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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: Meta Abilities (Reedsy Cast, Part One, Tora POV)\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2991\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about an ordinary person speaking truth to power."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Trust me when I say this; there is nothing you could do to get me to like history class.\nSome enjoy it; and to you, I tip my hat and say “great job”, because this is killing me.\nMs. Shindle drones on, her thin black glasses falling like dominoes. Her bun follows, and then the entire lesson plan.\n“For goodness sake, Matthews!” I bolt up as I hear my name, ignoring the snickers from the girls beside me. “Pay attention!”\n“Um,” I sigh. “Yes ma'am.”\n“In fact,” a cruel smile twists up her mouth. “Answer my question. Give me the origin of quirks. Think of it as a pop quiz.”\nMy face goes red as I realize how many eyes are on me. I swallow uncomfortably; it's not just my grade on the line.\nIt's my pride I have to protect.\n“Meta Abilities,” I begin, strengthening my confidence. “Normally known as quirks. They're another function of the human body. The first one to gain this unique phenomenon was a child in China... I think their body could light up?”\n“Luminescence,” Ms. Shindle corrects. “And how was it spread?”\n“Um...” I rack my brain. “Rats?”\n“Incorrect,” her dark hand smashes down on her desk as a stern grimace replaces her apathy. “They thought it was mice, but we've yet to gather any proof”\n“Why does it even matter?”\nOnly my head turns to the new voice. Horizon leans beside me, snapping a thin pink bubble. “Quirks exist. And that's all we need to know.”\nShe pushes up her bright yellow crop-top, shining her bristling in the thin breeze coming from the single window Ms. Shindle allowed us to open.\nBy some miracle, Horizon Milos decided to become my friend. I remember the day last year, late May, I think. She'd kissed the boy she loved, and the rumors spread. Horizon became the slut in the blink of an eye; her personality never changed in the time that her reputation had. She remained powerful and spunky. \n“Ah,” Ms. Shindle shakes her head, dark brown curls coming loose from her messy bun. “But that's where you're wrong. I'm sure Tora would explain?”\nWould I though? “Super criminals came next. They were fought against, but that changed?”\nI can almost see the smile beneath her orange lipstick. Shindle pulls down her projector, reaching for the computer.\n“Many countries hold heroes above all others,” a fire lights in her eye; is this what happens when you respond to a teacher? “They were created to combat the villains. However, I'm sure you're aware of the bill Congress passed a few years ago.”\nShe clicks her tab, scrolling down to read the daunting words. “Hero schools are to be limited. Quirk use as a whole is limited in America as well, in order to restrict villains from existence”\n“But how-”\nThe final bell interrupts my thought. Kids rush from the room, happy to be liberated from the drone of school, but I stay put. Horizon raises an eyebrow before shrugging, picking up her thin black purse.\n“I'll meet you outside,” she mutters, dragging a pale hand against my desk. A leather strap stares me in the face, a mirror image of the one lined across my caramel-colored skin, bordering a few black lines.\nSoon enough, it's just me and Ms. Shindle. Her dark face looks lined with stress now that I can see her when she isn't teaching; in fact, it's almost like she's a different person when she doesn't force herself to be angry all the time.\n“What is it?” Her voice sounds perplexed, yet almost interested.\n“I wanted to talk about the thing you told us about during class just now.”\n“The case?” She sighs. “Sure. I'm happy someone's paying attention in class, at least.”\n“I just... I don't know if you know my mom-”\n“Tiger,” she nodded. “You know, that hoodie doesn't always hide those ears of yours.\nMy face goes red. “You knew?”\n“It's rare for me to teach the child of a pro hero,” Ms. Shindle admits. “And I have to say; I'm surprised you're not more popular with the other kids at school.”\n“First of all,” I count on a finger, still admiring the orange nail polish lining my sharp nails. “I'm not just gonna tell everyone. There's a reason I usually hide my quirk. Second of all, I'm awkward. Third of all, there is almost nothing more annoying than talking to other girls my age.”\nA faint smile grows on her face. “You're just like her, you know.”\n“What do you mean?”\n“I knew your mother, before she-”\nMy eyes widen. Mom? “Tell me.”\nShe laughs, looking out the window as the faint yellow glow wafts in, lazy and heavy. “How can I describe Tammy Matthews in any way except brilliant? She rescued me on her first job as a pro hero, and we hit it off from there.”\n“Her... first job?”\n“Yeah,” her light smile crinkles the creases around her eyes slowly as Ms. Shindle turns to me. “I'd say... 20 years ago? It always surprises me to think how old she'd be now.”\n“I never really knew her,” I admit. “Sorry.”\n“Why're you apologizing to me? In any case, Tammy should be the one apologizing. She died a hero, but what of her daughter?”\n“Don't talk like I'm not here,” I growl, feeling my eyes glow a little. Her surprise catches me off guard, extinguishing my anger.\nIt takes me a moment to realize the surprise is fear.\n“I wasn't trying to... shit,” Ms. Shindle laughs again, turning off her computer.\n“Do you know why I challenge you in class?”\n“Um...” my brain responds before I can compute the terrible answer I'm about to give her. “Because you know history is my least favorite class and want to torture me?”\n“You have her energy. Ha, no... I saw Tammy in you from day one. And don't think I didn't see your career paper.”\nIs it possible for my face to get any redder? “Oh god...”\n“I think it's sweet that you want to be a hero too. I think Tammy'd like that...”\n“Could we talk about something different?” I burst out, already suppressing the memories. “Please.”\nShe shrugs, pulling out a form. “You're the first student I've seen in nearly ten years to attempt to sign up for the hero course high school.”\n“I have aspirations.”\nThat gets a laugh from her again. “You have drive. I like that. I've been challenging you in quirk-related things because I know you have potential. It's not easy to get accepted into the hero school. In fact... I've heard they changed their admissions”\nMy heart beats faster. I never should have trusted the first google search... fuck. Now she's probably just gonna tell me ‘oh no! Looks like it doesn't exist anymore! Lol'\n“They use scouts,” she nods, looking it up on her phone. “It's like the entertainment business. In the past, it was all about the test scores. I guess they're changing it up now...”\n“So I can't get in?”\n“I'm sure you'll find a way,” Ms. Shindle purses her lips. “Trust me.”\nI nod, still feeling unsure. “Got it.”\nIs it possible for almost all of someone's determination to disappear in a single hour? When I finally look up out the window, I notice the sun gliding across the skyscrapers in the distance, resting lightly along the painted pink sky. How long was I talking for? I click my phone on, sighing at the number of texts Horizon's left me; 0. sometimes, it feels like I'm not even really her friend; Horizon will go onto great things, and I'm there to witness it. But what if I want to do them myself?\nIt's just... whatever. She gets to be the pretty one, and I'm the one looking for a dream I'll never discover. It's fine.\nI shoot her a quick text, bouncing on the balls of my heels as I wait. Three dots bubble up, waltzing in their tentative dance of hell.\n“I'll be at the door in 5,” Horizon announces. “I was just getting something. Do you want anything while I'm here?”\n“No,” I respond quickly, fingers shooting across the text pad.\n“Lol, u weren't getting anything anyway.”\nI have to force myself to smile at the remark, but it feels beyond fake. Just Horizon being Horizon, I guess.\nMy backpack lays at the edge of my desk, discarded and slouching over. If I poked it once, it'd probably fall over.\nI wonder how close that is to me?\nWoah. That's weird. I shake my head free of the weird thoughts, snatching my backpack. Ms. Shindle waves to me, still distracted by her phone. It's not like I'd win in a fight for attention with a phone anyway.\nThere's no one else in school as I jump down the stairs two at a time. After glancing up and down, I sigh, taking off the thin hood that conceals my ears. It's almost like they thank me, twitching softly in the fresh breeze.\nI'm at the sidewalk in a second, running down to the store I'm almost sure Horizon's holed in; I think fashion's almost her second nature.\n“Tora!” Horizon's perky voice drifts down the busy street as she waves to me, bags crowding her hand. A few boys surround her, all holding similar bags. Horizon just has that effect on guys, I guess. And girls too. “I got you something!”\nA faint smile grows on me; I guess I'm not always just there for her. She tries to make her way across the street, only for a shriek to pierce my world of calm.\n“Gah! Get off me, weirdo!”\nOne of the men has dropped his bags, replacing them with a thin knife. “Don't make hurt you, ma'am.”\n“You two!” She points to the others that have also dropped their bags. “Why aren't you stopping hi-”\n“Horizon!” I choke, watching as the world freezes around me. What is happening?\nOkay... focus, Tora; you're not that fucking stupid.\nSo, one guy had a knife. The other two aren't showing weapons yet, but maybe they have quirks?\nWait... what am I even thinking? I can't fight them?\nI whip my phone out, already calling the police. “Damn it!” I scream, watching as the men carry Horizon into a deep alley. No one else seems to notice; in fact, I'm the only one around.\nNo signal. Not even anything. How am I going to help Horizon?\nAnd somehow, the answer's already there.\nMy legs go from feeling like jello to light as air in one second as I bolt through the street, a symphony of car horns honking past me. One of the guys notices me, his eyes filled with hate.\nAnd then I realize it; that guy has a gun. I, a middle school girl, am not immortal. And I'm also a fucking idiot.\nFor a second, I feel a mysterious heat burning in the back of my eyes, pulsing as I scream at the men. Horizon's eyes widen as I nearly dodge a bullet. A knife comes for me next, slashing down at my knee. I roar as the pain sets in, splashing a thick red wave of blood up from the dark pants, but I ignore it, clawing at the man.\nHe stumbles back, reaching for his face. Blood streams from it, but he moves back, slow and unsure. This time, my leg catches him in the stomach, knocking him to the ground.\nAm I winning a fight with three random guys? So, because the one with a gun drops his weapon after the bullets fall to the ground, courtesy of my newfound fury. The last one stands still though, still holding a knife to Horizon's neck.\n“Who are you?” I ask, my voice quivering and shaky. “Let go of my friend!”\n“One too many questions,” his suave voice returns. Before the oily man can retreat any further, Horizon elbows him in the gut, a sneer poised on her face as she picks up a discarded gun.\n\"I'll shoot,\" she warns, baring her teeth. \"Just leave!\"\nThe man looks back toward his gun, running a hand past his slicked-back hair. \"I wouldn't do that if I were you.\"\n\"Afraid to die?\"\n\"No,\" he points out, surprisingly cocky for his situation. I scan the area, trying to figure out why he still hasn't run away yet. \"But I believe you should be.\"\n\"Horizon!\" I scream, trying to pull the gun from her hand. \"Don't shoot him!\"\nShe shakes her head, tears flying from the momentum. Her hand pulls down on the trigger, watching as the rimmed bullet flies toward his heart, seeking blood.\nI cringe as it hits his body, only to fall to the ground, dropping dead. He picks it up, a sickly grin covering his face as the metal bullet turns to ash. \"Such a waste of resources...\"\n\"What is your deal?\" Horizon mumbles, shaking her wrist. \"Don't get any closer!\"\nHis long legs carry him quickly to Horizon's side, where he points the gun down, smacking it to the pavement. \"Such an insolent child.\"\nThe sound of a wailing siren spins like a merry-go-round. He curses, checking the gold watch that lines his reddening skin. \"They weren't supposed to show up yet.\"\n\"But who called...\" Horizon's voice drifts off as police line the alleyway, moving closer to me. The way her brown hair shifts in the wind around her terrified face melts my world. I sigh, shoving hands into pockets as the police surround us.\n\"It's not important right now.\"\nMy head rushes up at the familiar voice that broke me away from the blur. Ms. Shindle rushes up, twisting a pen nervously around her hand. \"I'm so glad you two are okay!\"\n\"How-\"\n\"I was just leaving for the day,\" she interrupts Horizon before she can even speak. \"And I saw Tora. That work...\"\nShindle's eyes widen with excitement, holding my hand nervously. \"They saw it.\"\n\"They?\"\nA figure bristles past the police as they apprehend the slick-haired man. I reach out to ask who he is, but the men ignore me, pulling him into the back of their car.\n\"I saw it all.\"\nHorizon shifts away from me as a purple-haired girl peers down at me, a smile embroidering her face. \"You're lucky I got to see it. That was truly... art.\"\n\"Can I ask who you are?\"\n\"Excuse me,\" she holds a hand to her ears where two butterflies sit, rustling as if alive. \"Could I ask you your name?\"\n\"Horizon Milos,\" Horizon scoffs. \"And I want to know why you think you can talk to Tora like that.\"\nA laugh escapes the woman's mouth. \"I haven't met anyone like you in a while. I miss the energy.\n\"So,\" she turns to me, psychedelic eyes spinning in a haunting manner. \"You're Tora?\"\n\"I believe I should leave,\" Ms. Shindle announces out of the blue, shaking hands with the woman. \"You're a great help to our society.\"\nBefore I can place the hatred in her voice, Shindle rushes off, heels clicking against the sidewalk. The other woman just fluffs her hair, sighing.\n\"I should have introduced myself; I guess I'm just used to people knowing me by now. The name's Celeste. Hero name... Celeste.\"\nCeleste giggles at the last remark, but Horizon's face stays as placid as mine. The hero crosses her arms, looking pissed. \"You aren't gonna thank me for the service I've done for this country or something?\"\n\"Never heard of you,\" Horizon admits, popping her gum to accentuate the acid. \"Tora, let's leave\"\nBut I don't budge when she grabs my arm. \"Tora...\" she warns, her voice nearing a low grumble.\n\"You're a scout,\" I realize. \"You watched me save Horizon\"\nCeleste's peach skin turns red, matching the current shade of her eyes. \"Well, yeah. I thought it was obvious.\"\n\"Tora!\" Horizon shouts over Celeste. \"We should go. Now.\"\n\"I want to stay,\" I choke out the words. \"You can leave, but this is for me. My future.\"\n\"Whatever,\" Horizon flips me off, checking her phone. My heart races, dropping like cement; she only checks her phone like that when she's in a situation she knows she's gonna lose.\nAm I the one threatening her?\nCeleste ignores her, gushing over my claws. \"Are these real? Are they your quirk?\"\nIn her rush, she accidentally drops my hood, revealing the ears I tried to hide when the police showed up. A gasp echoes through the alley as she swoons.\n\"You have a mutant quirk? Tiger, right?\"\n\"Mutant? Like... my quirk is me?\"\n\"Yes!\" All of Celeste's bossiness and control melt away as she takes out her phone. \"Could I take a picture? God, you're almost like that old hero... Tiger!\"\nMy face goes red. \"That's my mom...\"\nCeleste breaks into a gasp. \"Really? Damn, that changes a lot! We gotta get you a spot.\"\n\"A spot?\"\nShe bites her lip, eyes swirling to a dim orange. \"In the hero school test. I'm working as a scout to find new students. You're in middle school, right?\"\n\"Yes,\" I admit, suddenly feeling wary. \"But aren't hero schools illegal?\"\nShe huffs, pulling out her phone. \"They've never turned illegal, even when congress passed that stupid bill. We are limited though; to join a hero school, first, you have to be scouted by a hero helping someone. Of course, the government also banned most quirk use, so it's pretty hard for that to happen; classes have been split almost tenfold. Then you have to pass the test.\"\nMy heart skips a beat. \"Test?\"\n\"Yeah... don't worry though! If I passed, I'm almost sure you can!\"\nI nod, but her smile doesn't exactly reassure me. In one hour, I've gone from a normal middle school student to a prospective hero.\nWell... I guess it's better than history class."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Choices\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1066\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a fairy tale about an outsider trying to fit in."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "I looked up at them. The Ivy league of this school, goblins vs. ghouls, I ran my hand through my silvery dark mane. It was usually a mess but today I had enough time to tame it, I walked into school head low because I didn't want to attract any unwanted attention. \nAs obvious as it is, I'm not close to the ¨ popular ¨ title. To be honest I'm pretty sure I have more qualities of the ``¨ Nerd\" Title. \nI always manage too, even when it's not on purpose. I've lived here my whole life, well as long as I can remember. I and my mother don't stay in one place for too long, she works for a company that always has her on the move.\nOut of nowhere, a flying marker hits me in the side of the head. ¨ Ouch ¨!, Oops, sorry Sarcasm dripping from his voice. \"Nerd they whisper and they scurry off. I'm not the most attractive so guys aren't interested in me.\nI don't understand why people even pick on me honestly. I only have one friend. Speak of the devil. Rachella walks up towards me, hey bestie westie, hey girll I say. I've seen what they did to you. It wasn't an ¨ accident¨, Rachella it's fine, honestly, I don't care. Ayine, how long are you going to let people use you like a doormat?\nI see my class up ahead, I don't have an answer for Rachella right now so I tell her that I'll see her later during lunch. ¨ Ok.¨ She mutters and walks off.\nIf Only Rachella knew how I felt. I know they shouldn't be teasing me and treating me like that. But how can I muster up the courage to even confront them? I'm a nobody. Pathetic. I even disappoint myself. I'm such a loser I chuckle. Deep down I just want to fit in honestly. I've been neglected, left out of things, and tossed away. I thought maybe If I let them pick on me maybe, a slight 0.5% chance They´ll accept me as one of them. weird logic. yeah, I know.\nMs. Bryson's class is my favorite, she's an athletics teacher, she's so nice but she also pushes us. Layla whispers into my ear, come with me to the back of the lockers after class. ¨ Ok!¨ I try to act cool but bro one of the popular girls is asking to talk to me? Can this not be a miracle?\nAfter class I practically speed walk to my locker, Layla and her posse are already there, hey Ayline right? Y-yes I sputter, Way to go Ayline so long with the trying to act smooth. Okay, so we wanted to ask if you wanted to trash Mr. Jenkin's house with us tomorrow at 5. \nGirl what. rewind, I've always followed the rules I've stayed in the boundaries never defied any of them. Uhmm.. I- don't know... cmon Ayline. we´ll include you in everything after this. It's like you proving your loyalty to us. You'll finally be popular.\nOk pause, you're probably like she didn't do it, it's not worth it. sorry to disappoint you but I did it... I mean if you were in my place you would understand. This is a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This will never come again. So like the dumb, easy to manipulate child I was, I accepted. On the night it came… I had to sneak out there was no way I could let my mother know about this. She didn’t raise me like this... Crazy what people will do to gain some popularity. We went around to Mr. old Mc Jenkin’s house, he didn’t like me very much, I don't know if it’s because he’s old or if he doesn’t like kids, he knows my mother though. Layla gave me the toilet paper and a new surprise... Some eggs. While the other girls ran around throwing toilet paper, she stood there with me and told me to throw the egg at the windshield but we could both see there was still light, Mr. Jenkins was still in the room. Throw it she said... But I don't want to... Maybe this was a mistake. Hey Layla... Save it. Nerd. Throw the egg now. O-okay... I threw the egg and suddenly the door jolts open, outcomes Mr. Jenkins... I freeze, Layla runs away and so do the other girls and then I follow, I run straight home, face full of tears. Mind in the clouds. I get home and rush straight to bed, my mother isn’t home yet so I just collapse on my bed, Little did I know that the next day would be the worse day of my life. the next morning is a blur, I wake up to the sound of a phone blaring, my mother answers. She's in her pajamas frowning, Oh.. she says, she sees me and glares. That only means one thing.. AYLINE REHNIA TAYLOR! She bellows... I gulp... Yes, ma? Come down right here this instance! I scurry down the stairs, yes mom? Don't yes mom. You know exactly what you did. I glue my eyes to the floor. I’m up here not down there. Yes, ma ´ am I reply... Did you or did you not egg and toilet paper Mr. Jenkins House last night? She starts tapping her foot which means that if I lie, she will know. Y-yes I stammer. You’re grounded. What- Nope. get your stuff and go to school. Okay, I said when I arrive at school everyone stares. Is this whole world against me? I'm in class when the announcement is made that they need me in the front office. I shuffle my way there, when I get into the principles office he looks disappointed which is an arrow to the heart. Yes sir? Ayline, take a seat I would like to discuss some things with you. Ok, I say. I sit down and he spills it, we found out what you did yesterday and that is against our school motto. So we are demoting your position as president to the secretary. Layla will be the new president. I don't understand..-, I’m sorry. Rules are rules. I cane out of the office bursting into tears. I never knew that this is what it would come down to, over just trying to fit 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: Beneath the Soil\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2111\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in the woods or on a campground."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "One, two, three, four.\nAuden pushed the steel poker into the soil with each count. He held his breath, waiting to hit a landmine, and found nothing. Exhale. He crawled forward—only a couple of feet—and breathed in. A red bird with viridian-tinted eyes perched on the tree above and watched. The breeze, colder than yesterday, shook the branches, whistling as it passed.\nOne, two, three, four.\nNothing. He exhaled. Crawling forward, a faraway soldier called out that he found one. Auden dropped his poker, then covered his ears with cupped hands. A minute passed. No detonation—another mine diffused. The bird stayed perched on the tree.\nOne, two, three-\nThud.\nAuden swallowed. His pulse beat against his neck. With shaking fingers, he removed his poker from the dirt, placed it aside, and clawed at the soil with his bare hands. It stained his fingers and nails. A centipede rushed out from the ground and made him flinch.\nThe landmine, buried six inches below, glowed a dim black. Like a faded lamp. Its battery would burn for decades to come, and each mine next to the other rendered the forest uninhabitable.\n“Got one,” Auden said, barely loud enough to be considered a shout.