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[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: \"I am Death.\"\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2730\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The taxicab slows to a stop, the brakes screeching. The driver barely stops in time before hitting the Plymouth in front of them. This isn’t the first time during Oppie's trip the driver had shown himself a bit inattentive. \n\nOppie wonders briefly if the driver got his license from a crackerjack box. This is no time for reckless driving, he thinks to himself. He has to be back at the lab soon, but he'd rather walk the rest of the way than go through that again.\n\nHe looks out the window, trying to stuff down his feelings of annoyance. Where they have stopped is right beside a vacant lot, a place where many of the homeless have taken shelter only a couple of miles away from the lab. Some have pitched tents, while others have created their own homemade shelters of cardboard. \n\nOppie can’t help but feel a little revolted by the clutter. It makes things too real for him, and brings his heart online for a change. He hates to think about the feelings of lost hope these poor vagrants and drifters must be suffering from, though he’s heard that some prefer this state to normal city life.\n\nHe can’t help but notice one particular man among this throng of drifters, the man who is staring straight at him. He looks pale like a ghost, even from afar, but Oppie senses a fire burning in this man's soul that keeps him alive. He feels a kinship with him but is unsure why. The rest are either asleep, chatting, or smoking cigars, their stick-and-bindles either on the ground or leaning against their other belongings, while some are clutching them as if their life depended on them. They just don't want their stuff disappearing. And no one can blame them. All kinds of gypsies are hanging about.\n\nOppie tells the driver to let him out. He looks at him like he’s lost his mind. Oppie doesn’t bother to explain, just pays his fare, tips the driver a little change, and they both take leave of each other. He watches the Desoto drive off before beginning to make his way across the road.\n\nThe sounds of misery begin to greet him before he gets to the lot, the groans of the oppressed, the occasional sneezes and coughs ringing in his ears. And as he gets closer to the man, he hears not only the man's hacking and coughing but a bit of idle conversation from the others nearby him. One guffaws and makes a slur about him being one of those city slickers. Oppie wonders if he should have worn something different today instead of the suede shoes and gray sportscoat, but he’d just gotten out from a meeting before catching the cab. Soon he will be back at the lab where he can change into different attire. \n\nTaking another look at the man, he notes the bony protrusions under the front of this drifter's checkered blue-and-black flannel shirt. His trousers have holes in places that aren’t at all a good fashion statement.\n\nHe wonders how long it’s been since the man has eaten. Still, Oppie sees an even deeper hunger in him, one that goes beyond food, one that matches his own. Oppie has never needed sensitivity for his work at the Los Alamos Laboratory in New Mexico. Instead, he and his brother, Frank, get paid for their genius, not for any service to others. He has truly been living in his head, not his heart, as he helped make the very weapon that might destroy everything.\n\nIn his slightly penitent state, he feels compelled to help this man in some way. \nHe closes the distance between them. \n\n“Sir, are you hungry? Is there something I can get for you?” \n\n“Not unless you can help the whole lot of us here,” the man replies. “If you have enough, I’ll divide it between all of us. Otherwise, keep your money.”\n\nHe points to the knapsack and a few other belongings to the side of him. Some of it looks like miscellaneous junk he’s picked up over the past few weeks or more.\n\n“I have my collection,” he replies. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. The question is will YOU be ok tomorrow, the next day, and the one after that....after what you all have done.....\" the man's voice trails off, his drooping eyes match his sad tone.\n\nOppie’s jaw drops. He wonders what the man means. He knows some of the homeless suffer not just from physical illness but mental, so it could mean anything.\n\nOppie walks back across the street to make his way toward the lab, hoping to avoid any further drama, but the man hollers out at him. \n\n“Wait—Hey, sir—” \n\nOppie is already near the other side of the street when he glances backward a little, still walking a few more paces before stopping. He turns around to stare at the man without saying anything, waiting for him to show his intentions. \nThe drifter begins waving his arms back and forth to get Opie’s attention. Opie wonders what the man wants. Maybe he changed his mind. He wonders if the man prefers whiskey over money. \n\nBut there is no cry for assistance coming. What happens next makes his own blood freeze in his veins. \n\n“What the hell were you thinking?” the man cries out. He is already making his way toward Opie at lightning speed considering his fragile appearance. The man's voice cracks at him like a whip, tearing the flesh of his conscience.\n\nIn a flash, he is standing straight in front of Opie, fiery eyes burning into his, filling him with dread. \n\n“I—I---uh, don’t know what you mean,” Opie stammers, unable to be articulate for the first time in many years. His own frame shrinks as if anticipating an imaginary blow from this strange man he doesn’t even know and shouldn’t fear based on his appearance. \nThe man’s hands remain at his side, though his hands are gripped into fists. He’s about to speak again. \n\n“We both know what you are trying to do,” he says, “And there’s not much time before it will be too late. You must act quickly or millions will suffer because of YOU.” \n\nOpie’s face turns gray. This could be a serious security breach. Could the man really know about the fission experiment, even though it is supposed to be classified? \n\n“You’re wondering how I know what you’ve been up to,” the man replies to Opie’s thoughts as if he spoke the words aloud. The tones of his voice become shrill on the last two words. \n\nOpie attempts to match the man’s tone, inserting fake confidence into it. \n“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, I need to be on my way, sir.” \nHis head drops to his chin with shame. He hates the part he is playing in all this, and what Truman is about to do also, but feels trapped. But he has a meeting to be at soon. \nThe man’s visage softens. The once fiery eyes look like brown circles of molasses. He offers Opie his hand to shake. \n\n“I’m sorry. I’ve been rude. Let me introduce myself. I’m Sage, and I wasn’t sent here to give you a hard time. I have a message for your General Groves.” \nHe takes out a crumpled-up piece of paper from the left pocket of his tattered jeans. \n“This is for his eyes only,\" he says, \"no peeking,\" The man’s voice intones deeper during his final words, making it clear that he expects compliance. Opie doesn’t understand how this could really make much difference. They've all been involved since day one at Los Alamos.\n\n“Thank you, sir,” Oppie answers with a blank expression.\n\nHe’s tempted to unfold the untidy piece of graph paper right away but remains obedient. He’d rather not take a chance of further provoking this \"Sage\" person. Instead, he walks away.\n\nTen seconds pass before he is compelled to look backward to see the man one last time.\n\n To his astonishment, the pale man has vanished.\n\n>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>\nGeneral Leslie Groves likes his coffee black, but his facial expression is even blacker than the coffee when Oppie walks into his office to give him the crumpled up note. Maybe it would all make sense to Groves because it sure didn't to him.\n\nStanding beside the Moka pot, Groves is shifting from one foot to the other waiting for his brew to be ready. \n\n“What do you want, Opp?” he says gruffly. \n\n“Nothing General,” Oppie replies, “But I have something for you, courtesy of someone who might know a little something more about our project than he ought to.\"\n\nHe hands the crumpled-up piece of yellowed paper to the General and watches as he opens it. The man’s face grimaces in response to what he sees on the page. \n\nWhat could the man have scrawled that could really be so important? \n\nOppie wonders what the General would think if he told him the guy was homeless and a nobody and yet he seemed to know something about the lab and its work even if he hadn't clearly said that.\n\n“Where did you get this?” the General demands, “This is outrageous.”\n\nOppie moves toward where the General is now, looking at the paper to see what could be written on it.\n\n“All I see is a formula. I think it's the same one my brother, and I, and everyone else involved in the science of this were working on, the one that explains the reaction needed for atomic fission, the one that led us all to this discovery in the first place,” Oppie offers. \n\nThe General shakes his head. \n\n“What the heck are you talking about?”\n\nOppie can’t help but notice that the man has turned three shades of green as if he might be about to be sick. \n\n“Uh…well…we aren’t seeing the same thing, obviously.” He ventures, the fear evident in his facial expression. Oppie notices he isn’t shifting around anymore. His feet are fastened to the floor right where he is standing.\n\n “I see a message here….and it’s in blood.” \n“I didn’t see any blood.\" Oppie answers. \" Man, are you OK?” \n“I better tell the President about this,” the General barks, “I have to make the call now. We need to abort.\"\n\nOppie has no idea what is going on but it doesn’t sound good. \n\n“But what does the message SAY…” he ventures, but the General doesn’t answer him. He simply waves his hand at Oppie, letting him know it’s time to take leave of his office and go to the other side of the lab and wait for an update.\n\n>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>\n\nPresident Truman answers the phone with a sigh and a “Hmph” when his General tells him the news. They can’t use the bomb they’ve created? What nonsense. \n\nThere was no way he would be turning back now, not with the budget that was spent on the project. More importantly, he would make those Japs pay, not just for testing him, but also for confronting the greatest country in the world. \n\nThe General seems earnest, Truman thinks, but why has he suddenly become a humanitarian, for crying out loud? He has never seen Groves have a conscience. \nHe dismisses the thought with another sigh before a slight smile begins to tug at his lips. This will save a lot of American lives. General Groves can just go fly a kite. The command will be given whether he likes it or not. \n\n“Follow my orders,” he speaks into the phone, his voice beginning to sound a bit ominous, “or be court-marshaled, general.”\n\n\"Yes, Mr. President,\" Groves replies, knowing that either way he would be regretting this day.\n\nThe phone clicks. He's gotten his point across.\n\n>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>\nThe General returns to see Oppie has returned sooner than expected, no doubt wanting to know what just happened with him and the President. \n\n“Ya know, I said you were dismissed, Opp, this is not your problem,\" Groves says hoarsely. A vein is popping out from his forehead and his throat looks tense. \n\n“I know, but I couldn’t help but worry. What’s going on Groves?\"\n\n“Nothing you need to worry about. But you need to take me to this fellow who gave you the note,” he says. An edge in his voice indicates he won’t take no for an answer. “Let’s take a drive. You show me the way.”\n\n>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>\nThe General puts the Plymouth in park after they stop near the vacant lot where the homeless guy gave Oppie the note. Oppie wonders if Sage will actually be there. He'd disappeared, after all, into thin air when he left. To his surprise, the man is present. This time he is dressed much better though.\n\n“I thought you’d be back soon,” Sage says, his face aglow with satisfaction. “And who do we have here? My replacement,” he says, answering his own question. \nThe drifter glares at the General, feeling disgusted that this man will be his replacement whether he likes it or not now, the one who takes people to the other side. In his depravity, the man only cares about numbers and getting his term over with as soon as he can, not about the lives taken before their time.\n\n “You’ve certainly gotten off to a good start with your body count quota before you even get to take over my job.\"\n\nThe General smiles wickedly. \n\n“Yes, I certainly have, reaper. You should have known that you couldn't force my hand, writing that note. Truman would never back down. I admit it was clever of you to report my “activities” within the Manhattan Project to the Big Guy, but the fact that I tried to talk Truman out of it makes me look good now to him. You'll never be able to prove otherwise.\"\n\nGordan pauses, wiping sweat from his neck and forehead with a handkerchief he’s pulled from his pocket, \"God, it's hot here. I can't be on this planet long. I hear that by the year 2000 the globe will begin warming beyond control.\"\n\nHe continues, “I’m going to be making my quota of deaths quickly and retire much faster than you. I never wanted to be stuck as a reaper for long as you and end up decrepit and homeless for my efforts. I'd much rather finish early. You ran out of good years, didn't you?\" Gordon chuckles, satisfied with himself.\n\n“Well, actually, that’s where you’re wrong, General,” Sage retorts, a smirk crossing his face and slight mischief is betrayed within his tone.\n\nSage continues, “They've raised your quota enough that you’ll be doing this a long, long time, much longer than I have, for sure. So, now who's going to be old and decrepit?\"\nAll three men are suddenly startled by a sharp explosion, though it is not sounding on their physical ears, but rather in some place of knowing that will haunt them forever. \n“Did you both hear that?” the drifter asks both the General and Oppie. \nThey nod in unison. \n“It’s time for me to go,” he tells them both and begins walking back toward the horizon as he did the last time Oppie saw him disappear. But Oppie doesn’t notice this, nor see it when the man is no longer present. He’s too sad about the lives that he knows are forfeit. \nThe General looks sickeningly pleased with himself. Oppie’s eyes droop and his shoulders slump in repentance.\nA whole 30 seconds pass before Oppie says, “What have we done?”\nGeneral Groves says, “It’s not your fault, Opp. Don’t blame yourself. You just did your job.”\n“But I do feel responsible,” Oppie answers, “In fact, I have become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” \nThe General replies, \n“No, you haven’t, Opp. That’s my title now.” \n\nIt is then that before Oppie’s eyes, the General’s features begin to change…\n\nWhen the transformation is finished, Groves is standing before him in ragged clothes, just as pale and bony as the drifter used to be.\n\nFor He has become HIM now… the reaper…and for how long he doesn’t know.\n\nWill it be 50 years, a century, two centuries, an era, or forever? \n\nIt dawns on Groves that maybe he doesn’t deserve to know…\n\nAnd the extra lives he has taken... he will certainly be paying for..." } ]
[ { "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 Exposed\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1573\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Staring out the window makes Scott wonder why he’s in the café in the first place. Multitudes pass by, impossible to spot every individual. Sitting at his table, Scott notices the hand-holders. The pairs. Those walking together rather than at the same time as others. A curiosity crosses his mind, at how long some pairs have been coupled. An envious thought enters Scott, thinking how free those pairs are, holding hand on the street.\n “Here’s your coffee. Anything else?” A waitress interrupts him.\n Scott checks his wallet. “Yeah, how much was the chicken sandwich?”\n “Seventy cents.”\n “I think I’ll wait on that. I’m expecting someone.”\n In perfect timing as the waitress leaves, a young woman in a white and bright yellow floral dress comes to the table. “Sorry I’m late. Hope you got started without me.” The dark hair on her looks different to Scott. Not in any discernable way.\n “Nah, I don’t mind waiting. In fact, you just missed the waitress. Did you want anything? I’m pretty hungry and already know what I want, but I can wait if you need some time.” \n Picking up the menu, Scott’s guest already makes up her mind. “If you know what you want, I’ll just pick something quick, like a chicken sandwich or something.”\n He can’t help but chuckle a little. “No way, Nancy. I was just about to order myself one before you came. Did you want a coffee too?”\n Nancy’s nose crinkles and her eyes squints. “Coffee with a chicken sandwich? That’s a little weird, isn’t it? I’m just getting a lemonade with it.”\n Scott smiles and nods when he calls the waitress over. The conversation becomes routine for him. Laugh at Nancy’s jokes, repeat the last thing she says as a question. Comment on some part of his own day. \n Getting up to use the restroom, Nancy kisses Scott on the cheek and makes her way to the back. Scott turns to the window once again. “Here because you have to be, right?” Scott hears from the table next to him. Turning to see someone leaning back in his chair towards Scott, he wonders what the man meant by that.\n “I’m sorry? Do I know you?” Scott inquires.\n “No, and I don’t mean to eavesdrop, and it’s probably not my place, but that girl is more of a friend than a girlfriend, right? And you’d prefer it that way?”\n Scott looks the man over, feeling his fists clench on the table. “Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but if you’re saying what I think you are…”\n The man quickly chuckles, waiving in apology. “So sorry. Look, I didn’t mean to upset you and I don’t mean any trouble. Listen, I’m…a friend of Dorothy’s. And I don’t think I’m mistaken in thinking you are too, right?”\n A sense of confusion washes over Scott. Unsure of who Dorothy is, he tries to think if he even knows anyone by that name. When the realization hits him about what the man is actually talking about, Scott clenches his chair, wondering if he should leave. How could he have known? I’m with Nancy, she kissed me, there’s no way…\n Raising a preemptive hand to hush Scott, the man smiles, giving a calm reassurance. “I know you’re thinking how I could know, right? What gave it away? Look, you’re just out of college, right? Just got your first job maybe a year ago? I was in the same boat as you ten years ago. I’ve seen what you’re doing a thousand times. I can spot it in my sleep. Just doing what your parents expect you do to, right?”\n Astonished, Scott simply nods his head, unable to speak. There was the eerie accuracy at which the stranger knew Scott’s life, but Scott was not sure if he should be transfixed on that, or the idea that someone else like him spoke so boldly about it. In college, there were maybe one or two others like him that he suspected, but had no way of knowing. He assumed there was no one like him in the accounting firm. But here this stranger is, talking to him about it just as if he was asking about the roast beef on the menu.\n The man turns to his table and writes something on a napkin. “There’s this place in Greenwich. It’s a place you can go to have a drink, just relax, but most importantly, you’ll be among other…friends. No pressure or anything, and you can even sit in a booth all by yourself all night if you want. I’ll be there tomorrow night if you want to go at a time when you’ll know someone.” He grabs Scott’s hand and slides the napkin in before turning to his own table, reading a newspaper as if nothing occurred.\n As Nancy comes back, Scott nervously shoves the napkin in his pocket, wondering if the last few minutes actually happened.\n* * *\n Though Scott wasn’t sure what to expect when arriving, The Stonewall Inn looked fairly ordinary. He could have passed by a dozen times and not realized what it had been. Standing on the sidewalk, he wonders if he should pass by yet again. \n Some stranger hands me a napkin and I expect, what? Looking at the scribbles on the napkin, Scott wonders what could possible come from stepping into that building. What would Nancy think if she knew I came here? \n As he tries to make up his mind, he sees the man from the café approach the door. I don’t even know the man’s name, Scott thinks as he rushes over to the entrance.\n “You showed up! I actually wasn’t sure if you would.” The man says as they enter. Scott’s eyes wash over the room. Women sharing a drink, some people alone with their glasses; he thinks he spots men in women’s clothing. Breathing out, Scott finds stepping into the establishment a little easier.\n “I’m Allen, by the way” the stranger says as the two find a spot to sit. “Did you want a drink? I got it covered.”\n “Not just yet. It’s just…I’ve heard of these places but never seen one. Hell, I’ve never…you know…my freshman year…”\n Allen smiles and nods, having heard this before. “I get it. It’s not like places like this are widely advertised. I just happened to spot you yesterday at the right time. Now that you know it’s here, well, I’m not gonna be your babysitter forever.” \n Scott feels comfortable enough to laugh. Enough to tell Allen he knows he shouldn’t string Nancy along. But his parents want grandchildren and Nancy wants to be the cute couple in her building. He knows so much about what others want.\n The two talk a little more, Scott opening up to Allen without bothering the bartender. He tells him more than he ever told Nancy. He stops mid-sentence about his freshman year when the disturbance at the door gets attention.\n “Police! We’re taking the place!” The words set off a cascade in the building. Exploding in motion, people throughout the building head in all directions, frantically looking for an escape.\n “Oh god, I can’t get arrested! You don’t understand, I can’t get arrested!” Scott panics, warning Allen as patrons head for windows and doors.\n “Just stay calm. There’s two hundred people here, they can’t arrest us all. Just keep your head and we can slip away during the round up. Just stay calm.”\n Scott looks at the windows, seeing police already there. He hears shouts from the back, assuming those are blocked too. He follows Allen’s lead, walking calmly towards the officers at the front.\n Once outside, Scott sees more police cars than he’s ever seen. He also sees a bigger crowd gathered to watch a raid. What if they can arrest us all? He panics. More people are being dragged outside. Scott sees some people already in police cars. Allen grabs Scott’s shoulder. “This place is a front. The wiseguys were the first to get picked.”\n Trying to pick their moment to slip away, Scott and Allen hears an uproar. Looking towards one of the cars, Scott sees a man, wearing women’s clothing, on the floor as an officer holding a baton hovers over him. The officer winds up for another strike when a beer bottle flies through the crowd, striking him.\n “Gay Power!” the crowd roars. Ignoring the perfect moment to slip away, Scott and Allen see the crowd throwing pennies and bottles at the cops. A nearby burst startles Scott, as he sees someone slashing a patrol car tire. One of the larger police wagons begins to rock, as people try to tip it over.\n Discovering that they’re being ignored, Scott and Allen slowly back away. “What the fuck is going on?” Allen mutters, watching as more police cars arrive. The crowd doubles in size as more police come. \n The street is filled within moments. Both police and onlookers grapple and punch. Shouts, slogans, and commands echo through the evening. Scott knows he should have left long ago. Maybe not even have came in the first place. He looks on the crowd, and thinks that where his life was a secret, these people are fighting so that their lives are not hidden. He’s tired, awake much longer than he would normally be. But he realizes that, after seeing this escalation, he absolutely must have a talk with Nancy." } ]
[ { "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 Misguided Memoir\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2827\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“A man’s pursuit for wealth and fame is his greatest downfall”\n\nWhat a statement! I hear you exclaim. Please know, dear reader, I’m not intentionally trying to rustle feathers. I’m not trying to make a name for myself and become known for my thinking like the great Aristotle. No, I’m a simple man making a, quite frankly, obvious observation.\n\nAlthough I am now old and suffering from “disease in my legs” (the physician insists it is gout), spending my latter years prostrated on my bed, I have lived a comfortable and fulfilling life. Now that I am almost a cripple, I spend my hours living in the memories of my past. The gout attacks are getting progressively worse. Although my present life has come to a halt, I am not enraged about my condition – as I said before, I have lived comfortably, and I would have it no other way.\n\nI thought I might start a chronicle as I wait for the inevitable. I wondered what impressive line I might use to entice you, dear reader, to persuade you that a simpleton’s life like mine is worth your time and interest. After a sleepless night of recurrent leg spasms, which turned into hand pains (a new symptom) I was so overjoyed to have use of my hands again, as sunrise broke, that I penned with haste the first truth that came to mind.\n\nBecause wealth and prominence only ever seem to end in disaster or untimely death.\n\nYou see, I have encountered several great men who have been in their graves for decades, the result of over-ambition and greed. They were raised from good stock, taught the modest teachings of the Law, and were blessed by the Almighty with healthy offspring, fertile land, and honest occupations. But all of this was not enough. For they became dazzled by the Roman brutes; their ill-gotten gains and immoral Gentile living. I am ashamed to say that I knew personally a handful of my own countrymen, who abandoned honor to collaborate with our oppressors. They succumbed to the pressure of the ruling class and made the error of taking up the despised profession of tax collecting.\n\nHow can a man cheat his people to support the very empire that crushed us so deeply? How can a man give up his morals for self-gain and approval? What good is it to be celebrated by the pagans and spend eternity in Sheol? To gain the world and lose yourself?\n\n(Now, I am not perfect, far from it. But I would be damned if I gave myself over to such a scandalous regime)\n\nSo I am resolute, I am certain.\nMan’s desires for wealth and fame will only get him into trouble. Better to live quietly and keep your head down. My advice to you, dear reader, as an experienced old man, is that you imitate me. Live a simple life without notoriety. Do not keep the company of foolish sinners. Or try to become famous or push against the gouds. It will only end badly for you.\n\nI am living proof of that, am I not? I have outlasted all those men who I grew up shoulder to shoulder with. Those men were once the dutiful boys I went to the synagogue to study the Torah with and played jacks on the dusty roads with until our fathers called us to learn their trade... (Ah, those were the days!)\n\nI may be slumped here now, propped up like a broken-down doorway. But I still remember the smells of sawdust when I cut down wood with budding preadolescent strength, my father beaming from the sidelines. I was an eager young man, eager to please the man I respected, to take his tools into my own hands and craft something of substance and necessity. How my sweaty face and chest swelled when my father inspected my handiwork and declared it good. Dear reader, there is truly no greater thing than that of a son doing the work of his father. Oh, how I grew to forget the inconveniences of fatigued muscles and the long laborious days of wood handling. The ailment that has invaded my body now tells a story of an accomplished man.\nIf I have to suffer, shouldn’t I suffer for doing what is good...?\n\n(I digress slightly but it is relevant, you’ll see…) Now that I have you committed, I want to expand on my conclusion about man. I want to tell you a little story to illustrate my perspective...)\n\n\nI grew up in a little village in Galilee. A place of collective good and beauty with gentle slopes, majestic mountains, and rich pastures. Idyllic in every way. I can never forget it; I can still hear the bargaining of crowds as I would accompany my father to the marketplace, hauling our prized woodwork to sell for a healthy wage. This was our duty and our livelihood, our “bread and oil”, you might say.\nMy greatest desire was to see our work exchange hands and return home with the provisions to support our family.\n\nLife was mostly peaceful. We existed in a sprawled settlement of harmonious households and our days of routine and rituals passed without angst – that is, until the Roman minions slithered into our marketplaces demanding their outlandish tax on our hard-earned labor.\n\nMy household was fortunate. My father’s trade of carpentry was lucrative enough to provide us with steady work and sustain us in and out of dry seasons. And so, although he loathed the Romans’ law, my father never withheld his portion from their greedy grasps. For he believed in retribution. Yes indeed, he was a man of the true Law and believed with all his heart, that the God of our forefathers would one day raise up a Champion to do away with our persecution once and for all.\n\n“Which is why you should live an honest life above all, my boy;” my father would remind me as we watched the tax collectors scuttle in and out of our courtyards like rats looking for scraps. It was always sweet relief when they rode away on their mules by evening; their presence always left an uneasy tension in the air. Because as long as the Romans ruled, my people could never truly be at ease.\n\nAs we recited the Torah at the synagogue and recalled the stories of our past – the heroic exploits of the prophet Moses and our ancestors in the face of the Egyptian tyranny – we mused over our uncanny shared experiences of an oppressed life and found the holy texts to be of great comfort and guidance.\nWho is “we”, you ask?. “We” being my Brotherhood.\n\nYou see, I belonged to a band of boys, five in total and as thick as thieves. My closest ally was called Joshua (Oddly the others ‘names have grown fuzzy in my memory. There were certainly two Joshuas and was it James and Mark? Or John and Matthew?) Anyway, as you might imagine, we were always together. Our families were close - we were all of the building trade par one, who was an innkeeper’s son. Our years as ruddy boys flew by quickly and we matured, under the Mediterranean sun, in stature, understanding, and ideas.\n\nWe built our identities on the word of our community and the Torah and the ever-present bubbling of socio-political discontent threatening to dilute everything we held dear. We were boys and so, naturally, were full of adventure, (small mischief) and inquisitiveness but grounded by the lessons installed in us from birth.\n\nAfter a day of teaching and trading, our Brotherhood would take an hour religiously, often in the shade of a tree’s branches or seclusion of a rooftop, for leisurely fellowship. Our bodies pulsed with heat and exhaustion but our impressionable minds gorged with things to discuss. (I can tell you reader, how often we’d get a scolding from our mothers for staying out too late and missing the evening meal!)\n\nSignificantly, we spoke of the changing world; of the technologies and theologies that challenged our traditions and our place within it. Who would we become? Would we be the ones to witness the end of Roman rule? Questions only the Almighty knew but we were hungry for answers. And so in those years towards manhood, we became studious and devoted ourselves to our learning, encouraged by our elders.\n\nAnd then, on one very extraordinary night, as we reclined in the presence of a starry sky, a shared fervency rose up amongst us, our bond so strong we needed no words to confirm this tug. We all leapt to our feet, stared solemnly but excitedly at each other, and fashioned a pact. A pact to pursue our trades passionately and find not only admiration in our fathers but also in the mighty men of the Law. We pledged allegiance to be as loyal as David and as determined as Gideon and to use our skilled hands and enlightened minds to preserve our community for all of our days. We were proud, Jews by blood and want, and we would live always and only for the cause of our people. (It was a wondrous occasion, dear reader! It was as though a strange but wonderful fire had been ignited within my heart! My hands tremble now at the memory – oh no, not another attack. Not at the moment of a climax…)\n\nAfter such a glorious agreement sworn with such zealousness between five like-minded men, you’d be forgiven to expect this memoir to report an equally glorious and lasting covenant, spanning many years of trials and triumphs, outlasting even the most grueling empire in recent history.\n\nBut no. Here is where my observation of man’s downfall - of man’s longing for error despite his wholesome teachings – first became apparent.\nLet me set the scene. (Patience! We are almost there…)\n\n\nSteadily established in my father’s trade, I continued to labor within my childhood home for several years until out of the blue I was given the opportunity to partner with a traveling craftsman in his hometown of Capernaum.\n\nAt the turn of a new decade, I was still unmarried (even until this day) and with no binding obligations to remain in my village par that of my Brotherhood promise, I accepted the offer with gratitude. My departure was met with heartfelt goodbyes; my brothers and I wept with joyful hope that we would be reunited one day. Alas, I did not know it but that farewell was the last – I have dwelled in Capernaum now for almost forty-two years.\n\nI heard of my father’s death three years later amidst news of many young men migrating their families into neighboring towns and cities upon hearing the supposed lower tax in the fishing trade (Ha, misguided nonsense, of course! There is no escaping the tax!). As for my brothers, I regrettably lost contact with all four. I imagined, particularly Joshua, they all would have made devout husbands and became stellar citizens choosing the right paths. I, of course, have and did take our pact seriously. It was never a childish whim.\nNo.\nA man’s word is his word and is more worthy than his very name. I should like to leave this earth having fulfilled all I promised I would do.\n\nI worked for years under the direction of my partner, traveling around Capernaum between construction sites. I enjoyed a busy life, supplying the townsmen with quality fixtures and furnishings. I never overcharged and I never cheated my partner. I stood in the markets, from dawn to dusk (the catalyst of my ailment) observing and selling. I did not entertain revelers and I kept my eyes open for both thieves and of course those no-good Romans.\n\n\nAnd now here, here is what you’ve been waiting for. The incident to justify my abrupt statement.\n\nOne afternoon, my partner’s establishment received official notice that we were owing tax. I gave my word that I would take care of the bill and set out to pass by the booth on the way to a construction site. I’d wandered past the shack many times not caring to make eye contact or conversation unnecessarily with the collector – you’ll understand, the relationship, the interaction was simply transactional.\n\nUpon this day, the collector was napping on his shift and so I took great pleasure, dear reader, in slamming my fist on his table to stir him from his lazy slumber.\n\n(The corrupted wealthy can afford to nap, but the humble stealthy cannot!)\n\nHe awoke with such a start that he seemed confused by my approach. I unlatched the required sum from my belt and emptied it onto the bench for his calculation. It was then, that I caught sight of him as he leaned forward to inspect the coins.\n\nI was certain. I knew him. There was no doubt about it.\n\nHis face, though now bearded and taut, was one that had been etched in my mind, in my fondest memories. How can a man forget the face of his own childhood friend, his own countryman?\n\nAt such a reunion tears of joy should have been apt. But, sadly, the tears that came burned hot like sulfur on my skin.\nMy glare brought his head upwards, and we blinked at one another, in the silence of both awe and alarm. I knew him, and he knew me by his raised brows and the blush of crimson budding even against his tanned cheeks.\n\nDear reader, his first word to me was not one of shame or apology, or remorse. No, it was an address of audacity –\n\n“Brother,” he started but I would not permit him to finish.\n\nI absorbed, with such disdain, his table laden with measuring tools, the sacks of change at his feet, the signet rings on his fingers, and the crest of our oppressor on his papyrus and I could not find any other response than one of outrage. “Traitor” was the only word fit for a man I once held in my closest circle and had a deep love and respect for, who had evidentially lost his way, disregarded his word, and forfeited a good moral life for one of greed and corruption. No tax collector is a good man, it is impossible! And no good or moral man should have anything to do with one.\n\nMy shock was so severe I misplaced his name as I backed away. But as he rose, as though coming after me, his gaze suddenly re-focused, off-centered.\n\nMy rebuke had attracted the attention of another man. Not Roman reinforcement as I’d feared but some nosey passer-by, trawling a huddle of peculiar-looking men. He stopped beside me, but his intention was purely for the tax collector. He carried no money bag or document, his approach was bizarrely…friendly? What could this plain man want with this disappointment of a sinner?\n\nI’ll never forget his words and the look of warmth on his face as he spoke:\n“Matthew”\nYes? The traitor replied with a tremble in his voice. I turned my face away from him, from them, bile rising in my throat.\n“Matthew, come follow me.”\n\nI fled the scene, pained with the weight of betrayal, ignoring the Jew's call for me to stay and join them.\n\n*\n\nAnd so you see, dear reader, Matthew, my former Brother, erred in his ways and in his word. He took on the very occupation we loathed and in doing so brought downfall and shame on himself and his family’s name.\n\nBut what became of him, I hear you ask? Well you see, I was right – it did end badly. The nosey passer-by, believe it or not, was supposedly a carpenter’s son, just like me. However, unlike me, he was clearly as tainted as Matthew and also chose to pursue a life of notoriety, became a famous revolutionary, and turned Galilee on its head. And tragic Matthew, along with eleven other misguided outcasts, followed him blindly for three years until eventually the Romans did away with the revolutionary and scattered his devotees.\n\n(Ah, I have penned a great deal and my hands are tiring now. But I will leave you, for now, dear reader, with this – my reminder as you depart from this short account.)\n\nLive simply, quietly, and honestly. Do not fraternize with foolish sinners. Or try to become wealthy, famous, or push against the goads. It will only end badly for you. Be like me and live well.\n\nAnd wait patiently as I do, for retribution. For I still hope for the God of my faithful father to send the true Champion in due season and bring me His reward of real and everlasting wealth and rest.\n\nWoe to Matthew and that misled revolutionary, they called “Jesus” who missed out on this wonderful truth." } ]
[ { "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: pompeii\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1014\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I am… was a simple farmer. I lived in a small house with my wife Helpis Afra, our daughter Pomaria and me, Lucius. My wife and I have lived here for all our life, and we never saw this coming.\nIt was still morning when the great mountain first rumbled. Its voice could be heard echoing from far far away. The Great Mountains anger could be seen, as its anger fumed up into the realm of gods.\nWe awoke to our little Pomaria crying, as the God of the mountains grumble had scared her. “Shhh… don’t worry sweetie, everything will be alright”. My wife tried to calm her as I went out to see what was happening.\nI saw Nymphius run past me. “What’s going on? Had the mountain God been angered?” “I don’t know what is going on, but it does not look good. The Priests are preaching everyone to stay home as this is a test from the gods and they will protect all who believe, but I can’t Lucius, I just can’t” he said as he bolted way stumbling over rocks.\nPeople were running every which way. Some ran to the Temples to plead to the gods for their lives and their families. Others would run straight out of the city and towards one of its neighbouring cities with as much valuables as they could carry. Those who took advantage of the chaos ransacked houses one after another, looting, pillaging and robbing people who leave the city.\nAs I was about to turn back home, that’s when I heard it, the loud bang that came from the mountain. It drew in the attention of everyone, be they praying, fleeing or looting, the sound seemed to freeze everyone in place as they glanced at the Mountain that had begun to spew out fire that rained down. It took a few seconds for people to snap back to reality and continue their chaotic movements in this crisis.\nI rushed home, if Helpis had calmed down our daughter, then the new boom seems to have re-shaken her as she had broken down into another tantrum. “We have to go, the God of the mountain is mad, and his wrath is raining down.” We left Pomaria to her tantrum, as we ran around gathering any valuables we could find, which were not many.\nI opened the front door. As is attempted to step outside, a great ball of fire landed in front of me. The power from the crash, pushed me back and I fell on my ass. “This is a warning. The God is warning us to stay and wait. We are to await his judgement, for if we leave, he shall burn our souls, so we’d never reach the fields of Elysium.”\nHelpis took Pomaria in her hands and cradled her, as the Mountains rage kept going on. Blasts echoed, followed by screams of people all around. Lucious looked though his window as his friend, neighbours were scattering around, running and screaming in fear of the rain of fire. The streets had started to fill up with rivers of fire, it swallowed everything it touched.\nIn just a couple of hours, the whole town was filled with the Mountains wrath. Every house was covered in dust and what remained from the Mountains anger. I could not see anything outside of my house no more. The walls still gave off the heat of the mountain. “My sweet Helpis and Pomaria, the god has saved our lives, we have gained his blessing.” I said as I fell to the knees. We were safe in our house, even though, we had no wait of getting out, we were safe and alive.\nIt's been almost a week since our house was buried. We had eaten all of our food we had still left over after last winter. I’ve dug a hole through the hard remains of the Gods judgement. I haven’t been able to get above ground, but I’ve reached our neighbours house, which had some food, but nothing else for use. Luckily the water well was close to us and still intact.\nAfter another week had passed, I had checked out multiple houses. There was no more food to be found, and the last time we had a meal, was 3 days ago. As our food had gone out and Pomaria was complaining about the lack of food, I would leave for a few hours and bring back some meat for them.\nAs days went on, and I brought more food, to escape questions from my wife, I started to go and get the food during the night.\nMy name is Pomaria. My daddy has always been there for me and my mommy. We have been in our home for a long time. Daddy used to go out and look for a way out, but now he only sits at the table under the blanket. He would bring us food during the night, so me and mommy have something to eat, but he just sits there, telling us he is not hungry.\nIt’s been 3 days since daddy left. I hope he finds his way back. Mommy goes to get some food now; she says that daddy prepares it for her. I hope daddy comes back soon.\nWe had been in this hellhole for over two weeks. Two days ago, my husband left during the night and didn’t come back in the morning. I went looking for him and saw something gruesome… My husband had cut out parts of his body to feed us. “Lucius… why?” he looked up. “I had to, I had to provide for my family.” His voice was weak and lifeless. “Please, I can’t do it on my own anymore. Please, you have to do this, for Pomaria.” He said, as he pushed forward the dish with another slice of his body. I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but our daughter needs to eat, she needs to get out. So please God, send someone over to help… Someone… please… save us." } ]
[ { "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 Thief and The Fighter\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2529\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Content warning: mild swearing, mention of death\nThe Thief and The Fighter\n\nWednesday 4th June, 1913\n\nAnyone with sense and an empty stomach knows the races aren't for watching horses. They’re for watching pockets - bulging ones, specifically. And there’s no better place in the world for wallet-spotting than here, the Epsom Derby, where the crowd is bloated with booze, and purses are bloated with coins. Well, at least that’s what Benny says.\nMy older brother was born for thieving; he boasts his fingers are like smoke, his reactions faster than lightning. And rightfully so. I can tell by the smugness plastered on Benny's face as he weaves through the crowd, that he’s struck gold again. Or silver, or copper, or anything that’s worth a quid. \n“Es’cuse me, Miss”\n“Don’t mind me, Sir”\n“Comin’ through, ‘ere\"\nHe winks as he reaches me, and I notice his hand is gripping something tight.\n“What you got, now, Benny?” I have to shout over the hubbub of the crowd and the low rumble of horses galloping past.\nHe shakes a small box in my face. “Fourth one I’ve found today.” Flipping open the lid, he pulls out a cigarette. “Don’t tell Pa that I’m smokin’ the stock, alright? Still got that match?”\nI hand it to him and he strikes the head against the sole of his shoe. Sandwiched between his lips, the paper cylinder sizzles as it meets the flame and he inhales deeply.\n“Any luck?”\nSwallowing my grimace, I show him my modest bounty, minus the matchstick that’s now smouldering on the grass. A wooden thimble, an empty snuff-box and a bent copper button rests in my palm.\n“That's it?” My brother asks. “Jesus, we’ve been here for an hour. I could have fetched more with my eyes closed.\"\n“No one’s got anything worth nicking!” I protest.\nBenny almost coughs on the smoke. “Nothing worth nickin’, eh?” He drops his satchel to the floor and unfastens the buckles. Huddled at the bottom sits five silver shillings, an ornate pocket watch, a heap of silk handkerchiefs and the other three cigarette cartons. It’s impressive, even for Benny. I sigh and drop my knick-knacks into the bag, too.\n“Look, maybe this just ain’t for you, Lou. Thieving ain’t really a woman's job, anyway. To be honest, a young girl like you, shouldn’t even be at the races.” He tucks a strand of my hair under my flat-cap. “Pa will understand. What else can you see yourself doin’?”\nI shrug. I’d never thought about it before.\nHe flicks the cigarette over the sea of heads. “Well, I think the cotton mill is looking for girls.\"\nI pull a face. “On Hook Street? With Buck Teeth Beatrice? Pffft. I’d rather dig graves with Pa.”\nAt that moment, the crowd erupts as a dark stallion whips across the track. Murmurs ripple around us, but I only catch fragments. \n“That’s Anmer,”\n“He’s the King’s horse,”\n“I bet a crown on him,”\nThe animal’s mane lashes in the air, and Anmer’s four legs seem to blur as he quickens. The jockey, hunched forward and clinging to the reins, bobs in rhythm with the horse, and although I can’t see his face, I’m sure he’s smiling. How could you not, being so high up and free? \n“A jockey.” The words slip from my tongue as I track the stallion, who's now a speck on the other side of the course. \n“What?”\n“A jockey, Benny,” I reply louder. “You asked what I could see myself doing.”\nHis face cracks into a grin that he fails to wipe away with his hand. “You can’t be a jockey, Lou.”\nIrritation prickles me and I cross my arms. “And why not?”\n“Well, for starters, you ain’t ever ridden a horse.” Benny fiddles with the cigarette packet and pries out another roll-up. \n“Well, I’m only eleven -”\n“No offence, Lou,” he interrupts, “but have you seen a girl jockey before?” \nSilence confirms that I haven’t. \n“It’s like girls thievin’’, ” he continues. “Same with fightin’ or bettin’, you’re just not built for it.” \nThe only other thing Benny excels in, other than pick-pocketing, is getting under my skin. He’s like a bruise - harmless, until you prod it too hard. \n“I am built for thieving, gibface.”\n“Well, go on then. Prove it.” \nProve it. These two simple words have dropped me in trouble countless times. Like last summer, when I convinced Benny that swimming four laps of Marble's pond would be easy, or the time that I said I could drink six pints in an hour. In both cases, I ended up collapsed on the floor, spewing fluid over myself.\nBut, despite better judgement, it’s an invite I can’t refuse. What’s worse is my brother knows it, too. \nWe spit and shake hands.\n “Just don’t act suspicious, okay? Oh, and sort your hat out, will you?”\nThe school boy disguise is Benny’s idea, in case I'm spotted wrist-deep in someone's bag. Apparently he doesn’t need one. Fingers like smoke - remember? \nI cram my plaits under the hat, and with a last nod toward Benny, I start elbowing through the crowd. \nA trail of muttering and disgruntled glances follow me. More than once, I knock into someone mid-sip, resulting in beer spraying in the air. Still, after an awkward apology, I continue to push forward. Coins clink temptingly in pockets, an occasional hand-mirror peeks out from an open purse, but it’s too easy. Too ordinary. I need to discover something that makes my brother’s pocket-watch look like a mound of scrap metal with an irritating tick.\nSoon, a wall of bodies blocks my path. Peering between their shoulders, I see the barrier which marks the edge of the race course, meaning, this is as far as I can go. The people in front are, strangely, all women, and dressed very fancy, too, in whites and purples and greens. Some are waving placards, and although I can’t read the writing, I assume it's encouragement for the king and his marvellous horse.\nAnd that’s when I spot it - something glinting in the sun. I duck into the crowd, veiling myself under shadow, to survey the object closer. It’s circular, the same size as a penny, and in the centre a mauve gemstone glistens. Etched around the golden circumference are the same three words written on the women’s signs and banners. Despite being oblivious to the meaning, it remains the most beautiful brooch I’ve ever seen. And perhaps, the most expensive. The only problem: it’s fastened to a lady’s sash. \nMy brother’s voice worms into my mind. \nWell, go on then. Prove it.\nDrawing a big breath, I will my hands to steady. Be like Benny, I remind myself. Fingers like smoke, reactions like lightning. And carefully, I untether the pin.\nOnly when my fist is clenched around the detached brooch, do I allow my lungs to exhale. \nWho’s built for thieving, now, ay, Benn-\nMy stomach flips as I’m knocked backwards. The air whistles past my ears, and in an attempt to regain balance, my arms whirl in circles. It’s hopeless, and my bottom hits the ground with a thump. \nThe lady wearing the sash whips around, face scrunched in concern. “I am so sorry. I didn’t see you down there.”\nBugger, bugger, bugger. \n“Are you hurt?” She extends her hand out to me, but I can’t take it, as her pin - well, my pin, now - is, thankfully, still secure in my grip. \nI haul myself up and shake my head.\nShe sighs with relief. “Good. What’s your name, girl?” \nGirl? I look down at the ground. My flat-cap is crushed under my boot and my two braids are dangling free.\nAgain, bugger. \nHeart hammering in my chest, I scan my surroundings, looking for somewhere to flee; an opening in the crowd to escape to, but I’m stuck. There’s no way out except pushing through the mob again. Besides, if I run, when she realises her brooch is missing, she’ll know exactly who has stolen it. What would Benny do?\nStay calm, make polite conversation, and ‘just don’t act suspicious, okay?'\n“It depends who you ask,” I reply, as flatly as I can. “My family calls me Lou, but to everyone else, I’m Louise.”\nMaybe I should have given a false name.\nAlthough it’s difficult to see under her wide-brim hat, it looks like her eyes are smiling. \"Now, tell me, Louise, what is a young girl like yourself doing dressed like a boy?”\nI scrunch my fist tighter. A reminder that all of this chit-chat will be worth it once I show Benny the pin.\n“My brother says girls don’t belong at the races, so I don’t dress like one.”\nIt’s a partial lie, but what’s another sin added to the list?\n“Well, tell your brother that he’s wrong about that.”\nMy attention is drawn back to her friends with the placards. Curiosity nips me, and I can’t help but ask: “What are you doing with the banners?”\nThe woman glances up at the signs, and when her eyes return to me, she seems taller, somehow. “We’re fighting.”\n“But women ain’t built for fighting,” I respond, sounding more like Benny than ever.\n“Women are especially built for fighting.\" She says it as though it's a simple fact. And although my brows knit together in confusion, she explains no further.\n\"Now, you better get back to your family before they start worrying. Goodbye, Louise. Look after yourself,” \nI take a step backwards, but before I can disappear into the crowd, she adds: “And look after my brooch, too. It’s very special to me.”\nMy body freezes. All the moisture seems to evaporate from my mouth. But she doesn't look angry, in fact, quite the opposite.\n“I understand, Louise, that sometimes, it’s necessary for a woman to do bad things, even illegal things, if it's for the right reason. Like stealing jewellery to buy food.\" She gestures vaguely at her friends. “Like fighting to be heard.” \nI nod, although I don’t fully understand. Is she saying I can keep it? Hesitantly, I unravel my palm. In the daylight, the gemstone shines even brighter and I attempt to read the engraving. \nVotes For Women \n“What do the words mean?” \nShe looks down at her purple sash proudly which, without the pin, is starting to slip from her shoulder. “It means you can be whatever and whoever you want to be. Even if others, like your brother, say otherwise.”\nThe thunder of hooves grows louder, and with a tip of her hat, the lady turns away. I don’t even have time to say thank you.\n\n*\n\nWhen I find Benny, I’m out of breath. He removes his third cigarette from his mouth - preparing to ask where my hat is, most likely - but before he can speak, gasps gush from the crowd.\n“What’s happened?” I ask Benny.\n“Not sure. Think there’s been an incident on the track.” Even on tip-toes, my brother's not tall enough to see, so he crouches down and gestures for me to hop on his shoulders.\n\"What's goin' on, Lou?\"\nFirst, I notice the jockey and his horse. Not just any horse - the King's stallion, Anmer - I can tell by the warm hues intertwined in its mane. It stands calmly on the course, pawing the turf, but unlike earlier, the jockey isn't straddling the animal. No, the man is sprawled out on the grass, cradling his arm to his chest.\n\"Well, the jocky's alive,\" I report to Benny.\nBut there’s something else on the circuit, too, or rather, someone else. An open sash billows in the wind and a wide-brim hat is blown into the third lane. \nMy heart sinks. The world blurs.\nMy new friend, the lady with the smiling eyes, lays motionless on the grass.\nI wipe my nose with my sleeve. \n“And there's a woman, too.\" I'm purposely vague. It feels right to keep her, and the brooch, a secret. \"I think she’s been hit.” \n“What did I say, eh?” My brother lowers me to the ground. “Girls just aren’t meant for the races. Now, let's get out of 'ere. ”\n\n*\n\nWe wander down Hook Street with only the clanging and chinking from Benny's satchel keeping us company. He doesn't bother asking if I found anything worth adding to his stash.\nA few Bobbies plod by, making their way towards the Derby. As they pass, I hear them spouting different theories as to how the woman ended up on the track. Suicide, freak accident, stupidity.\nBut they're wrong. I know that, whatever the reason, it had purpose. She was fighting to be heard.\nI stop outside the mill and imagine Buck Teeth Beatrice inside, wisps of cotton in her hair.\n\"Hey, Benny?\"\n“Yeah?” My brother halts, too.\n“I meant what I said.”\nHis eyebrow cocks. “About what?” \n“About being a jockey.”\n\"Even after today?\" He asks.\nI nod.\n“I told you, there’s no such thing as girl jockeys.”\nThe golden brooch is comforting in my grasp, and I trace the three words with my thumb.\nIt means you can be whatever and whoever you want to be.\nI take a deep breath. “Well, I’ll be the first, then.\"\nBenny scans me and a grin creeps onto his lips. But it's different this time. It's not a sarcastic smirk. It’s genuine.\n“You know, you might be right, Lou.” He resumes strolling down the street. “But you know what you gotta do?\"\n“What?” I ask, catching up with him.\nHe spits in his hand. “Prove it.”\n\nHistoric Notes & Writer Ramblings\nOn 4th June 1913, the Epsom Derby took place - one of the UK's largest horse racing events. It was attended by Emily Wilding Davidson, a Suffragette and WSPU member. Prior to 4th June, Emily had been arrested a total of 9 times in relation to campaigning and protesting on behalf of the suffragettes. Her tactics included breaking windows, throwing rocks, even planting bombs.\n\nEmily decided to use the Epsom Derby as a platform for protest. When the King's horse, Anmer, was racing, she ran out in front of it and unfortunately, the impact injured her so badly that she died in hospital four days later.\n\nThere was a lot of speculation as to why Emily ran out onto the track. Some said it was a suiside attempt, others said she wasn't aware the horse was there. But recent analysis of the old video footage indicates that Emily was trying to attach either a flag or a sash to the King's horse which read 'Votes for Women.'\n\nHer death was a huge moment in suffragette history. It brought masses of media and news coverage to the cause. At her funeral, on the 13th, a procession of 5,000 suffragettes and their supporters accompanied her coffin, and 50,000 people lined the route through London.\n\nI used to live near Epsom, and whenever I would drive past the race track, I would think of Emily. Just like Lou, I'm inspired by her and her story, but also saddened that her life ended so tragically, fighting to be heard." } ]
[ { "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 Warehouse\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2950\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone accepting a dare." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"I'll do it.\" My own words had just sealed my fate. Thomas Brackston grinned slowly, his lips pulling back to reveal his yellow teeth. The six other teens behind him resorted to low whispers and stares. In all my life of being known unofficially as \"The dare girl\" I'd never accepted a challenge that sent shivers down my spine like this one. I shuddered a little, my dreary surroundings definitely contributing to my mood. The sky was gray. The clouds hung low, icy drops dripped down and slithered down my back. I hated the way the rotting boards of the deserted dock we stood on creaked ominously in the wind. Bent and gnarled trees swayed in the distance, but that wasn't what held my attention. Looming into my vision were tall weathered walls streaked with brown, gray, and something reddish colored I was trying hard not to think about. The Warehouse. Everyone knew of it. Black spaces filled with the jagged shards of broken glass stared at me like eyes haunted with horrors too terrible to recall. Rumor had it two runaway teenagers, brother and sister, had been found here. Or at least what was left of their mangled, bloody bodies laying inside on the darkened floor. The abandoned site lay only about a mile out of town near the edge of Wakatow lake, but nobody ever came here. It wasn't as if the area was forbidden after the police investigation, but it was general knowledge that nobody smart came here. Only shady things, unexplained things, went on in the warehouse. I ran my hand through my short brown hair, cut so that it fell in stylish layers. I had my hair obsessed mom to thank for that. I would have rather buzzed it all off. With my baggy clothes, many piercings, black nail polish, and dark eye-liner I was definitely not the girly girl my mom had been hoping for. Right now everything about me felt damp and ice cold. Thomas shook his long, greasy blond hair out of his eyes. \"Well, we're all waiting,\" he challenged glaring at me. He had brought the audience along to convince me. I had never turned down a dare and everyone knew it. Just like everyone would brand me a loser if word started getting around that I had chickened out here. I glared back at him. About the only thing I had on my side was stubbornness. Everyone who met me told me I was too stubborn for my own good, but I wasn't about to let my hard won reputation go down in flames. Thunder rumbled menacingly in the distance. The shaggy haired teens shuffled impatiently, their murmurs reaching my ears. \"She ain't gonna do it, I mean look at that place!\" \"But if anyone would do it Della would be the one...\" \"She's scared, she won't,\" a voice snickered. \"I accepted your stupid dare and I'm not backing down,\" I snarled in Thomas' face. He flinched and tripped backwards a step. Somewhere a mournful dog howled, the sound rattling me more than I let on. \"What's so hard about walking into a dumb building standing there for five minutes and walking back out? I can't believe you even thought this would be a big deal!\" I laughed carelessly over my shoulder as I stalked forward off the dock and towards the building. The rain fell harder turning the dirt below my feet to slippery sludge. I let anger take over my senses, anger at everything that had happened to me throughout my seventeen years. Anger at myself for...a lot of things I regretted. My emotions seemed to blur everything, dulling anything else I felt. I neared the crumbling walls forcing myself to look around. Broken crates and trash were scattered about. I could see used cigarettes smashed into the stony ground. Surprisingly, this slowed my speeding heart a little. People had been here, they had survived and so would I. Hey, at least I would get out of this miserable rain for a while. I moved around to the side of the warehouse where a warped door hung crazily on it's hinges. It wavered in the wind, creaking slowly back and forth. I rolled my eyes as I stepped toward the side entrance. There's literally no reason to be scared I assured myself. I glanced back to the direction where Thomas and the kids stood. Through the haze of rain I could barely make out their blurry figures. Time to get this over with. I strode through the doorway my heart pounding. Pitch blackness was all that met my eyes. I felt panic threatening to strangle me, but the logic part of my brain strove to tell me there was absolutely no reason to be afraid. My eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting as I sucked in a deep breathe. Immediately I coughed, the sound sounding like a thunderclap in the echoey space. As I clamped my hand over my mouth I struggled to breathe. The smell was not overpowering, but it still was taking some time to become used to. The fume was hard to describe. It smelled like my mom's compost pile on a hot day mixed with some sort of sweet odor that threatened to make me gag. I could feel the rock hard cement under my shoes as I slipped slowly forward. Streams of ghostly gray light filtered their way through the broken windows high above. Far from making me feel better it only created eerie shadows on the walls, jagged and broken up like the glass they were formed from. I grabbed my phone from my pocket realizing I'd forgotten to set the timer. I estimated I'd been inside for about a minute so I quickly set the time to four minutes. Four minutes and then I could leave this creepy place. The steady, rhythmic sound of rain sounded noisily on the roof. As I glanced once more around the huge, dim area I took note of all the boxes and crates piled around. Spiderwebs and dust covered pretty much everything. It was pretty clear to me nobody had been inside the warehouse in a long time. I gagged a little as I caught another whiff of that awful smell. I checked the glowing screen of my phone, one minute to go. I frowned rubbing my forehead, an animal had definitely died somewhere in here. As much as I had dreaded my dare, this wasn't so bad after all. I smiled to myself as I thought about what everyone's reaction would be when I came out unharmed and alive. I was basically guaranteed a god level like status when I went back to school tomorrow. The blare of my phone alarm rang out shattering my train of thought. My hands trembled slightly as I juggled my device, my fingers fumbling to turn off the noise. I sighed with relief when the blaring ceased. Time to head out. I fast walked towards the exit, trying to ignore the wailing of the wind which had definitely picked up. A loud rumble turned to a crash and streaking light licked it's way across the sky visible through the doorway. Suddenly, the door, which I could see was jerking wildly in the powerful gusts, swung forward slamming hard into the crumbling door-frame! I shot towards the blocked entrance and tried to shove the door back out. My heart was thudding so hard I could barely breathe. Every hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up. Cold fingers slid their way up and down my back-bone. The years of exposure and weather had warped the door beyond recognition and I was pretty sure the frame had some wear and tear too. I pushed hard, every muscle straining as cold sweat dripped down my skin. My hands felt clammy as I tried to wipe them on my dark skinny jeans. It was no use, my only exit was completely blocked. The only other way in and out was the massive garage door on the front of the warehouse. It used to operate electrically, lifting up just like a giant version of the one at my house, but there was no way that worked anymore. I slumped to the floor and put my head between my knees taking in slow, deep breaths. Hopefully, one of the guys would have enough sense to tell my mom or someone where I was. I already knew they would all be way too terrified to come find me on their own. Abruptly, I jumped up off the ground! \"You are a total idiot Della Mayfield,\" I yelled at myself, \"You have a phone stupid!\" Relief flooded my veins as I quickly clicked my mom's contact. I typed out a hurried message to my mom letting her know my predicament. I think she was probably used to this by now. I'd gotten myself into some pretty bizarre situations in the past. As I clicked send my eyes almost didn't register the small red letters that appeared below the text bubble. \"Failed to send message.\" Immediately, I pressed the call button. I stared at the two small words that appeared on the screen. \"Call Failed.\" I began to shiver, the damp sinking into my clothes and skin. I would just have to wait and hope somebody came. I could feel my eyes watering, but I wouldn't let the tears escape. A thunderclap sounded, louder than the others, startling me. I gave the door another couple of shoves, but it wouldn't budge. I was alone and I couldn't escape. My brain was panicking as I walked further into the murky space of the massive building. I looked for something, anything I could use to break through the door. Again the sickening stench filled my nostrils as I wrinkled my nose. Barely loud enough for me to hear a low, whispery moan reached my ears. I stood stock still. I felt as if my blood had stopped flowing, my breaths came in short gasps. \"This is real life, you don't have to worry. It's probably just the wind,\" I thought to myself. But this felt different, I knew the sound didn't come from the wind. My eyes darted around, I was still frozen like a statue. The groan came again from the far left corner of the warehouse. Boxes and crates were stacked halfway up the wall and dark shadows filled every nook and cranny. I could feel every hair on my body standing straight up. Part of me wanted to race to the jammed door and pound on until my fists were bleeding and raw. The other part of me realized I was going to be here for a while, I might as well figure out what the sound was coming from. The suspense and terror would probably kill me first anyway if I just curled up by the door paralyzed by the mysterious moans. I rallied and took one small step towards the source. I heard one more noise, quieter than the rest and barely a whisper. I shook myself. \"Come on Della,\" I said aloud and strode forward. I don't know where the bravery came from, but somehow I found myself standing in front of the pile of wood, cardboard, and trash. I walked around the side, trying to see anything I could in the blurry, dim lighting. Then I spotted it. I stumbled backwards my brain screaming at me to run as far as I could! I swallowed the bile in the back of my throat trying to keep my dread at bay. There was a sneakered pair of feet barely visible beneath the crates. My voice was shaky as I spoke barely above a whisper, \"Are...are you okay?\" \"Do I look like I'm okay?\" I jumped at the rough voice that floated from person trapped. His voice was scratchy, probably from lack of water and the words sounded more like a groan than anything. \"I'm going to try and move the crates off you,\" I stated, my voice sounding less shaky now that I had discerned there was no creepy zombie waiting to grab me in the darkness. I pulled one crate off the pile somewhat easily, the rough peeling wood catching on my skin. Three more boxes off the pile. I could feel multiple splinters digging into the palms of my hands. I could see the man's crumpled body now, and the reason he couldn't stand up or claw his way out. A crate larger than the rest was pinning his leg down. I grunted as I attempted to pull it off. There was something very heavy inside no doubt. I took a break, pushing my layered bangs out of my face. \"Do you think...can you get it off?\" The man moaned, his voice weak. Determined, I pushed the wooden box as hard as I could and slowly it tipped, rolling and slamming hard onto the cement beside it's victim. The man couldn't muffle his cry of pain. As I knelt down beside him I gently attempted to roll him to his back. I succeeded after another near sob reached my ears. \"I'm sorry,\" I mumbled as I worriedly wondered what I would do now. Then I caught my first real glimpse of him. My eyes widened. He wore a dark black hoodie, sweatpants, and gray sneakers, but it was his face that struck me. Pale blond hair almost white, a dark tan, and startling clear blue eyes. Even in the dim lighting I could tell he was about my age. \"You're not old at all,\" was the first thing that came out of my mouth. He almost grinned, but it turned out to be more of a wince. \"Well last time I checked I wasn't a grandpa yet.\" Then his eyes took on a haunted look as if he had just remembered something. I glanced toward the warehouse window, I could tell any light we had was fading fast. \"I don't have any water or food, but, is there anything I can do?\" I asked the guy feeling pretty useless. His leg was broken for sure. \"Just help me sit up please, I've been laying here for two days.\" I pulled him upwards, leaning him against the crates behind. His eyes darted around and I could tell his skin looked paler than normal. \"Is there any way we can get out of here? If there was I figure you wouldn't be helping me but...\" his voice trailed off. \"The door is completely stuck, you can thank the wind for that. Anyway, some one will come eventually. I was here on a dare and hopefully one of those stupid kids will tell someone where I'm at. By the way what's your name? I'm Della.\" I held my breath a little trying to ignore that nasty smell that wasn't going away. \"I'm Liam.\" He didn't elaborate even as I waited. He fidgeted looking even more uneasy. \"Is something wrong besides, you know, everything?\" I asked. His nervousness was putting me on edge. Did he know something I didn't? Before Liam could answer a sound besides rain and thunder penetrated the icy stillness of the warehouse. My heart leapt as I recognized it. Police Sirens! Thomas and his crew must have alerted the authorities! I jumped up sending a quick prayer of thanks to heaven as the wailing cars grew closer. I heard the emergency vehicles pulling up near the outside. I raced to the door calling, \"I'm in here! The door is stuck! Help me please!\" I pounded on the metal of the non-operable exit hoping it would be loud enough for them to hear me. \"We're going to break down the side exit door so stay clear!\" a loud voice boomed from the other side. I laughed true relief flooding through me. I headed back to where Liam was sitting. \"The police are here, they'll get us out of here,\" I smiled jubilantly. I expected a happy reaction. Instead Liam looked like he was about to throw up. His skin was still ghostly white despite his tan. Small beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. \"Is it your leg?\" I asked concerned. \"What is wrong with you?\" Liam shook his head, his fear so palpable I could almost taste it. I shuddered not understanding. \"Don't look up,\" Liams voice was so quite I almost didn't hear it. A bare whisper that turned me to stone. I could hear the thudding of whatever tool the police were using to break down the door. My ears seemed as if they were filled with water, dulling the shouts and sounds. Liam's muffled voice yelling,\"Don't!\" reached my ears as my eyes moved on their own without my consent. The rain had lightened up, and at that moment a ray of light broke through the clouds slicing through the dimness of the warehouse. My eyes were fastened to the rafters high above us. At first I couldn't discern what I was seeing. Then I realized what it was. I heard a scream of pure horror ripping from my throat. My whole world tilted, my vision became foggy as I sank to my knees. It was swinging like a pendulum, a shadowy shape. The shape of a man, a body. The rope was swinging, swinging and the sickly rotting stench filled my senses. I reeled backwards as I vaguely heard the door bust inwards,voices shouting. Then everything went dark. I descended into a swirling mass of terror filled dreams. My last conscious thought filled my brain, maybe I was too stubborn for my own good." } ]
[ { "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: Blissful Ignorance\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1852\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "In a dilapidated historic, tiny, dark house in Baku's ancient inner city, Asghar Quliyev was busy eating dinner with his mother and children. At the same time, his wife pulled up a chair after serving the meal. Everyone was eating in silence.\nToday's meal consisted of Dolma (rice, minced filled capsicum) and a drink of Feijoa for the week's revelry.\nFeijoa used to cost 20 manats which were very expensive. There was a mysterious silence at the dining table. Nigar Quliyeva, Asghar's wife, looked before her while taking small sips.\nThis silence was very awkward. Asghar broke it with his words.\n\"Today, I don't feel like my house is small.\"\nHis mother stared at her son through her old eyes. Then, looking at the Feijoa floating in his glass, she smiled and said: 'When your favourite drink is in front of you, then you don't think anything is small, neither the house nor the glass.'\n\"Not even your vision\". His wife also gave him a bite.\n'What happened? Are you taunting me Nigar?\" He placed the glass firmly on the table without caring about the splash of the drink and said.\n\"I'm just saying.\" Seeing him getting worse, Nigar wanted to change the subject, but it was too late.\n\"Look Nigar! You call me narrow-minded? I brought you from a small village and settled in Baku. And allowed you to wear short dresses. I take you to the theatre with my limited income. We live a good life. You are no less than a lady. Then how did I become narrow or short-sighted?\" Asghar spoke as if his trust had been hurt, which he had built in years.\n\"Oh God, you just loading things! I was just giving a poetic commentary.\", Nigar retorted.\n\"Poetry was not being presented here. It was a happy family gathering which you ruined.\", Asghar shouted. And then left the unfinished food, picked up the cigarette box, and slammed the door by humming.\n\"It is tough to entertain silkworms and women.\"\nOn a cold night in the cobbled streets of the ancient city, where tourists strolled, he was busy blowing away his sorrows in cigarette smoke. Walking like this, he reached the shore. Seeing the couples holding hands, smiling, and talking on the beach, a tingle rose on the left side of Asghar's chest even though he was living a happy married life. Or just what he thought he had. Nigar's view was different.\nAsghar was a chef in an old traditional food restaurant in Baku. He learned these dishes from his grandmother and mother. And now he was a cooking expert. A parallel of his pilav was hardly available. A job in the magnificent restaurant of Qabala Khanlar was also a matter of honour and glory.\nLocal and foreign presidents, diplomats, ministers, elites, etc., came here. But his family never came. When he put a rib cage in the oven, he knew how delicious meat would come out forty minutes later. The city of Baku was a great mystery, a beautiful combination of poverty and affluence. Middle-class people like Asghar pretended to live joyful lives and passed on stories to their generation. And like those rich kids and their parents who didn't know where to spend their money. Women selling socks, men selling vegetables, children selling bread, and old people sweeping around were also the state's responsibility. But much, if not everything, was wrong at the highest level. Bribery was at its peak. Cruelty was common. Might was right, and minor was crushed like a peanut. When Asghar returned home late at night, his mother was awake, turning her hand over the family tree paper, their family heirloom. When Asghar came, she kissed his forehead and went to sleep, and Asghar spread the paper and sat in the corner of the old sofa.\nHis fingers froze at the name of Jafar Quliyev. He was her great-grandfather. The only proud man of his family who was...\nAsghar had to go long and far down memory lane, so we take you there by holding Asghar's memory finger.\nJafar Quliyev was among those 124 people living in the town of Lachin, which had a crucial geographical position in the Karabakh region of Azerbaijan. This town was earlier called Abdallar because the Turkic tribe of Abdali lived here.\nThen it was changed to Lachin because Falcon was called 'Lachin' in the Turkic language.\nAs if it was the town of the Falcons.\nWith the collusion of Russia and Armenia, local Azerbaijani Turks and Kurds were forced out of this area. Armenians were settled in their places. This left the area at their mercy. Among those evicted was a family of Jafar Quliyev, who had somehow reached Baku in a state of desperation. Since Quliyev cooked delicious meat called 'tandır' meat, his fame in a city like Baku reached the then President Nariman Narimanov. He got a job there as a special chef for Nariman Narimanov. It was the year 1920 when one day, Nariman Narimanov ordered food in his library, and Jafar served the food. When Jafar came to wrap up the table, he saw that Mr Narimanov was passed out from drinking too much alcohol, and a letter in Russian was lying next to his plate of meat. Jafar immediately picked up the letter. On which was the seal and signature of Russian President Vladimir Lenin. The text read: 'The region of Lachin will be given to Azerbaijan. And that's my promise.'\nTears fell from Jafar's eyes and fell onto the plate of meat. And he put the letter on his chest and hid it in his pocket. Then no one knew where Jafar went with this letter. Instead, no one even knew that Jafar had gone with the letter. Nariman Narimanov was dismissed after a year, so the new staff had nothing to do with the old team.\nNarimanov, whose real name was Nariman Karbalai Najaf Oğlu Narimanov, now devoted most of his time to his literary activities. At that time, in the theatres of Baku, he translated Nikolai Gogol's play 'State's Inspector', which was very popular. It is a masterpiece of rationality, ignorance, laziness, luxury, cruelty and malice.\nGogol exposed them and their truth to the public.\nNarimanov translated this stage play into Azerbaijani Turkish and produced many literary works, among which his work 'Nadir Shah' is the most prominent.\nAsghar came out of the past memory when a dog laid head on his doorstep, barking from cold and hunger.\nAsghar got up and fed him something. It was Sunday morning, and he wanted to bring joy to Nigar's mood. So they planned to eat out today and prepare to go to the theatre where the 'State's Inspector' was to be performed at Fuzuli Theatre. Some kissing scenes during the play were unsuitable for children. Still, the children kept clapping and smiling at these scenes very smartly.\nMarch 15, 2020, came as an upheaval in his life when the government banned people's entry to all public places, including restaurants, because of the global epidemic Corona. Everyone went into quarantine. The stock of food in the markets was getting less, and there was a lot of fear in everyone's hearts. Since no one knew much about the causes and effects of this disease, everyone was in the grip of an unknown fear. Everyone thought that death was a mad dancer who danced from street to street, gathering souls. Every day in the news, the death toll was in the hundreds. It seemed that the apocalypse had come or was about to come. Asghar also got fed up with the financial situation and started thinking about returning to the village. But the wife insisted they would go to her town, i.e. Nabran, where her family lived. Nabran was the last town in Azerbaijan on the border with Russia, famous for its natural beauty. There was also the sea. There were fields, and there was also the forest. So, no disease or quarantine.\nAsghar created his own YouTube channel and started cooking and vlogging on it, in which a complete family background would be presented. Mother's words of advice, children's play, and the deep, sincere relationship between wife and husband in which they always seemed to support each other. Asghar's fan following increased daily as people had never seen Azerbaijani traditional food made live like this. A few months later, in September, sad news came that Armenia had martyred General Polad Hashimov of Azerbaijan. After that, Azerbaijan had no choice but to conduct a war on the disputed territory of Karabakh. \nThus, the two forces encountered, and the Azerbaijani army rapidly took over the occupied area. The harshness of the weather and the difficulty of the terrain were great. Meanwhile, Asghar received a message from a military commander that he could cook for them. As the soldiers are busy fighting, they cannot cook. Like his grandfather, Asghar wanted to do something for the country's soil. He handed over YouTube vlogging, home, children, and mother everything to his wife Nigar. He became the cook of this army battalion.\nIn the 44-day war, Azerbaijan took back the territories Armenia had occupied for thirty years, including Lachin, a critical region.\nBeing with a military battalion, Asghar also had access to areas where civilians could not. After all, Lachin was his native place. In this deserted valley, he could smell the soil of his elders. He was in a state of gloomy gladness. He borrowed the wireless phone of Commander Kumail.\nHe contacted his family and asked them where his ancestral home was. He memorized the signs and went there, accompanied by a few soldiers. Nothing was left in the ruined house, or maybe everything was just this. Digging far into the wreckage, he found a box containing a few decaying papers, including a letter that his great-grandfather had received from Narimanov's palace. \nIt was as if Asghar had been given the treasure of king Solomon. He brought it to Baku at the war's end, handling it with joy and fear. He preserved it in a frame and thought that on the day of the celebration when Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev appeared in public, he too would line up and give it to him. But the security personnel in this chaos and crowd kept him from the President by pushing him. \nVery upset, he gave an interview to Dunya News, an Azerbaijani channel, that he had a letter from his great-grandfather, a historic letter written by Lenin to Narimanov. When this news was broadcast in the presidential palace, Asghar was quickly searched. The letter was taken away from him, and he was not allowed to meet the President again. The letter was kept in Azerbaijan's Literary Museum and other Narimanov documents, but Asghar remained empty-handed. As his great-grandfather, who had lived a historical event by taking that letter from Narimanov's hand, he too was living a historical moment being a part of the Second Karabakh War. But he did not realize it. How blissful is this ignorance! The long boulevard of Baku suggested to 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: The Arrangement\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1011\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about two people who need each other, but are too stubborn to admit it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "‘Move.’\n‘Why?’\n‘Cause, you’re in my way.’\n‘And what if I don’t?’\n‘I’ll step on your foot.’\nIn my mind, I was thinking ‘ i dare you. I dare you to step on my foot, you insufferable, adorable, arrogant, wonderful, smart ass, nuisance.’ But instead, I said ‘Wow. Real mature. What are you, 8?’\n‘Stubborn intolerable mule.’\nJeez. I didn't know how to respond.\n‘Damn nuisance.’ I whispered under my breath, but she heard me\n‘I just so happen to be the nuisance that saves your grades every week.’\nShe had a point, science wasn’t my thing…\n‘Anyways eyeball, what’s your brother doing after school?’\nWhat did she want with Sam? And of course- her clever little nickname that she thought I hated. I could hear it in my head everytime she talked to me; ‘get it?? Because Iris is like-part of your eyeball? Yeah. Clever.\n‘I don’t know. Why?’\n‘None of your business\n‘Oh really? Well, I could make it my business.’\nWhat. Why did I say that? What was this conversation even? Why was Charlie, the smart badass supermodel level chick who seemingly hated my guts even talking to me? Our relationship was usually limited to a joking kick or a snide remark in the hall- of course when we were not arguing in science as lab partners.\n‘I doubt even you could do that eyeball. Anyways, eyeball- I need your help’\nOf course. Why else would she talk to me?\n‘Wha- um what do you need?’\n‘Well- as much as I hate to say this, your badass vibe is kinda necessary.’\n‘What.’\n‘Well- maybe- never mind- sorry’ she blushed. I, Iris Stanley, made charlie- whatever her last name was- blush? Realy? Wow, I mean, sure, I was a punk, motorcycle and piercings and everything, but I didn’t know I had that power- maybe I didn’t, I was probably overthinking, in any case, I didn’t want this conversation to end.\n‘No, no tell me whatcha need and I will say yes. Given that I am so so so much cooler than you-’ she interrupted me\n‘Well I was going to ask-er-well’\nI was getting nervous\n‘Spit it out.’\n‘Ok. You want blunt? My cousin invited me to a party, but they expect me to come with a date, which i don't have.’\n‘Wait- are you asking me out?’ oh my god oh my god oh my god!\n‘Uh no.’\n‘Then wha-’\n‘Im asking you to pretend to be my girlfriend. It’s weird- but the party is gonna be cool. You in or…?’\n‘’What. I mean- sure- but- why me?’ heart thumping\n‘Cause, eyeball, you poor idiot, you are the only out lezbian that I know except me.’\n‘Oh.’ Of course. Of course, that was it- I was definitely not hoping for something more. No. not at all.\n‘Ok, fine, but it is very weird.’ was I being defensive?\n‘No kidding. Thanks a bunch, eyeball, seriously. Here’s my phone number, ‘ll pick you up at seven-ish?’\n‘Yeah, sounds good’ pick me up? Oh god, this was gonna be a weird and wonderful evening and I didn’t even know why.\nMaybe if I yell at her she’ll look at me again. I'm pathetic.\n‘Move.’ She turned to me with a bemused smile.\n‘Why?’\n‘Cause, you’re in my way.’ Jeez was i in it or what\n‘And what if I don’t?’\n‘I’ll step on your foot.’ Really, it was a bluff. A petty bluff at that.\n‘Wow. Real mature. What are you, 8?’\nFelt like it\n‘Stubborn intolerable mule.’ Why would I say that?\n‘Damn nuisance.’ She mumbled. I wondered if i actually offended her\n‘I just so happen to be the nuisance that saves your grades every week.’ I faked a smirk ‘Anyways eyeball, what’s your brother doing after school?’ Why would I ask that? I didn't care what Sam did? I wanted to know what Iris was doing- not her brother\n‘I don't know. Why?’\nGod only knew. I had no idea.\n‘None of your business’\n‘Oh really? Well, i could make it my business’\nShe was adorable when she had no idea what to say. But i didnt come to see how adorable or lost i could get her. I came with a question.\n‘I doubt even you could do that eyeball. Anyways, eyeball- I need your help’\n‘Wha- um what do you need?’\nTry not to fall into prais-\n‘Well- as much as I hate to say this, your badass vibe is kinda necessary.’ Well so much for that…\n‘What.’ She looked so confused i wavered. My head flushed and i retreated. Nononono.\n‘Well- maybe- never mind- sorry’ oh god oh god\n‘No, no tell me whatcha need and I will say yes. Given that I am so so so much cooler than you-’\n‘Well I was going to ask-er-well’ oh god oh god. \n‘Spit it out’ oh my god how?\n‘Ok. You want blunt? My cousin invited me to a party, but expects me to come with a date, which I don't have.’ Half true. I told my cousin that I had a girlfriend. And maybe I may have told him that her name was iris. Ok I blew it.\n‘Wait-are you asking me out?’\nYeah. Wait-but stay cool\n‘Uh no.’ Shit.\n‘Then wha-’\n‘Im asking you to pretend to be my girlfriend. It's weird, but the party is gonna be cool. You in or…?’\n‘’What. I mean- sure- but- why me?’\nCause your cute. Cause you're cool. Cause you're nice and hot and awesome and I am in love with you, dumbass.\n‘Cause, eyeball, you poor idiot, you are the only out lezbian that I know except me.’\n‘Oh.’ She looked down- did she look- disappointed ? ‘Ok fine. But it's very weird.’\n‘No kidding. Thanks a bunch, eyeball, seriously. Here’s my phone number, ‘i'll pick you up at seven-ish?’\nI pulled the paper I had been gripping for dear life out of my pocket and handed it to her and turned a little too fast to drive away. Tonight would either be epic or disastrous." } ]
[ { "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: Can't Miss This Flight\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1799\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Michael Lambert immediately regretted that his flight back to San Francisco had been booked for departure out of Newark. The cab he was in was moving very slowly westbound on I-78, and his flight was due to depart in less than an hour. He looked wistfully to the east in the direction of La Guardia, wishing that he needed only to go there, as the traffic seemed much thinner in that direction.\n“Dammit!” He fumed to himself. “If I don’t make this plane, I’m finished!”\nHe didn’t care about the fare slowly climbing as the cab creeped along the highway. He didn’t care about the awful high-pitched voices that screamed from the radio. He didn’t even care that the cab was not air-conditioned and that he was sweating right through his three-piece suit. What mattered most to him was getting back to California before his bosses decided that since they had missed him for the past week, they could afford to miss him permanently.\nLambert didn’t regret his trip to the East Coast – not one bit. His daughter had just started as a freshman at Fordham University and he had to be there for her. Her mother, who was local, had been there to help her move in and this time had to be his. Otherwise, he might not see her again for months, which would not be unprecedented but was undesirable nonetheless.\nBut work was another matter. There was a major project due the next day, and if Lambert had any hope of getting it completed in time, he had to make it back to the office by noon Pacific Time. The three-hour time difference gave him some much-needed breathing room, but if he didn’t make this flight, the next available one would not arrive in San Francisco until well into the afternoon over there. That was utterly unacceptable.\nLambert had set his alarm for 5:30 AM, under the impression that it would give him plenty of time to dress, check out of the hotel and find a cab. But he didn’t count on the Manhattan morning traffic being quite so beastly. Acquiring a cab by itself took nearly twenty minutes, and it took nearly that long for it to make its way down the block once it picked him up. It was hard for him to appreciate a city where it took over forty minutes just to move a hundred feet.\nHe looked at his watch. 7:12 AM. “Excuse me sir,” he asked the driver, “Is there any alternate route you can take? My flight is taking off in less than an hour and I really have to make it.”\n“I’m sorry sir. There’s always a lot of traffic this time of day. I’m doing the best I can.”\nLambert could do nothing except fidget in his seat, nervously looking to see if any of the other lanes were moving faster. They were not, otherwise he would have begged the driver to switch. He willed the cars in front to move faster, knowing that it was futile but still needing to feel like there was some control he had over the situation.\nFinally, the traffic started moving faster. What before was a sluggish twenty miles per hour on the speedometer was rapidly pulling up to forty and climbing even higher, much to the delight of the cab’s passenger. He relaxed his back onto the seat, taking a deep breath and praying for the speed to continue accelerating.\nThe cab finally made its way over the Newark Bay and past the junction with I-95. Soon afterward was the junction with Route 9, which Lambert knew led right to the front of the airport. It was now 7:27. He was getting close, but time was running out fast.\n“Step on it!” He yelled, getting excited at seeing the planes taking off and landing. But then the cab took the final turn onto the stretch before the airport entrance, and Lambert’s heart sank as he saw the line of cars at a standstill in front of him.\n“OH NO!” He beat his fists against his seat in stark frustration.\nHe craned his neck toward the cab window to get a better look at the traffic. In the distance there were people disembarking from vehicles, but he could not see any other explanation for the slowdown or if the cars were moving at any discernable speed. He could feel the blood vessels in his brain hardening as the stress of missing his flight grew more salient by the second.\nAfter what seemed an eon, the cab finally shifted forward, though it was start and stop action for several agonizing minutes as Lambert anxiously watched the line of cars. The cab then pulled in front of the gates. He did not care if he was where he needed to be – he simply wanted out of that small chamber of torture.\n“Let me out here!” He fished out his wallet and pulled out several twenties, throwing them at the driver. “Keep the change!” The cab door opened and slammed shut as fast as its mechanism would allow it to, and Lambert fetched his luggage out of the trunk so fast he could have qualified for an Olympic event. With suitcase in hand, he dashed down the sidewalk and through the first door he passed. The time was now 7:40. His plane would be leaving in only twenty minutes, and he hadn’t even gone through security yet.\nLambert dashed through the airport mezzanine, barely dodging the throngs of people as he made a mad dash in the direction of the security checkpoint. Fortunately, the line was not very long and he was able to quickly weave his way through the rope maze that led to the metal detectors. He nervously gazed at the line of people ahead who were slowly emptying their pockets and putting their bags through the conveyor belt. For the love of God, he wondered, why did so many people have to bring so much carry-on luggage? He realized his hypocrisy as he looked at his one piece of luggage that he had no intention of checking, but he didn’t care. Time was running out fast.\nBy the time he made it up to the detector, it was 7:48. He removed his belt quickly and threw everything on his person into the little bin that would be put on the conveyor belt. Finally, the security guard motioned for him to walk through the detector. But no sooner did Lambert pass the metal upright box then a beep went off around him.\n“Hold on sir,” the guard held up his palm, “Can you please go back and through again?”\nSeveral of Lambert’s cranial capillaries exploded. He really did not need this right then. He did as he was instructed, but walking through again led to the same cursed beeping.\n“I don’t have anything metal on me!” He protested vigorously. “What the hell is wrong with this machine?!”\n“I’m sorry sir, but I’m gonna have to do a pat-down.” The guard first took out an electromagnetic wand and used it to scan around Lambert’s body. Nothing abnormal was detected. Lambert continued to fume as the guard subjected him to a frisking. He started to think about how much he hated waiting in lines and how much worse it would be when he would soon have to join the line at the unemployment office.\n“Okay sir, you’re free to go ahead,” the guard told him. Lambert raced toward the conveyor belt to grab his belongings and then started a mad dash for Terminal A. He did not know where it was located, so first he ran as fast as he could to the big sign in front of him that pointed the way to the various terminals. He saw that Terminal A, along with many others, was to his left. So he ran down the wide hall in that direction, frustrated at the fact that Terminal G was the first one he passed.\nJust as he bypassed several fast food and merchandise outlets and roared past Terminal F, an announcement came on that made his heart race with both fury and fear.\n“This is the final boarding call for United Airlines Flight – “ Lambert could not hear the flight number because of some loud businessmen talking in a gaggle around him. But he assumed that it was his flight, which caused him to step up his pace even faster. He no longer cared about running into people. It was now 7:55, and he still hadn’t even made it past Terminal D yet.\nHis heart pounded just as fast as his feet pounded on the floor, his lungs heaved air in and out with agony, and his vision became blurry. But none of that mattered to him. He made it past Terminal C, then B, and then finally, Terminal A was in his sight. He was disheartened to see that there was no longer a line to board his flight, but he was not about to give up yet.\nHe made one final, desperate sprint to the terminal and darted his head around in panic to find Gate 17. He saw Gate 16 and ran toward it, figuring that it would be in the vicinity. Sure enough, he stumbled upon 17 and, out of breath, showed his boarding pass to the attendant, who was just about to make a move towards the doors.\n“Did I miss it?” He asked worryingly, seeing that it was 7:58. “Has it taken off yet?”\n“No, it hasn’t sir,” the attendant said chirpily. “But you better hurry, because I was literally just about to close the doors.”\n“Thank you!” Lambert heaved as he ran through the gate, down the mobile tunnel and into the plane. Once he got past the entrance and into the aisle he pumped his fist into the air, found his seat and collapsed into it.\nSure enough, it was barely a minute after he sat down that the lead flight attendant stood in front of the coach section and began her introduction speech.\n“Good morning everyone, welcome to United Airlines Flight 93, nonstop flight from Newark International Airport to San Francisco International Airport. It is now 8:00 AM on September 11, 2001, and we expect the duration of this flight to be approximately five hours and forty-five minutes. We will be taxiing shortly but as there is heavy congestion on the runways our departure may be delayed. For now, sit back and relax and we will begin our coverage of the safety procedures shortly. Thank you and enjoy the flight!”\nLambert finally caught his breath, began to relax, and took out the in-flight magazine, looking forward to a quiet and restful flight 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: Masters of the Winds?\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2667\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Potential Trigger Warning: historical fiction partially set in 1930s Germany.\n\nAs the last towers of New York City vanished into wispy clouds the dirty, off-white hue of undyed cotton, I sighed. Seeing the new Empire State Building from the air was an experience I could lord over my schoolfellows back home. Now I understood why they called it a “sky scraper.” Even at normal cruising elevation, we’d been forced to gaze up at the building’s towering spire and avoid circling too close, lest we collide. Boldly, we’d circled over the city, passing so near the building that I could wave at people through the windows: the minute but present threat of flying so close sent a frisson of mingled fear and excitement surging up my spine. No, surely none of the other lads in my school had ever been so fortunate! I imagined a boy of my own age standing in the city streets below and staring enviously up at the airship overhead and felt a smug smile sneak onto my face.\n\nBut now we were back over the sea yet again. It was almost as if we’d been magically transported backwards into the past, except that instead of the sparkling deep blue it had appeared at the start of our unending voyage, the reflection of the leaden sky above tinted the ocean what I imagined was the gray of a corpse’s flesh, tipped by regular, jagged bone-white foam protuberances. Looking back over the boundless void in the opposite direction, I shivered uncontrollably as a cool gust swirled through the open window on a brief detour before continuing its journey back towards Europe. Father would grumble that I was being fanciful and frivolous again if he knew my thoughts.\n\nA heavy hand plummeted onto my shoulder. As if I’d summoned him, my father’s frowning visage interposed itself in my view like an angry Titan. “Boy. You should be spending time on your studies rather than lingering on the promenade and dangling your head out the window.”\n\n“Yes, Father,” I muttered dutifully, staring down at the shining rail beneath my hands. To soothe myself, I stroked my fingers lightly along the polished metal, savoring its smoothness: no rough edges, although the low pulsing of the engines sent it to silent vibration. Perhaps, if I was careful, I might steal a few minutes to expand the growing fragment of poem scribbled hastily onto a scrap of paper hidden between the pages of my Latin textbook. Of course, if Father spied it, he would immediately fling it out one of the windows, to flap away freely on the breeze like a stray gull’s feather. He had never approved of my poetry. Mother… Mother had understood.\n\nFather’s hand shifted forward on my shoulder to give me a hard push backwards, away from the window. “Move, boy!” he barked. “Cease your lollygagging.”\n\nThere was no point in answering back, in making excuses. I had learned that long ago. Father had no patience for idleness or anything other than sharp, instant compliance with his requirements. Sixteen years of vocal disappointment with my various shortcomings left him eternally curt. Like a loom in one of the many mills he owned, Father spent his life click-clacking away with ruthless efficiency; Heaven help a stray limb that obstructed that predetermined mechanical path even briefly. A lapse in productivity, even to spare a finger, constituted a mortal sin.\n\nAs I turned towards the passageway leading back to the cabins, Captain Lehman appeared in the lounge, Captain Pruss trailing behind him like a shadow. His broad face, usually quirked upwards into a grin, now creased in a thunderous frown. I liked Captain Lehman; even if Captain Pruss was technically the commander on this trip, he spent far less time on the passenger decks. Captain Lehman made me laugh and told bold yarns about his many years as an airship captain. A gregarious man, he circulated among the passengers regularly, telling jests and, even on one memorable occasion, playing traditional folk-songs on his accordion as he goose-stepped up and down the center aisle of the dining room during dinner.\n\nOf course, Father didn’t approve of him.\n\n“Don’t let his pleasant demeanor fool you,” he’d growled at me when I’d ventured a complimentary comment about the Captain. “I believe he’s just like the rest of Them: fanatical and untrustworthy. He merely hides it better. The good captain is all but a card-carrying member of that insane German socialist workers’ political party. All the disruption going on in Germany is bad for business, in my opinion. I still say we shouldn’t have let them rearm at all after the war. Don’t let any of their ridiculous ideas creep into your head. If I had known how much things had changed in Frankfurt since my last visit, I wouldn’t have brought you along on this business trip at all.”\n\nI’d enjoyed seeing the traditional gingerbread wooden houses, curiously intermingled in downtown Frankfurt with modern office buildings. Yet obnoxious banners blaring the new national symbol had defaced their clean architecture, and the streets were filled with men in uniform circulating in near-constant parades. Gaudy exhibits celebrating the civic virtues of farmers and workers stood side by side with opera houses and art museums.\n\n“Why did you bring me?” I'd demanded in a rare moment of courage. “Mrs. Hutchinson would have ensured that I was fed and attended school in your absence.” Surely our housekeeper could have safely supervised me for the three weeks of Father’s anticipated absence, for I was not given to gadding recklessly about. Not for me the former freedom of the flappers and the clubmen, now laid low by debt and dire poverty.\n\nFather had given me a steely glare, undiluted by the glass lenses of his spectacles. “Mrs. Hutchinson unduly indulges you in your moping about the house.”\n\n“Mrs. Hutchinson understands that Mother died less than four months ago!” I’d snapped back. His disapproval of me was an inevitability, but our loyal housekeeper, resident in our home for most of my life, deserved better from Father.\n\n“What you need,” he retorted, “is an end to the constant moping. Keeping busy and occupied is the most effective way to alleviate grief. Not shutting oneself away from the world in dark rooms and scratching out sentimental drivel in poor rhyme.” For just one moment, his voice softened and he broke eye contact. “I’d hoped, Reginald, that a change in scenery and some travel might improve your current disposition. Unfortunately, it seems that I was wrong.”\n\nOnly Father called me ‘Reginald.’ Mother had always called me ‘Reggie.’\n\n“I regret to inform you, ladies and gentlemen,” Captain Lehman announced in an accented voice that cut into my reverie, “that we have not yet been cleared to land at Lakehurst. I have been told there are thunderstorms in the area. On the positive side, you will have an opportunity to fly over many pleasant New Jersey beaches this afternoon.”\n\nMuffled murmurs from all directions filled the lounge. No one sounded particularly pleased by this announcement.\n\nFather threw up his hands, advanced on Captain Lehman, and somehow loomed even taller. Of course Father would be the most vocal verbal combatant. “I’m hardly interested in scenery at this point. Surely this is a joke in extremely poor taste. We will arrive even later? We’re already half a day behind schedule!” A point of much consternation to him. “I might as well have booked passage on a liner across the Atlantic. At this rate, we’ll miss our flight out of Newark Airport.”\n\nOur return flight was scheduled for tomorrow morning. It wasn’t as if airplane flights after dark were even possible. Father needn’t have been quite so dramatic.\n\n“Ah, but, good sir…” With near visible effort, Captain Lehman plastered a smile on his face. “Never would you find on a liner such fine company and such an excellent view. While I’m confident many of you gentlemen have become well acquainted with our zeppelin’s excellent bar over the last few days, why don’t you follow me downstairs to B deck to Herr Schulze’s domain for some libations? Perhaps your last Maybach 12 or LZ-129 cocktail of the voyage? Or, simply some scotch, if you prefer. On the house, of course.”\n\nSince the national ban on alcohol had only ended in America a few years ago, it was a safe bet that this would be a popular offer. Perhaps even sufficient to placate Father. The inner workings of a mechanical loom did occasionally require lubrication from time to time, after all. Although I was of course too young to imbibe, I’d heard Father complain to both my mother and Mrs. Hutchinson on various occasions that it was still difficult to obtain high quality alcohol even now. He’d certainly enjoyed his fair share of German wines while we were abroad.\n\nWhen Captain Lehman turned his head, his eyes meeting mine, he tossed me a more sincere grin. “Apologies, young master, but my offer stands only for the grown-ups.” He shrugged and spread his hands in a casual pretense of helplessness.\n\n“Of course, Captain.” My heart accelerated with hope as I realized that one of my dearest desires (almost completely absent for the past two and a half days) might be within reach: privacy.\n\nAlready halfway to the door leading to the staircase to B deck, reminded of my existence, Father turned back towards me with a stern frown. “As we discussed, I don’t want you to fritter away your time on the promenade. To your books, Reginald.”\n\n“Of course, Father,” I parroted. His demand suited me nicely: since most of the men were guaranteed to be downstairs for quite some time, the usually crowded writing room would likely be mostly empty. Instead of eking out my verses on the tiny, fold-down desk in our cramped, windowless (and airless) cabin, I could sit on one of the pleasantly cushioned chairs in the writing room. Few women ventured into the writing room, so I would have the room mostly to myself and could compose freely.\n\nAs the last of the men filed out of the room, Captain Lehman turned to Captain Pruss. In a low voice that forced its way through gritted teeth and that passengers were surely not supposed to overhear, he growled, “Reach out to Commander Rosendahl yet again and press him further as to when we can expect to land our zeppelin. Tell him that our passengers are becoming extremely frustrated with the continued delays from Lakehurst Station. As I have said repeatedly, based on my years of experience, lightning is no threat to a zeppelin as long as it doesn’t vent hydrogen. I have been on many zeppelins stuck by lightning in the past, with no real harm done.”\n\nPretending I had heard nothing, I retreated to the writing room after fetching several books from our cabin. As I’d hoped, no one else currently occupied the room. For several minutes, I did nothing more than stare at the cheerful, colorful paintings of scenes from around the world that adorned the walls. Admiring the fine brushstrokes, I wrestled once more with the question as to whether my favorite was the Chinese Pagoda or the Teepee. Then I lifted the leathery cover of the travel journal that I was supposed to be keeping to document my observations of our voyage to Europe. I would compose one final entry before stealing some precious moments for my poetry.\n\nSetting pen to paper, I began. “The 6th day of May, 1937: Today will be my final day aboard the airship Hindenburg. The morning began well, with a flight over Boston. I have never been to Boston. Although seeing it from above was surely no substitute for appreciating the city’s beauties up close, some of its more famous sights, such as the museum ship U.S.S. Constitution, the Old North Church, and the granite obelisk erected in memory of the Battle of Bunker Hill, were visible. Shortly afterwards, the airship passed over New York City. In particular, I was excited by the opportunity to admire the architecture of the newly constructed Empire State Building. Yet, after leaving Manhattan, we found ourselves in endless circles over the so-called ‘Garden State,’ though I certainly failed to see any evidence of such ‘gardens’ from the sky. Like Ulysses and his men, it seems we are on an endless journey, carried ever further from the delights of Ithaca despite our efforts to reach it. Rather than being dependent on the vagaries of the wind like the great voyager and his crew, we have conversely and ironically deemed ourselves masters of the winds aloft, solely to be forceably confronted with our own hubris.”\n\nFor a moment, I paused to wonder whether Father would consider that final observation too flamboyant. Yet it was a classical allusion, so I decided after a few moments of agonizing that it would ultimately be deemed acceptably academic. Bored with generating stilted, formulaic commentary, I turned instead to my half-finished poem. Although I had yet to achieve the glory of T.S. Eliot, it pleased me more than earlier efforts. Father erred in calling it ‘poor rhyme,’ for in imitation of the great poet, I did not seek to rhyme at all.\n\nLost in thought, I became fatally oblivious to the passage of time. Unexpectedly, my paper was snatched violently away, leaving my pen skittering wildly. It left a long black ink-smear across the top of the writing-desk. “What is this, boy?” Father barked.\n\nHe expected me to wilt into myself like a parched houseplant. I surprised both of us when I bolted to my feet, thrust out my hand, and demanded, “Give that back!”\n\nOf course he didn’t. Instead, he bristled and pointed his finger at me as he unleashed a furious lecture. “Do you think it was scribbling that carried our family through the depression that bankrupted dozens of people I’d known all my life, Reginald? I fought tooth and nail to hold our family’s companies together, hour after hour, day after day. You are my only heir and I refuse to leave our business to your even more useless cousin Scott! By God, boy, I don’t mean to be cruel but I can’t figure out how to teach you where your true interests lie! You need to put aside your childish whims like old toys and learn to bear a man’s responsibilities. Young men your age and even younger come to work in our mills every day. Is that what you want for yourself?”\n\nHe didn’t give me an opportunity to respond, for he never did: never expressed any interest in anything I might say. Crumpling my poem in his hand, Father stormed out of the writing room. I knew where he was going. I knew what he meant to do. I’d seen it every single time I’d imagined this moment.\n\nHopeless and resigned, I pursued nonetheless. I reached the promenade a full five steps behind him. With a bang, he wrenched open one of the windows, flicked my poem out, and slammed it closed again. “I came to tell you that we should be landing in Lakehurst shortly,” he announced crisply, eyes fixed on the stylized world map sketched on the far lounge wall. “Return to the cabin and pack up your possessions.” Without another word, he marched off, clearly headed back downstairs to the bar to while away his remaining moments on the airship.\n\nMy chest aching, I stepped towards the window and yanked it open once more. Unsurprisingly, though I stared intently into the thin air below, I saw no sign of my vanished poem. The cold breeze made my eyes water.\n\nPerhaps, with enough effort, I will be able to recreate it. If not, there will be other poems in the future, I soothed myself. Eventually I’ll free myself from the tyranny of my father’s plutocratic fantasies, and I will have the entirety of my life before me to write." } ]
[ { "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 am sorry I made you go\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1115\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone accepting a dare." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "‘KISS! KISS! KISS!’ – chanting was surrounding me as I was trying to not break under the pressure and cry. I lifted my arms, shielding my face, as if I was hiding from a physical attack. Looking through the gap between my elbows, I saw teenagers, who were looking like zombies eager for brains or vampires dying for blood. I glared at the stupid bottle, tip of which was pointing at me, it seemed like it was laughing at me. I gathered all of my strength and yelled, ‘NO!’ Everyone went silent for a solid second, then the owner of the party stood up from her sit and slowly walked towards me. As she was putting one foot in front of the other, she said, ‘If you do not want to kiss Erica, you will have to,’ she stopped to think about a cruel dare she was preparing for me. In that half a second my head was buzzing with thoughts, all I wanted was to go home – this was exactly why I never went to parties; they always end up like this. ‘Ah, yes, then you will have to complete a dare. Tell us your deepest darkest secret.’\n‘Nah, that is so boring, have you seen him?’ I turned my head: it was best friend trying to cover my back. Despite making me come to this party, he was actually an amazing companion. Falling in love with Amma was pathetic of my best friend, but I could not do anything about his decision. I wanted to keep him company as he was too scared to go alone to the party. And now look at him, talking to the girl he has a massive crush on. I was hoping his little distraction technique would work. No one should ever know my secret.\n‘Okay, Hans, what are you suggesting?’ Amma giggled and gave Hans a death stare, which made me shiver.\n‘Um, I do not know, Amma. Maybe, you should not be mean to your guests,’ that was a good try, I have to give him that. But I suppose that my ship was sunken by his words.\n‘Oh, I would never be mean to my guests, sweetie. If you don’t like it, you and your boyfriend can leave.’\n‘He’s not my,’ Hans was about to scream, but I interrupted him, touching his arm.\n‘It is okay, I accept the dare,’ I mumbled.\n‘Awe, guys, you are an adorable couple. Say it louder, I cannot hear you, love,’ Amma said.\n‘I accept the dare; I will tell my secret,’ I tried to ignore her comment, but Hans was visibly irritated. I guess he started to regret bringing me. However, it is me who has to tell my secret now, not him.\n‘Oh, did I mention that you have to tell the whole story and not just a couple of words? And how come do you not want to kiss Erica? I think everyone will agree that she is one of the prettiest girls in here. Yes, she got her braces done recently, but still.’\n‘It does not matter, Amma, he agreed to the dare, let him talk now,’ I didn’t know the name of the girl, who said it, but it was very nice of her. She didn’t know me, but she still expressed compassion towards me.\n‘Fine, Jess. Start talking, the time is ticking, Adam.’\nI was silent for 30 seconds, but when Amma sighed and was going to say something, I lifted my shirt. Visible confusion was covering the faces of the people surrounding me. Only my best friend had a face of fear, he knew what was supposed to happen now.\n‘Start talking, not stripping,’ Amma giggled.\n‘Give me a second, Amma, stop being such a bitch,’ I could not take her voice any longer, so I had to be rude. I pointed at my ribs, there was a tattoo, which said ‘be gay do crime’. ‘I got this a couple of months ago. First, I am coming out as gay, but this is not the reason I refuse to kiss Erica. I would do this for the sake of game despite my sexuality, there is no tension or feelings.’\n‘So, your big secret is that you are gay, and you have a tattoo. Woah, you are so brave, Adam,’ it felt like Amma did not have any other settings for her voice other than bad sarcasm.\n‘No, Amma. I have HIV.’\nEveryone gasped and started looking at each other, then back at me. No one knew that except for Hans.\n‘EW, get away from me now!’ shouted Amma at me, ‘Your disease is not welcome here! Get out!’\nEverybody started to stand up, there was clear panic in their eyes. Apparently, they did not understand that it is not transmitted through air or even saliva, but through blood.\n‘It is not contagious!’ I heard Jess shout. The chaos stopped. ‘It is transmitted through blood; this is why he didn’t kiss Erica. Not because he is gay, has a tattoo, or he cannot breathe near her because she will get sick too. She has cuts in her mouth from braces. Adam was just being cautious. And you are a bunch of uneducated morons. He is not dangerous. No one with HIV is dangerous. You know how to have sex but do not know anything about safety. Only words like HIV terrify you because you are brainwashed and stupid. Where is your empathy, he got infected via tattoo, didn’t you Adam?’\n‘Yeah, I did it in some girl’s flat. It seemed clean, but my mum was still worried, so she made me take the test. And now here we are. I don’t want to be a scary story for you. I am a person with feelings, who got very desperate for a tattoo when being broke. That actually kind of broke me. But all I want to do now is break the stigma around people like me. We are not monsters,’ I finished my speech, picked up my bag and started walking towards the front door. Hans followed me; mouthing thank you to Jess.\n‘Wait, Adam,’ it was Amma’s voice, ‘I’m sorry.’\n‘You should be, you are a terrible person,’ I said and walked out of the door. I turned around before crossing the road, to see that everyone else followed me, leaving Amma to stand alone.\n‘I am sorry I made you go, she is horrible,’ said my best friend.\n‘It is okay, but I will make fun of you for the rest of your life for falling for her,’ I laughed, and we went to his house to play video games." } ]
