feet off the desk please. Thank you.”\nGradually, the noise dulled to a murmur. She flashed a white smile and waited for the last of the whispers to stop. “Now then, if you remember, last time I saw you, I asked you to write about something that's beautiful in your life. Like, I don't know, your Mum or Dad or, say, I don’t know, your cat?”\nThe class began to shuffle. Chairs squeaked on the polished floor as pupils rummaged through their bags, looking for their offering. Brad, sitting on the desk in front of her, raised his hand. Miss Taylor, unable to hide her surprise, pointed and gestured for him to stand.\n“Brad, have you got something for us?” Brad hung his head, clutching his paper.\n“Yes Miss.” He whispered.\n\"Step-mum!\" Someone shouted, from the back of the room. The class started laughing. Miss Taylor held up her hand.\n“Quiet please. Have you got something to share with the rest of the class, Thomas? Come on, don’t keep it to yourself. Spit it out!”\nThomas flushed red. \"Is it true you dated Brad’s dad?”\nMiss Taylor perched herself on the front of her desk. She looked over the rim of her glasses at him.\n“Well, Thomas, don’t you think that’s my business, not yours?” She turned back to Brad. “Go ahead, read it out to the rest of the class. Nice and clear so everyone can hear.\" This should be good, she thought to herself. Didn't even know he could read, let alone write. A real chip off the old block! Brad stood and cleared his throat. He stared at Miss Taylor.\n“Off you go then. We’re all listening.”\n“A Glance.” Brad’s voice came out loud and clear. It made him jump.\n“A smile. An almost touchable feeling, rushing to the surface. So intense it takes my breath away. An awakening, deep inside. Has it been there all along just waiting for me? Did we just conceive it from nothing? Did you create it from nothing? Are we full of dawns waiting patiently to rise? Or is this the only one I’ll ever feel? I think it’s the only one I’ll ever feel.”\nBrad paused and looked up At Miss Taylor. Thomas pretended to be sick into his bag, loudly. Miss Taylor began to slowly clap\n“Wait.” Said Brad. “I’m not finished.” She gestured for him to continue.\n“A beauty. A touch. Chemistry, working beyond our control. Beyond our understanding. Millions of us, drifting through the universe, hoping to collide one day like asteroids following the same trajectory. Destined to smash into one another when the time is right, and explode into the most beautiful, painful love.”\nHe glanced at Miss Taylor then back to his paper.\n“When the time is perfect. The universe will decide. A whisper. A Kiss, maybe. A yearning. A desire, so powerful it makes you sick in your stomach. A Joy so uplifting, so addictive, it leaves you floating, suspended. Everything momentarily disappears. Chemicals rush through every cell in your body. Racing to get to the surface. To live and be alive. A search. An obsession. Blindly seeking an asteroid to collide with. To explode with. Only to find many come close but fail and fall. Taking your dreams tumbling back down through the void. Back to the beginning. Back to being alone. I’m so alone.”\nHe paused, the class stayed silent. He could hear Thomas giggling at the back of the room.\n“A want. A longing. It blinded me. How did I not see you before? You’ve been with me the whole time. Did you hide your beauty from me? How is that possible?”\nBrad lowered his paper and stared at Miss Taylor as he continued.\n“I will take off your mask? I can see you now as if for the first time. We no longer need to disguise ourselves. I am ready to collide with you. To explode with you—”\nThomas burst out laughing. “I bet I know what’s going to explode!”\nMiss Taylor shot Thomas a look. \"Please, continue Brad.\"\n“To explode with you into our beautiful all-consuming love. I can feel those chemicals racing to the surface. To live and be alive. A Thirst. A Quenching.”\nMiss Taylor slowly removed her glasses, unable to take her eyes from Brad's mouth. His word's paralysing her. He continued.\n“You’re an oasis, bursting up in my barren existence. Pouring the waters of desire into my dormant soul. I’ve been sleeping until now. Waiting. Dreaming. My energy building to stratospheric levels, as I hurtle through the darkness awaiting my collision. Awaiting you. I am ready. Finally. A collision. An explosion. A destiny. Our destiny”\nBrad lowered his head.\n“The end.”\nA slow clap started to ripple through the echoey classroom. Miss Taylor tried to speak, her lips moved, but nothing came out. She cleared her throat, snapping herself out of her trance.\n“Wow. I mean wow, Brad. Such depth. Such emotion. And for a fourteen-year-old, such wide use of vocabulary. Well done Brad, well done. A round of applause for Brad please class.” Brad’s face burned red from ear to ear. Miss Taylor waited for the room to quieten again. Her mind still spinning. She leaned forward and whispered to Brad.\n“Say, did you have any help with that, Brad?”\nBrad stared at his desk.\n“Well, my Dad helped me a little. And I used a thesaurus. A bit . . . Miss.” Brad hesitated. “It’s just that I—”\nShe put her hand on his shoulder and whispered.\n“Get your dad to call me, would you?”\nMiss Taylor stood and straightened her dress. She pulled a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at the corner of her eye. Putting her glasses back on, she took a deep breath.\n“Ok!” She said, clapping her hands together. “Anyone else want to share anything?” The class fell silent. Thomas stood up and raised his hand.\n“I wrote about my cat Miss.” He said, triumphantly, from the back of the classroom. He pulled a small crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and began to straighten it out. “He’s called Onion . . . He’s only got three legs and he smell’s real bad. But I think he’s Kinda’ beautiful.”" } ]
[ { "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: Something New\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1494\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about an unconventional teacher." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The cry of the baby, always another baby as soon as one was ready to explore, the pitter patter, stop, and then more pitter patter of those newly exploring feet on the wooden floors, the creek of the beds with Mary, and David trying to find room to play, all of these sounds greeted Thomas every morning without fail. The smell of the baby’s napkins, constantly needing to be washed, the acrid smell of the coal stove, the familiar smell of the same porridge day in day out were a constant, and without change every day. \nThey weren’t all bad sounds and smells though. David was incredibly creative in how he finds ways to play. He could entertain the girls, to their delight, for hours with a small ball of string and his imagination. And Mama, she always cared so for her babies, giving them her every ounce of attention that she could. Watching little ones grow day by day was really a miraculous achievement especially with as little room as we all had. Thomas wondered how it was with the new Queen Victoria and her brand new husband, Albert. How did they take their breakfast? I am sure that they must have more variety in their day with the amount of rooms at the castle. \nBut it was tiresome. There was no excitement, no newness, nothing to shake oneself out of the knowledge of the next thing that is going to happen. The stove gets fired up, we sit and eat, then we go off to work, leaving Mama, David, the girls and the baby here to go about their day. At least the world is new for baby Ellen, and for the girls, with the imaginative worlds that David creates for them. Mama often said, she would go off her chump, if it weren’t for David entertaining the girls. She often said he reminded her of James, with his constant imagination. \nAs it was, the brothers went off to the ropewalk with Papa every morning. 9 year old Daniel with a bit of a spring in his step, contrasting with Thomas’ slower one. It’s not that he hated rope-making, he didn’t, but, it was always the same. Different smells, different sounds and sights then at home, but the same nonetheless. James moved along with them, accepting his fate. \n“Trading in the smell of the constant stove smoke and baby napkins for the smell of jute and hemp in the ropewalk,” thought Thomas as he walked into the ropewalk and he got to work. \n“Daniel, let me show how to tie this knot.” Thomas said as he walked over to Daniel with a piece of rope. James came over and stood nearby watching.\nDaniel looked up at Thomas as he threw his rope down on the floor. He was getting frustrated. He wanted to learn how to tie more knots. Cleaning up around the ropewalk was getting boring. So, he was practicing his rope tying. Perhaps he could help tie some knots at the ropewalk. Though, he was only 9, he wanted to do more than sweeping. Thomas was 16 and was almost as good as Papa at rope making. \n“First you have to measure out the right amount of rope to hold.” Thomas held the end of the rope on his outstretched arm while holding the other end of the long rope in the other. \n“Then you let it go.” Thomas dropped his arm and the rope fell to the side. \n“Then you form a loop in the rope.” He grabbed the rope forming a loop. \n“You see, it’s like a rabbit hole, “ said James\nDaniel took his rope and copied Thomas. “Like this?”\n“Yes, exactly, “ said Thomas nodding. \nThomas then took one end of the rope and put it through the loop.\n“Don’t forget to go around the tree,” said James\n“Then you take it around and bring it through the same loop.”\n“Through the other side of the rabbit hole, “ said James making funny bunny ears. \nDaniel copied Thomas with the rope and smiled when he did it. \n“Let’s do it again.” Thomas untied the knot. \nRemember, go up through the rabbit hole, around the tree and right back down the same rabbit hole.” Thomas tied the knot again quickly this time. \nDaniel untied his knot and then tied it again. \n“Great job, Daniel!” James clapped. \nDaniel bowed like a gentlemen as everyone laughed. \nThe sun was starting to set, and Daniel was cleaning up and James walked the ropewalk checking all of the capstans. Thomas was still working the machines, his muscles pulling and twisting as much as the ropes. \n“Papa left for the day,” said Thomas, “He had to go to the market and buy more hemp.”\n“Can you teach me how to feed that rope into the capstan?” Daniel got up and walked over to where Thomas was working the machine. \n“Watch that you don’t get caught in the machine,” James called to his brothers. \n“You should just watch me. I’ll explain as I go,” said Thomas. \nJust as with the rope, Thomas described each step of the process to Daniel as he performed it. \n“You really want to be a master rope maker, don’t you Daniel!” James said as he walked over to his brothers. \n“Now, watch this part carefully, it can be tricky to get the right thickness. As Thomas turned the capstan the machine made a grinding noise and the the thread twisted and turned into itself. Thomas turned the knob and continued on with the process with each piece of thread, over and over again. \n“Can I try? Please? Papa is not here. He won’t know.” Daniel asked. \n“I cannot let you, little brother. Save your hands. You will be a master rope maker soon enough. If that is what you want.”\n“Yes, of course, that is what I want, what else would I do?” Daniel went back to his chores. \n“There is plenty to do. Plenty of places to see.” Thomas continued working. \n‘What places?” said Daniel.\n“India, where they have all of the pretty cloths that we see. America, even!” \n“I would love to see America!” said James. \n“I would like to stay here, in England, with Mama and Papa and all of my brothers and sisters!” \nThomas looked at his little brother with affection. He had a decision to make.\nThomas sent Daniel home and James looked at Danial and whispered, “Good luck brother. It’s not an easy choice.”\nHe walked down to the alley near the canal. He stood waiting listening to the sounds of the city. He could hear the din of factories, the sound of carriages and horses in the street and by the canal and the voices of people chatting or selling their wares. He wondered if he could really leave it. The day before, a man had walked into the ropewalk looking for men to work on his ship, Thomas watched and listened very carefully. \n“We need strong men to work on our ships. You can see faraway lands such as India, “ said the man as he talked to several men. \nWhen his family wasn’t looking, Thomas approached the man and asked him about the job. \n“it’s hard work, son. Long days, out on the sea.” The man looked at Thomas up and down. \n“You look quite strong enough. Interested in seeing new lands, are you?” \n“Possibly. How long would I be gone?” \n“A year, at least. It’s 6 months to India. We sail around the tip of Africa.” \n“So long!” Thomas thought. He turned away, thanking the man for his time.\n“Why don’t you meet me after work tomorrow? Right down there,” he said pointing, “By the canal. I’ll explain some more about the work and what you can earn. It’s an exciting land, India. Ornate palaces line the streets! The scent of the most intriguing flowers is everywhere. You have to see it to believe it. There’s something new everyday.”\nThomas looked back and hesitated, then he nodded and hurried off before his father asked where he was. \nNow, here he was waiting for the man. Thomas thought of his brothers and his baby sisters. Who would teach Daniel how to tie knots and work the machines? Sure there were plenty of other people, but Daniel was attached to him. He took care of him a lot the first year he was born. What would Jane be doing in a year? What about Ellen? Would she even survive her first year? She already had so many coughs. He thought about his mother and how she would miss him if he went to the other side of the world. She had already suffered in life, he didn’t want her to suffer any more. Who would teach his brothers how to tie the ropes and work the machinery? \n“Perhaps someday,” thought Thomas, “but not now.” Thomas turned and began walking 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: Pants on Fire\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2989\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that switches between first person and third person point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“From the top,” I say, clapping twice and leaning back in my chair. I imagine it’s a director’s chair, high off the ground and demanding respect. \nIn reality, it’s a very wobbly fold-up chair, and I’m praying it won’t collapse on me. \n“Ok,” the boy clears his throat, “I was just-I mean, I had to stay up so late because my-my mom, she went to the hospital and-”\n“Stop.” He stops his blubbering and obvious fake crying. “I thought it was your dad? See, keep it going like this, and no one is going to believe your lies. It’s Boy Who Cried Wolf 101, didn’t you even read my manual?! I need us to be on the same page, Jim.”\n“It’s Jake?”\n“Whatever. Kaylee, what have you got for me?”\nKayle cracks her knuckles and stands up, her folding chair folding in on itself without her weight. Jake sits down, defeated, crossing his arms and mumbling about something. \nI peek down at my clipboard before she speaks. \nAh, it’s a lie she’s been preparing to tell her friends so they think she’s cool. \nClassic. \n“Hey, guys! Guess. What. I overheard Andrew and Mateo talking in the hallway,\" she says dramatically.\n“That’s...it?”\nShe shrugs. I sigh.\n“Look, Kaylee, first of all, this isn’t what you’ve been practicing. Second of all, you can’t say a lie like this. It’s too risky. It’s going to backfire on you. Whatever ‘Andrew’ and ‘Mateo’ didn’t say, your friends are going to ask about it later, and then it’ll all just collapse. Keep practicing guys, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hop off my chair and fold it up, tucking it under my arm. \nKaylee and Jack do the same, going off in their separate directions. \nI’ve been holding my lying course for a couple months now. It lasts a week per session, and I charge 10$ per kid. \nDon’t get me wrong- I get it! Lying is bad, the truth sets you free, honesty is the best policy, yadda yadda. But lying’s the only thing I know how to do. The only thing I’m good at. \nAnd you know what they say- take your talent and find a way to make it profitable, right?\nSo I did that. \nAnd I’ve been doing it pretty well, if I do say so myself. Advertising was the hardest part, but now, I get all sorts of people with all sorts of requests. \nI even made a pamphlet to help people out. Yup- that’s what I’m all about. The helping. I mean, people come to me with crazy stories. 50% of the time, it’s relationships. Friendships gone rogue, people who've cheated and want to prove their (fake) innocence, that sort of thing. 20% of the time it has something to do with authority: parents, or sometimes, cops. And the rest of the time, it’s just people wanting to learn the art of lying. \nThere are three rules, three guidelines if you will, that I teach every new student. \nNumber one- Never make a lie too complicated. If you forgot one tiny detail of your lie, it’ll all backfire. \nNumber Two- Don’t bring other people in on your lie. You might think you can trust them, but especially considering lies with consequences, everyone tries to protect their own skin first. \nAnd finally, number three- Never ever admit you’re lying, no matter how much evidence they have on you. \n~\nMaia had been staring at the mysterious boy who sat in front of her in French class since forever, trying to work up the courage to talk to him. \nShe didn’t know why. It’s not like she knew much about him, other than his name, and the fact that the back of his shirts were always interesting. \nToday, there was a tiny piece of artwork on the fabric, a little boat on a raging ocean. \nShe despised french class. Her pronunciation couldn’t have been worse, and so she spent her time doodling, willing the clock to move faster, or staring at the back of the boy’s head. \nThe bell rang. \nShe dropped her empty French notebook back in her backpack. The boy tucked things into his backpack too. \nMaia swung her bag over her shoulder, slowly walking forward. \n“What class do you have next?” her mouth was saying, and her brain was retreating. The boy turned his head in her direction and immediately she regretted speaking because oh my god the boy was looking at her and his eyes were meeting hers. \n“How To Rob A Bank,” he said with a straight face, swinging his bag over his shoulder. Maia stumbled to catch up with him as he walked out the door. \n“Huh. Didn’t know they offered that here.”\nHe shrugged.\n“It’s only for the spies in the school. Special program.”\nHe turned a hallway Maia’s next class certainly was not in, and that was that. Maia’s feet were rooted to the floor of the hallway for a couple seconds before she finally collected herself and walked to class. \nShe sighed. \nAt least she’d gotten some words out to him. \nCould’ve been worse. \n~\nGood turnout today, gotta say, considering the school’s been taking down my posters. \nI mean, really, they take down my perfectly honest ways of making money, and they keep up Student Council posters from like three years ago, plus, they don’t bother erasing the vulgar graffiti on the bathroom stalls. \nA couple of tall teens stand around, even though I specifically tell everyone to bring their own chair. Three other people sit in foldout chairs in front of me, one of them clutching my pamphlet in their shaky hands. \nI clear my throat and cross my legs, placing my arms on the side of my chair. \nI bought a new chair, a lawn chair, so this one won’t be wobbly. \nThe tall ones come a little closer. \n“Hi, guys. Just, uh, drop your payment in the little basket, and then we can get started.” I nudge forward the basket with my foot, and everyone puts ten dollars in. \nIt’s a nice day outside, with little wind, so nothing flies away. I chose the park for my class, because, well, a multitude of reasons. \nI can’t very well have it at my house, because my mom doesn’t really know I’m doing this. As far as she knows, I have an afterschool job at the pizza place this time every day after school. \nHey, I teach a lying course, of course I’m gonna do it.\n“Why don’t we just go around in a circle, say your name and why you’re here,” I say, bringing my hands to the clipboard on my lap. The girl who’s fiddling with the pamphlet talks first. \n“There’s nothing...specific I’m trying to do. I just want to know how to keep my lies believable, whatever they are. Like even if it’s keeping a secret and pretending I’ve got nothing to hide, that sort of thing. Everyone always says they can read my face super easily. So...yeah. Oh, and my name’s Ray.”\nI scribble down quick notes on my paper, and then draw a line. I signal for someone else to go with my hands. \nOne of the tall ones standing by her chair goes next.\n“Same. Nothing specific.”\n“Name? And where’s your chair?”\n“I’m Will, and this is my sister, Leah. We walked here, so we didn’t really wanna carry chairs.” Will clasps his hands together at his front and his sister fiddles with the cuffs of her jacket. I make a note of them in the same column.\n“Name’s Eric. I need some believable homework excuses,” the kid in the middle shrugs. He’s about my age, and I might’ve even seen him before in class. \nI write it down, struggling to choose between a k or a c for the end of his name. \nI settle with both and move on. \n“I don’t really want to say my name, but uh, I’m here to try and figure out why everyone always knows I’m lying,” the girl says. \nI scribble down a note, writing ‘girl who cried wolf’ for her name. \n“Well then! Let’s begin.”\n~\nMaia had now talked to the mysterious boy four times in total. Each conversation had been longer than the last, and yet, still, all she knew about him were the same two things. \nThe back of his shirt today was just plain black. \nShe cupped her cheek in her hands and leaned onto her desk, scribbling onto her French notebook. Her teacher droned on and on about french numbers. \nWhat was the point of other languages anyway? She was perfectly content with English. \nShe ripped off a corner of a page of her french notebook. \nI hate french class, don’t you? she wrote on the paper in curly handwriting. \nShe crumpled the paper and kicked the boy’s foot with her shoe. He turned around, annoyed. \nThey were in the back, so the teacher hardly noticed.\nMaia shook the hand with the paper in it, and dropped it onto the floor. The boy raised his eyebrows, unamused. He turned back around. \nMaia thought that he maybe hadn’t got the memo, but then he bent over and picked it up discreetly. \nIt was dropped again a couple minutes later, and she carefully bent over and picked it up. She unfolded the paper. \nYeah. Waste of time, too. I already know french.\nMaia scribbled down a reply. \nHis handwriting was so perfectly messy. \nShe dropped the paper in the space between their desks. \nWhy didn’t you just test out?\nThey went back and forth for a while. \nI wanted an easy class I guess. How bout you, why not just take spanish? Isn’t it easier?\n\nUgh, I always thought french was more “romantic” or whatever, considering it comes from, you know, France and Paris and all that. \n\nAh, regretting your choice?\n\nMaybe a little.\n\nAnother question- if you hate french class, why are you always scribbling notes so passionately?\n\nHa! Flattered you think so. No, I’m actually doodling. Question for you- why are you always so quiet?\n\nThe bell rang, and Maia shut her notebook. She tucked it in her backpack just as the boy dropped a piece of paper on her desk. He didn’t stop to watch her read it. \nShe picked it up, smiling. It was the same piece of paper they’d been writing on, so she struggled for a second, trying to find the part that was new. \nI was abducted by aliens, and they probed my brain, so I can’t talk very well. 313-555-0119 I’ll be your french study buddy. \n~\nIt’s not every day a pretty girl starts passing notes to you in class. I always thought Maia was a goody-goody two shoes too- not one to break any rules, especially under a strict teacher’s nose. \nAnd so, of course, I tried to think up any excuse I could find to give her my number. \nIt may have involved a lie. \nPretty soon, she was going to figure out I was, in fact, not fluent in French, nor was I getting good grades, and, worst of all, there was no way spending time with me studying was going to help either of us, in terms of grades.\nFor now, though, no one has to worry about any of that…\nBesides, maybe she won’t take me up on the offer anyway! Maybe she doesn’t have a phone. \nMy phone vibrates in my pocket. I squeeze my eyes shut and pull it out. \n Please, please, please…\nI open my eyes. \nsalut its your french study buddy maia! more like student, since I need major teaching\nIf she wants to be my student, this is definitely the wrong subject. \nI type out multiple different replies. \nSorry who’s this?\nHow about I teach you to lie instead?\nI lied, I really don’t know French, but I still\nI delete that one before I even finish typing it out. \nRule number three, right?\nglad you could read my handwriting lol\nI press send before I can delete anything else. \nThe three dots come into view. \nyou have very nice handwriting, dw\nhow soon can i take u up on the offer? theres a test in three days and im very worried\nMaybe she just wants to spend time with me? I sigh. \nwe can meet at the library tomorrow if you want\nI silently pray that the three dots never come back and she suddenly blocks me for some reason and she never shows up to French class again. \nlifesaver man, lifesaver\nTime to hit the French books, I guess.\n~\nMaia was way too giddy for a trip to the library, according to her mother. She toned down her glee and swung her backpack over her shoulder.\n\"You should be happy for me mom,\" she said on her way out, closing the door behind her.\nShe practically skipped all the way to the library, constantly checking her phone for any new messages.\nHow had this worked out so perfectly for her?\nI mean, really, she should have mustered up the courage to talk to the boy ages ago. Now, they were already meeting for a study session (study date, as she was silently referring to it as) and she couldn't be more excited as she tacked off more things she knew about him in her head.\nHis name\nThe backs of his shirts were usually interesting\nHe knew french\n\nShe quieted her walking as she went into the library, smiling brightly. She found him at a study table, waiting for her with the French book open. She waved as she sat down.\nThe boy smiled at her, but it was sort of like a grimace. Maia didn't notice. She put her backpack down.\n\"I'm ready, monsieur. Teach me the ways of the french.\"\nShe really wasn't ready and she really wished that french wasn't even part of this and maybe imagined they could just lean against each other and read or she could just watch him write in french with that handwriting of his.\nThe boy started flipping pages in the French book though, and she took a deep breath.\n~\nI shut my sketchbook when the bell rings, marking French class's end.\nI'm about to escape when the teacher calls my name.\n\"Theodore, please come see me.\"\nMaia gives me a sorry look as she passes by me and leaves the classroom.\nThis is it. It's gonna be karma coming to get me.\nI've always scraped decent passes in this class, but now, my grades have been dropping. I've only been focusing on the little parts of the assignments that Maia needs help with, and with my course and other classes, there's no time to do extra studying.\nI dredge up to the teacher's desk. She looks at me from underneath her glasses and sighs.\n\"Theodore, your grades have been dropping vite like the titanic!\" She brings her hands up and down to demonstrate. I tuck my sketchbook under my arm.\n\"I'm sorry Madam.\" I don't really know what else to say.\n\"I don't want to fail you.\"\nThat makes two of us then.\n\"I'll try harder, I promise.\"\n\"Do you need help?\"\nI shake my head quickly. No way I'm coming in after school for 'help' like a dumb kid. I can handle this.\n\"Okay. You have until the end of the card marking to bring up your grades. Please let me know if I can help. I only want you to succeed.\" She pushes up her glasses and starts typing something. I take it as my cue to leave.\n~\nMaia's eyes glazed the posters on the walls as she walked to french class.\nOne of them caught her eye.\nShe took it off the wall and stared quizically at it.\nThat was odd.\nShe skimmed the title and everything else, but her eyes caught 'Theodore' and '4:00pm-5:00pm daily'.\nThat was exactly when Theodore said he had his afterschool job at the pizza place.\nOdd, but, hey, maybe it wasn't her Theodore.\nShe walked into French class just as the bell rang.\nShe opened up her no longer empty French notebook when she sat down. Her grades were improving, and not just because of Theodore.\nActually, it was because of him, but mainly because she wanted to no longer need his help so they could spend time together doing other things, so she'd upped her studying game. Before class really started, she scribbled a note on the back of the flyer and folded it up.\nThis you?\n~\n\"You're a pathological liar! Is your name even Theodore?!\" Maia yells, or, half-yells, I'm assuming because she doesn't want people to look at us.\nI wince.\nI am the worst teacher ever.\nLying wise, and French.\nEspecially french.\n\"I'm sorry, Maia.\"\nI put my hands in my pockets. When she called me to come over to the park instead of my pizza shift, the exact park I was already going to be at, I knew something was up.\nThankfully, it's a slow Monday.\n\"So what do you do here?! You teach people to lie?\" She throws a crumpled pamphlet at me. \"Maybe I can start my own class. How to tell you're being lied to. Number One- It's too good to be true.\"\nOuch.\nA guy walks over to us, paper in his hands.\n\"Sorry I'm late I-\"\n\"Class is over, maybe try telling the truth,\" Maia says. She glares at me and storms off.\nI sigh.\nThe guy freezes.\n\"Is that the pamphlet?\" I motion for him to give it to me when he nods. \"You heard her, right?\" I shrug.\nHe shakes his head and walks away.\nI open my pamphlet. I pull a ballpoint pen out of my pocket and open it to my guidelines page.\nI scribble out the rules so hard, I rip the pages." } ]
[ { "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: Borderline\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2704\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a short story about a teacher or mentor figure who recognizes hidden (or magical!) potential in someone and helps them cultivate it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "JANE, May 1985\nEverything changed when I got the news. I’m as scared of dying as the next person, but knowing my time here is short makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before. While the blood pulses through my veins, a courage I never knew I had makes me want to live.\nAll my breaths are concentrated as I will my body to continue living; the things that were once bland, frightening, or anything in between, no longer have power over me. With everything in sharp focus, I no longer feel trapped by indecision and fear. \nKnowing the worst is going to happen means I have nothing left to lose. \nMy body may have betrayed me by filling my lungs with cancer cells, but my mind is very much alive. At least, for the moment. The drawing in and out of every precious breath gives me strength, renews me. Where once I trudged through life, now I have a purpose. The way I move, speak and hear things, the way others respond to me; every nuance of the person I’m engaged with is amplified. Highlighted in every feature on each face I encounter, I register fear, happiness, sadness and pain. I have been transformed. \nIf only this knowledge had come another way.\n*\n\nMy stilettos tap along the grey-green 1980’s terrazzo floor of the school’s main corridor. Cleaning agents cannot disguise the slightly mothy atmosphere of the place. \nI’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve passed these green walls featuring glories of former students holding up trophies and awards without paying due attention. Golden moments that have a faded unreality about them. \nClose up, I barely recognise the younger Mrs Dumpling, the present head, rumoured to be on her way out any day now. Hard to believe that’s Valerie Pumberton, her erstwhile deputy, beaming away dutifully in the background. The two have always been inseparable. \nJust ahead, I spot a gaggle of girls clustered about the headteacher’s door, presumably waiting to be reprimanded for some pointless misdemeanour. When they see me, they part like the red sea. That’s a first! Normally, I have had to squirm my through them.\nThis new me feels different. My mouth is no longer dry as I approach the classroom door. I’m almost disappointed my nemesis, Stell Hartless, is not on the other side to greet me in her time-honoured way. I was informed by my glamorous Head of Department, that Stell, a clever pupil who torments anyone she sees as weak, including me, is off sick with glandular fever. For once I would be able to look her in the eye and catch a glimpse of the troubled soul that that I suspect lurks beneath the showy façade. The authentic being, if you like. I’ve always wanted to strip away the hard-as-nails crust and expose the real person.\n\nThe first person I see sitting at one of the scratched wooden-topped desks inspecting the contents of the lid, is Nicky. Nicky, tense on the orange plastic seat, as if waiting for an explosion, a student who simply wants to learn.\nStell derives a perverse pleasure from tormenting Nicky over her cleft lip while awaiting the arrival of a teacher before the lesson begins. I found out about this when the goddess of spite drew back from the blackboard before there was time to wipe off her revolting cartoon featuring the lip on the blackboard.\nShe fancies herself quite the artist, does Stell. \nNot wanting to make things worse for Nicky, I wiped the image away without commenting. Though every instinct made me want to say something, I didn’t want to make things worse for Nicky. Now, I wish I’d spoken up. \n“Weeble’s wobble but they don’t fall down.”\nThey never fail to disappoint, do they? One of Stell’s followers starts the familiar refrain, albeit a little half-heartedly (it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it with the ringleader’s absence). However, I don’t let a minor setback like this flatten me. Not any more. Not now I have nothing left to lose.\n“Settle down,” I hardly recognise my voice as my own. It sounds more authoritative than my usual timorous, “Please be quiet, girls.”\nThey do sit down, with a slightly chastened air. As I start handing out sets of well-thumbed Romeo and Juliet books, thirty or so faces are raised expectantly waiting for me to start the lesson.\nBut I pause. \n“Before we begin, there’s something I want to address. What does that mean? Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down. Do tell me.”\nOne of Stell’s followers, whose name is as insubstantial as her character, snickers.\n“It’s from the Weeble toys, you must have heard of them. They always wobble, but don’t fall down.”\nMore snickering, but it quickly dries up.\n“I’m aware of where the name comes from. What I want to know is why you feel the need to repeat it ad infinitum, rather than learn something useful which is why you’re here.”\n“It’s just a lark, miss.”\n“I assume you are referring to my head tremor. If you paid a bit more attention, you’d realise I can’t help it. It’s one of the symptoms of multiple sclerosis.” It seems ironic telling the class this, considering my recent far more serious diagnosis. \n“What is multiple sclerosis?” someone asks. \n“It’s a condition that affects the brain and spinal cord. There are a number of symptoms, but it often causes fatigue; or, in my case, tremors.” \n“Will you die from its, miss?”\n“No, I’m not likely to die from it. It’s usually a slow progressing condition. It’s different for everyone. It’s possible to be in remission for several months, sometimes much longer.” A truly ironic conversation, but there it is.\nI continue boldly where angels fear to tread. \n“What you call having a laugh is actually cruel. There’s nothing funny about laughing at people’s disabilities or how a person looks. Just because someone is a little different from you doesn’t make them less than you.”\nBy the time the lesson ends, I like to think the students have learnt something more than what was on the lesson plan. Shakespeare has much to teach us, but it made a nice change. \nAfter class, the girls troop out to their next lesson. One or two smile at me shyly – as if seeing me for the first time.\nI turn to Nicky who is putting her books into her rucksack. “Mrs Grange was pleased with your last three essays,” I tell her. “I’m going to recommend you get put up a stream, at least in English. Your history teacher is pleased with your progress too. I think you can handle more advanced studies. If you put your mind to it, you could have a good future ahead of you.”\n“Thank you. That means a lot. I hated being put in a group where some of the students didn’t seem to care about studying. I wanted to go to the grammar school, but was told I was borderline. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I must have done badly in the assessments when I joined this school. I felt a failure.”\n“No one should be told they are borderline or a failure,” I replied hotly. “Eleven is rather young to be judging people’s academic abilities, in my opinion. Much can change in the intervening years before you leave school. If it’s any comfort, my father told me that I was borderline in everything except academic ability.”\n“Your father doesn’t sound great, if you don’t mind me saying so.”\n“Say all you like. It’s the truth. I was frightened of him, but I didn’t want to acknowledge how much it affected me.”\nI thought of my downtrodden mother, the tussles between my father and my brother who had fled at the earliest opportunity to make a better life for himself in Australia. I thought of my oldest brother Bill, the only person I’d truly loved, who’d escaped my father’s grip in the saddest way. Honouring his country by flying through the clouds in his Hurricane, keeping us safe during the storms of the London Blitz. Things I found difficult to speak about.\n“Anyway…” I bit my lip. “Make the most of every moment. The education system may not be perfect, but it’s the one we’ve got. Better then nothing. If you keep on like you are, you have a chance of a better life.”\n“You sound like you won’t be with us much longer.” A good pupil always scratches beyond the surface when searching for answers. “I thought you said MS was a slow-progressing condition.”\n“It is, but who knows what the future holds?”\n\n\nBRENDA, August 1985.\nBy the time Stell had recovered from glandular fever and returned to school, Jane was no longer teaching there. \nJane had asked me not to tell anyone about the cancer until “you absolutely have to.” The other teaching staff had their suspicions, of course, especially when Jane suddenly stopped smoking. Jane had always been a heavy smoker and it was an activity we shared together, both in and out of school. We knew it was addictive, but wrapped ourselves around this cocoon of pleasure. Jane amazed me when she told me she had shared her first cigarette with her middle brother in a bombed-out church, of all places, during the war, at the tender age of five! I didn’t have my first cigarette until I was sixteen. \n\nI’d managed to find a hospice for Jane as she couldn’t bear the idea of dying in a hospital ward. During the final days, I stood beside her bed, holding her hand, my heart silently breaking. Her other hand clasped a raggedy old doll close to her chest. She told me she had knitted it as a child for her oldest brother as a good luck charm when he flew his plane during his war missions during the London blitz. \nShe looked so small and frail in that bed, dragging out each breath. I was reassured the morphine had taken effect and she was not in pain. Her face had taken on a drawn, waxy expression, but to me she remained beautiful. Her eyes, now the colour of faded cornflowers, lit up when she smiled. Her hands were delicate like the rest of her and right up to the end, I felt an answering pressure as she held my own.\nWhen it came to say what would be our final words to one another. I told her she was the best friend I’d ever had. I said I’d always loved her and would never forget her. \n“My only regret is not to have been a better teacher,” she said sadly. \n“You had your moments,” I said.\n“Only in the last weeks at our school.”\nI asked her if there was anything I could do for her and was surprised when she said there was. In spite of her breathing difficulties, her words were distinct. I leaned towards her, not wanting to miss anything. “I’ve no family to speak of. I’ve left all my worldly possessions, such as they are, to you. I never forget kind deeds. I’ve never forgotten anything.”\nShe had already told me she wanted to be buried with the doll she had knitted as a good luck charm for her brother and I was determined to make that happen. She indicated there were two sealed letters in her bedside locker. When I retrieved them, the names Nicky and Stell were written with a fountain pen in spidery writing on the envelopes. “Please make sure they get them. You will know when the time is right. I know one is likely to be scoffed at, or even thrown away, but it’s worth a try. I hope some good will come of them.”\nShe was still thinking of others towards the end.\n\n\nWhen I gave Nicky the letter, tears filled her eyes. \n“I’ll treasure it,” she said. “Miss Weeble really helped me.”\nI know I was going against Jane’s wish, but something made me hold back from handing Stell her envelope. I felt I’d want to slap her if she slighted my friend in death. Jane’s memory was too precious to be trashed by an ignorant schoolgirl.\nA couple of months later, I received the news that Stell’s family were leaving the area and she would be attending another school. At least, Nicky would be free from the cruel taunts about her cleft lip. \n\nThe day before Stell left the school, she careered into me in the corridor.\n“Watch where you’re going,” I said crossly.\n“Sorry, miss.” She seemed brittle, the usual cockiness gone.\nI was on the threshold of telling her about the letter that Jane had left her before she died, but the words stuck like a craw in my throat.\nInstead I asked her the name of her new school.\n“Heathcliff Manor. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it.” It didn’t take long for the old archness to return.\n“Indeed, I have.” That took the wind out of her sails a bit. I omitted to mention I knew one of the teachers there.” \n“Well, all the best.” I spoke through gritted teeth, glad I’d never have the misfortune of coming across her ever again.\nIN the meantime, I was pleased when Nicky was moved up into another set where she was able to realise her dreams of doing well. I knew her progress would have made Jane happy. \n\n\nSTELL, 10 October 1986\nThis school is so much better than my old one. The girls here have class, money and style. There’s a tennis court and a swanky pool and a state of the art gymnasium. It shows my old school up for the dive it was. One of the less popular girls has taken me under her wing. I had her in stitches when I mimicked the mannerisms of one of the teachers here. \n\n20 October, 1986\nI received a letter in the post today. On the envelope, my name was written in a strange spidery scrawl. The writing seemed familiar but I couldn’t think where I’d seen it before. I was about to open it, but then the gong sounded for the evening meal so I tucked it away in my dormitory drawer to be read later. \nThat evening when the other girls were together in the common room, I rushed up to the dormitory to be alone. Outside, the wind howled and tore at the branches of a gnarled tree. A chill came over me which had nothing to do with the weather. Suddenly, a small figure dressed in a pale blue cardigan, tapped its nails along the window pane. Horrified, I turned away, but when I saw my own lipstick had been used to draw a grotesque lip on the mirror, I think I must have passed out. \nThat evening, as I lay in bed, I heard the horrible sound of snickering. It started gradually, quickly growing into a high-pitched whine. The next moment, the pillows came flying, from all directions, one after the other, pulverising me until I begged them to stop.\nFrom then on, my new school became a place of dread. Every day, it was considered fair game to hide my things, get me into trouble with the teachers and constantly mock my accent. I begged mum to let me come home, but she said my schooling was costing a fortune and I should be grateful to have a chance for a superior education. \nThe girls have been tormenting me for weeks now, but Weeble’s ghost (if that’s what it was) has yet to make another appearance. Perhaps it thinks I’ve been punished enough. \nWith every passing day, I certainly have reason to regret my behaviour towards Nicky and all the others I mocked. \nI’m not sure how I’m going to get past this, but some kind of serious amend-making is clearly needed. \nI’d almost forgotten about the weird letter. It only had one sentence.\nIt said: “Ut sementem faceris ita metes.” \nI think I will have to ask the Latin teacher what it means.\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: Through Lilly's Eyes\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1540\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a person trying to see something from another’s point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I’m watching her through the kitchen window. A curious zoo-goer observing a young bear cub perched on a tall branch. So innocent, so vulnerable, so ignorant to the dangers of the world outside its shelter. She looks serene in this moment with her nose buried in a book, eyebrows slightly pinched in concentration. Her golden locks tumble over thin shoulders that are perpetually shrouded under baggy clothing.\nI’ve made her favorite dinner tonight. Or, at least, it used to be her favorite dinner. At fifteen she seems lifetimes away from the ten-year-old who used to ask me to make homemade chicken nuggets with wild rice. But it was her favorite at a time. Maybe it will spark something?\nThe timer for the rice starts beeping, but I drink in the picture of her calm and content for one more moment before moving to shut it off. Though she looks composed now, I know she is full of torment. What I would give to take it away, ease her pain, but how can I when I’m unable to grasp what is going on inside her? I’m trying to understand. I really am. I’ve read books, listened to podcasts, attended support groups. I’ve soaked up all the information there is to know about eating disorders. But it’s one thing to know the facts, and quite another to understand the beast itself. Some days it takes everything in me to keep from screaming “just eat!”\nInstead, I call out “dinner!” Loud enough for Lilli to hear through the screened window, as well as my husband and youngest daughter to hear from the living room. I always try to announce mealtime in a cheery voice. See? It’s not a punishment. It’s a happy time. Let’s talk, laugh, and eat. Let’s enjoy this time together!\nExcept Lilli never sees it that way. I can tell by the way she hunches her shoulders and silently joins us at the table, averting her eyes, pursing her lips as if to block any piece of food from inadvertently entering her mouth. Tonight, she slumps into the chair across from mine, examining an invisible stain on her sweatshirt. I catch a glimpse of her eyes and they look tired. I am almost certain she hasn’t eaten since the banana I’d begged her to eat before school this morning, and a jolt of anxiety pulsates within me. But I must stay calm. I know from experience that getting upset will only make things worse.\nMichael and Julie come bouncing into the kitchen singing a song from the Disney movie they’ve put on pause in the next room. A take a moment to breathe in their joy, missing the days when Lilly exuded a similar energy.\n“Lilly, want me to scoop you some rice?” I offer after filling up Julie’s plate. Michael’s is already piled high, and I see Lilly eye it with disgust. She shakes her head, mumbles that she will get it herself, and drains her glass of water before getting up to refill it. I’ve observed her behavior long enough to know that she is stalling.\nWhen she returns to the table, she places a single chicken nugget on her plate, then fills the rest with salad. No dressing. Shit, why did I put salad on the table? I shouldn’t have given her that option. I bite my lip, willing myself not to start an argument.\nTrying not to stare too noticeably, which may cause her to lash out, I flash a bright smile and ask about everyone’s day. Julie dives right into a play by play of gym class. Something about Charlie Gibbons dropping a ball and Mr. Feinstein spitting while he shouted orders from the bleachers. I’m listening, but not. Lilly’s protruding collar bone and sunken cheeks demand my attention. A mother’s instinct. She is in danger and my whole being aches with a need to protect her, to save her from this invisible enemy.\nJulie and Michael are both laughing now. I chuckle along with them, not knowing what is funny, but wanting to give the illusion that I was listening.\nI eye Lilly’s plate once more as she pokes at her food with a fork like it’s contaminated. When Michael and Julie get up to search the freezer for ice cream, Lilly rises too. She brings her plate to the sink, begins scraping her food into the garbage disposal. I take a moment to collect my thoughts before moving toward her.\n“Lilly, you need to eat more than that.” I’m towing the line between what I learned in support group and my instincts as a mother who doesn’t want to watch her child die.\n“Mom, I’m good. I’m just not hungry right now, okay?” I inhale sharply.\n“What else have you eaten today?” She huffs and I grimace. She used to like talking to me, but these days she seems repulsed by my very presence, let alone my voice.\n“What, you want me to write you a list or something? I ate enough today, okay? Just leave me alone.”\nLeave me alone. Those three words she says all too often. Does she really want to be alone, or does she want any other company but my own?\n“Lilly, I’m sorry but no, I am not going to leave you alone.” I’m speaking softly but I feel the rise of panic in my throat. I’m losing this battle. Will I ever be able to break into the hard shell she has surrounded herself with?\nAnother huff.\n“Whatever, mom. I’m done with dinner and I’m going to my room.”\nAgainst all my better judgement I grab her wrist as she turns to walk away.\n“No, you’re not done. We are not done here.”\n“What the hell, mom?” She’s quickly moved from annoyed to angry and I mirror the shock in her eyes at the physical contact. “Are you going to shove food down my throat or something? Let me go!”\nShe yanks her boney wrist, and just as I look down to let go, say I’m sorry, I notice the cuts peeking out from under her sweatshirt sleeve. At first, I don’t react, not realizing what I’m seeing. She goes to tug her sleeve down with the other hand. But then it clicks.\n“Wait, wait!” My grasp slides down and latches onto her thin fingers, but she turns away and crossed her arms as if to block me out for good. “Wait, Lilly, what was that?”\nI hear a sniffle, but then she swings back to face me.\n“What was what? I’m going upstairs.”\n“Lilly, no, get back here. We need to talk about this!” I’m shouting now, choking back a torrent of emotions. Why? How? How long? What kind of mother allows this to happen to her daughter?\nBefore I can stop myself, I’m shouting after her, on the heels of her angry footsteps. Michael joins us now, asking what is going on, and I shut him out. I can’t think straight. We are upstairs now, and Lilly moves to close her bedroom door behind her. But I block it with a knee, sending a shooting pain down my leg.\n“God damnit, Lilly! What the hell is wrong with you?” She looks at me, alarmed. “Wait, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean –“\n“Leave me alone!” She yells louder than I’ve ever heard her yell before. Tears are streaming down my face now-whether from the emotions or the pain, I am not sure-but I can’t control it. She is crying too, face down on her bed, still shouting for me to close her door.\n“Lilly, please talk to me. Please!” I’m begging. I’m literally begging for her to let me in. “We need to get you help, sweetie. We can’t go on like this.”\n“I’m not going to a shrink, mom! I’m fine. Just-“\n“Just what? Leave you alone? No, Lilly. No, I will not leave you alone. You are going to kill yourself at this rate. Don’t you understand that?”\n“Maybe that’s what I want! Everyone would be a lot better off if I was gone, anyway!”\nAt that, I am at a loss for words. I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me, and my mind goes blank. This can’t be real. My daughter cannot be suicidal. This is someone else’s life. Some poor family you hear about on the news. Not us.\nMichael intervenes now and gentle moves me back from the door.\n“Let me talk to her for a bit, honey. Take a break. Take a breath. We are going to figure this out.” I realize that my tears have stopped, and I am a statue, staring at our daughter in shock. With shaky footing, I let him guide me away to sit down on the steps and I stay put as he makes his way back to Lilly’s room.\nAs I sit here in silence, the evening replays through my mind like a bad movie. It’s sinking in now that I may never succeed in my desperate attempts to empathize with my daughter’s pain. I may never understand what it’s like to see the world through her eyes. But I’ll be damned if I ever stop trying." } ]
[ { "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 Brush With History\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2988\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with somebody getting called to the principal’s office." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was a bitter winter that year, 1954. The coldest that century, they said, and fifteen-year-old Ernie Remsen was freezing; the layers of sweaters underneath his blue cotton mechanic’s jacket, a “Texaco” patch on the breast, couldn’t keep out the chill. Sal was the name embroidered over the left pocket. Ernie didn’t know Sal but was grateful he’d donated it to the church rummage sale. It was almost better than nothing.\n Still, Ernie had stolen a kid’s coat, a real winter coat, hanging from a hook outside the gym’s locker room. Ernie was either stupid enough or cold enough to wear it around school. The coat didn’t even fit. Had its rightful owner, a boy named Sokol, gone up to him and said it was his, Ernie would have given it back then and there. He wasn’t a bully; he just wanted a warm coat and there it was. Sokol wasn’t about to confront Ernie, though. Ernie Remsen wasn’t a kid you confronted. Avoided was more like it. You don’t mess with kids who never smile. You don’t mess with kids who mumble to themselves. You don’t mess with a kid who once came to school with a black eye.\n It was Principal O’Brien’s call to make; suspension or community service. Ernie was half hoping for suspension because time out of school was as good as time in school. But his mother would have a fit and if his father came back this time, Ernie would end up with another black eye and that was only because he’d grown too big for a belt.\n He choked up when he offered an apology, saying he didn’t mean any harm and just needed a warm coat. He hated himself for that and choked up some more.\n The principal told Ernie to stay seated and not touch anything. He scrounged in a closet that housed the lost-and-found until he found a coat too large for most kids, a dark plaid thing that had been turned in after a football game.\n “Here,” said O’Brien. “No one’s claimed it. Anyway, it’s yours so you don’t need to borrow one from a kid half your size.”\n Ernie looked up through reddened eyes and mumbled, “Thanks.”\n “Now, Mr. Remsen, what to do with you?”\n Ernie chewed on the ragged end of a well-chewed thumbnail while staring at his feet. He hesitated before saying, “I don’t know,” his stock response to questions in school even when he knew the answer. The principal was looking at papers on his desk, not at Ernie. The question, Ernie now knew, was rhetorical.\n “Ernie, do you know what ‘intimidating’ means?”\n Ernie nodded.\n “Has anyone ever told you that you look a bit scary?”\n Ernie was about to answer no but stopped. He hadn’t been told he was scary; no one would dare. No one ever said much to him, unless there was a problem.\n “When something goes wrong, everyone kind of thinks I did it. Like when a window gets broken or when the woods caught fire that time. It was like, ‘Ernie, did you do it?’ I guess I look that way.”\n The principal looked at Ernie for a long while. Ernie looked out the window. What else, it would be suspension. That wouldn’t be so bad. Ernie had that term paper on his mind: “A Brush with History.” The idea was to write about something in his life that brought him close to the past. So far he’d come up empty except to blame his father’s behavior on three years as a POW, though his mother had said he’d been a jerk long before that. Maybe he’d go hang out at the town’s library, figure something out, if he could ignore the scowl from the librarian who would ask him why he wasn’t in school. Or if she didn’t kick him out.\n “It’s not fair, is it?”\n Ernie nodded in agreement. “You know what they say.”\n “What’s that Ernie?”\n “Don’t judge a book by its cover. I guess I have a bad cover. I needed a coat. I was going to give it back at some point. I think.”\n The principal smiled for the first time that morning.\n “Well you don’t need a coat now. Nor do you need a suspension. I’ve got community service in mind unless you insist on suspension. Which will it be?”\n Ernie didn’t expect a choice. He said, “Community service.”\n The principal smiled again. “Good choice.”\n Thaddeus Seymour, age 96, lived alone in a house he built in 1897. He’d lost his wife in the Spanish Flu Epidemic. Their daughter, too. The son, an engineer, was killed exploring a mine in Colorado. Their spouses had remarried and moved on with the grandchildren to parts unknown. His friends had gone, too. The best was a dog who died when Seymour was 90. Fifteen-years old that dog. Seymour couldn’t go through that again. Hell, he could barely take care of himself these days.\n Seymour didn’t drive, not anymore, even if he wanted to. His license with a rare three-digit number had expired years before. And it was doubtful his Ford Model A would start assuming he had the strength to work the crank. So, he’d would walk to town to shop, get his haircut, get out of the house, get moving. If he had more than one bag of groceries, he’d make multiple trips that would take up his entire day. He’d amble down the road, waving off people offering a ride and eventually make it to wherever he was going. Mike Abernathy, the local police sergeant, once asked him if he wouldn’t rather get there sooner. Seymour groused that then he’d have nothing to do but go for a walk anyway.\n “You ever hear the story about the tortoise and the hare?” Seymour said. “Speed only gets you nowhere sooner.” He didn’t wait for a response. He looked at the time on his pocket watch, adjusted his tie, swung his cane, and continued on his way.\nIt would have been a treacherous walk for anyone that day. Powdery snow hid ice under which roots had lifted the cracked sidewalk into a series of little random ridges, valleys, and glaciers. But it was Wednesday, and every other Wednesday he went for a haircut. It had been a routine etched into his life for 50 years always at the same barbershop, though the original owner was long gone. His grandson, Joe, no spring chicken, ran it now. Joe offered to come to Seymour’s home, especially in rough weather. Seymour would have none of it. “And would you bring the rest of your ugly customers with you? How about those girly magazines? No? Then I’ll come to you.”\n Before and after his haircut, Seymour would sit in the shop—outside if the weather was fine—and talk to anyone who bothered to listen or listen to anyone who bothered to talk. If no one was talking, he’d read magazines like the Police Gazette, Esquire, or Argosy. And if it wasn’t one of those every-other-Wednesdays, it didn’t matter; it was a place to spend time haircut or not.\n The snow had dulled the sheen on his cracked leather brogues. Maybe he’d get a shine if the boy was in the shop. Next time he’d wear the brown shoes and get these resoled again; they needed it. He could use new laces, too. He was thinking about that when the tip of his cane found a narrow crack in the sidewalk that wouldn’t let go. Seymour held onto the cane a moment too long. The cane held fast. Seymour tripped over a root that had grown through a crack, his arms splayed out in surprise. His face met the snowy pavement shattering his wire-rimmed glasses. He was lucky he hit the snow. The only damage was a badly twisted ankle. He recovered the cane and managed to get on his feet. It took him an hour to dodder home.\n The doctor making house calls told Seymour to ice his leg and keep off of it. Seymour smirked. He rose and limped to the kitchen returning with a glass of bourbon on the rocks. “See Doc? It’s got ice. I’ll deliver it internally.”\n Members of the Ladies Auxiliary from the Methodist church brought over meals and did some cleaning. It was always the same, chicken pot pie. “Easy to chew, easy to stomach and, damn good,” was what he’d say.\n Seymour was sitting back in his armchair, bouncing one foot on the floor and alternatively tapping the armrests with his hands. He was staring at the four walls, complaining to infrequent visitors that he’d be climbing them if not for his “damn leg.” The church women thought they were doing him a favor by leaving copies of the Saturday Evening Post and worn editions of Reader’s Digest. Seymour could have cared less for any of those even if he could read them, which he couldn’t without his old glasses. The new ones wouldn’t arrive for a couple of weeks.\n “He needs a helper, someone to read to him. He likes history,” said Joan Wright, Chair of the Women’s Auxiliary, to Principal O’Brien. “And, let me be frank, he could use some help with, I don’t mean to be rude, the toilet. You understand? It should be a young man. I thought you might have a student, perhaps a scout working on a merit badge. Someone who could use a little money. We’re offering $5 a week.”\n O’Brien was delighted.\n “I have just the fellow.”\nErnie made his way up the walk to the porch and knocked on the door. A voice called out, “It’s open. Wipe your feet”\n He did as instructed and closed the door behind him.\n “Umm, hi. I’m, uhm, Ernie Remsen and—”\n “I know who you are and don’t mumble. Come over so I can get a look at you.”\n Ernie wiped his feet again and stood before Thaddeus Seymour. “My eyesight, you know. They’re working on new glasses. Take a seat. Now tell me, do you know what day it is?”\n Ernie shrugged, “Wednesday.” It came out more as a question than an answer.\n “Wednesday, right. That’s why I look handsome. Got a haircut. And a shave. Joe came over from the shop. Did me the honors. I don’t want to look like some ragamuffin for those church ladies, do I? “\n Seymour pointed to a stack of magazines. “He left those.”\n “Magazines,” said Ernie.\n “You might as well start your job. Choose one. I don’t care which.”\n For the next two hours Ernie read to Thaddeus Seymour with two breaks to help the old man onto the toilet, discretely standing outside the room until called, and another break for a trip to the kitchen where a plate of cookies had been left by the ladies of the Methodist Auxiliary.\n “Take one for yourself. Hell, take two. I can’t eat ‘em all,” said Seymour.\n Ernie had hoped Mr. Seymour would fall asleep so he could get to that term paper; he was struggling with his particular brush with history. Seymour wouldn’t cooperate. As Ernie read, Seymour would interrupt constantly. On an article about Teddy Roosevelt’s Sagamore Hill being turned over to the family trust as a museum, Seymour said, “Voted for the man. Twice. But that Rough Rider stuff? Waste of time. That Hearst fellow just wanted a war to sell his papers.” \n Ernie read a Life Magazine piece on the Supreme Court’s ruling on school segregation. Seymour piped in. “’Bout time, too. Colored kids just the same as you, only darker.” He giggled at that. “Get it?” \n Then Seymour started to nod his head.\n “I saw a lynching once.”\n He closed his eyes, still nodding, and stopped speaking.\n “Really?” said Ernie. “Was it awful?”\n “I didn’t see the murder, just the boy hanging from a tree the next morning. Fifteen he was. His mother – I guess it was his mother – was trying to get his body down. A crowd stood around doing nothing. Happened right here in Maryland if you can believe it.”\n Seymour picked up another magazine. “What’s this one?”\n The cover had been torn off. Ernie opened to an article and read the title, “The Flight of John Wilkes Booth.”\n Seymour nodded, “Go on.”\n The article described Booth sneaking into Lincoln’s box, stabbing the Major who was with the President, breaking his leg when he leaped onto the stage yelling “Sic semper tyrannis,” and then limping off to make his escape. Ernie stopped reading periodically when he got caught up in the drama.\n “Good story if you speak up,” said Seymour. “Truth is better than fiction if you ask me.” The story went on how Booth was killed in a tobacco barn after a 12-day manhunt. Seymour kept asking Ernie to reread parts, offering comments like, “Yup”, “Nope,” and the occasional, “Ha.”\n When he’d finished, Ernie looked up to see Seymour, eyes closed, sitting back in his chair. He got up to shovel snow off the porch; part of his job was to find things to do. “I’ll just go clear outside. Need anything?” He whispered, thinking Seymour might had fallen asleep. He hadn’t.\n “They always get that part wrong,” Seymour said.\n “What’s that Mr. Seymour?”\n His eyes remained closed. “That ‘sic semper’ nonsense. They always get that wrong. It means ‘Thus always to tyrants.’ Virginia’s state motto. Bet you didn’t know that. Booth didn’t say it. Bet you didn’t know that either.”\n Ernie sat back down. “No, I didn’t.”\n Seymour’s eyes opened and looked at Ernie. Maybe his eyesight was poor without his glasses, but his focus suggested he could see perfectly well.\n “Well, he didn’t. I can tell you that much.”\n “No?”\n “No! First, he screamed. He wasn’t as loud as Mrs. Lincoln, who was screaming too, but plenty loud. What came out was ‘The south is avenged.’ Then he dragged himself away. He still had that big knife waving everywhere. They said he was trying to scare off the actors, but I think he was just trying to keep his balance. Then everyone started screaming when they figured he wasn’t part of the play.”\n Ernie shook his head thinking Seymour was telling a story he once heard. When Seymour returned with slow and deep nods, Ernie had to ask, “How do you know all that?”\n “It was my birthday,” he said. “April 14. Still is by the way.” He laughed to himself. “Still is.”\n “Paps wanted to go,” Seymour continued. “We lived in Maryland. You could spit into Washington we were that close. I was seven, sitting in front with my parents. I didn’t pay much attention to that play, but they laughed so it must have been funny.\n “Me? I was looking at the uniforms. That’s what a little boy cares about. Paps was a doctor in one of those Army hospitals. A Union man, make no mistake. He kept elbowing me, pointing to the stage, but I didn’t care. I was looking at the box, you know, where the President was. He was laughing, too. Having a grand old time.\n “And I’m telling you, he caught sight of me, he did. I waved a little. Know what he did? He waved back. Gave me a smile. And winked. Imagine that. President Lincoln winking at me. Then all hell broke loose. I wasn’t 15 feet from Booth when he dropped. I saw him spit when he yelled. That’s how close I was. The things you remember. And that is the truth and I’ll swear it on a stack of bibles.”\n Seymour leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Ernie, and said, “I must be the last person alive who was there. When I go, they’ll be no one to fix that sic semper nonsense. A shame, too.”\nErnie hungered for details—Was he scared? What did his parents say? Where did he go after that? Did they ride in a wagon? Ernie wanted it all. Seymour’s eyes were wide open when he recalled holding his father’s belt when they carried Lincoln out. “I remember looking at the cobblestones. There was blood on them. Lincoln’s.”\n He directed Ernie to a roll-top desk. In a slot meant for letters was a small folder. “Take a look,” said Seymour. Inside was a yellowed paper rectangle, the ink faded brown with age. “Ford’s Theater” was printed at the top and below, in handwritten script, the words “Washington D.C. April 14, 1865. Maj. T. C. Seymour has secured seats 29, 30 and 31 in Orchestra.”\n Then Seymour started to snore. Ernie went to shovel off the porch. He only left when a stout lady wearing a thick wool coat arrived with a dinner of chicken pot pie. “If I knew you’d be here I would’ve brought two,” she said. “What about tomorrow?”\n Ernie loved chicken pot pie. He came back every day for weeks, even after the county decided a live-in nurse was needed. He’d read to Seymour who didn’t mention he’d received his new glasses. If Seymour tired of Ernie’s questions, he never mentioned that, either. When the county nurse took charge, she cleared up the magazines, and shooed Ernie away. “You exhaust the old man,” she said.\n Not long after that, Seymour was sitting in his chair, staring outside. He brushed his fingers through his hair and frowned. It was a Wednesday. He got himself up, cane in hand, and walked out the front door. He probably didn’t see the sheet of ice that had formed on his porch. His obituary said nothing about the night of April 14, 1865.\n Ernie got a C on his paper, “The Last Witness.” His teacher thought he made most of it up. He resubmitted it as a short story to Argosy Magazine, which published it and paid him $100. The story became the basis for a Twilight Zone episode some years later.\n Ernie Remsen wrote the screenplay." } ]
[ { "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: Everything I Introduce at the Beginning Comes Back at the End\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2418\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone successfully — or unsuccessfully — escaping their fate." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“The great god Pan is dead!”\nThat was the cry that first fed the lie to Cleo. The fearful lie that brought with it the fallacy in the nature of impossibility that was suddenly shattered. If the great god Pan could die then surely she herself could die. The granted gift of immortality felt like it had been ripped from her fingers. Death was a lottery that she had never entered, it had never occurred to her that her name could be in the bowl too. Could a god really die? Cleo, bathed in flower petals in a bath drawn for her, debated that question. Disturbed, she rubbed at her face washing away the smeared paint that connected her eyebrows for nobody but fashion’s sake. Brown ink ran down the side of her cheek and she glanced at herself in the water, flawless. Aging was a flaw that unfortunately seemed to befall all mortals surrounding her but one that she thankfully lacked. It had been many a decade since she had seen Pan, been at his extravagant parties, or eaten his exquisite food but she had assumed that was simply due to his duty of godship – not due to something as drastic as his death. She briefly considered that maybe immortality did have an expiry date, maybe if one didn’t do their acts of godly responsibilities as one should it could rub off? She wasn’t sure, it felt like the sort of prophecy that would have reached her, but perhaps she simply hadn’t been receptive to hearing it. Had there been signs that she too had been neglecting her duty? Cleo reached her hand out of the basin and plucked at the papers beside her and split a reed over her nail to jot down the most recent piece of history to reach her ears: the great god Pan was dead.\nHer role in the turnings of fate revealed itself to her in new clarity brought on by the only emotion that Cleo was still unused to – fear. Wide eyed Cleo felt the eyes of the world on her after that. The part she played had become the starring role of her life and she played it like her life rested on the results of the encore, because to the best of Cleo’s knowledge, it might do. She was indispensable and she needed to prove that to anyone observing her routines and scribbling. As the affections of the mortals and indeed the attention of Cleo moved elsewhere she wandered. As what she knew melted away into something new she occasionally took time to notice the negation of the things she used to enjoy. That’s what her notes became cheesecake, for example, that was a delicacy her taste buds and exceptional taste longed for. Infrequently, what bothered her was what she brought to it all. Athena had a city named after her and Cleo was just Cleo. The Romans had not taken the liberty to continue on all of the Greek ritual rites and instead made, what Cleo perceived as, very selective choices of who to worship and who to not. She was not a poet or a philosopher but after she saw the forests growing unkept, the brambles and ferns consuming and covering the ruins of Rome after it fell, she realised with dismay what any force can do when left unchecked\nApollo, she vaguely realised, had warned her of something like this. Really, Apollo of all people giving her warnings about the power she possessed, even after Zeus had made him mortal twice already. Mortals only really, died Apollo had told her, if all those who remember them are also dead. She simply dictated those who were remembered, but now Rome was in rubble under her feet, why should Rome be remembered? Rome, which had been the power of the world since it had formed. Cleo had watched with some interest the ever rolling drama that had infested the throne and the leaders of that civilisation. Julius Caesar, for instance, what a historical monument to overzealous conceit and all for a rule of less than a year. What was much more engaging to Cleo (and amused her a good deal too) were the little interactions between Brutus and Cassius. In a city where she had had to shed her identity due to mortal ignorance, she found herself taking notes again. The Romans were far from heroic by the Greeks' (or anyone’s standards) but they brought the spark back to her perceptions, they also brought back cheesecake. Cleo had noted down a comment Cassius had made that held a little too much insight for a mortal.\n“Don’t blame the stars for your shit Brutus.”\nIt deserved to be immortalised more poetically than how she roughly jotted it down. He did make an excellent point. Ultimately it wasn’t the stars that curated your fate. But Brutus and Cassius had died, just as Caesar had before them, fate it seemed had that planned for them all. Cleo watched on coolly, she took her notes and moved on.\nThat Rome was long gone. Now all that was left was rubble, colosseums, maybe the odd bath house or two, cracked tiling still littering the floor. Greece was too, the columns and temples, even the giant statue of Helios had long since crumbled into nothingness. The only thing that still stood in stone were the stories. Greece was remembered colourfully, the way that Cleo would smile at the scenery or the festivals, Rome was depicted for its might, its brutality. History noted them both with the strokes of thousands of pens and Cleo watched. It had been unintentional that these pictures of the past had formed through her musings, no one worshipped her anymore, ever presumptuous of her to assume her pages still consumed. None of that mattered to her much, Cleo had found a new afflatus - drama.\nIt was with the fall of Rome that Cleo first heard the whisperings. They seeped from the soil first to quieten the plaguing fear which had once powered her sense of responsibility. Cleo had finally taken a moment to pay mind to the trees, the roots and streams and for that the whisperings grew into a symphony. Nature had reclaimed the lands that the empires of the ancient worlds had claimed from her. That was Cleo’s sign that the cries she’d heard in Athens millennia ago were wrong. As the force of nature began to return, to flourish and recover her footing in the world, the symphony became clearer and clearer. The great god Pan had awoken, for gods do not die, gods merely sleep until it is their time to act once more. Cleo had never considered herself gullible but she felt in her soul that she had been playing the fool. The tantalising impossibility once more reinstated in truth. Gods can never die.\nCleo was free, for the first time in her eternity, she felt untied from herself. Who was she? The Cleo who saw herself in mirrors now was not the Cleo that had been painted on the vase murals. She no longer had to sketch on a unibrow to her forehead instead letting her eyebrows be happily separate from each other and she had a new ability to simply observe without pressure surrounding each note she took. She reinvented herself whilst she became enamoured with an artist's paintings. The artist himself was a solitary man, as she was herself, but he thought a lot about death. She vaguely wondered in Athena watched him too. Cleo expected she did. Many years later Cleo found one of her notes adorning a gallery wall beneath a painting she recognised.\n“I would rather die of passion than of boredom.”\nAt the time of the note Cleo had been lying on a hay bale considering existence. Art had always made her existential. Far from home and far from everything she was accustomed to it made her question what she was really doing. Were her notes habit or pleasure? Was her face still hers even if it wasn’t recognisable? Was her name still spoken? Funnily enough, in a little flower field in an isolated country, she didn’t feel any of those questions held much weight. The impossibility of finding an ending haunted her. At least mortals could feel accomplished within their lifetime. The time limits imposed on them gave them realistic standards. What was an acceptable accomplishment for forever? Even without thinking she edited the events of the world around her. History after all shapes the present, mistakes prevent actions from reoccurring and she would have that effect for the rest of eternity.\nShe sketched a sunflower on a page of her notebook before getting up – the sunflowers wouldn’t last forever.\nVery infrequently Cleo would hear an old familiar name, Aphrodite praised on a spinning stereo or a black wolf hound named Cerberus. Her history living on around her. One time, sitting in a concert box with her legs crossed and her notebook she had seen what could have been the slightest glimpse of Apollo. He stood at the shoulder of the main singer whilst the band played around him and the crowd went wild. A flash of a gold halo surrounded him as he sang to crowds of tens of thousands. That young man came to die too, but Cleo bought all of his records and whilst she listened to them at home alone in her room she took notes.\n“I'm playing my role in history, taking in all this misery.”\nCleo felt maybe if it had been written in Greece all those centuries ago it would’ve been the sort of thing to be left at her shrine. Instead, she pinned the concert ticket to her wall next to her sunflower doodle, sketches, and photographs. Her own shrine to life.\nDeath had come to fascinate Cleo. It seemed only fitting that the easily achievable for everyone else would be unreachable for her. It taunted her with isolation just as the gods had damned her with immortality. It temptingly surrounded her wherever she looked but she knew it would never come for her. The life lottery entrance date had long since passed. Being mortal she realised was not a blemish to rubbed away in bath salts, or written away under the guise of duty, but the finest gift in the world. Only death in its all encompassing nothingness could give life meaning. Without such a meaning one would surely walk the Earth taking in everything and nothing simultaneously. An empty soul wielding an empty notepad. Her hair, face, and her clothes may have changed since she ran the Grecian woods but her thoughts had not. Although she had not aged physically her psyche felt like it had had to reinvent itself hundreds of times. She had been a hundred different people or maybe they had all just had a hundredth of her. Forever, it seemed, wasn’t for everyone.\nShe couldn’t go back but Cleo wasn’t sure if she could keep going forward. There was a slight tinkle as she spun her fork under one finger, thinking. Thinking was a very time consuming hobby and so she enjoyed it - she still hated philosophy though. Cleo dug into the cheesecake slice that sat in front of her whilst the sun streamed through the glass panes of the café. A true novelty for early on an English morning. Her laptop was long out of charge from the night before but she noted down her thoughts on a napkin instead. She didn’t recognise the French name printed on the napkin (something about ‘ready to eat’ although her French wasn’t perfect). All she knew was that they had excellent lemon cheesecake and she didn’t want to forget. In fact, Cleo had an interesting day planned out for herself. Interesting was a novelty for someone who had lived forever. She pushed her laptop into her bag, brushed the crumbs off of her blazer and crossed the street. The large building with its arching glass ceiling and rows of pillars was certainly a sight to behold but she’d witnessed better. Cleo wasn’t sure how long it would take to find what she was looking for but she wasn’t pressed for time.\nShe stared at herself in the glass casing facing her. How funny to see a piece of home so isolated and so far from where it belonged. It didn’t occur to her at that moment that she and the caryatid in front of her were one and the same. Cleo rarely missed irony but she wasn’t looking for it at that moment so it passed her by. The daughter of Athens stared sadly out of her case at her in the dimly lit room of the British Museum and Cleo started back at her. She looked out of place but then again so did Cleo. She wondered briefly if she missed her sisters, the other eight of whom still resided in Greece, as much as she missed hers. She turned her head and found what she had been searching for quite unexpectedly. It rested unassuming on a ledge beneath the carved statue. An ancient vase with faded paint depicting nine girls sitting together.\nThe little information card propped against it read: “the nine muses Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, Urania share knowledge.”\nCleo laughed quietly, very rarely would the nine muses share knowledge and more often than not it was simply gossip that flowed from them like wine. She remembered the day that had been painted but not what the conversation had been. That thought both surprised and comforted her. Cleo felt as if she’d just gained the knowledge that she was capable of forgetting. So much of her history was intrinsic to her that she almost believed her memory to be perfect. Cleo smiled at the fact that she’d long since come to know: she too was fallible, just like mortals. Cleo wasn’t her real name of course, it was Clio with an i. She hadn’t had the heart to change it to something dramatic. Gifted the title muse of history, writing the story tapestry of the world, never to be forgotten. Ironically she felt everyone remembered her history over her. Maybe this was her gift - her freedom to experience it all.\nCleo turned her back on the vase and headed back towards the sunlight in the doorway. She’d let sleeping gods lie." } ]
[ { "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: Three Minds Intertwined\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2978\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story from the point of view of three different characters." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Lucille's POV\n\nI wished I never set foot in this house in the first place because the next I knew, I received the beating of my life. I lay there on the floor, crying, groaning in pain and agony. All I wanted to do was have a little freedom, roam the mysterious streets of my land, but instead, I come home to an unexpected incident. My life couldn't get any worse. \"Pull yourself together,\" I told myself. I took a concentrating shower, but instead of doing what any human would do in the shower, I just stood there, motionless. \n\nAs the temperature continued to change from hot to cold, so did my emotions. When the temperature suddenly got warmer, I felt rage inside. What I longed to do was scream. My angry tears being like fire slowly dripping on a surface, causing sparks to ignite and turn up the heat in this room. I wished my parents could get a taste of my raging fire. Once the temperature went back to what felt like subzero climate, my emotions were cold.\n\nI longed to knock some sense into those two. I wanted to inject my parents with my fury and aggravation. My die-hard emotions like frostbite growing on their skin, freezing them to the core. My tears suddenly turning to little ice crystals, as sharp as knives piercing my body and shattering into millions of pieces. I stared blankly into the mirror, \n\nThe eyes were conveying a message. I looked into the eyes, and the eyes looked back at me. The eyes were dreary and full of sorrow. It's as they say, 'the eyes are the windows to the soul.' Those eyes, my eyes, were the key to my life. It was the key to knowing how completely wrecked and damaged my life was. \"I hope someone's having a better life than me.\" \n\nIvy's POV \n\nMy mom was my everything. We were inseparable. Mom died years ago, and the only thing I had left of her was her jacket. Every day, I would tie it around my waist or wear it to school just to show how much I loved and missed her. I would often get bullied for that, though. \"Ew. What's up with you and that piece of trash you wear to school every single DAY,\" she said in a dramatic voice.\n\nI ignored her and shoved all of my things into my locker. \"Hellooo? I'm TALKING to you...!\" I still neglected her. Just as I was about to walk out, she slammed me against a wall. \"I said I was talking to you,\" Vanessa shouted, and I just sat there. \"Hey! Why can't you talk?! Open your mouth, dummy,\" \nThe truth is, I am mute. Well, I chose to be mute...ever since my mom died, so the only thing I could do was sit there and behave like a wimp. \"Ugh. Why am I even wasting time on an idiot like you,\" Vannessa sneered.\n\n\"Y'know, you can take that piece of trash and donate it to the poor or something, make a little money off of that hideous jacket,\" I heard snickering in the corner. I wanted to yell in Vannessa's stupid face that what I was wearing was not stupid, and certainly not my mom's jacket. Vannessa shot me a dirty look and sashayed down the hall. Vannessa hated my guts, but I've grown to hate hers too. I got up from the floor and took a deep breath, thinking to myself that everything was going to be alright, even though it wasn't. \n\nI wasn't looking forward to going home that day. I lived with my dad, and let's just say, things don't go well between us. I opened the door, and just as I had expected, my dad sat on a porch drinking. I quickly ran upstairs to my room before he could see me. I knew very well what would happen to me if my dad caught me coming home this late. I even shifted uncomfortably in my seat at the thought of that. I started my homework. I had a lot of things on my mind, and I couldn't even concentrate. \n\nThings seemed to be going smooth until I heard footsteps. They were like the feet of an elephant shaking the ground in the process. Suddenly, the door flung open, and it was my dad. I gulped. I tried to act normal but also keep my distance. The disgusting stench of alcohol burned my eyes and nullified my sense of smell. \"H-hey, dad,\" I said in sign language. \"Oh please! Save me the stupid gestures!\" Dad stamped his feet on the floor so hard a piece of the hard-wood floor chipped. He took another gulp of his drink. \n\nI cautiously slid my chair backward. \"Why are you here, dad?\" I signed. \"ENOUGH WITH THE GOD-DANG GESTURES!\" Dad yelled. He threw his bottle, and it shattered to the ground, beer spilling all over the place. My dad was furious, and the alcohol was manipulating his entire body. Tears started flowing in my eyes. I couldn't believe my dad had chosen to develop a relationship with alcohol instead of a relationship with me. All alcohol ever did to him was manipulate him and kill him inside. \n\nThe day mom left this world, instead of sulking and mourning over our unfortunate loss, he started drinking and feeling like it was the end of his world or something. Since then, we went from family to strangers. That was also the same day I decided never to talk again. \"Can I please finish my homework?\" I signed. My hands were trembling. \"THAT'S IT!\" Dad took a piece of broken glass from his bottle and threw it at me. I tried to duck, but I didn't do it in time. The shard cut a nice thick line on my forehead, blood gushing out. \n\n\"If you EVER come home late again,\" dad paused, then chuckled in a rather creepy way. \"I promise you'll fan out and wake up with your mom,\" he said, slamming the door. I gasped. \"My...my mom...?\" I thought. \"How dare he talk to me that way!\" I just sat there, motionless. I was shocked. I looked at the shattered pieces of glass and the sour stench of beer on the floor. I touched the ripped scab on my forehead. Tiny shards were sinking deep into my cut. \n\nTears erupted from my eyes. I cried myself to sleep that night. \"Why is my life so unfair?!\" I thought to myself. I pulled my mom's jacket in close and cuddled with it. \"I wish you were here, mom,\" I thought to myself. I wanted so badly to talk, but I didn't even dare to open my mouth. \" I hope someone's having a better life than me.\" I thought.\n\nDior's POV\n\nI wish I had never considered those backstabbing-wannabees as my friends, especially the one person I could trust. The person that was by my side despite the circumstance. That was my only best friend, Quinn. I woke up and threw on a sweatshirt and leggings. I didn't even care to fix my hair. I had bags under my eyes and decided to go to school looking like a douchebag. \n\nMy \"friends\" looked like drag queens rather than real people. They would scold or try to ignore me if I didn't \"dress the part.\" I hated being all fancy, wearing tight dresses and pounds of makeup just to win a guy's heart. It was nauseating, and speaking of nausea, my friends insisted on taking it too far by forcing me to throw up all the time. \"You have to be skinny to be beautiful,\" says \"my friends.\" \n\nI put the key into the ignition and started the car. After a long moment of silence, I arrived at my destination, called prison. Well, school, but I considered it as a prison because my life was a living nightmare. \"Hey guys,\" I muttered. Jessica, Raelynn, and Quinn looked me up and down, then looked at each other. \"Do we know you?\" Asked Raelynn. I was shocked. \"C'mon, guys, it's me, Dior!\" I replied. Jessica sneered, Raelynn scoffed, and Quinn rolled her eyes. What? How could my best friend roll her eyes at me?!\n\n\" I-I don't understand...guys, are you like, pulling a prank on me again,\" I asked in my most sassy voice. \"Pfft. Girl, where are your clothes?! Why does your face look like a depressed monkey?! No offense, but you look like a loser without makeup,\" Raelynn paused. I lowered my head and shifted my glance to a window.\n\"Girl, can't you just take a joke?! geez,\" \n\"Right, sorry,\" Raelynn sighed. \n\"C'mon, girls. You know what we have to do,\" and I knew exactly what she was talking about. \n\"No, please, can we not do that today? I haven't been feeling good lately,\" I pleaded. \n\"And can you not ask questions? You're such chicken,\" \n\n\"But Rae, can't we just skip? Just for today...?\" I trailed off.\n\"Y'know, people like you don't belong in this group. You seriously need to get a life,\" I just stood there. \"What have I always told you?\"\n\"You have to be skinny to be beautiful...\" I muttered. \n\"Exactly. In this group, you have to have the looks, the lush, and the lavish to attract the guys,\" I sighed. \n\"Well, what're you waiting for? Do it!\"\n\nI reluctantly pressed two fingers together and pushed it far down my throat. A few moments later, I felt queasy and sick to my stomach. I felt puke erupting from my system, burning my esophagus and pouring out of my mouth like a giant waterfall. I puked in the toilet for several minutes. \n\"Keep going...\" said Raelynn. So I kept going being fully aware of my health. Just then, I felt dizzy. I called out my 'friends' names, but I couldn't see or hear that well. \n\n\"Raelynn...? Jessica...?...Q-Quinn?...\" I started fanning out. Just then, I collapsed. Raelynn, Jessica, and Quinn scoffed, laughed, and even mocked me. They didn't even feel sorry for me or try to help me up, especially Quinn. Best friends always look out for each other. As my lights continued to fade, memories of Quinn and I appeared in my mind. The way she smiled, the way she laughed, when we would always play together. \n\nBut the memory that made me tear up as I continued to fan out was when we made a promise to always look out for each other no matter the circumstance. We even considered laying our lives down for each other. That's how exceptional of a friend she was. Raelynn and Jessica walked out as if they had seen nothing, and Quinn, who was once my best friend, shot me a couple of dirty looks and followed the rest. I got to the last light. It flickered, then died. \"I hope someone's having a better life than me,\" \n\n\nEverything was falling apart in the lives of these three girls. They had lost hope and didn't know what to do. All they could do was cry long, and cry hard. But one day, each of them decided to visit a counselor, not knowing what surprises were in store for each of them. Their encounter at the counselor's office changed their lives and also changed their perspective for good.\n\n\n Lucille. \n\n I was fed up with my life. I was tired of how my parents treated me.\n\n Ivy. \n\nI missed my mother but missed my dad more. \n\n Dior.\n\nI risked my life for beauty knowing that I was also risking my friendship.\n\n\n Lucille.\n\nBut it's time I gave my parents a taste of their own medicine. \n\n\n Ivy.\n\n It's time I stand up for myself. \n\n\n Dior.\n\nIt's time I change for the better. \n\n\nLucille. \n\nAfter a round of maltreatment from my parents, I went to sleep. I woke up the next day feeling ecstatic because I knew my calling. I knew what I had to do to make things right again. I went to school in my usual limo and scurried past tons of the same people gushing all over me. Just because I'm rich doesn't mean I have the best life there could ever be. I sat down beside two other girls I have never seen before. \"Hi,\" I blurted out. One replied, and the other half-smiled. \n\n\nIvy.\n\nThat night, I cuddled with my mother's jacket after being told off by my drunk dad. I woke up still feeling last night's vibes but quickly shook it off. I knew what I had to do to restore the relationship I once had with my dad and to destroy my inability to speak. I got to school, endured the verbal bullying I received from my mortal enemy (geez. Who knew words could hurt so much?) Then went to the counselor's office. I took a seat by two other girls. One of them said \"Hi,\" and I tried my best to smile. \n\n\nDior. \n\nAfter the endless sessions of repetitive puking, crying, and the back-stabbing of some friends, I went to bed that night and woke up feeling determined. I knew what I had to do to rekindle my friendship with Quinn. I knew what I had to do in favor of my health. I arrived at my destination called Hope. I had hope that once I took this leap of faith, everything would go the way it was before, but twice as better. I went to the counselor's office and sat down beside two girls. one said \"Hi,\" and I replied with a \"Hi back.\" \n\n\n\" Hello, girls. My name is Mrs. Godfrey. How can I help you?\"\n\"I came here because I have something important to talk about,\" \n\"Same here,\" \nIvy didn't speak.\n\"Uh, I'm sure she's here for the same reason,\" \n\"Then let's get to it!\" Said Mrs. Godfrey. \n\"Um...can't we speak like, in private?\" asked Dior. \n\"You'll talk right here. I find it helps people relate to these things,\"\n\"Uhm, okay...\" said the girls.\n\n\nThe girls talked to the counselor and each other about their problems. As they talked and Ivy wrote her words instead, they started to form a bond and feel a connection like never before. \n\"Yea, that's pretty much my life summed up,\" said Lucille. \n\"Wow, um, I'm so sorry,\" replied Dior. \n\"It's okay, you didn't know,\" Lucille muttered. \n\"What about you, Ivy?\" asked Lucille. Ivy froze. She was going to write but couldn't. She then took a deep breath and did something she never would've thought she would do. \n\"I...I have Psychogenic Mutism...\" replied Ivy. \n\"Woah! You mean, you can talk, but decide not to? Why?\" asked Dior.\n\n\n\"I-It's a long story....my dad...is an alcoholic and beats me up all the time kind of like your parents, Lucille,\" Ivy rubbed her arm and lowered her head. \n\"At least we have something in common,\" Lucille chuckled. \n\"Hehe, yeah...\" There was a moment of silence. \n\"What about your mom? Does she have a hand in this?\" \nJust then, tears dripped from Ivy's eyes.\n\"No...she's dead. My mother was everything to me, and I miss her so much,\" We all patted Ivy's shoulders and hugged her. \n\"The day she died was the same day I decided to be mute,\" Ivy stated as she wiped her tears. \n\n\nMrs. Godfrey laughed, and we were in shock.\n\"Mrs. Godfrey, not to overstep but, how could you be laughing in a time like this?!\" asked Lucille. \n\"One thing you girls don't understand is that in times like this, you shouldn't be devastated or desolate, you have to learn how to rejoice,\" said Mrs. Godfrey. The girls looked at each other then back at the counselor. \n\"Mrs. Godfrey, we're in the middle of THREE crises here, and all you talk about is rejoicing?! Rejoicing for what?!\" Shouted Lucille. \n\n\n\"That's exactly the point. Amid adversity, when things get tough, when life gives you lemons, all you have to do is rejoice, celebrate, be happy!\" Mrs. Godfrey cheered. Lucille scoffed. \n\"Mrs. Godfrey, you don't get it, do you? Look, I've been bruised, hurt, mocked, maltreated, and beaten countless times by my parents. How in the world could I POSSIBLY be happy?!\" Lucille explained. \n\"By assuring yourself that everything's going to be okay,\"\n\"Huh?\"\n\"What?\"\n\"How?!\" \n\"Things happen for a reason, girls. You may not see it now, but in the future, I promise you'll know what I'm talking about. You have to be happy because people might be going through the same thing you're going through, and lifting their spirits through your rejoicing could be the key to their true happiness,\" Mrs. Godfrey continued. \n\"Ivy, your dad could've been harming you because he probably went through some of the same things you're going through right now. Maybe things got so bad that he ached to inflict the pain on you as well,\" Ivy raised her head. \n\n\"Lucille, your parents might've been maltreating you because, again, the setbacks they encountered in their lifetime destroyed their well-being so much that they wanted to inflict their pain on you even though you had nothing to do with it,\" \n\n\"And Dior, sure, you made a bad decision to hang out with the wrong friends because even your best friend turned her back on you, but you can still get to know more about them because who knows? Perhaps, the reason why they're so harsh to everyone or just you, in general, is because you have something they will never have,\" \n\n\n\"Wow...I...never really thought of it that way...\" Lucille trailed off.\n'\"Same here... I always thought that my dad would never change,\" responded Ivy.\n\"This is remarkable! It's food for my soul,\" Dior remarked. \n\nWith newfound determination in each of their minds, the girls set out to make what was once wrong right. Gosh, remind me never to see from your perspective again." } ]
[ { "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 Boy Needs His Father\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2965\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story from the point of view of three different characters." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My customer service smile never leaves my face even as I feel my cell phone vibrating in my pocket for the fourth time. As I finish bagging up groceries for the fiftieth customer today, I subtly flag my manager, hoping he’s in a good enough mood to let me go on break a half-hour early.\n By the time I’m done ringing up the next customer in line, my manager is walking over. He looks annoyed, but not angry, so I take it to be a good sign. Before I can open my mouth to ask for my break, he says, “A call just came in for you on the store phone. It’s your son’s school.”\n I can’t say that I’m surprised. In fact, by the third missed call, I was already pretty certain that’s who it was. “I’m sorry,” I say as politely as possible. This manager already doesn’t like me, and I can’t afford to lose this job. “I know it’s not great timing, but would it be possible for me to-”\n “Just go,” my manager says as he waves his hand towards the exit. “Just know that this isn’t going to look good on your evaluation next month.”\n “I understand. Thank you!” It stings to act so grateful for such a small thing, but the truly painful part is knowing that underneath it all, I truly do feel grateful. It wouldn’t have been the first time I had gotten fired for something so small. Right now, I’m thrilled just to have another chance.\n I clock out and grab my purse from the breakroom, ignoring my manager’s sour look as I power walk through the store exit. It takes three tries to start the engine, and I find myself silently praying that the transmission will last another week, the same prayer I’ve been saying for a month now.\n But it starts, so I put it into gear and pull out of the parking lot. As soon as I’m on the road, I start taking deep breaths. It’s a calming technique that I started after the first time I got one of these phone calls. I’ve found that it helps me to keep things in perspective and not to immediately get angry at Charlie; at least, not until I know what it was that he did.\n\n\n\n\n There are days when I really hate my job. Sometimes I wish I had chosen a different career. It made sense, though – my passion for classic literature, my affinity for writing, my administrational and organizational skills. Of course, I wanted to be a prolific writer, but no one goes to school for that, at least, no one with any actual talent. All the great writers had their own careers until they made it as a writer. A career as a high school English teacher didn’t seem like such a stretch for me, and it gave me the chance to share the literature I love with eager young minds.\n Or, at least, it would if my students were actually eager, or if they actually used their minds in class. I really don’t hate teenagers, but after eighteen years of teaching, it still amazes me how blasé they can be about their education. So many of them refuse to read the material. They won’t speak up during class discussions, and when they do, it’s inappropriate or irrelevant. Every now and then, a student enters my class who truly wants to be there, who enjoys the material and my instruction. Then, I relish my job. Of course, I didn’t get any of those students this year.\n Instead, what I got is that Williams boy. As I make my way to Principal Carter’s office, I replay this afternoon’s incident in my head. The audacity of that boy! To be so insolent as to correct an adult! I never would have even considered such a thing as a student. To even think that he, a dimwitted youth, might know better than me - a highly educated adult - is preposterous! And yet, with no hesitation or guilt, the boy interrupted me in the middle of my lesson with the sole purpose of correcting a note on the whiteboard. Of course, he was wrong. That goes without saying. But the mere idea that he would willingly attempt to undermine my classroom was just too much.\n I have had my fair share of problems with that young man over the past few months, some of which have even resulted in phone calls to the boy’s mother, something I hate to do, but nothing has worked. It is time to end that boy’s arrogant disrespect once and for all.\n\n\n\n\n For the fourth time this month, I’m sitting in the office, waiting for my mom to get here so I can get this meeting over with. Principal Carter just sits at her desk across from me, shaking her head. Somehow, she always seems surprised when I’m sent to her, despite how many times it happens. Mr. Phillips is sitting off to the side, a smug smile on his face, and I hide my grimace. I know the guy doesn’t like me. I honestly don’t know why. Sure, he’s not the first teacher I didn’t get along with, but this time, I really don’t think I deserve it. The last time I ended up here, Mom begged me to try to make it work, and I really did try! I guess it just wasn’t enough. She’s going to be ticked.\n My mom comes bustling in, still wearing her work apron over her clothes with the name tag pinned on the front. Of course, she’ll be missing a few hours of work for this stupid meeting, which means her paycheck will be short thirty dollars or so this week, money we can’t afford to lose. But she won’t say anything. She never does. She’ll just try and make it work and ask me if there’s anything I need.\n “Ms. Williams,” Principal Carter begins. “I’m sorry to have called you in again. I’m sure it’s an inconvenience to you.”\n\n\n\n\n “Charlie is never an inconvenience,” I interrupt quickly. I know this woman must meet with dozens of parents every month, so I shouldn’t be surprised by her attitude, but to imply that a parent’s first priority isn’t her child is downright disrespectful!\n“No, of course not,” the principal is quick to reassure me.\n “What is the problem?” I sigh. Best to get right to it, I suppose.\n “It seems that Charlie has been disrespecting his teachers . . . again.” I sigh again. I’ve been told that children behave differently for their parents than they do for other adults, but I still find it hard to believe that Charlie would intentionally disrespect a teacher. We’ve had our share of arguments, sure, but until this year, school was never a problem. He’s not a star student, but he does well enough. He doesn’t stir up trouble.\nI glance over at the man sitting in the corner of the small office. This Mr. Phillips seems to be the common denominator. I don’t like to make assumptions, but if I had to guess which person in this room was causing the problem, it wouldn’t be Charlie.\n “Charlie, what happened?” I ask gently. If I know my son, he’s already feeling embarrassed and guilty. I do my best to push aside my annoyance and give him the benefit of the doubt.\n “Your son disrupted my lesson and attempted to correct me.” Mr. Phillips leaned forward out of his chair and jabbed a finger in Charlie’s direction. “He was not only rude and disrespectful; he disrupted the learning of his fellow students. Your son needs to be taught to respect his elders, Mrs. Williams!”\n “Miss,” I interrupt, reminding him for the fourth time this month that I’m not married. He smirks at me and then quickly turns the smirk into a false friendly smile.\n “Of course – Ms. Williams,” he says, putting unnecessary emphasis on my title. “As I was saying-”\n “I believe I asked my son what happened, Mr. Phillips,” I say coldly, keeping my customer service smile on my face.\n\n\n\n\n I’ve had my suspicions, but it is clear to me now that the boy’s problem begins with his mother. How is a boy supposed to learn to respect his elders when his own mother insists that he has the right to be heard before a man in a position of authority? It’s no wonder that he shows such blatant disregard for the rules. And of course, there is no one else to teach him. His mother has made it quite clear that there is no father in the picture.\n I’m tempted to make a point of insisting that I speak first, but one glance at Principal Carter tells me that doing so would not be in my best interest. She’s always so insistent that we listen to the parents’ concerns before raising our own. I don’t understand it. We’re a public school! It’s not as if these families are valued customers that we must bend over backwards to please. The school determines its rules and the consequences for breaking those rules, and if the parents of our students don’t like it, they are more than welcome to pay for private school!\n\n\n\n\n I try my best to ignore the way Mr. Phillips is glaring at Mom. It’s bad enough that he hates me. Mom has enough on her plate; she doesn’t need this guy causing her problems, too. “Mr. Phillips was writing Shakespeare quotes on the whiteboard and explaining their meaning. He used the quote ‘Now is the winter of our discontent’ and said it meant that the characters were restless and unhappy, but that’s not the whole quote.”\n “I have been studying literature longer than you have been alive,” Mr. Phillips says, almost snarling. “What makes you think you know Shakespeare better than me?”\n Mom looks like she’s about to jump down his throat, and this whole situation is already bad enough without her causing a scene, so I decide to try and appease this jerk. “I read Richard III over the summer, and I remembered the quote. What you wrote was right, but there’s more to it. It says, ‘Now is the winter of our discontent/Made glorious summer by this sun of York.’ It means that the mood has changed, that-”\n “I know what it means!” Mr. Phillips snaps. The way he side-eyes Principal Carter, I can tell that he wants to be nastier, but he doesn’t think he can get away with it. “That isn’t the point! The point, Charlie, is that you are a student, a child. I am an adult, an authority figure, and to interrupt me while I was teaching was incredibly rude!”\n For Mom’s sake, I swallow everything that I want to say and grumble an apology that I don’t really mean. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, but some of us already have a really hard time understanding Shakespearean language, and I was afraid that some of the others might get confused.”\n\n\n\n\n It’s painful to watch Charlie shift uncomfortably in his seat as he tries to find the words to placate this man. It’s almost a perfect mirror image of my own behavior with my managers and my customers – never say the wrong words, never speak too loudly, never make any gestures that might be taken the wrong way. I came to terms with that being my life a long time ago, but it never occurred to me before now that Charlie’s life could be the same way. I don’t want this life for my son.\n “Charlie,” the principal says diplomatically. “It sounds like you had good intentions, but I’m afraid Mr. Phillips felt that you were undermining his authority by speaking out of turn.”\n “Speaking out of turn is hardly the issue here!” Mr. Phillips exclaims. He quiets suddenly when the principal turns to him, but doesn’t give up. “That is, of course, something that should be worked on, but the concern that we need to focus on is that Charlie corrected a teacher!”\n\n\n\n\n I shrug my shoulders. I’m done arguing. Mr. Phillips clearly isn’t going to let this go, and Mom isn’t going to drop it without a fight, so why put it off anymore? “You were wrong.”\n I have to stop myself from laughing at the way Mr. Phillips’ mouth opens and closes like a fish that just got pulled out of the water. “That doesn’t matter, Charlie,” he says, finally finding the words to say. “It is not okay to correct an adult, someone in authority. Miss Williams, I don’t think Charlie is a bad kid, but he does have some trouble with authority, which can become serious. I understand the difficulty of teaching him such things on your own. After all, a boy needs his father.”\n I shouldn’t say anything. I should clam up and ignore the comment. But I’ve never been good at shutting up. “I don’t need the man who walked out on us. I don’t need the man who couldn’t own up to his own responsibilities.”\n Mr. Phillips’ face is turning red, and he looks like he’s about to explode, but I don’t regret what I said.\n “Charlie, please.” My mom puts her hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me down, but it only makes me angrier.\n “No!” I say, standing. “You’ve been there for me my whole life, supporting me, taking care of me. I’m tired of people telling me I need a father! All I need is you.”\n\n\n\n\n This isn’t the way I imagined it happening, here in this cramped principal’s office, but I’ve been waiting to hear those words from Charlie since the day his father left us. I’ve always known that being a single mom was going to be hard, so I decided a long time ago that I was going to be the best damn mom I could be for this kid. But everywhere we went – every little league game, every birthday party, hell, even every family gathering, I heard the questions and the comments. Where’s his father? Why isn’t his dad around? Don’t you think he should have a man in his life? I was always terrified that I wouldn’t be enough.\n But here we are, in this perfectly imperfect moment, and I find myself suddenly more certain than I’ve ever been in my life that I have been a good mother. I smile widely at Charlie and I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Both the principal and the teacher are staring at me like I’ve got three heads, but I don’t care. I’m enough. My son thinks I’m enough.\n\n\n\n\n I swear everyone in this room is insane! That woman is smiling at her brat like an idiot. Did no one else hear him? Does no one else realize that this boy feels perfectly comfortable talking back to and even yelling at his elders and betters? “Young man, that is enough!” I say, trying to regain what little control I can of the situation. “I will not allow you to speak to me like-”\n “Thank you, Mr. Phillips.” The interruption is so unexpected that I screech to a halt. I stare at Principal Carter with wide eyes. She looks at me sternly, as though she would scold me. “I believe I can deal with this situation with the Williams family on my own. Why don’t you head home for the day?”\n I sit in stunned silence for a moment. She can’t be serious! How can someone in authority allow such blatant disrespect to happen right in front of her! How can she expect me to just get up and leave before resolving this issue? Does she honestly think that it won’t happen again? I open my mouth to argue, but her raised eyebrow stops me. That’s when I realize – in her eyes, I’m in the wrong. Me! I don’t understand it, but the look on her face makes it clear. She’s decided that this whole thing is my fault! Wordlessly, I stand up and make my exit, refusing to look back at any of them.\n Some days, I really hate my job.\n\n\n\n\n “I’m sorry about that, Ms. Williams, Charlie,” the principal says once the door closes again. “I didn’t realize the whole situation. I think it would be best if we put Charlie in a different English class for the rest of the year. What do you think, Charlie?”\n I raise my head in surprise. The adults in this school rarely ask me what I think, but if she’s giving me the choice, well then, “Yes, please,” I say. “I think that might be best.”\n “I’ll have it arranged, then.” She smiles warmly at me and then looks at Mom. “Ms. Williams, unless you have any other concerns, I think we’re all set.”\n “I think so,” she answers quietly. She’s been looking at me strangely, kind of like the way she looks when she’s watching a really sappy movie.\n We stand up and leave the office and then the school without a word. I follow Mom out to the car and get into the passenger seat. As she starts the car, I decide that I’d rather get this out of the way now rather than wait until later. “Listen, Mom, I’m sorry about all that. I-”\n “Charlie, do you want to go out for ice cream?”\n “What?” Mom’s looking at me with a big smile on her face. I don’t get it. I’m not in trouble? “Sure, Mom.”\n She pats my knee and puts the car in gear. I don’t care what anyone says. Mom and I are just fine on our own." } ]