\nJust like in practice, he breathed in deep to steady his pulse, and reached a hand for the centre.\n- - -\n\n“None of us are your friends here, understand?” \nAuden stood in line with hundreds of other Solan prisoners. Tired, hungry, and bloodied—they’d been dragged from their cells and out to the fields, where armed soldiers guided them into formations. None of them hesitated to shove.\n“Under no circumstance, will you expect kindness from us,” the Tien general continued. He spoke a fluent Solan tongue. “Tien has been under Solan rule for the last twelve years. For twelve years, we’ve dealt with your abhorrent race. The atrocities you sand-rats have committed cannot be taken back. Now, your war of conquest has finally come to an end.”\nThe general, wearing a decorated uniform, paced to the tables set up beneath a canopy. He grabbed a drill cane from his belt and tapped it against a map pinned to a board.\n“Your kind has planted over four-point-one million landmines across our forests, where you thought our allies would advance from. You were wrong.” The drill cane slid across the map, to the east. “Our wildlife now struggles to thrive, our woodworkers unable to do their jobs, and where a child may get lost, they will be found limb by limb.”\nThe general looked over the crowd of prisoners, right to left. \n“Nobody wants to see Solans here,” he called. “You serve only one purpose to us. You’ll clean up your mess, and then you’ll be given passage home. Understood?”\nNo one shouted in agreement. \nThey trained in sandboxes. An officer walked down a row of soldiers, stopping to yell in their faces. Dozens of inactive mines littered the sand. Auden stood at the end of the line, back straight, hands at his side. The officer approached him.\n“Give me your name,” he shouted, his words carrying spit, “sand-rat!”\n“Auden Skali, sir!”\n“How old are you, Auden?”\n“I’m eighteen, sir!”\n“And where did you fire your weapon last?”\n“I…”\nThe officer hit him across the face with an open palm.\n“Do not hesitate with me, soldier!”\n“I was a medic, sir!” Auden’s voice trembled. “I worked off-field, sir!”\n“Unlucky you.”\nMoving back up the line, the officer gave them their set of instructions.\n“You’ll poke for the mine with a steel rod. Once found, you’ll uncover it, then twist the centre. Next, lift the battery. Do not hit the side of the mine with it on the way out. Dispose of both the battery and explosive shell, and carry on to the next. I will not repeat myself.”\nAs he worked, an officer stood beside him, one hand on a cane. Auden twisted the landmine’s centre—too much force—and fumbled the battery. \n“Your face is blown off.” The officer said. The cane came down hard against Auden’s back, and he winced. “You’re dead. Put it back together, and do it again.”\nA day later, not given a choice, he rode out on a truck to the forests of Tien.\n\n- - -\n\nHis heartbeat would not slow.\nOne breath. In, out.\nA stream trickled further off. The red bird with its viridian eyes watched from above. If he fumbled the mine, the bird would go as well. The soldier next to him turned his head and covered his ears. Auden reached for the centre—it’d be the same as twisting a bottle cap—and then stopped.\nA copper wire glinted in the corner of his eye. \n“Hey, hey,” Auden said to the soldier beside him. He kept his fingers hovering above the landmine’s centre. The wire dug into the soil, leading to the right. “Hey! Listen to me.” The soldier turned his head.\n“They’re connected, our mines. We have to diffuse them at the-”\nAn auburn-furred deer ran by the trees, branches breaking under its hooves. Both Auden and the soldier ducked their heads. The deer froze to stare at them before brushing its antlers against the ground and ambling off.\nAfter a minute, they both exhaled in unison.\n“Luckiest animal I’ve seen,” the soldier whispered.\n“Yeah,” Auden said. “If we could only switch places.”\nWith a nervous laugh, Auden pointed to the soil a step ahead of the soldier. He nodded and dug, noting the copper wire connecting the two. Auden raised three fingers. His ally nodded.\nOne,\nTwo,\nThree.\nClick.\nBoth batteries came undone—the landmines powered down, their shadowy glow fading to nothing. Auden set his aside and lifted the shell, nodded his head, then stood with the components in hand and made way for the wheelbarrow. The soldier caught up beside him.\n“Zeyn,” he said. “Good catch. I wouldn't have seen it.”\n“Surprised I did.” Auden disposed of the mine, then shook hands. “Auden.”\nAt nightfall, he broke his bread in two—there hadn’t been enough rations to go around—and handed the half to Zeyn. They sat outside the cabin alongside other prisoners. Stars found their way into the night sky. A Tien soldier patrolled with a rifle in hand.\n“Where are you from, Auden?” Zeyn asked.\n“Sola.”\n“No shit.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t have guessed it. Where in Sola?”\nAuden laughed too, careful not to choke on the stale bread. \n“Eastern,” he said. “Far Eastern, where we still have sun temples and arenas set up. But go any further east and it’s all soft-sands, where the worms breed to the size of mountains.”\n“Really?” Zeyn said. He bit off another piece. “You ever seen one in person?”\nAuden nodded. “My brother worked to pilot one—he manned one of the artillery cannons mounted on them. I thought it was great, to see him parade an armoured sandworm through town. Now…when I think of the letters he sent, of how he levelled cities to break morale, I can only hope they’re all dead when I get back.”\n“You know, when I get back,” Zeyn said, “I’m looking forward to seeing my mother again. And I’ll tell her I was wrong. She didn't want to me to go, but I was told I’d be a hero when the recruiters came to my doorstep.” He laughed, emotionless. “We were assholes, weren’t we?”\nSilence. Crickets chirped in the bushes nearby.\n“I was stationed at a field hospital,” Auden said. “Outside Tien, before we surrendered. We weren’t allowed to operate on anybody who wasn’t Solan. We kept anyone else in the hallways, no bed. Most of the time, our soldiers would drag them outside and…” Auden imitated his fingers into a gun going off. “Recruiters told me the same thing. We were supposed to be heroes.”\nAuden exhaled.\n“Where are you from?” he asked.\n“Sola, if you couldn't tell.” Zeyn forced a smile. “South of the capital. Lots of dry, cracked ground. Where we mine the rock used to power those batteries-”\nThe Tien soldier approached and called out in choppy Solan,\n“It is time of sleeping! Lights out, and make no of noise!”\nThe days passed by, one by one, seven to eight landmines diffused per morning hour. Stacked up in trucks and driven to a disposal site. Progress in the forests came acre by acre. During the nights, Zeyn spoke of wanting to start a bricklaying company—to rebuild Sola from the rubble—and Auden agreed to help.\nThen came the rain.\nThe downpour soaked his hair. Auden shivered in the cold, and the mud rendered the ground slippery. The officers didn’t bother to provide jackets. Crawling forward, he pushed the steel rod into the mud, four times before moving on. Verdant green leaves stuck to his skin.\n“Auden,” Zeyn called from the right. “I haven’t seen this type before.”\n“What?”\n“It’s boxed. It’s our make, but I don’t know how to diffuse it.”\n“Uh…” Auden closed his eyes. “Run a finger along the side to find the latch. Push up and lift slow.”\n“Right. Except, the damn ants or termites have chewed-”\nBoom.\nA mine exploded further off, and the ground trembled. Auden’s teeth chattered, and he looked over to Zeyn, who began breathing hard. Rain pelted a river, loud enough to muffle their voices. \n“Hey, I can’t find the latch. The wood is all ruined.”\n“Go slow. It’ll be metal.”\n“There’s a damned swarm of these termites, I can’t find it, by the sun-”\nBoom.\nA second exploded, closer this time. Auden shoved his face into his arms. Next to him, Zeyn fumbled with the landmine as the ground shook, then tried to recoil back.\nBoom.\nA geyser of mud spattered the air, trees swaying, blood raining down. The ringing echoed through his head. Auden got to his feet, staggered, then fell next to Zeyn. He was missing his right arm, blown off to his shoulder. Torn sinew made up for what remained.\n“What happened?” Zeyn mumbled. He blinked slowly, dirt covering his eyes. “Oh, by the sun, something’s wrong. I can’t move my fingers. Something’s wrong.” \n“Breathe, alright?” Auden said. “I need help!”\nOver the downpour, not a soul could be heard.\n“Something’s wrong. What happened to the rain? I can’t hear.” He shook his head. “Auden, I can’t hear you. I can’t see…why can’t I…” Zeyn blinked again. “We have to keep finding the landmines, Auden. So we can go home…”\n“Help me!” Auden cried. “Somebody!”\nAuden struggled to lift him up, tripping in the mud. By the time he lifted him again, Zeyn’s breathing had slowed. He dragged him back to the starting point, where the Tien officers laughed.\n“Lost another?” one spoke.\n“We’ll drag him to the trench for you,” the other said. “Now get back to it, yeah? You still got a lot more to go. Then you’ll all be walking the forest’s grounds, every square inch, to make sure you got every last one.” He whistled. “Goddess knows I’m looking forward to that.”\nAuden kept a rock in his pant leg as the day ended. In the shed the prisoners slept in—locked from the outside—he spent days scraping at a plank of wood near his bunk, pushing it out of place until it would break. \n“What’re you…” a voice yawned on a nearby bed. The man turned on his side. “What’re you doing?”\n“Leaving.” The board came loose, fresh air seeping in. Auden pried and tore, then threw it aside. “They don’t plan to send us home.”\n“Are you out of your mind?”\n“Are you?” Auden said. “I’ve had enough of all this. Do you really think the thousands of us won't be beneath the soil by the time we finish? They’re happy to be killing us off.” He slipped out before the man could reply and only made it a few steps before meeting the barrel of a rifle.\n“Out past your curfew,” a Tien soldier said.\nHe raised his rifle into the air and pulled back on the trigger. Auden ducked. The sound echoed in the night, owls hooting and flying off trees, deer running off.\n“Go,” the soldier said. He lowered his firearm. “They’ll all think you’re dead. Run south and avoid the road. It’s Middknight territory miles from here. Look for their blue uniforms, crest of a lion on their left shoulder-” \n“Why?” Auden whispered.\n“Because my people should be ashamed, and I’m more than disgusted with this war, seeing you kids die. Middknight’s soldiers won’t like you, but they’ll treat you better than we are. Go, now. Before another patrol comes.”\nAuden nodded, and took off running.\nIt’d be a long way to the border."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Soul-Fire\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2808\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about an ordinary person speaking truth to power."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Pale embers and a scattering of ashes… That was all that remained of the bright burning fire my soul had been at birth. The daughter of a Heavenly King should never feel so weak. I fell to earth only fourteen years ago to experience mortality, entrusted to earthly parents by my father. My soul-fire shone bright in childhood. My dimpled smile attracted many a cheek pinching from my older earth relatives. It was a gloriously free time, cocooned in the love of my live-in maternal grandmother. I was a bright child, full of sunlight and joy. Some of the adults around me said they saw an otherworldly Old Soul whenever they gazed into my green eyes. My grandma used to braid my hair in a vain attempt to keep my curly chestnut hair somewhat tamed.\n My grandma gathered healing herbs and my parents were both at work. I roamed the fields and woods near my home, always withing her sight and earshot. My parents both worked in the same business. They woke before I did and went to work. By the time my grandmother had fed and bathed me in the evening, they would walk in an eat a late dinner, talking shop, worrying about this and that client’s inability to pay them. A quick peck on the cheek and off to bed I went.\n Reading came early too, as did writing. My kindergarten teacher told my parents I was too far along in my learning to fit in with the other kids. She said I needed more of a challenge than she could provide. She advised moving me up a grade, maybe even two. We would try first grade and see if the teacher could keep me challenged enough. I did not really understand why I kept changing classes, first kindergarten, then first grade, and finally second grade, or why my new classmates instantly hated me. They called me “The Baby” because I was almost a head shorter than any of them. They teased me about my belief in Santa Claus and in Fairies. Whenever we played dodgeball during recess, I was a favorite target. When the teacher was not carefully watching our class, which was often, the classroom bully loved to aim spit wads at me, using an empty Bic pen to blow them my way. When I complained, my nickname changed to “Crybaby!”\n My grandma was my only comfort. The teachers did not believe me when I complained. My parents said I needed to have a thicker skin. My mom, who was the most popular girl in class all through her school years, went so far as to paying one of the girls in my class to become my friend. HA! Yeah… That sure worked, Mom! In front of the adults, Livie made an effort and pretended to be my friend. In private though, she made sure to tell me that if it weren’t for my mom’s weekly allowance, she would have nothing to do with me. I was too odd! I did not fit in! Too book-smart and people-clueless! My eyesight dimmed at age 7 after measles affected my eyesight. Quarantine would have been bliss, sheltered from bullies at home and in the care of my grandmother, but I was short-tempered from all the itching and from the burning in my eyes. My ever-patient grandmother, my biggest childhood confidant, threw up her hands and declared me the most impatient patient she had ever treated.\n My eyesight was damaged by measles. You should have heard those classmates of mine when I came in with eyeglasses a longer than usual pink-eye quarantine. It had taken several courses of antibiotics to kill the infection in my eyes. “Four-Eyes!” became my new nickname. Friendless, except for my grandmother, and the rabbits she raised in hutches in our backyard, I continued on, my soul-fire dimming more and more as time went on. My parents were still oblivious. I still excelled at school. I was still the model child they introduced to their clients as a sign of their success in life. I might even grow up to be a doctor, they said.\n Middle school brought no relief. I thought maybe, since I would have a different set of classmates each class period, my pariah days were over. I did make a few friends at first, but soon, my old elementary school classmates warned that it was social suicide to be seen associating with “the Nerd”. I turned to food as a source of emotional comfort, put on a bit more than the usual pre-pubescent pudge, and the bullying increased. Arriving on the pool deck during our PE swimming lessons, I would hear a merciless, “Whale on the deck!” or “Watch out! The Walrus is about to dive!” If I fell while playing basketball, I would invariably hear, “Did you dent to gym floor?” My soul-fire was dying a slow death. I could tell from the way I no longer enjoyed long roams in the woods or in the fields near my home.\n Pale embers and a scattering of ashes are all that remain now. Last summer, I went to Spain on vacation with my parents. My grandmother stayed behind to housesit. I was flattered when the eighteen-year-old DJ paid more attention to me than to the pretty girls on the dance floor. When he told me I looked mature for my age, my soul-fire rekindled. When he offered to buy me a coke and invited me for a walk on the beach during his lunch break, I thought the coke tasted kind of funny. Pale embers and a scattering of ashes, powerlessness to shove him off me, pain, blood and darkness engulfing me.\n Now, I am back home. I never told my parents about the rape. I bottled it all up. I told my grandma about it once I came back from vacation, and she tried to comfort me, to tell me she too had gone through the same trauma with a German soldier during the War. She concocted one of her herbal teas and dosed me on a regular basis with it. She said at least, she could prevent a pregnancy that way. Either it was not the right time of the month when that monster took me, or Grandma's herb tea worked. When I started high school this morning, my period also started. It is a relief not to be bearing the child of that butcher who stole so much from me! My parents don't need to know yet. I have sworn my grandma to secrecy, telling her that I will tell my parents when the time is right, and that I want the news to come from me.\n I take my seat in history class. Ummm… Who is that tall boy at the classroom door? He looks like a crow! Beady eyes of coal, a slight hunch as he comes into the classroom because he is so tall, and hair so black it reflects a blue light. A little wave of his hand and a smile! I turn around, thinking he must be waving at someone behind me, but there are only empty desks behind me. Oh ho! Here comes Miss Popular! She notices the new boy and prances over, blond ponytail bouncing. She places her hand on his shoulder as he is lowering himself into the seat next to mine. Here it comes! The Social Suicide bit… The bullies no longer even bother to warn other students privately about me. They do so right in front of me.\n Wait! How unusual… The new student is holding out his hand towards me and is ignoring the warning. “My name is Ollie. I just moved here from London. Mind if I sit with you?” “It’s a free country!” I reply, kicking myself mentally for the tone of voice and lack of originality of my retort. Ugh! Instead of taking my comment as a rebuff, he chuckles and asks what my name is. “Laurel”, I whisper as our teacher walks in and introduces herself. The class period drags on. I am so unused to having anyone next to me in class, unless it is by teacher assignment, that I keep bumping my arm into Ollie’s elbow. He does not seem to mind, but my brain is frying itself with comments such as “Awkward much?” It is not enough that bullies and a rapist have dulled my fire to just a whisp of smoke. I have become an expert at this self-deprecating internal dialog. I have forgotten that I am the daughter of a King.\n Apparently, I have three other classes with Ollie. In each, he chooses to sit next to me. It makes me uncomfortable! What if he is like the Spanish butcher, trying to lure me into a sense of security only to lay a trap. Mistrust is tying my tongue into complete silence. At the end of our final class of the day, I shove all of my stuff into my backpack and head out as quickly as I can. The sharks are already circling around Ollie’s desk, no doubt telling him it is social suicide to associate with Fatso, Four-Eyes, or whatever Fill in the Blank insulting nickname they are bound to come up with this year!\n Day Seven in high school. Ollie has stuck around and still sits with me in every class we have in common. He seems oblivious to the bullies’ influence. It is pouring outside as I make my way to the bus stop after school. I hear Ollie yell, “Hold up, Princess!” and I continue walking. I figure he must be talking to one of the popular girls. All of a sudden, there is a giant umbrella above my head and Ollie asks, “Didn’t you hear me call out to you?” Without waiting for an answer, he adds, “May I shelter you under my bumbershoot, Milady?” I burst into a half-laugh-half-snort that ends up in a coughing fit. “Princess? Are you for real?” He just smiles and says, “Just calling it like I see it!” My bus arrives at the same time we do. I thank Ollie for sparing me from a soaking. “See you tomorrow, Princess!” he says. Is he for real?\n Day 30 in high school. Smoke to ashes to embers, my soul-fire is rekindling. Ollie has branched out and made friends with a great number of other students. He is on a quick track to becoming Mister Popular at our high school. For whatever reason, in spite of his rising popularity, he still chooses to associate with me on a regular basis. I am sure he sees how my former bullies shake their head in disbelief. I say “former” because for the past week, no one has shoved me in the hallway or even called me names. Ollie and I have discovered we share a love of Offenbach and Operettas. Whenever we happen to cross paths in the hallways, or when we go from History Class on the ground floor all the way to Philosophy class on the fourth floor, we run stairs while singing operettas to see who will run out of breath the fastest. Our philosophy teacher rolls his eyes as I slap the classroom door and turn to Ollie to mock his slowpoke stair climbing ways. “OK, Lovebirds! Settle down!” Ollie rolls his eyes back at him and says, “We’re not lovebirds, just best friends! I’ve got a girlfriend back in London! She’d shoot me if I cheated on her!” Well OK, then, that explains why Ollie has resisted all the obvious flirting from the cheerleaders. Did he just call me his best friend? How are you doing, Soul-Fire? Yeah… thought so! Coals instead of embers!\n Day 76 in high school. I am dreading this shopping trip with my mom. She says I have slimmed down so much that nothing in my wardrobe fits right, and she does not have time to take the seams in for me. Haha! My stair racing every day with Ollie is working wonders! That and I no longer binge eat whenever someone pays me a compliment. I finally understood last month that there was a connection between men paying me a compliment and my rushing home to eat everything in sight. It was a rape avoidance subconscious reaction! I had heard all my life that Fat equated Ugly! If I overate and ballooned up, no man would ever choose me as their target! I’d be too repulsive! Since then, my binge eating has been under control. I love the taste of food and no longer eat mindlessly or emotionally. I appreciate everything I eat and actually taste the food! Ughhhhh! My mom’s taste in clothing reflects who she was as a popular teen. I tend to choose classics that will endure the test of time, and she reads teen magazines and is well informed on what is trendy. “Who wears skirts to school? I gave those up for pants as soon as that was allowed!” she exclaims on the way down the metal spiral staircase. I sigh and follow and hear, “Hey, Princess!” just as I trip on my own two feet. I nearly take out my mom in my tumble down that metal staircase and land in a heap, skirt over my head, and make a grand entrance into the teen section of the store. Ollie – who else would have called me Princess – rushes down the stairs behind me. “You OK? That was quite the tumble!” I pick myself up and start laughing, “Just my pride! And maybe a bruise on my right elbow!” Mom insists on introductions, “Who is this charming young man?” Oy! Ollie can’t wait to get away and into the men’s section. I brush myself off and dutifully follow my mom, then groan as she holds up a white bra and exclaims, “Look, this one has a little pink rosebud pattern! It matches your underwear!” I hear a snort coming from the men’s section. Yes, Mother… the underwear everyone in the teen section saw when I made my grand entrance down the stairs… I am NEVER going to hear the end of this from Ollie on Monday, when we go back to school!