[ { "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: Asher's unnormal, normal day\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1395\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Asher tugged on the reins of his donkey, giving his animal the needed encouragement to continue the descent through the loose stones, broken twigs, and other debris on the floor of the Mount as he headed to the southern gates of the city. He understood his donkey’s reluctance; normally they traveled this during daylight hours, but the urgency of his errand and the necessity of his cargo drove him to travel through the night. A messenger arrived after dinner from the city’s shops he supplied, their stock of pigeons was dangerously low and they needed more. With the high holiday mere hours away and a steady stream of new arrivals from all over the countryside, Asher bid farewell to his family and set out, hoping for a sizeable return of payment for arriving on time. In fact, with his hustle (and an almost constant tug on the reins) he’d arrive before the merchants woke, allowing him time to rest and clean up (plus, sleeping outside the city area in the hills leading up from the valley below were dangerous, so he pushed on.)\nWinding south towards the Kidron Valley, Asher picked his way slowly and carefully through tents and small gatherings of people asleep and unaware of the night’s travelers. \n“Unquestionably too many people here on the Mount. I must remember to go around the city the other way to head home later” he thought out loud.\nThe torches along the city walls glowed on top of Mount Moriah, pointing him toward the city of the people outside the walls on the southern side of the city. Asher knew he and his family should be sleeping among the others in the city of the people, but his wife, mother, and youngest child all were too ill to travel. Maybe he could provide his merchants a couple of free pigeons to sacrifice on their behalf for this year’s high holidays? That would cut into his profits, but well worth it for the life of his soul. \nAs he thought about the life of his soul, he heard a large (and loud) group of people moving towards him from his left. He stopped walking and quickly lowered his torch and stomped it out…no need to bring too much attention to himself.\nA patrol of guards and soldiers appeared, torches overhead, walking in formation, surrounding a man in the middle. A large guard pushed the man forward, even lifting him a bit as the man stumbled while limping toward the city. Asher could see blood in the man’s hair, and the guard controlled his right arm behind his back, causing the man pain. Long hair draped down and across the man’s face, but Asher clearly saw the cheekbones tight and locked, giving Asher a good feel for the amount of pain the man felt. The man stumbled again, and the guard hauled him up while shouting at him. This time though, the man turned his head and looked right at Asher.\nThe man’s face looked like a dichotomy of emotions. Clearly the cheeks and teeth, taunt and gritted, showed pain and suffering. But the man’s eyes looked into Asher’s face and Asher saw something he could not imagine; compassion, life, love, and forgiveness. How could one man’s face say one thing, and his eyes say something completely different? Obviously, the guards and soldiers were hurting the man, but Asher knew the pain did not touch his soul, just his outer self.\nNone of the guards or soldiers even noticed Asher, standing there, eyes locked with the man in the middle of the patrol. Asher felt cold, and warm at the same time, but frozen solid watching the procession. For several seconds the two looked at each other until the patrol moved past and Asher lost sight of the man.\nDarkness returned after the patrol headed up towards an eastern city gate. Asher stood looking towards the patrol, not seeing them, but looking in their direction. Several minutes passed before the donkey brought Asher back to his senses. He shook his head, tugged on the reins, and continued his trek to his destination.\nLater that morning, after the sun rose and the merchants arrived at their stalls, Asher arrived at the stalls to deliver his pigeons.\n“Good morning Mishael, my friend!”\n“Asher, brother, you are a welcome sight. I am down to my last dozen pigeons and I expect hundreds of pilgrims today.”\n“Well, I don’t have that many birds, but you can have all I brought, minus two for my family. These two, plus one more for yourself, I will give you for free if you sacrifice them on my family’s behalf. Are you selling chits as well, or just pigeons this year?”\nMishael reached under his counter and pulled up a large bag filled with clay chits.\n“Chits as well, though I don’t get as much for a chit as I do a pigeon. Apparently, some people just don’t trust me to make a sacrifice on their behalf” Mishael replied while a smirk crept across his lips. “I guess they might follow that prophet that destroyed the marketplace earlier this week, chasing the money changers away for a time. What a loon.”\n“I didn’t hear that one. Did the guards arrest him or anything?”\nReplacing the bag below the counter Mishael answered “I don’t know, I don’t really care but I hope so, he was bad for business if you understand. Speaking of which, how many birds do you have, and how much are you overcharging me?”\nThe business done, and after eating a small lunch and walking around the city, Asher started his travel home. Although he didn’t earn quite the profit he wanted, it was close, close enough that his family could eat for several months. Remembering the host of people along the trail down the Kidron Valley, he decided to go west and then north around the city walls. Climbing Mount Zion, he walked along the ridge above the Valley of Hinnom and towards the crossroads near the northwest part of the city.\nLeading his donkey, he walked through the much smaller crowd coming up from the west since many pilgrims followed the passes up from the Jordan River Valley, but he would need to turn in that direction later. Rounding the walled city and turning a bit east he saw a large group of people gathered below the Rock of the Skull as soldiers lifted three men up on wooden beams. Women cried and wailed from below. Asher noticed the one in the middle immediately, the eyes unmistakable. Although the man looked much bloodier and severely beaten down, his eyes still beamed with love and compassion. Then, Asher saw the man lift his head and speak loudly over the wailing. \n“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”\nAsher looked around, trying to find the old man whom this criminal looked for, but found only men his own age or younger. Surely this man was not talking to himself, he was addressing his father, so where was his father? Whoever he addressed, it didn’t seem to matter, because he was asking for forgiveness to the very people causing him pain and suffering. Asher recognized that to be very noble and righteous, especially for a man suffering so much.\nHe kept thinking about this man as he traveled home. What a pity this man, who showed so much love, compassion, and nobility would surely die on the wooden beam, forgotten by everyone besides his family and gone forever. Soon, the sky turned dark, and then the ground shook so much that his donkey almost ripped the reins out of his hand and ran off. It took quite some time for Asher to calm the beast before finishing his journey.\nArriving home, he led the donkey to its spot and called out to his wife “Tamar, I’m home. I brought some fresh bread and a jar of wine.”\nTamar’s head popped out of the doorway, a smile on her smudged face, “See anything interesting in the Holy City today?”\n“Nothing to write down, just your typical high holy day pilgrimage. But I did bring two pigeons to the altar for sacrifice since we all could not make the trek, it’s the most a man could do on a day like today.”" } ]
[ { "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: Happy Halloween\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2152\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about two people who need each other, but are too stubborn to admit it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I'm not a popular person. I only have a few friends, I don't play any sports, I'm known as the girl in the back of the class who’s in the art club and occasionally goes to watch her friends’ volleyball games. So why I was invited to join a bunch of other seniors for a Halloween sleepover, I will never know. \nA few of the girls going to the party came to pick me up. I was dressed as a somewhat realistic skeleton. Three of the girls were dressed as Regina George, Karen Smith, and Gretchen Weiners from Mean Girls, while the other two were dressed as a pumpkin and a dragon of sorts. All of their costumes were spot on to what they were supposed to be. I know I felt better about having a silly costume.\nIt took a little over 30 minutes to get from my house to the mansion that was rented for the party. It seemed like everyone from school was there, popular kids, unpopular kids, kids who come to school so rarely they must have had to get their invites through mail, and kids who spend so much time at school they practically live there. \nWe walked into the large kitchen to try and find the host, Luca, he’s a kind hearted person who’s dating a monster of a girl. Aria Lester. Rich girl, the kind of popular girl that’s only popular because she’s annoying, loud, never knows when to shut up. She’s the kind of pick me girl who cries whenever someone calls her out on something. Which is actually why she hates me so much. I never let her get away with anything she tries to pull which led to us fighting a lot throughout middle and high school. We cannot stand each other.\nObviously I was expecting for her to be here. I was just kind of hoping I could avoid her and just enjoy myself with my best friend, Jesse. Me and the girls I came with found and greeted the host then split up to go have some fun. I found Jesse over by the candy table. He was stuffing starburst into a small bag. \nI asked him what he was doing which seemed to scare him a little bit. But after that we went and danced around, ate some pizza and other junk foods, and just had a good time. Strangely enough, throughout the first few hours of the party I didn’t see Aria once. I would’ve expected her to be here since I know she’s still dating Luca. I tried to push all thoughts of her out of my head but it still lingered in the back of my mind.\nBy around 1 am everyone was finally starting to get tired. Luca said we could spend the night so I called my mom and got her permission to stay over. There were some rooms open for everyone to stay in. Jesse and I planned to stay in the same room and just share a bed. We found one on the top floor that was far enough away from the rest of the party for the music to not bother us. Jesse opened the door to go in and we saw Aria, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. \nBoth of us screamed at the top of our lungs and she hopped up laughing. “I got you! I scared you! I scared you” she sang in her high pitched voice. I stormed over to her ready to yell when, in that moment, two things happened. Jesse collapsed, and the floor underneath Aria and I dropped. We flew down four stories, the height of the building, then five, we were underground, six, seven, eight, I lost track of how far we fell as there was no light in the small hole. We finally landed on some sort of air mattress. A very thick air mattress.\nA few small torches lined the walls and the small sign in the middle of the cobblestone room. Aria climbed off the mattress to read the sign. “Hello. If you are reading this, you have been chosen. If you prove your worth you will live. If you cannot prove your worth, you will be fed to our master,” she read. We stared at each other when a low growl filled the room. I threw myself off the mattress and ran over to Aria's side. We stared at the large… thing, that was staring at us through stone bars. Behind us, a tunnel opened up. We wasted no time, running into the tunnel as fast as possible. \nWe ran for a few minutes before coming up on another sign. This time I read it out for both of us. “Welcome to task one. Feeding.” We looked at each other then both of us looked back at the sign. Neither of us knew what that meant. A small goat waddled out of a hole in the wall and came towards us. “Maybe we’re supposed to feed the goat,” Aria said. The ground started to shake. Another big creature was walking towards us. It wasn’t as big as the thing from the first room, but it was big enough to scare me. \nI ran forward and grabbed the goat, throwing it at the monster. It ate it with no hesitation. The door behind it opened. It clearly takes a lot more than a small goat to feed this monster. Aria sprinted in a circle around it and ducked under its stomach to get through the small door. The monster was distracted by her which gave me the perfect opportunity to throw something and slide through the door while it looked for me. \nWe moved as far away from the first task as we could. Shoving against each other in a fight for space. Finally we crawled out and were met with another empty cobblestone room with another sign in the middle. Aria read it out, “welcome to task two. Maze.” Another extremely vague sign. “Aria. Look at the ceiling.” She did. Carved into the ceiling was a trail of some sort. We walked over to the entrance of it. Both of us planned to stay on this line no matter what but there was one issue. \n“Why do I have to go first!? I blame you for us even being down here” I yelled. “Well Elizabeth we’re down here because you wanted to start a fight so don’t you dare try to blame this on me. I’m not going in first and that’s final” she argued back. “How many times do I have to tell you, my name is not Elizabeth it’s Ella. And this is your fault so you can go first and take accountability for your actions!” “Accountability for my actions? Every fight we’ve ever had was started by you. Plus I took one for the team at the last task. This probably isn’t even dangerous!” \nWe went back and forth arguing over who should be the one to go in first when a low growl rang through the room. We glanced behind us into the tunnel leading back to task one, and saw a large eye staring at us. “I’ll go first,” I said. I ran into the maze and started following the trail. Aria was running directly behind me. We were almost out when I stepped on something and tripped.\nMy arm went outside of where the path was supposed to be and for a second, I thought I had died. Blinding pain exploded through my arm. It felt like someone had just poured liquid glass all over my arm. I couldn’t make any noise. The only thing I could do in that situation was silently sob and hold my arm close to my chest. It took about 20 minutes for me to realize that Aria had dragged me out of the maze and into the room with task three. My arm wasn’t hurting as bad anymore but it was covered in burns. \nAria helped me off the ground and put my good arm around her shoulder. I could hear her say something but I couldn’t make out what it was. She pulled me while holding me up and slowly but surely, the pain went away and my mind was finally cleared. Aria walked forward to read the next sign.\n“Task three. This will be your final task. Both of you will not make it out of this stage. Whichever is standing on the right of this sign will be blue. The other will be red. Take you weapons and fight. If you do not comply with our wishes, you both will be fed to our master. Alive.”\nWe both looked at each other. At this point it was obvious we weren’t making it out of this. I know the sign said we had to comply but I couldn’t help but notice the tiniest light in the ceiling. “Aria,” I started, “I don’t think we have to do this. We could still find a way out.” She grabbed a large axe, the red one, and turned around to face me.\nI had no intention of actually fighting her but it seemed like she had her mind set on getting out of here. I grabbed the other axe, the blue one, and held it up in her direction. She sprinted towards me and tried to slam her axe down on my head. I used mine to defend myself and shot her weapon upwards. It hit the roof and loosened the cobble, letting more light into the room. \nEvery swing she took at me I countered by hitting her axe up into the ceiling. Aria finally seemed to be getting tired. Her calming down made her realize what I’d been doing this whole time. A few more swings and the ceiling would cave in, allowing us to escape. She charged at me with a gentler swing this time. I once again pushed her axe upwards into the roof. We repeated this pattern a few more times and finally, the roof caved in. \nI didn’t get crushed by the rocks fortunately but Aria wasn’t the same. She was still alive, just stuck. I helped her push all of the rocks off her stomach and legs but she still couldn’t get up. The large rocks had broken her legs. We both stared up the deep hole, wondering how we could possibly get ourselves out of this mess. \n“Elizabeth. I have an idea but you’d have to go alone,” she said. I looked down at her as she went on to explain. The only rocks there were the ones in the room, I could use the axes to climb up the mud like an ice climber. “Why would I have to go alone when I could just carry you,” I asked. “I don’t need or want your help. I helped you out earlier cause you’d be hopeless without me,” she responded. I glared down at her anout to respond.\nThen the growling from the first room once again rang into our ears. I forced Aria up onto my back and she tried to let go almost immediately. I grabbed both axes and stabbed into the mud with one. Surprisingly, it worked! I could tell that Aria didn’t want to let go now that we were off the ground. I’m not the strongest person, and using mostly my arms to pull two 200 pound girls up a deep hole was putting a lot of strain on my burned arm. The only thing keeping me going at this point was the fact that the ‘master’ had broken through the rubble and was starting to climb up. \nIt was struggling a bit but it was still moving and that was enough motivation for me to finally reach the top and finally pull us out of that hole. We laid on the grass and the hole filled in with magic dirt. Aria sat up and shifted her legs around, a look of confusion and mild anger pasted onto her face. Then I noticed my arm. All of our injuries were healed. We looked over to each other, got up, and walked back into the mansion to gather anything we still had in there and leave. I found Jesse still up in the room looking like he had just woken up. The time still read 1:37, which was the time we first fell into the hole. \nI grabbed Jesse’s hand and dragged him out of the house. We ended up walking back to my house and staying up all night eating the junk we’d brought back and watching scary movies. I never told Jesse about what happened after he passed out and I never planned to. Whether Aria told anyone or not was entirely up to her. I was just glad it’s over." } ]
[ { "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: SALT\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1090\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Violence has a way of breaking you. Even if it’s the other guy whose bones are crushed.\nThe food is all right. Mostly vegetarian. Suits me fine. It’s the sun and the wind; one splitting your skin open and the other rubbing the salt in. I am beginning to get used to that as well. It’s not for nothing I walked miles in the Mexican desert following a General. Or ran across the streets of London as the air raid alarms blared in 1917. After all, my muscles hold the miles they walked to cover stories along the length and breadth of Michigan as a young journalist. So, I am all right.\nSent by United Press, after flying for thousands of miles, I landed here. To meet the frail, half-naked man with a staff. Who seems to have a spirit that can move an ocean of people. Before I could witness him in action, he had been arrested. But I am told, that the old man walked 240 miles in 24 days with his followers; to scoop the mudded salt at Dandi, and said “with this, I am shaking the foundations of the Empire.”\nThat was on 04/6/1930. Today is 05/21/1930.\nOn walking here through scorching heat and meeting with this short, homely woman who is leading the raid, I am inclined to believe she meant what she said- death or victory.\nI stand among the onlookers who have witnessed days of peaceful volunteers trying to raid Dharasana Salt Works. With about 400 policemen guarding its barbed wire barricade day and night, it has turned into a fortress.\nI gather that the volunteers in their rough white clothes and caps have been patient. It has been six days since they first tried to approach the premises and were asked to go back. They sat around, at one time, for 28 hours on a stretch. Many of them were arrested every day.\nThe poetess-leader who has taken over the mantle from her arrested fellow leaders looks like she is ready to stare the devil in the eye. I’m sure she has a compassionate side to her but she doesn’t have the luxury to show it. Not when her compatriots are dying for lack of salt. In her homespun khadi clothes, she looks every bit like a woman on a mission. Someone who could cry out to her followers in an impassioned voice, “You must not use any violence under any circumstance. You will be beaten, but you must not resist. You must not even raise a hand to ward off blows. Although Gandhi’s body is in prison, his soul goes out with you!”\nA company of infantry from Bombay has taken its position, overlooking about 2,600 volunteers. The volunteers clad in thin-white robes move forward in zigzag columns. A few of them have ropes and pliers in their hands. There is a buzz in the crowd around me. I feel the tentacles of pent-up anguish, unspent fury, and dissolving patience lash around me.\nI hear the policemen shouting warnings that go unheeded. The thin white line keeps growing in length and moves towards the barricade. The magistrate’s orders fall on deaf ears too. The glinting steel of the clubs in the hands of men in khakis begins to reflect the morning sun. A few rifles reveal their presence in the company. But the thin white line keeps moving.\nThere are a few cheers from the volunteers who have managed to reach the posts holding up the barbed wire. As they try to lasso the posts, the policemen run to them again, demanding them to disperse. Only to be refused.\nWith my years of experience on the job keeping my ear down to the rumble of the battleground or my eyes snapped open to the snip of the guillotine, I can tell when the air is about to go putrid. It’s the same every time. It smells of fear mixed with hatred.\nThe police charge ahead, swinging their clubs. Standing at a distance of 100 yards I can hear the dull sounds of crack-crack-crack as the clubs hit the skulls and bones. There is no resistance from the volunteers, not even a hand raised to protect their skulls. They just fall on their tracks like nine pins, without crying, their robes soaking wet with blood. Others silently take their places as the crowd gasps and cheers.\nIt is not for a journalist to swim with the tide of emotions an event triggers. It is for him to stand on the stoic rock of reason and observe its ebb and flow. Yet, the meekness and readiness with which these volunteers keep submitting themselves to the brute force without a sound make me sick to my stomach. I look away.\nThe injured natives are carried away by their comrades on stretchers. But there are not enough stretchers to carry the growing number of fallen ones. The blankets are brought in as stretchers. I count about 42 injured lying on the ground. There is a great deal of agitation in the crowd of onlookers.\nThen, the police start to drag the volunteers to the edge of the ditch, where I stand, and hurl them into the ditch, splashing mud on everyone nearby.\nThis goes on for some time. Then an official with three policemen approaches the poetess-leader and arrests her. The momentum of the ghastly spectacle slackens as the noon sun heats the ground beneath us.\nLater in the day, I visit the temporary camp set up by about 20 doctors and nurses to treat the injured men. I count about 200 injured men in the shack and more arrive as I prepare to leave. Many of them are college students or clerks from all parts of Gujarat. Knowing that I am a correspondent, they speak to me freely.\nI reach Bombay after struggling to get an auto transport as I am wearing foreign clothes. And deposit my 2000-word report at the telegraph office. Only to be sent an anonymous reply pencilled on a scrap of paper saying it has not been telegraphed- a hidden code for not passing the censorship. But I am not the one to relent in my pursuit of holding a mirror to the world. If the ghosts from its reflection come out to haunt me, let them.\nAs I said, violence has a way of breaking you. And if it doesn’t shatter you, it leaves its jagged edges around you. Even if you are the guy who just reports 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: Alessia's Values\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2995\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone sticking to a course of action even when it’s clearly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It began with rumours. There was a new magi in town. Cagliostro was small, barely a town. Locals were predominantly Italian diaspora from long lost Origin. There were others here and there from dozens of other communities which had chosen the world of Cauldron after people who practiced magic were fought extermination by the enormous Human Empire.\nFrom a population that once numbered in billions their numbers had been cut down to millions as they banded together for protection. Trying to put aside old prejudices had been hard but necessary for the survival of magi people.\nRefugees from discrimination continued to trickle in from other worlds decades after the magi collective had signed peace treaties with the Human Empire. One such refugee had come to town with little more but the rags on his back and a barbed tongue.\nAbdul Al-Darada was a rake of man, but not quite a man. A few years older than Alessia she guessed. When he smiled it reminded Alessia of her womanizing boyfriend Teo. Though his eyes were milky she could see sadness in them and the lines on his teenaged face.\nThough he was clearly blind, Abdul’s head turned to face Alessia directly as she gawked at him. He nodded to her with a wide smile. As he nodded, he pressed his right hand to his heart. Not sure if or how he could see her she nodded and waved.\nThe difference between the state of their attire could not have contrasted more. Alessia’s all black school uniform was pristine as the day it was bought. Everything Abdul wore looked too small. It was torn where the material had worn through. The shirt on his back had stains which looked ominously like blood.\n “Come on,” said Alessia’s boyfriend, Teo, “we need to get to class.” He pulled her away without saying a word about Abdul. Though she looked back the blind man had done nothing but sit by a tree in the middle of the cobbled street. His faded clothes were the dullest part of the brightly painted street. Even the cobbles glistened with vivid black and white after the rain.\nWhilst learning magic at school Alessia and her friends gossiped about the newcomer. From the smile and the nod alone, she had felt the warmth of the adolescent. Teo wasn’t so sure. He cited the long history of eugenics amongst not just the magi but the Human Empire as well. The majority of human diaspora had been edited to remove weaknesses.\nEugenics was rarely talked about in magi culture. It was a quiet presence in their lives. Cells were scanned in early pregnancy for many things the parents might find undesirable. Little more thought was given to it. Though she had thought of it a handful of times before Alessia had to wonder if her mother and father had been offered a termination while she little more than a fertilised egg.\nAlessia had experienced a handful of seizures, confirming her epilepsy. Though people had been kind she had wondered how much that had to do with the wealth of her mother’s family and her father’s status as the head of the local Militia el Magi.\nTeo, who had brought flowers to her while she lay in hospital after her first seizure, baulked at the comparison. There was no similarity between her condition, easily treated with medicine and Abdul’s blindness which they had all heard was not the result of an accident.\nThough she found her boyfriend’s words regrettable their friend Marco went further still. Marco was a child of two Militia el Magi who served to protect the magi community with her father. His family liked to remind everyone that they had heroically fought for the survival of their people against overwhelming forces of imperial soldiers and machines.\nWhen Marco called Abdul bad stock, as if all magi were nothing but breeding material to be judged on merit in some other war, her irritation began to turn to anger. Human life had more value than the children it might spawn. Alessia said so, putting Marco’s nose out of joint and silencing Teo for the rest of the school day.\nUsually Alessia, Teo, Marco and his girlfriend Serena would wander the town together after school, practicing magic getting up to mischief, if not both. That day instead Marco and Serena sped from school without a word to their friends. Marco gave his best friend Teo a brief nod before walking away.\nTeo did not try to defend the words of his friend. He wouldn’t condemn Marco’s hatred either. As Alessia talked he walked with her, hand in hand, silent. He was never so stoic.\n “Do you agree with Marco?” she asked, trying to pry an opinion from him.\n “Not entirely,” said Teo diplomatically. No, that wasn’t good enough.\n “So, you only think people with handicaps are lesser beings a little bit?” she asked him. He turned to look at her. His brown eyes stared into hers. He let go of her hand.\n “Do you want an argument?” Teo glared at her.\n “I want to know where you stand,” Alessia said, thinking of the kind smile on Abdul’s face and the words Marco had used to diminish his humanity. Words which could so easily have been use against her.\n “I’m standing right here, with you,” Teo growled. His fists were clenched.\n “But you will not condemn him for his words or speak in defence of Abdul. Marco casts aspersions on someone he knows nothing about, has barely met. He says the same things about Abdul that the imperials say about us. That mindset is the root of every form of discrimination,” Alessia told him.\n “Goodnight Alessia,” said Teo before walking away.\nShe watched him go. Does he agree with Marco and he’s angry at me? Does he agree with me but doesn’t want to admit it? Alessia watched him moved from the lamplight to a shadow and back into another patch of light before he turned down a shadowy corner out of sight. Rubbing her temples, she realised she had a headache from her anger. Teo was stubborn but she’d never thought of him as hateful.\nTaking a detour to the street where she had seen Abdul earlier, she found it empty. Shaking her head, she went home. The orange house, newly painted, was boxed in by one of pale blue and another of blood red. The once dead vine on the trellis was flowering.\nAlessia went straight to bed after dinner. Anger kept her awake as she thought about Abdul and the things Marco had said about the blind man.\nThe next morning on the way to school she met Teo. He brought grapes from the family vineyard as a peace offering. Some of them had already been eaten but she smiled and picked one from the bunch as he gave her an awkward smile. He looked guilty. Even when she told him he was forgiven the look stuck.\n “What is it?” she asked him, chewing another grape as she talked.\n “I saw something on the way here. You’re not going to like it.”\n “What?” she asked, from the way he stared at the ground Alessia knew it would be quicker for him to show her. When she asked, he said they would have to be quick to make it in time for school.\nHalfway back to Teo’s house, on a quiet street, there was an empty house. Unlike the others it was wooden. Most were painted brick. Weeds grew from between the planks of the walls, roof tiles were missing. The house was older than the magi settlement of Cauldron. It belonged to whoever had left when the refugees of genocide colonised the world.\nOn the flaking remains of white paint were hateful words in red paint.\nWe don’t want you here milk eye. Go back to where you came from.\nAlessia took a deep breath as she read the words again. She looked at Teo who was staring at his shoes.\n “Did you do this?” she asked, almost shouting. She pointed to the red scrawl which didn’t look like his writing.\n “Of course not. I heard that he’d been given the house, since no one else lives there.”\n “Good,” said Alessia testily.\n “Not everyone thinks so.”\n “Do you know who did this?” she asked.\nTeo shrugged. His face was turning red. He wouldn’t look at her. He kept kicking his feet against the cobbles and sighing.\n “Tell me Teo. Please,” she asked him. He winced as if she’d hit him.\n “It looks like Marco’s handwriting to me. I’m not sure, but it looks like it.”\nHe didn’t have to say another word. Alessia’s jaw clenched. She took in the red words again as Teo grabbed her hand and told her they were going to be late for school. They raced past the colourful buildings of Cagliostro until the wooden castle of their school loomed high and mighty.\nWithout time to confront Marco until lunch, Alessia kept the graffiti in mind as she studied electrokinesis, calligraphy and mathematics with a surly Teo by her side.\n “Was it you?” Alessia shouted at Marco as she approached him. He had been laughing with some other boys in their class in line for their midday meal. Marco’s eyes rolled as she asked the question.\n “Was what me?” he asked, smirking. Next to him the other boys laughed under their breath but turned away when they caught the look in Alessia’s eyes.\n “The writing on that poor man’s wall. The red paint telling him he wasn’t welcome here. Was that you?” She prodded her finger into his chest as she asked again. Keenly feeling Teo’s absence at her side, she drilled a stare into Marco’s face.\n “No. Not me,” said the smirking boy. Alessia wanted to slap the smile off his face. She grabbed his hand; the palms were clean but there was a faded pink smudge on his wrist almost hidden by his black sleeves.\n “It was you,” she shouted. A crowd was gathering around them all. Serena was pushing through them all to stand by Marco’s side.\n “So, what if it was?” shrugged the vandal. His smile was fearful, but he had friends by his side and in a moment Serena’s hand was in his. “He doesn’t belong here. People like that are the reason magi were driven back to Cauldron and Faia in the first place. If it wasn’t for the weakness, we tolerated we would have fought off the empire instead of being driven to near extinction.”\nAlessia couldn’t believe so many people were nodding at Marco’s words. Every magi had banded together on two worlds that were their own. To discard someone for the way they were born was insane. She said so. Despite her passion hardly any of the children in the lunch hall spoke up in her support.\nMarco’s smile grew as he saw the balance of power in the room shift in his favour. Turning away from Alessia he began to preach to the choir about the seeds of weakness that would leave them weak when the empire inevitably returned to finish the job of exterminating them. He reminded her of Eadwulf Voigt, the demagogue imperialist who had stirred the imperial public into a frenzied fear of magi that ended in genocide.\nHot tears of anger welled in Alessia’s eyes. She didn’t want to give Marco the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Pushing her way through the crowd she made her way outside to the courtyard where they practiced manipulating plants with magic at the instruction of the Horned God, Cernunnos.\nFor the rest of the day Marco talked with his fans, while Serena looked at him as if he was made of chocolate. Alessia kept her head down until it was time to go.\nOn the way home she received an alert on her phone. She watched the 3D projection of Marco’s lunchtime speech with the sound of cheering in the background. Teo was nowhere to be found, so she kept walking without him.\nSwearing to herself she meandered past the house where Abdul was staying, the writing was still there and somehow just as shocking as it had been the first time. On the steps and smiling as if he was indifferent, the blind man waved to her.\n “Do you know what they’ve written on your wall?” Alessia asked.\n “I was told,” he said, still smiling.\n “Doesn’t it anger you?” she asked.\n “From what I hear, the house needs a few more coats of paint anyway. Maybe they can come back and finish the job.” She frowned as he laughed beneath his breath. He was a very odd man.\n “We have spare paint at my house, only orange but I could bring it here if you like?” she asked, he nodded. His smile was that of contentment.\n “Thank you. I’m Abdul Al-Darada by the way.” He held out his hand, though she was too far away. She ran to take the hand and shake it.\n “I’m Alessia Alighieri. I’ll get you that paint.”\nAlessia was as good as her word, running home to get the orange paint and brushes then struggling back to the old house with the tin in one hand and the brushes in another. By the time she got there she saw a small crowd of teenage boys staring at the blind man on the steps. Marco was at the front of the crowd and though he hid at the back she saw Teo’s black cap over other heads.\nIgnoring them all Alessia told Abdul they should start painting right away. With their backs to the mob, they worked away until they could no longer reach the flaking paint above them. The crowd tired of their vigil and began to melt away into the bright buildings of Cagliostro.\nTeo remained. Shaking his head, he asked Alessia if she needed any help. She was shocked at the offer, still angry with him for standing by Marco. Unwilling to turn down the help she told Teo to paint the high places that his longer arms could reach. Without looking at Abdul he did as he was asked, stretching up onto his tiptoes to paint higher, though it wasn’t high enough.\nAbdul said there was a ladder in the house if someone could help him with it. Alessia let Teo keep working with the orange paint and followed the immigrant into the ramshackle wooden shed of a house.\nThe inside was little better than the outside. No electricity, she had to use illumination magic to see at all. Abdul moved quickly with his hands on the wall. He seemed to have already memorised the layout of the house.\nRotten floorboards crunched under her feet. Alessia turned left into a kitchen hung with rusty pots and dusty cups. The cups at least looked like they would be serviceable after a good scrub. Through a back door they found themselves in a cupboard.\nThe ladder was disgusting, aluminium so light and not rusted but crusty with dust and mud and mould from years of neglect. Negotiating the thing around corners and outside was a pain in the neck to begin with.\nAlessia held the bottom of the ladder as Teo climbed to paint. Looking with disgust at dirt on his hand from the ladder Two gave a groan before going to work. Alessia watched the blind man, who was looking up at Teo.\n “You can see us, can’t you?” she asked him. He winked.\n “You noticed?” his voice was jovial, aged beyond his years but playful.\n “How can you see through those eyes?”\n “I don’t. I see magic. I can see people because of their souls. It works better on magi than regular people. I can see traces of magic as well; it wears off after a while but it’s useful.” He smiled up at Teo, who had stopped painting to look at him.\n “So, you’re not really blind,” said Teo angrily. It wasn’t as if Abdul had lied to him.\n “I am, I just have a workaround when it comes to people.” Teo shook his head and went back to painting.\nAn hour or so later all the paint was gone. The red letters were showing faintly through the single coat of orange, but it looked much better. Teo kissed Alessia’s cheek before she could object then said goodnight and walked away. Abdul thanked her and said it was time she went home.\nAt home Alessia showed her mother the video of Marco at school. Adelina agreed that Marco sounded like Eadwulf Voigt at his worst. Giving her daughter a sly grin Adelina suggested Alessia cut video of the two together to make the point.\nIt turned out that Adelina had a flair for editing, picking perfect moments of comparison between Marco’s lunch hall preaching and a rally held by Voigt at the beginning of his meteoric rise to power. Together they found turns of phrase that belittled or denied the humanity of their chosen minority. The video ended with the rapturous applause of the imperial crowds and the school children blurring together before it faded to black.\nNaturally everyone at school saw it, including their parents. Some of those parents had enough sense to see the similarities between Marco’s rabble rousing and that the imperial crowds who had called for the extermination of the magi.\nMarco didn’t have his crowd with him when Alessia arrived at school the next morning. He and Serena were alone, others gossiping around the pair as if the crowd had been powerless to resist the lure of his hatred. Instead of admitting his mistake he had doubled down.\nMarco hit Alessia in the nose with a solid punch. Teo was about to jump to her air when she kicked her attacker in the shin then delivered her own punch that sent blood gushing from his nose." } ]
[ { "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 School Saga\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1128\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone accepting a dare." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Tom accepts a dare. It was a new academic year and as usual we were all excited to secure good beds in our dormitories male and female students alike. It was a custom for us to welcome new students and make them feel at home in their new school. \nAs boarders, we had just us. No contact with the outside world except on visiting days. There was much competition amongst students. Not academic competition though. Almost everyone in my class, lower sixth had a boyfriend. But there was a new trend of happenings that year. My school had seen so many new students in to lower sixth most especially females. \nMeanwhile, there was this exceptional girl in class. She was bound by several rules. Even when she had spent some time in school and got to associate with us, she did not follow the dating trend on the basis that she is a Christian and it is against her standard.\nOf course it is a Christian school owned by the catholic author meaning most if not all of us are Christians but we did not value that aspect as she did.\nAfter three months in school when it is assumed that the food stuffs most students brought to school are finished, boyfriends will always escape from school to buy food for their girlfriends. Meanwhile, the girls will always stock food for moments as these.\nAfter evening preps, we package already cooked indomies with sardines and “ship” them to the boy’s camp for our boyfriends. This was a custom for us and some of our teachers especially dormitory masters were aware girls send food to the boy’s camp.\nSometimes in class, the boys most especially will dare their friends to say something irritating while a teacher is in class just for the fun of it. Dares such as these were normal for us. After such happenings we know the entire class will go down on punishment because we had a custom never to betray anyone. We usually called betrayers “Babylons”\nThe competition of whose shipping is heavier became fiercer in the girl’s camp. Little did we know the boys were not very much interested in the competition. The new religious girl, Saunda in my class was their target. \nMost guys who did not have dates wanted to go out with Saunda but she will not give them a chance. She always stood her distance. This got the attention of the guys in my class and they were out for an adventure.\nTom, a tall, light coloured guy, our class’ finest claimed he could win Saunda over. He was thereby dared to make the damsel fall in love with him and date her for a period of two months then break up with her. He went in for the bet.\nTom had a girlfriend in our class no doubt. Because we hated “babylons”, his girlfriend Rose could not tell Saunda was coming her way. Rose parted with the plans they boys had made. She was the lone girl who knew what fate had for Saunda is she plays weak given that, it was her boyfriend to execute the plan.\nRose and Tom decided to pretend as though they were no longer lovers. It was news to the entire school because they were everyone’s “ideal couple” little did we know it was all a scheme.\nDay one of the dare came so fast. The atmosphere in school was very suspicious but we could not place our hands on what was to happen or is going wrong.\nTom approached Saunda after our morning class and they began talking. Shockingly, Saunda quickly got acquainted to Tom. It was a good signal for the boys who knew what Tom was up to. As days went by, they became even closer. It was headline in school. All students both junior and senior could not get the story off their heads.\nOne Sunday morning, Tom “shipped” to girl’s camp for Saunda. The package had several candies, biscuits, cake, yogurt, and a pallet of soft drinks. Alcohol was not accepted in school. It was news in the girl’s camp. Dear Saunda was so filled with love that her heart could not hold. \nAll Saturdays she ensured she did Tom’s laundry and ironed his uniforms. Washed his plate after meals and assigned a junior student to take it for him to the refectory whenever it was time for meals. \nRose was not bothered much though. She and Tom had attained that level of trust where she knew undoubtable that Tom will come back to her after the dare. Although she feared for Saunda, class rules prevented her from warning Saunda.\nOne month of the dare quickly ran out. Saunda was so in love. She spent most of her time out of the dormitory with Tom. They always studied together and ate on a table just the two of them. Yes, it was possible because lower sixth was a “ruling” class so they prefects made it happen.\nTime ran so quick than we could imagine. All Saunda will talk about while we were in the dormitory was Tom. Even though friends tried telling her it was wrong to immediately date your friend’s “ex” after their break up, she could not reason then.\nLast Sunday of the second month quickly came in. Tom invited Saunda down school on the basis that he had something important to tell her. We all thought Tom wanted to make their relationship official as some brave students will do. Saunda was so excited that she wore her most fitting uniform and best leader slippers. \nWe all went out, as we got down school the boys were already gathered. Then, Tom started by apologizing to Saunda for what he was about to say. We were all confused\nTom; Saunda! I’m sorry for what I am about to say.\nSaunda; Tommy, I love you, just ride on. Make our relationship public (smiling)\nTom; These two months we spent together was planned. I do not love you more than I love my girl Rose. Yes, you are a nice person but, I am putting this to an end. The time of my dare is up and I am reuniting with my girlfriend Rose… hope you forgive me someday!! Bye Saunda\nSaunda burts in to tears, the entire school was so calm. We all spoke to Rose bitterly but it could not turn the hands of time. Saunda wept throughout the week. The news went round school. All teachers learnt of what happened. What amazes and still worries teachers and students alike is how some students could hurt another so badly all because of a dare. The story is still told to every batch of students that comes 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: The Coldest Season in London\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1463\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Mommy always says not to worry whenever I hear the radio talking about bombings in London. “There’s another London on the other side of the world, my darling. Far, far away from this London,” she always tells me. I really want to see this other London. I wonder if it’s just like my London but upside down!\nEvery night, she leads my sister and me to the Tube with the pillows and blankets that we are able to carry. I always beg her to let us sleep in our own beds; it’s cold at night and though we wear our jackets under our blankets, I can never get warm enough to sleep much. And sometimes there’s a lot of noise. It sounds really scary, but Mommy says that the noise is just a storm and that it’s good for us to be around other people when we sleep sometimes. She says it makes our community stronger.\nFlorence gets to sleep between Mommy and me, because she is younger. I don’t think that 6 is that much older than 4, but I am the man of the house so I have to look out for my sister. I became the man of the house when Daddy’s job took him out of London. Mommy says he’s a very important person in the Royal Air Force, and sometimes that means he has to go somewhere else to work. I bet he’s in charge there. I want to be just like him when I grow up!\nWe always stay in the Tube until well after sunrise. Mommy says it’s so we can enjoy the sun on our walk back whenever it’s out. We always walk really fast and Mommy tells us to close our eyes so she can guide us. She says it makes us closer as a family. When we finally get home this morning, I feel like I will never be warm again, but Mommy makes us some tea and turns on the radio so we can dance. I warm up really fast and we dance around for so long, I feel like my feet are going to fall off!\nWhile we are sitting down for supper, there is a knock at the door. For a second, I think I see Mommy look worried, but I must be wrong because she smiles at us and tells us to finish dinner quickly and get ourselves ready to walk to the Tube. “Whatever you do, my loves, stay away from the door,” she tells us before she goes to see who is here. I can barely see from my seat at the table, but there are a couple of soldiers standing on the porch. They say something to Mommy and it must have been really mean, because she drops to her knees and starts crying. I feel really scared, but I pretend like I’m not so Florence won’t be scared, too.\nI make Florence hurry and finish her food, which is hard because she is coughing so much all the time. When she finally finishes, I lead her to our room, making sure she can’t see Mommy. I get Florence to play a game with me to keep her distracted until Mommy feels better. Florence and I are having so much fun that I forget all about the soldiers, and I am surprised when I see Mommy enter the room. She looks really tired.\nShe sits on the floor with us and takes our hands. She says Daddy got promoted. He’s so good at his job that they need him to stay there forever. She tells us that even though we won’t ever see him again that he loves us very much and we don’t need to worry about him. Florence starts to cry, so I hug her and tell her that it’s okay if we can’t see Daddy anymore, because we can still see him when we close our eyes. Mommy smiles at me and says, “You will always be the man of the house now, George. And what a wonderful man of the house you are.” It makes me feel good to know that I am a good man of the house, but I still wish Daddy could come home.\nWhen we walk to the Tube later that night, Florence is coughing even harder than usual. The medicine Mommy gives her every day doesn’t seem to be helping. Mommy says medicine takes time and that Florence will be better soon, but we go to see the doctor the next day anyway. Mommy says sometimes doctors can make medicine work faster. When we get to the doctor’s house, Mommy takes Florence into a room with the doctor and leaves me standing at the door.\nAfter a long time, Mommy and the doctor come out of the room. They are both turned away from me and they are talking very quietly, but I can still hear them. I hear the doctor tell Mommy that Florence has pneumonia and that if the medicine hasn’t help yet, it isn’t going to. Mommy thanks the doctor and goes to the bathroom. She stays in there for a long time.\nWhen she finally comes out, she comes and stands with me. She squats down so she is my height. She looks really tired again. She puts her hand on my cheek and she tells me that Florence is really sick. And that she isn’t going to get better. When I ask her what pneumonia is, she says it’s the cough. She says we have to make Florence comfortable. She says one day Florence will fall asleep and she won’t wake up.\nOur days stay the same, but eventually Mommy starts carrying Florence when we walk to the Tube and back. Florence doesn’t want to play with me anymore. “I’m so tired, George,” she says before another coughing fit. She stops eating dinner with Mommy and me. Mommy says not to worry, that Florence just isn’t hungry right now. Some men dig a big hole in our backyard and Mommy says it’s for a garden. We’ve never had a garden, but I always thought it would be fun.\nOne night, I am standing at the door waiting on Mommy to get Florence so we can walk to the Tube. Mommy takes a lot longer than usual. When she finally comes, she says that Florence is gone. I ask Mommy where she is and Mommy says that when you fall asleep and never wake up, your body fades so that it can rest, too. I am sad that I couldn’t say goodbye to Florence, but Mommy says that Florence knows that I love her and that’s all that matters.\nI think Mommy and I will live like this forever, walking to sleep in the Tube every night. I don’t think it will ever be warm in London again, because it has been cold for so long. But it eventually gets warmer and one day Mommy says we don’t have to sleep in the Tube anymore. I hate sleeping in our room without Florence; it’s really quiet. Mommy gives her toys to another family with a little girl, but she lets me pick out one to keep.\nThings change a lot for Mommy and me. We have to learn to spend our days without Daddy and without Florence. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I sit outside of Mommy’s room and listen to her cry. She doesn’t want me to know that she cries every night, but I do. I try really hard to make things as easy for her as I can.\nEvery year on my birthday, we celebrate with a small chocolate cake that we enjoy while sitting near our garden in the backyard. Now that I’m ten, I know that Mother buried Florence here all those years ago. She has always tried so hard to protect me from the world. I know what pneumonia is now, but I still get nervous every time Mother or I get a cold and start to cough. I guess I will always be afraid of that.\nEvery once in a while, Mother and I will take a walk together through town and just enjoy being together. I think about Florence the most on these days. On one of our walks, we see a man running through the streets yelling excitedly. When he finally gets close enough, I can hear that he is saying, “HITLER’S DEAD!” Mother falls to her knees crying. She looks happy, sad, and hurt all at the same time. I get on the ground with her and hold her hands while she cries for what seems like forever. When she finally calms down and looks at me, I ask her who Hitler 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: Yesterday\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1124\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The fourth Beatle had deep brown eyes, pale complexion, and immaculately groomed long hair. The youngest of the four, known as the quiet Beatle, with crooked teeth, appealing and shy, his spiritual quality was evident from the start. If my grandmother(Mary) could re -live any few moments of her life, it would be her interview with George Harrison. What she would tell him is in the rest of this story.\nVaulted into celebrity stratosphere overnight after one appearance on the famous Ed Sullivan show, this was their very last stop on a tour of Australia and New Zealand. John Lennon had a sore throat and wouldn’t appear announced their manager.\nJogging into the ballroom of the City Hotel, Dunedin,they looked smallish, even slight, next to a dozen or more linebacker security guards. A roar erupted from the crowd of press, photographers. and assorted journalists. \nRingo playfully punched a bodyguard in the gut. In response the hand that gave him a reassuring pat could’ve scooped him as easily as an elephant’s trunk swiping an apple.\n“How would you like to interview the Beatles, Ian( our morning disc jockey) is running a high fever” \nArch Curry, station manager at 4ZA. poked his head round her open office door. Along with normal duties, typical of small radio stations, Mary had been occasional news reader, sheep shearing contest judge, even cookery expert though she lived on eggs and Heinz beans. \nThe dream job in radio came just in time. Newly arrived, an immigrant from England, she’d had to work the moment she stepped onto NZ soil. Working two jobs when she auditioned for on air shopping reporter, her job at the wool buyers’ cafeteria was perilous. \nAn impatient, hungry crowd arrived the same time every day. Dainty sandwiches(a normal American sandwich cut into four and sold separately) cakes, buns, Cornish pasties, all differently priced at pre decimal currency, pound ,\nshilling and pence, also half-pennies. Adding machines were not provided. Mary had her own method to keep the queue moving. Scanning the plate she’d determine small, medium or large, with a set price for each. All went well, the boss delighted by her efficiency, until this happened:\n“Miss, I’ve come through here for the last three days with the exact food but you’ve charged a different amount each day”.\nIn a flash, leaning in with a “just between us look”; she explained;\n“Sometimes I suspect the bread isn’t today’s\nA classical music lover, she knew little about pop, and even less about the Beatles. With short notice, a quick research turned up a recent essay, written by an Otago University lecturer, stating, without ever meeting the artists, the phenomenal success of the Beatles was due to their unique personalities, Harrison being the least charismatic. Outraged, she determined to prove the upstart wrong. \nThe pantomime began, Like all their mass interviews a sea of froth and effervescent nonsense. Journalists shouting out:\n“How’s your throat, Ringo (he’d had a tonsillectomy in. Australia)\n“Fine, ‘ow’s yours”\n“What’s your favorite food”\n‘Am ‘n eggs”\nAnd so on……..\n“Prior to the command from the boss, Mary had been mulling a proposed trip to the remotest small third island, Stewart Island. Hilda, a colleague, suggested as they ate lunch.\n“You can see kiwis in their natural habitat”\nCocking an eyebrow Mary wondered if that meant bird or man.\nShe was intrigued though to view a kiwi up close, not the prettiest of birds, but what woman, at times, can’t identify, she shared to laughter at the lunch table.\nRemote places in New Zealand were a paradise of natural beauty, but neither she nor any of the other ex-pats. had formed serious romantic relationships, or expected to marry. Educated, well traveled unmarried men were few, but it was always a pleasant surprise to shake a sheep shearer’s hands, softened from years of lanolin in the wool. Most were either owners of, or workers on sheep stations. Wool was the main export of a country where sheep outnumbered humans ten to one. \n Training in smaller radio stations preceded any career advancements to jobs in cosmopolitan cities like Wellington or Auckland. Life,for her, in the South Island, although loving the job, she could never quench the feeling of stranger in a strange land. \nThe third of New Zealand’s islands. Stewart Island, at the very tip, known colloquially as the arse end of the Universe, proved even eerier, akin to falling off the face of the earth.\nUlva island, off the coast of Stewart Island, covered in white sandy beaches felt like the primeval world, verdant rain forests yielding to and rising from sea level, the only spot in the world guaranteed to give sightings of kiwis. Approachable only by boat, Mary and Hilda took the earliest morning water taxi. \n Driving through the last remnants of a beautiful sunrise, and later entering the forest was magical, a full orchestral blend of different bird songs. After about three quarter hours of walking slowly, as advised, they heard ruffling in the bushes.\n“Is that one.” No, “a weka”, the guide said. Similar,with a big brown body but shorter beak. Another half hour, a rasping sound like snorting, the bushes shaking violently they had to literally jump out of the way of two kiwi birds coming right at them, fighting. this went way above their expectations. Just in time to get cameras ready, even the guides were impressed, and the photos remain on the wall of the only jetty, Post Office Bay.\nAs promised, the rest of this story comes with a nostalgic beat in Mary’s heart. \nLet’s return to the Ballroom in Dunedin:\nThe three announcers from 4ZA decided to let the free for all play out, and wait for a lull to begin their interviews. Mary quietly surveying the room plotting her scheme to get to George. With the barricades and bodyguards it looked impossible.\nAllowing her two colleagues to chat with Ringo, she edged around the barricade , miraculously no one stopped her.\nPositioning the hand microphone, and a smile from George, she got the interview of a lifetime. \nWas the interview with the Beatles of historical importance? It was to Mary and everyone in the family, especially children and grandchildren. Did she know at the time. Absolutely not. \nWhat would she say if she had those few moments to re-live.?\nGeorge Harrison, you will not only be famous as the Beatles’ lead guitarist. You will become a gifted artist in your own right. Millions will listen to your songs. Your legacy cemented for all time, with great music and songs - Here Comes The Sun, My Sweet Lord, and Mary’s particular favorite, While My Guitar Gently Weeps.\nThank you, and rest easy, George Harrison!\nsupporting photo\[email protected]" } ]
[ { "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 Day\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2022\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "September 11th 2001\nThree weeks of university life has been amazing. I love everything about college life from living in the dorms, to meeting new people, to my classes, even the food has been great. NYU is the best, the city is so wonderful.\nI was born and raised in New York and I never imagined city life would be this great. My parents were happy I chose a school near home. My father Lincoln is a firefighter who works a couple blocks from NYU and my mother Morgan is a doctor who works at Mount Sinai Beth Israel which is also close to me.\nI'm not angry my parents are near me. I'm happy and proud of them as they are of me. I admire my parents so much I want to be like them, both brave and honorable.\nWhat a beautiful say it is. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, not a cloud to be seen. I have an early class which is okay with me. I get the rest of the morning off until 3pm which is when my next class begins.\n8:30 am the class is beginning to fill up. My best friend Avery enters the classroom with a big smile on her face. I ask her why she's smiling? Avery tells me her father bought her a new car.\nAvery and I have been best friends since we were five. Both of our fathers are firefighters. The day I got into NYU Avery also found out she got into NYU. We were both so excited to be going to the same university, as well as our families.\nClass has begun but minutes into class we began to hear that a plane crashed into one of the twin towers. Myself, Avery and the rest of the class left. We rushed outside some of us rushed to the student lounge and saw the news. We saw the North Tower with a huge hole. The news was saying a plane struck the North Tower but we didn't know how bad it was until sixteen minutes later.\nAs we were watching the news coverage myself along with the others watching saw the unimaginable. A plane slammed into the South Tower. Right at that moment we knew this was very serious.\nI knew my dad and Avery's dad are rushing to the World Trade Center. I say a silent prayer to keep my dad, Avery's dad and the rest of New York's bravest safe.\nAvery grabs my hand and tells me everything is going to be okay. I can only hope my father will come home tonight. I call my mom she answers on the first ring. My mom asks me if I'm okay. I tell her I am but I fear from okay. What started out as a beautiful day turned into a tragedy I never imagined would happen.\nAvery grabs my hand again. We race up to the roof of the building where we have a clear view of the World Trade Center. I can't believe what I'm seeing.\nTwo gaping holes, smoke coming out of both buildings. Sirens of police cars and fire trucks are coming from all over the city.My father is in one of those trucks racing to save lives.\nAs I stare at the twin towers, I notice something falling out of the windows. I tap Avery's shoulder, point to the towers and tell her \"look.\" Avery looks and sees the same thing I am seeing.\nAnother friend of ours Cameron has a video recorder. He is taping the whole scene. Cameron shows us what he taped snd to my horror the objects falling are people. I am at a lost for words. I turn away from Avery and Cameron and begin to cry.\n\"Maddie, look at me.\" I turn and look at Avery. We hug each other. Myself, Avery, Cameron and the whole lot of us remain on the roof watching the towers when word started to spread that a third plane struck the Pentagon.\nThe Pentagon, the base for our military was just struck by a plane. We know this is no accident this is intentional. Our country is being deliberately attacked by an unknown force.\nMy heart is beating faster and faster every moment, every second I watch the twin towers. Those poor people above the impact zone are trapped. Those poor people jumping out of the windows believe they have no hope of getting down from the towers, sadly they might be right.\nMy heart is heavy thinking about my father going inside those buildings, now I'm thinking about the people in the Pentagon. Oh My God! the people on those planes how scared they were. Why would anyone do this?\nShortly before 10 am myself, Avery, Cameron and the few who still remained on the rooftop of our building saw the most horrific, the most dreadful, the most unspeakable, the most frightening scene, the south tower collapsed.\nI let out a dreadful scream. I fell to the floor crying. Avery collapsed next to me. We hugged each other crying. Both our fathers are down there.\nCameron came to us and hugged us. He told us to be strong and to believe our fathers are okay. I know Cameron is right, we have to be strong. Our fathers are strong and brave. My father is my hero and a hero to all the lives he saved in the past and to those he will save today.\nMe, Avery and Cameron got up from the floor. We held on to each other while watching the last remaining tower. 28 minutes later the north tower collapsed. We stood there too stunned to move. At that moment I wanted to rush off of the roof to go and find my father but something kept me glued to this spot. It was like some force was telling me to stay put so I did.\nBillows of smoke surround lower Manhattan. What once stood as a towering presence in the eyes of so many has been reduced to rubble. Tears burn my eyes for what we lost.\nAvery, Cameron and the others who were on the rooftop with me left. I'm the only one still here watching the smoke rise over lower Manhattan. A few minutes later Avery comes to get me but I don't want to leave. I can't go back to my normal life knowing my father is down at the center of tragedy. Avery's father is also down there, she looks much stronger than me.\n\"Maddie, our moms are waiting for us.\" I nod. Avery leads me downstairs and into the arms of my mother. Avery is hugging her mother. I ask my mom why she's not at the hospital? My mother tells me she came to get me and to hug me. Now me, my mom, Avery and her mom are heading to the hospital to await news on our fathers and so both our moms can help the injury.\nThe hospital is in chaos. So many injury people are coming in, there is no end. My mother and Avery's mother have been busy. Maybe it's good they are busy so they won't have to think of their husband, our fathers. Me and Avery are in the doctor's lounge doing nothing but hoping this nightmare will end with good news. From time to time our moms comes to check on us sadly with no news.\nIt's late in the evening me and Avery left the doctor's lounge, we are in the waiting area. The news is on. I see the devastation more clearly, there are no words to describe the horrible scene.\nThose poor people never stood a chance. Once again tear burn my eyes. I pray one day the families of those lost today will find solace that we will never forget them.\nI found my solace being here with my mom, Avery and her mom but I so badly want my father to walk through those hospital doors so I could give him the biggest hug ever.\nMy mom comes to me, she sits next to me, grabs my hand and tells me \"Your father is the bravest man I know. I know for a fact he's out there doing what he does best, saving lives and knowing we are in his heart. Your father is coming home. I feel it in my heart. Be strong my darling daughter.\" I hug my mother and tell her \"I love you.\"\nI believe my mom. Her words have never let me down. My parents have a special connection, one in a lifetime. Any moment I will see the best father in the world walk through those doors.\nOur world, our country, our lives will never be the same. We lived a life believing nothing bad would ever happen to us. One day, one morning changed everything. My father's life, the men and women at the twin towers working to save lives, the families of the victims, the survivors and those at the pentagon are changed forever. Nothing will ever be the same.\nRight now news is coming in that a fourth plane crashed in Pennsylvania. Details are sketchy about what happened. I should have more details later on.\nWhat I learned about the fourth plane is not much. We haven't been told much about how or why three planes crashed in the twin towers and the Pentagon. My only focus is my dad and Avery's dad coming home.\nIt's already midnight, chaos at the hospital has gone down a bit, still no sign of our fathers. Me and Avery have been on pins and needles for hours. I don't know how long I can last.\nI only slept for a while. I wake up every time the hospital doors open hoping it's my father but sadly it wasn't nor Avery's father. My mom comes to sit with me when she's on break. We don't talk., We sit in comfortable silence.\nI look at my phone and two hours have gone by since my mother came to see me. I'm worried. The hospital hasn't been full since the afternoon. I ask Avery who is sitting next to me if she seen her mom. Avery shakes her head.\nWhat's going on? Then I get my answer. My mom and Avery's mom are walking to us with an expression on there faces I can't read. I stand up so does Avery. We rush to our moms. I ask my mom \"Is Daddy coming home?\" Avery asks the same question.\nBoth our mom's looks at us and tells us to turn around. We are confused. We turn around and see our fathers. I rush to my father and give him the biggest hug. I begin to cry. I tell my dad I love him. \"I'm okay baby girl. I'm here now.\"\nI'm so happy to see my dad is alive. Avery is next to me crying in the arms of her dad. Our moms come to us and as one big happy family we hug and cry together.\nHistory will never forget this day. The men and women working to save the lives of those trapped under the rubble of the twin towers and the pentagon will never forget this day. The families of the victims and the survivors will never forget this day. We as a country will never forget this day.\nWe as a country and a people will honor and remember those who died here in New York, Washington and in Pennsylvania. We will honor the brave firefighter, Port Authority and Police officers who died as heroes and we will honor the heroes who survived like my father and Avery's father.\nI lived through a part of history I wish upon nobody. This is a day which will stick with me forever. One day I'm going to tell my story to the next generation so they will know about the heroes who lived and died on this tragic day, just like our grandparents taught us about Pearl Harbor.\nWe Will Never Forget." } ]
[ { "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: Dear Diary\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2962\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "March 20, 1986.\nI don’t know what to say. I guess maybe my name… So, here goes.\nMy name is Rima Schwartz. I’m ten years old and I live in Odesa in the USSR. I don’t know how to talk to the diary. I mean, after all, it’s a piece of paper. It’s like I’m talking to my reflection in the mirror. Anyway…\nMarch 25, 1986.\nI was a little embarrassed last time. Didn’t know what to say but that was so silly. I mean, no one ever is going to read it so what am I afraid of? So, Dear Diary, I decided to start talking to you because my friend at school told me about Anne Frank and how she kept her diary in the concentration camp. Well, I saw her picture in the book. I kind of look like her a little. I mean I’m also a Jew. I know I’m younger but we are now more mature. At least, that’s what my grandparents are saying, how fast my generation is growing and how smart we are. I think Anne was very smart. And she kept writing even when she was very scared. I wonder if I could have been this brave. I hope I would. I mean, it’s not like I want to live through war or anything but if something serious were to happen, I would know if I’m strong! I will try to do better, Diary, and come to see you every day.\nApril 1, 1986\nHi Diary. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you in a while but I was upset. Some of the kids in my school are really mean to me. They called me names and even hit me! My grandparents say that I should not respond because that means I’m lowering myself to their level but I don’t get it. If I don’t respond, then it means they can do whatever they want! And why are none of my teachers stopping them? It’s not fair. They are like Nazis! I mean, it’s been forty years since the war, and these people still don’t like Jews. Why? What did I do to them personally? My dad says it’s because they are threatened. Because we are smarter and more talented than they are but right now I don’t feel smarter or better. It’s April Fool’s day but somehow, I’m the only one they pranked today. I don’t like it!\nOne thought makes me happy though. Odesa is the USSR’s capital of humor so on April 1st we always have a big celebration with a bunch of famous people coming to town. I’m going there in just a few minutes, Diary. Hope it will help me feel better. See you later.\nApril 5, 1986.\nDear Diary, today is the first day when I knew summer was coming soon. It’s so warm and sunny. When it gets like this, it smells like summer. How to explain what summer smells like? It’s a mix of grass, hot dirt, blooming trees, and the sea. We are not too close to the beach but when it gets warm, I can smell the sea in the air. I like it a lot. Mom said I will be going to the pioneer’s camp in June, right after school is over. I really don’t want to… they are mean to me there too. The only good thing is if I go to the camp, we will be going to the beach every day…\nApril 17, 1986\n I missed you, Diary. Sorry I haven't written in a long time. I was busy with doing all the tests for the third quarter and then we had a spring break. I went with my friend and her parents to the wild beach. I know it sounds funny but it just means that it’s a seashore without any changing booths or bathrooms. Just the sea, the forest, and the hills. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to go by myself to places like that. I like long walks and the beach. But most of all I like to collect mussels from the bottom of the hill that is covered in water. In some spots, there are so many of them you can just cut them right off the seaweed. Just have to be careful not to slip – it can be tricky to walk on the rocks in the water. But the best and the biggest ones are a little further away from the shore so I had to dive to get them. The grown-ups were yelling that the water was cold but I liked it! Not for too long, of course. It was a little chilly, to be honest. But I saw one huge mussel! My friend said I don’t have the guts to get it so I did! Does that mean I’m brave like Anne? Probably not quite. Anyway, when I brought a full bag home, my parents were very happy. Mom made pilaf with mussels. The entire apartment smelled like the sea for a few days and I helped to open up all the shells so we could put them in a pilaf. Yummy! I always eat it with bread and tomatoes but it’s too early. I have to wait for tomatoes until summer comes… See you later.\nApril 25, 1986\nHi! Did you miss me, Diary? Just kidding. Somehow it is easier to talk to you now. I guess it’s like a new friend – the more we talk and get to know each other, the easier it gets. I don’t feel so stupid anymore writing to you. So, I have one good piece of news. I found out that my friend next door (the one that I went to the beach with) will be going to the same camp! That makes it better. At least, I will know one person there. Oh, and another good news is that I got a letter from a friend of mine who lives in Kyiv. Her name is Kira. We met two years ago when her family came to Odessa for a month and we ended up being neighbors at the resort. My grandmother and I go there almost every year for at least two weeks. It’s like two hours away by train but then it’s right on the beach. There are a bunch of little wooden houses and everyone has to eat at the big cafeteria and we have to share toilets and showers but I don’t mind. We were going there for as long as I can remember. I can even go to the beach by myself! Grandma says it’s safe as long as I don’t swim far. I always promised her I would stay by the shore but … once I actually swam all the way to the buoy! It was hard on the way back but there were these boys who said that I’m just a little girl who wouldn’t have the guts or the strength. I showed them! I did it! Of course, I didn’t like lying to my grandmother but technically, I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell her. Anyway, I was talking about my friend, Kira. We became pen pals after that. Every month I would send her a letter, maybe a few pictures and she would do the same. She said Kyiv is very pretty. I really wanted to go but Mom says I need to be a bit older so I can “really appreciate it”. Whatever. I was hoping Kira would come again this summer but she can’t. She’s older than me and is planning to take exams at the university this year… maybe she will come back next year if she’s not too busy.\nApril 27, 1986\nIt’s Sunday but something is happening. No one knows what but everyone is gathering by the building and whispering. I asked mom but she just said she wasn’t sure. I can see they are worried. Diary, I’m scared. What if it’s another war?\nApril 29, 1986\nThis is horrible. I couldn’t write yesterday because I was really scared but I have to tell someone! Diary, yesterday when we came to school, they told us to gather in the auditorium after the third period. They told us that classes are canceled for the rest of the week. There was a big explosion at the nuclear reactor in Chornobyl. Of course, I heard about Chornobyl before. Everyone said it was a very advanced power plant but I didn’t know what it meant. Our physics teacher explained to everyone today that the explosion of the nuclear reactor may lead to radiation in the air, which is dangerous. I don’t understand how it works! And how is it possible that something we can’t see or smell can kill us? That’s like the most unfair war ever!\nMy parents are worried. Odessa is far from there – almost 700 kilometers away! So we are safe, right? But I’m really worried about Kira. Kyiv is only 90 kilometers from there! That's very close! What if Kira gets sick? They don’t even have a phone so we can’t call them! I will write to her today and ask her to respond as quickly as she can. Now they are talking about it in the main news. They said the roof was burning and some people died. I hope not too many. I’m very sad, Diary.\nMay 1, 1986\nThis is the time when we always celebrate Labor day. We have picnics and cook shish kebabs and potatoes on the open fire. I wait for this every year. But this year, they said we can’t go. It’s not safe. We are all staying home. It’s weird. Feels like we are in some kind of bubble. My grandmother is outraged. She said the government needs to own up to this one but they won’t. I think it’s because they are scared just like all of us. True, Moscow leaders are all far away and they decided not to come to Ukraine to examine this thing just yet. That makes me scared more than anything. They said they will send a group to research the issue. But my friend’s dad is a scientist. He said we should stay indoors with windows closed as much as possible. He told us that if we get poisoned by radiation, we could get very sick and even die. No one yet knows how far it would spread. I still don’t understand. How can I get poisoned if I don’t eat “it”? I told everyone that I should be good to go outside if I keep my mouth closed and radiation can’t get inside me. The adults sort of laughed at me which was very upsetting! It wasn’t funny. My friend’s dad finally explained that when radiation is in the air it kind of sips through the skin too. Even our houses can’t completely stop it from entering since there are always some holes and gaps here and there, especially around windows. What do we do?! I don’t want to die!\nJune 15, 1986\nHello Diary, I haven't written in a while. I didn’t feel like it and we were all very busy here. Turns out, I won’t be going to camp this year after all. The government decided to bring all the kids from the Chornobyl area to the south for the summer. It means that they will be taking all our spots this year but I don’t mind! I’m glad they can be safe here. My friend’s dad was able to get this little yellow machine that beeps whenever there is radiation. It has a little arrow that points to a number to show the level. He said it’s called a Geiger counter. I now see other people starting to get it but when I asked my mom if we need one, she said there is no point. It’s not going to change anything. It’s weird to see how empty our streets are. People are afraid to be outside unless they absolutely have to go somewhere. Babushka also insisted we stock up on some dry groceries. She said they will last us a while and hopefully what was already in stores and markets wasn’t yet contaminated.\nYesterday, they said that we here in Odessa should be safe but suggested not to go to the beach or swim this year. I cried for a long time when dad said radiation spread to the sea now. What about all the animals there? I love our Jellyfish and Dolphins. They are so pretty. I was also told very strictly not to pick any mussels this year… They don’t know if we ever will be able to come back to it. This is not fair! I can’t understand why this happened but dad says it’s all the government's doing. They stole a bunch of stuff and didn’t follow some protocol. Cut corners, he said. I’m not sure I get it but it sounds like some people didn’t do everything they should have done or something. I hope they will be punished but my grandmother told me not to count on that.\nJuly 18, 1986\nIt’s really hot in Odesa. I miss the beach and swimming but every time I think about it, I stop myself. Some people have it so much worse than me. Many did get sick. Someone told me that those that were too close to the reactor, got a radiation burn! I didn’t know it can do it. Why did they build this plant this close to the cities if it’s so dangerous? I don’t understand. Sometimes, I think about all these kids that actually lived right there, in Chornobyl, and I start crying. It could have been me! Many of them who now came to Odessa, looked pale and scared. Most were here without their parents who either stayed behind to work or had to travel looking for a place where they can move. I can’t even believe it’s been two full months since the blowup. My dad says that people like no other animal can adapt to any situation. And now I see it’s true! The stores look emptier than before so we have to get most of our food at the market but that also turned out to be dangerous.\nA couple of weeks ago, some of the farmers that came from the villages to the weekend market started bragging about their beautiful produce and it was true. Suddenly, everywhere we went, we saw tomatoes three times bigger than normal. They looked very red and shiny. We never saw anything like that before. The same was happening with cucumbers, eggplants, and even cabbage (it was HUGE). At first, we were laughing about it but my friend’s dad told us not to be stupid and don’t dare to try it. In the last two weeks, we started going to the market together with him. He was using his counter at every stand, checking everything we were buying. His counter was beeping loudly nonstop. It was awful because I just imagined how I would bite into this big juicy red apple not knowing that it was poisoned! It looked so delicious that I was salivating. It reminded me of a fairy tale about Snow-white and the apple the witch gave her. In another week or so we noticed that the less appealing the produce looked, the cleaner it was. Now, it feels like we are all scouting! Looking for fruit and vegetables that have some sort of spots or, better yet, a little worm! Grandma taught me how to cut out a piece with the worm so I can eat the rest. I’m getting really good at it. I can almost do it in one swift move!\nHope I have time to come back soon…\nOy! I completely forgot to write about Kira! Her family came to Odessa! They actually stayed with us for a few days. It was a little tight but so much fun! Kira says she will end up waiting until the next year before she can apply to a school because this year no one wanted to deal with it, thinking about how to survive. Turned out that the place where her family lived was on the Chornobyl side of Kyiv so they were much closer than others and had to evacuate. We went to the beach a few times but didn’t dare to swim. It was a shame because I have never seen the waters so calm and still. Kira said that even the Black Sea is depressed and worried about getting sick. It’s very sad.\nDecember 19, 1986\nThe school is going as usual. Everyone is trying to come back to normal but I still have nightmares about another plant blowing up. It repeats this dream where I see a huge mushroom rising above the city before a massive wave covers all of us destroying everything in its way. I wonder, Dear Diary, would this dream ever go away? Talk soon…\nFeb 4. 2012\nDear Diary, I just found you after so many years. What a time capsule you turned out to be! Only recently did the details of the Chornobyl tragedy surface to the public. I don’t think we would ever know for sure how many people died in that catastrophe or later because of it. Many years later, whenever I had any health issues, it was written off to “What did you expect? You are Chornobyl kid.” Kira and I lost touch after her family moved to Israel and only recently her mother found me on Facebook. Kira died of an aggressive brain tumor when she was only twenty-five... Until next 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: It started off as just a dare...\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 3000\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone accepting a dare." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It started off as just a dare. A dare I accepted just so my audience wouldn't think I was cowardly. Maybe if I'd known where it would've led me, I would have just walked away from all of those sets of eyes. But here I am, standing in front of Madeline’s house, wondering if it’s too late to take things back.\nIt was a Thursday afternoon. I was heading to my usual spot underneath the school's cherry blossom tree when I heard someone call my name. I looked around wondering if I was just imagining things or not, people rarely talked to me. I live on the rough side of things. My folks split when I was only two years old. I live with my mom in a small town house. We used to live in a house, but when my dad stopped sending child support money we had to downsize.\nI was about to give up on the idea of someone calling me, when Justin Perlaz came running up to me. \"Hey M, me and some of the others were going to play a game of Truth or Dare. You in?\".\nJustin used to be a part of my middle school friend group. It was me, him, Tom Stewart, Lucy Parnell, and Madaline Laptis. All of us sort of formed our group in fifth grade. We all went our separate ways when high school started. Or maybe it was just me. I guess that I wasn't considered cool enough for them when things like social status and looks started becoming a thing.\n\"Are you coming or not? It'll be just like the good old days!\" Justin says bringing me back to attention.\nI thought that it was kind of odd that he was only speaking to me now after three years, but I ended up agreeing anyways. He gave me that old familiar grin of his, and then led me to the indoor tables where all the cool kids sit.\nWhen I got to his table I got some 'Heys' and 'What up?' from the old gang. They haven’t changed much at all. They were still the cool popular kids while I was just the outcast who everybody forgets about.\nJustin claps his hands together and we all look up at him. “Okay guys! Before we start let me go over the rules. Each round each person will have to choose truth or dare by the person sitting next to them. Those who choose not to comply will be eliminated. Those who do will move to the next round. Who wants to go first?”.\nSounds simple enough. But yet I still can’t figure out why they invited me to this game. Was it so they could make a fool of me? But I would find out, when it was already too late. Things too messed up to take back. \nAfter the others go, Madeline turns to me and smiles. “Mary Lee, truth or dare?”.\nMadeline of all people still calls me by my full name, even though I’ve been M for years. “Dare. Hit me up.” I say, I wouldn’t want to appear soft in front of these guys for the first round. \n“Alright. I dare you to go up to Ronald Dunly and take a bite out of his sandwich.” She says smirking at me. \nOf course she had to pick that. Everyday that nerd’s mom packs him a homemade bologna and swiss cheese pickled sandwich that always smells. I don’t give Madeleine the satisfaction of grossing me out, so I leave the table and head to where Ronald Dunly sits with all of them following close on my heels. \nWhen I spot him, I march up right to him and grab the sandwich out of his hand. He looks up at me surprised. I take a massive bite out of it and look right at Madeline. “If you’re hungry M you could have the rest if you want.”, poor Ronald says. \n“I’m good Ronald. I owe you one.” I say handing back his sandwich. No way would I want the rest of that. When I walk back to the table with the others, I feel a pride start to bloom. I successfully made it to round two that day. And that was only the beginning. \nThe next day, I walk over to the table where the others are by myself. I want to show them that I can get through whatever bigger game they're doing. \n“Welcome again everybody. I’m glad to say that you all made it to the second round. Who wants to go first?” Justin says.\n“I’ll go man.” Tom says. “Truth or dare Justin?”.\n“Dare.” \n“I dare you to kiss a person in this group.” Tom grins. \nI see Lucy and Madeline give silent smiles to themselves. He’ll definitely kiss one of them, they’re both beautiful. But Justin turns towards me. He cups my face with his hand and leans in to kiss me. I was so surprised that I did nothing but kiss him back for two seconds. After what felt like an eternity later, we both pulled away. I stare at him for a moment trying to catch my breath. He grins at me and then says to Tom, “another dare done and dusted.”. \nLater that day while I’m packing up my bag to go home I can’t help but think of Justin. I never felt that way about him before. I guess I never considered liking him before because he has always been off limits with being cool and all. But yet it was just a kiss. He can’t possibly have feelings for me, right?\nBefore I can ponder any longer Justin runs up to me and helps pick up my bag. “I was hoping I’d run into you. I wanted to talk to you about our...um...kiss?” he says it unsure, like I’m supposed to know what it was either. All I can do is nod.\n“Okay great, because I was wondering if you would want to go get coffee or something sometime.”. Coffee. With me. Yup, Justin Perlaz wants to get coffee with me. Mary Lee Jones, the outcast. The loner.\n“That sounds nice.” Great going there M. Justin Perlaz just asked you out to coffee and all you can say is ‘sounds nice’?\n“Awesome! I can’t wait. Does this Monday after school work? I could pick you up!”. Gosh. I never considered him my type before but I’m going on a date with Justin Perlaz.\nThe weekend took forever to pass by. I could barely focus on my homework and community project ideas. By Monday would Justin forget about me? Would he hook up with someone new over the weekend?\nOn Monday at lunch, Justin and the others wave me over. “Hey, how’s it going?”. He smiles, “well, I guess we should start round three.”. I nod and begin to think of a dare for Madeline.\n\n...\n\nI blow into my cup of coffee and watch as the trail of steam curves up and up. Justin already demolished his New York Cheesecake within two bites. This isn't my usual coffee place but I try to enjoy my drink even though it’s really over sweetened.\n“You know, that pink shirt doesn’t really seem like your type of style.” he says as I glance down at my pink ruched top. He’s right, it isn’t my style. I normally stick to dark colors but I thought that he might like me more if I would dress more like his ‘go too’ girls.\n“Okay, well, the fleece isn’t really your style either. Where did the letterman jacket go? Coach kick you off the team again?” I joke, but he grimaces.\n“Actually my mom washed it with her pink jumpsuit and now it’s a bright hot pink.” I start to laugh. I remember looking up at Justin’s mom in awe. She was really skinny and would always wear hot pink jumpsuits. I would always want to go over to Justin’s house because his mom would have the good snacks.\n“You should have worn it. Then we could have matched!” I say and he starts to laugh too. When I take a sip of my coffee, it’s already too cold.\n\n...\n\nWhen I got home later that day I was surprised to see my mom on our old green retro sofa in the sitting room. “You’re home early.” I say setting my bag down. \n“Yea, the boss closed the restaurant early after a pipe burst. Where have you been?” My mom says stretching her arms above her head.\n“Oh. I was on a date with Justin Perlaz. Remember him from middle school?” I say sticking a bowl of popcorn in the microwave. \n“Helena’s boy? Since when did this start? You and I have got a lot of catching up to do girl.” I nod and sit down next to my mom setting the bowl between us. “Just be careful. I’m telling you that you never want to have your heart broken by a boy. Not ever, you hear me?”.\n“Don’t worry mom. I’ll be careful.” I say. I’ll be careful.\n\n...\n\nI have to say after that day in the coffee shop with Justin, things escalated quickly. Everyday him and I would meet the group at lunch for a round of truth or dare. So far all of us were still in it. When Justin would kiss or put his arm around me, I looked to see if there was a hint of jealousy in Lucy or Madeline’s eyes. Some days I thought I saw a bit of something else. \nI would always choose a dare, I wanted to appear tough. And plus it was fun to see what people would come up with. So far I had to lick Tom’s sweaty foot, do my math homework in a pink crayon, knock over a glass of water on my teachers desk, and egg Ms. Murphy’s car. I was more than happy to do that one, she always gives me detentions for walking in the hallway without a pass. \nAfter school each day I would hang out with Justin. Sometimes we would go to that coffee shop, or sometimes I would go to his football games. Each time I was with him I grew to like him more and more. I grew to remember the way his laugh came from deep inside of his chest, filling the holes to all the empty pieces inside of you. Or the feel of his arm pressing me closer to him. \n“Hey, Lucy is hosting a party at her house tonight. Want to go with me?”, Justin says looking down at me. I stopped growing when I reached five feet so he always has to look down at me when we’re talking. \n“Why not.” I say, nuzzling closer to him. Now looking back, I realize that if I’d said no then maybe the dream I was living in would have lasted a little longer.\n“I can’t wait!” he says smiling down at me.\n\n...\n\nThat Wednesday night I walk into Lucy’s large sitting room where there’s smoke and beer sucking in all the air. It took me an hour to decide what to wear. Eventually I decided on a short, tight, black dress with my four inch boots. “You look great!” Justin says when he spots me. “Want me to get you a drink?” he asks.\nI nod. I can barely hear myself think in this room. I push past people to try to get some air outside. When I finally stumble outside, I see Lucy and Madeline around a fire pit hushedly talking. I was about to go walk over to them when I heard them say my name. I duck behind the porch swing and try to hear what they are saying. I hope they didn’t spot me.\nWhen I take a peek out from behind the swing I see that they aren’t looking in my direction. “Can you believe that she didn’t figure it out already? I mean, come on! Justin with somebody as washed up as Mary Lee? When is he going to tell her that it’s all just a dare?” I hear Madeline whisper. \nI believe my heart stopped then. No. NO. It can’t be true. I won’t believe it. Was Justin asking me to their game just him being friendly, or was it because he was using me as some dare? \nI didn’t realize that I was crying until I see the bright orange flames from the fire start to blurr. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, smearing my mascara. I crawl out from behind the swing and back into the party. “Hey are you okay M” I hear someone say. I turn and see that it’s Ronald. As in Sandwich Ronald. What’s he doing here at a cool kids party? \n“Yea I’m okay Ronald. Thanks.” I say and I push past all the arms and legs to the front door. I cry all the way home. \n\n...\n\nThe next day at lunch I make my way to the table where the group sits. Act cool M. Last night while I was taking a hot shower I decided that I would act normal. Screw them and screw their game. I would play one final round, and then I would be the one to break up with Justin. Before he could break my heart any more.\nI sit down at the table and smile at everyone. “Hey! Where were you last night? I tried calling you but you didn’t answer.” Justin says, a look of concern on his eyes.\n“I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well so I went home early. Maybe it was the nachos I had earlier.” I say trying to shrug it off. I see Lucy and Madeline give an uneasy glance at each other. “I’ll go first. Hit me up Lucy.” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.\n“Okay, you want a dare right? Well I have the perfect one for…”\n“Actually, I’ll pick truth for today.” I say. I really can’t face another one of their lousy dares right now. \n“Okay.” Lucy shrugs, “What’s the biggest regret of your life?”.\n“Um...I guess it would be my dad.” I start and they all look at me, “I mean, you probably already know that he left my mom and me when I was two. My mom keeps telling me that it wasn’t my fault that he left, but yet I can’t help but think that it was my fault anyways. I know I didn’t need him, and I still don’t, but my mom still needs him. She works at a dinner fifteen hours a day just to put a roof over our heads and food on the table. I don’t want her to keep living like this. She needs my dad. Maybe if I was prettier, or if I cried less, then he would have stayed. Just maybe…”. I watch as a tear drips down on the table with a loud thunk. \nWhen I finally look up I realize that they are still watching me. “You can keep playing your game if you want. But I’m done. I’m done being on the other end of a dare. I’m done. Goodbye Justin.” I say softly. I gather my bag and walk back to my old spot underneath the cherry blossom tree. \nWhen I sit down, I lay my spine against the tree’s rough bark. I rest my head in my hands and slump my shoulders. I feel someone tap me on the shoulder and realize that it’s Justin. “It’s true right? I was just a dare that you have been playing all along?” I say. Maybe there is a slim chance that I misheard Lucy and Madeline at the party.\n“Um...I guess.” His face turns red. I sigh and go back to pressing my hands against my face. \n“How long has it been going on for?” I ask him.\n“Well, Madeline came up with the game three years ago. We were all bored one day during lunch and she came up with the game. We’ve been playing it ever since. A couple of weeks ago, she gave me the dare to pretend to be in a relationship with you, and then break up. Honestly I don’t know why I agreed. I’m really sorry M. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”. \nI can start to feel myself about to cry again, but I just have to know one thing before I can run home. “Was any of it real?” I ask timidly.\nJustin looks at me and brings my face closer to his. Then he kisses me. “Was that?” he asks.\n\n...\n\nSo that’s where it led me. Standing in front of Madeline’s house at one in the morning with a match stick in one hand, and a tub of gasoline in the other. All because I agreed to a silly game of Truth or Dare that one Thursday morning. \nI will set fire to this house, and smoke her out. Then when she runs outside in her lace nightgown and matching slippers, she will see me and I will stare into her eyes for a moment. Just that stare will tell her everything that I would want to say. Then I would run in the shadows to my empty home. I wouldn’t care if I would get arrested or not, I would just be glad that I would be done with that group and all the hurt it caused me once and for all. \nI set down the heavy gasoline can and twirl the match stick in my hand. I could go home, it’s not too late before I’ve done something that I can’t take back. Or I could watch the hungry flames lick her house. I look down at the innocent little match stick and twirl it between my fingers, wondering what I should do..." } ]
[ { "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 Was There\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1004\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I don’t know why I went. I had never been there. It was not my kind of town. Not my kind of people, bunch of loud mouth rednecks. Not likely to buy any life insurance from me. I suppose, like most of the country, I was fascinated by them. They were drawing crowds everywhere, especially since that Paris trip. That day was no different. I suppose, it was because he was young, handsome, had that self-effacing humor. And that wife.\nI was surprised by the lack of traffic but then I realized most everybody in town was watching them. I drove around a while, kind of aimlessly, not sure what to do. I stopped at some diner for lunch and they were all talking about them. I was bored. I didn’t finish my sandwich, didn’t leave a tip, just left.\nI started driving again, nowhere in particular, still wondering why I was even there. The traffic kept getting thinner. Surprising it was a Friday, holiday coming up, you would expect a lot of people to be moving around. But no, hardly anybody. Odd.\nI turned on the radio but all I got was static. Radios did that a lot back in those days. I turned it off. I saw a sign for the airport. Why am I here, I’m not flying anywhere? Then I hit a roadblock.\nCops had a big van across the road, their guns drawn, looking at every car. One came up to me. “Don’t move, boy. Stay in the car. Keep your hands on the wheel.”\nI sat there, watching them as they searched every car. When they finished with a car they’d turned it around send it away from the airport. Then another would move up. Finally, they came up to me one on each side, pointing guns.\nThe one on my side said, “Get out! Hands on the hood! Spread ‘um.”\nThe other one said, “That’s not him. He’s black. The guy that did it is white.”\n“They told us to check everybody. There could be others involved besides that little white guy. Where’s your license, boy?”\nI was scared, nervous, confused, I said, “In my back pocket. Where do you think?”\nThe one behind me put his gun to my head. “Go ahead boy, reach for it, give me an excuse.” I knew better. I didn’t move.\nSirens were blaring, helicopter overhead, I hadn’t done a damn thing. The cop was clumsy, almost tearing my pocket open before he got my license.\n“I got it. Here, run it.”\nI was confused. “What the hell is going on?”\n“Yeah right, like you don’t know.”\n“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything. I was just driving around.”\nOne of them says, “He probably doesn’t know. He’s just some ignorant cotton picker, that’s all his kind can do.”\nI stood there for what seemed like hours. In the hot sun, my hands on that hood, getting hotter all the time, no idea why they were holding me. They searched my car, including the trunk, pulled up the back seat. Finally, one of them said, “Where you been, boy?”\n“Nowhere really. I was just driving around.”\n“Stop anywhere? Anybody see you?”\n“I had lunch at a diner.”\n“What diner? Where?”\n“I don’t remember. It was back up the road, not too far, be on the right going back.”\nA guy in plainclothes came up. “Sargent, I’ll take that ID, please. When you searched the trunk did you check the spare tire well?”\nThe cop looked a little sheepish, “No sir. I’ll do that right now.” He did and said, “Nothing there, not even a spare tire. Figures.”\n“Where are the car keys, Sargent?”\n“There still in the ignition, I guess.”\n“Could I have them please?”\n“Yes sir, right away.” When he got the keys he turned to me, showed his badge, “I’m Special Agent Wilson, Federal Bureau of Investigation. That diner you stopped at; was it called Lucy’s?”\n“Yeah maybe, like I said, I don’t remember. I just stopped there for a sandwich.”\n“When?”\n“I’m not sure. Not too long ago an hour, maybe less. What’s this about?”\n“For the moment Mister,” he glanced at my ID, “Hargraves, I’d rather not discuss that. Did you speak to anybody at that diner?”\n“No, not really. But they might remember me. I was the only black guy there.”\n He nodded, “If you would like to get out of the sun you may wait in your car while I check on that diner.”\nI did as he offered. Glad to. It was hot out there. As I watched he talked into his radio, probably reading my license number to somebody. Then he went around to the back of my car, still talking over his radio. Probably giving my tag number to whoever he was talking to. Finally, he came over to me, “How big a tip did you leave at that diner?”\n“I didn’t leave a tip.”\nHe half smiled, “I know the feeling. Where are you headed Mr. Hargraves?”\n“I don’t really know. Guess I’ll try to find somebody to sell life insurance to. Why?”\n“This address on your license, is it correct?”\n“Yes.”\nHe gave me back my license. “You’re free to go, Mr. Hargraves. But turn around; southbound traffic is still blocked.”\nI did what he said; glad to be away from there. Whatever was going on it had to be something big. I tried the radio, more static. I decided to go back to that diner. They would know what all this was about. When I got there the place was closed. I kept going north. Found a Cracker Barrel. It was closed. There was a sign on the door.\nOur apologies, but our employees didn’t feel like working. We are sure you can understand.\nWhat sort of day was it? A day like all days, filled with those events that alter and illuminate our times. And I was there. Dallas, Texas Friday, 22 November 1963." } ]
[ { "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: Man in The Mourning\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1961\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Disclaimer: sorry if any facts are not historically accurate. I tried by best to research to support the story and apologize if anything is incorrect!\nJoan let a sigh escape her lips, swiping the brush gently across the door with a soft swishing sound. A dominant red “X” now glared back at her – the symbol that implied her father’s sickness. She placed the bucket of paint down that horribly resembled watery blood, and ducked swiftly inside, pulling the heavyweight door closed behind her. She knew quite well that she may have just been outside for the very last time in her life. She knew her father’s sickness would likely soon transfer to her, and then, unless they waited upon a miracle, they would both die together in the sorrowful shack-like-house they called home; their bodies could be thrown into a pit together, to rot with many others who had met the same impending doom. It was common knowledge that all attempts to cure The Plague had been fruitless, despite that nobody wished to admit it.\nJust a week ago, Joan hadn’t believed the news that a highly-infectious and deadly disease was spreading faster than fathomable. When her father had awoken one morning complaining of a headache, she had strongly protested it was simply his age, yet that excuse was not one that made sense when the large boils began to sprout around his body. They were first black spots, like awful measly freckles, but within a day, they had grown, some to the size of eggs. Joan’s worse fears had been confirmed: the horrible disease, quickly nicknamed The Great Mortality, was in fact perfectly and horribly real.\n“Bring out yer dead,” a man grumbled loudly from outside the door. “C’mon, bring out yer dead! Don’t catch the disease from their mangled corpses!”\n“Nobody’s dead yet,” Joan snapped back a little harsher than she’d intended, glaring at the door.\nShe heard the man’s footsteps die away, just to repeat the same rehearsed lines at the next house. With an awful feeling that bubbled low in her stomach, she thought she heard the sound of what could be the weight of a lifeless human body being hauled out from one of their neighbors'. Their cross had been freshly painted just the other day… would that be her father in just some forty-eight hours or so? She shivered at the thought. So disgustingly dreadful, she loathed how she couldn’t have replied without the “yet”. She wished it wouldn’t have to be a “yet”, and it would just be a definite “Nobody’s dead.” The bubbling in her stomach only increased and was brought to a seething boil as she forced herself to enter the room her father was trapped in.\n“I did the cross.”\nHer father just nodded weakly. One great boil blossomed right at the top of his neck so he kept his head tilted far back so not to pop it, and many others caused his clothes to appear lumpy in some areas. He was a shade of sickly paleness, the only color on his skin flushed up in his cheeks and forehead, where he appeared awfully clammy and feverish, and in mottled red patches where blood pooled underneath the skin. It pained Joan to see her only loved one remaining like this, and know too well she had no better chances curing him than anyone else did. She leant against the door so to distance herself, staring dismally at his frail form.\nJoan glanced up in alarm; her father croaked: “You should stay out of here… save yourself while you can…”\n“I’m distanced, it’s fine, Father,” Joan replied, blinking quickly at him in hope to hide the shattering heart that hid behind her eyes. “I don’t mind if I get it, as long as I spend time with you.”\nHer father replied, his voice wearing away with each syllable: “You are young… I am old… your life shouldn’t end the same time as mine…”\nShe swallowed a lump that had quickly formed in her throat. “Don’t speak as if you are certain to die, Father, please.”\nHer father just shook his head, staring sadly back at her. They had a mutual understanding, and it was that the Great Mortality was so deadly, at the weakened age of his late sixties, Joan’s father hardly stood a chance. The boils had only gotten worse since the measly freckles had first appeared and scattered themselves upon his skin; each day her father spoke less and less, his energy wearing thin; there was no sign of improvement whatsoever, and nothing they could do but pray to the higher power above. Joan turned away, breathing deeply. She wished she could catch it, so she could lay forever with her father, and if he died, she could die too, and see him again, up there. She’d rather feel the pain the sickness would cause her than have to see him suffering like this. And she knew it was awful of her to think that way, but she thought it anyway, fighting the urge to march over and inhale his poisoned breath. The only thing that stopped her was the knowledge that would cause her father greater agony, as him knowing she was better off than him gave him a sense of comfort, and if he were to die, Joan wanted him to die in comfort.\n“Save yourself,” her father grumbled again, his voice rough like sand and barely louder than whisper.\n“Fine,” Joan breathed. She didn’t face him: tears ran down her cheeks in a steady flow. “I love you.”\nShe heard a grunt in affectionate reply as she pulled the wooden door closed, just like she had done after painting the cross. They’d be sealed in soon – for forty days, long enough for the plague to leave the infected in their household, or kill them off. Forty days. She hadn’t prepared herself for this, mentally nor physically, and especially worried they would starve if the disease didn’t get to them first. She’d be rationing most the bread and cheese for her father, in the hopes it would give him energy to heal, and would barely eat a morsel a week. She’d lie to her father, say she’d eaten well, and wasn’t putting him first, so he wouldn’t feel guilty. She wished she didn’t have to, but her selfless soul compelled her to.\nSo, she did. For what felt like a large section of those forty days Joan ate very little, causing her stomach to constantly complain at a persistent growl. It was a horrible feeling, however the feeling of glee that her father had survived for so long, and her morning snap in reply to “Bring out yer dead!” kept her content. It was incredibly rare, really: most would have died or been cured by now, and although her father remained boil-ridden and sickly pale, he was alive, and that was all that mattered. Joan saw the familiar dark freckles speckle her body one evening, and when she brought her father dinner, once again delivered him also a lie with the small serving of stale bread and cheddar. He was too weak to notice when in the next few days boils grew on her body and her legs shook with feebleness when she stood in the doorway every morning and evening. After roughly two weeks (Joan tallied the days off in leftover crimson paint on the kitchen wall), her father had still not been visited by the dreaded Death, yet he had neither improved, and Joan felt a fresh wave of worry hit her right in the gut.\nIt was a strange feeling, and she didn’t know whether to believe it or not. Something told her, deep down, that her father was not going to make it a couple more servings of the food they had left. Something told her she would have to reply differently to the man in the morning, and be the one lugging out a lifeless human to be thrown into a pit. The feeling went stubbornly ignored for a few days, but Joan didn’t feel any relief when her boils started to shrink and color began to return to her skin, because her father hadn’t improved, and he’d been infected much longer. The feeling came straight back in the most horrible way when her father said this when she greeted him at the doorway once again:\n“I think I am going to die today.”\nJoan stared at him in disbelief. How could he know? There was no way, no possible explanation, but it was the same with the gut instinct that had nagged at her for the past few nights. Unreasonable, but it felt perfectly true. She swallowed, and decided not to speak a lie.\n“Father, I- I think so too,” Joan said solemnly. “But I think… it is best. You will be put out of your misery, and I only wish the best for you, Father.”\nWrinkles creased her father’s mouth into a feeble smile.\n“I love you,” she whispered, just like every day.\nHer father nodded. He was to speak to even grunt the words now, and Joan knew it was time. She bowed her head respectfully and stood in loving silence, somehow feeling as if she sensed him slip peacefully away after time.\nJoan spent the next days allowing herself to recover. She knew now her father was in a sweeter place, it was only right she focus on herself before she achieved the task of taking his body to the man in the morning. She instead ignored him, a hollow feeling in her heart every time he stopped by, laying on the hard mattress of her bedroom staring up at the ceiling, only standing up to go fetch food and water. Four days after her father’s death she was rid completely of symptoms, and replied to the man in the morning by hammering on her front door from the inside, a limp hand clutched in hers.\n“Let me out and maybe I will,” she said, allowing her temper to show once again through her voice.\n“Yer household is rid of the Great Mortality?” the man replied thickly.\n“Yes.”\nJoan stood back whilst a harsh scratching sound took place as the man broke the seals that locked the door. A few minutes later, it swung inwards, and she took her turn in dragging a lifeless body forward. The man took her father round the waist and she helped him haul him into the back of a horse-drawn carriage. She wished she was the one slumped lifeless.\nA wind danced playfully with Joan’s hair as she watched the man move on to her neighbors, a couple other bodies getting loaded into the carriage. After a while, she observed as the horse trotted off, pulling her father away with it. The wind tugged persistently at her and eventually struck her with the knowledge that this was the first time she’d been outside in about a month and a half.\n*\nSix hundred and seventy-two years later, a new plague-like experience struck the same place Joan had once cried over her father. London was fresh and new, towering strong and tall, quite different to the London Joan had known. Society tackled the sickness in different, more intellectual and scientific ways. People were not sealed into their homes, they instead isolated under the government’s guidance, and although many people did die, not to such a devastating amount.\nMany productions, schools and work were cancelled. Many were shut inside in a national lockdown in similar ways to Joan and her father were locked inside for almost forty days. Life was turned upside down incredibly quickly.\nJoanne prepared herself to suffer through 2020." } ]