[ { "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 Sound of Sight\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1957\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that switches between first person and third person point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I sat within the classroom. The rest of the class left for the day. The calm breeze flew through the window, whisking my brown hair over my eyes. The music from the guitar played quietly through the speakers of the phone lying on my desk.\nI held onto my guitar in solace. The pick rested in my hand. Whenever I felt depressed, sad, even happy, I would cover my ears and escape to the world of music. It saved me. I had a difficult life, more than others, actually; more than most. My parents passed away. A car collision took them from me. I was over it at this point; well not really, no one really overcomes that sort of trauma, but I never showed it.\nNow it was only me, my music, and my guitar. I let the wonders of music wash away my worries.\nThe sun wandered low over the trees. With the courtyard empty I felt it was time to leave. Gathering my books and my music I retreated towards the halls. The cement floors echoed against the steps in my stride. It was quiet. A kind of quiet that only one knows when they’re alone. The stairwell rang with a slightly altered sound. One of greater significance. One that spoke out against the silence. It was unique to that area of the school. Reaching the main floor, the same silence as above descended upon me once again. More silent than as above. A sound that could only be heard if one searched for it.\nMetal screeched as I opened my locker to store my books for the night. The sound of tacks sputtered against the wood floor. I knew what they sounded like at this point, I didn’t even need to look down to know they were there.\nThe breeze which flew through the trees brought another sound to the world around me. The sound of freedom, and yet at the same time, the sound of longing for freedom. The leaves that flew freely made no sound, yet those that stayed attached fought for release. The streets were quiet, but the stone beneath my feet spoke the rest of the walk home. Moments before I walked through the front door I stopped. Turning around I thought I could hear another sound. One that was different from what surrounded me. Seeing nothing amiss I shrugged and entered my home. The door clicked quietly behind me.\nHe saw her from the halls. He had watched her during class. He saw her sitting alone. He knew she had been teased for being different. He saw her fight through it, take the pain and not say anything. But, for all the strength she showed, something was up with her, yet he didn’t know what it was. She hardly spoke; yet whenever she had music with her, she seemed alive in a new way.\nThe boy stood on the stone sidewalk. His blue eyes spotted her from the window of the convenience store. She had been away from school for a long time. Missing about three months from what his friends explained. Now the autumn winds were blowing, and the air grew cooler.\nReturning the magazine to the shelf, the boy left the store and followed the girl from a distance. Her long brown hair blowing calmly in the winds. She held her guitar close to her chest. As if seeking comfort from it. It was strange how distant she seemed from everyone. He never marshaled the courage to talk to her, her issues appeared like none of his business; yet today there was something about her. The way she held onto the instrument, as if it was a new part of her.\nSeeing that she made it to her home safely, the boy departed, not wanting to be thought of as a stalker by any passerby’s and returned to his home. Wondering all the while about the new side of his classmate he discovered. The side which he never thought she had ever been open about before.\nThe school was full of life the next day. Everyone discussing plans for the winter break. Some were going skiing to the mountains; others were visiting family.\n“Hey John,” a voice called towards him.\nBlinking from the surprise he turned his gaze to his friend who stood in front of his desk. Leaning over to get his attention the minute he turned his gaze.\n“Oh, hey Eric,” John replied, “what is it?”\n“Were you staring out the window again?” Eric replied with a smirk.\n“Um…no I was thinking about what we discussed today in class.”\n“Oh, you seem to have been doing that a lot lately. Anyway, what are you doing for the break?”\nJohn remained silent as he contemplated how to answer that question.\n“I think my family is visiting, but I’m still waiting for my sister to tell me for sure,” he replied. “What about you?”\n“Going skiing with my family for a few days, why don’t you and your family tag along; I can ask my parents if that’s alright. I’m sure it will be a lot more fun with you there.”\nJohn averted his eyes before replying, “That might be fun, I’ll see if my family wants to; but it will take a while for them to confirm.”\n“Glancing towards the window again huh?” Eric teased before glancing over himself. He saw the girl staring out the window again. She was always glancing out the window if she wasn’t scanning her textbook.\nLeaning forward Eric whispered in John’s ear, “Don’t bother with that one, she’s a loner,” he teased.\n“Why do you say that?”\n“She doesn’t have any friends; she also spends all of her time listening to music. If I were you, I would stay away from her.”\nJohn ignored him and continued to glance at the girl from his side of the classroom.\nThe bell rang.\nI rose from my seat and walked out of the room. I didn’t want to linger today. There were too many eyes on me in the class. While I kept mine facing the window, I could feel their stares. I heard the whispers moving through the room. Whisking around the desks. The hallways were busy, the clattering of lockers rang amid the footsteps. When I closed mine, a shoulder nudged me from the side. I stuttered and fell into someone.\n“You okay?” a girl spoke quickly asked as she caught my arms with her own.\n“I’m fine, sorry,” I replied quickly before gathering my feet and walking out into the afternoon sun.\nThe walk home was a bit louder than normal. There were lots of footsteps around me. It was a bit nerve racking. I didn’t like crowds. I stayed later at school because it usually allowed me to have peace with my surroundings. Yet, the stares from those within the classroom, I couldn’t handle them today. My body shook from the impulse overload.\nThankfully, most of the students headed for the convenience store on the opposite side of the street, so I could relax a bit once they broke off from the group. When I reached my house, I went inside without hesitation. Slumping to the ground, I held my breath as I relaxed my body. It was too much. I couldn’t see them directly, but I felt them all glancing at me.\n“What a weird girl I must be to them.”\nI let out a heavy breath. Heading upstairs I gathered my guitar and my picks. The weather was warm today, odd for this time of year, but I wasn’t about to let it get away from me. I sat down upon the stone steps outside my home and began dragging the pick across the strings. Fine tuning the notes. Finding the correct strength for the string tension. It was something I was used to now, tuning my guitar. Every time I did so, it felt as if I was relearning the instrument. Or at least, finding myself all over again.\n“I didn’t know you played the guitar.”\nThe voice was soft. I glanced up at the source of where it originated.\nJohn stood before the girl. He noticed her amid the crowd. She clung to herself as she walked. Curiosity taking over, he followed her to see where she would retreat to once she escaped the pack of other students.\n“Who are you?” the girl sitting on the steps asked.\n“My name’s John, we’re in the same class.”\n“Okay.” She replied with little meaning as she returned her attention back to her guitar.\n“What kind of music do you play?” John replied trying to sound interested, he was, but he felt she did not hear his intent.\nShe didn’t respond, turning her fingers to the final string upon the instrument. Striking it she twisted the tuning key on the head. The ring of the guitar spun from high to low frequency as the string was tightened.\n“Your name was Jenny, right?” John asked once the string’s vibration stopped.\nShe let out a sigh before replying, “Yes, now if you don’t mind, I’d like to concentrate.” She spoke while keeping her head down.\nJohn remained silent as Jenny moved through the strings once more, confirming their frequency. The sense he was beginning to bother her set in.\nTurning to leave, his movement was halted by the sound of the guitar strings being struck.\nNot violently in a rage, but as if one was resonating with a calm breeze. Turning back, he saw Jenny strum her guitar. Her head moved in rhythm to the beat of her song. It sounded like a ballad. The soft melody. The calm notes. Then she began to sing.\nJohn became captivated as the song rang through his ears. There was passion within her voice as she sang. While she spoke no words; there was a strange message within her voice. A deep meaning. As if she was trying to speak out against the unfairness she faced.\nWhen she finished, she turned to John and for the first time he saw why she seemed so distant to everyone. Why she acted so differently.\n“That was beautiful,” John spoke.\n“Thanks, I’ve been working on it for a while now.”\n“Do you usually listen to soft music?”\n“Why do you care?”\n“Well, you seem kind of lonely,” John replied trying to remain calm as the nerves began wracking his brain.\n“No one ever really seemed to care. Everyone laughs and joins in the ‘fun’.”\n“Why not try joining the music club at school?” It might be a new kind of ‘fun,’ not the kind where you get hurt, but the kind where you gain a better connection to people.”\n“I’ve never really had any kind of connection with anyone.” Jenny stated, “most people avoid me since I’m different. They’re afraid of the connection they will receive if they are seen with me. An outsider.”\n“I feel as if your music can spark a different connection. Like it did for me,” John replied.\nAfter a moment she replied, “Do you play?”\n“I used to,” John replied, averting his gaze.\nJenny held out her guitar towards him. “Will you play something for me?”\nJohn turned back before putting on a small smile. Taking the guitar, he slung it over his shoulder; Jenny moved over to allow him to sit next to her. He played a rock song, messing up a few times, but slowly remembering the finger positions.\nHe turned to Jenny with a smile; knowing full well she couldn’t see it, yet he knew she could hear the joy in the music he played.\nShe smiled back. Her iris glittering within the white misty cover." } ]
[ { "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: FREE WILL\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2803\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a world where everyone’s decisions are made for them. One morning, your character wakes up, and chooses not to go to work. Wait…chooses?!" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "FREE WILL\n\n “Alright. Let’s go ahead and start recording in 3, 2, 1.” Said the robot of historical records.\nMy name is Willow Freedom Monrow. I was born on Century 13, an island metropolis of what you may remember in history called California, a part of the United States of America. But that was 13 centuries ago. Now, what is left of the USA and of the remaining world are large sectioned, islandic metropolitan cities that are divided by territories. There is a total of 100 territories that make up planet Earth. Centaurus Americonius has 13 total. Each territory is named Century 1, 2, 3 etc. I live on the largest and most structured one, Century 13. The territories came about after the second asteroid that almost wiped out all living organisms on the planet over 9 centuries ago. It created massive title waves which flooded most of the planet that wasn’t already broken up and desolated by the first asteroid impact 400 years before the second one. Humans that didn’t die off, evolved, or mated with other intelligent lifeforms of the universe into what we are now known as Centroids.\nAlthough, we look somewhat identical to our human ancestor, we are highly advanced and genetically spliced with many other intelligent beings of the universe giving us all the same tone of greyish-red skin. Centroids are also 8 feet tall, extremely muscular, and hairless. Our eyes are all emerald green with specks of gold. From my formal education of Earth’s history, I learned that we don’t age as fast as our ancestors did. We have a prime age, which is 35 years old, and we remain that age until we reach burnout phase. Now, burnout phase happens over time normally around your 15th year of age 35. If this confuses you, just think that once you hit 35 years you do not age physically anymore, but your mental state will start to “change” after your 15th year of your prime age. Centroids call this “change” Cranial Disobediosis. I’m now at year 17 of my age of prime. This is my first time telling anyone about why I left Earth to get away from being mentally controlled.\nCentroids don’t have families, friends, or any type of companions unless you are told to have them. We don’t have any talents or professions unless it is provided to you. All this is controlled by the dictator of your territory. Century 13 was the largest territory of Centarus Americonius. We are given families, giving jobs, and told we must work that profession. You do not object to it, or you will be imprisoned on Century 6, a territory with total darkness, locked in overcrowded rooms of other Centroids with Cranial Disobediosis. Those who get it try to flee or pretend to follow their predestined structure only to become mentally unstable and defiant. They lose the gold specks in their eyes, to black dots spattered all over their emerald, green irises. That’s how you know they are “changing.” Even when you see the Territory Robot Officers, or TRO flying their crafts around looking for the sick that broke command and fled, you do not, under any circumstances stop working and watch what is going on. You work or be sent to rot away in total darkness in mental madness of Cranial Disobediosis.\nMy earliest memory I have is being in a room full of new Centroids being guided and educated on Centroid territory laws and regulations and job professions. There were 3 job professions. The first was technical engineering, the second was Centroid anatomy and physiology, and the third was environmental agriculture. You can be assigned to work all 3 at various times of life depending on need, you will be rotated year after year so that all Centroids were familiar with each 3 professions, or your fate was only one of the 3 until you came upon the “change”. If you were working a different profession, you do not discuss what the previous profession assigned to you entailed. It was forbidden and a symptom of Cranial Disobediosis. The dictators told you when you could take off, what time you ate, slept, or was scheduled to attend your monthly skin tissue donation to the anatomy and physiology workers. You were not allowed to ask why they needed samples. You just followed the instructions. Questioning tasks and duties was a symptom of Cranial Disobediosis. \nYou never saw any dictators but, you heard their digital voices like a polite and happy whisper of your subconscious in your head tell you what to do the moment you awake. I was at my pre-prime age of 18 when I was told to report to the technical engineering sector of Century 13. I had been rotating between the other two professions since pre-prime age of 5 and this was my first time as a technical engineer. I already knew what to do. My job for 8 hours a day was to build and program these tiny gold microchips. Once built, they are place in an organic solution and then transferred to the anatomy and physiology sector. I then went back to my smart home with my given partner Meadow Nova Fields. We then ate, played a board game, and then went to bed. I continued this routine for 17 years straight. I always listened to the programmed voice in my head and never questioned or decided against the orders. I had no symptoms of Cranial Disobediosis until my first year after hitting prime age of 35. I no longer heard the voice in my head. I just woke up and did not want to go to work at all. My partner was already in the back yard of our smart home on her work duty of environmental agriculture. I looked out and saw her tediously pulling weeds and collecting food edibles. She never looked up. I suddenly realized what was happening and ran to the mirror to look in my eyes. The gold specks where gone. I had nothing but black dots.\nA wave of emotions hit me all at once. I could not process what I was feeling and why. I was terrified but ready to face the world. I was paranoid but calm like I was going be ok. I was angry but happy that I knew that I had made the decision to not go to work. I wanted to get away. Far away. I knew that if I did not show up to my post that the TRO would be looking for me. So, I had to act like I was following protocol. I got up, did my morning routine, and reported to the engineering sector. I had to get my hands on one of those large aircrafts the TRO used to travel outside of Earth to other colonized planets that I learned about in pre-prime education training. I had a feeling that those crafts were my only way off this planet because I was not going to be thrown in prison to rot away with the other sick Centroids. As soon as my shuttle craft docked at the sector, I walked in unison with the rest of the engineering workers and got to my post. I could now understand that they were so comfortable with us following protocol that we had little supervision. I did not know what this new reason of understanding was but, it helped me plan my escape.\nAt 1st break I had learned what the gold microchips were and why they were so important to the anatomy and physiology sector. They were programming devices that were designed to control thought and reason in Centroids. The solution we put them in were like artificial tears. It created gold specks in our eyes and our tissue samples were used to generate more programmed Centroids. However, these chips had a max life of 35 years which is why they malfunctioned once you hit prime. Some may exceed a year or two after that. But who were the dictators? I had to figure this out before my shift ended.\nI did not want anyone to notice that my eyes no longer flickered in the dull Earth sunlight, so I never looked directly at anyone. During 2nd break, TROs were around but only looking for Centroids that were out of line and not following protocol. I could see a large craft land in my sector and TROs got out and started scanning eyes. I could not let them get to me. I panicked and bolted for the exit as they kept the door open for us to enter back from break. I was not sure who or what they were searching for. I just ran as fast as I could. We are agile beings, but I knew that I could not overpower 5-10 TROs. My actions startled two TROs but not one single Centroid looked up from their posts. They were on foot, and I could hear the metal boots clanking as they were running behind me. I was only 3 ft from the craft when I heard the sirens. I heard them regularly but this time I knew it was for me. As I reached for the organic tissue reader that all the TRO crafts had on the doors, A TRO driver opened the hatch. I don’t know how I knew to grab it by the throat, but I did, and I swung it into the other two TROs behind me. Their metal bodies clanked together, and sparks flew from their chest. I had never seen a TRO up close before or knew to even observe one. They had the same gold specks in their chests that Centroids had in their eyes. They were programmed too. As I kicked off the metal hand of one of the damaged TROs that had managed to grab me by the ankle, I climbed into the craft and locked the hatch. I remembered that I designed these in my early years a tech engineer. All these memories were flooding my mind and my mind was racing. Was this how Cranial Disobediosis consumed you? Did all Centroids have this predestined fate? I had to figure this out but first I had to flee.\nI used my hand to power and steer the craft. All four engines roared, and I felt myself lift off. I turned on the celestial map and went for the first star system I knew, or felt I knew provided a safe getaway, was the base Alpha Osirius, on a rogue planet in the constellation Alpha Centauri. As I was gliding up, I saw several TRO crafts and one other larger craft heading for me. The larger craft docked away from the central sector of the territory dictator’s main smart house. I never knew to look at the aircraft until now. It looked threatening and I had a dreadful feeling that the two sharp golden points on either side of the craft were designed to cause me harm. I increased speed and altitude until the craft was shaking against the gravity of the planet. I could hear a digital voice from within the cockpit of my craft say, “Warning, you have potentially dangerous aircrafts surrounding your airship. Would you like to transform to warship mode?”\n“Yes, please engage!” I yelled back to the computer. I knew that it was to protect me, but I also knew that it would hurt other Centroids and that was something I was not capable of doing ever until I fell ill with Cranial Disobediosis. I wanted to do whatever it was to get away. This “change” was compelling me to feel so many emotions at once. I was willing to destroy anything in my way of escaping. The ship transformed around the cockpit, and I saw the same sharp golden points emerge on both sides of the ship.\n“OK, lets do this.” I thought. “Uhh defend me and destroy all potentially dangerous aircrafts.” I shouted. Hearing myself say it sounded so corny and rediculous but hell, it worked. The craft sent an electronic pulse so intense that it cracked and shattered the smaller TRO crafts and stalled the larger one of the dictators. I hit warp speed and zipped out of the atmosphere and right up to the space station of Alpha Osirius.\n“Whoaaa, I am freeee.” I screamed. It was epic. While the craft was docking, I saw a fellow Centroid glaring in confusion at me as I waited for the cockpit to open. \nI was immediately detained and taken into a holding room with other Centroids that all had black spots in their eyes. They gave me a strange drink and I was able to control the thoughts in my head and finally grasp an understanding of everything happening on Earth. I learned that the Territory Dictators were Centroids from the Andromeda Galaxy that were in politics with the Gaia and Alpha Draconians. Some wanted to sell Earth as it was deemed uninhabitable for many intergalactic species and others wanted to rejuvenate it as it still had useful resources. The issue was that Earth had been used as a science experiment with the natives that survived and evolved. The Gaia, the Greys, and the Draconians performed illegal genetic testing and DNA splicing with the natives and thus created Centroids. We started to evolve as well, and things were going well until we started leaving Earth and conquering other worlds via terraforming and colonization. Well, the other aliens did not like that and came up with the idea to microchip and program the Centroids to keep them on Earth and turn Earth into a planet for prime commercial business. Technology, Healthcare, and Agriculture.\nThey programmed Centroids to be Territory Dictators and partnered them with other Centroids as if they were part of the same working class. You see, a Territory Dictator is not one Centroid over each Territory. There are multiple ones. My Territory dictator was, Meadow Nova Fields. She was part of the political agreement to be programmed and controlled. But at the same time, some of the other alien species wanted to leave Earth alone and let the fate of each species be predestined by the natural flow of the universe. Well, that caused a lot of traitor behavior, back-stabbing, and divide. Centroids are just as intelligent and not hostile unless threatened. That is why before we started programming ourselves, some of us designed the chips to become defective after so many years. When the other species figured it out, they created Century 6 to separate the “changed” Centroids from the programmed ones. I was told I made it out and I am not sick at all.\nI sat in silence processing everything I was told. It all was making sense. The Universe was a divine God of all living organisms and no matter what, every species at some point has a predestined fate and takes every experience as the path to it. The universe desperately tries to keep us on track, but we find ways to escape our fate successfully via free will or, as those stuck on Century 6, unsuccessfully. It was the cycle of life. Whether you are in control of your destiny or out of control with destiny you are still escaping one life experience only to be cycling through another. Right now, as I am completing this interview for historical purposes, I am free of my previous destiny. I am free of being programmed to preserve another’s destiny. I am free to follow destiny.\n“Thank you for your interview.” said the robot of historical records. I got up and walked through the platinum sliding doors back to the lobby of Centroid-A. Inca Flora Fields was waiting for me by the Smart Home Stations. It had been 3 years since I fled Earth and the Centroid/Draconian war started. After I landed on the space station of Alpha Osirius, I was met by Inca. Shortly after I regained my emotions and memories, we realized that I was followed, and a major war started. The Gaia and the Greys fled back to their home planet in hiding after being defeated and the battle went on for the Centroids and Alpha-Draconians. As of now, Free-willed Centroids have taken over three solar systems of the Alpha Centauri system and home base is now Centroid-A. Inca and her mother, my former dictator Meadow, have yet to reconcile. But Inca and I are now Queen rulers of Centroid-A. We walked into our smart home station that is designed as home dwelling and airship. We sat down in the cockpit, powered up, and went into warship mode. I entered the coordinates and left the docking station. We were heading into our final battle, Earth." } ]
[ { "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: Compensation\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1642\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes the phrase “I’m free!”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "When the cage reached the bottom, the place reminded me of the darkest December night: thick cloud cover, no stars, no moon. Nothing to light your way except for a few flickering candles. I made out yellow canaries sitting in cages, tweeting, a welcome sound among the many I heard that day. Dada said, ‘If one keels over, you get out quick before the fire damp gets you. You’ll be a goner if you don’t, my son.’\n So many sounds resounded and blended. They made my head buzz: the ring of pickaxes, the rumble of carts, the whinny of a pony. I recognised men’s voices. Some deep baritones, others soft tenors, and their singing filled my heart with joy. \n Mr Downer, our school teacher, called me a prodigy – a scholar bound for the University in Cardiff. Then Davy took sick. He coughed throughout one winter, and the cough worsened. ‘Tis the consumption,’ wailed Mam. ‘ Maybe kill him, isn’t it, Alun?’\n Dada did not reply. It was no use talking about maybes. Anyway, Davy would not stop working, cough or not. He spat out thick green phlegm, making me feel nauseous. One morning he did not come down from the attic where he slept with my two other brothers. ‘ He’s got a fever mam and has been raving all night. We’ll have to send for the doctor,’ said Gareth, his brow creased.\n ‘The doctor, is it? Where’s the money coming from? I save every extra farthing for your sister’s wedding.’\n ‘Never mind, my wedding. I haven’t met a man I would marry.’ Carys could be stubborn like dada and refuse to marry anyone she did not love. Gwilym Jenkins had tried to court her ever since they left school but to no avail. She did not love him.\n So, the doctor from the big house near the stream came to examine Davy. ‘He’s got double pneumonia, Mrs Evans. He needs complete rest, and steam will help his chest.’ His visit cost Mam a shilling. But she had trouble letting it go from her hand, so I took it and paid him.\n The steam kettle hung over the fire day and night, and bowls of steaming water were carried to the attic. Bryn and Gareth took Carys’s bed and she slept slept on a truckle bed in mam and dada’s room.Mam sleptt beside Davy for a week until his fever broke. The doctor came, listened to his lungs, and said. ‘His lungs are scarred,’ Mrs Evans, ‘he should not go down the pit again. He will be prone to lung disease for the rest of his life.’\n But Davy refused to quit the pit and remained well for a time. Then, the following winter, he got sick again and accepted his fate. He was lucky and got a job winding the winch. But the pay was less than a miner’s, so I volunteered to go down the pit and earn the difference. Mam was against it. ‘Not on my life, is it?’ She said, wiping her eyes on her white pinafore. ‘Rhys is going to the University to become a school teacher. I want a better life for him.’\n Dada stuck his pipe in his mouth, looked at me, and I knew. Yes, I loved book learning, but not at the expense of my family. ‘I will grow taller, Mam, you’ll see and strong too. I can study at night.’\n Father looked to the rest of the family for agreement, and Mam shook her curls. ‘Be it on your head then, Iestyn. If Rhys becomes sick, you look after him, for two sick boys may kill me.’\n‘The pit, is it then, boyo?’ So Da said that first day, a week after my twelfth birthday. I knew the ritual: tallow candle and bait in the tin box and, up twelve hours later, in the cage, covered in coal dust. Wash off in the big zinc tub in our yard and let the dirty water wash the cobblestones down to the stream. A hearty supper welcomed us after a hard shift down the pit. Meat pies with thick crusts, floury potatoes, and cabbage covered with Mam’s gravy. Apple pie and custard too.\nI was sixteen when it happened. My brother Gareth, who had wed Ffion from the next valley that spring, stumbled just as a coal tub trundled down the track. Two miners stopped the pony before the tub careered off the rails, but not before Gareth’s foot was crushed. His screams rent the dirt-riven air and echoed down the tunnels. Dada knew. He dropped his pickaxe, and together, we ran up the tunnel. It took three men to move the tub, with Gareth screaming like a keening bird. Then silence fell as they loaded my unconscious brother into an empty tub to take him to the winch, wound by Bryn. Dada carried him home and sent me to fetch the doctor.\n ‘Nothing I can do for him. ‘It will have to come off.’ \n Ffion screamed, eyes heavenward. ‘Not my Gareth, no, no.’ Her voice rang down the valley, a desolate echo.\n But Gareth had no choice; too many bones were broken. Two pitmen helped him onto the kitchen table and held him down as the doctor sawed off his foot and bandaged the stump. ‘If he develops a fever, call me at once. Rest it is for him, Missus.’\nThree months pregnant, Ffion ensured that Gareth did not develop a fever, changing his bandages for fresh ones every day and nursing him with help from Mam. They fed him beef broth with vegetables, then hearty meals to build his strength. Within weeks, he could move with crutches. But there was whispered talk about inadequate pit lighting and losing the tenancy of their tied cottage. The words echoed from home to home down the valley.\n The Miner’s Welfare Board paid Gareth from its scheme while he healed, but he knew it would run out after a few weeks. What would he and Ffion do then? Dada consulted Pastor Williams and called a family conference. ‘Gareth needs compensation. The accident occurred from inadequate lighting. None was available except on the miner’s headbands in that part of the pit. Gareth says candles are extinguished by the breath of the sweating ponies. We must talk to the mine owner.’\nI accompanied Dada to visit Mr ap Morgan, who was gracious to a fault. ‘Come away in, Mr Evans, is it? I am sorry about your son. An unfortunate accident, but he knew the dangers and should have taken more care.’\n Dada explained about the poor lighting, but Mr ap Jenkins ignored the issue and said, ‘Carelessness, Mr Evans, that’s what it was. Your son knew the layout of the tracks.’\n The exchange became heated, Dada’s temper rising like steam from wet laundry. ‘Carelessness, is it? Said Dada, his face like thunder. ‘We will see who is careless, Mr ap Morgan.’ \n The following evening at a meeting in the Methodist church, the village voted to strike. ‘Out until Mr Jenkins sets up a miner’s injury scheme and improves mine lighting,’ said Huw Ellis. The date was June 25th 1856.\n The winches fell silent. No clattering on the cobbles disturbed early morning peace, no dirty faces and no coal dug, the strike total. Davy and I caught rabbits on the hills. We caught fish in the streams, and Mam found mushrooms in the woods, but by October, even these food sources had gone, and people starved. Small children’s bellies grew large while their limbs became like sticks. Then Mrs ap Morgan sent for Dada. I accompanied him.\n ‘Mr Evans, I cannot bear to see little children starve. Can your son read and write?’\n Dada said his anger rose like proving bread dough at the implication his son might be illiterate. A son who had read the bible since he was five years old. But he held back his retort. ‘Yes, Ma’am, all my sons can read and write.’\n ‘Well then, I will ask my husband to give your son a job in the Miners office. It pays a wage of eighteen shillings a week plus the cottage. I will discuss a compensation scheme with my husband too. ‘ She gazed at Dada, her violet eyes beseeching. ‘The children, Mr Evans, for pity’s sake, go back to work. Please.’ Tears spilt down her pale cheeks.\n I thought, ‘Praise be, the woman has a conscience.’\nThe doctor gave Bryn a wooden foot, and after a few days of practice, he made his way along the cobbles with a single crutch. Carys’ face shone when Dada told them the news. I saw it and rejoiced.\n The next day, the cobbles clattered, dirty faces reappeared, and zinc tubs took up their posts. Washing hung from the lines, food reappeared on tables, and children’s laughter tinkled. Gareth began working in the office, where he proved to be a diligent employee, and Mr ap Morgan praised him with a shilling per week raise. Then, after months of tough negotiations, a compensation scheme was signed and backdated. Twenty pounds for a lost foot or hand and fifty for a missing arm or leg.\n The lighting in the pit improved, too, with oil lamps fitted to brackets beside the tub tracks. Davy got the job of refilling the oil, and while he did the job, he wore a mask made by Carys using muslin left over from her wedding dress. His combined wages improved to that of a miner, and he told Mam and Dada of his intention to wed Alys, who he met while out hunting rabbits. I said,’ I 'm free to study for the University now’, to Mam’s delight.\n Carys gave birth to a son just before Christmas. They named him Iestyn after Dada, and joyful singing resounded again down the valley." } ]
[ { "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 CHAUFFER\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2280\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone successfully — or unsuccessfully — escaping their fate." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "When the air raid alarm went off on that gray September dawn of 1939, Rachel like many others believed that this was just another drill. But the large radio in the dining room was blaring out:\n \"The German Army has invaded Danzig. All citizens follow instructions. This is not a drill. This is not a drill.\" Sofie, who was living with Rachel and Aleks in Warsaw at that time, appeared in the corridor outside Rilka’s room, and pushed the still sleeping child into the corridor.. \"The gas masks, the gas masks!\" she was shouting. Then they were all running down the corridor to the back door, holding the monstrous looking gas masks. Down the stairs they ran amidst the throng of people from the floors above and floors below, till they reached the archway inn the courtyard of the building that had been designated as the shelter, No one spoke. Only the drone of the planes broke the silence.\n Overhead, the planes screeched as they dove down to drop their bombs upon the city. There was a rumbling, as of thunder, off in the distance at the outer edges of the city. After a while the all‑clear signal sounded and they moved silently out of the shelter, back up to the apartment. The radio was still booming in the dining room.\n \"German troops have invaded Poland. Stay calm. Follow instructions. When the alarm sounds, take your gas masks and proceed to shelter. If you are on the street when the alarm sounds, proceed to the nearest building. Stay in the doorway till the all‑clear sounds. Do not panic. German bombers have hit Krakow, Radom, Czestochowa...\"\n All day, the news was interspersed with instructions, and with the Polish National Anthem, \"Jeszcze Polska nie zginewa..” Poland is not yet lost, while still we live...\n The alarm sounded twice more that day. Each time they all ran down to the shelter, silently waiting, listening to the terrifying whistle of the falling bombs, the screech of diving planes. The incendiary bombs lit the sky and flashes of light burst in the distance. At night the city was completely dark. All the windows were covered with black paper, all the lights were out. \n Two days later, on Sunday, Stefcia, the cook, left tearfully to go to her family in the country. \"How will you get there?\" Rachel asked. \"There is no gasoline. Are the trains running?\"\n \"I'll walk,\" Stefcia said stolidly.\n \"German tanks are approaching Warsaw,\" the announcer intoned. The National Chorus sang \"Jeszcze Polska nie zginewa puki my zyjemy.. marcz, marcz Dombroswski.”\n Aleks read the Polish Jewish paper Nasz Przeglad. \"We are ready,\" the editorial proclaimed, \"ready is our heroic army and ready is the civilian population...Nothing will weaken our will to victory.\" On the opposite page an advertisement announced the premiere of \"The World is Beautiful,” starring Claudette Colbert and James Stewart. On the radio, turned full volume, the National Anthem alternated with the defiance of Chopin’s Polonaise in A Major.\n On Monday England declared war on Germany. The radio played “God Save the King.” The sirens sounded, the antiaircraft guns sputtered, the city was in smoke, but people rejoiced at the news. \"It will soon be over now. The British will finish them off, Hitler is finished.”\n The editorial in Nasz Przeglad said \"Polish Jews! At this moment in history it must be understood that we fight for a holy cause, for our fatherland, for Honor, for our future, for freedom for all peoples and for the re‑birth of humanity. Jews! Quietly and decisively, let us hurry to the ranks of the Polish Army and let us carry out with courage and sacrifice, our soldierly duty.”\n Aleks, at age 49, considered himself too old to heed the call, and believed the proud and highly anti-Semitic, Polish Army would not welcome Jews his age, or any age, into its ranks. He had served in Pilsudski’s Legions in the First World War, a post which eventually earned him a position in Pilsudski’s Ministry of Interior, and he knew the rigors of army life even in those golden days for Jews in Polish life under Pilsudski, who gave favored status to the Jewish minority. He decided to stay in Warsaw.\n On Wednesday evening, a friend of his, a minor official in the current Polish government, came to the apartment, agitated, and urged him to leave immediately. The Germans were closing in on Warsaw. The President, Moscicki, the Ministers, the whole Government had fled to Nalechow, the summer resort near Lublin. It was clear the Germans would occupy Warsaw before the British finished them off, but of course women and children would be safe. After all, even in war this was still civilized Europe. Aleks however, must leave. The men would be shot or drafted into slave labor and Aleks in particular was in danger of arrest for his known anti-Nazi opinions. Aleks must leave immediately, his friend urged.\n “Leave how?\" Rachel asked. \"There is no petrol, there are no cars.\"\n There were no sirens the next morning, and in the early afternoon, Rachel went to the train station to see if Aleks could get a train out. On the streets families were walking with bundles of their possessions, some in carts, most on foot, towards the outskirts of town. At the railroad station the trains were packed. People pushed to get on as the train to Vilno pulled away. Buying a ticket was impossible. She turned back toward the center of town.\n She was crossing Marshalkowska Ulica when the siren wailed. She ran into a doorway of the nearest building. \"The shelter is in the basement,\" someone pulled her along, down steps, inside a dark place. It was crowded, with a sweaty, pungent odor. The noise of the planes, the whine of the bombs, the brutal thunder as they hit, all seemed worse than in any previous raid. At last the all‑clear sounded, but the drone of airplane motors still hung on the air when she emerged from the shelter.\n Outside, fires were blazing against the twilight sky. She passed a huge crater in the earth, the building beside it a crumbled heap. \"My husband is gone, gone...\" a woman sat on the rubble holding her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. The streets were deep in glass. It crunched under Rachel’s feet as she ran, making her way around men and women and children running from the devastation. Fires flared in buildings around and the smell of smoke was heavy in the air. A man sat on the sidewalk, weeping, stroking the head of his horse lying before him in the street, a large hole in the horse's neck bleeding. Stretcher-bearers and nurses carried the wounded to makeshift first aid stations.\n At last, she turned the corner of Hoza Ulica and saw the house was intact. She wept with relief.\n A week later, Aleks, convinced now that the Government had indeed fled the city, decided to leave Warsaw by whatever means possible. He walked into the Police Station across the street and demanded a car. The Police Chief, Ignac Wilgot, was someone he knew from his days in the Ministry.\n In front of the police station the cars were lined up all the way down the street. Incongruously, some were being polished by uniformed chauffeurs. Outside Chief Wilgot's door, Rachel tucked her silk blouse into her black skirt, the satin sheen of the pale green fabric outlining her breasts. Quickly she applied fresh lipstick, and a spot of kohl to accent her beauty mark. It never hurt to look good.\n As soon as they were ushered in to the Chief's office, Aleks said calmly and very firmly, \"Ignac, I want a car and a chauffeur.\"\n \"You must be joking! Out of the question! We have no extra cars. There is no petrol. Everyone wants to leave the city.\" Wilgot waved his hand toward the window, following Rachel's look. \"Those cars were commandeered from private owners. They are at the disposal of the Army. You've been a friend,” he said more kindly. \"But I can't do it. It's impossible!\" He half rose from behind his large worn desk to signal an end to this.\n \"You take it upon your own head to refuse me,\" Aleks said with a note of anger. \"This is by order of the Minister of Interior. The Government is in exile. I am ordered to join them. Call him.\"\n \"You know perfectly well there are no communications lines open to Lublin.\" He looked at Aleks narrowly. \"I'll call the Mayor. He would know.\"\n He picked up the phone. Aleks stood resolutely in front of the desk, his hand, hanging at his side, trembled slightly. Rachel, who used to claim with pride that she never perspired, felt wet under the armpits, the stain spreading on her silk blouse. A fly flew in through the open window, buzzed around the desk. There was the faint sound of the phone ringing on the other end. At last the Chief put the phone back on the hook and leaned forward.\n \"All right,\" he said. \"No answer. I will take your word, bluff or not. Take any car down there. And pick your chauffeur. They're all waiting for assignments.\"\n \"Thank you,\" Aleks said and walked out of the office, his back straight, Rachel following closely behind him.\n Six or seven chauffeurs were lounging in the hallway outside. \"Pick a driver for me,” Aleks said to Rachel.\n Everything was going so fast. Rachel looked at the men. They straightened up as she and Aleks approached. One was short and looked surly. Another was fat with a beer belly and thin red veins on his nose, a drinker. They were peasants who had learned to drive. One was taller than the rest, broad-shouldered and trim, with unruly blond hair and serious blue eyes. His boots were highly polished, his uniform well pressed, his white gloves clean. He was the handsomest.\n \"This one,\" Rachel said to Aleks, and smiled at the man.\n Rachel and Aleks came back from the stationhouse within an hour, and Aleks began to pack a small suitcase. He put 1000 zlotys in his wallet, half the money he had in the little safe in his closet, and gave 1000 to Rachel.\n \"Take your fur coat,\" Rachel said handing him his long sealskin coat.\n \"Don't be silly,\" he said. \"I'm going to the forest. What will I do with a fur coat? Besides, I'll be back before it gets really cold. Be good,” he said to his daughter Rilka. \"Listen to your mother. I'll be back soon.\" And then he was gone out the door, Rachel running behind him, holding out a bag of sandwiches she had made, and Rilka following them both down the stairs for a final good-bye. Aleks kissed the top of Rilka’s head and then kissed Rachel again as the chauffeur, Piotr, held the door of the large Mercedes open for him.\n \"Let's go,\" Aleks said.\n \"But your wife...\" the chauffer said.\n \"She's staying.\"\n \"You're running away and leaving your wife here?\" he said incredulously. \"The minute the bombings started I took my wife and children to her family in the country. I stayed here. Warsaw is getting the worst of the bombs. You must take your wife.\"\n Aleks stopped in mid‑step, his foot on the running board of the car.\n \"Of course! Of course! Rachel, you must come with me. Quick! I must have been crazy to think of leaving you! He has more sense than both of us.\"\n Within minutes Rachel filled a small bag with some clothes for her and for Rilka. She put a little drawstring purse around Rilka’s neck, tucked into her shirt, with her name and age and address and a hundred zloty bill, in case she got lost.\n \"Sofie...\"\n \"No, I'm not going. All the men are out of the office, digging trenches around the city. I have to run the office. I'll be all right here. I'll take care of the apartment. I’ll get word to Mama and Papa. I’ll go to their village to see them.\" \n \"You must come, Sofie,\" Rachel pleaded. \"We must stay together.\"\n \"I am not going,\" Sofie said firmly.\n Rachel hugged her and they clung to each other.\n \"Come,\" Aleks pulled at her arm.\n And then they were inside the large black Mercedes, Aleks in front with the chauffeur, Rachel and Rilka in the soft cushions in the back. The car pulled away. People walking in the street began to block the view of their building, but through the passersby, Rachel’s last glimpse of Sofie was seared into her mind forever, Sofie standing in the doorway of the building, waving, waving.\n How could she have imagined the long and arduous journey ahead of them, the devastation behind them, the inexorable fate of those who stayed?\n After the war, after the decades of history, in her last year of life, Rachel attended the graduation of her grandson from Harvard. In the midst of the celebrations after the ceremony, she fell silent and wondered how did this brilliant, kind, handsome young man with a boundless future get here? It seemed to Rachel it was all chance, escaping, getting caught, life, death, everything hinging on some small, insignificant incident, that leads to one path instead of another, each path equally likely, embarked on because of some random event, a word, a glance. At other times Rachel was convinced that she herself was indeed the instrument of fate. She after all had chosen that particular chauffeur. That chauffer who had said to Aleks, \"But your wife... You must take your wife.\"" } ]
[ { "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 successful exam!\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1423\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who can suddenly see through another person's eyes — literally." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It is a lovely morning day, I wake up, brush my teeth, and dressed my uniform on. I go downstairs to have breakfast with my family. It's now 6.30 A.M. However, I suddenly remember that I got a really important exam at school at 7.00 A.M. It's a math exam, which I forgot to review some hard math problems that my teacher gave me yesterday.\n\nYesterday, my teacher Ms.Laura mentioned about the exam that we would have today, she told us to do some advanced math for homework. Honestly, I am really bad at math. I often get the D- in class or if I am lucky, I'll get at least a C+. So I am really nervous about the exam. Every bad and unlucky thinking just comes to my mind and have a \"big\" party in my brain, yeah really big. But then, I think \"Why do I have to worry?\" I just need to go home, take a shower, relax and review the homework that Ms.Laura gave me. I do not worry anymore (maybe a little bit). Then, it comes.\n\nMy best friend name Hao, he's from china but because his parent is rich and conditional so they design to let him learn at the school that I am studying. Hao is a kind and friendly person, he is willing to help people when they are in trouble. However, everyone has advantages and weaknesses.\n\nHe's a good person but he's giddy. He never wants to study anything in class. He always does not completely focus when the teacher is teaching or talking about something that is really important. He also doesn't do homework even he can do it. Teachers in school are really mad about him, they said that he doesn't respect them while they are in class. His parents are concern about his studying stuff, too. Teachers often report him about his behavior in class, and that makes Hao's parents really sad and disappointed about him.\n\nThe night before the day that I and the entire students in my class have the math exam is really important. But Hao doesn't even care about it. That is not a surprise at all because it is... normal to him.\n\nWhen the class ended, I run as fast as I can to get home early to prepare for the exam. Then I see Hao. I think he is chatting with someone because of the phone in his hand and those quick fingers try to type a massive amount of letters. I intend to walk to Hao's place and say \"good luck for the test\" but he does it first. He runs to me and with no thinking, he said:\n-\"Hey, do you want to hang out with me and some of my friends tonight?\".\n-\"Uhh... no thanks, I have to prepare for the test tomorrow,\" I said. But he just tries to convince me to hang out with him:\n-\"Oh come on, just for a while. Like 15 or 30 minutes, please!!!!\"\nAt that moment, I hesitate, I don't know what to do. For the exam or for the best friend. By somehow, I accept because I think \"How bad could it be?\"\n\nWe design to go around China Town, it's like a market but sells everything from almost everywhere. We go shopping, eating, playing some games,...\n-\"Is that fun?\" Hao asks.\n-\"Yeah, I enjoy it so much, thank you,\" I say. Then everyone goes back home and I just forget something very serious.\n\nOk, let's get back to the morning when I forgot to review the homework. I am really confused about why I can not prepare for the math exam. Then I remember, it's because I got home late yesterday after hanging out with Hao. I was too tired so I fall asleep, \"It will be great if I lay down on the bed, close my eyes, have a nice dream,\" I think. Then I lay down on the... floor (it's not so bad to sleep on the floor actually).\n\nI try to calm down and eat my breakfast as fast as I can in 5 seconds (that is not even possible so don't try it at home!). But then I have a genius idea, I'll walk to school while eating breakfast and also, review some math that I forgot yesterday. I am such a genius. I try to take as much information as I can into my brain. Those make my brain full like my brain just eat a ton of burgers at Burger King. I expect to get to school later than normal but somehow, I just need 5 minutes to get there. I think when you are nervous about something, it will come faster.\n\nEveryone around me, my classmate, my friend, teachers, and even Hao is really normal like nothing bad will happen. I am sweating all around my body. There are like a hundred feelings that come to me. Sad, scared, disappointed, regret,... It's already 6.50 A.M.\n\nI slowly go to the exam room, I see everyone is talking about how hard is the math homework which makes me feel more nervous. I see my identification number match with the first table which places in front of the supervisor. Honestly, I thought I would cheat on the exam in the morning but I don't have time to write some notes, and I am afraid I would be caught by the supervisor.\n\nSuddenly, I feel tired and a headache comes to me and makes my head feel bad like a flood destroys a village. It's worse and worse but I can not say anything. But then it ends. I feel normal and I can talk. But I feel a little bit weird in my eyes. It feels like something is moving in my eyes but I don't care about it at all.\n\nThe exam has begun, everyone is writing things that they have learned yesterday but I just write what I learned... this morning. The first sentence is easy, but the second and the rest are complicated. I feel nervous again. However, I suddenly see a different view and if I am not wrong, it's David's exam paper.\n\nDavid is the smartest student in the class so he's confident in the exam. I am confused. Why David's paper is here. Then I saw some sentence appear on the paper, that's must be David's answer. Now I realize something, it's must be the last 15 minutes headache that makes me feel bad. It gives me the power (or the ability) to see what other people see! I feel excited right now because I can see David's answer, I'll pass this exam.\n\nFor the entire exam, I copy everything I see in David's paper (except the name). This is freaking cool. It's been 50 minutes and there are just 10 minutes left. But I have finished the exam 20 minutes ago. Everyone around me is surprised because I do it so fast. I just sit there and wait for the bell to ring. Time over, everyone submits their paper to the supervisor and goes home, so do I.\n\nI go home in happiness and excitement. But then I feel so bad about doing it. I think it's not fair for others. I can get the right answers without preparing anything but everyone doesn't do like me (of course because they don't have that power). I feel sad and slowly walk back home like when I do in the morning. But now I walk so slow, not fast like before. Finally, I get home. When I am about to open the door with disappointment and shame...\n\nRing...ring...ring... I suddenly wake up, I was sleeping on my desk with a bunch of paper about math. Then my mom from downstairs said:\n-\"Hey Ken, come and get some food son\".\nThen I realize that everything is a dream. There is no power and the exam doesn't even start. Yesterday, I got home in time, not too late as my dream goes. I have enough time to prepare for the test. Then I calm down and do the same things in my dream, I get out of bed, brush my teeth, dress in my uniform, and have breakfast with my mom (my dad went to his company before I woke up). After breakfast, it's 6.30 A.M, I feel fresh and energetic. Now I am ready for the exam at school (hopefully it will be fine because I have prepared for it at home yesterday)." } ]
[ { "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 tale of two Sarahs\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1576\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that switches between first person and third person point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My name is Sarah Swanson and I'm Eleven and a half years old. I'm laying in my bed, laptop in my hands. My mom and dad are downstairs having an argument over something probably not worth arguing about anyway.\n\"Do you think I make a million dollars at my desk job!?!? I don't make enough to afford that museum field trip for Sarah!!\"\nThat's my dad, Mike. He's always complaining about his job at the office, and he talks about how everything my mom and me want to spend money on means \"one more day that he has to work a job he hates\", but he thinks spending his paychecks on beer and cigarettes is perfectly reasonable.\nRight now I'm writing a story in my diary about the family I wish I had right now.\nNow I think I'll get to writing...\n\"Once upon a time in a magical kingdom called the Glade, a knight named Randorn lived peacefully with his wife, Claire and daughter, Sarah. Unfortunately for the family, the kingdom known as the Glade was west of a range of mountains inhabited by a scary Dragon. The citizens were worried that one day, the Dragon would raze the kingdom to the ground.\"\nI heard a knock on my door. I answered it, and it was my mom at the door.\n\"Sarah, honey, your dad went to the bar, we're going out for dinner.\"\n\"That's fine, Mom.\" I said.\nIt really wasn't fine with me, I wish that he wouldn't drown his frustration in Alcohol, but I didn't want to say that, or else I might make mom upset, so I played along.\nI brought my laptop to the burger joint where Mom took me for dinner and took advantage of the free wifi there.\n\"That evening, Randorn helped his wife cook up a nice supper of Roast Duck, and the family dined together at the dinner table, happy to be in one another's company. But then...\"\nBut then what? What should I write next? Maybe I should check my messages on Log Book until something comes to my mind. I typed the URL for my Log Book News Feed into the search engine.\nKenny went to see \"Killer Street Mimes from Outer Space\", and says it \"SUCKED.\"... Alissa made the spirit squad...Isaac got a job at the Gas-N-Go...I saw a post that said that Stoney asked Beth to the dance instead of me. We've known each other since his family first moved to this town in middle school. He and I are good friends. He had to have had SOME IDEA that I liked him!\nAt that point, a waitress walked up to our table with our food on a platter, distracting me.\n\"Alright, so who ordered the Grilled Chicken Sandwich?\" She asked.\nI raised my hand, and she passed the sandwich to me.\n\"And you must have ordered the plain Cheeseburger!\" The waitress said to my mom.\nAs my mom and I ate, a feeling that things might get worse instead of better formed in the back of my mind. A Karen throwing a fit about getting a Hamburger when she ordered a \"Cheeseburger with no Cheese\", helped me to forget all about it, though...\nAfter eating my Chicken Sandwich and fries, I tried to think of an idea on how to advance her story, then I decided on what to write.\n\"That evening, Sarah went to the knights training grounds and asked Lance, the squire in training that she had a crush on, if he would attend the may pole dance with her. Lance told Sarah that he was going to ask Esther to the May Pole dance with him instead. Lance and Sarah had known each other since they were babes. Sarah liked to believe that they were best friends. How could he betray her? Heartbroken, Sarah went to the willow tree by the lake in her family's backyard that she would sit under whenever she was upset.\"\nI heard the door open from the couch, and sat up to see my dad enter. My dad was tripping on his own feet, and his breath smelled like gasoline.\n\"Welcome home, Dad! Should I heat you up a frozen pizza?\" I asked.\n\"Shut up!!! It's all your fault I'm stuck in my shit job!!!\" He yelled.\nThose words did sting a little, but not as much as they should have, because this was NOT the first time dad told me that something wrong with his life was somehow my fault, so I'm used to it.\n\"Mike, honey, please relax. You don't want to throw up, do you?\" My mom said.\n\"Don't tell me what to do!! I never wanted a kid in the first place!!\" My dad yelled.\nThose words cut through me. He had never said THAT in front of me, before.\n\"Mike, you don't mean that! Now PLEASE apologize to Sarah!!\" My mom said harshly, for what good it would do her.\n\"You know what??? FUCK THIS!! I'm outta here! I'm fucking OUTTA HERE!!!\" My dad yelled. He marched right out the door, and slammed the door shut. I didn't want to see him right now, anyway, or ever again, for that matter.\nI went up to my room. Too upset to sleep, and yet, also too upset to go out if my room for literally anything, I browsed the web on my laptop, until inspiration for my story came to me.\n\"Randorn had been drafted by royal decree from the king to dispatch the Dragon in the mountains. Randorn left his family cottage that night at dusk, promising that he would return upon slaying the Dragon. Days passed, then the passing days turned to passing weeks, and the passing weeks turned to passing months, but despite waiting for him every day, Sarah's father never returned. One night, Sarah couldn't bear to wait at home any longer, so she set out in the dark of night to find out where her father was. Sarah wandered through the land, searching high and low for her father and the Dragon. She traveled until...\"\nOkay, now I'm too tired to even think anymore. I'll come back to this in the morning.\nThe next morning, I ate pop tarts on the bus to school, laptop in my backpack. It was same old, same old at school. That afternoon after school, I walked with Alissa and Hayley to the arcade. They wanted to take me to help me blow off some steam. After whacking some moles, driving a virtual racing car and shooting virtual zombies for an hour and a half, the three of us walked home. On our way back, we saw my dad through the window at a fancy restaurant with another woman. I tried to shrug it off, but the more I thought about it, the more it upset me. Mom made frozen pizza for dinner. No big deal, I like frozen pizza. After dinner, I decided to write.\n\"Sarah traveled until she found a cave in the mountains before her. Desperate for answers, she entered the cave, and found a large Dragon perched in front of a crystal ball inside.\n\"I know why you have come here, Sarah...\" the Dragon said.\n\"How do you know my name??\" Gasped the girl.\n\"My crystal ball allows me to see all that happens around me as it happens. I know why you're here.\" Answered the Dragon.\n\"I'm here to kill you for killing my father!\" Sarah declared.\n\"Your father is very much alive and well!\" The dragon replied.\n\"What did you say???\" The girl gasped.\nThe Dragon activated the Crystal Ball's power, and the object showed the girl a vision. In the vision, Randorn was smiling and laughing, hugging a woman that Sarah had never seen before and a baby in an unfamiliar city. Sarah was shocked and appalled.\nHow could her father abandon her?\n\"Your father lives with his new wife and son in a city state southeast of here. I am sorry you had to find out the truth that way, girl...\" the Dragon said, pity in it's eyes.\n\"My father MUST be punished for this.\" Sarah declared. \"I have a proposal, Dragon...\"\n\"I'm listening...\"\n\"Take me to the city state southeast of here, so I may punish my father, and in exchange, you can have the city all to yourself!\" Sarah offered.\n\"I accept your deal.\"\nThe Dragon flew Sarah to the city. Sarah and the Dragon took the city by surprise, devastating their defenses. Sarah ran through the city as the Dragon killed the city guards. Sarah found her father with his new wife and son, and a hot rage filled her.\nSarah beheaded her father, drove her sword into his wife's chest, and took the baby with her. The Dragon declared the city his territory, and took Sarah back to the foot if his mountain range. Sarah walked back to her village. That night, Sarah left the baby at the steps of her parents house, and set off into the unknown, never to be seen by her family again.\"\nAfter I finished it, I Emailed it to my friends except Stoney, and they all loved it. Some of my friends suggested I publish it, so I submitted it to a publishing company called Pendleton Publishing. A few days later, I checked my inbox and got an Email saying that Pendleton Publishing wants to publish it.\nI cried happy 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: The Monsters\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1466\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes the phrase “Maybe in another life.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "1567\nEdinburgh\n\n\n“I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug!”\n\nHis father followed through on his promise, landing a slap on Brod’s ear so hard it made the inside of the young boy’s head ring like a great bell.\n\nBrod began keening, tears running down his soot-smudged cheeks.\n\n“Haud yer wheesht, and stop yer greetin'.” Donald Munro gave his son a squint-eyed glare under bushy eyebrows above a great, big, bulbous, broken-veined drunkard’s nose. “Dae ye want the whole hoose tae wake up and catch us in th’act o' thievin'?”\n\nDonald Munro gave his son a hard shove. Brod fell down onto the cellar floor, curled up, still crying, but without a sound.\n\n“Ye wee bairn, feart o' yer ain shaddie. Whitfor canna ye be braw and stark like Angus?”\n\nBrod saw his father’s heavy work boot next to his head, joined by his twin brother Angus’s smaller boot. Presently his father’s boot was gone, but his brother’s remained.\n\nThen that little boot came down on Brod’s throat, and Angus put his whole nine-year-old weight behind it.\n\n“Brod, ye clot-heid, yer na guid,” Angus whispered as he ground the boot into his brother’s thin neck. “Ah weish ye wis deid.”\nBrod wrestled free, scrambled up, and ran out of the cellar into the cold night air.\n\n\n*\n\n1604\nLondon\n\n\nThe Bow bells had rung the curfew more than three hours ago. It was near midnight and he could see his breath in the cold air. His left foot was freezing.\n\nThe thief found the window cracked open, as the scullery maid had promised.\n\nOnce inside the nobleman’s townhouse, the thief lit his covered lanthorn and held it up in his good right hand.\n\nHe limped down the hallway, then entered the Great Hall.\n\n“Stand still, sir.”\n\nFeeling the prick of the rapier at his throat, the thief took one quick in-breath, then froze in place.\n\n“You are a sight, sir.” A cultured voice. “Not so bad when approached from the dexter, but from the sinister ….”\n\nThe thief felt the rapier blade caress his neck and up the mass of scarring on the left side of his face, the point coming to rest momentarily at his missing left eye.\n\nThen the owner of the cultured voice came into view, moving in a half circle, while the flat of the blade lightly touched the bridge of the thief’s nose, the point coming to rest again, under his one good right eye.\n\nThe man facing the thief looked to be in his forties, long ginger hair pulled back and tied in a queue, long face made longer by a pointed beard.\n\n“Who … are ye?”\n\n“You do not know your host?”\n\n“The Viscount?”\n\n“In the flesh. And you are … no, do not say, let me practice my prestigiation. Your father was … Donald. Your last name is … Munro.”\n\nThe thief automatically made the sign of the cross with his damaged left hand, the one with just a thumb and little finger remaining after the gunpowder blast all those years ago.\n\nThe Viscount chuckled. “No, no, I am not the Devil, not even a minor demon.” Then in a broad Scottish brogue: “Och, Angus, dinnae ye ken yer ain brother? It’s me, Brod.”\n\n\n \n\n1567\nEdinburgh\n\n\nBrod ran through the bitter February night, away from the cellar, towards the nearby stable.\n\nNeir agin, he thought. I’m na gaun back.\n\nOnce inside the stable, he caught his frosty breath.\n\nAbruptly his feet left the stable floor. A strong man had snatched him up by the collar.\n\n“What’s this? A rat?” The man wore a black silk mask covering his whole face.\n\n“Leave him be, Bothwell, he’s just a small boy.” The speaker, also masked, was a woman, but dressed in men’s clothing. She was as tall as a man.\n\n“Small boys have big voices.”\n\n“He won’t tell.” She moved closer, stroked Brod’s cheek with a silk-gloved hand. “Will you?”\n\nBrod shook his head.\n\n“Put him down.”\n\n“Your Majesty’s wish is my command.”\n\nThe man set Brod down carefully.\n\nOn the floor were two bodies, dead men, partially undressed.\n\n\n\n**\n\n1604\nLondon\n\n\n“Bothwell?” Angus took another sip of the very fine claret and stretched out his legs, moving his cold feet closer to the fire. “And he saiz ‘yer Majesty’? Are ye sain it wis her, the Queen Mary, her ain sel, murther’d her ain husband?”\n\n“Or at least she was there to supervise the murder,” the Viscount said in his cultured voice. Angus couldn’t quite bring himself to think of this nobleman seated by the fire next to him as ‘Brod’, his brother.\n\n“But how d’ye ken? They wis wearin' thon masks.”\n\n“After that night, she took me in as a servant in her court at Holyrood Palace. That is how she would keep me from revealing her wicked deed, by pulling me close, keeping me charmed.” The Viscount smiled, sipped the claret. “Or so she thought.”\n\n“But ye did?” An ugly smile, two front teeth missing, cracked Angus’s scarred face. “Ye telt on her?”\n\n“No one would believe the tall tales of a servant boy. She was counting on that. But she kept these letters, you see, in a golden casket.” The Viscount took another sip of wine. “Though, I was sad to do it. I heard her called a monster, but she was not. In spite of being a murderess, she was a good woman, a fine lady, was Queen Mary, and kind to me.”\n\n“Why’d ye dui it, then?”\n\n“It was the right move at the right time. Father taught me to always look after my own skin.”\n\n“Aye, faither wis thatwey.”\n\n“And that is what I have done all these years, and see where it got me.” The Viscount leaned back in his chair and spread his arms wide. Then he leaned forward, face close to Angus, and spoke in a low voice. “Queen Mary should have let Bothwell kill me that night.”\n\n“S’pose it’s na eith tae murther a wee nine-year-old lad.”\n\n“I suppose not. But if she had, perhaps you would have been spared — you and our father. Maybe in another life. You see, it was me who set off that gunpowder blast.”\n\nAngus’s eyes widened.\n\n“I did not light the fuse.” The Viscount stood up, looking down on Angus. “But it was me who told them the Old Provost’s House was empty, though I knew you and father were there, thieving. And so they set off the gunpowder blast, as they had planned, to create a commotion and cover their tracks. Father died and you … just look at you.” He switched back to his Scottish brogue. “Yer a right oogly scunner!”\n\nAngus charged like a bull.\n\nThe Viscount stepped back and, with an easy, practiced movement, swept the legs from under Angus.\n\nThen Brod’s boot was on Angus’s throat, the rapier pointed at Angus’s one good eye.\n\n“Angus, ye clot-heid, yer na guid,” Brod whispered as he ground the boot into his brother’s scarred neck. “Ah weish ye wis deid.”\n\nThen he stepped back.\n\n“Do you remember? That was the last thing you said to me.”\n\nAngus was quiet, his one good eye glaring.\n\n“Get up, Angus, I have more to say. By your leave, I shall keep this at the ready.” Brod flourished his rapier.\n\nAngus got up off the floor and sat down in the chair by the fire, still glaring.\n\n“You wished me dead, brother. Well, I wished you dead too,” Brod said. “But I am sorry, now, to see you in this state. It was not your fault, the way you acted towards me. It was him, our father. We learned from him, both you and I. He was a monster. He made us in his image, his monsters. Maybe in another life, with another father, we would not have become monsters, you and I.”\n\n“Ah’m nae monster.”\n\n“Well, you were a monster to me back then. And you look the monster now. But I assure you, I am a monster too, and I freely admit it. I have lied, cheated, stolen, killed, harmed, maimed, betrayed every loyalty, set friend against friend, lover against lover, all to get where I am, to look after my own skin, just as father taught me.”\n\nAngus softened some. “Yer sairry for this?” He held up his mangled hand to his scarred face. “In truith?”\n\n“As sorry as this monster can be.”\n\nAngus stretched out his legs, moving his feet closer to the fire. His left foot had the toes blown clean off in that gunpowder blast thirty-seven years ago, but he could still feel all five ghost-toes, and they were always cold.\n\nHe took another sip of the very fine claret and imagined his brother’s fire warming the long-lost toes." } ]
[ { "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: BEAUTIFUL\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2989\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who can suddenly see through another person's eyes — literally." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Once again I felt the cool tap water rumble round my face as I tried washing only-God-knows-what, off it. I raised my head and took another look at the mirror in my bathroom. I exhaled deeply in displeasure. I drew out a fake grin at my reflection but I was hit with disappointment. I hated my dentition. It had faded yellowish color on it and it wasn’t straight but crooked. Many in school would always comment on how beautiful my grin is but I never saw it and I doubt I ever would. That’s why I resolved to only smiling even in the most joyous moments. \nI took another look at my face and I saw two scars that would never go away. One on my forehead due to a fall I had while riding my bike hurriedly and the other at the far end of my right cheek. I incurred it upon myself during a childish play with my friends. It was a slant scar that has now turned black\n “Arrrgggghhh” I exclaimed in annoyance “I hate myself” I slapped my facial treatment soap to the floor which made it fall open and spill. I didn’t care to give it a second glance. I saw a tear attempting to fall down my cheek through my mirror. Thoughts came rushing through my head as many would comment about my beauty “all lies” I soliloquized wiping the tear off my face slowly. My definition of beauty is something to perfection all way round; in dressing, status, gait, appearance and many more but gazing at my reflection I was a far cry. I always knew people told me I was beautiful just to make me feel good about myself. I never complimented myself or graced myself with a good self-esteem. I always retorted my friends from giving me any form of eulogy with a harsh tone because, it was all fake.\n“Gift!” I could hear my mum yell my name from the living room. “You are getting really late for school! You even missed the bus. Because you are in high school doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want missy. Get down here now!”\nI attempted to leave the bathroom but slipped and hit my back hard on the floor. I grimaced in pain. I looked around on what would have caused my unfortunate fall and noticed my spilled liquid soap on the floor.\nI exhaled in frustration, as I stood up. I changed my skirt feeling miserable. I splashed water on my face for the third time washing off my tears. I took one more glance at myself and went for my school bag. The saying still stands, \"you can lie to others, but you can’t lie to yourself” I said to myself, picked up my bag and headed for school\n“Math class was a total disaster” Ireti exclaimed with exhaustion as she slouched on her chair. It was lunch time already and we were all at the school cafeteria. I was having rice and beans my mum packed up for me while the others were eating their usual junk. \n“sweetie you can’t compare it to oral English class argghhhhh” Princess added “with all the ‘aaaa’ ‘bahhh’ ‘crk’ and all that nonsense! I literally bit my tongue because I was forcefully twisted it for a pronunciation that’s voiceless to voice out. Mtcheww” she hissed after laying out her frustration which drew a short laugh from the mouths seated on the table apart from me\nI couldn’t help my gaze on princess, she was sitting directly opposite me and she was a clear definition of beauty. She has a pretty smile that presents her crystal clear dentition. Her physique was just right. She wasn’t bony and slim neither was she too fleshy or chubby. She was just ‘there’. Her complexion was brown skin but I prefer to say ‘just fair’. Her hair was brown unlike mine that was boldly black and long but still, even if hers wasn’t as long, it suited her just fine. She was always neat, academically, I was just 20% above her but she was smart all the same. All her qualities made me get attracted to her the very first day she was transferred. I do feel intimidated around her sometimes, but I couldn’t just stay away\n“Gift! Gift!”\n“Hmm” I snapped back to my consciousness \n“Why do you always stare at me like that” Princess sounded angry. \n“Sorry I didn’t mean to, I was just distracted with my thoughts. Sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable” I responded firmly and calm\nThe atmosphere was silent for a moment till an unforeseen statement broke it\n“Orr… maybe you just like her. I mean lesbianism isn’t a new thing in our century anymore” masculine laughter broke out after the statement was made\n“Now you guys are just gross” my head was still fixated on my lunch as I kept stirring absentmindedly and was dumbfounded, but still I knew my solicitor that just spoke was none other than Miracle. She has been my closest friend since middle school and was never hesitant to defend me I heard her voice once again “In case you didn’t get the part where she said she was distracted by her thoughts, I just repeated it. Although I know you can’t assimilate simple English because you lack a brain to help you.”\n“Yeah yeah, once again the almighty Miracle comes to save her lowly friend as always.” Now the voice was clearer, it was Victor talking. I still couldn’t raise my head because of the tear that have now fallen into my lunch. “Of course she was distracted like Shrek thinking of how to ask out the beautiful Princess” numerous laughs bursted out to his allusion. Now it seemed the whole cafeteria’s attention had been drawn. I couldn’t even speak up for myself because everyone already knew I had low self-esteem. I wanted to disappear but it seemed Victor wasn’t finished “I guess she wants to make beautiful babies, but she forgot shriek still gave birth to his type” a large sound of ‘ooo’ broke out and laughter followed. I could hear Princess take her leave hastily and I was filled with more tears. “You know it too Miracle, I speak no lies, else she would have defended herself by now”\nI could still hear laughter all around and I still couldn’t stand up for myself. I didn’t hear another defense speech from Miracle again, I knew she wanted me to defend myself this time, but how could I, my lunch was now mixed with salty water\n“Aren’t you going to say anything for yourself?” I tried to show myself to Miracle but I couldn’t even raise my head and then I heard her voice again “you know at a time, I thought you were just going through a phase, but after this, all this right now, you just sicken me” Miracle didn’t hesitate to take her leave immediately and the others followed. Some laughed while I could hear others murmur\n“Eeeewww, she truly like Princess…gross.” I heard a girl say irritated\n“Well she is gonna be expelled for sure, Principal Deborah, takes immoral actions very serious, and it’s in our school rules and regulations; anyone caught doing such or have immoral thoughts or behaviors would be expelled” I heard a boy respond to the girl\nI felt numb, I couldn’t move, all I could do was cry my eyes out\n“Are you still crying?”\nBy now, school time was over but after lunch time, I had skipped the remaining hours of school to cry my eyes out on a bench at a walkaway a mile away from the school vicinity where no one would see me. The voice that questioned me sounded familiar yet foreign, so I shakily looked up thinking it was an elderly.\nLooking up, few inches away from me was a girl of my peer group I knew I had seen before. She was wearing the same school uniform as mine, which made it obvious that she was also from my school. I should have been terrified that another was going to ridicule me in my situation but I felt otherwise. She stared at me expressionless. \n“I’m Cynthia” she said with a stretched arm signaling for a shake but I turned to the other side\nThe atmosphere was quiet for a while before she spoke again “you know, I don’t think what that boy said was true. I think you just admire your friend because you felt she is all you ever wanted in yourself. You just couldn’t defend yourself because you were placed in an awkward situation that even your friends ditched you in annoyance”\nI looked at her astonished yet expectant. Of course I didn’t like Princess in a way other than being my friend. And she was right about my reason of not being vindictive of the situation. I have only cut glances of Cynthia in school on few occasions, but not until today, I never knew her name. I only heard rumors about her. Rumors of her being a witch to some, to another, they saw her as a fortune teller. Rumors said she sees people’s future, she tends to know things about people who didn’t even know such things about themselves. Some call her a seer while others like me called her strange and weird. Rumors also said Principal Deborah a Christian fanatic saw Cynthia as a girl who had a gift from the Holy One which led to reasons why expulsion never came up in her case.\n“I know a girl that looks a lot like you, although more beautiful” she paused “no offence” she said staring into thin air\nI felt a dagger strike my chest after her comment. What was the point saying no offence when it already sounded offensive? I just rolled my eyes away as I cleaned my tears fully and sat upright. Even if I tagged her as weird, flashes came to me as I remembered more rumors said, whatever Cynthia spoke was either true or came to pass. So even if I was offended, I was interested in listening\n“She smiles a lot, she is very hard working, she is very funny and did I mention really pretty”\n“Yeah you did, it’s same as beautiful” my words flew out unknown to me with irritation coating them and the next sound I heard was a cute girly laughter\nI turned to my side and I saw Cynthia laughing. It was obvious she teased me on purpose and seeing her carefree laugh drew a side smile on my face\nShe turned to me, staring directly at my face “you know, people would even think you both are twins, but you aren’t. Hmmm…weird” she said twisting her lips into an oval form like a child\nI didn’t want to burst out a laugh so I immediately turned my gaze towards the birds in front “where does she stay?” I asked\n“Hmmm… seems someone would like to meet her twin from another other” she slanted her head to catch a glance at my face and yet again I found her amusing.\n“Would you stop” I grinned unconsciously but immediately retracted my grin when I noticed Cynthia got a glimpse of my action and made a sad smile but didn’t comment.\n“Would you like to meet her now?” she asked. \n“I can’t maybe next week. I have to go home now” I replied picking up my bag\n“Just give me your hand” she said holding me back on the bench. I looked at her strangely but still she signaled for my hands to be placed on hers. I already knew Cynthia was strange and weird, but after our little interaction, I knew she was friendly and harmless. \nI dropped my bag beside me, although I was hesitant, but I placed my palms on hers. She beamed a smile towards me and said “let’s go to my world”\nIn a blink of an eye, I saw myself in a whole new place. The environment looked rural. Old mud houses were all I could find around. The ground was wet like a heavy downpour had preceded. I looked around and couldn’t find Cynthia. I wanted to call for her wen my inner mind spoke “I’m here, no need to yell.” I wanted to ask ‘how’ but she responded before I did “you are technically in my body, you are seeing through my eyes, I am also in my body, but while you are in control physically and also mentally, I am like a subconscious”\n“Like a conscience. So we can talk telepathically” I said inwardly\n“Exactly”\nI turned back to my surroundings again and my eyes was star struck when I saw her or rather when I saw ‘me’\n“Is…is…that...”\n“Yes” Cynthia said\n“How…”I couldn’t put the words to fly out. I saw a direct replica of myself carrying firework on her head. She looked messy and tired but she walked energetically regardless. She had the same dark hair as me, but hers was short compared to mine that was long. Her skin didn’t shimmer like mine, probably because of the type of labor she was into. And suddenly she caught my gaze. I was terrified and turned around \n“Cynthia!”\nI heard her call. Her voice was exactly like mine. I felt her running closer\n“Cynthia, she is coming what do I do” I spoke telepathically but I got no response “Cynthia where are you?” but still I got nothing and from nowhere my replica jumped in front of me\n“I was calling you. Didn’t you hear me” she said\n“I…I…I am sorry…I…”\n“Or were you purposely avoiding me because you didn’t bring it” she sounded annoyed but in a funny way. She behaved childish and cute in my eyes. \n“Was…was I supposed to…to bring anything” I stammered\n“Why are you behaving timid” she placed her hands on my shoulders and shook me aggressively like she wanted something out of me\n“Sto…pp” I could barely let out my words with all the dizziness and when she finally let go I couldn’t hold my balance. I staggered backwards and slipped on the muddy ground making me butt-fall into a bucket. I suddenly heard what I haven’t heard freely in a long while\nHer (my) laughter\nShe laughed at me so hard that she also slipped in the process and fell on the bare ground. She was damped by the muddy pot-hole she slipped into and instead of annoyance, we both bursted into laughter hysterically\nHer laughter made me laugh more. I was still stuck in the bucket and it really did amuse her a lot. She didn’t even care that she was in a messier situation. I laughed more as I looked at her. She was beautiful with her laughter. She laughed without a care in the world. Although her dentition was straight and white unlike mine but considering her place of shelter, her labor, how messy and dirty she looked, she still laughed to her contentment. \nI saw her finally get up and walk towards me. She stretched her hands to help me up “I thought you had a perfect walking step” she grinned widely. Her eyes squeezed to express her happiness, she really was beautiful.\nI didn’t understand her statement, but I returned a grin\nYou still owe me my chocolate from the city young lady, don’t think this changed anything” she said before dragging me towards an old muddy building I suspect would be her home. She sat me down on a stool while she went in to get something “don’t disappear I will be right back” she said and left\nIt seemed she also liked chocolate just like I did. My favorite was ‘city chocolate’. She was me, but still not me. She did the opposite of what I would ever do. I lived in an urban environment while she was the opposite, her hair was short while mine was long, and she played and laughed a lot while I did the opposite. It felt like I was in an opposite universe or something.\nNow I understood why I had to see through Cynthia’s eyes, I was already in this universe and there couldn’t be two of me. Cynthia was the only one gifted with the privilege of visiting both sides. It all made sense how she could differ things back in school. She had already seen it here and would just tell the opposite in my world\n“I think it’s time to go” I suddenly heard Cynthia’s voice once again I wanted to declined and wait a bit since my replica told me not to disappear, but as if Cynthia took back control of her eyes, it was closed and when I opened my eyes again, I found myself in a different environment. I sat up and realized I was in my bathroom. I glanced at my wrist watch and noticed it was still morning.\n“That was a dream?!” I soliloquized in disbelief\nSuddenly I heard my room door open and shut and I saw my mum. She wanted to yell at me but she retracted \n“Why are you on the floor, did you fall?” she looked at me worriedly and helped me up “oh my poor baby. Sorry. Are you hurt” she turned me over from one side to another looking for an injury but there was none, it reminded of how my replica shook me. It felt so real yet…\nI couldn’t hold back my tears as it rushed down like the rain. My mum drew me into her embrace “you must be hurt. My beautiful baby, stop crying, mummy is here” my mum thought I was crying because of the fall but she had no idea I grinned amidst my tears because she called me beautiful." } ]
[ { "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: Eudora\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2515\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes the phrase “Maybe in another life.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Eudora Spencer didn’t object to joining her mother for tea with Wolfram Belvedere and his son, Quinn. Quinn was two years her junior, but she was almost eighteen-practically a spinster! There didn't appear to be anything wrong with Quinn. He was charismatic, intelligent, and handsome. Unfortunately, Wolfram’s son held nothing of appeal to Eudora. In contrast, when his sister Daphne burst into the room shrieking like a banshee and swinging a fire poker–and clad in no more than a dressing gown–she had everything that Eudora never knew she wanted.\nThe young woman’s long dark hair fell down her shoulders like a waterfall. At first, Eudora thought she must be wearing a corset, but she realized Daphne’s waist was not cinched. Instead, she was full-figured and voluptuous. Eudora liked how Daphne looked, even if she thought she might be mad.\n“Quinn, I said if you did it again, I was coming for you!”\n“Bloody hell!” Quinn shoved his chair back to leap out of the way as the poker jabbed into the cushion of his seat. Fabric tore, stuffing flew, and Eudora’s mother gasped in shock at the unfolding spectacle.\n“What did you do?” Eudora exclaimed as Quinn ran towards his father.\n“What did I do?” He turned to glare at her, “my sister comes in trying to kill me with a fire poker and you ask what I did?!”\n“You know what you did, you scoundrel!”\nPerhaps because Eudora had distracted Quinn, Daphne plunged her fire poker into his shoulder this time. He screeched, Eudora’s mother fainted, and Wolfram became an inescapable presence at the head of the table. All the light in the room seemed to be repelled from him, leaving the older gentleman shrouded in unnatural shadow.\n“Daphne, that’s enough! How dare you cause a scene like this in front of guests?!”\n“Guests?! That's what you're worried about?” Daphne scoffed, though Eudora realized she had released the poker and stumbled back. She’s afraid of him.\n“Is Tobias dead?” Wolfram replied.\n“What? No!”\nWhile his father and sister spoke, Quinn reached for the poker to yank it out.\n“Wait, you shouldn’t-” Eudora tried to warn him, but the boy pulled the metal rod free, screamed, and collapsed into a heap on the floor. What on Earth is happening?\n“Will you look at what you’ve done with your inappropriate hysterics?” Wolfram snarled.\n“I happen to think my hysterics are quite appropriate regarding the situation, seeing as one of my brothers tried to kill the other. Again!”\nQuinn tried to kill their brother? Well, That seemed like a very good reason for Eudora not to marry him.\n“He can’t kill him, he’s not competent enough,” Wolfram stood at last, and as he pushed his chair back, Daphne shrank away.\nWait, what? Daphne had come in swinging a fire poker and stabbed her brother in the shoulder, yet now she was afraid. At first, Eudora had thought she was simply mad, but now she saw pain and fear in her gaze. He’s going to hurt her. He has before. Wolfram was halfway to Daphne when Eudora stood up to suddenly clap and call out:\n“What an amazing scene! I didn’t know your family were patrons of the theater. How did you make that wound look so real!”\nEudora was exceptional at bluffing and had acquired a small fortune playing cards. Whether or not Wolfram believed her was anyone’s guess because his expression yielded nothing. However, he ceased his advance on Daphne, who visibly relaxed. She laughed, beating a hand on her chest.\n“You got me!” Daphne cackled, and while it wasn’t a wholehearted laugh, gratitude was clear in her warm gaze, and a single word. It was a question that wanted to leap from her lips, but to speak it would have undone the illusion Eudora had created. Why?\nEudora felt her heart break for Daphne. Would I help someone in distress? Was that idea truly so foreign to the other young woman, that someone simply might not want to watch something bad happen to someone else? Then again...\n‘Seeing as one of my brothers tried to kill the other. Again!’ What sort of household was this?\n“My mother was overwhelmed by your performance,” Eudora emphasized the word as she spoke to Daphne, “'Twas magnificent. Bravo.”\nDaphne turned to look at Eudora, tilted her head, and she grinned like the Cheshire Cat. The bluff had spared her some dark outcome Eudora found herself reluctant to imagine.\n“I could do it again,” she replied and tossed her hair over her shoulder, “if you’d like.”\n“That will be enough, Daphne,” Wolfram declared. “Help your brother clean up.”\nEudora’s cheeks turned hot at the exchange with Daphne. Her grin, the cant of her head, and even her posture had seemed to be inviting. Oh, dear. Quinn’s groan from the floor pulled Eudora from her thoughts.\n“Come on, squirt,” Daphne reached down and grabbed him by the injured appendage, “Wolfram says time to clean up.”\nEudora’s mother began to recover, and Wolfram turned his attention to her. He apologized and explained the scene away, but Eudora wasn’t listening–she was too busy planning. She wouldn’t marry Quinn Belvedere, but she was going to save his sister from whatever darkness resided in Belvedere Manor.\nAt nightfall, Eudora snuck out of her family home. She put her dirty blonde hair in a bun and wore it under a cap, and donned trousers, a shirt, and a vest. Deception was never her intention when she slipped out at night. The disguise was for her protection.\nNormally, she would wander the night seeking a game of cards. That night, Eudora would borrow, buy, or steal a horse if she had to. Belvedere manor was at the edge of the woods and too far away to consider walking to.\nDaphne had called Wolfram by his name, instead of “Father”. The Belvederes were a very wealthy family, but people whispered and gossiped about them. When the late Hazel Belvedere had perished giving birth to her final child, Tobias, there’d been rumors of foul play. Even before that, she’d been seen mingling with his brother, Rousseau, unchaperoned. When Rosseau disappeared. Hazel married Wolfram. Many wondered which brother had fathered Hazel’s eldest child, Daphne. And that child is scared of Wolfram.\nEudora had been considering how to save Daphne ever since leaving tea earlier. She had even packed her satchel with all of her past poker winnings. Theoretically, they could run away together–assuming Daphne shared Eudora's special quirk regarding who she regarded as the fairer sex. Regardless of the outcome, I cannot allow things as awful as I fear may be transpiring to occur.\nEudora snuck in through the back of the estate. The property line was marked with a seven-foot stone wall, so she climbed up a tree and jumped over it while the moon crept across the sky.\nCrossing the grounds, she came upon a locked shed. Considering that she might find more tools or a weapon, she set to work picking the lock. Once it clicked open, she finessed the door open and was welcomed by the smell of burnt hair and flesh, which turned her stomach. Though neatly organized, the contents of the shed were worrisome. Manacles of different sizes hung on the wall and she found a very large travel trunk. When Eudora opened the lid, she was relieved to find only a shovel. But it’s filthy. The chest was encrusted in dirt, mud, and clay.\nWhen she saw the underside of the lid, her blood ran cold. There were scratch marks.\nEudora grabbed the shovel from the trunk and bolted for the manor. A not-so-small part of her wanted to leave and get away. But she couldn't forget Daphne’s fear or the way the shadows seemed to embrace Wolfram. \nI can’t. She thought as she sprinted across the yard towards the dark manor. I can’t be indifferent to the suffering of another.\nBreaking open a glass window with a shovel was a noisy affair, so afterward Eudora dropped flat beneath the shrubbery just outside it. Shortly, a feminine silhouette appeared in the window to investigate. Light from an oil lamp filled the window, and a familiar profile appeared. Eudora’s heart began to quicken, and she heedlessly shot straight up through the shrubbery.\n“Daphne?” She called out.\n“Oh!” She started as Eudora appeared, “you! The theater fan. I don’t think I caught your name before.”\n“I'm Eudora.” She felt her cheeks heat once more at Daphne's recollection of her, “And I’m here to rescue you.”\n“-Beg your pardon?”\nAs Eudora watched, tears formed at the corners of Daphne’s eyes.\n“You magnificent maniac. I don't think anyone has ever been more beautiful in my eyes. But, I can’t just go.”\n“Oh,” Eudora deflated. Of course. What sort of person would run off with someone they barely knew?\n“I can’t leave Toby here. I can’t. It’s too late to save Quinn. He’s willingly become Wolfram's pet monster. But I promised our mother I would protect Toby.”\n“So bring him along!”\n“It’s not that simple. Tobias is locked in his room specifically so I don’t take him in the night and run.”\n“Good news for you,” Eudora leaned on the sill, cut her arm on broken glass, and cursed. “Ow. I know some unsavory fellows who taught me a thing or two about lockpicking.”\nDaphne led Eudora inside and upstairs to the bedrooms, Daphne leading the way with her oil lamp, and Eudora with her pilfered shovel over her shoulder. When Daphne showed her Tobias’s door. Eudora made fast work of it with her pick kit, something she realized in hindsight she could have used to get in without smashing any windows. \nThen again, she’d been distracted, and it wasn't like she often broke into places. She only had the lock pick kit because someone had put it down as collateral in a game of cards.\nWhen the lock clicked, Eudora pushed the door open. A little boy sat up in bed with a confused expression on his face. Where Quinn only shared Daphne's eyes, blue-gray like the sky during a stormy sea, Tobias was unmistakably related. They had the same high cheekbones, dark hair, and turbulent gaze.\n“Daphne?”\n“Toby!” Daphne rushed forward to embrace him. “This is Eudora. She’s here to help us.”\n“Can we trust her?” Tobias hugged his sister and peeked out at Eudora.\nThat was when she noticed his hands and swallowed as her stomach turned anew. The nubs of his fingers were raw and healing with very short nails. But why? Why had someone trapped him in that awful trunk?\n“If we can’t, we can take her on,” Daphne answered Tobias confidently. “Gather a few things. We shouldn’t dally.”\nTobias retrieved only a small satchel of stuff, and Eudora turned to Daphne.\n“Do you need anything?”\n“Ah,” Daphne glanced down at her bare feet, “shoes might be something to consider if we’re to run away.”\nThen, suddenly, a hot, stabbing pain blossomed in Eudora’s back. I've been stabbed! She cried out, dropped the shovel to the floor with a clatter, and stumbled forward as Quinn drew the dagger from her back.\n“Did you think you two would get away without Father finding out?” Quinn called to his sister and brother as he cleaned the blade on his victim’s shirt.\n“Eudora!” Daphne gasped her name and ran to her. Tobias did something with his hands which seemed to cause light to burst from his fingers. When he flung a bolt of light at his elder brother, it threw Quinn across the hall. \nThe light answered his call like the shadows obeyed his father.\n“Eudora, stay with me! I can fix you up,” Daphne sobbed as she tore the cloth from her nightgown to put pressure on the wound.\n“You can’t,” Eudora gently pushed her away and knelt to undo her bootlaces. “You don’t have time. Wolfram will have heard. You need to take my shoes, take Toby and go.”\n“You’ll die!” Daphne cried out. “I can’t just leave you here!”\n“You promised your mother, remember?” Eudora flashed her a bittersweet smile and shrugged off her satchel. “That has enough cash to get you two started. There’s a horse around the back of the wall. I’ll hold him off. Maybe I can’t stop him. But you two can get away.”\n“Why?” Daphne sobbed as Tobias tugged at her hand, looking over his shoulder into the shadowy corridor behind them. “Why would you die to help us? It’s mad!”\n“Because evil prospers when good people do nothing.” Eudora flashed her a grin despite the pain. “Also, I don’t like it when pretty girls cry.”\nDaphne stared at her as Eudora yanked off her boots. She held them up and Daphne took them with a shaking hand.\n“I can never thank you for your sacrifice.”\n“Is it too uppity to ask for a kiss?”\nDaphne laughed despite her falling tears. “I’d hoped I’d get the chance to do it properly later.”\n“Well, there’s no time like the present, right?” Eudora teased, then flinched as her side gave an awful stabbing pain.\nShe forgot the pain a moment later, as Daphne had taken her face in her hands and kissed her. It was a strong, sweet kiss that told the story of what could have been. Eudora only drew away when she tasted Daphne’s tears on her lips, and she gently pushed her away.\n“Go.”\nDaphne looked like she wanted to argue still, but Tobias screamed. Eudora whirled around, cried out in pain, and saw Wolfram had emerged. The strange trick of shadows she thought she'd seen at tea was far more present now, like a vortex of darkness, and he was at the core. Even the oil lamp Daphne carried was snuffed out, causing her to cry out and drop it.\n“Children,” Wolfram growled, and as he stood up straight his voice seemed to boom. “You should be sleeping.”\n“-Go!” Eudora cried out to Daphne a final time, knelt to retrieve her discarded shovel, and then she rushed Wolfram.\nIt was a piss-poor plan to charge a mysterious magic man brandishing a shovel. It was a worse plan while she bled out from a stab wound. It also happened to be the only plan Eudora had. \nIn the corner of her eye, she saw Daphne pull the boots on and pick up Tobias like he weighed nothing. She looked at Eudora one final time before she disappeared down the staircase.\nIt doesn’t matter if I die here. Eudora thought, and she screamed as she swung the shovel at her adversary. I've made a difference. \nWolfram's shadows enveloped her senses, blinding, deafening, and numbing her, yet Eudora's thoughts weren't of the cold or the darkness. Instead, she thought of Daphne's stormy eyes, the warmth of their kiss, and what if? Maybe in another life, Eudora would have gotten to see who Daphne would become once free. In this one, even though it had led to this fate, she found she could not regret her decision to come here" } ]
[ { "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 Prankster and Her Lover\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1580\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that switches between first person and third person point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Please be warned there is a bit of mild language and a kissing scene that will be marked before and after with a line of ---. If it makes you uncomfortable, please skip it.\n\n\nPeople look so dumb sometimes. They’re also so oblivious that it’s pathetic. Like the number of times, you can trick a person using the same gag is astounding. An example of one of these people is my older brother. I’m currently watching him trying to get into his bedroom without an impromptu shower. I mean honestly, this is like the seventeenth time that this has happened. You would think a person would have learned to adapt to situations like these. Finally, I hear a loud exclaim of protest and look up just in time to see the bucket of ice water I had perched precariously on my brother’s door fall onto his head. Ahhh, another wonderful gag pulled off perfectly. I jumped out of the tree I had been hiding in and walked toward the house.\n\nSuddenly, a drenched teenage boy ran out of a house seemly looking for someone. When he set eyes on a young girl jumping out a nearby tree, he launched toward her. The second the girl saw him, she screeched and started running away as fast as she could, twisting and zigzagging every which way in order to try and get the boy off her tail. However, her attempts proved futile when, with a burst of speed, the boy caught up with her and threw himself onto her, soaking her in the process.\n\n“Jackson! Are you kidding me?” I whined. I shoved at him with all of my might, but he didn’t budge.\n\n“Hey, you wanna mess with me? I’ll bring you down with me.” He replied. I shoved at him again and he let me go.\n\n“Seriously? I was going to wear this shirt to hang out with Cas today.”\n\n“Yes, seriously. And you know Mom doesn’t like you hanging out with her and her group.”\n\n“Oh please, it’s not like we’re committing arson. And use the right pronouns asshat. They use they/them pronouns.”\n\n“With the way that they dress? You might as well be doing that. And can you stop with the pronouns stuff? Seriously, it’s enough. You know mom doesn’t like it.”\n\n“I don’t care what mom thinks. Use the right pronouns. You should get some thoughts and opinions of your own and stop being such a momma’s boy. Dad doesn’t care about who I’m hanging out with or about pronouns.”\n\n“Yeah? Well, he’s not here right now so it doesn’t matter.”\n\n With that the girl pushed away from her brother and started jogging back to her house. The boy looked around in frustration and began walking in the same direction. When the girl reached the house, she flung the door wide and stalked in. She went immediately to her bedroom and shut the door with a loud ‘thunk’. The boy stood in the hallway for a moment and stared at his sister’s door somberly. He then retreated to his own room, carefully stepping around the large wet spot on his carpet.\n\n I was upset but I couldn’t think about it right then. I was going to be late if I didn’t get a move on. Pulling off my now wet and uncomfortable shirt, I started rummaging in my completely organized drawers that are definitely organized and don’t look a hurricane named me went through them like an insane person to find a semi-okay shirt. I found one that passed the sniff test. It had originally been a black graphic tee, but the text had since rubbed off to the point of illegibility. I grabbed a flannel and a beanie on my way out just in case. Plus, it looked cute.\n\n The girl snuck out the door and made her way toward her trusty bike. After quickly checking the road for potential bike-wreckers, she sped down the road. She biked as if she had a critically important mission to fulfill, which in her mind she did. She needed to find a special someone and she needed to find them now. After what seemed like a lifetime, she arrived at her destination. Pulling into the driveway, she inhaled the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and sighed in relief.\n\n Oh, thank God. They’re here. I pulled my bike into the open garage as I have done a million times and went into the backyard. I was greeted by a chorus of “Hey’s!” “Hi’s!” and “How’ve you been”s?”. At the moment, I couldn’t pay any more attention to them than I could pay attention to my boring-ass pre-Calc teacher drone about trigonometry and stuff that I already knew. I eagerly scanned the patio full of familiar faces for one particular face. And then I found them. When my eyes locked with theirs, my entire body sagged in respite. Their eyes were twinkling as the sunlight hit them just right. I all but ran to their open arms. Then I tripped. Thankfully, I was close enough to them that they were able to catch me.\n\n“Hello darling,” They said in that amazing voice that always sent chills up my spines no matter what. “I know you love me, but I didn’t expect you to fall for me.” Trust them to be making cheesy jokes right now.\n\n “Damn right I love you. I missed you. You’re never leaving ever again.” I breathed out, melting against them.\n\n“I’ll try not to darling.” They chuckled. “Did you have a good birthday?”\n\n“I don’t wanna talk about it.” I said while pressing my face even deeper into their jacket. They shifted to where they were sitting down with me on their lap.\n\n“That bad huh? Well, I got you something.”\n\n“Really? You didn’t have to.”\n\n“Well, I wanted to. Besides it was the least I could do for leaving you all alone on your birthday.”\n\n“Oh yeah, how was your work meeting thingy?”\n\n“It was fine. Just a lot of crap about the specifics of the design. I signed a new contract, but nothing else happened. Just sat in a room full of judgmental, balding men for way too much time.”\n\n“But that’s great that you were able to sign a new contract. I’m proud of you. I can see it now, Castiel, world’s best 18-year-old graphic designer.” I said, spreading my hands out in front of me as if seeing the title on a billboard.\n\n“Okay, okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Also, we’re not changing the subject. Happy belated seventeenth darling.” With that, they handed me a rectangular package, which looked like it had been painstakingly hand wrapped. I took it gingerly and opened it as carefully as I could. When the wrapping paper fell away, my brain short-circuited. It was a photo album filled with pictures of us over the three years we had been together. There were also empty pages at the back.\n\n“For the future,” Cas whispered in my ear. “Quinn? Are you okay? It is too much? Do you not like it? What’s wrong?”\n\n----------------------------------------------------------------\n“Oh my god, just kiss me.” I said as I pulled their face down to mine. I heard a couple of cheers and whistles, but the sound of my rising heartbeat drowned them out quickly enough. They were happy to comply with my wish. Time stopped as I closed my eyes and felt their chapped lips on mine. I felt them pour all their love into the kiss and I tried to do the same. Their hands searched the back of my purple and blue flannel. My hands curled in their leather jacket and the smell of a Hot Butterbeer Latte with six shots of expresso, their regular order at Starbucks my brain provided, permeated my nostrils. I could definitely taste it. My lungs burned for what I was so willingly depriving them of. Eventually, I had to pull away and did so reluctantly.\n-----------------------------------------------------------------\n\nShe almost bashfully looked up at their deep green eyes adorned with butterfly eyeliner. It looked stunning. She never knew how they did it. They were amazing. In every single way. She felt like she would never fully deserve them. She never wanted to leave them. With a start, she realized something.\n\n“I love you. I love you so freaking much. I never wanna leave you. Ever.”\n\n“I love you too darling. And I want to stay with you forever as well. Come hell or high water.”\n\n“And my entire family, except for my dad. He’s cool.” I cringed at the thought of my mom finding out about my forbidden relationship that I had kept secret for three years.\n\n“And 99.9999% percent of your family.” Chuckled Cas. “Speaking of your dad, isn’t that him?” I looked over to where they were pointing, and sure enough there was my dad standing against the wall and talking to one the dudes near him.\n\n“Dad!” I exclaimed, scrambling over to him, tripping over several legs in the process.\n\n“Hi sweetheart, how you are doing?”\n\n“Better now that you’re here.”\n\n“Having fun with your partner?” He said as he waggled his eyebrows.\n\n“Dad! How’d you find out?”\n\n“They told me.” He nodded at Cas.\n\n“You know what I’m not even going to ask anymore.” I sighed fondly.\n\nToday was the perfect end to the summer.\n\n\n\n\nIf you have any constructive criticism or if you just liked the story please let me know!" } ]