\n Day 78 in high school, I have more bruises than I thought from my tumble. I lose the race up the stairs to Ollie. “Hey Rosebud, why are you such as slowpoke today?” teases Ollie. I wag my index finger at him and exclaim, “If you tell ANYONE at school why you’ve been calling me Rosebud all day, you are dead-meat, Mister!” Ollie winks at our long-suffering philosophy teacher and says, “She sure is cute when she gets angry!” Ugh! He is just the most exasperating friend I have ever had! The thought startles me. At the beginning of the school year, I would have said, “The ONLY friend”, but that is no longer true. While we are not what I would call “bosom” friends, the bullying has stopped. I don’t get picked last as lab partner. I no longer fear dodgeball like the plague! I have watched Ollie work his magic on the entire student body. Mr. Friendly has stepped in to defend kids that were getting picked on by the usual posse. He has helped me find my soul-fire flame again.\n Day 100 in high school… Ollie is moving back to London tomorrow. His grandmother is dying of cancer. As I shelter under his umbrella one last time on the way to the bus, I thank him for the miracle he orchestrated in my life during his too brief stint at our high school. He shakes his head, hugs me and kisses the top of my forehead. “Princess Rosebud, I am going to Miss you… with a capital M! And don’t you go thanking me for this! You did most of the work! It was just a question of me seeing the truth of who you were. You had forgotten who you really were… how incredibly resilient and brave you were!” As I burst into tears, Ollie grabs me in a bear hug and whispers, “You are a powerful beautiful woman who has gone through way too much in just fourteen years! I always saw you as a being of power. But you had forgotten and buried that truth under too much hurt for one so young. I only spoke truth to your power and woke the flame that was always there inside you! I have a feeling you are going to be unstoppable from now on!” I laugh through tears, hug him one last time as I see my bus pull closer to my stop. Healed! Hurting from the goodbye! Flames of soul-fire burning bright! I have worth! I am Princess Rosebud! Watch out, 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: Bad High School Teacher\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1244\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about an ordinary person speaking truth to power."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "They prepare no lessons, carry no papers, and instruct no one. They spit unrelated facts, regurgitate irrelevant dates, and monotonously spew textbook drivel. They strangle curiosity, stifle a love of learning, and murder both classroom discussion and critical thinking. Most egregiously, bad high school teachers spend far too much time at the photocopier, endlessly printing off soul-crushing packets that teach nothing, inspire no one, and offer no hope. \nFrancis Boswell taught World History badly. She knew she did and she didn’t care. The balance of her day consisted of taking attendance, handing out and collecting worksheets, and telling her classes to be quiet. After seventeen years, her paltry paycheck didn’t afford her the goodwill of caring for her students or transmitting culture to a rising generation. She saw herself as society’s babysitter, whose sole duty was to keep 10th graders off the streets. Immediately after school, she left. She sponsored no clubs and coached no teams. She simply scurried to her small apartment, locked the door, and called UberEats. \n“Miss?” asked a student in the front row.\n“What.” Francis Boswell barked. She hadn’t finished her coffee yet, and now this? \n“I’m missing page 14.”\nFrancis Boswell rolled her eyes and gave an oppressed sigh as she slowly moved from behind her desk. She stood, fluidly grabbed one of the other packets, ripped out page 14, and dismissively handed it to the student.\n“Was that so hard?” Francis Boswell asked sarcastically. “This is why your generation is so riddled with depression and social anxiety. You cannot solve problems on your own.”\nThe student flushed with embarrassment.\nThis emboldened Francis Boswell, ready to take her self-righteous point further. “I don’t know why I have to get up and get you what you need when clearly you are capable of doing so yourself.”\n“You said not to get up—”\n“Don’t back talk me. I’ll send you to IS now.” \nIS. Internal suspension. A room with no view. \nThe student looked utterly crestfallen. \nFrancis Boswell muttered about insolence and disrespect while shuffling through the clutter on her desk. Where were the IS referral forms? She wrote several referrals every day, since students were becoming more incorrigible and more unruly. Each year they behaved worse in class and scored lower on standardized tests. She was certain it was indulgent parenting, the bane of her existence. Oh how many parent-teacher conferences had she survived? \n Finally, Francis Boswell found the correct forms. They were under the tardy passes and clinic intake sheets and other multicolored pads that administration shoved into her mailbox on occasion. Truthfully, if a student just held a colored piece of paper and walked authoritatively throughout the hallways, no teacher or administrator would be the wiser. The whole system was a ruse to give the appearance of order. But she knew, like every other high school teacher, that chaos and anarchy were always just inches away. It’s why she ran her class as well as she did. She had no truck with insolent teenagers who thought they knew everything. \nAfter 5th period, the lunch bell rang. Finally, she grunted. Francis Boswell made a beeline for the teachers’ lounge. She couldn’t wait to tell her small coven of disgruntled colleagues how she schooled another ungrateful student, one who couldn’t even handle worksheets properly. Oh, how she’d mimic the student’s whiny voice and sad cow eyes. And all that back talk! Rude. Her teacher-friends would all cluck in agreement that parents did not inculcate good manners and respect into their offspring these days. They’d comfort each other in their woes, spooning into their gobs steaming bites of Lean Cuisine, chunks of which were oddly cold. \nThe principal dropped by 7th period, bringing with him a very tall young man with dirty blonde hair way past his shoulders. He wore an ironic t-shirt she didn’t understand and looked her full in the face. Francis Boswell immediately took offense. \n“Ms. Boswell, this is Joseph Cooper. His family just moved into the school district. Please make him feel welcome,” the principal added, knowing full well that the best Francis Boswell could do was far less than that. With the teacher shortage, what was a principal to do? He quickly departed.\n“Call me Joe,” Joseph Cooper smiled, extending his hand. Francis Boswell pursed her lips at it. \n“Cooper, you sit here,” Francis Boswell motioned to a seat off to the side, underneath the leaky ceiling. “You will need this packet. Pages 11-15 are due by the end of class.” She didn’t give him a second look, returning to her desk to scroll through Etsy and Pinterest. \n“What’s the lesson on?” Joe asked.\n“It’s on the front of the packet,” Francis said, not bothering to look up. \n“It just says Revolution,” Joe said, holding up the front page and pointing at the word she had scrawled in her spidery handwriting in black Sharpie. “That’s not a lesson. That’s a noun.” The other students turned, carefully contemplating the new student. \nAt that point, Francis Boswell looked up. She put on her glasses to see who was speaking.\n“If we are talking about revolutions, we should at least know what type. Are we looking at simply rebellions, an act of resistance? Like Nat Turner’s Slave Rebellion? Or maybe a prison riot, like Attica? Or maybe a rightwing militia group taking over an Oregon Wildlife Refuge.” \n“Where is Attica? When did that happen?” another student asked. \n“Which rightwing militia—like white supremacists?” asked someone else.\n“EXCUSE ME,” Francis Boswell said, tamping down the momentary enthusiasm. “Pages 11-15 are STILL DUE at the end of class. Mr. Cooper, you can keep your thoughts to yourself.” \n“Revolts are different from rebellions,” Joe said matter-of-factly. “Revolts cause revolutions. All kinds. Nonviolent. Bourgeois. Political. Social.”\n“What’s the difference between a political and social revolution?”\n“When was the Digital Revolution?”\nJoe stood up now, addressing the entire class. “What’s more important than the type of revolution is the method. There’s a big difference between boycotts and guerilla warfare!”\n“Right!” said a female student, caught up in the excitement. “And how can one event be described as both terrorism and civil disobedience?”\n“A democratic revolution or a coup d'état?” someone else chimed in.\n“Depends on which side you're on. Perspective matters,” a boy in the back added. \nFrancis Boswell stood up from her desk with a lost look on her face. “What matters a bit more than types and methods,” she said quietly, “are the causes.”\n“What causes people to revolt?” a voice asked from the back.\n“Well, throughout the eras,” Francis Boswell said, “usually the same old things. Political corruption. Natural disasters. Pandemics. Income inequality.”\n“Like when people are afraid and want to take matters into their own hands,” Joe added.\n“Exactly, Joe.” Francis Boswell agreed. “Governments clamp down and become more repressive. This only exacerbates the cry for revolution.”\n“What calms a society down, so it doesn’t get to that point?”\nFrancis Boswell thought for a moment. “A seat at the table.” With that, she walked over to a motivational poster on the wall and straightened it a bit. \n“What pages are due at the end of class?”\n“I think—” Francis Boswell gave a small smile, “I think I’d like you to just read the passages for tonight. We will discuss them in class tomorrow. Joe, would you like to lead the discussion on Kentucky’s Whiskey Rebellion?”\n“Sure,” Joe replied.\n“Thank you,” Francis Boswell said, patting his shoulder. “I look forward to 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: She Could Simply Walk Away\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2503\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in the woods or on a campground."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "She Could Simply Walk Away\nJemma heard the sound again, a low moan coming from across the swamp.\nShe had previously dismissed it as the groan of a live oak branch rubbing against another in the breeze, a common enough sound in the wetlands.\nThis time she inclined her head toward the fan of palmetto leaves and listened intently. Moonlight penetrated through ghostly fingers of Spanish moss draped above her head, limning the trees in black against the starlit sky. She could smell the scent of decaying vegetation and feel the damp, cloying bayou air like a wet blanket on her skin.\nA night owl hooted eerily, but Jemma did not spook easily, even though she had slipped out without permission. The mistress knew she needed herbs and willow bark to do her work. An outbreak of yellow fever could wipe out the entire population of slaves currently living on the sugar plantation. Jemma was becoming known for her healing arts, and that's why the barn door was usually left open. She could come and go as she pleased ever since she had successfully treated slaves on the neighboring plantation for the deadly disease.\nThere it was again. Definitely a human voice, moaning in pain. She hiked up her skirts and waded into the black waters, mindful of the risk of snakes and alligators, but unwilling to leave a fellow human, possibly a runaway slave, in trouble.\nSlogging through the knee-deep bog, she reached a shelf of dry ground and found the man lying on the grass, his knees drawn up to his chest.\nJemma lifted the shutters of her lantern, letting out more light in order to see his face. The eyes were closed tightly. A grimace stretched his lips into a gray mask of pain. \nJemma gasped, startled that she knew that face all too well. Master Alex! He had ridden away five months earlier, handsome and daring in his gray uniform, confident that he would soon be returning to his bride after defeating the Union army. The smart military jacket was now soaked with blood, dirty with gunpowder surrounding the open wound, the breeches caked with mud to the knees.\n\"Massah Alex!\" She exclaimed, putting one hand over her mouth as her heart leaped within her, a leap of sudden fury.\nThe soldier opened bleary, fever-bright eyes. \"Don't shoot me,\" he muttered.\nShe bent down and lifted his head to peer more closely into his face. \"It's me, Massah Alex. It be Jemma that's found you.\" She wanted him to know.\nHe moaned again. \"Jemma?\"\nHis eyes cleared momentarily with vague recognition. \"Jemma?\"\nShe didn't speak. Her hands were busy tearing the fabric away from the wound. Examining the skin beneath the bloodied jacket, it was bad, maybe even gangrenous from the smell of him.\nShe knew he wouldn't live until morning if she didn't get him back to the manor at once. She also knew that she was holding in her hands the life of the man who had ordered her flogged for the very thing she was doing now—slipping away from the sugar plantation to the swamps where she went to gather herbs, roots, and grasses for her poultices.\nThis was the man who had accused her of consorting with the devil after she had gone to Congo Square in New Orleans to seek advice from Madame Marie LaVeau.\nJemma thought the voodoo priestess might indeed be a witch, but the woman could conjure up remedies to cure many illnesses. It was from Marie that she had learned how to treat swamp fever. That skill had increased Jemma's value to her mistress.\nMaster Alex blinked up at her with a look of sudden clarity. \"Am I home then?\" His yellow eyes rolled wildly in hope.\n\"You be in the swamps, Massah.\" Jemma whispered, suddenly certain of what she must do.\nAt the time of her flogging, she had vowed that if she ever got the chance she would kill the man. She had dreamed up ways to torture him while she lay face down on a rough, straw-filled mattress for days, unable to rest on her flayed back. The older women had tended her wounds as best they could, but the scars of that flogging were permanently branded on both her flesh and soul.\nUnconsciously, she lifted a hand to her back as she stared down at the man responsible for those vicious scars. Then she gritted white teeth in determination.\n\"Is it really you Jemma?\" His eyes searched her face. Perhaps he saw the hatred barely hidden there because he groaned again and the hope went out of his eyes like a candle flame extinguished by a forceful breath.\nHe thrashed about and turned his head as if searching for some avenue of hope from another source.\nShe thought how easy it would be to simply walk back to the barn and slip through the door to the other side where the slave cabins stood in a row. No one would ever know she had found the master and left him there.\nHe would suffer and die, just as she had willed him to a thousand times since the flogging. Something inside her stomach twisted at the thought, a forceful, gloating thing that leaped up into her chest and urged her to laugh at him in his suffering and let him die. She reveled in the thought of revenge momentarily.\nShe could do it, savor it, and even rejoice in it. Her fingers ran over the ridges along her sides. They were more ugly than any scar the bullet hole would leave in his chest. This man had done that to her.\nShe had lain awake nights wondering: What right did a man have to torture another human being? Did the white man's God really give him that power? Back in Africa, her people had been powerful before the slave ships came. They were less than cattle in this land, the little ones on the neighboring plantation fed from a trough under the porch like dogs.\nOn her master's land, slaves were given their own cabins and treated with some degree of dignity and even kindness. Nancy, the master's wife had seen to that. But who knew what was going to happen if the South won the war? Jemma might someday be sold to a fate far worse than her present lot. Images of slave owners, brutal and vile, played quickly on the screen of her imagination. She had heard many stories during her visits to the slave gatherings in Congo Square.\nShe feared the uncertain future.\nYet, Jemma also had grown to love the master's wife. After Alex had gone to war, Mistress Nancy had Jemma brought to the manor house as her personal maid and had taught her how to read, although slaves were forbidden this privilege. Jemma's literacy had to be kept a strict secret.\nNancy, amazed and delighted at how quickly Jemma learned, had given her the task of reading Bible stories and Hans Christian Anderson's tales to the little ones at bedtime. How strange these white men's tales—a woman letting down golden hair to allow her lover to climb to her tower. A mermaid who grew legs and walked. Jemma recalled her own childhood stories. Sometimes she mixed one of them in with the others. The boy child was equally delighted with tales of African warriors killing lions and elephants.\nAfter the children fell asleep, the house was quiet, and all lamps extinguished, Jemma often lit a candle and read from the white man's Bible. She thought it very strange that this Son of God had actually chosen to die for other people's sins. The spirits of her African ancestors would never allow their sons to die for their enemies, and certainly not an only son.\n\"Is Nancy well?\" the dying soldier asked, interrupting her thoughts.\n\"She be well,\" Jemma murmured, struggling with the intensity of her emotions. She remained startled by the opportunity that had fallen to her to deal with her most hated enemy.\nFor a brief moment, she recognized the exulting thing in her chest for what it was. Vengeance. Something that must be left to the white man's God. That's what the book commanded. Among her people, it was a shameful thing, a great dishonor, to allow an enemy to go free and unpunished for his crimes.\nShe remembered dark bodies dancing around the orange firelight and could almost hear the African drums pounding a rapid rhythm in her ears. She realized it was the beating of her own heart beating with an intensity she had not known was part of her. Sweat popped out on her forehead.\n\"What about my little girl?\" Alex closed his eyes with a faint smile. The image of the golden haired two-year-old appeared in Jemma's excited imagination.\n\"Your chilluns be well too.\" The slave woman assured him quietly. She did not venture to tell her master that the baby girl had suffered frequent stomachaches. Or that she had been able to relieve the child's discomfort with ragweed and willow bark tea.\nWhy should she tell him? She could also make him well, however, he would probably have her flogged again for going into the swamps to gather her \"witch’s potions.\" \n\"Jemma, are we far from home? Are you running away?\" The master questioned, his voice husky and his eyes remaining tightly closed as if to shut out painful circumstances.\nWhen she didn't answer he continued, \"I was wounded, and I couldn't find the way back to the camp. It was a hard battle. The Yankees were dropping us by the dozens. Wounded soldiers were running in every direction. I didn't know which way to go.\"\nHe coughed.\nJemma listened, aware that precious minutes counted if he were to live. His life's blood was draining out of him. He needed help immediately.\n\"I was with a soldier who knew the way back to New Orleans. He said we could make it in three days. I wanted to see Nancy so bad.\"\nThe wound bled afresh when another cough racked his body.\n\"Be still Massah,\" she ordered, tearing off her tignon, a madras kerchief, from her head. She tied it around his chest in an attempt to staunch the flow.\nWhat was she doing?\nThe drumbeat of Africa pounded in her blood, primal and hot. The dance of vengeance was honorable. Her ancestors would be proud if she exacted his life. They would be shamed if she didn't.\n\"I shouldn't have had you flogged, Jemma,\" the master panted. \"I thought I was protecting you from something worse—even a hanging—if a planter thought you were a runaway.\"\nHe breathed a sigh of genuine regret.\n\"I thought if you were flogged, the men wouldn't dare leave the plantation. They were in danger too, if they got caught out in the wetlands without . . . \" another spasm of pain cut off his words.\nOnce more she felt the ripping and tearing of those lashes deep in her soul as he uttered the word \"flogged.\" The pain of those lashes fired hatred in every fiber of her being. She hated the smell of him. The sight of him. His words of regret fell on stony, frozen emotions.\nThe power of the African drumbeat grew ever more intense. Jemma rose up from her knees. Master Alex didn't appear to realize she was leaving.\nHer feet moved purposefully toward the black swamp waters once again, and she slogged across them without looking back.\nThe barn door would be open. She'd be back inside her cabin soon, reveling in the power of her revenge.\nThen she heard him moan again. \"Nancy.\"\nThe healer in her tugged at that small part of her soul that was still able to feel. What of her beloved mistress? Wouldn’t Nancy be greatly grieved to lose her man? Wouldn't the master's children, whom Jemma had also grown to love, be wretched? What would their lives be like, growing up without a father? \nLet them be wretched! Jemma thought with hate-fired rage. Nobody had cared that she had been wrenched from her parents' arms as a child and then chained on that terrifying, stinking, slave ship filthy with human waste. The things she had seen during the weeks in the ship's hold were never far from her tormented mind.\nBut what if the white man's God truly was righteous? If so, wouldn’t He wreak vengeance on the slave ship captains and their hateful crews?\nShe pondered that thought, remembering the strange words she found in the Holy Book.\nThen it occurred to her. Had God delivered her master's life to her this very night? Wasn't that a sign that she was the instrument of his vengeance?\nShe remembered the strange story of the man on the cross, asking his Father to forgive the very ones who put him there. What if God instead forgave this man she hated with all her strength?\nNo! She couldn't let that happen. It would be a disgrace.\nJemma slogged another five yards, steeling herself against the conflict now roiling inside her stomach like a cauldron of acid.\nShe should be dancing with glee. And indeed some part of her felt gleeful, but it was an ugly kind of glee, empty of any real jubilance.\n\"Jemma?\" he called her name with a note of hopelessness from across the bog.\n\"Will you tell Nancy that I love her?\" His question was a pitiful acquiescence to her power over him. The wounded soldier had realized the slave woman would not be any source of help. And without her assistance, he knew he was a dead man. He would not live to see another dawn.\nJemma kept walking and did not bother to answer.\nShe had made her decision. The power of that choice left her shaking, almost shocked.\nLess than half an hour later, Jemma returned to the spot marked in her memory by the large palmetto fan. She brought Big Jim and Roley with her. The pair had quickly tied a sheet between two cut poles. Now they lifted the master upon it and carried him to the manor where Nancy waited with boiling water and herbal medicines brewing on the stove. Remedies prepared from ingredients furnished by Jemma, the slave woman who had been flogged for leaving the plantation to gather them.\nThat night, the only sounds Jemma heard from her bed beside the children were soft sighs coming from the master's bedroom. He was resting quietly after she had tended to his wound, which was not gangrenous, as she had first suspected. Because of her skills, he would recover.\nThe glee of vengeance was gone, but in its place was a kind of peace that Jemma had never experienced before.\nBefore she blew out her small candle and laid aside the white man’s book, she wondered briefly if the barn door would be kept closed after the master recovered."