[ { "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 White Feather\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2874\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Emma Whitworth sat outside the post office, just as she had every day for the past week. Her stomach ached. She’d tried everything to make it go away. Ginger, chamomile, peppermint, even that new vapour rub that always gave her a headache, nothing worked. Only one thing could relieve her pain now.\nShe glanced up at the clock tower. It was almost eight o’clock. The office staff should have finished sorting the letters by now. She rose from her seat, took a deep breath, and slipped inside.\nThe minute she saw Mr Finch’s face, she knew that relief would not come today.\nBefore she could even ask her question, the kindly old postmaster shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, miss Emma, nothing today.’\nShe tried not to let the disappointment show on her face, but she must have failed.\n‘Remember, miss,’ Finch said. ‘Sometimes, no news is good news. Especially in times like this.’\nEmma hung her head. ‘I know, I know. I just… I wish he’d write.’\n‘He’s probably just busy,’ the old man said, nodding sagely. ‘The army can be a harsh mistress, you know.’\nEmma smiled, putting on as brave a face as she could. ‘I hope you’re right.’\nShe left the office and paused. She really ought to go home, but she couldn’t face her parents. They’d never really liked Harry and thought she was wasting her time coming here every day. She chose to take a stroll through the village lanes instead. Perhaps the fresh air would do her good. It might even stave off her stomach aches for a while.\nIt was a pleasant enough walk. At least, it should have been. If only she didn’t see Harry’s face everywhere she went. She saw him outside the schoolhouse, where he’d volunteered to help the less well-off children. She saw him in the shaded gardens of Mrs Beaton’s tea rooms, where he’d taken her on their first official date. She saw him on the grassy banks by Miller’s Pond, where they’d shared their first kiss. There was no place among these drystone walls and delicately manicured lawns that wasn’t tainted by his memory.\nEmma couldn’t bear to think of the good days. Before the war. Before her life was turned upside down. But it pained her even more to think of the bad days.\nUnwillingly, she felt her mind dragged back to that fateful summer’s day.\n*\nBritain was at war. A gang of Serbian nationalists had assassinated some Austrian Archduke. Russia got involved, which prompted Germany to start throwing its weight around. Thanks to the patchwork of treaties that crisscrossed the continent, Britain soon found itself fighting a war in Europe for the first time since the days of Napoleon.\nAs the first British troops set off for France, the army called for volunteers, and young men up and down the country flocked to the recruiting stations in droves. They thought that they were in for the greatest adventure of their lives.\nNot Harry, though. He never was one to follow the crowd.\n‘It’s all a load of foolish nonsense,’ he said as they took one of their walks through the village. ‘All these young men, ready to fight and die. And for what?’\n‘Surely for their country?’ Emma had replied.\nHe laughed so hard that his broad shoulders shook. ‘Patriotism and pride are nothing more than tools of the imperialist establishment. Those boys going off to fight have far more in common with the men they’re about to be shooting at than the officers whose orders they follow.’\n‘Perhaps,’ Emma replied. She wasn’t so sure about all that. After all, wasn’t Britain the greatest country on earth? Wasn’t it worth fighting for? That’s what her father and teachers had always told her. Still, she’d learned long ago that it was best not to argue with Harry over such matters. He’d only try to strong-arm her into reading one of his dusty old books by that Russian rabble-rouser Vladimir Lenin or the philosopher Karl Marx. Anyway, she loved Harry’s passion and the strength of his opinions. Until she didn’t.\n\nIt was her father who changed everything. A ruddy-faced, rotund old man with a grey beard that covered his flabby jowls, Mr Whitworth stood for everything Harry hated.\nHe was carving the beef for their Sunday roast when the conversation turned to the war. Mr Whitworth, unsurprisingly, thought it was a wonderful thing.\n‘It’ll be the making of those lads,’ he said. ‘Nothing like a taste of battle to separate the men from the boys.’\n‘But father, surely we don’t need every young man to fight?’ Emma protested. ‘There are other things they can do to serve their country, aren’t there?’\nHe snorted. ‘Perhaps, but the best of them will fight. I tell you, we’ll have a much easier time of it finding you a husband now. We can ignore any of those saps that aren’t in uniform.’\nTypical of her father.\nEmma was something of a classical beauty. She had flowing locks of lush golden hair and eyes the same bright blue as the sky on a clear summer’s day. This meant that she got a lot of attention from the young men of the county. Mr Whitworth liked to pretend that the family faced a great challenge in choosing one of her suitors. As his only child, Emma was the heir to the Whitworth fortune, and her husband would instantly become a man of means and influence.\nHowever, despite all his posturing, Mr Whitworth knew she had already found the man she wanted to marry, yet he insisted on acting as if Harry didn’t exist. She’d hoped that in time he would grow to see Harry as she did, but that seemed less and less likely.\nArguing with her father in this mood was a fool’s errand, but Emma couldn’t help herself. Ignoring a warning glance from her mother, she shook her head. ‘That’s nonsense. I know plenty of fine young men who don’t plan to enlist.’\nMr Whitworth shook his head. ‘Poppycock. No man who won’t put his life on the line for his country is worth my daughter’s hand.’\n‘But father-’\n‘Enough!’ He bellowed. ‘No coward will marry my daughter, and that’s the end of it.’\nEmma cringed but held her tongue. When her father set his mind on something like this, nothing could stop him. If Harry didn’t join up, he would never bless their marriage.\n\nThe next day, she confessed her fears to Harry.\nHe laughed. ‘Your father is all bark and no bite. I’m sure he’ll change his mind once he calms down.’\n‘You don’t know him as I do,’ Emma said, staring at him through wide, desperate eyes. ‘He won’t back down. He’ll make it a point of pride not to.’\nHarry shook his head. ‘This is exactly what I was saying the other day. Pride is nothing but trouble. Your father should read more. Perhaps he’ll learn to be more open-minded.’\n‘Yes, I’m sure he would,’ Emma snapped back. ‘But that doesn’t help us now. What are we going to do? You’re healthy, tall, strong. You’re exactly the sort of man my father thinks has a duty to serve his country. If you don’t join the army, he will never let us be together.’\nHarry waved her fears away. ‘Please. It’s 1914, not 1314. If he doesn’t bless our marriage, we’ll just run away.’\n‘I don’t know…’\nHe raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid of him?’\n‘Of course I am! My father is a powerful man with a lot of influence. There’s nowhere we can run that he won’t find us.’\n‘There’s always a way,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll leave the country if we have to.’\nSeeing that she was still unconvinced, he took her by the hand, his warm brown eyes locking with hers. ‘Nothing will stop us being together, Emma. I won’t let it. Trust me.’\n\nEmma tried to trust him. Truly she did. But she couldn’t. For all his virtues, Harry had always lived in the clouds. If he underestimated her father’s wrath, he might get hurt, and she couldn’t bear that.\nA few days later, she had tea with her friend Rachel Butler in Mrs Beaton’s tea rooms. They sat outside on the patio at a metal table nestled among Mrs Beaton’s prized rosebushes. It was her favourite spot, but Emma didn’t have much of an appetite, only sipping her drink and nibbling at a cucumber sandwich. Rachel noticed.\n‘What’s wrong, darling?’ she asked, frowning with concern.\nEmma told her of her father’s outburst and Harry’s lack of concern, and Rachel let out a tittering laugh. \n‘Oh darling, is that all? Well, the solution to that is rather obvious. You must give Harry one of these.’ From her purse, Rachel withdrew a single white feather.\nEmma wrinkled her brow. ‘A feather?’\nRachel grinned. ‘Not just any feather. A white feather. The mark of a coward. You can keep that one. I’ve plenty more.’\n‘But Harry isn’t a coward,’ Emma protested. ‘He’s the bravest man I know.’\n‘That doesn’t matter. What matters is that he believes you think him a coward. That will be enough to make him put on a uniform, I’m sure of it.’\nEmma frowned. ‘I don’t know. Harry doesn’t really care what people think about him.’\n‘He might not care what people think, but I guarantee he cares what you think. It’s a primal thing for men. They can’t bear to seem weak in front of their sweethearts. Trust me. If you give him that feather, it will solve all your problems.’\nEmma turned the feather over in her hands, thinking deeply. ‘Is it truly okay for us to pressure men into uniforms?’\nRachel smiled nonchalantly. ‘Of course, darling, it will be good for them. My father says they’ll all be home by Christmas anyway.’\n\nIt was five days between Emma’s tea with Rachel and her next date with Harry, a picnic at Miller’s Pond. They were the longest five days of her life. She woke every morning, determined to give Harry the feather and every evening, she went to sleep, certain that was the worst thing she could possibly do. She swung between the two positions at least a dozen times each day.\nFinally, the day of the picnic came, and she still had no idea what to do. She put the feather in and out of her purse more times than she could count, eventually taking it with her to decide at the pond.\nWhen she saw Harry’s beaming face, all thoughts of the feather went out of her head. She sat, and they talked about books, about nature, about all the things that made her love him. Until he mentioned the war.\n‘You better watch out,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I heard that Rupert Finch enlisted the other day. I’m sure your father will do his best to set you up with him.’\nHe thinks this is funny, Emma thought. He actually thinks this is something to joke about.\nThere was nothing for it. Before she could change her mind, she whipped the feather from her purse and thrust it at him.\nHarry stared at it, unmoving, unblinking. ‘Does this mean what I think it means?’\n‘It does,’ she said, refusing to meet his eye.\nHe laughed bitterly and shook his head. ‘So, you buy into all that flag-waving nonsense after all. I thought you were different. I thought you understood. But you’re just like all the other silly little girls who don’t know anything more than what their fathers tell them.’\nAs he paced around, ranting and raving, Emma feared she’d pushed him too far. She almost came clean. She almost told him that, of course, he wasn’t a coward. To her, he was the bravest man on the earth. If anything, he was too brave. But she didn’t. She said nothing.\nEventually, Harry stopped his pacing and turned to face her, eyes cold and distant.\n‘Do you truly think me a coward?’ he whispered.\nNot trusting herself to speak, Emma simply nodded.\n‘Then I suppose I have no choice.’\nEmma heard the pain in his voice and every inch of her being screamed at her to take him in her arms and tell him the truth. Again, she said nothing. And then, it was too late. He was gone, storming off down the lane.\n*\nThe next day, Harry went to a recruiting station and enlisted. He was commissioned to the rank of Second Lieutenant in the Lancashire Regiment and sent to the military academy at Sandhurst for an accelerated training course. He didn’t tell her any of this. She had to hear it from the village gossip mongers.\nAll Emma could think of was how he must hate her. But still, when her father learned the news, he said in his gruff voice that ‘Perhaps that Harry fellow is a decent lad after all.’ After hearing that, she dared to hope that this whole charade would be worth it in the end.\nWith Harry’s future tied to the army, Emma began consuming every scrap of information she could find about the war. What she learned didn’t fill her with confidence, far from it.\nThe Germans had defeated the British in a battle near the Belgian town of Mons, sparking a headlong retreat across northern France. Eventually, the British and French stopped the German advance at the river Marne, and the war stagnated. Both sides dug in for the long haul. It all sounded far from the grand adventure that everyone had said it would be.\nAfter a few weeks, Harry sent her a scribbled postcard telling her he was shipping out to France and would write to her again when he had the time.\nThen came the news she’d been dreading. Another battle had started, this time near Ypres in Belgium. Harry’s regiment would be involved.\nThat was a week ago. Since then, Emma had come to the post office every single day, waiting for the postcard that would tell her Harry was safe. She dreaded receiving the other letter. The letter nobody wanted to receive, but so many already had.\nWith her mind at last back in the present, Emma saw that the sky had turned dark. It was about to rain. Deciding to hurry home, she turned onto Rosemary Street, Harry’s street. She used to love coming here to admire his garden, Harry’s mother kept the best array of flowers in the whole village. But she’d stayed away since that day at Miller’s Pond. Harry’s family didn’t think much of her role in pushing him to war. Emma hoped that they’d come to forgive her in time but had decided to give them some space until then.\nAs she strode down the street, Emma realised that she wasn’t alone. Mrs Baines stood outside her cottage, clutching a telegram in her hand.\nEmma’s heart jumped in her chest. A telegram! Of course. How could she have been so foolish? Harry would know that a telegram would be a much faster and more reliable way of letting them know he was safe. She could relax at last.\nBut something was wrong. Mrs Baines didn’t look happy. Quite the opposite. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying.\nA chill went down Emma’s spine.\n‘Mrs Baines, what’s wrong?’ she asked, though in her heart, she already knew.\nMrs Baines thrust the telegram towards her. ‘See for yourself.’\nEmma looked down at the paper, and sure enough, she saw the dreaded words.\nMrs Baines, we regret to inform you that your son, Second Lieutenant Harold Baines, was killed in action on the-\nShe read no more. The tears welling in her eyes made sure of that. As the first drops of rain struck her head, Emma fell to her knees and wept.\nShe didn’t know how she got home, only that somehow she made it. Slamming the front door behind her, she ran straight to her room and crawled into bed. She didn’t come out for weeks.\nHer mother and father brought plate after plate of food to her, and plate after plate went untouched. Emma wouldn’t speak a word. She wouldn’t even look at them. She lay all day with her head beneath the sheets, not wanting to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She couldn’t bear to look at the arrogant, childish fool who had cost her Harry his life.\nFinally, after two weeks of this, her father brought a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.\n‘Mrs Baines came by earlier,’ he said. ‘The army sent her Harry’s personal effects, and she thought you might like this as a memento.’\nEmma peeked out from beneath the sheets. She took the parcel. It was light. Very light.\n‘What is it?’ she asked.\nHer father shrugged. ‘I have no idea. Open it and find out.’\nEmma unwrapped it.\nInside was a note in Mrs Baines’ handwriting.\nHarry was carrying this when he died. I hope you keep it with you always.\nBeneath the note, nestled in a bed of white tissue paper, sat a single feather stained red with Harry’s blood." } ]
[ { "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 King's Game.\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1532\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I've killed a man.\nI don't really know how else to say it; I've. Killed. A. Man. And looking down at his slumped form, I feel a hint of humor tugging at the corner of my lips, a laugh bubbling from my gut. Don't think me insensitive, please. This wouldn't be so funny if he was slumped over his desk, or bleeding out on his bed, or even fell back in the chair...\nNo. The man fell face down in his food. It was a rather good dinner, might I add, dry roasted, Northern-style herring. Very delicious, a bit heavy on the salt. This scene just makes me laugh a bit more. It's like looking through an artist's eyes, a painting I would love to see. His wine has been knocked over, spilled onto his hands and the tablecloth and his clothes, which he droned over only moments before. Such a vibrant red, crimson maybe? Or rather a bit darker, sanguine, perhaps. With a sigh, I lift his head up by the oily strands of his hair, taking a towel to wipe away the fish grease that coats his brow. His strong jaw has gone slack, his dark eyes now empty and dull. His lips, still slightly pink despite how pale the rest of him has gone, is covered with rosemary. I stroke his jaw softly.\nI will admit that my beau is a very handsome man, or corpse, rather. He's tall and brooding and ravishingly sweet. And he has a soft spot for children, as he was always dreaming about ours. Their hair would be curly like mine, he said. Their eyes would be the slate gray of his.\nAnother smile, crueler this time, graces my lips.\nOh, how he used to be so wonderful to me.\nI remember when he would take me for strolls along the estate, picking roses for me so delicately, pinning them in my hair. He would compliment me, whisk me to my room when the moon bode its greeting. It was like a game, one that I loved playing, hoping it would never end. We would ride horses throughout the courtyard, reading in the November winds or watching the December snowfalls. Valentine's day was truly a sight, one that brought gifts and chocolates with it. The rings, the necklaces, the dresses. His lips, paling slightly now, would beckon me like soft clouds. His hands would guide me to his strong form... until that changed.\nI toss his head back so his body flings back against the chair, my lips curling into a sneer. His head hits the wood of the chair with a clunk. I've got to get this cleaned up. I smooth my skirts, glancing around. See, I've never committed murder in my life. Never. I'm a very dainty woman, I like my things clean. Blood is messy. And so is covering up a murder.\nThink of it like a game. That's what I did. Killing him was the first level.\nIt wasn't hard, in case you were wondering. My fiancé is very naïve and me being so intelligent made killing him surprisingly simple. I'm set up well in this world, and I can get poison from just about everywhere. That's what I did, although cliché, and it was worth it. Laced his wine and his meal, which might've been a tad bit dramatic. Regardless, I'm relatively sure that they won't trace it back to me. The poison has been long disposed of, and it's off my hands, rid of my touch. Besides, I'm me. I'm the lady of the court, I could never be of suspect, and I'm going to play this smart. I'm going start a new game. One that I'll beat everyone at.\nI have to clean this up, dispose of the body, do something. I clean up our plates, setting his on the ground for my dog, Kingsley, to eat. Halfway through, I pick it back up. I can't have it look as though a dog ate it. I pet his smooth black head as he whimpers. Kingsley is the most loyal mammal in this forsaken estate.\nThen I decide that it would be much better if I made it look like someone attacked him. I make sure to have it seem as though he--I mean, we-- were caught unawares, forcing tears out of my eyes to drag down my mascara and ruin my makeup. I frizz up my hair, leaving strands curling in front of my eyes. I tug an earring out of my ear, tossing the diamond studded piece on the carpet. Women in distress don't look pristine, you know. It's a classic 'my life is falling apart, please help me' look. All the best women have mastered it.\nI catch a look at my disheveled appearance in the mirror. I never thought I would go this far for power, but life always goes where you never expect. This will be everything I've ever wanted.\nNow for my fiancé. The dagger I've kept in my quarters for the past month is finally coming into use. Not for what I hoped, though. I drag it along his neck in a clean, deep slit. I want it to look like they were experienced. No one would kill the innocent lady, she is of no use and already claimed by their enemy, and taking her would result in having her father come after them.\nLet's stop here for a moment. I'm not a natural born killer, I just have intent. I have a reason for doing this. My handsome, stupid fiancé, made of sweet promises and nice intentions, was cheating on me with some rosy-cheeked summer girl who picks apples for a living. He would always slip away from the palace, claiming he had things to do outside of the castle. I noticed. I noticed how he smelled when he came back, I noticed the bits of hair on him that weren't mine. Despite my already confirmed status, this infuriated me. He chose her, with her cotton dresses and apple pies and copper coins.\nI was planning from the start. I've been putting up with it for months, getting all my evidence in order, organizing my framing methods... I had to get it right.\nBack to where I was.\nI plunge the knife into his chest and leave it there, frowning at the blood that covers the upholstery. Kingsley looks quite put out by all of this, pouting at the foot of my bed. He always did latch on too fast; he gained an obsession with my fiancé, just as I did. I nudge my pet into the closet, then lock it for now.\nOne last thing...\nI take the vase my darling fiancé had given me and hurl it out of the window, breaking the glass and leaving jagged teeth in its wake. A few flowers catch on the window, petals sliced by the glass. The wind gushes in like a popped blister, cool and soft. This. This is exactly what I needed.\nLet the game commence.\nPerfect. I smear the blood from his wounds onto my hands, making it look like I've been tending to him, and then scream. I do it twice for good measure, squeezing more tears out of my eyes for the best scene I've ever made.\nI'm an artist. I have made a beautiful setting, and the characters, both bathed in red, pop from the drab of it all.\nWhen the door to my parlor opens, the maids' mortified expressions do much more justice than their words. I hide my smirk as they all scream and rush over.\nI know what they see: A lady, bent over her future husband with despair that he is gone. Her dress is bloody, her hands the same sticky crimson shade. Her eyes painted wild with fear, her hair with frizzed strands stroked by a fine brush in the most steady hand. Her soon-to-be husband laid on the chair, his head lolled back, death in his face, death scribbled on his body with a sloppy ink. The knife in his chest is still glittering at the hilt, the cut on his neck bleeding ceaselessly. It's horrifying...\n...ly amazing.\n\"Someone's killed the King! The King is dead!\"\nI let them drag me to my bed, dropping my head in my red hands. It's all I can do to contain my joy. What a wonderful sentence to hear.\n\"We-- We were j-just having dinner!\" I stammer, keeping my voice thick and wobbly. \"And h-he just got in, somehow! He-- he killed--\" I layer on the sobs, drawing sympathy and a slow resolve to my maids.\n\"He's really dead.\" The King's advisor murmurs.\nBut even better than that?\n\"...You're the Queen now, Miss.\" One gasps. \"We've got to get you ready!\"\n\"The-- The first ever sole Queen?\" I gasp. \"O-oh, no I can't do that. I--\"\n\"But you must!\"\nI shrug along with insistence, for what simple court lady would want to take over the kingdom on her own? What selfish woman would kill her own king out of spite to earn his power?\nThis one.\nOh, have I changed the game." } ]
[ { "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: Return to Me\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1587\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone accepting a dare." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Introduction:\n\nThis story is unrelated to the Western series I'm writing, and the Kat in the story is not the same character as Katherine Tudor.\n\nMy cousin and I were wandering around the Carnival last summer, on a Saturday, and we got lost. I had been divorced for six months, and I had had enough of existing alone inside a big empty house. He hadn’t even left me the cat for company. I decided I needed to get out of the house. I saw on the news that the Carnival was in town, so feeling nostalgic, I called up my cousin Kate, and we headed there.\n\nThankfully it wasn’t far from my house. They had set up the Carnival in a big field behind the hospital. It was a warm day with cloudless blue skies, but I felt cold in my heart. Not because of my ex, I was glad to see him go, but I felt like some significant part of me was missing and had been missing for a long time.\n\nI hadn’t been to the Carnival in years, and it was much bigger than I remembered. They had added new rides and several new tents. I got lost looking for the barbeque tent and found myself in a part of the Carnival that wasn’t well lit and only had a small red tent with the front flap closed and a teenager seated behind a card table.\n\nCurious, I walked closer.\n\n“What’s in there, a fortune-teller?” I asked the girl.\n\n“No. My grandfather, who is descended from the race called Jinn, can grant you a wish, the thing that you want most.”\n\n“Really? I’ve never heard of that before,” I shrugged and turned away. \n\n“I dare you to try it!” My cousin said. “What have you got to lose?”\n\n“How much?” I asked.\n\n“Fifty dollars.”\n\nI stared at her. “That’s a bit expensive, don’t you think?”\n\nNow she shrugged. “How much is your heart’s desire worth to you?”\n\nTo this day, I don’t know why I did it. It may have been my cousin’s teasing and prompting, or it may have been something else.\n\nI remember thinking if it cost that much, there must be something to it. I had a bit of a nest egg from the alimony settlement, so I could afford this. It would be entertaining if nothing else.\n\nWhen I stepped inside, there was a grey-haired man seated at a small round table. There was an empty chair opposite him and a small wooden box on the table. The box looked antique, and it had strange carvings all over it.\n\nI sat down on the chair across from him and said, “Hello,” and cleared my throat nervously.\n\n“What is it you want?”\n\n“Well, to have a wish granted, I guess. Something about the deepest desire of my heart, but I don’t even know what that is.”\n\n“Drink this,” He handed me a bottle. I sipped it, and it tasted like a fine brandy, clearly alcoholic. It went right to my head and made me dizzy.\n\n“If you don’t know the desire of your heart, what about regret? What is your greatest regret?”\n\nI had to think about that one. When I was sixteen, I went into foster care, but that got me out of a bad home situation, so I didn’t want to change anything before that. But afterward, that had been the beginning of some of my worst mistakes. \n\n“The mistakes I made the year I turned sixteen.”\n\n“Focus on one event or one person.”\n\nThe biggest mistake had been… ”Dallas,” I said, my thoughts suddenly clearing. “He was my first love, but I messed it up with him.”\n\n“Give me your hand. I’m going to prick your finger, place a drop of blood on the top of the box.”\n\nI felt a faint sting as he poked my index finger with the tip of a long, thin knife, then guided my hand to the box where he pressed my bloody fingertip onto the top of the box.\n\nHe poured the remainder of the brandy into a glass mason jar and handed it to me. “Go home, sit on your bed and drink the rest of this. Ensure you are in a place where you can comfortably fall asleep because this potion works quickly. When you wake up, you will have your heart’s desire.”\n\nI did as he said, I went back home, sat on the edge of my bed, and downed the brandy in a few swallows, there wasn’t much of it, about two fingers, and I laid down, drifting off to sleep in moments.\n\nI woke up back at the Carnival, lying on the grass. I jumped to my feet and brushed the loose hay off me. \n\n“My hands, what happened?” \n\nThe lines and spots on my hands that had developed over the years were suddenly gone, and my hands looked like they had was a teenager.\n\nI hurried back to the tent of the Jinn, but it was gone. I spun around in circles, looking for the tent.\n\n“Kat, what are you doing? Are you lost?”\n\nIt was Dallas. I was lost, but not in the way he meant. I knew what would happen next because I had already lived it once before. I was sixteen again.\n\n*******\n\nThis had been my first time at the Carnival in many years. I used to come here every year with my dad and sister, but that changed when we had to leave my grandma’s house, and it was just the three of us. Dad worked all the time, and things just went from bad to worse. I felt lost, not just at this Carnival, but in my entire life.\n\nNinth grade in a new school. It sucked. It was the worst of times and the suckiest of times.\n\nI had to leave all my friends at my old school, just when school was becoming exciting, and I finally grew boobs, and I was coming out of my shell. My home life was terrible, I didn’t want to be at this new school, so I wasn’t in a reasonable frame of mind to make new friends, and it showed, so I was shunned and labeled a loser.\n\nBut not by him.\n\nDallas was lovely to me; he was intelligent and funny, easy to talk to from our first meeting.\n\nOne time, our science teacher showed the class some boring science movie, and I pulled out a book and held it under the edge of the table, reading it. Dallas reached over and took it away from me, saying, “You shouldn’t read in the dark. It will ruin your eyes.”\n\nHe had a point, though it wasn’t that dark. Now, if it had been anyone else, I would have went off and told him in colorful terms that it wasn’t his business, but I could never get angry at Dallas.\n\nSummer came, and the Carnival with it. Dallas was there with a couple of our mutual friends who were on the shortlist of people I could tolerate at that time.\n\nDallas and I rode the Ferris wheel, and I asked him not to flip the carriage, which he was polite enough not to do. Looking back, I wish I had been less of a chicken and let him turn the carriage upside down. I’ve never been on the Ferris Wheel with another guy in all these years.\n\nHe invited me back to his house, which I jumped at. I was in foster care at the time and dying to get out and live on my own. I went to his house and smoked weed with Dallas and his friends.\n\nI’d never seen eyes so blue, like the song “Magic Man” by heart.\n\nCome on home, girl,” he said with a smile. “You don’t have to love me yet, and let’s get high awhile.”\n\nSigh.\n\nDallas was tall, blond, and blue-eyed. Those beautiful eyes revealed a soul that was equal parts angel and villain. He set the standard for every guy I would date after him, and none of them could hold a candle to him.\n\nI did love him right away. It was a blissful six months that we dated until I screwed it all up because I was all messed up, myself. I broke a beautiful thing with my immaturity.\n\nThe following year I had to transfer to yet another school. After I graduated, I saw Dallas around a few times until he moved to a different state.\n\nThank God for the invention of social media! I found him again, not long ago, when he showed up in a “People you may know” alert. He’s been married and divorced, as have I. Though our moment has long passed, and we are in committed relationships with other people,\n\nDallas was my first love and always will be. Even after twenty-five years, I still love him, and I’m thankful for his friendship. Oh yeah, and his eyes are still just as blue as ever. He has gotten better with age. I’ve never wished to live any part of my life over again, except for him. If I could travel back in time and change the choices I made, he alone would be worth the effort.\n\n******************\n\nNow, it appeared I had what many people wish for but rarely get the opportunity: to go back and undo a tragic mistake.\n\nI took a deep breath. “I’m not lost. I was looking for 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: Into The Fire\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1505\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Susan stared out the window to the vast metropolis below, and sighed. Despite the vast height of the building she was standing in, and despite it being early in the morning, she could still make out the movement of cars and even people as they went about their daily lives. \nSusan worked in an office as a customer service representative; her job was to take calls and help people install their printers over the phone. It was a boring job, she admitted, but a well-paying one, and she’d been there for over three years. She was eager for a promotion, and could feel it on the horizon. She turned away from the window, and sat back down at her desk. \n“Morning, Susan,” said Mike, her manager, who’d just come through the front door and passed her desk on the way to his office.\n“Good morning, Mike!” \n“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” He said with the utmost sincerity. \nShe smiled. “Yeah, it really is.”\nSusan liked Mike; he was polite, a good worker, and was quite friendly with her. However, he was the one in charge of promoting her, and she was itching to move up the corporate ladder sooner rather than later, growing frustrated at the lack of communication about when it was going to happen. She, in this moment, nearly asked him about it, but held her tongue for reasons she couldn’t quite discern. Susan was shy, but the reason for keeping her silence had to do with risking Mike’s friendliness more than anything. \nSuddenly, his eyes moved away from hers and up over her head, staring out the window. He squinted, as if trying to see something better. \n“What is that?” He asked.\nSusan turned around and, squinting too, tried to make out what it was that Mike was seeing.\n“It looks like a bird. A really big bird,” she said. \n“It’s coming right for our window,” he said with a laugh. “These birds get dumber every year.”\nBut then they heard it. A strange, alien noise; like a furnace being turned up to the highest degree, or a car skidding off the road. It was hard to place, but it sounded wrong. So, so, wrong. And it chilled Susan to the bone.\n“Mike…I don’t think that’s a bird. I think that’s a plane.”\nHe walked around her desk and went right up to the window, squinting no more, for the object moving towards them was now much more visible, and much, much larger than they’d thought.\nSusan gulped. She’d seen planes flying low before over the bay before, but none this low, and none this large. And the fact that it seemed to be heading directly towards her set off alarm bells in her head.\n“Mike…I think we should leave.”\n“Nonsense! They’re just diverting course. Gods, would you look at the size of that thing? I’ve never seen a plane that large from this perspective before.”\n“No, Mike, we should leave, now.”\nHe turned to look at her, the friendliness drained from his face. “If you leave now, you can kiss that promotion goodbye. You’ve got calls to make.”\nSusan stood up, and her mouth went dry.\n“Mike, it’s coming straight for us.”\nAnd he turned around, looking back out the window, and was startled to see that the plane had grown twice as large now, and was still heading, seemingly, straight for their office.”\nThat same strange alien noise was even louder now, like nails on a chalkboard, and others in the office were getting up to look outside. There was nervous chatter and murmuring amongst the employees, but Susan remained dead silent, weighing her options. \nThat’s when one woman screamed; a foreign, blood-curdling scream, the kind you hear in slasher films, the kind you pray you never have to hear in real life. For the plane was roaring, moving with all its might, at an intense speed, aiming just a hair above their office now. \nThis plane was going to crash. \nMike began to back up, slowly, as he stood in abject horror. They barely had any time to cover their heads when the plane, roaring as loud as an inferno, smashed into the offices above them, bisecting the 1 World Trade Center and sending all the employees tumbling to the ground. \nSusan hit her head on the floor and fell unconscious for a few moments. When she came to, all she could hear was screaming, as jet fuel leaked through the floor and drip-dropped down on the heads of her employees. The loudest scream of all was from Mike, and when she turned to look at him, it was only for a few moments because, to her horror, he was jumping out the now broken windows, his head aflame. \nSusan got up, gingerly, and covered her head with her arms. There was chaos all around her; people running frantically through papers being blown around by the wind, fires growing where the jet fuel was leaking, making its way down from the offices above and through the floor to the next level, fire alarms blaring.\nShe ran towards the exit, leaving her bag, and yelled to her coworkers: “Come on! This way!” And they followed her, thankfully, down the hall to the elevators. But when they got there, the elevators were not operational, for the jet fuel was leaking down the elevator shaft too. \nThey stood there for a few minutes, praying that the buttons would work, but eventually some of them gave up, and headed for the stairs, while some remained behind, never to leave that corpse of a building again.\nSusan descended the staircase with a handful of her other employees, going two steps at a time, while the building shook and swayed and grumbled. Down and down she went, through flights and flights of stairs, unable to comprehend just what was happening. “Was it an accident?” She thought to herself. \nBy the time she reached ground floor, after ten excruciating minutes, she was ready to drop out of exhaustion. But she had to keep going, for debris was now falling in the lobby, and she could see bodies scattered around her for those who were unlucky with their escape. She zig-zagged through the main floor, hoping to God that she would dodge the debris, and miraculously, to her surprise, she made it to the front door, and pushed it open into the grey dust that greeted her outside. \nSusan ran. She ran and she ran and she ran. Away from the building, not looking back, and down the street, away from the carnage, away from where she watched her boss light on fire and fall to his death, away from the horror and misery and hell she’d just narrowly escaped. When she was about a mile away from the Trade Centres, she turned around, covered head to toe in dust and soot, and put her hand to her mouth in complete and absolute horror. \nThe building had been cut in half, and a dark red fire sprouted from the impact zone. And then she heard it again; that same alien noise, which she now knew was the sound of jet engines roaring as the plane accelerated. She looked up, and in disbelief, watched as another plane hit the second tower. \n“This is no accident,” she told herself. “This is deliberate evil.”\nThen, a woman, not much older than Susan, came staggering out of the dark cloud of ash that was growing down the street. She collapsed to her knees in front of Susan, and wailed: “My husband…my husband…I can’t find him…oh, God, I can’t find him…”\nThat’s when the firefighters began racing past her, and something deep inside her stirred; she felt that, in this moment, her entire life had led up to this point, and it was her obligation - no, her duty, to go back into that ash and find this woman’s husband. It made no logical sense, but as she stood there watching the buildings burn, her feeling of helplessness and hopelessness turned to rage, and she ran into the dust.\nShe did find a man, not more than a quarter mile from where she stood, and helped him back to his feet, pointed him in the right direction, and told him, in her most earnest tone, to run, run as though his life depended on it, because it did. \nThere were others like this, scattered throughout the streets, lost in the dust and soot, and lost in their minds and hearts. And she helped each one to their feet, and to each one she pointed the way, like an angel sent by God himself, and into the fire, she disappeared.\nSusan saved ten lives that day, including the woman’s husband, and she was remembered by her colleagues, friends, and family, who all waited anxiously for her safe return, but were never granted that sweet reunion. For heaven had other plans that day; and she did get her promotion after all; this time to angel." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Aries Male & Cancer Female\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2222\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about two people who need each other, but are too stubborn to admit it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "A/N: This is a partially true story. The characters are based on me and people I know, but none of the names are according to theirs. Some of it's real, and some of it is just a dream in my heart.\n-------------------------------\n\"Don't you dare startup about my folks!\" I crossed my arms over my chest, facing the dark-haired male in front of me. \"Bless your heart. You ain't got no room to judge somebody when you ain't met them yet.\" My eyes blazed green with flames of fury as his spiteful words replayed over and over in my mind. \"Especially not my parents!\"\n\n\"Well, he has no room to be calling me a stalker when I said I wanted to move with you and your friend. I have a past, one that you don't know.\"\n\n\"We all got pasts, Aran.\" My mind whirred with memories of my own fucked up past. \"We've all got to deal with our own demons. So, you best pray to God, or whatever the hell you believe in, that you don't say that shit around him!\"\n\n\"Here's the thing, dear. One, I was accused of raping a girl when I had an airtight alibi, all because I broke up with her. Two, I don't believe in anything.\" My thoughts went back to when I'd first said something to him in Civics the previous year.\n----------\n\"What would you do if I told you that I liked you? Wanted to go with you?\" I fiddled with the cross around my neck, waiting for an answer.\n\"I don't think a Christian country girl would ever work out with a Satanist like me.\"\n\"Oh. Okay...\" I turned and went back to my roadmap to the Constitution assignment.\n----------\nI shook off the memory, but it only added fuel to my flames. \"So, not only are you disrespecting my folks, but you've lied to me for the entire year and eight months that we've known each other??? You told me you were a Satanist!!!\" I rapidly blinked back tears that threatened to flow in my rage's wake. \"And trust me, I know rape is a serious allegation, Honey. I've been on the opposite end of that spectrum because I was raped. I've made the accusations, tried to go through with charges that would never stick because the time to tell had run out two years prior!\"\n\nI noticed a leaf that fell on his shoulder. \"I am not disrespecting anybody! I take stalker accusations seriously! I told people that to get them to leave me alone. Why does it matter?!\"\n\n\"It matters 'cause I value honesty. Integrity. Authenticity. I couldn't give a damn about what you believed in! I could care less if you were an atheist because I don't care what my friends believe in! But don't fucking lie to me about shit!\" I took in a deep breath and continued. \"And obviously it didn't fucking work! I didn't leave you alone! Neither did Emery! Or anyone else in our friend group! So, don't even pull that shit on me!\" My heart pounded in my chest, so loudly in the ensuing silence, that I thought it would explode. I loved him, I knew it, but he never would know. He'd made it abundantly clear it would NEVER work out in this lifetime.\n\n\"It kept people I didn't want away. So, yes, it worked. I don't know what kind of image you've built up in your mind about me since Covid hit, but I'm not that image.\" I turned to the wall, my eyes refusing to meet his for fear that he'd see the hurt and raw pain in their depths. \"I didn't lie. I just didn't tell you everything, and even you have your secrets. Ones that I don't think anybody but you know. I know you're not a fanatic, or we wouldn't be talking right now.\"\n\n\"You're a real ass! You know that? A real fucking ass! I ain't had no image of you since COVID hit, but you know something? Maybe that's a good damned thing because you're never going to be the man I want!\" I winced inwardly at the pain that flashed across his features. Funny how all it takes is one word to change the meaning of a statement. I didn't want him but I damn sure needed him. \"Damn skippy I've got my secrets, but I don't tell somebody I'm something I ain't! That's called L-Y-I-N-G! Lying!\"\n\nI glared at him as he shifted on his feet. \"And I don't put up with liars, Aran! I swear to God, I don't know what to fucking do with you!\" I clenched my fist, made a sharp about-face, and marched off. A small part of me hoped that he'd call out for me, stop me from wherever I was going, but he didn't. At that moment, I hated his guts, but I knew it wouldn't last.\n\nI called Emery, hoping she'd pick up. \"Ember? What's up?\"\n\n\"Aran is a fucking asshole!\"\n\n\"I know that, Darling.\" I waited for her to continue. There was definitely some kind of \"but\" coming. \"He's an insufferable asshole sometimes, just as stubborn as you are. What'd he do this time?\"\n\n\"He lied to me! Disrespected my parents!\" I let out a frustrated yell as she sighed.\n\n\"And let me guess. You punched the shit out of him?\" I laughed at the idea.\n\n\"Tempting, but no. I don't do that. Bradley was the exception, and that was only a slap on the arm because most of my temper had been diffused by yelling at him.\" I shook my head at the memory and the 3 classes of ISS/AID in my Junior year, my only time ever getting into trouble with the school.\n\n\"So, you cussed him out and said some rude shit?\" She knew me so well. I smiled a little bit.\n\n\"And this is why I call you, Emery.\" I could envision her shaking her head at me. \"Yes, that sums it up. I ain't apologizing to him. I meant every word and he deserved every angry lash dealt to him!\"\n\n\"Welp, this is going to be interesting. He's not going to apologize either, Ember. You both are way too stubborn for that. I'm not interceding this time, only lending a listening ear.\"\n\n\"I've never asked you to fight my battles! I just call to vent and feel better!\"\n\n\"I know. I know. He wants you, but he'll never tell you such. Since your stubborn-ass doesn't know how to get a man though, you're going on a date tonight. My place, thirty minutes. If not, I'm hunting your ass down. Love you.\"\n\n\"Love you.\" I clicked off the phone, knowing that I would never attempt to get with him after his flat-out rejection last year. Emery, forever the single matchmaker, did not see it that way. I shook my head, wondering who the hell she'd set me up with this time. Every date she'd set me up on, I'd only went to keep from hurting her. I never clicked with any of the guys (or girls) she set me up with, but she, bless her heart, had to keep trying.\n\nSo, thirty minutes later, I was at her red door. Her small white house was perfect for one person, maybe two. It was the same style as mine. Two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a back hall, and a small bathroom. It was almost as if somebody said, \"Hey! Let's tear up an apartment complex and set each apartment in the middle of Nowhere, USA!\" In reality, it was just the same old small-town mill house in the South.\n\n\"You're here!\" She pulled me inside as if worried that I'd run away or somebody would see me. \"Okay. Hot pink dress. Cowgirl boots. Curls. Earthtones. Mascara. Lipstick. Sit!\" Obediently, I sat down, already dreading this date. I hated hot pink, hadn't worn it in eight or nine years. After polishing my nails, which were always scuffed and ruined from farm work, she went to town on my makeup, something I knew almost nothing about. \"He is going to love you tonight.\" Eyeshadow. Mascara. Eyeliner. Lipstick. Lipgloss. \"Dress! You are going to be the hottest chic alive tonight!\"\n\n\"How about some size 6 skinny jeans, a skin-tight army green shirt dotted with tiny white flowers, and a choker-style neck? Decked with a denim jacket and my boots?\" She gave it some thought.\n\n\"Does this shirt show some skin?\" I laughed and nodded as I went into the closet I used when I stayed the night.\n\n\"Girl, I don't know how you do it. Greens, blues, pinks, blacks, and purples. You pull off any color except orange and red.\" She cocked her head. \"I take that back, you pull off orange in the summertime when your skin gets bronzed.\"\n\nI donned on the skin-tight clothes and she curled my hair. \"So, what time is this date? Is it somebody I know? Where is it at?\"\n\n\"Half an hour. You'll see. You'll see. I'm driving you.\" I rolled my eyes and followed her to the truck fifteen minutes later, with curls to my hips.\n\nFifteen minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of what used to be the Mason Jar Cafe but was now Mawmaw's Kitchen. \"They've got some hellacious buttermilk cornbread, pork pintos, and fried squash.\"\n\nI strode into the restaurant and sat down at a table. As I was perusing the menu, I felt somebody sit across from me. \"Ember?\" My head whipped up in shock. \"Where's Emery?\"\n\n\"Ummm...She's the one who brought me. I think she just left...\" I laid down the menu. \"For the love of God, tell me you're not my blind date tonight!\" My phone buzzed in her pocket at the same time that he pulled out his black cellphone that dinged with a notification. Get him, Ember. He's your date.\n\n\"About earlier...\" He started and stopped when I shook my head.\n\n\"Earlier is done and over with. Don't spoil my evening.\" He smiled and hailed a waitress. \"Pintos, cornbread, a side of fried squash, and some sweet tea, please.\"\n\n\"Fried chicken, hush-puppies, and fried squash, please.\" He glanced at the drinks. \"And a glass of Cheerwine, Ma'am.\" She scrawled it down on her pad. \"That's all. Thank you.\"\n\nHis eyes focused back on me like I was the only woman in the room. \"You look stunning.\" His hand reached across the table, his calloused hands landing gently on the back of mine. \"How do you do it?\" I heard the chatter in the background, but it didn't matter to me. \"How do you manage to stay so angry, yet so light-hearted? So stressful yet so carefree? So organized yet so full of chaos? So complicated while being an open book?\"\n\n\"I'm a walking contradiction. What can I say?\" I sucked in a deep breath. \"If you hadn't shot me down last year, we could've been here twenty months ago. I'd have taken you home to meet my folks. I'd have told you yes if you'd asked me out.\" I sighed. \"But, that, it appears, will never happen.\"\n\n\"Why me?\" His gaze searched mine. \"Why did you like me back then? I've never been a looker. I'm ugly.\"\n\n\"I don't know. I still ask myself that, but looks aren't everything.\" He was kind, caring, sarcastic, debative, sweet, yet somehow all alone. You were drawn to him from day one, for reasons you'll never know. \"I've never dated because of looks. Why did you shoot me down? We've had this conversation about your Satanist excuse, so give me the truth.\"\n\nHe laughed dryly. \"I know some of the people you've dated, probably even hooked up with. Looks must play a part.\" I shook my head as the waitress brought back the food. He picked up a hush-puppy and chewed it slowly. \"I was a nobody, a graduating senior who'd made it through without a problem. Then a fiercely independent, firey, hot Southern woman basically tells me she likes me. What do you think?\"\n\n\"First off, I don't hook up with whoever I date. I've only ever hooked up one time, four years ago, with my first love and boyfriend. And I've dated five guys and one girl since then.\" I sipped on my glass of sweet iced tea. \"And I think it means that either a) you were extremely stupid for not taking up that offer if that's what your thought process was or b) you had no clue what to do with an offer like that.\"\n\nAs we finished our meal, I sighed. Handing him an envelope, I thanked him for dinner and walked out of the restaurant. That began my three-mile walk home on a dusty backroad. I knew he'd stay in there and read everything I'd written for him, which meant I wouldn't be there and he'd have no clue where I was when he reached the last page. That's what I needed. I will never tell him how I feel now. He will never tell me how he feels. We know, but we don't say it. We don't act on it. It's just there. I guess that's all the love there will ever be between an Aries male and a Cancer female." } ]
[ { "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 Painter of the Morningstar\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2972\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "1846, a young man held a brush like a dull blade slashing through the canvas with colours. The light dances through his hand, gilding it with gold and shading it with grey. A dancing bright soul of a human battling with the demons assigned to haunt him. \nHe himself was nothing impressive, a mere young mortal who held dreams too big for his short life-span to carry. At the age of thirteen, he could paint his own face with its full cherub pink cheeks and hazelnut hair in a way that resonates with the true design of Father's Creation. At twenty-three, he thought he could have already achieved perfection. \nInstead, he found himself staring with red-rimmed eyes at a piece of work that he considered his masterpiece, torn down to shreds not with swords but the words of the judges of the Fine Art. They denounced his positions among the stars, all due to his interpretation of Orestes. But unlike the titular protagonist, who was to acquit the crimes of an artist for failing to please the mainstream perception?\nThe painting was not half-bad. It was dull, with Orestes half-turned facing the Furies, the viewer could only see the side of his face cast in the shadows. His limbs stretched out towards the frame, as if trying to flee from fate itself. Yet there was no desperation in his movement, as his widened dry eyes that dripped like lead were hidden away, so was his downturned mouth that had saliva leaking from the corner. \nThe painter thought himself a genius, putting the only face on his work that of the mystical Furies. Her pale eyes of judgement engraved into the darkness like twin pearls, set upon the darkened shape of a humanoid face that blended into the background. \nIt was meant to invoke fear and tension, yet the painter missed the point of the story he was trying to tell entirely. It was like omitting heat from the creation of light, taking out the scorching blaze which created the brightest stars. \n\"No wonder the judges consider you a failure,\" she sat on top of the chair where his muses propped themselves on and said to the young painter. \"You truly have no talent at all.\"\n\"You are merely the muse, you have not the knowledge of art.” The painter waved the muse away like he did to all the men and women who draped in dynamic poses until their armpits sweat due to his tedious command. “Please turn around, put your left hand into your hair.\"\n\"And hide my face?\" The woman's reddish-brown curls danced in the breeze that swiped in from the open window. \"I think not, human.\"\n The young painter did not remember when he opened the window. He made it a point to shut them off as completely as he could, just like how he bolted the doors. Every turn felt like the cruel and merciless murmurs his peers utter when they thought him not listening. Every clamping of hooves or squealing of lovers sounded like taunting to his broken ego. \n\"This is my studio,\" the young artist said with gritted teeth. \"An artist's studio is his Heaven, you will not mock me here in mine. Leave now, before I lose my temper.\"\nThe woman flung herself down from the sofa she lounged against with the grace of a swan. Her auburn hair spread out like sea-grass around her face, against the backdrop of the blue sky filled with clouds in the shape of angels. \nShe was truly a gorgeous thing, that was why the young artist picked her in the first place, he clearly didn't think of how a muse's attitude could stall or ruin the quality of a painting. Now his fingers clutched against the wooden-handled tool, splinters digging into his skin until it drew red. Alexandre Cabanel finally thought of the Bible verse of 2 Corinthians 11:14. for even Satan fashioneth himself into an angel of light.\nThe young artist thought of that no doubt thanks to his current predicament, namingly the new inspiration that was prickling in the back of his mind. \nIt was certainly unconventional. Inconceivable to some. He did not give much thought to what would become his name after he presented this piece to the public. Most of his days were consumed in doubts nibbling at his creativity. He tried to write those thoughts down like that of a writer would, but all he found was joyless sorrow. \nHe burned those letters instead of sending them to his friends. The young Alexandre watched as his howling soul simmered from a crimson glow into brittle crumbs that faded into ash in the wind. \nIn a moment of utter hopelessness and melancholy, Alexandre Cabanel thought that there was only one creature in all of God's creation who could have understood how it was to fall when one was once the most angel among the Heavenly Host. \nOnly Satan, the former angel Lucifer, could feel how he had felt at that very moment. \n\"You are proud, mortal. No shame in that.\" The muse who he had ordered to leave instead paced around his studio with the confidence bestowed only to monarchs. She giggled as she peeled the fabric that hid some of Alexandre's less confident works as if they were an absence joke she had heard at one of the royal balls. \"Which is what I would say if you had any fortitude to claim such prowess. Except, you clearly do not possess whatever you think you deserve.\"\n\"Who...who are you?\" Alexandre was astounded at the impish behaviour this clearly high-born lady was behaving. Was she the daughter of some aristocrat, disguised as a muse only to come and humiliate him in person so that she could gossip about it at parties. Look at that once promising artist Cabanel, lost in obscurity. \nThe muse laughed at that. She bellowed until her belly ached and let herself fall back onto the sofa she was occupying before when she posed. Until Alexandre's face turned from scandalised red to an embarrassed pink, like the hot sun from noon to a begrudging twilight.\n\"Oh, you sure you are an artist and not the muse?\" The woman who pretended to be the muse but a monarch in disguise grinned with her full set of teeth. \"Because you surely are a-musing.\"\n\"I do not understand what you are saying,\" Alexandre replied. \"Is that...English?\"\n\"It's called a pun,\" the woman waved her hand dismissively, as if the young artist was the one making a fool of himself. \"Wait around for a few centuries, then you'd get it. It's creative, and funny. Both are qualities your works do not have.\"\n\"I am an artist,\" Alexandre replied indignantly, he found himself defending his position as if he owed this woman clad in almost nothing but a sheet of white robe as if she was the witness to his every sin. \"I do not make art for people's amusement. What we do is a craft perfected over centuries by the enlightened minds of million predecessors before us.\"\n\"Your predecessors' craft, as you say, is nothing but a spark of flame.\" \nThe woman smiled brightly. Her auburn hair swirled faster, as if they were truly caught in water. Alexandre felt the pull before he lost all sense of gravity. He tumbled like a fish being sucked in by a tsunami. His brain was unable to comprehend what was happening before his eyes. The white sheet that covered the woman's body floated away, as her torso and limbs engulfed the sunlight streaming from the windows around them. \nThe light attempted to flee, like rats caught in a trap. The muse merely laughed at the pathetic attempt. Sunbeam after sunbeam, they were snatched by her dancing hair like playful hands of toddlers, then gulped down into the endless pit of a monster's stomach. The lights were still there as they entered her body, screaming and twitching. \nThe woman did not even blink once even as the light she consumed lit her up like a human torch. When her eyes opened, Alexandre's mind was temporarily put into a catatonic pause as it could not conceive the level of clarity he was seeing the world as light casted everything away. \nAlexandre choked on his breath as he was thrown back to his body. His eyes swayed as the woman leaned back against the sofa in a comfortable position, her face content and smug. She had made her point. \n\"You...\" The young artist trembled at the revelation. He felt his knees give weight under the stress of seeing the Devil in blood and flesh. \"You are not human.\"\n\"What brilliant observation skills,\" the woman shrugged her shoulders, not bothering to pick up the discarded robe she had worn whenever the artist did not need her posing. \"I can totally see how you become an artist at such a young age.\"\n\"R...really?\" \n\"No, that was sarcasm.\" Lucifer rolled her eyes up heavenward as her rosy lips curled into a snarl. \"Gosh, does anyone around here have a sense of humour?\" \n\"You,\" Alexandre shook his head. His eyes still blinded by the light humans should not be exposed to, but no wonder Satan did not care for the common rule. \"No. I did not call upon you. I did not forsaken God's name. I did not die a sinful man. I was...I was merely trying to paint. Oh God.\" \nHis fingers began to claw at his face as he saw the Devil in all her glory that he was just trying to capture half a minute ago. \n\"Yes, you were painting,\" the muse, who was apparently Lucifer herself, added more timber to the fire Alexandre found where sanity should have been. \"I believe the subject of said painting you were making was of me.\" \nThe young artist crumbled onto the ground in a puddle of mumbling mess. There was no getting an answer out of him like this, Lucifer would know. This simply wouldn't do. \n\"I found it curious, you know.\" Satan continued without giving Alexandre a single glance. She reached out her hand which had skin as smooth as marbles, the canvas that left abandoned flew across the room that hovered in thin air revealed its half-finished paint yet to dry off. \"No one ever painted for me, you know? Humans love to dedicate all their imagination to my other siblings. Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, even all the other unimportant ones. Everyone and the footsoldiers of their legions got at least a stained glass dedication. But I am nowhere to be found. \n\"It's like I never existed, all because Father said so. You know what? He made me like this. He was the one who poured all the light inside me. I did not ask for it! You can't blame a tornado when you're the one stirring the pot. I screamed and screamed. Angels were not meant to be filled with so much light. Father asked me to perform my purpose, so I obliged. He didn't care how much I was burning up from the inside out. He didn't care how it hurt for one's wings to be eaten away like flies chew away at rot. He said I was his favourite daughter, but he did not look back even once as I Fell.\"\nShe scoffed, the wrath twisting her perfect features like a crack in a perfect symmetrical architecture. Above everything, that was what stopped Alexandre's impending begging of mercy. It was such a human reaction, almost childlike in nature. It shattered the illusion that this creature of light was somehow above the young artist. It grounded his shock and horror, which returned Alexandre to an artist first and foremost. \nThe concave between eyebrows as they knitted themselves closer to the subject's amplified amber eyes. The way the edges of those eyes were coated in red vessels expanding like the River Nile turning into blood under Moses' staff. \nThe Fallen Angel sulked with her arms crossing around her body, hiding away half of her perfect features. There was nothing in this room, which barred Alexandre and herself, that could hurt her. Still, Lucifer's arms curled around herself as she pulled one of her knees closer to her body in order to achieve a more comfortable position. \nThe young artist felt the flames that were blown away by the wind flickered slightly, like an illusion of a desperate man seeing a castle in the desert. Yet, he could not stop the curve of his hand as he picked up another blank canvas from the ground and set it against the empty easel. \n\"Hold still,\" he found his voice spoke clearly like thunder. Determined and filled with purpose. It was devoid of human weakness and fear for evil. For an artist does not fear their own creation, they only make sure to get the details within them as close as possible. \n\"What?\" The Devil mumbled. \n\"This,\" Alexandre Cabanel said. \"This is perfect.\"\nLucifer stared at him without words. The smirk on her face wiped away to the side. She did not pretest as Alexandre fussed at the different tools, or when the young artist measured her from across the room with his pencil. She merely remained in the same position and watched, as quiet and still as a dow with blurry eyes. \nAlexandre was so entranced in his work that he did not realise that as more time has passed that changed the yellow hue outside to the orange of the afternoon, later faded into a lilac field until it finally became velvet black. He painted without noticing his fingers were slowly twitching to be free of the brush, that his eyes were sewing themselves shut. \nThe young artist only saw the Morningstar as he drew. The Fallen Angel who curled up in a position that was a feeble attempt at concealing her sorrows. He painted the blue sky casted in bright light, filled with the brethrens the Devil just talked about with both envy and longing, rejoicing in the sky in droves in pearly white. Then there was the ground where Lucifer sat upon, which was covered in vines and caked in mud, much like his emerald sofa that had stains all over it due to him losing track of the maid's absence. \nThe contrast was a phenomenon. Alexandre mixed together the white and blue paint as he tried to remember how it felt like when Lucifer let her power engulf his human provisions. The Fallen Angel who was born of the purest of light, that was where she came from. She fell so far that now Lucifer was sitting on his sofa. Alexandre's sofa. The sofa of a dishonoured, unreputable artist who barely passed the age of twenty, who in her eternal eyes was nothing but a flick of dust. Exposing her pride and torment, all for the chance to be painted like all the siblings she talked about. \nThis broken being, who had lost itself so completely. That was what Alexandre had drawn. \nWhen he finally finished, it was six-hundred-sixty-six days later. No one would ever know this was the exact amount of time it took Alexandre Cabanel for him to create the masterpiece that will one day become synonymous with classical art. \nThe piece was named \"Fallen Angel\". You must have seen it. In the painting, Lucifer sat with their wings furled up, against the dark background with the bright sky far above him, the feathers drenched in shadows the further down it got. His body naked, but filled with light. Their hands clasped tight, covering the lower half of their expression, while a single tear rolled down red-rimmed eyes. \nAuburn hair dancing like seagrass around his face, like Hellfire filled with rage. \nAlexandre Cabanel painted all that without a single pause. Later those rumours would disappear beneath the enormity of his legend, but some thought the tormented young artist might finally offed himself in a last stroke of desperate romanticism. \n\"You could see the unhingeness from all those tested works of his,\" they muttered. \"It was clearly signs of a decaying mind. He was once a great artist, too. But he had lost his sanity to his ego.\"\nThey would all be wrong. Truth was that, after Alexandre Cabanel finished the painting of \"Fallen Angel\", he went about his life a lot better. The painting itself was a massive flop within its contemporary time limit, as it was the painting of a Devil in beauty, done with empathy and grace that the judges sneered at as blasphemy. \nHe was unaware in all his mortal years, the painting he did for the Fallen Angel Morningstar would go on to defy and define art for generations to come. \nThe young painter went on to create more and more conventionally acclaimed works. He regained his peers and the public's respect as years crawled bb. \nHis talent was recognized. His good name was restored. \nSometimes, Cabanel still painted a muse with brownish-red hair.\nHe lived on for another forty-three years. However, in his final days, one of his most notable paintings that was set in the convention was born. \nIt was a painting of Venus rising from the ocean that was the colour of the sky. Little angels sounded around her, as she lay bare and half-woken. There was a regal to the way her arm raised above her torso, the way one of her arms crossed her face hiding her expression. The sea waves her body lounged on were that of emerald green. \nShe looked like she had just woken up for a particularly early morning, disrupted by an annoying lover who kept rocking the bed. \nHer hair was brownish-red, the same shade of auburn as decades past and millennia to come." } ]
[ { "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: Dare To Love\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1379\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone accepting a dare." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Do it! I triple-dog-dare you, Ember!\" The girl tossed her river-soaked copper hair over her shoulder as she laughingly shook her head at her twin brother. \"Aww, wimp! You just ain't got the balls to do it!\" Her green-blue eyes, flecked with hazel, blazed with indignation as she took the bait.\n\n\"Bet!\" She cast a sideways glance at the guy in the kayak that was about to unknowingly become her victim. She hauled herself out of the muddy water and tied back her hair. \"Watch and learn, Eric.\" She took a running start and leaped off the dock. She surfaced about halfway across the river, her blonde highlights shining in the southern sun. She eyed the distance between her and the kayak, took a deep breath, and swam over. About five feet from the kayak, she stopped, resurfaced, and went back under.\n\nI'm going to die! Half of her mind was completely against doing this at all. But this could be the best summer of your life if you pull this off! Come on! You go to college in the fall! The other part of her mind willed her forward, under the murky waters. Or the worst! What is he drowns? Her mind warred with itself as she swam under the boat. With a burst of strength, she pushed upwards, tipping the sit-on kayak with the hundred-fifty pound man inside of it. She heard a yell of surprise as she felt the kayak tipping above her. Come on, Girlie, push! She heaved and heard a splash as the weight came off of her. Resurfacing, she gave a whoop and stuck her tongue out at her friend. Before she could swim around, she felt a hand grab her leg, and down she went.\n\nI told you you were going to die! She struggled against the grip for a moment, before he let go. She broke the surface only to come face-to-face with a laughing Nicholas. She helped him flip his kayak right side up, then swam back to the dock before she could do anything else that might make her look stupid.\n\n\"Pay up! I told you she'd do it!\" She glared at her friend and brother as Miranda handed over the twenty.\n\n\"Damn y'all!\" Her brother's green eyes laughed at her as she hauled herself up. She stalked past her blonde soul-sister and her brunette brother, heading towards the other side of the parking lot.\n\nShe sent a flirtatious smile towards Nicholas and made her way to the mile-long rocky path that led up to the top of the tracks, about forty feet above the water. Out of sight, out of mind. She made her way to the top and walked to the center of the trestle. \"If I die, I'm hauntin' y'all's asses!\" She knew they didn't hear a word she said, but it felt better yelling it than keeping it in. With that, she jumped, performing a few summersaults on the way, straight into the deep water below. When she broke the surface, she found a kayak right by her head.\n\n\"Grab onto the back. That's a mile swim and not one you're making alone.\" She smiled and hauled herself to the back. \"But first...\" He stopped and smiled at her.\n\n\"You already got me back for that!\" He laughed at her protests and began to paddle his way to the closest shore. \"Nicholas?\" He hopped out, pulled it up, and tied it to a tree. \"Nicholas?\"\n\n\"Shhhh.\" He pressed a finger to his lips, then helped her out of the water. \"You've got spunk, Ember, I'll give you that.\" She found her gaze locked on his brown eyes that were framed by his wavy southern clay-red hair. \"Your dad is going to kill me. Probably fire me.\" He played with a lock of her soaked hair that tried to cling to her sun-kissed skin. Cupping her face with both hands, he leaned in, pressing the lightest of kisses against her pink lips. She sighed and leaned into him. Going to be the best summer ever! Her mind screamed in her head as she responded to his touch.\n\n\"I know a place,\" she breathed in between kisses. He looked at her in surprise. \"Come on.\" He let her lead the way through the woods. \"I come here a lot.\" She stopped in front of a small cabin. \"Mama gave it to me.\" She looked back at him, a smile on her face. He smiled and let her lead the way into the cabin. Shutting the door, he pinned her arms above her head and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.\n\n\"My friend and brother are going to be extremely worried.\" She laid in his arms an hour later, curled against his muscled chest. \"We should be getting back.\" Neither made any attempt to get dressed and head back. \"Where does this leave us now?\" She peered up into his eyes, feeling the lines on her forehead crinkle.\n\n\"Where do you want it to leave us, Ember?\" Her heart fluttered in her chest as hope blossomed in her soul. \"You're eighteen now. Your parents can't control you like they did.\" He held her, praying for her to follow her heart. He watched as her white teeth chewed her bottom lip.\n\n\"I like you...\" She trailed off as her mind went back to a scene from three years before.\n---\n\"That was...wow!\" She looked into the grey eyes of her first love. \"But, where does this leave us now?\"\n\"Wherever you want us to be, Baby.\" He took her hand in his. \"Just know that I'll always be here for you.\"\n\"I like you, maybe even love you. I want more than whatever...\" She motioned to the room around her. \"Than whatever this is that we have.\"\n\"And what do we have?\"\n\"I don't know. We've been friends for years.\" She chewed her lip. \"I..\" She trailed off and kissed him as hard as she could.\n---\n\"Ember, look at me, Sweetheart.\" His voice was so soft, so compelling. Her eyes met his melted caramel ones and looked away at the sincerity she saw. \"This is your choice. You're not going to hurt me if you say that this is a one-time thing. I'm not going to shoot you down if you say you want to be something more to me because I'd love that too.\"\n\n\"I don't know where we'll go after this, but...\" She stopped and looked at him again, an internal debate throwing itself back and for between her heart and mind.. \"I want to be more.\" He smiled and kissed her slow.\n\n\"We need to get back, Ember.\" Reluctantly, they got dressed and went back outside. He took her hand and led her back to the kayak, which he untied and dragged back to the water. \"You coming?\" The side of her lips quirked up in a smirk as he sat down.\n\n\"Of course. What's the weight limit?\"\n\n\"Four-hundred.\" He shot her a quizzical look. She climbed up and sat on his lap.\n\n\"Okay. Let's go.\" He laughed, shook his head, and pushed his way out of the inlet. About half a mile later, she plunged into the chilly water, dangerously tipping the kayak again.\n\n\"What was that for?\" She laughed and took off swimming. Shaking his head, he paddled behind her until they got to the dock once more.\n\n\"Ember?\" She turned her head at her friend's voice. \"Thank God you're okay! I was worried sick that you'd done gone and drowned or something!\" Her eyes flickered to Nicholas behind her. Her eyebrows raised as she looked back at Ember, who nodded. \"No way! You're kidding me!\" She shook her head as Eric lumbered up to them.\n\n\"I'm going to kill him if he laid a hand on you, Ember!\"\n\n\"I guess you'll have to live with it.\" She smiled back at Nicholas. \"He's my boyfriend now. Besides, we all know you're hot for Miranda.\" She laughed as he turned on his heel and walked away.\n\n\"Go get'em, Mir.\"\n\nShe turned as she felt Nicholas' strong arms encircling her waist. \"I think today was amazing.\"\n\n\"It takes somebody who dares to love each day, Sweetheart. Dare to love and you'll make it somewhere.\"" } ]
[ { "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: Mrs. Chesterfield on Deck\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1104\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who is living through a major historical event — whether they know it or not." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Mrs. Chesterfield refuses to board the lifeboats.\nShe insists that the boat is not sinking. We have assured her that it is. We have pointed to the ocean. We have said “You see, Mrs. Chesterfield? You see how it’s getting closer to us? It isn’t meant to do that. The ocean is meant to stay where it is in relation to a boat. If it begins to approach, something is terribly wrong.”\nWith a turn of her chin, Mrs. Chesterfield goes right back to her knitting. She informs us with a curt tone that she was promised an unsinkable experience. Rummaging around in her handbag, she produces a pamphlet. Her finger points to an underlined section stating that--\nThe Titanic is a marvel unlike any other! There is absolutely no way it will sink. If someone tells you that it’s sinking, they’re playing a cruel joke on you and you should ignore them.\nSatisfied with herself, Mrs. Chesterfield places the pamphlet back into her bag and yawns. She asks after her husband. We begrudgingly confess to her that her husband was spotted wearing a wig made for a lady and dressed in Mrs. Chesterfield’s clothing. We assume it was so that he could board the lifeboats before all the other men.\n“No, no,” Mrs. Chesterfield corrected us, “I’m sure it wasn’t that. Jonathan must have simply been a bit chilly. He is rather bald, you know. The wig was clearly meant to warm him up. My clothes are much warmer than his as well. You see? Perfectly reasonable explanation. Although I am offended at your suggestion of my husband being a coward when there isn’t even a crisis to cowardly respond to! I shall need to speak to the person in charge at the next possible instance. Otherwise, I will be forced to tell all my friends about my unpleasant experience aboard this rather rickety so-called pleasure cruise.”\nIn spite of her threat to give a sunken ship a bad review, we begged Mrs. Chesterfield. We cajoled her. We tried to slip a life raft on her only to have her scream “Take your hands off me! I once did the waltz with a Vanderbilt! I was once engaged to a Rockefeller! I once loaned a spare tire to Henry Ford! How dare you!”\nWe tried another tactic. We told her this was a drill. Nothing more than a practice for if the ship was to sink. She’d hear nothing of it. She told us that she did not believe in preparing for emergencies. She claimed it went against her religion.\n“You see, my dear imbeciles,” she said, sitting all the way back in her wooden deck chair, “I believe in survival of the fittest. In the event of a calamity, there would be no point in preparation. All of that goes out in the window in favor of pure, God-given inner resilience. My husband, Jonathan, and I both believe that were we to find ourselves in any sort of catastrophe, we’d simply use our instincts and persevere. Faith and fortitude, my imbeciles, faith and fortitude! We’re also very rich. That certainly helps. It isn’t everything--but it helps.”\nWhen we tried to persuade Mrs. Chesterfield that all the money in the world would not help her if she were to be plunged into the icy waters of the mid-Atlantic, she shook her head as though we were toddlers attempting to teach her geometry.\n“I’ll have you know,” said Mrs. Chesterfield, poking at each of us with her knitting needles, “That even if this ship were sinking--which it’s not--I would be just fine, because I was a swimmer in my youth. I was considered the greatest swimmer in all of upstate New Jersey if you don’t count the four or five cheaters that were ranked above me. I could swim around those icebergs so fast your heads would spin. Not that any of it matters, because this ship is perfectly fine.”\nWe pointed out the way the ship was angling as it began its ascent into the water. We pointed out the people fleeing and screaming. We pointed out the rapidly dwindling number of lifeboats. She would not be moved. Instead, she walked up to the band that had continued playing and asked if they knew something with a little more “pep.”\n“Honestly,” she said, returning to her chair, “People are so serious these days. What happened to fun? What happened to frivolity? This sort of thing would never have happened when Roosevelt was President. Now everybody walks around like they’re staring Death right in his visage. Thank you very much, Mr. Taft. That’s what I call him, you see. Mr. Taft. Because he’s not my President. No, no, no. Any man that looks that ridiculous on a pony is no President of mine. What a bumbling nincompoop. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if you told me he was the Captain of this shoddy enterprise. Just because the boat isn’t sinking doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed where all the corners were cut. When I ask for a plate of caviar at dinner, I expect a full plate not one little pile as though my husband, Jonathan, didn’t pay an arm and a leg to get us aboard this vessel. Really, shame on all of you, for your stinginess and your nagging and your futile attempts at gaslighting an old woman into believing the ship she’s on is going down.”\nWhen we saw that the window for our own existence was closing swiftly, we said our farewells to Mrs. Chesterfield. She met our goodbyes with an abrupt harrumph and then asked if we would be sending over some complimentary cocktails for all the stress we’d caused her carrying on about fake shipwrecks. We said we would look into it then went searching for any piece of furniture that appeared buoyant.\nLater, as we were doing our best to stay afloat on various chaises and pieces of wood, we watched as the last section of the ship eased itself into the dark beyond. It may have been our collective imaginations, but in addition to the sound of the band playing its final notes, we thought we heard the shrill voice of Mrs. Chesterfield yelling--\n“Could somebody please warm up this bathwater? I mean, really. Is that so much to ask? Nobody wants to work anymore, you see. That’s the problem. That’s the major problem in America today, and nobody will admit it. And all the while, it’s as plain as the water around under my chin. Oh well. Life goes on, I suppose. Life goes on.”" } ]
[ { "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: FRIENIMIES\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1061\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about two people who need each other, but are too stubborn to admit it." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Kylee and Jenna were both friends who always used to stick together. They both were high school students. From Lord high school, the tenth standard. They both were hanging out together in the school corridor when they saw a boy walking toward the principal's office. He was tall and handsome with glasses. They both went to the ground for morning assembly. After assembly went all students went to their classes teacher came and said that a new student is going to join them. When a new student came into the center to introduce himself. His name was Sam the same boy they saw before going to assembly. Since Jenna was the class leader teacher asked her to show him around. When Jenna came back after showing him around Kylee asked her about Sam. Kylee was interested in him. After first-class their homeroom teacher asked Jenna to help Sam with homework and the chapter which were covered until now. So for helping Kylee she borrowed her notes. This was an opportunity for Kylee to talk to him. She went to his desk and asked him if he needed any help. Then she came back to her desk and Jenne asked her about the progress. Then she told her there's no progress since he returned the notes. She asked the reason than she told her that he copied all notes in one night. Time went like this Kylee used to stare at him during lectures. Jenne used to tease her a lot. Then one day she suddenly came to her and slapped her on the face. Because she thought that Jenne was the one who told Sam about her feelings for him and that's why he rejected her. She tried to explain and even denied that she wasn't the one but Kylee didn't believe that. She started ignoring her and started hanging out with other girls. No, even a single person talked to her. They isolated her as if she didn't exist. She holds Kylee responsible for this treatment. On worse when she took Kylee to prove her innocence to Sam. Sam confessed that the one he likes is Jenne. And after hearing this Kylee didn't hear any explanation of hers. Now it was the time of results and as usual, Jenne came first and scored a perfect score 💯. Kylee scored 70 coz when she started hanging out with those girls she never been serious about her studies. After report distribution, Sam came to Kylee and told her that Jenne wasn't the one who told him about her. And that she rejected him without even thinking for a second. Now Kylee realized that it was her mistake for misunderstanding her friend. Then she decided to sort things out and ask her for forgiveness. In the farewell ceremony, she prepared to apologize. She a bouquet and a sorry card to her. But Jenne threw the flowers on the floor and tored the card into pieces and threw it on her face. After this incident, they both went to different senior high. Although they both knew that it wasn't anyone's fault it was just a misunderstanding but they were too stubborn for excepting this. They missed each other even more. But because of their ego, no one wanted to take the first step. Both were expecting the other one to take it. They both needed each other but we're not excepting this truth. Because since childhood they both were with each other. And now they were feeling lonely. No new one was able to fill that space in life. Now they both were together again in the same college and same class. By seeing them from the third side everyone thought they have sworn enemies. Because they always insulted the other and bickered at each other. They both were like competitors in the boxing ring in every exam and competition. Even played pranks on each other for winning. One day before the exam someone locked Kylee in the locker room. As a result, she wasn't able to take the exam and Jenne scored the first position. Everyone believed that Jenne was the one who did it. When Jenne was all alone on the basketball court practicing, Kylee came from back and hitter hard on her face. Then they both started hitting each other. Jeanne pushed Kylee and shouted, \"what do you think, I was the one who did it?\" Kylee hitter Jenne hard that she fell and hurt herself on the head. She went out. When she came out of the pharmacy Kylee pulled her by hand and took her to the classroom. \"So wasn't it enough that you still want more?\"\n\"I'm not going to hit you this time.\"\n\"Oh, really then why you locked the door?\" She asked by pushing her to the board.\n\"I know it wasn't you.\" She said with a frustrated voice.\n\"Then why did you hurt me so much?\"\n\"Coz you were irritating me by ignoring me.\"\n\"Hm really. I'm not asking about this.\"\n\"But I apologized for my mistake it was you who made a fool of me in front of the whole school.\"\n\"You expect me to forgive you? Are you serious? Do you even hear yourself? After what you did to me how can you say that huh?\"\n\"I know but you think you were right for not even giving me a chance to correct my mistake?\"\n\"Chance my foot. After what you did toe because of that guy you expect that?\"\n\"of course I was angry when I heard that you were the one he liked.\"\n\"So what was it my fault?\"\n\"Your fault was that even after liking him so much you rejected him because of me. When he came to tell me I already knew it wasn't your fault and decided to apologize. But you made my apology joke of the year and on top of that I found out from your diary how much you suffered. And you started to like him while helping him with his studies.\"\n\"You know what I was angry coz you didn't even believe your friend. Someone said that your friend did it and you....\"\n\"But then why didn't you tell me anything about your feelings when we used to share even a single detail.\"\n\"Then why didn't you even tried for once to contact me?\"" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A story bite\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2508\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone looking at a restaurant menu." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Excuse me, Miss, can I trouble you for a menu?”\nJanie nodded absentmindedly, rushing by a new customer who had just planted his butt in the only empty seat left in the corner by the window. She paused by the kitchen grabbing a few plates and drinks for a couple that was intimately cuddling in the corner, pretending like they were the only ones in the place. They were nauseatingly happy and Janie felt a wave of jealousy rising in her whenever she passed by them. Her own forever love affair ended as quickly as it started just a week earlier so she was still hung up on that disappointment.\nThe place was buzzing like a bee hive as it always happened on Saturday mid-morning. Janie made a few more runs back and forth before she zoomed by the new patron’s table sliding a plastic one-page menu over to him on the way to the bathroom. She came out a few minutes later determined to keep it together and stay pleasant. The boss recently commented that she would have made way more tips with her pretty baby face if she wasn’t so short with the customers. Tips… tips would be good. She sighed. Student loans were growing, bills were skyrocketing and there was no hope for improvement any time soon. She was especially irritated when people were so busy on their phones, that it took them forever to order anything so Janie had to go back and forth asking them again and again if they decided what they were going to eat. It always amazed her when people were looking up at her from their screens with a look that clearly said “how dare you bother me here!”\nThe restaurant was located off the beaten path in Manhattan. It was one of those NY delis that managed to combine in its menu a nice mix of American favorites and the old-school traditional Jewish dishes like kasha and lox with schmear. They typically closed in the late afternoon except on the weekend when they shut the doors after eight.\nJanie ran behind the counter grabbing the pad she used to take orders. She saw how her new customer put aside the menu she left for him and was about to head over to him when the owner called her over quietly but firmly. Janie obeyed with curiosity. The owner was a much older woman who rarely spoke to any of the wait staff. Her son was a big deal somewhere in Hollywood so initially, when the restaurant was first opened, no one really cared if it would be profitable. This was the old lady’s long-time coming dream so her son obliged. She taught her cooks how to make dishes from her pre-USA life, as she called it, and spent her days sitting between the dining room and the kitchen in a large comfortable chair watching how life boiled all around her. In time, however, the cafe became a big success so since Janie started here three months earlier, she couldn’t remember a single quiet day when their dining room didn’t fill up to the max.\nShe approached the owner, bending her head closer to the old woman so she could hear better.\n“Honey, tell the kitchen to prepare the portion of syrniki, a large one. And serve it with sour cream, honey, jam, you know? The works…” she still had a slight European accent when she got excited.\nJanie was a bit surprised – she never thought of their owner as someone with a sweet tooth. Maybe that’s what she was in the mood for today.\n“Would you like me to put it on the tray for you?”\nThe owner chuckled quietly.\n“Silly girl, it’s not for me. What could I possibly do with so much food? It would have been wasteful. It’s for that darling boy over there.” She nodded towards the man that came in last and was now looking out the window.\nJanie was confused. How did she know what the guy wanted? She hesitated before replying carefully, trying to be as respectful as possible. Who knows, maybe the owner finally lost her marbles…\n“He asked for a menu but I haven’t taken his order yet.”\n“No need. His name is Jake, he comes here every year on this day, always asks for a menu, and always orders the same thing. I’ve known Jake for years, ever since he was a little boy. He used to come for breakfast with his Bubbee all the time. let me tell you - the woman could eat!” The owner smiled, reminiscing. Janie looked closer at the man, or actually Jake, again. Now that she heard this, she noticed he didn’t look joyful on this sunny Saturday morning. One of the busboys placed a cup of coffee in front of him a few minutes earlier but Jake hardly noticed it. He continued to gaze out the window deep into his thoughts.\n“Do you know why he comes on this day?” she asked the owner quietly.\n“It’s the day his Bubbee left him and went to reunite with the Lord.”\nJanie didn’t have a relationship with her grandparents. They lived far away and never seemed to bother so it was hard for her to understand Jake’s grief. She watched him as Jake turned from the window scanning the room around him with his big brown eyes. He sighed unbuttoning the top of his shirt and brushing back the curly wave that fell on his forehead.\n“They were close, ha?”\n“Very. She raised him. Dad ran off when he was a baby and he lost his mother a few years later to cancer. So that’s all the family he had. Now, go, yenta, don’t make him wait. I have a feeling Chef David already has his plate ready on the warmer.”\nOf course, the owner was right. When Janie asked David if he had an order ready for Jake, no one asked any questions. Instead, she was presented with a large oval platter where in the pool of a heavenly-smelling melting butter were sitting five large golden cottage cheese pancakes that Easter Europeans called syrniki. Janie tried it once before and her mouth immediately watered with the memories of the crunchy top which covered the soft goodness of the fried cakes. They were sweet and slightly salty at the same time. Many ate them in a similar to the potato latkes manner with an apple sauce. But the owner said the right way to have them was with lots of cold thick sour cream and homemade raspberry-strawberry jams or honey.\nJanie picked up a heavy plate with both hands carrying it carefully towards Jake’s table. As she came closer to him, Jake looked up and gave her a hint of a smile. He nodded in appreciation.\n“Can I get you anything else?” Janie asked softly, setting it up in front of him pushing the utensils and the napkin to the side.\n“Maybe just some water…” He smiled almost apologetically.\nA minute later, Jake was alone again at his table with his thoughts. The smell, so familiar and homey, coming from the plate was bringing back lots of memories. He could hear his Bubbee’s voice cooing over him as she tied the napkin around his little neck, mixing English, Ukrainian and Yiddish words. He could almost see her hands covered in spots and wrinkles, carefully cutting his cakes in front of him piece by piece, dipping them in the fluffy clouds of sour cream before pausing for a moment above the saucers with the jams.\n“What do we do now, boychik? Is it time for a golden rain or a mud bath?”\nDepending on his answer she would continue to the plate of honey or jam before gently bringing the fork to his lips with a bite that was about to drip all that goodness over entire table. It was his job to open wide and try to catch all those tasty drops before the disaster would happen. No one could make these cakes as well as his Bubbee did. No one but this place…\nJake sighed again before he cut into his first cake with determination. Golden rain or mud bath? He smiled. Maybe a little bit of both. He took a bite and closed his eyes, savoring it for the first time in a year immediately transporting to the far-away past when he was still little and felt so loved.\n***\n“Jacob, did you wash your hands?”\n“I did! Five times already!”\n“Homework?”\n“I did it too! And I prayed, and I made my bed, and…”\n“Oh, you are such a good boichka! Come have breakfast, your syrniki are getting cold.”\nBubbee always called him that in the morning. She believed that the day should be started on a positive note no matter how hard the circumstances around you were. It never failed and Jake smiled. He also liked how she stopped calling him Jake or Jaikee since he turned eight. Jacob sounded like a mature manly name. She even started to introduce him that way to others at the synagogue.\n“This is my Jacob. Did you know that he skipped second grade and went straight to third?”\nShe was always so proud of him. No matter how small or large his accomplishments were, he could do no wrong. That unconditional love made him want to do better, be good for her. Jake couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting her in any way. How would he be able to look into her greenish, slightly fading eyes if he did something she wouldn’t approve of?\n**\nSomeone dropped the tray which was followed by the sounds of broken glass in the kitchen. Jake swallowed his bite coming out of his memories just long enough to look around to make sure the noise had nothing to do with him. He shook his head before he reached out for the next bite, this time deciding to make it all pure and golden as his next memory.\n**\nHe was running through the street clinching the envelope in his hand. He slipped and almost fell on his last turn to their old five-story building. There was no elevator but Jake flew up the stairs to the fourth floor as he did his entire life not even counting the steps – in the last twelve years he got so familiar with every single one of them, that he could do it with his eyes closed and not trip even once.\n“Bubbee!” he screamed, opening the old door that still had the signs of the faded green color it once was. “Are you home? You need to be home!”\n“What’s the matter, boychik?” She came out of the living room with her usual glasses on and a bright handkerchief tied around her head.\n “We did it! I got in! The new Yeshiva on West End avenue. They said they will take me free of charge!”\n“Oy! That’s so great!”\nShe hugged him, rocking slightly from side to side as she did when he was little. All their hard work, all the books she got for him, all the trips to the library and museums – it all paid off! The best school, in his opinion. No, the best PRIVATE school in New York was willing to accept him on a grant! Jake knew – that would open all the doors for him in the future. New York was the best place on Earth for someone like him – everything was just a few minutes train ride away. For someone who wanted to be in academia, God couldn’t have made a better arrangement.\n“Boychik, we celebrate this weekend. I will take you to our favorite restaurant on Saturday morning!”\n“Can I get a big plate of syrniki, not that kiddie one?”\n“Of course! You are almost a man now! Your mama would be so proud!”\n**\nThat was such a happy day. The school was wonderful and Jake got everything he ever wanted. He looked down smiling, looking at his expensive cashmere suit. He wished Bubbee was here to see him like that. Sophisticated, well dressed, his curls neatly cut and styled. Jake glanced at his plate. He had three more left. Maybe this time he will dip his next bite into jam instead of honey for some of his darker thoughts.\n**\n“How could you do this, Jakie?” Bubbee hadn’t called him that in years. Jake immediately felt his insights tuning with guilt. But like any fourteen-year-old, he tried to put up a brave face.\n“Big deal, some vase! I will buy you hundreds of these when I grow up!”\nShe shook her head disapprovingly.\n“Boyka, you can’t replace this, don’t you know? It was the first thing your grandfather gave to me as a present. He brought it from the war. It was one of the very few things we had with us when we came here. This is all I had left that was his…” the tears were rolling down her wrinkled face.\nJake’s heart couldn’t stand to see her like that – suddenly she seemed so fragile and hurt. He sobbed himself before he could catch it.\n“It was an accident! I didn’t mean to!”\n“I know it was. I’m not upset that you broke it but why did you lie to me about it?”\nHe didn’t know why he tried to make a cover-up story. He never lied to her before and knew he wasn’t good at it, to begin with. Unable to contain his feelings, he ran off.\nWhen Jake came back that evening. Bubbee still had red eyes but seemed more like herself. She gave him a hug letting him know all was forgotten and she forgave him. Things happened. The next day, Jake felt a strong urge to do something nice for her so he grabbed all the change he had in his possession. He was saving for a trip to Boston but decided it could be postponed. Boston is not going anywhere. So, he marched over to his Bubbee and invited her for breakfast at their restaurant – his treat. She proudly accepted it. She said he was growing to become a “good man”.\n****\nJake swallowed his last bite. If she was here right now, his Bubbee would have made him wipe the butter off the plate with the last piece. Don’t waste food, she always said. Everyone who lived through the war, and knew what hunger felt like, said that. He left some money on the table before he got up to stretch. He looked towards the owner’s chair. She smiled and waved at him.\n“See you in a year, I hope, '' mumbled Jake, not certain if he was talking to the restaurant or his Bubbee. With that, he buttoned his collar back up and walked out into the sunlit New York street taking a deep breath of the fall’s crispy air. Until the next 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: Water bottle of copy cat\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1348\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone sticking to a course of action even when it’s clearly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Oh! the playground is almost not visible from our class, why is it so? I remember that last month we all had gathered to watch football match of our class boys.What's wrong with this month..It took few moments for us to realize that our class was shifted to the next room. Ohh! are we out of our mind, we even forgot that we are promoted to next grade and we are still in past mode of 6th class. We still can't believe that we are in class 7th but this fact is truth and we have to accept it. \"Actually one boring thing is we are mooving to higher classes and growing up, i imagine if i had a blessing to become younger day by day or remain same. But we can't remain same because its life process and particularly we the children between the age of 11 to 19 are known as adolescents and teenagers, these all facts are science oriented but truth. This is the age where we all create memories, have fun with friends in school\" i wonder why my friend Dhruthi is saying all these things to me and i can even notice the seriousness in her face, it was hard to accept that my friend was changed but its true, even I'm changed very much compared to my childhood days, my brothers miss my mischievous nature very much. What to do just move on.\n\"Only 53 seconds are left for the next bell \" said Pooja.\"I am waiting from so long,when is this boring class will be finished, actually you know what, i just came out of my dream, such a wonderful dream, what a experience . Luckly next period is games\" I secretly heard these all conversations that were going among my friends, actually the thing is i was secretly appointed as secret leader of our class and my duty is to make sure that no one disturb while class is going on and the hardest task was to note down the names of my classmates who all are undisciplined and also i need to make sure that everyone one in our class converse in English language.\n3..2..1 bell rang and finally we got freedom, we all rushed to the play ground and played a lot but me as a secret leader had to notice each and everyone even in free time as well. Sometimes i feel sad to write my friend's name and give it to sir but the amazing fact is my friend still not yet discovered that i am the secret leader of class, appointed by our class teacher 'Sebastian sir'.\nMe being a secret leader had noticed lot of mischievous things that will be going on in our class. The main ones are cheating while writing exams, this was the serious issue of our class. Not only the students who are weak in studies involved in it but also some rank holders too joined hands for this undesirable work. It was the time during preparatory examination that was conducted during the month of February, it was first day of exam and the subject of the day was science , i reached classroom 20 minutes early before the commencement of exam and opened my school bag to take out my note book for final revision. I saw some of my friends, engaged with paper cutting. I asked them the reason behind this activity. They slowly came closer to me and said a secret in my ears. The secret was that they were cutting paper inorder to copy down important answers for exam, actually they were preparing copy chits.\nI just walked away into exam hall and sat in first bench because my class register number is 1. The undesirable work done by my friends was disturbing my mind a lot, i suggested them to revice what all they can remember but they were not in the stage of convincible, i felt they lost their honest, self respect, descipline and hope of their parents.Almost there was 3 more minutes for the exam commencement, i heard my friend Pranathi speaking with Chinmayi who is one of the rank holder. \"Definitely the diagram of animal cell will be in exam\" said Pranathi to Chinmayi and actually Pranathi is the daughter of our science teacher so she gets the question paper before the exam, i felt even she is not honest and even Chinmayi who is asking about the questions is not at all fit for rank holder, they know that they are choosing wrong path but they are too greed that they dont even want to correct themselves.\nExam started, the exam was totally easy for me, as i had reviced this subject several times. Exam finished at 11:30 am and was started at 9:00 am, so we had enough time to express our anwers through our writing in answer scripts. My answer paper was collected first because my register number was 1 and later i came out of exam hall and i noticed there was a huge crowd infornt of our class. I didnt took it serious because it will be common, so i rushed towards staff room to meet our class teacher to tell everything about cheating in exam but i was surprised that staff room was empty. I went towards my classroom and saw our class teacher along with school principal punishing my friends, i was surprised that how teachers got to know about the undesirable work of our classmates, it dont need much time to realize, definitely they are caught by examiner...They all were badly punished by teachers and were taken to office room and called their parents. All our class students were crying because there friend 's are being published for their work.I never felt sad because i tried to convince them in a better way and explained them copying is not at all right and i also told them this may effect our future life. I feel copying is like we are killing our ideas ourselves which means we are destroying our mind with our greed and i had promised my self that i never engage in copying during exams because it says that we are cheating our parents\nAlmost 3 members were caught by our class teacher, they were Kruthika, Pooja,Dhanush.\nI noticed that Dhanush was crying a lot and even some girls went to convince him\nA girl named Thanushree who was sitting next to me said everything what happened in exam hall, she also said that even she had carried copy chits with her and when examiner came to check wheather all are writing exam honestly, she got scared that even she would get caught so she suddenly opended the lid of her waterbottle and threw copy chits into waterbottle, the copy chits got dissolved in water and formed bubbles with blue colour ink and she found other peice too so she quickly swallowed that peice of paper. I was in shock for some moment after hearing this copy cat story and i noticed that she was removing her shoes, i saw that she had kept a mini book of answers to copy in her shoes. I felt i cant explain things to them, i just feel they are cheating themselves because they know that they are doing wrong but still continue the same habit.\n\"I remember that these things were not going on in our primary classes as we had great respect on our parents and teachers and also we were honest but in this teenage we are loosing our honest nature, inosence and mainly created problems even through it is wrong. I belive that we are responsible for our life and we are the future responsible citizens of our nation and as well for world. Lets control ourselves and lets be inosents as kids.\" a loud clappes were heard i ended my valedictorian speech in anual day and i felt so happy that my words finally changed my friends who were striking to a course of action when its clearly 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: Live a Little\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1131\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone accepting a dare." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I thought about it. I lay awake debating against my better judgement. Every ounce of logic explained to me that it was a bad idea. But he had made it sound so simple, turning my stubbornness against me, “I dare you”.\nI flung my legs over the side of my bed. Fine. \nThe carpet was cool on my bare feet but it braced the dull noise of creaking floorboards, convenient for when you don’t want to wake anyone. My breath was rising and falling in quick gasps but I stifled it with my cold hands. I caught myself in the mirror, gazing into the soulless reflection; me. Amelia, named after Amelia Earhart. My dad chose the name because he had always wanted me to feel like I could soar through the clouds and create a whole life for myself. That I would always be free. I had a love-hate relationship with the name, it reminded me of the flowering plant Astelia. Not the most beautiful flower, never the most colourful or the one with the biggest petals, but designed to simply attract insect pollinators. And it fulfilled that goal. That was me, not unattractive, but at the same time not even slightly pretty. I did what I needed to do to achieve my goal and let all other aspects of myself slide into whatever state of disrepair they wanted. I had had one goal for so long I hardly knew how to think of other things. I was put on this Earth to do great things. But aren’t we all? \nI unclipped my dark hair from its clasp, letting it spill over my shoulders. I needed to look relaxed. Relaxed is confident. Confidence is attractive. Confidence also hides anxiety. I snatched up those shoes I had been hiding and opened the front door to let myself out, my body adjusting to the lower temperature with some reluctance. The door closed with a click and I walked away from the comfort of my house in a slight daze. Here I was, wearing a flimsy blue dress with no pockets or protection from the cold. It exposed my shoulders, the top of my chest, my knees, crisscrossing with lace over my back. I had never worn so little clothing in my life. My bottom lip was turning red from me nervously nibbling on it. I kept my feet moving so I wouldn’t have enough time to rethink what I was doing. The pavement smelt of fresh rain and fallen leaves, it truly was a gorgeous night with the streetlamps creating a light puddle beneath them. I realised I had just been watching each step of my heeled feet passing over the concrete, I let my head snap up, my eyes piercing through the gloom. He had kept his promise. I took a deep breath, feeling self-conscious of my every move and wondering what the Hell one was meant to do with one’s arms as you walked. Feeling awkward, I wrapped them around myself in a hug, thinking I’d just blame it on the cold if he made fun of me for it.\n“So the infamous intellect can break a few rules.” His grin was lopsided and dorkish. He passed me a little metal flask. I took a long swig. Liquid courage. \nHe nodded his approval and I rolled my eyes at him, “I never said I didn’t drink, just that I’ve never been to a proper party thing.” \nHe shrugged and took his whiskey back from me. I let him guide me into his car. Any other girl would be impressed by his careless display of wealth but he was my best friend and when he explained what kind of car it was I had completely zoned out. It was red if that helped? \n“I’m glad you changed your mind about being a goody-two-shoes forever.”\nI buckled my seatbelt and he chuckled a bit, not bothering with his own. \n“I swear to God you watch too many bad-boy movies, Ezra. You’re not cool.”\n“Coming from someone who’s never even ditched a class, that means very little. In fact, you saying I’m not cool only proves that I am.”\n“Just put your seatbelt on or you’ll be the subject of natural selection.”\nHe shot me a look, he had warned me to turn off my brain tonight, that was the whole point. But what were conversations even made of if not random facts and tales about yourself? The only tales I had of myself were academic. I don’t know how to socialise. At least I could feel the alcohol reaching my head, providing the block in my brain an excuse for acting out of character. I looked out the window and just focussed on the dim lights whirring past the window. The faint traces of rain made it shatter into thousands of little splodges. \n“Stop being nervous, you’re gonna have a great night.” He whacked my knee.\n“Ow.” \nThe car pulled into the house. That classic high school movie scene buzz was radiating out of those four walls. So the films had gotten one thing right. Suddenly I couldn’t move, sitting on the fake leather seats, tightly buckled in. \n“You’ve come this far, man. Besides,” A pause. “What’s the worst that could happen?”\nI could hate it and all my anticipations of high school parties will have amounted to nothing and I will feel empty inside and cheated out of what I felt was rightfully mine— I bit my lip and said none of this to him. I had been waiting for this for a while. \n“Let’s go, but only because I’m not going to back out of that stupid dare.” \n“That’s right, Lia. Let yourself feel what you’ve been quote on quote ‘missing out on’.”\nI opened the car door. It was one night, there was no homework, no study that needed doing urgently. I had tonight off. I would lose myself for just one evening, let my name be lost upon the wind or drowned in the rain. It isn’t all flight and seeking your destiny as her father intended. No, Amelia Earhart was the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic, but her plane went down and she disappeared from this world. Things were never what they seemed on the surface level. The name ‘Amelia’ means “work” and for too long, that has been all I’ve known. So I’m going to forget Amelia, forget my parents who want me to exceed, forget all those who have ever doubted me, forget the anxiety and stress that kept me from living. \nTonight I would be Lia, meaning “relaxed” or “bearer of good news”. Tonight I would be truly free, in a way that Amelia could never be.\nI walked into the party." } ]