[ { "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: Mousee\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2980\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who is learning to recognize and take credit for their own achievements." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Amanda's body shook as she bolted the cabin door, then stared at her bloody body and clothing. She checked on Lily, her infant daughter, who'd cried herself to sleep.\nAmanda washed the blood from her body, then soaked her clothes in the washtub. She pulled on some of Jame's clothes.\nShe wondered what her family would think of her now. Several years earlier, Amanda's nickname, in Boston, was 'mouse' - she hated that. She'd been a small, shy, timid child and the victim of bullying. Her own brother started calling her, Mousee' and the name stuck. After today, she felt like a lioness.\nThis day, in southern Ohio, began as most since James left. Amanda dreaded going out into the fierce, freezing wind beating against the cabin, but they needed water and firewood.\nShe smiled as her baby girl's tiny rosebud lips suckled at a breast in her dreams. She loved her child with a fierceness she'd never dreamed possible and hoped and prayed that she could keep her alive. James was weeks overdue, and all over her food stores were gone.\nAmanda thought back to September's clear blue skies and sunshine that warmed them as they kissed and said, fare well, not goodbye. The war was officially over, but the suffering and lawlessness brought no peace to survivors. \nShe pulled the red shawl over her head and shoulders, donned the matching mittens, and lifted the plank James installed before he left. The heavy board placed in its braces ensured their safety from intruders. She leaned it against the wall and stepped outside, closing the door against the old. A strong gust nearly blew her over as she tied the cloak tighter, then kicked the icy wooden pail free from where it had frozen to the porch.\nBraced against the gusts and heavy snow, then counted ten steps to the well; it was so easy to get turned around in a heavy blizzard. Her skirts dragged, gathering snow, slowing her progress as if it tried to claim her for its own.\nOrange, pink, and purple clouds announced sunset, but Amanda took no time to enjoy its beauty as she the bucket firmly on the ledge of the \nrock wall surrounding the well. She attached the hook to the rope, lowered the bucket, listened for the splash, and wound the crank. It was heavy, but her arms had grown strong from several years of homesteading and civil war. \n. \nSomething caught her eye as she turned back toward the cabin, but the snow and wind made it difficult to focus. She thought she saw someone far off, on horseback in silhouette against the colorful sunset. Amanda's heart swelled with hope, thinking it might be her beloved husband and with desperately needed supplies.\nA skin of ice formed on top of the water as she carried it into the small cabin, that now felt warm after being out in the storm. She emptied the water into two metal buckets, replaced the sturdy wooden one on the porch, and brought in more firewood. She rebolted the door and hung her cape on a hook over the washtub to catch the melting snow. Then removed the three skirts she wore over her dress against the cold and hung them on a clothesline stretching across the room.\nLily still slept, and Amanda poured more water into the kettle that simmered over the fire; and chopped the last two carrots, a tiny seed potato she'd taken from the planting stores, and the root end of an onion. She shook the last dust of flour from the sack. The jars on the shelf over the cabinet were primarily empty now. They held herbs, dried berries, and shelled walnuts from the tree outside. Shelling them was so difficult, but worth it. Amanda took the jar marked 'parsley.' She added the minute amount left into the pot.\nThe cabinet was always locked because it also held powdered monkshood, and belladonna, which were helpful when treating headaches and chest complaints but were also deadly if used in the wrong amounts. Dried mushrooms of all kinds and a bottle of whiskey were also inside. Her aunt made a horribly bitter whisky that was useful for medicinal purposes. She smiled, remembering how her poor aunt cried, handed her the whiskey, and waved goodbye from the Boston train station. Her parents, brother, and aunt were certain she perish in the wild, unsettled farmland, especially because she was such a fragile, timid little thing.\nTired, she sat by the fireside and began knitting little socks for Lily\n. She was so grateful when an elderly woman in tow called out from a chair on her porch, \"Hello there! I\n have some lovely things for sale today!\" \nJames and Amanda saw several items, a cast iron skillet and a large willow basket filled with yarn that would be useful. She picked up a skein of deep red wool among the many beige, blue, and white ones.\nThe hunched-over woman with white hair wound into a knot on top of her head said, \"You can have all that yarn for cheap, Mrs.! It belonged to my sister-in-law; rest her soul. I won't use red; it's the devil's color! Red has been known to summon the devi! I'm a refined lady and did French embroidery until my hands failed me. That pillow on the porch swing is mine and is not for sale.\" \nAmanda looked at it; the work was beautiful, with the message stitched in black letters. \"SUBMIT YOURSELVES, THEN TO GOD. RESIST THE DEVIL, AND HE WILL FLEE FROM YOU\" James 4/7.\nAmanda noted the irony of the \"James\" passage, but all this talk gave her a feeling of unease, but she quickly forgot about it. James bought all the yarn and the basket, which they agreed was perfect for a bassinet. Amanda was thrilled, thinking about all the blankets, hats, and little socks she would knit and crochet for her baby due in two months.\nAs James handed over the coins, the woman said, \"You be careful now how you use that red.\" \n\"I don't mind any color if it keeps us warm,\" Amanda whispered to James as they walked away.\nAll throughout summer and fall, they gathered and dried everything from the garden and dried deer and rabbit meat. They felt proud of their stores but did not know how long and harsh those months would be.\nLily awoke and made her cute little grunts and giggles. Amanda climbed into bed and lifted the baby, still wrapped in her layers of coverings, and nursed her. \nShe checked the soup, stirring it with a large wooden spoon; she knew the vegetables were undercooked; the scents of the onion and herbs made her mouth water, and she sipped a cup of its weak broth. Amanda climbed into bed, snuggled with Lily, and fell into an exhausted sleep.\n\"THUD!\" outside awoke her, and she instinctively grabbed the baby, hugging her to her chest. She figured it was just something thrown against the cabin by the shrieking wind. Then two more loud thuds hit the door, and a man's voice called out, \"Hello?\"\n Amanda jumped, and Lily gave a startled cry that quickly grew into a loud squall. Amanda put Lily to the nurse and kept her silent.\nMore pounding against the door, then, \"Hey! I mean, you no harm, but I'm freezing! Please let me in? I know you're in there; I saw you in your red cape earlier, and there is smoke from your chimney!\"\nAmanda carried Lily to the door, saying, \"Get water from the well for you and your horse; use the well bucked, and please return it to the porch. You can take shelter in the barn.\"\n\"Is your name Amanda? Amanda Walker? I'm a friend of your husband's; my name is Jake Wilson. I have a letter for you from James.\"\nAmanda bent down and removed the rags chinked against the cold. \"Slide it under the door.\"\n\"I'd really rather come in and get warm, Mrs. Walker. I have a letter from your husband and supplies.\"\n\"Give me the letter first!!\" She watched a white envelope stamped with a wax seal move toward her under the door. She carried it closer to the firelight and tore it open. It was Jame's handwriting!\nDearest Amanda, \nI am sorry I've been away so long. The work here is much more complex than I had anticipated. \nJake Walker is delivering this letter as well as supplies to you. He and I fought side by side near Gettysburg.\nA List of what he brings: Dried deer strips, 2 woolen blankets, ten pounds of flour, three pounds of butter, one pound of sugar, some salt \n4 candles. I wish I could send more; the twenty dollars in this envelope should help you.\nAll My Love, James.\nShe heard the horse Whinney outside and felt sorry for the poor animal. \"Water your horse, take it to the barn, and feed it some hay.\"\nShe heard the bucket as he pulled it from the porch and his footfalls descended the stairs. \nAmanda removed her skirts from the line and pulled them over Jame's; they were still damp near the hem. She'd sewn deep pockets into the skirts, making it handy to collect herbs and mushrooms. She wore all of her skirts over her dress in cold weather. She put the carving knife in one pocket and knitting needles in another. She'd learned to be prepared and careful out here.\nShe listened as the man returned and climbed the steps. She considered telling him to leave the supplies near the door and sleep with his horse, then looked again at James' letter, She crossed the room and slid it, and the money into the Bible, then hid it behind other books.\n She was reluctant to open the door, but what if James were in the same situation? Could she really live with letting a man freeze to death? No, she had to take the chance and desperately needed those. She thought about telling him to leave the stores near the door and sleep with his horse but couldn't. She crossed the room and slid it and the money into their Bible, and hid it behind the bread tin.\nShe lifted the heavy bar and opened the door. The man removed his hat and stepped inside, brushing a layer of snow covering him. \"Thank you, Ma'am.\" \nHis was the first voice she'd heard in months. She shook from the cold, fear of the unknown, and lack of food. Amanda sat in her chair and put another log on the fire. Jake sat beside her in James' chair, which made sense but felt like an intrusion. \n\"You must be hungry; this soup is all I have to offer.\"\nShe filled a cup and handed it to him. \nHe nodded a thank you, stared at her as if assessing her, and then turned back to the fire. His thick sandy colored hair fell over his forehead, and a mustache and beard covered most of his face. She couldn't quite read his dark eyes.\n\"Have you brought any supplies?\" Not mentioning the list in Jame's letter.\n\"Well, that's a sorry tale, Ma'am. I was ambushed by a band of outlaws. There are many of them now, men in blue, gray, and everything in between. This land is a dangerous place now.\nAmanda's heart sank, and she feared she'd cry in disappointment, but she took a deep breath and listened.\n\"I'd set up camp two nights ago; I hadn't seen another soul for days, so I let my guard down. I was sound asleep when they came and took everything except my horse and saddle because I had her still saddled and loosely tethered to scrub out of sight, so she could run off if need be. And she did; I feared she'd never return, but she did! I still have her, my saddle, which held some tobacco and a piece of hard tack; you're welcome to it. I'm really sorry, Ma'am.\" \nShe wanted to scream and hit him, pull his hair out. They needed food and needed it now!\nShe stared at the fire as Jake propped up his boots on the hearthstone. They looked exactly like Jame's boots; his right one had a deep gash from a farming accident. She couldn't see that side from where she sat but became more concerned as she noticed the patch near the bottom of the blue Union pant leg and recognized it because she'd had to use black thread for the repair.\nAmanda walked to the bed, lifted Lily, and got a look at the back of that boot. It was clean and polished, but the rough gouge across the back remained.\nJake turned, asking, \"Would you have anything stronger than broth to drink?\" He looked at her and narrowed his eyes. He saw her studying the boot. \"Ma'am? Everything Okay?\"\nAmanda nodded and tried to smile, \"Yes, I'm just tired and hungry, that's all.\"\n\"Oh, well, I'd be grateful for a drink of anything strong.\"\nShe put the swaddled baby on the table. Her voice shook and became breathless, \"I have a little whiskey, and I'll get it.\"\nHe watched her unlock the cupboard. This corner of the small room was dark, and her body blocked his view. She quickly removed the cork, added the monk's hood, and swirled the nearly full bottle. She carried it and a small glass to him, but he grabbed the bottle and took a big swig, and coughed. \"Jesus, this is the worst whiskey I've ever tasted, and I've tasted a lot! Are you trying to poison me?\"\nShe feigned a laugh, \"My Grandmother's whisky was famous for tasting horrible, I use medicinal purposes, so I can't speak for the flavor.' She picked Lily up and sat back by the fire.\nHe drank more, walked across the room, sat on her bed, and removed his boot. James's boots! \"Comon' over here, Amanda. It's pretty cozy.\"\nShe kept her back to him, hugging her infant closer to her chest, feeling naive, chiding herself for letting him in. Had he killed James and robbed his corpse? She wondered how long it would be before the drink took effect? Or would it even work? She'd never used it in such a way but knew Monks Hood was deadly in large quantities. She bundled Lila and placed her into her basket, moving it closer to the fireplace, not wanting her to be warm and not witness what might come next.\nJake shook his head and chuckled, \"Amanda, come here; I'm sure you miss a man's touch after being alone for so long.\" He patted the mattress.\n\"You're quite presumptuous, Mr. Walker. You sleep in your bedroll next to the fireplace.\"\n\"I left my bedroll in the barn.\"\nShe backed away, but in one quick stride, he grabbed her wrist, dragged her to the bed, then pushed her flat on her back. She let out a gasp but didn't scream, thinking of Lily. \"Stop it, get off me!\" \nHe slapped her across her face with such force her ears rang! In one quick movement ripped open the top of her dress, exposing her breasts. 'My, my, aren't those pretty.\"\nJake's speech slurred slightly when he grinned at her, \"Time for some fun. Jame's was a lucky man.\"\n\"Oh God, \"was!\" Amanda felt painful sadness, then rage, as her vision became red. He began unbuttoning his pants; she reached into her skirt pocket and grabbed a knitting needle. As he lowered himself toward her, she stabbed him with all her strength below his left eye.\nJake screamed, growled, and grabbed her throat; Lily cried, adding to Amanda's desperation. Jake grabbed his face as blood ran between his fingers. He pulled the knitting needle out and threw it wildly across the room, then leaned down, grabbed Amanda by the hair, and slapped her hard again. She quickly rolled off the bed, pulling the knife from her pocket. The drink was starting to work, and he stumbled blindly toward her. Amanda grabbed the cast iron skillet from the mantle and swung it at his head. It was only a glancing blow, and he lurched back and came toward her again.\nShe slashed at him, cutting his wrist, and more blood spurted from the wound and onto Amanda's bared chest and clothing, but Jake didn't seem to feel it.\nShe stood bent at the waist, knifing the knife in one hand; she grabbed the nearby broom leaning nearby and held the handle out like a sword.\n\"Get out of here!\" she screamed and stepped closer, backing him toward the door to the cabin. The brace still leaned against the wall. He grabbed her again, and she rammed the broom handle hard against his chest, and he stumbled back.\nAmanda circled behind the bleeding, growling monster and opened the door. He started toward her again but misjudged. He staggard back and out onto the porch. His knees gave way, and he knelt as if in worship before her, then fell sideways and didn't move.\nAmanda slammed the door shut and quickly replaced the board. Her chest and breasts, exposed to the cold, were covered in blood, as were her hands and clothing. She dropped the knife, too weak to run to Lily, who had cried herself to sleep. Amanda washed off the blood and collapsed onto the bed, still wearing her bloody clothes. She was hungry but too tired to eat the soup and swung off the fire. \nShe collapsed onto the bed, amazed at how she'd them from this murderer. She took comfort in knowing she now had a horse and saddle to ride when the weather broke. And enough meat to get them through the winter." } ]
[ { "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: Gina\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1325\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story from the point of view of three different characters." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Oliver\nToday was the day. The day I would tell Gina how I felt. I was going to look in her bright blue eyes and everything was going to be perfect. I've longed for this day to come for the past 5 years. Gina has been one of my best friends since we were 8.\nThe only problem about my magnificent plan was that Gina is currently unavailable. Noah Peters is the guy who actually has the gift of being her boyfriend.\nThe stuck-up quarterback who spends half his day looking at himself in the mirror and the other talking about the amount of his touchdowns.\nGina isn't even his type, at all. But I've come up with the theory that he just began dating Gina because of her looks. And also the fact that he wanted to deflower her. In that he succeeded, which is another reason why I loathe him.\nI know what you must be thinking, \"Why would I get even attempt to show Gina my feelings if she's already taken?\" But you don't get it. She is the light of my life, the sun when my life's so grey. Even if she'll never see me as more than a friend, I need her to know how I feel. How I've always felt.\nNoah\n\"Stace I know it's hard to see me with her, but I promise you it's only temporary. As soon as I win the championship I will let her go.\"\n\"Promise?\"\n\"Promise\", I kiss her forehead. I step out of her BMW M3, making my way inside the building.\nI see Gina on her way towards me. She makes that face I love and squeals loudly as she runs jumping in my arms.\n\"Hey baby. How's your morning been?\", she smiles.\n\"Alright, I guess. It's better now that you're here.\"\nShe gets on her tippy-toes and kisses me softly. The way her soft pink lips feel on mine make me melt.\nI grab her hand in mine. We make our way down the halls, getting to Spanish class.\n\"Here's my stop.\"\n\"Gina...\"\n\"Yeah Noah?\"\nA lump begins to form in the back of my throat as I try to say these words. \"Um.. forget about it. It can wait.\"\n\"Okay, I love you. See you after class.\"\n\"See you\", I say walking away.\nI make my way to the bathroom, as I look in the mirror I don't know who's looking back at me. Someone so familiar turned into a stranger overnight.\nStacey, my ex, was the one who proposed this shenanigan. She wanted me to date Gina. It was the only way I could get my grades up enough to play and get a scholarship.\nI knew someone would get hurt when it was time to end it. I just never expected it to be me. And Stacey is determined to get me back.\nGina\nMine and Noah's relationship couldn't be better. Almost 6 months strong and my love for him just grows. My favorite part of the day is when I fall in his arms and he makes me feel so safe.\nInterrupting my thoughts is Oli next to me. He taps my shoulder until he sees me turn around.\n\"Yes Oli?\"\n\"Can we talk after school?\"\n\"Can't.\"\nHe looks at me confused.\n\"Oli the State Championship is today. I've got to support my guy you know.\"\n\"It's important G.\"\n\"It can wait until after. Okay?\"\n\"Alright...\"\n\"Good. Now get back to your test before Ms. Rodriguez thinks we're cheating.\"\nThis test came easy to me, considering I'm Dominican. Spanish comes naturally to me.\nClass went by pretty quickly and soon it would be time for the game. Making my way to the locker room. I was going to surprise Noah.\nNoah\n\"I want you Noah\", Stacey says.\n\"I don't think I want you anymore.\"\n\"What?!\"\nI scratch the back of my neck, \"I don't think I want to date you again. You were controlling and a mess. Gina is nothing like that. She's-\"\n\"Shut up. Shut the hell up! Don't you dare mention her name again!\"\n\"Why are you mad at me?! It was you who told me to date her.\"\n\"Yeah so you could go to a good college you asshole. Not so you could fuck her and make her yours. You were mine...\"\n\"Exactly, I was yours. I am Gina's now.\"\n\"You are such a waste of my time.\"\n\"I'm sorry Stace.\"\n\"Can I at least get a goodbye kiss?\"\n\"Sure.\" I walk up to her grabbing her face in my hands, our lips meeting. This was one hard goodbye.\n\"You asshole!\" Gina screams.\nI turn around letting go of Stacey. \"I- I'm so sorry Gina. It's not what it looks like.\"\n\"Oh, so you weren't kissing your ex?\"\n\"Yes... but-\"\n\"I don't want to hear it. I came to give you this. But seeing as your busy, I'll just leave it here.\" She throws me an object, hitting me on the face.\n\"Don't be too surprised girly. He was just using you for good grades. He didn't really care about you.\"\nGina looks at me hurt, \"Is that-\", she chokes up. \"Is that true?\"\nI don't answer.\n\"I hope you two live happily ever after. You're perfect for each other.\" She storms out the locker room, just leaving Stacey and me.\n\"I guess that means we can get back together.\"\nI look at her, \"Did you know she was there?\"\n\"Well... I didn't know it was her. But I did a very good educated guess.\"\n\"You bitch.\"\n\"If I can't have you. No one can.\" She starts walking out. \"Oh\", she turns around looking at me, \"Good luck on the game. Go Tigers!\"\nI look at what Gina gave me, it was a necklace of a Tiger with a football.\nGina\nI run out the school, dialing the only person I want to see right now. \"Oli?\"\n\"Gina you okay?\"\n\"No, can you pick me up?\"\n\"Yeah I just left the school but I can turn back around. Give me 5.\"\nI wait patiently for him. A couple minutes later I see a Honda civic pull in and I make my way to him. Sitting in the passenger seat, I finally break down letting everything go.\n\"Gina, are you okay?\"\n\"He kissed her.\"\n\"Who?\"\n\"Noah he kissed Stacey.\"\n\"What?!\"\n\"Yeah and he just used me for good grades. His GPA wasn't good I guess. Our whole relationship was a fake.\"\n\"I'm so sorry G.\"\n\"It's okay Oli. I should've listened to you when you said he gave you bad vibes.\"\nOliver\nGina begins crying even more. I take her in my arms and hug her tightly. \"It is not your fault G. He's just a pathetic excuse of a human being. Wanna go to my house and watch a movie and eat some junk food.\"\nShe wipes her tears and nods her head. \"Okay so let's get going.\"\nAfter we make it home, we ordered pizza and bought some things from the store. She was so tired emotionally that she fell asleep.\nI caress her hair, as she lays her head on my lap. I cannot believe Noah ruined a good thing just for a girl like Stacey.\nBut that means now that I might have a chance for myself. And I will thank him for that.\nNoah\nThe game was a total bust. We lost no thanks to my lack of concentration. Gina and I are no longer a thing. Stacey and I will never be a thing again.\nI am alone, and I doubt Gina will want to hear my side of the story. My father gave me an hour lecture and my performance today. Basically saying how I ruined my chances for senior year.\nA to be completely honest I could care less. The only thing I wanted was Gina. And that would no longer be possible. Gina was gone." } ]
[ { "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: Trampled Dreams Part 2\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2824\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes the phrase “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Trampled Dreams Part 2\n(Second half of first chapter in my unpublished novel “A Brilliantly Scathing Life”)\nAs he rode away from Kendra Potter's wagon party the trail leader mulled over who masterminded that outfit. Surely, not that greenhorn who got himself thrown from his horse this morning. He wondered why anyone who had obviously put so much forethought into travel accommodations had overlooked common sense things like foot and head wear.\nAnd why did her widow garb already look so tattered? He was pretty sure the shawl had been cut from the bottom of her dress because her dusty petticoat was much longer. You make do best you can out here. Guess she was a proud Southerner trying hard to still be proper.\nThat dandy husband of hers sure wanted you to believe he was so much better than you. Such a reckless stunt he was trying to pull rearing the horse up to spin around among so many strangers the beast wasn't used to. No wonder the horse panicked and threw him to his demise!\nYet he really couldn't judge her the same. The couple didn't even seem a suitable match. He had guessed that man to have been at least his own age of 27, maybe more. She barely looked marrying age. An arranged marriage maybe? A southern belle plucked out of her element? This clearly wasn't her idea to be walking across a continent. But, oh, how he would love to see that smile again! And that figure! A fine figure of a woman to be sure even at her young age!\nShame on him. She just lost her husband this morning he reminded himself. Still he was looking forward to spending a little time with her this evening and getting a better look at that extensive set-up they hauled. It wasn't just curiosity, he needed to know how well prepared they truly were. How much was just impractical fluff? He had seen that plenty of times. That was a lot to lift over mountains. Impressive overall but one little hick-up en-route and they could lose everything. Would they be able to manage after the loss of a man? That little brother of hers looked like a hard worker but was just a kid.\nKendra could breathe again after the wagon master left her space. How embarrassing falling into his arms like that! What was she reading in those nut-brown eyes of his looking her up and down as he was? Funny, she couldn't even think of his name.\nShe called to the youngster, Toby, “Come closer and we'll tie your mule and cart behind this wagon. It's nooning time and we need to catch up. Then you take my place leading this ox while I run hurry Theo and the big wagon along. Your dog can keep the flock in motion. Trail boss says we gotta stay ahead of that herd of livestock back there.”\nShe hurried toward the schooner and pulled herself up on the back tailgate. Theo's bulk was blocking 'Lena as she finished buttoning up her bodice. She tied the strings of her apron bib behind her neck to cover what still peeked out.\n“So now you know some of our secrets, Baby Girl.” Theo couldn't help giving a big satisfied grin.\n“I'll be sure to knock next time. But for now the other wagons are catching up for nooning and we are a little behind. Get out there and get the oxen moving. 'Lena what do we have for a quick, light lunch? And, oh, the wagon master is coming for supper. I bragged what a good cook you are. Gotta fix up something pleasing to him,” she recommended.\nAfter the noon break Kendra slipped up to walk along side Theo leading the oxen pulling the Conestoga.\n“Theo, I need to understand Pappy's overall plan. How much did he tell you about it? I know nothing yet we need to decide if we still try to go through with it. The brunt of the heavy stuff will fall on you. It's such a relief not to have to deal with Mister Leroy anymore but I sure miss Pappy!”\n“So glad ta hear ya says dat. Lordy, fergive me, if'n Iz knows all 'long how ya felt maybe coulda done diff'ent.\n\"Soz all I knows fer sure is we packs alls we can inside dis here wagon. 'nuff furniture ta fill three rooms, maybe more, in house, most flat out an' need o' puttn' tageder.\n“Den dey's dried fruit and vegetables ta feed, oh, maybe, five or six folks, ifn Tommy make it home 'fore we left, fer up ta near on a year, me tinks. Dey's seeds and plant starts fer good size garden an' first crop.\n“Ya sees the animals an' chickns an' honey bees needin' fer orchardin'. Some grain feed fer animals but he figure a lot get off da land we go thru jut likes everyone doin'. 'munitions fer firearms and snares ta get game. All tuck in kegs an' bins built all over dem wagons.\n“Den o' course ya knows how the tents fold off sides ta makes dry livin'. Oh, an' dem hammocks 'neath ta keep ya warm off ground when ya sleep. Be a fierce comfort fer us.” Whew, he hadn't said so much at one time since forever!\n“It is a marvel how you fit it all in. What about where he wanted to go? Is there land waiting for us somewhere?”\n“West. Dat wha' he always say.”\n“We are already west 'bout two months. Is it important to you and your family how far west we go? West is mighty big!”\n“Free. He wan' us ta feel free. Live free. Jut like white men. He says.” Big Theo's eyes were glassy with tears.\n“Oh, Theo, that's what I want for you, too.” Kendra paused while they both recomposed.\n“'Course ya knows 'Lena still a hopn' Tommy be findn' us someday if he be lookin'.”\n“Oo. That'll get harder, too, the farther we go. But Pappy probably told folks back home we would be heading to California. Time to get Toby to send out another of his pigeons, okay? Let them know how far we have gotten.”\n“Hard ta say deys been gettin' da messages. Wez be waitn' so longs already looks like he neva be comin' back.” Theo rued.\n“And I know that would break 'Lena's heart all the more.” She placed a hand on Theo's back as high up as she could reach toward his shoulder trying to comfort him. “We'll keep praying for him.”\nShe patted his iron-bending forearm a couple of times and assured, “You are comforting me a lot about our situation. Sounds like general provisions are well covered as long as we don't lose or squander it along the way.\n“But there will be other expenses that come up not to mention eventual land purchase. Passage on this wagon train for instance. Men like the wagon master don't take on this responsibility for nothing. I don't even know if the fee has been paid. He could say it hasn't been even if it has. How am I to know whether or not to believe him?\n“Do you know if Mister Leroy gave him anything? Did Pappy say anything about finances, you know, money?” Kendra was getting to the crux of her concerns. She hoped Mr. Leroy hadn't sabotaged everything.\n“Well,” he scratched his scarcely bearded jawline as he thought it out, “withn all our extrys mights be we's able ta do little tradin' needs be. 'Course, yu uns pappy's gots his tailorin' tools and extry cloths packed up. Ya an' my 'Lena are good wit' a needle. Iz gots m' blacksmithin' tools an' do some carpentry ifn gots some wood.\n“Ya sing as pretty as Iz ever heerd. Folks oughta pay to hear dat. Dat harpsicor' be drugs out an ya gives lessons if ya wanna. So don't ya worry ya pretty little head. We won't be starvin' long as Iz about. Psst, even got 'Lena extry talent!” He winked.\nWell, that last part was not what she wanted to think about at all. “No, I don't want you making 'Lena do such as that anymore. She does it because she loves you and wants to make you happy. Now that I know more about being a woman, I don't believe she enjoys being used in that way.” She had an unpleasant flashback of seeing how men used 'Lena given the chance. “Can you understand what I mean? We all have a chance at a clean start.”\nTheo hung down his head feeling like he let her down. “Iz only thinkin' how's she could hep out da babies, ya knows, like she did fer u uns when ya be born an' hat no mamma. She loves 'em babies an' since...”\n“Oh, of course, of course.” She sighed. “She's been the only mamma I ever knew. And I love her so much.”\nMemories of her and Tommy growing up together ran through her mind. He was only two years older than her and so fair of skin color people would mistake them for siblings.\n“I know she looked out after a couple more back home through the years. Sorry, I didn't think of that. It'll all work out somehow.” She reassured with a smile. “After all, Pappy would say, 'Rome wasn't built in a day'.”\n“Yep, him say, 'homewards buildin' away'.” Theo had misunderstood. Oh, well...\nAt least she would have some plans to offer the wagon master. She had no way of knowing without straight out asking him if anyone had even paid for their passage with his train. She hadn't a clue as to how much that might be or if she had the money to give him. He might lie to them or try to swindle them. Or he might dump them right where they are tonight.\nShe hadn't had time to get to know anyone else traveling along with them she could trust to ask about the trail master. She wasn't sure how to read him after their brief encounter this morning other than the business end mattered to him. She would have to remember to let him do the talking first.\n“You are the best, Theo. I'll stop worrying so much as long as I have you to watch over us. And I wanted to thank you for saying something nice over the grave this morning. It was nicer than I would have said. After everything he had done did you mean that part about him being welcomed by Jesus in His heaven?”\n“Wells, Iz knows he be a fierce sinner, but dat's same as alls us be. Dem last couple o' days me tinks he be 'raslin' wit dat ole Adam man in 'im. Him wantin' some peace inside hisself. 'Lena says he asks her hows to get some o' dat fergiveness he heerd us talkin' 'bout. 'member when read Toby Easter story? She says just asks Jesus.” He shrugged. “Maybe he did? Onlys fer da Lord ta knows fer sure.”\n“Well, I'll be! Maybe he was redeemable! Anyway, I'll be up in the wagon looking over some of Mr. Leroy's things for a while. And I'll try to find some of Pappy's things. Have you looked in the box wagon thru his stuff? If I get time I need to do that before we meet with Master...??, hey, do you remember his name?”\n“Nope. Don' knows ever says ta me.” Theo was scratching his head.\n“Hmm, me either. I'll be out to switch with 'Lena soon so she can get started on supper. Thanks so much for your help.”\n“Now's be time wez call upon da Good Lor' fer some o' dat dere hep.”\n“You're so right. Ashamed it has taken me this long to remember that.”\nThey bowed their heads together as he spoke, “Now, Lord, wez sorry sometime wez fergets Ya be right dere waitin' fer us ta ask fer Yo hep whens ever wez come up 'gainst tings like dese here problems wez be facin'. Wells, wez figure Ya knows already all's wez need an' Ya gots it all a waitin' fer us. So's wez a askin' now.\n“Guide us wit Yo almighty han' fer all these 'cisions wez be makin'. An' look afta our Tommy fer us 'cause wez can't. In Yo dear Son's name wez a prayn'. And also watch afta dat rascal, Leroy, ifn he come ta see Ya, 'im bein' Yo son, too.”\n“Amen.” They chimed. She squeezed his hand then wiggled her fingers in a wave as she dropped back to the rear opening of the big wagon and climbed up.\nThe volunteer burial detail had bundled Leroy's belongings he had on him into his shirt and deposited it on her lap this morning. She had tossed it on top of the mattress when she crawled inside the wagon not wanting to think about it then. She retrieved it now and searched through everything hoping for a pocket full of gold she supposed.\nA few loose coins but no jackpot. An interesting looking tiny fire arm with a small pouch of gun powder and some loose balls that must be ammo. That's an eye opener, but not totally unexpected out of someone like him! A couple of business cards with curling edges reading “Le-Roy Potter” “Courier of Fine Goods”. Something looked odd. She took a card to the back opening for better light. For sure! The first 't' in Potter had been doctored from an 'l'. His name was Polter! That's a real eye opener! Grandpa's eyes in poor light would never have caught that!\nShe grabbed the carpetbag he had brought into her boudoir upon their joining the train yesterday and dumped it out. Nothing but some clothes and some toiletries. Remembering she might have to sell or use this stuff for trade she started neatly folding them back into the bag.\nWait. In one trouser pocket was an envelope that held their hastily scribbled marriage certificate. Now there's a keepsake! Names were hard to read. She was under duress and he was lying. But it was something she better hang on to just in case. Of what? Who knew?\nWell, maybe she could at least fashion one of his blousy, white silky shirts into a better bodice for herself before this evening. She was embarrassed when her shawl fell open exposing all of her to the unsuspecting wagon master. What he must think of her!\nShe was much younger when some of her wardrobe had been carefully packed. This one had been folded in sheets and smoothed out under the mattress along with most of her fancier frocks. When Grandpa suddenly died she needed to find her only black dress. The one she wore three, no nearly four, years ago when her father passed. Unfortunately, the bodice had gotten way too tight on her because of her developing womanhood.\nThen there was her new husband who preferred she didn't wear black or anything much for that matter. In those days traveling as a lone wagon under his rule she never got to remedy the dress situation and had only managed the shawl solution recently.\nPeople may wonder as a grieving wife why she's not entirely in black but drastic times call for drastic measures. If their wagon gets stranded without a train then no one else ever need know she was supposed to be a grieving widow.\nShe straightened the rest of the jostling room. A ball of paper was wedged between a couple of wooden chests holding up the mattress. She wrestled it out and smoothed it. She gasped as a flash of memory came to her. It was too much for her to deal with immediately so she folded it and slipped it into her drawer in the standing chest holding their everyday needs. But it added to a couple of concerns she may have to take up with... oh, what is his name?.\nAs she was ready to slip out she noticed Charger's saddlebags hanging near the back. Inside she found a change clothes and two ledgers. Maybe bank ledgers? The red one looked like one she once saw in her granddad's possession.\nShe considered herself an educated young woman. Her father and her grandfather had seen to that themselves. Looking at these foreign entries she realized how unimportant it had been to the men utmost in her life that she would ever have any reason to understand the basic concepts of anything to do with the mysterious world of finances. The exclusive man's world of finance! All she could tell was that some of the entries subtracted from the red book matched the numbers added in the blue book. She had a puzzle to solve and her future depended on the outcome." } ]
[ { "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: Shipwreck\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2944\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story from the point of view of a sidekick, or someone who is happy to stay away from the limelight." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Tuesday, January 23rd, 1906\n10:06 AM\n\nIf Joe was told the sea was not vengeful, did not take pleasure in, did not revel in, the murder of helpless souls, he wouldn’t believe it; for the sea at that moment was a howling rage, purposely dragging him from the rocks at Pachena Point, plunging him beneath the surging tide. He once again came to the surface, coughing, eschewing seawater, his bare feet scrambling on the slimed green ledge beneath the swell, fighting to gain a foothold.\n\nHis head now barely above water, he gasped for breath in the freezing rain, the crashing surf having its way, keeping him from the relative safety of the shore, a shore barely ten feet in front of him. No, he wouldn’t believe the sea was not evil, but was a devil’s betrayal, an abominable perfidy to the more than one hundred passengers still on the SS Valencia, desperately clinging to the remains of the upper hurricane deck, hanging onto rat lines, tying themselves down, lashing themselves with rope, or whatever means were available, scarves, clothing, to withstand the next pounding fist of a wave, cast at them by a sea whose sole mission seemed prying them off into oblivion.\n\nThe January rain, now almost ten hours since the breech, flailed upon the shrieking ship, an agony of a dying thing, discarding to the wind and the waves appendages of itself: chunks of galvanized steel, the now broken bridge, pieces of charthouse, the salon deck, the lower and main; all in turn stripped away like steeled skin from a noble beast, until, at last, the passengers and crew themselves would be thrown to the turmoil.\n\nThe rope line tied to Joe's waist, an umbilical cord to the womb of the ship, was supposed to have been fired from the Lyle gun, but now the gun was useless. Joe, spent, drained, now consumed, had dragged the rope thirty yards through the surf from the ship. He needed to get ashore while pulling the five-inch line fixed to his quarter inch leader, and then tie the rope down to a fixed point. This would make a breeches line, a zip line, from the SS Valencia. The system would then bring over one passenger at a time. Should this system fail, all would certainly die from drowning or exposure as the ship broke up, no more than a stone’s throw from shore, a shore none but the strongest man could reach, and even if reached, stay, without being dragged back into the water.\n\nJoe’s feet kicked, he more crawled than swam, choking, sputtering sea water, as he moved through the refuse of the wreck: luggage, deck chairs, a bowler hat, broken railings, wooden shards from a lifeboat, and the floating dead. He remembered the last words he’d heard from the Second Mate. The man had passed him a jackknife just before Joe jumped from the stern. “If you can’t get the line in Joe, cut it. Save yourself.” \n\n********\nSaturday, January 20, 1906\n9:33 AM\n\nThree steam whistles sounded out in the Embarcadero harbor, and the SS Valencia prepared to shove off from San Francisco on a clear California Saturday. The ship was crowded with excitement as those in the first class salon, the main, and even the lower deck where third class packed in, leaned out, calling, waving, to those on the dock. The shoremen released heavy lines from moorings, and the handsome steamship, 253 feet of curved black trim over a white hull, carrying 104 passengers served by 65 crew, eased from the dock, the steam engine engaging with a low throbbing rhythm. Seagulls dived and swooped from above, while well-dressed passengers (woman in broad brimmed hats, some with artificial flowers, trimmed masses of feathers, and occasionally, complete stuffed birds; men in bowties and tails, bowlers and top hats) threw bread crumbs they’d gained from the galley, the gulls screeching in the brisk salt air.\n\nUp at first class, the main deck, seven-year-old Mary Pritchard dashed to the stern, wearing her finest blue dress for the occasion. “Mama, we’re on our way!” she cried, delighted, lifting herself onto the rail, pointing to the dock three decks below, while her hips balanced, and her feet dangled. Over the rail, the black water churned out from behind the ship as the steam engine caught stride with a steady thump, easing the ship out into the broad harbor. Mary’s mother, Melissa, alarmed at seeing her daughter so precarious, rushed to her from across the planked deck. But a working crew member appeared and pulled the young girl back, grabbing her by the scruff of her collar. “Careful girl!”.\n\nMelissa ran up, turned her daughter, knelt down angry, and put a firm hand on each of her daughter’s shoulders. “Mary, that’s dangerous! I could lose you!”. \n\nNever shy about questions, and to the embarrassment of her mother, Mary scanned the man who’d just picked her up off the rail like a doll, who to her, was a giant. “Are you the captain?”\n\nThe man’s face traced a smile. “No child, I’m nothing but a fireman. And it’s likely you’ll drown before Tuesday if you hang over rails.”\n\n“What happens Tuesday?” Mary asked.\n\n“Mary, you’re bothering the man,” interrupted Melissa. If Mary started with her questions, there’d be no end to it.\n\nBut there was also no denying Mary’s bright inquisitive eyes. The fireman declared, “Tuesday we dock at Victoria young lady, then on to Seattle.”\n\nThe man nodded shyly to Mary’s mother, Melissa, a striking young woman, and he noticed no ring. “Where are you headed?”\n\nMelissa looked up to the man’s broad shoulders, his high cheekbones, the full black mustache—and to the kindest eyes she’d ever seen. She almost forgot where they were going, then caught herself. “We debark in Seattle on Tuesday afternoon.”\n\n“What’s your name?” interjected Mary, jealous of how the man and her mother held each other’s eyes, leaving her out of the moment.\n\n“I’m Joe, little miss. Joe Cigalos. And I’m not the captain but work the steam boilers.” He took a drag off his cigarette and Melissa noted the black coal on his hands, under his nails.\n\n“Cigalos,” Melissa said, slowly pronouncing the name to get the accent right, just as he said it.\n\n“Ci-GAY-los,” Joe said, correcting Melissa. “But call me Joe. That’s the easiest.”\n\n“Joe then,” Melissa said, and didn’t know why, but had the feeling she knew this man, Joe Cigalos, and he'd known her, the entire twenty-seven years of her life.\n\nA stern crewman in uniform approached. “You there! Cigalos! What’re you doing up here?” “You should be below. No coalers up here!”\n\n“Yes Sir.” Joe took one last deep drag on his cigarette, rolled with no filter, his fingers holding the stub with just his thumb and index finger, and tossed the remains of the cigarette over the side. He smiled at the young girl, and it was the same smile crossing his face as when Mary had asked him if he was the captain. “Remember little dove. No hanging over rails for you. Ok?”\n\nThe uniformed officer looked after him as Joe retreated to the stairs, presumably returning to tend the fire deep within the ship. “Greeks!” he said disgustedly.\n\n******\nMonday, January 22, 1906\n11:56 pm\n\nFinally off shift, near midnight, Joe was below decks in his cramped quarters when the ship near threw him from his bunk. Instantly, he was out of the cabin and up the companionway, taking the ladder two steps at a time. As he slammed through double doors, he was met by freezing rain in a southeaster wind pelting his face, a black clouded night. The 1,600 tons of ship was now full-stopped, bow forward, a shoreline less than a hundred yards away, the waves breaking violently in white foam. Though dark, Joe could still make out a cliff, some hundred feet high, rising abruptly where the rocks met the sea. \n\nThe Valencia’s stern slowly swung in the current like a counter clocking minute hand. The bow of the ship broke free from the reef and then the entire mass of the ship strained as it turned, completing one-hundred and eighty degrees, the stern coming around to face the cliff. The engines then powered full, reversing to drive the ship onto the reef in front of the rocks. The ship moaned as it ground to a halt some ninety-feet from shore. Joe noticed an older first-class couple under the stairs, the man wearing a skewed bowtie, a pince-nez clamped to his nose, wet straggling hair on a mostly bald head missing a top hat. The man protected his wife with his arm, staring unblinking, a vicissitude of fortune, a shear cliff wall.\n\nThe ship became strangely silent as the engines died. Passengers and crew ascended from below in small clusters to the main deck. A call was heard to lower the six lifeboats, two fore on the hurricane deck, four aft near the fiddler. Crewmen removed the canvas covers from the boats and the first boat was lowered from above to the top-most salon deck. The crew sent passengers back for life vests, explaining the ship was now run ashore, but in no danger of sinking.\n\nMary, back in their stateroom, struggled with her life vest. “Mama. Help me.”\n\n“Stand still, it’s twisted.” Melissa found the tangled cord and re-strung the belt through the buckle. Calls echoed outside their room as stewards directed everyone to go on deck. Other passengers stumbled by, dragging luggage, causing bottlenecks. As she and Mary entered the narrow passageway, the lights flickered, went out, flickered again, then died, stranding them in pitch dark.\n\nMary cried out in the perfect black, “Mama, I’m scared,” and pulled her mother close, starting to cry.\n\nWith the lights gone, the panic began; passengers rushing, groping, down the narrow corridor to the exit up the stairs. Melissa and Mary were taken in a hideous current, screams penetrating the dark, a man’s hot garlic breath as he bullied his way by, sweating. A hand grabbed Melissa’s ankle from the floor, a fallen passenger. Melissa kicked, shook the hand off, held Mary as tight as she could, and so on they fought their way to the dim stairs.\n\nOnce on deck, Mary bolted ahead. “Mr. Cigalos!” Running to Joe, she hugged him around the waist.\n\nWith a red face, Joe’s voice broke as Melissa approached. “You both are ok?”\n\n“Yes, but—” Melissa eyed the jam of passengers ahead climbing into a lifeboat. A woman fell on the gunwale. Two men climbed over her. “Are we sinking?”\n\n“No. Not yet anyway.”\n\nThe lifeboat started to lower in front of them. It reached a deck below, then further still to the next deck below that. The boat then hung ten feet off the water. A man in a fine, gray, pinstripe suit in the front of the boat took a knife and sawed through the line holding the boat by the ravits protruding from the side of the ship. The knife cut through and the boat tipped, fell forward. Screams rose up from below as the lifeboat spilled the twenty or so men, women, and children into the ocean, which boiled against the side of the Valencia. The lifeboat crashed on top of them, passengers floundered, soon sucked down by the current against the steel hull.\n\nA second boat filled with passengers broke free, drifted from the ship. The passengers began struggling in the wind, not accustomed to how oars fixed in pins, and were soon capsized as a wave upended the boat, hitting it broadside. Those not sucked under, hung on to the overturned lifeboat. Melissa saw they were losing strength in the freezing water. They wouldn’t last long in hypothermia.\n\nLike herded animals looking for refuge, eighty or so passengers and crew, the survivors, gathered on the top most decks; the sea battering the ship beneath them, which now began to break apart with the wrenching sound of twisting steel. The word spread through the survivors; the lifeboats were destroyed or gone. With no recourse, those left huddled together waited for dawn. Maybe a ship would come. There had to be a ship.\n\n******\nTuesday, January 23, 1906\n6:42 am\n\nAll night Joe had held Melissa and Mary at the base of the main mast, the only warmth coming from their drenched bodies against each other. As the hours wore on, the sea claimed more and more passengers as the ship broke up, settling ever deeper, the water rising. Some passengers were stolen away by merciless waves, some passed silently from the cold, some preferred the night to end, despondent by the loss of loved ones, and simply let themselves slip away.\n\nOnce daylight broke, Joe went off to check with the crew. He joined to help fire a cannon-like device, a Lyle line, to shore. The first attempt exploded, the quarter inch rope line going nowhere, the man who aimed it to the trees above the cliffs ahead blowing off two of his own fingers. The second attempt threw the line powerfully in the cannon’s blast, the rope landing above the cliff, but with no one to attach the line to the land, the rope simply fell slack. And now the men were out of shells to try another throw. But what use would another throw be with no one on shore? The line must be fixed. Without a fixed line there would be no ferrying, no sending one passenger at a time, the breech basket unused.\n\nWhen Joe returned Melissa held him. The long night had shown her what Joe was made of. He’d been offered a chance to escape; some crew members he knew called to him, “There’s a boat. We’re taking it.” He’d chosen to stay. In a desperate situation people may do desperate things, say more than they mean. Life accentuates. And in that exuberance of desperation, perhaps Melissa said more than she meant, telling Joe he was a better man than she’d ever known. Joe responded, no, he was just a fireman, a shoveler of coal. Melissa, perhaps, would lose what she felt that night in the clarity of rescue, but until then she held onto Joe, a man like she’d never known, and at least for that night, she loved him.\n\nAs the black night grayed; as the white day rose in the dawn sky, they both heard the call for a volunteer to swim in the line. Melissa held both Joe’s hands. She knew he must be the one to go.\n\n******\nTuesday, January 23, 1906\n10:33 AM\n\nAs Joe pulled himself from the churning water, the taste of saltwater strong in his throat, the weight of the line stretched to the ship dragged him off the slick rocks back into the ocean. A last effort, tugging the line, his feet once again attempted traction on the rocks, but an eight-foot mounting wave broke on him, tons of water twisted his body, the undertow dragged him beneath the water away from the shore. He came up gasping, tried to swim to shore once again, but the line was too tight, too heavy in the water, and held him back.\n\nJoe felt himself weakening as he threw his body on the next break of the waves. But his feet climbed on the rocks, and he was able to get a firm grip with his hands on a sharp edge of granite. He pulled himself up. But then the next wave hit and dragged him back once again. He reached for the knife; he cut the line.\n\nLeaning off the stern was Second Mate P. Petterson standing with Seaman Berg. They watched as the roped line went slack to the ship, away from Joe. “That’s it. At least the fireman made it.” The Second Mate turned away.\n\nSeaman Berg waited for Joe to gain the shore. He then called back to the Second Mate. “Sir. The man is swimming not to shore, but back to us!”\n\nSecond Mate Petterson ran to the rail and called to the deck below. “You there! Throw a preserver to that man. He’s returning to ship!”\n\nWith Joe back on board, there was not much time remaining before the ship would be overwhelmed. Already the main deck was separating. Once the deck split fully, the Valencia would simply fold in on itself, high tide would cover the ship, and there she’d rest.\n\nJoe found Melissa and Mary still lashed to the deck. The waves would soon rise to attempt clawing them into the ocean. But Joe could tell at this point it didn’t matter. There was nothing to do but close their sightless eyes. He cut them loose and freed them to the sea.\n\n********\nPostscript:\nThe story of the wreck of the SS Valencia, in less than three-thousand words, is impossible to convey. What’s important to remember is real people died those few days in 1906.\n\nIt’s true no women or children survived the wreck (near 140 deaths, 37 survivors) and there were few heroes; certainly not the captain who incompetently (do to mis-navigation) led the ship onto a reef at the base of a Vancouver Island cliff, and certainly not the men who reached shore and still did not stay to help with the Lyle line.\n\nA humble hero does stand out (who did survive), Joe Cigalos. The First Methodist Church in Seattle presented a medal for the Greek fireman’s bravery, which included trying to swim to shore to fix the line.\n\nBibliography\n\nNeitzel, Michael C. The Final Voyage of the Valencia, 1995 \nhttps://immigrantships.net/v6/1800v6/valencia18850903.html\nhttps://moonmausoleum.com/the-ghost-ship-ss-valencia/\nhttps://www.nightwatchparanormal.com/ss-valencia.html" } ]
[ { "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 Actor's Journey\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1460\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that switches between first person and third person point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Lights up. The stage is dark. A spotlight reveals ANGELINE, sitting alone on a park bench. In her hand, she holds a white rose. She ponders the events that have just ensued.\nFor about the sixth time today, I wonder why I'm even here, what made me decide to do this. I sacrifice my lunches and after-school homework times just to be here and do what? I'm just sitting here on this bench in the middle of the stage, doing almost nothing while people stare at me. Up in the catwalk, four people dressed in black fuss with a humongous light fixture. I silently wonder what would happen if they were to accidentally drop it on my head. It would put me out of misery, that's for sure. It might begin with a cord snapping, a muttered \"oh no\" from one of the techs, and then—\n\"Clara?\" Ms. Whittle, my drama teacher, waves her hand in an effort to catch my attention, snapping me out of my existential daydream. She's sitting in the front row of the auditorium, a habit that began only last week, but the sound carries the way only an actor's voice can. \"I know it's distracting to have rehearsal when the crew is working, but please try and focus. We open in just a few weeks, and we really need to run through this last scene before tech week.\" Ms. Whittle is my favorite teacher, so I try, just for her. With anyone else, I would have given up by now. Focus.\nANGELINE looks stage left longingly, staring after her best friend turned enemy, CARLOTTA, who is standing in the wings, out of the audience's sightline, but not ANGELINE's. ANGELINE stands up and walks downstage. She turns her gaze towards the audience.\nNow I'm standing, wow big change, staring out at an almost empty auditorium. Ms. Whittle and the stage manager stare back at me. The actress playing Carlotta had a doctor's appointment she wasn't able to reschedule, so she couldn't make it to rehearsal. So here I am, left staring at empty space.\nI auditioned for the school play because I enjoyed Ms. Whittle's drama class. I didn't think I would get a role, let alone such an important one. In class, at least, Ms. Whittle let us choose the characters we played. It was almost like playing dress-up, but less ridiculous. I quickly realized that playing characters that are completely different from myself is much harder. I remember staring at myself in the mirror during the costume fitting, bundled up in layers of fabric: petticoats, skirts, and ornate blouses. The thing that I remember most vividly is thinking This isn't me. If I've learned anything in the past two months of rehearsal, it's that Angeline and I are nothing alike.\nANGELINE looks down at her feet. She lifts up her hand to reveal the white rose CARLOTTA has given her. She withdraws a knife from her coat pocket and starts to shave off the petals.\nI didn't think this rehearsal could get any more awkward, but here we are. I'm standing in the middle of the stage, still, now using a clear plastic knife to cut the petals off of a synthetic rose. Everyone in the room continues to stare at me in silence. My face is screwed up in concentration, but not because I'm having an unbelievably difficult time shearing off these fake petals. I'm trying to remember my lines.\nWhen I first got my script, I carried it around like a trophy. It was solid, tangible proof that I was good at something, that someone had chosen me. But as we began to rehearse the scenes, those pages started to weigh me down. Instead of a prized possession, my script became a mark of everything I hadn't completed yet, all the work that I had willingly signed up for. Some days, I just wanted to rip out the pages and crumple them up. It sounded better than staring at the same sentence again, trying to get the words to stick in my brain.\nANGELINE finishes stripping the flower of its beauty. She lets the stem fall to the floor to join the shredded petals. She then stares at the knife in her hand. She wonders what it would feel like to gut the person who had betrayed her trust and killed her father. She mimes stabbing CARLOTTA, as if the two women were standing face to face.\nI like this part, vengeance. It's underwhelming, though, using a knife that Ms. Whittle and I found in the \"picnic cutlery\" drawer of the school kitchen. I mime the stabbing a few times, but I just can't get it. I can't get the action, the emotion behind it, or even the character of Angeline. I don't understand her, who she is, and how to become her. The stage directions tell me that Angeline is a woman. You would think it's easy to be that with all the profound words that Angeline says and the posh way she dresses. But it's not. I'm expected to just put up this facade and become a new person. And this person isn't someone I just get to make up. The script controls how I speak, how I look, even the way I stand. On top of that, people are watching me. At least in drama class, everyone experiments together. We all act silly and goofy together. Here, the techs are literally putting me in the spotlight.\n\"Ms. Whittle, I can't!\" The words spill out, and all the frustration and annoyance I have bottled up over this whole ordeal escapes through those four words.\nMs. Whittle seems startled by this sudden break of character, but she recovers quickly. She's a good actress. She might be disappointed, but she still provides support and the voice of reason in any situation.\n\"Clara, dear, I know it seems foolish, but please try.\" There it is again, that expectation, the pressure to perform and do it well. She's implying that my effort will be enough, but I know it won't. She continues, \"The prop knife I ordered will look and feel much more realistic, but it won't get here until next week.\"\nI'm starting to think that maybe I don't want to wait until next week. I've seen my understudy perform the scenes. She is so much better than me. She practically is Angeline in real life. Ms. Whittle gives her far fewer corrections and far more praise. \"I'm blown away, Rosalie,\" or \"Rosalie, that was beautiful.\" Far different from \"Let's try it again, Clara,\" and \"How about we do it this way instead?\" I consider throwing down my plastic knife and storming out. I think about how good it would feel to just yell, \"I QUIT.\" Get all this weight off my shoulders.\nANGELINE turns the knife over in her hands. She looks up at the sky. \"Oh father, what would you have me do?\" The words resonate in silence, the first ones spoken in the scene. A long pause. ANGELINE sighs, returning the knife to her coat pocket.\nFor once, I actually remember my line. The silence that follows is far from perfect. The stage manager sneezes, the techs, still fumbling with the light, frantically whisper among themselves. This is the moment I've been dreading, the one I can't capture correctly. Angeline reaches out to her dead father, getting nothing in return. The resolve, the decision to show mercy, comes from within herself. I have to explain that to an auditorium full of people who are so far away I can't even see their faces clearly. And all this without words. I'm supposed to be desperately looking to the sky for a sign, a voice, or something else. Instead, I look at Ms. Whittle for guidance. I'm expecting disappointment, or at least judgment in her expression.\nTo my surprise, instead of the frustration I'm anticipating, I just see pride. Despite my reluctance about my acting abilities, she truly thinks I'm good enough. All of a sudden, like a floodgate has opened, I understand. I understand all of it. I understand how Angeline changes her own mind. It just takes a change in perspective, a reassuring look from someone you look up to. All thoughts of quitting disappear completely when I see Ms. Whittle's face. She's passionate about theatre, about this project, and she's believed in me this whole time. So why shouldn't I be able to do it? I get it. I finally get it.\nANGELINE turns and returns to her seat on the bench. Her head is in her hands. At the last second, she looks up at the audience with a melancholy smile on her face. Blackout.\nEnd of Scene" } ]
[ { "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: Inner Voice\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1000\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who can suddenly see through another person's eyes — literally." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Inner Voice\nRohan opened his eyes slowly to see himself in the mirror maze. He thinks, “How did I end up here”. He looks around and sees him surrounded by his own reflections. He tries to remember how he ended up here. He gets a glimpse of his chemistry class. He mildly remembers that he was in the chemistry lab doing some classwork. He can say by the look it is mirror maze, but this does not belong in the school. He slowly starts to walk forward and tries to find a way out of the maze. As he passes by many set of mirrors, he notices an odd thing. There were three mirrors that did not reflect him; instead, he saw his sixth-grade chemistry teacher “Mr. Rahul”, his crush “Riya” and his best friend “Rohit”. Rohan wonders why these three mirrors are not reflecting him. And why is it reflecting these three person in peculiar while the other mirrors are reflecting him. He moves towards those mirrors. And takes a glance at all three and he decides to first approach his Chemistry teacher’s mirror.\nSo he first approaches to Mr. Rahul’s mirror and touches it. Soon a bright light blinds him. Then it fades away. He could see his sixth-grade chemistry lab and see his own childhood self, trying on some chemical combination. He then realizes that he is in the body of his chemistry teacher Mr. Rahul. Though Rohan was in Rahul’s body, he controlled neither his body nor mind. Rohan was able to hear Rahul’s inner voice.\n“Every year, I come across many new students. Though they remember me or not but I still remember each one of them” thinks Mr. Rahul. Then he looks at Rohan as the chemical apparatus slips Rohan’s hand and falls down. It shatters into pieces. Rahul approaches Rohan.\n“I know this part,” Rohan thinks. “This is where I get scolded like never before till now in my life”. Then Rohan hears Mr.Rahul’s inner voice. “Poor child is he ok, I scolded him very much. I feel sorry for that, but he has to be more careful. He reminds me of my son. That is why I had to scold him. I am not sure how he took it. If my son was alive he would be the same age of his.”\n“I thought him to be the worst teacher in my entire school life. I thought he never had a conscience and the rudest teacher. However, he considered me his son. I never knew he had a softer side. Moreover, I feel sorry for his son. After this my thought on him has changed”, thinks Rohan. The surroundings slowly fade away and he returns to the mirror maze. Next Rohan moves towards Riya’s mirror and touches it. He sees the same chemistry lab from Riya’s perspective.\n“Should I ask him for a group study? I am so afraid. What if he rejects me? But he studies better than me and has good grades. Only once, he had helped me with the chemistry lessons. I have not spoken to him other than that once. He is the only person that was kind to me.” Rohan listens to Riya’s inner voice. “Everybody thinks me as bad luck. If I am to speak with him, nobody will be his friend ever again. I know how it feels to be alone and would not let it to happen to anyone. Even my mother thinks of me as a curse and my father died because of me”.\n“I never knew Riya wanted to become my friend. I thought she only like the sportive boys, but never knew she had this bad luck idea in her mind and even her mother believes in it. She thinks me to be the kindest person in the entire world. But I have been mean by not understanding her feelings.” runs in Rohan’s mind. Riya makes up her mind to ask Rohan for a group study. She slowly approaches him. Then she sees Rohan dropping the apparatus and Mr. Rahul approaching him. Riya stands a few feet away from Rohan and watches everything happening. She feels sorry for what happened to Rohan. She thinks she is the reason for the things that happened to him because of her bad luck. She decides not to think of him ever again, for his own safety.\nRohan slowly comes out of her inner voice and back to the mirror maze. Finally, he approaches Rohit’s mirror. Again, Rohan is back to the same chemistry lab but now in Rohit’s mind. Rohan sees Rohit applying some kind of lubricant to an apparatus and placing it unnoticed on Rohan’s table. Rohit thinks, “Rohan do you think you are so intelligent because every time I get a lower grade than you, my mother always scolds me when comparing me with you. Everyone wants to be your friend. So I have filled this apparatus with toxic gas, so when it falls down and breaks. Everyone in the class, including you will be affected by the gas. You have to take the entire blame.”\nRohan returns to the mirror maze. He thought Rohit to be his best friend in the entire world but he has betrayed him. “Just because I am a bit better than you doesn’t make you worse. Your mother scolds you by comparing me to you, is to make you take the effort I take. But not to take a revenge on me”, thinks Rohan.\nRohan finds himself in an ambulance, because of an accident in the chemistry lab. He asks the treating nurse if everyone is ok. She replies, “You are the only one who is most hurt, others are only mildly hurt”. Rohan thinks, “I am not hurt by the wound but I am hurt by the betrayal.”\nThe entire world is seen from our perspective. However, once when we start seeing from other's perspectives, we will be astonished by the secrets that it holds." } ]
[ { "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: Extra-Ordinary\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1626\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite your story from the perspective of a side character." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Dear Diary,\nWhy are heroes so destructive, and why is insurance so hard to get these days?\nI feel like the two are connected.\nSeriously though, it’s frustrating. While they fly around, smashing into buildings, throwing away bystanders' lives like worthless trash, the rest of us are left with physical and financial reminders of our average-ness. Yeah, I get it, Spectacular-Man. You can shoot lasers from your eyes and I can’t. Did you really have to slice my aunt’s car in half, though? Was that really necessary? \nMy mom suggested I start keeping a journal of everything that’s going on. “A mess like this only happens once in a lifetime,” she said. “You’ll want to be able to tell your kids one day.”\nIf I live to have kids. \nAnyway, I’ve never been much of a writer, Diary, so please excuse my lack of linguistic expertise. You’ll get used to it quickly. \n\n\n\n\n\nDear Diary, \nIt’s been two weeks since the aliens touched down and three days since my first entry. It’s scary how quickly I’ve become accustomed to the chaos around me.\nWhen the end of the world seems imminent, you’d think people would be too busy losing their minds to worry about anything else, yet here I am, sitting at school, watching teachers scramble to put up sound-proof padding on the walls. As if that’s enough to keep out the muffled sounds of the intergalactic war going on outside. The worst part? This shitty school lunch sitting in front of me is the most upsetting part of my day so far. \nI forgot to pack my lunch this morning because I was too busy trying to save my neighbors from the wreckage of their apartment. Somehow, a tussle between a gang of “teen heroes” and some aliens made its way to my part of town. I only caught a glimpse of their faces before they flew away, but I could have sworn that one of the “heroes” was my science partner last year. He couldn’t even dissect a dead frog without passing out, and now we’re expecting him to help save the world? The aliens have a slimy appearance, somewhat similar to frogs, so I’m not sure how he held it together through the fight. \nYou may have noticed my quotation marks around the word “hero” in that last paragraph. When you think of a hero, what comes to mind? Most likely someone who saves people, right? Maybe with huge muscles and an even bigger ego? Not a scrawny white kid with shitty energy-manipulation powers and a savior complex. Definitely not a scrawny white kid with a severe lack of upper-body strength (such a lack that, after realizing he was not able to lift the rubble HE created in an unnecessary fight, decided to flee the scene and leave his old science partner to save the people whose lives he ruined.) Definitely not that, right? Right? \nSo yeah. I didn’t have time to pack my lunch. \nI hate being treated like a device for character development. \n\n\n\n\n\nDear Diary,\nI’m becoming more and more glad that I chose this thick leather notebook over the flimsy composition book I was considering using for this… documentation? Is that the right word? I don’t know. My education has gone sharply downhill these past few weeks. \nMy aunt finally got some compensation for her car, though. She found some loophole in her insurance agency's “no coverage for super-human accidents” policy since Spectacular-Man is technically part demigod.\nGod, that’s not a sentence you get to say often.\nWhen I was a little boy, I use to pray every night that I would magically wake up with powers. Teleportation, or maybe fire breath. Anything I could use for good. \nI’m glad God never answered. I shit on these super-freaks a lot, but it’s gotta be a lot of stress for them to suddenly be thrust into the spotlight like this. We had a lot of good Samaritan types before, just intercepting muggings and pulling cats out of trees. Local stuff like that. Nothing nearly as destructive as foreign life forms with a thirst for human brains.\nI didn’t even know that Scrawny Dude had powers. I guess “energy-manipulation” (whatever those buzzwords mean) isn’t a very useful power for everyday life, so it’s not surprising he kept it secret. \n\n\n\n\n\nDear Diary,\nMy mom says I should make copies of my entries in case you get destroyed. She seemed adamant about it. I think she’s still in disbelief I even listened to her. I was too lazy to copy all my writing again, so I just took pictures of the pages with my phone and copied them onto my computer. I think that’s good enough. \n\n\n\n\n\nDear Diary, \nMy mom was right. Your first body got destroyed, along with everything else in my locker. And every other locker at Standard High. Thanks, Tornado-Woman, great work keeping us safe! Now you’re that flimsy composition book I mentioned earlier. \nShould I rewrite everything, or just print off the pictures I took and tape them in here? I’m leaning towards the second option. I hope the library is still offering students free printing privileges. On second thought, I hope it’s even still standing. \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDear Diary,\nBoy, oh boy, oh boy. Where do I begin?\nTell me which phrase sticks out to you most: Alien egg nest, rip-off Teen Titans, hospital stay, or super-science-buddy? Should I just go in order? I think I’m just gonna go in order. \nIt all started last Thursday. That’s when my notebook got destroyed. I briefly mentioned that a hero named Tornado-Woman was responsible for the locker massacre. I criticized her techniques, which, in hindsight, I must apologize for. I am sorry Tornado-Woman. You were definitely right to tear through the rows of metal cubbies with no explanation while all the confused high schoolers around you begged you to stop. My bad. \nI’m only half-kidding. Basically, she had noticed that a lot of the aliens were congregating around the high school and snaking somewhere underground. She suspected that it was some sort of nest and thought they were using our lockers as incubators. Her hunch was halfway right. At lunch the next day, an announcement was released to the whole school calling for an evacuation. Everyone filed out in line, except for a few kids. \nRemember “Scrawny Dude” who almost killed my neighbors? Well, apparently he has a whole super posse. These “heroes” decided that this infestation was their moment to shine. Literally. One of them has the power to turn into a ball of light. How useless. \nI’m getting off-track. Anyway, they all ran back in and decided to handle this mess all by themselves, once and for all. This lasted about five minutes before they realized they’d bit off more than they could chew. Most of the freaks retreated, except for Scrawny Dude and the Light Girl. I guess it was like, dark, or something, down in the basement where they found the nest, so Light Girl did her thing and became… light. Here’s the thing: she doesn’t actually turn into solid light. There’s some sort of core or center that is super hot. Usually, this isn’t important, because usually, she’s not surrounded by highly flammable gross-alien-space-egg-goo-shit. \nSo long story short, the whole basement erupted into flames. Light Girl was fine, she just phased through a wall in her light form to escape, leaving Scrawny Dude alone and really wishing he had a different power. \nOk, get ready, because this is where I come in. I, in a stroke of absolute genius-ness, remembered that the main entrance to the basement was only a few steps behind the exit I used. Adrenaline took over my body and before I knew it, I was in the building. Within seconds, I located the door, crept along the wall, and finally wrapped my fingers around the handle… but, before I could pull, I heard thunderous applause from outside.\nMy mind raced. Was it for me? I hadn’t even done anything yet. Were my peers so amazed by my bravery that they preemptively gave me a standing ovation? The possibilities whirled through my brain before I saw it: Scrawny Dude, draped across the shoulders of an invisible form, emerging from halfway across the building. The figure set him down on the ground before materializing as a short blonde girl, now doubled over and coughing. \nSomeone got to him first. \nI didn’t even have time to react before a blast of heat from the staircase in front of me shot me backward, straight into a giant window. I had been holding the door open as I took in the scene around me, and in that time, the fire spread onto some explosive chemicals in a storage closet. That’s what I’m told, at least. I lost consciousness pretty soon after.\nWhen I woke up again, I was in the hospital. I’m writing this entry in the so-called privacy provided by the flimsy blue curtain strung in the middle of the room. Due to the recent influx of injuries these past few weeks, the hospitals have had to get crafty about making more space. I caught a glimpse of the person behind the curtain; it’s the blonde girl who saved Scrawny Dude. I’ve watched feet shuffle in and out of the room all day, all of them barely noticing me before ducking behind the cloth wall to bring her gifts and kind words. \nNobody came for me. \nScrawny Dude showed up at one point. He looked fine, just a few bandages here and there, maybe a cough or two every few minutes. He gave me a sad smile and wave before leaving. \nNow I feel bad for forgetting his name." } ]
[ { "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: Born to Live\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1333\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story inspired by the phrase “The plot thickens.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "There were times Thomas found himself forgetting. His father, his mother, their faces and voices, the home they had lived in. All of it was distant in his mind, faded and blurred. It had gotten worse since he caught the sickness, even yesterday's events felt more like a dream than reality. Maybe they were. But for all his forgetting, his grandfather's memory remained firmly set in stone.\nHis parents had died at some point. Maybe at the same time, maybe years apart. A war might have played a role, or gangsters. Could have been a bootlegger with a shotgun or a hit-and-run driver. He couldn't remember anything about the ordeal accept for the doorbell's ring. Grandfather had come to collect them.\nThem. Oh yes, Thomas remembered, shifting in his bed. The sheets were fresh, but his gown was soaked with sweat. A boy sat, somehow sleeping, at his bedside in an uncomfortable wooden chair.\nHe was small for his age, though Thomas couldn't remember just what age the boy was. He wore too-big knickers held up by suspenders and a warn out cap, hand-me-downs from his big brother. In his small, pink-tinged hands, he grippes an elegant white glove. It had belonged to their mother, hadn't it?\nBen, that's what Grandfather used to call the boy. Ben. He'd have to remember that.\nThe old man took care of them for a time. Those days were good, peaceful. But a sickness had spread through their town, through their country. Maybe through the whole world. Grandfather hadn't lived long. Thomas wouldn't either.\nCoughing, he shifted in his bed again. It squealed under his weight, which wasn't very much. He'd never been particularly meaty, but he was all bones these days. Bones and bruised skin.\nThe creaking bed-frame was painted white, same as the dozen others. No one was in any of them, though he was sure half had been filled the day before. The ceiling was white, and the walls. A thick ropey wire ran up the wall opposite him, bending at the top to run further along the ceiling. It was white too.\nGrandfather hadn't died in the hospitable, but at home in his own bed. It wasn't white, or cold and metal. His frame was made of wood, polished dark oak. But the men had burned it after he died, like everything else in the little house, save for the two boys. They'd been sent to a doctor for examination, but only one of them had caught the old man's sickness. Ben.\nHard as it was, Thomas could remember his little brother, sweaty and coughing and asking for water. A month of suffering had passed, but the boy survived. The doctors said he was cured, immune even. But by that time, it had passed to him.\nLike Ben, Thomas sweat buckets and coughed so hard it felt his guts would fly out his mouth. A month had passed, and another after it. By the third, the doctors knew the truth of it. Thomas knew it too. He wouldn't be recovering, and he hadn't forgotten.\nIt was strange, knowing you were to die.\nEveryone died, of course. One day. But they had the luck of delusion. They could pretend they'd live forever, or at least that there was still something good to come. Thomas didn't have delusion, though. Any day now, any hour, could be his last. There was nothing good, or even bad, to come. Just death.\n“Men are born to die,” Thomas could remember his grandfather saying. “Only a few are born to live.”\nHe didn't what the words meant, but they were the old man's last. He still couldn't make sense of them. Or maybe he had, but he'd forgotten. There wasn't much he remembered, just himself and his grandfather, and his little brother.\nStruggling into a sitting position, he set his eyes on the still-sleeping boy at his bedside. What was his name? \nOh yes, he remembered. Ben.\nThomas couldn't help but feel guilty for dying. Ben would be alone then, the last member of their family. His future was bleak regardless of his big brother's mortality. But if Thomas still lived, then at least Ben could be supported and loved. Instead, the boy would likely be locked away in some orphanage, or forced into factory work.\nThese concerns were just about the only thing keeping Thomas going. He knew that if he fought just awhile longer, Ben wouldn't suffer so. But he was tired, so very tired. He didn't want to fight anymore. And more and more, it was becoming hard to remember why he was fighting. \nThe sweat made his gown stick to him. He pinched the rough fabric and tugged it off his wet, clammy skin. The stale air of the room was refreshing, and he swallowed a mouthful of it before crashing back into the mattress. His body ached down to the bone, not that there was much else to him. He really was tired.\nHe fell asleep soon after. And though he didn't know for how long, he was glad to wake again.\nThe boy, his brother, sat on the bed's edge. His eyes were teary, his lips pink and teary. He still gripped their dead mother's glove, but with the same hand he clung to Thomas' own, the soft fabric pressed between their sweaty palms.\n\"No crying,\" Thomas told the boy, even though he himself felt like doing just that. Not because he was sick, but because he couldn't remember his brother's name. \"You, you're the man of the family now. You can't cry anymore.\"\nStoically, the boy clenched his jaw, sniffled, and gave a nod. \"I won't,\" he vowed. \"But you can't either.\"\n\"It's a deal,\" Thomas said, rolling his head over. On his other side stood a man, tall and silver-haired and wearing a long white coat. He swallowed. \"Is it time?\"\nThe doctor gave a tight lipped smile, an attempt at comfort. \"It won't be long, my boy. Not very long at all.\"\nWith all his strength, Thomas squeezed his brother's hand, the glove wrinkling. He stared up at the white ceiling and the thick ropey cord that ran down its middle to the dim overhead light. He took a deep breath, his bed creaking from the feint movements of his body, and remembered those words, his Grandfather's last.\n“Men are born to die,” the old man had said with a gasp, his dying breath a high-pitched whistle. “Only a few are born to live.\"\nThe white of the room went black, the boy and the doctor at his sides vanished, and Thomas was falling. It wasn't a swift, stomach flipping fall like on a carnival ride, now a sudden drop like when you tumbled from a tree. It was a slow, sinking fall so slow it felt as if he were barely moving at all. He was a feather drifting down through the darkness, alone and peaceful.\nHe felt as if he'd fall forever. But forever ended quicker than expected, for he'd reached the bottom of the nothingness. It felt soft, cushiony. I'm asleep, he reminded himself, and opened his eyes to an alien world.\nIt was dim in the little room, the morning sun just beginning to slip through the curtains. He was warm, but not sweaty. The bed was thick, cushiony, and the sleek sheets had a pleasant scent. But they weren't his, he tried to tell himself they weren't. He was in someone else's bed, yet the mattress and sheets and blankets felt familiar, as if he'd slept here a million times before.\nThe walls around him were painted baby blue, and they were lined with bookshelves, all except for one where a strange object hung. It was rectangular, and resembled the large screens at the picture shows. T.V., his mind supplied, though he felt the word belonged to another language. Another word came to mind, a name. Ben. He just couldn't remember who it belonged to." } ]
[ { "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: Being a Grown-up\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1386\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who can suddenly see through another person's eyes — literally." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Being seven years old stinks!\nThis evening I was supposed to go to the soccer club pizza party, but I’m grounded for failing a test in school and trying to lie about it. I wouldn’t have been able to go anyways just for failing the test but I still didn’t want to miss it if I could help it! Wendy Green was going to wear her new JoJo Siwa watch and Taylor Gates was bringing her Glitter Girl doll in a new outfit, and I have to miss seeing them! And it’ll be so embarrassing to explain why I couldn’t go!\nMom and Dad are out on a date tonight so I’m stuck at home with a babysitter. Of course, I’m not the baby. My little brother is, but the fact a babysitter comes to my house would be another thing I’d be embarrassed to tell my friends. But secretly I think she’s super cool.\nThe babysitter’s name is Allison. She’s fifteen years old! She just started high school! She wears makeup and does her own hair, which she’ll help me with sometimes when my baby brother doesn’t need much attention. She has a smartphone with Snapchat! Mom and Dad won’t let me use Snapchat, but when Allison’s over and after she takes care of my brother, we take selfies and use the filters and stuff. Then she sends the pictures to me. She’s learning how to drive, but she says she can’t take me anywhere by herself until she has her license. She even has a boyfriend!\nBut my brother is taking up a lot of Allison’s time this evening. He didn’t settle down until I was in bed myself so we couldn’t do the fun things we normally do when she’s over.\nI can’t wait to be a grown-up so I can do what I want. I won’t get grounded for failing a test. If I know everything by now, I imagine I wouldn’t even fail any more tests by the time I’m in high school. I won’t need a babysitter. I won’t even have to live with my parents and baby brother if I didn’t want to. I could use Snapchat. I could drive, go on dates, and to pizza parties whenever I want. I’d go to bed anytime I wanted too.\nWhen I wake up the next morning, I turn on the lamp and see I’m not in my own room. My My Little Pony comforter is not on my bed and my dolls and stuffed toys aren’t next to me. No other toys are to be found anywhere in the room either. Instead, I see a dresser scattered with makeup, jewelry, perfume, and hairstyling things. Some clothes lay around the room that look bigger than me. Have I become a grown-up already? I get out of bed and start shuffling across the room. My body isn’t moving with my own control, which is confusing and scary. But I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and see Allison’s face. I’m in her body!\nAllison shuffles to the bathroom and turns on the shower. While in there, she shaves her legs! It seems so easy to her but thinking about a razor makes me worry about cutting my skin off! When she gets out and dries off, she puts some face cream on a few pimples. Eww! But she puts makeup on a while later and she has the pretty face I recognize. The pimples are hardly noticeable too.\nWhen its time to go, Allison gets to practice driving on her way to school, which isn’t as easy as I imagined. There are so many things to keep track of: the car’s speed, the mirrors, the dashboard meters, the signals, the signs and lights, other cars on the road. On top of that, her mom in the passenger seat was more nervous than leaves in a wind storm the whole time. She was constantly fussing at Allison to stop, slow down, use the turn signal, or watch the blind spots. It’s overwhelming! They pull up to the high school in one piece though—thank goodness—and Allison gets out. I don’t see what her mom was so nervous about.\n I never noticed how big the high school is, or even been this close to it until now. Allison must’ve gotten the hang of it by now but I’m afraid I’d get lost. She makes her way down the halls to her locker. I wish we had lockers in elementary school. We have just as many books and crap.\nFirst thing in the morning, Allison is in a class called algebra. Its like a math class but it uses letters. I thought just learning how to do multiplication was hard. It looks like algebra uses all kinds of math. Her teacher reminds the class about a test at the end of the week and passes back assignments. Allison’s paper has several teacher’s marks on it and I can tell she’s nervous. I guess you can even fail tests in high school.\nOver an hour later, a bell rings and Allison goes to another classroom. This time, English, one of my favorite subjects! I’m one of the better readers in my class, I’m a decent speller, and I enjoy the vocabulary activities.\nExcept, in Allison’s English class, she’s working on a ten-page research paper on a current issue—whatever that means. And ten pages, holy cow! The whole class period, Allison was on the internet researching something called her thesis, writing things on notecards, and then typing an outline. I thought writing my book reports were tough!\nAllison’s lunchtime is almost like mine. The school lunch even looks a lot like what we eat at my school. In a crowded cafeteria she eats and talks with her friends and her boyfriend until time for the next classes. I guess they don’t have recess during lunch in high school.\nAllison goes to a class called homeroom after lunch. While there, her class is instructed to take something called career assessments. They’re like personality quizzes, where they ask if you would rather buy and sell stuff, or study or build something. You choose whether you wanted to do that the most or the least to answer the questions and, in the end, it suggests the best things for you to do after high school.\nThe fact that Allison and her classmates are taking quizzes for that seems a little funny to me. When you’re around my age, all the time people ask what you want to be when you grow up. When a kid answers that question, I think sometimes we want to do what our moms and dads do or we just think a job is super cool, and we think a lot of things are super cool too. To me, playing soccer, creating outfits, and teaching a class all seem super cool, so when I grow up, I want to be either a soccer player, a fashion designer, or a teacher. Do kids in high school forget what they want to be when they grow up? What if the test says they should do something different? Most of the choices on those quizzes all seem super cool but only one could be the answer. How do you choose? I only have about eight more years to figure this out…\nThe school day finally ends after a few more hours and classes. I thought that Allison would have the time to do what she wants now, but she had to call and talk to her mom first.\n“Can I go with my friends to the ice cream place?” She asked.\n“Who’s going?” Her mom asked back.\n“Candice, Sarah, and Ella,”\n“What about your homework?”\n“It’ll get done, Mom!”\n“If you fail your algebra test, you’ll be grounded,” Her mom warned.\n“Can I not have a little fun, Mom?”\n“Stop it, Allison Kenzie! Don’t forget curfew or you’ll be grounded sooner.”\nWow…Allison does some super cool grown-up things, but she still has to do homework and pass tests. She has pimples and has to shave. And she has to talk to her parents before going out with her friends and has to be home at a certain time. I guess life doesn’t get any easier in eight years." } ]
[ { "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: Fair winds\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2976\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story inspired by the phrase “The short end of the stick.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I'm pretty sure I’m gonna die on this godforsaken ship, he thought, staggering towards the sails as the galleon threatened to capsize at any moment. Williams was neither the biggest nor the strongest man on the ship and being out in the open sea in the middle of a storm with someone yelling at him every five minutes was certainly not his first choice, but after a long year of bad luck he decided to turn his luck around.\nThe storm was upon them and just as another sailor fell off the ship, he disappeared in seconds into the grim, dark sea. The waves were so tall that it looked as if they would swallow the whole ship and leave nothing behind. The wind turned the ship violently from side to side. Williams had never experienced anything like this before and now he stood in the eye of the storm using all his strength to tighten a rope and secure the sail.\n“Get out of there, you stinking dog”, the Bosun said. “Climb up the mast and do your job, boy. I’ll not say it twice.” The Bosun was a huge man, with what seemed to be a Jamaican accent. \nWilliams was struggling to climb on the mast. With the wind and the rain, it was hard to get on top of the sail. This was a huge galleon, heavy and strong, with his two gun decks, which sported 40 cannons. It was a wide ship, designed to accommodate a massive weight of gold, silver or any sort of treasure they might find. William was glad that they weren’t on a small frigate in this storm. He worked at the slick wooden yards with the heavy canvas soaked by the water. He looked down but saw mostly shadows running in a hurry from the stern of the ship to the bow.\nAs he climbed down, he saw another huge wave hit the deck and the crew was very close to falling overboard. Williams barely put both his feet on the deck and the Quartermaster took him, pushing his shirt and screamed into his ear.\n“Get your skinny legs downstairs and help secure the rest of the cannons! We are close to the end”\n“The end?”\n“The end of the storm or the end of us, now get those twigs out of my sight!\"\n“Aye aye, sir”\nThe crew worked hard but they started to get really tired. This ship was bigger and people were dying, apart from the fact that every man did two jobs at once. Williams had just been released from duty and had a few moments to grab some grub and warm up. He ate with his eyes closed, carried by the swaying sea back to Devonshire, back to Mary.\nDevonshire was miles behind him, but just below the surface of his rough face, the memories of home were the first thing on his mind. He had never intended to leave, but he was tired of the sandy beaches where he had spent his life just staring at the horizon. Everything changed when he met Mary. If the will or the desire to do something with his life was lacking, now it was stronger than ever.\nThe two fell in love at the end of that summer and they exchanged promises of eternal love on a cliff watching the sunset, but he had no future in Devonshire. Her family wasn't gonna let her marry a nobody, so he decided to leave and come back wordy of her love. After giving her a long kiss goodbye, he went home to grab his belongings. \nIt was a bleak morning and a soft fog surrounded the old creaking deck where only an old boat was setting sail. Williams quickly jumped onto the boat and when he looked back, he saw Mary on the same cliff they had fallen in love with, waving to him as he disappeared into the horizon.\nIt was a long and silent journey. Surrounded by a calm he would later miss, he laid down and looked to the sky until the seagulls announced that land was near. Williams was now alone for the first time, but to his surprise he felt no sadness as he looked back at the ocean. He knew that this was the only way to a better life and the heart of Mary.\nAfter a long year, Williams traveled from London to Port Royal with no success. No one would hire him. What was left for him was cleaning jobs that paid almost nothing. He now shared a small room with a sad old man named Larry, with a drinking problem. Larry was missing an eye and a leg, wasting all his money on rum. He was funny and not bad company for Williams, but eventually he realized this life was nothing he thought it would be.\nEvery night Larry went to a local pub alone, but on this particular night Williams got tired of feeling sorry for himself and decided to join him. After a few drinks, Larry wouldn't shut up and kept telling all his tales from his time as a sailor.\n“You see lad… you have to make a choice. Life is hard everywhere but it’s harder at sea… I was in the navy soon... till I lost my leg… after that they sent me away like a dog”. Larry suddenly seemed to fall asleep, but in a jump, he began again. “That’s when I chose a not so honest life at sea, if you know what I mean”.\nLarry came very close to him and whispered in his ear. “You can make a lot of money these days with the right ship. You just have to ask the owner for a shot of A drunken Kraken”.\nWilliams flirted with the idea. So he finished his drink, got up and talked to the owner.\n“Give me A drunken Kraken, please.\nThe owner was a tall man with a thick mustache and a skull tattoo on his left arm. He looked at Williams for a few seconds and without saying a word, gave him a bottle of rum while he pointed to a guy eating alone at the end of the pub.\nWilliams turned to say goodbye to Larry, but he was completely out by now. So he walked towards the man, introduced himself and before he even finished his first name, the man stopped him.\n“Sorry, lad. We’re full”\n“I need this, sir. I’m a hard worker.”\nThe man finished his meal and stood up, ignoring him. Williams didn’t have much choice and he got in his way. The man grabbed the gun and pointed to his face.\n“Hire me or shoot me, sir,” Williams said. “Either way, tonight I leave this sorrowful excuse of a life”.\nThe man cracked a smile.\n“Okay, lad. Let's see what you’re made of. I’m James.”\nA rogue wave kicked him back onto the ship. Through the creaking walls he could hear the captain pacing impatiently in his cabin. After taking another bite of the grub, he heard a voice shouting. “All hands on deck”.\nHe was almost on top when a huge wave knocked him on his back. As he tried to get on his feet, a hand pulled him up. He looked behind and realized it was the captain. The man wore a big hat with a white feather, a black overcoat and tiny drops of drool fell on his silver beard.\nWilliams rushed to the stairs to see waves the size of mountains hitting the ship, chaos took over the deck and it seemed the vessel would capsize at any moment. The captain took the helm, guiding his ship away from the storm. At the meantime, a lot of crew members fell overboard performing their duty.\nThe night was long and now over. They made it through the storm but the rain continued to make its presence clear in isolated drops on this misty morning. A hush settled over the ship.\nEighteen lives were lost in the storm. The crew rested and Williams picked up a bottle of rum laying on the floor. He sat on a broken barrel and tried to rest. Even after many seasons, he couldn’t understand why the captain was so obsessed with this particular treasure. After all, there were other types of loot. But if what he says was true and each man would take three times his weight, it would be worth it. \n“Land ho! Land ho!”\nThe men started to look around and not far from them, surrounded by big stones, a foggy beach took shape. \nWhen the men saw this view, they got excited. A few men said how they would buy a thousand bottles of rum. A bald sailor named Beaver Bill grabbed Williams by his shoulder and gave him a big smile with no teeth.\n“We are rich, lad! I’m gonna crack Jenny’s teacup!”, said Beaver Bill.\nThe toothless man kept smiling until he was interrupted by the captain, who drew the crew’s attention.\n“Are you ready to pillage, you scallywags?”\n“Aye”, said the crew in excitement.\n“Are you ready to fill your pockets with doubloons, gold and all sorts of treasure?”\n“Aye!”, the crew wave their hands and cutlasses.\nThe captain knew he had lost too many sailors so he decided to choose one to go off and ensure the safety of the island. After a few endless moments, he pointed to a man with a red beard and long, curly hair. The man fell to his knees, started to cry and begged the captain to choose someone else. He said James was right, that the island was cursed and he didn't want to die.\nThe crew suddenly lost all their excitement and only whispers could be heard among them. The wind itself began to whisper and it sounded like a soft melody as it passed through the torn sails of the old ship.\n“James was a coward and a superstitious fool”, said the captain. “He now lies on Davy Jones’s Locker for his actions”.\nThe man with a red beard started to crawl to the bow of the ship and the captain removed his hat. He walked towards him, extended his hand, helped him to his feet and shot him on his chest, surprising everyone on board. Then he pushed him into the water and went back to get his hat.\nEight bells! He shouted while he walked back to his cabin. Just before he entered, he called from the door.\n“Quartermaster!”\n“Aye sir”\n“If I don't have a volunteer in half an hour, find a man and put him on a boat, or it’s gonna be you on the boat.”\n“Aye sir!”, the quartermaster replied loudly in his hoarse voice.\nThere were no more whispers, only distant eyes staring at the horizon, avoiding any contact. The captain was about to close the door when a voice emerged.\n“I volunteer,” William said.\nThe captain’s soaked heavy boots stopped as he stood at the entrance to his cabin, turning his head just enough to see who spoke.\n“Good man! Quartermaster, give this man a pistol and a better sword. We’re counting on you, Master Williams.”\n“Aye, sir,” William replied, nodding his head and seeing the captain do the same. William saw a chance to be the first to see the treasure with his own eyes and not just a story. He wasn't a superstitious man, he didn't believe in sea monsters or cursed gold pieces and now he was one step closer to Mary. \nHe jumped into this old piece of wood they called a boat. His mouth was suddenly dry. Halfway down, the wind blew again and this time it sounded like a flute coming from the mist gathering behind the ship. Suddenly, a stomp could be heard from under the ship.\nWilliams The water under the ship was cloudy and the sea got rough. They kept lowering the boat when they heard a scream followed by a splash of water coming from the stern. A few crew members went to see what happened. However, there was nothing in the water.\n“Man overboard!”\nThe wind stopped blowing and the waves stopped crashing when a strange calm took over that morning.\nThe first sighting was like a nightmare. A creature launched itself into the ship without any effort, right into the first mate's neck. The tale of a shark swinging was a shock to the crew, but not as much as the rest. From the waist up, it was almost translucent, it was frightening and at the same time it had a disturbing beauty in its shape. You could almost see what it looked like organs in this creature with long, strong arms and scales, as it held the first mate's head. Then, with a strong movement and one single bite, it ripped out his jugular, spreading blood across the deck. Then, it turned to the crew and let out a high-pitched scream.\nAll the sailors put their hands over their ears in agony and some fell on their knees. The sound stopped and when everyone was able to look up, the creature was standing still, with blood in its mouth, with a crooked smile, just staring at them. From the top of its head to the middle of its back it had some kind of hair and pointy bones sticking out of its body. Williams stared at this abomination that got on the ship. The first thought in his mind was how could God create such a creature.\nThe first mate’s body layed on the floor and his blood spread all over the wet wood to the sailors’ feet. They didn't move a muscle and neither did the creature. Suddenly, countless splashes of water at the same time made them all look up and the sight was dreadful. The little light of the day was obstructed by dozens of creatures jumping together with their mouths opened, riding the sky to take them to hell.\nIt wasn't a fight, it was a massacre. Most of the men could barely lift a sword after fighting for days against the tides. The sound of swords and firing guns didn't last even a minute. The ship became red.\nWilliams was about to cut one of the ropes with a knife, but it took forever. He became aware of the silence and stopped. The sounds from above were eerie, he heard cracking bones and something he thought was chewing flesh. He looked up and blood was dripping from the edge of the ship into his hands and face. Williams and the creature locked eyes and now he heard something crawling towards him. It didn't blink or move and its mouth slowly stretched and opened in his direction.\nA loud bang made him close his eyes and when he opened again, half of the creature's face was missing from his side. It was the captain with his single-barrelled flintlock pistol. He took his sword and cut the first rope, causing Williams to fall on his back. Even so, Williams kept his eyes upwards as the captain beheld once more the island, letting go of his dream, his obsession, his life. Williams could see the glow in his eyes starting to fade just before he cut the second rope and freed the little boat.\nWilliams paddle quickly towards the island and he could hear the captain shouting at the creatures as more shots were fired.\n“Come on, you scurvy dogs! Come and get me, you bunch of bilge-sucking demons!”\nWilliams saw him climb the main mast, followed by dozens of creatures. He was swinging his sword, hitting as many creatures as he could. Williams decided to go back, but when he reached for the paddle, he saw the captain jump from the mast into the deck, followed by a wave of creatures like a big school of fish. Williams still tried to paddle, but he heard a single gunshot and then two small explosions followed by a huge blast that blew up the ship, forcing Williams to stop.\nFor a few seconds he stood still, watching the huge yellow fireball turn into a dense black smoke. He paddled hard towards the island, shifting his eyes between the water and the rest of the ship that was sinking in the deep blue sea. After paddling for what felt like an eternity, he finally reached the shore, throwing himself exhausted out of the boat. He could no longer feel his arms and his head was still trying to understand what had just happened. Before he stood up, he looked once more at what was left. The captain went down with the ship and The Santiago was no more. There was only him and the beach.\nHe looked around and walked. In the center of the island, there was a dark cave. He was curious and with a little effort he went inside. He felt something hard and pulled out a diamond the size of his hand, his eyes couldn't believe it as he started to get more and more. Gold coins, necklaces, some spices, all in large quantities. He spent the whole day and still wasn’t able to loot everything out of the cave. It looked like a treasure of a hundred ships. As the night fell softly, he could see dozens of yellow eyes glowing just above the waterline. He thought about his life before The Santiago and before leaving Devonshire. He also thought about Mary and the life he could provide for her, but it didn't matter now. He went close to the sea and had only his feet touching the water, tossing a gold coin in the air while he observed the malicious yellow eyes lurking just beneath the surface." } ]
[ { "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: Sancho Panza's Last Dance\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1174\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story from the point of view of a sidekick, or someone who is happy to stay away from the limelight." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I return to avenge my friend in the shadow of a windmill.\nCharging at it on my trusty steed, I cry a warrior’s cry.\n“No hay viento en el infierno!”\nThe windmill will not budge. It only turns. I pull back on the reins. My horse makes not a sound. There is no sound to make. It would be captured by the wind. My horse is not a horse. She is a giant caterpillar. She is not a butterfly, but her name is Luna.\nLuna Panza, my only living friend.\nAll others are ghosts.\nGhosts that search the Heavens for my face.\n“Sigo vivo y no se porque.”\nWhat if I believe in the old dreams? The old fantasies?\nWhat if I make myself a madman?\nWill I then have a greater understanding within the space of memory?\nWill I dance the old dances and sing the old songs?\nLyrics lost to me brought back? A tarantella? A paso doble?\nWhat will my feet remember after my mind has forgotten?\nI dismount from Luna and lay in the grass. The shadow of my foe covers me in topaz shade. It is not yet summer, but the sun is eager. She wants to burn me. She wants to send me to the dragons. I will charge them. I have nothing to fear.\nBack when my friends were alive, I was the voz de la razón. I would shake my head and beg them to retire back to hearths where the blandest stews were boiling and the coolest ceviches were waiting to be consumed. I wanted to pray over my small blessings and keep those closest to me around the table.\n“Di gracias, di gracias. Porque seguramente soy bendecido.”\nThe grass alerts my ears that ants are approaching. They see me as their windmill. I am an invader to them. They see only danger in my lounging form. What is safe when one is so small against the looming menace? Better to strike first and go to God later.\n“Lo siento. Estaba asustada.”\nIn the background, I hear the sounds of nuns calling out for me. I am in their care now. One rainy night, a knock at the door and a plea for hospitable hearts. They are not permitted to tend to a man indefinitely. Indeed, they should have let me rot on their doorstep. Not a soul would have blamed them. They have their rules. Their order. The sister who plants and harvests the onions carried me in. She would hear nothing of the dangers of men.\n“Miralo,” she said, “Apenas es un hombre.”\nHe’s barely a man.\nWhat do I give them for their trouble?\nI run off.\nI run away.\nThey search.\nThey find me.\nI’m digging holes in the dirt.\nI’m trying to find something that was never lost.\nIt takes four or five of them to drag me back to the convent.\nI’m screaming.\nSweat pouring down the robes they’ve sewn for me.\nRope around my wrists to keep me in bed.\nI’m a madman, but I’m not.\nIt’s an act.\nA performance.\nI want to understand.\nTo understand one must occupy the space.\nI scream as a madman would.\nI rave as a madman would.\nI talk of windmills.\nThe nuns pray.\nI shake.\nThe sun sets.\nShadows cast me into dreams.\nLo siento, mi dio.\nLo siento a todos.\nLo siento.\nAnd what have I to be sorry for?\nBecause I was a barrier when I should have been a passageway.\nBecause I was a naysayer when I should have been a champion.\nBecause when I rode alongside the brave, I closed my eyes.\nThe bravery knocked.\nI would not let it in.\nIt was only towards the end that I saw the light of fantasy.\nThe moon parted the leaves of the trees and showed me the cyan truth.\nAs I clung to the familiar, I saw those I loved pressing on into the greatest of adventures. What danger there was relinquished itself at the foot of their bravado. I hid behind bushes. They did a flamenco by the fires of fear. They held out their hands. I only took it once mine was withered and wrinkled with age.\nAldonza loved me last, but best. A kind woman. She swore that after having lived to carry on the mantle of our beloved, she would pass the dream onto someone new. A young man with a few hairs on his chin barely resembling a bear.\nShe asked him if he believed in dragons.\nHe told her that he was raised by dragons.\nShe knighted him in our kitchen with a wooden spoon. A tap on each shoulder, and he was off to find the monsters of the world. He was off to tell them his name and the name that came before his and the name that came before that name and all the names that were written down on parchment that would be recoiled and remade and retold forever and ever.\nAmen.\nWhile she did this, I sat and ate my stew. She came to sit beside me. She told me she was leaving, and I would never find her, but she said that she would always live inside my heart. As a friend and fellow carrier of a shared story.\nI stirred a few potatoes in a murky broth.\nShe kissed the top of my head.\nAnd she was gone.\nDejó la puerta abierta al salir.\nThe chorus of nuns places my name in harmony. It becomes music. Sancho, a note. Panza, a word. I gather my strength to stand. Luna looks at me--perplexed.\nWhat is the old fool doing?\nI begin to dance. I dance as the windmill cuts the sun and when the rays return I dance in those as well. I dance around the ants--careful not to crush my almost foes. I dance to raise up praise the way those who sing sing up the names of their dead. Their loved ones. To exorcise their grief. To say “No more.”\nNo mas.\nWhen the nuns find me, I am still dancing. A paso doble. A flamenco. I take the hands of the sister who looks after the onions, and I bring her into the dance. Her staid uniform flies from her body, and beneath it is a cebolla dress. We step on grass and it becomes floor. We look to the other sister and they have become musicians. We laugh at the windmill and the windmill turns into a dragon, but the dragon flies away.\n“Así es la vida,” the sister says to me, “Fuiste perdonado antes de que nacieras.”\nYou were forgiven before you were born.\nI take a step--not at something, but in longing.\nA step in time.\nNext to me, I hear a crack.\nWhen I look down, Luna has shed her skin.\nNow there is a thorax.\nNow an abdomen.\nNow wings.\nShe offers me her back for flight, but I decline.\nI have not yet finished the dance." } ]
[ { "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: Unrequited\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2087\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite your story from the perspective of a side character." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Thursday, April 21, 1:05 p.m.\n\nThroughout our whole friendship, Bella has always wanted to be an actress. Every Saturday she made me be her love interest and run lines for plays she wasn’t even going to audition for. So watching her on that stage right now auditioning for the lead in “Romeo and Juliet” is making me the proudest best friend in all of South Carolina. All of her hard work is paying off at this moment, whether she gets the part or not.\n\nIn my position in the auditorium, I can’t hear the lines she is reading but from the faces of the director’s I can tell she is doing amazing. Bella already has this high-class preppy look that matches perfectly for the role of a high social status girl. And of course, Bella - like the definition of her name - is the epitome of beauty. Her long brunette hair and big caramel doe eyes make for the perfect Juliet. \n\n“Perfecto, you did amazing. Now we will bring out our Romeo - Justin - to check your chemistry as co-stars,” the director with a slight Spanish accent calls into the microphone. Going to an expensive private school means our auditorium is huge, and unless the actors speak into mics or are wired with them no one would be able to hear a thing.\n\nI watch as a boy with sandy blond hair walk onto the stage. I assume this is the Romeo, Justin. He continues to walk until he is just a foot away from Bella. When their eyes meet they both freeze. Justin’s eyes scan Bella from head to toe and I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Bella looks at Justin like time stops and he is the only person in the room. Why doesn’t she look at me with that much adoration? \n\nAfter what feels like hours of watching the two in shock, Joshua finally speaks. I still can’t make out what is being said but it looks like they are acting out a scene. Watching the pair act is like watching a love story fall out right in front of my eyes. I can’t help get this pit in my stomach every time Bella’s eyes reach Joseph’s. The feeling is almost unbearable and I have no idea why. To escape the unusual torment I look onto my lap and play games on my phone.\n\n\nThursday, April 21, 1:35 p.m.\n\n30 minutes later, Bella runs up to me practically bouncing with excitement, “Talia I got the part! I really got the part!”\n\nI instantly pull her into my arms “That is amazing. I knew you could do it,” I whispered in her ear.\n\n“That’s not all that happened…” She smirked as she pulled away from me.\n\nBella left the audition with not only the part but also a date for tomorrow night. The thought of this date makes me shiver. The picture of his eyes on Bella burned into the back of my mind. I don’t trust this Jacob character one bit.\n\nI need to protect my best friend, and make sure nothing shady happens on this date.\n\n\nThursday, April 21, 4:15 p.m.\n\nLaying on my bed watching TV I find the perfect opportunity to question Bella about this date.\n\n“Hey, so you really like this Justin guy?” I ask using his real name trying to seem nonchalant.\n\n“Umm I mean, Isn’t Justin gorgeous. With his piercing blue eyes. Soft blond hair. And gosh he can act. He is practically my dream guy.” Belle gushes dreamily staring at the wall.\n\n“So where is this dream guy taking you?” I question keeping my eyes focused on the TV.\n\n“Well, he said there is this movie coming out called ‘Second Fiddle’. It is a rom-com, and then grab a bite to eat at Sonic.” She smiled wide showing off her perfectly straight teeth.\n\n“Hmm that’s nice,” I smirk getting a perfect idea.\n\n\nFriday, April 22, 6:00 p.m.\n\nPulling into the Cinemax parking lot, I get a spot in the farthest, darkest corner so Bella doesn’t recognize my car when they get here. \n\nIt was easy to find the theatre the date would take place at. We live in a very small town and this was the only theatre showing ‘Second Fiddle’ in a 20-mile radius. It is also located in a Plaza with a Sonic, so this must be the location. \n\nBella told me their movie should start around 6:45, so I arrived at the movie theatre 45 minutes early so my plan can fall into action flawlessly. \nOne: I have to buy a ticket without them seeing me.\n\nTwo: I have to find my seat first so they don’t see me come into the theatre.\n\nThree: I have to find a hidden seat, but somewhere I can also keep an eye on things.\n\nWalking into the Cinemax there is practically no one here. Perfect. I quickly pay for my ticket and begin my search for the perfect seat.\n\nI end up sitting on the top row in the right corner. It gives me the perfect view of all the seats in front of me. But it is too far in the corner that it’s too dark to recognize me. Now all I have to do is wait.\n\n\nFriday, April 22, 6:30 p.m.\n\nIt wasn’t long until people start filing into the seats. And then finally I hear the giggle that makes every boy in our grade swoon. Bella is here. Luckily she and Jackson walk right in and take the seats 3 rows in front of me. I instantly know they did not notice me because Bella would have said something immediately. Instead, they sit quietly in my perfect line of sight.\n\nThe advertisements before the movie started, but all I could think about is John’s slimy greasy arm wrapped around Bella. They sit and chat about what seems like random things, but because of the whispering I only catch a few words like “Favorite food”, “Basketball”, “Biology class”.\n\nThe movie starts and Bella leans her head on Jeremiah’s shoulder. This is becoming hard to endure. Watching him make her laugh the way I used to. Watching him tuck her beautiful brown locks behind her ear. \n\nI know I followed them to this date to protect my best friend. And make sure he doesn’t step out of line. But I will never do this ever again. The pain is just too much to bear. I don’t know why I feel an overwhelming sense of jealousy at this moment when I watch them together. While I watch him make her happy. Am I jealous cause I never had a boyfriend before? To be fair I never been interested. \n\nIs there something wrong with me?\n\n\nFriday, May 6, 11:20 a.m.\n\nFor two weeks I watch Bella and Jasper get closer. They hang out constantly and the only time I can see my best friend is during rehearsals, but the whole time she is with him. I still go to show my support and give my encouragement. From afar. But every day is worse and worse. Every day their relationship grows just a tad more. First, it was the longing looks from across the room. Then it was the hand on the shoulder while speaking. Now they are constantly touching and hugging whenever they get the chance. Their eyes can’t seem to stay away from each other. \n\nThe looks of pure adoration and puppy love are starting to get really annoying.\n\nToday they are going over the same scene they have been doing for the past two days when I see Bella jump up and down in excitement and nod her head feverishly. I’m instantly curious. This isn’t a part of the scene so what is going on? Did he ask her on another date?\n\nBella starts sprinting up the stairs to where I’m sitting.\n\n“Talia, OMG you wouldn’t believe what just happened. Justin asked me to be his girlfriend!” She shouts out of breath. \n\nGirlfriend? My chest starts to feel heavy as I let it all sink in. She has never been in a relationship before. What if she is not ready? What if he tries to pressure her? What if she stops hanging out with m-\n\n“Talia, did you hear me? I said Justin asked me to be his girlfriend!” She laughs breaking me out of my train of thought.\n\n“Oh yeah, that’s great Bells,” I put on the most sincere smile I can muster.\n\nShe nods smiling brightly, hugs me quickly, and runs back to the stage.\n\nWhat am I going to do now?\n\n\nTuesday, June 7, 1:40 p.m.\n\nThe past month has been hell on earth. Every time I tried to make plans with Bella she cancels or flaked to hang out with Jace and her new theatre friends. We don’t text or facetime anymore. The only time we talk or see each other is when we have classes together. I stopped going to her rehearsals because it was too much seeing them smooching and attached to the hip.\n\nI’ve come to the realization that I’m in love with my best friend. There is no other reason why I would feel this way. Of course, I was always jealous when she got any male attention. But I just thought it was because she was getting attention and not me. But I’ve never been interested in boys. I’ve never been interested in anybody besides her.\n\nI started to despise Juan for taking my best friend away from me. My love. But I despised him, even more, when I realized how perfect they are for each other. His outgoing personality pulls Belle out of her shell, while Belle’s tame and responsible personality keeps him in check. It is the perfect dynamic and the whole school see’s it. \n\nBella and Justin - I shiver at the use of his terribly boring name - have that whirlwind romance, the type of love that blossoms quickly and moves fast. The type of love story people would gush about in movie theatres. It makes me sick thinking of all the ways they are perfect for each other. I can’t keep sitting here watching this love story unfold, it’s not fair to me. I have to tell her how I feel.\n\nThat is why I am standing here today - outside the auditorium - waiting for the play rehearsals to finish.\n\nThe doors open and I turn my head searching for my Juliet. After five seconds of looking I spot her shiny chocolate brown hair near the water fountain.\n\n“Hey, Bella can I talk to you for a second, please?” I asked practically begging her with my eyes.\n\n“Talia I’m sorry Justin and I were just heading back to his place. Maybe next time.” She goes to turn away from me, but I quickly grab her wrist to stop her.\n\n“Please? It’ll be quick.” I beg, really wanting to get this over with.\n\n“Is everything okay? Justin wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.” She moves to grab my hand that’s on her wrist and pulls me into the ladies’ room.\n\n“Bella listen. I know you’re dating Justin, but I just got to get this off my chest,” I paused “Bella I love you, and not in the way a woman loves a friend, but in the way, a woman loves a man. I know you don’t feel that way about me, but I thought you should know. And I hope we remain friends.” \n\nSilence is all that is left in the ladies’ room once I finished my rant. Sullen, ominous and cold silence.\n\nBella opens her mouth like she is gonna say something but quickly shuts it. She gives me a once over with a face overtaken by disgust. \n\n“Ew,” she shakes her head and exits the room.\n\nEw. I don’t know what I was expecting but “Ew” was not it. She is supposed to be my best friend and it looked like at that moment she hated me.\n\nI deserve better than to watch the person I love have a magical love story with another.\n\nI deserve better than to be pushed to the side and forgotten like some useless side character she doesn’t care about anymore.\n\nI deserve better than some stupid unrequited love.\n\nI deserve my own whirlwind romance and love story.\n\nAnd now that I finally faced my truth, and let it all out, that is exactly what I’m going to get." } ]