}
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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: A Modern Princess\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1146\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a prince or princess who is asked to give up something valuable as part of a deal to escape the world they come from."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "If you see me on the streets you might think I’m ordinary, normal even. If you do then you believe the mask, the lie if you will. Don’t worry you are not the only one. I have been deceiving people for almost 3 years. The perfect blond cheerleader, the honors roll student, I even had the perfect boyfriend for a while but that was before. Before what you might ask, well I’m getting there. Three years ago I was sitting at the lunch table with some of my friends, it was 8th grade. I thought I was on top of the world. Until she walked in. All of a sudden I found myself looking at girls and being interested in them, romantically. For a popular girl, for the school princess, this was not okay. While other members of the LGBTQ were accepted, If I came out. Well, I couldn't even think about it. So for almost three years I hid, buried myself into the very back of my closet. Then Junior year of high school started. I saw more and more gay couples. It gave me hope. Said hope did not last long. A senior named Rose came out as a bi-sexual, she was previously voted homecoming queen with her now ex-boyfriend. Her Instagram followers dropped, Twitter, Facebook, people stopped sending her streaks. Her social life fell apart, even her boyfriend left her. Soon her place as the queen of high school rested on my shoulders. I was the second most popular girl at school. If only they knew that what “fired” their previous queen was the same thing the newly crowned one was going through. Weeks passed I stayed in my closet with the door locked. Then came November 14th. We had gotten a new transfer student, Her name was Lillian. She was a quiet thing, loved anything colorful. She was beautiful. Not that she knew it, she was shy and wouldn’t talk to most people. On that day it was my job to show her around. I showed her the lockers, her classrooms the library, and the computer center. When I asked her if there were any questions her only response was “Is there an art room?” Her voice was like the rustle of silk cloth. For some reason, I found myself attracted to this girl. Wanting to make her happy I led her to our art room. She took to it instantly. It was like watching someone go home. She was perfectly content with this space, her shoulders loosened up and her posture relaxed significantly. After a moment of browsing through the paints and pencils, she turned to me and started a conversation.\n“Do you like to paint?” She asked with that voice. I did not know which side of me to show her so I said “I haven’t had the chance to discover yet” which was not true at all. I used to have gallons of paint and stacks of canvases. I stopped painting when I found out that as the queen of the school my life revolved around stuff like clothes and makeup. It wasn’t who I was but I was able to fit in so I guess it worked. She just clicked her tongue and ran around gathering art supplies. Soon she was at a table with an extra stool motioning for me to come to sit next to her. I hesitantly walked over. She smiled “I won’t bite” grabbed my sleeve and pulled me into the seat next to her. She showed me some simple brush strokes then she set to work. As she painted we talked. She was from New Orleans which is where she fell in love with Jazz and Art. We talked about me and my cheer, how I had won competition after competition. We told stories about old friends and family. She was so emersed in her story she said “And that’s when my ex-girlfriend shoved…” She stopped realizing what she said. We didn’t speak for a moment. Mostly because I was just shocked I did not picture her to be the type of person who was into girls. I cautiously put my hand on hers not noticing the still wet paint that was at the tips of her fingers.\n“Do not think for a second that is something to be ashamed of. I will not judge you. I understand” She just gave me a warm smile so I continued “We should hang out sometime”\nFor a moment she was quiet, I thought she was going to say no. Instead “Yeah I would like that”\n3 weeks later\n\nThat day I had exchanged phone numbers with Lillian. We texted a lot but I was so busy with school and cheerleading we hadn’t gotten to hang out. We had plans for this afternoon at a little coffee shop down the road from the school and were going to meet there after school. So when the evening bell rang, we walked together down to the coffee shop. There were not many people there in fact for a while it was just us. Something about her just made me feel...Safe. So I told her the truth. That I was a Lesbian. We just looked at each other for a moment and she smiled and took my hand and pulled me to her. She kissed me. Not a kiss more like a whisper of lips. At that moment my cheer team walked in. I pulled away from her hoping to whatever higher powers there might be, that they didn’t see. As much as I liked Lillian. I didn’t think I could stand the whole school at my throat. But by the looks on my squad’s faces, they had seen. Or at least put two and two together. I ran out of the coffee shop dreading the removal of my crown. That night I didn’t sleep well. I had strange dreams. The only one I remember was a man standing in a garden asking if I wanted a chance to change everything, to escape the world I was in now, make it into a better one. He said that some things had to be given up for change to happen. When I woke up I had confidence jumping in my veins. I got to school went straight to Lillian and kissed her. It was a passionate kiss, the kind I had been searching for years to find. The kind that sets fireworks shooting off in your head.\nMonths passed, Lillian and I had been dating out in the open for a while now. And though I was not the most popular girl at my high school. I was the happiest, I had real friends and a great girlfriend. That is all that mattered. It was my fairytale. The happy ending was not what I expected but it was perfect nonetheless."
}
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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: A Witch's Guide To Being Human\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2986\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a fairy tale about an outsider trying to fit in."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "STEP ONE: Understand and wear the common human fashion of that time.\nI shut my note book where I wrote all my notes down in. It’s a simple checkered spiral notebook, similar to the ones in the human world I suppose. I hear footsteps hit the cold stone floor of our cave. It must be Mom, she’s a witch like me. She must be returning home from one of her trips. My mother always goes on trips when she’s feeling uninspired. Mom is a writer she writes thick novels about magic and witchy adventures and sells them to the human world, I’ve read some of her novels. And quite honestly they’re horrible, full of ridiculous magic and plots of world domination. But the humans devour them like crazy. I’m always lonely. I just don’t seem to fit in with the other witches and wizards, I'm good at magic, but I am not cruel like the rest of them. Witches are supposed to be cold and rude and always going to the human world to hex people. That’s why I don’t have any friends from magic school. Plus Dad is a professor at CFW(college for wizards) and the college is all the way on the other side of Mt. Mystic so he’s never around. Mom is always busy writing on good days, and on bad days she takes off on her trips to who-knows-where and doesn’t come back till who-knows-when. And finally my older brother, Atticus, is the apprentice of a powerful wizard in the huge city far from here called Scarlett Ember.\nWith the flick of my wand I turn my bag invisible so Mom won’t see.\n“Nyx! You’re supposed to be working on your potions for the test!” Mom yells throwing her winter coat on the floor of the cave, soaking up the water from a puddle.\nShe must have gone on a trip to somewhere cold. I roll my eyes. Mom doesn't really care what happens to me she just wants to yell about something.\n“I wasn’t feeling well.” I lie.\nMom scoffs. “I don’t care about that! Just study for that test I want to brag about you to my book club tonight!”\n“Okay I’ll get back to studying.” I say.\nMom just glares at me and stomps deeper into the dark of the cave.\nNow that I’m alone again I make my bag visible and finish stuffing it with normal human clothes and my spell books and my wand. I take a deep breath. My hands shake as I zip the bag shut. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I'm actually running away to the human world and I’m going to be a normal human.\nSTEP TWO: Change your name and make a normal human background story.\nGoodbye Nyx. And hello Emilia, the number one baby name from 2004. (According to babynames.com) Emilia is a regular sixteen year old human girl who lives in a small apartment with her mother and father who are both realtors and their hobbies include baking cookies for their daughter.\nI write more of my notes in my book and breath in the wonderful humanly smell of car exhaust and possibilities. I am actually in the human world! Right now I’m sitting on a park bench in the middle of a crowded human city. Only hours ago I was in my cold dark cave looking for the portal spell.\nI looked up more research about humans on my spell-phone and discovered that normal human teens go to a place called high school for eight hours five days of the week.\nSTEP THREE: Find a normal human home.\nI found a normal looking apartment for rent on line and instead of flying there I took a bus!\nI just magic-ed up some money and rented the place. I had to get a two bedroom apartment because it has to look like my parents live with me.\nRight now I’m sitting on the living room floor of my empty apartment flipping through my large stack of magazines, trying to figure out how to decorate my apartment. I decide this room needs a rug, couch, TV, and some pictures of me and my fake normal family framed on the wall. So I use my wand and make it all appear.\n“Yes this is going good.” I say to myself.\nI’m pretty sure that talking to yourself is not something a normal human does. I’ll have to work on that.\nSTEP FOUR: Go to high school.\nI used some magic to sign myself up for school and it starts today. Perfect timing.\nThis morning I put on some dark jeans and a white flowy blouse along with some black flats. I really wasn’t sure what to do with my hair so I just braided my thick black hair and hoped it looked normal.\nThen I took the bus and arrived at the school. I was about to walk into the huge brick building when I realized I didn’t have any books or a backpack. So I got my wand out of my pocket and recited a spell to magic-up a back pack for me. Then I continued into the school.\nThe halls are huge and crowded with teenagers. I get overwhelmed but manage to find the principal’s office.\nI’m sitting in the principal’s office and she’s an older woman with red hair and a hunchback, she actually reminds me of the witch who lives in the cave next door to Mom’s cave. But she’s nicer, she gave me a map of the school and schedule. Then she told me that she would have a student from my first class take me there.\nI tap my foot on the floor nervously, which apparently is a totally normal human behavior!\nThe door opens and in comes a girl who doesn’t look like all those girls in the magazines. She totally doesn’t look ‘normal’. Her hair is cut just above her chin and is dyed a dark green color. Her shirt is all sorts of different colors and materials, it looks like someone chopped up a bunch of different shirts and sewed them back into one shirt. I don’t know if this girl will be the best influence on me if I'm trying to fit in here in the human world, because she sticks out like a library card in a cauldron.\nShe spots me staring at her and frowns. The principal is sitting at her desk smiling.\n“Indigo Stawarski,” The principal says to the girl and points to me. “This is Emilia Smith.”\n“Hi.” The girl—Indigo—says in a dull voice, still frowning.\n“Okay Indigo Stawarski go take Emilia Smith to her class.” The principal says in her high pitched voice. “Oh and Indigo don’t forget to be nice.”\nAt that Indigo frowns harder, which I didn’t think was possible.\nIndigo takes me to a room full of desks and students. At the front of the room is the teacher a plump old man who glares at me when he notices me. I thought that humans where nicer than witches, but I’m staring to feel doubtful.\n“Morning students, I am your homeroom teacher: Mr. Grim.” He says in a taught voice.\nAll the students look at me and I suddenly feel like I want to hide, at least at magic school I knew who to fear…\nTurns out that home room is basically just a big waste of time. One of the teachers was pretty nice but the rest of them were pretty cold and strict like my teachers back in magic school, well at least the humans never threw anything at me.\nSTEP FIVE: Make friends with the top kids. Or just make any friends.\nAnd that’s what I plan to do at lunch. I’ve watched some movies about high school and I know that lunch is when all the important things happen. Like in that human movie High School Musical, I can’t wait to be part of a singing and dancing party at lunch. I just hope that that Indigo girl isn’t there she was a real wand in the mud, always frowning.\nFinally the small woman at the front of the room—Ms. Rogers—says: “Class is dismissed.” Everyone grabs there backpacks and gets out of there as soon as possible. It’s finally lunch time!\nAfter I got some food from the cafeteria with my magic money I look for somewhere to sit. I see a table of girls who look popular and normal, but the table is really full. So I walk across the cafeteria. As I pass by a table full of boys I hear one of them whisper, “Weirdo!” Then all the boys at the table laugh. My cheeks burn, but I keep walking. The only table that isn’t full is the one Indigo and some other weird looking kids are sitting at. I look at their table considering sitting there. I hear some one at the table say. “We should ask the new girl to sit with us.”\n“No way, she’s such a bore. And look at her she looks rich. She can’t sit with us.” This coming from Indigo.\nI have no idea what she’s talking about, but it sounds really insulting. So I turn around and walk towards another table.\n“Wait, Emilia!” I hear Indigo say and I turn around. “You can sit with us.”\nI eye the table with the normal looking girls one last time and sit at the table with Indigo.\nSo far no one’s sang or danced and everyone has just been talking and eating. What a disappointment.\nSitting at the table are three kids. Indigo. A girl with dark skin and a bunch of black braids on her head. She is wearing a silver t shirt and sunglasses with one lens popped out. And a boy with weird black spiky hair and a crooked nose. I want to ask a whole bunch of questions, but I feel like I will stay more normal if I don’t know.\n“So, I haven’t seen you before did you just move?”\nI take a bite of my sandwich, it doesn’t taste as good as the magic food we made back in the witch world bad.\n“Emilia!”\nI look up, I hadn’t realized someone was talking to me. It’s the girl with the broken sunglasses.\n“Well…” Oh no! There are some holes in my background story. “Um, well…My mom and dad are realtors.”\nBroken sunglasses girl looks confused. And Indigo rolls her eyes.\n“What does that have to do with what Molly said?” Crooked nose boy asks me.\n“Um…Because my parents were showing our apartment to some people interested in buying it and they decided that they wanted the apartment. So we moved there.” I lie.\n“Oh.” Crooked nose boy says. “So where did you move here from?”\n“Paris.” I say, the only human world city I can think of at the moment, I really needed to make a better background story!\nIndigo rolls her eyes again, and broken sunglasses—apparently Molly—looks intrigued.\n“Paris? Really?” Molly asks.\n“Um, yeah.” I nod my head a few times trying to look sure.\n“Were you born there?” Crooked nose asks.\nI don’t know what to say.\n“Why don't you have an accent?” Indigo says accusingly.\n“You don't have to be rude Indigo.” Crooked nose says, and Molly agrees nodding her head.\n“Oh just hush up Roy!” Indigo says to Crooked nose—or Roy I guess.\nSuddenly the bell rings and everyone gets up to go to their next class.\nSTEP SIX: Eat normal people food.\nWell school was really disappointing. And I didn’t even make any friends! Now I’m just sitting in my apartment on my magic couch all by myself. I’m not any less lonely than I was in the cave in the witch world. I pull my note book out of my backpack and look at my check list to be human. I guess I need to eat some human food.\nI make boxed mac and cheese for dinner. I don’t use any magic and it’s actually kinda easy, like making potions. I even walked to the store to buy it, no flying.\nSTEP SEVEN: Make plans with friends.\nStep seven is going to be hard considering I didn’t make any friends. I just need to make friends with those normal looking girls I saw at lunch yesterday.\nToday at lunch I go the table with the normal looking girls at it. And one of the seats are actually empty!\n“Hi! Can I sit with you?” I ask.\nAnd a bunch of girls scoff, but one of the girls wink at the rest and says to me. “Yeah of course you can sit here.”\n“But Ashley?” A girl with mouse brown hair whines.\n“No, this nice girl can sit here, Alice will just have to sit with the boys today.” Ashley turns to me.\n“What’s your name?” she asks sweetly.\n“Ny—Emilia Smith.” I say, smiling.\n“Sit here Emilia.” Ashley pats the seat next to her.\nI set my tray on the table and open a bottle of juice. Ashley scribbles something on a sticky note and hands it to another girl.\nI take a sip of juice when the girl with mousy brown hair smiles at me and pats me on the back. “I’m glad you came to sit with us Emilia.” She says sweetly.\nA boy carrying a tray of food to a table stops at our table and says, “Hey Nerd!” To me and all the girls at the table start high fiving and laughing. I don’t understand. A girl from another table comes over to me and says, “What’s up Nerd?” and laughs and turns to Ashley. “Good job, she looks so embarrassed!”\nAshley laughs and soon almost the whole cafeteria is laughing at me and I still have know idea why or what just happened. A hand from the crowd grabs me by the arm and drags me off. I look up confused, It’s Indigo, she probably had something to do with this. But I still follow her to her table and sit down.\n“Forget about her.” Indigo tells me. “She’s just a spoiled brat, she pranks all of the new kids. You’re actually lucky that prank was nothing compared to some of the others she pulled.”\nI pull the note of my back it says: Imma Nerd—on it.\n“I thought you didn’t like me.” I say.\nMolly laughs. “No, If Indigo didn’t like you wouldn’t have sat with us yesterday.”\nCrooked nose—Roy—sets his juice on the table. “That’s just how Indy is. She seems cold but she’s actually nice, well most of the time.”\nIndigo glares at Roy.\n“Thanks for helping me.” I say to Indigo.\nIndigo just shrugs her shoulders and smooths out the wrinkles on her shirt, a neon orange t shirt three times to big.