[ { "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 Heir\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2758\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone sharing a secret that has a big impact on everyone." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“The king is dead.” Lucius declared. “Long live the king!”\nMarcus dropped his gaze, struck with sorrow at the sudden news. King Remus was beloved and renowned for being just and fair. \nLucius continued, “This day has been planned since the day you were born. We have successfully kept the deception for 16 years. And it has worked. You’re alive.” \n“What deception?” Marcus asked.\n“You’re the true heir to the throne. You’re now the king.” He proclaimed, “Long live the king!”\n“How can that be?” Marcus was confused.\n“I’m not your father. Your real father was King Remus. You were always the heir but we kept you hidden to keep you safe.”\n“Why?” \nLucius explained: Before becoming king, Remus fell in love with a woodland nymph. He first discovered her on a hunting trip when he was not much older than you are now. He had come upon her while she was getting a drink from a sacred spring. She was at first frightened and hid in the ivy. She had been warned her whole life to stay away from humans, that they would only cause misery. \nRemus tried to coax her out. “Please, oh sacred nymph, don’t be afraid. I mean you no harm. What’s your name? I just want to talk to you.” \nThe nymph was terrified on that first occasion but she chose to hide nearby rather than run away. She was curious to learn more about the human who had spotted her. Long after the hunting party had gone home, Remus continued to wait. He could sense her presence, it’s calm.\nRemus went home that first day disappointed but not discouraged. From that point forward, he went back to the sacred grove every day. He pleaded with the nymph to reveal herself but happily accepted her silence if that was all she would share. “Don’t be afraid.” He would repeat. “I just want to learn your name. I just want to talk to you.” \nHe told her everything about himself. He confided in her silence and would even bring food for a picnic lunch: warm bread, fresh cakes and exotic cheese. He left it all behind when he went home. When it was safe, the nymph would sneak out and share the human-made food with the squirrels and rabbits. \nThis went on for ten years. His friends and advisors tried to dissuade him. They accused him of wasting his time on a fantasy, that he needed to find a real wife to get an heir. They told him his love was a mirage. The future king however paid no attention and continued to spend his days in the grove, rain or shine, no matter the season. And each day the nymph made sure she hid in the same place so she could watch him and hear his voice. She too was enamored.\nEven on the day he became king, when his father died, Remus came to the grove, but this time his demeanor was different. He didn’t call out for the nymph. Instead he sat on a rock in silence and watched the spring bubble. He loved his father very much. He had learned from him everything a monarch should know: how to fight with a sword, engage in diplomacy, and dispense justice. He learned that the kingdom was more important than one person, that stability and peace was best for all and that succession should always be clear.\nThe nymph took pity on the king. She cautiously stepped out from the shadows and approached him from behind. He didn’t even notice that she had crept up until she carefully leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “My name is Ampelus.”\nThe king turned quickly, jumped to his feet and for the first time saw the nymph up close. He paused, suspended between grief and joy. He was dumbstruck by her beauty until he finally stammered, “Hello Ampelus. I’m Remus.”\n“I know who you are.” Ampelus smiled then added. “I’m sorry your father passed away.”\n“My whole life has been a preparation for this moment. I’m his only heir. And now for the rest of my life I have to prepare for my own death, for the safety of the kingdom. I need an heir but first I need a wife.”\n“You’re still young. You’ve lots of time.You’re strong, kind and handsome.” Ampelus replied.\n“I’m sure you could pick any woman you wanted in the kingdom. They would be honored to be your queen.”\n“There’s only one person I want to be my queen and that’s you. You’re the only one I have ever loved.”\nAmpelus was flattered. “You don’t know me.”\n“I know more about you from our shared silence than I could have ever hoped to learn from anyone else.”\nThe nymph was unsure how to respond. \n“Please, Ampelus, be my bride.”\nThe nymph demurred. She desperately wanted to say yes but was not sure if it was appropriate. “I’m not sure that the gods will approve.” \n“Who cares about the gods? Venus herself, the goddess of love must have sent us on the same path. Why would she be so stupid as to start a love without any intention of success.”\nAmpelus cringed. “You mustn’t speak of the gods that way.”\n“Why not?” King Remus stood tall. “We love each other and that’s all that matters. Venus can go to Hades.”\nJust then, a wind began whispering through the treetops. The branches around them began to sway, slow at first but then more violently. A thick mist descended, and the goddess Venus appeared. \nBoth the king and the nymph covered their eyes and turned away. The light of the goddess was too bright to look at. Her voice boomed, hurting their ears. “How dare you question my motives, mortal. Have your love, I don’t care, marry, rule the kingdom, just know that you’re the last of this dynasty. I will beseech the fates to kill your only son. They will send an assassin to cut short his life and leave you without an heir. And nymph, you have long been told not to mingle with humans, that they will only bring misery. Why didn’t you listen? As of now you're pregnant with the king’s heir. You will never know where and when your son will be killed. You will live your lives in fear of your blasphemy.” Then with a sudden gust, she disappeared. \nAmpelus was devastated. She was so afraid. \nKing Remus embraced the nymph ”Did you hear what she said? She said we can marry.”\n“But what about your heir?” the nymph asked, still trembling. “I’m already pregnant. This was not supposed to happen to me. I’m a nymph.\n“I have a plan. I love you so much. I know I can make this work. Trust me.”\nKing Remus and Queen Ampelus lived a happy life for the next nine months. Ampelus was not comfortable with living among humans so she remained in her sacred grove. King Remus would visit every day. Together they would talk and sing and simply hold hands. At night, they would gaze upon the vast expanse of the universe. And while he was tending to royal duties, she would encourage the vines in the grove to grow more full and verdant, to create a cloister and a throne.\nThen one morning King Remus found the grove abandoned. All that was left was a newborn baby sleeping in an ivy woven basket lined with lilacs and purple chrysanthemums. Attached was a note from Ampelus.\n“My dear love, here is your son and heir. I’m sorry but I’m too frightened of the future Venus has plotted. I must run away now, deep into the woods. I’m no longer a nymph. I have lost all my powers through motherhood. Please guard my son as long as the fates allow. I love you. Ampelus.\nKing Remus was devastated. He kept returning to their grove every day but never saw her again. This made him all the more determined to thwart the goddess’ curse. Once his son was safe , they would go together on a quest to find Ampelus. \nHe told only one person about the curse, his top advisor and best friend, me, Lucius. Together, we devised a plan. It so happened that I also had a newborn at that time. And so we traded babies. My real son was raised in the royal household while the true heir would be raised closeby. The plan was that my son would be a decoy for the assassin. When he was killed the real dynasty wouldn’t be broken. No one knew of the switch. Even the wet nurses were fooled. \nAt first we expected that the goddess would strike right away. But Venus was far more cruel than that. She wanted to prolong the fear so our lives would be under constant threat.\nMarcus was dumbstruck when he heard the truth. “You mean you’re not my father?” He asked. “And now I’m actually king?” He was incredulous. \nLucius knew there was no time to delay. He urged Marcus on, “Come, we must get to court at once, so you can be revealed as the true heir. Paulus is waiting for us.”\n“Does Paulus know?” I asked.\n“No.”\nTogether they rushed to the palace. The grand hall was filled with various lords of the kingdom. They were mulling about waiting to hear the announcement of the new king, to see their new lord and sovereign. However they were concerned by the delay. After all, they knew the king’s son was in court. Why hadn’t he declared himself already? Lucius and Marcus moved past them quickly and slipped into the throne room where the old king was on a pyre. The crown was placed in his hands and rested on his chest. \nPaulus was alone in the room, hovering over the body. He had always been told that when the king died, he had to wait until Lucius arrived before doing anything.\nPaulus was relieved to see them. “Where have you been?” He shouted. His sword was drawn and dripping with blood. His right bicep was cut and bleeding. His hair was disheveled and he was out of breath. \n“What happened?” Lucius asked. \n“You were the king’s closest advisor, why weren’t you here? You knew he was about to die and you left. Why?” Paulus was angry and confused.\nMarcus noticed three bodies strewn on the ground. They were all dressed in black robes and bleeding out. “What happened?” he asked.\n“Assassins came to kill me, hired by one of the lords of the land. I was able to dispatch all of them. They were more trained in stealth than combat. They were easy to defeat. As king I will find out who is behind this and take swift justice.”\n“But you survived?” Lucius declared, in disbelief. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”\n“Was it you who tried to kill me?” Paulus was dumbfounded by Lucius' words. \n“No.” Lucius was puzzled. He didn’t think fate could be changed but perhaps their plan had worked out better than they had expected. He smiled then laughed relieved. “You have fulfilled a very noble purpose, my son. Your life has been in danger for many years. You have ensured successful succession. Now the true heir can sit on the throne.”\nPaulus was confused. He looked at Marcus to see if he knew what Lucius was talking about.\nLucius sought to untie his confusion. “There was a switch at birth in order to save the heir.” You’re actually my son and Marcus here is the true king. \nPaulus was speechless.\n“Venus cursed our dynasty but King Remus has foiled fate. No one knew of the switch except the king and I.”\n“You lie.” Paulus shouted. “I don’t know why you are trying to trick me but your intentions are wrong. I am the king.”\n“You’re not.” Lucius insisted, “Marcus is.”\n“Prove it.” Paulus demanded.\n“Everyone knows that the king’s son was born by a nymph.” Lucius explained.\n“Yes. My mother was Ampelus.” Paulus nodded his head.\n“Except she wasn’t. She was Marcus’ mother.”\n“Prove it.” Paulus repeated his demand more forcefully. \n“Sit on the throne.” Lucius ordered. “Ampelus made that throne for the king. Its leaves and vines are carved in living wood with gold and silver intertwined.” \nPaulus rolled his eyes believing all of this was a waste of time. He sat down on the throne and said, “There.”\n“Now let Marcus sit down.”\nPaulus got up and motioned with his hands, “Be my guest, but mark my words, it’s the last time you’ll sit there.”\nAs soon as Marcus sat down, the vines came to life. They became supple and verdant. They actually started to grow round the armrests and up the high back of the throne. The wood carvings all changed to living leaves. Gold turned to sunflowers, the silver to variegated ivy.\nPaulus stood amazed at the miracle. He couldn’t argue the evidence of the supernatural. But that didn’t mean he was not the heir, only that Lucius and Marcus had conjured some sort of divine distraction so they could overthrow the dynasty.\n“My father trusted you.” Paullus shouted.\n“And that is why the plan worked.”\nPaulus remained suspicious. “You mean for my whole life I have been dangled as bait? That I was some sacrificial lamb? You’re my real father and you agreed to this arrangement just so you could be the king’s top advisor? Who are you? And now it’s inconvenient because your plan didn’t work?”\n“What do you mean? It worked just fine. Better than we expected. You killed the assassins. Marcus can now be king. You saved him.”\n“Of course you would say that. All the lords of the kingdom have known me my whole life. I am their prince and heir. If what you are saying is true, only the three of us know of it. Except for your magic trick on the throne there’s nothing else that says you’re king. To everyone else you’re usurpers, trying to overthrow the rightful heir.”\n“But it’s the truth.” Lucius declared.\n“How do I know that you’re not fate in disguise, sent to deprive my father of his dynasty.”\n“Enough of this!” Lucius declared and stepped forward to take the crown from the king’s corpse. \n“Traitor!” Paulus leapt forward and in a single decisive motion sunk his sword deep into Lucius’ chest. The advisor dropped the crown and grasped at his wound, wheezing and groaning. Paulus then yanked his sword free, splattering blood and let the corpse crumble to the ground. He next threatened Marcus.\n“What have you done?” Marcus screamed. “You’ve killed your own father.”\n“What kind of father offers his son up to be murdered?” Paulus thundered. \nMarcus pulled out his own sword in defense.\nPaulus smiled cruelly then asked. “Are you sure you want to do this? You could just run off and live your life in obscurity. You don’t have to die. You know in combat I’ll win.”\nMarcus knew his words were true. He always lost when the two sparred together. Paulus had attributed his success to his supposed divine heritage and Marcus had accepted that fact.\n“We don’t have to do this? I never knew of the plan. Both of our fathers are dead.” Marcus made his appeal.\n“Who then is king?” Paulus asked.\n“Why me of course.” Marcus answered, “and you can be my most trusted advisor, my best friend.”\nPaulus became enraged, He charged, slashing the air with broad violent strokes. When they finally joined blades Paulus immediately drove Marcus back. The heir parried every attack but could not hold his ground. He found himself retreating with each blow. Paulus’ desire for justice, his own justice, was profound. Finally Marcus could retreat no further. His back was up against the pyre. His sword trembled on the edge of surrender. Paulus smiled then knocked the weapon free from Marcus’ hands. It crashed to the stone floor and re echoed ominously. \nMarcus raised his hands in desperation. “Stop. You can’t do this.” He begged. “You know I’m the king.” \n“Only you and I know that.” Paulus’ words were carved in stone, “And demigods can be killed. You’re not immortal. And I’m the king. Go to Hades.” And with that, he struck a fatal blow, burying his sword into Marcus’ throat. The heir’s eyes swirled turbulent then faded to a dull pale gray. He collapsed to the ground, dead.\n“Long live the king.” Paulus declared." } ]
[ { "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: When It's Dark: The Sequel\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1353\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a party that has gone horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "!!TRIGGER WARNING BLOOD, GORE, SUISIDE, DEATH.\"\nDelilah\nI'm a Senior in High School. After the incident 2 years back with the Truth or Dare game in the library that My sister Risha had set off, I've been trying to gain back our family status here at school. So far it's been going Great that is until people started playing “Would you rather?”.\nNow, Like Risha I wasn't a Fan of the game, until my friends had me play for the first time. “Del Would you rather, Eat Sweets for the rest of your life or Eat Salty snacks for the rest of your life?” I think for a moment, “I would definitely eat sweets for the rest of my life.” I spit out smiling. Shelly smiles back then invites me to the Annual Senior party of the year, “Hey Del? I'm throwing the party of the year at my house, you're welcome to come if you would like.” Shelly grins before stating, “Danny will be there…” I wink at Shelly and walk away. \nI'm obviously coming to the party, wouldn't miss it for the world. I text her.\nI'm in my room dressing up for the party tonight when I see a crow stalking outside my window. I grab my megaphone, open my window a slight crack, then scream at the crow with all my might, “SHOO YOU UGLY LITTLE BIRD!” “DELILAH! NO YELLING OUT THE WINDOW I THOUGHT WE TALKED ABOUT THIS ALREADY!” My dad yells up the stairs to me. I roll my eyes, My dad is taking care and providing for me alone, he's been flying solo on the dad plane for a while now, My mother committed Suicide the day I came out of the closet as Bisexual. She never liked the thought of her precious perfect little daughter dating a girl, though I don't think I'll find myself in a relationship anytime soon. I'm just barely slipping on my favorite White mini skirt and pulling on my baby blue cropped tee-shirt with the little frill's at the bottom and sleeve holes. Pulling on white chunky sneakers I grab my phone and mini-backpack, then walk out the door. “Bye Pa!” I yell before shutting the door. I'm halfway down the street when I see Danny, “Hey Dan!” I wave enthusiastically. Danny smiles at me and waits for me to catch up, which is particularly hard considering I'm in a mini skirt. I laugh nervously and tug at my skirt as I close the gap between Danny and I. “So, you're coming to the party I presume?” Danny asks mysteriously, “Yeah, that's what it looks like.” I grin back. “We can start playing as we walk?\" Danny suggests, “Sure.” I replied excited to be talking to Danny. “Would you rather have no eyes or no ears?” Danny asks me. I think for a quick second before shooting back, “No ears. I could learn to sign. And besides I think that would be a pretty fun skill to have. Don’t cha think so?” Danny grins and hands me a small Steak knife. I look at it and giggle nervously for the second time today. “What's this for?” I ask curiously. “You're not going to cut your ears off?” He asks seemingly sad. I shake my head and laugh, “Oh Danny! I always knew you had a wild sense of humor! But I didn't think this would be part of it!” I’m giggling now. Danny raises his eyebrows, “I wasn't joking. You chose to lose your ears so I expect you to.” I stare at Danny, “This isn't how we play the game. You're starting to seem like my sister Risha. Danny glares daggers at me. He grabs the steak knife back and stops walking. I keep going for a few more steps just to create a rather large gap between us. Danny shakes his head and burrows his brows, “Why are you so far?” He asks. “I don’t know...Maybe because you're holding a knife threatening to cut my ears off.” Danny seemed to take this offensively and he throws the knife in my direction. I know he doesn't have a horrible aim considering he's the high school quarterback, I try to duck but only result in the steak knife piercing my forehead. I grimace and reach up and grab the knife. “You actually threw it at me you psychopath.” Danny grins evilly, “Well what did you expect? You won't cut your pretty little ears off so I had to get you to stop, I was hoping you would have fallen to the ground in horrible pain so I can finish your Would You Rather answer, though you seem stronger than I anticipated.” I look at Danny and reply with, “Well I come from a family of mentally ill people. So I don't think a little prick in my forehead would hurt me too badly.” Danny glares once more, “Maybe this will help.” He reaches into his back pocket and I see a glimmer of metal, I turn around as fast as I could and start running down the nearest alleyway. Let me remind you the alleyways in my neighborhood are full of twists and turns, there would be no way Danny could find me. I bolt down the first right then take a left, I repeat until I reach the back of some run down house. I hop the fence Cringing as I hear my favorite mini skirt rip. I listen for a hot second and hear Danny ranting on and on about how I need to follow the rules. How I was disobedient just like My sisters friends. I shake my head over and over again willing myself to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. Danny's footsteps stop right in front of the fence I had just hopped, I look up and cringe as I see a white piece of my fabric hanging from a loose nail. My heart is beating faster and faster with every deep breath I hear from Danny. I take a step back and a loud snapping sound comes from behind me, Looking down I see a twig that's snapped in half. “Dammit” I whisper under my breath. “Delilah Baby Girl. You shouldn't be scared of me. I'm only here to help you.” I hear Danny whisper through a crack in the fence. I give up on trying to be silent and Scream, “GET LOST CREEP!” and then bolt for the back door of the house. It opens, the hinges groan in protest, I walk through and sniff the air. My eyes dart around the dark room I've entered, I see a dim light coming from under the door. I cautiously open the door and Gasp when I see Shelly and the gang, baking fresh cookies. “S-Shelly…” I stutter out of breath, “D-D-Danny’s trying to k-kill me.” I gasp for air and reach for the cup of iced water Nella was holding. I nod my thanks and drink it slowly. “I'm going- to go- lay down.” I say slowly feeling groggy. Shelly smiles politely and nods. I shuffle to the neatly organized couch and plop myself down with no second thoughts. \nI wake up and hear the ocean. How long have I been sleeping?? I wonder to myself. I sit up and look around, I see a dainty little pink box with a red ribbon, a letter tapped to it. Delilah It says, I grab the letter and open it, In this box are your two pretty little ears. I can't believe you started the game without us. And then didn't go through with your answer. At the bottom of the letter are bloody fingerprints from each of my so-called friends. I scream, and reach up to where my ears should have been. Feeling a shallow hold in my head and dried blood, I feel like fainting. I grab the steak knife used to cut both my ears off and shove it into my chest, just to put me out of my misery. “See you soon Mama.” I say before everything goes black." } ]
[ { "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: Job Done\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2010\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character whose love language is making food for others." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Nettie slips through the door of the old bakery; closing her eyes, willing the smells of freshly baked bread mixed with cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger to fill her senses and seep into her hair and skin to savour the joy. She can almost feel the silky flakes of coconut caressing her fingers as in her mind’s eye she dips the small half sponges into apricot jam, rolls them in desiccated coconut, and sandwiches them together with jam.\n That was the lad’s favourite. She remembers him sprinting down the hill from school on a Friday with his penny, to be the first into the bakery door. Aye but he was a canny lad, was that one. All the others would stuff their faces before they’d even left the shop, couldn’t tell a jam tart from a ginger bun; but not him. No. You could set your clock by him. Always ahead of the rest. Then he’d tuck the bursting bag into his satchel and get off home, to share his prize with his younger sister and his mam. So, Nettie would make sure that his bag of broken biscuits had a few whole snowballs in. It was worth it to see his smile. That was her favourite time of day, that hour just after school when the mams would bring in their bairns for a treat “just for being good.” Simple pleasures.\n But now, as she stands at the corner of the room, the comforting smells are gone: replaced by new paint, plastic and something else, she can’t quite place. She opens her eyes. Stark, unwelcoming whites, blacks and greys jar her senses. She rubs her shoulders, trying to coax some warmth into them.\n She looks around. In one corner sits a metal monster, eating coins, coughing out drinks, chocolate bars, bags of crisps; in another, a table with a single chair. Against the wall chairs are pushed up towards tables, distancing the customers, discouraging any kind of chatter between them and in the centre, tables and screens form a cross. Her eyes are assaulted by flashes from screens spinning, stopping, rolling in a kaleidoscope of colour, the young faces poised on the edges of their seats mesmerised by the pictures in front of them, their fingers splayed out, ready.\n She looks at the faces. Once, eyes like saucers had looked at the displays in the cabinets under the counter, relishing the treat that would soon be theirs; now eyes stare, excitement mounting before shoulders slump, defeated for now. But then fingers agitate, drawn to the magnet, like a hawk to its prey. Others, ears covered, seem to have lines of invisible glue pulling their eyes back and forth pausing only to press a key.\nThe walls and floor seem to close in, trapping all those who enter into a different world. She feels tension in here. That’s the scent. Ice seems to fill her veins. Her need to offer comfort pulses strongly. There’s a job to be done.\n *\nI sit down at the counter after I’ve locked up, sanitised the headsets, screens and keyboards. Yes, I’m pleased with the place, yet when I look around something jars, something ‘s missing. I want to make this place a “home from home” where the older generation can feel at ease while they try out and become confident with the new technology; while the younger generation can meet in comfort while they game or study. I know its early days. I just need to do what I do best. Watch and listen.\nI’m getting the customers; a steady stream come in. Despite some of the older villagers being upset at losing their bakery, even they are dropping in thanks to the ads in the local mag. I must say there are a few characters amongst them, they certainly keep me on my toes. Aye grandad would be happy, I think, if he could see how I’ve used the money. He did love the old bakery. He always felt it was a shame to see it lie empty, where once it used to be so busy. He ‘d tell me how he’d run down after school on a Friday to be the first there to get his bag of broken biscuits.\n“If you can get there first lad, you’ll always reap the rewards” he’d say. Well, this certainly is the first of its kind around here. Let’s see how we go. \nI rub my shoulders and shiver. A chill runs down my spine. I bend over to check if the radiator is working; piping hot, no problems there. Puzzled, I straighten and the smell of fresh bread hits me like a shower of sea spray thundering against the rocks. It‘s been a long day and I’m hungry; my mind must be playing tricks. Glancing at my watch, I realise that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I quickly bag the takings, stuff them into my rucksack and grab my coat. Pushing in the chair in the corner, I switch off the lights and lock up. God, could I murder a bacon baguette right now. My nostrils twitch at the smell of bacon. Time for home, I think, my mind is definitely playing around with my senses.\n Next morning, I open up as usual. The nine till eleven shift is a favourite time of mine. Some of the locals drop in. Sometimes I run a short group class- today I wander around chatting, helping some to see how they can book holidays, pay bills, search for things. \n“By heck, its chilly here in this corner today, lad.” Andy claps his shoulders, pushes the chair back and moves over to the other side. After about half an hour he leaves. “Must be coming down with something,” he says, “can’t seem to get warm.”\nIn the next few minutes, more of the customers leave. I check the radiators, all warm, and push in the seat in the corner- Andy must have left it out. Hope he’s alright.\n“Are you doing freshly baked scones?” Tommy calls over. “I’m getting a lovely aroma; it’s making my teeth water.”\n“Sorry mate, there are some snacks in the machine if you’re peckish.”\n“No worries. I’ve got a taste for some home baking now and a nice cup of tea to wash it down. I’ll pop into the coop and get a pack of scones. I might drop in later to finish my session.” With that he left.\nFor the next hour I take advantage of the lull to do some of my own research, he’d got me thinking. I check out the back shop where the old ovens had been. My original idea was to use this for storage and branch into sales and minor repairs.\nThe door of the old bakery chimes at 12o’clock exactly, Annie’s time. I can set the clock by her. She normally glides in, almost silently, her hat pulled down shadowing her face and heads for her usual seat in the corner. Then she’ll sit down, tucking in her arms and legs as if to take up as little space as possible, pulling her chair in and laying her notebook down in the same place with her pen to the right, just so. Despite her lovely face, she keeps her chin down as if tucking all her secrets into herself for safe keeping. She intrigues me. \n “I’m Annie,” she said when I’d introduced myself, named after my great Grandmother Annette.\nI look up and smile as she moves towards me. Today her chin is raised, there’s a new confidence. She stops at the counter and lays a small box in front of me.\n“Thank you so much for the help with the search engines and advice about paypal, I managed to sell some of my home-made cupcakes. I took your advice and advertised in “Your Mag” so I brought you a little thank you.” She looked up and smiled.\nAs I open the box the most delicious smell of ginger and lemon fill the air around me.\n“How did you know?” I couldn’t believe it when I saw two neat little snowballs, covered in coconut. “ You can’t get these anywhere. My grandad used to love them so he tried to have a go at making them once. Turned out more like ice balls-hard enough to break your teeth. Never tried again. Thank you. I’ll save one for my mam, it’ll bring back memories. She’ll want the recipe”\n“Oh I tweaked an old family recipe. I like to experiment. Hope you like the flavours.” And with that she walks over to her usual seat. I can’t resist. I raise one of the snowballs to my lips and take a bite. The sponge is moist. A hint of lemon hits my tastebuds making them tingle ready to embrace small chewy chunks of crystallised ginger offering a bite of heat. This is so good.\nI look over and wink. Holding up the snowball as if to toast her success. She’s busy, I can see that, but the shop is quiet so I wander over to have a chat, pick her brains. The time flies.\nAfter an hour, she rises, turns and smiles and tucking the recipes into her bag, heads for the door. I wave and mouth my thanks, “See you later?” Her nod before closing the door warms me. I go over to the corner. It feels especially chilly over there, strange. The rest of the shop is warming up nicely.\nSoon the teenagers start to trickle in. It’s not too long before they head over to grab a drink and a chocolate bar. Looks like they’re having trouble. I return their coins and put an out of order note on it. I take the back off it to see if I can spot the problem, probably a bent coin. As I unscrew the coin accepter, an old copper penny drops down.\nBy four, all the customers have gone and I turn the closed sign down and lock up. I get a strong, mouthwatering smell of freshly baked gingerbread, just like nan used to make, as I tidy in the chairs over in the corner.\nAt four thirty exactly a knock comes to the door. Its her, Annie.\n“I was thinking…” She looked down, “have you thought about…”\n“I’ve been thinking all afternoon, let me go first, please. Come in ad sit down. How would you feel about…”\n*\n Nettie slips into the old bakery. At once old familiar smells of scones and tarts and cinnamon and ginger and new smells that she doesn’t know but that make her mouth water swamp her so that she has to sit for a moment to steady her racing heart. She looks over at the old pine dresser proudly displaying today’s sumptuous delights under shining glass domes and smiles as she recollects a tapestry of colour iced on to her cakes and buns; temptation right there for little fingers to reach out and try. She has to pick her way through as customers pour over the cabinet like wasps to jam.\nThe greys and whites re not so stark now. Checked red tablecloths softened the area in the centre, where tables for four are dotted around. Faces bend in close, savouring the delights, lips licking and heads nodding as they share their tittle tattle and their wisdom, putting the world to rights.\nSeated at a table against the back wall, is a youngster, eyes wide with excitement as she clicks, pictures and colours building in front of her.\n“Come over to me lass when you want a break. I’ll treat you to one of them fancy smoothies as a thank you for helping me to get on the council website,” she hears and sees a wink exchanged between the pair. “Thanks a lot, Tommy” and with a bound, the lass is up and over, her face alive.\n For the first time in a long time, Nettie feels a warmth coursing through her body. She slips through the door. Job done." } ]
[ { "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: Where The Spirit Horses Drink\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1523\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character has to take on heavy responsibilities (perhaps beyond their age)." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Where The Spirit Horses Drink\nBy Johanna Lor Rain Parry ---- this story is based on true events, and real experiences.\nShe could hear them drumming for those praying in the lodge...the heart-beat rhythm reminding her of the thousands of tears that drip slowly into the red earth from the eyes of those who have seen too much. A trail of prayers trickled upward from the fire in front of the sweat lodge. The swirling smoke spiraled, threadlike towards the sky. Life had always been hard in the sacred land. There is always a price to pay for living, it is never free.\nThe People had already known wrenching hunger and the ongoing agony of life gone awry. Still the interlopers come. Red faced screamers with yellow hair flowing like a horse's mane. They pushed and shoved with no respect at all for Nature, or her People - those who knew the language she offered from the depths of her breast, our sacred land.\nThe heavy hide door opened and a final load of glowing stone ancestors were settled into the center pit. With a grateful sigh she sank back into the dark womb of healing. She could feel the drumming. The far-away sound slowly deepened in the darkness while a searing heat burned at her sweating flesh. The prayers of the woman next to her mixed with steam from the whispering ancestors. Ancient rocks reverently layered round after round. They first glowed red, then they released vapors hot enough to singe the skin, removing and cleansing the bodies dirt along with the heavy, costly weight of bad thoughts. Thoughts that lack love. Thoughts that pull the heart down, and inexorably force the mind to follow. Becoming pure and clean again was all she wanted to do. Next to her a small form wriggled with discomfort. \"Just put your face on the ground, Teyana, you can breath in cool air that way\" she whispered. The drumming continued, her heart becoming one with it’s rhythm. Next, the singing. \"Tonkashila ... Wankantanka.. Chante' Me Chu Ha. Wopila… Hey ya hey ya hey ya na oh ya ha nay ya…\"\nAnother round of steam on rocks, another round of prayers. Peering into the dark she thought she caught a glimpse of something. Suddenly - a spirit horse leapt from the red glow of a rock and flew into the dark above her head. The wisp of a miniature prancing animal dancing sideways as they do. A good sign, she admitted. The bluish-white glow galloped in an arch above her head. She thought she could hear the most silent of whinnies. Then almost a snort. She smiled inside. Teyana's first pony. This is good. Another round of singing, another round of prayers. \"Please, grandfather, please heal the hearts of those who have caused us so much pain. Heal their lives, their thoughts, their dreams so that we can live as one people upon this land you gifted us.\" She begged. She pleaded. \"You who have given me the breath in my lungs, creator - please, please, bring peace to the people, and bless these white brothers and sisters so that hatred can fall from their hearts like a cleansing rain...\" Murmers of agreement rippled softly, touching the darkness. \"Tonkasila, forgive these people who have crafted so much loss and hunger, clearly they know not of your benevolence and grace. “Certainly they have never understood the fresh face of your dawn, or the closing eye of the sun as he slips into night to greet you...\" \"protect my family from suffering, please creator - I beg you.”\nThe anguish of her prayer wavered with her tearful supplication. \"Love of all love, creator of everything that has ever held meaning - bring healing to the People. Bring laughter into the eyes of our elders once more.\" She fell into silence. The sizzle and spit of water from the ladle pouring more liquidlife onto the blistering heat of the healing lodge’s stone ancestors filled the air. In the old days women were never required to enter a sweat lodge for cleansing or prayer. Everyone knew they already suffered enough in daily life with child bearing, cramping and bleeding and putting up with the behaviors of a husband grown complicit and compliant with the years that roll by. Everyone knew she had a sacred relationship with the water within her - and that cleansing and prayers could be just as effective performed in the river. On the mountain. In the lodge while rocking her babies. But now - everyone took any opportunity possible to put up more prayers. Sun dances, sweat lodges, spirit ceremonies, ghost dances - anything, everything, as often as possible.\nOnly now it is all in hiding. Laws of this occupation made prayers punishable by death. A people bandaging the shredded bloody entrails of a nation. A people begging into a night of horrors to see the light of a new dawn that wasn't hungry. A people making up the body of a nation being crushed by the disembodied government called a democracy. At its head the looming form of a grizzled white man who seemed to think he spoke for everyone in the land. The man who ordered the hanging death of thirty eight of our most valuable holy men and tribal leaders. Even then - Mr. Lincoln held back. They intended to murder a full 300 of them. The 38 Dakota prisoners greeted their captors with grace, thanked them and said good bye as though they were about to embark on a most joyful journey. They called out to our people not to mourn as they were happy to be leaving. In Mankato, Minnesota, it was 1862. An uprising of the Dakota people who were starving, had decided that fighting might be better than dying. It was a very short war. The sins of a nation had already been committed. The people had lost. The robber barons had their railroads, and an ocean of Washeechus were flooding into the land. Washeechus. Those who take all the best and leave nothing for others.\nThe third round was almost finished. Teyana had darted into the night when the heavy hide was lifted after the second round. She felt her heart lift as she sang boldly into the waiting ears of the beloved. She sang proudly as she felt the heart-bliss of divine energy permeating her soul. Rejuvenation. She now knew she would survive another year. She would make the bridle for Teyana's first horse. She would remember the stories of the ancestors. She would help her children learn to live without hatred or anger. In the searing hot darkness they saw a war party thundering down a slope toward a small army of white soldiers. The fear on their pale faces exploding into terror as the painted warriors let loose their arrows, and fired their rifles while thick black clouds glowing with internal flashes of lightening followed quickly behind the fast-moving cluster of deadly riders. It didn't take long for these poor creatures to comprehend they were no match for the power and glory of a people so deeply loved by nature herself. Nature was always willing to lend them her elements. To show up with a conscious response to the wails and sobs coming out of the lodges and ceremonies. Hugging her knees, she wiped her dripping forehead with the corner of her sweat dress. She could feel the depth of love that had given her the power to survive. She understood the reality that owning the power of love meant owning the power within nature. The creator of all things generated the force of love to hold all things together. This power can heal. This power can manifest the most profound of miracles.\nIf the people do not stop dancing on her earth - the drumming of their dancing feet will keep her heart of hearts beating into another era. We must keep dancing. We must keep praying in our lodges, she thought quietly. They say the searing ache of the human heart is the most powerful tool available in the land where everything dies. She sighed at the heavy joy her thoughts had ushered in. She began to hum the tune to an ancient ceremony song. She lifted her head, and began to sing: \"Every breath taken in...\" she offered her song into the final round of prayers. \"By a woman who loves, and by a man who loves - goes to fill the water-tank where the spirit horses drink...\" soon she was joined by all the voices in the lodge. A crackle of approval sputtered from the rocks into the darkness, and everyone present could feel the thickness of love and see the dancing shapes of the people moving about the village doing the chores and tasks required to live a grace-filled life. The roof of the lodge opened into a night sky - and the people sighed and wept with the joy revealed before them. \"Every breath taken in...\" they sang. \"By a woman who loves... hey ya hey ya hey ney ya....\"" } ]
[ { "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: October Crises\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2072\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where someone finds comfort in an unexpected event, place, or person." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Arlene heaved the last suitcase with a grunt, misjudged how heavy it was and how tired she was, and slammed it into the side of their baby blue Plymouth Savoy station wagon. The case bounced off and fell to the ground, opened, and a load of clothes splattered all over the lawn. Arlene lurched the other way, collided with the vehicle, and rocked it.\nShe shook the dizziness away and trembled. “Ffffff–” she began, but then she saw the five pairs of quivering, wide children’s eyes within the car – from eleven-month-old Robert through nine-year-old Richard – and she finished, “–fiddlesticks.”\nShe bent over and took a deep breath. Fatigue tremored through her arms and legs and she was drenched with sweat. Her dress clung to her back and her legs. Octobers weren’t supposed to be this hot. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The war wasn’t supposed to be this hot either.\nShe turned her attention to the lawn, covered with James’s clothes. One by one she began packing socks, shirts, and ties into the case again. When she heard a window rolling down behind her, she shuddered.\n“Mum!” said Richard. “Mum! Mum!”\n“Yes?” It was all Arlene could do to keep her voice steady. Out of the corner of her eye she had a good view of the rest of the street. The whole neighborhood was packing up. It was a zoo of scrambling suburbanites and screeching children. There was Linda, in her fancy heels, like she was hosting a soirée. There was Patricia, having somehow corralled her brood of six little monsters into helping her load their car. There was other-Linda, chatting with Deborah and Barbara. Where did these women find the time? How did they do it?\n“Why did you do that?” Richard whined.\n“It was an accident, honey. I didn’t mean to.” She shoved another three pairs of James’s socks into the suitcase. The thing was already overflowing and most of his clothes were still on the grass. How could she ever get this closed again? How did they get it closed in the first place?\n“Mum! Mum! Mum!”\n“What!?”\n“Why are the Cubans attacking us?”\n“They’re not!” screamed eight-year-old Randy at his brother. “It’s the Reds!” Then they screamed at each other, and someone threw a fist, and someone else was hit, and someone started crying so everyone else started screaming louder.\nArlene buried her face in her palms. “Quiet!” she said. “Richard Douglas Cooper, if you hit your brother one more time–”\n“–I didn’t!–”\n“–that’s it!” Arlene said, rising, her fists juddering at her sides. “Go to your room this instant!”\nAll five of her sons stopped fidgeting and stared at her, eyes wide. It occurred to Arlene what she just said. She felt yet another convulsion tickle her nerves, felt her jaw so tight she thought it might snap. All she wanted was a moment’s peace. A moment’s quiet, to maybe finish that stupid Harper Lee book Linda had recommended to her, almost two years ago. So long ago the other neighborhood women had even gotten over gabbing about it.\n“I meant,” she said, pushing the words through clenched teeth, “stay in the car. Quietly, please.”\nThankfully just then, a military Jeep drove down the road and the boys followed it with their gaze. The steely-eyed soldiers waved as they passed.\n“Arlene, honey,” James called out. He stood up the driveway a bit, cigar in one hand and beer in the other, discussing man-things with David, William, and Father Thomas. “What’s the hold up? This isn’t the time to be goofing around with the kids.”\nThe men all had a good chuckle and Arlene sputtered. “I am not goofing–”\n“Tut-tut,” said Father Thomas, wagging one finger in the air and bowing his head sagaciously. “A woman’s place, Arlene…”\n“Yes, Father,” Arlene said, trying to collect herself with a huff.\n“A woman’s place–”\n“Yes, Father, thank you.” She got back to packing and the men got back to important discussions. Naturally, the suitcase wouldn’t close when she got everything in there, so she sat on it and jumped up and down a few times until she could get the latches closed. Again, out of the corner of her eye she spotted the neighborhood women, only this time they were not-so-surreptitiously watching her and having a giggle.\n“Oh Arlene!” Deborah called out. “You are such a gas!”\nArlene bared her teeth, which the other women seemed to take for a grin. But then the suitcase clicked shut and Arlene let herself a solitary sigh of victory.\nShe squatted by the car, stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders to loosen them up, and firmly planted her feet on the ground. She even kicked off her heels. She grabbed hold of the case and with a primal growl heaved it over her head and onto the other cases. When it came down the whole car bounced, delighting her sons to no end, except for little Robert who started bawling.\nArlene breathed heavily. She leaned against the car and rested for a moment, which was comfortable despite the metal being scalding. Slowly, coming back to herself, she put her heels back on. In so doing, she spotted an unsightly tear in her hose. A problem for after the evacuation.\nShe stretched her aching back and surveyed the luggage on their car. Three cases for James. A small one each for her four eldest boys, with a second one for Richard. A bigger communal one for their toys. A box of non-perishables. James’s fishing gear and three of the boys’ bicycles. Their 21 inch Philco television, which James insisted they take because, “You never know how long we’ll be gone, and we don’t want to leave our important things behind in case pinkos come around.” It had taken her all morning to get it on the roof of the car.\nArlene frowned. It seemed to her that something was missing. She walked around the car, counting things off again.\nThroughout the street, car engines roared to life, horns honked, and vehicles started driving. James and the men parted ways.\nDavid asked, “Say, do you think I should water the lawn before I go? I don’t want things to dry out, in case… you know.” He made a whistling sound and pantomimed a bomb dropping.\nThe men laughed. “No need,” said Father Thomas. “I wager the government’s just overreacting, as usual.”\n“You think so?” said James.\n“Oh yes, oh yes,” Father Thomas continued. Then he took a deep puff of his cigar and tossed the butt on the driveway. “Have no fear, we’ll beat those commies yet. God bless you all, God bless you.”\nThey all went their own ways, to their own vehicles. “Looking for something, honey?” James asked, as he went to the driver’s side door.\n“Yeah,” Arlene said, rifling through the cases she had so meticulously loaded on the car. “James, I can’t find… where is my suitcase, James?”\nJames chuckled. “Ah, well, you must have forgotten it in all the excitement.”\nShe drew her lips tight. “I asked you to bring it out. You bring them out and I load them. That’s what we agreed!”\n“Honey,” he said, grinning, and he shook his head as though that explained things. “I can’t be the one doing all the work. Besides, the boys came over. I couldn’t well be inhospitable. It’s probably still in the basement.” He got into the car and started the engine. “Well, get in. It’s time for us to evacuate.”\n“James!” she said, still standing outside the car. “I need my things!”\nJames rolled his eyes and cracked open another beer. “Gee willikers. Honey, we have to evacuate now. I don’t want to get stuck in traffic and the whole town is hitting the road.”\n“I can’t go without my things.” Arlene felt herself trembling again, felt her teeth grinding against each other.\n“Fine, fine,” James said. “I spoil you, you know that? Okay, run inside and get your things, and then catch up with us at the intersection.”\n“Catch–” she said, frowning. Then the meaning of the words hit her. “Catch up?”\n“Get a move on, slowpoke!” James said, reversing the car into the street. Her sons chanted, “Slowpoke! Slowpoke!”\nArlene dashed back to their house. He wouldn’t actually leave her. Would he? She got the door open and Sir Pancakes, their golden retriever, barked happily at her and wagged his tail.\n“Not now, Pancakes!” she said, pushing past the dog and beelining for the basement. She nearly fell down the stairs, because she wasn’t used to running in heels – or at all. Then she did fall down the stairs when Sir Pancakes sprinted by her and knocked her over. Thankfully she was nearly at the bottom anyway, and they had recently covered everything in a clean, comfortable shag carpet.\nArlene got to her hands and knees, then rose. She thought she had bruised something, and her hose were now visibly ripped. Ah, but there it was, her suitcase. Just where she had left it. Just where she had told James to find it. Just where he had left it.\nShe stalked over to it, muttering things under her breath. This day couldn’t get any worse. James would probably leave without her and then she’d have to hitch a ride with a neighbor into the city. And it would probably be one of the Lindas, and she’d gossip about the torn hose.\nArlene picked up her suitcase. Then she saw a curious flash of light fill the entire basement. Then she heard a deafening roar. Then she was flung against a wall and everything went black.\n***\nSometime later, it was Sir Pancakes who woke her, by licking her face. Everything hurt and everything was covered in dirt. The basement looked like it had never been cleaned, but of course there was nothing to be done about it now, since they already packed their vacuum cleaner in the car.\nArlene rose on unsteady feet, grabbed her suitcase and lugged it up the steps. This time she moved aside so the dog could sprint up.\nUpstairs, the first thing she noticed was that the house didn’t have a roof. The clouds were grey and swirling high above her. The second thing she noticed was that most of the walls were torn, broken, and either blackened or still gently on fire.\n“Oh my goodness,” she whispered. Sir Pancakes whined up at her, his tail wagging uncertainly. “I have to tell James.”\nShe continued dragging her suitcase and shambled out the front door, which fell out of the frame as soon as she touched it. Outside, their pristine lawn was scorched earth. The neighbors’ houses looked no better than hers, and there were cars scattered all around. Some on their sides, some on their roofs. All burned or melted. Here and there, she saw charred bones.\n“Oh my goodness,” she whispered again, covering her mouth with her free hand.\nWhen she looked up the street, she saw Father Thomas’s church. Mostly just the left and front wall, and a pile of debris within. The massive cross hanging over the door was askew, and as she watched it, it groaned, rotated on the one remaining nail, and crashed to the ground.\n“Oh… my goodness…”\nThe reality of what happened cut through her confusion. It shook loose the last webs of disorientation. “They did it,” she said. “They actually did it.” She wasn’t sure why she spoke out loud. For Sir Pancakes’s benefit? For her own? Just to hear a human voice?\n“It’s all gone,” she said, surveying the destruction. Her home, her neighbors, her everything. “It’s all…” She tapped her chin. “It’s all so quiet.”\nShe looked down at Sir Pancakes, patted him on the head. “It is quiet, isn’t it boy?” She went back inside their home, and the dog followed. Among the debris, she found one intact bottle of Bordeaux and made her way to what was left of the living room. There she heaved a blackened wooden beam off the surviving half of the couch, and swept any remaining glass off it. She sat down, patted the cushion beside her for Sir Pancakes, and then dug out that Harper Lee book Linda had recommended to her, from her luggage.\nShe sniffed, took a swig of wine, and started chapter two." } ]
[ { "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 unforgettable night.\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1271\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who gets lost at a carnival or festival." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I really wished all of this was a dream. My ex, the party, the outfits, everything. Even my parents. This was complete chaos.\n\n Let me take it back a little. A week ago, my friend invited me to her homecoming party. I have never been to a party before. My friend was one of the popular kids and, I was a nobody. She was constantly asked to attend parties. She partied almost every week. Me on the other hand, my parents kept me locked up. They always said that they were “ Protecting me from the world” but that's all just an excuse.\n\nThe real reason was that they didn’t want me to go into the world find a guy, and have my heart broken. But little did they know, it was already broken. Anyway, I was shocked when she asked me because she was wayyy too popular for me and people would talk. She said that I wouldn’t matter and just brushed it off.\n\nDuring the one-week period, I did my best to get good grades, tried to be a good daughter in front of my parents, and got a part-time job to buy an outfit. After a few days of doing that, I popped the big question to my parents. Their answers were unexpected. They both agreed that I did very well this past week and I deserved a reward. \n\nAfter that, I purchased my outfit and got ready for the party. My friend, Haley came to pick me up. She dropped me off at the Bus Stop which was a little far from the party and left. She was too scared to go into a social setting.\n\nI looked on my phone to find the address and started walking to what I thought was the address, turns out I was at the wrong address. After searching for a couple of minutes I realized that I was lost. After sitting in front of a convenience store for 5 more minutes I got a text from the friend who invited me to the party She realized that I wasn’t at the party location and sent me the right address for the party.\n\nI was exhausted after my trip but I didn’t want my trip to be useless. The party location was a few blocks away. It took about 10 minutes to get there. When I got there, the house was lit! There were decorations everywhere and the house was so big that over 200 people could probably fit in there and still have some leftover space. As I was about to enter, I started to panic and tremble. I was contemplating whether or not I should go in. But in the end, I went in.\n\nWhen I went in, I was shocked by how organized the party was. I thought it was going to like how the parties in movies are. Everyone had their own specific seats. I thought that I was in a restaurant. I was assigned to sit at table 4. As I began to sit down I realized that the person at table 5 looked familiar. After I found out, I felt uneasy. I stared at him for 5 minutes straight and a light bulb went on. \n\nThen I unconsciously say, “it’s you isn’t it”, and he responds “Wow, you still recognize me”, then, “I say, how can I not, we have so much history together”. If you haven’t figured it out this was my ex-boyfriend. We used to be neighbors. I had a huge crush on him. Then one day, out of nowhere he confessed to me. I was shocked at first but then, I was relieved. He was my first love, took my first kiss, and he was just amazing. But after a couple of years of dating, my parents told me that we were moving. I was so heart broken. I left without telling him and never called him again.\n\n{Back to the present}. I was going thru a state of shock and a sudden rush of emotions. What do I do in this situation? I was mentally freaking out and didn’t know what to do so the only thing I could think of was to rush to the bathroom and text my friends. Not knowing how long it would take, I sent her a message. A few minutes later, I decided to call her. She said, “Why are you calling me” in a sharp voice. Then I said “ So I ran into my ex and I started talking to him and now I don’t know what to do. Should I run away, continue the conversation, or ignore him” She told me to ignore him. She used that method on all four of her ex-boyfriends. The only difference was that she didn’t like or love any of them. I said my thanks and ended my call. \n\nI decided to text another friend and asked her for advice. She told me to be honest about my feelings and tell him how I felt. When she said that I was shocked. I joked saying that after she got a boyfriend she became a relationship expert. She sent a smiley face and wrote “maybe”. I decided to take her advice and left the bathroom. Right when I stepped out of the bathroom, there was someone in front of the bathroom door. I looked up and I saw the face of my ex. \n\nRight when I was about to speak, he kissed me on the lips. I was honestly overjoyed. The last time I kissed him was about a year ago. It felt nice to be able to kiss him again. As I slowly began to open my eyes, I saw my parents from the corner of my eye. I quickly pushed my ex away. I walked towards my parents asking them what they were doing here. They told me that they have been following me since it was my first time in 7 years since I have been to a party.\n\nThey told me that they were shocked that the first thing I did was kiss a guy. My parents yelled from across the room to my ex, asking him what his reason was for kissing me. When he turned around, they were astonished to see that it was our old neighbor. I was having very deep thoughts, trying to come up with an explanation for what they had witnessed. \n\nMy ex clearly didn’t get the vibe and said that he was my ex. My parents turned around like one of these people who find out that they have been lied to in soap operas. They looked at me will boiling rage. They looked at me like I was someone they never knew, like someone who had stolen their daughter's identity. They asked me how long we dated and I could lie.\n\nMy dad yelled, “So you went out with a guy before. And that guy was our neighbor! How come I didn’t realize it. You would always go to his house and stay there for hours.” My mom was standing there crying. Everyone at the party was watching everything that was happening. It was like we were filming a soap opera. A couple of people were recording what was going on their phones.\n\nI was under so much stress and didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do and how to react to this. I hated social situations and being watched by so many people. My vision slowly became blurry and the last thing I heard was my parents calling my 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: Triple Dog Dare\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1269\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone accepting a dare." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Buzz, buzz, time to get up. I threw my phone across the room and fell back asleep. “Get up Noah!” my Mom yelled. Nah, I’m good. 10 minutes later I’m ripped from my bed and practically pushed upright.\n Everything in my life seems like a blur. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t feel like doing anything. School is such a waste of time and energy. No one wants me there anyways so whats the point?\n I’m sat at the back of the school bus with my airpods in. They always seem to never be loud enough you know? Sometimes you just want to drown yourself in music to shut out everything else in your pathetic life. I’m just a waste of space.\n “Bet you can’t beat me in a fist fight.” Tyler said. “Bet I could.” I say simply. “Prove it shorty.” He knows what he’s doing. Every time anyone mentions my height it feels like I’ve been in the oven for too long. “Shut up Tyler. You wouldn’t want your pretty face to get recked anyways.” I said fuming. “At least I have a pretty face.” he winked. Practically growling, I held my fist securly at my side. “Go.” \n That’s my life. No one could care more or less about me or my problems. I want to stand up for myself but when I do, it just ends badly for both of us. Yeah I can fight but then the kid is too much of a scardy-cat later and tell. People really don’t know when to stop do they? One day they’ll regret what they did to me when I’m gone. They’ll realize how much they’ve broken me and every kid that was too afraid to actually stand up for themselves.\n I take the black plastic tray in my hands and slide it across the side of the counter. The lunch ladies put the food into the sections of the tray and let me walk away. Surprisingly, the room isn’t as packed as it normally would be so I can sit down at a table just for myself today. Today was chicken strips, green beans, orange juice, and mashed potatoes. I fiddled with my mash until I saw him. The hottest guy in school… well in my option. He’s a pretty quiet kid compared to most. He’s got a few friends but that’s all I really know about him. The rare occasions he speaks is when he’s with his friends. I only know that because he sits behind me and I can hear when he speaks. \n Everyone at school knows I’m into guys and stuff which causes most of my bullying but honestly, they didn’t need to be all up into my business. Oh my god. The lunchroom had gotten pretty full since I had sat down and I didn’t even realize while daydreaming. Andrew, the boy I liked, stood in front of me. I looked up slowly, trying not to embarrass myself. He looked pretty awkward and so was I so we just looked at each other for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and asked quietly, “Is anyone sitting here?” I gulped but was quickly pulled back down to earth. “No. You can sit there if you want.”\n The next thing I knew, I was face to face with my crush. I looked down quickly and he did the same. Come on Noah! This is your chance, don’t mess it up! I spoke quietly but I knew he heard me because he stopped for a moment.\n“I’m Noah, what’s your name?” \n“Andrew but my friends call me Drew.” \nI nodded at his response. “We have a few classes right?”\n“Yeah.”\n I’m not quite sure how to respond to a ‘yeah’ so I go back to picking at my mashed potatoes. A few moments go bye without anything from both of us. My foot started to cramp so I let it stretch further under the table until I hit something. Drew lifted his gaze a bit. \n“Sorry.” I mumbled and put it back in its original place.\n Drew didn’t say anything and I felt a little disappointed. I knew someone like him couldn’t be into boys. When I hear him talking with his friends, he’s always talking about video games or something like that. Me myself is more into music. When I grow up, if I grow up I mean, I’d want to be a guitarist. The melody can really take you away and put you into a whole new world entirely. I hope to do that to someone else if I get the chance.\n The lunch bell rung and pulled me from my thoughts. “Wait!” I burted out. Drew spun on his heel and looked confused. Instantly embarrassed I looked down going pink. “Um it’s just I wanted to know if you’d like to hangout sometime or thing. You just seem cool and stuff.” He only nodded and walked away. Darn...\n It was saturday and Drew had actually invited me to his house. His other friends were here so I got to see his true self luckily. We were doing spin the bottle truth or dare which was actually pretty fun. His other friends made it really funny and sometimes we’d brake down in tears. Korbin and Peter I think we’re their names? They were all pretty nice to me compared to everyone else at school. They made me feel like I was already part of their group.\n It was my turn to spin the bottle and it landed on Drew. “Truth or Dare my friend.” Peter asked. I was feeling a little brave so I chose dare. “Ah hah…” Peter said while tapping his chin. “I’ve got the perfect one but this time you have to both do it not just you crack an egg on his head or something.” My eyebrows raised in suspicion and looked at Drew. He had the same expression. “Ohhh I know what your saying.” Korbin said happily to Peter. They both smiled and then turned to both of us. \n “We triple dog dare you to kiss eachother.” I nearly choked on air. “Wait what!” I exclaimed. “Both of you are gay so why wouldn’t it hurt?” asked Peter. My face flushed. “Your gay?” I asked turning to Drew. His face instantly went red and he closed his eyes in embarrassment. “Oh cmon Drew. It’s not like its the end of the world.” Korbin said simply, “He’ll do it.” He then elbowed me and inched me to get up. Unwillingly, I stood and watched as red faced Drew got up as well. “Some privacy?” I asked the both of the boys on the floor. Peter put his arms up in defense while Korbin followed him out of the room. \n We looked at eachother awkwardly for a few seconds, are faces going more and more red. “Lets just get this over with then?” I asked looking down. Suddenly, I felt his hand on my chin, pulling my face back up to look at him. I gulped as are faces were only inches apart. I leaned in and kissed him softly. I could feel him smile and so I did too. “Awwww.” Korbin said with Peter beside him recording. Drew picked up a pillow from off the ground and threw it at the camera still red faced. “What are you doing?!” Both of them laughed while me and Drew scolded them.\n Everything worked out perfectly between me and him after that whole ordeal. His friends became mine and my problems became his. I’m just glad we are each others." } ]
[ { "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: Queen Of Mischief\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1246\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a party that has gone horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Ever since I was little, if I could just get my hands on paint or even toilet paper, I could make the most mischief of all. So, as it was the last day of school, I planned to make the most I could.\nBRING! The bell that signaled dismissal was so loud but not as loud as all the kids running out of school for Summer break. I could barely zip up my backpack in time to get out of the classroom with all the other kids.\nI tried to get into a single file line the teachers were trying to direct, but it was no use. I piled out of school with all the other crazy people.\nI started to walk home when a blonde haired girl stopped me and tapped me on the shoulder. I immediately recognized her as the schools’ most popular girl. Harper Brown.\n“Hey,” She said, trying to keep up with me in her tight jean shorts. “Emma, wait.”\nI stopped walking and turned around to face her. My worst enemy of all time. In third grade, she dumped a bucket of slime on my face and then posted it on social media. Pretty much ruined my chances of becoming friends with any other girls.\n“I know you and I have had some pretty rough times,” Harper said, whipping her blonde ponytail behind her ears. “But I want to make it up to you.”\nShe handed me a slip of pink paper that was a party invite. “For tonight. I hope I’ll see you there.”\nWith that she turned to leave and I raced home to celebrate by toilet papering teachers houses.\nI slammed the door so hard because I was so excited to be home, but that earned me a scold from Mom.\n“What’s this?” Mom asked, bending over to pick up the pink slip of paper. I must’ve dropped Harper’s invite on the way in.\n“Just a stupid invite from Harper Brown.” I mumbled, trying to sneak away from this conversation by creeping up stairs.\n“Emma, I think you should go. Try to make some friends and do not make any mischief of the sort.”\nA bright idea popped into my mind.I guess I hadn’t thought about that. If I went to Harper’s party, I could cause all the trouble possible and get her back for what she did to me in third grade. I rubbed my hands together but quickly stopped when I noticed Mom looking at me.\n“You’re right.” I said. “I’ll go change and be down in a second for you to take me to her house. It’s a pool party!” I zipped up the stairs.\nHarper’s house was the same as I imagined in my mind. It was a big white mansion with a pool made for the olympics in the backyard. As I waved bye to Mom and greeted Harper, I looked around my surroundings, knowing I could cause all the trouble possible.\nMusic blared so loud in the house it hurt my ears. So, I made up an excuse to go to the bathroom and make some trouble.\nThe pristine bathrooms at the mansion were crazy. The toilet had a heated seat and some other fancy things. The sink was made of gold and the countertops were jet black.\nI opened the black cabinet under the sink and pulled out all the toilet paper I could grab. Who needed such a big stock of all the thick, soft, toilet paper? I did.\nI ran the down the stairs halfway so everyone could see me with the disco lights.\n“EVERYONE!” I shouted over the music. “TOILET PAPER PARTY!!” Everyone cheered as I threw out rolls and rolls and rolls of toilet paper.\nAnd soon, my mission was accomplished. The Brown’s living room looked toilet papered and gross! But, that wasn’t all I was going to do to get back at Harper.\nAlso in the third grade, the reason why she slimed me was because she had the hugest collection of slime and I only had one handful of dry slime.\nSo, I ran to Harper’s room which was easily recognizable with all the pink streamers outlining the door. I tip-toed inside and opened all her baskets in the white, untouched cabinets. And there, right before my eyes, was a gallon of slime!\nI decided the best way to slime her was to put a trap at the door, so when she walked into her room, it was slime her face just like she did to mine.\nI was done with the trap, but right as I walked out of the room, I heard Harper’s soft footsteps along with her best friend, Opal. I guess I never thought about it, but I could slime two people!\nI hid in a small coat closet with just enough room to see when they’d open the door.\nCREAK! SPLASH! SPLOOSH! AHHHH!\n“That little brat, Emma!!” Harper screamed. “I thought I changed our friendship, but I guess not!!”\nMrs. Brown stumbled into the room and screamed when she saw her daughter. “What has gotten into you?!” \n“It was Emma!” Now, Harper was in tears along with Opal who had also gotten purple slimed.\n“Was it Emma who ruined the party downstairs?” Mrs. Brown asked.\n“What do you mean?” Harper asked, suddenly frightened for her party.\n“Someone, toilet papered the party.”\nHarper and Opal ran downstairs and I followed to see the best moment of my life. Everyone, and when I say everyone I mean even the adults at the party, laughed at the most popular girls in school! This was amazing!\n“PARTY’S OVER! DON’T COME BACK!!” Harper thundered.\nBut, I couldn’t let Harper off that easily after what she did to me. So, as everyone left the party out of the door, I snuck into the office to find a little puppy sleeping.\nI picked it up and it growled. “You’re just like Harper.”\nI snuck to the art room where the family kept all the paintings their grandmother made over the years of her life. I went to the cabinets of paint and creaked them open. \n“What color would look best on you?” I asked the growling poodle. “Maybe green?”\nI picked out the green color and colored the dog's fur.\nSuddenly, Harper appeared in the door gasping. “What have you done, you little queen of mischief!!” She snapped as she ran to kick me. \nBut, I was just too fast for her. I sprinted out the sliding door and hopped over the fence in their backyard. Taking parkour lessons really helped me jump that fence.\nI didn’t stop- the more space between me and the enemy, the better- until I got home.\nSLAM! The door sounded when I came home.\n“Did you cause any trouble, Emma?” Mom asked as she walked over to me, her blonde curls bouncing.\n“Nope. In fact, I think Harper and I will be lifelong friends.” I smiled at the idea of humiliating her every single day.\nMom checked me from head to toe like I wasn’t the real Emma, and then sent me upstairs for bed. But, just as I was laying in bed, on my phone, I posted a picture I took of Harper and Opal slimed.\n I just couldn’t wait till Monday. I could just picture it- Silly Stringing the principal. \nI’m glad Mom made me go to the party. Because I never would’ve become Queen Of Mischief without Harper." } ]
[ { "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 drug fest\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1144\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a party that has gone horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "So here I am at Griffin High , It is the best school in North West ... It's quite cold today , could be my own bad fate just show casing itself very much into the climate . Here's what I am thinking as I walk into the school's corridor \"Everyone has forgotten, Everyone has forgotten...\"\n\" Wrong! \"\nNo one will ever forget that I ruined Jessica Parker 's party . So here is what happened …\n***\nIt's been a week since I was enrolled into Griffin High. I just moved here with my mom and dad. I was raised by the most loveliest interracial couple ; mom is originally from Uganda and dad is the most English guy that you could ever meet . She and dad met when he was doing a tour around all the African countries. They fell inlove and you know what happens when two people fall inlove ? I happened! I had lived all life in South Africa until last month dad said, \" We need a change \" . I was home schooled up until now so it's my first high school and I am going to make the most of it . \n\" Hey Laura \" , said Jessica. \n\"Hey \" , I said.\nOkay so that was Jessica and she is plastic . Nope , her heart is. \n\"Coming to pep rally ? \" \n\"Yah sure . I guess. \"\nI know she's upset with me because I took her sister's spot in the cheer team. You don't just take the Parker sisters place just like that especially when it comes to the cheer team. If you wanna be popular everyone knows that you gotta make friends with the Parker sisters and here I am making enemies with the goddesses. We were sitting at pep rally when the weirdest thing happened , Jessica walked up to and . \n\"You are invited .\"\n\"To what? \" \n\"Check your Instagram messages. Don't be late. \"\n\"I won't. \"\nOh my word ! I have been invited to Jessica Parker 's party. \nThe party was starting at 6pm but everybody knows that high school parties start much earlier and end pretty much late. I had told mom about the party before hand so that we could go shopping . I knew that i looked cute. When I got to the party I could swear that there were mostly seniors there. \nI immediately noticed Nora . She and I are in the school's newspaper club. She's a bit odd. Jessica had asked me not to talk to her. I don't know why but Jessica just says weird nonsense all the time. I mean how can I not speak to Nora , she was the first person to speak to me on my first day . \n\" Hey Laura . You're looking cute. ( We kiss on the cheeks) \". \n\"Thanks . You too .\"\n\"Can I get you anything? Maybe some punch. \" , said Nora. \n\"Maybe some punch. I don't really drink. \"\nFrom nowhere comes this guy who decides to put his hand on my waist. \"Hey sweet cheeks never seen you around here before. \"\n(Me proceeds to remove his hand around my waist ). \n\"I'm new .\" , I said.\n\" Hey Laura ! Having any fun yet? \" \n\"Not yet (I chuckeld \"fakingly)\"\n\"Hey Boris leave Laura alone she's here to have a good time \" , said Jessica\n\"I can show her a good time!\" \nI decided to exit the scene for some air and maybe look for Nora when suddenly I noticed…\nJessica's room.\nI never snoop but I haven't had a good feeling about her so who cares ? No one.\n\"Give me more please ! Please ! .\" , said some girl inside . It wasn't a good tone It sounded like she was moaning and begging . I decided to peep . Was that marijuana and cocaine that I just saw ? Yes ! Oh my word ! There's possession of drugs in the Parker 's home. I need to find Jessica . I began looking for her in her million dollar mansion. This is gonna be hard because there are about hundreds of students inside partying. It wasn't all that I saw. While looking for her I came across the pool. The students were exchanging drugs , I even saw one of the students drug a young girl's drink , possibly Jessica's sister. \n\"Hey stop it ! Leave her alone .\"\n\"Hery don't be such a party pooper. NOBODY LIKES A PARTY POOPER! \"\n\"Jessica! Where's this girl? \". I just kept screaming but it was pointless. Never in my life had I encounted such a moment where I had felt like my eardrums where about to drop. Except for when I listen to loud music whilst trying to ignore mom who always gives me endless chores.\nEvery one began throwing up and from then onwards things became much worse. The neighbours rang Jessica's doorbell.\nI was the one who opened.\n\"Where's Jessica ? \"\n\"I don't know ma'am. \"\n\"Keep the volume down or else I will be calling tge c cops! \"\n\" That won't be necessary ma'am . \" \nI don't know where Jessica is. This party is getting out of control. These seniors were breaking everything. People where having sex everywhere...I know right . I am not used to seeing all this. I went up stairs and honestly I was shook. Jessica Parker the dictator of my life for the past week was lying around bags of cocaine and there was money everywhere. Now I don't know what to say or think. \nI ran down stairs immediately. \n\"Watch out Laura! \" screamed Nora . \n\"Sorry! I gotta go home .\"\nSomething just ate me up . A sick feeling overwhelmed me. Nora was almost fully undressed. \n\"Wanna join me Laura ? We could use a hand . \" \nI wanted to cry so badly . Was this what high school was all about. I decided to call my mother and I did. \n\"Mom ...I am in trouble please come\"\n\" I am on my way sweetie!\"\nWhen my mom had gotten to Jessica 's door she arrived with the cops. I began to feel angry , scared… Why did she call the cops. The police quickly raided the house.\nThe seniors and juniors began to fled like mice . Great stuff! I am officially a nerd. Behold of the girl who decided to call her mom who called the cops to raid a high school party. What a bummer ! \nSince then I haven't heard from Jessica or anyone after the party. And by the way no one speaks to me anymore as if I had many friends to start of before." } ]
[ { "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 Declaration of Love: an absurd Comedy\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1431\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite your story about two characters tidying up after a party." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "T’was a day like any other day. The sun was shining, the mockingbirds were mocking, and Steve was in love. He watched as Cheryl crumpled up greasy paper plates and lobbed them into the trash bin with the precision of an eagle swooping in on prey. Her glossy ponytail gleamed red like the blood of slain enemies. She looked like an angel.\nCheryl looked over. “Hey Steve. Steve! Dreamer boy. You agreed to help so get off your ass and clean up the living room.”\nShe was a snarky, demanding angel. Steve was besotted. Perhaps today would be the day that he professed his deep fathomless undying love for her. He would tell her that he adored her, embrace her in a fiery kiss, then they would ride away on a black stallion into a storm that raged to match their passion.\nDid he possess such an impressive equine? Pah! It was a small technicality where true love was involved. Fate would provide.\n“Steve! Don’t be a flake. Please help me.”\n“Sure thing,” he mumbled. His ears burned from the intensity of their imagined kiss. He stood up and darted into the living room.\nPizza boxes and pop cans littered the room like flies on roadkill. He sighed and started gathering up the cardboard. Come on, buddy. You’ve loved her for years. Just tell her. Like: Cheryl I really like you. Want to go out . . . like as boyfriend and girlfriend?\nHe grimaced. Weak. He could do better.\nCheryl, you are the sun. I am but a pathetic crumpled butterfly, crawling lost in the darkness, yearning for your warmth. Be mine?\nNope, too over the top.\nCheryl, I love you.\nYes, perfection! Now he just had to say it. He paused. That was the scariest part. What if she laughed in his face?\nHe carried the pizza boxes into the kitchen.\n“Umm, Cheryl --”\n“Give me a sec. I just need to dump this in the bin.”\nShe brushed past him, a black garbage bag clutched in one perfectly manicured hand. He wondered how those nails would feel dragging down his back.\nHe gulped. “Okay.”\nHis feet led him to the living room window. She walked to the edge of the driveway and tossed back the lid.\nA white contractor’s van screeched to a stop in front of her. Two men in horrifically tight lime green bodysuits jumped out. They wore pantyhose over their faces and stood menacingly. One had impressive legs. \nSteve blinked. He knew his imagination was active but this was excessive.\n“Back off, freaks! This is private property,” Cheryl growled.\nGreat Legs darted in to scoop her up.\nIn one smooth motion she dropped the trash, grabbed the bin, and swirled around to connect with his face. Slimy vegetable ends and coffee grounds exploded into the air like confetti.\n“Ow!” he howled.\n“Nice!” Steve shouted.\nCheryl pivoted towards the house. “Steve, help me!”\nThe other man, tall and burly, rushed forward and tackled her. They rolled on the pavement, wrestling.\n\"Cheryl! No!\" What the hell was happening? Why would they attack her?\nThis is your chance. Get out there and save her, buddy. Be a hero!\nSteve rushed outside. \"Hey! You jerks!\" he yelled, running for Burly. At precisely the wrong moment he tripped and flailed towards Great Leg’s elbow; the offending joint slammed into his stomach.\nSteve rolled over and curled up, gasping for air. He watched helplessly as the two weirdos in dance wear overpowered Cheryl and stuffed her into the van.\n“Cheryl! NOOOOO! You fiends!” he breathed weakly.\nThe van shot away. Tire tracks steamed on the pavement.\nSteve sprang up like a demonic cat. He was not going to lose her!\nHis eyes darted around the yard for something useful. He spied the bike of Cheryl’s little sister. No choice. He was desperate.\nHe leapt onto the tiny Barbie-pink bike, breathed deeply, and ferociously pedalled away. The purple handlebar streamers blew in the wind.\nPoor Cheryl! She must be so -- well, she probably wouldn’t be terrified. She was probably giving those knaves a severe tongue lashing.\nHe pondered his options. How could he, a teenager on a tiny bike, rescue his friend from two deranged men in a metal van? He didn’t own anything useful like a bazooka and he was a slight guy who didn’t know the art of war. Dang it! Why hadn’t he taken boxing or something?\nWhile he wallowed in insignificance, a massive shaggy goat wandered into the road. It was huge and upon its brow two thick black horns curled wickedly. The goat bleated a challenge before squaring off against the incoming van.\nThe van honked. Then it executed a tricky but impressive bit of automotive ballet and twirled.\nA crumpling sound filled the air as the goat became majestically airborne. A moment later it ruined the calm existence of a metal fence.\nThe van swirled to a stop.\nThis was his chance! Steve pedalled up to it. His fingers were moments from clamping around the door handle when the van revved and cruelly screeched away, the bumper sparking against the pavement like fireworks.\n“CHERYL!” he howled at the sky. He crumpled to the ground, defeated.\n“Mah-ah-ah-ah-ah.”\nSomething warm butted against his side. He looked up, tears streaming from his eyes like snot from allergies. \nThe shaggy beast stood before him. \nSteve conveniently blinked his surprise. “Whoa! How are you not dead?”\n“Mah-ah-ah-ah-ah.” The goat stared at him. It stared down the road. It stared at him. It knelt awkwardly.\nRealization dawned on Steve. His pride was deeply wounded. “How am I supposed to look badass riding in on a goat?”\nIt huffed.\n“Seriously?”\nThe goat butted him again and waited.\nSteve sighed. Clearly life was mocking him. Some guys got to fly in on a dragon to rescue the damsel; Steve would be charging in on a goat. He admitted defeat and climbed on.\nThe goat pranced them away.\n~ ~ ~ ~ ~\nTen minutes later the brave bovidae stood before a delightful little warehouse. Its windows hung at jaunty angles while the rusty metal walls leaned in three directions simultaneously, uncertain where to collapse.\nOkay, time to do this. Steve had decided upon a deliciously nerdy rescue. He crossed his fingers.\n“Let’s go.”\nThe goat bleated fiercely and rammed the doors open. Steve attempted to look heroic. “Let my girlfriend go!” he bellowed. “I have impressive fighting skills. I challenge you to a duel -- in slow motion Karate! HIIIIIII-YA!” He jumped off and painstakingly descended into a crouch.\nThe fiends looked up. Great Legs stood behind Cheryl, presumably employing his magnificent Boy Scout skills by tying her hands together. “Mwah ha ha HA!!!” he laughed maniacally, trying to incite fear.\nBurly grinned. “Challenge accepted!” Then he slowly, ever so slowly, began to move his hands. The movements might have been impressive were it executed at a proper speed.\nCheryl shook her head. “Idiots! I’m surrounded by idiots,” she muttered. “Steve, we are not dating. I’m fifteen. I have no interest in that right now. But thanks for trying to save me; that’s really sweet.\n“You two!” she glared at Burly. “I don’t know what your deal is, but you’ve got issues. Lots of issues. See a therapist or something. Kidnapping people is not okay! I am so done with this.” Then she whipped her skull back to smash into Great Leg’s face.\nHe yelped and released her.\nShe darted over to the goat and sliced her bonds on a sharp horn. “Have fun playing with the bad men!” she called to Steve while she jumped onto its back. They charged away, their figures a silhouette against the flaming sunset.\n“Did you hear that? She thinks I’m sweet!” If Steve’s grin were any larger the pain might have rendered him unconscious. \nBurly chuckled. “Mate, she doesn’t want to date you. And I’ve got to admit, she’s kinda scary.”\n“But that’s why we work! She’s a take-charge kind of woman; I love to follow orders.”\n“Give it a year. Or a decade. Maybe she’ll realize that too.” Burly's hand resumed its crawl through the air. “Are we gonna finish this?”\n“Oh yeah. Bring it on.”\nAnd so commenced the greatest slow motion Karate fight of the ages. Naturally Steve was defeated. But the bad men felt so overcome with pity that they allowed him to gallantly crawl away.\nAnd that’s how Steve came to realize that helping a friend clean up after a party always ends badly, but a declaration of love is appreciated." } ]
[ { "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: Spend the Night at The Masons\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1615\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite your story about two characters tidying up after a party." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "He had to admit, though the house was big, it wasn't the type of style he thought the Masons would go for. Jay thought that they would go for more of a... modern look, not the very classic, family-oriented home that he found himself in now. After waking up in a comfy, warm bed that he would never mistake for his own, shirtless and wrapped around another boy, he decided that it was a great time to look around and try to remember what exactly happened last night and where he was. That was when he ran across the picture of Mr. and Mrs. Mason with their 2 twin children, Camron and Cacy, better known as simply the Masons.\nThe Masons were all well-known, not because Mr. Mason owned half of the town, and not because Mrs. Mason was the meteorologist for the Channel 5 News, but because of their children. Cacy was the captain of 'The Girls', a club for young teenage girls to earn extra community service points by going to old folks' homes, giving them baths, and styling them up. Camron was like any stereotypical jock, playing every sport known to man. While they may have seemed like the typical 'jock and mean girl,' they weren't. With 4.0 GPAs, they were also both known for their smarts, as well as for being everyone's friend. It didn't matter if you were a geek or just someone in the background like Jay, the Mason twins noticed you.\nAfter a little while of looking around the rather large two-story home, Jay returned to the room where he had first woken up. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the boy who he'd been spooning when he woke up, and he was getting curious as to who he was. Jay was like any other boy. He liked playing sports and going to parties. His grades weren't stellar enough to make him stick out, but he wasn't one to fail his classes either. He had a good group of friends who he would die for, and he was gay. You wouldn't have noticed; it wasn't like he wore dresses or high heels. He was just Jay, who happened to be gay\nJay walked around the room looking for his shirt, shoes, and socks, and found them all over the room in the most random places, like the bathtub and the light fixture that was hanging over the boy still in the bed. After getting dressed and making sure that he still had his car keys and wallet in his pants, he rounded the bed and tried to get a good look. From what he could see, the boy had loose light brown curls and slightly tanned skin with a slight blush of freckles. Jay himself had dark brown, almost black, hair and a pair of hazel eyes that he got from his mother. \nJay smiled at the boy under the blanket and wondered who he was. He could be from anywhere; the parties that the Mason twins threw could have anyone in attendance, from up to three towns over, so this boy really could be anyone. Jay sighed and sat back on the bed. He looked around the room once more from where he was sitting and actually saw the room for the first time. It was painted a nice soft green with a white ceiling and trim, along with a very light cream-colored carpet. On the walls of the room were various sports trophies, and even some for academic things like spelling bees and math tournaments.\nSomething across the room caught Jay’s eye and he stood up to go look at it, not noticing that the movement of the bed stirred the boy. It turned out to be a picture of two small boys at what seemed to be a very large tree. The more he looked the more he noticed. One of the boys looked familiar and as Jay glanced at the boy he realized why. Of course, it was Camron Mason and after looking around the room again, he figured out that this was his room. All the awards had his name on them, and Jay cursed himself for not noticing it earlier when he had to grab his shirt off of one of the shelves.\n\"You know,\" the voice behind him startled him. It wasn't very deep but deep enough and raspy from sleep. \"Most people wait for me to wake up before they start snooping around my room.\" Jay didn't have to turn around to see who it was, and he couldn't believe he hadn’t realized it sooner. Of course, it was him, why wouldn't it be? Jay mentally gave himself a facepalm before slowly turning around to face the grinning shirtless boy sitting up, covered by only a blanket. \"Uh... Hi there Camron didn't see you there...\" Camron only laughed and laid back down full on the bed, stretching. \"Well, pretty sure you saw enough of me last night.\" Jay's face turned beet red as he watched Camron stretch his muscles, watching their every movement as he began to try to remember what happened last night and why he was in bed with Camron Mason. Camron only laughed and got out of bed, reaching on the ground for a discarded pair of sweatpants. Jay promptly turned his head away before he could see anything and started to ramble, which was one of the things he was great at doing. \"Uh yeah, I went to go home but then forgot my keys in here. And my shirt. And my socks and shoes. But I came back in and I was like, 'Hey I might as well look around while I have the chance,' and then I figured that I might as well stick around and start cleaning because it is a mess out there, the-\" But he stopped short when Camron started laughing.\n\"Dude, it's ok. I'm not pissed or anything was just confused for a second. Wait, did you just say that you would help clean?\" Jay turned back around to face a thankfully semi-clothed Camron who was looking around the room with disgust. \"I could really use the help. I told Cacy that she needs to stop inviting everyone from the whole state but she says that a bigger party is always more fun.\" Jay just stayed quiet as he watched Camron walk to the bathroom. \"Where is she now that we have to clean, huh? God, she's such a bother.\" \nCamron came back out with multiple red cups containing various liquids. Jay took that as a sign and started to grab some of the trash around the room. They both slowly made their way through the house, asking stray party-goers who had stayed over to help. Most people just left, but some stayed and started to help clean. By midday, all the cups and trash were picked up, but the house was still a mess. Jay could still smell the sweat and various bodily fluids around the house and took that as a clue to get too deep cleaning mode. \nJay was not a clean freak. At least, that’s what he told everyone, but they all knew that he really was. He always had everything clean and in order and even carried cleaning supplies around with him wherever he went. It’s not like Jayminded getting dirty, he just liked to be clean afterward. When he saw the state of the kitchen and bathrooms, he went into cleaning mode. He wanted to leave them spotless, and he wouldn't leave the house without them looking like they were cleaned every day by the best cleaner in the world. It was the least he could do after spending the night. He felt like he cleaned for hours, but he was finally finished with everything and was very proud of himself. Just as Jay was putting the cleaning supplies away, Camron walked into the room and whistled. ¨Damn, you clean better than the maid, maybe I should hire you instead.¨ Jay just laughed the joke away and continued to put the supplies away when he felt a hand on his back, making him jump and hit his head on the counter above him. In all of his time cleaning, Jay forgot about what he had woken up to this morning and why exactly he was here in the first place. ¨Oww, ok sorry about that, I didn't mean to scare you like that.¨ Camron backed away from Jay a half step to let the other boy get out fully from under the counter. ¨Oh, no it’s ok, I just wasn't expecting… that…” Jay looked over that the still shirtless Camron and muttered under his breath, “I didn't even know you were gay.” He hadn't meant for him to hear the comment, and so his face turned beet red when Camron started to laugh. After his laughing fit, he finally said, “Neither did I. I still don't think I am, more bi-curious? I don't know what I like, but I definitely liked last night, but I also like girls, so I really have no clue.” \nThey just looked at each other for a moment before a loud ring cut through the air, making both boys jump. It was Jay's phone, and when he looked at it his blood ran cold. “Hey, I need to get home, like now. Last night was fun and all but my mom is gonna kill me, so I'll see you later, alright? Bye.” Then Jay all but ran out the door trying to make it home while getting berated by his mother for staying out without letting her 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: Return Tour\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2972\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who needs to face their past in order to move forward." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It took him over thirty years, but on his return tour he would not be carrying thirty pounds of U.S. Army gear, an M-16 and twenty plus pound lead flak vest. He was just twenty year old when he came on his first tour. He was over fifty years old as he flew into Ho Chi Minh City. It was Saigon the first time he came, but there had been a lot of changes since that time. \nHe had also been through three painful divorces since he returned home as it seemed the dragon of his past was always raising its ugly head. After over two decades of psychological treatment at the Veterans Administration, he felt a strong need to return and face down the demons that had haunted over those thirty years. \nThe stewardess was a young Asian woman who spoke fluent English, but would switch to Vietnamese mid-sentence. He remembered a lot of the street lingo from his first tour, but she was obviously college educated. She was friendly and attentive to him as he sat staring out the window. \nEndless blue ocean was all that was beneath him at thirty thousand feet. When he came the first time he came with a hundred other Army recruits all gung ho and ready to push the VC back across the Ho Chi Minh Trail where they had come from. By the end of the month one quarter of those recruits were in body bags in flag draped caskets headed home. \n“Can I get you something?” The stewardess flashed him a smile.\n“No thank you.” He shook his head.\n“Private Godfrey!” The company commander called out after looking at his clipboard.\n“Here, sir!” He yelled as he was taught in basic training.\nIt was hot and humid at oh-eight hundred hours and the base smelled like feet in an overwhelming stench that he would get used to on his first tour.\nSergeant Hollis, the company first sergeant, walked over and stuck his nose close to Private Godfrey’s person, “Private Godfrey, I would personally like to welcome you to the shit.”\n“Thank you, sir.” He responded.\n“Do you see these stripes on my sleeve?” He snarled.\n“Yes sir!” He acknowledged.\n“I am a Non-Commissioned Officer in this man’s army, you will address me as First Sergeant, is that understood?” He shouted into Godfrey’s ear.\n“Yes sir.” He answered.\n“Drop and give me fifty push ups for being deaf or stupid, I hadn’t made up my mind which you are yet.” He walked away as Private Godfrey did his penance. \n“Have you ever been to Vietnam?” He heard his neighbor in the next seat ask him.\n“Once.” He answered.\n“My name is Keith Ransom. It’s my first time. My dad passed away last year and I promised to drop these dog tags in the river.” Keith was a talker with two more hours before they were scheduled to land he probably wouldn’t shut up.\n“Rodney Godfrey.” He shook the sweaty palm of Keith Ransom.\n“When were you here the last time?” Keith sipped on his straw of the cocktail the pretty stewardess had given him.\n“Long before you were born, Keith.” He coughed into his hand. \n“Were you here for the war?” He was too eager for Rodney, reminding him of some of the teenagers who returned in body bags. \n“Yup.” Rodney nodded. \n“My dad said his buddy was never found.” Keith jangled the dog tags in his hands. “He was in the river one minute and gone the next. He never did tell me much about his time in ‘Nam.” \nOh how he hated people who were never in-country using ‘Nam to talk about Vietnam, but he just smiled at Keith and nodded. He leaned against the window and pretended to be asleep. In his fake sleep, he could hear Keith chatting with the other passengers.\n“Doc, when I dream, I dream about the mission when our platoon walked into an ambush. Christ, there were seven or eight wounded guys screaming their lungs out as some of them watched their guts slide into the mud.” He paused like he always had to when he was talking about Da Nang in June, 1968. He lay in the rice paddy, put his M-16 on automatic and let loose on the dirt road ahead. He moved through the mud until he got to Gavin Rothchild who was holding his stomach so it would slide out of the gaping hole in his belly. Gavin was crying for his mother. Gavin had just graduated from high school as the star quarterback. Galvin began to shiver. Rodney knew it was a death shiver. The chopper would not make it in time to save Gavin. Four other members of his platoon wouldn’t make it either. The butter bar was just out of officer training school and he led them right into the trap. Good old Lieutenant Frobek. “I hated what that son-of-a-bitch did that day.”\n“I don’t blame you, Rodney.” Dr. Schueller said as he wrote on his yellow pad.\n“Sam walked out on me.” Rodney said without any emotion.\n“Sam?”\n“Samantha Rigsby. Wife number two.” He held up two fingers. “We lasted two years before my sickness got the better of her.” \n“I am so sorry, Rodney.” \n“I’m not. Nothing a bottle of hooch won’t cure.” Rodney laughed. Dr. Schueller hated this laugh, because it was a clear signal he wasn’t getting any better. \n“So now what are you going to do?” He asked Rodney.\n“Find a bottle of hooch and have my own private party.” He laughed again. \nKnow thyself is what the chaplin told him, but it did not stop the voices from raging in his head and now he had Keith to contend with for a couple more hours. He had a bunch of pictures his father had taken in-country with a Polaroid camera. The PX on the base in Saigon sold a bunch of them to GIs headed to the shit. He bought one, but lost it while wading through a rice paddy under fire. He did not miss it, because any memory of this place he wanted no part of.\n“You are so stubborn.” Lacy, his third wife told him as she had her bags packed ready to go back to live with her mom. “You have to find a way to move past all of this. I can’t take it anymore.”\n“Please stay.” He urged her. She was a cute waitress he met who was half his age.\n“Rodney, I have tried, but you have pushed me away. My dad went to Vietnam and it ended up killing him.” She was in tears. Her dad could have been in-country with him, oh boy, that hurt. \n“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, this is your pilot.” He had an accent, “We are getting ready to land in Ho Chi Minh City. Today the temperature is around ninety degrees with about eighty percent humidity.”\nThat much hadn’t changed, hot and muggy just like when he stepped off the plane the first time. \n“We do have some banks in the terminal where you can exchange your money for Vietnamese Dong. They will fill you in on the rates.” \nRodney opened one eye and Keith was still chatting with anyone who would listen. Slowly the plane began to descend. Looking out the window, Rodney saw the shoreline of Vietnam come into view.\n“Father forgive me for I have sinned…” He said as he made his first confession in church. He had not been back inside a church since he got back from his first tour. He was surprised to find out that a lot of the Vietnamese were Catholic thanks to the French colonizers who they ousted a decade before the Americans decided to give it a go with the Domino Theory ringing in everyone’s ears. \n“You cheated on me.” Dorothy was waiting for him at the door when he got home. Dorothy was wife number one. \n“I cannot tell a lie…I did.” He fell face first to the floor, drunk. \nWhen she left him, he fell into a deep depression and was placed in a psychiatric hospital when the police arrested him for indecent exposure as he ran down the street stark naked again extremely drunk. \nThe landing was easy. Nothing remarkable, but there was something inside his head telling him to make things right this time. He stepped out into the brave new world of Ho Chi Minh City with modern skyscrapers and clean streets minus the open sewers he experienced in his first tour. With his bag slung over his shoulder, Rodney stepped onto the sidewalk and called for a cab using what he remembered of his Vietnamese slang. \nA cab pulled up to the curb where he was standing, “Don’t speak that crappy slang.” The cab driver spoke in perfect English, shaking his head.\n“Well, I didn’t expect that.” Rodney put his bag in the open trunk.\n“Haven’t heard that since I was a boy when the Americans were here.” He laughed as he closed the trunk. “My name is Bihn Huynh.”\n“Rodney Godfrey.” Rodney tipped his California Angels cap. \n“Huh, please to meet you. Hotel?” He closed Rodney’s door.\n“Ambassador, please.” Rodney handed Bihn more dong than his cab fare would cost.\n“Right away.” He put the folding cash into his shirt pocket and pulled away from the curb at a rather rapid speed. \nHe had forgotten how clogged the streets of one of the largest cities in the country could be since most drivers drove with reckless abandon. With a mixture of pedestrian, bicycle and motor vehicle traffic, the flow could get a little dicey and close calls were all too common. The Ambassador Hotel was right in the middle of the city. In the morning, Rodney would get on a bus and head north toward Da Nang. \n“Here you go.” Bihn stopped in front of the large multi-story hotel where a white gloved porter was waiting for Rodney to exit the cab. “You have wonderful day, sir.” Bihn tipped his hat as Rodney grabbed his bag from the trunk and handed it to the porter. \nOnce to his room, Rodney turned on the television and watched some of the local television in Vietnamese with a closed caption scrolling along the bottom. Before the show got to a commercial break, Rodney was fast asleep, heavy with jet lag. \nIn the morning, Rodney had a helping of Pho, a common Vietnamese breakfast with rice noodles, broth and beef or chicken. Rodney preferred beef as chicken sometimes left a funny aftertaste. He ate quickly, because the bus would be out front soon and if he missed it there would not be another one for a few days. \nThe bus arrived right on schedule which was another big change from his first tour. He looked out the window as they passed some of the city sights such as the old men in the park playing mahjong or chess that the French brought with them. What was missing were the long line of brothels in the Red Light District that had attracted so many GIs during his last tour.\n“Oh hey, how are you doing?” It was Keith and he plopped himself in the seat next to Rodney. \n“Great.” Rodney said through gritted teeth. \n“Where are you going?” Keith asked with a big smile. \n“Da Nang.” Rodney returned the smile.\n“Oh, that’s an all day trip.” His smile turned into a grimace.\n“I am well aware.” He nodded since on his first tour he marched through fifty miles of jungle from an army firebase. \n“I am going to Buon Ma Thuot. There is a river there my dad told me to put these dog tags.” He jingled them in his Khaki pockets. \nThe clinging of the metal made Rodney break out in a sweat.\n“C’mon grunts, let's move out.” First Sergeant Pillar ordered. \nThe platoon waded through a rice paddy. There was a metallic clang.\n“Rocket attack!” First Sergeant Pillar yelled about the time some of the rockets hit. First Sergeant Pillar disappeared in a cloud of smoke mixed with human and animal manure. Later a detail would find pieces of the good first sergeant over a wide radius in the rice paddy. The rest of the platoon gathered at an earthen hill hoping the rockets would not find their positions. For almost the entire night, Rodney listened to the chorus of the explosions around the area. \nKeith waved goodbye when the bus pulled up at Buon and while he was glad to see him depart, he knew he would miss Keith’s chatter on the long ride up north. Some of the passengers had chickens and other small livestock that gave the bus a certain earthy ambience that Rodney had forgotten. \nWhile the roads were in better condition than his first tour, there were still rough patches that the bus would bounce over sending many passengers airborne at times. Sometimes the bus would come to a crawl as farmers with carts driven by oxen would take up more than their share of the road. The odor of sewage could also be a bit strong at times, but once upon a time, Rodney hadn’t taken notice or was too busy to do so. \nRodney had also become aware he was the only round eyes on the bus after Keith departed. Few round eyes would ever come this far north, so many of the passengers were staring at him. He put in his ear buds and tried not to notice. \nAt sundown, the bus pulled into Da Nang that used to be in the Demilitarized Zone.\n“You keep saying the same thing in your sleep.” Lacy told him after he had sweated through the sheets. \n“What did I say?” He asked.\n“Something about keeping your head down and rocket attack.” She shook her head. “It freaks me out.” \n“Freaks you out?” He thought, “What do you think it does to me…my skull?” \nLacy never understood the whole war/combat thing. She had no concept how certain stimuli could trigger certain responses. He would continually freak her out. \nRodney walked out into a landscape he never could imagine during his first tour with modern bridges and buildings that added an appealing skyline to once one of the most dreaded places he had ever been to. My Khe Beach was once a marine landing area, but now it offers a scenic beach for tourists. He was booked into the Hilton Da Nang. The irony was not lost on him as on his first tour he bunked in a firebase not far from the beach. \nHe checked in and had dinner. Cao Lau which wasn’t much different from the Pho he had for breakfast. \n“I know English.” His waiter bowed, “First time here?”\n“I wish I could say yes to that.” He answered knowing that the irony would be lost in translation. \n“I bring you beer?” His waiter asked.\n“Yes, that would be great.” He nodded. \n“Beach if wonderful.” He took the menu from Rodney.\n“Can’t wait to see it.” He smiled as the waiter went to get him a bottle of beer. Life had returned to normal it seemed. Whatever that was. He finished his dinner and beer and walked off to his room. \n“You have to go and let go of all that baggage you brought back with you, Rodney.” Dr. Schueller advised, “You have a lot of things you need to get rid of or else you will always be burdened with guilt.” \nHe made it sound so simple, but it wasn’t.\nThe next morning the sun beat into the sand and water. He walked along the shore and then onto a pier where fishermen were sorting through their catch of the days. When Rodney glanced into the nets, he saw a lot of strange squirmy creatures taking their last gasps on the dock. \n“You American?” One of the fishermen asked. Rodney nodded, “I was with the V. C. in 1967 and 1968 before I got wounded.” \n“You?” Rodney could not believe he had come face to face with his former enemy, but back then the enemy was faceless for the most part.\nThis time he nodded. \n“My name Ahn Dai.” He said.\n“My name is Rodney Godfrey.” He nodded. “It is an honor to meet you.”\n“And you.” He smiled and bowed his head. They both looked at each other for a moment before simultaneously embracing each other as tears flowed from both their eyes. “I am so glad to meet you, Rodney.”\n“And I you, Ahn.” Rodney felt something deep inside him being released. He knew that all of the bad memories and guilt had been washed away. He would leave it all behind him on this tour. \n“I will go home in a few days.” Rodney said as Ahn nodded.\n“If you see something you want…take it.” He held out his arms to show Rodney what his nets had caught.\n“This looks interesting.” Rodney picked up fish who was still wiggling. It was ugly and did not look very appetizing. \n“A monkfish? A good cook will be able to cook the ugliest fish in the ocean and make it tasty.” Ahn laughed and patted Rodney on the back.\nAhn Dai was quite right as the chef at the Da Nang Hilton cooked up the fish, placing it on a bed of rice for one of the best meals he had ever tasted. \nOn his flight home a few days later, the same stewardess was on board. “Can I get you anything?” \n“No thank you, I have everything I need.” He leaned back and within a few minutes was fast asleep no longer burdened by the nightmares of his guilt from his first tour." } ]
[ { "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 Time for Heroes\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1982\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone sharing a secret that has a big impact on everyone." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Folks always called my daddy a liar.”\nThe voice came low and sad-like from the 12-year-old who sat cross-legged on the concrete steps of the Williamsburg Regional Library on Scotland Street.\nJoshua Fry glanced up from the history book he was reading. His friend, Thomas Paine, could see the hurt in the young boy’s eyes.\n“He isn’t?”\n“Nope, he isn’t, but that don’t stop some people from saying he was wrong about our family history. My ancestor was a hero before George Washington.”\n“Washington, the Father of Our Country, helped build a nation—our nation.”\n“Not entirely,” Joshua said. “Not a lot of people know that Washington lost his first battle with the British and had to surrender the fort he’d built—Fort Necessity.”\n“I didn’t know that. I’m not into history, my thing is science.”\n“Is that what you’re reading about?” \n“Yes. This is a book on quantum physics. It talks about time travel, black holes and white holes.”\n“What’s a white hole?”\n“Basically, it’s the other end of a black hole. A black hole sucks everything in, but a white hole spits out matter and energy. This book talks about what’s called the Parallel Dimension theory and the PBS report on how to move forward or backward in time.”\n“I wish I could go back in time and save my ancestor.”\n“Who was that?”\n“My namesake, Joshua Fry. He would have been the Father of Our Country, but he fell off his horse and died, so George Washington became our military leader.”\n“Well, didn’t Washington do a great job?”\n“Yeah, but when he lost his first battle, it caused the French and Indian War. If Joshua Fry hadn’t died, we’d have won our independence a lot sooner. It’s too bad you don’t know how to build a time machine so I could go back and save him.”\n“Who says I don’t know how to build a time machine?”\n“Oh, I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t mean you couldn’t build one. Heck, you’re the smartest kid in school. If anyone could build a time machine it’d be you.”\nTom lifted his head and smiled broadly. “I have, you know.”\n“Have what?”\n“I’ve built a time machine. Want to see it?”\nThe boys hopped on their bicycles and left for Cherry Lane where Tom lived.\n“It’s behind the garage,” Tom whispered as he and Joshua pulled into the driveway. \nJoshua followed his friend inside a garden shed.\n“I don’t see any time machine.”\n“Look here,” Tom said as he lifted a canvas tarpaulin from a wooden bin built at the far end of a make-shift table. Under the tarp, a silver metal pot sat looking like an old pressure cooker. Several wires protruded from it leading to a gray metal box underneath. An array of lights and switches decorated the front and as Tom flipped a switch, the lights blinked, and an electric motor began to hum.\n“Does it work?”\n“I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t tested it, yet. Wanna try it out?”\n“Uh—no. I’m not that adventurous.”\n“Well, you’re the one who wanted to change your family history.”\n“If I thought it would work, I’d do it.”\n“Stand back and hold my soda. I’m going to send Mr. Majestic through time.”\n“You mom’s cat? She’ll kill you. She’ll at least give you a good whipping.”\n“Ha-ha! Hold onto your whiskers, Mr. Majestic. Here you go.”\nTom placed the cat near the silver drum and stood back. The hum from the motor grew louder and colored lights blinked on and off much faster. A cloud formed over Mr. Majestic and his fur stood on end. Just as Mr. Majestic let out his first loud hiss, the cloud descended around his body and—Poof! He was gone. \n“Wow” Joshua shouted. “You’re in for it now. You killed your mom’s cat.”\n“No way,” Tom said with a wicked grin on his lips. “Watch this.”\nHe fiddled with the machine once more, turning dials and then flipped the switch. Immediately, the machine hummed louder and just as before, a dense cloud formed over the area where Mr. Majestic had been standing. This time a high-pitched whistle sounded, and the colored lights flashed off and on in rapid succession. Then, all at once, a loud clang came from inside the remanufactured pressure cooker and—Poof! There he was. Mr. Majestic appeared again without any obvious harm to him, other than a worried look on his face and a soft meow. The cat jumped off the table and scampered out of the shed. \n` “That’s something, all right,” Joshua admitted. “But how does that prove he went back in time?”\n“Here,” Tom said as he opened a page in one of the library books he’d checked out. “See this picture?”\nThe picture was a reproduction of The Virginia Gazette, the first newspaper in Virginia, dated 1736. A woodblock print showed people staring at a black kitten which resembled Mr. Majestic. The headline read, Black cat appears suddenly, then vanishes within minutes— witchcraft suspected.\n“I knew it would work,” Tom said, “when I saw this image in the book. Look at the silver collar around the kitten’s neck.”\nSure enough, the collar in the photo matched the one Joshua had seen on Mr. Majestic.\n“You can do it. You can go back in time and save your ancestor from falling off his horse.”\n“Uh—I don’t know.”\nJoshua Fry—the Revolutionary figure, not the younger Joshua—stood across from the desk of Lieutenant Governor Robert Dinwiddie, who had summoned him to appear. \n“I’m appointing you as one of the commissioners for the Treaty of Logstown,” Dinwiddle said. The year was 1752. The treaty would strengthen the relationship between the English colonists and the American Indians. “I’m sure you realize the importance of this mission.\" \n“Indeed, I do, sir. But couldn’t you send Washington on this mission?”\n“George Washington? Why in the world would I send my second-best man when I have you? Besides, Washington is a bit of a stuffed shirt, so I’m told.”\n“Washington’s a good man, sir.”\n“Well, maybe so, but you have greater knowledge of the Virginia frontier and I’m counting on you to see this mission is a success.”\n“I shall do my best, sir.”\n“Of course, you will.”\nFry excused himself and made ready for a long and arduous trip to the area on the Ohio River through dense forests and rugged terrain.\n“All right. I’ll do it,” young Joshua said to his friend.\nTom positioned Joshua near where Mr. Majestic had stood and paused long enough to shake hands before throwing a switch on the time machine.\n“I’m going with you, but I have to stay by the machine so I can throw the switch to bring us back home. You’ll have to rescue your ancestor all by yourself.”\nJoshua nodded and, once again, a cloud formed over the boys’ heads then descended around their bodies. Poof! They both disappeared just as Mr. Majestic had done moments before.\nAt first, Joshua appeared confused. His body tingled. He saw that he was in a deep forest with no particular landmark to guide him—no trail to follow and no sign saying, “Indian village, this way.”\nHe closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him—birds chirping, wind blowing softly, and he smelled the sweet perfume of wildflowers mixed with the heady scent of Virginia pine trees. He heard the rippling sound of river waters breaking upon stone boulders and the occasional splash of rainbow trout as they broke free and soared through the air and dove back into the river.\nAnd then he heard human voices. English speaking men, all right. He listened intently as he followed their sound and, as he drew closer to the group, he instantly recognized the elder Joshua Fry standing beside his horse. Young Joshua had seen sketches of the man many times in library books and a painting which hung in his father’s den.\nAs the elder Fry stepped his foot inside the stirrup of his saddle, younger Joshua broke free from the edge of the clearing and ran as fast as he could towards the man. He reached Fry’s horse just as his ancestor put his full weight onto the stirrup.\nThe leather strap holding Fry’s stirrup broke under the weight of his body and the man tumbled from the saddle—right into young Joshua’s arms. They went down together, bruised, scratched, landing with dual grunts but, otherwise, safe.\n“What? Boy, are you all right?” Fry asked.\nJoshua righted himself, being pulled upright by his ancestor.\n“Yes—yes, sir,” he spoke.\n“Who are you and where did you come from? And why are you dressed so strangely?”\nJust as Joshua was about to answer, he felt a tingle run through his body and a small cloud formed over his head. The elder Fry stood back, awed by the apparition which descended all about Joshua’s body and then—Poof!\n“I’ve got you,” Tom shouted as he wrapped both his arms around Joshua to catch him as he fell.\n“Aieee!” Joshua screamed and shook all over.\n“It’s okay. We’re back in Mom’s garden shed, and all in one piece. How do you feel?”\n“Like I just fell off a cliff and…and…I thought I would die.”\nTom laughed. He nudged Joshua over to a chair and sat back laughing some more.\n“That was him, your ancestor?” Tom asked.\n“Y—yeah, we found him.” Joshua paused a moment then looked at his friend. A huge grin spread across his face as his eyes opened wider and took on a Christmas morning look to them. “We did it. We stopped his fall from his horse. He’s alive!”\n“No, you did it. I just got us back home.”\nJoshua didn’t reply. He grabbed the history book he’d been reading and turned to the page that said his ancestor had died. Instead of reporting those facts, he read where the elder Fry had met with the Indian chiefs in the area, had signed a treaty with them and returned to the fort to report the mission complete to his superior. \nThe remaining listing told how Dinwiddle had appointed Fry to the position of Colonel in the Revolutionary Army and later promoted him to General over all the troops. George Washington, although still losing Fort Necessity to the French, became Fry’s adjutant and went on to lead the colonies to victory over the British after Fry, serving less than two years after his success at Logstown, fell off his horse and broke a leg. \nThe fracture led to a case of gangrene, which required an amputation of the limb, which lead to Fry resigning his commission and living out the rest of his life as a surveyor in Virginia, never fighting in the French and Indian War, which had been postponed by only a few months, but being on hand to congratulate his friend and successor General Washington after General Charles Cornwallis surrendered to him at Yorktown.\n“Joshua Fry was a hero,” Joshua said. “The history book says so. Now, nobody will ever call my daddy a liar, again. Besides, he was sort of famous for something else.”\n“What’s that? \n“Well, if he had died falling off his horse, he would never have fathered a son, who would never father a son, who would never…”\n“Is this going somewhere?” Tom asked, showing boredom in his expression.\n“Yeah. Well, I don’t recall how many begats and all of that, but it was a Joshua Fry down the line who gave us this.”\nJoshua reached inside his pocket, produced a Cadbury chocolate and handed it to Tom.”\n“Oh, wow, my favorite candy. But, how…?”\n“The Fry family was a world leader in chocolates; so was the Cadbury family. In 1919 the two businesses merged, and we wouldn’t have Cadbury chocolates today if I hadn’t saved Joshua Fry’s life.”\n“You did good, Joshua Fry. Gimme another Cadbury.”\nXXX" } ]