[ { "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: Butch\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2523\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story inspired by the phrase “The plot thickens.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Butch loved an open fire. All open fires, the small fire with the black metal grate in the station master’s office, the furnace fire being stoked underneath the boiler of the locomotive trains, or here today, the big open log fire crackling and sparking as the greyish blue plume disappeared upwards in the wide sooty chimney. Butch was the son of Prumt and Beatrice, his legacy, a Jack Russel legacy, was a karmic dog legacy. The element of fire didn’t just warm his coiled-up body, with his nose barely visible underneath his rump and tail, it was the atmospheric vision, a living picture, senses and sounds that only a dog of Butch’s breed could understand. It was hypnotic looking into the flames, flicking, dancing, with their colours of amber, whitish yellow, reds, and orange, enticing, inviting, but without a controlled environment, the deadliest and hungriest element on earth. Destruction and chaos, to the fires of hell, all the poets and prophets of the ages waxed lyrically on its effect and agreed on the true nature of this cataclysmic element on planet earth.\nButch turned his head slightly to look at the scene in the offices of the Northumberland and Durham Railway Authority, and the people gathered around the long and ornate mahogany polished table, with its ornate high backed, and heavy chairs. They were all assembled for the inquiry into the train accident on that dreaded day of the 8th of October 1844, at South Shields station. There were deaths, there were injuries, and there was destruction of irreparable propositions. But there were no answers to the cause.\nThe people assembled around the table that day for the private hearing called by the judiciary to examine the cause of death of those innocent passengers. Most were attired in mourning suits, pressed white shirts with studs, some wore boots, some buckled shoes, some wore monocles, most had their top hats placed on the side table behind the huge mahogany table and chairs. It was a sign of respect for the poor souls that had lost their lives in the fatal accident that day at South Shields railway station.\nRepresenting the judiciary was a judge of the name; James Prior, he was well respected by his peers, and sat at the head of the table, to his left sat a senior member of the Northumberland police, Bert Stubbs, with his long handle-bar moustache twitching nervously with a solemn look on his face. On the same side of the table was Robert Stephenson, the chairman of the Northumberland and Durham Railway authority. These three were assigned as the investigation team into the accident, and in front of them, a sea of scattered papers seemed alienated and floating on top of the polished table.\nOn the other side, were the owners of the Brandling Railway, two brothers, Rupert, and John Brandling, both were typical 19th century entrepreneurs and pioneers, making their money in the coal industry, buying land to mine coal, buying land to construct new railways, both were astute businessmen, profit was their mantra, and getting rich their proclivity. They both lived in a time to appease those desires, it was an ideal time, a perfect storm opportunity in England for men with visions of an industrialized future. These were the men that catalyzed inventions to production in those days of the industrial revolution of the global world. Their puffed-out stomachs were evidence of meetings, negotiations, late night discussions, with little or no exercise, fully focused on building their empire, the Brandling name and company.\nNext to the Brandling brothers sat a tall man with a solemn look of resignation, his eyes sunken, he had dark shadows under his eyes, a pale complexion, one could feel his pain, something was eating him up inside. For a tall man, his posture was bent, and there was an anxiousness that surrounded his countenance. His name was John Bell, and he was the general manager of Brandling Railway. Next to him was an equally worried looking man, his squirrel appearance, and nervousness was so evident. He was perspiring from the heat of the warm fire, and he was the owner of Butch the dog. His name was Bill Stokes. Both Bill and John’s attire and posture were completely different from the confident and haughty bearing of the Brandling brothers. These men were working class, in full time occupation, their lives forever changed by the industrial revolution, and its inventions of furnaces, steam and steel. New power, new sources of energy, but sometimes out of control. They were the real pioneers of the railway, struggling with its inception, from the ideas of Watts and Stephenson, their prototype babies, now we're full-grown adults, with the strength of many mythical titans, which aided the development of mankind, but at the same time rain hell on humanity. That tragic day in October 1844 was testament to the latter.\nNext to John Bell and John Stokes, were the manufacturers of the 1844 Nelson class locomotive from Scotland, Walter Neilson and James Mitchell, owners of the famous Neilson company.\nJudge James Prior started the proceedings, with a small fake cough to clear his throat, before he enunciated.\n“I bring this hearing to order gentlemen on the 10th of December in the year of the good lord 1844. I have been appointed the chief investigator on behalf of Her Majesty's government to investigate the accident at South Shields railway station on the 8th of October 1844. I remind everybody present that this investigation could lead to criminal proceedings, if it is found that people or persons are culpable and found negligent of their duties or services to their fellow kind.”\n“I have read the reports from the railway authority, the police, and the owners John Brandling, and Rupert Brandling, and to be honest gentlemen, the plot thickens. I cannot make any sense of it! How can a 120-ton Nelson type locomotive out of control, without a driver, and full of passengers, reverses backwards into the South Shields railway station, taking lives, and injuring so many passengers, God rest their souls?”\nHe continued. “If those iron girders hadn’t stopped this runaway train, half of the town would have been destroyed, and many lives would have perished, on its runaway journey out of control to the North Sea!”\n“Like I said the plot thickens, and someone has a lot explaining to do!” He then glared at the railway men in a seated line to the right of the table.\nHis glaring look was met by the Brandling brothers with a jerk of both their heads with a look of disdain down the table towards John and Bill. They thought, I paid for the railway, this accident has cost me a fortune, three passenger carriages demolished, one locomotive that needs complete repair, I’m the owner, the cause of this accident is not my responsibility, but these men are! \nThe judge looked directly at John and Bill and barked. “Explain what happened that day, so we can make some sense of its cause, and unravel the mystery behind this tragedy. Was this a plot to deliberately kill and maim innocent people?”\n“No sir, your honour.” Spluttered John apologetically.\n“Then explain to me what happened, because the reports don’t give me a clue, only the terrible effects of this runaway monster of fire and steam.” Said the Judge.\nJohn composed himself, sighed a deep sigh and started to record his statement for the hearing.\n“There are two lines on the South Shields to Newcastle line, one for passenger trains, and the other for goods trains. The main income of the railway is from goods, coal from the collieries of Gateshead to South Shields for further carriage on the boats to London. On Tuesday we had two trains departing from South Shields, an empty goods train to pick up coal, and the “butchers train” a passenger train, full of butchers traveling to Newcastle to buy meat at the slaughterhouse from the farmers, with just one passenger carriage. The goods train is normally pulled by the Nelson class locomotive, an older engine without the new shelter and cover over the driver’s platform. The passenger train is normally pulled by the Leopard class, more modern engine, faster, with the new standard cover over the driver and the furnace.\nThat morning, the Leopard was in Newcastle, and it needed to be sent to South Shields to take the passenger carriage, the 5am departure, we call it the butcher’s train.\nThere was a mix-up sir, my telegraph message to the South Shields station did get through.\nThe station master hooked up the Nelson class to the butcher’s passenger carriage, and it left for Newcastle on the same passenger track.\nBoth trains were on a collision course, the same line. About a mile and half outside of South Shields station, both drivers saw they were on the same track, and they both panicked. The Leopard class locomotive, was put into reverse, and shut down correctly, and the driver and fireman jumped clear of their train, but the driver of the Nelson class pulling the carriage full of butchers, put the train into reverse, but didn’t shut down the engine before he jumped off the train, and so it continued in reverse backwards to South Shields station, without any control, without any driver.” He paused for thought and waited for questions from the Judge.\n“I see.” Said Judge James Prior. “It seems like your drivers abandoned ship without a small boat, and tell me Mr. Bell, is there no training for these circumstances. What about the lives of the poor passengers, at sea the captain of the ship goes down with it; is there a different rule on the railways?”\n“The driver of the Nelson not only neglected his operating practices for the locomotive, but he didn’t care about his load, the poor souls on board!” He emphasized.\nBefore John Bell could respond, there was a loud bark and growl, everybody looked down at Butch, now standing looking at the people in the room with a strange look on his face, if you looked closely in his eyes, one might imagine that he was trying to communicate with all the people attending the hearing that day, the Judge may have caught his telepathic voice, when he then said.\n“Maybe the dog knows, because I find your statement Mr. Bell full of miscommunication, fumbling, driver neglect, and incompetence, where’s the supervision, where’s your safety procedures, where’s your cross checking of communications, if you were in charge of a regiment, sir, it would be slaughtered by the enemy in minutes.”\n“Let’s call in the eyewitness, someone who survived the crash, what’s his name?” The judge said, looking down at his papers, and then looking up. “Mr. Ellis Sainsbury, call him in!”\nThe policeman stood up, opened the door, and went outside to summon the waiting Mr. Sainsbury.\nHe entered the room, a portly man, with a heavy physique, he looked like a butcher, from head to foot, from the rosy complexion, and balding head, a shiny crown, with greying unkempt hair poking out from under his cap. As soon as he entered, he surveyed the room suspiciously, and then he looked down at Butch beside the log fire. His face brightened with a wide beaming smile.\n“Hello Butch, I didn’t know you would be here boy.” He said with joy at his discovery.\nHe then said to the dog, in a loud hoarse whisper, not just meant for the dog’s ears. “You saved me life boy, it’s true as the nose on my face, you did boy.” He then went to Butch, knelt in front of the now wagging tailed dog, with an upturned head towards the ruddy face of Ellis. Ellis gave him a pet, stroking his floppy ears fondly, and then gave Butch a big generous hug.\nUnaware of anything Ellis Sainsbury was saying to Butch, or the scene of Ellis fondly playing with the dog, and chatting amicably with Butch, it all stuck the awaiting investigation committee with annoyance, and most of the table took immediate dislike to Mr. Sainsbury.\nThe judge brought the conversation between Ellis Sainsbury and Butch to close and brought the continuation of the proceedings to normal order.\n“Now here Mr. Sainsbury, you are a key witness to what went on that day, can you concentrate your attention on that matter rather than the dog, kind sir!\nThe butcher sat down at the end of the table facing the Judge and started to recount the events of the 8th of October 1844.\n“We butchers gets up early on Tuesday for the market you see, the new trains and railway save us days of journeying back and forth to Newcastle, we makes it in one day now.” He paused for thought.\n“That morning, we had to wait a bit cos there was just a carriage but no train, but soon after the engine came, it wasn’t the normal one, it was an old one, the likes that pull the coal trucks. Anyway, we left a bit late, many of us were complaining to Mr. Stokes there about the delay, the market opens at 6am, and we all’s wanted to be there on time, as the best meat goes quickly in the auction you see.” He paused again for reflection.\n“We left finally, not before there was some shouting at Mr. Stokes, and the driver to get a move on. We weren’t that far outside of South Shields when this ere Butch came bounding along beside the train makin’ all sorts of fuss, barking, growling, and running up and down the track, don’t know what got into ‘im. Anyways, after Gallows bend, we see this train in the distance, smoke coming out of its funnel, and all over its sides. The dog was going even more crazy when it sees the other train. You see it's funny, but I sure I sees cows on the track as well, can’t be certain tho, as it was still dark. Next minute the driver jumps off the engine, and we slowly start to reverse back to South Shields. I don’t know if the other butchers saw the driver jump, they were busy with the bottles you see, we’re a merry crowd, us butchers, likes the mead.” He stopped for some comments on the confession, and then continued.\n“Anyways the train starts to move quicker like, and Butch is now too tired to chase back, I think he thought the driver would jump back on the movin’ engine, he tried I think, but he gave up quickly. I told ‘em inside, the butchers, we haven’t got a driver lads! They had too much of the mead, they were just laughing at it all, it didn’t make sense to their addled minds. I grabbed a couple of them and jumped off, thinking the rest would follow, but the stupid idiots stayed in their seats.”\n“If it wasn’t for Butch barkin’ and carrin’ on, I wouldn’t be here today.” He ended and turned round to stroke Butch around his upturned head." } ]
[ { "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: Spencer Robel's Story\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2048\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite your story from the perspective of a side character." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I knew he was a main character from the second he walked in the door. His name was Spencer for God’s sake, it doesn’t get more obvious than that. My name’s basic Max, it’s not even cool like Drew or Chris, just your run of the mill Max. It doesn’t get any more non-main charactery than that.\nI have a perfectly boring family: a father who works all day and watches TV all night, a mother who cooks and makes us do our homework, and finally an annoying little sister. I mean, we even have a dog, named Spot. We go to church on Sundays and Grandma’s on holidays. I played soccer when I was small and now, I just try to make it through school, hating it as much as any other teenage boy. I play video games, save money for a car, and hang out with the guys eating pizza whenever I can. But not Spencer.\nIf my normal was vanilla ice cream, Spencer was the confetti flavored birthday cake. He had the swooshy clean cut dark brown hair, the green eyes that caught the light, and the confident bounce in his step even though he was the new kid in town. When we stepped into our classroom that Monday morning, every head turned, and every heart decided they wanted to get to know this mysterious new figure. He was cool, just cool from the start.\nSpencer had a mom and little brother. They had moved to town because his mom lost her job due to a kingpin scheme. His dad was never around, left after Harley was born. Working in such a dark neighborhood, riddled with crime, his mother was afraid of either herself or one of the boy’s getting shot. So, when she was fired she saw it as an opportunity to start over, in a nice quiet little town, specifically my quiet little town.\nI was the lucky kid Spencer Robel sat in front of. I couldn’t believe my luck, but he would never talk to a nobody like me. I mean, someone had to be the guy he sat next to, that didn’t mean he’d become my friend. But after whispering the answers to a few of the teacher’s questions, I was able to win him over, along with some serious street cred. We spent lunch together, talking video games and sports cars: I knew I was in.\nIt didn’t take more than a week for him to notice Katelyn, though.\n“Who’s that?” Spencer pointed clearly with his eyes, because he was cool enough to do that without his hands.\n“Katelyn Cooke.”\nKatelyn Cooke was the dream girl of our school. Her curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes coupled with her ability to spit out math facts like a machine meant she was going places. I’d know her since I was four years old, Sunday School, she’d never looked twice at me. But every guy looked twice at her.\n“She’s the greatest man,” I explained to Spencer, “she’s pretty and smart, but we have no shot with her.” I paused. “Well, you may have a small chance because you have that new guy mystery thing going for ya. Me, she’s known since we were babies.” I frowned. “Unless you can turn us into jocks overnight, she’s never gonna write her first name with our last just to test it out.”\n“Oh c’mon man, we’re total studs.” Spencer slapped me on the back, complete confidence guy.\n“Yeah, sure.” I laughed doubtfully.\n“Let’s switch seats in History, she sits in front of you right?” He schemed.\n“Yeah. But she’ll never look at you bro.” I had to lower his expectations, so it didn’t hurt as bad when he fell.\n“Well, I wanna try.”\n“Okay good luck, I’ll have a rebound speech ready for the end of the period.” Spencer chuckled but I was low-key serious.\nClass was going along just fine, normal from top to bottom. The teacher didn’t reprimand our seat switch most likely because it was Spencer who was involved, main characters don’t get in trouble. Then, Katelyn Cooke dropped her pencil. The one day, she’s never dropped it before, ever.\nI saw their eyes meet as he bent down to hand it back. Of course, it was the day we switched seats. Of course, it was Spencer’s eyes she saw. Of course, it wasn’t me. I wish it was. But I’m not the main character.\nSpencer and Katelyn started talking, and when I say started, I mean a lot. We’d built a strong friendship in that first week, but him and Katelyn built one ten times as strong in the first three days. But Spencer never forgot me, his trusty little side character friend, we still played games, watched movies, went to football games, and rode our bikes. Life was good.\nThen college application time rolled around. My grades weren’t exceptional, but they weren’t bad. I didn’t do any extracurriculars outside of my job, so I was really only looking into applying to community college. My family probably couldn’t afford much more than that anyway. But Spencer, Spencer and his big dreams wanted to go to State.\nWe’d been spending a lot of time together, about 85% of what he didn’t spend with Katelyn, and he wanted me to go with him. We could be roommates, listening to music on the quad, becoming buds with the guys on the floor and throwing frisbees cross the green, it would be the greatest. And after two weeks of constant nagging and encouragement, it became not just Spencer’s dream to go to state, but mine too, ours.\nSo I applied. And with all the financial form help from Spencer and grade bumps he helped me talk my teachers into, it wasn’t looking so bad for me. I was getting excited, maybe I did stand a chance at going to State after all. Applications were sent out, now all we had to do was wait.\nSchool was going well, senior year so there wasn’t all that much that mattered, and Spencer and I were using that to our advantage. We were having fun, and with each passing week I got to know him better and vice versa. By Christmas we were officially best friends, I even got to hang out with Katelyn too. In March the subject of Prom popped up and of course Spencer wanted to ask Katelyn to go with him, but in a big way.\nI helped plan the proposal since I’d know Katelyn forever, even if we were never really friends. I told Spencer about the time she played Little Red Riding Hood in the school play and that her favorite flowers were Gerber Daisys since she used to always have a Daisy lunch box, even today her pencil case donned the delicate flowers.\nThe sign read “I think it’d be Hood if we went to PROM together, what about you?” with a Red Riding Hood cape that said PROM. He also got her a bouquet of Daisys. It was a big deal, half of school saw, and all the other girls swooned over it. Spencer and I spent four hours hand painting that sign. She said yes, of course.\nI offered to chauffeur them to the dance then. I didn’t have a date, but I really liked Spencer, so I thought it’d be cool for him and Katelyn if I offered, and Spencer really seemed to appreciate it. I wore a suit and practiced my manners like the butlers in movies and everything. After dropping them off at the front entrance I drove around to park.\nI was sitting in my dad’s car that I borrowed, alone in an old suit from a thrift shop because I couldn’t afford a tux, watching couples go in and out. I could go in. I might meet someone, I thought to myself. Spencer would welcome me into a big group, he wouldn’t leave me alone. It could be fun.\nBut I didn’t want that pity. I didn’t want to be the sad friend that got included because he was tight with someone popular. I could go in and avoid Spencer, try to make it on my own. Meet someone, make a new friend by myself. But I didn’t, because I’m not the main character.\nNothing happened to me on Prom night. I picked up a pizza, went home and ate it while binge watching Star Wars. But something awful happened to Spencer. Harley was home with the babysitter, his mom was working a late shift, when the wires in the dryer short-circuited. He was upstairs and the sitter downstairs, when she panicked and forgot to get him.\nBy the time the fire department got there the house was ablaze. Luckily, Harley survived with severe smoke inhalation and some first degree burns on his hand from trying to open the door. The fireman had to go through the window to get him. But the house was gone, totally incinerated.\nI got the call at 3:00. Katelyn had been taken home and Spencer showed up to fire trucks on his front lawn: he needed a friend. I wrote a note, left it on the kitchen table telling my parents where I was, and left to do my duty. We sat in the hospital waiting room for hours. As we sat there, I realized it was like drugs, main characterness. With the higher highs, come the lower lows. Maybe I’m glad I have my medium bumps, it’s not too bad.\nAfter the fire Spencer spent a lot of afternoons at my house, sometimes he even brought Harley. They were staying with family, but it was cramped and noisy with a bunch of little cousins and their pets running about. Spencer was sad, I mean who wouldn’t be, his whole house burnt down. But he never cried.\nWe played outside a lot too, climbing trees and playing Stickball. Stickball was a game the Robel boys made up, you get a stick, obviously and for a ball whatever you could find. Sometimes it was a real ball, if you were lucky, but other times it was a plastic water bottle or socks, one time we even used a rock. Then it was some messy sort of baseball game where Ghost Runners held your place on base and stealing was just an attorney’s argument to a judge. It was good fun though. Spencer didn’t need much to be happy, the chipper boy, his main character qualities were really shining through.\nTwo weeks after the house burnt down, the acceptance letter came through. Spencer was going to live his dream—he was going to State. And since his house caught fire annihilating majority of his family’s assets, State was giving him a full ride. I got a letter the same day, except mine didn’t start with congratulations. It started with “regretfully”. Did you forget I’m not the main character?\nIt worked out fine though, I got into the community college I’d originally planned on attending. I really just wanted to be a normal business major, graduating in four years and getting a stable job at some big company. I didn’t need much more than that to be happy. But I needed to separate myself from Spencer and his alluring glow of coolness to see that that’s what my dreams where, who I was.\nSpencer hoped to one day own his own company, his very own architect business. He could design the beautiful homes and have his own legion of yes-men to build it. His ambitions were another main character trait. But it suited him, a man like that has to do something with his life, he’ll never be content sitting in a five-by-five cubicle every day.\nWe all want to be the main character, but sometimes when we take a look at ourselves, we just aren’t. We’re the trusty side-kick friend ready to sacrifice for the outgoing, adventurous protagonist without any reward at all. So own it, it’s okay to be you, if you is the quirky quiet side character, or the seemingly lame best pal, go for it. Because I’m Max, and I’m the side character best friend in Spencer Robel’s story, and I loved every minute of it." } ]
[ { "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: Spoils of war\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1525\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story inspired by the phrase “The plot thickens.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "July 1945\nColette sauntered through the living room with a bottle of champagne and crystal coupe clutched in one hand, her silk kimono pinched in the other. She had a vibration to her, a simple unequivocal self-assuredness she carried, which could usually only be accomplished by a wealthy widow on her fifth husband. \nShe walked barefoot into the library, her kimono wafted with each stride towards the grand piano. The crystal clinked on the shiny black surface as she poured the champagne to the brim, then bent over to drink the overflow of bubbles before it spilt.\nShe closed one eye, lifted the glass, peered through the sparkling fizz, and pretended it to be a magnifying glass. She surveyed the room, past the seemingly endless wall of books, over the solid wooden desk and honed in on a large portrait on the opposite wall. \n'Oh, if these walls could talk, darling, the works of Bram Stoker would seem modest.' she said, lifting her glass in salute. \n'Bottoms up.' She nearly inhaled the full glass, then topped it up again.\nCocksure, she moved towards the books behind the piano and glided her fingertips across the leather-bound covers. She propped her finger on the edge of a book, pulled back, and it dropped to the floor with a hard thump. A satisfied grin curved into the corner of her red lips. She moved on to the next book, then the next, creating a rhythm of gratified bangs onto the thick maroon carpet down the wall. \nShe reached the globe bar in the corner, pulled the crystal stopper from the carafe and threw it over her shoulder. Nonchalantly, she picked up the bulky bottle and poured the whisky out over Europe.\n\n2019\n'Gran. Gran. Are you alright?' asked Hannah.\nOut of her mused state, Colette returned to the present and smiled. \n'Just fine, darling. Daydreaming.'\nHannah squeezed her great-grandmother's shoulder and pushed the wheelchair past the old piano through the library. \n'Which books would you like to take with you, Gran?' \n'Love, if we have to do this, we will do it right. Where is my champagne?' \n'Really, now? It is not even ten in the morning yet?' said Hannah, surprised by her request. \n'Are you worried about my longevity? I'm almost certain champagne is why I am still one with my senses.'\nHannah pressed her lips together and raised an eyebrow at her Gran. 'I'll be right back, but mum's not gonna like it.'\n'She doesn't need to know,' said Colette with a wink.\nAs soon as Hannah was out of sight, she flipped the wheelchair's foot pedals out of the way and took a few steps. She leaned onto the solid wooden desk and glided her crooked fingers across the smooth surface as she walked around it. Her frail hands rolled over the side, and she felt under the desktop for a familiar flat button she hadn't pressed in a long time. \n\nJuly 1945\nColette moved onto the desk and pulled the drawers slowly past their threshold. They flip onto the carpet, one after the other, in a sophisticated chaos, with her champagne in the air, careful not to spill a drop. She took another sip and winked at the portrait. \n'Clean enough for you now?.' \nThe glass tinked as she placed it on the side of a marble bust under the portrait and made her way towards the fireplace. She points her index finger towards the fire pokers in a playful gist.\n'Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy. Big house, little house, barn, pig-sty.' \nShe leaned over and plucked the chosen poker from the stand. \n'That should do. What do you think, darling?' she said as she lifted the poker towards the painting. \nShe smiled and ominously turned towards the glass cabinet filled with his golden trophies and sparkling awards.\n'Now, darling, I might not be a professional, but I am sure I can swing a golf club. Let's see, shall we.' she said as she pulled the piano stool closer. Colette climbed onto the little sturdy chair, careful not to step on her silky garment. She blew away a few loose curls hanging over her left eye and leaned forward into the tee-off stance.\n'Feet shoulder-width apart. Check. Eyes down. Check. Left arm straight. Check.' \nShe curled her red nails perfectly around the poker.\n'Fore!'\nThe crash of glass echoed through the library. Shards flew in a glittering dance through the room, a final explosion of contempt. A few fragments splinter away and embed themselves into her skin. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, accepting the pain as collateral damage. \n\n2019\nThe secret drawer clicked and slid open, still hidden underneath.\n'Gran, what are you doing?' said Hannah as she walked back into the room, surprised to see Colette upright. She moved closer and placed the two glasses of champagne on the water-stained piano. \n'I need to find something, love.'\n'Can I help, Gran?' Hannah tilted her head and moved in next to her. \n'In there. You should see an envelope in the little drawer.'\nShe bent down onto the threadbare carpet. \n'I see it,'\nHannah stood up and passed the worn-out envelope to her. Colette took it softly and held it close to her chest. \n'What is it?'\n'I want to give this to you, but first, I have to tell you a story.'\n\nJune 1945\n'I should have never brought you here. It was a mistake.' said Frank\nNancy cautiously leaned her head against the wall.\n'You were not worth the trouble. Insignificant. I was blinded by our victory in the war.' he said. Discontent oozed in his slurred speech. \n'I should send you back before my family meets you. Back to your nothingness.'\nA loud slap came from the room next to Nancy. She grabbed her mouth to smother her own reaction. \nColette's constant cries were muted, but Nancy could still hear whispers through the wall. \n'I told you, don't call me DARLING! You disgust me!' Frank yelled out. \nGargling sounds followed. \nNancy stepped back but realised she had to act fast. She picked up the tea tray, carried it next door, and knocked loudly enough to startle herself. \n'Excuse me, sir,' she said in feigned confidence, 'the tea is ready.' \nA loud thud reverberated through the door. Nancy's eyes widened, expecting the worst. Keys rattled in the lock from the other side, and she dropped the tea tray in a crash to the floor. The door swung open. Colette stood jelly-like with blood-covered hands, clutching a letter opener. \n'Colette! Are you hurt?' Nancy yelled out. \n'I couldn't take it anymore. His hands were around my neck,' she said shakily. 'I had to.'\n'Oh, Colette,' Nancy threw her arms around her in an attempt to calm her friend. Frank's body was spread face down across the desk, blood percolated from the gaping wound in his neck. \n'I will help you, don't you worry.' She took Colette by the shoulders and stared into her bloodshot eyes. 'We will make a plan. He deserved what he got. But first, you need to get cleaned up. Let me sort this out.'\nA monstrous bang rang out through the room. The loud zinging sound echoed in her ears, and a heart-rending, muffled 'Nancy' broke from Colette's lips. Her eyes rolled back, away from Nancy's gaze, and she collapsed onto the floor. \nThe pocket pistol dropped loudly onto the wooden desk, and a puff of smoke released along with Frank's last breath. \n\n2019\n'I sat here, in the library, surrounded by pools of blood, my friend and her monster. She had no one, only me.'\n'Gran, why are you telling me this. Such nonsense.' said Hannah. Horror framed her face, and disgust pulled at the corner of her mouth. \n'It took me three days to give her a dignified burial and clean the mess.' \n'No, wait. Gran. What do you mean by burial? Buried Colette? You mean Nancy, don't you?' \nShe leaned back into her wheelchair and slowly shook her head from side to side. \n'During those three days, I realised what I needed to do. No one had met Colette yet, and the family was due to arrive. So I ransacked the house and left him on the desk. I also planted wildflowers and manoeuvred the bird baths over Colette's grave without disturbing the grass. Then, finally, I locked myself in the pantry before the family arrived.'\nHannah looked down into her shaking hands.\n'What is in the envelope, Gran?'\n'Open it.'\nHannah slowly unwrapped the large envelope folded around a booklet. She delicately opened it and read the identification certificate inside. \n'Nancy Shmidt. German'\nHannah stood statued into place, engrossed in a tidal wave of scandalous information.\n'Gran, why didn't people look for Nancy, um, you?'\n'It was the war. People disappeared.' \n'What do you want me to do with this?' Hannah held out the booklet as if it was contaminated. \n'Whatever you feel you need to do.' \nHannah's eyes filled with tears. \n'Gran, is Colette buried in the raised plot behind the greenhouse?' \n'Yes.' \n'Where the builders are due to start tomorrow?' \n'Yes.'" } ]
[ { "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: In My Shoes\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1827\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a person trying to see something from another’s point of view." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I was the next Heiress to the throne of Dreamland. I felt lucky. I felt scared. I felt excited. And I felt nervous. I also felt-well, the list would be too long to tell.\nDreamland was a magical place, where all your dreams come true. Now that I think about it, that kind of sounds clichè or something someone would tell you when you walk into an amusement park.\nLet me start again. Dreamland was a magical place where dreams were real. Where dreams came alive. Where dreams were crazy, amazing things. And sometimes they were scary.\nI felt like I was living in a fairy tale. I kind of was. Becoming the Queen of Dreamland, you know?\nI pulled up to the magical school of Dreamland in a black limo with tinted windows that were bulletproof. Not everything in Dreamland was perfect. Not everything was safe.\n“Crystal, over here!” Someone shouted as camera lights flashed and I covered my face and eyes. \n“Crystal, tell us- are you excited to become Queen?”\nMore lights flashed.\n“Why wasn’t it your brother?”\nThat got to me. It hit hard. And it hit home.\nMy brother, Emery, was technically the Heir of Dreamland. Born with great looks, and super smart. He knew everything about Dreamland. He spent his whole life right up until January 9th practicing and studying to become King.\nBut on January 9th, Emery was diagnosed with a heart disease. Everyone started to judge him; tell him that he wouldn’t make a good King.\nKing Alexander Augustus III and Queen Alice Augustus, my Mother and Father, couldn’t have that kind of shame and scorn brought to their family. They had to make the hard decision to sort of kick Emery out of the picture. And that’s where I came in.\nI filled in for Emery.\nAnd boy, did Emery blame me for everything that happened.\n“Crystal!” Someone yelled.\nExpecting it to be more paparazzi, I shielded my face from the camera. It wasn’t though. It was my friend, Regan.\nRegan had lighter skin than my rich caramel skin, but hers was a little tan. Her golden locks were flowing all the way down her back and she looked like a model. Especially since she had big blue eyes that were too big for her face.\n“Regan!” I yelled as I opened my arms to hug her.\nShe gladly hugged me and then pulled apart. “I can’t believe my best friend is becoming the QUEEN OF DREAMLAND!” She exclaimed, making the last part so loud that everyone turned to stare.\nI hid my brown eyes behind a curtain of my brunette locks. “Stop,” I told Regan. She was a huge extrovert, and I was a huge introvert. How was I going to become Queen being so shy like this?\nShe stopped and tucked my hair behind my ears. “Sorry.” She apologized.\n“It’s fine. Let’s get to class.”\nWe walked down the halls, a few fairies and walking sharks passed by us. Everything and anything that people dreamt of, came real in Dreamland. Who dreams about walking sharks? \nWhen we entered the class I sat down next to Regan and we pulled our books out and turned to page 549 as directed on the chalkboard in the front of the room.\n“Class,” Mrs. Windsburrow clapped her hands to get our attention. “Today we will be learning about the recent changes in our world. Including Miss Augustus’s news about becoming Queen.”\nMy cheeks turned red in embarrassment. I’d never really been that popular. I mean, people obviously knew who I was, but they only really befriended me to get close to my family. To get close to the money. To get close to the power. Regan was my only true friend.\nSomeone coughed, “Loser.”\nThe whole class started to laugh.\nMrs. Windsburrow gave 'The Look'. 'The Look' would get you landed in the principal's office if you didn’t quiet down.\n“Jameson.” She yelled at the boy who coughed. “Office. Now!”\nThe rest of class was uncomfortable. Everyone was passive-aggressive with me whenever we had to be partners. People were calling me “Loser!” Gosh, I was so happy when we got to the passing period.\n“Gosh,” Regan said when we got out of class. “That must’ve been intense.”\n“Ya think?” I asked her. “I can’t even tell you how hard it is to be a stupid Queen!” I yelled as I slammed my locker shut.\nShe flinched. “Look. Sorry. But you need to calm down!” She told me.\n“I already have enough people telling me what to do! Mom and Dad are making me practice being a Queen, Emery is giving me a hard time that he has to give up his spot as the Heir, and I have so many people making fun and being mean to me! So can you please be there for me?” I shouted.\nShe gave me a look as if she couldn’t process what I was saying. Then it turned into a fake smile. “I am there for you. I always have been. I know it’s hard to process and understand becoming a Queen and being a part of a Royal family, but please. You’re being a drama Queen, Crystal. And all I’ve done is watch you brag through the good times and comfort you through the hard times. But you know, now that I think about it, not once have you been there for me. Like when the mobs of paparazzi showed up at my house. Like when my mom decided to get a divorce with my dad.” She stopped and sniffled, tears filling her eyes. “So no, your Majesty. I can’t be there for you.” She flipped her hair and walked off. “Try putting yourself in my shoes.” She called back to me.\nI stood in the hallway, stunned. I felt really, really bad. I felt like I’d throw up. I felt sad. I felt mad at myself. I was just a horrible friend.\nAnd she was right. I wasn’t there for her when the mobs of paparazzi showed up at her house. What in the world did they want? And when her parents got divorced? I couldn’t believe she’d told me that. Her parents loved each other. Though I guess I wasn’t there enough to know if they really were.\n“Hey Bigfoot!” Jameson yelled from behind me. That was his nickname for me since I was tall. “Thanks a lot for getting me suspended. That was my last strike. Now I’m expelled.”\nHe purposely bumped into me and made me drop my backpack on my foot.\n\nThe rest of the week was horrible. Regan avoided me. And actually, pretty much everyone did. Well, except for the paparazzi.\n“Crystal!” Paparazzi yelled. “Is there something going on?”\n“Why are you sad?”\n“Why haven’t you become Queen yet?”\n“High school drama?”\n“Too much work?”\n“Friends?”\nI walked into school and coincidentally bumped into Regan. She was standing with another girl. I immediately recognized her.\nRebbecca.\n“Watch where you're going, loser.” Rebbecca said. She was my arch nemesis. What was Regan doing with her? \nI ignored her comment and my eyes met Regan’s. She had changed. She had long, painted, black fingernails, her makeup was done really well, she dressed like a popular girl with expensive clothes.\n“Yeah, seriously.” I didn’t expect that to come from Regan. I guess I deserved it though.\nI nodded and we parted ways, me running and not stopping till I reached the bathroom.\nI turned on the faucet and washed my face with cold water as I cried. I cried and cried and cried as I thought about Regan and what she had said.\nTry putting yourself in my shoes.\nI thought back to the other day, when Regan and I were playing in the castle. Hide and seek.\nI had just come home from school and I got to bring Regan. But on the way to the car to go home, I got bullied by some of the college students that were visiting to help out.\n“Crystal, it’s okay.” Regan said, comforting me as we made our way to the car. I cried into her shirt as she hugged me. That’s what we did, the whole way to the castle.\nRegan decided it would be fun to play hide and seek, probably her way of cheering me up, but I’m not complaining. It was so fun.\nI hid in a closet in the Maid’s Quarters and surprisingly, Regan found me.\n“My parents never find me there,” I told her.\nI splashed my face with cold water, knocking me out of my daze.\nMy last sentence probably got to her. Her parents were divorced.\nI thought back to the first day of Kindergarten when I met Regan.\nI sat in the corner of the classroom, clutching my crayon’s mom bought for me at the store. She said I could share them with my new friends and they would love it.\nA pretty ash brown haired girl walked by. I tapped her on the shoulder.\n“Hi!” She said to me, “I didn’t see you there.”\nI laughed. “Sorry,” I told her. “I’m a little shy.”\n“That’s okay. First I was but now I have lots of friends. I’m Rebecca but you can call me Becky.”\nI waved. “I’m Crystal. Crystal Augustus. Would you like to draw with me with these new crayons?” I asked.\nHer eyes went from kind to dark. “No. You are spoiled rotten, Princess.” She kicked the crayons out of my hand and they fell to the ground.\nI cried in the corner where nobody saw me, but then a girl with blonde hair walked up to me.\n“First day jitters?” She asked.\nI sniffed. “Yeah. And bullies.”\n“Don’t worry.” She comforted me. “You’re not the only one. I’m Regan.”\n“Crystal. Crystal Augustus.”\nShe threw her arms around me. “I know we’ll be great friends.”\nI splashed my face again.\nRegan had always had my back.\nI ran out the bathroom door trying to find Regan, and sure enough, I bump into her as I round the corner.\n“Bigfoot,” She teased. “slow down.”\nWith a hair flip she walked off.\nFor a second I thought about not apologizing. She was mean. But I thought back to how great of a friend she was and how bad I was and decided to call her back.\n“Regan, wait.”\nShe turned around and crossed her arms. “So you can yell at me again?”\n“No. I’m sorry.” I explained to her what I’d done and how bad of a friend I was. I told her I needed her.\nShe closed her eyes. “Good.” She said. “I couldn’t keep this act up any longer if I tried. What are we doing?” She threw her arms around me.\n“Sorry.” I told her again.\n“It’s okay. I’m just glad to have my friend back.” She pulled away. “We are friends right?” She asked.\n“Till 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: One Hat For Dorothy\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2888\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story inspired by the phrase “I’ll eat my hat.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "[TW: The story is relatively light hearted, but there's mention of cheating, sexist beliefs (the MC does not endorse them, but they are mentioned), and it also talks about the sexual life of the MC and her brother.]\n\n“If you’re telling the truth, I’ll eat my hat.”\n“Now, why would you do that?”\nDorothy looked over at her brother with a frown. “Why would I do what?” She wasn’t sure if her brother was being obtuse on purpose or if he was just stupid, but she, out of the kindness of her heart, decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.\n“Eat your hat. I’m sure you’d get sick and have to be hospitalized.”\nHe was being dead serious, Dorothy realized.\nShe loved her brother, as any good sister would, perhaps because he was her twin or maybe it was the fact that he always went along with whatever it was that she wanted to do. She wasn’t sure. Her mother told them, when they were much younger than they were now, that one can’t chose their family but can chose whether to love them or not. Her aunt, a sound and sensible woman, immune to whatever eccentric or demonic disease that had befallen Dorothy’s mother, on the other hand, defended that family was sacred and one must love and respect it as is their holy duty.\nSo Dorothy wasn’t sure if she loved Damien despite the fact that he was her brother, or because of it, and, as it was often of her, decided she’d have to give a good thinking on whether to keep loving him or not, as it was clear as day that he was stupid.\nPeople knew idioms. Everyone knew idioms. Everyone used, abused, and rejoiced in them. They were, as their mother called them, “the wisdom of the fool”.\nBut perhaps Damien had been spending way too much time with their beloved mother. She was prone to fits of nonsense, where she’d spout blasphemous things (at least according to their aunt) or engage in disgraceful things (also according to their aunt).\nShe’d never questioned her mother’s teachings before. Arianne, daughter of a rich velvet merchant, had always been somewhat odd. Too much of a free spirit to be bound by the earthly shackles of marriage, she’d given birth to a set of twins out of wedlock. A tragedy. The entire community joined forces against her, Arianne, the promiscuous lover of Satan, but not even the bankruptcy of her father’s business made her regret her decisions – although, it might be important to mention that being sorry wouldn’t have done her much good, as the father of her children was already married to another woman.\n“He proposed we killed her so that we could be together.” Arianne confided in them once. “So romantic of him, don’t you think? But I refused. I had to. Can you imagine me as someone’s wife?”\nThey couldn’t, or at least Dorothy couldn’t. Her mother was too stubborn, too certain of her own convictions. She didn’t believe men and women to be different from one another, one superior and one inferior, nor did she believe in being someone else’s property. She belonged to herself and herself alone.\nIt would have been nice if she’d belonged to her children as well. Not that she’d been a bad mother; she’d actually been incredibly loving and caring. Arianne’s father had moved his company to another country, where he continued to grow his fortune, and Arianne herself had decided to go live by the seaside, where no one knew her or wanted to burn her at the stake, and she had even managed to open her own little apothecary.\nShe’d raised her children to be independent, intelligent, diligent, kind, compassionate. She’d fed them, clothe them, and even taught them everything she thought they ought to know, from proper etiquette to how to throw a good punch. She never raised any question when Dorothy decided to cut her hair short, like a boy, or when Damien decided he only wanted to wear dresses for a year. She was odd, particularly so, but harmless.\nPerhaps Dorothy had been spending too much time with her aunt, who had recently decided to invite her to her house overseas to spend the season with her after her husband’s unexpected death, and that was why she’d become so prejudiced and obnoxious. She would have to tend to that at a later date. If only her mother had opposed to her going, now she wouldn’t feel so resentful towards her.\nBut she deserved to be resentful, she did. Her mother had raised them to be wonderful people, but she’d given them almost no preparation for the real world. Sure, Dorothy knew how to curtesy and how to dance the valse, but she had had no idea of how to hold a proper conversation with another member of society before going to her aunt’s. Girls of her own age did not care for the latest scientific inventions, nor did they understand the concept of a woman being as worthy as a man. Her aunt had taught her so, so much. Maybe she was a bit rougher now, but what of it?\nAt least she wasn’t like her brother, who clearly did not understand a simple idiom. Her mother had never said one in front of them, that was for sure. She’d mentioned the idea vaguely every once in a while, without ever actually getting into what they were or what they meant. She’d never explained why she didn’t like or use them either. Perhaps she simply didn’t think them as necessary, but a reputable member of society must know at least one or two to be fashionable!\n“It’s an expression.” Dorothy began. “It’s something someone might say, for instance, when the person they’re having a conversation with is defending the utmost absurd idea.”\n“So, you say it when you believe the other person is wrong, because you’re so convinced of your own word? Meaning you don’t actually believe you’ll have to eat your own hat. But what if you do? What if you’re wrong?”\nShe frowned again, then breathed deeply and soothed her face. Her aunt said frowning made girls uglier, age faster even, and had taught her how no void her expression from any emotion other than contempt and devotion to God. Dorothy wasn’t so sure about God, as her mother wasn’t particularly religious and being an atheist hadn’t proven to be a bad thing until now, but she liked the idea of remaining young and beautiful forever, so she tried to calm herself down and have more patience with Damien.\nAnother thing she’d learned from her time abroad was that her brother was not like other children. Growing up, they’d never had much interaction with other boys or girls, reason why Dorothy never realized she didn’t know how to make friends before being invited to live with her aunt. For her entire life, she’d only known her mother, her brother, and the house staff. Thanks to her aunt, an entire new world appeared before her eyes. After only four months away from home, having met countless young gentlemen and ladies, she’d realized certain eccentricities both her brother and mother shared were not “normal”.\nSo, at this very moment, she wasn’t sure if Damien wasn’t understanding what she meant because he didn’t want to, or because he couldn’t. It never occurred to her that perhaps she wasn’t explaining herself clearly enough, which is why she decided to give up on the conversation and concentrate on the task at hand.\n“If you’re wrong, you eat your hat, I suppose.” She let out, then pulled his arm. “Now focus. Are you sure that is him?”\nDamien closed one of his eyes and reached out a hand, that Dorothy slapped back into place before they could be noticed lurking behind the tree. She could deal with all the gossip about her mother’s oddity, but having her labelled as a pervert simply wouldn’t do.\n“Yes, that is him. I’d recognize his shoulders anywhere.”\nDorothy questioned this remark but didn’t say anything.\nThe twins were hiding, as it has already been mentioned, secretly spying on a rather dashing gentleman. Dark hair, rich like chocolate. Eyes of a dazzling green, framed by the longest lashes. Soft, plump, juicy lips. Arms that could hold you until morning. A reputation that preceded him as the most passionate lover a man could hope to be, especially at such a young age.\nHis name was Edmund. He had moved there six weeks prior, with his sister, a frail little thing who was always sick, and his parents, both rich, both extremely handsome, both secretly having an affair with a member of their household staff, or so did the gossip go. No one was sure of the truth yet, of course, as neither party was too keen of the idea of confirming said rumor. But perhaps there was some truth to it. Perhaps Edmund’s parents were as depraved as the town murmured them to be, as Edmund himself had been courting two people at the same time.\nDorothy and Damien.\nNow, Dorothy didn’t believe courting to be a set-in-stone-marriage-proposal, nor did she know whether she believed or not in marriage and all it represented (perhaps she hadn’t been spending so much time with her aunt as she thought), but she certainly didn’t think it was proper, or even fair, to spend the night with someone when you weren’t being serious about your feelings for them.\nAnd Edmund had spent the night with them, the both of them, Dorothy and Damien! The girl’s stomach took a turn. There was something rather incestuous about this entire situation, was there not? Of course, she and her brother weren’t that much alike, but she’d always thought them similar enough to be immediately perceived as, at the very least, siblings. How could Edmund not have noticed?\nHow could she not have noticed?\nShe’d come back home two weeks ago, missing her family dearly and desperate to share with them all the precious new things she’d learned with her aunt. She found her mother uninterested, as it was usual of her when it came to her own sister, and even dismissed of some of the stories Dorothy had to tell. She’d never felt less than loved by her mother, but having her laugh at the things she said had hurt. Of course, she had to remember that her mother and aunt shared very different values, but it still stung to be mocked.\nAs for her brother, he was more curious about the food she’d tasted than anything else she’d had to say, and so, frustrated, she’d left the house and straight to the nearest gentlemen’s club. Her aunt would have died of a heart attack if she saw her there, but there was a lot her aunt didn’t know (the night affairs Dorothy chose to engage in, for instance), and besides, if she hadn’t gone there, she would have never met Edmund.\nHe had been waiting for someone who never showed up, and she had been alone. He was the only person closest to her age, and so she had decided to approach him.\nPerhaps it was the rage that burned inside her, perhaps it was the liquor, but she sat down and talked to him as if she’d known if for years. It helped that he was new in town, so he didn’t look at her quite the same way everyone else in the place did (they had lived there for 17 years and had never engaged in any public activity because of their mother; of course people would stare!), and after a couple of hours it was clear that there was a spark between the two of them.\nWhen Dorothy got home, one of the cooks heard her giggles and came to see her. They talked for a little, and as usual the woman gave her all the gossip there was to know in town about Edmund and his family. The possibility of a scandal with his parents didn’t scare her, and so she’d gone to find him the next day.\nFor the next two weeks to come, they met every single day, sometimes for a brief couple of minutes, other times for hours and hours. Eventually Dorothy had decided she was in love, or at least decided to be in love with Edmund, as he was everything she could hope for in a match. He made her laugh, he was courteous, didn’t mind admitting his faults, and, as every other girl noticed, extremely pleasing to the eyes.\nBut it seemed Edmund had caught the attention of someone else other than the girls in town. Damien, so it seemed, had been enjoying the company of the boy as well, going on walks, romantic picnics, naked dips in the sea, and a night so full of lust Damien had come home blushed beyond measure.\nDorothy hadn’t been able to hide her curiosity, and so she demanded he told her what he’d been up to. How she regretted her impulsivity. She should have known better, should have listened to her aunt and keep to herself, be a good girl, let her brother come to her if he wished to, should have sent him away the moment he started to speak of his affairs. It wasn’t up to a girl to know what a man did or didn’t do with his free time, much less with the company of another. But alas, Dorothy was her mother’s daughter, and she wasn’t a good girl.\nWhen Damien told her, she hadn’t believed him. Not because he was a known liar, but because she didn’t want to hear such things about Edmund, her Edmund. But the way her brother spoke, the way his eyes shone as he told her of how dearly Edmund embraced him… he must be telling the truth. He had to.\nStill, she had wanted to be sure, and so she had asked him to go to town with her the next morning and point to her the boy he was speaking of. She had already told him of her own courting with Edmund, of course, and her brother, although shocked, hadn’t seemed as enraged as she was. Could he have changed this much in only a matter of months? Could he be so naïve and stupid, and yet so cruel and cold? One must certainly not have a heart to not mind such a betrayal.\nOr maybe he was holding his emotions just in case their fears were nothing but that. And yet, here it was, the truth. Edmund had, indeed, been toying with the both of them. And her brother still seemed composed, still looked as calm as he was when they’d eaten their breakfast that morning. How could he not be furious?!\nDorothy grasped her skirts once again and darted towards Edmund.\nHer brother hurried behind her, calling her as quietly as one could without drawing too much attention. Dorothy didn’t care for the attention. The entire town could be watching, she could end up being the town’s talk by morning, but none of that mattered. She was mad and she was disgusted, she was murderous, and she was feeling violent.\nEdmund heard her come and turned. His face went pale as he saw her expression; her aunt’s advice long forgotten, Dorothy’s face was an open book to the emotions that raged inside her.\n“You.” She pushed Edmund with an accusatory finger. He looked around, clearly looking for a witness, and a sense of relief washed over him as Damien reached his side. Seeing Edmund raise a hand to her brother, a clear request for help, made her feel even worse. She slapped his fingers. “How dare you. How dare you deceive us?”\nEdmund looked between the two of them, realization dawning on him.\n“You…”\nDorothy interrupted him. “Yes, we. We know. We know you have been meeting the both of us in secret. How dare you? How dare you make us believe your words of love when they clearly mean nothing? How dare you make us believe you’re better than your parents, when you’ve been laying with brother AND sister?”\nEdmund’s face paled further. He took a few steps back, looked behind him. His sister was now coming out of the flower shop, and they’d even caught the attention of some passersby. He wanted to avoid a scandal, but if he wanted to avoid a scandal, he should have avoided lowering his pants to so many people at the same time.\n“Now, that’s enough.” Damien grabbed Dorothy by the arm and started dragging her away. She fought against him and even cursed a few nasty words (so unladylike!). “You’re making a spectacle. You’ve proven your point. Let us go home.”\nShe removed herself from her brother’s grasp and let out a scream before marching behind him in silence.\nAs the buildings started to vanish behind them and they approached their manor outside of town, Damien turned to his sister with a presumptuous smile on his face, completely oblivious, or perhaps indifferent, to the great injustice they’d both suffered.\n“I told you I was telling the truth. Will you eat your hat 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: Two Faces One Mirror\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1275\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who everyone thinks is an extrovert, but is actually an introvert." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "TW: eating disorder, alcohol abuse\n My reflection stares blankly back at me. Exhausted, I am half tempted to just leave my makeup on from the long day of smiling, starting conversations, and looking like I care when I truly don’t. Today I was my parent’s prize pig. I just graduated high school, (a year early I may add) and my ideal way to celebrate is not by putting on a dress, I had to starve myself for three days just to be able to have it fit.\nColdwater runs down my face, replacing my once perfect mascara with raccoon eyes. What the water doesn’t take off I decide can just stay. If my mother saw this she would have a hissy fit, and demand I do my normal skincare routine. Luckily she is asleep, filled with so much champagne even a thunderstorm wouldn’t wake her. \nAfter struggling to get off my dress for five minutes straight, I finally get it off and throw on a large, baggy t-shirt that has Stanford printed on it with big bold letters, with sweatpants. I allow myself to binge Stranger things, while I reflect on today’s events. I finish two episodes, and I can barely keep my eyes open. It is 1:28 am when I finally decide to go to sleep. \n I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. I jump out of bed and scramble to reach it.\n Missed call\nMissed call\n27 snaps\n87 texts\n I turn my ringer off and I set it down. It’s too early for me to deal with that, I end up just taking a moment for myself. The sun hasn’t quite peeked over the mountain tops, the sky is filled with cotton candy-like clouds. I often dream of sitting on one of those fluffy clouds, just being able to relax. Feel the breeze brush past me, carrying the cloud and me away, away from my stress, and worries. \nI jump back to reality and decide to make my bed. Getting ready, I change out my sleepwear with a plain white crop top, ripped high-waisted jeans, in addition to an oversized green button-up. As an accessory, I add a necklace I got yesterday as a graduation gift from my friend Nora. I thought it would be a good idea since I am meeting up with her to get ready for high school graduation today. I pre-pack my items for the hangout with the girls. \nBy the time I’m ready, the sun is seeping through my window, and I hear birds singing a peaceful full tune. Picking up my iPhone I light up when I see a few messages from my best friend Maddie out of the many texts I received. \n Contact: Maddie\nTexts: \n-Hey!\n-I can’t wait to see you today, finally we can escape high school!! \n-What are you wearing to graduation, I have no idea what to wear\n-I heard Oliver and his friends are hosting a party later tonight \n-Cannnnnn weeeeeeee please go <3\n Maddie is a year older than me, as are most of my friends. I have many friends, but she is the only person who gets me, she sees behind the picture-perfect me, and my blurred identity. She knows my insecurities, struggles, as well as some of my deepest secrets. I smile at her texts, happy I will have her by my side today.\n Contact: Maddie\nTexts: \n-Hey!\n-I can’t wait to see you today, finally we can escape high school!! \n-What are you wearing to graduation, I have no idea what to wear\n-I heard Oliver and his friends are hosting a party later tonight \n-Cannnnnn weeeeeeee please go <3\nMe:\nHey-\nI will be wearing the dress I wore for Emily’s birthday.-\nAnd about the party I’ll pass, you know it’s not my thing.\n It does not take long for Maddie to respond.\n Maddie:\n-Oh come on! I need you at that party! \nNoah is going to be there and you are like my emotional support animal.\nI will make it up to you I swear! You’ll get to see Oliver ;)\nMe:\nSure <3 -\n With a weak smile and a reluctant sigh, I give in. Maddie has helped me so much lately it's the least I can do. Besides, I do like the idea of seeing Oliver. He has been my crush since the 7th grade when he gave me roses after I did a solo in the choir's performance. I have never had a boyfriend before. My parents always thought it would be too distracting in my academic studies. \n I make my way down the winding staircase and into the kitchen. I see my mother drinking coffee, sitting at the island. \n “Morning,” I say as I riffle through the fridge trying to find something to eat. \n “Good morning” she exclaims, smiling. \n She acts as if nothing happened last night. She always ceases to amaze me, she can get so drunk but then never have a hangover. At least if she does she hides it pretty well. I guess if I drank that much I would be a pro at covering it up too. \n Cutting out the small talk, I blurt out “May I please go to the party tonight. Maddie needs me there.”\n “Sure, just be home by 1:00” she answers. \n I am surprised by her reply, I know she always wants me to be social and hang out with my peers but I didn't think she would agree to let me go to a party. \n “Really?” I question \n She just nods. \n “Thanks...” I utter, I wonder if she is having a hangover. I choose to just skip breakfast, there is really nothing good to eat anyways. I hurry out the door before my mother changes her mind. \n My social battery is running low already. I think Maddie notices since she pulls me aside. \n “Hey, are you alright?” She asks. \n“Ya I’m fine, just feeling a bit tired” I confess. \n“We don’t have to go to the party later if you do not feel up to it.” Maddie comments.\n“No, it's all right. I know how much you want to go.” I smile weakly\n She gives me a skeptical look. When we re-join the conversation again, Nora's mom comes in and, we all go silent. \n \"Sorry to interrupt,\" she laughs, \"I think we should load up and get to your graduation.\" \n We arrive at the high school with minutes to spare. After what feels like years of people talking, it is my turn. Since I am Valedictorian I walk up nervously to the stage. I have to hold my right hand from shaking. Grateful that I didn't eat lunch or breakfast or it would surely make an appearance. Locking eyes with Maddie I take a deep breath and deliver my speech. \nDots field my vision, and I start to sway. Luckily a hand guides me to a seat after my speech. The water I grab from under my chair helps calm my nerves. I don’t partially enjoy public speaking but I have never had a panic attack from it. I relax as my turn is over. \nCompletely drained from hanging out, graduation, and this party, I can’t wait to be in my room reading a book. The only thing that is making it worth it is Maddie’s happiness and that Oliver keeps making glances my way. I try to look like I don’t notice, but my cheeks glow bright red. In the corner of my eye, I see Oliver walking my way. I can’t help but smile. For the first time in hours, I think I might enjoy myself." } ]
[ { "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: Generations\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1046\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story inspired by the phrase “I’ll eat my hat.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Shaw’s always seemed to be on the cusp of technological breakthroughs and advances…\n\nFall of 1903\n\nMrs. Shaw rang the dinner bell to summon her family from their work around the farm. Harry, Ruthie, and Samuel emerged from various points, with their father on their heels. She reminded them to wash up and kissed her husband at the door before giving the lot another lookover.\n\n“Has anyone seen Charles recently?” She asked her children as they gathered at the table. They shook their heads. Mr. and Mrs. Shaw exchanged knowing looks, having a strong hunch on where he’d be. \n\nNine-year old Charles Shaw stood with other village children, gawking at a spectacle on the outskirts of the village. Two brothers and friends from Ohio made camp there three years ago where they had been building and flying strange contraptions. Their biggest one yet was currently underway. \n\n“Charles Elias Shaw!” His mother’s voice snapped through the peanut gallery. “You are late for dinner! And the rest of you better be getting on yourselves!”\n\nThe other children dispersed and Mrs. Shaw dragged her son home by the arm. \n\n“I hope you didn’t neglect your chores for this spectacle,”\n\n“There weren’t a lot of eggs to collect or messes to clean. And it’s gonna happen soon, Mother! Mr. Wright said their custom engine is almost complete!”\n\n“I’ll eat my hat if they manage to fly,” His mother snided, her son still in tow. “God would’ve given us wings already if we were meant to be in the air!” \n\nThe Wright Brothers would manage their first successful flight on December 17th, 1903. In 1907, an Air Force precursor--the Aviation Section, Signal Corps--was founded. By World War II, Charles was of age to join the Army Air Corps--the Signal Corps’ immediate successor. He settled down and started a family after his service. \n\nSpring of 1958\n\nCharles didn’t understand all the fuss over the Sputnik crisis. If we were meant to be on the moon, he thought, God would’ve put us there. Yet, all the hoopla sure captured the imagination of his eight-year-old son, Roger. Anything of this robotic, flying saucer, outer space nature made him happy, so he surprised him with a new ray gun toy he picked up on the way home from work. \n\n“Thanks, Dad!” Roger joyously received it. “Will you play with me?” \n\n“Maybe after a while, son. I’m tired.” Charles patted Roger’s shoulders before moving to his armchair and turning on the radio. \n\n“Sputniks and mutniks flying through the air...sputniks and mutniks flying everywhere...” Ray Anderson and the Homefolks crooned while Roger frolicked around the room, continuing his imagined game with his new ray gun and a rocket in hand. He started singing along. \n\n“Our scientists have admittеd that we're five yеars behind; and if that's true I'm telling you, this hiding place is mine...” the song continued. \n\n“Hey, Dad!” Roger stopped right after that line, “I want to be a space scientist when I grow up!” \n\n“If you become a space scientist, son.” Charles affectionately responded. “I’ll eat my hat!” Such a thing didn’t exist, right? Roger giggled, too innocent to pick up his father’s hint of sarcasm.\n\n\nU.S. Congress created NASA on June 29th, 1958 and began operations on October 1st. The Apollo 11 program went to the moon in 1969. Roger became a computer technician for NASA during that time. After contributing to the Space Transportation System project, he settled down, started a family, and became a computer hobbyist. \n\n\nSpring of 2006\n\nWhere Roger embraced the dawn of computers, his son, Gene, embraced the dawn of Internet culture. The amount of time Gene could spend on the web growing up concerned him and frequently started arguments. Yet Roger reluctantly joined the bandwagon as e-mail and Internet chatrooms were Gene’s preferred methods of “writing home” while he was at college. \n\n“The Facebook just expanded to all the Ivy League schools!” Gene enthused in a communique. “There’s talk that Zuckerberg might even expand to full public access. You could get one too!” \n\n“That sounds interesting,” Roger replied. “Whatever would I use The Facebook account for, though?”\n\n“You could use it to connect with family, maybe old friends or make new ones.” \n\n“What’s wrong with a phone call or even an e-mail?” \n\n“Online communication and presence is the future, Dad. The point of social media is to be social. I can compare notes with somebody from MIT or Yale that I find through The Facebook. More still, video-chatting is a thing now with the Skype app--even better than an e-mail! And major companies now have websites and retailers have online shopping options.” \nThe ideas waried Roger. He loved computers but he feared the once-scientific instrument was becoming ingrained into everyday life. The machines that once sent man to the moon are now digital parties. Was it even safe and healthy?\n\n“Tell you what, son,” He messaged Gene. “I’ll eat my hat when I can get an account for The Facebook thing!” \n\n\nOn September 26th, 2006, Facebook became available to anyone over thirteen years of age. Roger never set up a Facebook account but came around to appreciating some of the internet’s other conveniences as his health started to turn. \n\n2023\n\nRoger spent his later golden years laying in bed, his health faltering more and his mind baffled by the things computers could do these days: artificial intelligence, storage clouds, touchscreens, 3-D printing, voice command that could control a whole house, and so much social media. The technology seems to be getting smaller all the time too since the Apple II he owned after settling down from NASA. \n\nEven now, his son Gene, a holder of degrees in computer and bioengineering, enthused over the latest potential developments with which he was involved: nanorobotics.\n\n“They’re tiny biological computers, Dad,” Gene enthused over the latest potential development: nanorobotics. “They can identify and destroy cancer cells, rewrite DNA, and improve vaccine effectiveness...we could achieve perfect health in a few more generations!”\n\n“Son,” Roger rasped, “I’ve had plenty years of good health already. I’d eat my hat if a nanobot gave me any more. God would’ve made us robots if we were to have computers in us.” \n\nRoger passed away a few years later, while Gene pursued further development in nanorobotics." } ]
[ { "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: Unafraid of the Dark\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1065\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story inspired by the phrase “The plot thickens.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Greta knew Johann was dying. He reached for her delicate hand and stroked her long fingers. His skin felt like cold, wet clay. The fever hadn't broken in three days. After weeks of fighting, she watched the dimming of his light happen before her very eyes. The candle at his bedside flickered, threatening to leave them abandoned in the darkness together. Greta wasn't afraid of the dark. She was afraid of being alone.\nJohann curled a calloused finger around hers and forced himself to speak, \"Greta, I have many things to tell you, and not much time.\"\n\"Shhh, don't waste your strength on the past,\" she said softly and wiped his sweaty forehead with a damp cloth. \"None of it matters now.\"\n\"Everything,\" Johann cleared his grating throat forcefully. He struggled to prop himself on his elbows to lean forward and bore his beady eyes into hers. \"Everything about it matters.\"\nGreta braced herself for what was coming. She had waited her whole life to hear what she hoped he was about to tell her. Her stomach swirled and knotted with anticipation.\n\"Do you remember anything before I came for you? When you were five years old?\" he asked slowly.\nMemories from her early life were scattered and scarce. She remembered a woman, a beautiful, kind woman who spoke differently than her. She remembered the letters Johann sent, to keep her (and the woman, she presumed) up to date on his status and plans. She also remembered the day Johann came to take her home.\n\"You cried,\" Johann said wistfully. \"You didn't want to leave Marguerite.\"\nGreta tried to remember more on her own before she responded. She couldn't, so then mustered enough courage to ask the question she has assumed to be true.\n\"Was she my mother?\"\n\"No little mouse. Her name was Marguerite. She took you in when your mother died, and father.\"\nThere was silence for some time while Greta absorbed what was said. Through the years, she made up stories in her head about the woman, Marguerite, and even asked Johann about her once. His response squashed any chance of her trying to find out before he was ready to tell her. In a harsh tone she had never heard from him before, he said to never ask about her childhood again. He promised he would tell her when it was time. Now, hearing that her parents were dead triggered a cascade of mixed emotions. She stood up, avoiding her own reaction, and went to get another candle.\nThe rooms were full of shadows from the moonlight beaming through the front windows. Greta made her way to the front of their dwelling when something outside caught her eye.\nThey lived in the town center where the roads were made of stone. Johann was the area's well-known and much-loved tailor, with Greta as his apprentice. Their workshop was below the living quarters, at street level. They had a small balcony facing the square, the direction in which she saw the commotion. Distracted, she went to see what was happening.\nA group of men were building an altar made of thick wood. Greta immediately knew what was happening. That morning, two women were found guilty of making a pact with the devil, taking the blame for the extended frost that killed most of the food and other vegetation in the area. The entire winter was a struggle, leaving everyone hungry and desperate for relief. Spring's arrival was anxiously anticipated, but the harsh weather never let up. Hertha and Anni were accused by their neighbors to have been performing rituals in their home involving the sacrifice and consumption of human baby flesh. They were arrested, like so many other women before them, and eventually they confessed to the crime. The altar was being staged for their public execution by fire, mandated by the Prince Bishop to be witnessed by every citizen in town.\nGreta didn't believe the accusations were true, however. She and Johann had endless discussions about how the current witch craze defied logic, yet brutally ended hundreds of lives over the last several decades. They noticed patterns in the way the victims were, in their opinion, chosen. Mostly defenseless women, elderly, unmarried, sometimes of an odd demeanor, and on occasion when an example was to be made, wealthy and popular. The men that faced the same punishment had either taken a stance in defense of the women accused, or committed a crime themselves that caused the victim wanting their cruel death as revenge. It was easy enough to sling accusations of philandering with devils and get the desired outcome. The Prince Bishop was more than eager to oblige. Johann and Greta did everything they could to avoid being caught in that crossfire. Now, with Johann dying, Greta could feel the vultures circling, knowing she would soon have to fend for herself. For a moment she watched then men build the altar, her blood ran ice cold, then returned to Johann's side.\nAs she sat on his bed, Johann wasted no more time. Greta saw his eyes mist with tears and deep emotions.\n\"You must let me finish before you say anything,\" he urged. Greta agreed. \"Your mother was my sister. I am your uncle.\"\nUpon hearing this, Greta felt both shocked and glad. She loved Johann with all her heart. It made sense because he truly was like a father to her. He continued.\n\"There is a book that your mother kept. I have it hidden. She was a, a...\" Johann lost his words. \"...she was a midwife. A healer. A very gifted healer. Then all this madness started, and she had to stop everything. Except, she didn't. She just hid it.\"\nJohann pointed under the bed. \"Loose plank up against the wall. Find it.\"\nGreta found it. When she opened the book, what she saw silenced her. She slowly turned the pages, fingering the brittle edges carefully, absorbing what she saw. Her eyes widened with each page reveal. She could barely breathe.\nJohann whispered, drawing closer to the last bit of strength he had.\n\"Greta. Your mother. Me. Our family,\" he drew his finger along the cracked, black leather book edge. \"This is our legacy. We are...\"\nGreta looked up at him. She was deeply filled with fear, uncertainty, and, to her surprise, pride. She finished it with one word.\n\"Witches.\"" } ]
[ { "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: Unexpected Predicament\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1343\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Are you coming tonight?” Enola questions. I pace back and forth, as an awkward silence emerges. I didn't know how to answer her question. I didn't want to let her down, but my mother did not know about me being bi, let alone dating Enola. \n“I don’t know if my mom is available with her busy work schedule and everything” I answer.\nEnola sighs, “Reservations sell out fast. I just want to ensure tonight’s special, if we do go. It is our anniversary after all.” She says disappointed. \n“I know, I really want to come. I can ask my mom about it again when she gets off work.” I say with a fake smile. Not that she could see it anyways.\n“Okay just keep me updated, don’t worry if you can’t make it, I understand.” She commented. \nI instantly feel guilt for the lies I have just created. “How perfect can she be?” I think to myself. Even though I am practically saying no to the thing she desires the most, she still comforts me.\n“I love you Olivia.” She utters. Simultaneously, she declines the call, not even giving me a chance to say love you back. \nHurt by the closing of our phone call, I collapsed on my bed. A million and one thoughts filling my brain.\n“Really, Olivia?” I groan. She always calls me Liz, so her calling me by my full name is a big red flag. \nWas she really that mad at me? \nWhat should I do?\nShould I make an excuse that I can’t go?? No, it would break her heart. \n“Ughhhhhh”, feeling frustrated with how today started I get up. Suddenly I hear a knock on my bedroom door. \n“Hi honey” my mom says excitedly, “Happy Saturday!” \n“Happy Saturday” I mutter, wondering why she decided to barge in without confirmation that I was awake.\nIgnoring my tone of voice, she continues.\n“I am really excited for some quality time with you!” My mother declares.\nI remain quiet for a quick minute. I honestly didn't know how to talk to my mom anymore, she hadn't been around for so long, that it didn't feel right to share things with her. Normally, at a time like this I would turn to Enola but of course I can’t this time around. Spontaneously I reveal “I have something to tell you.”\nEnola’s point of view --------------------------------------\nMy stomach drops as I decline. I instantly feel bad for cutting her off. But at the same time I’m frustrated with her. Did she forget about our anniversary dinner? Did she not realize how happy I was for this day? This is my first serious relationship, and I wanted this night to be special. I know her mom is busy but I don’t think she is taking this seriously. I began getting lost in a whirlpool of emotions and unbearable thoughts before getting cut back into reality by my mothers agitated voice.\n“What time did she want you to book us for?” My mom asks.\n“She didn’t say a time.” I sorrowfully answered.\n“She needs to get back to you soon, your father took off work for this.” She mumbles. \n“Give her a break, she’s going through a lot right now.” I pointed out. \n“Like?” My mom rudely questions.\nI stumbled over words...what was she really going through? Honestly, I had been cutting her slack for some time now, but why?\n“Well, for starters she’s trying to talk to her mom. It can be really tough sometimes, since she’s always working.” \n“I don’t understand how hard it is just to ask her hey can you come tonight? Besides, haven't you been planning this for weeks with her?” My mom questions. \n“I guess she wants to tell her in person. I mean this is a pretty big deal.” I blush, giving myself added confidence to Liz’s prolonged response. \n“Sure it is a big deal. But you’ll see, there will be many more wonderful girls for you to date, who can actually commit to things.” She explains.\n“Mom, please just clear your mind about her. She’s honestly amazing, I don't want this to be a negative experience.” I plead.\n“Of course I’ll love her.” She comforts. “And if it doesn’t work out at least I won’t have to see Kristopher”.\n“Thanks for looking on the bright side of things mom!” I say sarcastically. \n“No problem” she winks, and walks away leaving me alone with my thoughts once again. \nNot long after, I hear keys rattling outside the door. My brothers must be home from practice early. But instead my father “Kristopher” walks in through the front door. \nHearing the door open my mom walks out. \n“Kristopher, when did I ever say we would be meeting here?!” My mom exclaims, caught completely off guard.\n“I didn't know I needed a ticket to come to dinner.” He laughs.\n“You don't need a ticket for dinner, but to enter my house you do!” She shouts. \nIgnoring their usual bickering, I run to my father. “Hi Dad!” I hollar collapsing him with a huge hug.\nAt first I was mad at my dad for becoming an alcoholic after coming back from the military. He had been away off and on for my whole childhood, so when he came back different it freaked me out. My father took up drinking as his way of coping with PTSD. He left three months after he got back. Saying his reasons were to “fix things”. While he was away we only communicated through hand written letters, I still have all of them in a box below my bed. Over time I began to forgive him. \nHe stumbles back, caught off guard by my big hug, nevertheless, he tightly throws his arms around me, and I feel a level of safety I had been lacking for some time. No “I am so glad that you made it!” I smile. \nHe looks down into my eyes. “Sweet Heart, I am always here for, I know that in the past I've been a selfish man, but I promise I’m here now.” He whispers never ending his strong gaze. \nMy eyes grow teary so I quickly look away, I am not one to cry in front of others. \n“Kristophor, can we please chat for a minute.” My mother declares, her eyes slightly crossed.\nI watch as they walk towards the bedroom together. \n“Kris, I told you to never see the kids without my consent!” \n“You invited me to dinner… with the kids, you gave me consent right there!”\n“This is not the restaurant where you would be seeing them though.”\n“I thought it would be less stressful for Enola to see her dad before, rather than at the same time as the first family get together between the couple’s.”\n“There you go thinking again. I am this close to cutting you off completely.”\n“Kayla, you can’t do that, I have full custody as well. You're lucky I dont go crazy on you for having kids all the time.”\n“Ha, you're the alcoholic, not me.”\n“I am sober Kayla. I have been attending AA meetings, got a good job, and even made some amendments. I am not that man anymore” \n“I don’t want to hear it Kris.”\n“Are you telling me to leave?” \n“No… I am telling you to make sure this never happens again.” \n“I don’t want to argue with you Kayla, I will leave if it makes you more comfortable.” \n“No, Enola needs you here.” \n*sighs \n“and to be completely honest I wouldn't mind if you’d stay either, I’ve missed you. I just have had all this pent up aggression since you left and I had to get off my chest… sorry” \n“No it’s fine I deserve it” \nTime passes and silence arises. A few minutes later they step out of the room. I try to make it look casual, so it doesn’t look like I was just eavesdropping over them the entire time. \nJust then my phone buzzes and I get an alarming message from Liz." } ]
[ { "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: Trampled Dreams\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2991\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story inspired by the phrase “The plot thickens.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "(Excerpt from Chapter One of my unpublished novel 'A Brilliantly Scathing Life'. The plot thickens...)\n\nHead hung downward, Kendra stared unseeingly as the dry earth passed beneath the massive hooves of the oxen team pulling her heavy Conestoga wagon. Then the freshly turned earth came into view just under her high bench seat. Already it had been flattened by the wagons streaming ahead of her and was fading to blend with the surrounding clay. The wagon master had insisted that was the way it had to be to keep wild animals from ravaging the remains. No marker. No one would ever lay fresh flowers and shed a few tears thinking about the soul passed away or the full life lived. No one would ever know a grave was there.\nAs the newlywed widow of said tortured soul Kendra should be the one mourning that loss life. Yet she was numb, felt nothing unless it was a shameful sense of relief. No tears would come unless they were for her treasured grandfather who had mysteriously died in the middle of the night mere days ago, just before her small party, still trying to fulfill the dream of the aging Georgian gentleman, had joined forces with this train setting out across the wilderness.\nBut no tears of hers would ever fall for the swarthy dandy who had weaseled his way into her grandpa's good graces and convinced the ever-protective provider that a riverboat swindler would be the perfect husband for his innocent seventeen-year-old southern bred granddaughter.\nWhat had Grandfather been thinking? Had the scallywag blackmailed or cheated Pappy in some fashion to make him believe it was advantageous to give her hand to such a gad-about? Was it as simple as the man had shared their somewhat common last name, Potter, so she carry it to posterity?\nTo her the courtship had been a whirlwind nightmare. Vows were stiffly spoken lies in front of her spouse-to-be's steamboat captain friend. Leroy had been all polite and charming up until then but quickly became a demented beast. No tender romance or loving touch as she had always imagined a marriage commitment should be. She shuddered.\nKendra wore the only black frock she owned due to her grandpa's sudden passing but she would never grieve for that fool of a man who had gotten himself thrown from her papa's spirited steed showing off to sod busters and justifiably breaking his cravatted neck. She had the sense to have all his finery stripped off him before the rushed burial just in case she needed to sell some of it. Lord only knew where any provisions would be coming from henceforth. (Please, Lord, what am I to do now?)\nIt had been Grandfather's dream to head into the great unknown West in an effort to save his family's legacy that had been getting ripped apart by the civil struggle back east. He'd been taking extreme measures to plan for the arduous trip starting just after his son, Kendra's father, had been killed in the blood bath at Donelson. Months were spent designing, building and packing this unique travel wagon. Already it had been serving the remnant family well for weeks trudging across the war-torn South, then north and westerly, carrying them far away from the decimated plain-plantation in central Georgia. Thankfully, the war had been declared over but, as Granddad had suspected, the reconstruction of the rebellious South started out just as destructive. Time to go.\nThe morning mist was burning off as she raised her eyes to peer at faithful Theo urging the plodding oxen forward with a soft reed in his left hand and holding a long rein on his right leading the fearsome bay now meekly following his commands. It wasn't the good horse, Charger's, fault LeRoy was no sensible horseman. She hoped she would never have to sell the powerful equine. Strong Theo could surely keep him in control just as Grandpa Potter had done since Kendra's father had gone off to war leaving Charger in his dad's trusted care. That had been accomplished by hiding the horse and all the wagon preparations away from the ever increasing neediness of the Confederates and the greediness of the Union. None of that was easy. Randolf Potter's cunning had gotten them as far as the riverboat disaster but then...\nShe sighed knowing she still had Theo's broad shoulders to lean on but she also recognized she was now the decision maker of their sojourning foursome.\nTheo had been Grandpa's devoted servant all their lives. Master Potter had freed Theo long before the secession along with the other servants and their families on the Potter's small prosperous operation a few miles north of Macon. All the former slaves had stayed on sharecropping right up to Sherman's march then accepted Potter's offer of forty acres each owned free and clear.\nWhile he was still able-bodied the fifty-seven year-old felt it was time to take his granddaughter in search of a new world. With all the young men lost in the war where would he find a suitable mate for her?\nTheo and his beautiful, common-law wife, Carolena, along with her eleven-year-old son, Tobias, had remained loyal to Rand Potter. Theo's blacksmith and carpentry skills had facilitated the conception and production of this one of a kind house on wheels complete with two satellite vehicles being piloted toward the western plains.\nKendra signaled to Theo when he glanced back to check on her that she would climb down to trade places with 'Lena who was advancing the lighter weight ox drawn box wagon. Once the reins were secured she jumped down the back of the huge prairie schooner.\n\"You doing okay?\" Trying to assure him she was fine, the new widow gave Toby, who led the the mule pulling the goat cart, a side hug and patted his dog's shaggy head as she passed their little herd of goats and sheep they goaded forward.\n\"Who's gonna be telling me what I needs to do?\" From his quick, shy grin she sensed Toby would not be missing bossy Leroy.\nGentle Theo thought Leroy was the chosen one by Rand for his cherished little girl. The days since escaping the riverboat and Rand's passing had been nearly unbearable under Leroy's rule. When they joined the train Leroy morphed into a benevolent leader looking after all of their best interests.\n\"Sorry, I didn't do anything to get the nooning meal started while I was up there. Just couldn't stop mooning, I guess.\" Kendra confessed to 'Lena as she accepted a hug from her.\n\"Aw, Honey Chil', after da shock ya had a couple o' hours ago a body has ta understand. Can't say ya needs be out here now. Ya curl up in bed and have a good ol' tear jerk if need be. Lordy be, Chil', you uns jut lost ya newly pledged such as he was! On top o' losin' Masta Rand! Only so much a heart can lose wit'out crackin' a bit. Theo got da wagon. We got it out here and don't worry none 'bout wha' we be eat'n. I get it up fast 'nough.\"\n\"Thanks, but I best walk off the worry. Think about what comes next. Glad to see you are bearing up. Maybe easier without Leroy's demands, huh?\"\n\"Huh, uh. Jut remember as Masta Rand always taught us da Goo' Lor' has us in His hand. Me and Theo be stayin' right beside ya, too.\"\n\"I am so bless to have caring friends like you.\"\n\"Nah, we is family an' dat's wha' family do. Can no get out o' it.\"\n\"Go take a rest up there, now. You'll get a fine view of your man. You both are so lucky to have each other. Knowing me like you do, you have to be aware as fast as that whole deranged ceremony took place that Mister Leroy was no where near my dream boat. I went along 'cause I thought I was making Pappy happy. But I have to confess I don't understand what was his rush. And then his all too sudden demise...\", Kendra blinked back gathering tears.\n\"Careful now, ya be creatin' 'nother trail o' tears.\" 'Lena laid her hand on Kendra's shoulder, made sure she was grounded again then tossed back her thick braid of black hair and headed toward the laboring Conestoga.\n\"How Missy doin'?\" Theo asked as she neared.\n\"She pull thru fine. Still more upset 'bout Masta Rand's passin' dan she ever be 'bout dat no account 'cuse fer a husbn'. Still can't figure wha' next. Too much burden on tiny shoulders! Dat all.\" 'Lena tsked.\n\"Tink we could steal away ta talk some? Been long time no 'Lena. \"\n\"Yeah, I understand ya kinda talkin', Mista Big Man! Long as we keep dese beasts a trackin', umm...\"\nHe guided her toward the the front of the wagon and lifted her up to the high seat. After tying Charger along side the wagon, he climbed up beside her and picked up the oxen reins. Theo maintained the steady pace as he steered the team but at the same time started to nuzzle his charming wife until she was blushing under her silky caramel-like skin tone. The two slipped into the shadows beneath the overhang canopy. The animals never even suspected an interruption in their slow journey.\nKendra had to smile as she witnessed their tender interaction. Theirs was a love that had endured much cracking of the heart. In her own naivety she was sure she didn't understand all the dynamics of their unconventional relationship but they seemed to enjoy mutual satisfaction and happiness. The lives of slaves in the South had never been ideal. Even under sympathetic and lenient owners they needed to find their own normal so they took pleasure where ever they could.\nOnly a couple of years younger than Rand, Theo was with the family forever. Carolena was a pregnant young adolescent when she was rescued from an abusive owner. Although Theo was older than her by at least twenty years, she was given to him. He had raised her child as his own. But Tommy had gone off to join the Union soldiers when the Emancipation Proclamation was announced and had not been heard from since.\nKendra needed to learn what was trustworthy. Being women she and 'Lena were never going to feel completely free. Her brief and cruel marriage had already taught her that reality. But right now she faced the hard reality that even though she was momentarily free to do whatever, she had no way of knowing what that whatever should be or what means she had available to do it. All plans had died with Rand Potter.\nGrandpa had thought it would be a brand new start on the wild west coast. But that was the extent of what she knew. Did he have a place in mind all set up for them to arrive and start this new life? What about finances? Nothing was ever discussed with her, a mere girl child. Would Theo know anything?\nPappy and Theo had built this ingenious rolling fortress that was seemingly well equipped for all their immediate and new world needs. But even if they stopped right here, where ever 'Here' was, how long would they survive and what are the dangers 'Here' is hiding? Boy, did she need help!\nSomeone was watching from afar. She got the sense he had been there following on his horse for a while studying their trek. He skirted around the small herd and Dex, the dog, barked out a couple of sharp warnings he better not mess with their progress. He raised a hand in hello to the boy.\nWhen he pulled up close to her he fingered his Stetson in typical cowboy fashion and offered her a polite, \"Howdy, Ma'am. Mind if I walk with you a ways?\"\nHis deep Texas drawl pulled her eyes up and up so she could see from under her bonnet. It was the all-business wagon master.\n\"It's your cemetery,\" she Georgian-drawled back to him.\n\"Oo...Ouch.\" He swung his leg over the hind quarters of his quarter horse and was soon beside her.\n\"Don't mean to be hard on you. Know it's been a rough day. But your band is falling a bit behind. Wouldn't want the livestock herd to pass you by.\"\nYep, all-business. She wielded the reed toward the plodding ox's rump and softly called out another \"Yup, now\". It was clear the bored beast wasn't gonna go any faster than he already was.\n\"Uh-mm, I really just wanted to say again how sorry I am about your loss.\" He muttered, surprised at his loss for words.\nShe peeked up again at him from beneath her dark bonnet taking measure. She measured him as tall and lean, maybe not legendary tall Texan but tall enough and lean enough. Perhaps he was not as old as she would have expected for the position he held but old enough with broad enough shoulders for taking on the responsibilities he must burden.\nAround his eyes were the beginning crows feet that told he smiled a lot or squinted into the sun a lot. They just added to his good-looking character. Well, extremely good-looking if she wanted to be honest or as if she cared.\nYes, he was man enough to make any other young girl feel her heart aflutter the way he looked her over. But she wasn't so foolish anymore. She had been burned by a good-looking rogue and had no intention or desire to ignite another conflagration.\nHer silky pleated black bonnet seemed out of place here but his breath caught as it framed honey colored tendrils sparkling in the sun. And soulful hazel eyes under long lashes. What looked like tear streaks were etched in the morning dust covering her creamy complexion.\nHe had never been this close to her. Never taken note of how attractive she was. How incredibly young. Or innocent. Or vulnerable. Or... What was he thinking? She's deeply grieving!\n\" I, I didn't get a chance to get to know your husband very well, what with you just joining up. I'm sure you must have been very excited to start your new life together. He had told me you had only gotten married at the riverboat a few days before. He felt like he was the luckiest man alive. Well, er, so sorry it worked out like it did this morning.\"\n\"Thank you very much. Sorry, I was disappointed in the funeral proceedings.\" She quipped what he expected.\n\"Understandable. It is always a shock to the bereaved to have to leave a loved one that way. Didn't relish being so crass about it. Try to understand we have other wagon parties waiting to join on expecting us to be at a certain place at a certain time to keep any hope of arriving safely on the west coast before next winter's freeze. We gotta keep moving. There will be plenty of unexpected delays along the way.\"\n\"Duly noted. Tell me, please, what makes you sure I was very excited to start a new life with him?\" She quipped the unexpected.\n\"What? Well, um, newlyweds are always, that is they should always be... \" He stammered.\n\"Don't fret. We didn't get off on the right foot.\" Just then her right foot stumbled on a rock and she flayed about to keep from falling. \"Oh-oh...!\" Strong arms encircled her slender form and steadied her. She pushed away from the muscular chest. \"So sorry. Thank you.\"\n\"Are you alright? Those shoes are all wrong for this terrain.\" He thought he had detected a flinch of pain that had nothing to do with a minor stumble.\nBut he hadn't mistaken his own reaction to that brief touch. The black shawl she had been clutching around her shoulders had dislodged exposing soft curves bulging above a too tight bodice. He had been on numerous wagon treks and thought he was immune to any womanly charms. That was no fake ploy to get his attention. This one had him shaken.\n\"Uh, nothing a little noontime respite won't cure and these are the only footwear I have unless you think my ballroom slippers would work better?\" She deadpanned knowing full well those slippers had been lost at the riverboat fiasco.\nShe regathered the shawl about her and lifted her petticoat above ankle height to consider her tightly laced high-top, so-so high-heeled boots as she turned her foot back and forth. Again, not a ploy directed at him. But he enjoyed the view.\n\"No, uh, no. Guess they'll do okay 'til we get to a supply station. Then maybe I can make some suggestions.\"\n\"If you are done being helpful isn't it about time to stop for lunch?\" She granted him a first brief smile.\nOh, Wow! The sun just came out a little brighter! That was all he could think. What was wrong with him that he couldn't seem to speak intelligently?\n\"Oh, oh right you are. I best go circle the wagons. However, I would like to talk to you some more about your plans. I, I have lots of questions.\"\n\"I have lots of questions, too. Would you like to take your noon meal with us?\" She glanced over to the main wagon as it was slightly drifting off course and knew lunch was not what was on 'Lena's mind right now.\n\"Wait. Today's been weird so not sure what I am offering but 'Lena is an excellent cook. Of course, she does much better on the supper meal. Would that work out for you instead?\"\n\"I'd be much obliged.\" He mounted his horse, \" 'Til then, Ma'am.\" With a polite smile he tipped his hat again and rode toward the front of the line shouting, \"Circle 'em 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: Fortes\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2396\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story containing the words “it’s the thought that counts.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Sandwiched between Robson and Alberni streets two buildings keep company. The twenty-two-story skyscraper, a dark green prism pulled from the minds of architects at MCM sits on the corner of Thurlow and Alberni. In its shadow, on the corner of Thurlow and Robson, a rich two-story in red brick.\nThe brick oozes finery dipped in an age of old when men removed themselves from the world to smoking rooms where they would sit in burgundy leather wing backs sipping port and chew the end of a puro while discussing world affairs. An arched mutton window rises out of the blocks, and deep green awnings, like eyelids, hover over windows where the people on the inside observe the people on the outside and the people on the outside observe the people on the inside. The brick is reflected in the opulence of the glass tower beside it and the people in its windows watch Brunello Guchinelli wave at Prada across the street while the Audi, the BMW, and the Land Rover sit silently on the side awaiting their owner’s return.\nThe tower of glass feeds the business, they call it progress. The rich red brick feeds the people, they call it Fortes. Joe Fortes.\nJoe Fortes didn’t start off as the seafood chophouse we know today. The luxurious interior of mahogany tables on iron legs under a soaring coffered ceiling was the invention of someone else. The real Joe Fortes was a black man. A swimmer. A swim instructor. A shoeblack. A bartender. A lifeguard. A hero.\nJoe was a mixture of African, Barbarian, Spanish, and Portuguese and he swam to Vancouver on the Robert Kerr in 1885. Why he chose to leave his home in Spain to England and England to Canada we can’t know, but we can know that his arrival in Canada change the lives of at least 26 people. They remained alive because Joe saved them from drowning in English Bay. He was honored as a Vancouver City hero.\nOne hundred years after the lifeguard’s death someone thought to honor Joe Fortes by naming this restaurant after him. Ten years after that, Joe Fortes thought to hire Mike. Today Mike is behind the bar wiping water drop marks off of wine glasses with a soft white cloth as he watches the wealthy watch each other and the ordinary watch the wealthy. As dusk turns into night Mike watches dates depart hand in hand, business meetings close with a handshake, the ordinary leave for their stroll up Robson Street, and the wealthy as they head back to their Audi’s, BMW’s, and Land Rovers.\nHair black and thick that would curl if left too long is what one notices first about Mike, and second, his accent, lower Manhattan with just a little lilt of Irish breathed in on an ocean from far away. He rolled his R’s like St. Patrick and blew away the H in ‘thank you.’ “Tanks,” he would say and the heartbeat of every female would catch in her throat creating a certain breathlessness. He was a gentleman brought up the Irish way by his father who also tended bar. His father learned to bartend from his father before him in Ireland before the first world war. The fact was simple, the Doyles were a fine line of bartenders reaching back one hundred twenty-five years.\n\nSome baby boys are born to their mamas dipped in sweetness and kissed by angels. Some baby boys come out screaming loudly and are kissed by Satan. Label Out was the latter.\nNobody in Fortes knew his name because they hadn’t wanted to know it. ‘Keep Off!” The warning screams when ordinary brushes up against arrogance. The staff instinctively knew to keep their distance lest he devour them. He was happy with that, he had little time to entertain the simple.\nTonight he sat alone at the bar sipping a twelve-year-old double cask neat. A large expensive watch dripped off his left wrist screeching loud money. His jacket, very carefully, very purposefully hung on the back of his chair with the label out. All of it howled raucously like the day he was born.\nHe was wealthy, this wasn’t to be argued. He worked very hard to make it to the top ten in his legal firm. He thrived there because as stated earlier he was kissed by Satan and when Satan lifted his lips he lifted off part of his soul. Label Out had no conscience and with no conscience, he was able to manipulate the law to benefit some very bad people. This made him a lot of money.\nHe was reading the menu.\n\nShe walked through the double glass door effortlessly. Mike glanced up as she stepped toward the bar and thought of three simple things simultaneously:\nStunning. Cocoa. Rosé.\nIn fact, Cocoa was exceedingly stunning. Her skin was iridescent. It was chocolate left in the sun melting into a bar of gold. Long dark hair the color of ink framed her face and when she pushed a strand over her right ear her temple revealed a kiss of a freckle left there by an angel long ago. Her dark lips were glossed in light pink and when she parted them to speak she revealed perfect teeth.\nAnything held in contrast against each other is magnified, perhaps greater than it really is. Black coal beside a down feather makes the coal harder and darker, and the feather becomes softer and brighter. Cocoa’s teeth were that. Bright white against bronze skin. Cocoa’s wit was that. Vivacity honed along dark steel. She was saucy.\nA smile pulled playfully at the edge of her lips and a hint of humor tugged the corner of her eye. She smelled like a tango. Vanilla Bean and Channel Number Five held tight in a calesita begging to be watched as they gently melded together. Sultry. Sexy. Thirsty.\nCocoa hung up her cream-colored raincoat on the back of the bar stool label in, she didn’t know there was any other way. She took a seat as Mike flagged her with a black napkin.\n“What may I pour for you,” he asked fully expecting her to say Rosé.\nShe smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Today my friend, a shot and a beer,” she finished her order with a wink, laid her clutch on the bar top, and started playing with the corner of her napkin.\nMike was amused to be wrong his smile revealed that.\n“Your preference?”\n“Ah…” she glanced at the tap handles knowing full well what she would order even as she did so.\n“Guinness and Jameson please.”\nMike’s Irish heart skip a beat as he tumbled into love. He turned to draw the pint and the corner of his eye caught Label Out peeking up over his menu studying hungrily, observing Cocoa as Cocoa observed the room. Mike wasn’t surprised when Label Out stood, lifted his jacket and his glass, and moved his position to the seat beside Cocoa’s. The bartender glanced to the corner of the restaurant to make sure Sebastian had noticed this too.\nSebastian was jovial and big. Hours were spent in the gym developing muscles that lay firm and rippled under roped veins. His tumultuous past cut into his skin with scars and ink. He walked away from that life five years before when he was saved by the blood of Jesus. The tattoos of his formal life were now tucked into his tuxedo, tucked into the corner of Fortes. He nodded subtly, assuring Mike he had indeed seen it. Mike knew it was safe to take his eye off Label Out and use it to flourish the Guinness with a foamy shamrock. He placed the finished masterpiece on Cocoa’s curling napkin. The shot beside it keeping company.\nWithout asking if he could be in her space, Label Out pulled back the barstool next to Cocoa and sat down.\nShe saw all that he wanted her to see; the fine watch, the pricey fitted silk shirt, the jacket's expensive label waving. She smelled his expensive cologne and saw the bartender pour the scotch they hid behind lock and key. She took a sip of her Guinness and nodded when Mike asked her if she would like to see a menu.\n“I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.” Label Out started. “Where are you from?”\n“Of course, you can take this seat. No, I’m not meeting anyone here at all…” Cocoa said sarcastically, licking the foam and her sass with the tip of her tongue from her upper lip. “Do you do this often?” she smiled genuinely.\n“What do you mean? Do I come here often? Yes. I do. \"\nMike winked at Cocoa, and a smirk pulled the corner of his mouth. He turned quickly to hide it from Label Out.\n“Well, at least you smell nice.” She took another sip.\n“You are very beautiful.”\n“Thank you.”\n\" Are you visiting?”\n“Yes, just a visit.”\n“Alone or with a friend?”\n“Excuse me? Bartender. May I have another napkin, please? It seems the Guinness is getting away from me today.” She smiled.\nMike nodded and swiftly placed another in front of her.\n“Well?” Label Out continued to probe.\n“I’m here doing some research,”\n“That sounds interesting. On what?”\n“Breeding Habits of the Nile Crocodile.”\nMike chuckled behind his apron.\nLabel Out noticed and looked visibly annoyed. “Did I miss something?” he frowned at Mike.\n“Family history.” Cocoa turned her body directly toward him setting herself between his bite and Mike. “I’m from back east, I’m doing research on my family that immigrated to Vancouver from Europe. I’ve heard wonderful things about the city so I thought I’d combine a vacation with my research.”\nThe diversion worked. He took his teeth out of the bartender and set them back down.\n“Oh, I could show you around.” He offered.\n“Of course, you could.” Cocoa cocked her head to the left never letting go of her grin.\n“I mean it,” Label Out continued, “this city is mine, I know all the best spots, and I can get us into all the great clubs. Hell, I even have tickets to tomorrow night’s hockey game, club seats. Gretzkey's in town. We could go there. This gold watch isn’t a replica you know, Vancouver is mine. So what do you say? Let me show you my city.”\nCocoa died a little more inside and desperately worked at keeping her eyes from rolling back.\n“I think I’d just like to chew on a steak.”\n“I’ll buy it for you.”\n“No thank you.”\n“Why not?”\nHe seemed like a smart man it perplexed her and humored her that he didn’t know he was dumb. She let him continue.\n“I’m a lawyer, I’ve just won another case…”\n“I work for many celebrities perhaps you know them…”\n“I drive a convertible coupe in the summer and hire car service in the winter.”\n“See this watch, it cost me…”\nand Cocoa continued to smile and nod disinterestedly until her Guinness got low.\n“Bartender!” Label Out clicked his fingers together demanding attention. Immediate attention. Mike turned toward him and smiled.\n“Yes sir, what can I get for you?”\n“Please bring the lady another drink, put it on my tab.”\nThe lady looked up at Mike and said “Please don’t.”\n“Let’s move over to a table I’ll buy you dinner.” He pressed.\nCocoa reached across the bar and drew her clutch purse closer to her. Calmly she opened the clasp and glanced inside. She drew out a five-dollar bill and laid it on the mahogany bar top. Closing the clasp she laid the clutch back on the bar, picked up her Guinness, and took a sip.\n\" I have been nothing but nice to you. I offer to take you to a game with really great seats. I offer to buy you dinner and then I offer to buy you a drink. You turn everything down. What is wrong with you?” Label Out’s agitation was visible. Sebastian noticed and moved a step closer to the bar. Mike stayed put before them not moving to the left or the right keeping his eye steady on the scene in front of him.\nHeat could be felt from the being beside her. Cocoa sat calmly drinking her pint.\n“Well?” He spat out.\n“Which steak would you recommend today, the Rib eye or the Tenderloin?” She asked Mike.\nLabel Out flicked his tongue between his teeth like a serpent before he picked up the golden liquid, twirled the glass, and sipped, sucking it back through gritted teeth. Whiskey coated his tongue and the words continued to slide out.\n“I said WELL?”\nCocoa lifted her head and looked Label Out directly in the eye.\n“Honey, it seems to me you’re looking for some easy spread, may I suggest a jar of mayonnaise?\"\nA pin drop. Silence so silent a pin drop could be heard followed by spontaneous uncontrolled laughter lifted from deep inside Sebastian on the right and Mike on the left. Cocoa sat sweetly sipping her Guinness. Label out turned seven shades of red.\n“It also looks to me,” Cocoa continued, \" that you might be maxed out on your credit cards.” She put one fingertip on the top of the five-dollar bill and slid it in front of Label Out. “Please allow me to buy you that jar.”\nWhen arrogance is rebuffed it changes to rage and that was what stood in front of them now, rage, iced eyes hard and cold.\n“Bitch.” Slid off his serpent tongue.\n“It’s the thought that counts right?” Cocoa shrugged her shoulders and crinkled up her nose playfully.\n“Time to go, sir.” Sebastian stepped forward with two other Tuxedos.\n“Ya, ya. I’m leaving. I don’t need your help.”\nAs Label Out was escorted from the building, Mike put a fresh Guinness in front of Cocoa. “I don’t think he was expecting that.” He laughed as he slid the pint toward her. “That was bloody brilliant.”\n“Thank you. ” Cocoa genuinely grinned. \"The next show starts at ten pm get your tickets now.”\nMike laughed and put out his hand to shake hers. “My name is Mike. God, I think I’ve fallen in love with you!”\nCocoa raise her hand and slid it into his still smiling. “I’m Josephine Fortes, call me Jo.”" } ]