\n“Hey we’re all going to hang out at my house tonight after school, you can join if you want.” Molly says to me, pulling her broken sunglasses up and resting them at the top of her head.\nAnd that’s when I see Molly’s other eye. Yesterday all I could see was the one eye, brown, pretty average I think. But now I see the other one it’s bright blue! Molly catches me staring, with my jaw wide open.\n“I was born like this.” She says like she’s used to explaining. “I wear the glasses because the one eye is super sensitive to the light. So I just popped the lens right out of the glasses!”\n“Wow.” I say.\n“So are you coming to Molly’s tonight? We’re having pizza.” Roy asks me.\n“Yeah, sure.” I say calmly, but inside I am super excited. Maybe I will have friends.\nSTEP EIGHT: Explore and study your town.\nOn Tuesday I went to Molly’s house and everyone was super nice, even Indigo. We ate pizza and watched a movie and talked. Despite how weird Indigo and her friends are I actually had a normal time I think. And the rest of the days at school I didn’t see Indigo and her friends much, besides homeroom and PE and of course we sat together at lunch. I did decent with the grades, but most of the teachers were really strict and some were mean, it was still much better than magic school. Some of the kids still made fun of me about the sticky note stuff, but I looked up what ‘nerd’ meant on my spell-phone and it didn’t even seem too much like an insult. Now that I had friends—I hope—school has been much better.\nRight now I’m exploring the town when I see Mom flying in the sky on her broom! Oh no!\n“Nyx!” Mom yells when she sees me even though I tried to hide behind a tree.\n“I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Oh I was so scared!” Mom says, hugging me super hard.\n“Mom I want to live in the human world from now on, the witch world is to harsh for me.” I say.\nMom has tears in her eyes. “Oh please come home. I know you probably thought I didn’t love you, but I I just have trouble with feelings stuff, you know?”\nThis was new to me, I always thought Mom didn’t love me.\n“I can’t come home. I have friends here. I go to human school.” I argue, not wanting to return to the dark and cold cave.\n“What if I go back to the witch world, but still go to school here?” I ask.\nSilence. Mom is definitely going to say no.\n“Fine.” Mom gives me another hug. And I know that my family loves me. My new friends are going to be surprised when I tell them I’m actually a witch, but I have a feeling that they will accept me, because they’re pretty weird themselves. And maybe weird is 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: 96 Percent\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1249\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who hates pranks and spends April Fools’ Day doing good deeds instead."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "“Y’know, if a guy thinks he’s bad even though he’s actually pretty good: he’s an idiot.” Reese took a gulp out of something in a brown paper bag. “But if a guy thinks he’s doing good, even though he’s actually chunking some other guy’s guts out: he’s a freaking vigilante!”\nHe took an A&W can out of the bag, crushed it against a wall, and threw it into a trash can across the hall. The can hit the rim and spinned about a million times before giving up, falling into the empty trash can with a metal clank of brown, syrupy splatter.\n“Ah, another John Brown quote. You should seriously be a poet someday, Peanut.” I finish sticking the medley of colored papers on the same wall Reese destroyed his root beer, stepping back in awe. A giant ribbon of pastel smiley-faces stretching across the main hall smiled back at me in mutual admiration.\nI would've liked to call it a day, but it was five in the morning and Mission Happy Day wasn't quite finished. The classrooms were newly polished and gleaming infatuating sparkles, and packets of ungraded tests, tardy slips and wads of gum mysteriously missing too. Some people were going to bring eggs later today. But with all the nice notes Reese and I wrote on every desk and whiteboard, I’m hoping they won’t throw them at anyone. All I need now is a chair that won't use gravity against me...\n“Wanna guess which guy you are?” Reese grumbles, breaking my train of thought with his psycho-telepathy thing as he got up from the floor to grab a chair lurking in an open classroom nearby.\nIt takes a while for me to regain my thoughts, but I’m not rude enough to say nothing, so I word together something else. “Not a Peanut, that's for sure.”\n“Would you shut up about the Peanut crap!” Reese yells back through the carbohydrate-induced air of over fifty stacks of pizza lounging in the cafeteria as he returns with a plastic chair nearing its death.\n“But it’s a good idea!” I counter after watching Reese’s face turn into a look of unamusement when the jellyfish streamers were pulled out of my sweater pocket by a limb that looked suspiciously like my left hand. “I’m only 95 percent done, though.”\n“What is it with you and math?” He hit me on the shoulder, runaway root beer fleeing to my neck.\n“What is it with you and not knowing?” I hit him back, making sure it was after I wiped my hand down the entirety of my neck. He stared at me with daring pupils that only said one thing: my fist is coming.\nWe could’ve fought--bloody spit escaping with every punch of the knuckles and jab of the elbow while we shouted unintelligible profanities at each other’s self-esteem on two wobbly legs--but we could’ve done that any day. And this was a special day. April 1st, the hereinafter day of happy, unpredictable events. Well, if you call deliberately messing with locks and stealing your little sister’s glitter stash a good idea.\n “Anyways Peanut,” I broke the silence into a well enough rejoicement. “I still need to attach 5 percent of the plan onto the ceiling over there if you don’t mind.” I take the chair leaning against a giant penguin plushie and walk into the center of the main entrance.\nReese leaned back against the wall and checked his watch, waiting for me to risk my life on the poor excuse for a plastic chair. “Y’know if a guy thinks he’s tall even if he’s not: at least he has aspirations. But if a guy knows he’s tall and he’s right: at the very least he could get on the damn chair and help out his short friend.”\n“So you wanna get on the chair?” I perk an eyebrow to myself.\nHe looked at me totter from side to side, using my arms and little acrobatic ability to balance in the middle of the freezing hallway. The top of the ceiling sloped into a glass dome overlooking the nonexistent bright skies, only making it that much harder to attach anything on it.\n“Nah. I was just saying,” Reese laughed as I tottered wildly with my hands and streamers over my head like a confused child realizing the meaning of regret.\n“Oh, yeah, that’s right. I’ve never seen a peanut butter Reese’s cup have any fun, now have I?” I said while using a curved wire to slide each streamer through tiny hooks on the dome windows, giving me only 20 percent of my mind to think about what I was saying.\nReese took a discarded broom from outside the janitor’s closet to either hit or help me. “If your name was also a popular brand, I’d sure as hell make fun of it right now.” He poked at the chair’s legs before giving it to me and my sore stomach.\n“Hey, can you get the can out of the trash can; I need a hundred percent of the stuff in here to be empty for the sweet janitors,” I ask after successfully getting a couple neon green streamers through the bent hooks.\nHe looked stubborn. “It’s one non-alcoholic can!”\nI coughed, getting him to groan semi-dramatically from his adamant laziness.\n“Why do ya do this, McDermott?”\n“Do what?” I acted as curious of my behavior as I could as another orange streamer made its way through the sixth hook, resting elegantly just over the head of our school mascot, Ryan the Lion.\n“I mean, who pulls orange peels and tennis balls out of a toilet just for the hell of it?”\n“Hey, in my defense, I did not expect to find a tennis ball lodged down a toilet forty meters from the nearest gym. And who the hell just follows Mario McDermott because he said he had this great idea from three months ago?”\n“Look,” he whinged. “All I needed was to do something stupid for a change, okay? Besides, you’re a friend, and nobody’s gonna thank you for replacing whoopie cushions with a poster of Winnie the Pooh being a honey-lover.”\n“But they’ll notice it,” I sing-song.\nHe stops looking at me and stares out of the glass doors, ending the argument with a loud silence. His pupils become dilated like that time his dad came to drag him out of a sleepover for forgetting to bring his Nytone alarm in the second grade.\n“I just want the ordinary people to smile,” I try to explain my point some more. “I don’t care if they want to think it's magic or fairies or something descending from the Great Divine, but at least I’ll know I'm responsible for a fraction of the happiness in the world. A fraction of the people smiling to themselves because something different finally happened.”\nHis eyes widen as he looks back at me. “That was a great speech, McDermott, but the dean just parked her car outside.”\nI look outside to see an infamous pair of black heels step out of a white Volkswagen. “Okay, just let me finish this off.” I start to maneuver the wire faster with only 4 percent of the mission to go.\n“There’s no time; get out!” He pushed me off the chair and ran away, sneakers skidding across the hallway in fear. “Even vigilantes hafta get in trouble sometime!” his sneakers squealed.\n“But I’m only 96 percent done!” I run away."
}
]
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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: Whispers of the Past\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1726\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about somebody who likes to work in silence."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "I used to achieve top marks in my class before coming to this university. Now, no one is perfect, but I might have been. Nearly perfect SAT scores, a GPA that was technically higher than a 4.0 and honors opportunities left and right. I likely could have applied to Ivy League schools and got in. Thinking back, I should have applied just to see if I could.\nBut I didn’t. I knew I wanted to come here. There was something that drew me to the old buildings. Something that pulled me towards lifetimes of history and knowledge. I didn’t feel the need to compete against other students at any prestigious location, I just wanted to enjoy academia for what it was.\nAnd I did just that. In the beginning, it went well. It went amazing, in fact. I had some of the highest grades in my classes, my exam scores flourished, and a few teachers even asked me to assist them in research projects.\nThen I began studying on the fourth floor of the library. It’s supposed to be restricted to grad students and faculty, but little me couldn’t resist the old books and grandiose ceilings. I'm unsure if the staff knew I was an underclassman or not, but my ability to keep quiet left my new schedule undisturbed by the rules. \nThings didn’t stay quiet for long, did they?\nI’m not sure when I heard the first one, but I remember not being the least bit frightened. It started off with the whispers under my breath being echoed back to me in a passing breeze. I found myself in rabbit holes of research, asking myself the most peculiar of questions. I began to hear calls towards the old books, whispering just the right page numbers to settle my curiosities. \nIt’s strange. The more I heard their coaxes, the more I came back. And soon I could hear their faint conversations. Ponderings, arguments, observations… Sometimes they would even be about me, and I’d keep a tight smile on my lips to not let them know I could hear. \nIt was her—the one the others rarely talked with—that realized it. For some reason, I could physically sense her presence better than the others. She would read over my shoulder, once asking a question about my psychology paper—something that must not have been familiar to her time.\nWithout thought, I wrote a small explanation on the edge of my notebook, and seconds later I heard a gasp that could easily be mistaken as the whistle of the wind. \nHolding in my smile was impossible as a feeling of elation burst into my chest. I couldn’t hear her excitement this time, but I could feel it. There was a magnetic pulsation that rippled through my body and I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from laughing. \nAs soon as she calmed down, I pressed a finger to my lips and continued my work, unable to wipe the grin. \nFor the next few weeks, she would trail behind me the second I entered the library and rest behind my right shoulder while I worked. Every once in a while she’d ask me questions about whatever I was working on, and similar to our first interaction, I would write the answer on the edge of my paper. It seemed an effective way to study.\nMy understanding of her presence became stronger with each day. I could feel were she was, whether she was sitting or standing, and by extension, I started to know where the others were as well.\nSome of them would walk past, stopping to observe what I was doing. I assumed that unlike me, they could see one another, as she—who I would later chose to refer to as Serendipity—would go quiet when the passed. It was like she wanted to keep my knowledge to herself. A little secret shared between the two of us. I liked it that way too.\nBut slowly the others began to realize just how much time she spent around me. They must have heard her ask me questions or see me write them down because some began to watch over my shoulder as well. Though I could tell she was distraught, she accepted this, saving her questions for times others weren’t there, but letting them stand next to her in observation. \nOn instance, I was writing a historical paper on Bayard Rustin with at least half a dozen of them gathered around me. They were having their conversations, and in their whispers I could not for the life of me focus. \nHe was punished for his-\nI couldn’t figure out what to write. Crimes didn’t seem right, neither did offenses or actions.\n“I think the word she’s looking for is transgressions”\nI—once again without though—nodded and wrote the word in.\nAnd then a cacophony of whispers began. Asking if I could hear them, asking how long and how come. I could feel the buzzing magnetic energy of more joining in to surround me. \nI sighed. This had not been my intention. \nTaking out a sheet of paper and pen among their babbles, I answered. Yes. a few months. I don’t know why.\nThen followed an eruption of questions.\n“Is interracial marriage legal now?”\n“What’s your field of study?”\n“Did anyone find the ending digit of pi?”\n“Did my painting ever become famous?”\nI wondered how long they’d had these questions. I wondered what my first question would be if I were dead and could talk to the living. I wondered so many things at that moment. Things that I realized were not things other people could learn of. Dozens of voices of knowledge were around me. And for whatever reason that the universe bestowed me to hear it, I was grateful. Just as they might have had ten questions each, I had a million more for them.\nOne at a time I wrote. …starting tomorrow.\n I needed to finish my paper, that was why I was in the library in the first place. \nThough disgruntled, they dispersed, and left the sole presence of the first I’d talked to in her wake. Serendipity let out a heavy sigh, but said nothing more.\nI couldn’t finish my paper though. It wasn’t that they were still bothering me, it was that my mind was swarming with curiosities. After a brief questioning of my insanity, I spiraled into the implications of having knowledge of people no longer among the living. I had no idea who the oldest one was, or how recently the youngest died, or why they had chosen this library to haunt.\nWell, perhaps they didn’t choose this library. Their spirits seemed tethered here. They had no clue about the outside world, otherwise they wouldn’t need to ask me anything. Their existence was limited to the stacks of academic books and buzz of old fluorescent lamps. \nBut I knew about the outside world. I had access to the world wide web while they had access to the memories and essence of the past. \nThis could be an equally beneficial relationship…\nAs promised, I started talking to individual spirits the next day. They’d ask their questions and I would write and answer if I knew it and look it up if I didn’t. In turn I would ask them whatever questions popped into my head when talking with them.\nSome of these questions might have been invasive in a way, which would anger them or cause them to leave. I laughed these moments off in reflection of the hypocrisy. Serendipity would simply comfort me after and tell me her alternative answer to the question.\nSoon I bought a little journal to write my findings in. I made my way through each of them. Writing down their names and occupations. Their birth years and dates of death. Their ponderings and personalities. None of the names were familiar to me, so when they asked me to look them up on my computer, I obliged. \nMost of the time, their common eurocentric names would show up as people who were currently still alive, and on rare occasions there would be a book by them or a wikipedia article they could read.\nThe few times I tried to study in the library after that I was met with watching eyes, and unsolicited commentary on my work. While I was annoyed with this, I still went back. Everyday I spent less and less time on my academia and more and more on research into these souls who rarely got to share their stories.\nThere was once where I had a history project on the behavior of working class versus middle class individuals in the Gilded Age. My mind instantly went to two individuals, Hector and Johnathon, who had shared with me previously statements that I believed categorized them as such respectfully. I spent five hours interviewing each, taking as much notes as they would let me on their experiences in life. On their hopes and dreams, their failure and achievements. \nI wrote my paper in accordance, turning it in as likely the most historically accurate paper that teacher had ever seen.\nBut that was the issue. I couldn’t very well credit the voices in the library as my main source.\nSo I failed.\nAnd I failed more and more papers and assignments as my time was consumed by the whispers of the past.\nWhen the university found out that I was spending time on the fourth floor without achieving top marks, they restricted it again. They assumed I was wasting resources set for grad students and faculty.\nI was locked out. My grades were crumbling, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was forced to either get my grades up or drop out.\nI chose to try, but my interest was no longer in the world of education. What used to be the greatest of scores became the average, and both of the things that made me special had been ripped away from me\nAnd now I walk past that library everyday, wondering if they know what’s happened to me. Wondering if they still wait for me to enter the fourth floor with my journal and computer.\nBut I may never hear those faint voices again. I may not see the library ever again after this May."