[ { "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 These Moments, We: Syrup-coated\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2987\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a party that has gone horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The moment he saw the thick lipstick of Jiaye approaching him with a smirk, Rengmo held his breath.\n“So, Mo, how’s it going with your girlfriend?”\nShe dragged the last word out and sniggered while he squirmed in his seat.\n“Fine. She’s great.”\n“Great. Then you can invite her to this weekend’s party.”\nHe turned back to his sandwich, trying to look unaffected and disinterested, because the malice flashing in Jiaye’s eyes made him shudder.\n“She doesn’t like stuff like that.”\n“But if you convince her, she’ll go. She adores you, Mo.”\nHer consonants dragged again, slithered through his ears and brain, and he swallowed his bite of toasted bread, pan-fried beef, and spinach. He didn’t taste any of it.\nBehind Jiaye, he saw Ilho swagger up and take the seat across from him. Yuul and Ed soon followed, laughing and whispering behind Jiaye. The two who never contained their mischief, Yuul and Ed gave away their intentions, and Rengmo felt his stomach churn.\n“What’re you guys planning?”\n“Planning?” Yuul pulled back in offended innocence. “Nothing! Except for maybe seeing our friend and his girlfriend together. She can hang out with us.”\nHer last sentence sounded tossed out, like an idea dismissed out of insignificance, so maybe Rengmo could make them forget about whatever plan they had schemed.\n“Guys, Danjune has a big senior project coming up, and we have Mr. Po’s math test to study for.”\n“When did you get so uptight, Mo? I doubt Mr. Po even knows any of our faces considering we always skip during his class,” Ed said.\n“I don’t want to repeat a grade, so I have to pass the tests at least.”\n“But Mo, you’re coming to the party at least, right?”\n“I really shouldn’t. Ah—I actually have to go early to ask Mr. Po a question, so I’ll see you guys later.”\nHe reboxed his sandwich and threw it in his backpack, heading to the exit as smoothly as possible. The moment he stepped out of the lunchroom, he let out the biggest sigh of his life.\n“Mo.”\nJumping at the deep voice, he whipped around and backed up a few steps at Ilho’s figure. Rengmo actually stood a head taller than him and had a more toned body from his dancing, but Ilho commanded an air of importance, something Rengmo knew belonged solely to the leader of their friend group.\n“Ilho, what’s up?”\nHe titled his head up, crossed his arms, stared at Rengmo, and every action had Rengmo dreading his next words.\n“Don’t you think you’re in too deep, Mo?”\n“What do you mean?”\n“With your fake girlfriend. You won the bet, so you don’t need to keep pretending that you’re dating her. The others are just going to keep pestering you like this to tease you.”\nRengmo looked away, clenching his hands. Right. He had won the bet, the bet daring him to ask out the school’s weirdo, take her out on a couple of dates, to play with her feelings.\nNow he was paying the price.\nIn those few dates, he realized how different Danjune was but not in the way he had assumed. He had a front row seat to her strange actions, like when she lined a bunch of rocks in the middle of the courtyard or when she shouted for no reason. But there always was a reason. She lined the rocks to protect a group of ants deciding their new queen. She made an outburst to stop his friends from digging into his backpack.\nFriends. He wasn’t sure if he should call them that now. He thought that friends were supposed to make each other feel accepted and comfortable. Danjune made him feel that way, and that was the difference he had discovered between her and his friends.\n“Mo, I’m just saying this for your sake. You already did her a favor. Now she knows what it’s like to date, since she definitely won’t get another in the future. Be done with it.”\nIlho’s words sounded like advice, but Rengmo felt the tone underneath. He long figured out how to interpret Ilho’s conversations.\nShe’s killing our rep. Cut the dead weight.\nRengmo opened his mouth to agree. The sooner he stopped his charade, the less he or his friends could hurt Danjune. They could return to being strangers, and maybe he could convince his friends to leave her alone out of sympathy towards an ex.\nHe opened his mouth to agree, but different words seized his tongue.\n“After. After her big senior project. She doesn’t need more stress.”\nIlho clicked his tongue. Rengmo flinched.\n“Fine. After. But hey, since she’s so stressed, take her to the party. We’ll show her a good time.”\nWithout letting Rengmo respond, Ilho pushed his way back into the lunchroom, the finality to his orders. Rengmo's legs trembled, and he stumbled out of view of the glass doors. He hit the brick wall and collapsed to his knees, shifting and curling in to lean against the cool mortar.\nWhy didn’t he agree? Why didn’t he say that he would cut his fake relationship with Danjune? That was better for her, and guilt could have finally stopped gnawing at him.\n“Rengmo!”\nHe jumped before he recognized that voice. Danjune’s dark hair draped over his face as she bent down and swung her head to do so.\n“Do you sit with the brick wall too? Let’s sit together!”\nPlopping down next to him, she reached to grab his shirt sleeve and squeeze it. From that action, he knew that she was excited to see him, and as she popped open her lunch bag, he felt himself lean in to see. He was excited too, to be next to someone who would listen to him and accept him.\nHe smiled when she talked about how she had counted the sun’s rings today, and the guilt bit again at his chest.\nYeah, he had always known that he was lying to her—but worse, he didn’t want to let her go either.\n\n~~~~~\n\n“The house has so many bushes!”\nRengmo hummed, but he couldn’t focus on Danjune’s words about how fun playing hide and seek here would have been. As he pulled up to the parking lot of the mansion, he felt his every muscle tense. He invited her to the party, and she had agreed more easily than he thought that she would. She had only stared at him before nodding, and when he asked if she was sure, she smiled at him, but her usual joy had muted.\n“If you’re going, I have to go. And you have to go, right?”\nHe had felt relief at her readiness, but now he couldn’t stop wondering about that half-hearted smile.\nThat, and exactly what Jiaye was planning.\n“Mo! So good that you made it,” Ed drawled. He had somehow spotted them through the crowd of bodies and the noise as people cheered at the TV screen. He waved them over, tip-toeing up and hooking his arm over Rengmo’s shoulders, and dragged him into the kitchen without any acknowledgement of Danjune. A bit of indignation flared up in Rengmo, and he turned to stop him, but then Ed leaned back to his ear.\n“Greetings in the kitchen, then keep her away until Jiaye texts you.”\nRengmo jerked back at the order and bumped into someone. Turning around, he saw that Danjune had clutched onto his sleeve again, but her eyes held a blankness, not any of her excitement.\nOnce in the kitchen, Ed released him and slid next to Yuul. She and Jiaye had dressed up in short skirts and small crop tops, makeup layered thick, and hair steamed and curled. They all huddled at a table, and littered around them laid alcohol cans and bottles of… syrup?\n“Mo, there you are! And Danjune, nice to see you too.”\nDanjune nodded and waved.\n“Where’s Ilho?”\n“Oh, just out mingling, ya know? Don’t wait up for him though, Mo. Just go have fun.”\nShe winked, and Ed turned him around, pushing him and Danjune out of the kitchen. The people watching the TV exploded in noise again, and he winced at the volume. A tug to his sleeve made him turn around, and he followed Danjune’s tugging out a side door. She led him out towards a bench, and despite the passed-out pair next to a statue and pounding of bass from the house, the place felt quite peaceful.\n“We can wait here.”\nHe sat with her on the cool stone bench. Glancing around, he figured that here was the best place for Danjune anyway because she didn’t like to be touched, and inside had been packed like a can of sardines.\n“Rengmo, do you like these kinds of parties?”\n“What? Oh, they’re alright, I guess.”\n“I thought you liked them.”\n“I did.” He looked down. “Now, not so much.”\n“Then if we leave early, is that okay? Oh, but you can stay if you want.”\n“No, I drove you here, so I’ll drive you back.”\nShe looked up at the night sky, then stood. “Then after, so Jiaye and them won’t be angry with you. I’ll be back.”\nBefore Rengmo could ask when ‘after’ was and where she was going, she disappeared back into the mansion. He worried about her sudden venture back into the crowded and sweat-filled house, but he sat on his worries because he had learned that Danjune liked it when she returned and the other was still right where she had left them.\nInstead, he thought of her question about leaving early. He knew a few of her quirks, and something nagged at him to look at her question for one of them. Danjune had a habit of forgetting to say parts of her thinking, so her responses sometimes came out unrelated or the opposite of her actual meaning. This question though, had seemed to come from a cohesive conversation. And what had she said? So that Jiaye wouldn’t be angry with him? How would Danjune know whether Jiaye would be angry?\nA buzz vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled out his phone, clenching his fist at Jiaye’s text. She was telling him to bring Danjune in.\nWhat if he just said that she wasn’t feeling well, and he had to take her home? No, he should first say that she needed to work on her senior project and he needed to study for math, and if that didn’t work—\nA door creak signaled Danjune's return, and he turned around to see napkins fluffing out of her hands and paper towels bursting out of her arms.\n“I think these are free, so I took them.”\nShe started tottering down the steps, so Rengmo put away his confusion for a moment to help her with her new treasures.\n“Why’d you take so many?”\n“To be dry.”\n“But aren’t you already dry?”\nShe tilted her head, staring down at her haul as he pulled off his jacket to use as a bag, her expression unreadably blank. Then she slipped her phone in with the napkins. “Yuul asked me to get you and go to the pool together.”\nShe took the hem of his shirt and tugged him again. Her ignoring a question had also been another of her behaviors. At first, he had thought that she was loose in the head or rude, but he discovered that Danjune left questions unanswered when she saw no point in an explanation because the other would soon understand. And the fact that she handed him her phone…\nRengmo tightened his hold on his jacket-full of paper products as they walked into the house, and then out to the pool area. People lingered at the water’s edge around them, nudging each other and gesturing towards him and Danjune. Jiaye smiled as they approached, but the bright lights strung above them harshened her eyes.\n“Enjoying the party, Danjune?”\nShe looked down.\n“Don’t be shy! We have a big surprise for you! Come here.”\nNo, Danjune was obviously uncomfortable, and Jiaye had planned something. Rengmo had to stop them. He took a step forward and opened his mouth.\n“Hey, Mo, come with me.”\nEd’s arm coiled over his shoulders and Yuul’s hand closed over his wrist, dragging him away. He squirmed in their grasp, calling for Danjune, but she let go of his shirt and walked towards Jiaye.\n“Wait!”\n“Now!”\nRengmo understood too late. Two others hovering near Jiaye kicked back the chair and bush hiding their buckets and slung them towards Danjune, brown liquid smashing into her from both sides. The collision spiked into the air and splattered those nearby, and they only exclaimed and started to laugh, aiming their phone cameras. Their laughs were deafening, and the air that had been scented with sharp chlorine now turned sickeningly sweet.\n“Woo! Having breakfast for dinner, Danjune?” Jiaye cawed. “Overdid it on the syrup?”\nRengmo felt his heart drop to his feet. He yanked out of Ed and Yuul’s grip and dashed forward, but another body blocked him.\n“Stay put, Mo. Enjoy the show.”\nIlho didn’t even have to touch Rengmo for him to stop. Those words chained his ankles, deadened the idea of motion and action, until all Rengmo could do was watch Danjune as she touched the syrup dripping from her hair, her clothes, her hands. Then she licked the liquid at her fingertips.\n“I prefer maple sap or fruit syrup. You just used the regular corn syrup.”\nThe laughter stopped. The two who had thrown the buckets exchanged confused glances, and people cupped their mouths to murmur, but Rengmo heard them.\n“Wow, she’s not crying.”\n“I thought Jiaye was gonna give us a show.”\n“Guess her pranks are lackluster now.”\nJiaye spun around at that last one, and the person looked away. When she turned back to Danjune, her smile screwed tighter across her lips. Ilho crossed his arms and scowled. But for Rengmo, he felt his eyes widen and his legs twitch. The feeling reminded him that he could move.\n“Well, sorry, Danjune. The original flavor was the cheapest there, and I didn’t want to waste money on someone like you.”\n“But you already did. I don’t like this much syrup to eat at once, and it would be unsanitary for you to eat it with me.”\n“Then why don’t you wash it off?”\nJiaye’s voice pitched up, at its breaking point, and her eyes flicked back and forth from the audience to the pool to Danjune. Rengmo knew that that had been her next cue word, but the two who had slung the syrup backed away instead. A laugh bubbled and stuck in his throat. Danjune just looked at Jiaye from head to toe.\n“Jiaye, you got some syrup on your legs and shoes. That needs to be washed too.”\nRengmo almost dropped his jacket of paper towels when, in the swiftest of motions, Danjune stepped forward, grabbed Jiaye by the waist, and flung them both sideways. Straight into the pool.\nThe cameras aimed again, but now they trained on Jiaye flailing about in the water, her splashes rising high and splattering back on her head again. Ilho and Yuul and Ed rushed to the edge and told Jiaye to come closer, but Rengmo was sure that she couldn’t hear them over her screeches, her curses, her complaints of her ruined hair and makeup.\nRengmo looked away from the cameras’ spotlight and to the side. He moved to the opposite end of the pool at the same time that Danjune glided through the water and heaved herself out. She had worn a thick t-shirt and shorts, which she wrung out and tied at her waist. The wet accented her body, and he could tell that others had noticed. Stepping between her and the oglers, he shot them a glare, and they averted their gazes.\n“Rengmo, are you okay with going home now?”\nHe nodded, too afraid that someone would notice him if he spoke, and walked her off the property. When they arrived at his car, Danjune tapped on his jacket-bag. Opening it, Rengmo stared at the plethora of paper towels as she pulled them out first, and a thought struck him.\n“You knew that they were going to do something.”\nShe paused in dabbing herself, then nodded.\n“You knew so that’s why you took all the napkins in the mansion.”\nShe nodded again.\n“You knew from the start, but you still agreed to go with me?”\nShe nodded again and resumed drying herself.\nHis questions, his guilt, and his gratitude all stuck in his throat, so he stayed silent as she finished and then laid out rolls of absorbent paper onto the seat of his car, carefully lowering herself into the nest she had made and giggling. He followed suit with the driver’s seat, but his hands wouldn’t reach for the ignition.\n“Rengmo, it’s okay.”\nHe turned to her.\n“Jiaye won’t be mad at anyone but me.”\nHe clenched the wheel. How could she still be reassuring him? Why did she come with him when she knew?\n“Rengmo, you are nice. I think you’d be a wonderful boyfriend.”\nHe kicked the car on and burned down the road as fast as traffic allowed him. When he arrived at Danjune’s house, she reached over and rubbed the cuffs of his shirt in her fingers, the sign that she was trying to make amends.\n“I’m not mad at you,” he said.\nShe frowned and retreated, saying a small goodnight. He said one to her too before punching down the road again. He drove to his neighborhood park and picked a hill to collapse on. The rough of the grass finally broke the echoing loop in his head from her words, and Rengmo was left with the conclusion he had never considered.\nDanjune was okay with the fact that he was pretending." } ]
[ { "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 Witch with the Water\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2943\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story during a drought." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Extracts from the personal records of Roland de Claire, senior advisor to Lord Montgomery of Oxfordshire.\n14th August 1198.\nToday was a most interesting day. This morning, His Lordship summoned me to attend him in his solar, so naturally, I hurried there with all due haste. However, upon arrival, I had a rather nasty surprise. Instead of His Lordship, I came face to face with Sir Brutus of Grimsby, a most unpleasant man.\nHe greeted me with a nod. ‘De Claire.’\n‘Sir Brutus,’ I replied with the same.\nWith the pleasantries out of the way, we quickly looked away, preferring to study the room and ignore each other. Of course, His Lordship’s solar contains a most beautiful array of furniture, including a rug woven in Egypt and several ornate tapestries depicting the deeds of his ancestors. However, I believe I speak the truth when I say that both of us would have found the insides of a peasant’s hovel a preferable sight to each other’s faces.\nThankfully, His Lordship did not keep us waiting long, and a few minutes later, he swept into the room adorned in fine silks and jewellery.\nThis immediately set alarm bells ringing in my head. His Lordship, much like myself, usually has a taste for simpler clothes. He only wears finery such as this when attending an official event of some kind or when conducting important business. Something was going on.\n‘Good. You’re both here,’ he said. ‘I know you’re busy men, so I’ll be as brief as possible. I want you to investigate this drought and look for possible solutions.’\nI frowned. ‘Both of us, my lord?’\n‘Yes.’ He grinned at me. ‘With your brains and Brutus’ brawn, I expect you to make an excellent team.’\nI suppressed a sigh. His Lordship knows that Brutus and I don’t exactly get along, and this is probably another one of his schemes to force us to work together. Frankly, I do not believe this will end well, and Brutus’ sour face suggested he feels the same way. Still, if this is what His Lordship wishes, I will do my best to make it work. This drought is fast becoming a significant problem. Lakes and rivers are drying up while crops wither in the fields. In times such as these, all of us must do our part for the good of the realm.\n26th August 1198.\nFor the past two weeks, I have spent my time buried in every historical text I could find. Unfortunately, while I discovered numerous examples of droughts in our past, the best advice they contained on how we should solve them was to pray to God to relieve us of our burden. We have tried this, and as of yet, it has not worked. Nevertheless, I am certain that, given time, I can find a solution.\nAlas, it seems I may not have this time. While I have been conducting proper research, Sir Brutus has applied his meagre talents to interrogating the good people of Oxfordshire. On his travels, he has heard of a strange old woman living alone in the woods near Heatherford village, who still has a reliable supply of water. The villagers claim that she has a suspicious knowledge of herbal remedies and have accused her of witchcraft.\nSir Brutus, in his infinite wisdom, immediately believed the rumours and argued that this woman was obviously responsible for the drought. As evidence, he cited her reliable supply of water as well as her possession of ‘forbidden knowledge.’\nI find this logic somewhat lacking. However, Sir Brutus only sneered at me when I said as much.\n‘I don’t see you coming up with any ideas, de Claire,’ he said.\n‘Proper research takes time,’ I snapped back. ‘My methods are a little more strenuous than simply listening for outlandish rumours in alehouses and brothels.’\nBrutus’ face darkened. He leaned closer, no doubt hoping to use his size to intimidate me. It worked.\n‘Shall we see what His Lordship thinks?’ he asked.\nI bowed my head in defeat. His Lordship would side with Brutus, of that I am certain. The past weeks have taken their toll on my master. He has been neither eating nor sleeping properly, as the troubles of his land and people weigh heavily on his mind. For his sake, I must do everything possible to end this drought, even if that means submitting to a loudmouthed buffoon like Brutus.\n28th August 1198.\nThe past few days have been eventful, to say the least. I cannot sleep. My mind is filled with thoughts of what I could have done differently to prevent this tragic outcome. Since oblivion’s sweet embrace continues to elude me, I will instead lay down my thoughts here in the hope that committing them to paper gives my mind some measure of relief.\nBrutus and I, accompanied by a few of His Lordship’s men-at-arms, rode to Heatherford, where Brutus rallied the local peasantry, ordering them to arm themselves with pitchforks, torches, and other such crude weapons.\nWe arrived at the woman’s hut, and Brutus stepped forwards to hammer on her rickety door. I can only imagine how terrified that poor woman must have felt, having a large brute such as Brutus pummelling her door. He cuts an imposing figure at the best of times, putting my slender frame to shame. Armoured in his mail, he appears like a demon out of hell.\nThe door swung open to reveal a woman that was not at all what I’d expected. Given the reports of the peasants, I’d been steeling myself to meet a wart-covered old hag. She was not that. She looked to be perhaps fifty years old, with a few streaks of grey in her raven black hair. It was clear that she had been a great beauty in her youth, and at that moment, I developed a suspicion of what was going on here.\nI have noted, in my travels, the evil power of jealousy and resentment. The poor woman probably rejected the advances of some man and was driven out of her home as punishment. Or, perhaps the advances were not unwanted, but the womenfolk of Heatherford were simply jealous of her beauty and the attention that came with it.\nBrutus, naturally, picked up on none of this. He narrowed his eyes at the woman and got to business immediately.\n‘We have evidence that you have been practising witchcraft. In the name of the king, I demand you submit to a trial.’\nThe woman stared at him in wide-eyed horror.\nI decided to intervene. Stepping forwards, I placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s all right, don’t be afraid. If you have done nothing wrong, then the trial will prove your innocence. What is your name?’\n‘Edith, m’lord,’ she said. ‘I’m not a-’\nBrutus slapped her across the face with a gauntleted hand, knocking her to the ground. ‘You will be silent, witch!’\n‘Brutus, I must protest,’ I said, reaching out to grab his hand before he could strike her again.\nHe whirled on me, eyes brimming with rage, and batted my hand away. ‘You can shut up too.’\nI ignored the fluttering in my chest and tried again to reason with him. ‘Brutus. This is most inappropriate behaviour. We are both in command-’\n‘I said shut up,’ he growled. ‘I’m a knight of the realm. You’re nothing more than a glorified servant.’\n‘His Lordship-’\nHe turned away. ‘Enough. We’re done here. Time to find the nearest lake and get this done.’\n‘The nearest lake?’ I asked, wrinkling my brow.\nHe turned back then, face no longer filled with rage. Instead, he wore a cruel, vindictive smile. ‘Of course. You do know how these things work don’t you?’\nI know how the barbaric farces we call trials work, certainly. Brutus was clearly referencing the ‘swimming test’, one of the favoured techniques of would-be witch hunters. Essentially, a mob gathers, binds the accused, and tosses them into a lake. If they float, they are considered guilty, so the mob burns them. If they sink, they are innocent. Of course, this means that even if the accused proves innocent, they almost always drown.\nI frowned at Brutus. ‘I understood that we would be investigating to see if there is any truth in the rumours of witchcraft before taking such a step?’\nHe shook his head, still smiling. ‘No. That’s too risky. Witches can control people’s minds. We can’t trust that she wouldn’t bewitch someone and fool them into helping her.’\n‘But-’\n‘I said no.’ He turned to the nearest villager, a muddy-faced old man holding a burning torch. ‘Peasant, there is a lake nearby, yes?’\n‘Yes, m’lord,’ the old man said. ‘But-’\nBrutus nodded. ‘Good. Lead the way then.’\nThe old man’s eyes were as wide as a rabbit frozen in the light of a torch. He trembled. ‘Of course, m’lord, only-’\nBrutes bared his teeth at the poor man. ‘Only nothing. You will do as I command, and you will do so without question.’\n‘Of course, m’lord, right away,’ the old man said, bowing so low that for a moment, I wondered if he’d be able to get up again.\nHe did, and he led us along a forest trail for about fifteen minutes until we reached a large lake. Rather, we reached the place where a large lake should have been. As it happened, the water level was so low that it could scarcely be called a lake. It was more of a large puddle.\nI let out a small chuckle. Unfortunately, Brutus heard me, and let’s just say he didn’t see the funny side of things. He glared at me, red-faced, and demanded to know what was so funny.\n‘We’re in the middle of a drought, Brutus. What did you expect?’ I said. ‘This is probably what the poor man was trying to tell you.’\nBrutus yelled out a string of profanity so vile that I will not recount here, lest it offend your ears.\n‘I suppose we’ll just have to do things my way then,’ I said, fighting to keep the smugness from my voice.\n‘Out of the question,’ he snapped. His evil smile returned. ‘We’ll simply have to assume her guilt. Guards, prepare a pyre.’\nI gaped at him. ‘What? No! Surely there are other tests we can consider?’\nBrutus shook his head. ‘None we can perform here, and we must not delay justice.’\nI steeled my resolve, hoping no one would hear the tremble in my voice. ‘Brutus, must I remind you again that we are in joint command of this investigation?’\n‘No, we’re not. You had your chance to solve this problem, de Claire. You failed. Now stand aside and let me finish this.’\n‘Brutus, I’m warning you, I’ll-’\n‘You’ll what? Stop me? I don’t think so. You’ll do nothing.’ Letting out a bark of laughter, he gestured to his men-at-arms, already getting to work. ‘These men answer to me.’ He loomed over me, stepping so close that I felt his breath on my face. The stench of stale wine assaulted me as he whispered into my ear. ‘I would rather avoid making a scene in front of the peasants, but if I have to have you arrested, I will do so. I doubt His Lordship will look fondly on your little emotional outburst.’\nI hung my head and, to my great shame, protested no more. Brutus’s guards, aided by an eager mob of peasants, gathered twigs and branches. The poor woman, Edith, the so-called witch, stood there shaking. Her lip was split and bleeding from Brutus’ earlier assault. I considered going to comfort her and encouraging her to speak out and argue her innocence but thought better of it. I decided that my presence would only make things worse.\nPerhaps that was the truth. Or, maybe I was simply giving in to my cowardice. I will likely never know. Whatever my reason, I stood and watched as Brutus and his men built a pyre, ready to burn a woman who was quite possibly innocent.\nIt didn’t take them long. Within a few minutes, they had gathered a large pile of kindling and cobbled together a makeshift stake from a few sturdier branches.\nAs Brutus bound Edith to the stake, I expected her to beg for mercy. I prayed that she would beg for mercy. While I didn’t think Brutus would back down, I hoped that if she was convincing enough, she could make the peasants, and possibly Brutus’ guards, waver. If that happened, then I may have been able to intervene.\nAlas, it was not to be. I believe the poor thing was in such a state of shock that she scarcely knew what was happening.\nBrutus lit the pyre himself, his lips curling up in vindictive pleasure. I will not describe the horrors that followed. I’m not even sure I could do justice to the feelings that coursed through my body. All I will say is this. Every time I close my eyes, I still hear her screams.\nBack then, however, I did not have the time to dwell on what I had witnessed. Though the flames quickly devoured the unfortunate woman, the situation soon changed in a rather dramatic fashion.\nIn the greatest shock since Judas Iscariot betrayed our lord Jesus Christ, it emerged that Brutus had not thought things through. As any child can tell you, starting a fire in the middle of a dry forest is not a good idea. Before long, our surroundings were ablaze.\nAt that moment, Brutus, by complete coincidence, remembered that he had pressing business to attend to elsewhere. He left, taking his guards with him. I stayed, offering what help I could to the common folk as they attempted to use the meagre water left in the lake to save their forest. It was all in vain, of course. The dry wood provided too much flammable material, while our water supplies were impossibly low. After a few minutes, we, too, retreated to let the fire run its course.\nAs I write this, the fire still rages. We are powerless in the face of its ravenous fury.\n12th September 1198.\nThe forest burned for three full days, during which colossal amounts of smoke blacked out the sky. The fire spread across the countryside, consuming all in its path. Trees, pastures, even villages and human lives, nothing satiated it. Countless fields of wheat and barley fell victim to the cruel tongues of flame, meaning that famine is now inevitable.\nFinally, after these three days of hell on earth, a great storm came to our rescue. Brutus, naturally, took this as a sign that he was correct. He argued that the fire was the final outpouring of the witch’s magic and that rain was now free to return. I was not so sure.\nSurely, had Edith truly been a witch, her magic would have died with her. I could not escape the feeling that we had committed a terrible act of injustice. That perhaps this fire was, in fact, our punishment from the heavens. As such, I did what I do best and launched my investigation.\nOnce the ashes cooled, I returned to Edith’s home. Though the fire had destroyed her hut, a small stone structure still stood behind it. A well. An old and particularly deep one that still holds water while others have run dry. Edith’s supply came not from devilish powers but from a simple act of construction. I now believe with my whole heart that she was innocent. Her blood is on my hands.\nFor too long, I have been a coward, allowing overgrown barbarians like Brutus to push me around. No more.\nThough it is too late for me to save that poor woman’s life, it is, perhaps, not too late for her immortal soul. Maybe, if I can make a compelling enough case, a priest would say a few words for her. Who knows, God may even show mercy on us and work a miracle to save us from the coming starvation?\n I go now to speak to His Lordship in the hope that I can secure his support in this matter.\nNote added by Sir Brutus of Grimsby, 1st October 1198.\nRoland de Claire was executed today, having fallen under the influence of a witch. I walked in on him attempting to convince His Lordship to commit a terrible sin by pardoning the hag responsible for our drought. Luckily, I convinced His Lordship that de Claire had lost his mind, and we needed to confine him in the dungeon for his own safety, as well as ours.\nUnfortunately, it soon became clear that this was not enough. De Claire repeatedly refused to renounce his claims, proving that the witch’s hold on him was quite unbreakable. His Lordship proposed that we keep de Claire under house arrest and allow him to live out the remainder of his years in peace, but I explained that this was dangerous and that de Claire may corrupt others. With no other choices left, His Lordship agreed that we had to execute him. I volunteered to undertake the responsibility myself.\nTo anyone who comes across these mad ravings, I urge you to ignore the lot of it. If I had my way, I would have burned these papers, but His Lordship would not hear of it. He thinks this stream of nonsense may one day be helpful to researchers. As such, I’ve written this warning in the hope that no one shall be deceived by the words of a weak-minded fool such as Roland de Claire." } ]
[ { "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: DUST\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1914\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story during a drought." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "It came up from the west—an angry, roiling black wall a thousand feet high and moving at sixty miles an hour. Clayton saw it coming and threw a tarp over the chicken coop. He put the mule and cow into the cowshed and tied grain sacks loosely over their heads. Olive stuffed damp tea cloths and sheets into the cracks around the doors and windows, though she knew nothing she did would be enough to stop the dust. As suffocating darkness swept over their little farmhouse, the husband and wife huddled together under blankets. Grit peppered the windows glass while static electricity made Clayton’s brown hair stand on end. Olive clutched Baby Thomas, to her breast.\nAfter three or four hours, the whirlwind of dust passed. Clayton tried to push open the front door but found he couldn’t. He had to go around the back way to get the scoop shovel from the shed to clear the porch enough to open the door again. The mule and cow were up to their ankles in the fine dust and grit that had sifted in through the chinks in the slat walls. Olive had to dig through inches of dirt to uncover the cabbages in their garden.\nShe had pleaded with him then. Her sister, Violet, had invited them to stay at her place in St. Louis. Violet was sure that Clayton could find work. He and Olive could make a good life there, while here in Oklahoma, life hung like a shriveled leaf on a dead vine. But Clayton had refused the offer. “Grandaddy was the first in this county to stake a claim in 1864, and Daddy worked himself to death for this land. You think I’m going to forsake their sacrifice? We’re staying put, Olive! This drought will pass. We must be patient.”\nOlive tried, but patience became more difficult when the surrounding fields turned brown and when their closest neighbors piled everything into the back of a rattletrap truck and moved to California. Olive asked Clayton then if they could leave, and she asked him again when the well bucket started coming up half-filled with mud. But Clayton was stubborn. He’d been born stubborn.\n“Have faith, Olive,” he said.\nSo, Olive tried to have faith. She read the Bible every morning and night. When a traveling preacher set up a tent in town, she went. The congregation did odd things there. They spoke in tongues and fell into rapturous fits. They chanted and handled snakes. After that, Clayton would sometimes find Olive standing on the porch at sundown, her arms held up toward the darkening sky, murmuring strange words. It was as if she couldn’t hear him then, so intense were her prayers.\nOlive prayed for relief. She prayed to understand the curse that had been laid upon them. She prayed to understand the sin for which it seemed all of Oklahoma and northern Texas was being punished. She prayed for their neighbors, their animals, their crops. She prayed for Baby Thomas. She prayed for Clayton to change his mind. She prayed constantly for rain, but there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky since last May.\nThere was always dust. And no matter how hard she fought it, there was so much dust that she could write her name with her finger on the dining room table every morning. Her eyes were always red and irritated. Nothing ever stayed clean.\nThe dust storms were the hardest. You could tell when one was coming. Sometimes it was announced on the radio just before the signal turned to static. Animals would become unsettled. The sun would disappear. If you were unlucky enough to be outdoors when a storm came up, your skin felt like it was being sandpapered. And sometimes afterward, you coughed blood.\nThe storm in April 1935, had been the worst yet. The papers had called it Black Sunday. But this morning, the towering wall of dust that rolled toward them like a locomotive seemed even angrier than the Black Sunday storm had been. Clayton had been repairing the windmill when he first saw it. It was twice as tall as any dust cloud he’d ever seen, moving faster, and crackling with bolts of lightning. It scared him so much that he nearly fell as he scrambled down from the tower. He yelled for Olive to herd the chickens into the parlor, and this time, he brought the mule and the cow into the kitchen.\nClayton got his hammer and nails and went to the bedroom to get blankets and sheets. He found that Olive had already fashioned a tent out of quilts on the bed for the two of them and Baby Thomas. Clayton took everything he could carry from the blanket chest and hurried to the front porch. Where he found Olive standing in the yard, facing the whirlwind that would be upon them in minutes.\n“Olive! Olive! Help me!” he yelled, but she seemed not to hear him.\nFrantically, Clayton nailed the blankets over the windows and the door frame. He then dropped his hammer and ran toward Olive to drag her into the house. Her eyes were closed. Her arms were raised, and she was murmuring strange works at the dust wall that had nearly reached their perimeter fence. Lightning within the cloud crackled. The windmill swung in crazy circles, clanking and creaking. Clayton could hear Thomas crying in the bedroom.\nClayton reached out grab Olive’s arm but stopped when he saw the writing rattlesnakes she had wrapped around each wrist.\n“Olive! Come with me!” he shouted.\nBut she turned toward him, opened her eyes, and calmly said, “Clay, go comfort Thomas. He’s frightened.” Then she returned to her incantations.\nIn frustration, Clayton ran into the house and to his child. He waited under the quilt for Olive and the onslaught of grit, but neither of those things came. Instead, there was silence. Even the windmill stopped complaining.\nClayton went outside to inspect the damage. Olive sat on the front porch steps, looking exhausted. The dust at her feet showed the zig-zag escape route of the rattlers she’d held. Along the fenced that surrounded the house, fine, wind-blown soil reached as high as the center rail, held back as if their little farmhouse had been protected inside a glass box. Beyond the fence, for as high as Clayton could see and in all four directions, the dust continued to swirl and spit lightning like a furious dragon. But within the square acre around their house, all was calm and quiet.\nSome years passed. The churning wall of dust didn’t go away, nor did the seeming spell that Olive had cast. She refused to talk about what she’d done or how she’d done it. After a while, life inside their protected box seemed almost normal, except that there was no sound. There was no wind, yet the pump worked fine. There was no rain, yet the well was full. Their garden grew crops, their animals and Thomas all thrived within their defended space, while outside, the duststorm raged without ceasing.\nOne night after supper, Olive said, “I think it’s time for us to go, don’t you?”\nClayton looked up. “Go where?”\n“To St. Louis. To live with Violet.”\n“Why would we do that?”\nShe stared at him. “Why? Is this tiny world enough for you? Think about Thomas! If we stay here, he’ll never get to meet anther child. We only have two books in the house—the Bible and an almanac. How can he get an education? How can he have his own family someday if we remain here?”\n“But don’t you see, Olive, what happened here was a sign from God! We’ve been spared! We have all that we need to live right here, so long as the dust stays on the other side of the fence. And anyway, how could we leave? Who could survive a walk through that?” he said, pointing through the window to the churning wall of dust. “We have no idea how far it reaches. We don’t know if anybody’s still alive out there!”\nShe looked at him, sadly. “There are voices in the dust. Thomas can hear them. I can hear them.”\nClayton stood up from the table. “It’s settled, Olive! We’re staying!”\n“Whatever you say, Clayton,” Olive said. But in the morning, the front gate was open, and she and Thomas were gone.\nClayton found it hard to live without Olive, not only because he had no one to help him with the farm and housework. There was no one to talk to, and he missed his boy. He missed laughter. He missed Olive’s warm body next to him in bed.\nHe wondered sometimes if his little family could possibly have survived. What might Thomas look like now? He wouldn’t be a child, still. How old would he be now? Clayton realized that he had no idea anymore of the passing of time. One day had seemed to melt into the next.\nSometimes, Clayton would bring a chair from the kitchen and sit as near as he dared to the dust. Olive had said she heard voices out there, and after a time, Clayton thought he could hear them, too. Snatches of conversation. People laughing. He was always hopeful to their voices—Olive’s and Thomas’s—but all he could make out were whispers.\nClayton often had nightmares about his missing family. Most painful were the dreams where he imagined Olive being lost in the storm, changing her mind and trying to make it back to the safety of their little house and to him. Clayton imagined Olive, struggling blindly through the choking whirlwind. He’d feel her terror as she tried to protect their child through that blackness. He’d see her lying face down in the dust. He often woke up in tears.\nClayton also wondered if he only imagined hearing voices in the dust. Perhaps he only imagined the dust. He worried that his isolation might be making him go mad. Olive had not wanted their boy to grow up in this loneliness, so much that she’d risked both their lives to escape it. Clayton hadn’t understood her then. He understood her now.\nThis morning, early, Clayton put on his best clothes. He went outside, and for the first time since Olive had conjured the invisible barrier, he opened the fence gate. Immediately, the roar of the storm outside assaulted him. He lowered his head, held a handkerchief over his nose, and stepped into the moving mass.\nClayton clamped his eyes closed as he walked forward, holding one hand out in front of himself. Grit blasted his skin. As he made his way, sounds around him faded, then suddenly grew louder. He slogged through the churning darkness for what seemed hours, until he felt a hard surface under his feet. With his eyes still tightly closed, Clayton began to hear new sounds. Clanking, squeaking, beeping noises, distant chatter.\nWhen he opened his eyes, Clayton found himself in the center of what seemed an acre of shelves, filled with carefully aligned bottles and packages in all sorts of colors. Bright lights blazed above him, and here and there he could see people pushing carts made of wire through a maze of corridors.\n“Good afternoon, sir!” came a voice behind him.\nClayton spun around to see the short, tubby young man, wearing a blue apron.\nThe young man smiled at Clayton. “Welcome to Walmart!”" } ]
[ { "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: Back into the World\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1455\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who’s nervous to attend a party - their first in a long time." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Note: Ok, so there is talking in this piece, it is just in italics. That's it have fun reading!\nWednesday, January 15, 2020 - 6:15 AM \nAs I woke up and stared at my ceiling, I thought it was going to be a normal day. How wrong I was. I guess I enjoyed this small moment, like the calm before the storm. At this point in time, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and running to the bus stop, I had no idea what was about to happen. \nIt was a normal day at school, or as normal as it could be. As soon as I entered the building, I could sense that something was wrong. I clearly remember watching teachers whisper in the hallways, and in front of the doors. I was oblivious though; I couldent be bothered with a bunch of high school teacher’s worries, they were above my own. \nGetting out of school and walking with my friends to the store, I had no idea how lucky I was, or what was about to happen. \nI distinctly recall complaining after my mother dragged me to my little brother’s baseball game, my dance classes, and the grocery store after we were done. I can’t believe how selfish and lazy I was back then.\nLaying in bed that night, I fell right asleep before I could even give the day a single thought. I was so naive then, and I had no idea what was to come.\nThursday, January 16, 2020 - 4:01 AM \nMy phone buzzed which had woken me up. I remember it was 4:00 in the morning, too early for any sane person to be awake. I noticed a message on the school website that read:\nDear students, staff, parents, and guardians,\nDue to a recent outbreak of the COVID-19 virus in our state, we will spend the next week or so learning from home. Students will sign on to classes at the usual time (7:30 AM EST) and will join a virtual Google Meet class with their teacher and peers. Until we get everything situated, you will spend the next week off from school, and we will see you on the Google Meet classes starting on Monday, January 26th (1/26/2020). We will be referring to this time as a belated winter break. Please contact us for more information at the email and phone number listed on the official school website. Have a great break, everyone!\nSincerely,\nPrincipal Anne Marie Thompson \nA break!?!? I remember thinking that this was the best thing to come into my life right now. I immediately grabbed my phone off the nightstand and started texting my friends, who couldn’t believe it either. A whole week of freedom, plus learning from home?! How much better could this get? I was so excited to start my week that I went out to the kitchen and got the box of cookies, and plopped straight on my bed to watch a movie; not before setting up a shopping date with my friends the next day of course.\nAugust 2, 2020 \nIt had been MONTHS since lockdown started, and I could not be more miserable. It was hot outside, and I was chilling in the air conditioning. As I looked out over my messy kingdom of a bedroom from my throne (bed, of course. No one had the money for a real throne right now), I could not help but think of how it used to look… if I could remember. I could get up and change my week-old clothes, but that was if I could even find the floor at this point. Clothes, magazines, worksheets, blankets, and pizza boxes were strewn about my floor like rocks on a beach. My backpack was nowhere to be found, but my tripod and laptop were front and center in the only clean corner of my room. If I was too lazy to clean, I could at least make people think it was clean in here. But as much as I hated to admit it, the school was starting soon; and I needed to get ready. I hunted through the piles and finally found my backpack. I put it in the clean corner, dusting it off as I went. Then I planted myself at my desk, getting ready for some online shopping. I had barely left my room in months, and as I typed away in the blue glow, I noticed my hands were almost completely white. Jumping out of my chair, I threw open the window shades and basked in the sunlight. Or, at least, as close to basking as I could… it was so bright! My feet crunched on empty pizza boxes and broken pencils as I neared the door. If I was going to go to school, I needed to shape up; and even that might take a while.\nJune 18, 2021 - 3:10 PM \nLife was good. Different, but good. Now that we could go back to school, I almost felt like things were going to get back to normal! That little spark of hope that was in me during 2020 was finally starting to grow into more than a spark. Companies were pushing out vaccinations faster than we ever thought was possible, and me and my friends were long since vaccinated. I was still paranoid about going to stores and things, but I think 2020 had done that to all of us. I waved to my friends as I walked up my driveway, whipping my mask off as I went. Yes, I did say mask. Even though me and everyone in my school (including the teachers) are fully vaccinated, I still wear a mask. Some may consider this strange, but it’s how I feel comfortable. \nFinally I sighed, closing my computer. Homework had gotten harder after lockdown was over. It seemed like the teachers felt like we forgot everything during this time. They weren’t completely wrong though, a lot of grades had dropped for many people. The average? Yeah, it was a C now. But no worries, I had straight A’s as always. My phone dinged on my desk, vibrating the wood slightly. I closed my eyes. That sound was almost new to me since everyone was holed up and doing nothing during the lockdown, it was such a sweet sensation every time someone texted me. I pucked up the phone and my eyes went wide. Dropping the phone, I ran to my mom. What what is it, honey? Is something wrong? I held up a hand and ran to my room. I handed her the phone, pointing frantically at the screen. What? Oh, ohhhh. Honey, it’s fine, it’s just your friend Julia inviting you to a party! She didn’t understand. I hadn’t been to a party in weeks! months! Years! Actually, wait, it was only a year but still! You should go, it would be so good for you to finally be with your friends unmasked! She said. I clamped a hand over my mouth. Unmasked?!? That was even worse! My mom knelt down, looking up at me. Honey. She said, with much more force than I think even she intended. You are going to that party. You have not been ANYWHERE but the house and school in over a year. You need to get back out there! Seeing that I wasn’t convinced, she shook her head. Maisy, it’s your Junior year, enjoy it while you can! \nAnd that is how I ended up driving to a party with a trunk full of provisions. \nJune 21, 2021 - 5:30 PM \nMaisy!!! Julia exclaimed, running towards me. I dodged her hug. Oh come on, you still hung up about that? Were all vaccinated! It’s completely safe! She went to hug me again, but I wasn’t so fast this time. She trapped my arms against my sides and practically tackled me in a hug. I felt myself starting to sweat. I broke out of the hug, running to my car. Aaaaand there she goes. I heard her sigh. What’s wrong with her? She never goes to parties anymore, and I barely see her outside of school! A male voice commented. I know but we just have to be patient, she’ll come around, I know her! I could hear the doubt in her voice. She didn’t think I could do it. What had happened? I used to be liked! Popular even! But now I was just that weird girl who paranoid and afraid. Which I was! And I had perfectly good reasons for this… ok fine I sighed again. I turned back towards the strobe lights and the overbearing smell of… people. And I made my way back into 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: Oasis for the Heart\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1255\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone seeking an oasis in a desert — whether literally, or figuratively." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "For six weeks he had been gone, not a word, not even a whisper of his whereabouts. Mary was at her wits end, not knowing what happened to him. And she wasn’t the only one. Of the followers who had stayed after his disappearance, were edgy, ever snipping, constantly rebuking each other. Mary was sure if it weren’t for their faith in his returning, they would either disburse or physically assault each other. “Wasn’t that the opposite of what Yeshua taught them?” A phrase he repeatedly quoted creeped into her mind. \"Ye of little faith.” It was so true.\nNot long after Mary moved from Magdala to Nazareth, she met Yeshua and from the first moment she laid eyes on him, she was enthralled by his presence. From the beginning of his mission, she stood by his side, and even now, she gladly held on to every word he said.\nThat evening, just before the sun had set, Yeshua returned. It was a joyful reunion, where everyone surrounded him and expressed their happiness for his return. A great feast was prepared, and all were invited. As the seats were arranged, all the disciples clamored to be the one to sit at the master’s right side.\nThrough all the commotion, Mary watched Yeshua, as he stood among them. He had lost weight, she thought. His skin was burnt by the sun, but besides that and a few cuts and bruises, he seems fine. Everyone scampered around Yeshua and battered him with questions about what happened. He smiled and answered their questions as best as he could. But as he stood there, talking to his disciples, Mary noticed a listless look on his face. Normally, his face lights up when he speaks to his followers, but now, it seemed distant and hollow. And there was something else. Not once since Yeshua returned, did he truly smile. The smile he was displaying tonight was a mask covering his true feelings. Something is deeply troubling him and it’s tearing at his soul. Mary knew she had no choice. She As soon as the time was right, she would have to confront him and draw out the poison that was killing him.\nShortly after the evening meal, Mary tried to confront Yeshua, but it was to no avail. Eager to hear any word Yeshua would say, none of the follower would give him a moment’s peace. “Tomorrow, then,” she said to herself. “Sooner or later, they’ll have to leave him alone.” Mary went to bed and waited for the morning sun to get a second chance. As it turned out, she didn’t have long to wait.\n Shortly after she fell asleep, Mary was shaken awake. As she struggled to open her eyes, she heard a familiar voice whisper, “Mary.”\n A heartbeat later, Mary was fully awake, and by the second beat, she whispered back, “Yeshua is that you? What are you doing up this late at night?”\n Gently, Yeshua grasped her hand and led her outside under a star filled sky. Alone together under the light of the moon, Yeshua said, “I wanted to talk to you as soon as I arrived, but as you saw, I was surrounded by my disciples, but as much as I wanted to speak with you, I didn’t have the heart to break away from them.”\nAs if her voice was detached from her body, Mary heard herself say, “It’s all right. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”\n“I’m sure, you couldn’t,” he said. “All that snoring you were making must have kept you awake.” Then, Yeshua laughed.\nIt was the first time Mary had heard him laugh since he returned, and she returned the gesture. When they were laughter was spent, she asked. “So, what was so important, you had to see me in the middle of the night?”\nAll signs to their previous humor evaporated. “I went to the desert to speak with my father, but instead of finding my him, robbers found me, and by the time they were finished with me, they left me for dead.”\nAs realization set in of where Yeshua’s cuts and bruises originated from, Mary gasped out, “What? Are you okay?”\nYeshua smiled and squeezed Mary’s hand. “I’m fine,” he exclaimed. “Let me tell you, my story. After I fell victim to the robbers, I dragged myself to the side of the road and waited for help. As I laid there in a pool of blood, a Jewish man passed by. I reached my hand out, begging for help, but he turned a blind eye to my demise. Was it the thought of him becoming unclean if he touched the blood of my wounds or was I just an inconvenience he didn’t want to bother with? I don’t know which, but what I do know is I saw my brother walking away, leaving me lying there alone.”\nYeshua sighed and shook his head. “In my weakness, I felt ashamed and alone, and I thought about giving up on everything and for once, just worry about myself and my wellbeing. I couldn't help but think, why am I doing this? Does God want me to suffer like this? So many things I can do to make my life better. Riches and comfort await me, if only I reach out and take them, and it’s so simple to do.\n“It was then I was about to put my thoughts into action, but at that moment, as I laid on the ground, I looked up and there peering down on me, was God himself. Not the God in Heaven, but God in the body of a man, a Samaritan in fact. I'll never forget the look of compassion on his face and the words that he spoke. You look like shit, is what he said. He dragged me out of the ditch and placed me on his donkey. From there he took me to a nearby town and tended to my needs. With his loving spirit, he fed me, gave me shelter, and bounded my wounds. As others abandoned me in my need, he ensured others would be by my side during my time of healing. Not only did he save my life, he may have also saved my soul. At times like these, I wonder if he ever heard me preaching about God’s mercy and compassion, while I was in Samaria. I may never know.”\nYeshua sighed again. “Mary, I came so close to losing myself. What if I fail next time?”\nMary’s heart was ripped asunder. “Don’t think such thoughts,” she said. “You didn’t fail. You were nearly beaten to death, weakened by your torture, but you didn’t fail me, you, or God himself. Now, you’re stronger because of what happened. Yes, it changed you, but it changed you for the better.”\nYeshua continued as if he didn’t hear. “Next time I might be beaten worse, far worse than from a simple robbery, and tortured beyond what I can endure. Will I fail then? Will I give in to my human weaknesses and turn my face away from my father?”\nMary patted Yeshua’s hand and answered. “Only time will tell, but my heart says you can conquer anything, even torture and death.”\nFinally, Yeshua relented to Mary’s pleas. “I pray, with all my heart you’re right. Thank you for listening to me. I miss those days in Nazareth when we stayed up all night talking.” Yeshua turned and left.\n“Me too,” Mary whispered to an empty room. “Me too.”" } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: The Secret of Dance\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1735\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a reluctant party-goer who ends up being the star of the show." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "From the moment I could walk, I'd danced. Shaking around to trance music or nodding my head to rock music, I did it all. My mom had enrolled me in all sorts of dance lessons, ballet, tap, street, salsa, the list goes on. Ballet I never took to; though it's a beautiful piece of art, it just wasn't me. Tap, I quit on the first lesson. All that noise just got on my nerves more than anything else could. Aside from that, I loved it all.\nMany times, I resented the time that those lessons had taken away from my other pastimes. It was only after that I cherished them. The dreaded 'C' word. My mom had gotten really sick really fast, but still came to every lesson. Near the end, her and my dad had argued relentlessly that it wasn't good for her health, but she was a bulwark and wouldn't be moved.\nThen, she died. All of a sudden, those lessons were the main thing that tied me to her memory, a mixture of pain and joy rolled in to the bundle that became my routine. My dad kept taking me at first, then when I was in high school I went alone. Don't think of him too harshly, a single dad trying to run a house alone when his kid has dance lessons four times a week? He had to do overtime. I love him more than anything for sacrificing his time so that I could enjoy mine. So that I could remember her.\nIt was when high school began that I started to hide my passion, when I realised things like football and baseball were the things that made you part of the popular crowd, not spinning and moving to a rhythm. Apparently, I was a natural at football, slotting in perfectly with the typical jock crowd, height of popularity. So it was in secret that I kept the memory of my mother alive, her legacy too pure to let fade away, but my status too comforting to let die too, now that I had it. The one problem I had was my best friend who was also became my dance partner: Aria.\nShe was the bottom of the food chain. Jocks made a scene with Goths, with nerds, with pretty much anyone who wasn’t ‘cool’ enough to be like them. But their worst victims were the loners. Loners like Aria. They were outside of any sort of protective group, not much known about them in the hierarchy that was high school, and my high school had a serious hierarchy. Typical stereotypes labelled in all of the TV shows were a real thing where I went to school, and although I took full advantage of my particular label, I loathed everything it stood for. I was a hypocrite, I don’t deny it. Countless times me and Aria crossed each other in the hallways. I smiled tentatively at her each time, and she averted her eyes from mine shyly. Loners simply didn’t speak to anyone, let alone captain of the football team. She understood that, and kept her distance. Like I said before, I hated it.\nMoving on to other things I hate: Parties. I’m expected to attend every single one, drink beer, do shots, make out in the garden etcetera. Everything a good little popular boy should do, according to the high school guide 101. But every invite I got, I’d of liked nothing more than to throw it out. I even threw a few of my own, themed of course, just to see whether it was other people’s parties that I hated... it wasn’t. It was still expected for me to host them, though. Especially since my dad was at work a lot, and let me get away with almost anything. \nThe only thing I liked about my own parties, was that I could invite Aria and that she would come. She would boycott every other event in the school year, but whenever I hosted a party she would turn up, usually holed up in the corner with a good book, attempting to hide from the festivities whilst still being a part of them. Mostly she was left alone, a kind of unspoken rumour that everybody knew she and I were connected somehow protecting her from the petty cruelty. Only this time, she wasn’t.\nEnter Zoe.\nZoe was a full blown diva. A direct opposite to my school image. She was captain of the cheerleading squad, probably the most popular girl in school, prom queen... you know the type. Honestly behind the scenes, she was really nice. We bonded during a school project, ended up together, soon became the power couple of the school. It was good for a while, despite my secret. But so many unaccountable nights from my lessons soon aroused her suspicion, the final straw being a stray text from Aria saying such an innocent “I enjoyed tonight.”\nShe kept it to herself rather than confronting me, it wouldn’t do for the prom queen to be seen as a jealous girlfriend. Instead, she waited until one of my parties before exacting her revenge. There Aria was, sat on the living room windowsill, legs tucked to her chin with the spine of a book rested on her knees. Not a care in the world. That was until the book was knocked cleanly from her hands, and the diva unleashed her fury. I got there seconds later, seeing Zoe spitting insults and accusations, surrounded by her clan of gorgons, egging her on to the slaughter of the innocent. Aria in comparison was like a cat in a tree, eyes darting frantically for a route to normality.\n“Enjoyed a night with my boyfriend, did you?” I watched Zoe shriek. “He wouldn’t go near you with a ten foot pole you freak!”\nAria’s pleading eyes finally found mine, sending the unspoken signal for help. I knew she would never reveal the real reason behind that text, that we’d finally finished the monumental routine from Dirty Dancing, minus the spectacular lift. She’d known it was mine and my mom’s favourite film, and coerced our dance teacher into letting us perform it that night. It was the first night I realised that she was more than just my best friend, which believe me came as a shock. So seeing those eyes begging for an escape, I felt an unreasonable rage building in me, which was suddenly extinguished by the sound of a few familiar lyrics beginning.\n“Now I’ve had, the time of my life... No I never felt like this before.”\nAll at once, I saw my mother’s face, swimming in front of my eyes as she laughed and clapped to the image of Patrick Swayze spinning Jennifer Grey around the stage, despite the world being against them. Just like the world seemed against Aria in that moment. Lyrics sounding in my ears, I firmed my resolve, and stepped forward.\n\n*\nShock rippled through me as one of the cheer-bitches swiped my copy of Wuthering Heights from my hands, sending it sprawling to the floor without ceremony. I threw my legs off my windowsill perch to confront them in outrage, when I realised it was his girlfriend. Instantly, I knew what this was about. He’d told me she’d seen his phone, that he was sure she’d got the wrong idea. Well... technically the right idea on my part, but he’d never been interested in anything but dancing. Something had changed recently though, in how he looked at me. He’d confided everything in me, from the reason he still danced to the fact that he hated all of the falseness tied to high school. A full heart to heart, leaving all his vulnerability on show.\nSo seeing the she-wolf doing her best to tear me a new one, I searched quickly for an escape. There’s only so much I could take from her before reacting or revealing his secret, and I don’t think smacking her in the teeth would earn me any points from him. That’s when I saw him in the background, conflicting emotions contorting across his face as his head warred with his heart. My own heart broke for him in that moment, though the insults bounced off me and my iron hard skin, I could tell that he wanted to intervene. I sent a pleading look his way which said ‘Don’t do it, I’m fine’. But then I heard the song.\nIt was his mother’s song, and only recently we’d began to dance to it, taking the routine from Dirty Dancing that I’d finally persuaded our teacher to show us. He’d loved it of course, taken to it like a dog with a bone, and seeing the happiness on his face as we danced the steps was more than enough reward for me. So as I shot my pleading look to him, I sighed inwardly. I should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to leave me there, hearing that song in the background. Though I fully didn’t expect what came next. He barged his way through the spitting crowd of cheerleaders, holding out his hand in a clear invitation to expose his secret and let the chips fall where they may.\n“Are you sure?” I ask him breathlessly, already knowing the answer.\n“Nobody puts Aria in a corner” he responded with a wink, gaining a collective gasp from the she-wolf and her pack. Then we began to dance.\n\n*\nWe stepped and we span, oblivious to the crowd building around us, murmuring in surprise at the football captain and the weird reading girl hand in hand. Zoe stood open mouthed, not even bothering to hide her shock at the fact we’d clearly done this before. Not to mention she had probably never been stood up before in her life. I actually had liked the girl, but seeing her doing her best to bully Aria had turned all my feelings on their head in a single moment. It seems my emotions towards Aria were always much stronger than the superficial ones towards Zoe.\nSo I danced, finally free from the shackles that had kept me bound to the status quo. Seeing those previously pleading eyes lighting up with love and knowing my own eyes reflected the feeling, made it all worth it, and knowing up above, my mom’s eyes were gleaming as well." } ]
[ { "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: If Wishes Were Horses\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1022\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone seeking an oasis in a desert — whether literally, or figuratively." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "May stands helpless as Duncan clutches his stomach and vomits blood. He has been peeing blood too, and his stools look like red-tainted rice water. Clothes hang bedraggled from his once-robust body. When he gasps and collapses into the ubiquitous sand, May drops beside her husband, slaps his face and screams his name to revive him, but there is no response. She runs to the water hole they happened upon during their trek west and cups some of the precious liquid in her hands. She splashes it on Duncan’s face, but her effort does not revive him. In her gut, which has been feeling poorly as well, she knows he is dead.\nMay sits on the ground and waits for tears to come, tears of grief and fear. Her dear Duncan, the dreamer who talked her into leaving Ulster and coming to this new land where everything was possible — who fashioned a wishing well out of rocks and strange leaves on top of the water hole for good luck — who announced they would call their son John to pay honor to his granddad back in Scotland. Now, he would never see their bonny wee bairn.\nShe pats the bump on her stomach through fraying, fading gingham and faints. Even while unconscious, she senses the unrelenting desert sun staking claim to her and her baby. Heat creeps through every pore in her body, inching its way toward the kind of victory the desert understands.\nDetermined not to let that arid devil win, she wills herself awake. She is shocked to see a stranger looking at her from above, wearing a hat as black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat. She notices his horse, a fine ebony stallion appearing stalwart and wise, and she is sure she has seen them from afar as she and Duncan approached desert.\n“Who are you?” The panic in her voice is weak.\n“A friend.”\n“But I don’t know you. Please dinna hurt me and my baby.”\n“No worries. I just want to ease your situation.”\nThe man lowers his hand to help her up, startled at how frail she is. He nods toward the body. “My husband,” she says. The stranger removes a shovel from his saddle and digs a grave, hardly breaking sweat. The sand is stubborn, wanting to fall back into the hole after every shovelful. After a while, the man stops and surveys his progress. “How long you been usin’ this water hole?”\n“I dinna ken,” May says. “We been here a few nightfalls. Duncan thought it was a good level place to rest. First there was the ship from Scotland, then the landing in Wilmington in North Carolina, where some of our cousins greeted us. The sun shone that day, and we felt a bright future unfolding in the warmth of their love and friendship.”\n“You are a long way from the east.”\n“Duncan could never be happy taking the safe path. He heard about gold in the west and said we could make our fortune here.” She stops speaking as her body sways. The man places his arm around her waist to steady her.\n“Hills, valleys, rivers — we crossed them all, no worse than the rough Scottish Highlands. We got tuckered out in the desert, though, like we could barely go on. The sun is bad in the day, and nights are unfathomed cauld. So many times, we thought we saw water, only to get there and it was just sand. So, we stopped when we found this water hole. We felt it was sent by God.”\nThe stranger shakes his head. “This is a poison hole. Most people in these parts, as few as they be, know to stay away from drinkin’ from a shallow source. That’s a shame about yer husband. Yer not lookin’ too good yerself. How you feelin’?”\nThen the tears come, heavy, bringing a shuddering to her entire body. The stranger glances at the couple’s rickety wagon and dead horse, which the woman seems not to notice. Once her sobs subside, he crouches in front of her and says, “I’m gonna bury your man now. Anythin’ you want to say?”\nMay gathers herself the way her ma taught her to do when things were rough. She separates from his hold, then reaches out her hand, and he helps steady her again. At the grave, she manages: “Duncan Stewart was a Highlander, the bravest I ever knew. He earned his rest. Good-bye, sweetheart.”\nThe man lowers Duncan into the hole more gently than might be expected of a stranger. She throws in a fistful of sand, and then he finishes the job. He looks around the area and spots a sailing stone 100 feet away. He carries it to the gravesite and sets it there with purpose. It looks powerful heavy, but he manages it without strain. “Ma’am, this is a traveling stone. It can be his headstone for now, though it might move again and leave him to wind and animals. I sure am sorry.” He finds a small rock and scratches “D” on the stone.\n“Why are you doing this, stranger? Who are you really?”\n“Just a traveler like you. I help wherever I can.”\n“Bless you,” May says. “Isn’t it funny how things turn out? Duncan said making the wishing well would bring us luck. I guess it did—bad luck. My grandma was right when she said if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”\nMay feels bile build up in her throat and vomits in the sand. She clasps her abdomen and falls to the ground. As she looks up at the stranger, he says, “This is yer time, too, Ma’am.” She nods and expels a final breath. \nThe following week, two travelers on horseback come across the horse carcass, deserted wagon and sailing stone with the initials D, M and J carved into it. “He was here again,” one says to the other.\n“Yep. Not often he takes three at once. Hope they rest in peace.”\nThe men travel on. The desert wind wails a lament, and the sailing stone drifts 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: The Namesake\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1754\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who’s never encountered a problem they couldn’t buy their way out of — until they do." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The 1990s\nHe smirked. That was a piece of cake. He dodged another one. All these things his mother taught him, came in handy and turned out to be … so NOT true. She told him he had to be a decent guy, help others, and spread good vibes and joy. Not everyone was so lucky to be blessed with his brain and power. If it was up to him, he would change the old ways so the guys stop comparing who “has it bigger” and measure the size of their brains instead. That’s where the real strength was! His family was so poor when he was growing up but as he moved up in his career, the circumstances changed. He had everything he could ever want. He was finally able to give his mother the life that she deserved after going through such a difficult time when he was young. Losing his siblings, starvation, and hard work. He deserved it now!\nMost people didn’t dare doubt him. True, he was on the smaller side, but everyone was very much aware of what he was capable of. In his early adulthood, he realized he had to defend himself so he got involved in martial arts. After the first few encounters with his peers, they got the message not to mess with him. It gave him a taste of what may come in the future. You could make people do anything you want if they are scared of you or depend on you (which is basically the same thing). The languages came later - seemed to be the logical next step. Growing up, he saw very few people around him that spoke any other languages but their native. Becoming fluent in German and English gave him another advantage. The rest was history. Slowly but surely, he fought his way to the top. Calm, reliable, manly. A man’s man. Maybe he wasn’t handsome but most women found him appealing thanks to his soft tone and open smile.\nSummer 2020\nThis day looked like any other. The August sun was already high in the sky and everyone he saw on his way to the office was in a summer mood. The dress code around here was pretty tight (he didn’t allow for any nonsense), but it was hard to deny how much it elevated the mood to see all the colorful skirts that fluttered when the girls turned sharply around the corners zooming by him. He got comfortable in his office waiting for an important call when the secretary informed him of the new visitor.\n“Tell him to come in,” he replied calmly, letting go of the intercom button. The guy that came was his right hand so perhaps he decided to bring the news in person instead of calling. Maybe he is right- it was safer this way. The door opened quietly, he didn’t even have to look to confirm who walked in. He recognized these quiet, slight shuffling steps of his assistant.\n“Well?”\n“It’s done.”\n“He paid?”\n“No, he refused to pay. Also, said he won’t back down.”\n“Still thinks he can take me, ha? How foolish of him. He had good potential… So what did we end up with?”\n“Hmmm… let’s just say he suddenly didn’t feel too well.”\n“Good. Untraceable?”\n“Should be clean. This substance was tested before on a few prisoners. Satisfactory results.”\n“So, we shouldn’t worry about him anymore?”\nThere was a pause. It made him finally look up at his assistant.\n“Well? I really don’t care for hesitation, you know.”\n“For now, he is still alive but we are monitoring the situation.”\n“I hope so. Because I would not tolerate any more failures. Is that understood?”\nThe assistant nodded, swallowing hard, and backed out of the office.\nSummer 2021\nHe threw the phone on the long desk in front of him. Ever since Covid started, he has been much more careful. Yes, he had no interest in getting sick but mostly he was worried about someone from his surroundings going crazy after vaccination or sickness. He heard horror stories about people who survived Covid and lost all their marbles in the process. That was one of the reasons he had to find a new assistant. Pitty.\nHe walked over to the window – what a beautiful view of the square. All these people walking around would have no idea what hit them when the time comes to show them the full strength of his power. Let them think for now that they are free to do whatever they want. The naivety is priceless. What’s next? The world is his oyster. All those lands up north, they are now his. Beautiful! The air there is so clear you can drink it by the glass! He was glad he got rid of his first wife. His young mistress was so gorgeous, an athlete! The summer is about to start so maybe he can spend a few days with her there, at his new estate… She’s been bugging him lately about not spending enough time together. How could she not understand how busy he was? His business demanded his full attention.\nWhenever his advisors were trying to discourage him from the new risky endeavor, he laughed in their faces. Well. Not really. He was always polite, calm, and collected. Even now when many were slamming his name all over the world. They were calling him pure evil, terrorist, criminal… so many negative synonyms. They did not know him at all. It wasn’t that he liked killing all these people. If they would have agreed to his conditions, nothing would have happened but people were stubborn. They got in his way. He simply didn’t have any other choice.\nWhen he was in a good mood, he liked to entertain. On occasion, he could fire up a few jokes. No one ever expected it from him because people were afraid of him. He was The Boss after all. He demanded complete and full obedience. He got back behind his desk and picked up the phone to read the latest update. His name was in the news again, this time in connection with a horrific bloody fight that sparked in the southeast region. The phone blipped and vibrated in his hand. He huffed frustrated about the distraction but then saw it was his girl calling. He smiled and answered.\n“What’s going on, sweets?”\n“Have you seen the news?”\n“Yes, I did.”\n“This is so awful. They keep replaying these bloody scenes over and over. They look so real!”\n“I know, but we talked about it. You know, none of that is true. It's fake! They are all envious of my success, our success. Just trying to rattle my cage. Remember the last time when we had to deal with such a situation?”\n“I guess, but that was different, it was all about money.”\n“Kick all that nonsense out of your pretty head. I paid them off. This is going to be the same. The news stations are just trying to get higher ratings, that’s all. Don’t worry. I will see you later. I have some summer plans to discuss with you. ”\nThey hung up. He looked at his phone for a few more minutes before he clicked off the news with determination reaching for his laptop. He had about ten minutes before the next meeting, just enough time to do some work.\nSummer 2022\n“How could you allow for this to happen?!” He was furious. He thought his latest plan would work in accordance with the same template that was used so many times before. It should have taken a week to execute from the beginning to end, a month maximum. It’s now been almost six months and things have gone from bad to worse to dangerously close to a complete and total failure. His team was sitting at the end of his long desk. They were looking all around the room avoiding, with all their might, glancing into his eyes.\n“Explain it to me!”\nOne of them sighed and replied quietly, keeping his hands interlaced tightly on the top of the desk in front of him.\n“He didn’t leave and his… I don’t know. Everything there goes against a normal understanding of human instincts. They are all ready to die but would not give up an inch. And that guy… I don’t get it! No one could have predicted it!”\n“Who are you talking about? That clown they have for a boss? How is it possible that they are ready to follow him until the last drop but would not choose to save themselves or all their places? We offered them money to change sides, right? Impressive jobs, relocation assistance, what the hell else do they want? Why wouldn’t they just give up their territory?!”\n“They all sound like a broken record. They trust in God’s will and believe they will be saved because they are protecting their home. They are all inspired by their leader. Anyone in his shoes would have run! But he didn’t! What’s worse, he’s ignoring all our communication. We have never had this happen before!”\n“Are you saying he is not afraid of ME?” His voice dropped almost to a whisper. This was unspeakable. In the last twenty years, no one ever tried to cross him. This little schmuck with his stupid jokes can’t possibly be a worthy opponent! He grabbed a glass from his desk and threw it across the room into the wall. “Get out! All of you!”\nHe was alone again. His hands were slightly shaking. How could his team underestimate these people and their leader to this extent? He was so sure he would have a magnificent legacy left after him but… He was being defeated and by whom?! A bunch of farmers with their Comic in the lead! He hated that his nemesis was younger, stronger, and, undoubtedly, a better public speaker. The entire world wanted to follow him. This guy still managed to care for his team and the people around him even though he reached the very top. Was he ever like him? Suddenly, it occurred to him that they shared a lot of the same talents. Perhaps that should have been his first clue. He ended up in a war with himself… The one war he wouldn’t be able to win. They even had the same first name - Vlad! A namesake that will not be forgotten for generations to come." } ]
[ { "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: After Prom\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2274\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a party that has gone horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The two-storey Victorian-style house stood blue and lonely on its plot. No neighbouring homes, just surrounding forest and a glittering lake. It was a 20-minute drive from the town square and the perfect place for teens to throw a house party. 150 teens, to be exact. \nZora arrived at 8pm, right on time for the party, only to realize that she was the only one there, aside from the host and his friends who were finishing setting up the drink table on the outside wrap-around veranda.\n\"Um, hi, is this where Saint Joseph's after prom party is happening?\" Zora tensed when the boys, twice her size, turned around to face her. \n\"Yeah. Who are you?\" asked the largest boy as he crossed his arms over his football jersey. \n\"I'm Zora. Does the party not start at 8?\" Zora started fidgeting with her homemade bracelet, afraid that they would tell her to get lost. \nThe boys laughed in unison. \"Have you never been to a party before,\" snorted the one wearing the jersey. \"The party starts at 8, but no one is going to show up until 9. Don't ask me why, but that's just how it is.\" \nZora's face flushed hot red. \"I-I didn't know.\"\n\"Here, help us set the drink table up,\" said a boy with fiery orange hair and a face full of freckles. \n\"Ok.\"\nThe truth was, Zora had only ever been to one other party during high school, but that had been four years ago at the start of grade 9. The only reason she decided to come to this after prom was because she thought she should go to at least one real party before graduating. She wished she knew beforehand about the showing up late rule. She was mortified with embarrassment. At least she would most likely never see these boys again after tonight. \nThe boy wearing the football jersey, Trent, had Zora carry boxes of beer cans up from the basement. She placed them in a cooler filled with ice and closed the lid. As she folded up the cardboard boxes to put in the recycling, the redhead came over to her.\n\"Hey,\" she said shyly. \nHe stuck his meaty hand out. \"Hey, do you need any help with those boxes? I'm Zack, by the way.\"\nShe shook his hand. \"No that's okay Zack, I got it.\"\nZora hoped that he'd walk away and find something else to do, but he lingered, placing one hand on the drink table and the other on his hip. He towered above her. She glanced up, and he was smiling, a shiny and perfectly straight white grin. \n\"So, what's your poison?\" he asked. \n\"I'm sorry what?\"\n\"You know, what's your favourite drink? What're you going to be drinking tonight, I mean.\"\n\"Oh, I'm probably sticking to water tonight.\" The few times Zora had tried a drink at her best friend's house during sleepovers, she'd woken up with gruesome headaches and vowed to stay away from alcohol as much as possible. She wished Samantha was here with her, but she, unfortunately, had SATs to prepare for. She'd convinced Zora to go by herself and then fill her in on any drama that happened later. \n\"What just water?\" Zack faked a gasp. \"Cmon' at least have one drink, I'll make you something. Do you want fruity or sour?\"\n\"No, Zack, I don't want a drink, but thanks for the offer.\" Zora wanted to get away from him. \"I'm going to take these out to the recycling.\" \nJust as she turned her back to him, he said, \"wait I'll come.\" \nShe rolled her eyes. They made their way to the back of the house, him trying to make small talk and her ignoring him. \n\"You're not a talker are you?\" he asked. Again she ignored him. \"Damn loosen up girl, you don't have to be so rude. I'm just trying to be nice. You seem like such a loner. Whatever.\" he walked away, and Zora sighed with relief. His harsh words didn't bother her, but the way he kept glancing back towards her as he walked away did. What a creep, she thought to herself. Maybe he was right though, perhaps she did need to loosen up a bit. There was no harm in having one drink. It might help her talk to some of the popular girls who she knew would show up. They seemed like fun to be around at a party. \nIn the room across from her, she heard Trent holler, \"Ayyyy let's get this party started!\"\nA volley of familiar faces from school started pouring into the living room, the kitchen, and the dining room. Someone brought two giant speakers and immediately started blasting music. 99 problems by Jay Z. Zora knew the song and started bobbing her head to make it look like she belonged there. Zora's eyes landed on a cheerleader named Celeste, who was dancing provocatively for Trent, who was her boyfriend. She must have already been under the influence because when she noticed Zora watching her, she bounded over and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her towards what was now the dance floor. No one popular had ever seemed excited to see her before. \n\"Come dance with us! I haven't seen you at any parties lately Zora, I'll show you how it's done. Want me to make you a drink?\" She leaned in close so that her breath tingled Zora's ear and whispered, \"I heard someone has their eyes on you tonight.\"\n\"Really, who?\" asked Zora as Celeste guided her to the drink table. \n\"Zack,\" she squealed. \"He's cute. You should go talk to him. \n\"Oh, yeah I'm not really interested in him, I just want to have fun tonight.\"\nCeleste giggled. \"He can give you a fun time you know, give the guy a chance.\" \n\"I don't know, maybe.\" Celeste either didn't hear her or didn't care for her answer. She was busy mixing the contents of several bottles into two red solo cups. \n\"Here, girly, drink this, you'll love it.\"\n\"Thanks.\" Zora gave her a faint smile. \n\"Come, let's dance together.\"\nAgain, she grabbed Zora by the arm and dragged her away. Zora had never danced in public before, and she felt awkward moving her body. She glanced around and tried to copy what some of the other girls were doing. She took a sip of her drink, surprised by the sweetness that tickled her tongue. It was not at all what she'd been expecting. It was not at all like the drinks she'd tried with Samantha. Soon she was feeling light as a feather and dancing around like no one was watching. \nBut someone was watching. Over in the corner, with Trent and his buddies, Zack kept stealing glances towards her. \n\"Damn girly, you drank that fast. Want me to make you another one?\" Celeste seemed impressed. Zora nodded. This time a wide smile spread across her face. \nAt the drink table, Celeste worked her bartender magic, this time mixing together different alcohols. When she'd finished, she turned towards Zora. The smile on her face quickly faded. \n\"Oh my god, sweetie your lip is bleeding like crazy. Shit. let's go upstairs and get you cleaned up.\"\nZora touched the edge of her bottom lip, and sure enough, her finger came away red. \"Shit, I must've bit my lip when we were jumping up and down,\" she said as she followed Celeste upstairs to the bathroom. \"Hey what about our drinks?\" Zora asked. \n\"Oh, don't worry they're safe on the table.\"\nCeleste tried the door, and when it didn't open, she banged hard. They waited a few minutes before Celeste knocked again. Two voices answered from the other side of the door: \"just hang on.\"\n\"Ugh,\" Celeste huffed. \"Go to the bedroom, damn, my friend is bleeding. I need to get in there.\" Zora blushed at the word friend, feeling proud of herself.\nThe couple stumbled out of the bathroom with disgruntled looks on their faces. They were clearly unhappy that they'd been disturbed. \nCeleste locked the door behind them and then ran a washcloth under cold water, placing it onto Zora's broken lip. \"You have to be more careful, silly,\" she giggled. \n\"I know, I was just having so much fun, I didn't even notice I'd bit myself.\"\n\"Well you're all good now so let's get back out there.\" \n They headed back downstairs, grabbed their drinks and made their way to the dance floor. \nAs Zora was spinning in a circle to the beat of the music, she noticed Zack giving her one of his flashy smiles. She waved gingerly. He started walking towards her. \nZora turned to Celeste. \"Zack is coming over here, what do I do?\"\n\"Just act cool, damn. Don't be so nervous, he doesn't bite.\"\n\"Hey, Zora. you look like you're having fun.\"\n\"I am.\"\n\"This is my parents summer house, I can give you a tour if you want.\"\nZora turned to Celeste, unsure if it was a good idea to leave her new friend, but Celeste was busy dancing with the other cheerleaders. \n\"Um, yeah, sure.\"\nHe took her hand and led her outside, where he showed her the perfectly manicured lawn and garden. He picked her a rose. They walked around to the backyard, and he pointed out the lake, which glowed under the moon's light. \nSuddenly Zora's head was spinning. She stumbled backwards, holding her temples. Colours flashed across her vision. Orange, red, yellow, and blue were all swirling around her. She dropped to her knees, and Zack caught her. She saw his mouth moving but couldn't hear what he was saying. She was sure someone had drugged her drink while she was upstairs with Celeste because she’d never felt this way before. The world was spinning and she felt like she was going to fall flat on her face at any second. Zack helped her up and was holding her hand again as he led her upstairs. \nHe helped her onto the bed and got her a cold washcloth to put on her forehead. Zack closed the door and locked it. Zora thought she saw him smile. His skin gleamed as red as his hair. Zora's sight went black for a moment. When it came back to her, a dark figure stood over her. It didn't have a face, but she could feel its breath heavy on her skin. Her limbs felt paralyzed, yet she was shaking uncontrollably. She tried to scream, but all that came out was a muted grunt. She managed to roll sideways, toppling off the bed and crashing hard onto the hardwood floor. Her legs felt numb, so she tried to crawl her way to the door but didn't get three paces before the creature was pulling her back. She kicked as hard as she could and was momentarily released from its tight grip. In the far corner of the room, she spotted a baseball bat and scrambled towards it. Her head was bleeding, and dark red beads of blood were smudged across the floor. \nShe grabbed the bat, rolled onto her back, and swung, aiming for the creature's skull. It thudded hard, and she saw the dark figure crumple to the floor. She stood, her legs trembling beneath her and battered the creature until she was sure she'd killed it. The creature was crooked—blood formed in a pool around its dismantled body. Tears were streaming down Zora's face, and she wished that she was just having a nightmare, but when she pinched her skin, it hurt, and she knew what had happened was real. \nSlowly the room started growing light. The colours from her vision subsided. She ran to a trash can that was hidden under a desk and retched. The pink from Celeste's drinks filled the bottom, sloshing around as she placed it back where it belonged. \nWhen she turned around, she saw Zack's body floating in the pool of blood; a visible dent in his head was turning a deep purple. Zora's heart stopped. She kneeled down, checking for a pulse, a sign of life, anything that proved he was still alive. \nNothing. \nThe only sound she heard was her tears slashing against the floor and the hum of the music downstairs. \n\"What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?\" She whispered to herself. \nA breeze of wind knocked the window against the bedroom wall. \nThe window. \nShe hauled Zack's body over to the window and peeked outside. No one was there. She debated throwing either Zack or herself out. If she threw Zack out, she could return to the party and act like nothing happened. She could wait until someone else noticed and called the police. Returning to the party would give her a semi-solid alibi. She could also take his body and throw it in the lake. She could come back, quickly clean the mess then leave the party. \nHer head buzzed with drunkenness. She felt confused and scared. She couldn’t understand why Zack had turned into such a terrifying creature. Had she been hallucinating? Who had drugged her drink? Did celeste put something in there to help Zack get lucky? \nZora’s heart was racing from the panic that was crawling throughout her body. She made up her mind about what to do. She crawled out the window and stood on the roof. Her dark hair wiped around her face, momentarily blinding her. She peered over the edge again and saw no one. \nShe jumped, stumbling on the prickly lawn, then ran as fast as she could into the forest." } ]
[ { "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 Bribe of All Bribes\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1085\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character accepting a bribe." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "As much as Judas tried to understand what happened the night before, he couldn’t fathom why Yeshua wouldn’t declare himself the king of the Jews. “The timing’s perfect!” he thought. “The crowds have never been bigger. A few members of the Sanhedrin are supporting him, even if they are doing it secretly. So, why doesn’t he take the next step?” The answer to this riddle eluded him.\nFlustered, Judas decided to wander through the market square to take his mind off his troubles. The squabbling between the vendors and customers distracted him and eased his mind. Still, he is wary of everyone. Though the crowds supported Yeshua and his followers, there were those who marked him as troublemaker and posed as a threat to his wellbeing. Sadly, he couldn’t ger the same feeling of comfort from being with the other apostles, for he didn’t trust them.\nFor the past three years, he has listened to them gossiping among themselves saying, “Judas this and Judas that.” Rarely would they say a good word about him, but he had nothing to complain about. For what they said was true. He was a swindler, thief, and unknown to them, even a murderer.\nBecause of this and along with his paranoia, Judas decided to keep a low profile and try to keep out of everybody’s way. As Judas walked in the market square, he saw travelers from all around the known world. The Passover celebration drew the Jewish community from all corners of the earth and along with the haranguing, gossip flowed like the Jordan River.\nThe most talked about subject of the day was the coming arrival of Pontus Pilate. Rome was going to ensure civility was present, even at the cost of innocent lives. The words spoken of Pilate were those of anger, and even hate. But their shifting eyes held the look of fear. Pilate would have been pleased to hear this.\nBeyond the Pilate rumors, Judas also heard zealots were planning on an uprising at the Golden Gate. “Just what we need. More rabble rousers and Roman guards to squelch them, along with countless innocents.” Powerless to stop the coming malady, he made a point to stay clear of there.\nTired of listening to the bickering, Judas strolled from stand to stand inspecting the goods offered. By happenstance, he spotted someone across the street watching him. His first impression was he didn’t look dangerous, but the way he was looking at him made Judas feel uneasy.\nIt was only a quick glance he gave the stranger, but it didn’t go unnoticed. When the man saw Judas looking at him, he crossed the street and met him. “Judas, I presume,” he began. “I heard you and your group of friends have fallen on troubled times with the temple priests and pharisees. Perhaps I can help.”\nJudas shot back, “Perhaps you can tell me who you are and why I should trust you.”\nThe stranger’s cold eyes fixed on Judas’ as he hissed, “I don’t really care if you trust me or not. I get paid the same either way. I’m not interested in what you do or who you owe. I’m here as an intermediary for a party whose interested in information you have.”\nAll of Judas’s instincts told with not to trust what this man and to end this conversation, but instead, he heard himself saying, “What is it you’re asking for?”\n“Information,” he replied. “Nothing more. Some members of the Sanhedrin wish to ask Yeshua some questions about his views in his theology and teachings. They're very curious about what Yeshua is preaching and wishes to know if he can be taken seriously.”\nJudas shook his head. “I doubt that very seriously. If they wanted to hear Yeshua’s words, they only need to go and listen to him speak.”\n“That’s alright,” he replied. “Like I told you earlier. I don’t care if you trust me or not. But I do know you can trust a sack of silver. Thirty pieces to be exact. This is what my client is willing to pay you for your information. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. No one will come to harm and Yeshua will be set free before you realize it. So, is it a deal?”\n“Will he be detained?”\n“Yes.”\n“You’re sure he’ll be released?”\n“Of course.”\n“Can you arrange it, so it looks like I’ll be the one who sets him free?”\n“As long as you’re willing to testify on his behalf, I don’t see any reason why we can’t.”\n“Very well,” said Judas. “What is it you need to know?”\n“Very simple,” said the man. “I need to know where we can find him, alone and unguarded.”\nIt was too good to be true. “God given me the solution to my problem,” he thought. “Not only will Yeshua have to reveal himself, but I’ll also be the one who saves him from his dilemma. I will put Peter in his place become the leader of the apostles. Then, we’ll abolish the Sanhedrin and sit in their stead on their seats of power. All authority will fall on Yeshua’s shoulders and from there to me. All my dreams will come true, and it will come with the smallest of prices.”\nSatisfied with his decision, Judas whispered, “On the last night of Passover, you will find him at the Mount of Olives, in the Garden of Gethsemane. A few of his disciples will be with him, but that’s it.”\nA smile formed on the man’s face “Excellent,” he said. Then, he opened his pouch. “Here are ten silver pieces for you now. When we have Yeshua in our hands, you will be paid the rest. On that night, wait for us at the gate to the Mount of Olives, then take us to him.”\nAt first, Judas was reluctant to take the coins, but as soon as he felt the weight of the silver in his hand, his feelings of apprehension disappeared. He placed the coins in his pouch and called out, “You won’t regret doing business with me, kind sir.”\nWithout saying a word, the man walked away and vanished in the crowd. Judas was overjoyed. “Soon, my troubles will be over.” He returned to the vendors and bought some figs with the money he just received. “Today, I have a snack, and tomorrow, there’ll be a banquet honoring me.” Judas returned to his room and waited for his destiny to arrive." } ]
[ { "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: Tim's friend\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1404\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who gets lost at a carnival or festival." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Tim was excited to find out that his family was planning a trip to the annual festival in town. He had been there last year. It was great. He had enjoyed all sorts of fun activities in the carnival - music, great food, fizzy drinks, and even cheap comics. Although he found the carnival was great, he was never a great fan of the horror house. There was this camp in the middle of the carnival. The entrance to the camp was frightening. It was the mouth of a dead bear, lolling its black tongue out with its empty sockets seemingly pulling people towards the entrance. On the other hand, Tim's sister had been a fan of this haunted house. She had been advertising it to her friends at school.\n\"It wasn't that scary!\" said Sarah, beaming with confidence one Sunday morning.\n\"It was scary! I don't want to go there anymore!\" Tim was a 12-year-old boy who was frightened of any creature that had a face and a mouth with razor-sharp teeth. \"I don't want to go there. If we're going to the carnival again, I just want to stay outside.\"\n\"Okay dear,\" said their mother who looked haggard from last night's shift at the general hospital. \"You can just wait outside. You don't have to if you don't want to.\"\n\"See!\" Tim lolled his tongue out at his sister.\n\"Fine! I can just tell everyone in school that you're afraid of puppets!\"\n\"No I'm not!\"\n\"Yes you are!\"\n\"Stop! Both of you!\"\nTim and Sarah stared at each other from where they're seated. Bar light beamed across their mother's face. \"Just stop okay. Mama got a headache now. I need a rest okay.\"\nSarah smoothed her forehead as she turned towards her mother. Guilt was clearly drawn across her face. \"Sorry mama.\"\n\"Tim?\" said their mother. \"Do you have something to say?\"\n\"I don't want to see dead people any more.\"\nSomething dark dawned on Tim's face. His mother was looking at him carefully that morning. \"What did you say Tim?\"\n---\nTim was getting ready for the carnival. He was eager to fill his bookshelf with his comic collections. He had two more slots to fill in. Once these two slots were filled, he could show it off on his Instagram. He had been following a local horror book collector who had been posting challenges for his followers. Few of the challenges included buying a set of HP Lovecraft books from him which he had imported from Michigan. Tim wanted to purchase them. However, his mother disapproved of it because she didn't share the same interest as a 12-year-old boy does who was into horror.\n\"My mum is a traditional woman. Ever since dad left, she has been controlling my life. Like I can't do this. I can't do that. It's crazy dude.\"\n\"Yeah? Wait till I tell you about what I have gone through in my house,\" said Tim's best friend, Allie.\nTim pressed his lips, annoyed. He wanted Allie to listen, but he ended up having to listen to his story instead. Allie told his story and Tim was half listening. He wasn't interested to learn about Allie's boring life as an only child.\n\"You know what dude,\" Tim interrupted. The thing he had been an expert in since they became friends.\n\"What?\"\n\"I wish I'm like you.\"\nAllie was taken aback, eyeing at Tim's remark. It sounded crazy to him. \"What do you mean you want to be like me?\"\n\"Oh. Come on. You know what I mean. I wish I'm an only child and my dad is still around and I am from a wealthy family. You got it all. And look at me.\"\nAllie rolled his right sleeve up to his elbow.\nTim continued. \"Look at me. I have a dreadful stupid sister. I live in a house without a dad. My house doesn't have a high speed broadband. Just the normal one. My mum is always angry all the time. And I have a thing that I don't really want, but have been cursed with since I was born.\"\n\"Curse?\"\n\"Yeah. Curse.\"\n\"Like what?\"\nTim considered this for a moment. The last time he revealed his secret, a girl told him to stay away. He looked at the creature behind Allie just above his right shoulder. \"Like seeing things that normal people can't see.\" Tim glanced at the creature again and followed its movement towards the cabinet.\nThe cabinet door squeaked a little, and Allie took notice of this. \"What's that?\"\nTim returned his attention to his best friend. \"What what?\"\n\"That sound. Did you hear it?\"\nTim smiled at his friend. \"I don't hear anything.\"\n---\nTim's mother picked him up from Allie's house. Allie tailed Tim and entered the van. \"You boys ready for the carnival tonight?\"\n\"Yes!\" The boys cheered.\n\"And we're going to the haunted house, don't we Mama?\"\n\"No!\" answered Tim.\n\"Oh my god. Are we really going?\" chipped in Allie.\n\"Stop it or else I'm not going to drive you there!\" Their mother's stern voice scared Allie a bit. He was reconsidering his decision whether to join the Beasley's family trip to Gadong.\nThe siblings kept still in their seats. Allie was clueless and remained silent too. The driver was happy that the children were quiet throughout the journey. It's going to be a great night, she thought to herself.\n---\n\"Okay boys. What do you want to buy?\"\nTim and his best friend exchanged looks of triumph. The rare collections of Dragon Ball Z were lying majestically in front of them on a long table. Rows of colorful Anime characters in golden spiky hair and muscular physics frowned at them. The boys were excited.\n\"Can we spend more time here Mama?\"\nTim's mother was not impressed when she thumbed through the pages. The ripped bodies of the Anime characters were like men in steroids. She had this crazy notions that his boy would grow up to become gym rats just because of these Anime characters. She shook her head and said: \"Just be good okay. I'll be around. Just stay together. It's a good thing our country is Covid free. Don't forget your mask when you're asked to wear one okay.\"\nWhen Tim's mother walked away, Tim turned to Allie. \"I think it's alright to remove this mask now here. Look at him.\" Tim pointed at a man in his early 20s in a T-Shirt with Vegeta in Super Saiyan 2 chilling out behind the counter. \"He's not wearing a mask. I guess it's alright not wearing one here.\"\nThey removed the masks and began browsing through the bookshelves. They were in heaven.\n---\nSarah and her mother walked past a number of vendors selling similar items like cheap bracelets, non-branded shoes, China-imported plastic toys and food. They continued their walk until Sarah pulled her mother's arm to her.\n\"Ma! I want to go there!\"\nIt was the haunted house. Sarah had been nagging about going inside the second time. The experience she had last year was long forgotten. She wanted to renew the experience tonight.\n\"You sure you want to do this alone, Sarah?\"\n\"Yes. I'm not afraid.\"\n\"You've got your phone with you?\"\n\"Yes.\"\n\"Check the battery.\"\n\"It's full,\" said the teenager without even checking her phone.\"\n\"How can you be so sure?\"\n\"Mum. My phone is a part of me. Like part of my limp. I know it without even looking at it. Can you tell your hunger level by checking your stomach in the mirror Ma?\"\n\"I suppose not.\"\n\"Yes. Just go. I'm fine going through the haunted house alone.\"\n---\nAllie made a purchase at the counter while Tim was still considering whether to buy another Dragon Ball series or starting out a Marvel comics.\n\"Have you made your mind Tim?\"\nTim walked up to his best friend and said: \"Yes. I made up my mind. I think I want to let my sister die today.\"\n\"Huh what?\" Allie let out a light laugh, like a puffing out a coughing noise that sounded between a blown horn and a laughter.\n\"I think my sister will die today. I can see the creatures around her today.\"\n\"What are you talking about?\"\n\"I think yours will be soon too buddy.\"\nTim checked the creature with long lolling tongue above Allie's right ear. \"Soon.\" Tim smiled." } ]
[ { "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: Into the Unknown\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2424\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character with questionable morals." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "London, 1785\n“Ms. Frances Grace!” - a footman standing in front of a mansion entrance called out.\nA young woman stepped out of the line of other women waiting in the yard.\n“Follow me.” - he said in a monotone voice.\nThey walked for a few minutes in silence, passing the dark corridors of the mansion until they reached a door. The footman opened them slightly and announced, “Ms. Grace is here to see you, my Lady.”\n“Thank you, Mr. Gates, you may go now.” - a woman’s voice answered from the other side of the door.\n“Yes, my Lady.” - he signalled for the other woman to come in.\nWhen she entered, the Lady was standing by the window, back turned to the stranger.\n“Is that all my Lady?” - the footman asked.\n“I’ll call on you when you’re needed, you may go now.” Her voice was stern, but pleasant.\n“So Ms. Grace”, she began, “What makes you believe you are fit for this job?” She moved away from the window, still not making eye contact.\nThe other woman moved closer, stopping by the beauty table and grabbing a silver brush that was left on it.\n“Let me show you.” - she commanded. The Lady finally turned around, revealing a slight smile on her face. “If you insist.” She got into the chair and the other woman started brushing her long dark hair. She began to style it while the Lady sat in silence.\n“Something on your mind, my Lady?” The other woman looked at her reflection in the mirror, snapping from her daydreaming.\n“Nothing that would concern you. Thank you, you are very skilled in hairstyling. I’ll take that into consideration. “Now”, she stood up “You may go. I have many other applicants to see today. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”\nThe other woman nodded, “Of course, my Lady.” bowed slightly and left the room.\n\nA few days later\nA carriage arrived at a townhouse. The footman stepped out. “What’s your business here?” he asked in a stern voice.\n “I’m here for Ms. Grace. Lady Ainsworth sent me to pick her up. I was told she resides here.”\n“Of course. I’ll notify her.” - he stepped back inside.\nMs. Grace was witnessing all of this from her window. She smiled contently and took to the staircase. “Ms. Grace! Just in time, there’s a carriage outside waiting for you.”\n“Thank you, Mr. Ash. Please get my suitcase.” Without waiting for his answer she went into the carriage. After a short while, the carriage arrived at the mansion. The woman from earlier was already waiting outside. “Welcome to your new home, Ms. Grace.” - she took her by the hand, leading her inside. “There’s a lot to show you, but let’s start with your quarters. Since you are my maid, you get your own place away from other servants. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here.” The Lady took her to a well-furnished room, filled with paintings of still life and an already yellowing wallpaper. “This is lovely my Lady, thank you. I’ll be most comfortable here.”\n“I hoped you would be.” - the other woman smiled. “Now, I’ll show you around the house. It’s important for you as my maid to know your way around here.”\nWhen the tour was over, Lady Ainsworth took Ms. Grace back to the kitchen. “Here, you can help Mrs. Hill with the dinner. I have some business to see to in town. I’ll be back in time for dinner so you better have everything ready.”\n“Yes, my Lady. I’ll see to it.”\n“Farewell, Ms. Grace.” She headed towards the door.\nLater that evening, Ms. Grace was standing in the dining room with two other servants, serving wine for the Admiral and Lady Ainsworth.\n“I heard that you have come into possession of a valuable item your last absence. What is it?”\n“I have indeed. I have returned some of our stolen gold to the King and I found something even more valuable. Something that will help destroy the resistance against the Crown in the Colonies. But, let’s not talk about such complicated topics. It’s too difficult for a proper Lady like you to understand.”\nSomething in Ms. Grace snapped when she heard those words, but she bit her tongue. The Admiral stood up from his position by the table and headed towards the door. “I bid you good night my Lady.” And with those words he left.\n“You’re all dismissed.” Mrs. Ainsworth snapped. Without another word, Ms. Grace left the room.\nThe next morning, the Admiral was surprised by the sound of laughter coming from his fiancée’s room. He cleared his throat before entering the room, “I just wanted to say my goodbyes before I leave. I have some business to tend to. Good day. Ms. Grace.” He nodded and closed the door behind him. “Is he gone?” asked Lady Ainsworth after a short while. “Just a moment… he’s out of sight.” Ms. Grace smiled back at her from the window. “Finally.”, Lady Ainsworth exclaimed and took Ms. Grace’ arms into hers. “Soon we will be free.” Ms. Grace replied and kissed her. “Until this moment, I didn’t think it possible.” “What do you mean?” asked Lady Ainsworth. “When I heard that you were engaged to the Admiral I thought that you had given up on our dreams.” Lady Ainsworth took her arms in hers, “I could never. I only complied to my father’s wishes to marry the Admiral so he wouldn’t interfere with our plans.” The smile from Ms. Grace’ face faded quickly. “What is it?” Lady Ainsworth looked concerned.\n“Yesterday evening, when the Admiral was talking about something that will help him destroy the resistance, it reminded me of everything that happened with Mr. Brown.”\n“Lucy…” Lady Ainsworth took her hand in hers, “I’m sorry about what happened with your uncle. It won’t happen again, I promise. This is why we’re doing this. The Admiral is nothing without this information. The resistance is strong. The contact I saw yesterday, he assured me he’ll help us escape if I gave him this map. We can build a life there. We’ll trade, do whatever it takes. But we will be free to be ourselves. This is temporary. I have family in Boston, we can move there. They have money. We’ll be alright.”\n“I hope you’re right. But first we have to get this map. Where would the Admiral keep that?”\n“It must be somewhere in his study. But I have no idea where. He is very careful about everything to do with the Navy.”\n“Then I guess I’ll have to find out.”\n\nLater that evening\nMs. Grace was waiting until the Admiral came home and followed him to his study. She knocked on the door.\n“May I come in my Lord?” she inquired.\n“What is it?”\n“I was told you have tea at this time and the cook was feeling ill so she sent me to give it to you.” – she handed him the cup.\n“Thank you, Ms. Grace. You are proving to be a good servant.”\n“Thank you my Lord. If you’ll excuse me.” She bowed slightly and headed out.\nWhile leaving, she left the door slightly ajar and peered through. The Admiral was writing something she couldn’t see and after a while stood up from his chair and took out a key from his coat. He opened one of the cabinets and took out a map. Exactly what she was hoping for. He noted something on the map and headed towards the cabinet again. Ms. Grace ran through the corridors to her room as quietly as she could.\nNext morning, she impatiently waited for the Admiral to leave and as soon as he was gone she headed for his room. Lady Ainsworth made sure that no servants would be there at that time so she could search the room. She closed the door behind her and started searching for the coat the Admiral was wearing last night. Rummaging through his clothes, she finally found it. She put the key into her pocket, checked no one was in the hallway and left. She headed for the study, her heartbeat increasing with every step.\nWhen she reached the study, she knocked on the door, making sure it was empty. When no one answered, she entered, closing the door behind her. She quickly got to the cabinet the map was in and unlocked it. The map was right in front of her, but before she could take it she heard a voice behind her, “What are you doing here?” her blood ran cold. One of the maids came to clean the study. She slowly turned around, trying to think of an excuse. “I was sent here by Lady Ainsworth.” The older woman looked at her with distrust, “And what possible business would she have here?” She couldn’t speak. She was frozen in place. The servant moved closer, “What are you doing with that key?” Ms. Grace watched in horror as the realisation made itself clear in the servant’s eyes.\n“You were going to steal from Lord Jenkins. I have to tell the Madam. You’ll be punished for this.” - as the servant turned to leave, panic and uncontrollable anger overtook Ms. Grace’ mind. She ran for the woman and grabbed her by the throat from behind as tight as she could. The woman struggled, desperately trying to get away. But Ms. Grace wouldn’t let go. She was too far gone now. She couldn’t let her go. As the woman was pulling her towards the door, she pushed her into a wall, her arm still around her throat, and started hitting her head against it. By this time, both were exhausted but Lucy felt the woman was growing weaker so she held her, back against the wall, slowly sinking to the floor as she felt the woman’s struggling slowly fade. She sat there on the floor, still in shock and covered in blood from hitting the servant’s head, breathing hard. For the first few moments she felt completely numb. She didn’t feel sorry for the woman she just killed and that terrified her. When she had recovered a little, she moved the servant’s body away from herself and stood up. She walked over to the cabinet and took the map. She finally had what she had come for. She put it in her pocket, but now she had another problem. She knew she had to get rid of the body. But there were servants all around the house and worse yet, so was Abigail. She knew she couldn’t have Abigail find out about this. She would hate her. Even if she did it for their safety, she still killed someone. She covered the servant’s body with some of her clothes and checked if someone was around. When it was safe to come out, she ran to her room and cleaned herself up the best she could with the water she had in the room. Then she quickly changed from her bloody clothes and headed out. She went into one of the servant’s room and put the bloody clothes there. The servants all wore the same attire, so nobody could prove it was hers. Just then she heard a scream downstairs. By the time she got there, the servants all gathered around the body. Abigail came rushing in from the garden. Her face went pale. “Ms. James!” She rushed to the servant’s body but it was too late. “Call for my husband! Now!” One of the servants ran off. Ms. Grace walked up to her and put a hand on her shoulder, “Come on, you shouldn’t be looking at this.” Abigail went with her, trembling.\n“Why would anyone kill her? And in the study as well. You weren’t there were you?” - she looked up at her with concern.\n“Of course not… I was there earlier this morning, but I have no idea who could’ve done this.”\n“I’m so happy that wasn’t you. I’m dreading the thought of it happening to you.” - she pulled her into a hug. A tear rolled down Ms. Grace’ cheek.\n\nLater that day\nThe Admiral came home with his men who removed the body and searched the house. They arrested a young woman whose bloody clothes were found in her room. She kicked and screamed as they dragged her away. Lucy kept her head down, trying not to look.\nThat night she came into Abigail’s room. Abigail woke up startled. “What are you doing here?”\n“I got it. I got the map. Nobody was guarding the study after everything that’s happened.”\n“How did you get the key?”\n“I stole it from his clothes.”\n“Now come on, let’s meet your friends.”\nThe two headed to the harbour. A man came forward to greet them.\n“We’re here to see Mr. Scott.” - Abigail began - “Mrs. Abigail Ainsworth. He’ll know who I am.” The man took off.\n“He’ll see you now. Follow me.” The two women followed the man until they reached a boat. All three climbed on. When they were aboard, a rough looking man walked towards them.\n“You must be Ms. Ainsworth.” he said, looking at Abigail. “Have you brought me what was promised?”\nAbigail produced the map out of her coat and handed it to the man. “This is it. Now take us where we need to go.” Ms. Grace was standing behind her, suspiciously eyeing the man.\nMr. Scott took the map, studied it for a while then spoke: “It’s real. Welcome aboard Ms. Ainsworth. And your companion?” he looked at Ms. Grace, as if he was trying to uncover what was on her mind.\n“Ms. Lucy Brown. I’m sure we’ll get along.” She smirked and extended her hand. He shook it. “Welcome aboard, Ms. Brown.”\n“Ms. Brown got you the map. Now she has a preposition of her own.” She turned to Lucy.\n“And what is that?” asked Mr. Scott.\n“Don’t take us to Boston. Take us to Port Royal with you. I want to make the Admiral pay for what he did to me, for killing my guardian just because he traded with people like you. I want to make England pay. Would you be willing to do that?”\nMr. Scott considered for a while, looking at both of them and finally smiled. “Alright. I guess I am willing to try my luck. Welcome to the crew.”\nUnder the guise of night they sailed off into the unknown." } ]