[ { "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: Madame of ice\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2715\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story containing the words “it’s the thought that counts.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Caution: contains contexts of prostitution and sexual references\n\n23rd of July 1915\n\" it's the thought that counts.\" Her Father had tried to teach her this lesson, but it had never sunk in. Growing up in extreme wealth, she had expected the best of everything. So when she was presented with some material item not as spectacular as she had wished for, she would cry and pout like the poor little rich girl she had been. Now the sentence rattled in her brain like a ringing alarm clock. If it was the thought that counts, her thoughts counted for nil. She hadn't the slightest of good intentions three and a bit years ago, on the 14th of April 1912. Her thoughts instead had been pure selfishness.\n\nIsn't that the emotional platform people choose to stand on when faced with the very real threat of death? Shouldn't survival of the fittest be the motto?? Ruth DeWitt Bukater certainly had thought so at the time. Yet now she wondered would her only Daughter, her beloved Rose be alive if only she had shown her some mercy from the taloned grip of a planned marriage her Daughter did not agree to?\n\nWould her girl still be here today if she had not complained about the crowded lifeboats on that god forsaken ship Titanic? now she would never know. That was just a small sample of pain she was to endure for the rest of her life.\n\nShe won't ever forget the look on Rose's face as she coldly declared \" Goodbye Mother!!.\" Her beautiful skin so pale from the cold, her red ringlets threatening to form icicles, like pretty crimsom glaciers. It was the look of pity mixed with a undercurrent of disgust possessing her features, that had driven an iced stake through Ruth's heart. Fear had Ruth paralysed as her Daughter turned away from the lifeboat, away from the safe promise of a future and into the cast iron grip of an almost certain death. That fear was colder than any iceberg, it froze her to the bone.\n\nHow was she certain Rose was dead? Well in truth, she refused to believe any other concept. If her girl was alive, if she had somehow survived that sinking monstrosity and the below freezing waters that threatened to end her once she went under, if she was out there living and breathing it meant she wanted nothing to do with her Mother.\n\nThe threat of this thought was unbearable to even contemplate, so yes, Rose was dead. Gone all too soon at the delicate age of 17, forever young and beautiful. Forever a 1st class citizen on this terrifying ride called life. Yet gone with her wilted Rose was the promise of continued wealth.\n\nCaledon Hockley, had no use of Ruth now without the promise of her beautiful young Daughter. Rose had been her womb investment. Raise a beautiful daughter with a bloodline of wealth that ran back generations, when she came of age she would marry an aristocrat, no matter how horrible his personality. It had always been the plan, yet when her Husband had died and left them penniless with just their good name to hide the cracks of poverty, it had become paramount that this planned marriage be a success.\n\nThose future investments had gone down with the ship.\n\nRuth was to endure things she had never thought possible. Once the Carparthia had docked at the harbor of American shores, she knew it wasn't going to be smooth sailing. She had almost laughed dryly at the mocking pun. She knew her good name would be poked at and squeezed until the truth of her bankruptcy came leaking out, like an infection from a festering boil.\nAll her greatest fears had uncoiled like a dangerous anaconda. The metaphorical snake was to curl around her limbs and squeeze every ounce of comfort out of her. Leaving her breathless and paralysed with no promise of a green grassed future.\n\nShe had warned Rose of this, way back on the Titanic as she had roughly tightened her Daughters corset, taking her frustrations out on the garment as if it were the one responsible for placing that 3rd class gutter rat what was his name? \"Jack \" in her Daughters path. She had predicted that she would have to sell all their beautiful things at auction, and she would have to work hard as a seamstress if the wedding to Caledon didn't happen.\n\nThe very thought at the time had her icy blue eyes trickling tears, yet now they had no more tears to cry. They were completly spent and so too was the small amount of money she had ended up with, from selling the very few possessions that hadn't sunk with the ship. Most of the money had to pay off all the debts her good for nothing Husband had left them. She had even lost the family estate.\n\nPenniless and alone, she took to the streets hoping for the mercy of strangers, praying for the kindness that she had never bothered to give on the receiving end when she had owned the entire world. Her karma tainted like smudged calligraphy, she soon knew the ravaging desperation of true hunger. The stinging pain of frost bitten toes on a cold winters night, the looks of disgust from rich passer-bys.\n\nShe wanted to grab them and scream into their smug faces, \" We're not so different, I was once wealthy too!!!. This could easily be you in my place instead of me!!!.\" Yet she didn't do that, she had lost her voice, she had lost her heart, she felt she had even lost her soul.\n\nGetting work was harder than she had ever thought. It was the early 20th century, times were indescribably hard for everyone, let alone a former elitist whom had lost all her connections and her very home.Just walking into a store in her tattered exposed to the elements clothing, had them shooing her out the door like some filthy mangy hound that had come in for shelter from the cold streets.\n\nAs the hunger gnawed at her stomach like a ravenous bear after it wakes up from the deep slumber of hibernation, the only thing she had to swallow, was her pride. She had seen women come and go from the dingy local tavern in the heart of Cortlandt alley. It was quite obvious to her in their fishnet garters and their \"ravish me red\" lipstick, thick black eye-liner and recently invented false lashes that these women were prostitutes.\n\nYet, they didn't look starved like she did with her concave stomach and each rib so visible it looked as if they were threatening to burst out her skin. They had smiles on their faces, smoking fancy cigarettes with a chap on their arm that would be soon to warm their beds.\n\nSo, in her astute and desperate survival mode she tidied her long red hair with her fingers. The fiery mane had a life of it's own, she was sure she resembled a lunatic that had escaped from an asylum after rounds of electric shock therapy. She pulled up some courage, from her slightly still lingering past self. She knew she would need it when things came to a critical new low. She walked with convincing confidence into the tavern, and straight up to the manager of the place. For perhaps being a brothel, they wouldn't be as judgemental as the clothing stores and offices had been.\n\n\" Look I know this might seem strange, but I was once a very wealthy women, and I've fallen into the hardest times of my life, i wish to become a lady of the evening!!\" she declared with her false bravado. The rugged man with a bushy beard, and a name tag wording \"Jackson\" pinned onto his long sleeved shirt started to chuckle. \" Look love we get at least five of you a day, all with the same sob story. Tell me what makes you stand out? What makes you special??\" An ashtray rested on the wooden counter of the bar. A half lit cigarette blowing it's tendrils of smoke in Ruth's direction, creating a ghostly mirage around her. Ruth with her unflinching demeanour, looked him straight in the eyes and whispered \"I survived the Titanic.\"\n\nIntrigued yet unconvinced, Jackson insisted to her that she must prove it. Of all the things she had kept which was basically nothing at all, she pulled the scrunched up half of her water damaged 1st class ticket on the Titanic out of the pocket of her ragged dirty coat and showed it to him. She had kept it with her, in case it came in handy one day. His dark brown eyes almost popped out of his head. Suddenly seeing her in a new light, pity softening his sharp manly features.\n\n\" Well love, this does make you unique. you can't survive the Titanic to then die on these cold unforgiving streets!!\" he soothed as he put his big calloused hand on her bony shoulder. \"You're a very pretty lady so I'm sure the gents will enjoy your company, I'll give you a trial\". Ruth felt the relief caress her tired aching body, it was overwhelmingly delicious. \"Thank you for the opportunity, I will not let you down\" she assured him.\n\nSmiling kindly, he squeezed her cold hand and looked straight into her big blue eyes. They were beautiful yet haunting, deep oceans of heartbreak. He could tell just by looking that she was in her own internal hell. He felt it was his duty to give this poor women a chance, to rekindle some small chance at a life. Her sadness almost had him in tears.\n\n\"Come with me darling\" he soothed, his deep voice slightly breaking with emotion. \" I'll take you to the kitchens and we'll get you a big bowl of chicken soup, you must be starving!!.\" Ruth nodded her head in agreement, as tears of gratitude stung her eyes. It had been so long since she had cried, and now the build up was at breaking point like a dam threatening to overflow. Blinking the tears away, She clutched her growling stomach with one arm as she timidly followed Jackson's bulky form.\nAfter eating her fill of hot soup, she was led up a creaking set of stairs that led to the brothel and the ladies living quarters.\n\nShe was introduced to the hookers, as the once 1st class lady who had survived the Titanic. They were all so beautiful and welcomed her into the family. Taking her coat and handing her clean comfortable clothes, with the promise of a hot lavender bath and a good night's sleep. A young girl, showed her to the sleeping quarters. Giving her some privacy to make herself comfortable. Ruth could hear moaning, and gasps of pleasure that come from the result of an extremely good time. Obviously it was a girl with a client.\nThe sounds undulated down the corridor from one of the rooms. Engulfing her auditory senses and almost threatening to send her body into a wave of overwhelming unwanted arousal. She had been celibate for years, her body was ravenous for touch and intimacy. She took a deep breath, and pushed her biological urges down. Choosing instead to block out the sounds and focus on her new \"home\".\n\nIt seemed cozy enough with it's cheap floral carpet, the heavily scented smells of lavender, minty mouthwash and strawberries, It was certainly a far cry from the streets. She made the most of her evening and once washed and in comfortable clean clothes, for the first time in ages she fell asleep in a warm bed. Her new life just beginning.\n\nRuth made the brothel her home. The clients thoroughly enjoyed her services. She built up her wardrobe, and played dress ups of first class wealth with cheap imitations of her former finery.\nSome of the more adventurous chaps, loved to play out the fantasy of being a 3rd class passenger getting a taste of a 1st class delicacy. Pretending that they were the specially chosen ones the lady had picked to sexually devour excited them immensly. Ruth secretly hated to relive the Titanic experience, yet the requested theme promised her triple the money of a regular good time.\n\" We're women, our choices are never easy.\" She had once quoted to her Daughter, and indeed she had been right.\nThe moment she had arrived here, she had folded up her past identity as Ruth and tucked her away. Nobody in this world would ever hear her real name. Ruth was a proper lady dressed in a fine silk gown, her slender neck draped lightly with delicate pearls. Sipping champagne, as the violinist serenaded her and her wealthy friends. Ruth had died out at sea. From here on out she was to be known as Ruby, yet her clients liked to call her the Mistress of ice.\n\nAfter a few years, she ended up the head mistress of the brothel. It was her task to choose the new girls and train them in the erotic arts. Ruby, formally known as Ruth, turned the brothel into a respectful business. Catering to all the requested needs of the men. Jackson had fallen head over heels in love with her yet although being extremly attracted to him, she was frightened to love again. She knew by now that love equalled heartbreak. She first agreed to share his bed when he wished as friends with benefits. Jackson was just grateful to have the intimacy with her. They would make love every single night and then cuddle. She must admit she felt very safe with his strong arms around her. Eventually she couldn't deny her romantic feelings any longer. Her and Jackson became a couple.\n\nJackson put a stop to the Titanic fantasy that some men requested. He felt it cruel for her to constantly be reminded of her painful past. He also insisted clients just call her Ruby, feeling the Madame of ice name added to her trauma.\n\nEventually he didn't want her selling her body at all. He wasn't trying to be controlling, he just loved her so much and wanted her to feel like she wasn't obligated to sell herself. Plus he wanted her only sexual relations to be with him, they were in love after all. She was extremely grateful and just focused on looking after all the girls, even though she had been one of the highest earners.\n\nShe never again would experience the overpowering wealth of the world leaders. Yet she now had a forever home, warm food in her belly, a new family that cared about her, a man that loved her deeply and a job that kept her busy from having to sit and dwell on the unforgiving past.\n\nIt was the times when she lay awake on her own, when Jackson was working late at the bar, that the dull ache of her memories resurfaced. Causing her entire body to tremble with grief. Pains etheric razorblade cutting into her already bleeding heart, carving all different shapes of hurt.\n\nHer Daughters lingering essence that she hid deep in her tormented soul, tortured her. She was so sorry how she had treated Rose, as even back then she had always loved her so very much. \" My girl, my beautiful darling baby!!.\" She would sob as she buried her grief stricken face into her tear soaked pillow. Rose had been her little girl, a big piece of her heart and nothing could fill the void of losing her.\nShe thought about what she had become and thanked whatever god was out there that she had learnt humility and kindness. Wishing with all her being her child could have experienced this side of her.\n\nIf only her thoughts had been less selfish in the past. Things might have been different. Yet she made her own bed and now she had to lie in it too. Out of respect for her Daughter and to protect herself from added pain, she never talked about Rose with anyone. not even Jackson, \" A women's heart is an ocean of secrets\"." } ]
[ { "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: Friar Lawrence\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2018\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about somebody whose intentions are pure, but somehow always manages to do the wrong thing." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Dear Dr M Cavannagh\n\nAs the head of a small archaeological team assigned to the Stratford-Upon-Avon site, I am writing to ask for your assistance in verifying the contents of a manuscript my team has unearthed in the recent excavations.\n\nThe manuscript was discovered within a refuse site and I have sent the original to the laboratory for analysis and dating.\n\nAttached to this email is a transcription, maintaining the original spelling and punctuation, along with my own translation. It is my belief that this is a draft for a deleted scene in the play, Romeo and Juliet, and may offer proof that there were indeed several authors contributing to the works attributed to Shakespeare.\n\nI would appreciate your professional opinion on the original transcript and the translation provided. \n\nSincerely\n\nDr K Marlowe\n———————————————————————\nFriar Lawrence\n\n(for ease of reading each second stanza is the translation, ye olde English is italicised and uncapitalised.)\n\n* \na warning h’re f’r those who is’t wilt p’rsist.\npoor iambic pentamet’r and rhyming couplets\nabound this prose beyond these ast’risks.\nthou art f’rewarn’d, readeth at thine own risketh!\n\nA warning here for those who must persist. \nBad Iambic pentameter and rhyming couplets\nAbound this prose beyond these asterisks.\nYou have been warned so read at your own risk!\n\n*\n\naye me! f’rsooth mine heart beest full with woe\nthe teen and burden weighs me with s’rrow\nand all mine own weary soul doth caterwaul\nvalorous within wilt beest responsible.\n\nAye me! In truth my heart is filled with woe\nThe pain and burden weighs me with sorrow\nAnd all my weary soul does cry with shame\nThe good within me must to bare the blame.\n\n\n\ni be friar first and f’remost, toes to tonsure\nthese vestments shalt protecteth from censure.\nbethink me blameless, free from all disgrace\nthis somb’r aspect hideth anoth’r visage.\n\nI’m friar first and foremost, toes to tonsure\nThese vestments shall protect from all censure.\nAll think me blameless, free from all disgrace \nThis somber aspect hides another face.\n\n\n\nf’rgive me mine own fault, f’r i has’t sinn’d.\nabsolve me from rem’rse yond lies within\na pitt’d dull reflection, unf’rgiving\ndeny this last requesteth of the living.\n\nForgive me for my fault, for I have sinned.\nAbsolve me from remorse that lies within\nA pitted dull reflection, unforgiving \nDenies this last request from me, the living.\n\n\n\nreflection, from this coile, wouldst thou absolveth\nthe guilt and shame yond daily press resolveth?\nF’r doth thee knoweth the secret, mine own sooth\nyond mine own handeth wast culpable f’r sineth?\n\nReflection, from this coil, would you absolve\nThe guilt and shame that daily test resolve?\nFor do you know the truth that must be hid\nWhereby my hand was culpable for sin?\n\n\n\nthe haunt’d eyes, mine own, pe’r in t’rment.\nill-s’rt’d choice madeth valorous intent\npray, striketh mine own evil from this handeth\nwash’d crisp, as only god’s f’rgiveness can.\n\nThe haunted eyes, my own, peer back in torment. \nIll-sorted choices made with good intent\nPray, strike my evil doing from this hand\nWashed clean, as only God’s forgiveness can.\n\n\n\nthe fault is mine and mine high-lone to beare\nMine own guilt be great, yet still nay guilt to share.\nf’r i hast did play a fooleth in tragedy,\nthe flight of cupid’s bowe with agony.\n\nThe fault is mine and mine alone to bear \nMy guilt is great, but still no guilt to share.\nFor I am played a fool in tragedy, \nThe flight of Cupid’s bow with agony.\n\n\n\nmine own sin most wondrous, i weareth the sin of pride,\nf’r mine own sins, two star-cross’d lov’rs died.\ne’en though mine own heart is shatt’r’d by the deeds,\nthe endeth, it seemeth, doth justify the means.\n\nMy sin is great, I wear the sin of pride, \nAnd for my sins, two star-crossed lovers died.\nE’en though my heart is shattered by the deeds,\nThe end, it seems, has justified the means.\n\n\n\nunit’d anon in lamentations deep,\nthe montegues and capulets shall weepeth,\nto seeth desire and lighteth extinguished\nthine children thou has’t did love, anon lay dead.\n\nUnited now in lamentations deep,\nThe Montegues and Capulets will weep,\nTo see their hope and light extinguished \nTheir children they had loved, are now laid dead.\n\n\n\non pedestal of justice proclaim to thee\nself righteous mine own eff’rts, pray pardon me.\nupon themselves, this tragedy wast hath brought\nwith feudal foes, the families hadst fought.\n\nOn pedestal of justice I proclaim\nSelf righteous in my efforts to explain,\nUpon themselves, this tragedy was brought\nWith feudal foes, the families had fought.\n\n\n\nthe fing’r of censure is did point home\nand noticeth not the shaking of mine own.\none fing’r pointing out accusingly,\nthree fing’rs rightly did point backeth to me.\n\nThe finger of the blame is pointed home\nAnd notice not the shaking of my own.\nOne finger pointing out accusingly, \nThree fingers rightly pointed back to me.\n\n\n\nfirst mov’d wast i, in wanteth of m’re to read,\nto mine own doth’r, romeo cameth to pleade,\nand i, po’r fooleth, didst heareth the w’rds of love\nfrom lips didst springeth, as if ‘t be true to prove.\n\nFirst moved was I, in want of more to read,\nWhen to my door, Romeo came to plead,\nAnd I, poor fool, did hear the words of love\nThat from his lips did spring, as if to prove.\n\n\n\n“good friar, heareth, mine own heart is wonneth,\nmine own loveth is like a light yond is the sun.”\n“oh? hast the fair rosaline succumb’d to thee?”\n“nay, fath’r, doth not speaketh h’r nameth to me!”\n\n“Good Friar, hear me, sir my heart is won,\nMy love is like a light that is the sun.”\n“Oh? Has the fair Rosaline succumbed to thee?”\n“Nay, Father, do not speak her name to me!”\n\n\n\nand liketh the knave yond still that wast within\ndid glow and did praise the nameth of one f’rbid.\nt’was juliet, h’r house a capulet,\nand begg’d of me to did wed h’r to his name.\n\nAnd like the boy that still he was within\nHe glowed and praised the name of one forbid.\nT’was Juliet, her house a Capulet,\nHe begged of me to wed her to his name.\n\n\n\ni quell’d mine own doubts and fain acquiesc’d\na secret marriage bed, willing i did bless\nand on their way to wedd’d bliss, i hath sent them.\nthe first transgression b’rn of valorous intention.\n\nI quelled my doubts and gladly acquiesced \nTheir secret marriage, willingly I blessed\nAnd on their way to wedded bliss, I sent them.\nThe first transgression born of good intention.\n\n\n\nthen beastly blooding bubbl’d from the hilt\nthe blood of tybalt accidentally did spilleth.\nthrough feather-bed secretly cousins beest,\nsuch cousinly loveth, tybalt wast not to seeth.\n\nThen beastly blooding bubbled from the hilt\nThe blood of Tybalt accidentally spilt.\nThrough marriage secretly they cousins be,\nThis cousinly love, Tybalt was not to see.\n\n\n\nfrom fair v’rona romeo wast hath sent\nhis life I did save from sentences of death.\nbut love can not existeth without it’s heart\nin living, loving, lusting far apart.\n\nFrom fair Verona Romeo was sent\nHis life was saved from sentences of death.\nBut man can not exist without his heart\nIn living, loving, lusting far apart.\n\n\n\nand h’re is wh’re i wilt in sooth digress.\n‘tis f’r mine own soul yond duly i confesseth\nmine own knowledge of the plants and h’rbs i owneth\nis such yond all the prop’rties i knoweth.\n\nAnd here is where I must in truth digress.\n‘Tis for my soul that duly I confess\nMy knowledge of the plants and herbs I own\nIs such that all the properties I know.\n\n\n\nf’r some healeth and some harmeth ‘tis said\nyond some can faken both, and mimic death.\nthe learning of this f’rbidden beldams’ry\nis knowledge not did obtain commonly.\n\nFor some can heal and some can harm ‘tis said\nThat some can fake them both, and mimic death.\nThe study of this forbidden witchery\nIs knowledge not obtained quite commonly.\n\n\n\n\nf’r with this knowledge, secretly did acquire,\nthe solution cameth to me, as such did inspire\nto feign a death liketh slumb’r, so to removeth\na bride from wedlock wh’re th’re wast nay loveth.\n\nFor with this knowledge, secretly acquired,\nThe solution came to me, as such inspired\nTo feign a death like slumber, so to remove\nA bride from wedlock where there was no love.\n\n\nsuccess involv’d a complex strategy,\na lett’r to beest hath sent without peize\nalloweth romeo returneth, his bride arouses\nthen neith’r to returneth unto their houses.\n\nSuccess involved a complex strategy, \nA letter to be sent without delay\nLet Romeo return, his bride arouses\nThen neither to return unto their houses.\n\n\n\na planeth so neat, so crisp t wouldst not vexeth.\nbut v’rily f’rsooth, what hath happened next?\na beshrew did delay most unexpectedly\nand w’rd wast hath heard yond death cameth suddenly.\n\nA plan so neat, so clean it would not vex.\nBut verily in truth, what happened next?\nA plague delayed most unexpectedly \nAnd word was heard that death came suddenly.\n\n\n\nthough juliet f’rsooth sleeps feigning death\nso slow’d down wast h’r heart within h’r breast,\nand thus planeth, po’r romeo unknowing,\nf’r such a lett’r hath lost, yond wouldst beest showing.\n\nThough Juliet in truth sleeps feigning death\nSo slowed down was her heart within her breast,\nAnd thus a plan, poor Romeo unknowing,\nFor such a letter lost, that would be showing.\n\n\n\npo’r romeo, so fraught, so w’rn, despairing,\nto fair v’rona that gent hath returned, uncaring,\nto witness of the death with his owneth eye\nand by his v’ry handeth wast liketh to die.\n\nPoor Romeo, so fraught, so worn, despairing,\nTo fair Verona he returned, uncaring,\nTo witness of the death with his own eye\nAnd by his very hand was like to die.\n\n\n\nthe tomb doest gape young h’ro hast hath returned,\nill-met within didst findeth a husband spurn’d.\nengaged, enrag’d, exsufflicate, eyeless eyes\noh heateth and blood hast slain- paris dies!\n\nThe tomb does gape young hero has returned,\nIll-met within did find a husband spurned.\nEngaged, enraged with empty, eyeless eyes\nOh heat and blood has slain- Paris dies!\n\n\n\nthe vilest substances f’r evil doing\nart oft times apothecary brewing\nthe smallest tincture touches lips intent\nthen death is the destroyeth’r and lament.\n\nThe vilest substances for evil doing\nAre often times apothecary brewing\nThe smallest tincture touches lips intent\nThen death is the destroyer and lament.\n\n\n\ni gage unto the l’rd i hath tried to halt\nthe vileness of death within the vault\nbut i, lamenting, curs’d am cometh too late\nf’r romeo, sweet knave, hadst hath met his fate.\n\nI swear unto the Lord I tried to halt\nThe vileness of death within the vault \nBut I, lamenting, cursed am come too late\nFor Romeo, sweet boy, had met his fate.\n\n\n\nand curs’d wast i to waken juliet\nwith w’rds nay lov’r ev’r shalt f’rget\nthe young mistress shalt not f’rgive this sir\ntardy wast that gent with message from h’r\n\nAnd cursed was I to waken Juliet \nWith words no lover ever shall forget.\nThe young mistress shall not forgive this sir\nTardy was he with messages from her.\n\n\nafraid f’r mine own life, i didst away,\nthe madness of h’r grief, i couldst not sway.\nand death cometh to gentle breast at lasteth!\nso heavy sits the guilt ’pon this po’r heart.\n\nAfraid for my life, I ran away,\nThe madness of her grief, I could not sway.\nAnd death came to your gentle breast at last!\nSo heavy sits the guilt on this poor heart.\n\n\n\nSo, f’r mine own sins of trying to assisteth\nlove’s path, to smooth a way of least intermit,\nvalorous deeds aplenty, to death belongeth\nprayeth, nev’r tryeth to right a wrong with wrong.\n\nSo, for my sins of trying to assist\nLove’s path, to smooth a way of least resist,\nGood deeds aplenty, now to death belong\nPray, never try to right a wrong with wrong." } ]
[ { "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 Broken Band of Brothers\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2069\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story containing the words “it’s the thought that counts.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "[This is a war story, and not necessarily a happy one, be warned there is death and uncomfortable scenarios]\nI want something good to die for, to make it beautiful to live. Steadfast in the face of desperation, I will persevere. Hand in hand, brother to brother, we will make our stand.\nWith a heart of iron and everything to give. Forget not why we crawl, for if it was easy to stand, He would not share. Glory above all else! To make our last hoorah ever grand!\n“Jonas! Get it together brother!” Dust swept into his eyes, the sounds became a numb ache, gravel rained around them.\n“Jonas! Come on man! Pick your feet up, don’t let this be it man!” A crooked arm dragged him up, feet as uneasy as the flow beneath them. Minutes, no, hours? Who is that? Can’t I just get a few more seconds… “If you don’t get your shit together, I swear to God Almighty I’ll show you what real hell is! Move your feet god dammit!”\n“Alright, alright! I’m up! What the hell are you going on about?” Stinging dryness pulled him back into consciousness.\n“Good God Jonas, you took a shell to the head. How in the fu-” thunder erupted inches from their position, Jonas was sent reeling yet again, this time with a body on top of his. “Push dammit! Get us out of here!” A hard hand beating on his helmet breathed life back into him. “Jonas you useless hack, get moving now!”\n“Sir, yes sir!” Jonas snapped to. “Lukas! Point me in the right direction, my mind’s a mess.” Jonas had Lukas by the waist, pulling him through rubble and bones. “Lukas, man, speak up! I’m lost here, say something!” Every step is a little lighter, every corner a little easier to travel. Shell shock? Where am I? Lukas? When did you get here? “Oh God… Lukas, oh man you’re- oh hell” Jonas crumpled, heaving and sobbing, an uncontrollable mess. He tried to pull him back together, piece by piece, bone by bone, to no avail. Jonas placed his hand on Lukas’ dog tag and pulled it from his body. Barbed wire hung overhead, not a building in sight but an open field of rubble and mortar holes surrounded him.\nNo man’s land, oh God what have I done to deserve this? Give us back Lukas and take me! What prayer do you want? What can I do to- a hand on his back froze him solid. Turning around he saw the whites of another man’s eyes, a union jack on his uniform. Jonas shot himself back, scurrying to find the nearest weapon. The soldier put a finger to his mouth, hushing him, he points to his union jack and gives a sideways look. What is he doing? Does he want to know mine? Is it not visible? Lukas checks his shoulder finding a missing uniform, he’s down to a muddy white tank, tattered slacks, and a single boot.\nIf I speak, he’ll know. Jonas points to the soldier’s uniform and then to himself, giving him a thumbs up. I’m one of you, for now. The soldier points his fingers to his eyes and then to a foxhole just over the ridge. Jonas returns a nod and turns his prone body towards their objective. This tommy’s my best bet, gotta find my division… I’ll get these dog tags back home, gotta get my ass home.\nJonas’ temporary ally, now known as Tommy, pushes forward. Tommy loosens his belt and ties it around Lukas’ body. Jonas’ knee jerk response is to free his brother, but a whistling thud tells him to think twice. Tommy pulls Lukas’ body in front of him, pushing forward out of the trench, he holds still and motions Jonas to follow. Jonas creeps over the crest and positions himself vertically to Tommy, holding his pant leg. Tommy uses his fingers to count down from three, after the count of one he pushes the body sideways and shimmies with it, Jonas close behind. Another whistle, but no thud. Three, two, one, shimmy. An artillery shell rips through the air colliding with a foxhole a rock’s throw away. This repeats a handful of times and finally Jonas rolls into the foxhole and drags Tommy down with him.\nAs they both slide down into the hole, Jonas quickly grabs Tommy’s mouth, and eyes wide, points to the farthest corner ahead of them. Three Russians, no guns, no knives, trench shovels and a bucket. Looks like they didn’t hear us. Jonas slowly lets loose of Tommy, pointing to the shovel on their left. Tommy, eyes locked, slithers his way to the shovel, Jonas positions himself over the closest combatant. Tommy gives Jonas a nod and the fight blows up, Jonas wraps his arm around the Russians neck and Tommy swings for the second, taking the enemies jaw with it. “Blyat!” The third Russian jumps back and digs through the dirt wall, unveiling a grenade. Tommy lunges for him, knocking the grenade loose, Jonas has yet to finish his target, struggling to keep him down. The pin! Did he pull the pin?! Tommy and the Russian trade blows, the Russian scrambling and kicking trying to reach the grenade. Jonas’ enemy goes limp, and after tossing the body aside he finds himself jumping atop the grenade. Give my life for a damn Tommy?! The pin! I feel the pin! Tommy locks his legs around the Russian and tries his hardest to drag him away from Jonas, but Jonas spins around and lands a nasty punch on the enemy’s face, and then another.\nFox hole clear. Was I really about to? Hell… I don’t know anymore. The hole they’re in leads to a system of tunnels, mostly vacant except for a few of the weak and delusional. Tommy’s eyes are wide and his breathes are short, holding his side and grunting through every step. Broken rib? Punctured lung?\nAre we headed further into enemy territory? Shit, is anywhere I go with this guy safe? He’s going to want me to speak eventually. He’s been good to me, and I to him, how in God’s name do we get out of this safe? Tommy finds an opening to a small town, mostly destroyed save for a small house and its garden. Lukas signals Tommy to stay, pointing to the house, he moves his hands as if to show a door opening and then points to himself. Making his hands act as a running man he signals he’ll return after surveying.\nTommy painfully sets himself down, stretching out his injured side. Pained breathing gets a bit lighter and some color returns to his face. Knife wound; poor guy took one near the kidney. By the looks of it he should make it. Jonas crests the hill, looking frantically side to side. Empty artillery shells and track marks leave evidence of an encampment, yet not a soul in sight. Mustering up some courage, Jonas jumps the hole and rushes, crouched, to the house. In broken English Jonas shouts out “Allo? Eh… allies? Americas?” No response. Pushing around the building, the porch reveals a deep crater and strewn silverware. Movement, and quick at it, shocks him to attention. He pulls himself back to the wall, this time in fluent German “Genossin? Anybody?” Shuffling stops and both sides now can hear each other’s breathing. “Gewehr! Eh… uhh… Springfield! Hah! Mosin! Weapons, we weapons!” a frantic mix of languages breaks the silence. They’re armed… oh hell he’s got a Russian accent. We?! Jonas tears at his tank, pulling free a tatter of clothed surrender, a makeshift flag. Waving it around the corner he shouts surrender in as many languages as he can think. “No shoot! Surrender, da!”\nThe war itself could’ve passed in the time it took Jonas to muster the courage to turn that wall, but he closed his eyes and arms raised, turned to fate. Standing in front of him were three men, two had large rocks in their hands and the third stood large with a stick in the form of a gun. Jonas lowers himself to his knees, the three men come around him and search his person finding on him two dog tags with the names Jonas Müller and Lukas Mayer. “German!” Jonas braces for impact. Tommy pulls the corner, hand in his pocket in the form of a gun “Hey! Step back!” The three men freeze, look to Jonas, then back to the injured Brit. The man wielding the oak rifle shows shock, then confusion, and then looks back to his allies. “Put the stick down,” Tommy motions his faux gun to the floor, “two of you got Italian flags and big boy’s got a Russian one, this shouldn’t be something new to you.” Touching his flag and motioning to the others’, Tommy reveals the lack of weaponry on him. “We can’t understand each other quite right, but I’m hoping you can read the room.” Tommy gets himself down on his knees and the two Italian men come to search him; no weapon, no knife, just a picture of his lady and a dog tag named Thomas Bridger. Jonas lets out a hushed chuckle.\nThe Russian loosens up, removing the branch from Jonas’ face, takes a long sigh and throws his head back in relief. Pointing to himself now, the Russian identifies himself as Anatoly, then lazily waves to the two Italian men.\n“Donte.”\n“Santo.” Pointing to Donte, Santo clasps his hands together. “Grasso, Donte Grasso and Santo Grasso.”\nTrading suspicious glances with each other, everyone finds a corner of their own. Some minutes go by, and Jonas finds his voice. “Not that you can understand me,” the men look over to him, “but I have the fullest bladder” he makes a motion of holding his privates and waves side to side, “now if you don’t mind.” Jonas walks the wall closest to the crater and steps a few inches outside, unravels what’s left of his pants and relieves himself. Snickering and a couple laughs are heard back inside the house, turning back inside Jonas catches the brothers swiftly moving their hands back to their sides.\nAnatoly positions himself with his helmet over his eyes and pushes up against the foot of a broken chair. Donte and Santo both tease Tommy over the picture of his woman, Santo holding up a fake pair of breasts and Donte squeezing them. Tommy points to Santo’s mouth and then to Donte’s privates and before he can finish his charade the brothers burst out into laughter. Lucky to have each other, bittersweet considering the situation but beats nothing. Anatoly adjusts himself causing a clang of different metals, on his hip hang a bevy of dog tags; all Russian. His people? God damn he’s seen hell. Jonas sits back in his corner and cleans under his nails, unsure of what to do next. Tommy puts his photo back into his helmet and the brothers give each other a playful slap and sit back down. Santo pulls out a map and tries to find himself, marks all over the map don’t lend hope to the others. “It’s the thought that counts, I guess.” Tommy stands up and checks over the map, tracing a path with his fingers he finds the only correct mark.\n“My platoon and I got dropped just shy of the Rhine, I’m sure some of you saw plenty of Germans around here.” Tommy gives Jonas a quick glance, pointing to him and then back to the map. Lukas nods, moving an inch higher than Tommy’s finger was. “If we’re all to survive this,” Jonas moves his finger from it’s spot and drags it slowly down to Switzerland, “we’ll need to make it to a neutral country, either Switzerland,” now moving his finger far up north, “or Sweden.” Circling both countries with his fingers, Jonas tries to motion safety, thumbs up, hugging himself, a big smile; the brothers find this humorous but Tommy nods in agreement and Anatoly feigns ignorance, remaining in his seat. Tommy circles Switzerland and motions everyone together. Anatoly peaks an eye out and leans himself forward, tearing off his flag, he signals the others to do the same and falls back into his slump, the brothers pull their flags off along with Tommy, a handful of possibilities are handed to Jonas." } ]
[ { "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: Wabi Sabi\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2434\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone finding a treasure in an unexpected place." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Wabi Sabi\n\n\nCherry blossoms float\n Carpeting the earth in pink\n Spring is here again.\n\n桜\n\nA flash of distinctive bright plumage draws my attention to a robin. Landing lightly on a branch, he dislodges a shower of petals. Throws back his head. Warbles his set piece: Cheerily-cheer-up, cheer-up, cheerily-cheer-up! A dusky companion joins him, and they flutter down to the ground to pull worms together.\n\nHarbingers, I say to myself. Cherry blossoms, robins, even earthworms. Walt, up the hill, mowing the field. A subtle shift in the quality of light. A soft breeze plays with my hair, carrying with it a faint almond scent. \n\nRecent rains have washed over the gravel driveway, leaving behind a layer of mud. I watch little rivulets of water trickle down the slope, changing course to go around some of the larger stones. My yard clogs squelch in the soggy soil, while weak sunshine tries to warm my back. Spring is here again.\n\nThere’s not much in the mailbox. An advertising flyer, a bulk rate envelope, a postcard from our optometrist. “Time for your eye exam.” I look in the box again. Fan the pages of the flyer to make sure there’s nothing stuck inside. \n\nA cloud crosses the pale sun, and I shiver a bit.\n\nThis is the first spring in fifty years that I haven’t received a card from Edith. \n 桜\n\nThirty-five students per classroom might seem a daunting prospect to modern teachers. Fifty years ago, it was standard. Then, I was young—just over twice the age of my charges—and enthusiasm overpowered inexperience. I could tackle anything! Or so I thought.\n\n“Good morning!” I smiled at the children filing into the classroom. “Welcome to sixth grade! I’m Miss Young. Your desks are labeled in alphabetical order. Please find your place and sit down.”\n\nAt age eleven or so, they’d figured out their relative positions in the class list. It didn’t take long for most of them to locate their desks and plop down, but one boy remained standing beside the only unoccupied desk. It took me a moment to realize he was grinning. \n\n“Is something funny?” I asked, raising my eyebrows and trying to sound stern. Was he going to be a troublemaker? \nQuickly consulting my seating chart, I looked across at the boy. \n“Douglas?” I hoped my voice didn’t sound uncertain. The name on my chart indicated that he was Douglas O’Hara. But—his Asian features didn’t match the name. \n\n“Yes!” He pointed to the placard on his desk and burst into a fit of giggles. “But my last name is Ōhara, not O’Hara. And by the way, I’m not related to Molly!” He flashed his dimples at me, and grinned at the girl behind him. \n\nI’ve always been a sucker for dimples… Douglas soon became one of my favorites.\n\nThe sixth grade curriculum included cultural studies, and I figured the best approach was to concentrate on the backgrounds of my students. That would give them a sense of being connected to what they were learning. We started with a few European countries that made up the heritage of most of our community. It was my aim to link each culture to another, somehow. \n\n“The Portuguese were great navigators,” I reminded the class. “They traveled to distant places and left bits of their own culture and language behind. It may surprise you to learn that there’s quite a bit of their influence still in Asia. Especially China, India, Japan… so I think we’ll take a trip to Asia in the spring!”\n\nA buzz of approval circulated through the room. Now, I thought to myself, full of zeal, I’ve got to make the journey worthwhile! Engage the young minds!\n\nOne day, after class, I leafed through a teacher’s magazine and learned about a just-published book called “Farewell to Manzanar”. Perfect! I ordered thirty-six copies, and hoped they would arrive on schedule.\n\n“We’re going to be reading the memoir of a woman whose family was shipped to an internment camp during the Second World War, simply because they were of Japanese heritage. She was just a year or so younger than you when they were sent away. Doesn’t that sound interesting?”\n\n“My parents were in one of those camps,” Douglas remarked, shrugging. \n\nI was taken aback. I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me that there were people right here, in our community, who had experienced that shameful event. \n“Do you think they’d be willing to talk to us about their experiences?” I asked impulsively, then almost wished I hadn’t. Maybe the subject was too sensitive. But Douglas was nodding vigorously.\n“They’ll do it!”\n\nWe read the book together during the first part of March. It was fascinating, and the kids got immersed in the story. I wanted to follow up with a field trip to the Japanese Tea Garden in Golden Gate Park, and I’d gotten a bee in my bonnet that we needed to go on the very day of spring equinox. \n“But that’s a Tuesday!” The principal frowned. “Field trips are supposed to be scheduled on Fridays.”\n“Mr. Watkins, please. Don’t you want the class to have a meaningful experience? It’s a very important part of Japanese culture to celebrate spring by picnicking under blooming cherry trees. It’s called hanami. Flower viewing.”\n“Hrmph!” He grunted, then said, “Oh, I suppose it’s all right.”\n\nI was thrilled when Mrs. Ōhara volunteered to be a chaperone!\n\n桜\n\nWe sat on blankets beneath the frothy pink-and-white trees, finishing our picnic lunch. The scene could have been a study done by one of the old master painters, but there’s more to memories than just pictures. I can still see, these many years later, the dark branches contrasting with a pale blue sky. But along with the mental image, I feel the mild warmth of sunshine filtered through blossom-laden trees; hear the birdsong; remember a gentle breeze carrying some indefinable scent that is spring itself.\n\n“Mrs. Ōhara is going to tell you a story now,” I announced. “Please listen respectfully. No talking, no slurping through your straws.” I added that last bit preemptively, motivated by experience. \n\n“Well,” she smiled, “What I’m going to tell you is a true story. It’s about finding a treasure! My parents, Takeo and Yoshi, were born in Japan. They were excited to come to California. My siblings and I were all born here. We have American names, because our parents wanted us to fit in. But we each have a Japanese second name to help us remember our heritage. My first name is Edith, and my second name is Sakura.” She waved her arm in an arc, indicating the trees above our heads. “It means cherry blossom. I was born in the springtime.” A few petals drifted down, as if in response to her summons. I watched one settle on the top of her head, contrasting with her glossy black hair.\n\n“In fact, it was just at this time of year when we were forced to evacuate our homes. I had just turned eight. Old enough to remember, not old enough to understand. Although, the adults didn’t understand either.” \n\nI need not have worried about the class paying attention. They sat in a semicircle around her, cross-legged. Hunched forward, silent. I did not hear a peep from them. Even Marty, the rowdiest of the lot, was captivated. \n\n“Mama came in early to wake us, even though it was a Saturday. I remember it was still dark in the room. And all quiet outside. \n‘Come, we must eat asagohan! Quick!’ \nMama’s English was fair, but she couldn’t pronounce the word “breakfast.” So she stuck to Japanese for that. She held out our bathrobes and guided us—my sister and me—to the kitchen, where Papa was getting our brothers settled at the table. Mama grabbed bowls and spoons. Papa set out a box of cereal. I can see, in my mind, that box of Raisin Bran, the only type of cereal Mama would buy. We didn’t know what was happening, but we could tell this was no ordinary day. None of our usual Japanese-style breakfast of rice, miso soup, and meat or fish. That kind of meal was to be eaten without hurry. And it seemed that, this day, we were in a rush.\n\n“We had already been on food rationing for awhile. There was only enough cereal for each of us children to have a bowlful. Mama and Papa hastily ate leftovers from Friday’s dinner.\n‘Takeo,’ Mama told Papa, pointing at the refrigerator, ‘make sure to empty reizōko and unplug it. Nothing must be left!’ I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but later I remembered, and realized why she said that.\n\n“‘Eat! Eat!’ Mama clapped her hands twice, like this—” \nClap-clap! Mrs. Ōhara demonstrated. I’d used that method myself, in class. It does command attention. \n\nI was just as absorbed in her story as my students were, visualizing that eerie Saturday morning gathering.\n\n“Mama finished her bowl of leftovers and went to the sink. ‘Hurry. Bring your bowls to me when you’ve finished. Then we have something to tell you.’\n\n“As you can imagine, that ‘something to tell us’ changed life as we knew it. We really could not imagine what lay ahead. We had just a few hours to get dressed, pack a box with necessities for each of us, and say goodbye to our pets. I turned for one last look before I went out the door. The ceremonial doll Mama called “Murasaki” stood silently in the entry hall, guarding the house; a serene white porcelain lady in her glass display case, with elaborate hair and a beautiful kimono of lilac and scarlet.\n\n“When we left, the cherry trees were in full bloom, just like these. Robins were singing, hopping in the grass, hunting worms—just like those.” The closest bird cocked his head and peered jauntily at her, as if he understood.\n\n“Our neighbors, the Nijssens, promised to look after the animals and the property. When the van came, they hugged all of us. Then they waved until we couldn't see them anymore. \n\n“We were taken to a holding facility over in the Central Valley, where we waited for the camps to be built. It was crowded, hot, and uncomfortable. We were surrounded by strangers. They looked similar to us, but we didn’t know them. \n\n“We were there all summer, and into fall. You’ve just read about a similar experience, and we don’t have time for all the details, so I’ll shorten my story and only tell you my personal perspective.\n\n“Finally the day came that we were loaded onto a train, and I remember feeling excited! I’d never had a train ride before. How many of you have taken a journey by train?”\n\nJust a few hands went up. Mrs. Ōhara nodded.\n\n“So you can understand that it was a new experience. At first, it was so thrilling! I wondered where the ride would end. Surely it would be better than where we’d been. We bumped and rattled along for three days. Even the train sounded like it was saying wonder-wonder-wonder… When we left the valley at the end of September, it was very hot. But as we traveled east, it got cooler. Across Nevada and Utah, into Colorado—three states away from home.\n\n“It was cold. And windy. The sand blew in our faces as we huddled at the station, waiting to be crammed into Army transport trucks. The word ‘camp’ sounded like fun to me, as an eight-year-old. But it turned out to be dreary and bleak, a rough place in the desert. There were long buildings that looked like chicken houses, but there were no chickens. They were for us. The whole place was surrounded by high fences topped with barbed wire.”\n\nMrs. Ōhara paused, looking around at the lovely spring day. \n“Enjoy your freedom. You never know when it might be taken from you, as it was from us… But we were lucky, compared to some detainees. At Camp Amache, we were allowed more liberty than most. I learned later that the governor of the state was against our detainment, so he was determined to treat us as nicely as possible. \n\n“The adults decided, since we’d probably be there awhile, they wanted to make the camp look nicer. They asked for seeds to start a garden, and they got them. It was so cold, even in the buildings, that the seedling trays had to be near the cooking area. \n\n“By springtime, when we’d been there six months, it was still cold. Gray skies. Snow. No robins; no cherry blossoms. So Mama made spring for my birthday! She had tucked in one of our boxes a packet of washi, Japanese paper. And she made me an origami cherry tree. Really, it was just a dry branch with three twigs, but she was very clever with the craft. She folded delicate blossoms for it, and even made a pair of tiny robins. \n\n“We were at Camp Amache for three years, until the end of the war. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. Mama and Papa never showed bitterness about it, they simply accepted it.\n\n“I remember once complaining that it wasn’t fair to be taken from our home and kept like prisoners. Mama answered,\n‘This experience is an example of wabi-sabi. That means something that is impermanent and imperfect can be a thing of beauty. Like sakura, we can bloom again.’\n\n“Do you remember, I said that this story was about finding a treasure?” Edith Ōhara smiled around at the group of children. “The treasure is life. It’s not always perfect, but we can either let it destroy us or we can look for ways to make it beautiful.”\n\n桜\n\nThe doorbell rings, and I realize I’ve been daydreaming. Maybe, I suppose, even dozing. It’s hard to bring my thoughts back from—where? That field trip, fifty springs ago? Camp Amache, so vividly recalled by Edith Ōhara? \n\nI open the door. The sun has valiantly come through the clouds, lighting up the blossoming trees with a soft pink glow. Robins are singing Cheerily-cheer-up, cheer-up, cheerily-cheer-up! \nOur neighbor stands on the doorstep holding out a thick envelope.\n“This was in our box. It looks important!” \n\n桜\n\nInside the envelope is a handmade card from Edith Ōhara, decorated with a sakura branch and a haiku. At nearly ninety, her work isn’t as precise as it used to be. The blossoms are uneven, and the writing is wobbly. And it’s perfect.\n\nPink petals falling\n Rosy as a maiden’s blush \n Cherry blossom time \n\n桜" } ]
[ { "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: Serotonin\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1725\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an introvert and an extrovert who are best friends." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Oh come on Winter, let’s go. This is like a once in a lifetime opportunity. Rachel doesn’t invite us to her party every year. Can you even imagine how crazy it would be?”\n“Yes I can clearly imagine drunk teenagers all around her stupid house. Isn’t it illegal to drink at 17? Why would you want to be a part of illegal activities? Why don’t we just stay at home and maybe watch a movie?”\n“No not that again. Please let’s go. I promise you you can stay with me all the time, we will come home before two and I won’t force you to play any games or drink alcohol. How does that sound?”\n“Bad. That sounds bad. Why are you so hell bent on going there? Oh, maybe a lot of pretty girls are coming. Anyways, just go alone.”\n“Of Course a lot of pretty girls are coming.But Winter, it isn’t the same without you. Please come. If you come I will never ask you to accompany me anywhere else. Hmm?”\n“Okay.... but you better keep your promise. You always say the same thing but never-”\n“Yes I will. Thank you so much Winter, you’re the best. By the way the party is in ten days, don’t spend nine days in anxiety. Bye.”\n\nIdiot. Liar. As if he even cares if I am at that party. I am pretty sure the only reason he is asking is because his mom won’t let him go without me. And his promises. The day after the party he will ask me to accompany him to a place with an uncomfortable amount of people. If someone else would have put me in similar situations I would’ve killed them. But Mark was different. He was my best friend since childhood or rather my only friend. Our mothers were best friends so I had no other option. I hated him for always hanging out with people, but I have to admit I was envious of his personality. Oh, how easier life would’ve been if I was like him. I wish I could approach people, blend in a crowd like him.\n\nMy anxiety kept me up all night. We had to give a presentation at school tomorrow. I got up from my bed and walked towards the window. The sky looked so beautiful, painted with thousands of stars. I wish I could look at them all my life. Nah, that would be a little boring. “The two superpowers USA and USSR…..” Why is it so easy to give a presentation when I am all by myself? What happens to me in front of everyone? And why are we still studying this world war shit? I sigh and slide into my blanket. The entire night went away in tossing and turning. It was as if someone had stolen the sleep from my eyes. God knows what will happen tomorrow.\n\n“Oh no I am going to be late again. Should I just skip today? I’ll be safe from that damn presentation. Whatever.” I run downstairs stuffing a bread into my mouth and earning weird stares and scoldings from my parents. “Hey Winter, late as always. Let’s go.” Mark was standing outside the door. His black pants looked like they hadn’t been washed since a month and his grey shirt was full of wrinkles. His brunette hair looked like he didn’t own a comb. “Well you don’t say.”\n\n“Fifth class, presentation. Scared?”\n“Please stop reminding me. At least during lunch break. By the way, doesn't the food taste weird today?”\n“The food always tastes weird. That is why I prefer bringing lunch from home.”\n\n“And the United Nations Organisation was formed on 24th October, 1945..”\n“It’s my turn next, it’s my turn next,” I thought while biting my nails.\n“Thank you.”\n “Amazing presentation Mark. Next is Winter.”\nWhy doesn’t she call according to our roll numbers? I got up and took small steps to get to the front of the class. Fidgeting my fingers I started to speak.\n“So um, the Cuban-”\n“A little louder please.”\nI am already extremely tensed Mrs white.\n“Sorry, I um, the Cuban Missile Crisis….”\nFinally after fifteen minutes, like Mark told me,( I thought an hour had passed) the torture was over. And then after all the classes ended we headed back home.\n\n“You were really good. Although you get really bad grades in exams,” I burst out laughing.\n“Well you could have just left it at the compliment. You were good too.”\n“Oh please. I bet everyone was laughing at me,” I said with a pout.\n“Who cares about others. You should have confidence in yourself. Besides, I really liked your presentation.”\n“Whatever,” I said softly while my lips curved into a smile.\n\n“So coffee at five?” Mark suddenly asked.\n“At your house?”\n“No, the new cafe around the corner.”\n“Why coffee suddenly? You don’t even ask me for water.”\n“Well Winter don’t come if you don’t want to,” he said, turning back to leave.\n“Okay I’m sorry,” I said, grabbing his hand. “I’ll come.”\nHe just smiled and left.\n\nAfter completing some boring homework I looked at the clock. Four thirty already? I must have fallen asleep while writing. I just threw on a yellow t-shirt and denim shorts. After washing my face I tied my hair into a ponytail and applied some lip balm. I arrived at the cafe five minutes earlier. “Summer.” Is this a joke? Why is the cafe named summer? I rolled my eyes and opened the door and saw Mark sitting near the window. He saw me and waved his hands signalling me to come there. “I can see you, the cafe isn’t that big,” I mumbled. I sat across from him.\n“So how do you like summer, Winter?” He pressed his lips together trying not to laugh.\n“It’s not even that funny idiot. So why did you call me here?”\n“Patience, Winter, patience. I’ll tell you soon”\n“Anyways, did you complete your homework? It was so boring. I think I even fell asleep while doing it. And Kate’s new movie is coming out on Friday. Have you seen the trailer? We have to go watch it. So mom was baking a cake today and she totally burnt it. That is why I always say you should leave the baking to me. Also I couldn’t sleep yesterday—”\n“Here.”\nWhy did Mark suddenly interrupt me. Whom did he call? I turned my head and to my horror I saw four people walking towards us. Oh no please. They came and sat with us. Great. Of course Mark would never call me to a cafe. There had to be a catch.\n“Winter you know them right?\nOf course the neighbourhood fools. “They live in our neighbourhood,” I said , faking a smile.\n“Well I thought we should all hang out together. So Winter what were you talking about?”\n“Nothing you all can continue.”\n\nThe five of them talked for about two hours. The fools were okay except that Jean. Her gaze towards Mark made me want to choke her. Why can’t he just spend time with me alone. Why does he always invite people. Well it’s not like I like him. Maybe I’m just a little possessive. All of them seemed so happy talking to him. Even as a kid everyone liked Mark because he would always answer everyone’s questions, while I would just stand there like a shy kid. I wish I was like him, then maybe people would like me.\nI felt like I could finally breathe after his four friends left. I glared at Mark.\n“What?” He replied timidly. As I turned to leave I realised my phone was missing. Such an unlucky day.\n“Hey Mark, can you ring my phone?”\nHe did and then the phone rang under the table. Mark reached his hand out to grab the phone. Oh no. “Wait,” I shouted but it was too late.\n“Serotonin,” he chuckled. “Why did you save me as serotonin?”\nRight I forgot he is stupid. “Serotonin is a hormone that,” I started bravely, “um… makes a person sleepy!” I finished proudly.\n“So I make you sleepy?” He asked with a sad smile.\n“No, no I mean, isn’t adequate sleep important? I meant it in a good way.” I said mentally slapping myself.\n“Okay. You are welcome for the coffee,” he said and left. You are an idiot, Winter. The fight, or whatever it was thankfully didn’t last long. Our fights have always ended with me going to his house with a cake that I baked. He could never say no to cake. I was so grateful for having a friend like him in my life. Other than the fact that he forced me to meet people, he was really sweet. He would listen to me blabber for hours, he never kept our fights going on for too long, he was always there when I needed to release all my frustrations and of course my parents adored him way more than they did me.\n\nUnfortunately the day of the party came. “I hate my life,” I said and stomped my feet . I was picking my outfit when I heard a knock on the door. I opened the door and saw Mark wearing very casual clothes. \n“Why didn’t you get ready yet? I asked as my eyebrows crashed in confusion. \n“Well Rachel sucks. Turns out she was dating my friend and she dumped him yesterday for absolutely no reason.”\n“Which friend?”\n“Well there is someone. You don’t know him.”\nHe is right. He has thousands of friends and I barely know three or four. But I know he was lying this time.\n“So..”\n“So I thought instead of going to that stupid party we can watch Kate’s new movie. I bought the DVD of the movie.” He raised his hands showing me the DVD.\n“I really don’t understand what is happening.” I replied with a puzzled face.\n“Winter I am not going to repeat things twice.” He said, hitting my arm playfully. “And it kind of slipped from my mind that day but isn’t serotonin a hormone that makes you happy?”\nAfter a few seconds of silence I spoke, “You searched for that on the internet, didn’t you?”\n“Well…..yes.”\nWe stared at each other and then burst out laughing." } ]
[ { "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 Byzantine Trade\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1550\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at an antique roadshow." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Being in a traveling antique roadshow, one learns to keep a close eye on the competition. Especially the Greens, they organize this roadshow, but have been against me from the beginning.\n\nAcross the aisle, a young man looks disappointed with whatever Isaac had to offer him, and heads my way. There’s a good chance Isaac—not as educated as I—might not have discerned the cultural nuance of the historical antiquity the young man is trying to sell.\n\nWhen he approaches, he shyly avoids my gaze yet looks hopeful. “My grandfather says this is valuable.”\n\nThe look on his face is that of so many that bring their scraps of ceramic and flaking paintings in, hoping a sudden windfall could change their lives. He holds out his hand, fingers clenched around something. \n\n“Show it to me.” I nod.\n\nHe shudders as if struggling to find the will to unclench his fingers. When he does, a whitish sparkle of a silver coin shows itself.\n\n”Let me have a look.”\n\n“No tricks,” he says, hesitating, still uncertain. His eyes show a hint of green that match his Macedonian features.\n\nI confirm again there will be absolutely no trickery, then, finally, he hands it to me to have a look.\n\nI barely contain my excitement. “That is a Magnus Maximus on the front, and the goddess Britannia on the back! This is a coin from the 300s!”\n\n“Magnus, who?”\n\n“Magnus Maximum, the last Roman ruler of Britannia. These coins were minted to commemorate his rule. But he got too big for his boots, took his army to Italy to usurp the throne, and that was the ens of him. Cut down by Emperor Valentinian II in 387 AD.”\n\nPerhaps I let on too much of my excitement, the Green party merchants eye me warily. Better to keep one's cards hidden in the antique business.\n\nI pay more for than I should for the Britannia coin to an uneducated village boy. But I’ll be able to sell it back home for 5x as much.\n\nLater that night, sitting next to the fire, I show the coin to Isaac. It sparkles in the light of the fire.\n\n“It's amazing to think they had the technology to produce coins with these portraits on them more than a hundred years ago.”\n\nIsaac lights a bronze oil lamp and takes a closer look. “A Magnus Maximum. And yes, we are lucky to have been born in the 500s, when everything is much more advanced than back then.”\n\n“When I get back to the capital, this coin should get some attention. I might even be able to have it assessed it by one of Justinian courtiers for the Imperial Collection.”\n\n“Good luck with that.” \n\n“What?”\n\nIsaac smirks. “Do you really want to know? I thought you Blues know everything.” \n\nAny chance Isaac gets, he gets in a dig at my political affiliation back home. Just about everything in life at the capital is a debate between the Blues and the Greens. Our sporting teams, celebrities, music, even the way we button our tunics. \n\n“Everything goes back to me being a Blue for you. Just because my father is a landowner doesn’t make me an idiot.”\n\n“The Greens,” he says, pointing at himself. ”We’re the one that do the real work.”\n\n“You’re on that track again,” I say. ”The coin. What’s up with the coin?”\n\n“It’s probably a fake. The villagers told me that boy isn’t from this area, his accent is different.”\n\n“They talk to you?”\n\n“It’s all about paying the right people.” He mimes holding a coin in his fingers.\n\nThat’s something I wouldn’t do. Bribe villagers to turn each other in.\n\nI look at the silver coin in my hand. It looks real. Maybe I can prove Issac wrong. I scratch the edge of the coin with my knife. The silver rubs off and underneath I see the dull gray of tin.\n\n“They baited you. Timor deesse foras,” he says in Latin. “That boy and whoever his master is out there.” Isaac waves his dinner knife into the darkness of the woods.\n\nIt’s like a stab to my heart.\n\n“So, you thought a guy like me doesn’t know some Latin?” Isaac says, “Timor deesse foras. FOMO. They knew a little country squire like you, just couldn’t stop but falling for a Britannia coin. And in Macedonia? How could you ever believe that?” Issac slaps his thigh and laughs uproariously. \n\nMy face burns red. I want to strangle him, slit his throat. But I’ll never survive that. All the Greens here will stick a knife into me in seconds. I have to swallow my pride. “I’m going to strangle that boy!”\n\n“The boy is long gone,” Isaac says. Seeing where I’m going with this, he adds, “And you can’t take on the whole village.”\n\nEven though I hate Isaac and all the other Greens, I need them. The villagers would happily rob us and throw all of us merchants into a ravine, if we aren’t willing to fight to protect each other.\n\nIn the city, it's blues versus greens. In the countryside, it's city folk versus country folk. Where there’s slaves, it’s all freemen versus slaves. And when the barbarians of the north attack, it’s all of us: blues, greens, slaves, city folk and country folk, against them.\n\nI tell Isaac, “All we have is each other,” and chuckle from the bitter irony. \n\n“Don’t feel so bad. Your dad can give you a hundred of those coins, the real ones, with his land and earnings.”\n\n“Ha ha. Like you know so much about my Dad. I won’t get any of that until he’s dead. And that could be a long wait. Everyone is living a lot longer in the 500s, with modern medicine, than they did in the 400s. Some people even make it up to 40.”\n\nThe next day we set up the market in town again. I’ve lost a third of my savings buying the fake coin but I still have my pride. I stand tall and welcome every visitor in their local dialect. I’ll never admit it to Isaac–he may be onto something–but perhaps I should be more humble. Connect to the people. I need to work my way out of this. \n\nI buy a Macedonian samian vessel from the 490s. Then a few of the 460s blue mosaics that are trending in Constantinople. Surrounded by Greens–commerce being their occupation–I have to hear dirty jokes and vulgarity all day. I daydream how I’ll find my holy grail and get a step ahead of them someday.\n\nThe mosquitos are biting. Most of the local people who travelled to Ethios for the market have already went home. Maybe having found whatever they were looking for. Without the smoke from their fires, it's been a long day battling against the mosquitos.\n\nI scratch and itch at dinner time. Isaac is covered in bites, but suffers quietly. \nA horseman arrives with a message. It’s for Isaac. He’s an ignorant thug, but well-connected. \n\n“I have a favor to ask.” He hands me the scroll and a bronze coin.\n\nIn the light of the oil lamp, I begin to read it aloud:\n\nIsaac, I’m sending you this letter in case I don’t survive the night. Justianian has been useless at resolving the differences between the Blues and the Greens. It got so bad, the crowd started the palace on fire, And appointed a new Emperor. It’s a wild time to be alive! But then the Emperor paid gold to whoever was willing to leave and go home, which was mostly the blues…But, two hours later the Imperial Guard came out and slaughtered everyone left outside the palace no matter what their color. Blues and greens. Another thing, because of all fires, half the capital has burned down. Your father’s home still stands, but Regio 5, 8 and 9 are all gone. I’m thinking it’s about time we all forget about this color business and our petty differences, it won’t mean anything five years from now anyway. 18th January 532 AD.\n\nMy hands shake, wondering what this means for our future. “The capital burnt to the ground?” \n\n“Umm.” Isaac stares at the ground, lost in thought. \n\nI think about my family, and recall that my father’s estates are outside the city walls, probably safe.\n\nIsaac mumbles, “The ones that have money probably need new home furnishings if everything has been burned.”\n\n“Yes, and gold doesn’t burn.”\n\n“No, it doesn’t. You are catching on.” \n\nI propose a suggestion, “How about we take a swing through the Southern provinces and pick up furniture before we head back to see what’s left of Constantinople?”\n\n“That’s a smart idea.” Isaac scans the twenty merchants sitting around the fire with us, “Let’s get all of them on board.” \n\n“After a big payday, maybe next year, I could get out of this,” I say. “I think I’m stuck in a rut.”\n\n“Trade will never be your thing because you are a…” he bites his tongue. “Sorry. You do like to spend your mornings reading those scrolls. After this, you should use your father’s connections, land a job in the capital. Maybe someday, you could write about our history, so people of future generations will know what happened.”\n\n“I'd like that.”" } ]
[ { "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: Crazy day\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2012\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who wants to stay home alone, only for their plans to be disrupted." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Karen jumped out of bed, startled by the continuous ringing of the alarm. She turned it off and looked at the time in shock. No way. How was it 7:00a.m. already? She was going to be late for work. She snatched her towel off the wardrobe and rushed to the bathroom to turn on the tap. Where was her toothbrush? She entered back into the room, leaving the door open as she rummaged her wardrobe for the brush.\nOh my God, Oh my God, how did this happen? The thoughts whirled in her head.\nShe usually set her alarm for 6 but she must have been so tired from work the day before that she most likely continued snoozing the alarm till now. She found the brush and raised it in triumph. As she crossed the distance between the room, her pinky toe hit the foot of the bed. Her face squeezed in pain.\n\"Ye-ouch\" she clamped on her lip and hopped for a few seconds till the pain eased before she entered the bathroom and began to brush. The school was on holiday and she usually went to work before her coaching lessons by 2. If she didn't get to work early, her pay that day would be slashed and she was saving for her mum's birthday in two weeks - it was just the two of them.\nShe raised her head and saw her mother in a confused state, looking just as asleep whilst standing. Guess she overslept too.\n\"Karen?\" She rubbed her eyes. \"What are you doing?\"\n\"Mo-lahte\" she spat the paste.\n\"I'm late.\" She rinsed her mouth and ran to drop the brush in her wardrobe, taking a glance at the clock. Four minutes had passed already? Why was time running so fast? \n\"Late for what?\" Karen joined her mother in front of the bathroom.\n\"Oh God, mum, for work.\" Karen's shoulders drooped as she opened her arms. Was her mother still asleep? \nHer mother's brow creased and creased even further before she began to laugh. Karen had no time for her mother's antics. Perhaps she was even sleep walking - not that she had ever done it but there was a first time for everything.\n\"Karen, you have the day off. Today's a holiday.\"\nShe stilled. What? Suddenly, everything came crashing. It was a public holiday in honour of MKO Abiola. She hadn't set an alarm by 6 at all. It was the alarm to pray by 7 that rang. Blood rushed through her ears and relief flooded her even as her mother laughed till she entered her room. Karen couldn't believe her luck. She slowly walked back into her room, glad she hadn't started bathing yet as she crashed into bed. \nShe snuggled into her blanket, raising it up to her ears. She closed her eyes and smiled, taking a deep breath. It's a holiday!\n***\nKaren rolled in bed, slowly becoming conscious of her environment as she glanced at the time. It was 9:30. The covers had inched away from her body, becoming a huge mass underneath her buttocks. She sat up and stretched. Today's a holiday. She smiled. She wondered what to do first? She went to the living room and found a note by the fridge.\n\"Gone to work. Do your chores, don't lazy around.\"\nKaren chuckled and then she stopped, feeling down. Even on holidays her mother didn't have the chance to breath. She was a tailor and for her, the number of dresses determined the pay. Karen momentarily wished she could be of help but her mother would have none of it.\nEver since her father left them, her mother had used the profits from her dresses to feed, cloth and school Karen. It was worse now that she neared SS3, the money for the exams... She didn't want to think about it but her mother barely spent any money on herself. Karen planned to buy her shoes, clothes and every other feminine wears to celebrate her on that day but for now, she swirled, she was on break.\nA day to herself! She jumped and felt a pain shoot up her toe. She crouched and rubbed it. Remembering all that happened in the morning caused her to laugh. She had an idea of what she wanted to spend the day doing but first, the house chores. She got the radio up and inserted the C.D of one of Marvin gaye's love song. It was old and a classic, and her mother loved it so she loved it too. \nShe danced with the brush, swirling it and swaying from left to right. When it was time to mop, she sprayed water everywhere, changing the song and dancing a slow salsa to it, adding a couple of splits. She let loose her braids and whirled in joy once the ground had dried up. With hands raised, she took in a deep breath. The air smelt of lemons, such a beautiful, beautiful thing. She crashed on the sofa.\n\"Who would have thought you had all of those dance steps up your sleeves?\" Karen startled up and whirled to the window beside the door, her eyes a great deal out of their sockets. She got up as Mina laughed.\n\"Girl, you look a mess!\" \nKaren walked slowly to the door. She wondered if she was forgetting something again. \n\"What are you doing here?\" She asked in confusion folding her arms by the window as she stared at her secondary school friend.\n\"You won't open the door? I was passing by so I decided to check up on you.\"\n\"You could have just called. Anyways, as you can see, I'm fine and busy,\" She shrugged and left the window. \n\"Uh-uh, it's fine. I think I'd just share your dance video with the class group chat.\"\n\"Mina.\" Karen screamed as she hurriedly opened the door.\n\"What if I wasn't around uhn? You could have just called.\" Karen huffed.\n\"Well, I'm here now.\" Mina shrugged and laughed before flicking her wrists. \"Please get me some water, I'm so thirsty, oh God.\" She fanned and touched her forehead.\n\"Oh Jesus.\" Karen muttered and went to the kitchen. Fifteen minutes after they had caught up on all they did during the holidays, Karen sighed. Her plans hadn't totally crashed. They could just watch a movie together and get some snacks and all would be back to normal. She didn't know when she'd find time to watch her Korean series after now - that had been her plan. She grumbled to Mina that she'd be going to have her bath.\nAnother plan down the drain. She just wanted to play around in her pyjamas till she got tired, to get over the madness that happened this morning. As she bathed, she heard voices and wondered if Mina was on a phone call or if her mother was back from work. She hastily finished taking her bath - if her mum was around, she wanted to spend the whole day with her. Mina would just have to find her square root. \nShe finished dressing and went to the living room. Her mouth opened. Goodness, no.\n\"I must be dreaming.\" She muttered.\n\"Hey Karen,\" Efua chirped.\n\"Wa-what are you doing here?\" Karen matched her sopranous tone with a fake smile.\n\"Oh, Mina told me she'd be coming over and I was so bored at home, I just had to come.\" She beamed and clasped her hand. \"Long time...\" Karen faked a laugh, nodding continuously.\nMina raised a brow at her.\n\"I'll be right back.\" She told them and left the living room.\nShe fumed as she slammed the door into her room. How could they come into her house without informing her? All her plans were gone now. She had to find a way to make them leave. Could she lie that she needed to go out? But she didn't want to go out, she stomped her feet. She wanted her privacy, her enjoyment. Besides, where would she go?\nHer phone rang and she saw it was Ejike. She rejected the call and sat on her bed, brooding. She wasn't in the mood for any of his love nonsense and he was always insisting they go out to catch some fun - she'd rather stay home, taking chin chin with zobo and finishing her series. She rejected his call when she saw it the second time and left the phone in the room as she grudgingly went to attend to her friends.\nShe didn't have a plan to chase them but she at least had to feed them. As they caught up with each other, Karen decided to make them indomie. The doorbell rang as she began frying the sausage.\n\"Hey, uhm-hi, is Karen around?\" Karen froze with the spoon. Was that-?\n\"Karen! Ejike is here to see you!\"\nKaren felt like her head was beginning to swell. What was wrong with everyone today? The sausage was burning! She turned off the gas and marched to the living room.\nShe gave him a murderous look, and he shifted, rubbing his neck.\n\"Is he your crush?\" Efua smiled wide and Karen almost knocked her.\n\"What are you doing here?\"\n\"You refused to pick my calls.\"\nOh Precious Lord. Karen had one arm folded and the other fisted underneath her mouth as she thought of what to do.\n\"Is that your friend outside?\" Efua asked as the supposed friend came in. \"Hi, I'm Tomiwa.\"\n\"Come in, come in.\" Mina urged.\n\"Uh-no. I just wanted to see Karen. I was going to show Tomiwa the estate gym.\"\n\"Aha! So you live in the estate.\" Efua clasped her hands excitedly.\n\"You've seen me, I'll call you alright?\" Karen pleaded.\n\"Alright-?\" He turned to Mina.\n\"Mina and Efua.\"\n\"Yes, it was very nice meeting you both.\"\n\"Please stay, Karen was just going to make us indomie. Have you ever tasted her food?\"\nEjike blushed and shook his head, looking at Karen. She took in deep breaths and spoked with clenched teeth, \"Mi-ina, they are busy.\"\n\"I think I'll just stay, get to meet your friends?\" He shrugged and Karen almost fainted. What was wrong with Mina? And of all her friends, Efua just had to be the one around - the girl had no filter.\nThe guys made themselves comfortable and as Karen sluggishly moved to the kitchen, it suddenly clicked in her head. How did they get into the estate?\nShe swiftly moved back to the living room.\n\"How did you enter the estate without calling me?\" She turned to Efua and Mina.\n\"Uh, when I said I was going to the George's residence, the gatekeeper said your mum had told them I'd be coming.\" Mina looked confused all of a sudden. \"Don't look at me, I don't even have your mum's number.\"\n\"Same thing they told me.\" Efua shrugged.\nKaren chuckled in disbelief. Her mum couldn't have made such an error. These girls were either lying or-\nShe got her phone and placed a call through to her mum.\n\"Hello,\"\n\"Yes mummy, please did you tell the gate keeper that some people would be coming over.\"\n\"Oh yes, I did. Your cousins are coming to the house to take the clothes I made them for Thanksgiving Sunday.\"\nOh Precious Lord. \"Mummy, you should have told me.\" Already, she was having a headache.\n\"Sorry, I forgot. Are they there already?\"\n\"No- and I know where the clothes are, don't worry.\"\n\"Thanks dear.\" She dropped the call as Karen placed two fingers over her head. She had no doubt by the time the day was over, she'd be needing another month's break just to recover. Her plans were officially gone. \nBy the time everyone had left and the mini-party was over, Karen looked around at all of the things she'd have to tidy and was reminded of why she loved her space. Next time, she was going to get a hotel room booked just for herself. For goodness' sake, she even smelt of baby food. She cringed." } ]
[ { "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: Opposites attract\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1012\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an introvert and an extrovert who are best friends." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "In school theres always the popular kids and the quiet kids. The popular kids go to all the parties and are known throughout the school while the quiet kids sit at the back of the room and keep to themselves. Some would say that these two groups wouldn't mix well but here to prove you wrong are Freaya and Alex. Freya is a popular girl who was always the life of the party and incredibly positive. Alex is the shy girl thats not really one for getting along with others and prefers to keep to herself. One day in class Freaya's pencil broke so she went in her bag to get another one. After a quick search she couldn't find one so she asked the person behind her, \"Excuse me, do you have a pencil I could borrow.\" Alex looks up to see Freaya's bright smile, she reaches in her bag and pulls out a pretty blue pencil. \"Here you go.\" Alex says as she hands it to her. Freaya thanks her and takes the pencil. Later after class Freaya goes to Alex to return the pencil, \"Here's your pencil back.\" Alex looks at the pencil and then at Freaya and says, \"Actually you can keep it, it matches you more anyway.\" Freaya grins, \"I can keep it, thank you. I'm Freaya by the way.\" Alex smiles back, \"Yeah I know, I'm Alex.\" \"Nice to meet you Alex. So I heard there's gonna be a party tonight are you going?\" Freaya suggests. \"Oh um, im not really into things like that, I don't like crowded spaces with a lot of people.\" Alex explains. \"Oh thats cool I understand, if you don't want to got to the party then do you maybe want to hang out at my place instead?\" Freaya replies. Alex is hesitant but then accepts, \"Uh, sure sounds like fun.\" Freaya takes her phone out of her bag and hands it to Alex and says, \"Here put your number in my phone and I'll text you the details.\" Alex gives Freaya her number and hands the phone back to her. Freaya takes it and says, \"Thanks I can't wait, see you tomorrow. Later that night Freaya texts her with plans for a sleepover the next day. Alex is still unsure about this whole thing but agrees to it anyway hoping it might bring her out of her shell a little bit. The next day after school Freaya's parents picked them up and went to there house. When they got there Alex was mesmerized by how big there house was, \"Whoa this place is like a castle.\" Freaya giggles and replies \"I guess you could call it that, here I'll show you to my room.\" They go to her room and Alex gets comfortable on her bed while Freaya gets some snacks. Freaya comes back with chips, candy, and drinks. Alex's eyes glow as she sees her favorite candy. Freaya notices and hands it to her, \"Was this the one you were looking at?\" Alex nods and says, \"Thank you.\" with a smile. Freaya smiles back at her then sits on her bed next to Alex. Freaya turns on her TV and they start watching movies. Alex really started to relax and feel comfortable until one of Freaya's brothers bursts in, \"Hey Freaya, oh you've got a friend over what's her name?\" Alex senses the trouble and scoots back and turns in to a ball. \"Her name is Alex, now please go your interrupting our movie.\" Freaya answers. \"Why do you have to be like that I just want to hang out with you and your new buddy.\" Her brother teases as he sits next to Alex. Alex scoots closer to Freaya for protection, Freaya sees how uneasy Alex is. \"Please go away your making my friend uncomfortable.\" Freaya says while guarding Alex. He finally leaves the room and Alex moves back to beside Freaya, \"Thanks.\" Freaya smiles and says \"No problem my family can be annoying some times, now back to the movie.\" But for the next few minutes all Alex could think about was Freaya using the word \"Friend.\" Alex didn't really have very many friends and she like it that way but she didn't think she would ever be friends with the most popular girl in school. She then thought that they were just to different and if they were friends it wouldn't last long and this is only a one time thing so she had to enjoy it while it lasts. The night went on and Alex and Freaya were having a blast playing games, telling each other story's and watching more movies. They had a fun night but it came and went and now it was time for Alex to go home. She had fun but didn't think much of the night because it would probably be her last but little did she know that she just made a friend. Alex thought they were to different but she'd soon realize that they make a great team. Each day Freaya would try and get closer to Alex and of course Alex was to shy so Freaya had to plan all of there hang outs. She then began to think that maybe Freaya was good for her and helping her grow out of her comfort zone little by little. Soon after Freaya decided it was time for Alex to go to a real party. Alex was still a bit skeptical about it but trusted Freaya. She never thought she would but she had fun, though she did have to go outside or in empty rooms to get away from the crowd. Freaya and Alex learned from each other and despite their differences they still had a lot of fun together and hung out all the time so it was time for Alex to accept that opposites attract and Freaya was not just her friend but her best friend. The moral of the story is that Freaya and Alex were the best of friends and they were complete opposites." } ]
[ { "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: Haunted Doll\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1776\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at an antique roadshow." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Antiques roadshows are not all they’re cracked up to be. It isn’t always a man in a nice suit telling you that a shattered watch you found in your late grandfather’s attic is actually worth $10,000. My experience was mostly standing awkwardly in a crowded convention center trying to find someone who would talk to me. I even bought a classy black dress for the occasion, hoping that it would somehow help my chances of leaving with a nice pay day. My arms were wrapped around a small cardboard box, holding what I hoped to be my jackpot. \n I pushed my way through the crowd and in the far corner of the room I spotted an open booth. In it was a tweed suited man sitting contently at his desk. He spotted me coming towards him and stood up to greet me. He was tall but held himself like a short man. His receding hairline was parted down the middle, which didn’t do him any favors, and his hand was clammy as it slipped into mine for a shake. \n “Archie Rivers,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”\n “Joanna Teeg,” I replied. \n “So what do we have here?” He inquired, gesturing to the cardboard box in my arms.\n I handed over the box and took a seat in the uncomfortable, plastic chair across from his desk. Archie daintily opened up the flaps of the box like they were the pages of an old, worn book. I studied his reaction to what he found inside. He squinted and pressed his lips into a flat line of apprehension. I held my breath as he gingerly removed a small porcelain doll from the box. He lifted the doll with only the tips of his fingers, as if he thought the pads of his hands might contaminate it. \n The doll was tiny, maybe three inches tall. It was meant to be a young girl, but time had since faded any of its feminine features. It was designed almost like a snowman with three rounded parts for the head, torso, and feet. There were ghosts of pink, blue, and black on it that once made up the doll’s painted dress. Its face was almost completely gone except for a single curved engraving where the mouth should’ve been. The only other mark was under its foot, where there was an H-like symbol carved into the porcelain. It had looked like that since I was a kid and just the sight of it brought back memories. \n I remembered how my great-grandmother used to scold me whenever I stole the doll off her banister. I always wanted to make it the “ugly” friend among my Barbies. The only time anyone ever struck me as a child was because of that doll. The old woman swatted my hand with a ruler when she caught me reaching for it. My mother refused to speak to her for months after that and she died not long after. \n At that point, my grandmother had already passed leaving my mom as the only inheritor to all my great-grandma’s junk. While we were packing up her house, I hid the doll in my jacket. I assumed that no one would miss it. That night, I threw a sheet over my head and stared at the doll in the yellow brightness of a flashlight. It may have just been the effect of the nighttime and the quiet and the dark, but that was when the horror of the doll became clear to me. Now that it was mine and not someone else’s, it had changed. Like the doll came with a debt that hadn’t been paid. I hid it under my bed, hoping I’d forget about it by the morning. \n A few weeks later, my mom found the doll. She yelled at me for hiding it from her, but it seemed like she wanted nothing to do with it either. It was placed in a box in our basement and left to rot. \n When I was a little older, I was brave enough to ask her about it. She told me that my great-grandmother grew up in Poland. There she fell in love with a soldier. They had a daughter together and the soldier gave her the doll before he went to battle. He never returned. My great-grandmother eventually married the man I grew up thinking was my great-grandfather. My mom said that the doll was always a reminder of that loss which is why it was important to keep but not to show off. I couldn’t have been older than ten when we had that conversation, but even then, I could tell she was keeping something from me. My mom died a few months before I took the doll to the antique roadshow. As a final act of grieving, I decided to rid our family of the doll that seemed to drag everyone down. \n I blinked out of my flashback and noticed that Archie had pulled out a magnifying glass to examine the doll. His face was flushed red as if he’d been holding his breath. He had turned the figurine ninety degrees so that the bottom of its feet was facing him. I could tell he was studying the mysterious H symbol. \n “No one in my family has ever been able to figure out what that means,” I added. “Our best guess is that the shop owner may have put it on there for some reason.”\n Archie carefully set the doll back into the bubble wrapped safety of the box. He cupped his hands over his mouth and closed his eyes. For a second, I thought he was praying. \n “Is everything ok?” I asked. \n Archie opened his eyes and nodded. \n “Yes…yes,” he said. “I’m just thinking of where to begin.”\n He paused again, nervously biting the inside of his cheek. I wanted to yell at him to spit it out but thought that might scare him away. I decided to be patient. He leaned forward on the desk and beckoned me to join him. \n “Do you know where you got it from?” He asked.\n “It was my great-grandmother’s. My great grandpa gave it to my grandma before he died in battle.”\n Archie nodded again and my patience with him was already beginning to thin. \n “Which war did your great grandfather die in?”\n “Um…World War 2, I think? They lived in Poland so that would make sense.”\n “That would make sense,” Archie mumbled\n “Ok, man. I’m done with the cryptic stuff. Is the doll worth anything or not?”\n Archie hesitated again and leaned back in his chair. I rolled my eyes and plucked the box off the desk, ready to abandon this venture and just go to a pawn shop when Archie grabbed my wrist.\n “That doll is more valuable to you in a landfill than anywhere else,” he whispered.\n I turned back to him, confused. I settled back into my seat and put the box in my lap.\n “What do you mean?”\n “That carving on the bottom, it isn’t from the shop owner,” he explained. “It’s the symbol of the SS.” \n “What?” I said, probably too loud.\n Within a second, the magnifying glass was in my hand pointed at the bottom of the doll’s feet. Due to years of erosion, the carving looked like a slanted H to the naked eye. Under the glass, however, I could make out two separate carvings: a pair of sharp, thunderbolt-like S’s. The more I stared at them, the more sweat built up on my brow.\n “Are you saying my great-grandfather got this from a Nazi?” I asked.\n Archie stared back at me for a second. It looked as if this interaction had aged his face. He didn’t know how to say what he was about to say.\n “You said your great-grandfather was a soldier,” he said. “Did anyone ever tell you what side he was fighting for?”\n “No…no. That’s not possible.”\n “The SS routinely stole from those they oppressed in Eastern Europe. Sometimes they marked what they stole and some of that stuff made it back to the rightful owners…after the war. But if you’re great grandma met him when you said she did…”\n “No, no, no.”\n “She almost certainly got the doll from a—” \n “Don’t say it!”\n Archie shut up and looked away. I was still holding the doll in my hands. A wave of disgust washed over me, and I dropped it into the box with no care for its fragility. Gusts of comprehension struck me. The reason my great-grandmother was so protective of it and why my mother wanted nothing to do with it, all suddenly made sense. What I couldn’t get a grasp on was why my mother had kept it at all. \n There was something she told me once that hit me in that moment. She said it after I asked why she forgave my great grandma for hitting me. “Family is like a broken picture frame hung on the wall,” she said. She never explained what it meant, but I finally understood it. And I thought it was bullshit.\n When I finally came out of my trance of self-pity, Archie was still sitting there waiting for me to explode on him. I put the box back on the desk and slid it to his side.\n “Could you find who this originally belonged to?” I asked.\n “Maybe,” he replied. “But we don’t even know if they survived the Holocaust, let alone if they’d remember one doll.” \n “But it’s possible, right?” \n “Technically. And we can always donate it to the National Holocaust Museum if all else fails.”\n That backup plan made me feel a lot better, but I still felt helpless. What was I supposed to do against the monumental force of history? How could I make that better? I would learn not long after that all I could do was live my life as if I was the janitor cleaning up the mess of everyone who had come before. \n “Can I pay you to look into that for me? Like finding the family or donating it?” I asked Archie.\n “You don’t have to—”\n “No. I want to. I need to.”\n Archie smiled for the first time since I’d met him. Even with the box on the other end of the desk, I could still see the doll. Part of me wanted to close it and tape it shut forever, but that wouldn’t fix anything. I needed to look at it, I needed to face it, and, eventually, I needed to accept it. That’s all we can do in the face of our history. Accept it and move forward." } ]
[ { "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: Fitz\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2587\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone stuck in an endless cycle who finally manages to break free." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“I’m going round and round in circles here, Fitz, what’s the answer boy.” The physician looked down at the dog; the dog cocked its ear and looked at his master with intent; listening with sparkling intelligent eyes. The flickers of the candle reflecting in the pupils of the dog’s eyes.\nIt was 1846 in Vienna, the small shabby room was framed in darkness, only the flickering candlelight, showed the untidy papers scattered over the writing desk, the dim light profiled the physician slouching back in the old worn chair, and Fitz sitting, with an upturned head looking obediently at his owner Selius Azingweis, waiting eagerly for his next words. It was uncanny, but one could believe, Fitz understood every word from the physician, his clever eyes gave the impression of an avid listener.\n“This childbirth fever has me beat, Fitz!” The physician continued.\nThe great theologies of the 17th and 18th centuries had started to question old beliefs, in science and medicine, the voodoo type magic used for centuries prior was now being openly questioned. Data analysis and autopsies were now commonly used and practiced by physicians such as Selius. These practices were based on new ideologies and thinking, and Selius was at the forefront of these new age thinkers.\nFitz was a new breed of dog, a Jack Russell terrier. The Reverend Jack, and Selius corresponded often, and when the Reverend informed his friend of the new breed, Selius was eager to adopt Fitz, one of the first pups in the litter of the new breed. The man and dog were inseparable, wherever Selius went; one always found Fitz trotting by his side, his head proudly held high, with an unspoken expression on the dog’s face.\n“This is my master, he is the cleverest person in the human world, I love him!”\nSelius had no time for society, no social life, it was all work, study, and analysis. But Fitz? Now that was another matter entirely. He spoke to Fitz like a human being, sharing all his thoughts, Fitz even slept by his bed in the bedroom, on the floor beside his master, which was an unusual situation in those long-ago days in 19th century Austria.\nSelius was born in the region of Buda Hungary in 1818, one of ten children, his father was a successful and wealthy grocer, his spices were renowned all over the Austrian-Hungarian Empire. Selius started studying law at the university of Vienna, but the profession didn’t inspire him, it was a dry soulless topic to study, he was a man of new medical practices, breaking down the old walls of myth and magic. He thankfully and eagerly changed after one year to the study of human anatomy and medicine and gained his doctorate in 1844. He failed to gain an appointment at a clinic in Vienna for the study of internal medicine, but instead was appointed to study obstetrics, the study of childbirth.\nSelius was a passionate man, whatever he decided upon in his life, his focus would be overwhelmingly comprehensive, it was his divinity, it became part of his heart and soul.\nThe mortality rates for childbirth for women and the newborn were as high as 10 percent at the clinic. Women would prefer to give birth in the street, then attend the dreaded maternity clinic in Vienna, its reputation was so dire. Both Selius and Fitz had watched the sobbing pregnant women, begging the doctor not to be admitted to the clinic, they wanted to take their chances elsewhere. All this was puzzling for a sibling of nine healthy brothers and sisters.\n“It’s the childbed fever, doctor, it isn’t safe here!” The women would desperately cry. “It’s bewitched with evil spirits in his place, I’m telling you.”\nSelius took his job very seriously, he would walk with Fitz to the homes of his patients, and study their homes, trying to understand the reasoning of the childbed sickness, why would a clinic continue to bear the deaths of women and child, with the attendance of qualified doctors and midwives, with equipment in the event of a difficult conception, as oppose giving birth on the streets of Vienna, or in their homes. It didn’t add up.\nFitz was a karmic dog, the son of PRUMT, he knew the cause. The breeding process of the Reverend Jack and Chin and his ancestry had put Fitz on earth to help other people to find cause and effect, he was here to help the young doctor to find the answers.\nUnbeknown to the passionate seeking doctor, with no answers, only questions and the effects of many tragic deaths of poor souls at his clinic, caused by the fever.\nFitz had watched his master in his analysis from the beginning. In the clinic there were two wards for childbirth, one staffed by doctors, and the other by midwives. Both had different methods of childbirth, the midwives would put the women on their sides, but the doctors would put the women on their backs. Selius told the doctors to put the women on their sides for childbirth – no difference.\nThen there was the stupid practice of the priest and the ringing of the bell to ward off evil spirits, whenever there was a death of women or child, or both. Selius banned the ritual; he thought it was archaic, and it certainly frightened the women preparing for their own births. Fitz hated the priest anyway, his body odour was abhorrent, and he always complained to everyone loudly.\n“What is that animal doing in this ward, it could be Satan himself in disguise!”\nHis master would reply. “I’m the doctor here, priest, Fitz stays.”\nFitz looked up proudly at his master’s words, and then darted a knowing look at the bell ringing priest.\nThe banning of the priest and the ritual of ringing the bell in the wards, again made no difference to the mortality rate. Selius was perplexed.\nThen sad news. He was away with Fitz in his parent’s house at Buda, and an express delivery of a letter arrived with bad news, advising of the death of his colleague the pathologist Dr Khubz who had died suddenly. Both he and Fitz rushed back to the clinic.\nAs this was a clinic, the death of any doctor needed to be understood. It was found that Dr Khubz had died from the same disease as the women and newborn babies, the childbirth fever - Puerperal Fever. This was a breakthrough of understanding, the disease was not consistent with childbirth, anybody could die from it. But the answer, the cause still eluded Selius, what are the causes, how can it be prevented?\nThe puzzlement continued for Selius.\nDr Khubz had died when he was performing an autopsy on the cadaver of a dead woman and child, it was found. But why are more women dying in childbirth at the doctor’s ward, than the midwives’ ward. Maybe it is something to do with the autopsy. The doctors attended the births, and they also performed the autopsy on the dead bodies, let’s start there Selius started to surmise.\nThere was an event the next day that also triggered Selius’s hypothesis. A midwife took up the same opinion as the priest, as she voiced her objections.\n“Take that mut out of here!” she demanded. “That dog is dirty; he shouldn’t be allowed on the wards.”\n“Fitz is cleaner than most of the doctors, and midwives around here, every day after his walk, I personally wash his feet, sometimes a good tub washing, and then I wash him with chlorine solution, before he gets dried.” Selius expunged her demands.\nThat was it! Selius, with his defense of Fitz against the unkind demands of the midwife, the answer started to resonate in his mind. The doctors performed their childbirth duties, and at the same time were performing examinations on dead bodies, there must be something in this daily occurrence that is the cause of the higher death rate on the doctor’s ward compared to the midwife’s ward.\n“Fitz boy, we might have something here!” he whispered downward at the attentive head of Fitz.\nFitz yelped, he knew the cause, and now his master was on the right track.\nSelius called a meeting of the entire clinic to propose a new procedure, especially for the doctors. He wanted everybody in the clinic to start washing their hands regularly in the chlorine solution, use soap and water, as well as wash all the instruments in the same manner, he ended by saying.\n“The stench of the dead corpses is insufferable, it lingers on your clothes, the solution will remove the smell, and that’s better for the women on the wards, better all of us.”\nThe doctors in those far away days had no sense of cleanliness, no one did. They performed their cadaver examinations, and the childbirths sometimes in their dinner jackets, and long white gloves, the concept of washing their hands in chlorine as a practice was met with condemnation.\n“Look here young Selius, we are experienced doctors and obstetricians, you can’t come here, and tell us what to do, we have been doing this since you were born, my lad.”\nThe doctors were irritated by Selius’s proposal.\nSelius pleaded. “Please give it a try, just for a week, think about it as an experiment, we are men of new science and modern medicine, at least trial this new procedure for a week, I beg you dear sirs.”\nSelius and Fitz watched the trial take place with vigilance in the next days, on the doctor’s ward, chlorine solution and soap were placed at the doors of both the wards, and the autopsy examination room below.\nThe results were outstanding. No deaths in the doctor’s ward for a whole week, unheard of. The doctors continually objected to the process, but the results were evident. Unfortunately, not all the doctors agreed with Selius, as the doctors said the washing of their hands was too simplistic to be the cause, and it was inconvenient for the doctors.\nThere were two doctors, Dr Hass, and Dr Gruber that Fitz didn’t like. Both would always glare at Fitz with black eyes, the anger was apparent on their faces, with their fascial scowls. They were much older than Selius, the most experienced doctors at the clinic, they were proud men, always talking about hunting, and laughing at Fitz saying.\n“We could use you on the hunt, but you are not a fox terrier, you are a new breed from that imbecilic preacher from England, what does he know about hunting.” They would opine.\nNot long after the chlorine washing process was introduced, Fitz stood near the two doctors whispering in the corridor of the clinic. He overheard their conversation about his master.\n“This washing lark by Selius, we are seeing results, but why? Can’t explain it, neither can he. Bad vibes I have about this.” Dr Hans said to Dr Gruber.\n“If there is a connection between the autopsies and attending the women in childbirth, and the news gets out, that’s bad news for both the doctors and the clinic. What happens if they start to accuse us of their deaths?” Dr Gruber replied.\n“Our reputations, and the clinic will be destroyed, we need to conceal any findings, and protect this proud institution, the clinic, and the doctors. We must have a plan, and that Selius needs to go, before he brings us all down with him, and his brainless hand washing ideas!” Concluded Dr Hans.\nThe plot was hatched. Secretly the two doctors petitioned the other doctors, that the experiment would expose the clinic to ridicule, and they would be blamed for the death of many women and newborn children, if the news ever reached the ears and eyes of Vienna society. They needed to protect themselves, and the reputation of the famous clinic.\nThey started to write articles in the newspapers, and medical journals to expose Selius as a fraud, a charlatan. Washing hands in chlorine had no substantive proof. It was a myth. The discovery of minute germs was yet to be proved for years to come. Selius tried to link the cause and effect, but he didn’t possess the means to prove his theories. He was ridiculed not only by his fellow doctors, but the greater Vienna and medical world.\nFitz watched as his master struggled with his ostracization. Selius knew he had discovered something remarkable, but he had failed to prove it. The world of new science and medicine wanted tangible proof, and he was unable to provide it. He dissolved into a state of disconsolation, he started to drink heavily, take women back to his small rooms, his depressive state of mind struggled, and the demons hovered around his shattered well-being.\nSelius was eventually released from the famous clinic, under the guise of “no fit to practice”, his reputation and his passion, dissolved like emptied bottles of alcohol, he now took comfort in daily, to obliterate his sober and depressing thoughts. Poor Fitz watched on with obedience and in horror.\nFitz wished above all else that Selius could find enlightenment and keep trying. He had found the cause and effect of the illness, he must now be strong, turn away from the current tragic situation, his dismal from the clinic and the conniving and non-supportive colleagues. Time will come when the outcomes of his leading and groundbreaking research, are seen in a different light, a more enlightened world. Like the man sitting on the riverbank watching the downstream waters, he must wait his time, something will eventually float by, and improve the situation.\nIf only I could talk with my master, and tell him that in this moment in time, in this life he has been blessed, he will be honoured in many lifetimes to come for his discoveries. Don’t be angry with your current circumstances, the balance of life, and the world will recognize in the future your heroic deeds.\nUnfortunately, for both Selius and Fitz circumstances become worse. Selius was made homeless, as he had no income, and he was too proud to seek his father’s support. Selius and Fitz lived on the streets of Vienna, and one day the community inspectors threw Selius into a mental institution. In those far away days, these institutions were worse than prisons, at least with prisons they would let you out after serving the time. A mental institution was for life, for those poor wretches.\nFitz became a street dog, a stray with no owner, feeding out of the squalor on those dirty streets of Vienna, taking shelter under trees and shrubs of the parks of the city at night. But he would go every night to the windows of the mental institution, and howl in the wind, hoping that his master would hear and recognize his Fitz. It was a scene like that of the Edinburgh cemetery, and the grieving dog; Greyfriars Bobby. The absent master, and his obedient and loyal dog.\nHis master died within weeks of being admitted, it was such a sad and tragic ending of a short life. Fitz always felt responsible for that young bright man, and always remembered him with his passionate, intelligent demeanour pouring over his books and his papers of research and analysis, sometimes looking down at Fitz, and conversing with the dog. Those thoughts were the happiest, and they would remind Fitz constantly of his master for all the remaining days in this lifetime." } ]