}
]
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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: Vigil\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1266\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about somebody who likes to work in silence."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Candlelight gleams on the wooden rafters overhead as the chanting of The Exsultet fills the darkened church. Then the voices of the choir swell in multiple responsorial Psalms, and readings are intoned as flames flicker atop the white wax tapers the congregation hold in their hands. \n\nA quiet thrill goes through me as I listen to the first chapter of the book of Genesis - “And the earth was void and empty, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the spirit of God moved over the waters.” \nThough I can hardly see it in the sepulchral shadows, I glance to my right, at the stained-glass window depicting The Descent of the Holy Ghost:\nFire pours like water from the haloed and cloud-encircled dove in the top left corner, while individual red flames dance above the heads of Mary and the Apostles. \nLooking at the yellow flame dancing above the candle I hold, my eyes are dazzled. I think of the light that must have been seen in the dark before dawn, over 2,000 years ago, in the garden belonging to Joseph of Arimathea . . . \n\n\nSpreading my wings, I drop from the branch I am standing on, and fly. Taking leave of the tree where I have slept through the day, I sweep over the ground, head tilting this way and that, listening for small creatures moving in the grass and shrubs. \nSomething rustles, and I pounce; the vole barely has time to look up between my talons puncturing its sides and my beak severing its spinal column. The last thing it sees in this world are the two black eyes staring out of my white face. \n\nAs I carry the now-dead vole to a more sheltered place, my worries are somewhat reassured. Prey was difficult to find yestreen, though I was not much inclined to hunt for it. And the evening before that, nothing moved. The very Sun despaired. \n\nPerching close to the tree’s trunk, the surrounding foliage gives me some privacy. Wings flared, I hunch over my meal, swallowing it whole and head first. Then I take to the air again, searching for the next unwary morsel.\n\n<><><>\n\nEven now, in search of a quiet place in which to eat my third vole of the night, I am haunted by the memory of what happened the evening before last. \nEven now, my heart is darkened. \nEven now, I eat, not because I desire to prolong my life, but because I have been given a Command: to abide, and to multiply, as all living things have been Commanded. \nEven now, I wonder why I continue to breathe and hunt, when the One who breathed Life no longer walks this earth or draws breath.\n\nAgain I perch, hunch, swallow. \nBefore I can take off, the ground shudders, swaying the tree in which I stand. Shouts reach my ears. Men in the garden, at this hour? Curious, hunger satiated, I drop from my place in search of the din. \n\nSoaring over the garden, I realize my night’s hunting has brought me to the massive rock, one in which Men have hewn cavities. Circling it, I once more tip my head this way and that, listening.\nMany small creatures are scurrying about on the ground, disturbed by the earth tremor, but they no longer interest me; I am searching for the unseen Men. \n\nFinally, on the Eastern side of the rock, I find them. Three Men, standing outside the largest of the cavities, which has been covered with a large, round stone. The light from their lanterns causes my widened pupils to contract. \nThey do not hear my passing; my flight is silent. The night-breeze stirs more than I. \nThey do not notice me as I float up into a nearby tree, feathers stretched to capture the air.\nThey do not see me as I fold my wide wings against my body, hiding the white undersides, and settle in to watch them. \n\nSoon, four more Men arrive, carrying something with them, one of many things of Men which I do not understand. I waste no thought trying to decipher it.\nThe Men speak excitedly to each other for a bit - all but one. He stands alone, brow furrowed, deep in thought. \nEventually, the other six quiet, and take it in turns to sleep, three by three. Morningtide approaches, the night gloom giving way to the first blush of dawn. During the cold damp before sunrise, I ruffle my feathers, trapping pockets of warmth as I begin to doze. In the half-light, spiderwebs materialize, beaded with dew. The grass, the trees, the stone, everything appears a pale gray color, gaining more and more clarity as the light grows. \nThe first dazzling rays of the Sun stream over the horizon and strike the rock face.\n\nA n d\nt h e\ne a r t h\nc o n v u l s e s. \n\nThe tree rocks beneath me. \nBirds sing exultantly.\nSteam rises in the wash of warmth.\nFlowers release their perfumes lavishly, sweet scents infusing the air.\nDewdrops become scintillating jewels. \nBut none of this compares to the coruscating radiance blazing from the rock cavity, as the stone which has been covering it is lifted and placed aside. \nThe metal door within the cavity is open. \nA Minister of fiery flame perches atop the round stone.\nIs this what the Men are here for?\n\nIf so, they are missing it. The six have fallen to the ground, becoming as dead Men. \nThe one who held himself apart hesitantly advances toward the cavity, enters, and coming out, closes the metal door. Looking about, he seems to be searching for someone, but seeing nothing, he goes off in the direction of the city.\n\nA woman arrives, her veil askew, revealing disheveled hair. Drawing back a moment upon seeing the six, she enters the cavity, and, emerging distraught, hurriedly pursues the same course to the city.\n\nA man appears, robed in white, standing under a palm tree, a large hat on his head and a spade in his hand. I feel drawn to him. Sidling to the end of the branch, so as to see him better, my heart begins to drum. Could it be?\n\nHe looks at me. Laughs. Beckons. \nIt is. It is Him.\n\nDiving from my perch, I hurtle towards Him, shreeing with joy. He lifts His arm, and I alight, the Sun illuminating my tawny plumage bespeckled with black. He lifts His other arm, and with hardly a stir in the air, another Barn Owl, an exquisite female, settles on it. A mate for me. \n\nAll things are made new.\n\n\nAfter the Mass ends, I stand in the vestibule with my Father, waiting for my Mother and siblings to come down from the choir loft. People converse in hushed tones about how beautiful the Vigil was by candlelight. Some laugh, remembering the moment during The Exsultet when the cantor stopped chanting. No one was sure what had happened, until the Deacon's mic caught his whispered exclamation of “It’s dead!” Then everyone knew the cantor had not suffered a heart attack. The battery in his flashlight had died. \nAs I ponder the evening's events, a hope for quiet begins to push other thoughts aside.\nIt can be challenging to write in a house overflowing with family noise.\n\n\nTo write this story, I used imagery from The Dolorous Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ, by Anne Catherine Emmerich, which director Mel Gibson used to make his acclaimed movie The Passion of the Christ."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: THE RED POND\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1057\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in the woods or on a campground."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "RETURN TO SHILOH \n 1,057 words\n The pond haunts my sleep these past twenty-five years. Fellow veterans on the Chicago Fire Department want to go back. They still talk about the battle, and now our GAR Post is organizing a train trip. Civilization must have caught up, for no train ran to Pittsburg Landing back then. \n I know the war is the most important part of our lives. We look after one another’s families. We try to look out for each other at a bad fire. The war is like an over bearing parent, pointing us in this direction and that and not to be disobeyed. Yet, what I witnessed at the pond makes me feel that no country is worth dying for. Sure, we were dumb kids, eager for a fight, eager to prove ourselves and save the best government that was ever inaugurated. Then, the boys in blue went on to exterminate the Indian tribes, automatic weapons against sticks and stones. Three hundred women and children murdered at Wounded Knee, alone.\nWhy do such matters bother me? I do not even go to church, which has put a strain on my marriage these many years. To not go on this trip might be the final straw. She beat the drums of war loudly back in sixty-one, eager to send young men off to die, me among them. I thought I was in love, so I enlisted to please her. War has a long history of such foolishness. She is very proud of my useless arm and does not even hesitate to talk about it to strangers. Therefore, I played the coward again, and signed up for the train trip\nOur regiment had arrived by steamboat that April 6 to find a very dire situation. The army suffered a terrible defeat and now lay trapped with its back against the Tennessee River. The enemy expected to drive it into the water, except we appeared in cold mist and rain as darkness set in, fifteen thousand of us eager for vengeance. That is how close a call it was. We saved the blundering commander’s hide, but he went on to be president, a very bad one.\nNext day proved the severest battle fought in the west during the war surpassing even Vicksburg. We fought in General Nelson’s Division and did not get much sleep as he unloaded my regiment at midnight and sent us to take up positions on the ground for the fight in the morning. We went into the attack determined not to take a backward step.\n My regiment had never been in battle before, but proved well trained at Camp Douglas in Chicago, very skilled in loading and firing our new Springfields. We were on the extreme left of the battle line, and fighting became general by daybreak. Nowhere did the battle rage fiercer than in front of Nelson, as we attacked two enemy divisions and turned their right flank. It was like shooting crows in a tree. I fired and reloaded every 20 seconds and never missed seeing my target go down. Suddenly, I felt a terrible blow to my right shoulder that knocked me down. I had taken a Minnie ball that paralyzed my right arm.\n Like all wounded soldiers, I craved water and crawled away to see if I could find a filled canteen. We had no field hospitals, no ambulance corps. Wounded died where they lay, but this is not the memory that haunts me. I left our firing line for some deep woods where I heard loud screams and moaning. Soon I came in view of a pond, about 50 yards long and 100 yards wide. Many wounded soldiers lay half in and half out of the water. Enemy soldiers and our soldiers bathing bloody faces and bodies together, all animosity lost among our mutual sufferings. Many thrashed around in the water, while a deafening moan covered the scene like a dense fog. Meanwhile, the pond began turning red.\n I stripped off my jacket and shirt to pour water on the wound. I had been struck in the upper right arm, causing agonizing pain. Finally, some comrades came along and hauled me away while the battle still raged. The last I saw the pond had turned red. \n They loaded me aboard a hospital boat, but the field hospital at Pittsburg Landing had no skilled surgeons, so I ended on another boat that took me to Armory Square Hospital in Washington. I remained seven months and received my discharge plus twenty dollars per month under the 1862 Pension Act for loss of use of a limb. The Chicago Fire Department hired me as clerk, and now twenty-five years later I am going back, reluctantly. How right I was! Another horror awaited me there, an even worse one than twenty-five years ago. \n Thirty of us slept in a new hotel at Pittsburg Landing that stood on the exact spot the field hospital once did. A boat took us down river to the battlefield, only it looked more like a National Cemetery, with grave markers stretching away to far horizons. We tried to find the graves of some comrades who died that day, but the avenues of death carried no signs.\n We did find a monument where we fought that morning April 7, and the boys wanted to visit the pond only two hundred yards away. I saw the water was red as I neared. How could this be after twenty-five years of rain, snow, and drainage? I kneeled down in the same spot I did twenty-five years ago and put my left hand in the pond. It came out the same as when I bathed my wound. I slowly raised my hand to my face and tasted it. An overpowering sweetness drove me back in horror.\n “It is blood! I screamed to my comrades. “Stand back! It is blood! Not\nWater! Blood!”\n I remember dimly my comrades carrying me back to the hotel, where a doctor said I had suffered a nervous breakdown, and injected me with morphine. Now, I just rock on my front porch, living on my pensions. Addicted to morphine. Now I know what the red pond is waiting for. It wants all of us to come back, all who bled into it. Then, it will turn green again."
}
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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: A Change in Pluto\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1553\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who’s spent a whole year planning a big prank, and now they’re finally ready to pull it off."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "It was a staggering spring day at school when Pluto decided to pull the spill-chocolate-milk-on-the-geeky kids-head game. I was the geeky kid. I was advised to communicate my sentiments to her because if I revealed to her how I felt and attempted to ask her to stop, there was a possibility she would. This idea swirled around my head and struck me in the gut when giggling was the only sound I could hear. \n\"Look, everybody! David is soaked in chocolate milk!\" \nGoodness, I can't help thinking about how that occurred… Her intelligence was so far up in the clouds she would have to fly a rocket to discover her brain. \nI couldn't help grinning as I envisioned her confused expression as she restlessly attempted to find it. \n\"What? why are you laughing! You should be weeping and running out of the cafeteria like a baby!\" \n\"Is that what you want me to do?\" I inquired. \n\"well, I-\" \nThe room grew still as the children anticipated Pluto's answer. I got up disregarding the milk trickling from my shirt and adjusted my glasses. \n\"You know what Pluto, I am tired of being treated like a toy that you can push around all day. While you were busy pouring drinks on my head, I spent the whole year thinking about April.\" \n\"Who's April?\" Pluto asked. \n\"Not who, April is a month.\" \nlaughter filled the room again. \n\"What point are you trying to get across?\" Pluto questioned. \n\"April initially is April fools, which means you better prepare yourself. You will have more to complain to your friends about than simply terrible teachers who give you awful grades.\" \nThe kids in the room were interested and were cautiously tuning in. \n\"Is this your method of getting me to quit tormenting you?\" \n\"Tormenting? Do you call this tormenting? I call this an immature lady who is desperate for attention.\" \nShe stomps her foot out of resentment and throws her hair back. \n\"Bring it on loser.\"\nShe leaves the cafeteria with her clan of friends, and the kids return to their past discussions. I was going to show Pluto how it feels to be me for a change. It's time she lives a day in my shoes, or she is never going to learn. \nTHE NEXT MORNING: PLUTO'S HOUSE \nPluto awakens with the sun sparkling straightforwardly in her sensitive blue eyes. She convinces herself that she forgot to close the shades before she hit the hay. With a horrendous yawn followed by a stretch, she gets up and begins her day with some espresso in her hand, her other on the handle to the house. \n\"Bye Mom, I'm going to school!\" \n\"See you later!\" Her mother shouts back. \nAt the point when she opens the door she nearly shouts and drops her glass mug on the floor. \n\"Good Morning Pluto!\" I said swinging my keys around my fingers. Try not to stress over the espresso, I'll get you another one.\" \n\"What the heck David! Go away from my house!\" \n\"Sorry honey, however, you already missed your bus, you would prefer not to be late isn't that right?\" \n\"I can't be seen with you! You're a freak!\" \n\"Don't worry, I will make sure no one sees us, alright?\" \nShe enters my car, however, stays quiet. \n\"Here is another espresso, coincidentally, I figured you may need one.\" \nShe yanks it from my hand and takes 3 large gulps, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and rubs it on my shirt. \n\"I think we can use some air,\" I said. \nI roll down the window and let the air toss her hair around until it would appear that she just got out of bed. \n\"Close the goddamn window numbskull!\" \n\"I'm sorry I can't hear you!\" \n\"UGHHHHH\" \nI close the window again and can't help myself from smiling. \n\"I'm done, pull over!\" \n\"For what reason would I do that when we're here?\" \nI open the door revealing Pluto and her untidy hair and whirl the keys around my fingers again. Her friends hurry to her and laugh when they see me in the driver's seat. \n\"Well, what do we have here, this is fascinating!\" One of them says. \n\"Quiet down! Let's go to the restroom and let me switch into my tank top and fix my hair please!\" \n\"You sure you would prefer not to go with DAVVVVIDDDD\" \n\"We won't ever discuss this again!\" \nShe latches onto the backpack that I packed for her and she vanishes from my sight. It was now an ideal opportunity for my next trick. My friend Lily met me in my vehicle, and I advised her to go to the restroom with them and report back to me. She gestures her head and follows them. \n\"AHHHHHHH!\" Pluto shouts. \n\"WHAT IS IT, GIRL?! \n\"SOMEBODY CHANGED ALL MY CLOTHES FOR UGLY SWEATERS THAT RATTLE WHEN YOU MOVE!\" \nLucy chuckles and quickly stares down when she is met with a deadly glare. \n\"Were you responsible for this!\" \n\"No, only here to watch the show.\" \n\"Get out.\" \n\"Alright.\" \nLucy runs out of the bathroom and cries in laughter, and I walk with her to our next period class. \n\"Okay everybody, kindly put your telephones up in the front of the room. If your phone isn't up there when I check them toward the end of class, I will contact your mom and you will help the janitors after school, is that Understood?\" \n\"Yes, Mrs. Perry.\" We all say without a moment's delay. \nThe class gets up to do what was told, and we sit down with our heads faced forward. \n\"Molly, do you know where Pluto is?\" \n\"She will be here in a moment, Mrs. Perry.\" \nThe door opens with a creak, and everyone's eyes are presently on Pluto. Mrs. Perry is disturbed. Pluto is wearing the ugly, loud sweater with flashing lights, and her hair looks as though she was electrocuted. \n\"Put your phone upfront and sit down, please. Try not to be late for my class again.\"\nShe pulls the object from her pocket and wobbles unsteadily to her seat. \n\"Pluto, have you had any drinks since the last time I saw you?\" \n\"What? No. Just had an unpleasant morning.\" \n\"See me after lunch for an alcohol test.\" \nAfter a long period of learning mathematics, we were allowed to retrieve our phones. The teacher slapped Pluto's wrist and Pluto jolted back. \n\"What did you do that for?\" \n\"Does this look like a phone to you?\" \nShe held up a TI-84 calculator and the class burst into laughter. \n\"WHAT A NERD!\" A child in the back hollers. \n\"Where is your phone, Pluto.\" \n\"I don't know!\" \n\"look in your backpack for me.\" \nAs though I pulled some sort of magic trick, Pluto pulls her phone from inside the backpack and places it in Mrs. Perry's hands. \n\"Call your mom.\" Mrs. Perry says. \n\"At this moment? I can't!\" Pluto hollers. \n\"Do it.\" \nShe calls her mom's number, and Mrs. Perry projects her mom's face on the smartboard. \n\"Hello mother,\" Pluto says. \n\"OMG LOOK! I CAN SEE YOUR ENTIRE CLASS! HELLO, THERE EVERYONE OMG IT'S TAKING ME BACK FROM WHEN I WAS IN SCHOOL! OMG, YOU GUYS! ARE YOU EXCITED FOR PROM!!!\" \n\"MOTHER! YOUR FACE IS SO CLOSE TO THE CAMERA IF SOMETHING WERE TO POP OUT OF YOUR COMPUTER IT WOULD HIT YOU IN THE FACE!\" \n\"Be nice to your mom Pluto!\" Mrs. Perry said. \n\"THANKS SO MUCH, PLUTO FOR THIS TREAT! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ANGEL FACE.\" \n\"We have called you to tell you that she will remain after school to help the janitors since she wasn't behaving in school today.\" Mrs. Perry says. \n\"Goodness, I see. I will talk with you when you return home. Pluto dear, that's an ugly sweater you have on.\" \n\"But mother!\" \n\"You're grounded. No phone when you come home, no friends over, no nothing!\" \nHer mom hangs up the phone and we gaze at Pluto peacefully. Pluto was miserable and having the most disastrous day of her life. \n\"I can't even say I want to go home now,\" Pluto says. \nWe all go to the cafeteria and I am at last ready to unwind and converse with my friends. Lucy meets me and gives me a high five, and we talk without getting interrupted. I glance over to Pluto who is sitting alone because her friends no longer thought she was cool. The sight left a tear rolling down my eye, and I decided I should walk over to her. \n\"Hello Pluto, I am sorry for what I did today. I shouldn't have acted like such a jerk. Maybe I went too far.\" \n\"YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! I DON'T EVEN HAVE FRIENDS TO TALK TO ANYMORE!\" \n\"I can be your friend,\" I said. \n\"Really? After all that I did to you, after the way I treated you?\" \n\"Two wrongs don't make a right, and we learn from our mistakes right?\" \n\"I guess.\" \n\"Come on, bring it in.\" \nShe goes in for a hug and before she can wrap her arms around me, I pour a huge glass of chocolate milk down her head. \n\"APRIL FOOLS!\" \nThe entire cafeteria burst in laughter, however, they are no longer laughing at me. I suddenly feel relieved that I will, at last, be left alone."
}
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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: Schools Out\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1064\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who’s spent a whole year planning a big prank, and now they’re finally ready to pull it off."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "April Fool's Day is my favourite day of the year because you can do naughty things and not get into very much trouble. For example, last year I decided to put frogs in my teacher’s pigeon hole. Oh boy she screamed but all she said was, “Daniel you are not going to be on the good money today no matter what you do.” \nThis being my final year before I went of to college. I put a lot of thought into April Fool's Day and along with my best friend Jason decided that as it was there last year they both wanted to make an impact, something that would be talked about, something that was remembered. We both had said that it will be probably our last together as both Jason and I would be going to separate colleges once we’ve left. That being said it wasn’t until May when we both started to think about what to do for April next year and in the end both myself and Jason came up with the idea pulling off 3 pranks, 2 of them smallish before finishing big on April 1st. \nSo over the summer we kept in touch with each other, started brainstorming ideas on what to do and after much deliberation we both came up with their top 3 pranks. The first prank took place over Halloween which involved Mr Jackson our history teacher. He was given a lecture on the history about different games that were played over Halloween one of them being apple bobbling. After a brief history Mr Jackson then reviled a basket which was full of apples but he said sitting at the bottom was a few caramelised apples and the challenge was to try and see if you can grab one of the caramel apples. Unfortunately what he didn’t know was that we had found out what he had planned and managed to switched a few apples exchanging them for caramelised onions. So as Mr Jackson went to demonstrate on how it was meant to be done taking a massive bite only to bite into an onion instead of an apple. Nee to say he was not best pleased.\nWe waited a month or so till the heat went down before putting our next prank into action. Our next target happened to be Miss Garcia who taught computer science. We both snuck into the computer lab and the plan was to switch the letters M and N around on her keyboard. It wasn’t till a few letters starting going out that she realised something had happened but by then the damage had been done. After the holidays we started working on our final prank “ The Big One”and after careful though and both of us thinking should we do this? Before finally agreeing that if you’re going to go out, go out in style. On the morning of April Fool's Day we decided to put Bi-Carb soda and vinegar in the teacher’s toilet Jason had a box of Bi-Carb soda and I had a bottle of vinegar. We both crept sneakily into the toilets and then we simultaneously tipped the goods into the toilet. We were praying to God that we would not get caught. During the recess break, on the way back from the canteen, Jason and I saw our teacher go into the staff room toilet and waited. Foam, white smoke going everywhere! White water going down the steps like a wild rapid. It was huge. We were stoked. \nJason and I just kept high-fiving each other and saying, “Good job mate.” When we got to class - BUSTED!!! We said, “It was just a joke for April Fool's Day Miss,\" but she wouldn’t listen. We had to go straight to the principal's office. Alright, it was just a joke. Why does everyone get so upset? “I’m ringing your parents,\" said the principal. This joke has gone too far.” “Oh no,” we said. “Pleeease, our dads will kill us.” “Yes,” said the principal. “You boys deserve it. I’m going to tell your fathers that you’re the worst boys in the school.” Jason and I looked at each other. Minds in sync, we knew our lives were over. No more fishing, no more hunting, football, soccer, cricket. No more anything that makes a boy’s life fun. We went back to class. I did forty five pages of Maths. I wrote two poems. I thought about all the jobs I could do for Dad. I felt sick. The bell rang. “Good bye mate,” I said to Jason. “I hope I see you again.” We hugged each other and I picked up my bag and walked slowly to the gate took a deep breath waited for my mom to pick me up then opened the door not saying a word. \n“Hi darling,” said Mum. “Did you have a good day?” My annoying little brother laughed. I gave him the death stare but kept quiet. After what seemed the longest drive ever we finally got home and even when Dad got home from the office he said nothing. Time seemed to just stop or move slowly so I just decided to keep my head down but every time my dad looked at me all I could think of about was “Is this it, is this the moment I get what I deserve”. I did all the jobs, I did my home work and even heard my little brother read. I asked Mum if there was anything I could do for her. I made an excuse and went to bed early. It was difficult to sleep because I was so worried why Dad had said nothing. \nNext morning I got up, got dressed, made breakfast, made lunch, packed my bag and read a book while I waited for my mom to drop me off at school again it felt like the longest ride of my life and to make matters worse just before I got out the car my mom said there would be a family meeting that night. All I could think about was this was it.\nWhen we got to school there was the principal grinning evilly. “Did you have a nice night boys?” she asked sweetly. Jason and I just looked at each other, our minds in sync.\nThey had not called our parents \nApril Fools on us!!!"