[ { "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: Cornelius Clemens\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2703\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character with questionable morals." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Pearce, Arizona, is a small mining town just southeast of Tucson. The year is 1895, and it’s late August. The sun is blazing hot as a small traveling cabana rolls into town. The driver pulls to a stop at the far end of the main street and climbs down to look around. He’s a little disappointed because he had figured a gold mining town would look more prosperous.\nHis name is Cornelius Clemens, and his trade is to sell snake oil to the unsuspecting. He is a flimflam artist, a con-man, and a swindler. Cornelius’ primary objective is to relieve the good people of Pearce of as much money as possible.\nCornelius removes his stylish high hat and mops his brow. He wears a white shirt with a starched collar and a string bow tie. His waistcoat is tan, but his vest is rather ornate. Cornelius is somewhat handsome with thick wavy brown hair, an inviting smile, a strong jawline, and piercing blue eyes. When he speaks, he speaks with confidence. Cornelius also has an extensive vocabulary. Yes, Cornelius Clemens is everything you’d expect from a snake oil salesman.\nClemens walks down the dusty street, taking in his surroundings until he reaches one of the three saloons in town. It is appropriately called the Gold Dust Saloon. Cornelius approaches the bartender, removes a five-dollar gold piece from his vest pocket, and tosses it on the bar.\n“Tell me, my good man, is that enough to procure me some libation and sustenance?” Cornelius inquires casually as he looks around the room.\nSmiling at the coin, the bartender remarks, “That’s more than enough and then some.”\n“Excellent! Then I shall have a large beer and a thick juicy steak, rare, with potatoes and gravy. Thank you very much. I shall be sitting right over there,” Cornelius points. Upon reaching the table, Cornelius places his hat on it and uses his handkerchief to dust off the chair. He then sits and waits for his meal. Cornelius closes his eyes and listens to the piano, keeping time by bobbing his head. A heavily bearded cowpoke approaches and asks, “You the fella that rode into town on that fancy wagon?” Cornelius keeps his eyes closed but answers, “Correct.”\nScratching his ponderous beard, he asks with curiosity, “Well, could you perhaps tell me what it is you’re doing here?”\nCornelius’ eyes spring open as he juts his finger toward the stranger. “That, my good man, you shall learn by coming to my presentation this evening. But I tell you this. It shall enlighten you, for I shall unleash upon you all the knowledge I have gathered while living with the Apaches for the last several years. Add to that some ancient secrets from the Orient! The entire experience will benefit your body and soul.”\nEyes wide with wonder, the poor cowpoke is almost hypnotized by Cornelius’ rapid-fire narrative. He softly mumbles, “What sort of secrets?”\n“That, my dear fellow, you will learn at dusk tonight. But as for now, I see my meal has arrived. So until this evening, I bid you ado.”\nAfter finishing his meal, Cornelius searches out the local mercantile, for he requires a few ingredients for tonight’s show. He picks up camphor, wood alcohol, some cloves, castor oil, and capsaicin of chili peppers. Cornelius then asks the owner if he has any pork fat. He has to have pork fat because Cornelius is deathly afraid of snakes. The original Chinese recipe uses water snake fat because it is high in Omega-3 fat, which acts as an anti-inflammatory. The famous Clark Stanley uses rattlesnake fat but has much less Omega-3. Cornelius’ only other option is pork fat, not having access to Chinese watersnakes and a morbid fear of rattlesnakes.\nThe tiny wagon has become a unique attraction as evening draws near. It now has a small stage with torches burning on either side. In addition, a large sign has been added to the top that reads, “Mr. Marvels Magic Elixer.” Now that the stage has been lowered, the people can see many paintings on the wagon’s side—images of Indians and snakes, pagodas of China, and exotic animals of faraway Africa. In awe, they study and point, muttering among themselves. In addition, several elixir bottles are placed on each end of the stage, shining and gleaming in the torch light. Finally, a large display is standing on the ground, listing the many cures of Mr. Marvel’s medicine. The list reads, “This elixir is suitable for frostbite, chills, bruises, sore throat, the bite of animals, insect and reptiles, and all manner of illnesses. Plus, it can even restore hair. It gives immediate relief! Larger than life, Mr. Marvel appears on the stage, arms open wide and smiling invitingly.\nCornelius begins his pitch with exuberance and a fast-paced speech. This is because he knows he has about fifteen minutes to hook the crowd, or they will lose interest. And so, with long and elegant words, he explains what it does and why they should have it.\n“So, in conclusion, I would like to thank you all and invite you to step right up and buy a bottle of this magical drink. I might add that I have a short supply with me today but am willing to sell it for only fifty cents a bottle. So please, step right up!” Cornelius places his hat upside down on the stage to gather the money. After the crowd disperses with their treasure, Cornelius notices one man standing just outside of the torchlight. He is a farmer and removes his hat. Fingering its rim, he hesitantly addresses Cornelius. \n“Excuse me, Mr. Marvel, but I sure could use a bottle of your medicine.” His shoulder droop as he hangs his head. “But ya see, I ain’t got but a quarter.” Cornelius studies the man’s face and notices the dark circles under his eyes and his sunken cheeks. It seems to Cornelius that this man has been under some sort of stress for a while.\nCornelius responds in a bright and uplifted voice, “Fear not, my good fellow. I have one bottle left, and you shall have it for the reduced rate of twenty-five cents.” The farmer’s head snaps up, and he sees Cornelius holding out the bottle, the torchlight shining through the amber glass looking like a gift from Heaven. Hope and tears fill his eyes as he thanks Cornelius, “Thank you, Mr.Marvel. You’ll never know how much this means to me!”\nAfter the man leaves, Cornelius leans against his mule and recalls the look on the farmer’s face when he obtained the elixir bottle. Cornelius fears that there is a genuinely sick person at home, and this man has just bet his last quarter on what he believes to be the cure. \nCornelius addresses his mule, “Lillian, I think we shall be leaving sooner than I planned.”\nThe sun has been up about an hour as the little cabana bumps down the dusty road headed for Douglas, Arizona. Douglas is a slightly larger town than Pierce, and Cornelius hopes for better sales. Up ahead, backed by the sun, Cornelius can just make out a figure in the middle of the road. It’s a man sitting on a horse. Fearing a robber, Cornelius removes a derringer he has hidden inside his hat. As they draw closer, he can see that it’s the farmer from the night before. He sits bareback on his workhorse with a double-barrel shotgun across his lap. Cornelius is well aware that he hasn’t a chance against the shotgun and slips his pistol back inside his hat and comes to a stop.\nPretending not to recognize the farmer, Cornelius greets him with a hardy, “Good morning, my dear fellow! Is there perhaps something I can do for you?”\nLooking grim, the farmer asks, “Do you remember me? You sold me a bottle of your elixir last night. I took it home and gave it to my little girl, she’s awful sick, and the doctor doesn’t know what it is. He says she may die.”\nCornelius’ mind is scrambling to think of a way to escape and responds with a simple, “I see.”\n“NO, YOU DON’T SEE!” shouts the farmer. I gave her the recommended two teaspoons of your medicine, and not only did it not make her better, I think it made her worse. Her fever is still very high. She has sweats and chills and hasn’t eaten in three days.” He points his gun at Cornelius. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I figure with all that knowledge you gathered over there in the Orient and all, and maybe you forgot an ingredient or two. So I’m giving you another chance. But if my daughter’s no better after that, I’ll figure you to be a swindler and make sure you don’t swindle anyone else, if you know what I mean.”\nCirbekus stammers, “Please, Mr…., wh-what did you s-say your name is?” \n“Talyor, John Talyor,” replies the farmer keeping the shotgun leveled at Cornelius.\nCornelius pleads, “Please, Mr. Talyor, you have to understand that my medicine might not cure everything.”\n“What do ya mean? The billboard by your wagon said, “All manner of illnesses. It repeats it right on the label.” Talyor glares menacingly while adjusting his grip on the shotgun.\n“Perhaps you’re correct, Mr. Talyor. I may have forgotten an ingredient, and if that’s the case, I humbly beg your forgiveness. But if that is so, I don’t know what you expect me to do about it now?” Cornelius is doing his best to worm his way out of this mess.\nTalyor growls, “I expect you to go back and look at your ancient secrets and find out how to fix them!” \nHoping to buy some time, Cornelius implores, “Have you had a doctor look at your child by any chance?”\n“Well, of course,” says Talyor. “The problem there is that he’s just graduated from doctor school. He’s real good at fixin’ broken bones, but he don’t know shit about medicine. At least not like you.”\n“Could you by chance describe your daughter’s symptoms for me, Mr. Talyor?” Cornelius removes his handkerchief and mops his brow while swallowing hard. \n“Well,” Taylor begins, “As I said, she’s got a high fever, and because she sleeps a lot, she don’t eat much. Louann, that’s her name, well, she’s havin a hard time breathin’. There’s a terrible rattlin’ sound when she coughs, and when she ain’t coughin’, she’s wheezin’ real loud.”\n“I see,” says Cornelius. “I’ll look at my manuals, and if I find that I’ve indeed made a mistake, I’ll travel into town to buy what I need and make a new batch. Then, I’ll quickly bring it to your farm when I’ve finished.”\n Talyor looks at Cornelius, “Like Hell! I’ll be goin’ with ya.”\nTalyor looks on in amazement while Cornelius consults an old journal on herbs and plants used for medicinal purposes. He then lists the ones he feels will work the best. Some are for pain, others for fever and cough. Together the two men ride into town and enter the mercantile once more. Cornelius buys three ingredients- motherwort, milkweed, and quinine water. Motherwort for discomfort. milkweed for cough and quinine water for cramps.\n“Now, Mr. Talyor, I believe I saw a Chinese laundry at the end of the street as I rode into town. Let us go there nixt.”\n Cornelius sees the proprietor and politely addresses Mr.Zhu in a friendly manner, “Ah, Mr.Zhu! My name is Mr. Marvel, and I’m the maker of ointments, potions, and elixirs.”\nZhu interrupts, “You charlatan.”\nCornelius is taken back by the accusation, “No! No, I’m not. I am genuinely trying to help Mr. Talyor here, who has a very sick little girl at home. I’m here to ask you if you might have some watersnake fat, a little opium, and perhaps some ginseng so that I might save her life!”\nZhu retorts, “These things very hard to get. Cost lot of money.”\n“How much money?” Cornelius inquires.\nWithout batting an eye, Zhu answers, “One hundred dollar.” \nCornelius hasn’t any time to barter and sighs, “That will be fine. Just wait a moment while I retrieve the money from my wagon.” When he returns, Cornelius places a bag of coins gathered the night before and all his folding money on the counter. “I believe there to be about seventy-five dollars, give or take a quarter.”\n“OK, you wait here.” Zhu leaves and returns with two small packets of powders and a sack containing the snake. Zhu explains, “Here is opium and ginseng. You have to gut and clean snake and then boil to get fat. OK?”\nCornelius places the two packets in his vest pocket and asks Talyor to please handle the snake.\nReturning to the farm, Cornelius hastily goes about preparing the mixture. When Talyor enters the wagon with the freshly cleaned snake, Cornelius asks him if that’s a willow tree in the backyard. When Talyor says there is, Cornelius asks him to cut a small strip from the tree to boil with the rest of the ingredients. “It will help reduce pain,” he explains.\nIn an hour or so, the concoction is ready. Cornelius strains it into one of his bottles and lets it cool. Then, taking a deep breath, Cornelius says to Talyor, “Shall we?”\nEntering the young girl’s room, he finds her lying in bed, her hair matted with sweat and her face in a tight knot of pain. Cornelius asks her father if she has done anything unusual lately.\n“The only thing that comes to mind,” replies her father, happened about a week ago. She was caught in a dust storm. It was right after that she fell ill.”\n“I see. Perhaps her lungs became infected by something in the dust. Let’s start by giving her one teaspoon every four hours.” Cornelius does not know what to expect. He administers a second dose at eight, though little change has occurred. By midnight, Cornelius notices that Louann’s face looks much more relaxed. Taking a towel, he wipes her face and then presses his lips to her forehead. Cornelius smiles a little, turning to her anxious parents, “Her fever has broken. Also, I’ve noticed that she is not coughing as much, although she still has a wheeze.”\nTalyor whispers, “That’s a good thing, ain’t it?” Then, feeling doubt, Cornelius replies, “I hope so, but let’s keep our fingers crossed.”\nThe night drags on as the old Seth Thomas chimes out the hours. Louann’s parents are not so much asleep as passed out from stress and exhaustion. Louann herself seems to be sleeping, probably from the opium, but she’s not wheezing anymore. Cornelius remembers his mother saying that four o’clock in the morning was usually the time when sickness would break. He closes his eyes and prays.\n“Lord, it’s me, Cornelius Clemens, and if you don’t want to listen to me, well, I don’t blame you. But it’s not me I’m praying about. It’s the Talyor’s little girl, Louann. She’s awful sick, and these poor folks have put their faith in me to make her better. I’m just a two-bit flimflam man, I don’t know anything about making real medicine, so I guess I’m asking you to make her better. She’s just a little girl, and life’s been hard enough already. Please God, make it so.” Cornelius puts his head back and closes his eyes.\nTalyor’s rooster Ol’ Stonewall Jackson is crowing in the morning sun, stirring Cornelius awake. Cornelius looks at Louann and rubs his eyes, for he thinks he sees Louann’s eyes fluttering. He reaches over and shakes her father’s arm, and when Talyor is awake, Cornelius nods for him to look at his daughter. Louann slowly opens her blue eyes and parts her cracked, dry lips to whisper, “Daddy?”\nIn the town of Vale, Arizona, a white cabana arrives, pulled by a mule. It stops in the center of town as a man dressed in all black steps down from the buckboard. He sets up a sign that reads, “Doctor Cornelius Clemens Miracle Elixer.” It’s good for all coughs, fever, aches, and pains. It may even restore hair." } ]
[ { "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 Wanna Dance With Somebody\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1060\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a reluctant party-goer who ends up being the star of the show." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The music is too loud. No one is dancing, so the gap in the living room echoes the lyrics that blast from the speaker without a person to bounce off of. Everybody is sitting. Squished into the three seater couch, and crammed on the edge of the floor sectioned into their familiar groups. Everyone but me. Trying to take up as little space as I can, I am standing in the doorway that leads to the kitchen pretending that my phone is more interesting than any possible conversation. Really, I am making a list of all of the reasons I should have said no to Sarah when she asked me to come. \nIt took all of two minutes for her to find someone else more worthy of her conversation, and since then, no one has felt the same about me. \nI hate the sweater I wore. It is drenched in the layers of desperation that came with every outfit I tried and failed to put in its place. I feel like it shows the tears that poured when I realized it was the only thing that didn’t make me feel fat. \nI really want to dance, but the likelihood of a full audience is ruining the only perk of a party. \nJackson, the host, crosses the floor and for a moment his foot tapping steps lead me to believe I’ll get the chance, but as he slides in next to a girl I realize I am wrong. How he avoided the beat's feverish request for him to join is beyond me. How any of them find their monotonous conversations more fun than the mad lines being thrown our way is the true mystery. Sarah promised me dancing. She is good at words, but bad at actions. Currently using her words to slide into the fourth group of people since arriving, I try to work up the courage to join her. I do, crossing the floor I sit awkwardly in the middle of the designated space no one is using. \n“Hey Jazzy there you are.” Sarah greets me like I was playing hide and seek and finally revealed myself. How this open concept space must have created quite the obstacle for her. “This is Alex and Chris, my new friends.” Pointing to each, the hesitation on Chris made her intentions clear. Sliding a little closer to Alex I found my new comrade for the night. \n“Hi, I am Jasmine.” He didn’t look disgusted to be talking to me. So when he grabbed my hand to shake it like something out of a movie, I tried to return the favour. \n“So I saw you on your phone. Memes?” He says. \n“List.” I say, too honest for my own social survival. \n“List?”\n“Of all the reasons this party sucks.” His laughter was unexpected. Filled with the thrill of feverish joy when something catches you by surprise. \n“Care to share?” \n“Yes.”\n“Come on, tell me at least one thing.”\n“Okay. Dancing. I wish people would dance.” Looking around the room our eyes come to rest on each other confirming what I said. \n“So dance.” \n“Dancing alone is awkward.”\n“So is standing alone but you did that.” Feeling the smile pull at my lips I catch it with my hand, holding it’s rare appearance for later reflection. \n“I will if you will.”\n“I look like a jellyfish when I dance, but sure, if it makes me see what you can do.” He stands, and with it invites me to the place I had craved to go from the beginning.\nMoving to the middle of the room he falls into a two-step as his shoulders wave in and out of the beat like he is indeed swimming. Conversations halt as people watch him take the first brave step into the middle of their attention. Part of me wants to leave him out there alone. The cruel part. But I don’t, walking into my own pool of anxiety I tread through their looks with my own rolling arm movements that match the 70’s beat currently playing. Trying to look only at him, I fail, and concede to close my eyes as the music begins to infect me. Feverish with the need to move, I give my body to the song swaying my hips and parting my thighs as I dip it low. I bring it back up, just to throw it into a new set of moves as my feet tap to the drums pulsating the air. \nI have come alive. I am breathing in the belts of the singers falsetto voice and exhaling turns and rolls that groove with the rhythm of the beat. My veins pulse with a heart that has steadied itself to match the slowing pace of the next song, and the next, and the next, until I have spun into the sweaty silence of a playlist coming to an end. There is only quiet. Until the clapping starts. Like an 80’s film it begins with the slow single clap of one individual until it grows to a heavy roar of many hands. Despite my better judgement I open my eyes to find everyone standing, circling me and staring. Alex has abandoned me to join the fray of people who likely spent the better part of the last few moments watching me lose myself to the music. And they liked it. They liked me. \n“Damn you can move!” Jackson shouts from behind me. Sarah finds it in herself to cross the fray of admiring people and stay by my side. I am flush in compliments and shades of red by the time I make it to the kitchen to grab water. Needing to stand alone in the corner again to catch my breath, I use the moment to make another list. This one, about all the reasons this party rocks. \nI met Alex \nI didn’t embarrass myself \nI got to dance. \nBy the time I finish, the music has restarted to a volume that is just right. People swarm to fill the space with their bodies taking up room with the large movements. They call to me, eager for me to show them more of what I am capable of. I am taking up space. I am standing in the middle of them all. I am really happy Sarah asked me to come." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: What a Night to Go Dancing\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1884\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes someone saying, “It’s not fair.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Ned’s was the only bar in town that played music good enough to dance to. There was the Kensington downtown, but they only boasted a piano player who acted as background noise for diners.\n\nNed’s was nothing to write home about, and occasionally there was a suspicious character or two, but generally it provided a place for the local couples to go and press up against each other.\n\nIt was just outside the main drag of town. Far enough to be respectable but close enough that driving home a bit tipsy wouldn’t be an issue.\n\nCharlie had decided he wanted to go out dancing that evening and so they had.\n\nHe’d invited along the Millers who had recently moved into the house down the road. He liked Larry well enough, and Kitty found his wife, Evelyn, quite beguiling.\n\nThey’d attended dinner parties together in the neighborhood. Evelyn seemed somewhat shy and reserved. She stood away from the others, a bit aloof at times. She had attractive blonde hair and clear, pale eyes.\n\nKitty had followed her out onto the Bishop’s back patio, not certain why. Like a moth drawn to a flame.\n\nEvelyn had not minded her presence. They’d smoked cigarettes and talked about the banalities of life that people who had just met spoke of.\n\nEvelyn had two children. Older than Kitty’s three children. She had been married sixteen years. Kitty had been married eleven.\n\nEvelyn had seemed to grow bored of the conversation and Kitty had wanted to ask her to tell her something real, but they were swept back inside when Charlie found them.\n\nKitty had been happy when Charlie had thought to invite Larry and Evelyn that evening.\n\nThey’d picked them up on the way to Ned’s. Evelyn had sat behind Kitty and as the men talked, their eyes met in the rearview mirror.\n\nKitty watched Evelyn when they got to the bar. They sat at a booth in the corner. Evelyn’s eyes darted about as she sat smoking a cigarette. Uncomfortable.\n\nTheir eyes met again when Evelyn sipped her highball.\n\nThe alcohol seemed to relax her. Her full, red lips smiled at Kitty.\n\nHer eyes seemed darker, like two sapphires.\n\nThe music pulled them to the dance floor, and they danced with their rightful spouses.\n\nCharlie was a good dancer. He’d always loved taking her dancing, from the time they’d first started dating.\n\nShe looked over Charlie’s shoulder when he turned her about and caught sight of Larry with his arms about Evelyn.\n\nEvelyn’s eyes were absent as her husband twirled her, as if she were a million miles away.\n\nKitty was certain Evelyn did not like dancing.\n\nThere was another round of highballs and then they began scrambling partners. Larry danced with Kitty and Charlie danced with Evelyn.\n\nLarry was not as graceful as Charlie. He was a bit careless and clumsy. His hand rested a little too low on Kitty’s back and he held her a bit too tightly.\n\nKitty could feel her cheeks blossom red.\n\nShe caught sight of Evelyn dancing with Charlie. She was laughing at something he’d said, but her eyes had wandered to Kitty and Larry dancing.\n\nTheir eyes met.\n\nShe was watching Kitty.\n\nKitty felt embarrassed.\n\nShe asked Larry if they could stop, complaining that her feet hurt. He let her go and took up with a redheaded woman.\n\nKitty ordered another highball and sat at the booth, watching Charlie spin Evelyn about.\n\nEvelyn did not seem to care much that her husband was dancing with the redhead. She didn’t glance in his direction. She seemed to simply ignore his presence all together.\n\nKitty watched Evelyn lean into Charlie and say something and he playfully pouted before releasing her.\n\nHe followed Evelyn back to the table and took a sip of his highball. “Care to dance, hon?” He looked at Kitty.\n\n“No, thanks.” She waved off her husband and he went off to find another dance partner.\n\nShe noticed he chose a brunette who sat next to a rather bored looking man. She looked eager to dance and her face lit up when Charlie asked.\n\nEvelyn had taken the seat next to her. She lit a cigarette. Sweat glistened on her forehead, which she wiped daintily at with a napkin. She drank back the rest of her highball as if it were water. “Care to get out of here for a bit of fresh air?” She asked finally, leaning over so that Kitty could smell her perfume and the smoke of her cigarette.\n\nIt was intoxicating.\n\n“Yes.” Kitty knew that neither Charlie nor Larry would miss them if they were to slip out for a bit.\n\nEvelyn put out her cigarette and gathered up her purse. Kitty followed her.\n\nThey went out a side door and found themselves walking unsteadily on their heels over gravel.\n\nKitty nearly fell but Evelyn grabbed for her, holding her up. There was a shock at the accidental nearness and then they were laughing, Evelyn clasping her close to her so they could balance together.\n\nThey made it to the asphalt, arms still linked, and stood near Charlie’s Buick. “God, I hate dancing.” Evelyn was laughing, their arms came undone. She reached into her purse. “Care for a cigarette?” She offered.\n\n“Thank you.” She took one from Evelyn’s golden cigarette case and placed it between her lips. Evelyn did the same and then extracted her matching lighter.\n\nThe light flickered, illuminating their features. Evelyn’s lipstick was a bit smeared, but the rest of her was perfectly in place. Her face hardly betrayed a thing as she leaned towards Kitty, reaching up, fingers briefly brushing Kitty’s cheek, as she shielded the lighter from the gentle evening breeze.\n\nKitty’s cigarette caught and she immediately missed the nearness of Evelyn when she straightened to light her own cigarette.\n\n“It’s not fair.” Evelyn was saying.\n\n“What’s not?” Kitty asked as a cloud of smoke escaped from her lips.\n\n“I would have asked you to dance but we’re both women.” Evelyn’s lip turned up a bit, as if in an amused smile. “Larry’s an awful dancer but he’ll get any gal in there pressed up against him.”\n\nKitty felt her cheeks go red again.\n\nEvelyn laughed darkly. “It’s all right. You can agree with me about his dancing. Your husband’s a really wonderful dancer though.”\n\nIt was more than she had said at the dinner party before, and Kitty felt as if she didn’t know how to respond to her.\n\nShe hardly knew her and yet she liked her so terribly much.\n\nShe liked the way Evelyn casually leaned against the side of Charlie’s car. Bringing the cigarette to her lips like a movie star might.\n\nShe turned to look at Kitty.\n\nKitty looked at her in return.\n\n“You’re awfully pretty, you know.” Evelyn said. There wasn’t any shyness in the statement.\n\nKitty bowed her head, smoked, looked off away at the interstate just over the hill.\n\nThey could hear the music pouring out from the bar. A car roared to a stop in the parking lot. Car doors opened, slammed shut, laughter emanated about them.\n\n“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Evelyn exhaled roughly and smashed out the butt of her cigarette beneath her heel.\n\n“You didn’t.” Kitty insisted rather too loudly.\n\nEvelyn was looking at her again with her pale eyes. Wide and smiling.\n\nKitty looked about them.\n\nThe parking lot was empty just then.\n\nThere were no overhead lights.\n\nThey were in darkness.\n\nKitty put out her cigarette beneath her heel and turned to look at Evelyn. “We should…” but neither moved.\n\nKitty stepped closer to where Evelyn was leaning against the car. Evelyn smiled, their eyes locking. Kitty moved a little and Evelyn met her. The kiss was tentative, lips ghosting over lips. Kitty sighed and Evelyn’s arm snaked about her, held her close and gave over to the kiss.\n\nThe bar door opened somewhere behind them - drunken laughter spilling out into the night around them.\n\nThey stepped apart from one another.\n\nIn the dim light Kitty could tell that Evelyn’s lipstick was smeared and knew hers would be as well.\n\n“Perhaps we should be getting back inside.” Evelyn pulled out a compact and used the little light there was to smooth out her lips again.\n\nShe clasped Kitty’s chin between her fingers and carefully wiped at her lips and then reapplied her own lipstick to Kitty’s lips.\n\n“Charlie won’t even notice.” She patted Kitty’s cheek and then dropped the lipstick back into her purse. She linked her arm through Kitty’s and clasped at her as they moved back towards Ned’s.\n\nKitty didn’t want to go back inside. Her head still reeling.\n\nHad it even happened? Had she imagined it?\n\n“Can we…” she stopped before they could walk inside the bar.\n\n“I certainly hope so.” Evelyn winked and then was pulling her back inside and when Charlie seemed to notice they had returned Kitty heard Evelyn say that they’d been freshening up in the little girl’s room.\n\nEvelyn took up dancing with her husband as if nothing had just happened and Kitty resented the way he was holding her. So close. When only moments before she had been…\n\n“Are you all right, hon?” Charlie had taken her by the arm. She had forgotten how readable she could be.\n\n“Yes, yes. I guess I’m just not in the mood for dancing tonight.”\n\n“Ah, honey. One more song and we’ll go.” He promised, kissing her on the cheek.\n\nBut she begged him off and he found a blonde woman to dance with.\n\nShe sat at the booth drinking back another highball. Her eyes fixed on Evelyn, who looked at her whenever Larry’s back was to Kitty.\n\nCharlie drove them carefully home.\n\nEvelyn sat behind her as she had before and when Kitty glanced in the rearview mirror their eyes collided again.\n\nIt wasn’t fair when they dropped them off at their house and Charlie pulled out of the driveway and Kitty watched Larry put his arm about Evelyn as they walked back up the path to their home. It wasn’t fair when Charlie, warm and happy from a night of dancing, wanted to take her to bed.\n\nIt wasn’t fair that a whole weekend stretched out with no word from Evelyn. As if she didn’t even exist.\n\nIt was only in her dreams that the image of it, the feel of it, returned to her, and she’d wake up hot and aroused.\n\nIt was Monday, as she cleaned up the kitchen after having made the children breakfast and sent them off to school, that she heard the phone ringing.\n\n“Would you care to come over for some coffee?” The voice on the other end was real.\n\nEvelyn was real.\n\nKitty dressed and pressed perfume to her pulse points and made sure that her hair was neatly curled about her face. She walked down the street, past the several houses that separated them.\n\nThe door opened before she could knock and Evelyn stood in her peignoir and nothing else, cigarette in hand, smoke curling from her lips. “Well, aren’t you a picture?” She mused and then closed the door behind them and pressed Kitty against it.\n\nTheir lips met again. Hungry.\n\nAnd there was nothing to stop them this time." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: GEOMETRIC\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1633\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a reluctant party-goer who ends up being the star of the show." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Dear my faithful readers,\nHey. It’s Avril here. My next album, entitled Cinderella’s Nightmares, is coming out by next week (hopefully!) if I have time to get to the studio, and I have time to find a decent ending to the song I don’t drink (sneak peek link in the comments section). Apparently, there is some party being thrown in my honour tonight. My friends said something about the media being there to try and find out who I am, but I think that won’t be happening, because it’s a college party. And they will be too drunk to understand anything. Personally, I think this is voodoo, because surely, I’m not going to be the only student from this school not showing up tonight. It says in my bio, sandwiched right in between ‘who you’d least expect’ and ‘always with my besties’: I HATE PARTIES OF ANY SORT. Anyway, GEOMETRIC just wasn’t that good, so I don’t see what everyone is freaking out about. I- oop. My friend just showed up, and if I’m gonna keep this a secret, I’m gonna have to sing off. See what I did there? Sing-sign? No? Okay, well, I guess that’s why I’m a musician and not a stand up comedian. See you all soon!\nAvril ♡.\nI slammed my computer shut and spun around to face the door in my office chair just as Anna walked in. She was wearing a tiny pair black shorts, and a skin tight neon pink cami tank top with her blond hair cascading down her back. A frown spread wider and wider across her face as she looked me up and down. Not like I’m gonna blame her, though. The party of the year is being thrown in an hour, and I’m in a pair of gray sweatpants, and a beige cropped sweater. So not party attire. Because, as I hated stating to her over text around a million times in the past five minutes over text, I AM NOT GOING. Anna put a hand on her hip and walked over to my closet. I made a move to stop her, but I was too late. And now, the dress I had worn on the cover of the album was in her arms, and she was staring at it wide-eyed. \n“OMG, Lees, this is insane! Wasn’t April or Avril or whatever her name is an album called GEOMETRIC?! This is like, the definition of that title. And if you wore a silver belt and your colorful circle/square/triangle earrings you could BE the cover!” I gave her a confused look. It already was the album cover. I figured it was just because she was giving me the chance to tell her, but I didn’t want to confess that I already was in the picture. So instead, I crossed my arms and settled for,\n“Nope. I’m not going. Plus, you don’t even know the singers name!Do you follow her? PROBABLY NOT! So you should be with me on this one! Why are you going?” For once in my life, I was glad about our varying music tastes and the fact that Anna was a rap goddess and didn’t pay attention to good music. Because if she did, I would be screwed, and she would, if anything, be the first person to expose me. \n“Darling, I’m going for the social points.” She paused, and I could tell she was going to keep something out, but a deep blush crept across her face, and I therefore knew, so she was forced to finish. “And for Maria.” I laughed, and slapped her arm lightly. Maria was the hostess, Mikayla’s, sister, and Anna’s girlfriend. We were the two most-known ‘out’ girls at our school, but because me and Anna were such good friends, no one ever assumed that we would be together. \nI tried to talk myself out of it. I knew the party was a horrible idea, even if I decided to wear the dress. But I knew what no matter what, if I dressed up, I would be so screwed. It was custom made, and therefore it fit me exactly like the one in the photo. But eventually, because she was a terrible influence, Anna had me in the dress. She was pumping good pop music (my weakness!) through the speakers my parents had let my install the month before. Then, we were experimenting with bright makeup options until we settled with purple eyeshadow that I swear goes half way up to my eyebrow, heavy on the mascara and a simple glossy lip. After some prodding (and threats of hacking my playlist and changing everything to eminem songs), Anna had my hair in a loose fishtail braid. Then before you could say ‘staedtler hb2 pencil’ seven times fast, and even before I knew it, we were covered from head to toe in glitter ad on Mikayla’s porch. \nShe answered the door before we knocked, and she was in pretty rough shape. Wearing solely a long plunge neck tank top with her brown hair messed up and a red solo cup in hand, I barely noticed her as the same Mikayla from school as she tried to explain that the party had been going for three days before we had got here. And considering I was basically letting loose that I was Avril, I let it go and decided that it was probably a good thing that everyone was so drunk. At least it would take a very dramatic gesture to convince everyone. Anna shot me a shocked look as she talked to Mikayla about something, me completely tuning everything out and smiling to pretend I was paying attention, and then we got cold so Mikayla led us inside and left us for a drunk fest with several guys. The second we entered, I smelt food. Fried food. McDonalds. Anna left me after waving and headed through the crowd to try and find Maria. So much for faithful friends. I tried to find an empty corner to hide in, but in this packed room, no such luck. People were talking and laughing, screaming and flirting, and signing off-key were in every nook and cranny. The lights were off, but because of the glow set off by the disko karaoke machine, I was still able to see several couples making out on a table. I shuddered and looked in a different direction, and tried to focus on the (non-Avril) music blaring through the sound system and tried to find a familiar face. Eventually I found one.\nJessica. AKA my girlfriend. Onstage. Now. Looking directly at me with a smile on her face, the only sober person besides me and Anna left in the room. I tried to beg her with my eyes to keep quiet, but no such luck. She picked up the microphone as the intro to her song of choice started playing. Jessi cannot sing. And she knows that I know this. But she also knows that when it comes to my friends, I follow the ‘if you go down, then I’ll go down with you’ principle very closely. Off-key but not at all embarrassed, Jessica began to sign along, and she earned many eyes. I heard someone vaguely mention how sexist, ‘you’re cute enough to (bleep) with me tonight’ is, but I was too busy trying to not join in. She had hit my weak spot. A new rap/pop song that most people don’t know. However, by the time the refrain came around, I had pushed myself on top of a table and was singing along. She sent me a grateful look, and everyone else in the room was a cross between confused, excited, and wanting an autograph. Jessica grinned as I stole the microphone from her, and I added my own original part. She flipped her brown-highlighted-blond hair over her shoulder with me and we started dancing along with the beat, most people in the audience joining in with us. She was wearing frayed tight jean shorts and a thin over-the-shoulder white tee shirt that revealed a black lace bra. After the song ended, she nudged my shoulder and I waited silently for the room to grow quiet before talking.\n“My name is Lisa. I love chocolate ice cream, I am who you’d least expect, I HATE PARTIES, and I’m always with my besties. But you all know me more as Avril. I have been singing for three years now, but my music only went viral last year, with my starter album, GEOMETRIC. This week, Cinderella’s Nightmares should be coming out, with the first song being I don’t drink.” I paused, noticing that Jesse had left the stage and was standing beside Anna. Now, I had no idea what else to say, so I finished with, “If any of you hit on me or try to flirt or ask me out or anything, the answer is no. I already have my beautiful girlfriend Jessica over here.” With that, I dropped the mic and exited the stage, falling into Jessi and Anna’s waiting arms. Both were very excited, and Anna even apologized for bashing my music earlier and told me she would start listening. Jessica said she kinda guessed it was me all along, and Maria, who had showed up, said she thought she had recognized my dress. Mikayla passed out on the couch because she was too drunk. Then, a boy that I knew stumbled over to us, slurring his words as he asked, \n“You want a drink?” In response, I took the solo cup from his hand and dumped it on his face, handed the cup back, grabbed all my personal belongings and my friends before turning to the door.\n“Avril is OUT.” I yelled before slamming the door behind me." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Prom Queen\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1040\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who’s nervous to attend a party - their first in a long time." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Autumn Dennis hated parties. It wasn't the darkness, or the flashing lights, or even the noise. It was the overwhelming amount of people that got her.\nBut when her longtime crush, Luke Kent, asked her to prom, she decided that she would give it a try. After all, it had been three years since she had gone to any sort of party, so she was overdue. It was time for a change. And who knows? Maybe she'd even have a fun time.\nBut only time would tell.\nAs Autumn got ready, her hands shook. What if she didn't like prom? What if this was all a bad idea? Should she even go?\nBut it was too late to turn back now.\nHer mum, Milly, helped her slip her blood-red open back evening gown over Autumn's head, then stood back with her hands on her hips. \"There,\" Milly said with a satisfied smile on her face. \"Now come over here and I'll do your hair and makeup. I have some ideas that would look amazing with your dress.\" She steered Autumn over to her dressing table, where a brush and some makeup were already laid out.\nHalf an hour later, Autumn looked into the mirror. Her mum had done a really good job, both with the hair and the makeup. Autumn was so pretty, she almost didn't recognise herself. \"Wow, Mum!\" She looked hugely impressed, which made her mother smile with pride. \"That's super good! Oh my gosh, I love it! Thank you so, so much!\"\nHer mum had done Autumn's dishwater-blonde hair in two Dutch braids, then wound them around her head like a braid crown, leaving a few strands loose. Then she had put some hairspray on her daughter's braid crown so bits of hair wouldn't come undone if they weren't supposed to.\nMilly had started the makeup application with some black mascara. Then she had put some bronze and gold eye shadow on Autumn's eyelids to contrast the blood-red dress. Next came the black eyeliner to make Autumn's eyes seem timeless and romantic.\nFinally, she added all of the face makeup. Foundation came first, spread well. Next a light dusting of cherry-blossom blush was added, to make Autumn's cheeks even rosier than usual. Then a thin layer of concealer, and, the final touch, some deep scarlet lipstick to match Autumn's dress.\nWhen Luke's car pulled up to the Dennis' family home, he came up and knocked on the door. \"Hi, Mrs. Dennis,\" he said. \"I'll have Autumn home before midnight, don't worry.\" Milly laughed. \"Oh, I'm not worried. As long as my little girl has a good time and comes home smiling, I'm happy!\" Autumn kissed her mother on the cheek and said, \"Love you!\" She grabbed her gold clutch that matched her golden earrings and put her necessities in it quickly. \"See you later! Bye!\"\n\"Bye, sweetheart!\" Her mum waved from the open door as Luke and Autumn drove away in his red convertible. \"Have fun!\"\nLuke helped Autumn out of the car when arriving at prom, like a proper gentleman should. Her old-fashioned British grandma, Janice, would have approved. \"Thanks,\" Autumn said, untangling her dress from the car door.\n\"No problem.\" Luke flashed her a smile, and Autumn felt her heart slowly melting. This might not be so bad, she thought. \"Well. Let's face the music,\" she said out-loud to Luke. He grinned. \"You betcha.\" He held out his hand, and Autumn took it.\nThere were butterflies in her stomach, from both holding hands with Luke and the fact that she was going to a party for the first time in three years. She calmed herself down. \"You're okay,\" she muttered to herself. \"Everything will be fine.\"\nAutumn and Luke walked up the steps to the entrance of their school, Beech Glen High School. Autumn swore Luke could hear her heart pounding, because she sure could. She wiped the sweat off her brow. Why was a party making her so nervous?\nLuke held the door for her, and they both strolled into the main hallway of the school.\nIt was decorated for prom night, with colourful streamers and balloons everywhere. \"Wow,\" Autumn said. \"The party-planning committee really went all out.\" Luke chuckled. \"Yeah. It's a bit crazy, honestly.\"\n\"Yeah, a bit,\" Autumn agreed. \"But I'm glad I came.\"\nLuke looked into her excited brown eyes. \"Me too, Autumn.\"\nThe snack bar was where Autumn was laying low with her loyal friend, Kelsea, when Luke came over and asked her to dance. \"Sure,\" Autumn said. \"Kels, I'll be back in a minute.\"\nKelsea shook her head. \"Oh, don't worry about me. Go have fun, girl!\" She pushed Autumn onto the dance floor.\nThe band was playing a slow, dreamy song that sounded like a waltz, but Autumn couldn't tell.\nLuke, however, decided that it was a waltz, because he took Autumn's waist and clasped her hand tighter than was strictly necessary. She leaned in slightly. \"You know, I feel good about coming now,\" she whispered to him, not wanting anyone else to hear them. \"This is kinda awesome.\" He laughed quietly. \"Yeah? I'm glad you're having a good time.\"\nAfter the surprisingly magical waltz the two shared, Autumn felt very confident. She could stay. She could have fun.\nWalking back to Kelsea, she felt like a brand-new person. Kels raised her eyebrows. \"Well?\" she asked. \"Did you have fun?\"\nAutumn hugged her with happiness. \"Oh my god, Kels, it was amazing!\" Her eyes sparkled. Kelsea laughed with happy tears in her sapphire eyes. \"You've grown as a person, A. I'm proud.\"\nShe hugged Autumn back, then stood back, wiping her wet face.\nWhen Autumn went home in Luke's car, they took a little bit longer. He pulled up into Autumn's driveway, but didn't keep the ignition on. \"Hey, Autumn,\" he said suddenly. \"I'm glad you came with me to prom.\"\n\"I'm glad I went,\" Autumn replied. \"It was really fun.\"\nHe grinned, then leaned in towards her. Before she knew it, he was kissing her on the cheek. He pulled away. \"Goodnight, Autumn.\"\n\"Um...night,\" she stammered. \"See you tomorrow.\" She got out of the car and walked up to her house, lights shining out of the windows." } ]
[ { "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: Wonderful Company\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2130\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who’s nervous to attend a party - their first in a long time." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Wonderful Company\n\nIt’s 9 pm, and I’m ready to cry. My best friend, Christopher, has decided that the two of us should go to the fabulous party a few blocks away. Despite my protests, Chris says social interaction is healthy for me, even if it’s once in a while. Even my mother agrees, saying, ‘Go on, lass. Parties are fun if you behave correctly. No drinking and your curfew is quarter to twelve, alright?’ Which means I’m trapped into going.\n\nChristopher jumps up and down with excitement, shaking my shoulders as we approach Lara Tian’s house.\n“This is going to be fun, Lia,”\n“What if it isn’t?”\n“Don’t be a sourpuss, Ophelia,” He crosses his arms, frowning. “We know all the people who are here, and it’s a chance for you to find the love of your life,” \n“Oh, please. We’re seventeen, Chris. No one’s going to find their soulmate at a venue with strobe lights and terrible music. We’re not living in a movie,”\n“You never know, Lia.” Christopher winks and drags me inside. I’m instantly overcome with cheering, laughing and the booming rhythm of the music.\n“Hi, Opheliaaa,” A girl staggers over to me, grinning madly.\n“Hello, Chloe. You’re not drunk, are you?”\n“Me?” She asks, her voice rising a few octaves higher. “Of course not! Daddy wouldn’t want that, and I would never displease him. Anyway, toodles!” She wanders off, wobbling on her stilettos. \n“Bye?” I stutter as Chris pulls me into the mob of people surrounding a table full of plastic cups.\n“Ophelia! You came,” My friend Julia cries, and the others cheer.\n“Wait, Jules, I didn’t know you were coming,”\n“Ophelia,” she gives me a disapproving look, “you should know me better by now. I always go to parties,”\n“That’s true,” I nod. An arm slings over my shoulder, and I turn to see Annie, who’s wearing a bright shade of pink lipstick.\n“Hi, girly! Did you ever notice that Ophelia is such a pretty name? I wish my name was Ophelia,” She says in a singsong voice.\n“Isn’t Ophelia a song?” Nigel pipes up, and I notice he’s sitting on the table, the hostess of the party in his lap.\n“Oh, Ophelia. You've been on my mind girl like a drug. Oh, Ophelia. Heaven help a fool who falls in love,” Lara sings out of tune, and I chuckle.\n“You get it, Lara,” I joke, and Chris bumps his shoulder into mine.\n“See?” he whispers into my ear, “parties can be fun.” I watch him take Julia’s hand, and they disappear onto the dance floor. I look back to the rest of my friends but find Nigel kissing Lara intently, and Annie chatting to another girl, so I decide to roam around the party. I make up my mind to socialise, and decide it’s time to come out of “Ophelia’s little bubble”.\n\nAs soon as I decide to open up a little more, I regret it straight away. A guy is throwing up into a rubbish bag, while a girl is singing the worst rendition of Celine Dion’s ‘My Heart Will Go On’, and no one is available to talk. I sigh, walking out to the balcony, where it’s quieter, and sit in one of the hanging chairs.\n“Hello,” A deep voice calls out to me, and I move my gaze from the night sky to a broad-shouldered boy, sitting in the seat next to me.\n“Oh, hi. I didn’t see you there,”\n“That’s okay. Are you escaping the chaos in there?” He points his thumb in the direction of the music.\n“Yep. My friends invited me, but they’re all preoccupied at the moment,” I fiddle with the hem of my skirt and the boy nods.\n“I know what you mean. It’ll be fun, they said. Go make some friends, or get yourself a date, they said,” He rolls his eyes. \n“That last one got me,” I laugh.\n“Dexter Rogers,” The boy says, holding out his hand for me to shake. I grip it firmly and shake it. “Nice grip you got there,” He comments, and I blush.\n“My mum always says I’m too rough to be a girl,” I confess, and Dexter smirks.\n“My dad says I’m too soft to be a boy. Stereotypes, am I right?”\n“Yeah. I’m Ophelia, by the way. Ophelia Silvera,”\n“Ophelia. That’s a nice name,”\n“Thanks,” I smile.\n“Isn’t that the name of a song?” Dexter asks, and I chuckle.\n“Yes, it is. If you want, you can find my friend Lara, and she’ll sing it to you perfectly,”\n“Why do I doubt that?” Dexter laughs, and I give him a coy smile.\n“Your eardrums will be blessed afterwards,” \n“I look forward to it,” he pauses for a moment. “Not to sound sketchy or anything, but do you want to go on a walk around the block with me?” He asks, and I pull out my phone, checking the time.\n“We’ll come back in half an hour. I need to make sure my friends don’t get themselves killed,”\n“Fair enough. Shall we?” He holds out his arm, and I take it, and he guides me through the crowd of dancers and singers.\n\n~\n\n“So, are you in Mr Cartville’s class?” Dexter asks me as we stroll down the quiet street, leaving the party behind.\n“Nope, I’m in Ms Wright’s,”\n“Ah, that would explain why I haven’t seen you very often. It would be hard not to notice a pretty girl like you,” He says, and I feel my lack of social interaction coming back to bite me. Is he flirting with me?\n“Aw, you think so?” I grin, and he nods. “Which class are you in?” I ask in return.\n“Mrs Brambleton’s class. It’s always chaotic,”\n“Come join my class,” I offer jokingly, “11P4 is a very chill class, except for Christopher,”\n“I know Christopher,” Dexter realises, and I beam.\n“He’s great, isn’t he?”\n“I’ve never met a guy more loyal to his friends,”\n“Couldn’t have said it better,” I come to a stop, looking at the deserted playground. “What are your thoughts on monkey bars, Dexter?”\n“Neutral. If they’re too low, there’s no point in me trying, my feet will touch the ground. If they’re really high, I might break my noodle arms,” He admits, and I stare at his arms, which are anything but noodles.\n“Alright then. Climb on,” I hoist myself through the gaps between the bars and sit comfortably on the top of the monkey bars. “Your turn,”\n“How did you even get up there that quickly?” Dexter gasps, and I smile.\n“Years of practice, thanks to gymnastics,”\n“That’s exciting. I might not be able to get up,”\n“Come on, I believe in you,” I tease, and he pulls himself up, wrapping his legs around the bars successfully.\n“Oh, that actually wasn’t too hard,” He adds as we both look at each other, then at the stars. For a little while, we sit and talk. Expressing our thoughts on school, the future, and dating lives.\n“My friends are out there, getting girlfriends like it’s easy, and I’m still single,” Dexter reveals, and I can’t help but relate.\n“Jules and Chris are most definitely a thing, no matter how hard they try to hide it. The same goes for Nigel and Lara. They were literally hooking up when I arrived. Annie is a special case, she doesn’t date, but everyone loves her all the same,”\n“So you don’t have a special someone? If I’m allowed to ask,” He inquires softly.\n“Of course you can ask, but goodness no. Who would want to date me when I don’t bring anything to the table?”\n“I’m sure you do,” Dexter reassures me, but I laugh humourlessly.\n“Not compared to my friends,” I confess, and Dexter shuffles a little bit closer to me, placing his hand on top of mine.\n“Well, maybe you don’t need to compare yourself to your friends. You’re fine just the way you are,” He tells me, and I don’t say anything. Maybe he’s right.\n“We should probably head back now,” I say, changing the subject. Dexter’s face looks the tiniest bit crestfallen, but he jumps off the monkey bars swiftly.\n“Better go take care of our crazy friends, huh?” He chuckles, and I smile.\n“Yeah, I suppose so. It’s nice talking to you, though,”\n“You’re wonderful company, Ophelia Silvera,” Dexter compliments, and I blush.\n“As are you, Dexter Rogers.” I reply, and we both head back to the party.\n\n~\n\n“Opheliaaaa,” Annie greets me loudly when I re-enter the house. “Where have you been, sweetheart? You missed Christopher confessing to Jules about his undying love to her,”\n“I’m sure he did. Those two have been keeping their feelings in the dark for a long time,”\n“What about you? Did you find anyone?” Annie asks while reapplying her lipstick. I look over to Dexter, whose hair is being ruffled by his friends as they all laugh together. I realise how hard my heart is beating when I see him smile.\n“No, I don’t think so,”\n“You don’t think so? Hun, you can’t lie to me. Who is it?” She smiles, linking her arm with mine.\n“I- He… His name is Dexter,”\n“Ooh, Dexter Rogers? Now that is a fine choice, Lia. He’s a real hottie, isn’t he? Silent and always brooding. How charming,”\n“Well, I don’t like him because of his looks. He’s really nice to me, Annie,”\n“Since when have you two been so cosy with each other?”\n“Uh, just tonight. I’ve seen him around in school, but that’s all,”\n“Aww, and to think you were almost too nervous to come tonight. Aren’t you glad you did?” \nAt that moment, Dexter’s eyes glance over to me, and he smiles widely before he gets pulled away by his group of friends.\n“Yeah, I am. Thanks, Annie,”\n“Any time, my girl. Go after him, you might not get another chance,”\n“I will. Love you, Annie.”\n“There’s the Ophelia I know, coming out of her shell. Oh, and Lia?”\n“Yes?”\n“Christopher is looking for you,”\n“Okay, thanks.”\n\n“Ophelia!” Christopher cries, when I spot him, which isn’t too hard. He’s the life of the party. “You weren’t there, but I told Jules how I feel about her,”\n“I heard. You announced your undying love, is that right?”\n“It was beautiful, Lia. She said she’ll be my girlfriend,”\n“Aww, Chris. That’s so sweet!”\n“Now, before you avoid the subject. Where have you been all night, missy?”\n“I was hanging out with someone,” \n“Someone?” Christopher gives me a look, and I playfully shove his arm.\n“It’s not like that,”\n“Are you sure, Lia?” My best friend asks, and I see Dexter looking my way again. When our eyes meet, he sticks out his tongue, grinning. I turn back to Christopher.\n“No, I’m not sure. Can you like someone after one night of talking?”\n“Depends what they’re like,”\n“You know who he is, Chris,” I smile, and he puts his thinking face on.\n“Hmm, okay. Is it Will?”\n“Nope,”\n“The other Christopher?”\n“No, guess again.\"\n“Johnny?”\n“Wrong again.\"\n“Dexter?”\n“I- yeah,” I blush furiously, and Chris shakes my shoulders.\n“Dexter Rogers? Woah, go Lia!” He cheers, spinning me around. “Dexter is a great guy. Man, he’s so cool. Very loyal to the people he’s close with,”\n“Funny,” I laugh, “he said the same thing about you,”\n“He did? Wow, that’s nice of him,” Chris grins. “Are you going to ask him out?”\n“Isn’t it a bit too soon?”\n“It’s never too soon when it’s the love of your life,”\n“Chris!” I whine, “he’s not the love of my life!”\n“But you have to admit, you like him,”\n“Yes, I do. Happy?”\n“Very.” A voice interrupts, and I whirl around, facing Dexter.\n“Oh, hi,” I squeak, turning back to glare at Chris, but he’s already gone.\n“So, Ophelia likes me, huh?”\n“So what if I do?” I ask, daringly, and Dexter shrugs.\n“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she should consider telling the man in question. Just a thought,”\n“You’re very smooth, Mr Rogers,”\n“Am I? I thought you were the one smooth one, scaling up the monkey bars like that,”\n“Oh, shush,” I laugh, and Dexter smiles.\n“What do you say, Ophelia? Would you like to give me a shot?”\n“Does it mean I get to race you on the monkey bars, later?”\n“Perhaps,”\n“Does it mean I get to see you during school?”\n“It might,”\n“Does it mean I get to kiss you right now?”\n“It could-”\n Before he can say anything else, I press my lips onto Dexter’s, despite being surrounded by people. \n“You’re wonderful company, Ophelia Silvera,” Dexter reminds me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.\n“As are you, Dexter Rogers.” I wink, before kissing him 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: Fire on Match Street: Who Killed Adams?\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1172\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a party that has gone horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Well, there it was. The large fire that was currently burning my house down in the middle of a thunderstorm, ironic. I thought Chelsea Adams meant figuratively when she screamed that she was on fire, but when the curtain was set ablaze, we knew something was up. Can’t believe she actually died with a lampshade on her head. Guess she found her perfect match because the lampshade was decorated with lots of nail polish and once she stumbled into Smoky Steve, who was in the middle of lighting up his fifteenth cigarette in the backyard, I guess that was that. I was just in the middle of not hearing her as she yelled over the loudspeakers before she danced off somewhere else. Talk about a killer party. But there’s something that’s scratching at my skin. How did she dance all the way across the house, to Smoky Steve’s lighter, just to run back in the living room and have time to scream out for help? It was too fast, she couldn’t have been all the way over there, it’s just not possible.\nSeeing Chelsea’s covered body being rolled out was the last straw. If something happened behind the scenes to cause this, I will figure it out.\nSo, as the few people, that were at the party, attempted to leave the area, drenched in rain, I called out to them, leading them to my guest house and locking the door quickly. Turning to the three people that could’ve done it, I see a mix of nonchalant and stressed expressions, and the tension in the room only heightened when I opened my mouth.\n“Someone in this room killed Adams,” Angel, Chelsea’s cousin, was the first to crack as she sunk to the floor, already begging for mercy before anyone was picked out.\n“I didn’t mean it, I swear!” Lightning crackled and shook the windows as she started to sob out what sounded like a confession.\n“Wait Angel, what are you talking about? I did it!” A concerned Cole, Chelsea’s boyfriend, helped Angel up as he… also confessed? What’s going on?\n“Wha- no, it was me!” Last but not least, Smoky Steve broke his calm, cigarette-scented composure as he joined Cole in comforting Angel.\n“Okay, just what is going on here? We’re not leaving till this is all figured out,” I sternly announced as the three suspects go to the small couch in the middle of the room. \n“Two weeks ago… we made a plan to kill Chelsea,” Angel sobbed out as she cried into her hands. Well, I was not expecting that at all. A plan why? Who would feel the need or want to kill Chelsea? Sure, she could talk your head off, but why would someone want to burn hers off? Especially three of the closest people in her life? \nAngel may have been Chelsea’s cousin, but they were as close as sisters, and don’t get me wrong, she’s very kind, but someone who has to cheat to fill out the name line can’t just fully plan out a murder. Cole and Chelsea were in a three-year-long relationship and seemed very much in love, but he’s smart enough to be the barons behind this operation. And Smoky Steve was just… Smoky Steve. He was calm, cool, collected, and coughing up cigarette ash half of the time. But he is a very good listener, and I think Chelsea came to him for advice multiple times while she was alive. I’m not sure about how smart he is, but I think a third of his brain in pure smoke at this point. \nI motioned for someone to continue since Angel melted into a puddle of tears, and we would all drown in it if I asked her to keep talking about this so-called plan.\n“Chelsea’s mom paid us to kill her. They were fighting almost every day and Chelsea said that she planned to move out with the portion of the money she got from her dad when he died. Her mom seemed so… evil. When she talked about her, it wasn’t even like Chelsea was her daughter just someone she needed to get rid of. Her mom wanted the money all for herself. So… she threatened our families’ lives and made us pick. Sara… you know I can’t lose my mom. You know how rich Mrs. Adams is. She has people everywhere. Watching us,” Cole’s voice cracked harder than the thunder outside as he explained everything. I know that it had to be very hard to choose between his mom and the girl he loved. That’s something you don’t get over, or spend years trying to.\n“But why you guys?” I was genuinely curious. If she had men that were targeting them, why didn’t she just have them do the job?\n“We were closer than anyone else. Had more chances to... You know,” Smokey Steve’s eyes darkened as he jumped into the conversation, looking very rigid as he leaned forward on the edge of the couch. \n“And now that you know, you’re most likely gonna be watched too from now on … She’s probably assumed that everyone here knows what’s up. Our friend group isn’t big,” I nodded in agreement. Steve is right. If she’s ruthless enough to send people to kill her own daughter, what’s one more person to kill to protect herself? We have to save ourselves now. It was already too late for Chelsea.\n“We’ll catch her. Make her confess,” I paced the room, hearing my boots squish on the wet carpet. The rain was coming down harder than ever, and we were already running out of time. Who knows, Mrs. Adams could have already sent her men here to take us out before anyone had the idea to turn her in. I think I got something, but it’s a long shot. She’s smart and evil, and we’re… us. \n“I think I got it… We go over to her house, say we want to check on her and how she’s doing. Tell her how concerned and sad we are about Chelsea’s death. That’s how we get in. And, as for the confession, that’s where you guys come in. We don’t know who she’ll choose so all of you will have to wear mics. She’ll talk to you guys, drop her act, and maybe even ask how it went. Get her to talk about every detail,” The three friends looked at me like I was crazy, but what other choice do we have? We have to fight fire with fire, so with that, we walked out of the guest house, feeling eyes on us already. We had less time than I thought, and as we got into Cole’s car and drove off of Match street, that was confirmed. A large, black van was following us all the way to Mrs. Adams’ house. It was time and whether we were ready or not, it was now or nothing.\nI never knew an innocent party could go up in smoke like 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: The anti-mirror from Stalin's secret bedroom\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2939\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where a character is experiencing parallel realities." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The anti-mirror from Stalin's secret bedroom\n The wrought-iron gates of the British Embassy in Moscow opened slowly and quietly, giving way to the four-wheeled \"monster\" - ZIL KARATEL Ansyr (ZIL PUNISHER Anti-Gradient) - belonging to Russian special armed forces. The military vehicle turned right, towards the New Arbat, going parallel to the bank of the Moscow River. Inside it, which looked like a spaceship, not as a land vehicle, were four people.\n In the front seat, to the right of the driver (a lieutenant- major dressed in the uniform of special troops), was a plainclothes colonel, one of the deputy commanders of the High Dignity Protection Division in the Russian capital.\n Jonathan was sitting in the place behind the Russian colonel and to his left was another lieutenant-major, also in civilian clothes. On the liquid crystal displays on the backs of the chairs in front of them, the two could see a 360-degree panoramic view of the area around them. The images were transmitted in real time by an \"invisible\" drone, located a few tens of meters above. \n When they reached Kutuzov Boulevard, they turned right, crossing the river, and headed for the Kuntsevo District. On a path well hidden from prying eyes, the special forces vehicle slipped through the trees, albeit like the threads of a new brush, until it reached a massive gate, embedded in a monolithic perimeter fence, over four meters high, painted in camouflage colors. As the Punisher approached her, the anti-tank armored gate opened with astonishing rapidity. As he passed, Jonathan noticed with surprise that the perimeter enclosure was double.\n They entered the alley guarded by secular trees, heading for the building that loomed before them, shrouded in mystery. Jonathan hurried down from the PUNISHER and headed for the sinister building.\n The Russian colonel was walking to his right, about half a step ahead, while the young lieutenant-major, in civilian clothes, came one step behind them.\n He was right in front of the entrance to the best guarded house in the world!\n Between the double fences were camouflaged modern anti-aircraft batteries, which had replaced the 30 millimeter cannons from the 1940's to the 1950's. Even the three hundred people in the NKVD's special security forces, who provided security in the past, were had been replaced, over time, by very mobile, well-equipped, and „invisible” command groups. \n This was the secret house in which, in the last twenty years of his life, \"Daddy\" Joseph Vissarionovich Stalin was located and lived alone, haunted by his fears of betrayal and traitors, and especially of Death! This executioner of the Russian people, this cynical and venal mass murderer, was hiding behind these wooden walls even by his own family!\n Supported by his quartet of four villains: Lavrenti Beria, George Malenkov, Nikolai Bulganin and Nikita Khrushchev, in the \"good\" times of Terror he executed several thousand innocent people a day.\n Like a Nero, associated with Tigellinus and his gang, Stalin commanded from his office, which he seldom left, the massacre of his own people!\n The Russian colonel put his hand on the doorknob at the entrance to the „Near Dacha” and pressed it carefully. To everyone's surprise, the door opened easily, without any noise or blockage, a sign that it was very well maintained.\n They entered a rather large austere hall, where only two hangers were found. On the wall on the right, somewhere, around in the middle, they could still see the trace left by a former painting that had been in that place.\n Beyond the middle of the hall at the main entrance was a common door that bore no resemblance to the historical cargo it had carried for decades. It was one of the best-guarded doors in the world, and its view, in the terrible years 1940's and 1950's, filled anyone who had to cross its threshold with horror. Behind her was the official working desk of Dictator Stalin (the War Office), where he spent most of his day.\n Through a well-concealed door in the center of the wall on the left (exactly opposite the entrance to the official office), you could reach Stalin's personal Office, furnished with an armchair, a sofa, a desk, a board and a radio, received as a gift from Churchill in 1942. Finished with a semicircular wall and wide, floor-to-ceiling windows, this desk looked like, strangely, with a huge aquarium.\n On the axis of the main hall, straight ahead, a second door opened to the living room, while at its end, to the right, was a long, narrow corridor that ended on a huge, open porch, where Stalin sat for a long time. from time to time, even on cold winter days, reading books and reports, or feeding birds.\n On the right side of the corridor were two doors leading to two guest bedrooms, while on the left, near the end, was the elevator to the upper floor, built especially for the dictator's daughter, Svetlana.\n The living room was a huge room, intended for meetings with the Political Bureau of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU), where late-night dinners and major decisions were made not only for the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) but for the whole world. \n Rectangular in shape, the living room ended in a semicircular wall, with two tall, narrow windows overlooking the garden.\n The floor of the living room was covered with carpets with roses as floral patterns, in the middle of which was a huge table, in four corners, of 16 people, draped with a simple tablecloth, made of ivory damask. In addition to the side walls, there were a few round tables for 6-8 people, and some comfortable sofas for 2-3 people. Somewhere on the right, near the big table, was a Donets music combo with a radio and pickup truck. The walls were decorated with paintings depicting Vladimir Ilyich Lenin and Maxim Gorky.\n On the left wall, near the middle of the room, was a well-hidden, almost invisible door that led into a vestibule that provided access to Stalin's secret bedroom, as well as a kitchen with a traditional Russian stove that he had an oven for baking bread. The stove was attached to the wall of Stalin's secret bedroom to provide him with the heat needed to treat rheumatism and radiculitis.\n There was a bathroom between the bedroom and the official office.\n \n On the evening of Saturday, February 28, 1953, Stalin and his four favorites (Beria, Malenkov, Bulganin, and Khrushchev) were watching a movie in his Kremlin apartment. After midnight, the five of them left for „Near Dasha”, in the Moscow suburbs, in the birch forest of Kuntsevo.\n Stalin had a diabolical pleasure in keeping his ministers awake until late in the morning, in order to force them to work all day in that state of fatigue, and to \"hunt\" them for the mistakes on which he would condemn them, also, to death!\n That night, the five had fun until dawn, consuming, as usual, large amounts of alcoholic beverages. After drinking a glass of mineral water, Stalin did not feel well and signaled to his comrades that they could leave the party.\n At about six o'clock in the morning, the four ministers left for Moscow.\n Stalin ordered the commander of the guard not to be disturbed, asking him to lock the door at the entrance to the living room. He lay there on a more comfortable couch.\n It was already March 1, 1953, and all the staff in Dasha in Kuntsevo were relaxed, enjoying the extremely rare times when the dictator gave them a „free will” program.\n As time passed without anything happening, Legaciov, the commander of the guard, decided to unlock the door and check on Stalin's condition.\n There was no one in the living room... They found him in his personal bedroom, dressed only in pajama pants, falling from the couch to the floor and into hypothermia. He was conscious but stiff and could not utter a word... \n Only a sinister hiss came out of his mouth. They lifted him onto the couch and covered him with a blanket. Overwhelmed by a massive cerebral hemorrhage, Stalin suffered in solitude. It had been 15 hours since he had fallen to the floor and lay there paralyzed on the right side of his body and into hypothermia, without anyone helping him. After another 16 hours in which he was allowed to suffer on his own, a doctor was finally called. Although the official diagnosis was a concussion, doctors secretly treated him for poisoning with a poison cocktail.\n After an agony for almost five days, on March 5, 1953, around noon, he vomited blood. At 950 o'clock in the evening, with his eyes wide open for fear of death but with a look full of the madness of hatred, with his left hand raised, Stalin gave up his spirit like any ordinary mortal.\n The sinister wind had brought a chilling cold over all of Moscow. There was a deadly silence in the Near Dasha in Kuntzevo.\n \n \n Jonathan entered in the secret bedroom of one of the greatest criminal - leaders in the whole history: Iosif Vissarionovici Stalin, alias Osip Giukashvili (Djugashvili).\n From the first moment, his gaze was drawn to a huge, oval-shaped mirror that resembled with a living organism, the surface of which was disturbed by the relentless ripples of black-violet-colored \"waters\".\n The strange mirror attracted him like a magnet. He approached her and his eyes were lost in her deep, trembling water.\n There, in its gynoecium's depths, were projected, as in a still unseen film, the images of an identical history, spent in other times, long before...\n He felt like a passenger in a space capsule hovering lightly into a completely unknown world...\n Strange and dark landscapes unfolded in front of him, like the images of a movie made from a helicopter. Dark forests, turbulent waters, rocky slopes, steep slopes, deep and dangerous valleys, wild steppes...\n As if he had a telepathic guide, Jonathan could hear, in his inner mind, the name of each geographical landmark he visualized, and a description of the land he \"traversed with his mind's eyes\".\n He had already crossed the great rivers Hebros (Mariţa), Donaris (Danube) and Maris (Mureş), on a route followed by Priscus of Panium, from Constantinople, passing through Sardica (today's Sofia), Naissus (Niş) and Dierna (Orşova), going somewhere in the area of today's Tăşnad (in Romania).\n Not far from that place was a settlement about the size of a city, surrounded by a huge enclosure, consisting of massive fenced logs of impressive thickness, four to five meters above the ground. He saw, like Priscus of Panium, also quoted by Jordanes, a wooden palace built solely of polished woodwork, with towers and huge guest rooms, connected by porticoes of great beauty.\n In that place, in the heart of Dacia, was the favorite residence of the Hun king Attila, the place where he ruled over all the lands he had conquered. \n Although it was evening, there was an indescribable bustle in the courtyard of the palace. Throughout the day, countless crowned heads and great chiefs of the tribes from the eastern part of the Hun kingdom had arrived there, invited by Attila to accompany him to Solva where, in three days, his wedding to the princess Hilda of Burgundy was to take place.\n There was a frenzy of frenzy in the palace kitchens, and thousands of guests were to feast on feasts worthy of a great leader of armies and peoples.\n In the main guest room, Attila was sitting at a large table, seated on the north side, surrounded by his closest people. In front of him, on the surface of the whole room, were the tables of all the other high-ranking guests. All the other diners, accompanied in the suites from the eastern frontiers or lower-ranking Huns knights and nobles, were seated at the tables in the other dining rooms, according to their rank.\n Attila's servant entered the main hall first, bringing only meat dishes on a wooden tray. After him came all the servants of the other tables, bringing in the gold and silver trays select dishes, bread and fruits.\n Everyone ate to their heart's content and worshiped, full of joy, the gold and silver cups full of the best wine from Dacia Superior. Only Atilla was drinking from a very old, simple goblet, made from wood. Just a few of his relatives knew that the cup had been brought from the Cathedral of Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople, where it was kept with reverence, being considered to be the Holy Grail.\n The next day, after noon, the processions of those leaving for Solva began to take the order in march, after which, at the signal given by the leaders, they set in motion.\n In the peaceful afternoon, in a gentle, soothing light, on the winding roads leading from King Hun's residence in the heart of Dacia to his camp in Solva, many miles away, the impressive cohorts of knights of the Middle Ages lined up early. Dressed in rich robes, protected by light, shining armor, adorned with feathers and scarves, they proudly wore the shields on which were the coats of arms of the noble house of which they were a part, armed to the teeth, they sat proudly on their saddles, just like their masters.\n Accompanied \"with shouts and trumpets\" by the instrument clusters of the day, the companions and guests of the great Attila advanced slowly but surely to the place where the one known as the \"Whip of God\" was expected by the future bride and all the guests which had come from the whole west.\n The day before the wedding, the columns accompanying the Hun king began to appear on the borders of the region where Solva was located.\n In an already predetermined order, each went to the place where he was planned to set up his future camp.\n The camp of the Hun king, spread over several acres, was already arranged and populated, in part, by the suite of Princess Hilda, as well as by the Hun nobles and their armies who were to provide additional protection for their great leader.\n The other guests, led by the three kings of the Burgundian court of Worms, the brothers of Princess Hilda - Gunther, Gernot and Giselher, had their own camps, in the immediate vicinity of Attila's camp.\n By dusk, they had all settled into the tents that stretched out as far as the eye could see on St. George's Plain at the bend of the Danube, near Solva, and were quietly preparing for the ceremonies and the next day's party.\n After a courtesy visit to his future brothers-in-law, the three Burgundian kings of the court of Worms — brothers Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher — followed by another in Princess Hilda's camp, Attila retreated to his imposing tent located in the center of the Hun camp. He was in a state of extreme contentment, close to ecstasy. He asked for plenty of food and plenty of wine and asked for the immediate presence of his Gothic concubine Ildikó (Hildiko), who was about to turn 17 that summer.\n It was already day, for a long time, but there was no sound in Attila's tent. Worried, the head of his security group revolved around the entrance like a lion in a cage. He didn't know what to do: to enter or not to enter? - when an unexpected help came to him.\n Accompanied by a large guard of well-armed knights, Princess Hilda, wearing a steel chain shirt with a helmet on her head and a huge shield, with the coat of arms of the Dutch royal house in Xanten in her left hand, approached King Attila's tent, waving his famous Balmung sword in his right hand. Everyone present immediately recognized the warrior Kriemhilda, the widow of the hero-prince Siegfrid, who had been killed in a conspiracy by King Gunther - Kriemhilda's brother - and his trustworthy, perfidious and treacherous man, the dark Hagen.\n - I want to see my future husband, the great King Attila now! - cried the Burgundian princess commandingly, in a voice so loud that it resounded throughout the Danube valley.\n Edecon and Onegese, Attila's brothers and trusted men, suddenly stormed into their master's tent. The image that appeared left them perplexed! Fallen on his back, Attila was lying on his bed in a pool of blood that had burst into his nose and mouth. He was dead... \n As Edecon and Onegese interrogated the young Ildikó, the Huns in Attila's guard threw their heads at the tent door, and after seeing the gruesome scene, they began to howl like a snake:\n - Attila is dead! Attila is dead! \n Instantly, Princess Krimhilda raised her Balmung sword to the sky and shouted for the whole of St. George's Plain:\n - Betrayal! Betrayal! King Gunther, in a plot with Marcian, the emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire, corrupted Ildikó to poison the great Attila! Revenge!\n \n The Huns, unleashed, rushed to the Burgundian camp where a real massacre began. Dozens of knights and brave fighters fell on both sides. Among them were Gernot and Giselher, the Burgundian kings, Kriemhilda's brothers.\n Although King Gunther and the dark Hagen were taken prisoner, the relentless Kriemhilda cut off both of their heads with the Balmung sword, and was beheaded by the master of arms of the prince of Bern.\n As Princess Kriemhilda's head rolled toward them, staring at him with her wide, bright blue eyes, Jonathan instinctively took a step back...\n \n And in the gynoecium's depths of the anti-mirror, new histories were emerging..." } ]
[ { "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: Antientropic Artifact: Plastic Doll's Head, Found Third Millennium B. C. E.\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1012\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story featuring an element of time-travel or anachronism." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Neela was getting bored watching the pigs when she looked down and saw lying against a stone, a thing with colors different from any she had ever seen. She hesitated; new things could be dangerous. It seemed harmless. It didn’t move and looked soft and smooth.\n Neela bent down and closed her left fist around it. She straightened up and brought it near her face to examine it more closely. It was about the size of a nut and resembled the head of a woman, a young woman like herself. It was probably a goddess but different from any others she had seen. The people who shared her fire had only a few goddesses and since she was not a wise elder they were usually hidden from her most of the time. Those goddesses were stone and showed the whole figure. This goddess was only a small head, a very strange one. She was made of something that when Neela squeezed the goddess crushed in her fingers but sprang back to shape when she released her. Other goddesses were the color of the stone they were carved from. Neela people’s skin was the color of earth for shaping with their hair and eyes the color of earth for planting. The goddess’s skin was an uncanny lighter color and her long strands of straight, soft hair was the color of a field of flax in the bright sun. Her tiny eyes were the color of the sky and her mouth was the color of blood. \n She was surely a powerful goddess and she was resting in Neela’s hand. The goddess must have chosen Neela. She knew she would have to be wary. Other people who shared her fire would want to take the goddess’s power. Neela opened the charm bag her mother had given when she learned to walk and she had worn ever since. She tucked the goddess inside.\n Tirra saw her taking her fingers out of the bag. “Neela, did you find something?” Tirra thought she was wiser because both her mother and father were wise elders. She also thought that she should be a judge for the other women her age. Telling an untruth was wrong but if she told Tirra the truth she would lose her goddess who chose her. \n All the rest of the day, she daydreamed while she watched the pigs. She could tell that the goddess had great powers even if she didn’t know what they were. The people who shared her fire would have to come to her if they wanted the goddess’s favor. They all, even Pirra and the elders, would have to treat her as an elder or the goddess would ignore them or worse. Her thoughts made the time pass quickly.\n At sunset when they gathered for their last meal before nightfall, Tirra announced loud enough for everyone to hear, “Neela found something. She is supposed to give everything she finds to the elders so it can be shared. See, you can see it hidden in her charm bag.” While only the person who prepares a charm bag knows exactly what is in it because it is against custom for anyone, even the wearer, to look inside it, they are usually filled with dried leaves, seeds and flowers. The bulge in Leela’s bag from the goddess told the people who shared her fire that she had hidden something. \n Manoc, the chief elder, looked angry. He reached for Neela’s bag. “Neela, you are supposed to share.”\n In that instant, Neela did something so against custom that if she had thought before she acted she would never have done it. She took the little flint blade she kept in the cord around her garment. She slashed at Manoc’s arm. A trickle of blood flowed. It was wrong to wound an elder but the goddess had chosen her and would want her to fight to keep her. \n The crowd who saw Manoc’s wounding gasped in surprise and then began to murmur in anger. This was the kind of thing that got a young person driven from the fire. They would throw stones at her until she ran too far away to be hit. Afterwards they would throw stones at her whenever they saw her. She would be all alone until she died, which would be soon: a person needs other people to stay alive. Neela waited to be struck with the first stone. \n “Stop!” said Kalu in her hoarse but firm voice. She was the oldest person that shared their fire. She was a great wise elder and the keeper of their most powerful goddess. Although she was revered she rarely spoke or interfered with anyone anymore. Everyone became still and silent. \n “I feel a new power is among us. Neela show me what you found. I swear by my goddess that you will not be harmed.” \n Neela reached in her bag and pulled out the goddess. Manoc, Pirra and most of the rest of the awestruck crowd incanted their protection words. Neela could tell that Kalu longed to grab the goddess but was afraid of her disfavor. \n “Do you know her name, Leela?”\n “No, Kalu.” \n “Do you know her powers?” \n “No, Kalu.”\n “You are young to be a wise elder but this new goddess has chosen you. Rejecting a goddess’s favor will bring hardship to all of us. Keep her in your charm bag. When you rise every morning, come to my hut. Tell me every dream you can remember. Answer all my questions as best you can. The goddess will take you on a dream quest and tell you her name and how she wishes to be served.” \n Neela went away from the fire to be alone with her thoughts. The new goddess would change her life. She had never expected to be a wise elder but now it seemed that she was going to be an elder very soon. Much sooner than other women her age. With her own goddess she would go on the great journey to become a wise elder." } ]
[ { "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: Perfect is the Enemy of Good\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1202\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who’s nervous to attend a party - their first in a long time." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Perfect is the Enemy of Good\n\nI don’t know why I agreed to do this, go to a 15th year reunion party of my graduating high school class. I’m not a big party goer at the best of times. The last one I went to was five years ago, and that was a party thrown by my parents, complete with someone they had set up to meet me. My mother is worried that she will never have grandchildren. I am an only child, hence the pressure put on me to get into a ‘serious relationship.’ I live with my parents, so I hear that expression a lot.\nI am on Facebook and regularly visit the website of my high school. The main reason I do this is in hopes of seeing HER, the magnificent Melissa. She was perfect, absolutely perfect. She was tall, a little more so than me, and slender but very shapely. Her eyes were summer sky blue, her hair was long, dark like a moonless night and often professionally styled. No one could do that by herself at home. We never actually went out as a couple, but we danced together at school dances and parties thrown by our classmates, and we sometimes ate lunch together in the school cafeteria. She once said to me, after two dances, “Promise me you won’t ever fall in love with me.” I lied, and said that I wouldn’t. It was too late. I already had. I couldn’t even think of going out or being with any other girl. After we graduated from high school, I never saw her again. But she was still the memory model of perfection that no woman I saw ‘in the flesh’ could compete with.\nAnd now we are having a reunion party. I dread going for a number of good reasons.\nOne is the success stories I will hear. I have a decent job, but I am not an executive or owner of a prosperous business like I know that some will be. Then there is living with my parents. Even when I tell people that my dad has serious arthritis, so cannot do any of the physical work around the house, it will still be like I have LOSER stamped on my head for all to see. Then there will be talk about wives and husbands, and about children and their various small triumphs. The words ‘still not married’ will be said when and if there is talk of me there beyond or barely within my hearing.\n The party will be held in the school auditorium, and I know there will be loud music and dancing ‘from our era’. It will be like high school dances of old, but I most likely won’t have Melissa as a partner, and will be standing at the side, drinking, and making negative comments about the dancers with the other mate-less ‘bachelors’ in the crowd. Do I really want to do that?\n\nThe Night of the Party\n\nIt’s Friday. The party is tonight. I am getting upset fussing over the smallest things. Deciding what to wear for one – old jeans and a t-shirt with the name and pictures of my favourite rock band on it? I think not. I’m not going formal either, it doesn’t suit me. But what is casual when you’re going to a high school reunion? Is it midway between slob and snob? I decide to wear the pants I wore to work, but change my shirt and underwear. The first time I danced with Melissa, my mother had made me change my briefs before I went to the dance. It became a ritual.\nI have business cards. Should I bring them? Would anyone there want to call, text, or e-mail me? I doubt it, but I’ll still bring some cards anyway.\n I get into the car and sit for about five minutes before I even turn it on. The words “No one is forcing you to go Tom,” keep running through my head. But there is still the big “What if” that overrules my other thoughts, even when they are followed by ‘How do you think that Melissa will react? And worse, “What if she doesn’t even remember me?”\n I drive to the high school. This is the first time that I do so in a car that is mine, not part of a car-for-Friday night/clean up the garage on Saturday’ deal with my parents. That is something at least. I park the car, turn it off, and sit inside for a few minutes. I can still drive away. But no, someone might see, and mention to someone else, to Melissa.\n I walk in and sign in. I look around for familiar faces, particularly one. Then I see her. She still looks so model tall and thin and impossible, so beautiful, so perfect. I walk up to her. She looks at me strangely, and after a few moments thought says, “You look familiar, but I can’t remember your name. You must have been in one of my classes.” \n Much to my own surprise, I laugh, and tell her who I am, and how we danced and ate together sometimes. She smiles, and says, “Now I remember. Of course.” Then she turns and walks away, conversation duty completed. Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. \n But something soon does. I feel a tap on my shoulder. When I turn around I see a face that takes me a few seconds to remember. It’s Ellen. We were in the same class every year in high school. The last year we sat side by side, and she would explain to me what the teacher was saying when I was confused and looked the part.\n “Hi, Ellen. Good to see you.”\n “You know what else is good, Tom? Billy and the Blue Beats are going to be playing in a few minutes. Will you dance with me?”\n To my own surprise, I did not hesitate to say ‘yes’. \n We went into the auditorium and sat together. We talked like old friends, sharing memories, and laughing at old times, and how our parents still treat us like kids. It struck me that I had never thought of her as anything more than someone who could help me with school. I never thought of her as a potential dance partner or date. But as she continued to talk to me, I learned that she had definitely thought of me that way. She told me that in our last year of high school, on the week of the Sadie Hawkins Dance, when girls could ask boys out, she had picked up her phone three or four times, only to put it down again. She thought that I was “too perfect” to want to go out with her.\n To the surprise of both of us, I said “There is an old Italian saying that ‘perfect is the enemy of good. I heard it from an old Italian”. Ellen laughed\n We danced and had a good time. I gave her one of my cards, and she gave me one of hers. Our lives would soon be good together. Not perfect, but nothing and no one 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: Old Fishermen Never Die\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2906\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story featuring an element of time-travel or anachronism." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Cold salt water laps the beach, baptizing the goose tongue and goldenrod with spray. It stings my hands in places that have met with sharp rock and lobster claws: a good clean sting like ointment. The motorboat I moor onshore sputters to life. I am soaked with sea and fog before I have even reached the Pemaquid, tied further out so as not to run its keel aground. The lobster traps clank as I push past them to the engine. I wince at the high-pitched squeal, a testament to its manufacture date. The orange rubber overalls transform me into a beacon in the hour just before dawn. \n\nThen I see the blue light. \n\nThe engine stalls. My eyes dart between the arms of the temperature gauge and the RPM, spinning independently of anything the small fishing boat does or, indeed, has ever been capable of doing. I’ve seen the blue light a handful of times, but not this close. Never this close. It pulses softly across the surface of the water, as if bioluminescent plankton are on holiday off the coast of Bristol. A tinge of lighter, greyer blue floats in the fog. The fine hairs creep along my neck and scalp as my fingers fumble with the radio. “Matt,” I hiss into the tube. “Matt, it’s the light. It’s back– the blue light–” \n\nBut my voice is greeted only by static. The Pemaquid’s antenna bobs as sudden waves beat against her sides like airplane turbulence. A ship has entered, hidden somewhere in the harbor. \n\nI scour my mind to recall whether there have been any scheduled arrivals, any clearances for a ship big enough to tilt the deck so that I stumble forward, lobster traps crashing around my head. Swearing, I support myself against the bulkhead, more angry now than spooked. What chowderhead from Town Hall decided to keep its fishermen in the dark like this?\n\nA shadow thickens against the fog. I have time only to duck into the shelter before the prow of a wooden ship emerges directly ahead of me, piercing the horizon like a swordfish. The ship groans and blinds me with rays of blue light splayed between wooden sides, originating somewhere within the vessel’s heart. The Pemaquid sloshes in its wake. I screw my eyes against the light, gritting my teeth to see the name painted on the stern. “ANGEL GABRIEL” is splashed in bloody letters on the side of a triple-masted sailboat. \n\nGreat. Another tourist attraction. Just what New Harbor needs.\n\nThe light dims and the silhouette of a full beard appears far above me. In the first rosy fingers of sunrise, I can just discern two glittering eyes like pinpricks before the man gives a shout and disappears again. “Hey!” I yell back. “Help me out here, will you?” There is silence. I thump my hand on the side of the shelter in frustration.\n\nSuddenly a rowboat splashes around the hull of the Angel Gabriel, approaching the Pemaquid. There are two passengers, but only one rows. The other faces away from me, straight-backed and motionless. They are both wearing costumes. I paste a smile over my grimace and wave.\n\n“What’s up, fellas?” I use a Barney-the-purple-dinosaur voice, instead of the Batman voice I want to use.\n\nThe rowboat scratches the Pemaquid’s paint and the two men board, still without speaking. The rower is dressed like an old-fashioned Chinese farmer, complete with rice-picker hat and long queue. His garments are torn and stained, covered in burns. The other is pale and cropped beneath a blunt, peaked cap. He wears a brass-buttoned coat in much better repair than his companion’s with two swords, a broadsword and a saber, sheathed at his sides. I can feel my smile in my temples.\n\n“Now I don’t mean to be rude, but I like to know who my guests are before I invite them onto my boat,” I protest, forcing a chuckle.\n\n“Fai Yu Ming, your worship,” the rower murmurs. Before I can stop him, he kneels and touches his forehead to the platform, still swimming in sea water. “I serve my captain honorably on the Angel Gabriel.”\n\n“Nice to meet you, uh, Yu Ming.” I cannot tell whether the name and accent are part of the act. I notice that the “captain” seems significantly younger than I am. Not quite old enough to pay his own health insurance, I guess, but too old to dress up as a pirate with dignity. Of that much I am positive. \n\nI take off my glove and shake his hand. “Daniel Curtis. And yourself?”\n\nI feel his grip turn to steel. His eyes bore into mine. “Is that so,” he says in a low voice. His face is oddly expressionless. “Daniel Curtis. Well, Daniel Curtis, I suppose you should know that my name is Dixey Bull.” \n\nCourtesy quickly turns to annoyance. “Yeah, I figured,” I mutter, jabbing my thumb toward the name of the ship. “Hey, listen, there must’ve been some sort of mix-up because we don’t know anything about your venue here. You’re gonna want to get a special permit with the county and the local administration before you put up any kind of entertainment or attraction. Especially on this scale. Looks cool and all,” I offer, my last attempt at civility.\n\nI hope the men will leave my boat, maybe even apologize. But instead, the self-styled Dixey Bull curls his lip into a sneer, glancing up and down my rubber overalls. “Daniel Curtis, I believe you are confused.”\n\n“Get off my boat. Get off now or I’ll call the police.”\n\nDixey Bull laughs, catching me off guard. “And where are we, Daniel Curtis? What police will come for you?”\n\n“What d’you mean, where are we? We’re in New Harbor, town of Bristol,” I say angrily. “You’re the one with the whole Dixey Bull thing going on and that godawful British accent. I swear, my little brother Matt’s a Maine State Trooper. I can call him up right now.”\n\n“Can you really? Show me.”\n\nI remember the static from earlier and flush. Still, I try the radio again. No response. I realize that I am stranded on a boat with a stranger carrying a sword. A plastic sword, I tell myself. It’s starting to feel awfully real. \n\nDixey Bull laughs a quiet little laugh like dry leaves skittering over pavement. “Daniel Curtis. I have been waiting for you.”\n\n“Alrighty, Dixey Bull,” I say, turning on him and acting braver than I am. “You tell me where we are. If we’re not in New Harbor, then where?”\n\n“Have you not guessed? We are floating only a few hundred fathoms from the shores of Pemaquid.”\n\n“You’re wrong,” I say mechanically. “Bristol hasn’t been called Pemaquid for hundreds of years.”\n\n“You are beginning to understand.” The corners of his cold cruel snarl twitched. “It is nearly morning. The fog is lifting. Look, and you will see I speak the truth.”\n\n“Hold on,” I stall. “You might be the real-deal Dixey Bull but I tell you I’m the wrong Daniel Curtis. I catch lobsters in a 1975 Robert Rich, not cod in whatever the hell little rowboats they had in the seventeenth century. I’ve never held a sword in my life, and more important I have no interest in asking you to a duel.” \n\n“But you must have heard the ballad.” Hell. My whole life, and maybe some time before that, too. You have to wonder what my parents thought, naming me after the one hero of Bristol. \n\n“Well, sure. It’s a common enough song.” The red dawn hangs like a blood orange behind the Angel Gabriel. A chill spreads in my bones and I shiver.\n\nThe captain nods at the farmer. “Dixey Bull was a pirate bold, He swept our coast in search of gold,” Fai Yu Ming intones. “He flaunted his flag and shot his lead, Which kept the people out of bed.”\n\n“But Daniel Curtis, a fisherman, Feared not the flag from which they ran,” I add impatiently. “But that’s just a legend. Daniel Curtis didn’t really kill Dixey Bull. The ballad’s not even too well-written.”\n\n“Because Daniel Curtis has not yet killed Dixey Bull, you claim he did not,” the young captain says. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me the entire time. “Daniel Curtis, you are a fool if you cannot understand that while times change, time… time does not. It is the eternal present, Curtis. That is the secret. It is the truth that has set me free.”\n\nThe absurdity of his words and of my situation finally offends me. “You’re crazy. I can’t believe I’m giving you the time of day. Take your little advertising stunt somewhere else before you’re arrested by harbor patrol.”\n\n“Look,” he whispers.\n\nI turn, and gasp. There are still wisps of fog straggling from the surface of the water, but in the pale rays of sun I can see the shoreline fairly well. New Harbor is gone. In its place are a few wharves, the moorings of wooden rowboats, and trees– so many more trees. Women in petticoats and linen caps stand with men in breeches and coats. In the distance rises the thin smoke trail of a chimney. I study the Angel Gabriel more closely. The blue light still branches along the wood like lightning. I notice there are black crab-like bugs swarming over the hull. Trilobites, I realize with horror. I sink to my knees in disbelief.\n\n“The last time a trilobite roamed this earth was the Paleozoic Era,” Dixey Bull says, amused. “And Fai Yu Ming? I captured him from the Pearl River during the Second Opium War.”\n\nI lick my lips. “Alright,” I croak. “I believe you. You’re Dixey Bull. I believe you can time travel, or whatever it is. But please, take me home. I’m from Bristol, not Pemaquid, and I’ve got nothing against you. What do you want from me?”\n\n“I want you to fight.” He tosses me the hilt-end of the saber, which I drop.\n\n“I refuse to fight,” I yell. “What are we fighting over?”\n\n“The village’s gold,” he says strangely. “Blood or your gold is what I want.”\n\n“I won’t! I can’t! Take the gold and leave the villagers alone!” \n\n“Can it be you still don’t understand?” Dixey Bull roars, seeming to grow taller than his slight build. “There is no gold. There was never any gold. I am going to kill you, Daniel Curtis, because you have saved Pemaquid and you have saved her gold. I am going to kill you because you are going to kill me.”\n\nOur boats have drifted nearer the rocks and sands of Pemaquid. For the first time, I can hear the people on shore. They are shouting, screaming themselves hoarse, red in the face. “He our gold is going to save,” they chant, apparently oblivious to my motor boat and orange rubbers. Dixey Bull unsheathes his broadsword and levels it at my throat.\n\n“You are their only champion. Fight me, or I swear,” he says, eyes flashing, “I will destroy each board, brick, and human being I see until time forgets there ever was a Pemaquid.”\n\nMy hands shake as I lift the saber. The hilt-guard slides easily to my fist. The pink-and-blue streaked sky reflects in the curved blade, smudged by salty sea. He’s right; I don’t understand. But as impossible as it seems, somehow Bristol– Pemaquid– is in real danger. I am Daniel Curtis, the champion. “If he kills me they’re his by right, If I kill him we win the fight,” I whisper. Somehow, I don’t feel ridiculous at all. I stagger to my feet, breathing heavily.\n\n“And so we begin.” Dixey Bull touches the end of my saber with the broadsword.\n\n“Can’t we fight on shore?” My boots slip on the platform and I struggle to avoid the lobster traps.\n\n“We will end on Beaver Isle,” he says. He pushes the blade upward, as if to test my strength, then drops it and cuts my forearm straight across.\n\nI feel heat before I feel any pain. The dark drops spatter and blossom like red algae at our feet. I blink at them for a moment, but don’t have time to process before Dixey Bull lunges again, this time at my face. I step back impulsively and shield myself with the flat of the saber, obstructing his blow. He pushes back. Steel grinds against steel, creating sparks that bounce off my overalls and land with a sizzle on the deck. Dixey Bull gnashes his short yellow teeth. \n\n“Defense, defense, all defense,” he hisses. “You will die like a slave at my feet.” I sneak a look at Yu Ming, huddled in the shelter. His complexion is ashen, eyes dull.\n\nWithout warning, Dixey Bull pulls back the blade and slices at my thigh. This time I am too quick for him, leaping backward onto the traps and out of his reach. The position is awkward, but my head is now a foot or two above his. I sweep low and swift, leaving a gash in the back of his neck. He shudders a little but stands his ground.\n\nThe chanting continues. “Curtis fought for cause that’s right, Bull, because he liked to fight.” \n\nThe current knocks both the rowboat and the Pemaquid against the shrubby rocks of Beaver Isle, projecting slightly from the mainland. I jump over the side and onto the island. I roll to my feet and dance away from Dixey Bull almost in fear, although I’m too afraid even to feel that. Then I see the rivers streaming under his collar, staining the whole of his shirt and coat a dirty brown. He turns on me, eyes yellow with rage. \n\nMy new strategy is to run.\n\nDixey Bull hunts after me. The island is not much bigger than a backyard, just big enough to scamper from conifer to conifer, avoiding direct confrontation.\n\n“Coward,” Dixey Bull rasps. “Even now do I threaten you, even now?”\n\n“I don’t want to kill you,” I call from the shade of a pine. “You’re hurt worse than I am.”\n\n“Coward,” he repeats stupidly. He lurches toward me. “Fight… fight me, Curtis…”\n\nI take pity on his sorry state and emerge. “Is there anyone on board who can dress wounds? A barber?” I try to remember whether barbers were also surgeons in the 1600s, or if surgeons were also barbers. “Come here, I’ll help–”\n\nDixey Bull sheds the drunken reel and pounces, ripping a hole in my overalls that reaches to my ribs. I wince and fall sideways, floundering on a steep decline leading to the sea.\n\nHe stands over me, dripping water and blood onto my head. “Here ends the lobster fisherman,” he says grimly, lifting his broadsword above his head. My mind races. As Dixey’s sword was falling down, Curtis sprang up from the ground– but I can’t. My blood has congealed in my veins. I brace for the final blow.\n\nInstead, I hear a nasty squelching sound coupled with a low moan, a sound that reminds me of a wolf dying in the last nature documentary I watched. I peek upward through the crook in my elbow. Dixey Bull’s face is pasty white, and clammy with sweat. He clutches high up on his left side as his fingers turn scarlet. His mouth moves wordlessly and the yellow sun reflects in his eyes, staring without sight. He fumbles forward, groping with the sword in his left hand as though he sees an apparition in the east. “Daniel Curtis,” he pants. “Can you see it? Can you see the blue light?” He keels over. His bloody chest falls close to mine. “The eternal present,” he chokes, hot breath rankling in my nose. “E– e–” He mouths the word “eternity” before resting his head at its final angle. His eyes go smooth and glassy.\n\nYu Ming stands above us. He holds a jade dagger in his left hand and does not speak, simply watches as I close Dixey Bull’s eyes and jaw. I can’t tell where the blood on my palms came from. The three of us sit in silence for several minutes. There are cheers from the shore, and more chanting. “That’s how Curtis won the day, And killed his man in Bristol Bay.”\n\n“It’s funny, but I don’t remember a whole lot about the Chinese farmer in the ballad,” I joke. It tastes bad and Yu Ming doesn’t seem to listen. He casts down the dagger and sits beside me, covering his face with his hands.\n\nThe harbor is calm like Dixey Bull’s eyes. It looks like it usually does, except with fewer pleasure boats. Only the rowboat, the Pemaquid, and the Angel Gabriel still float like untethered islands in a lonely sea. I look at the Chinese man’s shoulders. How many years has he been away from Hong Kong? If the pirate was right, it doesn’t matter– it might as well have been a thousand years. Does he have a wife, I wonder, one that he loves? A younger brother with a family he treats like his own?\n\n“Pearl River, did he say?”\n\nYu Ming looks up.\n\n“Come on, Fai Yu Ming.” I rise unsteadily. Sharp pains stab once more at my side. I hope there is a barber onboard. “I’ll take you home.”\n\nDixey Bull said this was the end of the lobster fisherman. I figure he was right." } ]
[ { "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: Showing Your Hand\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1420\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a reluctant party-goer who ends up being the star of the show." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "From the outside, Angie was like most other high school students—studies hard to get A's, takes part in sports, and has a mutual crush where neither are confident enough to make the first move. Although Angie was pretty well-liked throughout her high school, she often kept to herself when that option was available. She enjoyed the time to unwind and clear her mind from her rigorous coursework and extracurriculars. This is why when news of a party started spreading around her friend groups she did not pay it much attention—that is until her crush Ian approached her one day after school.\n\"So uh Angie,\" Ian fumbling over his greeting, \"did you hear about that party everyone is talking about?\"\n\"Oh, hey Ian! I think I have heard it brought up a few times. Are you going to it?\" Angie prodded Ian.\n\"Sure am! The Rogers are hosting it and I heard they have an inground pool, mini arcade, and a home theater!\" Ian excitedly responded. \"Though I kinda wanted to ask, since we live so close to each other, did you want to go together?\"\nAngie's eyes widened, a million thoughts rushing through her head. Does he want me to go? Is he asking me on a date? No, he is probably just asking everyone he sees. But what if it is a date? If I say no will he think I am lame? This may be my only chance, he must like me somewhat if he is talking to me at all, right?\n\"That sounds amazing!\" Angie responded, almost shouting.\nBefore Ian could even recover from the sudden excitement from Angie she took off down the halls, almost colliding with multiple other students on her way through. Confused, but not wanting to think too hard on it, Ian shrugged and went off to his own locker before heading home. Angie, on the other hand, did not stop running until she found Leah, her best friend since 1st grade.\n\"You are going to that party Leah, right? You have to help me! I said yes but I don't do parties and is it too late to cancel? What if I just hide under my bed instead and switch schools so I don't die from embarrassment from not going?\" Angie bombarded Leah with a seemingly endless amount of questions.\nLeah, clearly taken off guard, tried her best to respond, \"First, yes I am going. Second, what was the rest of that? You seem more nervous than when you had to take your driving test!\"\n\"Ian asked if I wanted to go together to the party and I said yes without thinking and I just don't know what to do! You have to help me Leah!\" Angie begged her friend.\n\"Angie! You can't pass this up! You have been crushing hard on Ian ever since you two had algebra together.\" Leah reassured Angie of her decision. \"You are not going to hide under your bed, you are not going to switch schools. You are going to that party and you will be going with Ian. Here is the plan, I'll come over early and help you with your outfit and makeup. Then I will leave way before he would arrive and meet you guys at the party.\"\n\"Thank you so so so so much Leah!\" Angie said as she leaped at Leah to give her a mighty hug.\n◆◆◆\nFor most, Saturday did not come fast enough. For Angie, however, it came at her like a speeding train. Even with all of Leah's help in the morning, she felt herself questioning her decisions which led her to this moment. Though there was nothing for Angie to do, as Ian was pulling into her driveway now.\nThe drive to the Roger's place was short, but the conversation between Angie and Ian was even shorter. Nervous beyond what she has ever been before, Angie was not able to get out much more than one or two-word responses whenever Ian prompted her. Her mind was once again filled with endless questions which left little room for thoughts relating to any current conversation. When they did arrive at the party, Ian opened up Angie's door and they walked up together. Music and voices could be heard from the front, which was only amplified even more when they took their first steps inside.\nEven though they were immediately greeted by familiar faces and complimented how cute they were together, Angie and Ian quickly found themselves in different parts of the party. Ian was quickly absorbed into his close friend group in the arcade, while Angie quickly jumped between groups doing a quick hello before moving on trying to locate Leah. Much to her dismay, Leah never showed up! She learned that Leah and her boyfriend had a fight shortly after Leah left her house this morning and that she decided she rather not see him today.\nWith no Ian or Leah, Angie eventually found herself at a quieter part of the party out on the patio. While she was out there, she found a deck of playing cards—Angie was no card player, but she did practice some cardistry in the past to calm her nerves. From flourishes to riffle fans Angie got lost in her own world of cards for some time. Though she was not alone and was soon approached by JJ—someone Angie didn't speak with much and was considered nerdier by most other kids.\n\"You do this a lot?\" JJ asked as he walked up next to Angie.\n\"Not really, only when I need something to focus on. Do you?\" Angie responded to him.\n\"Sometimes! My father was a dealer at a casino for quite some time, so he taught me a lot about cards.\" JJ happily responded. \"Mind if I give it a shot?\"\nHanding over the cards to JJ, Angie was quickly amazed by everything he could do with them! From perfect riffle shuffles to being able to spin a card around his back and have it land back onto the deck. They ended up taking turns showing each other various moves, but this show was another that did not go unnoticed. Word spread around the party and now various groups were now watching these two cardists, much to their own amazement!\nDespite the crowd, Angie felt almost at home doing tricks together with JJ. Their own little show lasted the better part of half an hour before it concluded, an ending that would lead to something new for the both of them. After having their fun, JJ asked if Angie wanted to go on a walk, to which she happily agreed. JJ and Angie ended up spending the rest of their evening together, and before it ended Angie had to make her thoughts known.\n\"JJ, you saved this party for me!\" Angie exclaimed. \"I was so nervous since I decided to go, but you made it so I actually had fun. Then this walk was also really nice. I was kinda wondering if you'd like to do something like this again, but like, maybe as a date?\"\nShocked by the sudden date question JJ tried to put together some sort of answer, \"It was a really nice time, I was afraid it would be another party where I was mostly by myself until I got bored and left. I'd love to have a day for just us, a date.\"\nWhile Angie and JJ decided to start dating, they thought little of what happened at the party but were soon reminded Monday morning at school. People were talking about their cardistry so much that they both got asked by different teachers if they would want to show something to the class. It was a weird change in attention that neither of them has really gotten before. Though this again was just the start. Multiple individuals from the party recorded—and posted—their little performance, some quickly reaching hundreds if not thousands of views!\nAngie and JJ went on to start their own video channel, posting a variety of compilations, tutorials, and little shows they would put on. After their continued success they even decided on a joint name, The PartyStoppers, to pay homage to the start of their relationship. Also seeing this as an opportunity to help others who may feel left out or always in the background, Angie started to conclude every video with a simple saying that she felt meant the world to her:\nEveryone has their own hand that is worth showing." } ]