[ { "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 Better Place\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2263\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone stuck in an endless cycle who finally manages to break free." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Weak, I’m so weak. Everything is going dark…” He cried out, his voice lost among the cacophony of the crowd that gathered to watch his final moments.\nHe heard his mother crying; someone was reaching for him, and then…\nNothing.\nThe darkness had him; he was lost again. He floated for a time, in the darkness, in the nothing. Between. The cries pulled him from the void; it was always the crying that caught his attention first. It pulled at him and drew him out of the nothing into the light.\nHe could feel the stone below him. Blood pooled under his hands, the wounds on his wrists leaking. They never healed; he never allowed them to heal. They were his, as much as the pain, as much as anything was ever his. His wounds, his pain, his sorrow, and his sacrifice.\nHe stood, looking down into the throng of bodies writhing around him.\nThe voices cried out to him for something he would never be able to give. He reached for them, and they reached back, but he pulled away in horror.\nA face leered up at him from the crowd, thick and heavy. Its chin bloated, and something oozed out from between its lips. The face wore a collar, one he’d seen many times but still couldn’t understand. Black, with white in the center. The figure lumbered forward, fat on the blood, heavy and gorged from the writhing mass within the pit. Its white collar was stained red, its black shirt wet and glistening.\nIt heaved itself onto the rocks and tossed a small figure at Joshua’s feet.\n“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” The bloated figure said.\nJoshua reached for the child, something breaking inside of him, but the thing caught his arm, squeezing. He cried out, trying to pull away, but it had him. Its thick fingers dug into his flesh. He looked up, fury burning in his chest. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.\n“Forgive me, Father, I have sinned.” The thing said, “But it’s not my fault; no, it’s his. He made me do it. I’m sorry. I am weak, Father.”\nJoshua twisted his arm, wrenching it free. He turned his back on the thing as pudgy fingers dug into his shoulder. It pushed, forcing him down to one knee as he struggled. In front of him, more things began to drag themselves up onto the rocks.\nSomething that might have once been a woman approached, her eyes wild and mad as she stared down at the kneeling man. Then, she grinned at him.\n“Father, thank you.” She said. “We must save them; we must save them all from themselves!” She cried, lifting something like a strange spear over her head. She waved the weapon before pointing its blunted tip at him. “Thank you for your blessings, Father.” She said, rubbing the strange weapon against his face.\nShe stepped aside as another figure approached, carrying a wet, dripping mass of writhing forms in its arms. The thing, which seemed to be a man, knelt in front of Joshua. It leaned forward, opening its arms and spreading the mass upon the floor. The things, a red and pink mass of screaming, writhing forms, cried out wordlessly.\nThe man grinned at Joshua. “We have saved the children father. As you have commanded.” He cackled, his face twisting into a mask of tortured, painful laughter. “In your name!” He howled. “All in your name!”\nJoshua struggled, trying to pull away, but the thick fingers continued to dig into his shoulder and press him down. He could feel the thing behind him, feel its breath, heavy and hot on his neck. He shuddered, nauseated, and dizzy. What was happening? What were these things?\nWhat was all of this? Every time, it only seemed to get worse.\nHe cried out, but his words were lost in the roar of the things around him. A shadow fell over him then, and everything went silent.\n“Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you something…” The shadow said, and it lumbered forward. It pushed past the other creatures, staring down at Joshua. Its sunken eyes seemed to burn an orange fire. “The power here is tremendous. It’s huge, and it’s only getting bigger!” The shadow cried.\nIt turned and faced the crowd, holding its hands wide above its head, “And who is at the center of this power? He is!” He waved an arm towards Joshua, who struggled against the thing holding him to the floor.\n“He’s the one who started it all, and he’s the one who will keep it going strong!” The thing gesticulated wildly at his audience. The things around him howled and screamed; there was weeping and gnashing of teeth.\nThe shadow continued, unabated, “I mean, look at the impact he’s had on this world! And his message is still going strong! He’s the greatest influencer in history, folks. No one can deny that. He’s influenced billions of people, and his message is still relevant today!”\nJoshua sagged, his strength giving out. He was just so tired.\n“And let me tell you, I know a thing or two about influence. It’s all about building a brand, and he has the best brand out there!” He’s a winner, folks, he’s a winner!” The shadow howled.\nAbove him, a dim light glowed in the distance. There, far away, in the darkness, Joshua saw it and felt it calling to him. He looked around at all of the things, the creatures. They cried and howled for him. They crawled forward, reaching for him.\nIt was the cries. It was always the crying that called to him first.\n“But it’s not just about his influence!” The shadow called out. “It’s about his message. It’s a powerful message and something we need more of in this world!”\nJoshua looked up again and felt himself slipping away. He knew he was supposed to wake up but was so tired. He could feel it happening again. He could feel himself falling.\n“So let’s give it up for him, folks! They’re making the world a better place!” The shadow screamed. Around him, in the pit, the things cheered.\nAs he was slipping away, the thing holding him down breathed in his ear, “You’re so pretty; I don’t think I can help myself. But you’ll forgive me, right?”\nJoshua choked awake, crying out as something tore into his scalp.\nThe men gathered around him were laughing. The one who had forced the sharp ring of thorns onto his head grinned.\n“Behold!” he said, “The king!”\n“But a king must have his finery!” Shouted another, who leaped from a small table and pulled a drapery off the wall. He laid the fabric over Joshua’s shoulders, “There,” he said, “that’s better.”\nThe men stood before him, and together, they bowed. Then, again, Joshua faded into the darkness of unconsciousness.\nWhen he came to, they were dragging him onto a small platform. A man stood before him, his expression hard, but Joshua saw something else in his eyes. He felt pity for the man. The man regarded him for several long moments, then turned to face the crowd. The words were a nauseating mixture of sound and chaos. Joshua nearly lost himself to the darkness again when the man addressed him.\n“Are you their king?” The man asked, gesturing towards the crowd.\n“You say that I am,” Joshua whispered.\nThe man stared at him, his eyes glistening with tears that wouldn’t fall. He stepped forward, leaning in close enough that Joshua could feel his breath on his face. It reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place. Something far away, something horrible. “Give me something here.” The man said. “Give me something to work with. They want to condemn you. Help me!” He pleaded.\nJoshua heard the words, but they meant nothing. They were just noise. He tried to speak but choked on his own voice. Then, with a sigh, he lapsed into silence.\nThe man shook his head, resigned to the fate they now shared.\nPain followed in a blur of screams, many of which were his own. Something was hoisted onto his back, and he stumbled forward. The crowd jeered at him, screaming insults. Joshua stumbled, blood dripping down his face and into his eyes. He was just so tired. What was he doing this for, he knew, but somehow, he couldn’t remember anymore.\nThe weight was taken from him, and for a while, he simply stumbled forward.\nHe fell again, and someone rolled him onto his back. There was more pain then, this time in his wrists, and then, he was floating. He looked down at the people and wept for them. They were all so broken, so lost. He’d just wanted to give them something, to lift them from the nightmare of their lives. But all of it was gone now.\nIt was all a waste. But, dimly, he realized it was always a waste. It was always like this; they could never see him for what he was or hear him for what he said. He shuddered under the weight of it all. The screams drifted up from below and washed over him.\n“Forgive them; they don’t know what they’re doing.” He said.\nA single voice floated up to him from below, and he looked down to see his mother there. She looked up at him with love in her eyes, but he recognized something else there, too: fear. She was afraid for him, but more, she was afraid for herself. Beside her stood his friend, one of the few who, maybe, saw him for what he was. Who knew him for the man he wanted to be and knew his words for what they were meant to say.\nHe smiled down at them, “Mother, see your son.” He said. “Brother, see your mother.”\nWhen the darkness fell, Joshua didn’t know if it was inside him or if the whole world had fallen into the void. Then, he felt something break, and the earth shuddered with him.\n“Weak, I’m so weak. Everything is going dark…” he cried out as the pain tore through him again. Voices carried up to him, but he didn’t hear; something wet pressed to his face, but he ignored it. Joshua cried out again and fell into the darkness.\nHe heard his mother crying, and then, nothing.\nJoshua floated for a time in the darkness, and then, the cries called out to him again. It was always the cries that called to him first. He turned towards the wails of those calling out for him, calling what they thought was his name, when a small voice whispered to him.\n“They don’t know you; they never did. They never do. It’s time to wake up.”\nHe turned in the darkness but found himself alone. Behind him, the voices called out to him, calling him back. But there, in the distance, was that small light. There, in that light, was the voice.\n“It’s time to wake up, Joshua. It’s time to wake up.”\nJoshua turned away, peering into the darkness, towards the red light, towards the wails and the screams. Something soft touched his shoulder, and he stopped. He waited, listening.\n“It’s time to wake up.”\nWith a sigh, he turned away from the screams, away from the voices calling out for him to save them, away from the weight of it all. He turned and walked towards the small light.\nWhen he woke up, he looked down on it all, and before him, he saw a reflection of himself. In that reflection, he saw so many faces, so many lives. He saw children smiling and people sitting around a table. He saw faces that he didn’t know but knew were his own.\nHe sat under a tree, waiting.\nHe knelt as oil was poured over his head.\nHe stood tall, skin so pale it was almost blue as he rode a chariot into battle.\nHe stood on the shore and struck the river with his staff.\nSo many lives, all connected by a thread, all happening simultaneously. He saw himself laid bare as he brought to the people something they never seemed to understand. He stood before them, telling them to wake up from the dream of this life. But they never could grasp the story, and it was that, he knew, that was the point.\nThe story must continue because it was the story of life, and it was, after all, his story. There was only the one story and the one dream. There was only the one dreamer, and all of the lives were his.\nJoshua watched it all play out before him, stretching on forever yet happening all at once in the blink of an eye. His story, the story of life, all the people, all of it, was him. Finally, he woke from the dream to regard it for what it was and stood in awe of its beauty. He laughed, and he cried, and he watched as, over and over, the dream folded into a nightmare.\nBecause that, too, was the point of the dream. There could be no light without darkness, and there can be no joy without sorrow. So Joshua smiled, and he wept, and he watched.\nAnd in time, he knew what he had to do. With a sigh, Joshua let himself fall back into the darkness of sleep and waited for the light of the dream to wake him once again." } ]
[ { "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: First Rule of Time Travel\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2409\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone stuck in an endless cycle who finally manages to break free." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "By far the worst thing about time travel is saving Hitler’s life. Now don’t you yell at me, Monica – in my defence, I am saving him from myself. Earlier I did kill him first so that’s got to count for something, right? Well, it turned out to be a bad idea because I ended up breaking reality.\nJust a smidge.\nYou can’t really hold it against me, because you didn’t exactly train me for this. But I can fix it.\nI step through the time portal onto the roof of the Hotel Kaiserhof, in Berlin of 1932, and I see myself – my earlier self – by the edge. And damn it, I’m late because other me is already taking aim! If he gets a shot off from that atomic sniper rifle, it’ll wipe out not just the Führer but also the future.\nI sprint across the roof and shout “Wait!” but other me is too focused. Right as he pulls the trigger, I dive and hit him. The rifle fires with a terrifying whine and a streak of superheated yellow plasma rips into the sky. There’s an explosion high above us, big enough to take out a mid-sized laundromat, but thankfully it only hits clouds.\nIn the streets below, people scream and Hitler flees. My terrible job is done.\n“What the hell!” says other me.\n“You’ll thank me later.” Earlier? Whenever.\nSo, I know, you said we should never interact with our past selves, because time paradoxes and yadda yadda. I’ll admit, that stuff is way over my head and you’re smarter than me. I only signed on with your lab because I figured your research wouldn’t go anywhere and it’d be a slack paycheque. Who could have guessed you’d actually crack time travel?\nAnyway. I had to do it, okay? I had to stop myself from shooting, because for some reason, killing Hitler erased you from the timeline. And, well, you want to point fingers at someone, maybe start with your ancestors, whose lineage is suddenly very suspect.\nWell, it no longer matters as I’ve fixed it.\nI draw my time sword and slash a hole in the fabric of reality, and step back into the future.\nOur office is just as I left it. Your desk is back, but… dang. Your stuff’s not there. Did my plan fail? Did I miss something?\nI hear a commotion outside, and I open the blinds to see the streets of New York. There’s a parade but everyone’s in uniform. Hmm. With armbands. And there’s banners hanging from the buildings. Red and black and white ones. Hmm. And off in the distance, Lady Liberty has been replaced by a colossal brass dictator.\nHmm.\nI close the blinds.\n“Shit shit shit!”\nI check my computer. Happily there’s still an internet, and it’s all too eager to give me historical information on the rise of – what!? The Atomic Reich?\nAn article tells me that when Berlin witnessed the mysterious explosion in the sky in 1932, it gave them a leg up on atomic power, and the bomb didn’t end the war, it started it.\nLooks like I made things just a tad worse then. Well, I think you’ll agree, it’s your fault for not being here to stop me! I don’t really know what I’m doing, and I don’t think anyone could have predicted this.\nI’ve just got to be faster, that’s all. I configure my time sword to arrive earlier, then slash another hole in reality and pop back to the past.\nThis time I see other me crouched over a big weapon case, still assembling the atomic sniper rifle. I approach him.\n“Excuse me,” I say. He startles and points the damn thing at me. “Whoa, easy there!”\n“Holy crap,” he says, lowering the rifle. “Are you… me?”\n“Yes, I’m you – from the future.”\n“Oh, wow! That’s amazing! Say, did Monica ever give me that promotion?”\n“Er… not that far from the future.”\n“Hmm,” he says. “Listen, I’d love to chat, but I just gotta do a thing real quick.”\n“Actually, that’s why I’m here. Listen, you can’t kill Hitler. It messes up the whole future. Can’t even fire that rifle.”\nHe looks crestfallen – and yeah, let me tell you, I get that. What’s the point of going back in time if you can’t even kill Hitler? That’s like the first rule of time travel. But he does hand the rifle to me when I hold my hand out.\n“So why can’t I shoot him?” he asks. We see our would-be target crossing the busy Wilhelmplatz, irritatingly oblivious.\n“I’m glad you asked,” I say. “See, time travel is pretty complicated. As I understand it–”\nThen someone barks “Wait!” and when I turn I see the other previous me, the one that first tried to stop the assassination, charging at me. Before I can react he slams into me. I nearly go over the edge. The rifle does.\nAll three of us crowd at the railing and watch the weapon spiral lazily to the street below. It clatters at the feet of you-know-who, who jumps and exclaims.\n“Ooh!” we hear him say, as he picks the weapon up. “Was ist das?”\nHmm.\nShit shit shit.\nAll three of us cut holes into time and step through them.\nI don’t know where the others ended up, but I’m in a burning hellscape. Our office, the whole city, is rubble. The sky is covered in black clouds, and is literally on fire, and everything is shaking as gargantuan robots stomp about shooting death rays all over the place. And of course there’s still no sign of you, because you just couldn’t be arsed to resume existing.\nAnd on top of all that, I can’t breathe and my eyes are burning so I quickly reconfigure my time sword and cut another hole. I think I know how to prevent this. Just have to make sure I get there before we knock the rifle off the roof.\nOkay. Berlin, 1932. I see third me explaining to first me why we can’t shoot Hitler, and – there! Second me just appeared and started charging towards the others. I sprint and tackle him just before he slams into third me. We hit the ground with an oof, but it looks like third me is still holding the rifle, so mission accomplished!\n“Shit shit shit!” says second me, beneath me. His arm is outstretched to the sky, and I see his time sword spinning in the air and clattering over the edge of the roof. All four of us rush to the railing and look down, just in time to see Hitler laughing maniacally with the sword in his hand.\nOkay. I know it’s technically not a “time sword” but instead a… what did you call it? A chrono-bono splasher? Splisher? Splicer! A chrono-spacial splicer, yeah. But that’s a dumb name; everyone says so. And I know that technically I wasn’t supposed to borrow it, and if you were here you’d probably say I stole it – but you’re not here, so I guess that means I didn’t do anything wrong.\nBut I sure do wish you were here, because I’m reasonably confident things just hit the fan, and you’d know how to fix it. Probably with something lame like using math.\nI cut another time sword hole and leap into the future.\nThe office is intact again, but there’s three guys in it, wearing what I can only describe as spaceman armour. Heavy black steel, mechanized whirring, gold insignia – red capes! – and lots of blinking red lights. Two are wearing helmets molded like skulls, and the third has an officer’s cap, and he snaps to me.\n“Aha!” he says. “We’ve finally found you.” Then he swings a time sword at me!\nI barely get my sword up to block his, and I let out a fierce battle cry that definitely isn’t just me screaming in panic. He cuts at me again and again, and bisects my desk as I jump behind it. He’s off balance and I take my opportunity to fight back by grabbing the closest thing near me and throwing it at his face – a half-full bag of paper clips.\nHe shrugs them off and sneers. And then the other two space Nazis draw their own time swords – because of course they do – and all three rush me.\nI battle cry again and duck out the office, and sprint down the hall. There’s more troops in other offices, and when I glance over my shoulder the commander is gaining.\nOkay, I need to fix this. I don’t really know how, but first things first: escape. I mash the configuration of my sword to whatever and slash open a hole and dive through.\nSuddenly the dead air of the office is replaced by a frigid sea breeze, the sad carpet by polished wooden planks, and the flickering grey lights with a splash of stars against the night sky. A couple men in old-timey sailor costumes startle around me. Unless they are old-timey sailors, of course. Then I suppose they’re uniforms, not costumes.\nBut I don’t have time to introduce myself or admire the starscape, because somehow that Nazi commander got through my time hole, and now he’s here too. He lands with a thud and the planks beneath him groan. Actually, the whole floor moves, heaving my stomach. Turns out we landed on a ship.\n“Surrender!” he shouts. “The CyberFührer 9000 will have your head! We will pull out all your time secrets!”\nYeah, except I don’t have any, because you’re the genius and I’m just the assistant.\n“Never!” I shout. He lunges again. The crew around us scramble away from our blades and the deck lurches beneath our feet as we trade slashes and chops. Look, I really don’t understand why you’re so opposed to “time sword” as a name, because we’re literally sword fighting with them. Anyway, I digress.\nHe hacks the railing in half as a wave sprays us with ice cold water. I see an opening and swing with all my might – and my sword bounces off his spaceman armour.\n“Ha ha ha!” he laughs. Then he punches me with his free hand – a pneumatic gauntlet that sends me flying across the deck and probably breaks something in my ribcage. I wheeze and a moment later I see him standing over me.\n“This was amusing,” he says, “but it’s time for you to die, my friend.” He raises his sword with a cruel grin – and then there’s a flash of light behind him and a man roars. Next thing I know I see me run into the officer from behind, just as the ship lurches again, and suddenly the Nazi goes tumbling off the deck with a scream.\nMy saviour helps me to my feet, and I see me, but much older. A wild beard and tattered clothes, but also a bunch of strange animal pelts and a bow slung over his shoulder.\n“Holy crap!” I say. “Are you… me?”\n“Yes, I’m you – from the future.”\n“Oh, wow! That’s amazing! Say, did we ever save Monica–”\nHe sighs incredibly loud. “I’ve spent the last decade in the Jurassic, and that’s what you ask me?”\n“The Jurassic!? But why?”\nHe looks dramatically into the horizon, and mutters, “Never find me there.”\n“What do you mean? Are you just hiding? We have to do something to fix things–”\n“–You can’t fix this!” he roars, grabbing me by the collar. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”\n“There’s got to be something.”\n“There isn’t! Everything I do just makes things worse. It’s like my life is the Titanic.”\n“That’s… an odd metaphor,” I say.\nHe shrugs. “We’re on it.” Then he grabs me by the collar again, and his eyes balloon. “And don’t you dare try to save them! This ship must sink. It really is for the best.”\n“But–”\n“–Trust me.” His voice is a whisper.\nI disentangle myself from his grip. “Well, maybe that’s so, but I won’t just give up.”\n“You will eventually.”\n“I can fix things.” He scoffs, but I know I’m right. I can’t believe I’d ever turn out like this guy. Though, seeing real live dinosaurs does sound cool. Another day! First, the Time Reich. I really wish you were here. You’d know just what to do. You’d probably tell me to make small changes, since the whole thing is so overwhelming. To work backwards and figure out where I first got lost. Probably tell me to sit still and think things through before I actually did anything.\nHmm. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I can’t fix things.\nI slash my time sword and step between dates, just as the Titanic slams into an iceberg.\nBerlin, 1932. The Hotel Kaiserhof. I get there well before my initial me arrives, and when he does, I explain the situation to him. He argues that doing nothing is insane, but he hands over the rifle case all the same, and the atomic rifle is never assembled. Then we put up a net, so other mes don’t come sprinting blindly out of a time hole and off the roof, throwing future tech at the enemy. With the lot of us assembled together and filled in, we settle down for a very boring day of people watching in Wilhelmplatz. The target arrives, the target leaves – and nobody dies or loses any gadgets.\nIt’s uneventful, like a work day. Speaking of which, we say our farewells and go our separate ways. I’m the last to depart. I take one last look at Berlin, ’cause there’s no way I’d be able to afford a ticket to visit where I’m from – unless I got a raise, hint hint – and then I slash my time sword and return home.\nAnd I gasp, because–\n“Monica!” I say. “You’re here!”\n“Uh, yeah,” you say, “I was just in the john.”\nI run up and hug you. “You have no idea how much I missed you!”\nAnd you disentangle yourself and push me back. “A little inappropriate. Hey, did you steal the prototype chrono-spacial splicer?”\n“I borrowed it.”\n“You’re fired.”\n“Uh,” I say. I’m sure I could come up with a credible defense if I thought it through, but instead I slash time again and slip into the Jurassic." } ]
[ { "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: Brothers-in Arms\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1904\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone stuck in an endless cycle who finally manages to break free." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Brothers-in Arms\nFresh-faced, with smooth skin and eager eyes, the graduands’ white-covered caps conceal their thoughts. ‘What lies beneath those caps,’ I wondered? ‘Minds full of burning fervency to serve their country, perhaps.’ In their wildest imagining, they could not perceive the hell my generation met. A nightmare of death and destruction like the world had never known and may never know again. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it was only yesterday.\n In May 1940, when I graduated, we raw officers were unaware that over three-quarters of our company would be dead or injured by August 1945. Five years in which bodies were ripped apart, limbs lost, and eyes blinded by bullets, shrapnel, and bombs. Pieces of men were left to decompose on coral islands, deserts, or French beaches. Men to whom you were speaking at one moment were gone the next. ‘Oh, Billy boy, why did you thrust up your head?’ Shot clean through mid-forehead, he dropped like a stone. \n I no longer believed in a celestial heaven and hell. The white sand and rolling surf of the beaches of the pacific islands looked like heaven as we approached, but hell, the second we disembarked. Separation was and remains inconceivable. Heaven and hell occupy the same space. Only luck and your rifle stand between them. \nOur training at Fort Worth was intense for green recruits just out of High School or College. The Marine Corps turned us from spotty, cocky adolescents into mean fighting machines trained to lead and kill. Our Sergeant Major, hauled us out of bed at dawn and kept us working until dusk. He sure was a hard case. A strapping figure with a buzz haircut, bulging biceps and a voice that would cause horses to bolt, we lived in fear of his anger. We called him Sergeant Barking, for the way he barked orders at us. But complain, and you got bawled out, a kick up the backside and half rations until you complied. ‘You’re a frigging Marine, not a ragged-assed school kid.’ In parachute training, I launched myself with bravado that first time, only to twist my ankle on landing. I forgot I would land on the ground, not in water like I did as a kid in the swimming hole upriver from pa’s place. Not that we needed parachutes for landing on a Pacific island. Body bag shrouds were more helpful. \nRifle practice was a revelation to boys who grew up in big cities. Chicago gangsters cannot shoot rifles like backwoods boys used to shooting jackrabbits. My pa taught me to use a one when I was ten, and I have an accurate eye. My first shot in training barreled clean through the bull’s eye. Sergeant Barking thought it a fluke, beginner’s luck and guffawed. But his arraogant attitude towards me changed when I hit the bull’s eye three times in a row. He treated me with a modicum of respect by accepting me as a crack shot.\nI was aroused by a bugle fanfare. Had I been asleep? I had not slept in peace since Iwo Jima. But that day, I had the valedictory speech to give. I shuddered, seeing Billy’s face, fresh, like those graduating officers, now bones on that godforsaken island. The Officiating Officer beckoned me to mount the dais and stand behind the microphone. I climbed those steps, my heart beating like a tattoo at taps, reflecting that stepping off a landing craft was less of a challenge. But I cleared my throat, stood tall on the famed “woolly socks” ma knitted throughout the war, and began.\n‘It’s great to be with you on this proud day, boys. You are about to begin your career in the best of our great nation’s armed forces. I know you have overcome many hardships in trainingt to reach graduation. Your ability to lead in the most demanding circumstances is now razor-sharp. Keep it that way. It may save your life and the lives of your men. But be assured a great future awaits with every opportunity to be successful.\n Six years ago, I stood where you are today, and like you, I had hopes for my future. But the life I hoped for was not the one I was granted; the war intervened. I did my duty as an officer and a marine. But of the fifty officers who graduated with me, less than twenty returned unscathed, and many did not return. If the call comes as it did for me, give your all. That is what the Marine Corps demands of you.\nGo boldly into the world and send out a message to all of America’s foes that the you are members of the “best of the best”. As officers, hold your men in absolute trust and keep friends beside you wherever you may be. Remember those who have gone before -you walk in their footsteps. God bless and keep you always.’ \nI saluted and stepped back. At a sign from the bandmaster, everyone stood for Hail to the Chief. Men placed their right hand across their breast; if they had a right hand. The women dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs, and the children peeked at the medals on display. Then the bugler played The Last Post, and I was undone. Tears stuck in my eyes for nigh on three years flowed; tears for the thousands who did not live to see this day. Finally, I sat down and closed my eyes, my ears ringing. \n‘Corpsman,’ I shouted over the raucous din, but he did not hear -busy tending other injured men. Bodies littered the beach like fallen apples in an orchard, except it was no orchard - it was a slaughterhouse. I called my platoon to follow me, and we tried to get off the bloody beach. But within minutes we lost five more men. It is a cliché, but we were up to our necks in muck and bullets., But the muck was tenacious black sand, turning red in front of my eyes.\nMy wife Mary-Beth, with our son, little Billy, in her arms, shook my arm and smiled at me. She mouthed, ‘well said’. Despite the medals I wore, she knew they meant nothing. I was spared, and I had spoken for those who were not. Mary Beth knows the nights I hide in the closet, waiting for hell to end. The old Don lies with his buddy on that bloody beach. \nBut then, a voice broke my reverie. ‘Would you and your wife please join us for luncheon, Captain?’ The General spoke kindly, but I knew we could not accept. Little Billy needed his lunch, and I must escape this place and its associations.\n‘Thank you for the invitation, General, but we have our young son to consider and a flight to catch back to Missouri.’ \n The officer, his medals gleaming in the sunlight, bowed, raised his head and smiled -a smile that did not reach his eyes. He understood. We arrived in St Louis around five o’clock, with a long drive needed to return to our farm and to Branson. Little Billy did not sleep on the plane and grew fractious in Mary-Beth’s arms. We had told no one, but she was expecting our second child. We reached our ranch home around midnight. Mary Beth took herself and little Billy to bed. I was too tense to sleep, so with a glass of whisky on the side, I sat, reflecting in my favourite armchair and dozed.\n‘Christ Billy will you get ya feet off my bunk; they stink’.\n Billy grinned and removed one foot. ‘What’s it worth for the other, Don?’ \n‘A pair of my woolly socks?’ Billy removed the other foot and guffawed. I punched him playfully with a sock covered foot in his belly.\nThe swell causes the troopship to yaw, making many men seasick. Several of my platoons lay in their bunks, the stink of vomit overpowering. Grunts had little to do except grumble, play craps or poker and clean the vessel. As officers, we were supposed to keep our platoons busy, but it was a self-defeating task for it was mere repetition and we were bored too. Scuttlebutt bets were made on our destination, and I bet Billy five dollars on Iwo Jima. Finally, after three uncomfortable days, our destination was announced, and Billy owed me the five dollars.\n‘We are assigned to landing craft number six,’ I shouted to my platoon over the deafening roar of deck guns pounding the shore. ‘Get your gear together ‘cos when the guns stop and the enemy is softened, we cross to the beach.’ In theory, I said to myself, as the strategy did not work on Tarawa.\n Half an hour later, crammed into the craft, Billy’s platoon and mine were a combined unit. Our orders were to get the men off the beach and to attack the enemy positions. We could see nothing, trapped in the iron prison craft to hell, but we heard gunfire and blood-curdling screams. Suddenly, the ramp dropped, and we saw the sea below was crimson. We scrambled out and stepped waist-deep into that roiling bloody surf. Then, holding our rifles above our heads, we waded to the shore. The sand was volcanic, dark sugar tainted with cochineal. The enemy’s aim was so accurate that men dropped in serried ranks. I was right; Tarawa revisited. The enemy must have dug in somewhere because we could not see their guns. \n ‘Get your heads down, boys,’ I shouted as my feet crushed that sand. Billy and his men followed, all of us jumping over dead bodies. But within seconds we were flat on our bellies. Bullets buzzed everywhere like flies over a dead horse. Many marines were shot in their bellies as they scrambled from the surf, never making the beach. Some were wounded in the arm or leg; few seemed unscathed. \n I surveyed the scene through my field glasses, trying to determine our next move, when I heard Billy shout. ‘ Come on men let’s….’ he had lifted his head, and wham, he dropped to the sand, his words unfinished. I crawled to him and felt his pockets for the letter to his fiancé, Janice. I retrieved it and put it in my pocket with a message to Mary Beth.\n‘Keep your friggin’ heads down,’ I screamed to both platoons. ‘The enemy must be dug into the cliffs.’ I gazed around me. ‘Sergeant Major Larsson, I recommend you for a battlefield commission. Take charge of Lieutenant Baxter’s platoon.’ I moved flat on my belly while shouting more orders -a battle cry. ‘Move on, boys. Slither like rattlesnakes, and keep your frigging heads down. We gotta get off this frigging beach and massacre the bastards killing our brothers.’ \nI awoke with a start; Mary Beth shook my shoulder. ‘Come to bed, Don. You were screaming again and woke up Billy. Tomorrow you are going to see the shrink Doc Jones recommended. These nightmares have to end.’ She held out her hand, and I took it. She was right. All I had left were memories. All but one thing: Billy’s letter to his fiance. I had it, blooded but intact, among a box of fading photos and my silver star. I had to take the letter to New Jersey and deliver it in person. Then maybe Don could get off that beach and live again." } ]
[ { "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: Louisville Slugger\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2989\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone finding a treasure in an unexpected place." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I got the call when I was at the office. My wife Lachoncy told me about my grandfather Germaine Butler passing away at his nursing home while watching his shows. At ninety four, he lived a long life with six children, thirty some grandchildren and a dozen great-grandchildren including Corey, my seven year old son. \nHis daughter Allison was the only survivor of grandpa’s brood. She called me later that evening.\n“Keyton, you gotta be the executor of his estate.” She told me.\n“Why me?” I asked, cradling my phone between my chin and shoulder as I scooped out my dinner from the pot on the stove. \n“On account y’all are the lawyer.” She huffed. A retired school teacher, Aunt Allison was always huffed when one of us said something she considered stupid. I was a lawyer. First in my class and now a partner in a very successful law firm of Dutton, Huxley and Butler. I was proud of being the only African American partner in the firm. \nThis was part of being a lawyer that I did not care for since working pro bono for the family was not always the best use of my time. But I loved Grandpa Germaine. When I was a kid, he always made it a point to come to my little league games. Even though I had blazing speed when I got on base, getting on base was challenging for me since I was not a very proficient hitter. In high school, I tried football and basketball where being black was supposed to give me an advantage, but that’s now how it worked for me. \nAs it turned out my grades got me a scholarship to law school and the rest was history. I met Lachoncy Whitaker in my junior year and knew the first time I laid eyes on her, I knew she would be the mother of my children. I know that sounds like hype, but deep in my heart, I knew she was the one. \n“So Keyton, how’s things?” Grandpa Germaine would be sitting in his favorite chair at the facility when I got there. I would visit him every Friday night. I would stay for Bingo and help him with his card since his eyesight was fading. \n“I am fine, grandpa.” I would nod as I helped him out of his chair. From there, he would take my arm to steady himself as we walked into the cafeteria where they had set up the Bingo apparatus.\nAfter his funeral service, which was short and only a few folks attended, I drove over to his old house that we rented out to some tenants. I did not know what to do with the place, but I knew there was the attic where he had stored a lot of boxes he and Grandma Bertha had put their stuff. Old stuff. Stuff from when they were parents of six young children. Back then it was difficult for black folks to move into white neighborhoods, but Grandpa Germaine managed to do just that. Whenever I asked my aunts and uncles when they were all still alive, how he managed to break the color barrier as it was known, none of them really knew. Things just happened for Grandpa Germaine and no one really knew how. \nMrs. Timmons greeted me on the closed porch in the front of the two story home. She had lived there for twelve years with her six cats and her son who had some birth defect that restricted his thinking. I never used the term mentally retarded, because it hurt her feelings. She always felt she had something to do with it. \n“So sorry to hear about your grandfather.” She hugged me.\n“It was his time. The good Lord called him home.” I shrugged.\n“Still, he was a decent, kind man.” She put her arms by her side.\n“I am going to clean out the attic.” I told her as I opened the door.\n“All those boxes.” She shook her head.\n“I am bringing a U-haul later on.” I explained.\nThe house had been refurbished into two apartment units from the original open floor design. The staircase served as the physical divider to the two apartment units. I climbed the stairs and marched to the pull down ladder.\nOnce scaling the wobbly ladder, I stood in the attic which seemed to have ghosts leaking out of the shadows since light was not natural up here. Grandma had come up here just before she passed away from cancer to arrange her things in a neat row of boxes. Picking up one of the boxes, I did not want to open it, because she had taken such care to put her things just so. \nThe other side of the attic were Grandpa Germaine’s things. There was no arrangement or attempt to organize his belongings. His things were scattered about in a disorganized heap. I could almost hear him chuckle as I attempted to put things into neater piles, but found the task daunting. \nI moved a box on a makeshift shelf and something rolled off and fell to the floor with a clatter. When I checked what had rolled off the shelf, I saw a baseball bat lying near my feet. \nI picked up the bat. It felt good in my hands as I struck the pose of a batter stepping up to home plate. Holding the bat felt like shaking hands with one of the old Yankees from Murder’s Row that included Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. Weighing just forty ounces, the Louisville Slugger, made of maplewood, felt like a mighty weapon in the hands of a god. I took a swing. So smooth, I wondered where this piece of fine art had been when I tried my hand at playing the game.\nIn history class, I learned that Branch Rickey had signed Jackie Robinson to a contract with the Brooklyn Dodgers. He would become the African American to play in the major leagues, breaking the color bar. His struggle to break such a long held tradition made him one of my true boyhood heroes. \nI took a few more healthy swings of the Louisville Slugger before putting it into the pile with the rest of the things. \nAfter dinner, I drove Corey to his little league game. His coach Henry Wilcox told me that Corey had a lot of potential. I made sure to practice with him at least twice a week, but the firm was taking up a lot of my time lately.\n“Are you gonna get a hit?” Grandpa would call to me as he hung onto the fence before I walked to the plate.\n“I will do my best, grandpa.” I winked at him, but watched three fastballs whiz by me before the umpire called, “Strike three.” \n“You’ll get them next time.” He smiled as I slunk back to the dugout feeling ashamed and disappointed with my futile attempt. \n“Dad, what was Grandpa Germaine like?” He asked.\n“He served in the war.” I answered.\n“What war?” \n“World War Two.” I held up two fingers as we waited at a stop light.\n“He was a soldier?” \n“He was a hero according to Grandma Bertha.” I nodded.\n“He was?” \n“According to her, yes.” I smiled.\n“I’m gonna get a hit for him tonight.” Corey said with enthusiasm. \n“You do that.” I encouraged him. \nMy Uncle Donald told me that Germaine was given a medal after the Battle of the Bulge. Grandma Bertha had the medal put in a shadow box and hung it in the front room so everyone could see the medal they gave him for his bravery. \nAs a boy, I remember how the whole Butler family got together for Sunday dinner after spending a very long hour at church. Those were very happy times for me and I would listen to all the family gossip and who was doing what.\n“They shot him in Nashville.” Aunt Allison was nearly in tears as she spoke.\n“Who?” My mother asked as she poured the gravy over her mashed potatoes.\n“Reverend King.” Auntie Allison sniffed.\n“That man was such a good man. He done a lot of good for us Negroes.” Grandpa Germaine added. \nWe were quiet during that dinner and I felt the weight push down on my head and shoulders.\n“Such a shame.” Grandma Bertha shook her head. \n“Where on earth did you get this?” Roberto Sanchez asked when I laid the bat on the counter of his pawn shop.\n“It belonged to my grandpa.” I answered, “Or at least I found it in his attic.” \n“This is a bat a professional player would use.” Roberto picked up the bat and swung it a few times, “Man, this is a classic.” \n“How much?” I asked as my eyes studied Roberto who was handling the Louisville Slugger, “Maple is the finest wood for hitting the ball.” \n“Really.” I whistled.\n“The manufacturer only made a limited number of these bats, making sure that only the professionals got these beauties.” He put the bat on the glass counter near the cash register.\n“How much?” I repeated.\n“I do not have enough money in my drawer to buy this. I won’t cheat you, man.” He shook his head, handing me the bat. “It’s a work of art.” \nAunt Allison was sitting on her porch when I drove into her driveway.\n“Hey there boy.” She stood up and waved as I approached. “Whacha got there?”\n“A Louisville Slugger.” I answered as I stepped up to her porch. \n“Where dija git it?” She smiled as I handed her the bat.\n“In Grandpa’s attic.” I watched her run her hands over the smooth surface of the dark wood.\nHer smile disappeared. “Some things are better off where they is.” \nHer response surprised me a bit.\n“He gave it up in 1950 when the Homestead Grays played their last game. He was thirty five back then. I was just an infant who hadn’t started walking then.” She shook her head and then lit a cigarette. “He never did tell me the whole story.” \n“Whole story?” I was perplexed.\n“He never told many folks about them days.” She put her hand on my knee as I sat next to her in the chair. “I know’d what he must have felt back then. My oldest brother Joshua told me some of it.”\n“What did he say?” My interest had been piqued. \n“He said dad was a player for the Homestead Grays back when he got discharged from the Army.” She closed her eyes. “They was in the Negro Leagues on account no Negroes was supposed to play in the major leagues.” \n“Why not?” \n“On account them boys was afraid that a Negro would be a lot better than their best.” She laughed, “Ain’t no such thing. I know a Negor, Henry Aaron broke Babe Ruth’s homerun record back in 1974. It was destined to happen.” \nWe both laughed. \n“But seriously, my pa was a star player with the Grays from Washington D.C. In his short time with them, he hit two hundred homeruns. He wouldda hit more, but after five years, the Negro League was no more.” She sat back and let the rays of the setting sun settle in the deep lines of her skin. “He tried out with the New York Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers, but them boys wanted nothing to do with an aging slugger. He wouldda hit a bunch more if they let him, but it wasn’t to be.” \nI sat there stunned. All of the stories we had told around the table on Sundays when he was alive, I had never heard one word about any of this.\n“I can’t believe he never said a thing.” I shook my head.\n“Wanna go for a drive?” Aunt Allison asked. “I wanna show ya something.” \n“What?” \n“You’ll see when you get there.” She put her hand on my cheek. \n“Alright.” I agreed and we walked to my car.\nShe directed me across the city to a place that looked abandoned. She had me park in what appeared to be a vacant warehouse.\n“This is the place.” Aunt Allison said gleefully.\nOn a crudely hand-painted sign hanging over the door read a single word, “Museum.” \n“Hello Mr. Tyler.” Aunt Allison waved to a man in a dirty flannel shirt and stained overalls.\n“Pleasure to see you, Ali.” He hustled over to us. “I was just about to close up. Ain’t got many visitors today.” He put his finger on the sign in pad, “Looks like just one.” \n“This here is my nephew, Keyton.” She said as her head swiveled around the spacious warehouse.\n“Pleasure to meecha.” He shook my hand.\n“My grandpa just died.” I nodded.\n“You don’t say.” Mr. Tyler sniffed.\n“We laid my poor old father to rest, Germaine Butler.” She said, wiping a single tear from her eye. \n“Germaine is gone?” Tyler appeared hurt. \n“It’s true.” She wiped another tear with her handkerchief. \n“My deepest condolences.” He bowed his head and then took Aunt Allison’s hand. Turning to me after seeing the Louisville Slugger in my hand, “And what do we have here?”\nI handed it to him, “Found this in the attic.” \n“Holy Moses. This was his bat. The one he used for the Grays.” Jerome Tyler whistled. \n“It’s yours. I have no use for it.” I said.\n“Son, words cannot describe how grateful I am to you.” He appeared as if he might shed a few tears as he stood there holding the bat. “Follow me. I have a special place for this.” \nI did as he said. He led me to a small room. The walls were lined with glass cases like the ones in a fancy museum. There were tinny old pictures and names encased along with some baseball memorabilia.\n“Here is my shrine.” He spread his arms, “Everything I have collected from the Homestead Grays of Washington in the Negro Leagues. Most folks don’t pay it much mind, but there are those of us who treasure the memories they give to us.”\n“Negro League?” \n“Sure enough. Most of these players were good enough to play in the bigs, but the color of their skin kept them from suiting up.” He walked to a glass case. I could not believe my eyes. Written on a placard, ‘Germaine 'Jackrabbit’ Butler (1945 to 1950) League Batting Champion 1947.” \n“This was your grandpa.” He opened the case and gently, with the love of a true fan, placed the Louisville Slugger among the display so everyone could see it. “He tried out for some of the teams in 1951, but by then he was too old for most of them.”\n“How old was he?” I asked, admiring the display and running my fingers along the cool glass.\n“I reckon he was about forty years old.“ He scratched his stubbly chin\n“Forty?” I was taken aback for a moment. “That means he was over a hundred years old when he passed away last week. I was told he was ninety.”\n“He come out of Virginia where they don’t keep records on us Colored folks. I reckon he was around a hundred years old.” Jerome smiled.\nI looked at my aunt who shrugged, “No one really knew how old he was and to us, it really didn’t seem to matter.” \nAunt Allison was right. The memory of him I was left with didn’t have an age, he just was.\n“I was told he was the fastest man on the team.” Jerome glanced at Aunt Allison and nodded. \nThere was a picture of him in his Grays uniform, much younger than my memory of him.\nHow I wish I could have seen him in action.\n“Keyton, I have to go gets a few things at the store up yonder.” She pointed, “Y’all can catch bus home if you’d like.” \n“I will do that.” I waved as she walked out.\n“Whadda think?” Jerome said proudly\n“I want to thank you.” I sighed.\n“Weren’t me.” He shrugged.\nI nodded and walked out of the warehouse. I heard a loudspeaker about a block away and as I got closer I could hear what the announcer said, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another game at Griffith Stadium where the Homestead Grays are taking on the Cleveland Buckeyes in the Negro League World Series. Some of the newer members of the team have just returned from the army such as Germain ‘Jackrabbit’ Butler who will be hitting leadoff.”\nI stood there awestruck. Somehow I had stepped into 1945 without any idea how I had done it.\n“Are you going to stand there like a statue or are you going to buy a ticket to the greatest game you will ever see?” The woman ticket agent asked.\n“I’m gonna buy a ticket.” I pulled my wallet out.\n“Six bucks.” She smiled. I put the money in front of her and grabbed the ticket she held out to me. “Enjoy.” \nI walked into Griffith Park where the Grays were taking batting practice in their distinctive uniforms. The seats were filling up. Everyone was chattering with excitement.\n“Heard that Butler kid is as fast as grease lightning.” I heard one of the spectators reply. \nEveryone got quiet as the Cleveland pitcher finished his warm up pitches and Germaine Butler got settled into the batter’s box waving his Louisville Slugger above his head. The sky was a pale blue as if it had been painted by John Constable. There was a refreshing breeze blowing in from right field. I could see the capitol dome in the distance. \nThe dramatic moment had arrived as the pitcher went into his wind up and threw the ball toward home plate. There was a crack as bat met ball. I cheered with the crowd in this field of dreams I had found myself in." } ]
[ { "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: Daring adventures\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1019\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Are you coming tonight\" said the tomboy virsa ,of course he will come with me and not a dirty slut like you,you know something why don't you look for a nerd boy and a guy guy to go to prom with , because I know that nobody will be willing to go with a slut like you and don't even dare to talk to James again because if you so I will make your life a living hell and I have a lot of ways to do so, you know what I mean,right? Don't worry Sena I will not come in your way of your relationship and am sorry if you think I am stealing your boyfriend from you but if he wants to cheat ,I am here for him, I would caress him and seduce him till he pleads me, virsa said while she touched James on the shoulder and kissed his cheek, everybody in the cafeteria started laughing until it was time for class, they all hurriedly went to their classes to avoid punishment because it was Mr.pasmon who was on duty the wicked teacher, everybody hated him for to sending at least 20 people to the principal a week for suspension , sometimes she gets on the nerves of even the teachers and they end up fighting with themselves, sometimes a teacher gets suspended whiles fighting with Mr.padmon.One day,Mr.pasmon came to class in an angry mood and just smashed one of the face of the stubborn boy in the class without an explanation,he was sent to the principals office and he was suspended , Mr.padmon wasn't sometimes all the students thinks that Mr.padmon and the principal are gay partners and am beginning to think like that because I saw Mr.pasmon and the principal hugging and kissing themselves in the office, I didn't want to see the rest because i felt disgusted and didn't want to get suspended by seeing all the stuffs those men were doing,it was rumored that Mr.padmon and the principal had been conspiring in a bank where they first worked and wanted to rob the bank,but it was backfired when the one of the employees told the boss and they were fired,they had always planned together and I think they will always plan,the day for the daring competition came when everybody had to do some absurd stuffs without being shy and uncomfortable, everybody was happy because some would kiss their crushes and others their boyfriends,I was happy because I wanted to see what will happen between Mr. Padmon and the principal everybody was happy and wanted the week to end in order for the competition to start,but the day moved slowly and we almost cursed the week,our happiest week came , friends from other school came because they had vacated and wanted to also have fun ,even the richest people in the town came to join us,we started in the morning, chatting with foreigners and others and practicing languages ,we were very happy a boy named Jason who came from France came to me and asked if I would like to be his girlfriend for the night,and of course I accepted because it was just for the night and he was very handsome that I couldn't refuse him,he held my hand and kissed it and came to my shoulder and kissed it came to my neck and kissed it,I quickly pushes him away when he tried to kiss my lips, I told him I wasn't ready for this and so I can't , he looked upset but he gave me a fake smile. I quickly went to the cafeteria to get some fresh air,soon the principal called all of us to the assembly hall to start the program , everybody sat on the ground with their dates and friends and others which they didn't know,they all started by telling virsa ro kiss the Jason,I wasn't happy but I kept it to myself because I didn't want James to find out about my feelings,of course virsa did kiss Jason but he pushed her right after her lips touched his,I could see he wasn't pleased at all and went to sit beside him and chatted alot,they dared me to give Jason a tight kiss and I did ,I expected James to react but he didn't he just stood there like a kid and kept looking at me with a horrible look,I could see Jason was pleased and wanted more but he controlled himself ,I sat there beside him close to me and never wanted to let him go I wanted him to be mine forever, but the day was over and we had to go to our domeitory and so we kissed each other goodnight and went to our rooms, I taught of him while sleeping , I stood up to go and take water from the kitchen because I was thirsty,when I reached there I was shocked,it was virsa and James having a nice moment together ,they were caressing each other and seducing themselves being naked,I stood there looking at them while moaning virsa kept on , I saw Mr. Padmon coming and hid myself to not being see and of course virsa and James were caught and he didn't send them to the principal but collected money from them and told them to continue with what they were doing , I wanted to puke and scream but I didn't want to get suspended and therefore went to my room with tears and shock ,I had never seen a corrupt and disgusting people like padmon,virsa and james.i felt restless not wanting to sleep but later on went to bed feeling restless and uncomfortable wanting the night to end faster to get out of the school.30 minutes later I woke up with the sun shining right on me,I hurriedly took a shower ,brushed and wore my dress and went outside to have my breakfast there,I was happy because I had a peace of mind , it all turned blank when I saw Mr.padmon,virsa and James coming towards me I run heather skelter shouting for help." } ]
[ { "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 Three Laws of Friendship\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2247\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an introvert and an extrovert who are best friends." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Honestly, I had never been a fan of those cliché rom-com plots which try to condense the originality of the laws of physics and the order of the universe into the philosophy of human life. I mean, taking the beautiful and more importantly, scientific theory of ‘opposites attract’ which states that ‘each subatomic particle in the universe, positively or negatively charged attempts to attain the state of neutrality and thereby, stability, by seeking to form a bond with its diametrically opposing body’ and generalising it to human relationships is…repulsive, to say the least.\nLikewise, I am pretty sure great scientists like Mendeleev and Sir Humphry Davy wouldn’t be so proud when they realise the way their great discoveries of elements have been put to use: for creating petty puns which people think are ‘sodium funny’. I mean, I too crack jokes about chemistry and elements, but at least I do that only periodically. \nAnd these actions of Homo sapiens are exactly what has made me hate biology. And human philosophy. \nUntil I met a certain someone, who made me question my these very beliefs. \n\nWith straight As in all my subjects, preference for solitude, and my insatiable curiosity for science, I had successfully gained the reputation of being a ‘nerd’, enough to keep all the self-proclaimed ‘cool’ kids from bothering me. And being the only student in the school’s library club, life couldn’t have been better for me. That was, until I graduated middle school. \nAs much as our world categorises human beings as social animals, they ought to respect those who beg to differ. And respecting opinions is where we lag. At least my school does, for the first news I heard upon setting foot in the school as a high schooler was that the library club had been scrapped off due to ‘lack of participation and coherent reasons’. Now, I am usually a rather calm and collected person, but that was the perhaps one of the few times I had felt the emotion characterized by antagonism toward someone or something you feel has deliberately done you wrong, or in other words, anger. But debating about it wasn’t going to change things, and for all I knew, it would have only made things worse, for I never enjoyed debating or heated arguments, and I’d always end up withdrawing myself in the face of emotional conflicts. \nSo here I was, on the first day of my freshman year of high school, analysing all possible options and carefully calculating the ratio of the amount of individual work to work which involved directly interacting with people, so as to best determine a club which would suit me, but my trail of thoughts were fast interrupted as I was tapped on the shoulder from behind. Turning around, I was met with the sports coach, with his powerful head of black hair and muscular hands on his hips, staring down at me with his piercing brown eyes from atop a height of almost 6 feet. I had known him since elementary school. Each year, he had been taking physical education classes for my section. And for the sake of my grades, I had attended each class diligently, so much so that I ended up having the maximum attendance most of the years in sports. So it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise when he asked, or rather, tried to persuade me to join his club - the boys’ volleyball club, upon knowing that I was yet to choose one. However, sports had never been my area of interest, especially team sports, ones which involve what people like to call ‘chemistry’ between players. I, therefore, tried to turn down the request politely, providing a few reasons like ‘My schedule is quite busy for after-school practices’ and ‘I have never really played competitive volleyball before’, but none of them seemed to be convincing enough for him to budge from his stance. And if there was one thing I was bad at, it was turning down requests and saying ‘no’ to people. It was as if my mind was sending perfectly woven threads of words up to my mouth, only for them to come out as shattered pieces of ‘uh’, ‘um’, ‘well’ and the like. And taking advantage of my inability to decline, the coach put his seal of victory onto this conversation by saying, ‘Just try it, I am sure you are going to love it. I see potential in you’ and before I could realise, I was being dragged towards the volleyball gymnasium, my feet begging me to use them for once, for stopping and running away, as the rubber soles of my shoes screeched and screamed against the polished wooden surface. \nI could feel my heart palpitating profusely, scolding me, as I stood there, at the entrance of the court, regretting every single life choice I had ever made. However, paradoxically enough, I was saved from my own reprimanding self by getting smacked in the face by a volleyball which seemed to appear out of nowhere, sending me flying onto the ground, and I swear, to this day I believe my nose is slightly dispositioned than where it should have been. As my overheated, scrunched up face relaxed a bit for my eyes to painfully open, I could see a a tall, scrawny boy crouching down beside me, a gleam in his eyes as he wonderingly stared at me. An apologetic smile made its way onto his rather pale and freckled face as our eyes met.\n‘Are you okay? I’m sorry, I got a bit carried away that I didn’t notice you were standing there.’\n‘It’s-it’s okay’ I replied, following which he beamed me a bashful smile, ‘Westwood. Levi Westwood. Pleased to meet you!’\n‘Yeah, um, Luca Evans, nice to meet you too.’\n‘So you are our new member, huh? Well that’s awesome! At least I’m not the only freshman in this team now, so what position do you play? I’m a Wing Spiker you see, and am aiming to be the next ace of Evonhill High, ain’t that cool!’ he said, motioning his arm forward and backwards in a powerful way, as I flinched a bit, not wanting to suffer any more injuries. \nHonestly, I was slightly taken aback by his rather, well, chirpy nature and internally worried about my fate at the club. For all it seemed as of now, I was nowhere near fitting in. \n‘Yeah, that-that’s cool. Well, the setter’s the only position I have ever played, so…’ I said, with the end of my sentence practically trailing off, dullness evident in my tone. To be frank, the only times I had ever played volleyball before was among my cousins, as a setter, since I found it the best out of the worst, so to say, as it at least gave me little individual space. \nHowever, something about this sentence seemed to have struck an instant chord with him, for I saw his eyes gradually widen as he drew his lips together in an ‘O’ shape before letting them spread across his face in a wide smile as he mumbled, ‘It’s a match made in heaven, and that collision was our Big Bang…’\nA moment of silence ensued between us during which he and I gaped at each other, one hopefully and the other hopelessly. \n\n*\n\nTwo months into the club, and not a day passed without me not knowing every single detail of Levi’s day. In fact, we had reached a point where I think I could have qualified to write a whole biography of his life, and the thought that I might have more knowledge about his life than my own had crossed my mind more times than I would have liked it to.\nAnd just when I thought things couldn’t have been better between us, His Majesty decided to bless me by becoming the personification of my worst fear - science jokes, and following them by proudly going about spreading them across the world like the plague. In fact, I don’t think I had ever experienced real cringe before his jokes traumatised me forever, making my ears bleed till the point I thought I’d be better off without them. \nBut that was not all. I was yet to experience the realversion of other things as well. Including fear. For one fine day when he had miraculously taken a leave, my eyes, which had once been so loyal to me, had wandered off in search of him. The day I had thought would be most peaceful was spent in my ears playing science jokes in his voice, the day I thought I didn’t have to put up with his goofy antics saw me putting up some of them instead. It was as if he was some sort of a wild force that had set forward a motion of changes in my calm and quiet life. And most importantly, or rather, ironically, it was in the physics period that day that my brain started to think like him, for it successfully managed to generalise Newton’s first law of motion to our ‘friendship’, \n\n ‘an object at rest, stays at rest…‘, \n‘…unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.’\n\n\n\nIt wouldn’t be wrong to say that over time, Levi had become the backbone of our team. Not only in terms of spiking, but also in terms of our morale. His passion for the sport was infectious, his energy contagious. Don’t get me wrong though, his antics did give me second hand embarrassment, and still do, however I can’t help but smile when I watch him doing his wild celebrations every time we score a point.\nHe practically breathes the game, lives the game, but that comes with its own price, for if the game goes downhill, so does Levi. And the acceleration with which that man goes downhill causes him to hit a point where he crashes completely, thereby absolutely refusing to cooperate. And it is not just Levi going downhill, but he pulls the whole team down with him, as he goes straight from being the most flattering cheerleader to the most brutal and inexorable critic, thereby crushing our momentum completely. \nAnd trust me, there is nothing harder as a setter than to keep up the momentum of the game with Mr. Pendulum Mood Swings being the driving force of our team. But, I’m not even surprised, for Newton did warn us about it with through his second law of motion, didn’t he?\n\n‘The rate of change of momentum is directly proportional to force.’\n\nThe first time I noticed this, was during one of our Inter-High matches, when I could practically see the crash coming. And though I didn’t mean to, the corner of my lip betrayed me and turned slightly upwards. And of all the things Levi could have observed in that fraction of a second, he chose to observe that, and well, got the wrong idea. \nLet’s just say that was the end of me. \nAnd our game. \n\n**\n\nAnd as I stand here on the court today for one last time, ready to cradle the ball in my fingertips for what was perhaps going to be our last point together, a plethora of emotions engulfs me around its warm arms. \nMy eyes which had once deemed the court lights to be too painfully bright were now striving to take in as much as they could before the light extinguishes. My ears which had once deemed the sound of the rubber shoes as screeching and screaming were now trying to get hold of each melody they produced. And my heart, which had once been beating so rapidly, so as to barge out of my chest and escape from everything, was now knocking incessantly onto my chest to come out and witness for itself the moment, especially hisflight into the air, one last time and engrave it onto itself forever. \nI didn’t have to worry about his ‘crashes’ anymore, since over time, I’d learnt to drive his car. And he, on the other hand, had become the brightest headlights my car was missing, bringing into my view all the adventurous roads I’d earlier been missing. \nWith each spin the ball makes above my head, it sends towards me a new memory, until it swiftly lands into my hands, easing the twitching sensation in my fingertips as I release it upwards, for his soaring form to go after it, like the mighty eagle, and flap his wing forward (no, this time I did not flinch) and send it across the net till…the final whistle of our victory. \nI don’t know what has taken over me, but surely, it isn’t me who is controlling my body right now. Nope, it isn’t my style to jump around the court as all the air that had been stored inside my lungs till now bellows out through my throat, but I’m doing it, as he watches from across, his eyes wonderingly staring at me as they had did then, his mouth making the same ‘O’ shape before spreading across his pale and freckled face.\nIt’s as if during these three years, our souls had been secretly trading their parts with each other, unbeknownst to us both. If my soul had given his soul some ice, his had given some fire to me. For Sir Isaac Newton’s third law of motion does say, \n\n‘Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.’" } ]
[ { "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 Cost of Fitting In\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1479\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who everyone thinks is an extrovert, but is actually an introvert." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I want to scream. I need to. There are too many people here and it’s messing with my head. I hardly know anyone here and I hate everyone I do know. I hate Ruby for bringing me here. She went around announcing my existence to everyone. People keep approaching me and starting conversations, but they really can’t take a hint, even though I’m naturally good at making friends. I’ve even pushed away Oscar now because I’m so irritated. Normally, I can manage parties but I’m not in the mood tonight. I went out last night and am still worn out. I hope Ruby regrets setting me up for this when the party’s over. I’m slouching in the corner gripping onto a cheap plastic cup, half-empty with fruit punch that’s too acidic, while I’m constantly checking my phone like my life depends on it. Nothing else matters right now other than the time. My brain is overloading with calculations. Calculating how much time I have left idling in this room of torture, or if I could pull a Houdini. If you know me well enough, you’d figure out that the Houdini is one of my favourite tactics. But I don’t use it as often as you think. \nI don’t fancy missing drama and petty fights – I learned that the hard way. I did it a couple times and missed the major headline at school the following week. I had an emotional breakdown since I didn’t have a clue about it and therefore, nobody would speak to me after. I persevered in getting someone to explain and listening to cafeteria conversations but couldn’t pick up anything. Nobody could be bothered taking a couple minutes out to tell me the story, so I constantly got ignored. I couldn’t even make commentary or get a word in at all. All the information I had (if any) wasn’t enough to piece together the story. Someone mentioned it earlier this week, so I told Beth what I heard. I was confused why she just stared at me with a straight face the whole time. I finished my lecture and we stood in silence for a second. It immediately got awkward. \nShe responded in a monotone, “Katie, you know that was last year?” Humiliation at its finest. Goddamn, Beth, that was harsh! My confidence was knocked after that when I thought I was already deprived enough of my self-esteem. \n“Right, yeah, sorry.” I literally hid my embarrassment under my jumper. My red, blushing face was shielded underneath the cotton layers like a turtle inside its shell. At that point, I wished I had just stuck around the whole time. My excuse for leaving so early was that I was tired. \nWhat my peers don’t realise is how exhausting my social life is - and don’t get me wrong, I do love all my friends, but sometimes I just wish I could have some time for myself. I hear stories all the time about people getting to chill up on the sofa and watch Netflix with popcorn or curl up in bed with pizza. Snoozing on the weekends without a care in the world. I only wish I could be one of them. Instead, my weekends are filled with being surrounded by friends, going out shopping and dining, travelling around town, doing various activities I never thought I’d do, staying out until after dark. Which obviously means lots of walking. It’s fun for a while but when your calendar is so packed like mine, you just wish you were an introvert. However, I hated being an introvert which is how I ended up here. Now all my energy is going towards keeping the extrovert mask on. The only one who understands is Alex. He’s been by my side since we were 5. I met him on the first day of school, when I was a loner because I refused to speak to anyone. He didn’t have a clue what was wrong with me then, but he never gave up in getting to know me. I was the one giving in at that point and I just had to start talking to him. Our friendship grew from there – he was the only other kid who would play with me during breaktime. What would I have done otherwise? Probably wander around. Play on the play equipment by myself. Lay on the grass watching the sun and look stupid doing it. Sit in a corner watching everyone else play. \nWhich is what I’m still doing now, except I’m at a party watching everyone else gossip about trivial matters. Like when you have extended family over whom you haven’t seen for ages, and they want a catch-up on everything that’s happened to you since you last saw them. Not the case here – everyone in here sees each other every day. Some of them at school, others at the skate park down the road from the corner shop or the football pitch at the other end of the neighbourhood. Sometimes, I go down skateboarding with Ruby or watching Alex and Oscar playing a round of footie with the other boys – that is, if I have the energy to pull through. The boys in these teams are interchangeable, and so are the friends I hang out with. I wouldn’t mind hanging out with my whole friend group at once every now and then but some of them have beef with each other and others have contrasting schedules, so it doesn’t work out. I think most of them managed to clear their schedules for tonight. The one time where I get something I’ve always wanted; I’ve ruined it for myself. I’ll just stare down into my hollow cup pensively for the next couple of hours or so and take swigs of my juice every now and then. Since I’ve already screwed up and let my vulnerable side take centre stage, I’ll just be the wallflower this time round. At least I can be here to see how tipsy everyone is or the fights bubbling under the surface. Only an hour left. My legs are wearing out, even as I lean against the wall, but I won’t sit down. The view’s intriguing up here. All I can do now is hope that this will all be worth it in the end. \nIt’s 3am and everyone’s gone home drunk as hell. That includes me, but only a little bit from the two cups of fruit punch which isn’t strongly-alcoholic anyway if I’m honest - enough that I could drive home if I had a car and driving license. I don’t think I would drink that again. I flop down on my bouncy mattress, looking forward to 5 hours of sleep. My phone rings and who is it? Ruby, of course. Clearly, she hasn’t had enough. She can never get enough. I decline the call because I’m too weary to talk anymore. And she’s decided to text me instead. Must be urgent. \nAre you at home? \nGreat. Oh, don’t tell me she wants to come over. I’ve had enough of people today. \nUh no. \nTime to summon my bag of lies. I don’t think I’ll be speaking to her (or anyone) for the next 24 hours after what I’ve been through tonight. \nAre you sure? \nNot really, I just don’t want to see you right now. \nYeah, I’m sure. \nWhat are you doing then? \nI don’t know, what am I doing? Or rather, what would I be doing if I wasn’t at home? \nWaiting for my McDonald’s. I’m hungry. \nFalse. I currently have no appetite, now let me sleep. \nCOME MEET US OUTSIDE \nAre you there? \nALMOST \nWell, because I’m not. \nOkay, see you in a minute. \nWE CAN’T SEE YOU, KATIE \nI’m fed up with telling any more lies. \nGot my food, on my way home now. Meet me there at lunch tomorrow. xx \nMy phone beeps again and I’ve decided to ignore it from now on until I can be bothered replying. I check my phone one last time so I can think of a reply for when I wake up. \nAre you coming back to Ammy’s house next week? \nI'll give my definitive answer later. I might be putting myself through the vicious cycle and worsening my social fatigue even more, but I don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to miss this one. Social gatherings overwhelm me with anxiety as soon as I step in, but the minute I leave, I’m desperate to go back for more. As soon as I cut myself off from the chaos, the withdrawal symptoms kick in. When I’ve built an endless social network like this, I know it’ll be worth my energy and sleep-deprivation in the end. When I know everybody like my family. \nBecause that, ladies and gentlemen, is the cost of fitting in." } ]
[ { "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: Mom\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1096\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an introvert and an extrovert who are best friends." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Mom\nI am in the kitchen garden with my mother. The light has faded and the dusk is advancing. I tuck my trousers into my boots and crouch slightly and meticulously look at the fully-fledged radish about which I always grumbled. I never loved the astringent taste of radish and, even when my mother loves it with butter, I never preferred it in any manner. But today, I am glancing at it like never before because it is something you will rarely find in the north.\n I stopped short. Something soft and squishy had hit my back. I looked back swiftly. It was mud. Had it been yesterday, I would have yelled,\" C'mon mom.\" with barely suppressed anger in my eyes. But today, I am smirking cringingly looking at her eyes because I know that the radish is rare in the north but, I get the affection only here.\n * * * \nEvery time I look into her eyes, I wonder. I wonder how she is so audacious. How can she ignore the way I can't ignore them? She is always so proud but still not conceited. \nFour months ago, when it was an end-year celebration, I was seated cross-legged on the couch in the living room. He was standing at the door, incessantly murmuring like an intoxicated bacchanalian and sometimes squabbling over the girls with a tight smile on the face. I was wearing my favorite dress. Yes, that one! that pink off-shoulder bodycon dress, hoping that he would smile at me, but neither did he smile nor did I dare to talk to him. I could just do the thing I did in the last 4 years of college; glance at him until he disappeared just like the swift cold breeze.\nI was not astounded but disappointed. I knew that we didn't share any similarities. We are clefted apart by the color of the blanket which covers us. We are clefted apart by the smooth surface of money. But the girls with whom he squabbles are rich, beautiful, and extrovert. In my case, it's only my mother who thinks I have a benevolent appearance. It was only my mother who told me that I looked elegant in my favorite dress. It's only my mother who thinks I prattle a lot because I only dare to talk with her. But in college, I was always a reticent bookish hit by a superiority complex. \nBut, to be honest, I was never hit by a superiority complex; I had hit the introvert wall.\n * * \nI and mother return home from the kitchen garden. She twists the cylindrical lockset and welcomes me to the kitchen.\n Sometimes I look at her hands and ponder. The curved wrinkles in her hands are very similar to her curly strands that are no longer black. Her eyes are no more glittering, her legs are delicate, and timely hurt unless they are massaged with lukewarm mustard oil. Still, she is adamant like a banyan tree and confident like a snow-capped tall mountain. I ponder, how confident I would be if only she gives me 10 percent of her confidence. Probably I would confident just like a craggy peak or a giant volcano.\n My mother, my superwoman, and my best friend worked to the last atom of her strength only for me. And now, when she needs me the most, I am leaving her. \n * * \nNow, I am fearing if she will change; her absurd jokes, cringy giggle, fairy tales, and what not! I don't want oldness to ruffle her hair again, because I have seen that people become lonely and wicked after they become very old. And, there is nothing scarier than a vacant dilapidated building and a lonely and wicked person.\nAs an introvert, I always find it difficult to socialize. In the very first week, when I was admitted to the elementary school, I was bullied and ragged. The only thing I could do was weep and grumble about them to my mother. But, my mother didn't let me sob the next day. She wrote a complaint letter to the principal on the very same day. Since then, I was never bullied. But now, I am wondering to whom should I complain if someone rags me in the university in the north.\nBy now, the meat is ready. Grilled marinated meat relished with some fancy ingredients on the top. It is just wow and surely classy for us. Had it been yesterday, mother would have already ensconced in the bed by now and I would have been lying on the sofa; scrolling down through 'his' Instagram account like a crazy stalker or convincing myself to text him.\nMother calmly puts a chunk of meat into my favorite plate. I sigh. I have always been a fussy eater but now I cannot resist. \nShe settles herself on the next chair beside me and pours the coke into the glasses which were last used on her birthday. \n\"All the best for your future, girl.\" she clinks her glass against my crystal with a beaming smile on her face. I nod slowly.\n * * *\nWe are doing the packaging now. I have always been sophisticated and suave at packing. My mother packs everything messily but, I pack the clothes into neat piles. I keep my room spic and span and I hate it when things are not in order. I put the sweaters into the suitcase where there were already some books stacked against each other. \nMom is searching for my novels on the shelf of neatly arranged books. Every second, when I am folding the clothes to adjust them into the suitcase, I am pondering, the pressure is increasing, the temperature is decreasing and I am questioning myself that should I tell her or not.\n\"Mom!\" I said awkwardly.\nHer moving hands stop.\n\"Mom, I can't..... I am not like you... Even when I try to interact with my friends, I start trembling. Then how can I adjust there?.. I won't go there, mom. I won't..... Everyone hates me. I only want to be with you...\" I said and started to weep until my vision blurred.\nShe slows her breathing down. My lips are shaking and hands are frozen. Mom sits beside me, puts her hand on my cheeks, and slowly shift it to my shoulder. I still feel a prickle of fear.\n\"I am always with you.\" she lovingly kisses me on the forehead. And we glare at the loving sky all 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: L'odeur of Summer 1794\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1091\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with your character(s) going to buy some flowers." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Find us a good place to sit, Suzanne. In front of the scaffold, but not too close.” \n“Absolument. I know just the spot.”\n“I will be back shortly.”\n“Where are you going, Jacqueline?”\n“To buy a nosegay.”\n“Who's selling flowers on such a day?”\n“There's a stall near the tumbrels—next to the prisoner carts. The lilacs have bloomed.”\n“Lilacs!”\n“Oui, lilacs. Why not lilacs? They’ll match my dress.”\n“Mon Dieu! Are you sprucing up for the gendarme?” \n“Would you fault me for it? John-Paul is tall, strapping—like my Raphaël was.”\n“John-Paul is an excellent national guardsman. He proved himself yesterday when the executioner needed a strong hand. How the marquis slipped the blocks before the blade fell is a mystery.”\n“Only to make a botch of the whole thing. The blade took off the left side of his face—down to the shoulder.”\n“Heh heh. Imagine having your head blocked in twice—set like a common criminal in the stocks. John-Paul had to hold down the marquis like a farm animal. Embarrassant!”\n“Agreed. So who is the executioner?”\n“Charles-Henri Sanson.”\n“Sanson is good. He will keep the line moving quickly.”\n“John-Paul will keep your heart beating quickly.” \n“I tell you, Suzanne. If I weren’t already a step into the grave, I’d let John-Paul hold me down. I’d show him a good time.”\n“Oh, go on. You are a tricoteuse, not a courtesan! You hold knitting needles in your hands, not silk gloves.”\n“I am not the ugliest crone in the crowd.” \n“In truth, Jacqueline, you still have vestiges of beauty. But what did your good looks ever earn you on the estates?”\n“Young lords.”\n“And their fathers…” \n“The young lords were good for a tumble, but the old lords were good for a trinket. Dieu merci, I am glad those days are over. Being an old woman brings peace.”\n“With the aristos gone, our days of peace are ahead, so to speak. Ha Hah! Liberté, égalité, fraternité!”\n“I keep hoping to see the aristos I’ve known over the years waiting in the carts. Especially the ones with the cruel wives.”\n“Their Day of Judgment is here, thanks to Robespierre.”\n“Ah, look. The crowd is even larger. I will buy flowers before the sun grows too hot, before the Place de la Révolution smells like a slaughterhouse.”\n“Too late—there are the priests. They’ve begun to read the psalms, Jacqueline. Come knit with me, and we’ll keep track of the heads. No time left for lilacs, the carts, or dreams of John-Paul.”\n“Can’t a woman dream between knits and purls?”\n“Young women can dream, Jacqueline.”\n“True, Suzanne. Old women mainly have nightmares.”\n“Look! They line up. I wonder who will feed la guillotine? Did you recognize anyone in the tumbrels?”\n“Non, but I do not like to see them beforehand—the rich and powerful—covered in their own filth. Duc, marquis, comte, vicomte, baron—trussed up like Christmas geese.”\n“You pity them in such a state?”\n“I trust Robespierre and Robespierre pities no enemy of the Republic. He and the Committee of Public Safety will save France from counter-revolutionaries.”\n“Ah, what a line to the scaffold! La guillotine is especially hungry.”\n“Much quicker than hanging or the ax. Now those were true spectacles d'horreur.”\n“Sauvage et inhumain.”\n\"It’s good for people in power to see the people’s power. Robespierre knows what he’s doing.”\n“By killing off his political rivals?”\n“You doubt him?”\n“I doubt everything.”\n“Even God?”\n“Especially God.”\n“Don’t blaspheme, Suzanne. Sit! They begin. Can you hear the aristo’s final words?”\n“Not quite. Something about ‘pardoning those who have occasioned my death.’ Je m’emmerde! I am so bored. You’d think aristos would say something more memorable at their end.” \n“Oof—the blade is swift.”\n“The next one is already in the cabbage! How quickly they are proceeding. Remember last week when the blade dulled?”\n“The blade was sharp enough. It caught on the fat necks of the aristos. Some are so corpulent la guillotine’s blade must come down on it again and again.”\n“Imagine having so much to eat.” \n“Chop chop chop! The executioner is swift. One every minute. Hold the head up high, Executioner! Yes, yes! Higher!”\n“Ha Hah! That’s a grisly piece of business.” \n“It’s hard to look down your nose, Mr. Aristo, when there is nothing below it to see!”\n“The basket is already getting full…and the heads are getting ripe. L'odeur!”\n“How you complain! You know how these things go, Suzanne.”\n“Still, the stench…”\n“Cover your nose and mouth with your scarf. Perhaps I should have gotten my lilacs after all. How many rivers of blood and pools of merde have we seen this past year…?”\n“I won’t have my dress splattered like last time!”\n“An easy fix. Just soak your frock in cold water with white vinegar.”\n“I know. I know. When I used to be a laundress, I knew all the tricks. Soda ash cleaned the blood from my clothes when my vicomtesse whipped me to shreds.” \n“Now, your vicomtesse is a pile of ash!”\n“Ha Hah! That she is.”\n“Robespierre sent them to the scaffold last winter. It was a good day. Bright and clear.”\n“Look at this, Jacqueline! I’ve finished another one.”\n“Let me see. Oui, you knit so well. Your latest liberty cap! Let me wear it while you start another.”\n“I am almost out of red yarn.”\n“I brought along another spool in my bag. I knew today would be long. So much commotion in Paris.” \n“La guillotine is on number nine.”\n“Already?”\n“Who is next?”\n“That’s Antoine Simon—a friend of Robespierre. He guards the dauphin. I don’t understand why he is on the scaffold.” \n“He won’t be for long. So quick! Look at the head. Are you sure that is Simon?”\n“Oui. He belonged to the Commune of Paris. He must have been a spy.”\n“Or a counter-revolutionary.”\n“Bien sûr. Robespierre is masterful at finding wolves in sheep's clothing.” \n“Who’s next in line?”\n“Hard to tell. The man’s face is so swollen—wrapped tight—the jaw bleeds…”\n“He stands so still.” \n“See how regal he is. How stoic! He walks the steps as if he knows them well.”\n“His bandages will have to be removed to prepare the neck…”\n“Oh, that cry. That man’s jaw is shattered. It’s in pieces!” \n“La guillotine will stop his shrieks—end his pain.”\n“The blade drops! Finally, finally.”\n“The crowd cheers at that one. Who was he? Can you see?”\n“Non-non-non—ça ne peut pas être!”\n“Jacqueline, qu'est-ce? Whose head is that? \n“Sacré bleu! None other than Robespierre.” \n“Then who will lead us now?”\n“Chaos." } ]
[ { "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: Love Language- A Regency Romance\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2288\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with your character(s) going to buy some flowers." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Honourable Michael Sedgwick briskly made his way down Grosvenor Square, his cane, a pure affectation, swinging and clicking on the cobblestones. He was unpardonably punctual, a habit he had inherited from a lifetime of country living. His maternal grandmother had meticulously pounded into his head the value of every minute of the day, emphasising that punctuality equaled profit. Of course, she was also considered quite vulgar in the extreme and he was working hard to forget her every lesson.\n\nMichael’s father was the younger son of the late Viscount Denham, and his mother had been the daughter of a well-to-do country squire. They had lived comfortably for all of his first sixteen years in a remote village in Sussex, where Michael’s father had procured a small twenty-room cottage and proceeded to tutor local boys in the art of becoming fine and educated gentlemen. Unfortunately, consumption had carried away both mother and father in quick succession, leaving the sixteen-year-old Michael to the loving ministrations of his miserly grandmother, a penny pinching matron who had married well above her station.\n\nUpon his twentieth year, Michael had been summoned to London by his paternal uncle, a man who had the misfortune to only sire daughters, all of whom were now happily and comfortably married off. Uncle James and Aunt Prudence, the current viscount and viscountess, had resigned themselves to the fact that Michael was the heir, as no male issue was forthcoming. They were determined to mold him into the kind of man they deemed worthy of the Denham fortune and title. Such remodeling required a wife, and a wife that was well bred and perfectly behaved would go a long way toward ameliorating the damage of his less than stellar birth.\n\nTo this end he was now pacing down Grosvenor Square toward the residence of one Lady Esther Goodhope and her daughter Miss Gwyndolyn Goodhope. However, the habits of a lifetime were difficult to break, and punctuality was ingrained in his character. Despite his man recommending he delay his departure by some twenty minutes, too full of nervous anticipation to sit languidly within his apartments, Michael set forth on foot, waving off the offer to call a hackney. This country-bred gentleman was not afraid of a little fresh air and exercise, although the freshness of the air, even in this more refined part of London, was quite uncertain.\n\nPassing a street vendor peddling her flowers, Michael was struck with the thought that it would be ill-mannered to arrive empty-handed to a lady’s ‘At home’, so he crossed the street and hailed the young flower-selling lass.\n\n“A posy, if you please,” he requested without preamble.\n\n“Aye, sir,” the slip of a girl replied. “Which posy be yer wantin?”\n\nMichael hesitated as he studied the wares scattered about her in buckets and trays. “Ah… I do believe the yellow ones are cheerful.”\n\n“Oh, sir, they be carnations. They is fer disappointed peoples them is.” She shook her head. “Ye wantin’ ta reject some poor luv now?”\n\n“Oh, no! Quite the opposite!” Carnations were for rejection? Well, how was he to know that. Luckily for him, the girl was not so much of a hardened saleswoman that she was ready to peddle her wares to unsuspecting clients who knew no better. He pointed to a purple cluster of flowers atop their thick green stalks. “Perhaps these, they are quite striking in colour.”\n\n“Ye are mighty sorry for somewhat, then? Them’s are Hyacinths. Powerful for asking forgiveness for yer foolish ways.”\n\nMichael frowned, he had only ever met Miss Gwyndolyn Goodhope once, and that was last evening. He was almost sure he had done nothing to offend her.\n\n“Well no, I don’t believe I am in need of the lady’s forgiveness. Not yet in any case, but perhaps…” he thought about it. There were so many things that he didn’t know, so many possibilities for mistakes in his future, that he tucked the notion of the purple hyacinth into his brain for future reference. A bright yellow flower clustered like balls upon their leafy stems caught his eye. “This one seems quite the thing.”\n\n“Oh, sir! That be a marigold. It says grief and despair, are you wishing to share yer sorrow with the lass?”\n\n“No, of course not!” Michael withdrew his handkerchief to wipe the perspiration that began to accumulate on his brow. Who knew that selecting flowers was such an exacting and excruciating endeavour? He scrutinised the offerings before him for inspiration and spied a cluster of yellow flowers that he recognised. Sunflowers. His mother had grown them every year, and they were as innocent and cheerful as any flower could be. He had just pointed to the large yellow and black flower when the lass stopped him.\n\n“Nay sir, unless you was wishing ta call yer sweetheart haughty and falsely proud. Well, fer all I knows, she just might be. Is you callin’ her haughty?”\nMichael shook his head emphatically and withdrew the hand. Who would have thought the humble sunflower would have such a meaning? What a huge blundering misstep that would have been. Once again, he wrung his handkerchief between his sweating palms and mopped at the beads that he could feel accumulating on his top lip. Dare he suggest a different flower?\n\nHe glanced inquisitively at a riot of colour on some quite interesting spears of petals and foliage. But before he could open his mouth she halted him. “Snapdragons, presumptuous. Ye never want ta say ye is presumptuous, do ye?”\n\nMichael agreed with a shake of his head. Best not to presume anything at this moment, with the fair Gwyndolyn.\n\n“These pink ones are pretty.”\n\nThe girl laughed, “Oh sir, ye don’t seem like the bashful type. Perhaps yer lady love is. Is that what ye mean ta say by picking the peony?”\n\nBashful, well, perhaps he was a bit, but to advertise that to the world at large? Perhaps not the best choice. He pointed to another bundle of flowers clustered in a bucket. They were quite unusual, with angular jutting petals clustered in tight pink balls and sporting yellow centres.\n\n“I don’t think that be the best flower for ye, sir. That dahlia says either the sender or receiver is unstable of character, like.”\n\nMichael cast his hand toward some pretty flowers that grew clustered together in bright pink bunches amid stunning deep green leaves. He seemed to remember these types of flowers from when he was a boy. His mother had grown them in the garden beds by the front door of their cottage.\n\n“The rhododendron, sir?” The girl’s voice rose in pitch, her eyes wide as she visibly shuddered. “That just screams, beware! Are ye trying to frighten off yer lady now?”\n\nBeware? Could a flower really have such a sinister motivation? He wasn’t sure that the flower girl was really telling him the truth. Perhaps she made these things up as she went along, but to what purpose? Surely her purpose was to sell flowers.\n\n“Since every flower I have selected seems to have the wrong message, perhaps you should pick me a bouquet that says something in the nature of, ‘I was pleased to meet you last night and I hope you will think of me kindly’. Is there such a flower?”\n\n“Well, not one flower says all that.” She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she glanced from flower to flower, her hands picking out stems here and there as she spoke. “White lily for the sweetness and purity of yer thoughts, let her know ye are thinkin of her, but nice, like, not nasty like some men be. Then some pretty pansies, the purple and yellow ones are for thoughts and remembering, like. We can add some statice for remembering too. The white jasmine says ye find her amiable.” She looked up at him, her arms filled with flowers. “Ye do find her amiable, don’t ye.” Michael nodded, unable to speak as the posy of flowers grew in size. “We can add the carnations-”\n\n“But you said they were for rejection?”\n\n“Oh, that is only the yellow ones,” she laughed. “The pink ones say ‘I will never forget you’ and if you want to make sure she understands that, we might want more of em.” She gathered three more blooms to add to the collection in her arms. “Finally, we can add some lilac. Oh, and some periwinkle for the sincere friendship ye wish to have with this lucky lady.”\n\nThe seller bundled all the blooms together and tied them with some twine before she wrapped the stems in paper and presented the enormous posy to Michael for his inspection. It seemed to be a hideous mass of colours and textures to his untrained eye and he took the bundle reluctantly. He nearly collapsed as the seller named her price, the flowers must have been worth their weight in gold for her to ask such a painfully exorbitant sum, but like a dutiful, easy mark, he fished out the coin from his purse and paid the girl without argument. If the flowers said all that she said they said, then it would be money well spent.\n\nNow armed with a hideous bouquet, Michael continued on his way. His thoughts and hopes turned to Miss Gwendolyn Goodhope. Would she understand the message in his floral offering? With each step, he became less and confident. There was good and then there was gaudy, and he feared his clever saleswoman had steered him in the second direction in order to move her wilting flowers.\n\n###\n\nMiss Gwyndolyn Goodhope sat enthroned in her mother’s drawing room, practicing her studied ennui. It was fashionable, she was told, to be bored. She had spent hours before the mirror to get her expression just so, to remove the twinkle of intelligence and interest from her eye and allow her face to sit in a pleasant aspect with neither a line nor a wrinkle. It was exhausting, and she was tired. But mama insisted a prettily bred lady would show no sign of untoward emotion.\n\n“The Honourable Michael Sedgwick.” Intoned Timms from the door to the drawing room. Timms should have been an actor on stage, his proclamations and announcements boomed with resounding resonance across the room.\n\nGwyndolyn tilted her head slightly to see the new arrival, a tall lanky youth dressed in the first stare of fashion. He wasn’t as handsome as some, but he, at least, looked alive, which was more than she could say about the other members of his sex who filled the room with their perfection. He presented himself before her mother with a practiced bow and a few pleasant words, before he turned to her and presented her with the most eclectic arrangement of flowers haphazardly cobbled together with paper and string. These flowers were in stark contrast to the other floral offerings in the room. This morning she had been presented with daffodils and tulips, roses and irises. Each one carefully curated from the best hothouses to look beautiful and arranged with meticulous care. By contrast, these blooms were imperfect and bundled together without care for artistic arrangement.\n\n“Thank you,” Gwyndolyn murmured as she accepted the bouquet with interest. “These are…” She paused as a symphony of scents surrounded her. The hothouse flowers she had received did not have such perfume, bred solely for their bloom. “These are charming.” And they were. The gaudy riot of colours and textures cobbled together was incredibly alive and vibrant.\n\n“I was assured by the vendor that each bloom held a special meaning.” His face flushed with embarrassment and he dared not meet her eye. Gwyndolyn studied each flower individually, her mind casting about for the language of flowers. She could feel her brow creasing as she thought and immediately resumed her facade of studied boredom, lest she invite a wrinkle to form.\n\n“I appreciate them. They are delightful.” She motioned to her maid. “Betty, please put these into a vase and deliver them to my room.” The maid hurried to do her bidding. “I must confess, Mr Sedgwick, that my memory of the floral meaning is quite unreliable.”\n\n“I do believe the lass who curated this bouquet may have been sporting with me.” Mr Sedgwick appeared discomposed and nervous as he made the admission. “I must admit total ignorance of the meaning embedded in the floral tribute and am at the mercy of the saleswoman. I hope she has not misrepresented my message.”\n\nOnce the callers had departed, Lady Esther Goodhope sent her daughter to her room to rest before changing for the evening’s entertainment. Gwyndolyn immediately opened ‘A Lady’s Guide to Floral Code’ that she had purloined from her Father’s library.\n\nAs she checked each bloom off against the picture and its description, she found the meanings quite easily. Purity, remembrance, amiability, the significance of the message was not lost upon her. But nestled within were the delicate lilacs, their fragrance permeating the air about her. She flicked through the pages of the book to find their meaning. A first love. Well, that was presumptuous. But the gentleman in question was a future viscount, according to her mother, and her mother knew the contents of ‘Debrett’s, a Guide to English Peerage’ intimately through years of dedicated study. There could be worse first loves to have than a viscount. She rang the bell for Betty.\n\n“Please change out the ribbons on my dress this evening,” she told the maid as she arrived. I think I shall wear the lilacs in my hair to this evening’s entertainment.\n\nAfter all, the floral language of love was quite explicit, and she did fancy herself a viscountess." } ]
[ { "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 DAY I SEE YOU!\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1046\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with the line, “I’m never going out with you again.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A DAY WITH NOTHING TO DO BY NORTH HUMAN NAMED,CHRIST who was a student at WESTERNITY SCHOOL.he loved to do and made something new things from his dreams comes true.One day,he fell in love to a girl name,Rowlly Magestine\nwho was just genius and smart .Hence,even though he felt crush on her but still doesn't show it to her as he is not that smart than her and of course he is not worth it for it! While he was a student ,Crist wait until his school end and purposed her. For that ,he study hard and always make him always busy with a useful information notes collection for every weekend .After weekend holiday,he back to school and sit beside second row of Rowlly Magestine's bench and tried to communicated with her....but no work at all.After few weeks later,he start to be brave and only focus to talk to her and he walk through front of her .Soon,break time end and he faith front of her.Few hours later, all asking for how he feel now ,such as classmates and teacher who was class teacher.Crist get up with shock and started to feel guilty as faith front of her !! and started to sweating...soon she start to Crist and ask for his condition and how he feel now...Crist: Fi..Fi..ne with his husky voice ...and she started to laugh and asking about why his voice have been girly voice.Soon, they have been be a best friends for few years of school life and Crist just feel like flying on the sky while talking with Rowlly Magestine!! \nAfter that,they back to their bench and started to wish the madam who was new teacher just enter and start their lesson..while wishing the new teacher ,the new teacher is from France so she wanted her student to learn french language as they only know Spanish languages! The new teacher,Loius Smith was really love and grateful with her student and teach them patiently...of course Crist and Rowlly enjoy her lesson every time.Thus ,school end and Crist and everyone back to home,but Rowlly didn't go to home and before Crist back to home ,he noticed that. The next morning , Rowlly and Crist back to and he ask to Rowlly why she didn't went back home earlier ,soon Rowlly told that she having transportation problem and maybe sometimes Rowlly will go for library to discussed with their classmates for examination!\nCrist wasted his time for no reason until next class started and continued their lesson back again..then break time they eat sandwiches that brought from canteen.30 minutes later, back to class and waiting for next lesson.For some reason Madam for lesson declined and all started to excited and talking with surrounded friends and of course Rowlly and Crist was really happy and started to planning they're holiday to spend on a Irland or beach.Finally they decide to go to beach so that they can play sand castle ,crabs and more enjoyable things!\nWeekend trip,\nOn Friday ,after school weekend holiday they plan and packed their things ,then a bus when to Crist and Rowlly house and pick up them.Few hours later,they have been reached to top of the hill and from there only walking are allowed.So for that reason,they bring along their bags that bring from their home,then started to walk few metres to reach the Beach!\nRowlly was tired after a few hours bus trip and also the few metres walk to the beach.Soon,they have been reach to their planning point and started to set up a tent to rest up for a while.Its was really sunny day because before they plan and decide ,Crist firstly check the Saturday's weather so that they can alert when there was having heavy rain but nope it's not when they soon on point. of beach park! Still there was a crab that was really doing something under the sand and Rowlly checked what's that ,then her leg was stucked beside the sand and she looked inside a crab was pulling her inside .Unfortunately ,the crab is to small and cute so Crist just laugh at her and just help her.After that,they started to build some unique sandcastle and finding for shells...\nThe next morning ,after sleep a night in tent that they fixed beside the beach ,Crist and Rowlly wake up with a fresh oxygen beside the beach ann the waves sound..Rowlly peace and feel fresh.A few moments later they start to for swim into beach and find some new stones and shells.It's was really enjoyable ,happy and had a best memoriable day .After over of their trip such as they plan before this ,the packing stuff started and Crist closed back his tent and wrapped ,then put in his backpack.It was Sunday night to reached their home .Thereby ,the next day Rowlly couln't get to come to school as she was too tired and Crist really missed her.Few year later the last year of their school life will end ,so before that they made alot of memoriable days such as playing at middle of school,the holiday trip and more!\nFew semester before the important of their examination!\nRowlly is a hardworking girl so she always get to the library and ear some notes,read story books and also doing her work.Due to that,for examination she started oftenly going to library regularly but Crist isn't a hardworking student but still Rowlly like him because of his great entertainer skills and grateful human. Even though she likes his attitude ,but she had a opinion of Crist to don't want to be lazy for coming to library .Still Crist doesn't want or going to listen to her even she is his most favorite and special friend,Rowlly .The laziness,Rowlly hated a lot until the examination over!Few weeks later after examination ,she started to avoid Crist as he is lazy and never respect her advice and encouragement.Then Crist was started to realized his mistakes and how much he was stubborn to her! But it's soon last day after few semester also gone with just sadly..and Rowlly wrote a letter with her signature that,I’m never going out with you again.” soon Crist walking after school with a goodbye from her.Rowlly cried and soon they started a new journey of they're life." } ]
[ { "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 STICKY ROMANCE\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1090\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with the line, “I’m never going out with you again.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The week had started out stormy and the greyness held its\ngrip on the landscape for three full days.\nOn Wednesdays, it had become the unspoken rule for all to\nmeet up at the local pizzeria after their last morning class period at\nHemmingford High School. This large group of friends participated\nin many of the school’s extra curricular activities and often\nweekend plans were set over a slice of pizza and a Coke.\n“Let’s all meet for the basketball game on Saturday,” Bill\nsuggested.\n“I’ll go if I can grab a ride with someone,” Pete implored to\nanyone within earshot.\n“Margaret’s brother can pick you up. He’s going to the game,\ntoo. He earned his wheels about six months ago and even has his\nown car. Come next year, many of us will be able to drive,” Carl\nboasted with anticipation.\nBlake, a recent newcomer to the group, entered the pizzeria\nwith his twin sister.\nFortunately for Jenny, they were not identical twins.\n“Hey everyone, this is my younger sister, Jenny,” Blake blurted\nhis introduction as he stepped to the counter to order two slices of\npizza.\nBlake passed the first slice over to Jenny and picked up the\nsecond slice for himself. As he turned from the counter, he was\nbumped from behind and his slice of pizza slid down the left side\nof his light beige jacket.\nWonderful, just wonderful!\nBill’s suggestion of the basketball game was received well and\nmany showed up for it.\nOver the next few days Luke was able to ask Blake a few\ndetails about Jenny.\n“Say, Blake, if you’re twins how is it that Jenny’s your younger\nsister?” Luke challenged.\n“You’re right, Luke, I should have said that I’m her older\nbrother,” Blake responded.\nLuke look confused.\n“Luke, I was born first, before Jenny, by eleven minutes,” Blake\nquickly explained to keep it simply a joke and not be meant to\nembarrass.\n“You and Jenny don’t look at all alike. You’re tall and Jenny is\nshort,” Luke explored. “You could be making this whole story up.\nRichie claims that he was adopted, but he might just be saying that,\nyou know.”\n“Luke, you should stop chewing all that gum,” Blake\ninterjected. “It’s hard to understand you at times. Now why would\nRichie tell you that he’s stopped up?”\nLuke removed the wad of gum with his fingers and stood there\nholding it with innocence. He had been caught with his hand in the\ncookie jar.\nLuke was not allowed to chew gum at home. His father was a\npracticing dentist of twenty years, and would not permit it in the\nhouse. He did not approve of it whatsoever!\nIt was a form of rebellion for Luke.\n“No, not stopped up,” Luke defended. “He says that he is\nadopted.”\n“Oh,” Luke said. “Now I hear you. Maybe he is adopted. So\nwhat?” Blake said in an effort to drop the topic.\nLuke wasted no time getting to know Jenny at the basketball\ngame. The mutual attraction was evident to many and especially\nBlake.\nBlake was always protective of his younger sister.\nAs the game was in the final minutes, Luke decided to make\nhis move. He turned to face Jenny and asked for her phone\nnumber. She was receptive and leaned forward to get paper and\npen from her purse. She sat back upright and pulled her long,\nauburn hair out of her face. She wrote the phone number and\nhanded it to Luke.\n“Jenny, the last dance of the school year will be in two weeks.\nMay I take you to the dance?\" Luke managed. It was still an\nawkward moment for him.\n“I would love to go with you, Luke,” Jenny calmly replied,\nalthough she was hiding her excitement well.\n“I live far out, but one of my parents will drop me off and pick\nme up. Why don’t we pick you up on the way? Don’t you live close\nto the school?”\n“Yes, sure do,” Luke said with a wide smile.\nTwo weeks flew by and the dance rapidly approached. Blake\ndressed well and Jenny looked glorious in her blue dress.\nThe group looked at them differently, as they now had become\nan item.\nThe first half of the dance went well.\nDuring the dance, the school’s cafeteria served as a room to\nsit, relax and talk.\n“What kind of job will you look for after graduation?” Jenny\nasked of Luke.\n“I thought about being a burglar,” Luke replied jokingly. “I don’t\nknow, maybe a chemical engineer. They work developing new\nproducts, like rubber and silly putty.”\n“How about you Jenny?” Luke said with interest.\n“I want to be my own boss and run my own beauty salon.\nBasically, a hairdresser, but owner of my own salon,” Jenny insisted.\n“Would you stay here in Hemmingford?” Luke wanted to know.\n“The band is starting up,” Blake said.\nThe music started.\nJenny recognized the song, one of her favorites.\nBlake commenced to whisper in Luke’s ear.\n“Not very cool to be chewing gum on a date,” Blake advised.\n“Let’s hurry!” Jenny insisted, taking Luke’s hand and yanking at\nhis arm.\nUp and running! \nLater, at one point, the band played a long, slow song. Jenny\nand Luke embraced and started to dance.\nLuke had no chance to remove the gigantic wad of gum from\nhis mouth when the band break ended. Now he couldn’t kiss her.\nSo Luke kept chewing.\nA few people, just standing and talking behind Jenny, started\nlaughing.\nJenny swung her head to the left and right to see what was so\nfunny.\nNow Luke laughed, as well.\nAnd with that, Jenny’s hair thrashed into Luke’s mouth and\npulled out the gum.\nNow Luke laughed harder, which led to Jenny swinging her\nhead left and right even faster, causing a massive tangle on the top\nof her head.\nJenny and some friends spent the remainder of the dance in\nthe restroom attempting to remove the gum as best they could.\nThere was no further contact with Luke at the dance that\nevening.\nWhen the dance was over, Jenny slipped out of the side door\nto look for her parents’ car.\n“How was the dance?” her mom asked.\nJenny relayed the horror of it all and cried.\nHer mother felt horrible for her daughter’s unfortunate\nexperience.\nLuke called Jenny on the next day to apologize for the whole\nugly matter.\n“Hello, Jenny, this is Luke.”\n“Don’t ever call me again!” Jenny screamed. “I’m never going\nout with you again.”" } ]