}
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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: Past Life\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2989\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that includes one character reading aloud to another."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "(Authors note: Remember, Nazis were terrible people. Sadly, there probably weren't any Nazis back then like Johann. Enjoy.)\nI am an old man, and I sat in my rocking chair as I cleaned the lenses of my glasses. My grandson sat on the rug.\n\"Grandpa Gregor, tell me a story. One with a villain. One with an army. One with a happy ending!\" My grandson said.\nI stopped cleaning my lenses and smiled.\n\"I will tell you a story, and in fact, it's true. There is a villain, several armies. But it depends on the person if you're asking for a happy ending.\" I said. \n\"What's true? Is it real?\" My grandson asked.\nMy smile turned into a slight frown.\n\"It's real. I wish it weren't, though. Daniel, I'm about to tell you a story about me. If it weren't for a man, I wouldn't be sitting here.\" I said.\nDaniel started getting comfortable on the rug. \nThe story took place in France in 1941. I was an American man put in the French army to deal with Germany. The tragic event of Pearl Harbor recently happened at the time. I had to patrol Notre Dame with two other soldiers. I tried my best to follow the rules and tiredly walked in a circle around the cathedral. The other two guards were named Darren and Brock. Darren walked up to me. I found them to be idiots.\n\"When I get home, I will go hunt a moose; it'll roast on the fire, my wife will be there, and we'll have a great time. I'm going to be a war hero!\" Darren said.\n\"There's a reason we're patrolling a cathedral,\" Brock said while rolling his eyes.\n\"I doubt it! They're saving the big guns for later.\" Darren said.\n\"I'm assuming you're proposing that we're the big guns,\" I said.\nDarren nodded with a smirk. We heard propelling noises. I stayed silent and hid behind a nearby bush. Darren and Brock followed me and hid behind it. There was a giant airship in the sky. It was green, and it landed right in front of Paris. A man walked out of the airship. He had a black outfit on with a black hat.\n\"Is that Hitler?\" Brock asked me.\n\"Yes, it is. We need to leave here and get to president Lebrun.\" I said.\n\"How do we get out of here?\" Darren asked.\n\"Follow me,\" I said.\nWe snuck out of the area, and more people in black suits slowly started purging out of the airship. The Nazis all had guns and knives. They were like ravenous wolves who slowly killed off rabbits one by one.\n\"Do they all speak German?\" Darren asked me.\n\"I'm assuming that not all of them are German. A few could be French or Spanish.\" I said. \nI made a quiet whistle, and they kept following me. Eventually, we were out of sight, and we ran. I heard a Nazi yell something in German, and I gasped. Five Nazis started chasing after us. \n\"Run!\" I yelled. \nWe all ran as fast as possible, but they had wolves' speed. We were close to a cliffside, and Darren had a bright idea. Darren pulled out his pistol and shot one of the Nazis in the leg. The Nazi fell to the ground. Darren grabbed a Nazi and threw him off the cliffside. Brock shot another Nazi and pushed him off the cliffside as well. The one Nazi on the ground struggled to get up. Another Nazi tried shooting me, but Brock kicked him, and he fell off the cliffside.\n\"Two more to go! See, we're some of the strongest soldiers!\" Darren said.\n\"You're right! We are strong!\" Brock said enthusiastically.\n\"Don't celebrate yet, fools,\" I said.\nThe Nazi on the ground still struggled to get up, but the other one had a gun in his hand and started walking toward us.\n\"Moinsen, junge.\" He said.\n\"We don't speak German, bastard!\" Brock growled.\n\"I assume you speak English then.\" The Nazi said.\n\"What? You're a German Nazi, and you speak English.\" I asked.\n\"I speak every Language there is to speak. The Nazi said. Calm down, boys. We want three things.\"\n\"What might those three things be?\" I asked.\n\"Geld, Energie und Juden.\" He said.\n\"I said we don't speak German, bastard!\" Brock retorted.\n\"Allow me to translate. Money, Power, and Jewes.\" He said.\n\"What is your name?\" I asked. \nThe Nazi smiled.\n\"Ubel. Ubel Fuchs.\" He said. \nUbel pulled out his gun and pointed it at us.\n\"Pleasure to meet you, boys,\" Ubel said.\nAll of a sudden, someone grabbed his back and pulled him back. It was the Nazi that Darren shot in the foot. The Nazi punched Ubel and knocked him out on the ground. \n\"Darren and Brock, run. I'll see you both soon, go.\" I said.\nDarren and Brock quickly nodded and started running. The Nazi stood up and kicked Ubel.\n\"I'm sorry about that. My name is Johann.\" The Nazi said.\n\"This is so stupid. Let me guess, you speak every Language.\" I said.\n\"I only speak English and a little German. Johann said. It's not important; you should go.\"\n\"Why did you save us?\" I asked.\n\"What we're doing isn't right. I'm tired of seeing people killed, and I had to save you guys.\" He said.\nAll of a sudden, a Nazi yelled at Johann.\n\"Johann, du hast ihn!\" The Nazi said in German.\n\"Damn it! They think I caught you.\" Johann said.\nThe Nazi ran over and put me in cuffs.\n\"Johann, steck ihn in die Zelle im Luftschiff. Er wird bald in die Gaskammer gehen!\" The Nazi said.\n\"Okay, listen. I have to put you in a cell, but I'll be there. I won't let them put you in the gas chamber. I'll break you out tonight.\" Johann whispered to me.\nThe German Nazi was an English-speaking Nazi as well.\n\"What happened to Ubel?\" The Nazi asked.\n\"Ubel was knocked out by some other guys who escaped. Just give him some rest; he'll be fine.\" Johann said.\n\"Oh, good.\" He said.\n\"We can put this man in the gas chamber in a couple of days. Okay, Tobias?\" Johann said.\n\"I'll tell everyone else, Johann,\" Tobias said.\nTobias picked up Ubel and brought him back to the airship. Johann led me into the airship. \n\"What's your name? \"Johann murmured to me.\n\"Gregor,\" I whispered back. \nJohann nodded and smiled. Two Nazis grabbed me and threw me into a cell. \n\"Johann, beobachte ihn.\" One Nazi said.\n\"Ja, werde ich.\" Johann said.\nBoth Nazis left the room, and Johann leaned on my cell. \n\"What did he say?\" I asked.\nJohann made a slight chuckle.\n\"He just told me to watch you. I'm not going anywhere.\" Johann said.\nMeanwhile, Ubel was in the infirmary inside the airship. Tobias sat on a chair by Ubel. He woke up after three hours, and it was night.\n\"Ubel! You're up!\" Tobias said happily.\nUbel had pure anger in his eyes.\n\"Shut it, you fool! I almost was sent to hell!\" Ubel said in anger.\nTobias stepped away.\n\"Calm down, Ubel. It's okay!\" Tobias said.\nUbel growled and stood up. He grabbed his black outfit and put on his hat.\n\"Where is Johann?\" Ubel asked Tobias.\n\"He's watching the soldier we captured,\" Tobias answered.\n\"YOU IDIOT!\" Ubel yelled.\nTobias started backing away in fear.\n\"Johann is the one who knocked me out! He is going to free the prisoner!\" Ubel snarled.\nTobias gasped.\n\"We need to get to the cells now. You're coming with me.\" Ubel said.\nUbel and Tobias started running to get to the cells.\nJohann took out a key in his pocket and unlocked the cell door.\n\"Follow me; stay close,\" Johann said. \nI nodded. We ran down the hall and saw Ubel and Tobias behind us.\n\"Where do you think you're going?\" Ubel said with a smile.\nJohann mouthed something to me, and I understood what he was saying. I slowly started backing away from the open window. I grabbed a rope hanging on a hook and quickly tied it to that hook.\n\"Oh, Ubel. I'm going somewhere, and I just don't know where. How exciting.\" Johann said.\nJohann snapped his fingers. He and I grabbed the rope and jumped out of the window. Ubel and Tobias gasped.\n\"Should I get a few Nazis?\" Tobias asked.\n\"Yes. Yes, you should.\" Ubel said slowly.\nTobias nodded.\n\"Wir brauchen zehn Nazis, um das Luftschiff zu verlassen, um einen entflohenen Soldaten und Verräter zu fangen!\" Tobias yelled.\nTen Nazis ran out of the airship to catch Johann, and I. Ubel and Tobias also ran out of the airship.\nAs Johann and I ran, I saw Darren and Brock.\n\"I told you both to run!\" I said in anger.\n\"We wouldn't leave you! We're here to save you!\" Darren said.\n\"This is Johann, and he's here to help,\" I said.\nI turned around and saw ten Nazis. They all had guns.\n\"Gregor, you need to trust me. You see that rickety bridge that goes onto the other side of the cliffside?\" Johann said.\nI nodded.\nJohann started running, and I followed him. \n\"Trust me, Gregor. After I jump, you jump.\" Johann said.\nJohann quickly cut off one of the ropes on the rickety bridge with his knife, and then he jumped off the bridge.\n\"JOHANN!\" I yelled. \nI knew I could trust him, so I jumped off the bridge. I started screaming, but I stopped after a split second. Johann was on a ledge on the cliffside that we could walk on. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up.\n\"I'm alive! You're alive!\" I said in awe.\nJohann smiled.\n\"What about Darren and Brock?\" I asked.\n\"Hopefully they can escape. I don't know.\" Johann said.\nThe ten Nazis put cuffs on Darren and Brock. \n\"Listen, soldiers. We will kill you unless you do one thing.\" Ubel said.\nDarren and Brock were listening.\n\"Tell us where Johann and the soldier are going.\" He said.\nDarren and Brock gasped.\n\"We don't know!\" Brock said.\nUbel smiled.\n\"I saw Johann whisper into your ear the location. Tell me now.\" Ubel said.\nDarren and Brock's faces turned red.\n\"If we tell you, you'll let us go?\" Darren asked. \nUbel nodded with a smile.\n\"Johann and Gregor are headed to the president, taking a shortcut through the cliffside,\" Brock said. \n\"Thank you, boys,\" Ubel said.\nDarren and Brock stared at each other. Sweat poured down their heads.\nUbel and the Nazis started walking away.\n\"Aren't you going to let us go?\" Darren asked.\n\"Oh, I forgot about you two,\" Ubel said.\nUbel grabbed his gun and shot them both in the head. Their dead bodies lay on the ground.\n\"Wasn't that a little too gruesome?\" Tobias asked him.\n\"Do you want to be next?\" Ubel said in anger.\nTobias shook his head.\n\"Fetch my horse,\" Ubel said.\nTobias nodded and got his horse.\n\"Listen, men. Tobias and I will hunt down the traitor and the soldier. We'll come back with their bodies!\" Ubel yelled.\nThe Nazis didn't quite understand the English, but they nodded. \n\"Für Deutschland! Für Hitler! Für die Macht!\" He yelled.\n\"Für Deutschland! Für Hitler! Für die Macht!\" The Nazis yelled back.\nUbel made an evil smile.\n\"Tobias, get on the horse. You're coming with me.\" Ubel said.\nTobias nodded and got on the horse.\nThe horse galloped to the other side of the cliffside by going around it rather than through it.\nMeanwhile, Johann and I were taking a rest.\n\"Johann, I need to know. Why can you speak English?\" I asked.\nJohann frowned, and a few tears came down his eyes.\n\"I was born in America. I lived with my mother and father. They truly were the best. I was only a child at the time. One day a man walked up to us. He had a gun, and he asked us for our money. We couldn't give him any money since we needed it. The man killed them. I nearly was killed as well, but a man saved me. His name was Leon. He was a German man, and he took me in. We went to Germany. He taught me how to speak some German. One day he and I were both chosen to be Nazis. Neither of us wanted to be Nazis, and we were forced into it. Leon eventually was killed on the battlefield. Ever since I've been on my own.\" Johann explained.\n\"I'm so sorry, Johann. You're not on your own anymore, though.\" I said.\nI hugged Johann, and he hugged me back.\n\"Thanks, Gregor. We should get going.\" He said.\nI agreed, and Johann used the rope to get to a shortcut. We climbed down the rope, and we made it to the ledge. There was another slightly lower ledge. It led to a cave that curved around the cliffside, which could get them to the president. Oddly enough, the cave was very light, and it had lit torches hung on the wall.\n\"Something's off about this cave. It's almost as if people live here.\" I said.\n\"I agree. There must be people here.\" Johann said.\nRandomly, the fire on the torches faded away. It was pure black. We heard laughing. The room got light again. Eight men had black and yellow clothes on and grabbed us. They put cuffs on us.\n\"It seems we have caught some of Ubel's spies!\" One of them said,\n\"We're not spies! We're trying to escape!\" Johann said.\n\"Don't heckle me! You are trying to kill our race for no good reason! Take him to the hideaway!\" The man said.\nThe other men started pushing us through the cave to take us to the hideaway.\n\"It is truly ironic, you came all this way to capture us, and we captured you instead!\" The man said. \n\"We're not here to capture you!\" I said.\n\"Where are my manners? Not like you have any, haha! My name is Kaplan; I am the leader guarding the hideout! The Nazis are trying to capture us Jewish, so we must make a hideaway! Which we did, haha!\" The man said.\n\"We're trying to stop the Nazis! Let us go to the president, and we can drive them out!\" I said.\n\"Classic talk from simple spies! We're going to kill you, don't you realize?\" Kaplan said.\nEventually, we made it to the hideaway, and there were hundreds of Jewish people in there. They put us on a giant stool.\n\"Are you going to hang us?\" Johann asked.\n\"It depends. Do you want a slow or simple death?\" Kaplan asked with a smile.\nI was getting angry.\n\"Everyone stop!\" I yelled.\nEveryone stayed silent.\n\"You're all very misunderstood. Nobody in this hideaway deserves any type of death! Let us go, and we can help.\" I said.\nKaplan thought about it.\n\"It depends, you silly spy. You could easily make us cry, making us die!\" Kaplan said.\n\"Trust us!\" Johann said. \n\"Very well, free them!\" Kaplan said.\nTwo men took off our cuffs. We gasped. Hundreds of Nazis ran through the entrance of the hideaway. The Nazis grabbed the people.\n\"EVERYONE, RUN! ESCAPE THE CAVE!\" I yelled.\nKaplan whistled to Johann and me.\n\"Follow me! I know a secret way to escape! \"Kaplan said.\nWe both nodded and followed Kaplan. Ubel and Tobias saw us.\n\"Ubel! They're getting away!\" Tobias said.\nUbel noticed and started chasing after him. A giant pole fell, holding one of the person's tents up, and onto Tobias.\n\"Ubel…help me!\" Tobias said in pain.\nUbel turned around and looked at Tobias.\n\"It was a pleasure, Tobias. I have some work to do.\" Ubel said.\nUbel left Tobias with the pole on him and started chasing after Kaplan, Johann, and I. Kaplan led us through a secret passage that quickly led us to the top of the other side of the cliffside.\n\"You can now get to the president! I'm going to leave and help the Jewish who escaped! It was nice meeting you!\" Kaplan said. \nKaplan ran, and Johann and I stayed. Ubel found the secret passage and went through it. He found us.\n\"Well, well, well. You thought you could escape?\" Ubel asked.\n\"I never said such a thing,\" Johann said.\nUbel smiled and pulled out his gun.\n\"You are a traitorous man,\" Ubel said.\nUbel shot Johann in the chest, and he fell to the ground.\n\"Stop it!\" I yelled.\nJohann stood up on his legs and took out his knife. Johann grabbed Ubel's gun and threw it off the cliffside. Ubel growled and pulled out his knife. Ubel stabbed Johann in the back. I punched Ubel in the face. Johann threw his knife at Ubel, and it hit his foot. \nUbel started choking Johann. \n\"Goodbye, Johann,\" Ubel said.\nUbel was about to punch Johann. I grabbed Ubel and threw him off the cliffside. I heard Ubel scream as he met his rocky doom. I saw Johann, and he fell to the ground.\n\"Johann! It's going to be okay.\" I said.\nJohann had a bullet and a knife in his back.\n\"I can't move. Gregor…I love…you.\" Johann said slowly. \nJohann stopped breathing, and I couldn't stop crying the rest of that night.\n\"That is the end,\" I said\nI sat up from my chair.\n\"Grandpa Gregor, that was a good story,\" Daniel said.\n25 YEARS LATER:\nGregor died of old age and was now in heaven. Daniel was thirty-two years old. He had two kids named Charles and Sally.\n\"Tell us a story, dad! One with a villain! One with an army! One with a happy ending!\" The kids said.\n\"I will tell you a story. It's true. There is a villain, several armies. But it depends on the person if you're asking for a happy ending.\" Daniel said.\nThe kids got comfortable.\n\"The story takes place in France, 1941.\""
}
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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: Date of Death: April 1st\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1081\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who’s spent a whole year planning a big prank, and now they’re finally ready to pull it off."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "TW: suicide and graphic horror \nAs I dressed myself casually for school, my excitement was consuming; I could not settle the anticipation building in my veins. It was April first, and the prank that I had been planning all year would be epic, so deceptive that everyone would believe it. Then I would laugh at them and reveal the truth: it was just a prank! It was a solid plan.\nI threw open the curtains and looked around my room for the fake knife I had bought, but it was out of sight. The fake knife looked so real that it even shined the same way real metal did. It weighed the same as a real knife too, making it basically imperceptible; except if you ran your finger along the blade, you would realize that it was dull and could not cut through anything. Still, it was possible that my mother had mistaken it for a real knife and put it in the dish-washer. She had a habit of picking up stray things and placing them back where they belonged, and it drove me crazy. I thought perhaps it was OCD, or maybe just an impulsive cleaning thing. \n\"Nellie! Come on, you're late!\" my mother shouted from the front door. She was heading out to the car, waiting for me so that she could drop me off at school. I rushed to the kitchen where I found the knife sitting on a drying rack and grabbed it by the handle. I wrapped it in a towel, stuffing it in my pocket, and then ran to my mother's car, eager to get to school early.\n\"Planning one of your crazy pranks?\" my mother asked. Her green eyes- that mine looked so much alike- twinkled with curiosity and excitement. I smirked and wiggled my eyebrows.\n\"Of course! It's my April Fool's tradition,\" I said smugly. My mother just chuckled and shook her head.\n“Don’t get in too much trouble.” She pulled out of the driveway and we started driving.\nI got to school early, where all the students usually gathered in the cafeteria before the bell rang. I greeted my friends and told them I had a special surprise in order for everyone.\n\"Ah, your annual April Fools Prank?\" one asked. I smirked but said,\n\"I guess you will have to find out. Who knows if it's a prank or not!\" They laughed at me knowingly and patted me on the back.\nI stood in the cafeteria, the sounds of meaningless chatter echoing across the large room. There was joy and excitement, despite the fact that the dreaded first period class was only minutes away. I exhaled and stepped up to a table, climbing up so that I was standing on top of it. A few heads turned, but I needed their full attention. I clapped my hands as hard as I could, drawing all attention to myself. The cafeteria seemed to pause, all looking up at me. I put on a pained face, dramatically frowning as I reached into my pocket.\n\"I hate being alive! You all have made my life a living hell, and I’m done with it!\" I shouted at the students. I thought smugly that this was the acting performance of my life. Gasps rippled around the room as I unwrapped the fake knife and pointed it at my own neck. All eyes were now on me, some concerned and some knowing. One of my friends frowned at me, disapproving of my prank. I suppose it was a bit insensitive, maybe even offensive, but there was no turning back now. I offered a tight-lipped frown as my way of apologizing.\n\"This is what you've made me do!\" I accused them all. Some laughed, shouting that it was April Fool's Day after all. Others stepped closer t the table and tried to pull me down. My lips quivered, a smile threatening to break loose. As I made eye contact with one of my laughing friends, I nearly lost it and laughed. I tried to refocus to salvage my performance. The students were starting to lose interest, guessing that it was a prank. Some people flat-out left the cafeteria, while others started to resume their conversations that I had interrupted. I sighed, but was determined to go through with my prank; after all, I had spent a year planning it. \n“Fine. Know this is all your fault, ALL of you!” I drew the knife across my throat but gasped as cold metal cut my skin... In the first millisecond, it merely stung. Something was very very wrong. After another second, I felt hot blood drip down to my chest and I inhaled sharply. Instead of air coming in, my own blood flooded into my lungs. I sputtered, trying to breath normally. Blood splattered out onto the table as I fell to my knees.\nThe students laughed and yelled at me to give it up. Most of them were not falling for it. Some students looked vaguely concerned, but it was April first; nothing ever happened that wasn't a prank! My disapproving friend shook her head in disappointment and just walked out of the cafeteria. I reached out a desperate hand and tried to call after her, but blood just spurted out of my mouth. I clutched my throat, frantically clawing for air.\n“It’s a stage prop! There’s a blood bag inside of it that pops when you press a button!” a student shouted. The rest of the students voiced their agreement. Yes, that was how the stage-prop knife that I had bought worked. Except... The knife I held in my hand was not a prop.\n“Yeah! She’s faking a suicide! Real sensitive. You should be ashamed of yourself!” As my vision started to succumb to darkness, it hit me: I had grabbed the wrong knife. The knife fell from my hand and I stumbled off the table. Students screamed as my body lurched forward. I fell on top of a group of students who shoved me off of them hastily.\n“Help…me...” I managed to gurgle from the floor, staring up at the gathering faces. Their faces twisted in horror, realization hitting them. A boy picked up the knife and examined it. He quickly dropped it and stared at his shaking hands, now covered in my blood.\nTheir faces stared at me, waiting for me to laugh and shout \"HA! April Fools! Gotcha!\" But that did not happen. Then, everything went black."