[ { "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 Dance\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1155\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a reluctant party-goer who ends up being the star of the show." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I turned on the tv one morning, hoping to see something good on TV. As soon as I changed the channel, I saw my classmate Sabrina making an announcement. \n“Good morning, people of L.A!!!! I am inviting you all from my school to join me at my house for a party! I know it has been a tough year for all of us, and now is your time to sit back and relax! Join me at eight, and text me to tell me you will be there! If I don’t hear from you, I will text you! I want you ALL to come. Nobody is allowed to miss it!”\n“Excuse me, weirdo, I am trying to report the news. Can I have that back?”\n“In a second, David. As I was saying, be there! I love you L.A!!!”\n“For those of you going to the party, no red cups, or drugs,” David said. \n“This is the weirdest news channel ever.” My mom said. \nI nodded my head in agreement. \n“Are you going?” Mom asked. \n“No, I will probably just study for finals.”\n“Honey, I think you should go. Maybe you can make some new friends.”\n“I’m not much of a party person, mom.”\n“When I was your age, I would go to all the parties. That’s where I met your father, we are high school sweethearts.”\n“I know, you told me a million times.”\n“I won’t make you go, but it would make me happy if you did.”\nI looked at my mom, who looked hopeful that I agreed to go.\n“Wouldn’t you rather have me study?”\n“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I wanted you to study.”\n“Fine Mom, I will go. But if I feel uncomfortable I am leaving.”\n“Deal.” Mom said. \nI pulled out my phone and texted Sabrina to tell her that I was going, but only for a little while because I hate parties. She laughed and told me that I would be there longer. \nI parked my car on the street and saw a mansion appear before my eyes. The house was beautiful. The house consisted mostly of glass, and all the walls were white. It was so bright that you can see someone's face very clearly. I began to feel insecure, but I kept an open mind. \n“Rose, you’re here! I thought you would be studying or something.”\n“I was planning to,” I admitted. \n“Trust me, you will have a good time.”\nI looked around awkwardly and looked down at the floor.\n“Oh honey, don’t be nervous. Go dance to the music!”\nI knew that I was a good dancer, I danced my whole life. I didn’t want to be cocky though, I wanted to stay as far away from the spotlight as possible. I was only here to make my mom happy. I saw the people dancing and it made me cringe. They were stiff as hell, and I knew I could do better. \nSuddenly, the song Save the Last Dance For Me came on by Michel Buble, and I couldn’t help myself from dancing. \nI danced freely with all the dance moves I learned from my experience in dance class, that I didn’t realize everyone was cheering me on. They all clapped and I kept going. I didn’t want to stop dancing, as I was becoming popular from something I was good at. People began talking to each other saying things like, “I didn’t know she can dance!” Or “Wow, she is amazing!” \nI began to do some twirls, and then the moonwalk. People took out their phones to record, and I felt like I was famous. I saw Sabrina smiling on the side of the room, and nodded her head in the reassurance that she wanted me to keep exciting the crowd. I started singing along with the song, and someone turned the music off so they would be able to hear my voice solo. It turns out they loved it, I guess singing in the shower paid off. When I finished, they begged me to keep going, but the energy I had left my body and I was out of breath. I told them I needed a break and promised them I wouldn't go anywhere. People scrambled to get me a drink, others offered to give me a massage. It felt good to be cared about, and I convinced myself that parties weren’t as bad as I thought they were. \n“What song can I put on for you, Rose.” The DJ said. \nI thought for a minute, and then I turned to the people. \n“What song do you want me to dance to!” I yelled. \nThey all screamed the song, I can’t remember to forget you, By Shakira. That was one of my favorite songs! I got on stage and mimicked the way Shakira dances and they loved it. Some even tried to follow what I was doing, and I was having the best time of my life. Many of them stuck their bellies out as I did a belly dance, and it was funny to see them try and attempt it. They pleaded for me to sing, and told me my voice was beautiful. I sang along with the song and danced the night away. At the end of the night, many of them begged to exchange phone numbers with me, I gave my contact to anyone that wanted it. \nI went up to Sabrina who was in the kitchen all by herself. \n“Thank you, Sabrina. I had a really fun night, and it wouldn’t be possible without you.”\nSabrina nodded her head and wiped her tired eyes. She rested her head in her hand as she looked at the mess the people made. I looked at the mess, and back at her. It felt wrong to leave her like that. \n“Hey Sabrina, I can help you clean this.”\n“Don’t worry, I will take care of it. You did enough for one night, go rest.”\n“I don’t usually like being the center of attention, I apologize for stealing the show.”\n“Don’t apologize. The only reason I bothered inviting everyone is that nobody wanted to go to my house before. They think I am a loser. You made them want to come here, thank you for that.”\n“I feel bad leaving you like this, so I don’t care if you never invite me again. I am helping you clean.”\nI walked over to the cans and began to pick them up one by one. I looked over at Sabrina who passed out on the kitchen counter and figured she would feel relieved if she woke up and everything was clean. When I was done cleaning, I left my number on the counter and went home. Sometimes doing things that are out of your comfort zone can have a big impact on your life, and this was certainly the best day of my 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: We're the Same\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1546\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who’s nervous to attend a party - their first in a long time." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"Come on Emma, you have to go!\" Mia yelled for the 100th time.\n\"Mia I can't, my dad would kill me,\" I said. Why won't she just let it go? She knows my dad would lose it if I went to some random guy's cabin alone. Plus it's been awhile since I've gone to a party. I’m not sure I’m ready for it.\n\"I know what you're thinking. You won't be alone, I'll be there with Shara, and Olivia, and...well practically the whole school.\"\n\"Have you met my dad? Now he'll just say there are so many people no one will notice me getting kidnaped.\"\n\"Wow, your dad's paranoid,\" Mia said with no emotion.\n\"Tell me about it,\" I sighed.\nMia just wants to go because she has a huge crush on Jacob Grey. She practically fainted when he invited us to his cabin for the party. Her parent's will only let her go if I go with her.\n\"I got it,\" Mia yelled, pulling me out of my thoughts.\n\"Got what?\"\n\"How you'll go to the party!\"\n\"What? How?\"\n\"Just tell your dad that you're coming to my house for a sleepover. Say that we are going to binge the Twilight Saga and paint our nails.\"\n\"Isn't that a little cliche? We are 16 afterall.\"\n\"Oh stop it I know you love those movies, and so does your dad. It's a perfect story,\" Mia said proudly.\n\"Don't know Mia. I hate lying to my dad,\" I said quietly like he might hear me. He's not even home yet and we are up stairs in my room, no one can hear us.\n\"Come on Emma, please don't do this to me. This is the only way I'll get to see Jacob,\" Mia said grabbing my hand. \"Please?\"\n\"Ok fine,\" I said as Mia squealed. \"But if we get caught it's your ass,\" I said firmly but was caught off by a hard hug.\n\"Yes! Yes, fine! I don't care!\" Mia said hugging me.\n------\nWhen My dad came home I told him about \"THE SLEEPOVER\" and he bought it. He actually bought it! To make the plan sound truthful I went to Mia's house to get ready.\n\"What time is it?\" Mia asked as she put on her mascara. The tub said waterproof mascara.\n\"It's 7. Why are you putting on waterproof mascara? You're not planning on crying are you?\" I asked with a laugh.\n\"7 ok we need to leave by 7:30 if we're going to be there by 8,\" she said finishing up her mascara. \"And no I am definitely not planning on crying. You do know that we are going to a lake house right?\"\n\"Yeah, what does that have to do with waterproof mascara?\" I was confused.\n\"Hello? Lake house. Lake. We are going swimming silly,\" Mia said, showing me her bikini.\n\"No way, why didn't you tell me?\" I asked.\n\"I thought you knew...Oh well, don't worry. You can borrow one of mine,\" Mia said going through her drawer.\n\"Thanks, but I think you're forgetting something,\" I said pointing at my chest, knowing very well that Mia only owns low cut bikinis.\n\"Oh...I thought your scar would be healed by now,\" Mia said looking at the bikini she picked out for me.\n\"It is,\" I started to say. \"But it's still there,\" I said slowly.\n\"Then own it,\" Mia said, jumping up holding out the bikini.\n\"What?\" I asked.\n\"Own it, your scar it’s a part of you,\" she said. \"Plus you would look great in this bikini,\" she said holding out a neon blue and yellow bikini.\n\"Wow I love that bikini,\" I thought. I would look great in it too. Right? Right.\n\"Ok, if you say so,\" I said, taking the bikini from her.\n\"Great! Now go change so we can leave,\" Mia said walking behind her dressing wall with her bikini and cover up.\n-------\n\"Wow, this place is packed,\" I said getting out of my truck. It took us 20 minutes to find a place to park. Mia wasn't kidding when she said the whole school would be here.\n\"Yeah,\" Mia agred. \"This cabin is beautiful.\"\n\"It is,\" I said staring at it. It's also huge. At least three stories tall. It's a true log cabin, and it's amazing.\n\"Come on,\" Mia said, pulling my arm. \"Party's this way.\" She led us around the cabin to the back where it opened up to a beautiful lake. There are tons of tables set up with drinks, pizza, chips, and something that I don't need to know about. Fairy lights are strung all around from tree to tree. People are swimming and dancing to the blasting music.\n\"This is so cool!\" Mia screamed in my ear. \"There's Jacob, I'm going to go say hi. Wanna come?\" she asked, walking towards him.\n\"No that's ok, I'll get us a drink,\" I said and walked over to one of the tables.\n\"Thanks,\" I said as a girl handed me a drink. I turned around to see that Mia was already swimming with Jacob. She motioned for me to join her but I showed my drink and that I was content with it. \"Good for her,\" I thought. She came here to get Jacob and she is. She-\n\"You like the punch?\" someone asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. I turned around to see a tall man. He was probably around my age. He was also very tan and muscular. I could see his muscles through the t-shirt. He also had deep aqua eyes.\n\"Yeah, it's good,\" I said, realizing that I didn't even try it. I brought it to my lips and tasted it. It was disgusting but I tried to hide it with a smile.\n\"No, don't drink it. I know it sucks,\" he said seeing my disgust. He took it from me and threw it away.\n\"I'm Noah,\" he said extending his hand\n\"Emma,\" I said, shaking his hand.\n\"So did you come here to swim?\" he asked looking at the ground.\n\"Why? Are you asking me to go swimming?\" I asked.\n\"No, I can't,\" he said looking away.\n\"You can't swim?\" I asked, a little confused, this is a swimming party afterall.\n\"No, I can, I just haven't in a while,\" he said quietly.\n\"Oh, me too,\" I said realizing it's been long over two years since I last swam.\n\"Realy, why?\" he asked.\n Before I could answer some other guys came running at him and put him in a headlock laughing. These were clearly his buddies. He was laughing with them as they rolled on the floor fighting each other. Until one of the guys got him down and took off his shirt revealing a long scar going down his chest stopping at his toned abs. Noah looked horrified. He scrambled to put his shirt back on.\n\"Why did you do that Josh?\" he screamed.\n\"Sorry man, I was just messing around,\" Josh said.\nRather than losing it Noah left storming off into the forest. I scrambled to keep up with him.\n\"Noah wait, where are you going?\" I asked running after him. Just as I thought he was going to full on run away he stopped dead in his tracks making me almost run into him.\n\"What do you want? Didn't you see me?\" he asked, staring dead at me.\n\"See you what?\" I asked extremely confused.\n\"There, with my shirt off. You saw my scar didn't you?\" he asked, more like a statement.\n\"Yeah, and?\" I asked still confused.\n\"And now you go away, disgusted just like every other girl,\" he said coldly, beginning to turn away. But I grabbed his arm to face me again.\n\"And why would I do that?\" I asked bewildered.\n\"Because, it's a disgusting unattractive scar and now you want nothing to do with me\" he said like it was obvious.\n\"What?\" I asked, still not understanding.\n\"Stop, just go. You have no idea what happened to me,\" he said facing away from me.\n\"Yes, I do,\" I said quietly. He turned around confused staring into my eyes trying to see if I actually did. I took a step back and took off my cover up revealing my bikini and scar. This bikini was open all the way down my chest showing my whole scar that was identical to his.\nHe stared at me in shock, unable to say or do anything. I took a step towards him slowly, like I was afraid I might scare him. I grabbed the bottom of his shirt and ever so slowly lifted it up and over his head, dropping it to the ground. I softly lift my hand and put it on his scar, over his heart. He flinched but didn’t move my hand. He was staring at me still shocked as I grabbed his hand. I held it for a moment but then guided it to my scar. I placed his hand on my scar, over my heart. We stared into each other's eyes for a long time.\n\"We're the same,\" I said, pressing his hand closer to my heart.\n\"We're the same, \" he said, taking his other hand to place it over mine on his chest.\n\"We're the same.\"" } ]
[ { "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 Diamond's Curse\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1071\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about an object that has been around for centuries or passed down generations." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "[Very VERY loosely based on an old tale, mostly fiction.]\nThe Diamond's Curse\nI'm not nearly as dangerous as the humans believe me to be.\nWell, not usually.\nHumans are fools for mysteries and conspiracies, I have learned. I've spent many years near them and I know they'll believe anything. Just like lambs, they will follow any keeper they first lay eyes on. Humans are very easily manipulated. A sad but important truth.\nYou might know me, or know of me. My early history was long and arduous. A long story for another time, perhaps.\nI never meant to end up here, in this strange land surrounded by sparkling lights and eager faces. My intentions were originally honourable, although I admit I might have gotten caught up in my justified rage.\nI long to be back in my home. I fear I might not make it to the land I know and love but I will continue to sustain this existence for as long as I must.\nTwinkling in this glass case, I watch their faces as they moon over my glory and I think back on all the hardship and suffering I caused after transferring my spirit into this stone.\nThe great image of me which stood as a hopeful reminder to my people was wrongfully defaced and the very gem I now live in was stolen from it by a greedy thief. His only motivation was the money which he would gain from selling the gem. My rage boiled over at the thought.\nHow dare he?\nHow dare this surf steal me from my people and home? After all I had undergone, I refused to idly sit by while this no-good wretch does this horrible thing!\nSo, that’s when I did it. I put a curse in place to ruin all who would try to use the gem, and me inside of it, for ill or personal gain. And what happened to the man who stole me, you ask?\nWell, let’s just say, in the vernacular of the youth who come to stare at me, he got murked (the vernacular of the youngest humans is very strange but incredibly entertaining).\nFrom there I was sold to many rapacious humans who cared little for others. My curse followed and touched them all in horrible and sinister ways.\nSome say my curse is nothing more than falsehoods created by people who wish to keep my glory from the less fortunate but that is not the truth. They do not know about me or my story.\nAny who possesses me will die or suffer consequences unless their intentions are honest and upright. As a Goddess, it is within my power to protect people who might be at a disadvantage from rulers who do not have their best interests at heart.\nIn my former life, I was known as courageous, dedicated, loyal, and long-suffering. They called me a silent pillar of strength. Now, in this gem, I am changed both in form and in attitude.\nHundreds of years ago when they took me from my people, they sent me to an unusual land with extravagant garments and decadent foods. The people were unwashed and broken. Without food or options, those who owned me thought nothing of leaving the poor people to starve in the streets.\nThese were horrible humans, they did not deserve the excessive life they lived. How could they watch, surrounded by an abundance of succulent goods, whilst their own people lived in misery?? I made sure they died at the hands of their people.\nI was stolen and sold for profit from person to person.\nFor many years after, I was passed from human to human, a great many of whom fell in the clutches of my curse. They were all unworthy of the beautiful gem I lived in.\nOne day, I happened to land in the hands of a supposed noble lady. After being with her for a while, I came to understand her and her homeland. She was a woman from nothing who beat all odds and rose to a higher society. She was strong and capable. Not a perfect human but a good woman nonetheless.\nThose in her life, however, were greedy and cruel. They, too, fell at the hands of my curse. None were spared the fate they deserved.\nThe lady soon began to believe the rumours about the gem, a diamond as the humans call it, and the curse that followed it. She didn't know that within the diamond she possessed, part of me still lived. She was not a believer at first. She doubted the curse many other humans had come to believe.\nBut then her family members began to die and it was not long until she, too, was convinced of my curse.\nShe lost much on her journey to believing. She lost a son (he was not part of my curse, I do not kill children), a husband who lost his senses, and a daughter as well. Then, she died too but I suspect that was from a broken heart.\nOne more human gone on a list of many who were lost to my curse. So many humans who led malicious lives.\nWill these humans never learn?\nIt was barely a decade after her death that I came to reside where I am now, although I have taken some trips here and there. Mostly, I just wait. I sit in this glass case and peer into the eyes of the humans who come to gawk at the brilliance of the diamond I live in.\nThey do not try to take me but some have the desire to do so. Thankfully, they aren't able to because the place the humans keep me in is called a museum. It is meant for looking only. Not taking.\nSo here I wait as the object of desire of many a greedy man and woman who cannot have me. Other humans simply gape at my splendour. The blue diamond I live in is quite extraordinary.\nOne day, I am sure, I will leave and again be back to weighing the moral character of the people who own me until the day when I am returned to my homeland.\nI will carry on in this gem steadfast until that day comes. I am hopeful I'll return home. After all, that is what the humans named this diamond:\nHope" } ]
[ { "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: Why I Never Go To Parties\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1019\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a party that has gone horribly wrong." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“Good job on your test Rose! You got a perfect 100!” Mrs. Lucy said. \nI looked around the room and noticed everyone was clapping for me. I studied all night for that test, I guess hard work does pay off. \n“It’s time for lunch, you’re all dismissed.” \nWe all ran out to feed our growling bellies. Suddenly, Axel walked up to the microphone in front of the cafeteria and took it from the dean who was making announcements about upcoming events. Everyone grew quiet as we waited for Axel to speak. \n“Good Morning fellow pupils. What I am about to say is extremely risky, and it may or may not end well. I can walk out of this room with a smile on my face, or I can walk out of this room crying.”\n“JUST SAY IT ALREADY!” Lucas yelled. \nAxel laughed nervously, and his face was flustered. Suddenly, he was looking over at me. \n“Rose, will you go to prom with me?” He asked. \nHe looked intensely at me, but I was able to see the hopefulness in his eyes. The dean began to grab at the microphone, but he kept it until I answered. All the attention was on me. \n“Can we talk about this in private? You are putting a lot of pressure on me.” I said. \n“Rose, Please.”\n“What the hell! Why not! Can you give the microphone back to the dean now?”\n“THANK YOU!” The dean said. \nAxel did some odd victory dance, and a tear of joy rolled down his eye. The classmates' faces were in awe, and he ran over to me and wrapped me in his embrace. Lucas looked over to me, then got up and left the cafeteria. \n“I will see you tomorrow at the party! I will pick you up around eight, how does that sound?”\n“Sounds good,” I said blushing. \nI went home that night reflecting on what just happened. My mom called me for dinner and was stuck in my thoughts. \n“Honey, what's wrong. You are always full of stories and have a bright smile on your face.” Mom said. \n“I am going to prom.”\nMy mom looked over to my father and glowed up with excitement. \n“MY BABY IS GOING TO PROM!” She screamed. \n“Mom, seriously?”\n“THIS IS THE BEST NEWS EVER! WHO ASKED YOU? WAS IT LUCAS!”\n“No Mom. It was Axel.”\n“THE JOCKEY! OMG, HE MUST HAVE A SIX-PACK! WHY WOULD HE ASK YOU?”\n“Wow, thanks, Mom.”\nTHE NEXT DAY:\nThe doorbell ringing sent shivers up my spine. I was not ready, I never went to prom before. I don’t even know how to dance! I opened the door, and Axel’s jaw dropped open. \n“Rose, you look stunning,” Axel said. \nI was too shy to talk, and as I looked behind him I saw a limo in the driveway. \n“Yes Rose, that’s for you.”\nHe offered his hand, and I took it. I couldn’t help my hand from shaking. \nFinally, we walked into the room with lights shining everywhere. Suddenly we were doing a slow dance, and I rested my head against his strong chest. His touch was warm against my body, and he ran his hands up and down my waist. He leaned in for a kiss, and I closed my eyes. Suddenly he pulled away, and I saw Lucas next to him crossing his arms. \n“Lucas, what do you want man?” Axel said. \n“I would like a word with Rose,” Lucas said. \n“No man, she is mine tonight. Lay the frick off.”\n“It’s ok Axel. Just go get some drinks, I will be back in a minute.”\nI went to another room, and Lucas looked upset. \n“Rose, Why are you with Axel, you know I like you.”\n“To be fair, you never asked me. So how is any of this my fault?”\n“You said yes! I liked you since we were little and you go with a guy you just met?”\n“Again, you never asked me!”\n“It's common sense, Rose! Use your brain, you're good at it!”\n“Seriously? You are using my test scores against me?”\n“Look, I am sorry. I just really like you Rose. I should have asked you.”\n“He went in for a kiss, and his grip on my head was too strong for me to be able to pull away.” \n“ROSE!” \nI looked over and saw Axel, who dropped the wine glasses on the floor. The wine was spilling all over his white shoes. \n“Axel, I was trying to pull away!”\n“No, you weren’t. I understand you knew this idiot since you were little, and that’s why I said it was a risk to ask you. If you wanted to say no, you should have just said it. I hope you’re happy Lucas.”\n“Axel wait! Please don’t leave.”\nLucas was smirking in the corner of the room. \n“What do you want Rose?”\n“Look, it will make Lucas mad if he sees us having fun. So let’s go have fun together.”\n“Is this what this is Rose? Is this some sort of game you are playing? Well let me tell you something, you played the game on my heart already. Don’t blame yourself, I am not as smart as you are. I thought it was a good idea to ask you hoping you and Lucas were just friends. I don’t want to get in the way of what you guys already have. I am going home, Rose. I just want to be alone.” Axel said. \nHe walked out of the room crying and threw the flowers he was going to give me on the ground. I looked back at Lucas, who was continuously smiling. \n“Don’t worry about those stupid flowers, I got you some myself.”\nHe handed me a big bouquet of tulips, and I began to sneeze. \n“I AM ALLERGIC TO THOSE, ASSHOLE!”\nI ran back home and cried the whole run there. I knew parties weren’t for me, and the whole night was a disaster. I was convinced I would never go to another party after this, nor was I ever going to talk to Lucas 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: Musket on the Ledge\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2988\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story featuring an element of time-travel or anachronism." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I think I woke up around midday. I was prostrate in the grass, blowing as hard as I could through my nostrils. I must have sounded like an angry bull, but I couldn’t get rid of that damned smell. When I say ‘damned’ smell, I am not being unnecessarily crass. This was a smell only the Devil himself could produce. Dead bodies and gun smoke… more than I thought possible. I was far from the battlefield, as far away as my legs were able to carry me. Still, the Damned Smell lingered. \nWould there be anyone searching for me? The General thought the Graybacks were nearby, the regiment could be too preoccupied to send a search party. But they would notice I’m gone eventually… I would be shot. Or branded a coward, a permanent mark of shame on my face. At the thought of hot metal, I pulled myself off the ground. I felt excruciating pain in my ankle. Although I slept for hours, I didn’t feel any better. I wish I could have slept for days. The last good sleep I had was in Mary Anne’s arms the night before I left. But the forest is not as safe as it seems. If someone was looking I would be found. Yet the birds carried their songs, forever unaffected by the human blood baths across the country. If I closed my eyes it sounded just the same as when I’d till the fields at home. I could almost hear my mother calling me in for dinner. I wished the musket in my hands was just a hoe.\nThe inside of my chest began to burn. Anger. I hadn’t felt that feeling for months. It had been replaced by the cavity of my stomach, the aching of my joints. The anger pushed me through all that the first few months of service, but after being beat on for so long, my body could not feel anything other than weary. I would have been happy as a farmer all my life, working my father’s land by day and working my wife by night. I wanted to watch Mary Anne’s stomach grow large and pink each time we made a child. See her blonde curls grow gray and lousy. I would have been perfectly content to have never left my dull little corner of New York. Now that dull life is gone plain and simple and here I was running toward bygone days. \nAll we could do was fight. That’s what we soldiers have been told. Preserve the Union. But, dammit, I’ve lost 40 pounds. When I was standing there in ragged clothes with a gun, shooting at a bunch of scared men, the only way I could feel was pathetic. I couldn’t see myself as one of America’s heroes, but I refused to be one of her traitors. More to the point, I didn't want Mama to have a traitor for a son. I turned myself around, chest burning with conviction as my ankle screamed at me to lay down. I chose the nobler voice and marched forth, as the smell of Hell grew stronger.\nI came upon a ledge, where forest dropped into a grassy field. Down below there were soldiers of each side lined against each other, smoke blowing and bodies collapsing. From the ledge, I had a clear shot of the Confederates. I crouched into bushes, loaded my musket, and took aim the best I could. As that first bullet flew into the shoulder of one man, I reloaded and shot another which hit a man right in the neck. Blood splattered. In a rage, I took another shot, hitting a man in his leg, before I realized the tone of the field had totally changed. Guns on both sides were down. Men on both sides were screaming like they’d never seen blood before. Men who had been lying dead on the battlefield, got up and ran away. Only the man I had shot stayed on the ground. Some men, both Confederate and Union, went to help him. My mind could not make sense of what I saw, but I decided not to shoot another bullet. I found myself running away from the battlefield once again. Back in the forest, not understanding what was happening, but knowing something was terribly wrong.\nThere was a clearing which led into a graveyard. I didn’t stop running, twisting through graves, until my hurt ankle snagged on one and I went flying into a little slab in the ground. The gravestone seemed weathered and old. The engraving read… \nMelody Jackson \n1883 - 1943\nRest in Peace\nThe numbers made my head throb in pain. I laid there, ankle screaming at me not to get up. I just stared at the numbers, before my head felt like lead and my skull hit the stranger’s grave. It was not long before the inhuman wailing and cuffs around my wrists. I kept silent. One of the men told me that was my right. So all I said was “Addison Wells. Union Army. 147th New York Regiment”. The men glanced at each other and glared at me. They threw me in the back of a metal carriage. The machine grumbled and rode away, no horse attached. Out the window came into view concrete buildings and flashy signs. Dozens of the horseless carriages. Lights red, green and yellow. It all made my headache worse. I closed my eyes, blocked it all out. For the first time since I got the draft, I cried.\n*\nA bright light was shown in my face, but there was no fire. If I squinted real hard at it, I could make out a glowing stone of some sort. It was so bright, yet so solely focused on my sweating face, as to make the room around me look near pitch black. One of the lawmen stood before me, a cold metal table between us. \n“What is your name?”\n“Addison Wells.”\n“Is that your real name or your pretend name?”\n“I am Addison Wells. From Oswego, New York.”\n“Are you a historical reenactor? Who are you associated with?”\n“I’m not… that. I’m not sure what that is.”\n“Alright. Why then are you dressed like a Union Soldier? Or even better, why are you telling us you are one?”\n“Because I am one.” I retorted, knowing I was not going to be believed, but not understanding my surroundings well enough to make an excuse.\n“Knock it off. Acting insane isn’t gonna help you. I am just going to note you weren’t cooperative. Why did you shoot into that crowd? And don’t tell me it’s because they were Confederate soldiers.”\n“Is this the Confederacy?”\n“Stop being funny. This is the United States.”\n“Then why is it a crime to shoot a Confederate soldier?”\n“It’s a crime to shoot anybody. Is it a crime to play around as a Confederate soldier?”\n“Why would any American want to play a Confederate soldier?\n“You killed a man, Addison. He’s dead. And his wife and three kids back in Georgia will never see him again.”\nIt wasn’t the first Southern son I had shot. I believe I had killed 6 total in the war, but really I don’t know. Bullets fly, they might hit someone, he might die. It was too messy to tell. \n“He is dead because of you, Addison.” the man repeated with such vitriol it made me feel nauseous. \n“I thought I had to do it.” I said and suddenly my breath was wild and shaky.\n“This is a strange case. We don’t know who you are. Or why you’re in that torn up costume. We don’t know why you did what you did or why you did it with a musket. But honestly, that’s for the journalists. All I can tell you is that you’re probably facing a lifetime in jail. Thanks for admitting your guilt so easy.”\n“Can I ask one question?”\n“One.”\n“Why are there so many stars on the flag on your sleeve?”\nHe squinted at me and said “There’s 50 states.” I thought for a moment and smiled. “And that includes Alabama, Georgia, the Carolinas, all them?” and wondered if these names would even be recognized. \n“What was this? Some kinda political statement? Got something against the South?”. \nI gave a genuine smile and laughed a little. As he dragged me to a cell, the man mumbled “You’re a creepy motherfucker”. The bars slammed shut and whatever shreds of freedom I had were over. Across the room, the calendar above the officer’s desk said JULY 2016. I laid down on the cot, glad to at least rest my ankle, as my mind spun wild. I clung on to the thought of the Union preserved to try to get some good sleep, but my brain ended up a broken record: Why so many States? Why so many States? Why so many States?\n*\nGuilty. \nIt had all been a blur of things I did not recognize, but the court was almost comforting in how unchanged it was, wood panels and all. Although, the judge was a dark black man, which took me aback. Gave me a laugh even to see a negro up there looking so important. Though maybe if anybody would sympathize with shooting a Grayback dead, it would be a negro. But it ended up not meaning much. Guilty just the same. Second degree murder. I didn’t know there were degrees of murder. Thought you were a killer or you ain’t. Guess I wasn’t even a first rate killer, but off to the penitentiary I went. Sometimes in that cell, I’d awake in sweat, simply glad I wasn’t actually back on the battlefield. Concrete and metal felt safe on those nights. Other times I woke up with a boner and a dry throat, sad that I would never see Mary Anne again. \nMy ‘cellmate’ had tattoos all over each of his arms. Many of the men here did, it was like nothing I had ever seen before. Maybe they had been real scared about becoming an identity-less body. These were men of all colors too, including more negroes than I had seen since my regiment marched past plantations. My cell mate was a pale white, though, like he’d never worked in the field a day in his life. Well, I guess one doesn’t get much sunlight locked up in here. He had short blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and muscles so large I thought he might belong in a sideshow. His name was Eric and his words slurred together.\n“I killedmahbruther. Was feelinup mahwoman. Wuddit youdo?” \nI wondered if I still had the right to remain silent.\n“Youdeaf, boy?” he growled.\n“I shot a man dead.”\n“Why?”\n“I saw that…. he was…” \nI remember what the police officer had spelled out with sarcasm in the interrogation room. “The Civil War is a hundred years finished.” Saying I was a solider, that it wasn’t murder, didn’t mean anything to anyone.\n“He took my woman to bed.” \nThe thought of Mary Anne with another man put the flame back in my chest. She probably married another man. I was dead over there. Back then. And she was dead now. I puked in the little latrine. At this point I had gotten used to the sight of water swirling down the drain. On my knees in front of the swirling water, I said “I lost control. I’m not a killer. I’m a soldier\". \n“I’m nottakiller either. I servedinafghanistan. You?”\n“What’s that?”\n“Waswhat?”\n“Af- af-”\n“Afghanistan.”\n“Right. What is that?”\nHe looked at me like I was the dumbest son of a gun he’d ever laid eyes on and began to speak real clear.\n“It’s a country. We’re at war there. Are you retarded or something? You’re no solider.”\n“I am a soldier.”\n“Don’t disrespect me. You don’t know the shit I saw.” \nI clenched my mouth shut lest I start spewing words that might sound like insanity to him. I had to suffer another indignity. I was just a common killer. A man with a screw loose. \n“You are showing symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” said the man who each week sat in a chair across from me. He was a bald man with thick glasses, asking questions about my past and furrowing his brows at my answers.\n“Do you really believe those memories?”\n“Of course I do.”\nBut of course I could not blame him for not believing me. I was not sure who to be mad at in all this. I was raised better than to curse God. When the war came there were the men who cursed God for the misery and the men who cursed the people for bringing it upon themselves. Mama’s only proud possession was our family Bible and it sat on our dinner table, a constant reminder of what she expected from her children. The day the news of war came, all the joy got knocked out of her, and she simply pointed at a verse in Acts and slipped off to bed. \nAnd hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation…\nThe words made my head spin, but with the talk of blood and nations, I figured she was thinking it was Biblical times all over again. Was there mention in the Bible of God throwing a poor soul into the future? They allowed me a Bible and I scoured through it. In Acts it said something about suddenly taking Philip away to Azotus, but I didn’t know what Azotus was.\n“Youabiblethumper?”\n“I’m a man of God.”\n“Everykiller sayhe a manahGod.”\nAt night I dreamed of Azotus, but I couldn’t make sense of it. There were the concrete buildings and magic mirrors I had found here. It was really a lot like the bit of the world I had seen before prison, but it was all jumbled, and the streets flew into the air. Buildings rose hundreds of feet into the sky. It was all impossible and I knew it was a dream as it was happening. But then there was Mary Anne, alive and well and mine, except she was wearing a pair of jeans and a ‘t-shirt’. She said something about that “Afghanistan” place and “really fucking missed you”. I opened my mouth to respond and I talked funny, like the people in Twenty Sixteen do, using words I didn’t understand. I called her ‘sexy’ and unbuttoned her pants. She dressed like a boy, yet her face was so painted up it made me embarrassed. The embarrassment kinda got me heated and on the big cushy bed I relieved the feeling into her. She moaned my name and it was good to be called Addison without suspicion. When we were done, she turned on the magic mirror and it no longer dimly reflected our naked bodies. It showed us a man in two lines, with muskets and rifles. Smoke all around them and bodies hitting the ground. Music stirred, music I never heard on a battlefield, a whole orchestra playing while Graybacks and good American men shot each other dead. That Damned Smell came through the magic mirror.\n“PUT IT OUT!” but I was back awake in the cot, starting at Eric’s face above me.\n“SHUTTHEFUCKUPYERASCAAAL.” \nHe gave me a good slap to the face. The smell went away.\n“Sorry, I was having a nightmare.”\n“Keep it to yourself.”\n“Eric… why are there so many States? Can you name some States for me?”\nHe shook his head, but it was too dark to read his face. He musta been able to see my genuine confusion, though, because he whispered a little song to me.\n“Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut..” and so on. There were all the familiar names, but so many new ones. I wish I coulda gone out and seen what the settlers made of that wilderness. For the first time, I didn’t ache for home, I felt kinda like God might have suddenly taken me here for a reason and I just had to trust him. Mama trusted that God brought the war for a reason and now there was “Alabama, Alaska, Arizona” and negro judges in fancy robes.\n“Do you really believe those memories?” asked the bald man again later that week.\nI gave a long pause. I could hear birds through the window. If I closed my eyes… \n“I’m… really not sure. It’s in my head, but so is a lot of stuff, so I’m really not sure.”\n“You are showing symptoms of psychotic disorder…” and he went on about tests and pills that could make the false memories go away. I laughed to think that just eating something could sort this out for me. That was Mama’s solution to everything. I thought about her teaching Mary Anne to cook. The two of them would crack eggs onto the pan, laughing together because Mary Anne was lousy at it, getting egg shells where they didn’t belong. \n“Like this, on the side of the pan, not too hard. And then…”\nDinner smelled real good. “Well if it isn’t my two favorite ladies…” I’d say when I walked in with freshly butchered meat. Why were we doing all this? Oh right, this was a special occasion. I was home. Oswego hadn’t changed a bit. As we ate up our eggs and ham, I would tell them about the Confederate soldiers I had killed. There was this one I shot from up on a ledge. Mary Anne smiled real bright at it, but I could tell Mama was hiding a frown. She’d say to me on the porch later, when Mary Anne was cleaning the kitchen, “He had a wife and three kids”." } ]
[ { "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: Crossing A Thin Line\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1116\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a reluctant party-goer who ends up being the star of the show." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Julie Ambazi smiled and socialized with her peers or so it seemed. Her attention, all of it, was focused on only one person. The person who was smiling and laughing super loud with her bad vibe entourage, Lydia Mpoa.\n'Who even invited them?' Julie wondered.\nThis was her party and yet someone she specifically chose to not invite was a few feet away drinking her punch and eating her food in her own house. The red party cup in Julie's hand unfortunately was the poor soul which had to experience her anger as it was crushed in a tight fist.\n\"Hey Julie you okay?\" A random guy asked concern clearly drawn on his face, nonetheless Julie didn't bother to answer. She shoved past him and walked towards the devil herself. As she approached the all dressed in black group ,the devil's back to her, the guys went quiet and Julie knew she was smirking. Her arch enemy was smirking knowing it was her even before she said anything to her. This only fueled her anger.\n\"Who the fuck invited you Lydia? You do not go for parties and even if you did, I did not want you in my party. So what the hell are you doing here?\", Julie let all the venom in her throat escape.\nJulie placed her hands on her waist, letting all her anger flow through her body and converge in her hands which made her fingers squeeze her waist tightly. She was pretty sure she would find a bruise, but a bruise was the price to pay for controlling her anger otherwise she would be pouncing on Lydia and no one could save her from her wrath.\n\"Listen Julie, first great party by the way. Second, I don't need a freaking invitation, I go where I want and when I want. And lastly, we are graduating soon so I need to break my high school parties cherry so you should be highly honored that you have my virginity\" Lydia's famous 'back off' face was the image in Julie's pupil, her mind quickly registered the threat in front of her. Evasive maneuvers were just about, just, to take over by making Julie back away or run away but she stood her ground pretending 'the face' as people called it didn't affect her. Others might have bought her brave stunt but Lydia saw right through her, with a satisfied smirk on her face she turned around,\n\"so yeah I have the total advantage on this guy and I take my shot, he blacks the hell out\" laughter erupts in her little group.\nJulie felt her anger travelling through her whole body and finally to her feet, with a stomp of her 6 inch heels she heavily attacked the floor as she walked towards the kitchen. If she was a cartoon, steam would literally be coming from her ears, her body shook and her ears, according to the reflection on her fridge, were red with rage.\nBut, she decided to have fun at her own party. She couldn't throw Lydia out it would ruin her reputation so she just 'chilled'. Drunk beer here and there, played some few games and even kissed a girl or two. By 2 A.M. most people were drunk or high out of their minds but Julie could hold her liquor so being the only sober person in a drunk train wasn't exactly super fun so she went to her backyard for a swim. No one was there and by that she meant the ten people who were passed out around the pool. So she just stripped out of her tight short black dress living her in her purple bikini. She placed herself at the edge of the deep pool and soon her body sliced through the cold water, her body felt amazing. She swam for a long time at least that's how she described it since she wasn't really keeping tabs.\nAs she placed herself at one of the corners with her head at the edge she realized her nipples were too sensitive to the water as opposed to have a cloth trying to separate the water from her body. When she looked down, her bra was missing. And just as she thought things couldn't get worse some guys and girls started heading out of the house tapping away on their phones meaning they were still sober, they were staggering or anything. When she looked for her bra string it was at the other side of the pool. A few meters away, if she swam she would draw attention to herself and that would alert the sober people. As she panicked she didn't see the shadow, she didn't feel the ripple of water made by someone swimming but she did feel the electricity and warmth as a body covered her and pushed her further into the corner.\nGasping, she met the eyes she had learned to poke out in her dreams.\nLydia.\n\"Act normal and they won't see\" she said as she kept an eye on the sober group as they talked.\nShe quickly slipped the top string around Julie's neck, her fingers slightly coming into contact with her skin.\nA gasp escapes both of them as electricity ripples through both of them. Lydia's attention snapped to Julie who was looking at her with a longing yet confused look. Lydia just went on to finish dressing Julie. She moved both of them away from the corner slightly as she tied the strings on her back.\nWhen she saw she had finished her rescue mission she turned to swim away. But her now soaked leather jacket was pulled making her turn to Julie. The confusion now being more prominent in her eyes and also her face as her eyebrows furrowed together,\n\"Why?\"\nLydia looked at Julie and contemplated telling her the whole mambo jumbo but she decided to go with the summarized version.\n\"Am just tired of this feud. So this\" she gestured at her bikini bra, \"was my white flag. I quit or surrender to whatever this whole feud has been. You can continue but am done and I won't invite myself to your parties anymore. Night, Julie,\"\nShe turned and swam away and was out of the pool and her now soaked clothes looking so heavy and uncomfortable but all this couldn't measure up to the confusion cooking in Julie's mind. The same question ringing through her mind,\n'Why?'\nThe answer she got was clearly not enough. Lydia was now in Julie's sights and she was going to make sure Julie is in more of her parties. Lydia wanted her attention and now she most definitely has 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: Unfortunate events .\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1127\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who’s nervous to attend a party - their first in a long time." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "My name is Lu , short for Luisa . I'm 16 and was born in Japan but my parents divorced when I was 4 , so in result of that , me and my mum moved to the UK . Growing up , I never had much friends . When i tried to make some , they would call me names such as , 'Ching Chong Lu ' or ' dog eater'. Fortunately , I was lucky to have my best friend Naomi . She was dark-skinned with curly hair and was about 5'6 , and from the Caribbean . We were always there for each other . I'm an only child , so Naomi was like my sister . However , we were quite the opposite . She was confident , sporty , liked by most people and had a perfect family . A mum , dad , sister and brother (she was the youngest). Me however , I'm non-sporty , much prefer music and have a broken family . It's just me and mum. When I grow up , I want to be a lawyer so I can defend those who deserve justice , I know how it is to feel powerless and outnumbered . Naomi wanted to be a dancer , I promised her I'd never miss any of her dance competitions and will always be in the audience supporting her . Because that's what sisters do.\nThe end of year party was quickly approaching with only 4 days left to spare . I'm not a fan of parties , but I wasn't always like this . I used to party every weekend with Naomi and had a blast each time ! I guess you could say I was the life of the party . Since both of us were under age to drive , we would take a cab or one of our mums would pick us up . This all came to an end swiftly . It was the 31st of October 2017 . Me and a group of other friends went to a Halloween party not far from Naomi's house . It was great , the decorations , the lights and the food . We were living our best life . I needed to go to the restroom so I asked one of my friends to hold my drink . I wanted to ask Naomi , but she was dancing and I didn't want to interrupt her . When I came back , my friends were giggling secretly , I didn't think much of it , I thought someone had just made a funny joke .\nStupidly , I drank the drink . I felt faint like I was about to pass out . The room began to spin and the voices around me had become like echos , and before I knew it , I had blacked out . The next morning , I had found myself in a hospital bed with Naomi and my mum next to me . They said I had been drugged and sexually assaulted , but not sure who did it . I didn't even remember who I had given my drink too. All I know , is that someone was after me .\nTherefore , I was nervous too attend the end of year party . Naomi tried her best to persuade me , saying \"C'mon Lu , you know I will be by your side no mater what .\"or \"You don't want to miss this sis !\" My reply was always ,\n\"I know you will be there with me and I know I won't want to miss it , but I feel targeted and afraid . You know what happened last time , I don't want it to repeat itself we can't trust anyone . It's us against the world .\" The days went by and it was the night of the end of year party , I told Naomi to go because I knew how much she wanted to attend it , and I don't want to be the reason for her not going . We face timed and she was wearing a beautiful blue dress that suited her and her skin complexion so well . I guess I'd just watch people's Instagram stories of how amazing the party is .\nI called Naomi to see how she was getting on , but she didn't answer , she must've be on the dance floor showing off her great moves . So I thought . Naomi was a great dancer and had been dancing since she was 4 . When we first met , she taught me how to pirouette and moonwalk ( I never got the hang of it tho ) . I was lucky to have her and didn't know what I would do without her . I just had to wait until the party was over to call her . It was late at night and my eyes were forcefully closing , I was sure sure I could check on her the next day. It was the next day and I went to have some food , my mum was downstairs with police officers. Silent .\n\"Good morning \" I say\n\"Lu , I don't know how to tell you this , Naomi is dead .\"\n\"What ! HOW !\" I shouted . I didn't know if I was angry or devastated or both ! My best friend , my sister , my everything . Gone. I broke down completely , my body felt weak , with tears running down my face .\n\"She was drugged and sexually abused at a party yesterday , the offender is still unknown but we are doing our best to seek justice for your friend \" The officer said . I knew I was being targeted , but Naomi ? Who would want to hurt her . She was such a friendly soul , never had problems with anyone .\n\"I'm so sorry Lu , I know how much this has an affect on you , but you can't let it destroy you and eat you up inside .\" Said my mum.\n\"How am I not supposed to , Naomi , the only person that was there for me when I needed someone the most , the only on that would wipe my tears , the only one that would pick me up when I fell . I loved her !\" I was sobbing , on the floor , with mum and a random officer staring at me . I wanted to die . I wanted to be with Naomi .\nThis is why I was nervous to go to the party ." } ]
[ { "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: No One to Someone\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1717\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a reluctant party-goer who ends up being the star of the show." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Sitting in the back of the class I don’t have to worry about getting called on all the time for the answers to the questions the teacher asks. I love sitting in the back of the classroom. Not to mention, I despise people sitting behind me so being in the back of the class is perfect. I get good grades every year it’s just I don’t like half the people in the class. They like to make fun of people that aren’t like them or do awful things to them and so to stay out of it I just go to the back of the class and stay away. \nThere are different parts of everyone in school and they are called cliques. Each one has a different name. There is the popular, geeks, freaks, and loners. I hung, I guess with the freaks but wasn’t really considered one; not until way far up into high school. \n All in grade school my mom had me in the pretty little dresses and I would get the good to great grades. I wasn’t worried about answering any questions or anyone sitting behind me in elementary school. I guess when I get to thinking about it; it didn’t happen until high school before I didn’t want anyone sitting behind me. I loved school as a matter of fact back in grade school. I couldn’t get enough of it. Shoot when I somehow ended up with summer school because of my reading that was not doing too well they accidently gave me Math instead and boy I loved it! I love Math!! Math was my best subject and still is if my son needs help on his. I would fly through all the work and I can’t believe the teacher in didn’t ask why I was in summer school. I can’t believe she didn’t ask why I didn’t need any help on any of my papers or why I would get done so fast with my work without any difficulty. It’s crazy what you can get away with when teachers aren’t paying attention. Which is why, nowadays, my son gets into too much trouble. They don’t watch the other kids and then when my son finally gets tired of it and retaliates, he’s the one that gets in trouble. \nI pretty much liked all my classes in elementary school, but once I hit middle school the slowly started to get harder. I started moving to the back of the class. I didn’t want to be called on if I didn’t know the answer to these hard questions in these hard classes. What’s up with these hard classes and having all this hard stuff? They didn’t have this in elementary school. I don’t need to know the dates of presidents or anything that’s older than dirt, but they are making me learn it. Why do they think history is so important? It seems to be the same over and over. I think through all the years the only time I liked history was my Senior year and it wasn’t because I was graduating; it was because my teacher tried to make the class fun while teaching it so we can remember what we learned. That teacher got to retire when we graduated, but he called it graduating instead of retiring so he didn’t feel so old he said. He was a really awesome teacher. \nThe way you sit everywhere all depends on the group you hand with and if your cool enough to sit by them if not. If you’re not supposed to sit next to certain people, they will sure let you know. These people can be downright rude. If you are a little bit overweight to a little extra, they will moo at you or say there is an earthquake coming. If you been sweating some that day and smell strong that day, they will start making barfing sounds and barking like a dog because they’re saying you’re the trash. When you’re walking down the hallway and holding a lot of stuff one will go bump it out of your hands while the other one distracts you so a couple others can scatter your stuff all over the hallway. You have to wear the name brand clothes with the big expensive name brand shoes and hang out with the right people that have the right last names that run the town or you’re nothing. For some reason I guess the way I can talk to people I had friends from each group or clique as their called. Of course, when the other friends were around, they would act like I was there. That’s how everyone seems to act when someone else is around that you don’t like. \nOnce, high school had come into the picture full force things seemed to slowly go a bit different. Freshman year hit and I wanted to be in yearbook class to help my diploma look better, but all I got to do was help pick pictures for the yearbook not do anything extra. I had Latin one year and couldn’t understand that class at all. I had to sell candy bars to get enough money to get to go to a play. I really wanted to go. They said I didn’t turn my money in, in time, but I did. They checked again and I got to. The play was crazy. We got our food and watched the play. It was good, but while the play was going on they would change into their next outfit right in front of us. I, of course, hung out more with the teacher than anyone because all the other people there were the popular ones. The food was awesome and the play was great, but the bus ride there and back was the longest ride ever!!! \nOk, then were in Junior and Senior year and everyone had to volunteer their time to work the concessions for the basketball games all year and there were a lot! You had to work a couple of them in both your Junior and Senior year. Well, I worked my junior year and that’s when I found out that you get in free to the dance afterwards. Well, this girl does not dance at all. I knew that there would be another concession I would have to do a dance that I would be able to go to and then two more to do in senior year so I’m going to have to get more into the songs more so I know how to vibe more at the dances and not feel so weird. \nWell, here I am at the next concession for my junior year which seemed to go really fast because I was now at the dance. I seemed to know some of the songs and boogied to some of the dances. My friends looked at me like I was some crazy person wiggling around trying to do something, but not dance. Hey, I tried I really did. I might have not looked like I was dancing, but I did try. \nIt’s now Senior year and I got to do the best I can to not screw things up. I had met some new people and was dating my friends' brother which wasn’t the best decision, but I made that bed and had to lie in it. I couldn’t believe I was in a hurry one day trying to get to class on time and left my hall pass book in the locker. Well, that hall pass book had my locker combination wrote in it in case I happen to forget it. I tend to forget things from time to time and this time I did. I went to open my locker and for some reason I couldn’t remember my locker combination for anything. I tried the numbers I thought in the combination several different ways, but it just wouldn’t work. I went to the office and explained my situation and they looked me up and gave me the combination. I looked at it and felt so dumb because all I was doing was switching the last two numbers the whole time. \nNow it’s time for this year's basketball games and dances and I think I’m finally ready. I have been practicing my moves. I got through the first basketball concession and dance, but didn’t do any dancing because I didn’t want to embarrass myself in case I fell or did one of the dances wrong. \n My final basketball game concession came and then it was time for the dance. They cleared the floor from the basketball game and cleaned up the trash if there was any. It was now time for the dance! On with the show! The music played and I danced. I was actually dancing!! People were clapping at my dance moves and cheering my name, whooping, and hollering! I couldn’t believe it!! I loved it! I never had this kind of attention. I guess learning dance moves was worth something after all. People actually knew my name. \nThe next day at school people were still talking about the dance and was hollering my name. They were high fiving me and asking if I wanted to sit with them at lunch or on the bleachers before class started. I never knew how much one dance could change my life!! \nOne time we were all sitting in the bleachers waiting to go to class and the popular kids came to me. I couldn’t imagine why they wanted to talk to me. \n“Hey, Lynn you busy this weekend?” Sarah from the popular kids asked \n“No, not really I’ll just probably be staying home reading one of my library books.” I replied \n“I don’t think you will. You’ll be going to this awesome party we are throwing this weekend.” Sarah replied \n“Oh, I am why do you want me there?” I asked \n“Because I want you to show us those cool dance moves you did at the dance last week.” Sarah said \n“Um, ok sure. I’ll see you there.” I replied \nI can’t believe in a couple years I went from no one to someone in such a short time! It wasn’t much to most, but to me it was everything!!" } ]
[ { "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 Passenger\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1947\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story — romantic or not — about two characters who can’t find the right timing." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Death. I can smell when he’s coming.\n\nWherever I go, I’m bound to catch a whiff of the odour most foul. I used to wonder if I was insane. Or if, perhaps, the tentacles of a deadly tumour were crawling through my brain. But it is Death and his sinister stench of decay that roams the pathways of my life.\n\n1920s London was not as roaring for the middle-class as it was for the upper crust and gentry. Even though it was a time of increased prosperity, my family still lived a frugal life. We were educated and went to our warm beds with full bellies each night, but there were no flapper parties or jazzy swing evenings for us. \n\nI always knew that my two older sisters would inevitably follow in my mother’s steps and marry dependable family men who would greet them with tired smiles after a long day in the local textile factory. They would take on darning work for the privileged and pass their days idly gossiping with their dowdy neighbours, becoming stouter with each passing year. \n\nBut that was not my plan. \n\nI was going to use my gift to transcend the dreariness of the East End and become one of those high-society ladies handing my satins and silks in for mending. After all – knowledge is power, and I had the knowledge.\n\nBut how did I become aware of the power behind this ominous odour, you may wonder? Coincidence, though an untrustworthy passenger at first, eventually becomes a reliable one. \n\nAfter years of confusion and misguided notions, the penny finally dropped the day I passed a group of girls in the school passage. Girls with no potential future of significance; or any future at all. There it was - stronger than ever. That putrid stench clogged my throat and triggered tears of revulsion to seep from my eyes. With the news of their tragic deaths in a freak accident the following day, the knowledge finally dawned that these were no coincidences at all. \n\nI can smell when Death is coming. \n\nI have, since then, accepted this Grim Passenger as my constant companion. Sometimes merely a passing whiff, and other times whipping my breath away in a retch-inducing wave of putrefaction. I now, however, recognise him as a powerful gift. \n\nFocusing on my plan through the early 1930s, I modelled myself on Greta Garbo. Naturally tall and slender, my broader shoulders don’t even need extra padding to replicate her style. I also perfected her slightly sad and serious expression and trained myself to demurely observe the world from under my lowered lashes. Men love her, and they would love me too!\n\nI also strategically chose to attend posh Bedford College and Father agreed to take on extra shifts to pay for my continued education. He agreed that being a teacher was a fitting choice for a young lady in 1930’s London who wanted a little taste of the working world before settling down. I, however, was only interested in the advertisements for Companions pinned in our Library!\n\nMeeting the criteria for suitably educated and refined young ladies, I met with several elderly gentlemen with eyes darkened by the despair of losing their beloved wives. None of them, however, met my number one criterion - my Grim Passenger did not raise his head at any of those meetings.\n\nEach time one of my potential suitors entered the parlour where I was demurely sitting with my gaze strategically held by the inevitable portrait of their lost beloved, I would eagerly turn my eyes, and my nose, in his direction. Hoping to catch the tell-tale whiff as I proffered my hand in greeting, I was disappointed every time. My Grim Passenger remained stubbornly silent - and the air sweet. These gentlemen may have been heartbroken, but they were all healthy.\n\nUntil one day, about a year ago, my Grim Passenger raised his head and smiled at me.\n\nMr Sloane entered his parlour, and as I turned to greet him, with my carefully concocted expression of kind empathy, there it was. The unmistakable reek of the dark graveyards of my childhood nightmares; freshly turned earth steaming with the putridly sweet stench of rotting peaches and overripe meat. Only nightmarish before I realised that this knowledge was indeed the power to take me where I deserved to be.\n\nAs I approached him and held out my hand, I closed my eyes and sighed with satisfaction. I was home.\n\nWhen I first moved into my own wing in Mr Sloane’s Knightsbridge mansion, his family was not yet aware of his terminal condition, and I was able to start subtly beguiling him. But as the months passed, and his condition started to noticeably deteriorate, I was forced to work more swiftly to ensure that he saw me as more than only his paid companion. Happily, his family was so grateful for my assistance and doting care that they never noticed his lingering looks in my direction, the small smile reserved only for me, and the way his previously sad eyes are now warm and lively with affection.\n\nJames, as he now insists I call him, is smitten. I have become the light in his dark, the melody in his song, and the rhyme in his poem of life. No longer can he live without me, and I know he will be proposing soon, just as I have planned. \n\nOnly one thing could have stood in my way – my affinity for true romance!\n\nMy heart sang with joy when King Edward VIII chose Wallis over the crown last year. On my birthday, the 11th of December, when his voice rang the bells of true love clearly and proudly in that romantic radio broadcast, I knew this was a sign. If Wallis Simpson, a married American divorcee could win the man of her dreams, then I could surely win the old man of mine. I had already succeeded in entrancing Mr Sloane with my golden blonde Garbo-like beauty, and I was going to claim my prize, just as Mrs Simpson did!\n\nI have followed their fairy-tale romance religiously since those first scandalous photos of them in the Adriatic. Devouring newspaper reports and servants’ gossip, I am one of very few that applauded their wedding six months later. But even though their happiness and devotion should have inspired me to follow my own heart, my head has always been stronger, and I remained devoted to my plan. There was no place for a “David” in my world six months ago, even if he did make a shadowy appearance in my dreams each night. \n\n King Edward’s words about how he could not continue his duties without the help and support of the woman he loves and his choice of love over duty did, however, begin the battle between my heart and head. Although James is the answer to my lifelong quest, my soul started yearning for true love. \n\nAnd then, quite unexpectedly, my own David crashed into my life.\n\nDavid is James’ younger, and gentler, son. He is married to Phyllis Jones - the spoilt and ghastly daughter of a rich and prominent London businessman. Their marriage was the final handshake in concluding a lucrative business deal between James and her father. The David of my story chose duty over love, and the first thing that struck me about him was his lonely eyes, which, just like his father’s, became warmer with happiness each time he saw me. \n\nDavid derailed my plan completely. I tried so hard to focus all my attention on James, and my lavish future, but slowly I fell in love - real love - with David. Avidly following the fairy-tale story of Edward VIII and Mrs Simpson has not helped my quest for eternal riches, as my heart has now finally triumphed over my head, and I am about to move forward in life with my David.\n\nIf only, I could have love, and be the lady of the Manor as I have longed for all my middle-class life! But I cannot have both. James will disown David if he leaves his wife, as that will break the contract between him and her father. David will sully their business relationship forever and bring disrepute onto his family. James will also never forgive David for taking me away from him as he is now fully dependent on me, just as I had planned. He is in love with the Mary that I have presented to him all these months, and he will never forgive me either. \n\nI became aware that David mirrored my feelings the first time he joined me in the library with his sherry after a family supper. It was the day after the big wedding and Mrs Simpson (now the Duchess of Windsor!) was again all over the papers. David and I began discussing their love story and it quickly became apparent we shared the same sentiment. We were both enamoured with the romance and impressed with the courage from both sides.\n\nPhyllis does not share David’s sentiment, of course, expressing her mounting horror at each new development in their story and turning up her well-bred nose at the mere thought of anything romantic. She prefers gossiping with her equally conceited and vapid friends. \n\nAfter that first evening, it became customary for David to join me after every family occasion in the library, where we would discuss the great love stories of our time - and our growing feelings. \n\nThe following months became our unofficial and clandestine courtship, and we are now ready to start our future together. Our secret plans have been finalised, and David has drafted letters for Phyllis and his father. Earlier this evening I said my final goodnight to James. I have chosen to give up everything I have worked so hard for to be with the man that I love. I will not be the Lady of the Manor after all. But I will be the lady of David’s heart.\n\nI know that we will have a happy life together and, just like Edward VIII, I will never regret choosing love. I am leaving my extravagant future behind and following my heart.\n\nAlready there is no turning back, as Phyllis will have read her letter by now and be making a furious call to her father. James will read our letters in the morning, and there will be no escaping their wrath at Mr Jones’ beloved and only daughter’s anguish, and their mutual humiliation.\n\nI look around my familiar room one last time and clutching my suitcase, I quietly move down the grand staircase. With a final backward glance, I step out into the sweet night air and see David standing under the gas streetlamp. The dim lighting creates a halo effect around his head – and he looks like an angel. Shaking the eerie image off with a laugh; I skip down the stairs, falling into the embrace of the love of my life.\n\nAs I raise my face to him, celebrating our freedom with a kiss, my Grim Passenger steps out of the shadows and smiles slyly at me.\n\nI close my eyes as the familiar and foreboding hint of freshly turned earth and rotting peaches washes over me and quickly becomes unbearable as David pulls me closer. Panicked, I shake my head and open my eyes slowly, but my Grim Passenger is still there.\n\nHe is always there. Lurking in the shadows and hiding around corners. The only constant in my life.\n\nHe is going nowhere, but David is. And I will not be joining him after all." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Bach to the Future\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1720\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story featuring an element of time-travel or anachronism." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Moog Music Factory,\nAsheville, North Carolina,\nApril 6th, 1980\n\nDemonstrating prototypes to money grubbing shareholders was never Steve Masakowski’s strong suit--but this product spoke for itself. It was radical. Audacious. Tubular, even. \n\nToday, he was introducing the Moog Liberation Keytar.\n\n'Pretty soon, pop stars will be wielding the Liberation onstage. It will provide keyboardists the freedom to move and dance while they play like never before.' Steve said.\n\nAfter tightening the final screws on the keytar's plastic casing, he stood back from the workbench smugly. \n\n‘There she is. Any questions?'\n\nNobody spoke. Jerry, CEO of Moog, had to rescue Steve from drowning in the silence of the reticent shareholders.\n\n‘Excellent work, Steve. Care to give us a demo?’\n\nThe grunt of a shareholder slightly resembled approval.\n\nIn a moment, Steve's preprogrammed MIDI rendition of Bach’s Well Tempered Clavier would be filling the room. This particular prelude was was arguably the German master's best work.\n\nThis ought to get the stale, male and pale buggers on my side.\n\nAs Steve pressed the button down, he hoped for nodding and tapping along. But what he got were puzzled expressions and horrified gasps leaving wide open mouths. He looked down and saw an empty workbench. His finger had rendered the Moog Liberation invisible--not the intended effect of the demo at all.\n\nOne would think the impressiveness of the keyboard's disappearance would far outweigh any stuttering polyphonic rendition of a Bach classic--but the board members and shareholders were not impressed. Steve was given an ultimatum. He would have to construct another prototype within a week, or face termination of employment from Moog. The problem was that the blueprints for the Liberation had gone missing.\n\n\n\nApril 6th, 1733, Leipzig\n\nReturning to my study this morning after Sunday service, I saw that a keyboard had inexplicably materialised atop my desk. It looked like the bastard child of my lute and harpsichord. How dare they copulate on the holiest of days?\n\nThe instrument has the same configuration of black and white keys as any keyboard—but its keys are not made of wood. They are smooth and hard, made from an alien material I do not recognise. The keyboard, labelled 'Moog', is replete with a great number of buttons and knobs.\n\nIn utter astonishment, I locked it away in a cupboard--for I do not know its origins. Is it a gift from god, or a trick sent by the devil?\n\nApril 8th\n\nGod has given me no indication that ‘Moog’ is His handiwork. Once I had found the courage to investigate the instrument further, I saw that it possessed no aura of malice. Rather, the prevailing feeling was my own bafflement at its workings. Dare I try to make a sound with it?\n\nEventually gathering the will to lay my fingers upon its keys, I heard only silence. It is bound by metal screws which I dare not tamper with for my own safety. What if-- encased in its interior—in place of strings and hammers, there are malcontent demons waiting to be unleashed?\n\nIn an attempt to coax out sound, I cautiously tested all possible combinations of buttons and knobs whilst taking notes. It wasn’t until I found a small, discrete switch on the back of the body, and slid it into the ‘on’ position, that a green circle illuminated and it produced sound. \n\nThe startling timbre of middle C caused me to gasp. When passing in the hallway, Anna Magdalena knocked on the door to see that all was well. She enquired about the strange sound but I did not know how to explain it. Should I have said it was my lunch repeating on me? A boisterous bird on the windowsill? A rather violent yawn? In the end, she lost interest rather quickly—as she tends to do.\n\nFor a few hours, I did not dare touch the keys for fear of rousing Anna’s attention again. After consulting my German/English dictionary, I made use of Moog’s volume knob which allowed me play quietly and undisturbed for a while. \n\nIts keys are joyously smooth. I felt a freshness, a fluency, a flair in my playing that I have not felt for years--a certain verve and indefinable effortlessness.\n\nThe excitement left me rather exhausted and I was early to bed—but not before locking my precious 'Moog' away safely. No one else knows--and I intend to keep it that way.\n\nApril 10th\n\nArriving home from organist duty, I was desperate to play Moog. I am enthralled like the first week I met Anna. Except that this secret affair is between a man and his instrument. Ensuring to lock my study door and lower the the volume, I played fervently for hours until supper. \n\nThe many controls change the timbre and quality of the keyboard’s sound. I giggled with glee as I imitated the towering pipes of the church organ on such a small and compact keyboard. I don't know how the sounds are recreated so faithfully. It must be God's work.\n\nApril 11th\n\nI am a leaky faucet. New ideas are pouring forth every day—faster than I can catch them. I need a bucket. The larger the better. \n\nTo take full advantage of this fillip, I will be heading to my country retreat to write free of distraction. It will be a blessing to have no church duty and no interfering wife. My carriage to Zwenkau arrives tomorrow. \n\nApril 14th\n\nTo conceal Moog from the coach boy, I wrapped her in a blanket and hid her inside my clothes case. The coach boy insisted on loading all of my luggage onto the roof rack, but I refused for Moog to go up there. She made the journey by my side.\n\nEach passing furlong of the journey strengthened the notion that this keyboard is a divine tool. I must do Him justice and harness the sacred, for the betterment of humankind.\n\nApril 15th\n\nHaving settled into the cabin by the lake, a new prelude poured out of me quite easily. This well tempered clavier—this perfect keyboard—is the instrument for writing with. The new prelude I speak of begins with rhythmic arpeggios that stay similar throughout, but shift in tone--creating many moods.\n\nAmbulating around lake Zwenkau with the keyboard strapped to my shoulders has unleashed previously untapped creative power. My work is feeling altogether fresher and more vital than it has for years. I must, however, be discreet during my perambulations—for I do not wish to be discovered in possession of such an inexplicable device.\n\nApril 16th\n\nI have decided that ‘The Well Tempered Clavier’ is a fitting title for this new set of songs--in tribute to this finest of celestial instruments.\n\nApril 17th\n\nIt looks as though my brief but prolific time with Moog could be drawing to a close. Its keys are warbling and droning and I cannot write. The moaning timbre suggests a loss of power—but I cannot breathe life into her as I would a pump organ. I despair at losing a great ally. Has she done her service and is she ready to return to the Lord?\n\nYes, perhaps there is even a limit to God's inspiration. Or perhaps the journey here took too long and I missed His window of opportunity. \n\nThe temptation to tamper with Moog's interior and investigate her source of power is great. But I am loathe to push my luck and upset Him. Perhaps if I am patient, He will grant me more time with her. \n\nApril 18th\n\nMoog is dead. And if those are God’s fingers around her throat, then so be it. His will is final. Perhaps I have angered Him with my egotism? My competitive nature and desire to be the best could be mistaken for such a sin. \n\nToday—as I wept frustratedly—I hammered Moog’s keys and buttons, and she vanished before my eyes. Is her being snatched away from me a sign that I should have mourned her passing more gracefully?\n\nNow I am bereft of a muse and an instrument. I must return to Leipzig and finish writing my preludes and fugues. One can only hope that Moog’s inspiration carries over to the harpsichord and piano. What a short lived, but beautiful gift. \n\n\n\nWhen the Liberation keytar landed back on the workbench in the Moog boardroom in 1980, it did so quietly and without any fuss. Steve was handing out the hastily put together new edition of the blueprints to his engineers for the rebuild when one of them noticed a familiar sight.\n\n‘Um, Steve—what’s that sitting on the bench?’\n\nThe half a dozen engineers pushed their chairs back and stampeded over to the workbench.\n\n‘It’s the Liberation!’\n\n'Oh, thank god.' Steve said. Bach would have approved.\n\n‘Ah, good work,' Steve's CEO said, as he walked into the boardroom. 'That was a fast build! Now the shareholders can finally hear that demo. Mind if I give it a whirl?’\n\n‘No! Don’t press the—‘\n\nThe CEO had already strode over and hammered the demo button with a gleeful grin.\n\nSteve pulled at his hair.\n\n*\n\nJohan Sebastian Bach got to spend more time with his beloved Moog. He made good use of it by writing the rest of The Well Tempered Clavier. But he slipped and pressed the demo button again, sending Moog careening forwards through the spacetime continuum to 1980 again.\n\nBach took losing Moog a second time rather more stoically. And to him, its comings and goings were still attributable to divine intervention. He thought its visits to be relative to how chaste (or not) a life he had been living. So he polished up his already squeaky clean lifestyle in the hopes that God would grant him more time with Moog.\n\nSteve and his colleagues were oblivious to the fact they had been playing temporal ping pong with a musical giant. Not only had their Liberation keytar played a part in helping Bach write one of his most famous pieces, but it looked pretty badass slung over the shoulders of Gary Numan and members of DEVO as they strutted their stuff on MTV. This is a testament to the versatility of the Liberation. Never before had one musical instrument been both the closely guarded secret of a 19th century musical genius and a bold and brash musical statement in the decade of excess." } ]
[ { "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: Wallflower\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1349\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who’s nervous to attend a party - their first in a long time." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The effusive droplets of mellow, balmy rain tap gently against my fixed, casement frosted window. I catch my eye on a crack, spreading out like spiders legs at the corner of my eucalyptus wooden window frame, leaking out beads of cold, dust coated water. The leak bleeds out like blood, the water seems thick, abnormal.\nI push my face closer, hesitantly, and notice an autumn carmine red ink flowing through the water following like open blood vessels, something like a haemorrhage. It felt like only yesterday that I experienced a moment something like this, a perplexing perception and notice to non-existent detail, in the quiet, alone. It felt so comforting to hold myself in my arms and aside from the worry of these delusions being real it was a relief to have such personal solace. As I exhaled I noticed a cold, agonisingly nerving fog drifting up to the point of my nose. \nI let out an open sigh as I made my way to my coarsely white painted door and twisted the platinum black door knob so to open the door. A sudden cool breeze hit my face, I flinched and stepped backwards in an effort to fixate my nerves. I felt nervous and somewhat afraid of the night at which would soon follow. My first party in 17 years, my entire 17 years of existence and it was going to be big, more people in crowds than I had ever even met in my small town in Cairns, Australia. \nMy classmate, Izzy, invited me on what I can only assume was a whim. I had been pondering for days why she would possibly exceed the awkward boundary of even talking to me, even more, inviting me to her party 2 and a half hours out of town!\nI walked over to my left and began to sort through the torn pieces of fabric that the moths had clearly gotten to, I released a sigh as I picked out the single blazer that I had, my dad’s, before he disappeared. The thick cotton fabric had been attempted to by the moths on the inside, thankfully, it was wearable. The torso was a dark beige colour, the collar was slightly darker and had a tint of stripe patterned navy. I picked out a pair of pleat front beige pants to go with it, they didn’t fit particularly well, they were also my dad’s and as I put them on gently I couldn’t help myself reliving the memories of him holding them up against him along with the variety of other pants and critiquing each one in his comical, somewhat animated manner as I laughed at him in loud, bursting bounds of breathe.\nI tip toed gently to my mothers closet, she was passed out on the bed, under the linen sheets like all ways with a bottle of whiskey by her arms. Still, I couldn’t wake her for I worried she would grab the belt she seemed to sleep next to for going into her room. Usually, I wouldn’t dare but this was important. I flipped my fingers through her large collection of clumped and piled clothing. After what felt like ages I finally managed to grasp the top that I wanted. My mother use to be quite stylish, and had a large variety of different clothing and tops and pants in all different colours that would always look particularly gorgeous on her slim physique.\n I picked out a brown, burnt umber polo shirt, it was loose on me but after I had tucked it into my cheviot pants and tightened the elastic of my waist band it looked half decent. After I put the blazer on, I observed myself in the grimy bathroom mirror to see that my hair was messy and oily as per usual. My house hadn’t had electricity, nor, running water for years so I found it difficult to maintain hygienic and sanitary like everyone else in my class. On special occasions though, I would use, sparingly, a faintly tropical scented dry shampoo that I had found in my mothers bathroom one time. The bottle was tarnished and rustic, and after using it 4 times annually for 7 years straight it was running low. I managed out a dribble and smudged it throughout my scalp, I brushed my hair backwards with my fingers and separated my short, chestnut brown hair into a side part as best as I could. I washed off my hands with raspberry scented hand sanitiser out the window into the dying rose bushes and dried them on a hand towel, that hadn’t been used for probably 13 years or so. I then, again, looked at myself in the mirror, I critiqued myself on my appearance at rapid speed in my head, my insecurities burst out in ripples throughout my mind, my teeth were slightly unaligned and tinted with flaxen yellow and my lips were so thin that the creases around it seems to take up more space on my face than both my hazel eyes combined. My jaw line was far too prominent and my cheek bones lifted so high so to made my face look long and sorrow-filled even when I would attempt at a smile. My backpack was the same as the one that I had had in 4th grade, thankfully though, I was never much for cartoons so it was a dying grey colour. It was ripped but not deeply and had dirt stains everywhere. I looked over, in the midst of my thoughts to find that the time was 11 54 pm, my heart began to rush as I realised that Izzy and her friends were only 6 minutes away from picking me up. I flattened down some floating hairs and patted my face down in an attempt to wake myself up from what has to be a dream. \nThen, 11 56, a knock at the door. Light, gentle knocking. 3 knocks. \nKnock, knock, knock. \nRepetitive, rhythmic, perfect. \nI made my way to the front door, my legs felt, quite literally, like jelly. Stale, parched, splintering jelly that had been left in the sun to melt but defied what everyone would suspect in the most gross, unprecedented way.\nI opened the door to the smiling face of Izzy. Her eyes had creases that lifted up the corner of her blue eyes to the tips of her ears. Her dimples were symmetrically located at the points of her smile. Her lips were full and luscious and her face reminded me of fresh tulip fields, gorgeous and beautiful. I could see her car in the driveway, and could tell that Max, Bella, Kaitlyn, Jessie and Tiarnach, some of her best friends were in there already.\n“Hey Kian, are you ready to head off?” She questioned in a genuinely inquisitive and passionate manner. \n“Yeah….” I said hesitantly \n“…t..thank you for inviting me” I stuttered out in a shaking, nerving voice. \n“It’s no problem at all” she said confidently as she began to walk down the cement steps to the drive way. I followed behind her like a dog on lead, my head down and my hands tightly ahold of each other, desperately looking for some form of comfort. I hopped in the back seat of the car and aside from my fears of embarrassment and judgement I felt a sense of excitement and inspiration to start new in a way with new people. Little did I know that this moment would soon diminish and be replaced by one of the most incredible experiences I had had in my entire life and things got even better from then on. My worry and anxiety had always pulled me back in life but this day, the 28th of March, 2021 was the day that I could overcome the persona that I had been given by my life’s circumstances. I was no longer an enigma to the people around me, they could see me now and they wouldn’t dare blink for the person I became was someone no one would ever want to lose." } ]
[ { "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: Killing Hitler and Other Clichés\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2359\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story featuring an element of time-travel or anachronism." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "„Why has no one used this technology to kill Hitler yet?”\nCassian rolled his eyes and suppressed a sigh. There were people like this in every group. Annoying goody two shoes who thought they knew better than the professionals. And it was constantly the same thing. Killing Hitler. Always. Every damn time. As if there hadn’t been countless other dictators before and after him.\n“Because” The young man fought the urge to sound condescending “Time travel into the past is forbidden.” He tried to keep his answer as short as possible, bracing himself for the retaliation he knew would follow. You could bet money on it.\n“But we could save so many lives!” There it was. The same old uninspired response as always. Cassian took a closer look at the speaker. He seemed young, barely out of his teenage years, but age was a difficult thing to pinpoint these days. Judging by his perfectly structured cheekbones, the defined jaw line, shimmering blue eyes and his perfect broad shoulders and above-average height, Cassian assumed the man had been genetically optimised.\n“Of course, he was.” He thought “No one’s face is naturally that symmetric.”\nHe himself had not been so fortunate. His parents, normal working-class people, weren’t able to afford the customisations for their fertilised egg before implanting it back into his mother.\n“Travelling to the past has too many unforeseen consequences for the present. Which is why it was mostly outlawed in 2176.” The same standard answer Cassian always gave to overly motivated wanna-be Saints.\n“But isn’t that entirely selfish?” The boy argued. “We could save millions of people. Not to mention all their unborn descendants. But we don’t do it. And why? Because it could slightly inconvenience the present.” He said firmly with smug defiance written all over his picture-perfect face. \nCassian’s glance fixated on the small group opposite him. It wasn’t their youthful optimism he despised. Not too long ago he was very much like them. The time when he reached his age of maturity. Just old enough for everyone to tell him he could change the world, while still so naïve to think this was true.\nIt was something else that bothered him about the kids. When he scanned their eyes to identification, he noticed the group didn’t just look young, they all had only recently reached maturity. Yet they got to time travel. A luxury which cost exactly seven times Cassian’s yearly salary. It was a cruel irony. Working in the onel amusement park nationwide which offered time travel was his only way to be able to go on the journey. And now it was all he ever did. Day in, day out. Two trips a day, seven days a week.\nThere were no days off for middle-class people like himself.\nCassian knew it was unfair to instantly dislike them. It wasn’t their fault either that they got to celebrate a new milestone with a trip through space and time, whereas he was immediately forced to start working the second he turned 18. And it wasn’t their fault either that he had been designated to this dump. But still. Cassian could almost feel privilege dripping off them. Did they really have to flaunt it in his face?\n“What is your name?” Cassian asked. “I am Xayne, sir,” the other replied. He squirmed at the word “sir”. The employee only a few years older than the costumers, but unlike his them, he wasn’t artificially optimised to age slower. “I understand your concern Xayne, but do you really think you‘re the first one to come up with the idea of “Killing Hitler”? Do you assume no one else has ever thought about this?”\nA giggle swept through the group, but Xayne didn’t appreciate being mocked by someone beneath him. A small yet satisfying victory for Cassian.\n“Anyway,” he tried to continue with a forced smile on his lips. His supervisor would be livid if he caught him not smiling for even a fraction of a second. The faster he could get them to their destination, the sooner the tour would end.\n“You signed up to visit the year 2298, which is exactly 100 years from now.”\nHe handed each client a small watch. The metal felt cold and heavy under their fingertips.\n“What exactly do we have to do?”\nIt was the only girl among the group who had asked. Since introducing the worldwide one-child policy to fight overpopulation in 2110, men started to slowly outnumber women. Especially afterr genetic modifications became widely available within a few years. Later the global government tried to rectify their mistake by allowing each family a second child, but most couples just sold their rights for baby number two in favour to be able to afford genetic customisation for their firstborn.\nUnlike Cassian’s parents. Instead of optimising their son, they opted to have a second child later on. But in a cruel twist of fate, his father died before getting tha chance of having another baby.\nAnd so Cassian grew up without the advantage of modern genology and without a sibling.\n“Please put on the watches,” he explained in a friendly tone with his smile still in place. “They have already been set to 2298,” He continued. “I will activate them once you are ready and we will be teleported to the chosen date and place. Once we get there you’ll have exactly one hour to explore. Afterwards, you will be automatically brought back. We cannot come back early. We will need to wait for the time to run out, but we can change locations however often you wish. Do you have any questions?”\n“What will the people in 2289 think if we just randomly appear?”, asked the girl. \n“People in 2289 are used to time travellers,” answered Cassian “in about twenty years from now cities will start building official time traveller arrival zones, so we can arrive safely.”\n“What if we die over there?” asked another customer.\n“If you die in the future you are also dead in the present, as we are prohibited from travelling to the past to stop you from travelling to the future.”\n“Has that happened before?”, Xayne asked.\n“A group of time travellers was once hit by a flying vehicle upon arrival. Hence the designated arrival zones.”\nIt was not the fact people had died doing exactly what they were about to do that worried the young adults. It was the morbid dryness of Cassian’s voice in which he delivered the news to them.\nThey put the watches on and fastened them around their wrists. A few more confidently than others. Cassian could see the eagerness disappear in some of their eyes, but no one seemed to have a meltdown. Yet.\nWhat he didn’t notice was Xayne carefully glancing over at him, waiting for any sign to show him his cover had been blown. “Close your eyes. Next time you’ll open them, we will be in the future.”\n“He didn’t notice,” Xayne thought to himself.\nThe instant destruction of the atoms of seven separate individuals only took about a second. The critical part, rebuilding of said atoms in a different time and place took several moments longer. Cassian had gotten used to the feeling. After a few thousand trips, it hardly bothered him anymore. The melodic sound of synchronised vomiting was his cue that they had arrived.\n“Most people get sick when they first start time travelling,” he explained before he even opened his eyes.\nFrst he noticed the loud sound of explosions. It wasn’t unusual for time travel. What was yet to come was not set in stone, especially not the far away future. Cassian had learned over the years that minor things, like the way a politician looks at another, could derail the outlook on what was going to be. He had fast-forwarded a hundred years countless times and no two trips were ever the same.\nIt wasn’t the destroyed buildings or the wreckage around him that told him that something was wrong. Thick dust particles hanging in the air made it hard to breathe, loud sirens blaring in the background. Even the screams of terrified human beings running for their lives, none of it was unusual for Cassian.\nNonetheless, something seemed off. But he could not put his finger on what exactly.\n“Holy fuck! Has World War IV blasted us back into the stone ages?” One of the teens yelled out. That was when Cassian first noticed planes flying through the sky dropping bombs left and right. He stared at them in fascination. The only time he had ever seen one of those was in a museum and even then, it had been hard to imagine something big and clunky like this soaring through the air like an eagle. Flying was no longer needed in his day and age, was a thing of the past not of the future.\nA cold shower ran down his spine. What happened? For the first time in a long time, Cassian felt something other than disdain or boredom.\nIt started on his hands. A trembling sensation causing them to shake. Cold sweat built up on his forehead while his entire body simultaneously flared up in hot flashes. Something was wrong.\nHis chest tightened and he struggled to get enough air into his lungs. “This is not the future.” he realised as an armada of tanks slowly drove past.\n“Is this freaking Berlin? What the hell are we doing in Berlin?” The girl from before yelled in a panic.\nThis was the realisation suddenly hit him.\n“What the fuck did you do?” Cassian snapped around and grabbed Xayne by his collar. “Is this World War II?”\nXayne was unimpressed by the tour guide’s sudden outburst into violence. The complacent look in his eyes combined with an arrogant smirk. One could almost assume he was enjoying it.\n“I changed the date on your watch before you put it on. My friends, I welcome you to Berlin in 1945. Today, we are going to kill Hitler.”\nA few seconds of silence, followed by utter chaos.\n“I can’t believe it man” Sighed one voice.\n“Are you out of your fucking mind bro?” Another exclaimed.\n“You gotta bring us back!” Someone sobbed in panic.\nCassian lifted his arm to take a look at the watch dangling around his wrist. April 30th 1945.\n“You brought us to the day Hitler died?” Cassian laughed at the absurdity of the situation. “You brought us all the way here to kill Hitler, on the day he kills himself anyway?”\n“Why didn’t you at least go further back to kill baby Hitler?” asked one of the other young boys in despair.\n“I didn’t remember what year he was born!”\n“Dude, just link your mind to the cloud and look it up.”\n“You know how I feel about the could. For me it’s all about organic learning, you know?” Xayne dismissed his friend.\n“Xayne, I can’t believe how fucking stupid you are.” The girl screamed at his face. “Even if you kill Hitler today, who is that going to help? Everyone dying because of him is already dead.”\n“Oh shit Astra, you are right. I hadn’t thought about that.” Xayne’s eyes opened wide when he was finally confronted with his own stupidity.\n“You and I, we are done! This is the last time you pull me into your bullshit!”, Astra said in a calm but fierce voice. “Can you bring us back?” She asked Cassian, completely ignoring her now ex-boyfriend.\n“Sorry, I can’t. We will have to wait till the time runs out.” Cassian shrugged his shoulders. “I suggest we look for a safe place to hide from the bombs.”\nHe looked around of what was left of the city. There wasn‘t much around anymore. Most buildings had been destroyed, people were feeing and the Soviet army had brought anarchy to the ruins of Berlin. But still, there had to be a better plan than standing out in the open, waiting for 58 minutes to pass. They needed shelter. If they died here, they would be dead in their own time as well.\nCassian thought about his options. He could not bring them back to the present, but you could use the watch to bring them to a safe place. One that was not currently overrun by soldiers.\n“Guys, hold on!”, said another member of the group. “What if it’s not a coincidence we landed here?”\n“Of course, it wasn’t. Xayne brought us here.”\n“That’s not what I meant. What if we kill Hitler and we make it look like it was suicide?”\n“Why would we do that?”, Cassian asked dismissively.\n“What if we go back and everything changed because we were the ones killing him all along? And by trying to not change the future we are accidentally letting Germany win the war?”\n“Destry, have you lost your m-?”\n“Look around.” Cassian interrupted pointing at the debris surrounding them. “He has already lost the war; he is backed into a corner and is going to take the cowardly way out.”\n“This is actually so crazy and out there it might even be true,” said Astra suddenly much to Cassian’s surprise. “I mean what’s the worst that can happen if we kill him and make it look like suicide? Nothing would change. But on the other hand, if Destry is right and we ignore him, who knows what terrible effects this could have?.\nCassian thought for a bit. If this had come from Xayne he would just dismiss it. But he had to admit that Astra had a point.\n“Cassian, you must teleport us to Hitler’s study. This is where he’s supposed to do it”\nThe urgency in Destry’s voice made Cassian doubt himself.\nWhat if he was right after all? He couldn’t be. Right? RIGHT?\nCassian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. He checked his watch, then the faces of the group. He took it all in. The planes, the tanks, the explosions.\nAnd suddenly he realised, there was only one right thing to do.\nThey had to kill Hitler." } ]
[ { "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: Last chance\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1161\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who’s nervous to attend a party - their first in a long time." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "If anything horrible happens, just know that my mom forced me to go to this party. Although, I don't think anyone needs that explanation since my pale skin and wreck it ralph t-shirt tells everyone that I haven't been to a party in years. The last one I've been to was my younger cousin's third birthday party. She's thirteen now, and let's say that I wasn't too happy about breaking my iconic, decade-long streak of avoiding any kind of social interaction. So when my mom tricked me into entering her car to \"go to that new fantasy movie you always talk about,\" only to drop me off in front of the QuarterBack's mansion, I was completely livid, followed by a wave of nausea hitting my stomach. I don't even know how to approach the door, or rather the wall of people crowding the entrance. \nMost of them were already intoxicated, either by a drink, someone else, or their phone. I’ve seen all of this already, and rather keep my distance from everyone. Especially since I’ve only been known for being a “buzz kill” or “socially awkward know-it-all.” Well, I’m sorry if you don’t understand the value of sharing knowledge, and thinking about your decisions before you make them. \n\"Have fun she says, it's your last chance before graduation she says,\" I mumbled and quoted my mom from earlier as I yawned. I’m not even in the house yet, and I’m already tired of everyone here. I doubt that this party will drastically change my outlook on life, and if anything it will only prove that my dark, quiet cave of a room can give me everything that this party can't. Maybe I should just stay out here until my mom picks me up… Actually, that’s not a bad idea. It should work like secondhand smoke, but with partying. I can still absorb the aura from this event, without actively participating in it, right? Right. So that’s the plan.\n“Stay outside and wait for the ride… Hey, that rhymed,” I mumbled again as I paced at the bottom of the steps, not even noticing the pair of eyes on me.\n“Gonna go inside or just pace out here all days to burn calories?” A smug voice from the school’s most popular cheerleader shook me out of my thoughts, and back into reality. It was Jen Collins, my out-of-league crush since grade school. I heard she was dating the QuarterBack, the host of this party, actually, but then again I hear a lot of things, and most of them come from high in the sky skaters that sit in the back of the class. They could be very accurate or very out of it. Either way, it was always an adventure when I talked to them. \n“I um... I’m just gonna stay out here. Gonna get the second-hand vibes from the party,” I’m sure I was crashing and burning to say the least. Vibes? Who even says that anymore? And I never trip over my words, or at least, I never say enough words to trip over. My palms throbbed as my nails sunk into them, a nervous, yet damaging habit I developed in the sixth grade. It was due to yet another encounter with Jen. I wanted to ask her to be my partner for a project, but once I faced her, I froze up and basically killed my social reputation. Before, I was just known as the quiet kid, but then I was known as the nervous blob of awkwardness and decent grades. But, I believe I did well in owning that title as it stuck with me through the years. Why is she always here when I’m crashing and burning so horribly?\n“Um… okay, enjoy the vibes I guess. Would you mind if I joined you?” Oh my gosh, I have to be dreaming. Yeah, that’s it, this is just a simulation, just like in one of those sci-fi films. I’ll wake up and be ridiculed any second now. Maybe they might even ridicule me here. If it’s not that, then I have to be getting punked. Alright, time to search for the camera.\n“Hello, earth to Izzy,” Am I being woken up already? Or did she really just wave her hand in front of my face? Either way, I guess I should respond. Who knows, this could be real.\n“Yeah? Hey there… Jen... Jennifer... Jenny,” Oh my gosh, why did I respond? And why am I holding up finger guns at her? I should’ve just let myself be taken out of the simulation. This cannot be real. \n“Wow, no one’s called me Jenny since the sixth grade,” she smiled as she surprisingly held up finger guns. Maybe I shouldn’t leave just yet.\n“Yeah, well if anyone remembers sixth grade, it’s me,” I nervously laughed off my embarrassment, remembering my moment of failure back then. \n“You mean when you wanted to ask me to be your partner? I said I would, but you just didn’t respond and went home early,” Wait… what? She actually responded, and her answer was yes? I don’t remember saying a single thing, so how did she know?\n“How do you know I meant to ask you?” Now, this is a question I can’t get if I went to the movies. This whole party thing might be worthwhile.\n“Well, as soon as the teacher was done announcing the project, you immediately got up and stood in front of me. Even though you just opened and closed your mouth without a word, I just assumed and said I would work with you, but I think you just walked away too quickly to hear me. I always thought you seemed nice, so I wouldn’t have had a problem with it,” I was completely shellshocked at this new development. I could have been talking to her this whole time if I wasn’t so wrapped up in my head. \n“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t hear you and-” She cut me off as she started to laugh really hard, needing to sit down on the front steps because her body couldn’t handle the string rumble of her chuckling. \n“It’s okay, I know. No need to freak out, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” My body relaxed with those words as she wiped the tears from her eyes. That must’ve really pulled a laugh out of her to be doing all of that.\n“Alright, that’s good,” A sigh of relief pulled my shoulders down to a calm placement. I still can’t believe she thought I was nice. Simulation, or not, I have to stay for this.\n“So… still wanna try and soak up these second-hand party vibes or hang out with me in the house?” This time, I quickly responded with an enthusiastic nod, following her through the same crowd that cluttered the entrance. Might as well make the best of this. It’s my last chance after all." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: Anesidora and the Box\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1392\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story featuring an element of time-travel or anachronism." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Nine year old 'Dora stared at the little box on the parlor desk. Her brow furrowed and she took a small step closer. Father had said he'd left a gift for her to find downstairs. A small surprise from his latest journey. He was a merchant working for the East India Trading Company and was always bringing her little trinkets from his travel. Usually, it was something that they could talk about and maybe look into his books to see if they could learn more. \nThe box was small, maybe 4 inches on each side. Whatever wood it was made of gleamed darkly in the morning sun slanting through the window shears. It was covered in carved whorling patterns, each filled with what appeared to be copper to her eyes. A small copper and silver antenna jutted up about 2 inches from the top middle. A soft chirruping noise seemed to be emitting from it.\nDust motes danced in the sun as 'Dora took another step closer, her movement causing them to whirl and jig. Around the box however, no dust moved. She cocked her head to the side and moved forward again. The edges of the dust free zone looked like it was a foot away from the box. Curiosity thrummed in her bones. Another step closer.\nShe reached up to see if she could feel any wind coming from the box. She didn't know what would cause such a thing, but that was the only explanation that would make sense. Nothing else would cause that strange lack of morning lit dust.\nHer hand caused all kinds of fluctuations in the dust outside the zone around the box. But in that barren cube around it, nothing happened.\nA small frisson of fear touched the base of her spine then. She glanced up and back, to see if her parents were at the door watching. The parlor threshold was empty. The darker hallway behind it held only the bottom of the stairs she had just come down and the small table that held the tray for mail.\nShe sighed and looked back at the box. What was causing that noise? Crickets, maybe? She had heard of keeping crickets for luck from her father. He'd said that in some of the ports he'd been to that people kept them in small cages. He'd also said that some of the crickets were quite large - as long as the first finger on one of his big hands! She couldn't imagine such a thing, but if the box held such a creature she definitely wanted to see it.\n'Dora bent down and studied the little box. Her eyes passed over the dark wood, trying and failing to find any seams. She braced her hands against the desk and leaned in very close, brows knitting further as she looked for the catch or lock or anything that proved that it could be opened. A whiff of something like burnt grass or bread wafted past but she barely noticed except to absently note it.\nHer breath fogged the highly polished wood of the desk. A battle scarred veteran, it was lovingly maintained by her mother and the girl they had in on Saturdays to help with the heavy cleaning. Riley, 'Dora remembered. Her name is Riley and she had the most interesting stories about her homeland. Maybe the box contained one of the Wee Folk that Riley was going on about. Maybe that's what was in there instead of a giant cricket?\nCuriosity, always strong in her and now beating in her head like a drum, propelled her hand towards the little box. She hesitated a moment, not wanting to muss the glossy exterior with fingerprints. But that pull in her head was too strong. She wanted to see what was in there. Needed to see, in fact. She stood straight and reached out to the little antenna and touched it.\nAn hour later, Stephen came down the stairs. He had heard 'Dora get up and go downstairs earlier and had wanted to wait and dally with the missus while she was occupied with the Ludo or Draughts board he had brought home. It was a clever thing, made of dark wood and chased around the edges with copper plating. He had picked it up in in the Cap Sing-Moon passage. He knew his precocious girl would be enamored of it. He expected her to be studying it intently, brimming with questions about how it was made and where the pieces were. But when he stepped into the parlor, it was empty. The board lay on the desk as he had left it. The morning light shifted and swirled, making dark shadows in the corners. The quiet lay heavy and palpable. 'Dora was nowhere to be seen.\n“’Dora? Where are you girl?” he called. He strode out of the small parlor and into the attached kitchen area. She was not at the table eating a snack nor was she at sitting at the small banked fire, reading. His brow furrowed (an outside observer would have noted the similarity to his daughter’s expression from earlier). \nHe turned and made his way back out of the kitchen and towards the small dark hallway. He passed by the stairs and went directly to the front door. Testing it, he found that it was locked and the safety chain still engaged. \nHad he heard her get up? Maybe he had dreamed it and she was still abed. Worry squirmed a quiet knot in his stomach, and he moved quicker than he normally would back up the narrow stairs. \nHe pushed open the door to her room and peered in. She had pulled the curtains to so the room lay in shrouded silence. He could see that her bed was made however, the quilt pulled neatly to the top and the pillow centered. \nThe worry worm in his belly squirmed again and he stepped over to the bed and knelt down. Twitching back the quilt he bent over and tried to see if she was hiding underneath. Only empty darkness and one stray dust bunny met his gaze. \nStephen jerked upright. He had thought he had heard something from downstairs. Leaving the bed mussed he darted out of the room and back down the stairs as fast as he could. He could hear his wife complaining about the noise from their room but could not be bothered to respond. He clattered into the hallway and stopped. From the parlor, he heard a strange small click and the humming noise he’d thought he had heard stopped. \nHe stepped into the small parlor and looked about. Nothing seemed out of place except for the fact that he could not find his child. The board lay quietly on the desk. He stepped around the desk hoping that she was hiding in the foot well, but already knowing that she wouldn’t be there. ‘Dora was an inveterate giggler and if she had been there when he first came down, she would not have been able to contain herself. The space was empty, as he had known it would be. \nWorry and fear turned to anger and he bellowed in the voice that he usually reserved for crewmates, “ANESIDORA, YOU COME OUT RIGHT THIS MINUTE!” From upstairs, he could hear his wife thudding out of the bed and crying out for him. He ignored it and walked over to the windows and yanked the sheers back to look out into the street. Morning tradesmen and walkers were making their way up and down the street but he did not see his daughter. \nFrom behind him he heard that hum again and then another small click. He whipped around and looked around, trying to source the sound. Nothing. Just his small parlor, where they kept his desk and small trove of books on a shelf. He glanced at the surface of the desk and then did a double take. \nOn the flat scarred surface of the desk, where the board had lain, was now a small dark box. Or rather, almost a box. As he watched, what had been the playing board folded the last corner up and tucked itself neatly into place, forming a cube about 4 inches square. It emitted another small hum and then disappeared." } ]