[ { "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 Voice of Many\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1000\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart a story that begins with a character saying “Speak now.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Speak now.” \nThe antechamber echoed with a brass tone; chimes strewn across the floor still held their tune. Wiry hands now found their way to the boy beneath them. \n“You have been given an order boy, speak now.” \n“You would have me speak for what? You have heard my voice and seen what it can do.” \nThe hands gained weight, pushing painfully now into the boy’s shoulders. Groaning in disgust, the man turns to the door behind them, the gold lacquer on the handle worn to brass. \n“I would have you speak only to assuage the courts,” crooked fingers point to the door behind “only to appease the masses.” The hand now finds itself on the boy’s head, the cold grasp trickling down his neck. “You have brought here a plague of doubts, an infestation of skepticism, a goddamned uprising.” \nA cool clasp moved to the boy’s neck jolting him to his feet. If it were not for the blaze coming from the man’s eyes the hands would have frozen him solid. The boy managed to choke back his fear, but the man could still sense it. \n“I have done what was needed of me. Whatever threats you throw towards me, whatever deal you try to pull from me it will not be enough. Martyr me or murder me, pick your poison.” \nTemperature returned to the boy’s body as the man storms toward the door. The man’s hands pound the door like thunder, his hands grasp the handle like lightning. With a sickening screech the debris is carved away from the door. \n“Martyr or murder,” muttered the man, a sneer forming on his face “you have lost so much already little one. What would it be to lose just a bit more?” \nA silent scream escaped the boy, color leaving his face. Lifeless hands pulled from behind the rubble shifting the sound now from a grating ring to a deafening thrum. The door could hardly hold the mass slithering through it, even the man began to show worry. \n“There is nothing left of me to tell! I swear of it!” The boy stumbles backwards, heels begging to find their mark. Weaponry was not a choice; this was beyond even the mightiest warriors. \n“Pray tell, young boy, have we come to an agreement? Will you speak?” The gold slowly dripped from the handles; a mirage of colors defied the eyes. The boy’s mind came to a numbing halt. Behind him stood the people he swore to protect, the people he swore to liberate. Yet before him stood death, a dark and uneasy being whose only motive was to erase. The boy’s heart now finds a beat, then a rhythm, and finally a pulse. Hands shifting like the sands search for an escape, no rubble would distract this behemoth, not even the man who released this cataclysm had a way to return it. \nSolemn chants formed behind the boy, dragging his soul back to his body. Citizens, clergy, heroes, and enemies alike gathered behind the boy, the women wrang their voices raw and the men pounded their chests flat. The boy felt a vibration run through the floor and witnessed the beast trilling through its body. Acrid stenches punched the boy’s nostrils and tears filled his eyes; hell stood face to face with him and yet he felt relief. The man was shouting something, eyes blazing, and lips curled, but the boy heard nothing. The people seemed to wash away behind him as if swallowed by their own fervor. \nThe beast lunged and the boy knelt to prayer. Calling to the powers above, to his mother, to all those who had hurt and helped him. Words failed him, even song failed him, yet he felt a warmth come over him. The boy was no longer in his body. “Am I to be punished for what I have done here?” The wind never heard his voice and the hand on his shoulder lent him no solace. Horns blared through his consciousness, deafening his thoughts. Kinder now came the hum of a song he had heard as a child. “Shall I sing this for you now? Like mother used to?” \nThough faint, and now distant from his body, the song began. \n“O Fortuna, velut luna statu variabilis, semper crescis aut decrescis” Light flooded the room as the chant continued, the boy’s body now faced the beast with arms open. “Sors immanis et inanis, rota tu volubilis, status malus” The man raced alongside the beast, blinded with fury. Time began to slow, and a faint scent of myrrh filled the air. Language blended and cloth became skin, a draft formed behind the boy’s body so fierce it felt the cathedral itself would crumble. Eyes no longer viewed but decreed, a voice so distinct the very stones submitted. “Quod per sortem sternit fortem, mecum omnes plangite!” Nothing more than a sinewy flag, the body now a mark of final resistance. \n“Saint of Resistors, a boy to you but a hand of God. There will be no sacrament for you or for those who surround us. The Lord has had his fill of this mockery. From dust to dust you shall return.” Wings filled the antechamber, and a blast of heat came at the beast and the man who now hid behind it. There were many eyes, and many more hands. Spears fell from the sky in a wash of holy retribution. The beast was pinned atop the man, the angelic entity placed its hand to its head. “O brother, how far you have fallen. Return now to Him and find yourself a seat amongst us.” \n“Sinner.” Voices echoed against the air itself, tunneling to the man. Crushed legs and broken ribs forbade the man any movement. “You will take his seat. There will be no rest.” \nCrimson skies, pillars of salt, earthquakes and hysteria ravaged the city. A blinding light rose from the cathedral, wings of gold wavered above the people of Sodom. Martyr it is." } ]
[ { "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: Freaks In a Petting Zoo\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2971\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with the line, “I’m never going out with you again.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "We were used to being unseen and if we couldn't be unseen, we’d damn sure find a way to right after. That’s why they called us “deterrents.” We were “deterred” from ever having a regular life again, from being anonymous like any other classmate, and omitted from ever not being known as the outcasts, freaks, and the notorious in our school. Our school. A school filled with only superhuman teenagers, hidden from the world, somehow, we became the outcast among the outcasts. They weren't expecting us though, that’s for sure. They weren't expecting to look up while they drunk from their red cups and eardrum-liquifying music to see us. To be honest, we were just as surprised as them. Our cover was blown.\nIt was Lucas’s plan, which looking back on it, I should have known wouldn't have worked out. He did get caught putting pepper spray in the school’s ventilation system. He had the whole dorm scoped out and everything, from the fire escapes, to the cameras, even to the pathways from the forest and to the back entrances. Yes, it was crowded, filled with tons of party-going super-classmates who were way past their bedtime, especially since finals were coming up, but we still had a chance to be unseen. Hoodies, masks, and some image inducers Tim somehow pulled out of his pocket would have gotten us through. It was foolproof. That was until we realized we had forgotten about the school’s local telepaths and their capacity to snoop in random by’s minds. I should know: I was one of them. \nI could detect them, and before I could get my friends to pull back, all eyes were on us, people looking up from their flashing phones, half-empty cups, and alcohol influence giggling. They stared right through our holograms. The bustling party was corpse-silent, the welcoming ambiance turned into a prison and soon-to-be arena. We were circled quicker than Jennifer could curse through her metallic teeth and before Tim could pull out some gizmo from his pocket dimension to get us out of here. Her shoulder-length maroon hair and cold stone eyes met us in the center and I knew we were screwed. She put a hand to her hips, half of her body already uncovered, but that wasn't enough to emphasize how more “defined” she was compared to her peers. Alexis Averado grinned at us with a hunger in her eyes only a predator would have to her prey. “You can give up those illusions now Macky.” \nI hated that name. The whole school started naming me that after...well...the Chess Club incident. Lucas’ slow clapping broke the silence. A grin spread across his face before the hologram faded and his luminated lime green hair met the awe-inspired party members. “Well done Watson. You figured us out. Oh whatever shall we do?” he said in his sarcastic tone. Alexis raised a hand and out of the shadows-literally, her lapdogs, the Shadow Triplet appeared three sisters who could manipulate darkness like I could control the paint on a brush. Some beefy jocks approached us as, well aiming their entertained eyes on Lucas and Tim. This wasn't going to end well for us. It was going wrong faster than I thought.\nJennifer’s holographic hand turned to a sharp chrome blade and she pointed it towards Alexis. “Touch us and I’m cutting you, you cu-”\n“You guys aren't allowed here. How did you even find out about this party?” Alexis asked.\n“Ahaha…” Lucas replied. “Shut Up Luke,” Jennifer gritted through her teeth. “She’s a telepath, she can figure out the rest by herself.”\n“I can, but that would require liquifying your already ape-like brains and I’m having a good night-was. So which one will it be?” she waved on either side of her. “The football team who are ready to rip Luke and Condom boy apart-or my girls? They wanted to show somebody their shadow realm at least once. Maybe it’ll be tonight.”\nWe all looked at each other. I could smell Tim’s nervous fart as Lucas’s hair started to shine brighter. A mace appeared out of Jennifer’s hand but I still knew we were toast. Plan A was toast. Why didn't we have a plan B?\n“I invited them.”\nThe crowd looked in the direction of the voice. Their eyes tracked the figure until he appeared in the middle of the circle. Looks like we did have a plan B. Except he was the reason we were there. He was tall, tall as in naturally and not the size of the Cyclops brothers in football, but lanky, not like Reese Gecko, but enough so that all the girls would fantasize about him, how’d he look when he wasn't wearing his robot-like helmet-and if he wasn't wearing his cut-up jeans. His spiked leather jacket brushed through the jocks and they seemed to relax their bulky muscles as he nodded to us. Eddie Engine.\nAlexis sneered but wouldn’t dare let Eddie see it. She rolled her eyes, then set her face to sure-it's-fine-Eddie mode. “And you didn't tell us?”\n“Remember Alexis,” Eddie approached her. “It's my party. I don't need to tell anyone anything.” his voice echoed through the hunky helmet. Nobody could see it, but I could. The small twitch in the corner of her mouth and the way her eyes glazed over for just a moment. I didn't need to read her mind to figure out what she was really feeling. “You’re not my girl anymore, remember? And…?” Eddie tapped at his helmet. “No nosy-ness going on up here anymore. Besides,” he turned to us and raised his arms. As he did, the party’s energy rose up again and people started to mutter. “We needed a little bit more entertainment. Why not have some from the school of freaks’ fellow freaks!” he yelled, sending the crowd cheering and the music blasting on.\nLet’s just say, I and my friends were left dumbfounded. We stared at each other before Jennifer broke our silence up. “Come on. Let's go have some ‘fun’.” she eyed Alexis, who didn’t stop staring at us until we were gulped by the crowd and went deeper into the belly of the monster known as a high school party. Behind my embarrassment and anger at the popular jerks who called us out, thoughts swam in my head. Why did Eddie just let us into his party? Out of all the times, why now? Was it just to piss off his ex? Or was it really to brighten up the already bouncing aura of the party with the spreading news that IQuarium Academy’s Deterrents have arrived? That we were just that: entertainment?\nLucas was quick to brush that aside, even though Jennifer scowled at him for the remainder of the party, whether it was to ignore the loud whispers and stares of classmates or because she was actually pissed at him, I don't know. He just hid a grin under his hood as we settled in the cafeteria, which was littered with its share of food platters, but it seemed everyone lost their appetite when we appeared. We were Moses to a wave as they let us through, leading us to a little back area in the kitchen where we would remain moments before we disappeared.\n“Not how I planned it,” Lucas said. “But step one is done.”\n“Step two.” Tim finally muttered some words. We all looked at each other and I had the floor. The plan was simple: Wherever Eddie had gone, we were to find him and seek out information from him regarding his brother. Geiger Grant was one of the seniors who disappeared that night two years ago, and apparently, the last to see of him was little brother Eddie. Nine times out of ten, we wouldn't find him in our appointed prison of the kitchen, and all of us together would draw too much attention so we split up.\nBad idea, I know. A very bad idea. I just didn't see that. Not yet anyway. \nThe party was not how I envisioned it. I mean, yes, flashing colored lights, alcohol, smoke from lung strangling marijuana, sweaty people, annoying laughs, and vomiting light-weights were a part of my expectations, but it was the way that I felt. Out of place. An alien in a zoo. No friends and alone. It has been a long time since I felt alone. My humiliation not so long ago did not help. Just thinking of Alexis made my body tenser than a rubber band. I wanted to just once, just once, be able to punch in her pretty bumpy nose of hers, mess up that perfect blood-red hair and see the look on her face as she realizes she had that coming. Hard to get your hands on her when she’s one of the school’s most powerful telepaths, so that was out the window. Still, I could imagine. \nMy thoughts were wandering and that was bad news. Through the smoky dark haze of the party, I could feel thoughts clinging onto mine, and they were not my own. Perks of telepathy: everyone wants to share their thoughts with you. It’s hard at first, but every psionic has its ways of blocking off perverted thoughts of freshman and rugged mean thoughts of jocks, but sometimes they find their way in. It started off as a whisper, all the way until it was like a second party itself in another realm under the surface.\nLook at her...there she is! Macky the Freaky...heard she was a telepath...heard she went...did he really do that to her...in chess club? Wonder if she’ll ever do that to me...wonder what it was like…? I should go talk to her...nah man...for the streets! Can't believe Eddie invited her...ugh...she’s so gross...got I wish I could get laid.\nPlenty more where that came from. Some were too horrid to repeat in my mind so I cringed internally and kept on moving through the party. I decided to red cups for me as I wasn't sure what cretin decided drugging somebody like I was wise. I needed to focus on him. Finding him, but he made that hard. Eddie’s helmet somehow nullified a Psionic’s telepathy. No looking into his mind. I guess that’s what happens when you have a crazy telepath for an ex. As popular as Eddie was, the girls and boys didn’t mind. Girls thought it added mystery and the boys thought it was a...ahem…”Cold ass cosplay.” Yea, we had our firebreathers, Electro-mancers, even our own shapeshifters some were in a corner shifting their chest into different girls' boob sizes), but none compared to Eddie’s mysterious helmet. No matter where he went, the talk was on about him…\nWait…\nI let my mind reach out into the dorms, looking, hearing. It was like swimming through an ocean of loud vulgar thoughts, each one illogically misplaced, horny, or otherwise on the verge of a panic attack because in their drunken or high, they realized they didn't study at all for finals tomorrow. I filtered that all out swiped them to the side like a smartphone, then focused in on Eddie. I gotta take off that helmet of his...I should tell him how I feel...wonder where he got that Nirvana shirt from...really wanna see his powers...come on show us Ed! Somebody, please pull up his shirt! Does he have a six-pack or not...let daddy be lucky tonight...gotta go talk to him…\nIt was like a fishing line: I just had to reel myself in. I went from the first floor, through potheads, through raging games in Uno, all the way to the third floor where through a dorm room, secluded and undisturbed, was Eddie. I shut the door to find nobody there, only a window leading to the fire escape. I could see the cloud of smoke rising to the star-filled night sky. I took a deep breath, then entered the fire escape.\nThere he was. He took another puff of a joint through a slit in his helmet before he saw me. He half sighed, and half exhaled. “Thought I told people to let me have a moment or two...wait…” he pointed at me. He searched for a name. “Macky? Right?”\nUgh. Like everybody else: a jerk. “You probably hate that name though.”\n“Yes. I do.” I leaned on the railing to see the crowd below. “Then why do you let people call you that?”\nI shrugged it off. “Why is one of the most popular kids in Iquarium Academy by himself right now?”\nEddie took a puff again, this time his glowing eyes brightening. “Believe it or not Macy, I actually hate people. Like-a lot. Took me over an hour to find this spot. Yet you found me. Gonna have to try the balcony sometime.”\n“I thought you liked the attention, the notoriety. You got how many girls want to be your next?”\n“You're a telepath right? You tell me.”\nI scoffed. “Good point. But your ex won't let them get close to you?”\nHe took a long puff of his joint before flicking it down to the party below. “I don't like to talk about my business.”\n“Pretty sure it's everybody’s business now.”\n“Including the deterrents.”\nI felt a surge of anger. I eyed the window when he corrected himself. “I didn't come up with that. Alexis did. School didn't protest against it. “\n“Or course she did. That’s Alexis for you.”\n“One of the reasons why we broke up.”\nI eyed him. “I thought you didn't tell people about your business?”\n“I think with you-I’ll be alright. Who’ll you tell it to anyway?”\n“Good point. Not exactly popular like you.” \nEddie laughed. He shook his head then leaned beside me against the fire escape. “Believe it or not, I hate that word. It's cliche and basic. Do I look basic to you?”\n“You look like some ass who wanted the school's outcasts here. Make us a petting zoo. Oh, how cool you are.”\n“Would you believe me if I told you I could care less about you? Or your friends?”\n“I was going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe you’d let us stay because you are actually a nice guy. I was wrong.”\n“Haven't you heard?” He stood and leaned his head towards me. “Bad guys are the rage. And they’ll always be.”\n“So that’s why you’re up here? To solidify your rep’? Nice play there Eddie. “\nWe stood in silence, watching the crowd down below, my swelling emotions dying down as Eddie pulled out another joint and lit it. He sighed, eyed me then went back to his joint. He looked at me again before cursing to himself and aiming the joint at me. “Want some?”\nI looked at it, then back at him. “That depends. You're gonna tell the school Macky the Freaky is a pothead now?”\n“Ah ah ah,” he waved a finger. “I’m not Alexis, remember?”\n“...I’ve never smoked before.”\n“Calms the nerves. Make you happy. Believe me. I got a bong for a head.”\nA laugh snuck out of me. A hearty one. I guess it caught him off guard because I swear by the way his head tilted he raised an eyebrow under his helmet. “Maybe next time” I wiped a tear from my eye. “Don't worry. There’s always a next time.” he flicked the joint down at the ignorant crowd again. “That was a waste,” I replied.\n“Got plenty more where that came from. So...what do you want to know?”\nMy heart jumped. “Excuse me?”\n“I’m not dumb Macy. Macy Kim: You solve a few mysteries around the school, you and your squad lately. The ghost pranks by Todd, who framed Reese Gecko, on and on. So what do you want to know about my brother Grant?”\nThe whole building shook. Eddie and I looked back and it shook again. We looked at each other before we raced off down to the party floor.\nSwarms of party-goers, hungry for a fight, crowded through stairwells and doorways, through windows and live feeds from their phones to see the brawl that was taking place. I would have been trampled if it wasn't for the awesome might of Eddie waving people out of his way and like a horde of ants, scurrying away from the gigantic foot. We somehow made it down to the first floor and outside, where I skimmed some minds to find one name: Lucas.\nOh fuck.\nI could hear the jocks' cries for violence as I and Eddie made it to the center of the circle. Christian Vatican, as tall and hulk-like as he was, was standing over Lucas, who wiped the blood from his mouth, and a smile appeared on both of their faces. Time leaped from the crowd and drop-kicked the bully sending him into his steroid-induced friends. Tim let out a hand and Lucas got up. Tim nodded and Lucas laughed. “I’m good. But I think we messed up.”\nChristian Vatican’s dirt brown eyes glowed a bright amber before his veiny fist was engulfed in flames. “The Pyrokinetic. Of course, you want to fight a pyrokinetic,” Tim muttered. “I didn't start it! He did!” Lucas pointed to him.\nThrough glowing hot teeth, Christian spoke. “That little pepper spray prank you did had me on the sidelines for three weeks! Three. WEEKS. Just so you know. You deserve this clapping!”\n“Pause.” Lucas raised a hand. “And bring it on choad!”\n“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tim nearly whispered. “I thought you relapsed a week ago. “\n“Doesn't mean my power can't knock this COUSIN-FUCKER OUT!”\nI cursed. Around me, people cheered and hollered for blood. For our blood. “One last thing,” Tim eyed the men. “I’m never going out with you again.”" } ]
[ { "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: We Stay\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1920\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in New York, where someone’s been waiting for your character." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A crooked smile peeked its way through the folds of a frozen frown. Many assumed Dave did not like to smile, but really he did not have much time to or much reason.\n “Wouldn’t that be something? My father has been trying to find this fine stinking city for three decades. Geography was never his strong suit. I would show him the way back if only I hadn’t inherited his intelligence.”\n “So you stay.”\n “So I stay,” Dave nodded emphatically, flattening his large, hairy hand onto a shelf in the air. “This was the only place he was ever able to find. The only place he ever wanted to find. There’s something. I don’t know what had him so caught in the net about it.”\n “If it lured him once, it’ll lure him again.”\n Dave found a smile weak from disuse chasing his frown lines away. “The law of the land.”\n “The nature of man.”\n “Is that what you’re doing then?” Dave nodded to the wrought iron bench that held their weight.\n “Sitting?”\n “Sure, sure.” Dave’s eyes rolled but his frown stayed away. “You know what I mean.”\n “Yes, yes. I am staying.”\n “For how long?” Bells rang to the nines and with their ringing reminders, Dave commanded his hat onto his grayed hair.\n “Until the day is done, but I hope sooner than that.”\n “For you, ma’am, as do I,” Dave slapped his knees with a sigh and hoisted himself to his feet. The frown may have returned to his mouth, but not to his eyes. “The net calls.” Dave tipped his hat and she nodded, watching his broad, burdened shoulders blend into the city that wanted to be found.\n\n“Excuse me, Ma’am? Do you know where my mom is?” Marie Darling Thatcher knew not to talk to strangers. She knew not to show doubt, but the pleading impatience not to be alone pushed her to speak.\n “My dear, what is your name?”\n “Marie Darling Thatcher, Ma’am,” Marie Darling Thatcher twisted her neatly woven braid around her pinkie. “She told me to sit right by that tree. She said she wouldn’t be a minute. But I don’t know where she went.”\n “She’s been gone more than a minute then?”\n Marie Darling Thatcher nodded, bobbing her braid like a jump rope. Each fiery strand was tucked carefully into each fold, only a few around her finger started to fray.\n “I see. Now you just sit here with me, and we’ll look for her together.”\n Marie Darling Thatcher’s wide eyes scanned the crowd, now renewed by just a little hope, with her shoulders square and head high, all doubt was washed away. Quietly, the two searched, and despite the elder’s keen eyes, a familiar red was quick to draw the girl’s attention.\n “Mama!” Marie Darling Thatcher tossed aside her braid to wrap her arms around her mother’s neck.\n “Darling! Don’t you scare me like that!” Marie’s mother stroked her daughters’ matching red hair as she locked her eyes harshly into her own. “I told you to stay where you were!”\n “But you were taking so long! I thought you were gone.”\n “Marie Darling Thatcher, your impatience will be the death of me.” Mrs. Thatcher addressed the elder woman gratefully. “Thank you for looking after her.”\n “I was only a second set of eyes. Your daughter has a strong spirit. She would have found you with or without my help.”\n Marie Darling Thatcher dropped her braid and giggled with pride. “Goodbye!” Marie Darling Thatcher craned her neck to her mother’s loving gaze and asked, “can we eat now?”\n“Sure, Darling,” Mrs. Thatcher laughed with relief. She held her daughter’s hand tightly in her own as she led her home.\n\nThe doorbell jingled above as Tom stepped out of the store. He passed his drink from one hand to the other to wipe his sweaty palms against his pants then looked for a place to wait for her. He’d never been on a date, but Mike and James told him enough to know what to do. Adjusting his tie and the bottle in his hand he sat on a bench to wait.\n“A bit young aren’t you?”\n“Pardon?” Tom asked the woman beside him.\n“You’re young.”\nTom noticed the woman’s eyes travel pointedly to the bottle in paper in his hands. Shifting uncomfortably he tucked it into his side. “How would you know?”\n“You are young, that much is clear. You are healthy too. But if you were old enough for what you’ve got hidden away in that bag, you would be somewhere far away from here.”\nTom’s thick brow curved downward as he loosened his tie. Most people thought he was an adult, he was not used to people addressing him as his age. He looked ahead of him at the sun glinting from twelve stories of glass across the street, saying nothing.\n“What’s it for?”\n“A girl,” Tom replied. “I… uh… was told girls like to drink,” seeing the woman’s disbelieving eye he rushed to amend himself. “I got the good stuff though!” Tom pulled the glass over the crinkling paper to show her the expensive label.\n“Boy, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!”\n“You don’t know anything! You aren’t a girl!” Tom bristled, hurrying to straighten his tie and gather his bottle.\n“Honey, every woman was once. Not only that, I had a husband too, and he would never have won me over with an expensive brandy. Do you want the girl’s love or a hand to the face?”\nTom rubbed his hands on his pants and breathed out slowly. “Uh, her love I guess?”\n“You guess?”\n“Her love! I want her love.”\n“Listen to me then. Ditch the bottle and go get her some flowers from that kind, young florist on the corner. Take her to the cinema, a nice dinner, a stroll through the park. Take it slow and the rest will take care of itself.”\nTom stared at the woman blankly, gray eyes full of youth and ineptitude.\n“Go, I said!”\nTom leapt to his feet and dropped the bottle to the ground, sending it rolling across the cobblestones.\n“And for goodness sakes pick up after yourself boy!”\n“Yes, Ma’am!” Tom snatched the bottle and tossed it into the trash on his way to the florist, straightening his tie on the way.\n\nPlagued by a far-reaching heart, a stained uniform, pinching heels from a long run, and a bad hair day, Lola stood with her soaring hope outside the post. She did not have very long until she was needed again, but this letter could not wait. She slid a trembling finger beneath the envelope, careful to preserve the paper and the possibility it held within.\nMessage delivered, all her lucky stars fell to the earth and out of the sky forever. Clocks loomed above her and work called. \nLola drifted until her heels would permit her to go no further. She slumped to the curb, numb to the crowds around her.\n“Honey, come off the ground before you get kicked.”\nLola let the old woman lift her from the pavement and place her on the bench behind her.\n“The music, the shine, the inspiration. The dream. It will never be mine,” Lola spoke, transfixed by the feet of the city walking and running around her, but never kicking. “I can go so high.” Lola turned to the woman beside her, desperate for someone to listen, to believe.\n“I’ve waited for so long for this letter. Before I even wrote to them, before I even knew I could, I’ve been waiting for this. I can kick so high!”\n“You’ve got powerful legs honey, I believe it.”\n“But it’s not enough. For all I can do, my bones just aren’t long enough. It doesn’t matter how tall the heel, the Rockettes are too tall for me,” Lola lamented to this perfect stranger. Slipping off her shoes Lola gave in to the inviting arms of a mother’s embrace and let the world collapse around her. Far away she could hear her name, but the loss of her stars pulled her gravity deeper within.\n“Lola! Oh, baby look at me!” Eleanor crouched on her heels to meet Lola’s gaze, pulling her to look upward, Eleanor’s halo of curls blocking the view of the feet of the city behind her. “Girl, where have you been?”\n“The post,” Lola responded with resignation, wiping at the mascara she knew had run down her cheek.\n“Oh, Lola. I’m sorry,” Eleanor ran her hand comfortingly down her friend’s arm. Eleanor locked eyes with the woman she did not know. Nothing was said, but nothing was needed. “We should get back, we’ve all been so worried about you. Even Bobby.”\nLola and Eleanor laughed softly, then with the woman’s support lifted themselves from the bench. Sharp heels in one hand, Eleanor’s arm in the other, Lola’s stockinged feet joined the sea of others to walk, maybe run, but not to kick.\n\nWith the sun sinking low over the empire two faceless men with honor and a duty to uphold approached a woman on a bench.\n“Excuse me,” the man in the green uniform began, “are you Mrs. Jane Ellis?”\n“Yes,” Mrs. Jane Ellis replied, wary of these strangers who knew her. “May I help you?”\n “Is your son Paul G. Ellis?”\n“Yes.” Jane’s fingers twisted the only ring on her finger. “Do you have a message from him?”\nThe man in the deep, decorated green stepped forward. “I’m sorry Ma’am, your son has died.” There was more for him to say, but the faceless man became wordless too.\nJane’s fingers fell limp. “He was supposed to meet me here today.” Jane’s wisdom spilled from her old eyes and down the lines of permanent smiles now drawn into a frown.\n“We know,” the decorated man confessed. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to see him.”\n“You, gentleman, are mistaken. I have seen my son,” Jane’s lips trembled as she recalled him. His somber face, his fierce hair and wise eyes, his familiarity, his determination, his romance and honesty, his dreams. “He has met me here today. In pieces, in moments, in the parts of him he left behind in the city. He could not come to me whole, but he is with me still.” Mrs. Jane Ellis released a shaky breath. She could say no more.\nWith nothing else to say, one man stepped forward, clean green coat and light catching on the dip of a nose, a flash of lip downturned, a heavy brow, “Our country is honored to claim your son as our own. His name and his sacrifice will not be forgotten.”\nJane Ellis nodded. “I know.”\nThe man stepped back and away into facelessness and shadow to leave Jane Ellis alone in the city.\n\nDave stood out on the steps above a bustling crowd, the day releasing him into the life of night. Instinctively his eyes were drawn to a familiar bench, and what awaited him there did not surprise him at all.\n“The sunset was one to remember,” Dave noted as he lowered himself beside her, gripping his hat onto his worn knee.\n“I suppose…” Jane Ellis replied with a small glance of acknowledgment.\nThe light of the lamp above revealed what her words could not.\n“Are you staying longer?”\nJane Ellis looked to the darkened, cloud-covered sky and sighed. “Much, much longer.”\nA worn, hardened hand lay gently over her own and together they waited the night 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: Svatý Václav\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1287\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with “It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.” (Hans Christian Andersen, “The Little Match Girl”)" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Content warning: brief mention of death\n\nIt was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. The bite of the wind was making Dushan’s face numb, especially his nose. Eyes watering, the young page adjusted the strap of the wine skin on his shoulder and clutched the bundle of venison closer to his body. He must keep up with Duke Václav, whose long sure strides seemed not at all hampered by the deep snowdrifts on the ground. \n\nGlancing back, Dushan realized that the weather had changed for the worse very quickly; where before the moon had been shining brightly, it was now made invisible by flurries of snow. He could no longer see the lighted windows of the castle at all. The wind was whipping the wet snowflakes in circles so the very air was white. Yet the Duke of Bohemia walked on before him, undaunted by the growing blizzard. \n\nThe page thought longingly of the great hall, where a fire was glowing on the hearth, and the banquet table was full. The whole castle had celebrated Christmas yesterday, and today being the Feast of Saint Stephen, the festivities were continuing. The Duke had been drawn to the window by the bright moonlight outside, and was admiring the pristine glow, when he called for Dushan. “That peasant gathering wood there—do you know him, Dushan?” \n\n“Yes, your grace; that is Samo the cripple.”\n\n“And do you know where he lives?” \n\n“Yes. About a league from here, on the edge of the forest, by the fountain of Saint Agnes with his family.”\n\n“If he is out on such a cold night as this searching for a few sticks, they must be badly off. Do I speak truly, Dushan?”\n\n“Yes, your grace.”\n\nThe Duke turned his back to the window, and addressed the other servants. “Bring me meat, and wine, and pine logs.” And to Dushan he said, “You will help me to bear these things. We will go and see good Samo, and help him build a good fire and see him and his family dine on good food.” \n\nAnd now here he was, staggering after the Duke of Bohemia as the freezing wind tried to steal the breath from his mouth. “Your grace,” Dushan gasped out, teeth chattering. “Svatý Václav!” Václav the good. \n\nThe Duke’s cloak whipped about, but Václav stood straight and tall, back unbowed by the heavy sack of wood he carried there. The calm in the howling storm. “What is it, Dushan?” \n\n“I can go no farther, your grace.” Oh, how he wanted to go with the good Duke on his mission of charity! But his feet were faltering. “Everything is so dark and cold…I must turn back.” \n\nThe Duke stood a moment in silent thought, brows furrowed, head bowed. When he spoke, his voice was clear and strong in a way the page could not fathom. “Mark my footsteps, Dushan, and tread in them boldly.” Then the Duke turned and set out once more. \n\nDushan struggled after, searching for the gray marks of the Duke’s footprints against the white world around him. Finding one, he placed his foot in it as told—and started. \n\nThrough his boot, he felt a heat like a burning fire. Lifting his foot, the ground was visible. Dushan put his foot into the track again, and felt not hard frozen ground, as it should be on the night after Christ’s birth. The toe of his boot was digging into soft soil, as of a tilled field in summer sun. \n\nThe page lifted his head and stared incredulously after the Duke of Bohemia, who strode ahead unheeding. Then he followed, step by step, footprint by footprint, and the heat in the earth spread all through his body and warmed even his frozen nose. The screaming of the whirling winds seemed to fade. \n\nLate that night, the Duke and his page returned to the castle, their sacks empty. All were surprised, to some degree, by the fact that they seemed not at all cold. On the contrary, they looked as warm and rosy-cheeked as if they had done nothing but stand before a roaring fire. Yet the blizzard raged on outside. \n\n* * * * * * * \n\nDushan was following the Duke up the steps of the church on their way to Mass when it happened. The September day was chilly, though of course not as cold as that night of the Feast of Saint Stephen, when he and the Duke had taken meat and wine and wood to crippled Samo and his family. When they returned, the Duke had gone to bed, and all in the castle had listened to the page's tale with wide eyes and open mouths. Some had laughed, while others went away thoughtful. \n\nA flurry of motion and pattering footsteps drew him from his thoughts. Four men were rapidly approaching. It took Dushan a long moment to see that one had a lance leveled at Duke Václav. The Duke’s brother, Boleslav.\n\nFrozen in shock, Dushan watched as the good Duke of Bohemia was stabbed and then run through on the steps of the church.\n\n * * * * * * *\n\nAnd so Svatý Václav, Václav the Good, was killed by his younger brother Boleslav the Bad, assisted by three of Václav's own nobles, on September 28, 929. He was 22 years old. Václav’s name was later Latinized as Wenceslas. He was given the title of King posthumously by the Holy Roman Emperor Otto I. Václav remained a virgin throughout his life, and gave much to the poor, which is immortalized in the Christmas carol \"Good King Wenceslas.\"\n\nIrked by Václav's submission to the German invaders, the Duke's nobles had goaded Boleslav to the act of fratricide. Boleslav gave himself the title Prince of Bohemia, rather than the title of Duke that his brother had used. Within the next year, Boleslav was frightened by reports of miracles at his brother’s tomb. He had Václav’s remains moved to Saint Vitus’s Cathedral, where they rest to this day.\n\nIn Wenceslas Square in Prague, capital of the Czech Republic, the western half of which is the region of Bohemia, there stands a statue of Good King Wenceslas mounted on a horse. Legend has it that if Bohemia is ever in great danger, the statue will come to life, and Svatý Václav will raise an army and defeat the enemies of Bohemia.\n\n\n\nGood King Wenceslas looked out\nOn the Feast of Stephen\nWhen the snow lay round about\nDeep and crisp and even\nBrightly shone the moon that night\nThough the frost was cruel\nWhen a poor man came in sight\nGathering winter fuel.\n\nHither, page, and stand by me,\nIf thou knowst it, telling\nYonder peasant, who is he?\nWhere and what his dwelling?\nSire, he lives a good league hence,\nUnderneath the mountain\nRight against the forest fence\nBy Saint Agnes fountain.\n\nBring me flesh and bring me wine\nBring me pine logs hither\nThou and I shall see him dine\nWhen we bear them thither.\nPage and monarch, forth they went\nForth they went together\nThrough the rude winds wild lament\nAnd the bitter weather\n\nSire, the night is darker now\nAnd the wind blows stronger\nFails my heart, I know not how\nI can go no longer.\nMark my footsteps, good my page\nTread thou in them boldly\nThou shall find the winters rage\nFreeze thy blood less coldly.\n\nIn his masters step he trod\nWhere the snow lay dinted\nHeat was in the very sod\nWhich the Saint had printed\nTherefore, Christian men, be sure\nWealth or rank possessing\nYe, who now will bless the poor\nShall yourselves find blessing." } ]
[ { "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: Meeting You Was A Coincidence, Falling For You Was My Choice!\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2934\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Are you coming tonight?”\nI looked at Kara and gave her a death glare for asking such a dumb question when she already knew the answer. She just shrugged and kept nudging me. Sighing I said, “since when did I ever go out on a Friday night?”\nKara rolled her eyes and gave her attention to her ‘buddies’. Well buddies as in have y’all ever seen the movie mean girls? That’s exactly who they are. Kara, Briteny and Kenzie belongs to the ‘mean girls’ group in our high school. I mean doesn’t every school have the typical share of mean girls, hot dudes and what not. I, on the other hand belongs to that one group which no one really cares about. Believe me, even nerds are famous than me. The only reason people would ever approach is to get Kara’s number. Why? Because unfortunately or fortunately we’re childhood best friends, oh wait! Let’s make it childhood EX- best-friends. It’s not that I hate Kara I mean, even if I hate her I would have to keep seeing her in every family gathering or reunions we have as even our families are pretty much close though we’ve drifted apart for god knows what reason.\nI’m that one person who loves to spend the Friday nights sitting in front of the couch with a huge stack of snacks and sweets only to have a movie marathon or just chill reading a book. I know you must be going, ‘Argh that suck!’ C’mon dude, not every girl likes to party on Friday nights and wake up next day naked in some dude’s room. My elder sister, Susanne who just happens to be another socialite and thinks I’m hopeless. Well, once she took me to a college party and got me drunk and the only thing I didn’t do is dance naked in front of everyone. Since that day whenever Suse decides to throw a party she makes sure to lock my room door with me in it.\nAlthough for me it’s just a stupid drinking party, almost every kid from Avalon High is going to be in that party. I mean although I’m stupid enough to miss it, who’d miss a chance to go to a party in a Presidential suite with the President’s son? For my knowledge, (well from the gossip I hear everywhere) even the not-so popular kids are attending the frigging party tonight as the invitation extends to the whole school and well, the whole neighborhood of Avalon. I can only picture the soulless faces of the maids who would have to clean the whole mess the following night.\nAron River, a.k.a, the President’s son is quite famous around the neighborhood for being a hot dude. I mean I get why he would be famous for being a president’s son but for his looks? Unbelievable. Well, people will argue with me of course. He might have good looks but he’s dangerously famous for being a player and most importantly for being a jerk. How I know all these? Duh, there’s something called social media gossip. The last time I ever saw Aron was in 5th grade I think. He was this chubby little guy who loved getting into fights for god knows why. After that he went abroad and apparently although he was rumored to have been travelling back and forth I never saw him. Today marks the day that he officially returns to Avalon and also the fact that he would be a transfer student in our school. But, I don’t care any of those. Why would I care about a person who I have no connection with or well who I haven’t even talked with.\nUnfortunately, Kara dragged me to the party because the so-called buddies ditched her to go with two of Aron’s best-friends. The only reason I agreed was because she was bent on destroying my entire rack of CDs with the alcohol bottle she had in her hand and I was not going to let her destroy my precious collection. You must be thinking oh she won’t do something like that but sorry to disappoint you, Kara is a spoiled brat and she would’ve definitely destroyed it and many things more if she couldn’t have her way. At least, she allowed me to wear my jeans and a worn out top and not force me to wear her butt short dresses. Sorry but I don’t know what those clothes are called even.\nI mean it’s common courtesy to at least stay with the person you dragged into a party right? Kara lacks that courtesy as the moment she saw her buddies she left me in the middle of the room with drunkards, couples making out and people dancing. I hate crowded place. Like a lot. Not to ignore the fact the whole suite is filled with people. Some I do recognize from Avalon High but most I don’t even know if they’re in the same neighborhood. Crowded places makes me to anxious and uncomfortable. That’s the main reason that I don’t even go out for movies or to restaurants even. I just buys the DVDs and get the food I want delivered to my house. My sister always tells me that I’m an orphan that my parents adopted as she and I are polar opposites from looks to our personalities.\nI tried to go out and grab a taxi but as I just let Kara drag me, I don’t even know where I am now. If anyone can get lost in a suite, that would be me. Not knowing where I’m going I started to walk towards somewhere with less number of people inside the suite. Only when I stepped in I realized that I had just stepped into the dance floor. I wanted to scream and shout so that people would make the way for me to leave but I don’t have that much confidence. If I had confidence, I would’ve just let Kara destroy my rack and stayed at home without letting her drag me into this stupid party which I don’t belong to. Suddenly someone pushed me from the front and I lost my footing. I tried to hold onto someone but my hands didn’t obey me no matter what I said, because I’m not someone who would hold onto some stranger. Just then someone put a hand around my waist and pulled me. I crashed into heavy muscled body and I was just about to scream when he covered my mouth. Frightened I looked up only to meet with a daring pair of light brown eyes.\nUsually in movies and novels, the hottest dudes have ocean blue eyes but he did not. He was still holding me and his appearance was screaming the word playboy. But for some reason I couldn’t take my eyes off from him. I knew I should make him let go of me and leave this place that I don’t even belong but something held me. I have seen and even read stories about girls claiming that would get butterflies when met with a guy but I never believed those. For me, those stories were just made up ones by people who have great imaginations until now. I could feel butterflies in my stomach and I don’t know how to describe the feeling. I wasn’t even holding him. My hands were numb and my legs were shaking. But I still couldn’t take my eyes off from him. It’s his eyes. His eyes were daring and something in me just couldn’t take my eyes off them. And for some reason he didn’t let go of me either. He was holding me so close to his body that our bodies were touching closely. He kept looking at me and I could feel his stare making my whole body go numb. Yet, I couldn’t remove my eyes. The more I stared back the more I felt something burning in my body. I felt like my whole body was on fire.\n“Aron?”\nThe moment I heard the name my whole body became tensed and the person who was holding my waist let go of his hand and turned around. And I knew at that moment, he was Aron River. He has changed so much since 5th grade and I didn’t even recognize him. Taking my chance, I quickly pushed my way through all the dancers and away from him. Even when I was away from him I could feel my whole body on fire. It was burning so much and I could feel my heartbeat drumming in my ears. I was loss for words and seeing bottles of drinks I quickly drank maybe around three bottles just to stop the fire that was getting stronger and stronger in my body.\nAs a person who had no knowledge about parties, only when I was feeling tipsy did I realize that I was getting drunk. Not wanting get laid anytime soon, I went to the second floor looking for a room to lock myself in until this whole party is over. I went to the farthest room and for my luck it opened without a budge and there wasn’t anyone inside the room. I quickly went inside the room and let the door close behind. The room was bigger than our entire living room and it was the definition of majestic. There was a luggage open and clothes lying everywhere near it. But I didn’t give much of it a thought and took a shaky step towards the bed. Wobbling the whole way, I tried to manage to get hold of the bed, but before I could get inside someone opened the door. Feeling conscious and defensive I quickly turned around to run out only to stop dead on tracks. It was Aron. He kind of seemed surprise to find me in or I must be imagining stuff because I was so drunk that I can barely stand. He didn’t say anything but closed the door behind him shutting off all the chaos outside. He was looking at me. I didn’t look at him knowing full well that I wouldn’t end up doing something stupid being drunk. But I could feel his eyes on me. He wasn’t checking me out. It’s just I felt his presence in every part of my body.\nWanting to get out soon I tried to walk towards the door only to find my legs give away. He quickly took exactly two steps towards me and held me in his arms again. This time I was holding onto him having no other way to steady myself.\n“What’s your name?” he asked me and I felt goosebumps all over me. If any of his girl-friends find me I would be dead meat for sure. I didn’t say anything but risked looking at his eyes and realized I should’ve controlled myself. I was burning all over again and I knew I should go out of this room soon but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it with the way he was looking at me. And suddenly without any other words, his lips crashed into mine. At first he was forceful and I tried to push him but I didn’t have the strength to do it. I numb all over again. He was holding me so close to him and I could even feel his breathing getting harder. Knowing fully well that what I was doing was a grave mistake, I opened my mouth and let him take control over me.\n……\nThe sunlight was shining directly into my eyes and turned around to block it away from my view. I felt someone was holding me and the moment I turned around I felt someone’s breath. Quickly I opened my eyes and saw Aron sleeping next to me peacefully so much that I didn’t want to bother him. But, I screamed and got out of the bed. His opened his eyes with an alarm and the moment he set his eyes on me, he looked away and said, “though I don’t mind looking at you, you should still cover yourself,”\nI quickly looked down at myself and screamed again, taking the bedsheet covering my entire naked body. I couldn’t believe this. I couldn’t believe I let him take advantage of me. I couldn’t believe I got drunk. I couldn’t believe I let Kara drag me to this stupid party. If I didn’t let her control me I wouldn’t have gotten into this mess. Without saying anything, I found my clothes right next to me and quickly put them on while Aron was looking away. He took the phone which was on the stand and cursed when he saw the time. With force, I took my eyes away from him and got up fully clothed. But before he could say anything, I bolted out of the room grabbing the cap which was lying on the chair near the door. He called out to me but I ran away from him knowing fully well that we belonged to two different worlds and what happened yesterday night was a mistake.\n……\n(Extra-long after the party)\nARON\n“You are not going to let her go like that are you?” he asked his best friend. When he stayed quiet he asked again,\n“Hey man, are you telling me that you are letting her go like this?”\nAfter few seconds Aron finally looked up at him. His light brown eyes stared back at him but he knew Aron was different.\n“no”, with that he took the keys from him and got into the car. He only saw his best friend starting the car, in a second he was up in the high way driving fast as he can towards the airport.\n“he’s an idiot. His pride is what I hate the most.” he chuckled and went back to the café mumbling, “how could he even think of living without her?”\n………\nI ran as fast as I can as I didn’t want to miss her. I have to tell her. Somehow I just have to.\nI stopped in front of the dashboard and looked at the onboarding flights. She was supposed to go in UL1009 back to her father’s hometown. I can’t lose her like this. Not when everything is my fault.\nI kept roaming my eyes through the dashboard and UL1009 finally popped up. The gate is already opened.\nWithout wasting my time, I ran towards the gate C and saw her standing in the queue with her small black backpack. She is not your every day model type girl but she is honestly beautiful. She is not super thin but kind of plump. Her hair is black but she had brown highlights. I could remember her telling one day that she won’t color her whole hair as her favorite color is black.\nWhile still breathing hard, I called out to her, “DIANA“\nShe looked around to see who called her name but she didn’t turn around. So I called her again, a little louder, “DIANA“\nHer whole body tensed and I knew that she identified my voice. She slowly turned towards me and when she saw me, standing there sweating and panting her eyes widened.\nRight at that moment it was her chance to show her passport and the ticket. The attendant called out to her but she didn’t take her eyes off me just like the way she first looked at me in that party. She didn’t say out loud but the way her lips moved I knew she said my name.\nBringing up all the courage I have left in me and forgetting about my pride I said what I wanted to tell her all this time,\n“Diana, I love you! I love you! “\nFirst she was speechless then slowly tears started running down her face. She closed her mouth with her hands letting go of her passport and the ticket. And I said it again. Which was something that I would never have done if I never met her. She changed me. I don’t know if it is in a good way or a bad way. But all I know for sure after weeks of drinking and acting like a mad man is that, I don’t want to lose her, ever again. And this time, I will fight for her.\nI took a step towards her but part of me was afraid that she will pick up her things and will go away. If she did, I would’ve never forgiven myself for being a jerk and letting go of the girl I fell in love with, the moment I held her that night in the dance floor. But I was wrong. The moment I took a step towards her, she ran towards me leaving everything behind. And I did too. I hugged her tightly and swore to never let her go like an idiot. When her eyes finally found mine, I kissed her. She closed her eyes and kissed me back passionately, hugging my sweaty shirt tightly, trying to tell me that she will never let me go again too. Whatever anyone say, what I had with her was different. I know I slept around with girls and even dated quite a few. But, what I felt for her was different. Different from everything that I have done before I met her. As much as she’s someone I thought I wouldn’t meet in my life, she’s someone I can’t live my life without 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: Little Fox\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2322\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a fox spirit (a gumiho, jiǔwěihú, kitsune, or hồ ly tinh), inspired by, e.g. Korean, Chinese, Japanese and Vietnamese folklore." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Little Fox crept out of bed as her mother left. Ma Ma walked so quietly, her footsteps were barely audible as she slipped out the back door.\n“Ma Ma,” whispered Little Fox, trying to watch her but Ma Ma had disappeared into the murky night air. \n“Little Fox,” called Ba Ba. “Go back to sleep.”\n“Where is Ma Ma going?” \n“She will be back in the morning. Now go back to sleep. It’s late.”\nLittle Fox lay back on her bed, listening to Ba Ba’s snoring next to her. Ma Ma always did return by dawn, although Little Fox had never been able to see it. She would wake up in the morning and Ma Ma would be in the kitchen, making congee like she did every day. Sometimes Ba Ba said that she had to run deliveries at night. It was true that their store was very busy and her parents did often work long hours, but that did not make it any less mysterious. She rolled onto her side so she could see the door, wanting to stay awake until Ma Ma returned, but her eyes would not stay open.\nWhen she woke up the next day, Ba Ba was already working in the store which was at the front of their house and Ma Ma was in the kitchen. The smell of congee made Little Fox’s stomach rumble. She ate her breakfast, watching Ma Ma as she bustled around, packing her tiffin for school. She looked full of energy, certainly not like she’d been out late at night. Ma Ma scolded her for eating too slowly and reminded her to get ready for school with a stern voice but a warm twinkle in her eye.\nLittle Fox attended the small Cantonese school in the Chinese quarter. There were not many children but Little Fox loved school. It was a chance to get out of the house. Her parents were always warning her about the white people who liked to harass the Chinese and so she was not allowed beyond the boundaries of the Chinese quarter by herself and after school, she had to help out in the store. When she complained they would say things like, “You’ll understand when you’re older.” Her life was contained within the few streets of the Chinese quarter of Melbourne.\nHer father had come to Australia as a young man to make his fortune at New Gold Mountain, along with many other young men from Guangdong. Sometimes he told her stories about coming over on the boat from China or life on the gold fields of Bendigo. He’d been lucky to make enough money to start his own business in Melbourne once the goldfields were exhausted. Then he’d been able to send for a bride from Guangdong once he’d established his business. He would smile and say how beautiful Ma Ma looked when she’d arrived in Melbourne. The first thing he’d noticed about her was her dark eyes and how they flashed with spirit. It was the most auspicious day of his life. Whenever he told this part of the story, Ma Ma would tut and flap her hands at him but Little Fox could see that she was pleased. \nThe school day passed too quickly and Little Fox said goodbye to her friends before she hurried home. She had a long list of chores to do back at the store. If it wasn’t too busy and Ba Ba was in a good mood, he might tell her stories from when he was growing up in Guangdong. \nWhen she got back home, she saw several men in the store, all deep in conversation with Ba Ba. Little Fox heard snippets of their talk as she went through to their kitchen to put her things away. She came out with her broom, ready to sweep the floor but her father told her to help Ma Ma instead. She bowed her head and returned to the kitchen.\n“Ma Ma, what is Ba Ba talking about with those men? Is something going on?”\nMa Ma was chopping vegetables. Without missing a beat, she told Little Fox not to eavesdrop and tossed her an apron. \n“You take over here and I will start the soup. Ai yah, Little Fox, there have been bad men coming here, bad English men. They have a lot of anger and they drink too much. That makes them dangerous. So you must not leave the house, except to go to school and then straight home after.”\n“Bad men in the Chinese quarter?” Little Fox paused with the kitchen knife. She looked up at Ma Ma who shook her head.\n“I’m afraid so. Your father has lived here a long time so people want his advice. He has been through this with the English before.” Ma Ma sighed, though her hands were still deft and sure over the soup. “You must be a good girl, Little Fox. When you are older, things will be different.”\nLittle Fox nodded. “Yes, Ma Ma.”\nShe continued chopping the vegetables and herbs, thinking about the snatch of conversation she’d overheard. Something about the Governor not helping them, being deliberately blind. Ma Ma gave her more jobs to do, and then when the men had gone, she told Little Fox to sweep the store floor. \nBa Ba was busy writing. He wrote a community notice each week that he posted outside the store. She stood next to him and watched his swift brush strokes but he reminded her to get on with her sweeping. A few more people came to the store that evening but there was no more of the hushed conversation of before, just people coming to buy this and that. After they closed the store, they retired to the kitchen to eat dinner with Ma Ma.\nLittle Fox always felt tired by the time dinner came but happy too. It was the one time that her parents were relaxed. Tonight, Little Fox was hungry but there were uncomfortable turnings in her stomach. She couldn’t put the men’s conversation out of her head but her parents sat and ate, making occasional small talk. She helped Ma Ma clean up after, hoping that she would tell her some more of what was going on, but Ma Ma just carried on normally. \nWhen Little Fox went to bed, she could hear her parents talking softly to each other. She couldn’t make out their conversation but the sounds of them moving around the store were comforting and she drifted off to sleep.\nThe sounds of crashing and glass breaking woke Little Fox. She rubbed her eyes, confused. It was dark, the middle of the night. Ba Ba’s voice and some English voices mingled in the store and she crept out of bed. Ba Ba’s voice was calm and entreating but the English were strident, heated. Little Fox tip-toed through the kitchen then eased her head around the door to the storefront. Her father was standing in front of the counter, two white men looming over him. The glass panels in the window were shattered, glinting sharply in the moonlight. She gasped. What were these men going to do to her Ba Ba? And where was Ma Ma?\nOne of the white men raised his fist and pushed his face in towards her Ba Ba’s. Then he said something in English that Little Fox couldn’t understand. The other white man laughed, a laugh that belied menace. She shivered, trembling for her father.\nOutside on the street, a fox’s bark cut through the tense air in the store. Little Fox leaned forwards slightly, trying to get a better view. Her parents were always telling her stories about magical foxes. Her nickname came from their love of foxes. Ba Ba said there were lots of foxes in the Victorian countryside, brought over from England so the governor could go hunting, but the Chinese fox was far superior to those feral Victorian foxes. \nThe man with the raised fist continued shaking his fist in Ba Ba’s face but the other man turned, gasping. He spoke to his friend.\n“Look at that! A silver fox. With three tails.”\nLittle Fox stood up briefly, trying to see this fox. She caught a glimpse of a fox standing in the street just outside the smashed window. She ducked down but the men’s attention was now on the fox so she stood up again. \nThe man who had spoken said something about money for fur which caused the man with the raised fist to turn to look at the fox. It was an incongruous sight; a silver fox with three tails, like the foxes in the stories, but in the middle of the city. The two white men became excited and one drew a revolver. The fox leapt forward, snapping its jaws. The man with the revolver shot at the fox, his revolver letting out a blast that left Little Fox’s ears ringing. She saw her father’s mouth was now open in anguish, his hands clutching the sides of his face. Little Fox saw the two white men burst out of the store, looking for the fox. Ba Ba followed at a safe distance and Little Fox ventured out of her hiding spot too, wanting to see what was happening. She ducked down behind the counter when the two white men shouted something at Ba Ba but they now seemed to be more interested in the fox. They left, boots crunching over the glass splinters. \nBa Ba cried out then, calling Ma Ma’s name. Little Fox ran into the store, afraid of what she’d seen, afraid for Ma Ma. Ba Ba ignored her and dashed out into the street, still calling Ma Ma’s name. Little Fox followed him, nearly running into Ba Ba when he stopped at the laneway around the corner from the store. Ma Ma lay on the cobblestones, clutching her side. Blood flowed between her fingers. Little Fox screamed. \nBa Ba scooped Ma Ma up in his arms and carried her back to the store. He laid her out on the bed, doing his best to bandage her wound. Little Fox did not know what to do; she was confused and terrified all at the same time. Ba Ba told her to grab some tonic from the store and she ran, wanting to help.\nMa Ma drank the tonic but she trembled as if cold. Ba Ba looked at her with such tenderness that Little Fox began to weep. Ma Ma tried to sit up then, but she could not. \n“Little Fox,” she whispered. “It is time for you to know. To take on your power.”\n“Ma Ma!” Little Fox cried. “Don’t die.”\n“I am shot, Little Fox, and I have not yet cultivated enough power to survive this man’s weapon. You must take on your power.”\nLittle Fox looked at Ba Ba, confused. Tears rolled down his face.\nMa Ma reached one trembling hand out to Little Fox. Little Fox gripped her mother’s hand and held it to her face. \n“You must take on your power, Little Fox. Your name…is your power. You are like me, a huli jing.”\nLittle Fox stopped crying, stunned.\n“You are a fox spirit?”\n“Yes, and you are too. Use your power!”\nMa Ma’s voice dropped so low they could barely hear her. Her face was white and wan in the candlelight but her hand in Little Fox’s was still strong. An electric pulse thrummed in their connected hands and Little Fox felt herself overcome with a strange feeling. As her mother’s spirit left her body, Little Fox shifted into her fox shape for the first time. She leapt on light paws, in awe at the new sensations. Ba Ba gazed at her, a small smile as he took in her silver fur and single brush tail.\nThe moment of wonder was too brief, however, as there were more sounds of English voices and glass breaking in the street. The two men were back and as angry as before. Little Fox’s ears pricked up and she leapt through the store and out onto the street.\nThe two men were partway down the street. She barked once and they turned to look at her. \n“It’s got one tail! I told you a fox can’t have three tails.”\n“But it’s a silver fox. Where’d it come from?”\n“Who cares about that? It’s worth money, that pelt.”\nThe man with the revolver took aim but she was primed, her fox sight and hearing keen as a razor. She darted to the side and snapped at the men’s legs. A shot rang out behind her and it made her jump but she kept her nerve. She had to keep them away from Ba Ba. Darting from one side of the street to the other, she set off towards Celestial Avenue, hoping the men would pursue her. They did, creating a ruckus as they went. She ran down the avenue towards the river, looking over her shoulder and there they were, running after her, singleminded in their pursuit. The docks were just ahead. She had only been here once with her parents but her mother’s spirit spoke to her and she ran on, determined. As she approached the docks she paused, letting the men catch up but not too close, then circled around to snap at their legs again. They shouted with ugly voices and she circled around the other way, snapping at their ankles. They were infuriated now and tried to shoot at her. She circled them one last time, keeping her eye on the wharf beside her and then darted out of the way. The men stumbled over the side, causing two splashes that made the night workers come running. \nHer eyes flashing with spirit, Little Fox sprinted back to the Chinese quarter and home, where Ba Ba was waiting for 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: The Snow Bride\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 3013\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with “It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.” (Hans Christian Andersen, “The Little Match Girl”)" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling and it was almost dark as Harry opened his eyes and came out of his reverie. He had always though that Jeremy, his eldest cousin, would inherit the family estate one day. However, to his great surprise, a series of unfortunate events had ensured that every one of his cousins perished before reaching the age of thirty – with the result that Harry suddenly found himself heir to Locksby Hall and to a lifestyle he had never dreamed of.\nHe was around twenty-five at this time – a pale, dark-haired boy, good-looking in a somewhat Byronic fashion – and had recently become engaged to a young lady of his acquaintance named Mildred. Mildred was rather clever, although her family were decidedly middle class, and told Harry straightaway that it was obvious something untoward had happened to the Granville side of the family and that it might be an idea to visit Locksby and investigate.\n“After all,” she said, staring at him with determined eyes, “I don’t want to find myself a widow a year or two after we marry – or for you to die before we have a chance of living in that house.”\nHarry privately thought this last remark rather calculating but said nothing. He was a little in awe of Mildred’s efficiency and the way she had so effortlessly arranged their engagement before he had realised he wanted to marry her.\n\nAnd so it was that the two of them arrived at Locksby one fine December afternoon just as twilight was beginning to make its presence felt. The weak beams from a waning winter sun cast a sickly yellow tinge over the crisp, white snow as the horses trotted through the wrought iron gates of the hall and along the half a mile or so of leafy driveway.\nIt was then that he saw her. The woman was so pale that her paper-white skin almost blended in with her surroundings. Her lips too were devoid of colour and her hair so light that it was barely noticeable even though it flowed over her shoulders, unchecked by shawl or bonnet. She was lying helplessly in the snow as if she had fallen from a horse or been attacked by a footpad, and her white dress seemed inadequate protection against the biting cold that must be seeping into every part of her.\nHe might not have noticed her had it not been for her eyes which glowed like coals amidst the white of her face and clothes and the white of the snow. She looked at him and her eyes burned into him as if she could see into his very soul, igniting a spark of something strange within his heart and loins so that for one moment of madness, he felt compelled to leap from the carriage and gather her into his arms.\n“Harry!” Mildred’s voice sounded sharply, breaking the unknown woman’s spell. “What are you staring at?”\nA warm blush stained his cheeks and he started guiltily, wondering if she had discerned his indiscretion.\n“What are you looking at?” she repeated.\nHis gaze flickered towards her and then back to the snowy landscape outside, but the woman had already faded into the dusk. He wondered now if she had ever been there at all.\n\nHis uncle’s snug was ridiculously warm, thanks to the roaring log fire and the thick, heavy, velvet curtains. Sir Granville sat with his right leg propped up on a pouffe, a glass of brandy in his hand and a decanter at his side.\n“So, this is the filly who’s trapped you, eh?” he remarked as Harry stammeringly introduced Mildred. “Not much of a looker, but then your aunt Honoria – God rest her soul! – wasn’t a beauty either. Still, I expect you’ve had time to sow your wild oats by now. What are you? Twenty-seven?”\n“Twenty-five,” Harry muttered, his face flaming with embarrassment. Mildred was the only woman he had ever kissed, but his uncle’s coarse remark had filled his mind with an image of the woman in the snow.\nMeanwhile, Mildred regarded her soon-to-be uncle coolly. “Looks aren’t everything,” she said. “Harry needs a wife who can keep him in order and ensure he stays alive for long enough to enjoy his inheritance.”\n“So, the girl’s got spirit,” the old man muttered as if to himself. Turning back to Mildred, he added, “Do you play mah-jong? I haven’t had a decent game in years.”\n\nHarry sat dozing by the fireside, the murmur of conversation between his uncle and fiancée a faint hum in the background as they placed their tiles. His mind dwelt on his deceased cousins and Sir Granville’s reticence about exactly how they had died. He was not a superstitious man, but he found himself wondering about family curses.\nIn the warmth of the fire, his eyelids began to close and he found himself in a half-dreaming, half-wakeful state in which voices blurred around him and he was himself and yet not himself, walking through the snow covered grounds with the woman he had seen earlier – except this time, she had colour in her lips and cheeks and the long hair that rippled down her back was as dark as his own.\nThey reached the disused summerhouse and he looked at the girl expectantly, already beginning to burn with lust for her. She faltered and he grabbed her roughly, opening the door with his other hand and almost dragging her inside.\nHer fear escaped in sobs. “Please, Sir. It’s not right. Your wife...”\n“What Honoria doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” he said thickly, desire now taking over.\nBlocking out the sound of her cries, he took what he wanted.\nHarry came to with a start, his heart beating wildly and his pulse racing. Had his uncle really deflowered the girl? He looked across at the heavily-built man playing mah-jong, at his florid face and swollen, gout-ridden legs, and could not imagine him ever being the lusty young swain from his recent dream.\n\nThe clock struck ten. Mildred yawned. “Time for bed, I think,” she said. “Don’t stay up too late talking to your uncle, Harry.”\n\nIt was around midnight when Harry finally stumbled up the staircase and made his way to the solitary bedroom he had been assigned. His room, when he entered it, was decidedly chilly. He should have told the maid to light a fire. Perhaps if he closed the curtains…\nHe was just reaching for the heavy damask material when his eye caught sight of her. What she was doing on his balcony, he did not know; but she must be freezing in that thin, white gown. Her eyes turned to him imploringly, as if begging shelter from the elements, and he could not refuse her – although a tiny part of him wondered what Mildred would say if she knew.\n“What are you doing out there?” he asked as he opened the window and let her in. Then, noticing she was shivering, he continued, “Let me fetch a blanket to warm you up.”\nHe could feel the cold chill of winter emanating from her as she glided into the room and he knew instinctively that one blanket would not be enough.\n“Why don’t you take the bed?” he suggested, ushering her over to the large, curtained fourposter. “I can sleep in the chair,” he added gallantly.\nShe said nothing in reply; merely slid beneath the sheets and blankets and counterpane, shivering as she pulled the covers around her.\nFinally, she spoke. “Will you not lie beside me and let me feel your warmth?”\nAs if in a dream, he let his feet lead him over to the bed and to the pale beauty who waited for him. Pulling off his jacket, he wondered whether he should remove his trousers also or whether that would be regarded as improper – he could not divest himself fully and put on his nightshirt in front of her! – but his fingers seemed to be acting of their own accord, undoing his buttons with an almost indecent haste until he stood clad in just his shirt and underthings before climbing into bed with her.\nPutting his arms around her was like embracing a block of ice. An intense coldness seeped into him as he held her, chilling him to the marrow and numbing his toes and fingertips as if he were outside in the snow. He gasped with shock, realising that this poor creature must have endured severe weather conditions for days. It was a wonder she was still alive.\n“Are you feeling any warmer?” he asked after some minutes.\nHer eyes were closed and there seemed to be a look of satisfaction on her face.\n“A little, maybe,” she replied without looking at him.\nHe wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a hint of colour staining her lips.\n\nEventually, they fell asleep, Harry’s arms still wrapped around the unknown woman. She had not offered her name and he was reluctant to ask, although it seemed ill-mannered somehow to be lying in such close proximity without a formal introduction. \nWhen morning came, his bedfellow had vanished. He felt concerned: if anything, his room was colder now than it had been the previous evening and the snow-covered grounds would be chillier still. Even the water on his washstand was frozen, and his fingertips were too numb to button up his trousers.\n\nThe cold he felt seemed to have sapped his strength. When he finally managed to crawl downstairs, Mildred regarded him in horror. “Are you ill?” she demanded. “You look like a ghost.”\nCatching sight of his reflection in the large, burnished mirror above over the sideboard, he admitted she was right. His face was almost as white as the woman he had recently lain with; and the guilt he felt did not enhance his colour.\n*\nAfter breakfast, Mildred dragged him into his uncle’s library. There was no fire and the cold gnawed at his bones. He felt chilled from the inside out.\n“What are you looking for?” he asked as she began pulling dusty notebooks off a shelf.\n“Clues,” she said without looking up. “Your uncle told me last night that he used to keep a diary. I think he had some idea of publishing his memoirs one day. If I find the notebooks that correspond to your cousins’ deaths, we might be able to see some sort of pattern.”\nHarry thought she was wasting her time. Jeremy had died in a boating mishap; Jonathan had fallen from his horse; and Jonquil had somehow miscalculated his step and tumbled from the top of the staircase, breaking his neck in the process. As far as he could see, there was nothing to link the deaths unless it was that they had all been accidental. Ignoring his fiancée’s activity, he sank down into a winged leather armchair and closed his eyes.\n\nIn his dream, the woman stood once more on his balcony, her formerly pale cheeks flushed and her long hair tinted a dark gold. He found himself reaching for her, wanting to feel her in his arms once more; and when she glided to the bed, he followed her, pulling off his cravat and his jacket as he did so and pausing only to remove his trousers before he climbed in after her. This time, she turned towards him and he knew he was going to kiss her. Her lips were cold, but after the first, initial shock, he let himself be consumed by the icy feeling that crept into his bones and blood as their lips merged and their limbs tangled, knowing that Mildred would never feel such desire for him nor he for her.\n“Harry!”\nAs if discovered in flagrante, he started, waking himself up. For a moment, he blinked at Mildred, irrationally angry with her for having interrupted his secret dalliance.\n“I fear you are unwell,” she said, regarding his feverish eyes. “Let me feel your head.”\nThe heat of her fingers seemed to burn him and he retreated in shock.\n“You’re like a slab of ice!” she exclaimed. “Harry, I think you must have caught a chill. You should go back to bed at once.”\nMeekly, he let himself be bundled up the stairs and into the large, cold room.\n“You need a fire,” Mildred declared. “And a warming pan. I’ll order it straightaway.”\nThe genuine concern on her face made him wonder if she truly loved him after all.\n\nHe fell asleep almost immediately, wrapping the comforting coldness around him like a blanket. As the icy chill seeped through his bones, he could almost imagine the woman lay beside him once more and his body yearned for her.\nHis dreams were fitful. He was back in his uncle’s body, looking at the stern face of his wife as she told him how ‘this unpleasantness’ would be dealt with.\n“She’ll have to leave.” Honoria’s words were calm and factual. “You can give her some money towards the upkeep of her child, but I won’t have that creature under my roof any longer.” There was a pause. “You have three legitimate sons and that should be enough for any man.”\nTime whirled like a blizzard of snow. He saw the girl thrust out into the unforgiving winter weather with only a shawl for protection; then, moments later, one of the gardeners had been called into the study, his muddy boots leaving marks on the Persian rug as he haltingly told the story of the frozen body discovered earlier that morning.\nThick and fast the memories came – were they really memories if they were not your own? One moment he was sitting in a boat, straining at the oars as the laughing eyes of a pale beauty fired his soul; the next, he was floundering in the water, fighting for his life as long fingers wrapped themselves around his wrists and dragged him under the surface. He was galloping across the fields, exulting in the fine, spring morning, at one with his father’s Arab stallion; and then a shape rose from the bracken, startling his horse so that it reared and threw him. The last thing he knew was the woman’s eyes burning into him like coals – almost as if she were exultant at his death. He stood at the top of the staircase, ready to make his grand entrance as the heir to Locksby, thinking that he would be more wary than his brothers – you wouldn’t catch him in a boat or on a horse! A sound behind him made him turn slightly. A beautiful creature stood there with skin as pale as snow and eyes that seemed to penetrate his soul. He had to have her, but as he reached for her hand, she leaned forward and pushed. He had no time to wonder why as he toppled headlong down the marble stairs.\n\nHe awoke with a start before his body hit the floor. His heart was thumping wildly and his pulse raced. It was only a dream, but it had seemed so vivid.\nIt was then that he noticed the figure lying beside him. Her skin was still the colour of snow, but her lips were a definite red and her hair had turned a most becoming shade of brown. He knew now who she was and what she wanted; but he was unable to summon any fear. Instead, a calm acceptance seeped through him. His uncle had taken her life: it seemed only fitting that she should have his in exchange.\nAs if still in a dream, he let her place her arms about him and felt the now familiar shock of her coldness seeping into him. Closing his eyes, he let the icy sensation creep through his bones and blood, embracing the sleepy numbness that threatened to overwhelm him. “Not long now, my darling,” he thought he heard her say as he began drifting into unconsciousness.\n\n“Harry!” Mildred’s voice brought him back to reality. He opened his eyes slowly, realising with a shock that the girl was still lying next to him.\n“Harry,” - Mildred’s tone was dangerously quiet – “you need to get out of that bed now unless you want to end up like your cousins.”\nHer words washed over him, seeming unimportant against the deliciousness of lying in the unknown woman’s arms.\n“Harry...” This time, Mildred’s voice sounded less certain, almost as if she were pleading with him.\nHe lay immobile, unable to respond even if he had wanted to. Cold fingers stroked the hair from his forehead and he began to brace himself for the inevitable.\n“Harry!”\nIn desperation, Mildred crossed the room, striding over to the bed and grabbing his face roughly with her hot, burning hands.\n“She can’t have you. You’re mine, Harry: mine and no one else’s.”\nThe lips she placed on his own seared into him and he felt the agony of her heat as it began to invade his frozen body.\nStop! he wanted to tell her. Let the pale lady have me. But Mildred pressed on regardless, kissing life back into his body so that he almost wept with frustration.\nAt last he broke free of her, his fevered brow an unwelcome sensation after so many hours of perfect coldness. He turned to the woman at his side, thinking to offer some sort of apology for his fiancée’s rudeness, but where she had lain he saw only a pile of rapidly melting snow.\n“You killed her...” His breath escaped in a whisper. “I loved her – and you killed her!”\n“Harry...” He had never heard Mildred sound frightened before.\n“I loved her,” he repeated roughly, ignoring the tears that now stood in Mildred’s eyes.\n“She was killing you, Harry. Surely you understand that?”\nHe did not answer, his mind already searching for a way to bring her back to him; but as Mildred continued to sob, he knew it was too late." } ]
[ { "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: \"...And They Were Roommates\"\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2303\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an introvert and an extrovert who are best friends." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Their names were Zandra and Paulina and they were polar opposites. \nI sat behind them in Geometry, and it always confused me how they could be best friends, how they managed to get away with being them.\nI fiddled with my pencil, staring down at the problem in front of me. We were taking another grueling test, and the duo in front of me was making it really hard for me to focus. \nIt was Paulina who was talking, of course. She could have yelled at the teacher’s face and no one would blink an eye. It was just who she was, Miss Popular, Sea Gulch High School’s own cliche Queen Bee. \nI wished that I had the courage to tell her to shut up, that we were all trying to take a test that would impact our grades significantly. We couldn’t all pay for good grades like she did. \nBut I stayed silent, trying to blot out the sound of her high obnoxious voice as she nudged her silent best friend beside her, who was trying to take her test same as everyone else did. I wondered why Zandra didn’t speak, she was the only one in the room who could say something to Paulina without suffering consequences. \nZandra Long looked nothing like the lackeys that Paulina hung out with. The ones who followed her around and told her whatever she wanted to hear. They all had plastic smiles and an obsession with pink and designer clothing. \nIn fact, Zandra didn’t have any friends other than her. It was understandable, when she dressed only in gray and beige colors, and her puffy hair covered her eyes, she always seemed to blend in the background. Even now, she was hunched over her desk, as if she was trying to make herself small enough so no one would see her sitting beside Paulina. \nI was trying hard to understand the question. But when Paulina was going on about Chad, or Bret, or whoever was hanging over her shoulder now, I really couldn’t figure out what I was looking at. \nAnd then the bell rang, and I had only finished two of the sixteen questions. \nPaulina bounced up from her seat, swinging her shiny designer bag over her shoulder. Her pink painted lips looked delighted, elated. She brushed her blonde hair over her shoulder in that cliche way that mean girls did it in movies. Her paper was completely blank, besides the pink cursive handwriting of her name at the top of the it. \nI squashed down my anger and stood up, throwing my pen down. Grabbing my bag, I pushed my chair and walked out, accidentally knocking Paulina over in my angry storm towards the door. If it wasn’t for her calling out to me, I would have marched right out of the classroom without a care in the world. \n“Hey!” She yelled, frustration clear in her voice. \nI turned around, seeing not only Paulina glaring at me but also the rest of the room, curious eyes anticipating a beat down, a source for new gossip. \nPaulina’s blue eyes were hard, but not scary. Not like the rumors said. I couldn’t find myself cowering under her gaze. \n“You bumped into me.” She continued, her voice practically a growl.\nI balled my fists at my side, and thought of a number of things I could have said in response. “Yeah, and so what?” or, “You should be happy that’s all you got for ruining my test.” \nBut I stayed silent, because I knew I wasn’t scared of her. But I was scared of the outcome of defying her. Everyone knew what happened to Megan Thompson back in freshman year, and how she was thrown out of school for the stunt she pulled.\n“I-I’m sorry.” My voice was no louder than a whisper, and I turned on my heel and ran out of the classroom before she could shout another insult to me. \n...\nThere was nothing more relieving then leaving school. Getting to close your locker, stuff your homework in your already full bag, and walk the hallways with the intention of getting the hell out of the building was something that would never get old. \nI walked down the hallways, plugging my headphones in to ignore the whispering murmurs echoing around me. The whole school now knew about my “face-off” with Paulina, and they didn’t hesitate to show their disapproval of me. \nI stepped out of the building, fiddling with my phone before butting head first with Zandra Lee. I hissed, rubbing my forehead and looking at the girl in front of me who didn’t appear to be in pain. \nI gave a disinterested, “Sorry.” Before continuing my walk away from the building. \nAnd once again, I was stopped, “W-Wait.”\nThis time it was Zandra’s meek voice, if one of my headphones hadn’t popped out upon impact, I wouldn’t have heard her at all. \nI turned around, “Yes?” A sigh followed, one that I let slip out involuntarily. \nShe walked towards me, but it looked more like a shuffle. Her clothes were so baggy that I could barely see the shape of her legs as she moved towards me. “Um, I-I just wanted to apologize for Paulina.” She murmured, “You didn’t deserve that.” \nI scoffed, “What? Did she send you or something?” \nShe shook her head frantically, “N-No! It’s just….” \nI knew what she wanted to say before she said it. She had to apologize because she knew that Paulina wouldn’t. She probably forgot all about me, forgot how she humiliated me. \n“Why are you friends with her anyway?” I lashed out, “She’s a horrible person and you know it.” \nZandra shuffled uncomfortably, “S-She’s the only nice person in this school.” \n“What are you talking about—” \nShe shook her head, “I know what you want to say, and I know she isn’t all that nice to everyone else.” Her face scrunched into an expression that looked somewhat similar to anger. “But when everyone was treating me like-like crap, she was there.” \nI scoffed again, “So what? You think it's okay for her to treat everyone else like crap too?” \n“No.” She shuffled closer to me, “That’s why I came over here. I want you to help me take her down.” \n...\nThe plan was simple. \nNo, it really wasn’t, but I somehow understood. \nZandra and I had met in secret for weeks devising it, I would have felt guilty if Paulina wasn’t such a horrible person. \nWe split it into three parts.\nFirst: We would ultimately show the school how horrible a person she was. To do this, I had to sacrifice myself and do everything I could to irritate her in the easiest ways possible. And do it all around a crowd, victimize myself. \nI winced as I was shoved to the ground, my papers scattering around the floor. It was rush hour in the hallway, so of course it was chock full of passing teenagers. Paulina and Zandra were in the middle of it all. \nAnd of course me. \nI purposely bumped into her—again—and this time I was violently pushed to the ground. A bruise was forming on my shoulders, she was really stronger than she looked. “How many times do I have to tell you to watch where you’re going?!” \nI was hoping now my acting did me good, “I-I’m sorry, I have my midterm and I’m already late—” \n“Does it look like I care?” She continued, stepping on my papers. Good thing these were random ones I found in the back of my closet. “You don’t bump into me twice and get away with it.” \nThe crowd surrounding us was a mix of sympathetic faces and the complete opposite. Paulina ass-kissers. I was surprised, I didn’t think anyone would be on my side right now, especially when Paulina got away with everything. \n“Come on, Z.” Paulina called, pushing a few more of my papers before walking away, Zandra following close behind her. \nNo one spoke as she passed, but once she disappeared down the hallway, sort of frightened murmurs erupted around the hallways. People were beginning to feel skeptical about how Paulina White treated everyone.\nI smiled to myself as I picked up the remainder of my papers. \nSecond: We got evidence of her bribing the teachers. \nThis was all Zandra, she’d sneakingly snapped a picture of Paulina hacking over five hundred dollars to our Geometry teacher for the midterm. \nHonestly, everyone knew Paulina paid all the teachers, but no one had the courage to prove it. \nUntil now. \nI grabbed my Chemistry textbook from my locker and looked over at the people standing beside me, who like everyone else were gossiping about the leaked picture on the screen. \nWho knew all it took was a fake Instagram account and a picture to ruin someone’s life. \nThen, at that exact moment, Paulina walked down the halls, looking a lot more nervous and irritated than she usually did. Fingers pointed at her from around the hallways, snickering, whispers, giggles, all targeted at her.\nI couldn’t help joining in the jeering. I laughed loudly, my chuckles mixing in with the chorus of chortles echoing down the hallway. \nShe ran quickly through the halls, a blur of pink and tears.\nThird: A sprinkle of convincing. \nI did this part mostly on my own. Going from one person to the other and convincing them that Paulina didn’t deserve to be treated better than anyone else. \nIt was all so much easier than I thought, especially when all the teachers were fired and replaced with new ones who didn’t take anything from our Queen Bee. \nAnd then, when Paulina’s hot pink aura began to mix with everyone else’s when she marched down the hallway, I was satisfied. \n“Why don’t we take over the school?” I asked Zandra one day, who gave me a skeptical look in return.\n“W-Why? We took down Paulina already.” She answered. \n“Well, there’s still so many things wrong with our school.” I reasoned, “If we were able to take down Paulina, we could do anything we want with everyone.” \nZandra left after leaving her answer in the atmosphere. A firm ‘no’ didn’t leave her lips, which was somewhat satisfying because it meant she took it into consideration. \nI came to school the next day with a bright smile on my face. It was the first week after Paulina’s reign came to an end, and I was looking forward to walking the halls without thinking my life was at risk. \nBut the sight of the angry stares coming from everyone around me greeted me instead. \nI walked confusingly to my locker, opening it and recoiling at the sight of everything inside vandalized and destroyed. \nI turned around at the sound of snickers echoing through the hallway. \nSlamming my locker closed, I tore down the aisle, looking for the only person who could have been responsible for it all. \nPaulina was sitting in a classroom almost gleefully, Zandra sitting dutifully next to her. It was like everything from the last few weeks had washed away, and I was back to being behind them, thinking about how wrong it was for them to be above all. \nThem. I threw the door open, slamming my hands on Paulina’s desk. She smiled smugly at me, “Are you here to frame me for something else?” \n“What are you talking about?” I screamed angrily. \nZandra answered instead, “We all know about how you made it look like Paulina was terrorizing our school.” \n“Zandra, you-you helped me with everything!” I spluttered, “I didn’t frame her, she’s just a horrible person, and you all know it.” \n“The only horrible person is you.” Another nameless voice spoke, “We knew about everything you were planning from the beginning.”\n“When I came to you outside that day,” Zandra added, “I was testing you and you failed.” \n“So we all played along.” Paulina smirked, “And now everyone sees you as the horrible person you are.” \n“Wh-What…” There was no response I could form. All of the blaming eyes were on me, and I felt like I was in the wrong. I shouldn’t have accused anyone. This was all the karma for messing with Paulina White. \nI hadn't won. I couldn't win.\nI ran out of the room, similar to Paulina that day I was chortling at her, the day I looked like the villain. \nI had been fooled. \nThe rest of the day was full of taunting and regret. I had solidified myself as the bully, the official school loser. The punching bag. \nI dejectedly left school, and the sight of Paulina and Zandra in front of me wasn’t even surprising. \nThere wasn’t anyone around us, and silence filled the empty sidewalk. How did they even find me? And worse: what did they want to do? \n“I hope this teaches you a lesson, Anne Morris.” Paulina said. \nI looked up in surprise, You-You know my name?” \nShe chuckled, “Of course I know your name. How else would we have framed you if we didn’t know your name?” \n“F-Frame?” \n“Don’t tell me you’re that stupid.” This time it was Zandra who spoke, “We framed you from the beginning. From the moment you entered the Geometry class that day.” \n“I-I don’t understand.” \n“We needed to solidify our power, and you were the perfect person for that job.” Zandra continued. \nI was speechless. Everything, the talking excessively, the anger, the plotting. It was all a ploy to get Paulina to look like the victim?\n“Well, I think we’re about done ruining your high school life.” Paulina smiled at her friend beside her. “We did a good job didn’t we, babe?” \n“Of course.” \nThey walked away with hands intertwined and swinging gleefully together, and suddenly everything made sense." } ]
[ { "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: Bright but Loaded\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1409\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who everyone thinks is an extrovert, but is actually an introvert." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I woke up and turned my alarm off. It's still dark outside. The urge to continue my interrupted sleep was affecting my head, but I shook them off. I get out from my dormitory as I take my fluffy towel and head into the shower room.\n\nMy body was freezing as the cold water running down my skin. There were no heaters, and it was 4 in the morning. Living as a student in an elite school is not as happy as you think. To think about the pressure to get flying colors in exam, and about the school's activities as well. Furthermore, I was currently trapped in this jail, boarding school.\n\nDespite being a person who couldn't bear the cold, I finished my shower quickly. I wore my daily outfits and get out from the shower room. As I walked back into my dormitory, I heard a voice from the room beside mine. She was talking to her mom as usual, I thought.\n\nI got into the dormitory, which was a mess. I looked around the dark room, as my vision trying to adjust itself. I sighed. I threw my towel on my bed and started to clean up some mess, which was my own belongings. I pushed all the stuff that wasn't mine.\n\nBecause of the cold shower, I couldn't sleep. I switched on my phone, and just went up scrolling the social media. It was all untill one post caught my eyes. 'Be what you should be and stop pretending to be someone else.', that's what it said.\n\nI snickered. My mouth formed a smirk. What is this motivational post? Somehow, being yourself is not the best choice. You will end up suffer alone anyway, so why should you opened yourself to people?\n\n...\n\n\"So, that's it?\" asked my deskmate. I nodded aggressively as I continued, \"And then this filthy squid died, just like that! I mean, you know what? He shouldn't die! Everyone in his excavation team suffered a lot ya know?\" She nodded aggressively, just like me.\n\n\"Oi, Cikgu Fauzi is here!\" shout out one of my classmates. Cikgu is teacher in Malay. Cikgu Fauzi stepped in the class as she brightly said, \"Don't forget my beloved students! Today is the day of presentation!\"\n\nThe whole class protested. I smiled as I leaned my back to the chair. A presentation, huh?\n\nSo, my classmates' presentations were all look cool. Their speech is not that impressive, but it's not too awkward for students who just stepped into their high school. It's currently a presentation about Champa, a kingdom existed at the time when Alam Melayu was dominating the world. But it's not the history I want to be worried about.\n\nI gripped my hands, trying to calm myself down. I could feel goosebumps all over my body. I could hear my heart beating faster than usual too. I put my hands under my table, to avoid an eye watching my state. I kept the straight face as I try to focus to the presentation.\n\n\"Let's proceed to Kedah Tua's group!\" said Cikgu Fauzi and I flinched. It's already our turn? Sht. I don't even have a script over my presentation. I was busy calming myself down. Slowly, with shaked legs, I rose up from my table and went to the whiteboard, as my teammate set up the laptop.\n\nWhy do I need to feel nervous? It's not like I'm in front of the Prime Minister anyway.All eyes were on me right now. I shivered again before I try to calm myself down. Sht. Now, I didn't know what am I doing. I kept walking here and there as my teammates explained their part.\n\nJust the person before me finished, I formed a strong punch. Don't worry, my explaination is not that long.\n\nAnd then I started talking. I talked without even know what the heck was I talking about. Basically, I just talked anything related to history without me knowing For no reason, I did well on my presentation. I answered the questions, which I always avoided.\n\nAs my group's presentation finished, I head back to my place. My deskmate look at me with a worry look. I formed a forced smile as I sat down.\n\n\"You're nervous, aren't you?\" She bet. I shook. \"No, I'm not. There is no need to worry about me, I'm fine.\n\nAnd that continued for the rest of the day. It was because every subject on today's schedule had presentation as its main agenda. In front of them, I smiled with joy and accept all the critics, no matter if its body shaming, dirty talks, ideal man talks, even though I didn't plan to having a boyfriend, some curses, and anything that I am not comfortable. I know that I should tell them my opinion, but I'm afraid of those stares, those stares that would not respect my opinion.\n\nIn this small yet dangerous social bubble, I try hard to survive. I tried to be nice to everyone, but not everyone being nice to me. But it didn't matter as long as someone still supporting me, even after all those body shaming and that uncomfortable talks towards me. I should be grateful.\n\n\"You lied.\" My deskmate said to me as she ate her ice cream. After school, we have a free time and right now I was having a walk with her. \"What? I didn't--\"\n\n\"Stop lying. I know you're lying. Even right now. She said as her gaze shot mine. \"Stop lying to yourself, btch. It's not like you can lying to yourself forever. I knew, you're not comfortable with everyone, thus you try to fit in this boarding school environment. I understand the struggle buddy, but you should be yourself.\" She said as she ate her ice cream.\n\nI looked at the football field. It's huge. I finished my ice cream as I sighed. \"It's not like I want it though. All I want is just a peaceful junior college life yet everyone started to rely on me, since the very beginning. They will rely on me, and leave when someone who's more capable than me started to appear and took my place. I don't want the position either. My leadership and communicating skill is not that sharp too. I know, I'm just a food can. Everyone will threw me after the food inside me was taken out. And unfortunately I'm used to it now.\"\n\n\"Haih, I know you're an introvert but what's with all the things you do with your full courage to appear as extrovert in front of everyone?\" She asked me again. I smiled as I took a deep look into the golden sky.\n\n\"It was all to sharpen my skill, that's all.\" I took my phone out and started taking picture of the scenery. It's a rare phenomenon, the Golden Hour. The time when the sky is full with golden related colour as the sun started to set. I smiled in satisfication as I turned to head back to the dorm.\n\n\"What--? For your skill? Are you crazy, you btch?! You might turn into a psychopath you know?!\" She said as she slapped the back of my head. My hijab's neat awning turned into mess.\n\n\"What....Did you do to my hijab you fcker?!\" I said as I slapped her head too. Her hijab's neat awning was a mess too. \"But why not with being a psychopath? They look cool.\" I said as I stared at her with a villainous face.\n\nShe flinched. \"Don't you dare changed into a psychopath or I will be the one who send you to mental hospital.\" She said, ignoring me. I laughed my ss off. She's right. Why did I do something like that? Why did I try to change into a new person? Why don't I just be the one who I truly am? I have the answer for those question already.\n\nIt's because that's just the way I am. I am just an average student, a fellow who was used by the classmates as a weapon to runaway from needing to answer teachers' questions, An introvert who act like an extrovert and making everyone fall into a false first impression, a person, who might just been a two faces, without herself knowing, because she didn't have her true self that will be true and pure to the heart and the brain. That's truly who I am." } ]