[ { "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: You Don't Care Do You\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2001\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that begins in the light and ends in darkness, or the other way around." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Betty shouldn’t be feeling like the third wheel between her best friend and boyfriend. It was supposed to be Vera who felt left out, it should be Vera who was on the brink of tears. She was supposed to feel safe with them but they were so blind to how they hurt her.\n“Funny how Betty is the one who wanted to play Monopoly yet she’s the one who is nearly broke.” Jake sniggered, and Vera her friend who was supposed to be her fall back, her protector just laughed along with him. She knew to them it was just a simple joke, one in good fun that meant nothing to them, and it should mean nothing to her. That was the problem though, little things like this were slowly piling up filling her body up until it felt as if she would burst. It wasn’t just them either, her parents contributed to the little things, theirs more frequent and bigger.\nBetty wasn’t blind, she knew something was happening, whether Jake and Vera were aware or not. They were falling, slowly.\nShe wanted to stand up and scream, scream at the two of them until her lungs shattered. Tell them how much they had hurt her in every way. Yell at them about how she knew, she knew Jake was falling for the raven-haired girl, how she knew he was falling farther and farther away from her.\n“B. B!” She was thinking too much.” It’s your turn.” she nodded at Vera coming back to reality. “You ok?”\nBetty put on her best smile. “Yeah of course.” She took her turn, more focused on keeping the tears that threatened to escape locked up. Nobody seemed to care anymore, if she died she doubted they would even blink. \n____________________________________________\n“Mom I’m home!” Betty yelled, taking off her shoes and beginning to walk up the stairs hoping her mom wouldn’t walk to greet her. \n“Jesus child you’re going to wake up your father, you know how hard he works. Such disrespect.” Her mother scolded walking into the room with the scent of freshly baked cookies following her. “I need you to clean the kitchen, you know how I hate making dinner in a messy kitchen.”\n“Yeah of course mom, sorry about the noise.”\n“Thank you, Elizabeth.”\n____________________________________________\nShe stepped into the shower washing her hair as she listened to the water rain down on the white surface beneath her. Then the tears came, salty water dripping from her eyes only masked by the shower water that came from above.\n“I’m fine,” she whispered attempting a smile. “I’m fine, I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine.” The mantra turned into sobs as she slid to the ground leaning against the wall of the shower so the rain-like water poured down onto her face.\nShe wondered if it would help to call one of those teen hotlines, maybe talking to someone would help. She had a book with a few at the end, she wouldn’t dare put that in her search history for her parents to find. They would just say she was vying for attention, that she was being manipulative, playing a game. They never believed her.\nShe stepped out determined to do something about how she was feeling. She couldn’t keep falling down this hole of despair she would hit the ground eventually, she needed to learn how to fly.\nSo Betty made a plan, she made a plan to put her life back together. She wanted to be able to live in this world without feeling like it was ending. \nFirst thing first she needed to talk to her best friend about her insecurities. Betty didn’t think she could keep living with the thought of what was happening with her best friend and boyfriend. So she texted the raven-haired girl to meet at pops.\n____________________________________________\n“Hey, Betty what’s up? You said you wanted to talk right?” Betty heard as the girl sat across from her on the secluded picnic bench in the back of the small park.\n“Yeah, V I do.” C’mon Betty suck it up and tell her, she is your best friend she will be nothing but caring and understanding. “I want you to answer this truthfully, I promise I won’t be hurt no matter what you say.” You got this. “ Do you like Jake? Like in a romantic way.”\nConfusion spread over her best friend’s olive skin, her brow furrowed. “No B, why would you think that?”\n“Well, I just-”\n“This actually really hurts, Betty he is your boyfriend I would never do that to you. Is that really the type of person you take me as?!? You know more than anyone how hard I fought for people to stop thinking of me like that.” She could see the anger in Vera as the girl pushed herself up from the table and stormed from the bench making her way to the parking lot\n“V!” but she was out of earshot, not that she would have responded anyway. She was on her phone probably calling her mom to come and get her. \nBetty could feel hot tears streaming down her cheeks, she had tried, tried to fix things. Her life really was in shreds she thought to her self putting her head on the hard table and watching the cars pull in and out of the parking lot. Suddenly she saw an all too familiar motorcycle drive up, She watched in confusion as it stopped in front of Vea. Betty was enraged, Vera hadn’t seriously called her boyfriend to pick the girl up after the conversation that they literally just had. It was hard for the blond to believe that that wasn’t entirely on purpose.\nWith anger filling her bloodstream Betty got up and began walking to her two friends, storming outside ready to interrupt the heartfelt hug that was shared between the accused lovers.\n“WHAT THE FUCK VERA, YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW.” Betty practically screamed at her, tears still pouring down her cheeks. “After the conversation we literally just had, you turn around and do this?”\n“B I-”\n“I don’t need your shit.” She looked at Jake who looked confused as he let her best friend go.\n“Betty, why are you freaking out?” He asked concern washing over his face. He took a step towards her, reaching out an arm, she moved out of the way.\n“Don’t, I know what kind of tryst you two are getting into here, I’m not blind”\n“God this again,” Vera rolled her eyes, stepping forward to Betty, “For the last time B, there is nothing here.” She moved her hand between her and Jake.\n“You thought I was cheating on you?” Jake cut in, realizing what Betty was saying, “Really? Do you think I would pull that on you? After everything we’ve been through?” He was yelling now.\n“Jake stop.” She wiped her eyes, backing away. “I’m sorry, I- I shouldn’t have said anything.”\n“No, you shouldn’t have.” Vera spat. Betty nodded walking away to sit behind the small building that held the two bathrooms in the park. She sat on the ground next to a trash bin, curling her knees into her chest and resting her head on them. Her acid-washed jeans felt ruff against her chin. She tightened her ponytail taking deep breaths trying to erase the red from her face. \nShe grabbed the sleeves of her dark blue sweater pulling them over her hands, wanting something to hold onto. She felt lost. Was she just imagining the lingering touches and clandestine looks? Was she imagining all the times when they would look at each other after she said something and laugh? Was she going crazy? Betty began crying again, she pulled the hair tie out of her hair, using the blond waves to cover her tear-stricken face. Unable to stop crying she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes pushing the tears back in. Or at the very least keeping them from coming out.\n____________________________________________\nBetty walked home not wanting to explain to her mom why she looked so unkept. She contemplated whether she should go home at all, maybe running away would solve all of her problems, or dying. Wondering how people would react to that she didn’t see the broad-shouldered boy jogging up to her. \n“Betts hey what’s up?” She froze, if Andrew saw she was crying he would ask why. “I see you don’t have your ponytail in today.” he put a hand on her shoulder turning her around, she looked at the ground, her face covered by her hair.\n“Hey, Andy.” Andrew had been hanging out with them less and less after he and Vera had broken up, she missed him. They had been best friends as kids, living right next to each other\nHe gave her a look of concern, pushing her hair out of her face. “Betty what happened.” She sobbed, he took her into his arms giving her a comforting hug. “You don’t have to tell me, but I just want to make sure no one hurt you.” \nShe shook her head, “N-no not purposefully.”\nHe pulled away looking at her, “You wanna talk to me.”\nShe contemplated it, should she? Betty hadn’t told anyone keeping locked inside, no one had the key but her. Maybe it would help? “O-ok Just not here.” She took his hand leading him to a spot between their houses, to a small shed they used to play in as kids.\nThey walked inside sitting next to each other on the floor against the wall.\nBetty breathed trying to say everything that was in her head. “I think my boyfriend is falling for my best friend, and he’s mad at me. My parents are worse than ever, they don’t hurt me but it wouldn’t shock me if my father did. I feel horrible for saying that cause sometimes he is great. Hot and cold so confusing. I might be suicidal too? I don’t like saying that either, I have been called manipulative for my entire life, and damn it sucks to second guess everything you say. I can’t talk to a therapist I just smile and make small talk. I feel so alone Andy, I don’t know what to do. I attempted to talk to Vera about her and but she just got mad and offended. There is no way I can talk to my parents either, they would just yell at me or tell me I’m being manipulative.” He just looked at her, did she do something wrong? Were her problems as petty as she thought? She began crying again, “I’m sorry.”\n“Don’t be.” Andrew put a hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes. “Your problems are completely valid. I wish I could do more to help but there isn’t much.”\n“Yeah, that’s ok, thanks for listening.”\n“Of course, can I try to give you some advice though? It might not be the best but I would love to at least try.” She nodded. “ Maybe you need to take some time away from Vera and Jake, it might help a bit. About your parents, There isn’t much, but you 17 in a year you won’t have to live with them anymore.”\n“Yeah your right, on both fronts. I mean it’s not like I don’t have other friends, taking a break from being around them might be really helpful.”\nHe smiled at her, “I’m glad I could help, I’m always here for you” Looking at him with his bright red hair, and his faint array of freckles peppered on his nose and cheeks she smiled back. For the first time in months, she produced a genuine smile, a smile of acceptance. A smile that showed even tho she knew everything would never be perfect, it would be ok. With a little help from Andrew, and effort from her she would make it through the next few months, Betty knew 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: Excalibur\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2964\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about an object that has been around for centuries or passed down generations." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“To many-towered Camelot”\n- Alfred Lord Tennyson “The Lady of Shalott”\nThe hilt gleamed golden as it rested against the darkness of the throne. Its pommel was shaped like that of a lion, proud mane and proud gaze. The quillons were engraved with vines, the hilt wrapped in worn, red-brown leather. The blade gleamed silver, sharp and almost glowing with an unnatural brilliance. Engraved into the center of the blade was a single word: Excalibur.\nA man sat upon the throne; lithe, athletic body, ebony hair, a strong face, calloused hands and steely grey eyes. A golden crown adorned his head and his boots were still caked in mud and blood from yesterday’s work.\nBefore him stood a man dressed in rich purple robes, brown hair down to his shoulders and a tall, thin physique.\n“King Arthur,” the man said, “congratulations on your conquest.”\n“Thank you, Merlin,” said Arthur, bowing his head graciously.\nMerlin looked up, eyes of bright, piercing aquamarine.\n“And Guinevere has come, as you requested.”\nArthur’s gaze darkened and he nodded.\nMerlin motioned and a figure emerged from the doorway.\nShe was slender but curvaceous with a heart shaped face. Golden brown hair was braided down her back and strands furled around her face, framing soft brown eyes.\n“My Lord,” Guinevere said, bowing at her husband and King.\n“Guinevere. Where have you been?” he asked, voice like ice.\n“In the gardens, my Lord. Picking flowers, reading, enjoying the sunlight,” she replied, her tone emotionless.\n“Unaccompanied?”\n“Sometimes,” she answered.\n“You must always be accompanied, for your protection,” he warned.\nThey both knew it wasn’t for her protection. Not anymore.\n“As you wish. May I be excused now?”\nAnger glinted in Arthur’s eyes and he stroked the pommel of Excalibur.\nMerlin’s gaze fixated to Excalibur as though he too could almost hear the hissing voices that echoed around Arthur as he held Excalibur.\n“Go. I shall visit you tonight,” Arthur promised.\nGuinevere’s eyes flickered nervously as she bowed and left.\n“She dances with death, Merlin. Take care she does not lose her footing and fall to it,” Arthur said, his eyes dark and glazed as the hissing whispered to him.\n***\nGuinevere waited until she was safely in her room before taking a few deep, gulping breaths. As Queen, she was afforded all the worldly comforts one could want, as evidenced by her lavish room.\nExcept her freedom.\nOnce, Guinevere hadn’t minded being close to Arthur, being watched over by him. He was everything a man should be: brave, kind, wise and a protector of the innocent.\nNow…now it was like everything had been reversed; day into night, night into day.\nNow he was cruel and heartless.\nHis cruelness to her was not as great as the cruelness she’d witnessed to others. She supposed that the strong feelings they’d once shared together, their burning love, hadn’t been completely lost to the strange darkness that now almost consumed him.\nBut it was still cruelty, the marks on her skin, the obsessiveness of his gaze and his mind.\nNot for the first time, she wished she could escape him, or cure him. She knew escape would be easier. Guinevere knew she was not anyone special. She had no Magics, no fighting skills, no ancient knowledge. She didn’t know how to cure a man, especially a King, the one true King the histories said. Guinevere Had tried healing him with her love and she had failed. \nEscape was her best chance, so she could help from afar, perhaps follow the whispers of the rebellion formed once Arthur’s wickedness had been known, felt, by too many Britons.\nIn moments like this, Guinevere always wished for Lancelot’s presence, his strength, his wisdom.\nMaybe he would come to her tonight, once Arthur had left her alone.\n*\nThe moon was high in the sky as Guinevere awoke from a restless sleep to a slight sound.\n“Lady Guinevere,” came a whisper from the window.\n“Lancelot,” she whispered back.\nTaking it as an invitation, Lancelot climbed in through the window, his bulk struggling to fit through.\nLancelot gave Guinevere a deep bow, the moonlight reflecting off his golden hair.\n“How are you this evening, fair Lady?” He asked.\nGuinevere’s hand went, for a moment, to the marks on her wrists. Lancelot noticed and his azure eyes darkened.\nGuinevere quickly offered Lancelot a seat and poured him a cup of cool water which he drank readily.\n“I am well enough,” replied Guinevere.\nShe took the chair opposite him and they sat in silence for a long moment. Guinevere could tell something heavy was weighing upon Lancelot and she waited for him to unburden himself.\n“He is getting worse, Guinevere,” Lancelot said brokenly.\nGuinevere waited, letting him speak in his own time.\n“There is a town, half a day’s ride from here. A blight had stricken their crops, so food was scarce. There was enough for them to eat, barely, and when the King’s tribute came, they couldn’t deliver what was promised unless they all starved to death themselves. Arthur…” he drew a deep breath. “The Arthur I knew would have helped them. He would have understood, taken another form of payment, told them to pay double next year or something. Something good. Instead, he drew Excalibur and cut down the alderman. If the townsfolk had not screamed, I would have thought it an illusion. But no, the alderman lay dead on the ground by Arthur’s hand. Then he looked at me, Guinevere, he looked at me and it was not Arthur, but something else, I swear, I…”\nLancelot did not cry, but the pain was written all over his face, the anger in his clenched fists.\nGuinevere didn’t know how to comfort him.\n“That is not even the worst part. Then, he told us to burn the town to the ground and kill anyone who resisted. I was shocked, all of the knights were. Perceval looked like he was going to be sick and started shaking his head. Arthur looked at him and said, ‘Anyone who disobeys my orders will be cut down as a traitor.’ Then he rode to burn and slaughter for their defiance. The common soldiers were the first to follow his command and the Knights… We burned the houses, but we did not kill anyone. It is against the knight’s code to slaughter innocents, especially women and children. It is against the knight’s code to torture. Loyalty to God is what drives the Knights, and Arthur is the King, chosen by God. To disobey him…I could not, and I will regret what I did until the end of my days and hope that God can forgive me. I hope he can forgive all of us, especially Arthur who…” Lancelot trailed off.\nGuinevere knew the change in Arthur, the cruelty, the temper. She hadn’t known just how far he’d fallen. He was no longer her knight in shining armor, their benevolent King to follow to the Gates of Heaven.\nThat Arthur was gone.\nGuinevere could offer Lancelot nothing aside from a squeeze of her hand on his.\nThis drew Lancelot’s attention to the bruises on her wrists again.\n“It is fine, Lancelot. I am strong,” she said, drawing a weak smile.\n“I know you are, my Queen,” he paused as he saw her flinch at the title. It was a title she had once held with pride, the woman worthy to match with the great Arthur. Now, it simply reminded her of what was lost.\n“You must leave here,” Lancelot said urgently. “He will kill you.”\nGuinevere looked at him disbelievingly.\n“No. He would never kill me. He…he likes me too much,” she said, disgust and fear in her voice.\n“He will. He is capable of any terror now. Please, Guinevere, you must find a way to flee,” Lancelot pleaded. “The world would be a much darker place without your grace.”\n“I cannot. He watches me always. And just today he warned me that I must have someone always accompanying me. I cannot even leave my tower alone,” she said.\nLancelot was silent for a long moment, his brow heavily furrowed.\n“In two night’s time is the Midsummer Feast,” he said. “You will leave the castle then.”\n“What?” She asked, confused. “I cannot escape him.”\n“I will help you. I will help you to flee,” he said.\n“Flee where?” Guinevere asked in distress. “He is the King of Briton. He will find us, wherever we go.”\nLancelot’s eyes gleamed with a secret.\n“I know people who can help and protect us,” he said, and would say no more. “Be ready on Midsummer’s night. Leave the feast early, with whatever excuse you think Arthur will believe.”\nBefore Guinevere could protest, he disappeared through the window.\n*\nThe Feast was roaring, most of the men well into their cups, including some of Arthur’s knights. Lancelot and Perceval were absent, which made Guinevere nervous. But Arthur seemed to be informed and did not seem suspicious of the disappearance of the two. To Guinevere, it was very suspicious.\nMerlin was watching her too with more scrutiny than usual and Guinevere used all her willpower to look calm and unaffected by anything, although her palms were sweaty.\nGuinevere knew that Merlin was smart and cunning as a fox. He was also unreadable. She couldn’t figure out if Merlin felt as Guinevere and the Knights felt about Arthur. Was Merlin too, trapped by the cruelty of the King and the terrible bind of serving the one God had chosen even though he was as he was now ? Guinevere didn’t know. Merlin was strong in the Magics, perhaps the strongest and greatest. Could Merlin save the King? Or perhaps, perhaps Merlin was responsible for the King’s madness, his cruelty.\nGuinevere sincerely hoped that Merlin couldn’t read her mind.\nGuinevere waited until Arthur was laughing, a rare occurrence, to make her move.\n“My Lord,” she said, and took a deep breath as he turned towards her. “I am feeling tired and the loud noise is making my head hurt. May I please retire to my chambers?” she asked.\nArthur’s eyes narrowed as he considered.\n“You may go,” he said, after a long moment. “Merlin will escort you there.”\nGuinevere’s heart skipped a beat as Merlin’s tall figure rose and quickly stood beside her chair. Guinevere bowed her head gracefully, took Merlin’s hand and was escorted from the noisy room.\n“You did not enjoy the Feast?” He asked as they walked along the hallways, narrow corridors and stairs.\n“I did, but the revelry proved too much for me,” she said airily.\n“Indeed. The Feasts can be so…distracting. Ones attention is on too many things at once to notice what is happening right under ones nose,” Merlin replied.\nGuinevere tried to slow her pounding heart. Did he know?\nNot another word was said until they stood at her door.\n“Thank you for escorting me, Merlin,” Guinevere said, inclining her head.\n“You are most welcome, my Queen,” he said.\nHe leaned closer to her, staring into her eyes so deeply she felt uncomfortable.\n“Safe travels, Guinevere,” he said in a soft, conspiratorial voice, then left without another word.\nGuinevere entered and shut the door behind her, heart beating fast.\nMerlin knew.\n*\nGuinevere spent the next several hours in an agony of fear that her plan, Lancelot’s plan, was to be uncovered and Arthur was to rain down all his violence upon them. But the sounds of the Feast downstairs didn’t abate, drifting up to her through even the thick, stone walls, and no one came to drag her to face Arthur’s wrath.\nFinally, when the moon was at its zenith, there was a loud clink at her window. She jumped, expecting to see a dark figure, but instead saw nothing. She went to investigate and found a strong, broadhead arrow embedded in her window attached to a long, thick rope. A note was attached saying, “Climb down.”\nGuinevere looked at the dizzying height. Her instincts screamed at her to do no such thing. But she knew, deep down, that if she didn’t escape things would not go well for her.\nHaving prepared earlier, Guinevere now braved the window. The breeze was slight and the moon shone brightly which she was thankful for as she made her way down the wall. Her arms started burning halfway down and she feared she’d drop the rest of the way. She focused on breathing and not the fall beneath her. In, out, in, out. She dared a glance and saw, with relief, that the bottom was very close. Just a little bit more…She suddenly slipped. Thankfully, before a scream could escape her, strong hands caught her and quickly placed her upright.\nIt was Lancelot in a hooded cloak.\n“My brave Lady,” he whispered, then took her hand in his and they ran towards the stables.\nPerceval was inside, tacking up his horse.\n“Your horses are ready,” he said, motioning to Guinevere and Lancelot’s horses. Guinevere loved her horse and knew she would be swift as the wind.\n“Isn’t taking our own horses suspicious?” Guinevere whispered, although no one was around and the sounds of the Feast were still going in the distance.\n“Not for Perceval and I. We are on patrol tonight, checking for rebellion. They will expect our horses to be gone. Yours will cause a stir, but they will not link it to us straight away,” Lancelot said.\n“Arthur is not a fool,” Guinevere said.\n“I know,” said Lancelot. “Which is why we will not have much of a head start. We must leave, now!” Without further words, he mounted his horse and trotted through the courtyard. Guinevere suddenly noticed the lack of patrolling guards. They should’ve raised the alarm. She suddenly saw dark, human shapes slumped against the castle walls in the deepest shadows.\n“Did you kill them?” Guinevere asked, horrified.\n“No. They were like that when I came to shoot the arrow. Asleep, deeply asleep. They will be punished in the morning,” Lancelot said grimly.\n“But how?” She asked.\n“I do not know,” Lancelot replied.\n“Magic?” Guinevere asked. “Could Merlin…”\n“I don’t know. Now come, we must ride swiftly!” Lancelot said and spurred his horse out through the gate along with Perceval.\nWith one last glance at the castle where she had been happy, once, where she had envisioned a bright future, Guinevere followed.\n*\nThey rode through the remainder of the night and all the next day. Guinevere ached from being in the saddle for so long but she knew any pain felt now was nothing compared to what would happen if Arthur caught her, especially with Lancelot. Arthur knew of the fealty that Lancelot had sworn to her, his Queen. She knew every knight honored and swore fealty to a woman, and knew the chastity of that vow. Neither Lancelot nor Guinevere would break that sacred bond of a Knight and his Lady, nor would they betray their King whom they loved above all others aside from God.\nBut Arthur, as he was now, would be consumed by jealousy, cruelty and obsession. He would accuse them of treason, then sentence them to Death.\n***\nPerceval had broken off earlier to see if they were pursued. Night came again and Lancelot and Guinevere slowed as they came to the outskirts of a forest, far from anywhere. Both horses were breathing heavily and Guinevere could barely keep upright.\nLancelot dismounted and walked towards the forest’s borders.\n“Salve Arthur Rex,” Lancelot said into the darkness.\nThere was a rustling and a hooded figure emerged.\n“Lancelot, I am glad to see you made it,” the figure paused and looked towards Guinevere. “And you too, my gracious Queen.”\nGuinevere nodded weakly, too tired to question anything.\nThe man led the horses through the forest along a trackless path, deeper and deeper in.\nEventually, they saw light from a large campfire in a clearing around which two people stood.\n“My Lord,” said Lancelot, bowing his head and putting his fist to his chest at the tallest of the figures wearing a red, hooded cloak.\n“Lancelot,” came the deep voice, strangely familiar\n“And Guinevere, my Lady,” he said, striding towards her as though to embrace her.\nGuinevere stepped back.\n“Who are you?” she demanded.\nWith a chuckle, the figure pulled the hood back and Guinevere looked upon a face that was familiar, yet not.\n“Mordred,” she whispered.\nHe was the very image of Arthur and looking at him made her heart hurt at the thought of all that had once been, and how much Arthur had loved Mordred, his son, before banishing him out of jealousy and spite.\nNow Guinevere happily embraced him.\n“And let’s not forget me,” came a sultry female voice.\nShe stepped into the firelight, a figure hugged by a purple dress, black markings adorning her skin. Her dark purple eyes gleamed in the firelight and her raven hair tumbled down her shoulders.\n“Morgan le Fay,” Guinevere addressed her.\n“Morganna, please. At least amongst old friends,” she said, holding out her arms.\nGuinevere happily embraced her as well. Morganna bore Magic like Merlin’s, perhaps even rivalling him for power for she too had been banished, much to Merlin’s delight.\n“Why are you both here?” Guinevere asked, sensing that she had stepped into a net that was slowly being reeled in.\nThe three of them, Lancelot included, had an air of sadness hanging over them.\n“We are here to do what must be done, no matter the cost,” said Mordred. “Although we hope the cost will not be too high.”\nLooking at the three of them, so solemn and serious, she asked the question.\n“And what must be done?”\nMorganna looked at Guinevere, her eyes deep pools.\n“We must save Arthur.”" } ]
[ { "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: Moonlight and Madness\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1012\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story — romantic or not — about two characters who can’t find the right timing." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Your eyes pour the moonlight on my path as I turn my back to you. In the dead of the night, I walk with my family, away from my home, my street, my town, and what was till yesterday- my country.\nThere are other families with us. Snaking their way to Lahore railway station. In fear, pain, and certainty that their lives are not theirs anymore. It can be cut, morphed, or smoked out within a matter of seconds. Even if they get on that train to Amritsar and arrive there in one piece, they would just be a wisp of what they once were.\nI walk. With a volcano in my chest where my heart used to be. My heart is left crying on that terrace. The terrace where we used to meet under the moonlight. When it was still the moon that lit up the night. When your head covered in hijab was still in my reach. And the moon in my cupped hands was still in your reach.\nI carry a small load on my back as others. It will help us in getting to a new nation that is about to be my nation. And build a new life. From the ruins of a life that has been uprooted.\nThe air is still. A rare gust of wind brings the acrid smoke. And wails. From people unknown. From the far end of the town that I can no longer call mine. I doubt if it would ever be yours either. You may be too numb to its embrace.\nMy family moves in a huddle. Alone, amongst a sea of people. Clutching each other’s hands. As if we could be more lost than we already are. My father, mother, brothers, and sisters are watchful, looking back every now and then-half expecting the earth they are walking on to swallow them.\nWe cross the end of the road, the edge of the town, and the border of the wilderness beyond. But I know you are still watching me. With your eyes as dry as mine, your spirit as broken as mine, and your heart trying to console itself on that terrace.\nThe terrace I can never go back to. And you may never go back to.\nAll because a man drew a line. Quashing the hearts to choose a side; pulling the threads it had formed till they snapped, shattering it. Brushing the fragments under the carpet of darkness.\nI have walked to the brink of what held us together. After this turn, you will not be able to see the speck that I have become now. The speck that has entered the vortex created by time.\nWill we ever meet again? I don’t know. But know this, till there is skin on my back and breath in my lungs, the air around me will whisper only one name – Yas…min.\n***\nWhen the news of your family leaving town made no ripples in my family, I knew we were never meant to live together.\nI leaped up the staircase to the terrace, to meet you for one last time. You were there. Forlorn. The full moon weighed down on us. You didn’t dare to cup him to give me.\nYou just uttered three words- “Jasmine, forgive me”. It made my world crumble around me, slowly, one brick at a time. I didn’t say a thing. There was nothing left to say.\nYou left. With your family. Along with many others. Turning your back to me. Walking away from a new nation that had turned its back on you.\nYou didn’t look back. Till you reached the very edge of the drop from where you could never climb back. Not in near future.\nI hoped you will stay safe. When you walked through the rubble and dodged the murderous mobs baying for blood. When you squeezed into the train. Till you reached Amritsar.\nI know it will be a hard life for you. You will have to find a new place to call your home. New job to sustain your family. And a new heart to start making threads. Tying you to new soil, people and life.\nI wish you find someone to give the moon to. If not on a terrace, maybe by the campfire; to laugh with and share your stories before partition. And never stumble at my name when doing so.\nI thought I would never go back to the terrace. But you see, that is the thing about the people who get left behind. They have to revisit the terraces, houses, and streets that led to their hearts shattering into a million shards. And smile, even as the shards pierce their soul.\nTime will flow. Upstream. For me. But it will flow nevertheless.\nA young woman cannot live alone. Not in this town. There will be talks of my nikah. It will be to a good man. There is no escaping it. I hope I would have grown a new heart by then. One that wouldn’t beat the syllables of your name- Ra-aj. For his sake.\nSeasons will change and I will be a mother to the children of a not-so-new nation. They will be taught about how gruesome the partition was and how the other community turned into traitors and had to be driven away. They will grow with venom in their hearts for the footprints you left behind.\nIf I grow a voice back, I will tell them- no home is more wrecked than the one where brothers turn into enemies.\nI will still have hope in my heart. No, not about ever meeting you again. But the line that ripped us apart will become blurred and the angry little men will be lulled in the vortex of time. Maybe not in our lifetime, but someday.\nTill then know this. I never believed the moon could be mine, but I never doubted you wanting to pluck it for me. Some things are beyond the reach of lines drawn by the man- moonlight and madness." } ]
[ { "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: Garden of Agony\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1146\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone who feels increasingly irrelevant." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Soon after the ritual dinner had finished, Yeshua retreated to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray and wait for the inevitable. As the apostles waited by the gate to the garden, Yeshua went deeper inside.\nEnveloped in silence, and overwhelmed in despair, Yeshua wept. “Why me, Father, and why now? Since the day I was baptized by John and walked in the desert, I knew this day would come. Not for one moment has this thought ever been in my mind. But did I ever hesitate, knowing my final destiny? No! Since I became aware of who I was, have I ever disobeyed you? Every day I prayed to you and each time I did, I asked you to take this cup of agony from my lips. Still, you turned away from me. What I don’t understand is how we share our one mind, our thoughts, and feelings, but I can’t understand why I must die for everyone’s sins? You are all powerful and all loving. With a blink of your eye, all can be forgiven. How will my suffering and death make any difference?”\nYeshua waited for an answer, but all he heard was a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves.\nBut in that moment of silence, the distant sound of familiar footsteps approaching greeted his ears. “You can stop hiding Mary. I know you’re out there.”\nFrom the first day she had moved from Magdala to Nazareth, Mary befriended Yeshua and stood by his side. Today was no different. As Mary stepped out of the shadows, she found Yeshua prostate on the ground, deep in prayer. But when she saw the look of agony written on his face, Mary couldn’t help but to gasp.\nYeshua looks physically exhausted, and near the point of collapsing, she told herself. So much weight he bears on his shoulders. Why can’t any of his followers see that and ease his load? It’s so obvious, even to a fool’s eye. If only he would let me comfort him.\nAs Yeshua turned his eyes towards Mary, sweat poured off his forehead and dripped in his eyes. Burning with salt, Yeshua closed his eyes from Mary’s look of sorrow mixed with pity. The look, which had comforted him for so many years, was denied to him.\n“Please, father, let this day pass by me like any other day.” As another moment of silence passed by, his shoulders slumped in defeat.\nMary walked up behind Yeshua and as she was about to touch his shoulder she pulled her hand back, as he replied, “Mary, I’m so afraid. Earlier, I thought I could get through this, knowing it’s God’s will, but now, I’m not so sure.”\nMary looked compassionately at Yeshua and simply said, “Yeshua, I love you. I have loved you for a long time, and I know you love me as well. If you wish, we could walk away and never look back. But before we do that, I ask you, do you think God’s love for you is less than our love for each other? God’s love for us is infinitely more than we could ever possibly love each other. Would he put you through this pain without having a great purpose for you to suffer? You told me yourself, we may not understand God’s plans, but that doesn’t make them wrong. Let go of your fears, Yeshua. Let God do with you as he wishes.”\nBitter were the herbs Mary had offered him, but he had swallowed them, knowing what Mary had said was true and through her words, Yeshua found comfort. He replied, “Thank you, Mary. You were the answer to my prayers.” With that, Yeshua stood and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Come, Mary. Let us pray with our brothers.”\nBut when they reached the apostles, Yeshua found them fast asleep. Realizing Yeshua was about to chastise his followers, not wanting to be part of the rebuke that was to follow, Mary retreated and hid in the shadows.\nHis words were sharp as a razor’s edge and cut deep into their souls, and when Yeshua was finished, the apostles were humbled and chastened. Frustrated with what had just occurred, Yeshua returned to the garden, and Mary followed in his footsteps.\nProphetic were the words Yeshua uttered as he stared towards the heavens. “My time may almost be over, but my mission is far from complete. My apostles are like lost sheep and their shepherd is about to abandon them. Someone needs to pray for them.”\nMary smiled. “Then pray.”\nAt first, Yeshua didn’t say a word. Instead, he returned to the spot where he knelled before, and resumed his ritual. “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. When I am gone, watch over them and guide them through the Holy Spirit, if it is your desire. Your will, not mine.”\nHearing his heartfelt words, Mary knelt beside Yeshua and lost herself in prayer. It seemed as if an after an immeasurable amount of time passed before Yeshua took Mary’s hand and lifted her to her feet. They returned to the apostles and once again, found them sleeping. Mary stepped back into the shadows as Yeshua was about to awaken them, but before Yeshua could speak, the sound of voices broke the silence, and a moment later, Judas, followed by a squad of temple guards, stormed through the gate, barreling towards him.\nFearing for her safety, Mary slid through the shadows of the olive trees and hid deep in the garden. From there, she watched a horrific scene unfold. Helplessly, she watched Judas stop in front of Yeshua and grasp his shoulders. She could almost hear his voice uttering the word, master, as he kissed his cheek. Next, the temple guards rushed to Judas’ side and arrested Yeshua. The commotion awoke the apostles, and a skirmish began. It took only a few moments for them to see the futility of it and the apostles scattered like mice and disappear. The guards quickly dismissed the apostles and focused their attention on Yeshua. They bounded him and dragged him away. It was over.\nAlone with her sorrows, Mary drowned in her tears. There was no hope for him now, she thought. The Sanhedrin would seek nothing less than death for Yeshua. For years, he had been a thorn in their side and now they had their chance for revenge.\nIt was too much to bear. So much she wanted to flee to Nazareth and never return to Jerusalem. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She had to be present when Yeshua was marched to Golgotha. There was no way she could abandon him now, not after all they had been through. Drawing every ounce of courage she could muster, Mary left the garden of agony and returned to Jerusalem. There she began to wait for the master." } ]
[ { "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 Night the Lights went Down\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1008\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story set in a city where the power suddenly goes out, leaving everyone in darkness." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "The Night the Lights went Down\nI was excited because my cousins were coming over to spend the night because my parents and their parents were going on a trip and they were leaving us in the care of my oldest sister. My sister had just turned 18 and was already bossy and mean. She treated my brother and me so mean, but my parents never witnessed any of it and in their eyes, she was perfect and responsible.\nThe day started off normal and my cousins arrived around 9 AM. We wished our parents a safe trip as they headed out down the street we raced back inside.”Yo, you guys wanna get a bite to eat” I asked my cousin.\nThey shook their heads in unison and Brandon responded, “We had a doughnut on the way”.\nThen Liam said, “We brought our Nintendo let’s play Super Mario Brothers or Rocket League”.\nSo we unpacked their stuff, put their clothes in our room, and then went to go set up the system in the den with the big 72 inch screen. We were about to start playing Super Mario Brothers when my sister lumbers into the room scratching her dandruff infested head and tells us in her most annoying voice to get out of the room because she was going to watch a movie. We protested that we were there first but eventually, she threatened not to feed us all day.\nSo, we went outside to play catch with the football, but it was too hot so we went back inside to watch the movie with my sister.\n“What do you guys want now,” she screamed at us.\n“Chill we want to watch the movie”, I responded.\n“Well I don’t want to hear a single sound from any of you, do you understand me?”, she sneered.\nWe all nodded our heads and threw ourselves on the floor to watch the movie.\nAfter the movie ended she continued to hog the TV and left us no choice but to text our parents about how rude she was being with our guests. My parents responded right away because we could hear her trying to defend herself, but it was no use and she hung up.\nImmediately after she screamed for me, “Joel you can use the TV for an hour, but watch out little brother you are going to get it for snitching on me.”\nMy cousins were scared, but I assured them that she wouldn’t do anything to me because they were there. We watched YouTube for a while then we finally played Nintendo.\nMy sister forgot about the TV because some of her friends came over and they locked themselves in her room. We didn’t come out for a long time, but we were happy because we had the living room to ourselves.\nLater that evening as darkness fell my sister said she was going out with her friends to get us some food and that she would be right back. My cousins, little brother, and I ignored her as she left with her friends. “Be back soon” she bellowed as she slammed the door behind us.\nAfter about five minutes we realized that we were all alone. Liam said, “Do you guys get scared when you are alone?”\n“This is the first time, so I might be a little scared, but she will be right back”, I replied.\n Just then we heard a loud bang and all the electricity went out. Every light in the house went out one by one. There we were four young kids left alone in pitch blackness. Being the oldest I tried to calm everyone down and assure them that we would be fine. We tried calling my sister, but she didn’t respond. Then we sent her a text, no answer. I decided that the first thing we needed to do was get armed in case of intruders. We agreed that it should be baseball bats, but then we realized the bats were inside the garage and nobody wanted to go outside to get them. Then I conceived plan B. I led them to the kitchen and handed them each a knife to protect themselves. I took the biggest knife, then Brandon got a slighter smaller one, and so on with Diego getting the smallest knife because he was the youngest.\nThen we set out to find some candles. It was hard to see anything because the house was engulfed in complete darkness. As we were looking around the house for the elusive candles we started hearing the windows starting to rattle. We tried to remain calm, but then we started to hear these creepy voices. The voice got louder and louder. “GET OUT, GET OUT”, then I received a text from an unknown number. “Come out, come out we want your blood”. \nI showed my cousins and we started to freak out. I tried calling my parents but they didn’t answer. Diego wanted me to call 9-1-1 and he started crying. Then all at once every doorknob in the house started shaking at the same time and the voice returned, “Come out, or I will come and get you inside”.\nDiego cried out again, “Call 9-1-1 we need help.”\nWe tried to calm him down and decided to make a run for it. Brandon said we should all run in different directions because they couldn’t catch us all, but I thought it was better if we stayed together. Then I remembered that my parents always said if we were in any need to run to our neighbor’s house. So, as we stood by the door shaking with fear and our knives by our side we counted down. “Ready, 3-2-1-Go” I yelled.\nAs soon as we ran outside we were hit with a flash of light so bright we were blinded immediately. We stood frozen like a deer in car headlights. Then the lights turned off and as we regained our vision slowly we saw my sister and her friends laughing hysterically." } ]
[ { "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: Under The Spotlight\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1558\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with a truth coming to light." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "“This is absolute hell,” Nate mumbled under his breath, shivering, as he sat on a wooden bench pressed up against the brick wall of the school in the courtyard. He scrolled through old instagram posts of the girls in his grade, completely bored out of his mind, and he pulled the hood of his navy blue hoodie tightly around his face in an attempt to block out the cold december wind from chilling him to the bone. Not like he wasn’t freezing already. Like most of the boys at his high school (except the nerds who actually wore ties), he wasn’t dressed properly for the weather, and he was in a hoodie, a tee shirt, gray sweatpants, and dirty sneakers. After hitting snooze four times before realising he was going to be seriously late for the bus if he didn’t get a move on, Nate had completely forgotten the concepts of color coordinating his clothing and using a hair brush. \nSliding down the side of the bench, he pushed himself into a nook in between the two benches the closest to him as far up the chilly bricks as his larger form would allow, nate shoved his phone into the oversized pockets on the front of his sweater, and he watched the version of kickball that the football kids had started playing when they got tired of sitting around watching their fingers turn blue. They called it kickball for the teacher’s sake, but really, it was aggressive swearing and a bunch of idiots slamming into each other. Nate wasn’t really welcome to play, but he hadn’t really wanted to to begin with, preferring to keep his skull intact.\nHis sister was late. Again. Considering she was new to the school and was in only grade ten when the year had started (while her sorry excuse of a brother was in grade twelve), Nate had offered to keep her company during her first year. Had he known that ‘keeping her company’ meant hanging out with her and her geeky friends twenty four seven, he was sure he would have bitten his tongue. They weren’t exactly the type of kids that a cool highschool kid would hang out with, but heck, Nate loved his sister, and she had basically kept him alive the year before when Nate had been diagnosed with severe depression. \nSevere was one word for it. Mostly though, when people cared enough to ask him about it, Nate mostly explained that it was the period of his life where he wouldn’t get out of bed unless someone had left a party sized bag of ketchup chips at the bedroom door or the TV was playing reruns of cheesy (not to mention bad) rom-coms. His sister, Mae, had been with him through it all, coming home everyday with several bottles of pepsi and a bag of doritos for their daily sobbing sessions. Well, for Nate’s daily sobbing session. Mae always kept herself together. There were, however, days where she would stay at home to watch the worst rom-coms with him, but no one ever made the connection between her sick days and tests that she didn’t study for. So the least he could do was sit here freezing in a tiny ball while he waited for her and her nerdy friends to show up to take him to whatever nerdy club she had signed them up for today. \n“Nate!” Mae’s cheery voice filled his ears as he looked up to see his sister standing rosy-cheeked at his feet. She extended a hand to help him to his feet, and he desperately wished for the dark fleece lined parka with a fur lined hood as Mae frowned at him, hand on hip. “Why are you alone? You look freezing! Where’s your jacket? It’s almost minus thirty out here? Why aren’t you playing aggressive swearing with all the idiots slamming into each other over there? Are they-'' She slapped her chest with her open palm dramatically, earning giggles from the three girls with her. “Excluding you?!” then she grew serious and the smile on her face was replaced with a straight line. “Because if they are, I am in a bad mood and if they are, I am willing to go kick their loser butts.” Nate chuckled.\n“Naw, it’s fine. I wanted to be alone, anyway.” he lied, feeling guilty that Mae was again filling the protective older sibling position, the role that he should be playing. “So, where are we headed today?” he asked. With a glint in her eyes, Mae grabbed his arm and led him and her friends in the general direction of the door. \n“You’ll see. But I’ll give you a hint. Me and Vicky were working on a project we were assigned for it last night. You know, when she came over with the box labeled ‘costumes’, and we were singing and acting all dramatic? Rebeca and Moxie were working on their project, too. Mrs. Rachel gave us a deadline for today, so you can just watch for now, but I think this might be the club that we stick with-” Nate cut her off.\n“That was way more than one hint,” He said, mentioning that he knew the drama teacher’s name, and he knew that acting and singing meant drama club. They entered the school, the girls laughing at the constant teasing between the siblings, and they all flung their backpacks in their lockers (which were conveniently located right beside each other), and the group headed for the auditorium, where Mrs. Rachel was standing in the doorway, greeting students as they entered the classroom, buzzing with excitement and positive energy. Upon seeing him, she did a double take and slid her glasses up her nose. Nate squirmed shyly under her gaze.\n“Nate McJesson? The same Nate McJesson who broke out crying in the middle of my health class last year to avoid a test? I knew you would show up here one day!” She winked. “You have some mad acting skills, young man!” Nate shrugged and saw no use in trying to explain that he wasn’t acting and he had actually been dying inside. Mrs. Rachel was, after all, the drama teacher, and drama teachers always try to find the most dramatic way to explain a student’s behavior. So instead, Nate faked a grin and went all extra with a really girly wink before rolling his eyes at Mae and going back into the classroom, the girls on his heels, as they looked for seats together in the packed room.\nHe sunk into a plastic blue chair, more bored and depressed than ever. Nate got like this sometimes when he was in his sister’s perfect life. She had it all; he had a class full of idiots slamming into each other.\nMrs. Rachel came into the room, clapping her hands gleefully to capture the attention of the drama kids. Excitedly, she introduced herself and forced everyone to do the same, even if they were ‘named Nate McJesson and they were simply too good for anything semi-decent’. Then, she explained the project she had assigned them with the day before, and told Mae’s group to go present their’s on the stage. Vicky squealed and grabbed Mae’s hand to pull her up to her feet. Before Mae could get ripped away from him, she grabbed Nate’s hand, and the three of them took off up the stage stairs and up behind the curtain. Running a hand through his messy hair, Nate reminded his sister that he had no idea what he was doing, and Mae slapped him playfully on the shoulder.\n“I know, doofus. But me and Vicky wrote the screenplay for you, so I thought you might want a front row seat.” Vicky fumbled through her backpack and handed a script to Mae, who took a deep breath, grabbed a microphone off the wall, and she and her friend jogged on stage for a round of applause. They took the stage (and the audience) in their hands and rocked the world. Their play was lovely, following Nate’s previous year from Mae’s eyes, giving every bit of truth a hilarious twist. It was super kind of his sister, but most of it was hocus-pocus until Mae’s speech at the end. \n“My brother is here. He is alive. And I love him with every single bit of me. I almost lost him, and even now, sometimes he isn’t completely with us. He doesn’t always play the role of ‘big brother’, but he does stay with and support me. So now, I am going to install a plot twist in the rest of his story. He has the choice of how his story ends.” She extended a hand to him. “Nate come here.” he walked over and shoved his hands in his pockets, squirming under the eyes of the whole drama club. “Will you stay with me, here, and be happy?”\nNate didn’t need to think. With his sister, on stage, under the spotlight, he saw the truth: he was at home. He was happy. \n“Yes. Yes, I will. With only the occasional cheesy rom-com and pepsi days.” Nate was already finding his place; out of the darkness and into the light. And the truth was, in fact, he was mentally okay with his sister by his side." } ]
[ { "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: Party Mischief\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1907\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character who’s nervous to attend a party - their first in a long time." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "‘Why did I agree to this?’ I tried to rack my brain for possible excuses as to why I couldn’t attend, one that would surely fool Stephen, my friend. I had agreed to come to a party that he was holding, the first one I’ve attended since the first year of middle school. It was now my Junior year, so about 5 years later, and I know things are way different at these parties now.\nSee, my friends are social butterflies and get along with most everyone, which I suppose is how they got through to me so quickly. However, I am a social outcast, far from any butterfly out there. I like to read, keep to myself, and write. There’s no point in attending a party with people who are high, drunk, and have no interest in Jane’s Eyre or the history behind it. Just stupid. Stephen was holding his first party in a while, though, so he asked if I could come. Course, I said yes. Just because I don’t like people doesn’t mean I won’t support my friend when I can.\nI finally pluck up the courage to call him, thinking of the perfect excuse. The phone rings for a few minutes, until I hear him from the other side of the line. “Hello there, you big Anti-social mess. Come up with an excuse as to why you can’t attend my party? Been waiting for this call all day.” I grudgingly laugh, knowing full well that he’s being quite serious, even though he’s saying it in a joking manner. “Ah, you didn’t deny it!!! Alright, lay it on me, what is it this time? Book club? Last minute homework assignment? Come on, can’t keep me in the dark forever.” I scoff, then scrape up the retort, “Well, I’d tell you, if you learned how to be quiet.” I hear a quiet chuckle from the other line, then continue, “but yeah, I can’t attend. I have to babysit my sister. You know how things can be.”\nThis wasn’t entirely a lie, I did have to babysit my little sister, just not that night. My parents would be going out of town in a few weeks or so, so naturally I would be left in charge of my 11 year old nightmarish sister. “Oh come on, we both know that that’s not going to be for a while!” ‘Damn, he saw right through me. Oh well,’ I thought, ‘may as well come clean.’ “Ugh,” I groan, complaining, “I just.. I don’t want to know. I already know that someone’s going to bring alcohol, another person will bring some drugs, and it will all go crazy and I won’t even get to sit and read in a corner or bond over books with anyone and it will be an absolute disaster and you don’t even have a dog!”\nAt this point, I was on the verge of tears and speaking faster than a public speaker on steroids. I could feel the smug, sarcastic, and giddiness radiating off of him. “You’re right, that’s quite the dilemma. I need to get a dog, ASAP. As for everyone bringing weed and getting drunk off of their hinds, I’ll let you slip away into a bedroom or something. Alright? Now get dressed in some nice clothes, get ready, or god so help me I will drag you here myself. Okay?”\nI wordlessly sigh, quickly and roughly. I knew he was right, I definitely needed to get out more. “Okayyyyyy, fine. I’ll see you in an hour or so, okay?” He scoffs, “Yeah, okay.” I hang up after that, trying to find a good outfit. I find myself picking out a star and constellation covered button up shirt that’s a bit short, and a pair of black and ripped jeans. I quickly prepare myself for the inevitable hell known as a party, and throw on some dark blue Converse that match the shirt.\nI arrive at his house in about 45 minutes after our call, then get out of the car and stand at the door. I don’t find it in me to knock on the door, so I stand at the door. He opens the door and looks at me exaggeratingly rolling his eyes and laughs deprecatingly, muttering, “I knew it.” He raises his voice to his normal cheery tone and moves to the side, allowing me enough room to come in. I hesitantly make my way in, looking up at him, and try to smile, but shakily grimace instead.\nI come in, seeing everyone there, and tug at my shirt. I make my way to the corner, trying to avoid eyes. I don’t like drawing attention to myself, I don’t even share often enough in class to be a memorable face. “No, no, no, no. You are not going to be a little shadow creature. No sir, not tonight!” I don’t recognise the voice immediately, so I turn around to see a giant guy, about Sophomore year, it seems. I can smell the skunk-like stench coming from him, knowing immediately that I was right to assume someone would be up in the clouds. I back away, into Stephen.\nI grab onto him and tug on his sleeve, like a child would to their parents. “Stephen, Stephen. Where’s the bedroom?” He turns around and smiles teasingly at me. “Oh, giving up already?” I blush and look to the side. “No, but there’s this one guy that won’t leave me alone!” I spot him from the side of our eyes, “See? He’s coming over now.”\nI hid behind Stephen, which was quite easy. He was much taller than me, probably twice my size. He’s somewhere on the taller side of 6 feet, and a burly guy, while I was on the short side of 5 feet and small in size. He rolled his eyes. “Oh, this dude.” He mutters to me, then picks up his voice to be able to be heard by the younger boy. “Hey, you there, Jan! Can you kindly leave my friend here alone? They’re a bit on the shy side.” I blushed a bit harder under the dimmed lights embarrassed, huffing out, “W- ugh, you didn’t have to say that.” “Oh, shush, you know it’s true.” The now named “Jan” thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Alright, whatever, bro.” He walks off, slumping stupidly. “Well, this has been quite the night. I’ll be off now, then.” I begin sulking off to the door.\nAnother thing I hate about being tinier is that I’m very easy to lift. Stephen is very strong, too, so I was scooped up easily and put into a bedroom with a few books. I sit on the bed with my legs criss-crossed, like a kindergartener on the carpet for book time. He puts some books in front of me, then stands at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips. “Alright, buddy. Here’s the deal, I need you to stay, ‘case things get out of control. You’re pretty good at being scary when you need to be. But I won’t make you be out in your living nightmare, you can sit in here and read. Got it?” I roll my eyes, then provisionally reply, “Mmmmm.. Okay. Fine. These better be good books, though, otherwise you’re giving me a pretty crap deal.” He laughs, \"Alright, alright. Trust me, it'll be worth your while. Just give it a try.\"\nAfter he leaves, I open a book and begin reading. \"Ah, Hobbit. Haven't read this yet...\" I mumble to no one in particular. I like talking to myself as I read sometimes, because it helps me process the information better. Not sure why my brain works like that, it just does.\nI suddenly hear the door open and hurriedly turn off the reading light I had on near the bedside. \"Hello?\" A timid voice calls out, too quiet to be heard by anyone outside of the room, but silky, soft, and smooth. I stumble on my words, suddenly feeling my face light up again. \"Um-m, hiiiii\" I falter on all other words, my jaw no longer seeming to work.\nThey seem to pick up on this, and laughs slightly. \"Is my voice really that seductive?\" I stutter out, \"No, it's just really, really pretty. And I'm a nerd, I don't get out to people very often, you know? I just must be too charming and intimidating.\" I turn on the reading light and brush my hair back with my fingers. They laughs slightly, and I smile goofily. \"Anyways, what are you doing in here?\"\nThey come and sits down on the bed, off to the side but close enough to me that I could reach out and touch them if I wanted to. \"Ah, you know, I just thought, 'hey! I love this big loud party, blaring noise, people high off their asses, and drunk high schoolers? Let me go try and start this in a bedroom, you know?'\" I scoffed and laughed. \"I know that feeling. Anyways, what's your name? I think I've seen you in class, Hare, right?\"\n\"Yeah, and you're.....\" I watch them try and think of my name, obviously coming up short. \"I'm Listhy. Easy name to remember, I know, I hear it all the time.\" They laugh again, and I laugh with them. \"What do you go by? Pronouns and everything, I mean.\" I think for a moment, then answer, \"oh, they/them or he/him is fine for me. How about an angel like yourself?\" They blush slightly and smile warmly, \"well, aren't we a little tease? Anyways, that's nice. She/her or they/them for me.\"\nWe talk about books for a while, trading our personal favourites amongst each other, talking about school, how annoying people are, and things like that. We had been talking about Romeo and Juliet when she had said it.\n\"Isn't it just so... so romantic?\" I look at her quizzically, \"what do you mean?\" She looks at me, her big blueish grey eyes looking like a river. \"Well, having someone love you enough to die with you and go through everything with you, you know?\" I question this statement cautiously, \"Well... isn't it more romantic for someone to live for you? For you to be the thing that keeps them going, and they stay with you even when times get rough, instead of dying?\" She blushes gently and looks down at her hands. \"Yeah... yeah, I never really thought of that.\" She chuckles as I begin to find myself immersed into the river in her eyes.\nI lean in and then hesitantly pull back, suddenly finding myself and go back. I notice they're looking at me, and they roll their eyes and smile, \"Well, if you want to kiss me, just say something.\" She pulls me into a kiss, the first kiss I've ever had, and I find myself melting from under her.\nSuddenly, someone walks into the room. Stephen and another guy look at us, and burst with euphoria. \"You thought that other people were gonna be naughty, Lis, yet here you are! Wash the sheets and clean up when you're done.\" I blush up to my ears, redder than the rippest strawberry, but suddenly feel her lips back on mine and melt again.\nWe ended up cuddling and staying the night, requiring a new partner and reading buddy respectively. I guess parties aren't too bad." } ]
[ { "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 Song Wonder\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1006\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a reluctant party-goer who ends up being the star of the show." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "\"I'm not going.\" I muttered.\n\"Come on, Jack, it's the first party of the year, and you're one of the only freshmen invited!\" my friend Darius exclaimed. He was a Sophomore that I had befriended almost instantly, even though I was a musician and he was a Football player.\n\"You know I don't want to smoke and drink, and that's exactly what's going to happen there.\" I argued back.\n\"So just don't do any of that!\" he really wanted me to go, didn't he? \"For me. Please?\"\n\"Fine.\" I sighed, wondering what the heck I had just gotten myself into.\n\"That's the spirit! Come on, let's get you dressed!\" Darius dragged me across the hall to his dorm and started digging through his closet while I stood there awkwardly.\n\"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?\" I had on black sweatpants and a white t-shirt.\n\"Everything!\" Darius replied, still digging. \"Here it is!\" He pulled out a black leather jacket and dark blue jeans.\n\"No.\" I said immediately.\n\"Jack-\"\n\"If I'm going to this party, I'm going to wear what I want.\" I countered.\n\"Alright, but put something else on? A little more casual?\"\n\"Fine. I think I have something.\" I went back to my dorm and grabbed a pair of light blue jeans, a dark green flannel, and a white sweatshirt with a microphone on it. I walked back to Darius and turned in a circle, unenthusiastic.\n\"That's great!\" He approved. \"Now get your shoes on, it starts in 10 minutes!\"\n\"Great. I'm so excited.\" I said sarcastically.\n\"Oh, quit your whining. Maybe that guy you like will be there.\"\nI tensed. \"Jordan?\" Jordan was a Junior in the same Advanced Chorus and Band classes I was in. He was super cute, but I also didn't know if I was his type.\n\"Yeah, I think so.\" He smirked. \"Relax dude, just be yourself.\" He gave me a pat on the back and pushed me out the door, my stomach lodged in my throat.\nWe arrived at the building the party was being held at. It had large windows in the front with the blinds closed and music could be heard blaring from speakers inside. People walked around us and headed inside.\n\"I don't know about this.\" I started walking backwards slowly.\nDarius pushed me forward. \"Oh no you don't. You go get that guy of yours.\"\nI swallowed hard, but glad Darius was supportive of my taste in attraction. Walking forward nervously, I opened the door, pinching my nose to the horrible stench.\n\"Isn't this great?\" Darius screamed over the music.\n\"Sure!\" I yelled back.\nAfter a couple minutes of loud music, drinking, and smoking, (which I did not take part in) the music was turned down by the host of the party, the quarterback of the varsity football team, Kasey Johnson. I only knew his name because Darius looked up to him.\n\"How's everyone doing?\" He yelled.\nEveryone hollered and whooped, raising drinks towards Kasey.\n\"I have a request that we do a Karaoke competition! Whose down!\"\nEveryone cheered, mostly drunk and probably horrible singers.\n\"Jack, you've gotta do it!\" Darius exclaimed.\n\"What? No way!\"\n\"Jordan's here! You've gotta show him you can sing!\"\n\"Really?\" I looked around and sure enough, Jordan was standing there looking at me. We made eye contact and I immediately looked away, hiding behind a large kid.\n\"Whose first?\" Kasey asked.\nA group of drunk football players went up, laughing and stumbling.\n\"Alright, we got James, Keaton, and Miles!\" Kasey announced. \"What song are you doing?\"\n\"Legends Never Die!\" One of them said.\n\"The floor is yours, guys!\" Kasey stepped back and handed James (I think) the microphone.\nThey were horrible. And that's being generous on the critique. They were not together, off key, wrong notes, forgot words, and horrible diction.\nKasey took the microphone back. \"Let's give it up for James, Keaton, and Miles!\"\nEveryone laughed and cheered at their stupidity. \"Now whose up next?\"\n\"Jack Lorenzo! Right here!\" Darius screamed.\n\"No!\" I yelled back.\nKasey grabbed my hand and hoisted me up on top of the table. Everyone mumbled about how I was a freshman.\n\"What song are you doing, mate?\" Kasey asked.\n\"U-um, I-I don't know.\" I stuttered.\n\"Pick something. Anything.\"\n\"Um, I guess Share Your Address, Ben Platt?\" I said and immediately wanted to take it back. Jordan obviously would know I'm gay now, since I chose a Ben Platt song.\n\"Alright, let's give it up for Jack Lorenzo!\" Kasey said, handing me the microphone.\nThe music started and I relaxed, feeling the music and the emotions it conveyed. I started singing.\n\"Darling, you might think it's too soon, but I can't get you out of my head now.\" I sang, people started cheering. I got into the rhythm and was dancing by the second verse. I locked eyes with Jordan who was clapping and cheering along, smiling widely.\n\"I wanna share your address!\" I ended, panting. everybody cheered, stamping and clapping loudly.\n\"Man, that was amazing! Let's give it up for Jack, who will now be invited to every party!\" Kasey yelled.\nI jumped off the table, now nervous again. I practically ran out the door and gulped down the fresh air.\n\"Hey.\" I jumped, spinning around to face none other than Jordan. He was smiling, holding two cups. He offered one to me.\n\"N-No thanks. I don't drink.\" I stammered nervously.\n\"Me neither. It's water.\" I took it and drank, my vocal chords thanking me.\n\"You were amazing in there.\" Jordan complimented.\n\"I wasn't, but thanks.\" I replied.\n\"No, you were. Believe me.\" Jordan looked at me and smiled. I blushed and smiled back.\n\"Your blushing is so adorable.\" He observed.\n\"Oh, ah, um-\"\nBefore I could say anything stupid, Jordan kissed me, my lips melting into his. People started chanting my name and Jordan pulled away, smiling.\n\"I'll get your number after. Go give the crowd what they want.\" He led me inside and watched me sing for the rest of the 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: The Day\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1000\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story set in a city where the power suddenly goes out, leaving everyone in darkness." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Tuesday, March 16, 7:30 A.m. I headed to the bus stop ready to start the day. I forgot my phone that day, which is an odd occurrence. But I brushed it off as if I had forgotten to brush my teeth. It was a cold dark morning. There were 8 weeks of school left. until I was in 11th grade. Maybe I should introduce myself. I'm Nathan I go to White Creek High School I'm 16 and in 10th grade. I love school. The part I like most about it is that my best friend Chris goes to the same school. He is one of the smart kids. He brags and boasts about being on the honor roll. I get good grades in all, mostly a's, b's, and c's. When I got on the bus I sat next to Thomas everyone calls him T.H. I call him a tomato head. when we got to school I went to my locker. I saw lily Havern. The feeling inside me made my stomach ace. I walked past her, it was like everything slowed down when you walked past her. I would have been surprised if my jaw wasn't hanging all the way down to the ground. I got to first period and sat down. I sit next to Chris in first period. We talked about soccer for about five minutes when the teacher yelled for the class to settle down. The day went on like normal until about the 3rd period. I was sitting in math working on a geometry sheet when it started snowing. not much just a little. We normally turn the heat up when it starts snowing. the teacher reached for the thermos and turned it up. we all continued working. Fourth period was my favorite because it one of the classes I had with Lilly. In fourth period (science) we worked on a science lab. When it was time for the teacher to assign the partners I was hoping she would say, Chris and Nathan. but I heard the words Nathan and Lilly slip out of her mouth. My chin dropped. I rubbed my eyes as if I was dreaming. I blinked about ten times. It didn't seem real. I mean don't get me wrong I would love to be her partner but it just seemed weird. I looked down and right as I looked back up BAM. The power went off I sat down next to Lilly. She seemed kinda worried but it was just some stupid old router in the back of the school. I figured they would have it fixed in a few minutes. I looked outside it seemed like I was the only one who noticed. but we were in the middle of a blizzard. And a big one too. I gasped, Lily whispered to me \" I noticed too, it's bad out there\". I felt comforted in some type of way. As if someone understood some type of secret language with me. I looked at the teacher and pointed out the window as if I was a two-year-old looking at ice cream. She along with half the people in our class gasped. We didn't know what to do. Lily started crying. I gave her a big bear hug. I felt amazing but at the same time terrible because we could possibly die. I looked outside and noticed no one else in the city had power. you couldn't even hear the buzzing of the heater. Not even two seconds later the power came on. Lily stopped crying and hugged me saying \" thank you I get terrible anxiety during storms\". \"no problem\" I said. The bell rang and I Headed to 5th period. I felt a tug on my arm pulling me to the side. Before I could even process what had happened Lily kissed me. I felt fireworks lighting up inside me. We started making out. \" do you wanna hang at my house after school today?\" \"sH...surr.sure\" I said \"see you then\" I got on the bus and told Thomas everything. I got off at my normal stop and went home for like 2 minutes to freshen up. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair. I walked down the street turned down the corner and headed for her front door. I noticed none of her parents were home. I knocked on the door. She came and opened it and invited me to sit on the couch and watch Netflix. Of course, I said yes. We went upstairs and listened to music and talked. Somewhere along the way, I asked about where her parents were. She said they were out of town. My favorite song started playing, I shoot up and turned it up. I grabbed her hand and we started dancing. Once the song was over we sorta fell back on her bed. I looked at her and kinda smiled. \"what\" she said \" I've just never seen a girl more pretty funnier and smarter than you.\" She kinda smiled. We locked eyes for a moment and leaned over. We started kissing again. I turned over while still kissing her. I put her up on my lap. She paused for a second and said do you hear that. \"never mind\" ok whatever. I looked over her shoulder. I saw a mirror I don't know why but I felt a weird feeling not to do anything else than kiss in her room. we continued to go to her house every Tuesday and Thursday. one day she hugged me at school and I got so happy. we continued to do that for about a month. until one Tuesday when I lost that gut feeling and one day when my mom was working we went over to my house. she said it's her first time I think she might have lied. and to this day we still flirt. moral of the story sometimes something bad happening isn't always bad.\nThe End\nstory By: A.G.P" } ]
[ { "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: If Time had wings\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1023\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone saying, “We’re running out of time.”" }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "I looked at my sleeping 11 year old angel baby girl next to me. \"We’re running out of time\", I whispered under my breath, ferociously hitting my hands against the steering wheel. I let out a roar worthy of a lioness, no one in this jungle heard it; it was silent, not wanting to wake my child. Her time was running out, her life was running out, her childhood had come to a sudden stop. No turning back now...\"keep driving, how much I should tell her, will she be in pain,\" My heart felt like it was ripping out of my chest. I couldn’t breathe. We both were running out of time.\n\nSticky drops of sweat were rolling down between my breasts, the old beaten up car window was open but the stifling breeze coming through it was hitting my face, turning the car into a sweltering sauna. The air conditioning on my 1990 Toyota had been out for years. The red paint had pealed and I had an old grey rope holding the trunk shut. I could barely make rent and food since my husband had passed. I had said a “Hail Mary” and patted the St. Christopher hanging from my mirror before turning the key at the start of this trip. “My God”, was a loving forgiving God and I knew in my heart that I was making the right decision for my daughter. My Catholic Church and our priest had another view. Father Vic had talked and prayed over us to make the right choice, I had. It was the only choice WE had. My God would forgive.\n\nI looked at Grace, her forehead beaded in sweat, her blonde hair plastered to her forehead. She was breathing irregular, she needed more water. She rolled over on her side exposing her tiny belly, her brows frowning. I didn't want to wake her, but knew I must. \"What was she dreaming about?\" \"Does she relive the horror every time she slept? \"Ever since she told me what had happened I have been living in a nightmare of blackness and fear. “Would I get stopped, will I be arrested?”\n\nMy mind wondered, I couldn’t help but wonder why I could cross the borders I’d be traveling over to buy a gun, carry a gun in an open carry state, get married, have heart surgery, go to a state where Pot is legal, gamble, visit brothels, buy cheap gas, liquor, lottery tickets or cross borders to hunt with no consequences, but the hammer goes down when it comes to my child. Her life is in danger; her childhood was about to become completely oblivious.\n\nWe live in Louisiana; the closest legal clinic is at least a 10-hour drive. We have only been on the road for about two hours; Illinois is still eight hours away. This was the longest road trip I have ever taken, but I’d walk through the hells' fires for my little girl. Yes, my precious sleeping 11 year old baby girl is pregnant.\n\nWith this \"Illegal\", Supreme Court’s decision to turn over a fifty year old precedent in one day, America has become a Taliban nation for women. The world’s atlas tilted that day. There will be millions of lives imploding. The six Justices did not care; they tossed a dirty bomb into the uteruses of American women and girls across the United States. The “Righteous Evangelicals”, had won; but at what cost to the freedom of American women. The GOP and the so called Republicans that are left put their heads in the sand and screamed, look over here…don’t look at this, look at our horrible immigration policies.\n\nIt's been over six weeks now, more like eight...how could I have missed it. \"I know how, what mother expects her little soccer player, doll playing innocent child could possible get pregnant at eleven years old. I was shocked when she suddenly got her women’s visitor at 10 ½ years old; The Dr. said girls were getting there period earlier these days with the hormones and additives to or food chain. I didn’t think she needed the “Sex” talk at her age, boy was I wrong.\n\nI knew last June something was wrong. Grace wasn’t smiling, laughing or sleeping. She was distant and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking for hours on her favorite chair; I couldn’t get through to her. It wasn’t until weeks after her uncle Rob left to go back to Costa Rica that she broke down with heaving sobs. Rob had touched her down there; he put his penis in her tiny Vagina. She had kept silent with his threats of harming me, it had taken me another week to get the funds together I’d need for this trip; my time off work, hotels, gas, and cost of the abortion in the clinic. I could barely make rent and food with my meager income. My job as a waitress was just not cutting it and covid wasn’t helping my bank account either.\n\nI always knew my husband’s brother was off; he had a sleazy air about him. I wondered why he had moved to Costa Rica. I believe I know now, his wife never talked about why the sudden divorce and her move across the United states to California. When I tried to confront her, she said “It’s too horrible to talk about, I don’t even want to think about it, Good Bye”, Then she hung up. I didn’t pursue it further.\n\nMy anger surfaced all over again, if I had only known. If Grace's father was still alive he would have gotten on a plane and killed the son of a bitch! Why did I say yes to him when he wanted to come to Louisiana? My guilt was interrupted, “Mommy are we almost there”?\n\nA lonely tear fell down my right cheek, I thought, “No Grace, we are so far away from there”. I said, “Yes, sweetie”, as I slowly started stopping the car at a diner along the side of the road; she needed, food, water, she needed hugs, and she needs an abortion." } ]
[ { "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 Fairy Tale\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1057\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that begins in the light and ends in darkness, or the other way around." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "TW: child abuse, mental health, domestic violence\nHer back was sticky with sweat. The sun today was scorching. The air was so humid; she thought she would melt. All she wanted was to get home before they came searching for her.\nThe straps of her backpack dug into her skin, pulling her to a screeching halt. Her heart sank.\n“You in a hurry?” Merlin asked teasingly.\n“Leave me alone.”\n“And what if we don’t?”\nShe shook her backpack off Merlin’s grip and started running.\n“Oh! Look, Miss Muddy Skin Color, is also a coward.” Merlin said rather loudly and then her friends, and she burst out laughing.\nTears were threatening to spill out, but she fought them back. She knew crying would make her feel better, but for once in her lifetime, she didn’t want to go with the flow. She wanted to disrupt it and carve out a way of her own.\n *\nAfter what seemed like an eternity, she was finally home. As she walked towards the door, the world became a blur, and the door became clearer. Her encounter with the bully was starting to fade from the pages of her memory. All she saw was the tiny little air-borne particles made visible by the sunlight. Her brain, blissfully too, stopped overthinking. It just stopped thinking. She realized she was only a breath away from the door when her eyes started burning because of staring without blinking.\nShe knocked.\nThe door swung open, and in front of her stood a stout and thin lady. Her hazelnut eyes gleamed, the corners of her lips were tugged upwards. Her beauty mystified her daughter. \n“What’s wrong?” Her mom asked.\nHer mom looked like a complete stranger. Or was this the first time she had cared to observe the face of her mother so intently?\nShe drank all the details in, and a second later, her mom walked closer and embraced her.\n “I’m fighting my own battles,\nYou are fighting your own battles.\nYour life cannot be a fairy tale,\nIf a fairy tale is a mountain, your life is a dale.\n Keep one thing in mind, endings can never be peaceful\nEndings can never be beautiful.\nBut the sunset is beautiful, isn’t it?\nBut what comes after it?\nDarkness menacing\nBeasts come out in search of the injured, hunting.\n But, injured here means not physically hurt\nIt’s when into your brain creep, things absurd.\nOptimism, they drain away.\nReaches your brain not a single sun’s ray.\n Endings might be kissing the life out of you.\nThe worst battle of your life, they might put you through.\nBut injured, don’t let yourself become,\nBecause the next day might bring a gloomy weather or light some.”\n Her mom’s voice smoothed the wrinkles in her heart. She was oblivious to the fact that her mom could sing. Her mom’s melodious voice awoke and put something inside her to sleep simultaneously. She pulled away. Her eyes were rheumy, but she wiped it away before her mom could notice. She walked inside and climbed the stairs leading to her room, absent-minded looking down at the hard floor and pondering over the song.\n“You got your results today, didn’t you? Bring them to me after you freshen up,” her dad said calmly, so calmly that it sent shivers down her spine.\n *\n“Well, I don’t need to tell you that your results are not impressive.\nPathetic is what they are.”\n“I’m sorry”\n“Your grades are dropping,” he said gravely. “Are you seeing any boys?”\n“No,” she said, louder than she had intended to.\n“I’m not spending all my life working like a donkey for you to throw Cs on my face!” His voice was wavering with anger.\nWhere was her mom? She must be in the basement, huddled in a corner, staring at nothing in particular. Her mom spent most of her time in the basement, sometimes crying. And sometimes screaming her lungs out. And this frightened daughter thinks her mother is either paranoid or possessed by a demon lurking in the basement.\nHer father’s slap helps her wandering mind to focus on the present. She then makes eye contact with him. The fury, the fiery flame and the menacing darkness are what his eyes beheld. Is he the devil lurking in her mom’s life? Is he driving her paranoid? He stares right back at her and then walks away.\nShe stands there, transfixed, waiting for the warmth of the tears. Hot tears trickle down her cheek, but her expression remains neutral. Neither does she wrinkle her nose nor do lines appear on her forehead. Just tears running down her cheek. She turned around and was headed to the attic.\nThe attic was pitch black, as always.\nDarkness comforted her. But why did the darkness in her dad’s eyes send chills down her spine? She didn’t want to think about it. She focused on her surroundings. Yes, indeed. Darkness is blissful. \nBut she wasn’t looking for temporary comfort, she yearned for a permanent one. She kept walking until she found the ladder, the ladder that led to the roof. Navigating across the attic was a child’s play for her. She knew every nook and corner of it.\nShe found it and ascended the ladder. The cold metal felt good beneath her burning palms. She pushed open the window and heaved herself on the roof. She crawled her way to the edge. The red tiles shined. They complimented the setting sun.\nShe stood up, spread her arms, and jumped.\nShe hit the ground with a thud. \nMemories came flooding back.\nWearing school uniform for the first time.\nHer first day of school.\nLearning the alphabets.\nConfessing her love for her preschool teacher.\nCrying because dad won’t buy her a pink balloon.\nDancing on the stage in preschool.\nSneaking into her mom’s room to play with her cosmetics.\nGraduating to middle school.\nRoaming around the house hugging the books of the next academic term.\nScribbling names on the desks.\nPassing chits to her crush.\nClassmates stalking her.\nBullies verbally and physically abusing her.\nThe strife between her parents that changed the course of their life.\nMerlin and her gang forcing her to drink muddy water.\nHer mom’s face.\nHer dad’s eyes.\n“Miss Muddy Skin Color,” “coward,” echoing in her brain.\nThen complete darkness.\nBlissful darkness." } ]
[ { "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: Into The Mist\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2548\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story featuring an element of time-travel or anachronism." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "1,003, 1,004, 1,005, 1,006, 1,007, 1,008 1,009, 1,010, 1,011, 1,012, 1,013….\nSo far, I’ve counted over 1,000 trees, a pretty fucking easy feat to conquer when you’re in a forest. Unfortunately, counting trees isn’t the most stimulating activity. However, when you’re being carried against your will by two strange men, you don’t have much choice in what activities you can and can’t do. I would much rather be wandering around these unknown woods with my sister, completely clueless as to what part of the U.K we’re in. However, my captors don’t seem to care what I want or prefer.\nBesides, counting trees kind of serves as a way to not dwell on the worry over my sister’s well-being, or the intense fucking pain I’m feeling from my stab wound, which is now shabbily wrapped up, courtesy of the dicks dragging me. Why they didn’t just kill me, I didn’t know. My makeshift ace bandage was created from my own goddamn shirt and is now soaked in my blood, as it didn’t do much in ways of stopping the blood flow.\nThe fear and anguish on my twin’s face as we were dragged away from each other has yet to leave my mind. I have no idea where she is right now or what she’s going through, and that scares me. Even though my sister has a martial arts background and a temper, she’s a rather relatively small woman at the mercy of giant, violent men. While she does have some muscle and plenty combat skill due to her dedication to various forms of martial arts, she wouldn’t be much of a challenge for any of our captors to handle.\nBefore we were taken against our will, I thought that mine and Nadia’s situation couldn’t get worse. After all, we were arguing with one another and lost in a forest unknown to us, so how bad could our circumstance really get?\nTurns out, it could get extremely bad.\nLike, getting fucking kidnapped and stabbed in the middle of the woods type of bad.\nIt wasn’t enough for Nadia and me to mysteriously end up in an unfamiliar place, we also had to be kidnapped by a bunch of Viking looking motherfuckers that had the same temperament and level of manners as the old Norsemen.\nIt was if these men were unaware that we were well into the 2020s, or that they simply decided that the medieval way of life was better. Perhaps, Nadia and I managed to stumble upon a cult comprised of a group of over dedicated reenactors, like in Antebellum. Or maybe, the movie The Village applied to them better. I hadn’t seen or examined how they acted enough to determine which film better captured their way of life.\nThe dirty looking men break the stillness of the forest and begin to converse to one other in the same language as earlier, one I can’t identify. If I knew what they were saying, I would better be able to gauge the gravity of our situation. If Nadia was with me, she might be able to give me a clue. Languages were yet another interest of hers, one she excelled at. As she did with everything.\nThe men suddenly stop, but not before they managed to drag my wounded leg over a fucking rock. Pain courses through my leg, intense enough for me to forget my worry over my sister’s wellbeing.\n“Jesus fucking Christ!” I cry out.\nMy words make the men look at me funny, as if swearing was a step too far for them.\n I take note of a newcomer, one who has a remarkable resemblance to the man who took my sister, the one who initiated this whole ordeal. As I further examine the stranger, I realize that I must be staring at a relative of my sister’s captor. The biggest differences between this man and the other one is that he’s taller and his hair is neater. He, too, is staring at me.\n“What?” I snap, not caring about the consequences of my aggression.\nThey’ve already beaten, stabbed, and kidnapped me, so besides just ending my misery and killing me, there wasn’t much else they could do to harm me.\nThe new man tears his eyes away from me and focuses on the other two, who are now bowing their heads ever so slightly as they converse. Based on how they’re acting, I guess the new man is someone of a higher ranking.\nThe men are now conversing freely, paying me no mind. Maybe, if God decides to cut me some slack, they won’t notice if I happened to wander away. But even if I end up getting caught, I would have at least tried to get away. Taking in a breath, I force myself to stand up, ignoring the burning pain I’m now feeling. However, after just a few steps, my legs begin to buckle. Before I painfully fall for a second time, I decide to slowly sit down and rest against a tree just a few feet away from where I started. The newcomer’s eyes shift back to me, rolling them when he sees me massaging my wound. After a few more words with his comrades, he comes over to me, crouching down to look me in my eyes.\n“I question how two English speaking blámaðr end up near our settlement. I too question the clothing ye wear and things ye ask.”\nI’m sure I look as confused as I feel. Many questions circulate through my mind, the biggest one being what the fuck is a ‘blámaðr?’ Instead of taking the risk of providing an answer he deems unsatisfactory, I remain quiet. My lack of response doesn’t bother him. In fact, he happily chats away, engaging in a very one-sided conversation. He fires off question after question, and though he doesn’t give me enough time to answer any of them, it’s clear the purpose of his presence is to interrogate me.\n“But ye will answer all in due time. For now, I want to know about thy woman. Is she yours?”\n“Mine?” I repeat, my eyes widening and stomach turning when I realize the meaning of his question.\nHe thought Nadia, my twin who very much looked like me, was my girlfriend. Though the very thought of what he was insinuating disgusted me, I simply shook my head no, allowing the frown on my face to express my displeasure at his words. “She’s my twin.”\nAt my clarification, his eyes light up with interest. “Yer mother must have been a strong woman to bear twins.”\nAt the bizarre mention of my mother, my heart aches. Would Nadia and I ever see her again? I had no idea how my sister was faring, and while I didn’t think they’d go through all this trouble just to kill us, it was within the realm of possibilities. Would our bodies even be found? We were in dense, unknown woods. It was very possible that nature would swallow our corpses up before a search party even thought to look in this area.\n“Where is my sister? Is she safe?” I ask softly, praying that Nadia was coping better than I was. I know for a fact that my sister is a strong girl. These last few weeks have demonstrated that, but this situation was enough to push anyone over the edge. And, apart from her mental state, she currently had no control over what happened to her physically.\nHe offers me a threatening smile, one that only heightens my worry. “Worry not about her. You have yet to answer thy questions.”\n“If I answer them, will you tell me?”\n“Mayhap.” As he talks, his hand goes to the knife that’s sheathed on his belt. Taking it out, he brandishes it in front of my face, allowing the tip of the blade to caress my cheek. “But answering thy questions will save ye from further anguish.”\nI gulp at the direct threat. No doubt, he’d happily follow through on it.\n“Yer sister, I heard, was quite skilled in combat. How?”\n“Where I’m from, our women can learn to fight,” I murmured, wondering why he’d taken such an interest in my sister, who to my knowledge, he had yet to even meet.\nHe nods his head, seemingly satisfied with the vague answer. “And where do ye two hail from?”\nAthens, Georgia, but if he and his friends were insane enough to take to roleplaying this extreme, saying that isn’t an option. The USA wouldn’t become a nation until 700 years after the Vikings. So, opting to instead feed into their delusions, I say, “A village near York.”\n“What is thy village called?”\nShit. Broughauck wouldn’t be founded until the early 17th century. Still, saying that was better than saying nothing. Besides, I doubted this man is familiar with the year that every English village was founded. “Bro-” I clear my throat, hating the way my voice wavers. His eyebrows raise, and he drags the knife along my cheek, letting it go just deep enough to draw blood. I suck in a breath and wince, my eyes narrowing when I notice the amusement in his.\nTwisted motherfucker.\n“Where do ye two hail from?” he asks again, wiping the knife off on his pants, the action leaving behind a red streak.\nTaking in a breath, and hoping my voice remains strong, I say, “Broughauck,” whilst wiping the blood off my cheek.\n“Broughauck,” he repeats, shrugging. “I have never heard of this village.”\n“You know about every village in England?” I snap, angrily swiping at my cheek again.\n“England? You believe in the vision of the Saxon King?”\nWhat the fuck? Perhaps, Nadia and I really had stumbled upon an isolated cult that truly believed they were Vikings. And if that were the case, I was fucked, as I suspect that historical knowledge would be a great skill in a situation like this. But unlike my twin, I was never a fan of history.\n However, I remembered enough to know that the Viking age lasted hundreds of years, and England wasn’t unified until the 900s. I went over all the monarchs I knew of that lived doing that time range, but besides Alfred the Great, I couldn’t name any who believed in unifying the kingdoms of England into a single state.\n“Answer me,” he growled out, slicing at my already wounded cheek.\n“What king do you speak of?” I question, still not entirely sure who he was referring to. While it may be foolish to further delay answering him, I suspect a wrong answer would also make him angrier.\nHis eyes narrow at me, and I knew I fucked up big time. He throws his weapon to the side and tears off my makeshift bandage. My sense of self-preservation kicks in, and I grab at his large hand with my left one before he could carry out whatever sadistic plan he had in mind. The action makes him freeze, so I use that as an opportunity to shove him away with all my strength. He loses his footing and falls, landing on his back with a thud, the sound catching the attention of the other men, who immediately rush over. Despite my injury, I manage to stand up, adrenaline now pumping through my veins. I’m able to run a small distance, though the action results in more bleeding and intense pain. The thundering of the men’s footsteps spurs me on, and I know that if they catch me, they’ll do more than just stab my leg.\n I manage to outrun them for a minute or so before they catch up to me. Two pairs of hands grip my shoulders, and I’m forced to the ground. The man that I shoved appears before me, fury blackening his face. I glare right back at him, trying to hide the fear I feel at the aspect of this being my last moments on Earth. He leans down to look me in the eyes, and before he can do anything, I use this as an opportunity to headbutt him. If he’s going to kill me, I might as well go out with a fight. He grunts as his head snaps back, his hands flying to his now bleeding nose. The two men who grip me shove me face first into the dirt, and begin raining down kicks and punches on me. Suddenly, they stop, leaving me gasping for breath and covered in my own blood and dirt. Right now, I’m surprised I’m even conscious. The sound of a deep, crazed laugh reaches my ear, and I look towards the source. Despite having murder in his eyes and a nose that’s spewing blood, my inquisitor is laughing his ass off.\n“I must admit,” he says between his chuckles, swiping at his eyes. “Ye’d make a fine warrior. Ye and yer sister, ye do yer people proud.”\nI open my mouth to respond to the crazy ass man before me, but his fist greets my face before I could utter a sound. Stars appear in my now blurry vision. I groan at the pain I’m feeling all over my body, that groan turning into a scream when a searing pain shoots through my left hand.\n“Shit!” I snarl as the knife that’s deep in my hand is twisted, resulting in even more pain.\nPulling it out, instead of wiping the blade off on his pants as he did before, he allows the cheek he left uncut to serve as his wipe. I cringe as my own blood drips down my face.\n“I don’t like being taken for a fool. Ye say yer are from York, yet ye waste yer breath asking me who the Saxon King is.”\n“There is no Saxon King, you crazy fucks!” I yell out, unable to focus on his face.\nMy outrage is rewarded with another kick, but I’m in so much pain that it barely registers.\n“I would truly hate to kill yr. That would be such a waste. So, I shall give ye one more chance to answer the question. Do ye believe in King Alfred’s vision?”\nJesus fuck, they truly believe we’re in Viking era England. Gasping in another breath, I slowly nod, hoping I’m not signing my death warrant. “England will be united.”\nEngland is united, but if they believe King Alfred is the ruler, they’d think England is nothing more than a pipedream.\n“Was that so difficult?”\n“What year do you assholes think it is?” I huff out as black dots dance in my vision.\nI feel as if I’m going to pass out at any moment, but in the presence of these brutes, I doubt I’d ever wake up. \n“Ye came across as daft, asking the things ye do. But, fools have always held a special place in my heart, so I will humor ye for the time being. It is 880, boy.”\nSuspicion confirmed, Nadia and I managed to unearth a Viking cult.\nThe man shifts his attention to the other two dicks, switching languages. They leave my sight as they speak, and now that a psycho isn’t right in front of my face, those black dots grow larger. Before I know it, everything goes black." } ]
[ { "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: Goonam\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2261\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with a truth coming to light." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "Welcome to MARHAMS high school were it takes 5 moths to track a hacker, fraudster and threat and get the person expelled.\nJordan wrapped around his duvet in the rainy morning. Jordan wakes up to sound of the music in his room and the vibrations of his phone. He goes to rinse his face and gets his phone to read the messages .\n“You guys this thing is real. We really have a fraudster in our class. Liam just got scammed”.\n“really’\n“what!”\n“wtf”\n“this is crazy”, “goo…”, “fo…”, “ha...”, the messages run in millions. A normal class group chat as usual.\nIn school, at noon the students all going for lunch. As , the students in Jordan’s class trying to prepare for a test. Then suddenly Gabi’s bank account is hacked and a huge sum of money stolen. This has been happening for the past few months in school. Who is the serial thief? This question brings alarm to everybody. This same person is going around giving threats notes to people.\n“principal, I really think we need to involve another group of investigators in this issue. Because these ones are not effective. I mean, they have not been able to track this person down for months. The school cannot function like this anymore., where the security is not sound. We just need to do something about this ”.\n“We are working on it”, the principal replies. The principal is an old man, who never wants to conform to the modern ways and always prefer things be done like in the 90’s. despite that, projects and programs still gets properly executed. This is to that, he functions like the 80’s and 90’s but his results come out pretty fine like it’s in the 31st century. So the school believes he is capable.\nMrs. Marie notices that the money in her account reduces gradually, when she does not touch it . she reports this case during the meeting. “my account has also been hacked. I do not use the money, but I get a debit alert. You know the excess liabilities we are going to place on the fraudster, I can’t wait”! Mrs. Marie shouts angrily. “Indeed, we all can’t wait, we all can’t wait” the principal replies.\nThe staff meeting is over and Mrs. John goes to call her son Jordan. Jordan is sited on the bench outside opposite the school park. He’s hands romancing the sand as he head looks to the ground. Looks like he is trying to picture out his thoughts by the demonstrations of his hands on the floor. ”Jordan”, she smiles as she calls out “let’s go”.\nThey are home, Jordan rushes out of the car, nature is calling. Once he was done, he freshened up and went down to have lunch with his parents. Jordan was the only boy in the midst of two sisters. The two are in college and Jordan, in MARHAMS high School. As he walks down the stairs, he eavesdrop at his parent’s conversation. “the rate of crime in school is really alarming. The fraudster have really been hacking accounts, I do hope my account will be save and the principal have said we should not involve any other investigation authority outside the one the school has appointed”. she sips her juice. “like seriously don’t you think you need to go extra measures to keep your account safe?” Mr. John asks.\n “we have all done that but it seems like nothing is working”. Jordan finally gets down. “Jordan I made your favorite, SPAgheTTI”. They all laugh. They all sit for lunch and afterwards decided to keep up with the remaining activities for the day. Dinner is served and they all have dinner and go to sleep.\nJordan wakes up, thinking of who could be the bad boy, while at that he remembers that he has a test tomorrow. He searches for his note and couldn’t find it anywhere and then he remembers.\nFlashback\n“hey Jordan could we be friends?”\n “oh sure, nice to meet you”.\n“I really need your help for tomorrow’s test”. “I mean”, she whispers, “I do not understand anything. Maybe you could with some explanation”.\n“sure ,okay so this is….”\n“Jordan, Mr. canny is calling you”.\n“look I have to go now, I will catch up with you, I promise”.\nHe drops his geometry materials under her locker as he moves smartly out of the classroom.\nEND OF FLASHBACK.\n“oh no I have to go get it. This would not be nice, I can’t fail tomorrow’s test” he said to himself as he imagines himself being mocked by his peers. This would add to the pepper because he always exempt himself from examination malpractice. He sneaks out of the house and drives his bicycle to school which unfortunately for him, malfunctions on the way. He had to trek for the rest of his journey.\nHe uses the entrance gate at the back to sneak in so the security would not catch him.\nOn getting to the class, he sees his note and decides to read at the spot and leave when he is done. About to touch his note, he sees a shadow passing with a lamb. He stops and hides himself. Jordan is really small and he barely gets noticed. The shadow walks into the class and shines the lamb around and leaves the class. He decides to follow the shadow.\nThe shadow walks to every class and finally moves to the administrative block of the school. In the administrative block, robots are everywhere, walking around the block as well as shadows. Jordan’s a little scared but curious. He follows that same shadow. He sees the shadow enter into the principal’s office. He lays himself flat on the ground so that, as soon as the shadows comes out he could just understand at least, one thing that is happening. The robots are still moving around. A loud voice calls, “night duty”. Most of the robots begin to move downstairs.\nThe shadow comes again and moves around and this time around it enters his mother’s office. The shadow calls to a robot. ”report, be on duty”.\nThe robot enters and Jordan quickly enters the room. He sees the shadow having access to the personal information of his mum. Then the shadow uses her biometrics and accesses her account. The shadow withdrew the amount of $500 from her account. Jordan was recording this evidence, but his hands where shaking. As soon as the shadow was done, It moved to the location of Jordan’s house and had due connection with CCTV camera in Jordan’s house.\nJordan was amazed while still taking record of everything, the shadow checked the rooms and saw that Jordan’s parent are still intact, but did not see Jordan in his room. Jordan begins to shake as he gets more frightened. when the shadow writes on the screen, T.R.A.C.E J#O#R#D#A#N, Jordan tries to escape. But his phone flashlight turns on. The light shines brightly as the shadow turns to look. The robot alerts immediately, “traitor here”. Jordan quickly tries to turn off his flashlight, but it was too late. As the shadow already knows a person is there. “kill him” the shadow says in high soprano voice.\nOther shadows begin to come out of the wall and repeatedly sings, ”kill him, kill him, he is a not a shadow. Kill him, kill him, let’s hit him with our arrow”. They laugh after every utterance of the song. Jordan thinks immediately, “shadows go off when the light is turned on and it shines so bright” he puts on his flashlight and immediately rushes to switch and puts on the brightest light in his mother’s office. Jordan hates this particular light though. While waiting for his mum to record the student’s grades, she always put this light on. And it shines so bright that Jordan finds it difficult to sleep in her office. Jordan always skips the middle light to turn on the first light. He rushes to enter the office before his mom so he could turn on the first light and sleep well. Because, she barely notices that it’s the first light.\nOnce he switches on the second light, the shadows disappears, but the robot is still there. But then again, he is not able to open the door. And once the door was open. The shadows all run to attack him. He runs downstairs to call the security guards and he notice that they were all robots. He ran around to look for the switch. When he turned on the switch, he was surprised as he saw the principal’s duplicates around him. All laughing and singing the same song of the shadows.\nHe had his cell phone and called his mom. The robots quickly disconnects the network. He runs to the emergency station and closed the door and tries to call his mom. The principal’s duplicate comes into the room and surround him. She picked the call and the only thing she could hear was mom.\n“Jordan, where is Jordan? Honey,wake up Jordan is not in his room and he just called me”.\n“what! Where did he go to”\n“I don’t know and I can’t guess but I think he is in danger, we have to call the police”\n“hello, this is from house……”\nThe police have finally reached their house and they lay their complaints. Mrs. John is exceedingly worried.\n“sorry I know you can’t wait to go find him, but you have to wait we are trying to track the location of that number. Seems like it’s an emergency number”\n“wait, that’s the school’s emergency number”. She says as she looks at the number. “But wait, what did he go to do in the school. If he wanted to attend a party he should have told me. We need to go now, please we need to go now”.\nThey have arrived the school premises.\n“security we have a student who is in the school premises, he might be in trouble you need to let us in”\n“you are not permitted to enter the school, come tomorrow morning”\n“didn’t you just hear what I said, I said a student is in the school premises and he is in danger. Here is one of your staff. So please let us in”.\n“I will have to speak with the principal”\n“I am the principal let us in dummy”\n“no you are not the principal”\nOne of the police officers noticed something.\n“wait, this could be a robot” he goes to check.\n“it’s a robot, this is a serious issue”.\nGuys we need to smuggle in something seriously funny is going on and the consequences are going to be dire.\nThey manage to smuggle in and they see the shadows everywhere, laughing in a squibilish trebilish voice. The on their flashlights and the shadows begin to appear as the principals duplicate.\n“principal” , Mrs. John calls as she is taken aback. They begin to sing their choruses again, backed up with their soprano-ish laugh. The police begins to shot and they begin to begin to fall destructively.\n“there are they destructive technology of the evil lecturer, Goonam. He is here. We need to find him. You all never heard his story, he is really evil. We need to be careful”.\n“ He should be in his office, Mrs. John whispers, they all get there as Mrs. John goes to look for her soon in the emergency unit, with the escort of an officer. On their getting there, they could not find Jordan.. she goes to check her office and sees Jordan’s dead body there. As she is crying and shouting. The other noise distracts her.\n“ he is the evil Goonam”!\n“this has been our school principal for five years now”, Mrs. John says soberly.\n“The only we can do is to get water, fast”.\nThe principal (the evil Goonam laughs) don’t worry no need, no need, I’m already living here.\n“so you killed my son” she shouts\n“you evil I won’t spare you”\n“like you can do anything”, he laughs.\n“yes, yes, yes, I’m the one responsible for all the damages in this school and the fraud and robots as security guards and the hacking, you know, tell your colleagues when you see them okay, I just love evil”!\nHe disappears through his flight technology as soon as the gallons of water arrived.\nMrs. John rushes Jordan to the hospital, if there is still a chance for his survival.\n“we’re so sorry for your loss ma’am.”\n“So this is how my son’s future is going to end, dreams,his aspirations and Goonam will escape. She cries as Mr. John gives her a tight hug.\nIn Jordan’s hands there is a little chip. Mrs. John shows the chip to the officer, and the whole of Goonam’s powers, plans and recorded activities lies in the chip. The police officer puts the chip in an ice water, after noticing that it shines so bright at the night, Goonam comes to get the chip and he falls into the ice water.\nGoonam becomes week and is drained down of every destructive he implanted in his body. Goonam is taken to the school, he confesses and is sentenced to death for all his crimes committed in the school and in the past. Jordan the little hero has his sculpture in the community hall. Don’t empower yourself with negative power and energy. Justice is served and the truth finally comes to light.\nTHE END." } ]
[ { "role": "system", "content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative." }, { "role": "user", "content": "Story Title: A visit to the future\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2347\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story featuring an element of time-travel or anachronism." }, { "role": "assistant", "content": "-\"You may bring the prisoner in, “Monsieur Jean, the king's inquisitor, said, lifting his head from his parchment-strewn desk where he was working. Two soldiers stood at the door, like steel statues. The two disappeared in the long corridor, and before long Monsieur Jean heard the clatter of opening bolts and heavy hinges.\nA moment later the soldiers returned, with a man in handcuffs between them. He was a dark-haired man, with a dreamy power in his eyes. Monsieur Jean raised his head and lifted one of the parchments:\n-\"Henry, isn't it?\" he asked in a clear voice. He did not wait for the prisoner to answer and continued to read.\n-\"Is accused of transgression against God and the king by committing sorcery.\"\n-\"I'm not a wizard, sire.\" the prisoner said in a faint voice.\nMonsieur Jean quietly read on:\n-\"Many witnesses have testified that you are a powerful sorcerer and that even exorcists could not stop you. It is also confirmed that you spent many hours in a field that has been infested by the devil for a long time. Several people witnessed how on the third day of the month, at dawn, you went to this unholy place, carrying with you certain instruments, where you were observed, conjuring up a thunderstorm by diabolical claims, during which you vanished completely out of sight. You are a minion of the devil, are you not?\"\nHenry didn't answer.\n-\"For that reason, I am compelled to see you as a sorcerer, and to sentence you to death by fire.\" Monsieur Jean put down the parchment and looked at the prisoner.\n -\"Sire.\" Henry began, \"Please allow me to tell You what has happened to me and what I have seen.\"\nThe Inquisitor nodded.\n\"Sire,\" Henry continued in a fiery voice, \"I am no wizard. I have always, ever since childhood, been fascinated by the secrets of the earth, the sky, and the mysteries of the heavens. I was looking for the nature of lighting, an answer to the question of why birds are able to fly, and fish can live underwater.\nI went to that field to study the thunderstorm. I was well aware of the gossip and backbiting of my neighbors.\nOn the third day of the month, superstitious people secretly followed me, and at one point I disappeared from their sight during a thunderclap. I cannot really describe what actually happened. I had involuntarily closed my eyes because the eruption of the great thunderclap intoxicated me with fear. When I opened my eyes again, I was astonished to see that I was no longer in a field, but in a room, I had never seen before. I stood in the center of a large metal circle. There were appliances and machines everywhere in that room with smooth white walls. Then I heard voices, I turned and saw two men coming towards me, whom I have never seen before and who were dressed very strangely. I do not know exactly what language they spoke, but I got a rough estimate of what they were talking about.\nOne of the men was short and plump and the other had a white beard. They started shouting excitedly at each other that they had succeeded. The man with the white beard leaned over and asked me what time it was. I was literally dumbfounded, and they thought I didn't understand them because I didn't answer. I started to feel weak and sick. Dazed is the word that best describes how I experienced my condition. The other man took my arm and seated me in a strange chair.\nHe spoke very slowly and asked for my name. I replied that my name was Henry and those men kept repeating my name. Then they explained to me that I had traveled five hundred years into the future. I told them as best I could that I was just standing in a field on the edge of town. They took me to a window. I looked out; and what a sight before my eyes. Everything I had ever known was gone. I saw a terrible city with wide streets and tall buildings on either side of it. There were so many people in the street, and they were all dressed like those two men in the room with me. I saw strange vehicles, but they were not drawn by horses. You cannot imagine the speed at which they moved. My brain was spinning wildly. I looked at that circle on the floor and those strange machines in the room.\nFor the love of God, I begged, are you angels or demons? They said they were physicists who wanted to learn everything about humankind. They started talking about things I could not understand. I was lost in a maze of words beyond my comprehension. They explained to me that their machines applied a force to that metal ring on the floor and thus were able to travel in time. They had tried it many times before, but they had not succeeded until now.\n I told them about the thunder I had heard in the field, and they started telling me things again: about air movements and stuff and all kinds of things I couldn´t understand a single iota of. They said that I happened to be there when they called in their forces, transporting me from my own time to theirs. They told me not to be afraid, I saw so many wonders in that room, Sire, things I could never have dreamed of.\nThey showed me a small glass bottle with wires in it. I had to touch it, and when I did, the glass began to shine, with light much brighter than ten thousand candles. Then the little fat man touched a button, and the light went out again. I looked up and saw a lot of those glass bottles hanging from the ceiling. My head was shaking from all the wonders they showed me. I was stunned with surprise. One of the men brought a small black box to me. From an opening in that box came a singing voice. I started to shudder when they told me I heard the voice of a woman who had died years earlier. I asked if they could speak to the dead.\nSire, I wish I were able to describe to you all that I saw there. There was also another box or rather a cupboard with an opening. I was allowed to touch a few buttons, and a voice came out that spoke in a language I did not understand. The men explained to me that the man I heard was on the other side of the western ocean. They gave me a little wine because they saw how dazed I was. I resumed a little courage because that wine tasted just like ours.\nThe little fat man asked if I wanted to see the city. They wanted to take me, but I had to change clothes first. They gave me a long tunic that covered my own clothes, and a grotesque round hat to put on my head. Then they led me out into the street. Hundreds of people walked there. And women, with bare legs! The men were all dressed like the men from the room. The people did not carry swords or daggers. I saw no knights, peasants, or priests. They all looked the same in their strange clothes. There was a boy somewhere screaming; he sold very thin sheets of a kind of parchment I had never seen before and that had black letters on them. The man with the white beard said it contained all the things that happened all over the world.\nI saw one of the vehicles I'd already seen from the window that wasn't horse-drawn and was fast as lightning. Another vehicle was carrying so many people. A carriage came to the side of the road, and they told me to sit in it. The men sat down next to me in a leather chair. Suddenly there was a buzzing sound and that vehicle started running forward. I was terrified. My ears and eyes were numb from all I saw.\nWhen we arrived at a large field outside the city, I had to get out. At the end of that field were some large buildings, and there I saw vehicles with wing-like projections. I was fascinated, but by the Mother of God, how scared I was. The two physicists got into that vehicle and told me to do the same. There was another man there. At the front of that vehicle were paddles, there was a roar and those paddles started to turn. So horribly fast I could not see them anymore. That vehicle began to roll, and when it stopped bumping, I opened my eyes again, because I had closed them in fear, and began to shiver, for the ground was so far below. I flew in the sky! The third man who had joined it was moving levers. We began to bend back and forth just like the birds do. The man with the white beard tried to explain to me how and why we were flying, but I could not understand. I was held by wild excitement. The earth was so far below. Then my winged vehicle began to descend. It circled like a bird. There was a vehicle waiting for us when we were back on the ground.\nIt was late in the afternoon; the sun was setting, and darkness was beginning to fall.\nWe moved back to town, but it was not dark there at all. There was light everywhere. We stopped in front of a large building, and the men led me inside. At first, I thought it was a big church, but it was not. I saw an exceptionally large white wall and people were moving on it, and they were speaking to each other. What magic, I tell you, Sire!\nI had to sit down on a chair, between the two men. I was fascinated by that strange world that played out on that white canvas on the wall. I saw a very large statue holding up a torch. Then a city emerged through the mists, with buildings so high they seemed to climb into the sky. Madness!\nAnd people...so many people. When darkness began to come, this city burned with living light. I saw so many wonderful things. I saw men gazing at the stars through giant tubes. The man with the white beard explained to me that they were studying the sun, which was so much larger than the Earth and revolved around it, not the other way around. The little fat man added that the earth was as round as an apple. I stared my eyes out of my head. But then we had to leave.\nWe walked through the streets, back to that building where I had been before. Someone came up to me, and he did not even ask me who my Lord was. The man with the white beard declared that there were no more lords. That everyone was now his own Lord, and kings or noblemen were no longer needed. Each man was his own master.\nThat was truly the greatest miracle I had seen up to that point. I told the men that I wanted to go back to my time, to tell people what I had seen. The men were concerned and said that my folks might not believe me. But I insisted on going back.\nThey took the clothes and hat I had been wearing and took me back to the room I had arrived in earlier. It was noticeably light there, because of a lot of those glass bottles hanging from the ceiling.\nThere were so many other men there now, and they all looked at me strangely. They spoke so quickly that it was impossible for me to understand them.\nWe brought you across five centuries by rotating the time dimensions on this spot, and now we must turn it around to send you back. The man with the white beard explained.\nI had to stand in the metal circle, and I did. The little fat man was doing something with levers and buttons. There was a blue light coming from tubes that started to buzz. Everyone stared at me as I stood there in the middle of that circle. Everyone was quiet. I saw the two men who had accompanied me all day bid me farewell with their eyes. They smiled and waved at me. The buzz grew louder. A great thunderclap broke around me. I closed my eyes and felt myself spinning and falling at the same time. In an instant, the sound died down. I opened my eyes and saw that I was back in that field I had walked to on the third day of the month before I disappeared into another time.\nIt was nighttime and a lot of people were standing around the field. They were scared and started screaming. Others fled. My head was full of all the things I had seen, and I wanted so badly to tell them. But nobody wanted to listen to me. They started shouting that I was a blasphemer and a wizard in league with the devil. I was grabbed and taken to the Inquisitor. Here, to you, sire. And I have told you everything in truth. I realize I have sealed my own fate, but I'm thankful I was able to tell at least one person. And I am glad I got to see it all.\nA week later Henry was led to the stake and burned alive. Monsieur Jean followed the thick black smoke, curling toward the sky before his eyes.\nHe wondered if there was any truth to Henry's strange speculations. He shook his head to shake off those crazy fantasies. He returned to the silence of his study, picked up his pen, bent over a parchment, and\n began to write…" } ]

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