[ { "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: Wrath of the Last God\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2979\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with “It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.” (Hans Christian Andersen, “The Little Match Girl”)" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Thyra staggered breathlessly through the snowy woods, her ceremonial paint smeared across her face. Behind her an orange glow colored the nearby trees. The rooftops of Lundr were burning and screams of the dying filled her ears.\nA loud, booming voice rang out through the darkening forest, “Spread out! Bring me that craven witch!”\nThrya brushed the sweat drenched black hair from her face. She could not stop now. The marauders would spare none of her fellow villagers to find her. Help would not come from nearby villages for fear of a similar fate as Lundr. With her village burning and help out of sight, Thyra knew where she had to go. The sacred grove. \nHer legs moved with primal speed, like a wolf chasing down its prey. Though in this circumstance, she was the prey, and the wolves pursued her. Thyra had been raised in these woods her whole life. She was sure she could navigate them in the blackness of night, and she was even more confident her hunters could not.\nThe sacred grove was not far from the outskirts of Lundr. Thyra had made this familiar trek many times on thoughtful walks. Her mother and father taught her to honor the gods of old with prayers and sacrifices from an early age. Often she had pondered the nature of the woods, and the gods who created them, on the many well worn paths. Even after her parents had passed onto Valhalla, Thyra continued to devote herself to the ancient ways of her people. \nThe trees, the paths, and even the light of the moon were intimate to the young woman. The resounding shouts and dancing torchlights behind her were far less familiar–far less nostalgic. With the mob of murderous hunters a slight distance away, Thyra stepped into a circle of large stones. \nThe small glade was surrounded by several of these ten foot tall carved rocks, each bearing a distinct mark. Thyra approached the first stone to her left with gasping reverence. She bowed her head and raised her hands toward the stone in front of her, “Oh Freyja, I come to you in my hour of need. Let me not suffer this dreadful fate.”\nThe thunderous voices and foreboding flames were getting closer, and Thyra feared she would not receive deliverance from Freyja in time. She moved on to the next stone and beseeched a different recognizable deity. “Balder, god of light: shine down upon me as darkness surrounds me.”\n“Over here, my lord!” One of the hunters shouted.\nAnother called out, “She is praying to a pile of rocks!”\nThyra had been found.\nSlowly, the host of armed men emerged from behind the grove’s sacred stones. Their torches cast ominous shadows against the hallowed ground. Each marauder’s eyes were fixed on the desperate woman as they prowled in on Thyra’s position. Her prayers quickly went from attempts at calm petition to pleas for urgent deliverance.\nAs meager foot soldiers surrounded her, one large man with a thick blonde beard stepped out from the ranks. His armor was adorned with strange emblems of two intersecting lines, the vertical one longer than the other. His shoulders were draped with a heavy fur, most likely a bear pelt he had not gained the hard way. His brash stride wreaked of false authority, “Do Magnus’ eyes deceive him, men? Is this bleating goat truly Lundr’s pagan priestess?” \n“Heimdall, cast your all vigilant eyes upon me in the face of my enemies,” Thrya continued her prayers to the next stone, not paying the band’s leader any modicum of deference.\nMagnus circled Thrya’s position as her petitions proceeded, “When we were sent by the Archbishop to investigate a claim of heathen worship, I thought it far-fetched that such rumors would be true. In this day and age? A woman of Lundr still leading her people in the old, former ways. Blood sacrifices. Heathen orgies. Crying and wailing before trees and stones. Nonsense!”\nThyra’s heart began to warm, and her face became tear-stained in the torchlight, “May your life-giving power flow through me, my lady Idun.”\nThe brutish leader and his men swayed with a tense readiness at the sound of the woman’s unceasing prayers. Magnus unsheathed his broad sword and scraped its tip against the ground, now a mixture of wet snow and coarse earth. “There is no place in this new world for your kind, priestess. The Church has authorized me to convert your iniquitous lot to the one, true God or remove your wretched head from your shoulders.”\nThyra’s appeals went on, “Tyr, let loose your blade of war.”\nHer life had been threatened more times than Thyra cared to recall. Death did not strike fear in her heart, neither did this swaggering fool and his men. The only thing she feared was extinction. The ending of her people. The destruction of their way of life. The thought that all her mother and father had taught her would fade from memory into unwritten history.\n“We have come to this backwater fjord to purge these lands of your pagan stain–in the name of Holy God! How dare you regard the Sons of God as common street whelps?!” Magnus bristled, his temper beginning to boil at the woman’s insistent prayer.\nShe had yet to give him a glance or a direct word. For the sake of her people, Thyra would not give the foreign marauder the satisfaction. He and his brotherhood of pious cut-throats deserved punishment, not courtesy, “Vidar, utter your silent vengeance here and now. For the corpses spread over Lundr: I implore you!”\n“Seize her!” Magnus yelled as Thyra attempted to move to the next stone near the end of the circle.\nTwo soldiers quickly grabbed her by the arms and pinned her against a large boulder in the middle of the ceremonial circle. “Shut your damned lips before I shut them for you, priestess,” Magnus threatened.\nThyra’s words did not stop for a moment, “Loki! Great deceiver of gods and men. May your schemes—”\nMagnus swiftly lowered the pommel of his sword and smashed it across Thyra’s mouth. Her prayer halted at the sudden hit. Blood pooled inside her mouth, and she felt several teeth come loose. You’ll pay for that. Though dizzy and fairly certain she was concussed, Thyra knew she must continue. She spat out the mixture of blood and teeth onto Magnus’ boots and continued her invocations. This time to the King and Queen of the old ways.\n“Odin, King of the Gods, wise wanderer, write your poem of victory over this place. Please, Father, hear me!”\nThe soldiers holding her tightened their grip as Magnus again thrust the pommel of his sword downward with ferocious anger. Thyra’s jaw was surely broken. Her nose and mouth poured blood from the bludgeoning blows. Her mind slowed from the disorientation, but her soul begged her onward. The Queen–surely she would hear the words of one of her daughters. \n“My Queen … Frigg, originator of all things. Deliver me … Mother, please,” Thyra said, her shoulders slumping as it seemed all vigor was gone.\n“Ha! Your pagan gods have failed you, foolish girl! These stones have no power anymore. Rocks they are, and rocks they will be until time’s end,” Magnus bragged.\nThyra’s heart sank with her shoulders as she questioned the god’s silence. Am I a fool? Have the gods failed me? Or have I failed them? Her body slumped onto the ground as the guard’s grip loosened. They sensed the fight had gone out of their captive; she would surely submit at last.\nThe soldiers bellowed and sneered at the defeated woman kneeling before the last stone. Thyra’s eyes slowly raised to gaze at the only remaining god she might petition. The thought of summoning one more invocation to her bloody, cracked lips pained Thyra to her very soul. Even to a god as powerful as He. Then Magnus spoke his final venomous insult, “Does the rancid she-devil have one last prayer in her?”\nYes, she does. Even if this prayer was her last, she would never submit to corrupted men like these. Thyra’s mouth strained and began to utter Magnus’ doom, “Sovereign of the Storm. Master of the Hammer. Hero of Mankind. Almighty One—“\n“Almighty?!” Magnus pulled his sword to separate the woman’s head from her shoulders as he had wanted to do, “Magnus alone is mighty! There is no strength in these stones. Die with some dignity you unholy bitch!”\n“THOR! RAIN DOWN YOUR WRATH!!”\nImmediately, the ground trembled and the clouds darkened, blotting out the moon and its light. The tempest formed along the shores of the nearby fjord, and the snow turned to drops of rain. In the distance, the faint spark of lightning struck the churning water. Then there came the sound of a low rumble like the drums of a distant army approaching a doomed city. The rumble gave way to a deepening roar and then the boom of thunder.\nMagnus opened his mouth to speak, but could not summon words before the sacred grove was bathed in an eruption of white hot lightning. Several of the marauders vanished instantly into piles of smoking ash. The others were blown back against the large, ancient stones. Broken bones and internal bleeding were their spoils for coming to this place, but their ultimate reward was yet to come.\nAmidst a cloud of smoke and sparks there stood a colossal figure, his head lowered. He had not been there before Thyra’s prayer but had appeared out of nowhere or from the heavens. Could it truly be him? Thyra wondered, her face forming a smile despite the blood drenching her face and clothes.\nMagnus and his remaining men stumbled to their feet as the mysterious figure fixed his gaze on Thyra and no one else. His eyes sat deep within a face which was covered with a red braided beard and coarse, crimson hair atop his head. His figure was hulking but not grotesque–strong and sturdy. It had to be him! After all, Thyra saw what he held in hand.\nGripped in his powerful palm was the legendary hammer, Mjölnir. The divine weapon of the gods used to grind their enemies back into the dust from which they had been formed. Thyra’s eyes darted to the hammer and then back to the figure’s eyes. He has come to save me. Thor has answered my prayer.\n“Who in the hell are you?!” Magnus shouted at the figure.\nThor’s eyes turned slowly to the proud mortal. His piercing eyes now fixed on Magnus the Mighty, gripping Mjölnir tighter.\n“Conjure all the depraved black magic you wish, priestess. This fool will die, with our spears and swords buried in his guts. Then you will suffer a fate worse than death,” Magnus threatened as he directed his remaining men to move in on the mysterious individual.\nThyra’s face formed into a full smile, “You should have never come here, Sons of God. The corpses of Lundr testify against you, and Thor has come to execute their justice. You, Magnus, are about to discover the true meaning of might. Prepare to die.”\nThe soldiers who encircled Thor sprinted in on him, spears and torches flashing violently through the air. Each marauder was spurred on by Magnus’ booming commands of “Bring me that hammer!” and “I want this bastard’s head!” Thor quickly calculated that there were less than twenty soldiers who remained in the pompous mortal’s ranks. If Magnus the Mighty had truly planned on subduing the God of Thunder, he should have brought an army of thousands. At least then it would have been a fair fight.\nThor swung his mighty hammer at the oncoming band which sent several flying into the forest beyond the runic stones, smashing them against ancient trees. Broken spines, shattered skulls, and even some skewered on the tree limbs with crude ferocity. Those who had not yet become acquainted with Mjölnir’s vengeance halted and backed away from Thor. Magnus raged as he too gripped his weapon tighter.\nWithout words, he too charged the hulking figure, sword held high in the night air. The god did not flinch at the threat of attack though Magnus had hoped his aggression would summon fear to Thor’s heart. Wishful thinking. Thor reached out and grabbed Magnus’ arms before he could lower them to strike. Grasping the attackers forearms, Thor squeezed.\nThe grinding of bones and flesh resounded within the circle, but even the gruesome sounds could not drown out Magnus’ screams of pain. “Ahhhhhh! Get … him! Ahhhhhh!” Magnus wailed.\nIn truth, the soldiers feared both figures. To them, Magnus and Thor were both worthy of terror. At this realization, many of them turned and ran out of the circle. Most protectors would be satisfied at the signal for withdrawal, not Thor. Not the Scion of the Storm. Releasing the howling Magnus, Thor raised his hammer to the sky and without words, conjured otherworldly lightning yet again. The bolts exploded out from Mjölnir and struck the retreating soldiers, smiting them with impartiality in the rush of retreat.\nPiles of ashes and scorched clothing was all that remained of them now. Thyra’s smile had become a sickened chuckle. At the sight of the soldiers’ brutal deaths, she convulsed with righteous laughter. Blood, tears, and pain forming a mask which could tell the tale of this event perfectly if need be. However, Thyra was certain she would live to tell this tale herself. Thor would prove his might and end Magnus’ brutal conquest with a final strike of his hammer. This Thyra hoped and prayed.\nMagnus writhed and scratched the ground underneath him. His wrist and forearms were shattered into a bloody, mangled mess thanks to the mighty god’s unrivaled strength. Crawling toward the edge of the circle, Magnus hoped in vain that he might escape the fate his men had been dealt. \nNot for a second had the God of Thunder feared or even flinched at Magnus’ boasting. He slowly walked behind the sniveling coward. \nThyra knew Magnus had no more hope; she cackled at the irony. Magnus the Mighty, groveling and whimpering along the floor of her people’s place of worship. The self-righteous murderer had come to Lundr to extinguish one of the last flames of the old ways, and yet it was his zeal that would be quenched. Thor reached down and grabbed Magnus’ wrists again, forcing a loud shriek out of the once mighty warrior.\n“No! No!” Magnus cried, “Please, I promise I’ll leave … Never to return!”\nThor’s countenance was unchanged at the man’s plea. The thunder and lightning crackled and roared above as the god effortlessly brought Magnus to the boulder in the middle of the circle–the same boulder that had been used to restrain Thrya mere minutes ago. Thor slammed the broken mortal onto the rock with little more than a light toss though to Magnus it felt as if he had been thrown from a sailing vessel and smashed against tumultuous waves.\nAt this, Magnus’ fearful cries turned. The self-righteousness in him rose to meet his inevitable doom. If this was his end, he would curse the pagan god on the way to his eternal reward. “Damn you! I condemn you and your priestess bitch! A thousand curses be on your head, champion of heretics and heathens!”\nThor’s unflinching face did not display the fury in his heart. Raising his hammer high above his head, Thor called upon the rising storm. As the legendary Mjölnir was thrust toward the boulder and his victim, lightning engulfed the hammer’s face. The renowned weapon landed with inescapable power on Magnus’ weeping face. The lightning and the fury of Thor’s wrath ended Magnus the Mighty abruptly and without remorse. His ashes scattered on the icy wind.\nThe forest went silent yet again, no more did the clamor of metal resound or the glow of torchlight radiate through the trees. In the stillness, there stood a woman and a god.\nThyra approached her savior with her eyes lowered in reverence. He had saved her from a fate worse than death. How can I ever thank him? What can a woman of the world offer a god? The woman’s heart sank at the thought that she would not be able to pray enough or offer enough sacrifice to repay Thor’s salvation. As she came within his reach, the awe-inspiring Thor did something Thrya had not expected–he touched her face.\nThough he had just slain Magnus’ band of marauders and summoned the full savagery of the storms at his command, Thor’s touch was gentle. His fingers brushed Thyra’s beaten and bleeding face with tender kindness. Every bit as cruel and unyielding as the God of Thunder had been to the Christian invaders, now he was benign and soft to her. Thyra’s eyes rose to meet her protector’s. \nAmidst the mess of red hair and blood splatter covering his face, Thyra saw his eyes again. No longer filled with ferocity and contempt, now replaced with comfort for the woman who had called upon his name in her hour of need. In this time of his followers' mass extinction, she had not wavered. She had trusted in his power and the power of the old ways. Thyra’s heart swelled with joy, and for the first time in a long time, her belief was rewarded.\nTears ran down her cheeks as she smiled back at the god of legend her mother and father had taught her about when she was a child. The faith of her mother and father was confirmed. The souls of Lundr’s dead had been avenged. The holy horde that came against her had been met with defeat. The God of Thunder had rescued 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: The First Awkward Time\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1514\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an introvert and an extrovert who are best friends." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Some parties are fun. Some are terrible. Some are just weird. Once a year I rolled the dice at the New Year's thing at the big house of a girl who went to school with me when I was knee high to a shorty.\nMy best friend is one of those people who gets to chose between party invites at weekends because he knows a thousand people for every single one I tolerate. I think everyone knows someone like Matt, they make it impossible not to. He wears the cool clothes, says the right things and leaps into every opportunity without overthinking.\nI prefer to overthink everything, pass up on invitations and respond to all enquiries with sarcasm. It takes a very specific kind of person to like me long term. They have to be immune to my sense of humour or into it. Everyone else calls me weird. I don't mind. Having a handful of friends means less talking.\nThe party each year takes place on the top floor for the kids of the adults on the ground floor with one in between for a buffer zone. Only the weird mum crossed the divide to ask us if we had weed, we didn't.\nAt the parties I usually know Matt and a handful of people I used to go to school with years before. It's a little weird being attracted to a girl who you remember being a lice infested six year old whose party trick was pulling out her own hair. It was awkward when another one of the girls from that school started flirting with me despite arriving at the party with the weird kid from my art class who admitted to sticking a pen through the screen of a bland new computer screen at home and tearing up so many bus passes that he had to walk to school. He had a short temper and impulse control issues. He also told me that since leaving high school he'd enlisted in the army and dropped out because he didn't like people telling him what to do.\nNormally my role at the new year parties was making awkward conversation with old friends then trying to sleep in the quietest room I could find. Some people are fun drunks. Some people are violent. At every one of those parties there was an example of the girl who drank before the party and arrived out cold. I'm the paranoid drunk kind.\nAt that party we drank bottle after bottle of blue vodka flavoured with fizz and syrup because we were a classy bunch and counted down to the New Year about a dozen times because we were so drunk it seemed funny.\nEvery so often two of the group would disappear. Being drunk teenagers we teased the hell out of them and someone made a joke about his balls shrivelling into prunes from having so much sex. She denied it until someone noticed her top was on inside out. This girl had red hair in a long ponytail and the moment she realised she'd come back with her clothes on the wrong way her cheeks were as red as her dyed hair.\nThe girl's face couldn't burn any brighter when someone pointed out silvery stains on said inside out top. She disappeared into her hands as the boy who'd stained her top made an awkward face.\nThere's a cut off point in every party where people either go home or start passing out. The hardcore try to keep it going or just talk but most people I knew lived close enough to go home. Sadly I didn't. I found a nice dark room to get away from people because I was way over my limit for human contact and needing some peace and quiet. There was a comfy chair so I parked myself in it and enjoyed the darkness because I'm that kind of weird.\nI wasn't in the room long before a girl showed up and closed the door behind her. She had dirty blonde hair, tight black trousers and lots of questions for me. I'm generally an awkward person with new people or people I haven't seen in a while but what came next was still one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life.\nThe girl was the one with the weird boyfriend with anger issues. She sat on my lap, began running her fingers through my hair. Her questions? What kind of shampoo did I use? My answer? My mum buys it I don't know. (Why are you sitting on my lap?) It's baby shampoo I guess. Nodding like I'd told her where to go in a library she continued playing with my hair like everything was normal and asking more questions.\nI heard someone stomping around outside the door. I knew it was her boyfriend. There were only six rooms on the top floor. It wasn't that hard to find her. Something stopped him opening the door though. He was huffing and puffing as she talked away like it was nothing and eventually I heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. I asked if she was going to go after him and she said it was fine.\nSomething froze me to the spot. Maybe it was the fact I had never kissed a girl before. Maybe it was the fact that my heart was beating too fast or that my palms were sweating. I think she was enjoying making me feel awkward but either she had enough or she was after a kiss and disappointed because eventually she said goodbye and left me in the dark, alone again.\nHoping that was all the excitement for me for the night I lay down on the other side of a table football table and tried to sleep on the hard floor. If I was the kind of person who falls asleep straight away then I would have been ignorant to what came next but I have too many random thoughts inspiring paranoia at any point to fall asleep straight away.\nAfter half an hour of trying to sleep a beam of light poured into the room as two more drunken teens opened the door. They presumably saw me because I was right in front of the door but they decided to lie down next to each other and talk flirtatiously anyway. Yay.\nYou can't not hear what two people are talking about in a dark room in the middle of the night. I wasn't pretending to sleep. I turned over. I coughed to make damn sure they knew I was there. They talked about their lives and the conversation turned to what they wore when they went swimming and then the girl brought up the topic of felatio, her not him.\nFuck off. I could guess what was coming and it was bullshit. They'd decided they wanted the room and they were trying to make me feel so awkward I had to leave. Worst thing was that it worked. I didn't want to see them doing things so I got up and left, wanting to slam the door.\nAll of the beds were taken of course. I'd missed my moment for that but someone had put out sleeping mats in another room with a couch where a girl was squished up with plenty of cushions she should have had the sense to throw on the floor.\nMatt was there. Unlike usual he hadn't ended up with a girl and by all accounts I'd come closer to it. He lived further away than I did so we talked because neither of us sleep straight away which pissed off his mother endlessly when I stayed over at his house because her son can't whisper and she has incredible hearing.\nAt some point the girl on the sofa puked. We watched her, wondering if we needed to intervene but she just looked at her sick on the pillow did a facial shrug and then fell asleep in it. It was a dick move on our parts not to get her to move or something but that girl slept through the night in her own vomit and lived to tell the tale.\nI was one of the last people to wake up. Matt and me helped pack empty cans and bottles into and asked why I hadn't kissed the girl who'd sat on my lap. The answer was simple, fear. It was a long time before I learned to put my humour to use with women instead of bombarding them with my unabbreviated life story. That night was the closest I came to a kiss for the next two years whereas Matt would kiss to say hello and somehow no-one seemed to mind.\nMatt dragged me along to other parties which were as disastrous but few where I experienced so many awkward things in a single night. It wasn't the last time things were disastrously weird with a girl who seemed to like me but it was the first, and you never forget your first 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: Jay Matthews and the Case of the Missing Inheritance\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2173\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with “It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.” (Hans Christian Andersen, “The Little Match Girl”)" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was so cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. The brisk air of London's weather chilled me to my core. I was a private eye, or detective in London in the 1940s, second best to a very famous detective. As I made my way to my building, I watched as the people of London rebuilt the war-torn city. Ever since we joined World War 2, things haven't gone well for us. Adolf Hitler, Germany's dictator, had recently knocked France out of the war and, in an attempt to knock us out, started bombing campaigns over our fair city. Recently, Winston Churchill, the prime minister, ordered an evacuation of all the children in the area to safety, and I was already missing my Emily. When I reached my building, Jay Matthews, Private Eye Services, and walked in, my assistant, Heather, had already made me a cup of coffee. She was at her desk writing. As I sat at my desk, the day seemed to slow down. I was used to this. Because I'm a second-rate detective, I get fewer cases than you might think. A few hours later, the phone rang when I was just about to fall asleep. I snatched it up right away. A woman’s voice answered.\n“Oh, you must help me!” she yelled. “Someone stole my inheritance!”\n\"I'll be there in 20 minutes,” I replied.\n I hung up, grabbed my notebook and pen, and left the I got on my bike (my mode of transportation) and pedaled off. The client’s address was 243 Marrow Street, a long way to pedal. I could've taken a car, but I wanted to be eco-friendly. I would pass out by the time I got there. But I had to get inside so I could solve the case. I parked my bike in the driveway and walked up to the door. The door was brown and had a unique knocker on it. I knocked on the door five times. No one answered. I was just about to ring the doorbell when the door opened. It was a woman who looked like she was in her mid-40s. And judging by her appearance (makeup a mess, face all wet, and eye bags), she had just been crying.\n\"Oh good, you're here,\" she said when she saw me. \"Hurry, come in!\"\nWhen I walked in, the scene I saw kind of shocked me. Shattered glass was scattered all over, blood spots were on the broken window, and a piece of cloth was on the floor with the glass. I the woman and asked her what had happened. She sat down and told me the whole story.\nHer name was Faith Mahone. She used to be married to a man named Paul. They were married for 20 years. But when WW2 started, Paul enrolled in the army. He fell ill with typhoid fever while on the battlefield and passed away a few days later. But thankfully, Paul was rich selling weapons to our allies and promised to give half of it to Faith in his last will. He kept the money in a safe. This safe had a padlock with a 3-digit number combination that only Paul and Faith knew. The safe also had an alarm. Paul, Faith, and Maria, the housemaid, were the only ones who knew the warning had a shut-off lever and where it was located. But around 3:00 in the morning, Faith heard the alarm go off while sleeping. She rushed to the safe and found a figure dressed all in black with a massive bag on its back. The safe was jarred open, and it was empty. \n“Stop, thief!” she yelled, They ran through the window and sent glass everywhere. Blood was also scattered. When the sun came up, she went straight to the police. But the police couldn’t track down the thief. So she tried to go to Sherlock Holmes, the detective I alluded to earlier. But his case list was overflowing, so she couldn’t go to him either. She was about to give up and go home when she saw my flyer advertising my detective business and called the number immediately.\nI couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She had just lost her husband, and now someone had stolen from her. \n“Don’t worry, ma’am,” I assured her. “I’ll help you find it.”\n“Oh, thank you!” Faith shouted, throwing her arms around me. “How could I ever repay you,\n“You can call me Jay. Jay Matthews. And as for payment, we’ll talk about that after I get the inheritance back.”\nWhy someone would steal a woman’s inheritance is beyond me. Maybe they got jealous and decided to take it for themselves. My first stop was the bank. Faith had told me that Paul had cashed in the money here before he died. It was 11:00 AM. Before I in, I ran into Lieutenant Washington. Washington was an old friend of mine back in high school. However, after we both graduated, we went our separate ways. He went off to be a lieutenant, while I opted to be a detective. I haven't seen him since. Until today.\n“Well, if it isn’t Jay Matthews!” the lieutenant said, arching an eyebrow. \"How have you been?\"\n\"I've been fine, thank you,\" I replied, grinning. life out for you?\"\n\"Yes, for the most part. Have you had any successful cases?\"\n\"There aren't many of them, but I'm working on one right now!\"\n\"All right, old friend. I will. Bye!\"\nWatching him walk out into the street, I considered inviting him over to my building next week so we could catch up on old times. I entered the bank and walked up to the counter. Mark Bellows, the banker, was wiping it down until he saw me arrive.\n\"Good day, sir,\" he said, smiling. \"Would you like to make a deposit or withdrawal?\n\"No thank you, I replied, showing him my ID. \"I'm from the Jay Matthews, Private Eye Services and I'd like to ask you some questions if you don't mind.\"\n\"Not at all, Mr. Matthews. Ask away.\"\n\"Do you know anyone to take any the 'Paul Mahone?'\"\n\"Yes, I saw two people just 2 weeks ago asking to make a withdrawal under that name. One was a middle-aged man and the other had a trench coat and a hat, so I couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman. However, when the second person asked me, I said the money had already been taken.\"\n\"I see. What did this man look like?\"\n\"He was in his mid-40s, I think. He also had many scars and wounds, as if he had been in a serious battle.\"\n\"Alright. And the other person?\"\n\"They had a determined look on their face, and smelled faintly of cleanser.\"\n\"Ok then. Thank you for your time, Mr. Bellows. Before I leave, could you give me a record of the transaction?\"\n\"Yes sir.\"\nHe headed into the back. I heard the sound of papers rustling, and a few minutes later, he came back with a piece of paper in his hand.\n\"Here you are,\" he said, handing it to me. \"I'm glad I could be of service. Best of luck with the case, Mr. Matthews. I have a feeling you're to need it.\"\nAs I walked out of the bank, I thought about what Mr. Bellows had told me. According to his description, the man sounded exactly like Paul. So I had a feeling I was on the right track. But something didn't seem right to me. Faith had told me that only she and Paul knew about the inheritance. So how could another person ask about it if only 2 people knew? I decided to head back to the office so I could read the form. When I got to the office, a large man was standing in front of the door.\n\"MR. MATTHEWS!\" \"Just the person I needed to see.\"\nI groaned. It was my landlord, Jim. When I first moved into the building, I had trouble paying the rent, and every time I was late, he would hound me until I paid him.\n\"Hey, Mr. Jim,\" I muttered. \"How's it\n\"Not Your rent is due tomorrow, and I'm paranoid that you're not to pay it, considering your recent rent-paying history.\"\n\"Don't worry, Mr. Jim. I promise you that I'll have the money tomorrow.\"\n\"That's what you said last time, Mr. Matthews. How about this? If you don't have the money by 5:00 PM tomorrow, I'll snatch you out of this building so fast, it'll make your head spin. You understand me?\"\n\"Yes sir, Mr. Jim.\"\nAs he walked away, I wiped the sweat off my brow. Great. Now I had the stress of completing the case by tomorrow. I walked in feeling hopeless. With how slowly the case was moving there was no way I could solve it by tomorrow. I wasn't as good as But something at the back of my mind told me, \"Don't give up. Keep going. You can do it.\" I walked into the building and the first thing I saw was Heather, who was at my desk setting down a cup of tea. She had a worried look on her face.\n\"Sir,\" she said, close to tears. \"Will we lose the building?\"\n\"No,\" I replied, sipping my tea. \"Not on my watch, we won't.\"\nI sat down and started studying the transaction sheet Mr. Bellows had given me. Sure enough, he wasn't lying. According to the sheet, Paul had taken out $4,000 in his name, which is a lot. My thoughts kept returning to that mysterious character. Who were they? Why had they asked for money in Paul's name? How did they know him? There were so many questions. But then I realized: I hadn't considered Maria, the housemaid. She knew about the inheritance and she knew where it was being kept. I called the police.\n\"Hello?\" I said when they pick up \"Yes, this is Jay Matthews, Private Eye. Meet me at Faith Mahone's house at 242 Marrow Street. And bring your handcuffs. You might have to arrest a thief.\"\nI hung up and dashed to Faith's house as fast as I could. When I got there, the police were already there, along with Faith, and Maria, who was sweeping the floor.\n\"Excuse me, Ms. Maria,\" I said, walking towards her. I noticed she had a gash on her right arm. \"Would you mind if I took a look through your things?\"\n\"Not at all, Mr. Matthews,\" she replied, looking worried. \"Take as long as you need.\"\nI stepped into her room and headed to the closet. When I opened it, I saw a lot of black clothing. Maria sure has a lot of black outfits, I thought. I headed towards the bed. The blankets and sheets were stained with blood. I returned to the living room, where the police had just finished executing a search warrant.\n\"Mr. Matthews,\" one of the officers said. \"I don't see why you called us here.\"\n\"You'll see in a minute,\" I told him.\nI took a step toward Maria.\n\"Ms. Maria, can you open that window? It's dreadfully hot in\nShe walked towards the window, which had a keypad lock on it, typed a code, and opened the window. Everyone gasped.\n\"Just as I arrest Maria!\"\nMaria's face turned red. She tried to run, but I caught her before she could.\n\"Rats!\" she called as the police handcuffed her. you know it was me?\"\n\"A lot of things told me you did it,\" I said, pacing back and forth. \"First of all, you have a large gash on your right wrist. Faith told me that when the thief escaped, blood scattered everywhere.\"\n\"That gash was Maria argued.\n\"Second of all, the banker said that a mysterious person had tried to take money in Paul's name after he did. And that same person, according to him, had a trench coat, and hat, and smelled like cleanser. You had a trench and hat in the closet and since you're a maid, you're bound to smell like cleanser!\"\n\"That's a rude accusation!\"\n\"And finally,\" I concluded, stopping.\"You're the only other one who knows the code to the safe! And you have plenty of black outfits that match the thief's outfit!\"\nMaria stopped arguing and her face was downcast. As the police took her away, Faith walked up to me.\n\"But where's the money?\" she asked.\n\"The money is in the cleaning closet, the one place where Maria knew you never go to!\"\nFaith was so happy, she lunged for me and swallow me up in a huge hug.\n\"Thank you, Jay! And as for payment, I'll give you 1/5 of my inheritance!\"\n\"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Mahone. And thank you for your generosity.\"\nAs I walked back to the office, I smiled. This was my first successful case in a while. Maybe I was as good as Sherlock. But for now, I'll never know." } ]
[ { "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: Maybe we'll be sisters\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1077\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with the line, “I’m never going out with you again.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"I'm never going out with you again, Dad!\" Ashley said under her breath as she left the dance hall. It was really the school gym, but it was decorated in a theme to make it look like a dance hall. Ashley felt humiliated and completely childish. Andy walked to the car with a bewildered look of fear and confusion on his face. As soon as both doors were closed he looked at Ashley and said, \"Sweetheart, I have lost your mother, and I can't bare to think of loosing you. You don't watch the news, you don't hear the reports about the kidnappings, assaults, rapes, and murders every single day. I love you and want to protect you from evil. Please understand that, I try to take you out and treat you like a propper gentleman will treat you, so when he comes you will recognize and be comfortable with him.\" Ashley spoke up and after listening with such respect and admoration, \"Yes, I loved our Daddy daughter dates, when I was 4. But not now at 17, you want to go to the music club that all my friends go to every Friday night. How am I ever going to get a date to the prom if you always show up everywhere I go, (Ashley makes quotations marks with her fingers as she says,) \"\"setting the tone?\" Oh I'm so mad, if Mom were alive she wouldn't let you ruin my life. Let's go home, you are embarrassing me again but now we are in the parking lot.\"\nAndy starts the car, and he says, \"No one else is out here.\" Ashley says, \"Yeah I know can you please drive.\" She kind of slumsped down in her seat and grabbed Andy's baseball cap from the back seat and put her long hair in it, and put on some shades. Andy drove out of the parking lot and said, \"Boy you are embarrassed to be seen with me, how can I make this up to you?\" Ashley said, \"I don't know Dad but I will let you know if I figure it out.\"\nThat night was not good for either Ashley, or Andy. Ashley called her best friend Britney. She picks up her Minnie Mouse phone, dials the number and Brittany says, \"Kelly residense, how may I help you.\" Ashley blurts out, \"Brittany, wow my Dad still thinks I'm a little girl who is going to get hurt somehow.\" Britany is surprised on the other end of the phone and says, \"Well hello to you to, I thought the dance did'nt end until 10. It's only 8:15, what did the chaperone do? Atleast your Father lets you go, just because my Father said it's not propper for a Southern Baptist to dance. So I don't get to go to any dances, and I will have to miss prom.\" Brittany somberly whined. Ashley speaks with a sympathetic tone, \"I am sorry for you Brittany, but what is it some kind of rule at the parents club that as soon as your kid is born you gotta try to re-live your childhood through them, or absolutely sabatage any meanial life they establish?\" Brittany says, \"I don't know, it sounds like you have been secretly attending parent's club meetings.\" The two of the girls break out in laughter. \"You know my Mom is divorced, and your Dad might like her; we are Mormon after all.\" Ashley says, \"Ya'll don't go to church.\" Brittany says, \"Nah not anymore, since my Dad died, he used to preach back in Utah. Mom was'nt raised Morman, but she sure did love Dad, and would do anything to please him. So she converted, and Dad died when I was 12, and we moved to Texas last year. We got our first television about 6 months ago.\" Ashley looked as if puzzle peises in her mind were interlocking. She says, \"Oh I wondered where your tv was the first time I visited. But then I kind of forgot about it once we got in the hot tub.\" \"I know right, I guess we're not Mormon anymore. I liked going to your church. The bibles read different than the one's I grew up with.\" Brittany says. Ok now Ashley's face began to light up as if a light bilb was coming on in her head. Ashley said, \"Say, let's try to figure out a way to get your Mom to visit our church, Brittany.\" \"Sounds boring, why in the world would we do that?\" Ashley says. \"You can tell your Mom what a good preacher my Dad is, and how he is ruining my life by by hovering over me, and how he just needs a lady friend.\" Brittany shakes her head no real quick and says, \"No that won't work, how about you tell your Dad that your friends Mom is hot and single, and coming to church on Sunday.\" Ashley shakes her head and says, \"No way, your Mom is boring, and conservative; so that's not true. But my Mom was boring and conservative too. So how about we just ask God to take ovcr and we will ask to go to the same resturaunt after church.\" Brittany says, \"Sounds like we might be sisters after all.\" Ashley says, \"Yeah after a wedding. Now go ask if ya'll can visit our church in the morning. My Dad's having a special sermon.\" Brittany says, \"Ok what is the special sermon about?\" Ashley says, \"Oh my Dad's preaching on the fruits of the spirit this month, about how we can apply them to our everyday life.\" Brittany says, \"Ok even if they only become friends, who cares? That will take some of the X-ray focus off of our lives.\" Ashley giggles and says, \"Absolutely, I'll go tell my Dad I want to eat at Santa'Fe's resturaunt tomarrow , because you're Mother is coming to our church. I'll say Brittany thinks her Mom needs the Lord, especially now that her Father has been gone for 4 years, and they have stopped going to church.\" Brittany closes her eyes and nods her head as she says, \"That would be absolutely true, I miss youth group, and my Mom used to have so much fun with her Ladies Ministry. Sounds good, pray before you talk to him.\" Ashley smiles and says, \"Ofcourse, you too - call me at 9 to tell me what she says, and I will tell 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: The Smoke of Her Burning\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1417\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with “It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.” (Hans Christian Andersen, “The Little Match Girl”)" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Part I: It was so terribly cold.\n\nIt had always been cold in Denmark, especially on New Year’s Eve.\nThe wintry winds brought a desperate chill to those unsettled and impoverished. Wars continued to ravage the land. Treaties were torn up as soon as they were signed. Industrialization poisoned Scandinavian cities and its people. \nThe young moved west for better opportunities in warmer climes, leaving the rich, the poor, and the poor’s children on the streets of Copenhagen. The rich fared no worse—no matter how many people left the country. Wherever nations drew their boundaries or whose currency was exchanged, as long as gold lay in their coffers, the rich slept soundly. \nThe Match Woman seldom slept at all. As for gold? The only gold she had was in the flecks in her eyes—dark eyes that missed nothing. \nHunched over her rickety table at the Jensen & Sonderburg Factory, she dipped wooden splints into sulfur, a dozen or so at a time. She was forbidden to sit. A cloud of noxious gas hung about, giving her workshop its bluish-green glow and garlicky smell. Rashes had crusted over the calluses on her hands, as she artfully tipped each splint with a mixture of sugar and phosphorus for the “strike-anywhere” matches. They were enormously popular, and the only kind that sold well on the streets.\nThe Match Woman coughed into her handkerchief, careful to be quiet about it. If the mesters knew she was ill, they would have sacked her before she met her quota. She frowned at the blood in her hand, familiar with the signs of tuberculosis. People her mother’s age had called it consumption, as the disease consumed whomever it afflicted. It certainly had consumed her mother, bit by bit. \nAt the end of her 12-hour shift, the Match Woman wrapped her aching jaw in a thin scarf, put on her hat, and walked home. She paused to retch in an alleyway. Leaning against an icy wall, she vomited up fluorescent emesis.\n\nAt first, no one noticed the Match Woman when she entered the boarding house. With the half a Danish Krone she earned each day, she rented a squalid room. It was quiet now that her husband had fled and her children had died. \nThere were plenty of children from the other borders, returning from sweeping chimneys and cleaning mills. Unlike her own children, these others were churlish, bowed by rickets and scurvy. They often fought over the thin stew the udlejer served. The stew was watery, but at least it was warm. \n“What is that?” the udlejer asked, motioning to the Match Woman’s jaw.\nThe Match Woman did not reply to her landlady’s query.\n“Phossy kæbe?” she spat, looking at the Match Woman more closely. “I won’t have phossy jaw in my establishment!”\n“Bah!” another tenant exclaimed, moving away from the Match Woman, making the sign of the cross.\n“Get your things and get out,” the udlejer ordered, clearing her bowl.\nThere was nothing to do but go and pack her few things. She silently left the dining hall and walked down the darkened corridor to her room. She pulled out her mother’s small trunk from under her bed. Then she pushed it back.\nShe was too tired to pack.\nIn the relative warmth of her room, the Match Woman kicked off her worn boots and sat on the lumpy mattress, stuffed with corn husks and straw, pondering her fate. She touched her swollen jaw. Her tongue felt a few of her remaining teeth, loosened by the phosphorus fumes. \nFrom her years at Jensen & Sonderburg, she knew what to expect. As the bone infection grew worse, her flesh would begin to reek, making her unwelcome in close quarters. Her teeth would fall out, one by one. Perhaps the rotting pus would spread to her eye sockets leaving her blind? She’d passed enough street beggars who suffered from the same fate, girls much younger than she. Eventually, the Match Woman would need money to pay for a surgeon to remove her jaw entirely, dividing it at the joint and dragging out the halves separately. \nStanding, she opened the small closet and began to fold her clothes, a tumble of shreds and patches. She had two pairs of socks. One of her mother’s Christmas ornaments. A baby shoe. A picture of her beloved grandmother. \nAnd a box of matches.\nShe tucked the picture of her grandmother into her bodice and took the matches.\nBareheaded and barefoot, she left her room for the last time, walked down the corridor, through the front parlor, and into the street. \n\nPart II: Snow was falling. \n\nAs the icy flakes fell on her head, the Match Woman remembered how her thinning hair used to hang in pretty curls down her neck. Her grandmother had fashioned it into braids with pretty ribbons. You are an angel, her grandmother had said, slipping holiday treats into her hands. Her butter cookies had melted on the Match Woman’s tongue. \n“And stay out, you filthy leper!” the udlejer yelled at her before slamming the front door. \nThe Match Woman stood still. There was nowhere for her to go. In time, she imagined the boarding house tenants singing, drinking gløgg, eating butter cookies, preparing for the New Year. \nAs her hands were almost dead with cold, she decided to light one match to warm herself. \nR-r-ratch! \nThe “strike-anywhere” match lived up to its name, quickly sparking into a bright flame. She sighed with pleasure at its warmth, a respite from the bitterly cold night. \nIn its flickering light, she remembered her father teaching her brothers how to make a fire. If she closed her eyes, she could see her father setting the kindling just so to make a hearty blaze in their fireplace. But when he was drinking, he beat her. Her mother had sung in the kitchen, warming cider and baking tarts. But when her father left them, her mother had sickened and died. \nLost in her reverie, the match burned out, singeing her fingers. She held the remains of the burnt match in her hand.\nThe udlejer had watched the Match Woman from a window, eating a thick slice of fruit loaf, washing it down with wassail. \n“You burned your hands! You idiot!” the landlady taunted her. “The phosphorus has eaten your brain. Move along. You are trespassing. Get out!”\nThe Match Woman stood silent in the snowdrift as the flakes fell.\nWith a harsh laugh, the udlejer called down curses on the Match Woman’s family before closing the window shutter.\nThe Match Woman approached the boarding house and lit another match. \nWith match in hand, she reached up to light the thatched roof. \nThe straw burned quickly and bright.\n\nPart III: It was almost dark. \n\nIt was close to midnight. All of Copenhagen seemed to be inside, feasting and drinking and preparing to usher in the New Year. \nAll except for the Match Woman. \nAs she passed by the street corners where she’d sold matches as a girl, she lit and flicked matches with reckless abandon. Each time a pile of rags or puddle of kerosene or bale of hay ignited, the gold in her eyes glittered. \nR-r-ratch! \nR-r-ratch! \nR-r-ratch! \nOn her blue-gray feet, she walked through the frozen lanes and plumes of smoke, hearing cries of alarm and shrieks of terror behind her. \nAs the fires of Copenhagen spread from structure to structure, the firemen could not find water with which to douse them. All had turned to ice. \n🜋 🜋 🜋\nThe Match Woman could have found her way to Jensen & Sonderburg with her eyes closed, as she had spent most of her life trudging back and forth. Down the lanes, through the side entrance, up the staircase to the factory floor. \nTaking her grandmother’s picture from her bodice, she kissed it once. \n“You promised to meet me at the end,” she said. “Bring me the butter cookies you used to make for the New Year.”\nIt took her a little while, but she eventually gathered all of the matchboxes, stacking them neatly by her workspace. Hunched over her rickety table, she poured out the white phosphorus, a dozen bottles or so at a time. \nBefore she struck her last match, she considered how matches were such little things, disposable after being used up and burnt out.\nJust like a match—she, too, was capable of both warming and burning. \nAnd the Match Woman felt it was time to burn.\nR-r-ratch!" } ]
[ { "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 Serious Lucky Streak\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2898\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with “It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.” (Hans Christian Andersen, “The Little Match Girl”)" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. He was lucky to be inside somewhere, even in this place. \nThe barn smelled of its occupants—a cow, a pig, half a dozen piglets, some chickens, and a swayback horse whose eyes were perpetually closed in the hope of being left to sleep. There was also the slightly sweet-sour smell of fermenting hay kept for the winter. They weren’t bad smells. They were farm smells, smells that reminded Willie of a day years before when his parents had taken him on a bus up to the Catskills and they visited a farm. They’d picked apples that day and had fresh, hot donuts. \nThat seemed like forever ago.\nA farm, a barn, they were good places. They might be safe places. He breathed in the rich air from his perch in the loft. He was burrowed in a dry pile of hay, naked but for the sweat-salted blanket he’d found in an empty stall. There were more holes than blanket. \nWillie had managed to sleep some until the single rooster crowed. He pushed aside the hay and listened. All he heard were the animals walking on the dirt floor, the piglets suckling. He was alone for now. A good thing. A farmer would be coming he supposed, at least to open the barn door. He’d stay low. Who knew whose side the farmer was on? \nFrom his little cave, he wrestled into the too-big uniform he’d stuffed with hay. Damp but drier. Another good thing. He was on a lucky streak. The clothes had lost most of the stench from his scramble over the muddy field two nights earlier. The stench of fear. The mud made it impossible to distinguish cow flops until he stepped on them. At least they didn’t explode. Willie didn’t just step on them, not that night. He crawled through them. There were those gray trucks on the road that skirted the edge of the field. Gray was not his color. His color was olive drab. Drab said it all. It was an ugly color, but right now it would be beautiful. \nMaybe the gray ones were searching for men like him. Maybe not. Trucks were to be avoided. Anything with an engine was to be avoided if it was painted gray. There was a war on, and only the bad guys had gray things with engines\nJust beyond that overly fertilized field had been a copse of trees that promised Willie decent cover. The trees stopped at a small river. Willie waded in to drift downstream, ducking his head under the water when he thought he heard something. If there was anyone, they didn’t see him, and the cold river washed away most of the filth his uniform had accumulated. Yet another good thing.\nThe chickens were pecking in the dirt outside the barn. Willie looked at them scratching away, squawking if one came to close. He wasn’t that hungry. He should be hungrier. I bet my stomach has shrunk. The scant rations he’d taken off the other guys wouldn’t be missed. Who’d eat them? Willie hardly knew the guys lying in the snow. He’d been talking to the tall one standing next to him, a huge guy from Michigan. An older guy he was. Well, he looked older. They all looked older. You don’t get this far without it showing. The winter. The war. They ran into the woods when the firing started, the ones that didn’t get hit. The few who didn’t get hit. \nWillie dropped when he felt the punch in his shoulder. It wasn’t a bullet. It was the guy from Michigan, or it could have been Minnesota. Yeah, it was Minnesota. He’d kept saying you betcha. That guy was hit. He fell, headfirst, into Willie. Willie collapsed under his weight. That started the start of his lucky streak. Willie just played possum, this real dead guy hiding him, keeping him warm. The guy from Minnesota was his blanket. A warm cover until the warmth left his body. Poor guy. Willie took the K rations the guy had in his jacket. \nThere wasn’t much anyway. No, those rations wouldn’t be missed. Who’d eat them anyway? There was something wrong about taking rations off a dead body. It wasn’t as wrong as taking personal stuff, like rings or watches and such. He hadn’t done that. He wouldn’t. Unless they came off a German. Anyway, what good would it do? You can’t eat watches.\nWater wasn’t a problem, not after his swim, not with the melting snow around. If he was desperate, Willie could drink from one of the streams that ran next to most of these country roads. But he was avoiding the roads. Instead, he’d stay well within the forests, or up on the ridges, keep an eye on any traffic. And an ear out for barking dogs. \nHe’d been hearing plenty of dogs. They sounded huge. Everyone had been tied up, he figured, at a home, or maybe sticking to watching their flock in the fields. He figured they probably didn’t know what they were smelling. Hell, until he got to this barn, he didn’t know what he smelled like, but whatever it was it wasn’t good. Death maybe. Maybe that’s why the dogs didn’t run after him. Maybe the sheep smelled better than he did. It was almost funny.\nThe farm was dead quiet when he saw it. Willie figured, hoped, it was abandoned. If it was, he could get cover, maybe a fire, and a lot of these places had something of use: a blanket, food, a gun. Something. \nHe’d almost opened the front door, his hand slowly pressing the ancient handle, when a breeze captured a wisp of smoke from the chimney. Then he smelled something else. The animals. Or the manure. Or both. Willie wasn’t a farm boy. He backed away from the cottage to slip into the barn.\nHenri Bertrand had seen him, the soldier in a wet uniform, slinking to the barn. An American. He could tell right away. Americans all looked strong, well-fed. When they’d been slugging down the road a few days before, through the mud, the Germans on their tail, they somehow looked confident, like this, this war, was a lark.\n This tired-looking fellow didn’t look like he’d missed too many meals. That bothered him for a moment. I hardly have enough for me. The Americans that had been in the area in the last few weeks were nice enough. They hadn’t bothered him, didn’t need anything. One fellow on a passing truck had even tossed him a package of cigarettes when he gave them a salute. Fresh, American cigarettes. The Germans never did anything like that. He’d smoked one and it was wonderful. Henri hid the rest when the Boche came back in their tanks. They’d take the cigarettes and maybe shoot him for good measure. And here he had thought the war was over!\nBertrand noted the soldier was alone. He didn’t have a rifle. He didn’t have anything. He considered going to the barn, calling to the man, offering food, something warm. Maybe in the morning. Approaching someone at night, someone trying to hide, wasn’t a good idea, not with all the fighting going on. There were more Boche around now than at any time since the war began. They were all pigs, animals. They’d been taking from him for almost four years now—his prized Belgian blue cattle, the sheep, the chickens, and most of the eggs laid by the ones they didn’t steal. And the milk, the cheese, the butter. He barely had enough for himself let alone his guests.\nWhat did he have left? A dozen scrawny chickens, and here it was winter, they didn’t lay much to begin with; the cow getting too old to provide much milk; one sow and the few piglets he’d managed to hide in the forest; and his ancient horse that had maybe one or two years of plowing left in him. The Germans had taken the others. They were all thieves, always had been. These were the worst of a bad lot—young, arrogant, always screaming, shoving, waving their guns. Nasty SS pricks.\nHe didn’t have guests now. There weren’t any refugees anymore and there wasn’t enough food anyway. There were those Jews a few years back, hiding with him before moving on to who knows where. They offered him things: jewelry, old Francs, and thanks. He didn’t demand it, but why not? They came to him, knocking on the door at night, pleading to let them stay for a bit. He gave them precious food. He didn’t tell the Germans when they came to steal eggs. Letting them stay was dangerous. A little something seemed only fair. Then there were the locals who needed a place to hole up. He didn’t know what they did, but they had guns and were up to no good. And what was no good? Fighting the Boche was plenty good.\nOnce they brought in an Englishman, a flier he supposed from the outfit, whose French sounded like a Parisian snob. One night, they took him away, too. Like the Jews. He didn’t know if they were all safe somewhere. It wasn’t his place to ask. He hoped so, but then he had his own life to live.\nWillie looked through the cracks in the barn walls and watched the old farmer toss grain to some chickens pecking in the muddy paddock. The farmer stared at the barn for a moment. He might have smiled. He had a cigarette on his lips, taking deep inhales, smiling for sure. Willie put his hand in his breast pocket. It was an instinctive and fruitless gesture. The SS-Rotten Führer had taken his cigarettes—and his lighter—when he was captured. Rotten Fuhrer was an apt name. Willie almost laughed when he heard. He tried to breathe in the smoke the old farmer was exhaling. He could almost taste it. \nWillie considered approaching him, asking for food and a smoke. He had a ten-dollar bill stuffed in his sock. That was way too much for a smoke and a meal. He doubted the farmer had spare change. Maybe a couple of meals and a few cigarettes. Coffee would be good, too.\nThe thought of coffee woke him. He wondered if he’d ever get coffee again. This farmer wouldn’t have any; hell, the stuff the army gave him was good enough for a roll in the hay with that pretty girl in France. Or maybe that was Belgium, too? The GIs didn’t pay too much attention to borders. This was Belgium, he was sure of that. If he had coffee he could trade it with the farmer maybe. For cigarettes. But if he had coffee he’d have cigarettes, too. And the farmer already had cigarettes. He wished he had coffee.\n That farmer put a bag of something over the horse. It was quiet; Willie could hear the thing eating. He assumed it was oats. Horses ate oats, right? If they could, I could. Oatmeal. Just add water, and simmer. The cow would have milk. Cream even. Maybe he could get some from the farmer. Maybe he liked Americans. Most did. More so when they had things to give away. Willie had nothing to give away. \nThe horse was spilling some of the oats, which the chickens pecked at. The farmer was walking back to the house where smoke was coming out of the chimney. A warm house, Willie thought. Maybe the guy was friendly to Americans. He didn’t know. Hadn’t that old Belgian bitch pointed to where they were, with what was left of his unit, in the woods to those SS scum? They couldn’t be trusted. You never knew.\nThe farmer turned back to look up at the barn. He may have smiled. It was hard to say from the distance. The guy had a bushy mustache that make him look like an ancient Jerry Colonna. His eyes were popped open wide. In surprise? Kindness? Fear? He was looking right at the barn, right at the crack. Right at Willie. He lifted his hand, the one holding the pitchfork, almost in a wave. The start of a wave. It seemed the weight of the thing held his arm down. But he had two hands. He could have used the other. It was a threat, thought Willie. Farmers and pitchforks. The old man walked slowly back to the house, slipping every so often in the muddy slush. Not much of a threat. I could take him. He watched as the old man return to the paddock and led the ancient horse to a more ancient cart. The farmer struggled as he carried some heavy bags and loaded those onto the cart. The limp bags contained lumps of something. After he lifted each, he had to lean against the cart, eyes closed, hand to chest, before continuing on. He heaved the last one off his shoulder and out spilled potatoes. Dirty, yes, but food. The old man started to put them back in the bag, then looked once more to the barn. His eyes squinted in what might have been a smile. But that mustache hid any confirmation. He lifted two to the air as if trying to attract customers in a market. \nThen the old man did an odd thing. He started nodding his head, holding it to one side, then another as if trying to touch each ear to his shoulder. He may have pointed his chin towards the house. Or he may have been trying to get a crick out of his neck. He left four at top of the stone wall that surrounded the paddock. Then he led the horse down the lane.\nWillie saw all this through the crack in the barn walls. What was the man playing at? Then he repeated the gestures, bending his head to each shoulder and hearing the relief of crack. He, too, had a stiff neck. He had to smile.\nWhen the cart was nearly at the larger lane, hardly a road, Willie went down. Could he eat raw potatoes? He didn’t know and didn’t care. On the ground level of the barn, he saw three eggs in boxes that served as the chicken’s nest. He took one. These he could eat raw. He cracked one and poured it into his mouth. Funny, but that made him hungrier. He ate a second and then the third. Then hid the shells in his pocket.\nHe was about to go outside to get those potatoes, when he heard the truck. He opened the barn door a crack to see the truck stop and two Germans jump from the back. They stopped the old man. The old man was gesturing to the barn and moving to the cart where he hefted the sack of potatoes. More spilled out. The Germans laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world. The old man held them up, using the potatoes as pointers to the burlap sacks. One German shrugged and made way as the farmer carried it to the back of the truck. Willie thought he heard the word schnell. That meant faster, he knew that. He knew that from the SS Rotten scum who kicked them into the field.\nThe soldier reached into his tunic and brought out a packet of something. Cigarettes. He lit one for himself and the other German. Then offered one to the farmer, who nodded in appreciation, and put it in his coat. This time Willie was sure he was smiling. \nThey all looked up to the farm, the house, the barn, as the farmer made peasant gestures with his arms. Were those an apology? A plea? The soldiers just nodded, taking their rifles off their shoulders. The old man’s arms were flying about as they talked. Again, he pointed to the barn and the Germans looked back up directly to the barn doors. The old man walked quickly now to the back of his cart and carried the rest of the sacks to the back of the truck. When done, one of the Germans gave him another cigarette, lit it, and stood back. \nThe old farmer rested his arm on the bent neck of his horse. He lifted the cigarette in a gesture towards the Germans and took a long drag, just the one. Another German, an officer, had left the back of the truck, yelled something. The old horse jumped a little when the German shot the old farmer. Then he shot the horse. That officer shrugged at the startled soldiers and yelled again. They got back into the truck and drove away. A couple of other trucks drove past. A tank, too. They didn’t slow when they passed the dead farmer and his old horse.\nWhen it got dark, when there weren’t any more trucks, Willie walked down to the lane. He picked up some muddy potatoes. They’ll do, he thought. He also reached into the farmer’s jacket and extracted one cigarette. Sonofabitch. A Lucky Strike. \nWillie slept in the cottage that night, in the loft. On a feather bed. With a real blanket. Just before he fell asleep, he enjoyed that cigarette. Yessiree, he was on a serious lucky streak." } ]
[ { "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: Quillons and Honour\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1617\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character must continue to tell their tale to a listener to avoid unsavory consequences." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Henri Castelmagne, the young Comte de Bastignone and one of the officers of the city watch, strode into the small tavern, doffed his plumed hat to shake the cold February dampness off and swept his cloak away from his sword hilt. He’d just come off from the four ‘til midnight shift and wanted his usual glass of wine prior to going back to the guard’s quarters for the night. \nHe’d discovered the modest tavern and inn quite by accident. It was clean and quiet, with a friendly atmosphere about it and its cellar was surprisingly well stocked. None of the other guardsmen frequented the place and he liked the time to himself, away from the rough camaraderie of the barracks. He’d just gotten to the bar and given his order when a voice, with the accent of the nobility, called out from the shadows in one corner.\n“That’s an Arkovado blade, isn’t it?”\nThe young Comte turned and his brows went up in some surprise. To most, well or ill made, one sword was like any other. It was unusual for anyone to recognize the work of that Spanish master-swordsmith; let alone to comment on the sword. It was hopelessly out of fashion, of course, a little longer and heavier, with straight cross-shaped quillons, but it had belonged to, and been carried with honour by his father. \nHe picked up his wine and moved towards the corner table. Sitting slouched in a chair, a glass of the local rough red wine before him, was a road-weary looking man of about forty years of age in the worn remnants of what had once been a fashionable doublet. A battered, wide-brimmed black hat was hung on another chair back.\n“You know your blades, sir.” Henri said. “I am Henri Castelmagne, Comte de Bastignone. May I join you?”\nThe man replied, “Anyone who carries a blade as fine as that one is always welcome. I’d like a chance to see it closer. I am ...”\nThe young Compte’s face went little-boy eager when he recognized the name and title. The man laughed a little at his expression. “Yes. That is who I am — or was. ‘The Black Death’ they called me, from the colour of my fine cloak and hat, when I was your age. May I see the blade, young sir?”\nHenri unhooked the scabbard from the baldric, placed the sword on the table and drew six inches of blade. The man reached out and ran his fingers slowly, almost lovingly, over the hilt and quillons. \nThose like Henri, who lived by the honour of the sword, knew well that all trials by blade leave marks. The principle of ‘the winner is the one in the surgeon’s office’ is universal. Even the victor in such contests receives small cuts and wounds, especially on the hand and wrist of the sword arm. The young compte’s father had always said that one could gauge courage from the marks. Those who flinch leave crooked and curved scars. The back of the man’s hand and his wrist, where his sleeve drew back at his reach, looked like a well plowed field. \n“I haven’t seen a blade as fine as this in some years.” the man said softly. “This is a proper sword. Bell guards ... basket hilts ... fah!” he spat to the side. “One can do things with straight quillons that are impossible with those pretty-boy’s toys. They’re only good for the new ‘first cut’ rules in the Code Duello!”\n“Has the local Duque not offered you employment sir?” Henri asked. “Your name is known. Men such as yourself, who know and follow the principles of honour and the way of the blade, would always be welcome.”\nThe man’s hand froze for just a moment, and his eyes gleamed when he glanced up. “I don’t do that sort of thing anymore, young sir. I gave it up some years ago. I follow another path now and no longer even carry a sword.”\n“But — why?” Henri asked in some surprise. “Both my father and my uncle told me of your skill and courage. What could make one such as yourself give up the life of honour by the blade?”\n“Courage? Honour, Monsieur le Compte?” the man replied. “Someone taught me what those words truly mean — let me begin to learn that they have little to do with blades and killing. It’s something I try to pass on to young men such as you; when I can get them to listen. Would you hear the reason I gave up the sword?” \nHenri nodded. His life revolved around the strictures of the honour of the blade and he could think of nothing that might make him abandon those rules. He had to know why a man such as this might change so.\n“Very well then,” the man said, and began in soft quiet tones, forcing Henri to listen carefully. “It was a night a lot like this one; cold, foggy and damp. I was in the service of the Duque d’Albret and I was playing cards for small stakes in a tavern quite like this. One of the players was an English viscount, a little younger than you, off on his ‘grand tour’ of the continent. The bets passed back and forth across the table — nothing too large you understand — and the wine flowed easily; until most of us were more than a little drunk. \n“Late in the game, almost at midnight, the Englishman backed a quite good hand with most of the coins he had on the table, but my cards were better. It must have been the wine that made him say it. ‘You dare to cheat me, sir?’ he said.\nThe man shuddered at the memory. “Drunk or not, that’s a damnably stupid thing to say in a group like that; to a man such as I was then. He’d questioned my honour!” He shook himself for a moment, as if to settle a weight, and sadly said, “Hah! My honour!”\nPausing for a sip of wine, he was silent for a moment more, then continued. “We were on our feet and chest to chest in moments of course, angrily exchanging greater and greater insults. The taverner demanded we take the dispute outside, and so we did. Out into the damp and cold, down the street to a little square, and there we faced each other.\n“It began as such things always do. Little testing passes, foible-a-foible, to gauge each other’s skill. I could tell he’d been well trained; he was quick and had courage. In just a few moments, though, I knew he was no match for me, and I think he knew the same, but he didn’t quit. No, he had his own honour driving him. \n“I don’t know if it was my honour, simple pride, or something darker but I — God help me — began to play with him. He couldn’t touch me, as hard as he tried. Pass after pass, parry and counter, I gave him little nicks and cuts; all the while hissing insults at him, but still he didn’t quit.\n“That’s when it happened; while I was being cruel enough to play with him. I made a beautiful lunge, intending to give him a little cut in the muscle of his shoulder, and my foot came down on a patch of rotten ice. I was on my back in the wet with the wind out of me and I could feel death’s icy touch ... knew I was about to feel the blade’s cold kiss and watch the world darken away ...”\nThe man had paused again, staring at something distant and unknowable. Breathlessly Henri asked, “What happened?”. He came back to himself with a tiny start and continued, “I looked up and the Englishman was standing there, waiting for me to get up. Bleeding from a dozen small wounds and still giving me time to stand and continue. I’d never seen the like before. Why, I don’t know, but that courage, that much of what I knew was true honour shining in his young face, infuriated me.\n“I picked myself up, crouched back into en garde, and ceased playing. I told you the youngling was good, and had some training, but I made short work of him. Yet still, with my blade buried in his chest, he managed to bring his sword up in salute to me before he fell.”\nThe man almost jerked himself back to the present and the tavern. His voice was even softer and blurry, sounding right on the edge of sleep when he continued, “Strange — but it all changed for me that night. I’d defended my honour and it was intact, but it was all ashes on my tongue. For a time, I tried to continue as I always had, but it was empty — so empty. The memory of that shining young viscount haunted me. A few years later, I sold my fine sword and haven’t picked one up since. I go from town to town, finding work, warmth and food where I can. I try to explain why when someone like you, my young Compte de Bastignone, asks and hope you can understand.”\nSleepier still, he almost whispered as his finger followed the line of Henri’s sword-hilt, “Have you ever noticed how much a sword, a proper sword like this, resembles a cross? I suppose, in a way, I died on mine.”\nHenri paid the taverner for the man’s lodging that night and left him snoring in the dark corner of the bar room, face down in a puddle of wine." } ]
[ { "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 James Freed\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2953\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who everyone thinks is an extrovert, but is actually an introvert." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Just James Freed \nI knew James Freed from our Kindergarten days as the kid who loved clowning around with the boys in our class. He was a happy sort of kid who always had a goofy smile on his brown face, and I thought he was too childish. Can you imagine a five-year old saying something like that about another five-year old?\nI used to watch him playing catch outside and wondered how vibrant his life was with how he always seemed to be sporting that same grin every time I saw him. Lily, who was my best friend in second grade, absolutely fell head over heels for this kid, along with the rest of them. I, Yasmine Collins, for the life of me couldn’t relate because I didn’t get how anyone could be as energetic and lively as James Freed. I should probably just call him James instead, but for some unknown reason, I couldn’t even bring myself to do that either. He was an anomaly. \n*\nRight up until we went to the same high school together and James Freed moved back from Utah and into our Sophomore year, my fifteen-year old self saw him in a new light, and boy, I was speechless. It’s like I was about to be hit with a ton of bricks, yet all I could do was stand and let it happen. My palms started to sweat and my legs felt like jello that first time he looked at me. What was happening to me? I thought. This never happens, so why now? \nWhile I was too busy eyeing James Freed, I didn’t see the tree in front of me and walked right into it. Now, my butt was sore and my ego was probably bruised. I should probably dust myself off and make a run for it before I embarrass myself even more. As I tried to stand on my feet, I felt a warm hand over mine, helping me to stand. James Freed was helping me! Calm down, Yasmine. This is just James Freed, I thought. \nHis dark brown eyes bore into my light ones, and his brow furrowed as his face scrunched up in concern. “Are you okay? I saw you took that nasty fall.” \n“I-thanks. Um, I’m okay. Thank you,” I said to him. \nOh my goodness, talk normal, Yas! This is just James Freed.\nIf he noticed that I had thanked him twice, he never showed it.\n“You’re welcome, Yasmine. I’ll see you in class,” he said. \nI nodded and watched him go. I guess James Freed was more than just an anomaly. No matter how many times I berated myself, I knew he wasn’t just James Freed. He was more than that. \n\n\nThe Junior Homecoming was in three days and still haven’t found a date to go to the dance with. My best friends, Lilly and Olivia, already had dates, and I was the only one without one. Every girl was bringing somebody, even Erin, who claimed to be a nerd and said that boys were a waste of time had a boy from our grade ask her to Homecoming. Lilly and Olivia told me that they heard through the grapevine James Freed wasn’t taking anyone, so maybe I should ask him to go with me. I told them they were crazy. I’ll just have to go by myself. Independent woman right here. \nI walked over to the bleachers after running two laps around the field and chugged on my water bottle. It was noon and the sun was at its highest peak. You could definitely see heat waves come off the pavement, where P.E. teacher Mrs. Gwen stood with a whistle in her mouth and a timer to time the next group of kids running. Thank heavens I was done with that. I almost peed my pants on the second lap. \nAfter P.E. class, I changed into the girl’s locker room and walked back to get to my next class, which was History with Mr. Peters. I always sat in the front row right next to the window, but when I got there, I saw James Freed sitting in my seat. My seat. What the heck? He had his back facing the door, so he didn’t see me walk towards him with a glare on my face. If there was one thing that annoyed me even more than people thinking they’re the shiz was someone who took a seat that didn’t belong to them. I even etched my name into the desk to mark it as mine. \n“Hi, do you know where you’re supposed to sit?” I asked him. \nJames Freed turned in my chair with a furrowed brow. “I’m sorry, what?”\n“You’re in my seat,” I offered, as if he would get it the first time I said it. \nThis time, he had the audacity to laugh at my face, and shook his head. “Well, I don’t see your name on it, do I?” He cocked his head to the side and gave me that look. But it wasn’t gonna work. I wasn’t going to succumb to him, or the fact that he’s a little cute when he looks that way. \nI saved my breath and pointed to my name, “Yasmine Collins,” visibly cut into the wood with a winning smile like that would win me this argument. His dark brown eyes moved to where my finger had landed and for the first time, a ghost of that same silly smile from Kindergarten appeared on his face and vanished as if nobody saw it was there, but I did. \n“You’re right. I am in your seat. Let me move, so you can have it back,” James Freed said, suddenly rising to his feet, and gesturing to let me sit before moving to the back where a seat was available. \nI was shocked. I can’t believe he actually said that and didn’t even fight for it. He could have and I think both of us knew he could have, but he decided not to. As Mr. Peters welcomed us again and introduced a lesson in the Qing Dynasty, my thoughts reverted back to James Freed. He wasn’t what I thought he was, and I think this was just the beginning of finding out who James Freed was. \n\nMy big sister, Stella, helped me get ready for my first Junior Homecoming. I knew I was only a Sophomore, but my friends and I wanted to experience what it was like to go to one, so that when it was our turn next year, we knew what to expect. We were all getting dropped by either our parents or an older sibling, and luckily for me, I had Stella who was a Senior in high school driving me to the school, where they hosted the dance. She prepped me and gave me tips on what to do to not be a loner. \n“If you ever feel lonely at the dance, just stand up and go and get something to eat, so that when people see you, they’ll think you’re not. Oh, and if you see someone you talk to outside of class, besides your nerdy friends, go and sit next to them. Try and join the crowd, so that you don’t feel left out,” Stella said, as she looked at me through the dresser mirror. She combed my hair and sprayed it with one of her sweet smelling hair products she puts on her hair on special occasions. \nI was touched, but also a little offended that she called my friends nerdy. “Lilly and Olivia are not nerdy,” I told her with a glare to which she just waved her hand in the air as if what she said wasn’t mean. \n“Okay, I’m sorry, alright? Your friends are a little nerdy, how’s that?” she said. \nI rolled my eyes at her. “Gee, thanks, I feel so much better.” \n“Look, all kidding aside, I just want you to have fun and don’t let the thought of not having a date get you down. We, Collins’ women, never need a boy to have fun, remember that, okay?” \nMy heart tightened. These were the rarest occasions where Stella would actually give good sisterly advice that made me realize she was looking out for me despite all the arguments and the fights we got into. I nodded because I didn’t trust myself enough to speak at that moment. \nBy seven o’clock, the gym was packed with kids, teachers, and parents who volunteered to be chaperones. I was so relieved that Stella talked our mom out of chaperoning because I don’t think I would be free to move around the dance floor with her hovering over me the whole time. My mom took a hundred photos of me until Stella came to my rescue again, and escorted me right out of the door with the promise that she would pick me up right when the dance was over at nine. \nI was wearing a pink blush dress that my mom bought from a clearance sale at a shop in town with brown gladiator sandals. My mom wanted me to wear heels, but I wasn’t going to fall flat on my face at the dance because I didn’t know how to walk in them. Stella put my hair up in a French twist up-do that probably sounds more complicated than it looks, and she had these pretty pink hair clips she put in my hair to make me look like a fairy. She really outdid herself. \nLilly was the first person I saw at the dance when I walked in, and she waved at me widely. I noticed that Olivia was nowhere to be found. Lilly was wearing a high and low green dress with 1-inch high heels that suited her. At least she could walk in them better than I could. She and her date, Eric Winters, came matching in green, and I gotta say they have never looked cuter together than right now. \n“Hey Eric, good to see you,” I said. \nEric smiled. “You too. Hey, I’m gonna go and get some punch. Do you two want any?” \nLilly nodded. “That would be great, please.” \n“Yes, thanks,” I told him and he disappeared into the crowd. \nI turned to Lilly in excitement and she gave me a grin. “Yes, you can say it. I know you want to.”\n“Are you two together, or...?” I asked. \n“Yes, we are. We just started dating yesterday, but it’s still new, so please don’t make a big deal out of it,” Lilly said. \nI pursed my lips to stop myself from smiling. “Okay, I won’t. I promise.” \n“Good. Anyway, have you seen Olivia and her date?” \nI shook my head. “No, I haven’t.\"\n“So, did you ask James to the dance?” she asked. \n“Nope, and I didn’t want to. I’m sure he’s bringing someone else. Speaking of James Freed, I haven’t seen him either,” I said, now looking around the gym. There was no sign of the tall boy with curly dark hair around. She could’ve sworn he would be here since his friends were all here. \nAfter a couple of dances I had with Lilly, I left her to her date and now boyfriend Eric. I didn’t want to have her dancing with me when she was here with him. I walked over to the table that had all the sweets and took a few brownies and gummy worms. Yes, a fantastic combination. \nI took the gummy worms two by two and just watched everybody else on the dance floor when Olivia dropped into the chair next to mine with a conspiratorial smile. She had the look of mischief in her eyes like she knew something that I wasn’t aware of. “Why are you smiling like that? You look creepy. And where were you?” \n“Eh, family problems, but that wouldn’t stop me from coming anyway,” Olivia said, shrugging. \nI knew little about what was happening in Olivia’s family. She only told me and Lilly enough for us to get the idea that things weren’t looking so bright for her at her home. We offered to help in any way, but she always said she was fine. Nothing to be worried about. \n“So, are you going to answer my first question, or am I supposed to be worried now?” I said. \nOlivia only shrugged. “I found out why James isn’t here.” \n“Wait, so he really wasn’t going to come to the dance?” \nOlivia shook her head. “Yep, he really hates things like this.”\nThis time, I was the one confused here and I gave her a questioning look. “What do you mean he hates things like this?” I asked. \n“Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but I heard from Willie who told Ashley and Ashley told all the girls in the bathroom that something happened to James that made him not want to come to the dance, but you know what I think? I think there’s more to the story than him simply deciding against coming,” Olivia said, leaning forward in her chair. \n“I even asked Eric why James wasn’t here, and he dodged my question by changing the subject,” she continued. \nHmm, that was unlikely of James Freed to do something like that. He was usually the person who loved going to dances, social events, anything really to have fun. Was I right the first time then? I thought. He did seem different to me when I saw him after he moved away. \n“Anyway, I think he’s going to be at Mr. Sunny’s tonight, if you’re interested in going,” Olivia said. \nI gave her a double take. Did I hear her correctly, or was she implying we skipped the dance to go and see a boy who probably wanted to be alone. \n“No, let’s not. I feel like that’s an invasion of privacy, or else in this case, stalkerish, which we are not,” I said, giving her the look that said she was crazy. \nShe gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Okay, okay, we won’t go.” \n*\nOn Monday morning I saw James Freed sitting by himself under a tree near the track and it was lunch time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him by himself without his posse. He had his head down and his nose hidden in a book. I didn’t even know he liked reading, either. \nI walked right over to him and he glanced up to turn the page when he noticed me coming. He smiled and patted the ground next to him in a gesture to sit. I sat down and put my knees up to my chest with my arms wrapped around them in a huff. \n“Are you okay?” he asked. \n“Oh, yeah, I am. Thanks,” I said. “What are you doing?” \nHe tapped his book twice with a smile. \n“Ahh, right, right. I didn’t know you read.” \nHe turned to me with a funny look. “Oh, right, because I’m a jock and we don’t read to feed our intellectual minds.” \nOkay, I don’t know whether to be insulted that he threw a sarcastic joke my way, or laugh because that was hilarious. \nI went with the latter and shook my head. “No, it’s not that. It just caught me by surprise. I’m sorry.” \n“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” he said, putting his book down. “You know, you’re not the first person to think that about me.” \nOkay, now I feel bad. I never think first before I say something. \nA gust of wind rustled the leaves of the tree and he leaned forward with a look of wonder on why I was here. I don’t why I was, but I felt drawn somehow to this boy. He was a mystery and I don’t think he realized the inner storm raging inside of me to fight off the urge to discover the many layers of who he was. \nInstead of asking him why he didn’t come to the dance last Friday night like I was supposed to, I asked him if he was always sitting out here under this tree to read, and he said he did. He responded that he has been out here every day after baseball practice, but today, he just wanted to be alone during lunch time.\nI followed it up with another question. “Do you like being alone more than being with your friends?” \n“Am I a bad person if I said yes to that?” he said. \n“No, I don’t think so. You have every right to feel however you want to feel.” \nHe nodded and opened his book again as if this was a sign it was time for me to leave, so he can be in his own personal bubble I was clearly invading. I stood up and dusted my jeans. “I guess I’ll see you in class.” \n“Hey, Yasmine,” he called when I was a few feet away from him. \nI glanced back. “Yeah?”\n“Thanks for keeping me company,” he said. \n“Even though you didn’t ask for it?” I just had to say.\nThat goofy smile came back and he let it stay there for a while. He was not just James Freed anymore, although I still feel like he’s less of a mystery now that I know this little bit about him. He grew out of the stage of being a kid and was in some ways, in a different perspective, appeared a man who was wise beyond his years, but every time he grinned, it was like he was letting me into his world and I don’t think I’ll ever find a boy like him." } ]
[ { "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: Mr. Sign\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1239\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character looking for a sign." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Mr. sign:\n “Darkness again,” said Joshua while stretching himself. This man has forgotten to put on the generator again but why is it so dark this in the morning these days?\n\n He reached out for his touch but it wasn’t there. He was sure that he kept the touch under his pillow, before he slept off.\n\n God, let it not be that someone took that touch.\n\n Coming down from his bed, he looked at his bunk mate but he was snoring like a pig. Suddenly, he remembered his phone.\n\n “Ahh, my phone, I didn’t unplug it yesterday.” He said and walked to the next bunk for the phone but the charger wasn’t there any longer, only the phone. Those series of ugly event almost spoilt his morning.\n\n They were eight occupants in the room. A spacious room, with milky coloured tiles. It has a wall built in form of a wardrobe demarcating it into two; inner corner and outer corner as most students often called it. Four people stay in the outer corner and four at the inner corner, double bunk each with a space in between them for passage.\n\n Joshua took his phone and sat down facing his reading table. He often read every morning, after waking up, taking a cup of water with a spoonful of honey and saying his prayers but now he was lost in thought.\n\n Staying in this school hostel has done him more harm than good. His Chelsea jersey, the one he loved most was stolen yesterday, his roommates took his things without permission. For God’s sake, he needed privacy but he needed a sign. A sign that will convince her so spiritual mother that God wanted him to stay off camp. Living in the xschool hostel for a year should be enough.\n\n “Josh man. How far?” Peter said as he was coming out of the lecture hall and saw Joshua.\n\n “I’m good bro.” He put on a fake smile.\n\n “You are late again today. What’s the issue with you man, hope all is well?\n\n Joshua nodded\n\n “Lets go outside and sit down. The lecturer isn’t here yet. We are blocking the path”\n Catherine, their course mate walked passed them and greeted. They had adjust for her to pass since they stood at the threshold of the door.\n\n “Bro, seriously all isn’t well. Sorry I had to do as if it is.” Joshua said looking down.\n\n “I knew something was wrong, although you tried hiding it. Now tell me, what’s that?”\n\n Joshua went quiet for a moment. “I need a sign “\n\n “A sign for what, this old man?” He chucked\n\n “A sign that I shouldn’t stay at that fucking hostel again. I’m just tired of everything. This morning, I had to wait for three people on queue before I can take my bathe and ……”He sighed.\n\n “Mr. Man, calm down. Allow me to swallow it bit by bit before it chokes me. Firstly, why would you need a sign just to leave the hostel. I thought staying off camp only requires paying for the rent and getting a room mate if necessary.”\n\n “Yes, you are right but in my case. It’s different”\n\n “Why?”\n\n “Emm, my mother believes that I’m more safe in the school hostel than staying off camp unless God wants me to leave. And a sign, is the way out.”\n\n “What type of sign?\n\n “Spiritual physical sign, I guess.”\n\n “Hmmm, anyway I wish you good luck with the sign but the bathroom waiting stuff isn’t an excuse for you to be frequently late in school” He said looking back.\n\n Catherine called him, “the lecturer is in class.” She whispered over the window.\n\n “Come, let’s go attend the lecture”\n\n “Story for another day, Pet.”\n\n “You are funny Josh. No, Mr. Sign.”\n\n Joshua went home that day, looking for a sign. Is he supposed to be angry or frustrated that his best friend now nicknamed him Mr. sign just because he opened up to him. Either way, it’s a negative feeling.\n\n He laid on his bed and a thought came to him. This would be a good sign. He stood up from his bed, smiles bathed his face and walked out of the room. His roommates wondered what put him in a happy mood instantly.\n\n Standing at the corridor, he said a prayer in his heart. 'God if it rains this evening, I’ll take it as a sign that you want me to leave the hostel.’\n\n That evening, it rained heavily but he knew he cheated. It has been raining everyday since that week and goggle showed that it would rain too.\n\n He called Peter at night and told him about the rain sign.\n“Anyway, you already know that that wasn’t a good sign, Mr. Sign.” He teased. “Find something that will rarely happen and if I’d happen. Then, that’s your sign.” He said before they hung up.\n\n Joshua was asleep when his phone rang. He slept early because his bunk mate was making unnecessary argument with his friend that visited, another was playing music with the speaker at its highest volume. More reasons for him to leave the hostel.\n\n “Mum, good evening.” He said while yawning\n\n “Sorry my dear. I guess I woke you from sleep.”\n\n “Yes mum.”\n\n “There’s something I want to tell you.” She paused and continued. “I had a dream about you with your blood strew on the floor. I don’t know exactly what happened but I think you engaged in a fight with your roommate. Please dear, make sure that you don’t have any issue with anyone. Also, I’m thinking about you leaving the hostel, though it’s still under probability.”\n\n Sleep eluded his eye when he heard the last sentence. “Thanks mum, I love you so much.”\n\n The next day, Joshua told Peter about the good news. They made merry about it and parted ways after lectures. And, the word probability has a way of favouring the unfavoured option.\n\n Three days later, Joshua called his mother to know her stand about staying off camp but her words broke his heart. “My dear,” She said gently. “Stay at the hostel for the next level. After then, we will think about it.”\n\n He is in 200 level now, that means staying till the end of his third year. That’s not possible. He hoped a sign related to blood may come. Maybe, that would change her mother’s heart. Since it would be related to her dream and Voilà, it happened.\n\n One evening, two of his roommates were having a friendly argument about Messi and Ronaldo, who was better. They were best friends, one in final year and the other in third year. He got fed up by their shouting and went downstairs to do the dishes.\nWhen, he came up. People clustered in front of their room. What was wrong, he wondered. And on entering his room, there was blood everywhere. The argument later lead to a gruesome fight.\n“They have rushed Kingsley to the school medical,” one person said.\n\n At first he was confused. Secondly, he was happy and finally, he was sad because he was happy. Anyway, he’d seen the sign he was looking for.\n\n Shortly, his mum called. This time, she wanted him to leave that fighting den latest before next week. He wondered how she knew. Maybe, his cousin Stephen told her what happened.\n\n “Congratulations, Mr. Sign.” Peter said when he visited his room off campus." } ]
[ { "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: Mission Partner, Recognition, and Disappointment\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2118\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that starts with the line “So, what’s the catch?”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“So, what’s the catch?” I ask Malcom—my boss—crossing my arms over my red suit jacket as I arch a dark eyebrow, unimpressed.\n“There’s no catch, Becs,” he grumbles in a deep voice, the unlit La Prosa cigar stuck between his yellowed teeth bobbing in my face.\n“There’s always a catch,” I remark, my rouged lips pouting at the word.\nI graciously turn around, nonchalance a second nature of mine by now, to be on my way. The heels of my matching red stilettos clacking loudly through the tiled hall, the echo bouncing off the walls to announce my coming.\n“Where are you going?” Malcom growls behind me.\nA mischievous smirk smears my face as I hear him walk after me, panting heavily to show just how unfit he is despite his official title of Colonel of the US Army.\n“Will you slow down, woman!” he snarls, now on my left, his chest heaving so fast I fear he might collapse soon. “You’re right…”\n“Pardon me?” I tweet innocently, my eyelashes batting, while I casually continue my stroll down the dark corridor.\n“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Smith!” he fumes, getting a hold of the cigar from his mouth to tuck it behind his ear instead. “Fine, there is a catch…” A sharp cough escapes his mouth as he struggles to catch his breath. “Jones is your partner on the mission—”\n“Jones!” I snap, stopping dead in my tracks to lock eyes with him. “Dick Jones?”\nMalcom sighs, his flushed face shaking, The calloused flesh of his palms now over his hips. I glare at him, squinting intensely, my nostrils flaring at the indignation of being assigned a partner I do not need.\n“What can I say? He’s the best.” Malcom shrugs, his dry lips closing in a thin line. “Tough luck, kiddo…” He pats me on the back like I am some kind of immature child, the motion rough against my shoulder blade. “Your ride leaves at eighteen hundred sharp.”\nI stare at him, bleak, and he doesn’t bother waiting for a response. I watch as he effortfully drags his saggy ass away, probably back to his office for a lie down to calm his heart rate. I roll my eyes to the back of my head.\nWhat a clown!\nI have been here working my butt off for five long excruciating years, and yet I am still due the respect and recognition I deserve from my male counterparts—It is tough being a working woman in 1950. When I finally think I am done proving myself, another white man comes along, calling me “kiddo” and assigning me a babysitter.\nWhy ask me to go on the mission at all then?\nWhy not let the big tough men do it all?\nI take a deep frustrated breath, checking my reflection in the pristine glass window in front of me and commanding my features to remain undisturbed as to not give anyone reason to call me “sensitive” or “crazy” as well.\nIf it weren’t for Daddy, I wouldn’t be working here. I hate it here. This place is filled with toxic masculinity, the air embedded with testosterone. But it pays well, despite the fact I have a vagina—because somehow, the organ I have between my legs is what dictates my salary in this modern day and age, not my skills.\nAnd I am goddamn skilled at what I do!\nI know it is unusual for women to work at the Army, but only because the patriarchy permits it…\nWhen the war broke out, Daddy—who was already a commissioned officer—got me this position, just like he did my big brother and his best friend before me. It was supposed to be temporary, and I wasn’t supposed to come back to New York, but I did anyway.\nDaddy’s superiors needed a spy to infiltrate the enemy’s base in Germany; someone who wouldn’t attract too much attention. A nobody. So I volunteered, only for my selflessness to reflect well on Daddy and for my name to appear amongst those who contributed to the war effort. That, and the pay was good!\nBut there was a catch.\nThe mission was simple on paper—the spy would collect information about the enemy’s plans and report to the US Army. Clean. Easy. But when Malcom walked me outside the facilities, here in New Jersey, to wait for my ride that fatal evening, he also handed me a gun.\n“You must remain anonymous at all costs.” His hoarse voice was a deep rumble in his chest, his eyes bright and shiny under the full moon.\nI swallowed hard, understanding the assignment. An icy shiver travelled up my spine as my fingers wrapped around the cold firearm to tuck it safely under my rain jacket, away from wandering eyes.\nAnd I never looked back because, as I said, I am skilled at what I do.\nI was on the path to success, the one leading to a four-star officer rank—a first for a woman in the United States of America. But Richard “Dick” Jones was relocated to our branch two months ago, making heads turn and agents fight to be his partner. I have been paired with him twice already, and frankly I don’t see what the commotion is all about.\nThe attention should be on me.\nI am the star double-agent who dismantled an entire criminal organisation from the inside out at the young age of nineteen. No man ever achieved that, did they? Especially not Dick! And yet, three years later and I am still waiting for the recognition I deserve. I didn’t get a promotion, or a raise, only a mere thank you and the usual pat on the back.\nBut when Dick Jones shows up from freakin’ Houghton, Michigan, everyone is suddenly in wow, because he rescued a couple of children from a frozen lake. I can do that too—There is nothing special about him. He would even probably describe himself as a “small town boy who never thought he would someday have the opportunity to fight for something bigger than himself.”\nBarf.\nBut I will not quit until I receive what I am due. They will not break me.\n“Miss Smith!” the irritable voice grits my ears.\nSpeak of the devil and he shall appear…\nI squeeze my eyes shut for a second but keep on walking nonetheless, ignoring him.\n“Miss Rebeca!” he calls again, and I hate it that he knows my name. “Becs—”\n“Do not call me that!” I snap, spinning around to glare at his pale freckled face and brassy brown hair. “Only my friends get to call me that.”\n“I heard Malcom—”\n“What do you want, Dick?” I cut in sharply, irritation making my blood boil in my veins. I check the vintage Bulova watch around my wrist. “Make it quick.”\nHe startles, taken aback by my animosity. “I thought it’d be a good idea to go over the mission together is all.”\n“I have already read the report and special notes,” I tell him, deadpan. “I am familiar with the facility I need to infiltrate and the members of staff.”\n“I have no doubt you’re up-to-speed, but I think we should sit down and talk about it anyway,” he argues, casually sliding his tall hands inside the pockets of his army-green uniform. “To be on the same wavelength.”\n“I don’t think so.”\nI turn back around, my chin high, to head toward the stairs, my teeth grinding so tight my molars might crack.\n“I’ll see you soon!” he chirps.\n“No, you won’t,” I growl, looking back at him to see the dopiest of grins brighting up his stupid face. I squint in response, hating the amusement he gets out of this.\n“I’ll find you,” he confirms, winking at me before walking away. \"You like coffee, right?\"\nI ignore him, cursing myself for running into him in the first place. My hands close into fists, my nails digging through the raw flesh of my palms as fury courses through me. My murderous eyes land on the garbage can by the stairs and I kick it hard, the metal container flying across the room in a bang, empty packagings raining over the floor.\nSomeone will clean up the mess…\nFuck this!\nI take a deep breath, smoothing the red material of my blazer, before hurrying down the stairs to reach the ground floor. The sharp yet comforting clacking on my heels against the concrete is the only noise I hear, the only one I need to regain my confidence, as its echo rings in my ears. My heart thumps in tandem in my ribcage, the familiar pinching energising me in a way nothing else could. I anxiously check my watch again.\nRight on time.\nI pause when I reach the last step of the staircase, swiftly readjusting my breasts under my blouse and making sure my black curls are still defined and bouncy. I patiently wait for the familiar footsteps to come nearer.\nStomp.\nStomp.\nThe corners of my lips curl upward of their own volition, my stomach quivering with excitement and impatience at the person I am to “unexpectedly” run into next.\nThree.\nTwo.\nOne.\nI gracefully step down and swiftly turn around the corner only to purposefully bump into Christopher Murphy, my brother’s best friend. His broad frame wraps around me, the rich citrus aromas of his cologne enveloping me in a warm and familiar cocoon. I instinctively bring the palms of my hands to his chest, his pecs swollen to perfection under his uniform.\n“Oh, sorry!” he voices mechanically, his muscly fingers protectively gripping my shoulders to steady me. “I didn’t see you there—”\n“Chris, hi!” I chirp, faking my astonishment. “What a surprise…”\nI smile innocently, our eyes locking. I dive into the deep ocean blue of his gaze, suddenly forgetting where we are and allowing myself to revel in the delicious sensation twirling in my insides and down further.\n“I should be used to this by now. We always bump into each other!” he chuckles, pulling away.\n“Oh, yeah, I hadn't noticed…” I nod calmly, keeping my composure despite the turmoil of emotions raging in my frantic body. “It must be fate!”\nChristopher smiles warmly, like he always does, before looking past me to signal to his teammates to wait up for him. He reverts his full attention to me next, making my stomach twist delightfully.\n“Since you’re here, Becs, I wanted to know…” he starts and my heart stutters, hope sprouting in my chest. “Uhm… Have you seen Bash?”\n“Oh…” I mutter, unable to hide my disappointment.\nOf course, he is looking for my brother…\n“No,” I exhale the single syllable with a forced smile.\nHe sighs, nodding slowly. “I’ll find him, don’t worry about it,” he says next, before patting me on the head like I am still the ten year old who used to beg him to sit down with me in the sitting room of my family home to play doll.\nHe walks away to meet his friends and a lump grows in my throat, deception and shame unfurling in my middle at the interaction I just had with Christopher.\nNo matter what I do, I am never good enough.\nGrowing up with my crush means he will always see me as the little brat he once knew.\nI couldn’t wait to work with him at first, ecstatic to see him on a daily basis, but to my utter disappointment, that too came with a catch. Spending this much time around Christopher means I get to see him flirt with other women right under my nose. I have cried over him so many times over the years I stopped counting—It was just too sad…\nI take a deep breath, bracing myself to live another day unseen by Christopher Murphy, when my eyes meet Dick. My mission partner stands across the hall from me, two cups of coffee in his hands. A beaming smile twists across his face as he joins me.\n“I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with Captain Murphy—” he starts, handing me one of the mugs.\n“He isn’t a captain,” I correct, crossing my arms over my chest, holding his stare and ignoring the hot beverage.\n“That’s what everybody calls him.” Dick shrugs, waving the white container at me. “A dash of milk and a sprinkle of cinnamon. That’s how you like it, isn’t it?”\nI arch an eyebrow. “You researched me?” I ask coldly.\n“Of course, you’re my partner!”\n“You’re a creep,” I blurt out, walking away.\n“Oh, c’mon, Smith! Meet me half way here…” he begs behind me, both mugs still in his hands.\nNever." } ]
[ { "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: Bad Habits\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1196\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character looking for a sign." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Procrastinating has always been a bad habit of mine. Even in making big decisions like this, I’d leave it to the last minute. I looked at perhaps the thickest books I’ve ever seen stacked on my desk. Algebra, calculus, trigonometry - most people get dizzy just thinking about the numbers and equations that fill up the pages of these books. Even I am tired of memorizing each and every formula that the math lords have bestowed upon us. The semester is ending but I still haven’t decided if I really wanted to change my course. My father was a professor in math and my mom a researcher so I’d obviously take the path of the sciences as well right? The expectations were high and math was something I was excellent at as a kid so naturally, I chose to pursue mathematics and become a teacher as well - the safe choice for me.\nStaying within my comfort zone adds to my list of bad habits. I never wanted to explore new things because instability and change were my greatest fears. Back in high school, we had clubs that we had to join. Refusing to step out of this personal box of mine, I chose the mathematics club. It was, of course, all about math and solving equations every day which I didn’t mind since I was good at it. I liked getting that feeling of satisfaction after understanding a problem and getting the right answer. When I got tired of having to solve equations every day, I used to convince myself that numbers held answers to the universe - what a way to romanticize math, right? That’s how I carried on to choose math for every single year in high school and eventually all the way to college.\nDespite that, I found myself sitting in this room full of people who had eyes that looked like they were shooting lasers. They weren’t intimidating, they looked like they were so full of passion - I envied that. Music. It was so different from what I was used to doing - definitely out of my comfort zone. When my friends asked me why I chose to join the music club, I couldn’t give a straight answer. I was pretty embarrassed that I chose it because I didn’t really have a choice - my friend practically begged me to join it with her. That’s another bad habit of mine. I can’t say no. \nOne day, I was quite early for our meeting. The corridors were silent but the door to the music room was slightly ajar. I took my precious time walking through the corridors as a tune played. It got louder and louder as I approached the room. It was a song I had never really heard of but somehow it warmed my heart as if it was a lullaby i drifted to sleep with every night. I stood by the door, and closed my eyes as I quietly listened. I had eventually made it a part of my schedule to go to the music room early and stand by the door. I soon found out that the song was an original composition by one of the seniors I admired. He was one of the most passionate people when it came to music. He once said in class that he draws inspiration from anything and everything when writing his songs. I found that so cool. After a few months, I started making my own music as well. It was a different kind of excitement when I plucked the strings of the guitar compared to when I solved equations. I came to like the notes on the music sheets better than the numbers in equations. Music became a big part of my life, and that song made me love it even more.\nA few years later and here I am, still confused but mostly scared about what to do with my future. A sigh unconsciously left my mouth as my eyes drifted from my math books to the dusty guitar I had in the corner of my room. I left the music club a few months ago. I had to focus on my exams since my grades have plummeted recently and so did I. I practically hit rock-bottom, I was so tired of all the numbers and my brain couldn’t keep up. “Where was the girl who could mentally do algebra in one minute? ” my professors even asked. I studied well day and night but recently, no amount of caffeine would perk me up. I became a lot sadder after leaving music, could it be that music was something I wanted to do instead of pursuing math? I refuse to believe that.\nI stepped out for a moment. If I continued down that rabbit hole of thoughts, my head would’ve exploded. The Wisterias were in full bloom, the air was fresh, and the clouds were covering up the sun perfectly. It seemed as if the beautiful day was mocking my misery. Down the streets is the coffee shop I frequent. Perfect, I need my daily dose of caffeine. I ordered my usual coffee. As I was walking out, already pushing the door open, I heard a familiar tune. I stopped in my tracks as the mellow but soulful song played on the radio. It’s that song I used to hear back at the music room. I can’t believe it’s been officially released and even being played on the radio now. I stayed until the song finished then went my way down the streets again. The song brought back memories I thought would be buried forever. I thought that maybe just maybe this could be a sign but stubborn me wouldn’t take it and so I hoped for another sign just to be sure. It is a big decision after all. After what seemed like hours of walking, my feet led me to this group of teenagers who were busking at the side. Just as if the heavens were truly giving me a sign, the song they played next was that same exact song. I never would have thought that the melodies I used to hear at the music room would blow up to the public in just a few months.\nI came back to my room at the dorm quickly as I searched for a pen. I took my enrolment papers and recklessly wrote down my intent for a change of course. I did it as quickly as I could to prevent any second thoughts and hesitations. I had thought of that song to be a sign for me. I looked at my dusty guitar and then at the stack of books on my table. Was it really a sign from the heavens or did it just seem like a sign because I was unconsciously looking for it? Maybe I didn’t want to blame myself for this decision so I placed the burden on destiny’s hands instead. That is another bad habit of mine, blaming destiny when things go wrong, but who knows? Maybe the universe does have plans for us. I have a good feeling about this." } ]
[ { "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: Tasha and her Mum\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1125\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character looking for a sign." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Tasha is Raised by a single mum in a lovely Cabin. She’s average height, very beautiful, and just turned 18. Wake up and see beautiful trees as she opens the window and look up the sky sad, like she’d no reason living. Made the bed, clean the house, prepare breakfast, took a bath before she wakes up her mum and walk her to the living room. She was a good girl, her mum was proud. Pick up her bag and hug her mum so tight as she gets off for school as if she doesn’t want to let go. This was her daily routine. Her Mum had been suffering from an illness over the years. She was an accountant, intelligent, and a top student of her class with a 3.7GPA. She was timid, although having a lot of friends. She was sad in school most of the times. When friends ask about it, she’ll say ‘I don’t want to border you guys with my problems”. She’d no boyfriend, she pushes them away every time. She was so tired of worrying about her mum because her mum had been ill since she was just 10. Some days at school, she’ll rush to the toilet and cry asking God to show her a sign or something she can hold onto that’ll give her strength to keep living. On Tuesday, classes where over and Tasha is coming back from school, swinging the two arms with anxious to see her mum when she show up home. As she draws near, her uncle was standing just outside the main door. He looked worried. With quick instincts, she shouts out 'mummy' racing into the house just to see her mum stiff on the bed struggling to breed. Her uncle had called for the ambulance and was waiting outside. \nTasha dropped her bag and followed her dying Mum to the hospital, where they put her on oxygen and the doctor attended to her. She underwent x-ray and the illness had gotten worst. Tasha is by her side, twirling her hair and watch her struggle with life until finally gave up the ghost after three days in the hospital. She knew this day will come, but she couldn’t help it but shed tears. After her mum’s funeral, she got home and In tears, she coincidentally found her room. Locked the door hard. Get down on the carpet and incline toward the bed edge. Listening to the birds sing and the breeze blow across the window, she felt like the world is crumbling. She was depressed, lonely, and lost. She locked herself up for days and didn’t border about classes. Her instructors connected with her since her GPA was slipping. She Dropped out and all expectation was no more. Her uncle requested to come and lament at his place so he could watch after her. She said “I need to be left alone “. She could barely even eat and was getting thinner. One sunny day she took a walk down to a bridge, shouting for all to hear asking God to give her a sign to continue to live. Tom her friend at school saw her on his way from hiking. It was a weekend. He saw her crying. They told him what had happened. He came and comforted her, asking her to stop crying. And reassured her that any where her mum is right now she’s happy and she’ll want you to move on with your life, get back to school; get good grades, get a good job, and make her proud. She smiled with tears rolling down from her eyes and told him she was not emotionally and psychologically ready to get back to school. Tom advised her to go slowly and that God will give her an indication when she's prepared. She was a little relieved when Tom said because ever since her mum got sick she always ask God to show her a sign that He’s up in heaven looking after her. She hugged Tom like the way she used to hug her mum, thanking him for caring. Tom then walk her back home and told her they were writing exams in two weeks as he rides his bike off. Tasha is now home alone. She went upstairs to her mum’s room and saw mum’s photos lying down at the corner. She picked them up, admiring them, and placed them on her chest as though she’s embracing it. She folded her mum’s dresses and put them in boxes, also shoes. Get these boxes outside leaving only a photo that she took with her Mum. She had to burn all of them because she cries every time she sees her mum’s stuffs.\nHer phone rings and is Tom on the phone. She picks it up and he asked how she’s doing and then ask her if they could go and take a walk, Tasha gladly accepted. They went out into the woods, talked, make jokes, and laughed. Tom is happy to see her smile. He inquired as to whether she is all set back to class. She sighs bowing down her head and he advised her not to stress that he will help her breezed through her approaching coming semester tests. Tasha asked Tom why he was so kind to her and he told her “I had been nice to you ever since remember?, but you are always the one that pushes me away every time”. And went on to say tell her he didn’t want to meddle. Tasha told him she was going through a lot in her life and was so depressed that she could not talk to anybody. Tom told her that he will be there for her anytime that she needs him. They hugged and held hands as they came back. Tasha is on the bed and continue to picture the minutes she had with Tom in the forested areas, how delicate and cherishing he was. She was falling head over heels for him. Tom and Tasha started dating and somehow there’s hope. Tom helped her study for the exams, she was smart. She went to her Mum’s grave to tell her that she’s going in for the semester exams and asked if she was happy where she is, also she told her she’s getting married to Tom on her graduation day if she passed. Tom had proposed to her and she accepted. Tasha wrote the exams successfully with Tom. The results came out and they passed, graduated, and got married. They later got Jobs and Tasha went to church to thank God for sending Tom to her. And she visited her mum’s grave on her birthday, to give her flowers. Tom and Tasha lived happily." } ]
[ { "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 best day of my life!\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1747\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone discovering a photograph that has something written on the back." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Mom, is that you in the photograph?” My daughter was trying her best to grab my attention as I stared at my laptop screen, wondering where I got my presentation wrong. It had been an exhausting day already, my boss seemed pissed during my presentation today for reasons unknown to me and the constant distraction from my daughter was of no help either. When she showed no signs of shutting down anytime soon, I shrugged my shoulder in resignation and paid heed to Sarah; for a six-year-old, she surely had way too much energy! She was fiddling around with the old album that had been resting on the antique wooden shelf of our tiny living room since we moved here.\nI looked at the photograph and it was indeed my younger self staring back at me; my face looked chubby, my hair appeared unruly, and my eyes were puffy but the glimmer in them couldn’t go unnoticed. On my left stood Aries with her picture-perfect smile, her hands wrapped around my shoulders, and her dark-brown hair looking the most beautiful as I had ever seen them. James stood to my right wearing his signature crooked smile, and after looking at him I didn’t feel so bad about my appearance anymore. We were standing in front of the colossal auditorium of our school; horde of students could be seen in the background, all draped in long navy blue overcoats. I flipped to look at the back of the photograph- “The best day of my life!” These words were scribbled on the photo that had been taken more than a decade ago.\nIt was my high-school graduation; a much-awaited day in the life of all high-schoolers. I could still feel the excitement and rush in the pit of my stomach that I had felt about fourteen years ago. The specifics of that day are a series of blur pictures in my head; I don’t remember posing for the camera or getting clicked by anyone. “Yes, it is me.” I replied to my daughter after what seemed like an eternity. I looked around to find that she had left already, the little kitten that we had adopted recently apparently more intriguing than the photograph.\nThat night I couldn’t sleep; my thoughts kept wavering back to the photograph and my graduation day. “Today, we three take an oath to stay together forever. No matter what happens but ‘Terrific Trio’ will meet every Saturday for our weekly meetings.” Aries had said those words like she meant them. “We will go to frat parties and clubs together. It’s going to be perfect!” I had meant those words too. Promises of forever were made but none kept. This fact hadn’t bothered me until now but I was sure that the unsettling feeling in my gut wouldn’t settle till the time I did something about it.\n The next morning I skipped my morning exercise regime and sat down with my laptop in the living room but only after preparing breakfast for Sarah. Needless to say, being a single mother had made me much more responsible than I originally thought I was capable of being. Juggling life between stepping out of an abusive relationship, a divorce and fighting for my daughter’s custody, I lost all my friends along the way. I wasn’t even sure I could call them my ‘friends’ anymore. I frantically opened my Facebook page and typed the name ‘Aries Copperfield’ in the search bar. Various results popped up but none that were appropriate to what I was searching for.\nConcentrating on work that week seemed like a gruelling task when my mind was preoccupied with so many thoughts. Upon reaching home latterly, I tried to look for my ‘friends’ once again. This time I looked for James and to my surprise it was much easier to locate him; I sent him a friend request but there was a great possibility that he would look at that request days, weeks or even months after. There was no information about his work place or his whereabouts on his page. It was exasperating that I didn’t even have a way to connect with my only best friends.\n Just then it occurred to me that maybe I did have their phone numbers! How could I be so stupid? I rushed to fetch my phone and hastily dialled their numbers. Turns out, it was a useless idea since James’ number was out of service and I was so engrossed in my own life that it hadn’t occurred to me to ask Aries for her new number when she moved to Canada. My futile attempts to re-connect with my old buddies motivated me to stop working so hard. If they were as good as friends as I remember them to be, they too could have tried to contact me but they didn’t! Hitherto, I had felt guilty for being a bad friend but my failed attempts made me realize that they were no better than me. I wasn’t the only one who broke a promise I made, I wasn’t the only one who went back on their word; they were equally responsible.\nAnother month passed by and I had completely forgotten about the photograph until one day Sarah implored me to buy her chocolates and I agreed, much to my distaste. I was walking around in the super market when I happened to come across a familiar face. “Luke! I’m Emma Hastings from Fowler High School, remember me?” His brown eyes narrowed in disbelief but filled with warmth as soon as he recognized me. “Of course! Emma, how could I forget you? How have you been? How are Aries and James?” His question threw me off-guard. Was he not going to ask me about my divorce? My pity-worthy existence as my dear parents liked to call it; probably not. “I’m doing great. And...Aries and James are..I don’t talk much to them anymore.” Those words felt foreign coming out of my mouth. “That’s a shame!” He must have seen my horrified expression as he continued speaking “I mean you were three peas in a pod, inseparable, no one imagined that you guys would stop talking, you know.” All I could do was nod in agreement. “See you later, then.” He said as he started walking away from me. I don’t know if I was too offended by what Luke had said or if I was just looking for an opportunity to arise but I nearly shouted when I asked him, “Luke, by any chance do you have James’ contact number?”\n1 WEEK LATER:\nI was currently driving my car and according to my GPS, I was just 10 miles away from my destination. I was engulfed in a plethora of emotions- Excitement, happiness, nostalgia, guilt, and maybe a tad of fear. Excitement because this was probably the most exhilarating thing happening in my life in years, happiness because I was going to meet James and Aries after fourteen years, nostalgia because they were a part of that phase of my life that I coveted, guilty because until one week ago I was unacquainted with the fact that Aries had relocated back to the States and fear because she was nescient to the fact that I was coming to meet her. When I had talked to James a week ago he was surely infuriated but surprisingly tranquil and contented to talk to me; no surprise there since he was the calmest out of us three. I couldn’t say the same about Aries though; she was known to be cranky and thin-skinned. I knew I was walking into the lion’s den but this one was worth walking into.\nI pulled over my car and was quite surprised to find that I was parked in the middle of nowhere. All I could hear was crickets chirping, birds tweeting, and the faint burbling of a stream nearby while I was surrounded by lush green thickets. I was starting to think of all the things that could go wrong right now; a mountain lion could be lurking around for a hunt and I could be its prospective prey or maybe a very poisonous King Cobra was silently slithering around me and just waiting for the right opportunity to bite me. The sudden rustling of the leaves startled me and I promptly turned around to see if my fears were somehow a reality. Instead it was a harmless little sparrow with a pretty brown beak. I tip-toed closer to get a better look at it but as I had anticipated, it flew away but I could now see a cemented staircase that was full of moss and looked pretty old but I just knew I had to go that way.\nAfter climbing the stairs for a few minutes, I spotted a green roof and my footsteps quickened even though I was finding it difficult to breathe. Not a few steps later, I reached a plain area and the rusty walls of the building were easily visible. On walking further, I could see a lady sitting on a black bench in what looked like a garden. She looked perfect; her posture, her hair, the sunlight falling on her was all too good to be true. I knew immediately it was Aries. It had to be, there was not a chance that someone could be as humanly perfect as Aries was.\nI took a few deep breaths before I gathered the resolution to go and talk to her. I had been a really crappy friend. It was foolish of me to think that it was only me who was going through a tough time and everyone else was living in a fairy tale, full of rainbows and unicorns. I had been oblivious when Aries lost her husband in a plane crash a few years ago and decided to move back to The States with her toddler or when James had finally bagged his dream job. I was not there for the good or bad times, I had not kept my end of the bargain but maybe my chosen family would choose to forgive me after all. If I were in their shoes, would I forgive myself? I honestly don’t know the answer to that but I had all reasons to believe they will because it wasn’t just my own will to meet them that brought me here today, it was so much more than that; it was synchronicity!" } ]

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.