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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: Tome Travel\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1249\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who critiques things for a living, or acts like they do."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "The arrogant cat had been on Arnold’s nerves for hours. It was long past the ‘getting on’ stage. The cat was plucking at his nerves as if he was a violin and she was a murderously aggressive violinist.\n “If they’re not a cat, then they’re not a real god,” she insisted, licking her black paw.\n “That’s a very bold statement,” said Arnold, clanking as he dusted one of the exhibits in the Museum of Magical Items.\n “It’s true. People are all over Thor right now, but he’s not a god,” the onyx feline stretched and rubbed herself on a three-thousand-year-old vase. He had to catch it as it wobbled to stop whichever souls were trapped inside from getting out. From the inscription in Sanskrit, they were either a coven of witches or the village who had been arguing with them. Either way Arnold didn’t want to have to explain the modern world to another supernatural being cut off from society for centuries, never again.\n “I’ve been drinking with Thor,” said the sentient suit of armour. “He drinks a godly, or should I say ungodly amount of beer.”\n “He’s got no tail; his ears are wrong, and his whiskers are all over his face and too bushy. And so loud.” She frowned.\n “Bastet, she’s a real god.” She lay down on a glass case containing the mummified body of a man who’d said the pharaoh could marry his daughter over his dead body. Having taken him at his word, the pharaoh had him preserved and buried beneath the floor of the room where he wedded the man’s daughter.\n “True, but she goes on about it too much,” he said, “you’re polishing my statue wrong, Arnold. You’re not showing due reverence to the goddess of protection, pleasure, and blah blah.” He made vague gestures with his gauntlets.\n “Nowadays there are simpler houses of worship of course,” she said, ignoring him. “Cat cafes aren’t as imposing as sphinxes and sandstone temples, but they work for the masses. Also, it’s a far better way to find someone who knows how to rub your belly properly.” She rolled onto her paws and followed him. Her tail flicked in annoyance because he wasn’t giving her his full attention.\n “What about Gdon, the tiger ridden by Parvati in battle?” He asked. If he’d had a face, it would have been smiling at the annoyance the mention of Gdon caused.\n “I’m all for representation but the fact that he let her ride him is galling.” Her tail flicked with more energy. “It’s undignified. People must remember that they work for us, not the other way around. Without us there would be no days and nights.”\n One of the displays was empty, Arnold huffed. The possessed penguins were sleepwalkers. He shrugged, that wasn’t his problem.\n “What do you mean cats are responsible for day and night?” He had a chuckle in his voice.\n “Just that. The cosmic kitten chases the yarn of light around the world, causing day and night. You’re welcome. Just another one of my awesome relatives.”\n “That’s nonsense.” He stopped and put his gauntlets on the metal where people had hips. “The Earth rotates around the sun, that’s it.”\n “Without the cosmic kitten chasing it? Hardly. You need to educate yourself my ignorant friend.” She checked her reflection in glass, smiling at her own beauty.\n “It’s common knowledge Kasha. Look it up. Read a book.” He was yelling. His voice echoed up and down the marble tiled room, off the vaulted ceiling.\n “That’s not what books are for.”\n “Reading, that’s exactly what they’re for!” One of the exhibits told him to shush. He showed it the middle finger on one gauntlet and the index and middle on the other, just to be sure they got the message.\n “No. They’re for tome travel?”\n “What?”\n “Tome travel. Cats invented it.”\n “Are you saying time travel?” He looked at her, wishing she didn’t have his attention. It was a bad idea to give her what she wanted.\n “No. Tome travel, traveling through tomes. You work in a museum of magical oddments. How do you not know about tome travel?”\n “Because you clearly just made it up right now to seem interesting.”\nThe man who had been asleep across the desk in the lobby raised his head and yelled. “Some of us are trying to sleep!”\n “Don’t take the night shift for security then,” Arnold retorted. He muttered, “vampires.”\n “What did you say?” Asked the two-hundred-year-old slacker with a name card that proclaimed him to be Vincent. His museum security jacket was stained with red around the collar. Arnold didn’t want to know.\n “Wait, your name is Vincent? Vincent the Vampire?”\n “What of it?”\n “Don’t you just feel ridiculous being Vincent the Vampire?”\n “Says Arnold the Armour of Armour,” the vampire put on a mocking voice and jellyish posture as he waved his hands about.\n “Bite me. Loser. Go back to sleep. Feel free to sleep in. That desk really catches the sun in the morning.”\n “He’s not wrong,” said Kasha, who liked to sleep there and anywhere else the sunbeam took her.\n Vincent shook his head and pulled a sandwich from his pocket. Ignoring them both he took a bite of garlic beef, rare, and smiled.\nThey watched him stroll back to his desk and fall asleep again. Arnold wondered how long he was actually awake if he spent the night asleep at his desk and the day in his coffin.\n “What were we saying?” Kasha asked? “Right, I remember. Tome travel. Get me a book.”\n “I’m not your servant,” he said.\n “I’m a cat,” she told him. “Everyone is my servant. A leaflet will do.”\n “What do leaflets have to do with books?” He asked.\n “They’re portable tomes, that’s why we invented them.”\n “Cats did not invent leaflets,” he pointed a steel finger at her as he fetched a leaflet that explained what all the exhibits in the room were.\n “Open it up here for me, stand it up so I can be behind it.”\n Arnold did as she commanded. Not because he had been told to, he insisted, but because he was curious.\n “That’s killed a few of us,” she said. She walked behind the leaflet until he couldn’t see her anymore.\n Then the leaflet fell over.\nKasha was gone. A black hair wafted into the air on the breeze created by the toppled paper.\nArnold heard a yelp from Vincent and paws on tile down the hall.\n He looked at the vampire at the front desk, staring at his newspaper.\n “TADA!” Kasha roared.\n Arnold jumped so high he almost lost his sabatons. “Bloody hells! Where did you come from?” He touched his breastplate as if out of breath.\n “You looked away, so I turned back,” she licked her lips then bared her teeth. “Just to mess with you of course.” Her yellow eyes glinted with casual malice.\n “Are you gaining weight? Or just nursing a furball?” He asked to piss her off.\n “I’m just fabulous, rusty. Know thy diet and thyself and you need not fear the outcome of a thousand dinners.” There was no riling Kasha about her appearance, she was far too conceited for that.\n Leaping from the glass case where she had emerged from the leaflet, she strolled between exhibits and coughed on a statue of the jackal headed god Anubis. She bowed her head to the statue of Bastet, which turned and winked.\n Gods, Arnold thought, more trouble than they’re worth."
}
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Sonata\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2072\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone struggling to swallow some harsh (but fair) constructive criticism."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Gisella di Vallepietra sat, as gracefully as she could, on the embroidered padding of the stool before her instrument. She brushed off her silky skirts, and threw (yet another) anxious glance around the two dozen guests now ambling to their seats in her father’s gilded sitting room. Signore di Vallepietra rarely threw such ornate dinner parties – he could barely afford their ornate Venetian villa as it was – but Gisella had spent months begging her father to host a fine affair which might showcase her hard-won musical gifts. He had finally agreed, with a few eyerolls, to plan an evening dinner in celebration of Ognissanti, All Saints Day. The di Vallepietra extended family and friends were thus graciously invited to an evening featuring the family’s very own Signorina Gisella. So Gisella sat, perched like an eagle, before her shining harpsichord as the candlelight shimmered off of the fine ivory keys.\nIt had only taken her an instant to choose her weapon for the evening since Gisella already knew what her favorite instrument was. After all, Gisella had attended her concertos, admired her mastery of the harpsichord many times before. In truth, it was because of her that Gisella had demanded that her parents purchase a harpsichord for the new villa – an expensive investment indeed – and for her sake that Gisella had abandoned the dulcet tones of her harp for the bright, plucky notes of her newest acquisition.\nGisella’s palms began to sweat as she scanned the sitting room once more. Her family’s butler began to glare at her nearby as he impatiently waited for the signal to begin the evening’s program. Gisella’s mind raced: where was she? She had said she would attend, weeks ago! Gisella pondered, frantically, if perhaps a more important family had invited her to their own party this evening. Perhaps – after weeks of hoping – the carefully laid plan was all for naught?\nBut a shuffling in the very back of the sitting room caught Gisella’s eye. She gasped sharply; there she was, at last and of course, fashionably late. The voluptuous Lady Carlotta strode in, glittering in a gold and cream gown with a bejeweled hand tucked in that of her brother, the Count di Carbognano. The Count was Lady Carlotta’s usual escort; her own husband was long dead (although rumor said Lady Carlotta herself had poisoned him). Some of the Gisella’s maids had even whispered that Her Ladyship was secretly married to a commoner – not that Her Ladyship ever limited herself. Gisella had listened carefully when the stablehands muttered that Lady Carlotta had lovers of all sorts, of all classes, of all persuasions. Most fascinating of all, to Gisella and her pounding heart, was the rumor that Her Ladyship enjoyed “unnatural” affairs. There was talk of a beautiful woman in Rome, a talented painter with her own workshop, who Lady Carlotta had known for years. But Gisella didn’t care; Lady Carlotta had been in Venice for months, after all. Some commoner artist in Rome was surely far from her mind (and her heart) by now.\nIt was for her, Lady Carlotta, that Gisella had composed tonight’s sonata. All she had to do now was play it.\nGisella motioned to the butler with a sharp nod, and his booming voice silenced the crowd on cue. Gisella timed her opening notes with a few soft taps of her right shoe on the white marble floor. With another quick breath, she began to play.\nGisella had titled her composition Achilles and Patroclus: the great lovers of The Iliad. She carefully allowed the deeper notes of the piece to ring clearly as the sonata transitioned from playful, to serious, to somber. Gisella told herself that she was playing only for her as her fingers flew over the keys. These thoughts, less chaste with every pluck of the strings, sent a bead of sweat trailing down Gisella’s forehead. Every few moments, she stole a glance at the onlookers: her indulgent parents in the front row, her aunts and cousins warmly smiling behind them. But try as she might, she could not catch Lady Carlotta’s face in the melee of waving fans. The remaining notes seemed to pass in seconds, and Gisella soon found herself rising unsteadily on numb legs before offering a curtsey to the smattering of applause. But Gisella jerked her head up just in time to finally glimpse the object of her affections, grinning at her brother, her dark eyes sparkling as she joined in the polite clapping.\n***\nGisella had left nothing to chance that evening, and had surreptitiously stolen the seating chart for dinner only hours before the performance. Tonight, she and Her Ladyship would not be separated.\nSignore di Vallepietra threw his daughter a raised eyebrow as Gisella glided to an open seat in the middle of the long table. Gisella smoothed out her skirts before casting her gaze demurely over the wall-size pastoral paintings which provided the dining hall’s main décor. The minutes ticked by, like the pangs of purgatory, as Gisella waited in perfect silence.\nA ripple of familiar laughter jolted Gisella to attention. Lady Carlotta swept into the open seat to Gisella’s left as a footman gently pushed her chair closer to the table before them. Gisella flashed her new companion a broad, inviting smile; Lady Carlotta parried with a brief nod before offering the same to the young lord to her left. Gisella’s grin twitched slightly at this mediocre response, but it faded entirely as Lady Carlotta chattered away with the lord beside her throughout the primi course of tomato soup.\nGisella’s desperation deepened with each fresh dish placed before her as she failed, repeatedly, to draw Lady Carlotta’s burning eyes onto her own. Lady Carlotta, on the other hand, seemed to have a fabulous time as the witty conversation from the raucous guests around her sent her jet-black curls flying with each gasp of laughter. An hour passed; Gisella’s fingers grew numb as she gripped her fork.\nGisella took her courage in her hands once formaggi e fruta was served. She grasped at a brief dimming of the conversation to loudly clear her throat.\n“Signora,” Gisella began, turning her entire body to face Lady Carlotta.\nFor once, the deep brown eyes turned fully onto Gisella, taking her in with a sweeping glance. Gisella swallowed back the thrill of finally winning her full attention, and forced herself to focus on the delicate task at hand. Around them, several pairs of eyes now bored into Gisella’s honey-blonde head.\n“I understand that Your Ladyship is an accomplished player of the harpsichord,” Gisella continued, carefully measuring the flattery in her effusive tone. “I wondered if Your Ladyship enjoyed my sonata earlier this evening?”\nGisella clenched her hands in her lap, but kept her gracious smile pinned to her fair cheeks as she waited, expectantly, for a response.\nLady Carlotta’s eyes glanced upward for a moment, as if to gather her thoughts. Gisella waited as her fingers began to wring her skirts. The seconds stretched interminably; Gisella willed her breathing to slow down, her heels to stay silent on the marble beneath them.\n“The composition was quite intriguing,” Lady Carlotta finally answered.\nGisella drew a sharp intake of breath.\n“But the tone of the piece was not suited to the harpsichord,” Lady Carlotta quickly added. “I suspect the music would fare better on an instrument with a wider and deeper pitch range.”\nFare better. The words ricocheted through Gisella’s frantically churning mind.\n“As to your performance,” Lady Carlotta continued, “while the opening stanzas were rendered capably, the middle section of the piece was too rushed for the notes to ring properly. A common problem, I can assure you, for amateur players like yourself.”\nGisella’s throat closed as her mind fixated on that brutal word: amateur. But her eyes darted sideways as Lady Carlotta gently patted her shoulder.\n“Undoubtedly, my darling, you have a great deal of potential,” Lady Carlotta concluded warmly. “I am certain that you can achieve proficiency on the instrument with a few more years of hard work.”\nGisella’s smile remained etched into her features. She nodded lightly, even as her clenched hands trembled in her lap. The warmth in her belly, the delightful tension in her hips evaporated as Lady Carlotta turned her head back to the far more interesting guests around her. Soon enough, the merry conversation resumed, and all eyes abandoned the little wilted rose of a teenager.\nGisella held back her imminent tears long enough for a small bowl of pistachio gelato to appear in her field of vision. Mercifully, her father took this moment to offer a toast to the holy holiday. Gisella quietly excused herself, and dashed from her seat just as the guests’ heads rotated to the front of the table. Nobody noticed her disappearance; nobody cared, either.\nA few running strides took Gisella from the dining hall back to the doorway of the vast sitting room. Gisella stormed past a handful of (mildly concerned) maids carting out used wine glasses before slamming the heavy door shut behind her. She quickly took in the fading candlelight illuminating the gilt moldings, the shiny wooden paneling along the walls, the strewn-about chairs where her family’s guests had gathered to enjoy her performance only a few hours before. At last, Gisella’s wandering eyes reached her own harpsichord, and the little embroidered stool. The very sight of the instrument, keys still glistening, stung Gisella like a curse.\nGisella picked up her heavy shirts as she rushed the makeshift stage. Fuming, she flung the pointed end of her high-heeled shoe into the padded stool and sent it flying. The little stool crashed violently against the wood-paneled wall behind it, and tumbled unceremoniously onto the rug below. One of the curved cherry-wood legs now bent precariously sideways.\nGisella’s assault wasn’t finished; she next gripped her fingers around the open edges of the harpsichord lid, barely missing the delicate keywell, and shoved the massive instrument with all her might. This time, however, the object of her rage only moved a few paces - but left a deep scratch on the stonework beneath. Gisella ignored the fresh damage, and gasped for air as she pressed her palms around the lid edge once more.\nGisella’s rage soon melted into despair. Slowly, deliberately, she closed her eyes. The tears now trailed down her cheeks in earnest as she recalled the hours sitting on that little stool, shoulders aching, as she pored over her own scratchy handwriting. How many nights had she spent imagining her composition, perusing old concertos, desperately crafting a piece that would surely amaze her?\nGisella grew nauseous as she counted the cost, and then counted the reward: amateur.\nThat was all she was, really: an amateur. Lady Carlotta was simply honest enough to say it to her face.\n“I’ll never play again,” she hissed to the empty air all around her, the statues in the corners, the painted cherubs gracing the ceiling. “Never. I hate it!” She finally uttered the most bitter words of all: “She’ll never care.”\nThe cracking of the prop stick, which held the harpsichord’s upper lid aloft, did not rouse Gisella from her heartbreak. She never heard the swish, either, as the heavy lid slammed onto her unsuspecting fingers. But she screamed like a harpy as the sharp, burning sensation sent her staggering backwards. Gisella’s vision blurred with the pain as her fingers seemed to grow hotter with every passing second. Gisella tried desperately to regain her composure, but the effort only produced fresh cries and a new round of tears.\nSeveral minutes passed as Gisella crouched pitifully on the floor, peering through a haze of tears. At last, she held her bruised, aching hands just inches from her eyes to assess the damage. Every finger was purpling, the knuckles bloated and stiff such that she could barely move them.\n“Oh, my God,” Gisella whimpered in horror. Slowly, the flush of pain dulled as Gisella’s common sense returned, belatedly, to her. She gazed around, taking in the destroyed stool, the ruined floor, the damage to an instrument her parents could barely afford as it was. The full horror of her tragic mistakes washed over her as she drew her knees up beneath her silky skirts. Gisella realized that, like her tragic heroes of myth, she had fulfilled her own prophecy: she would never play 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: Elliot's Favorite Day\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2996\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a mischievous pixie or trickster god."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Elliot Hughes woke up excited that morning. It was his favorite day of the year. It was the first day of April, “April Fools’ Day”. On this day he could prank people without facing a lecture from his father. This was the only day he ever felt he could truly be himself when he spent time in the Human realm.\nElliot loved his father, but pretending to be Human was lame in his opinion. His dad, Rian Hughes, was one-hundred percent Human. His mother on the other hand, Marin Toadvale, was a Pixie. She lived in the Fae Kingdom with the rest of the Pixies. She traveled back and forth from there through a portal located in Wales.\nRian met Marin during a college trip to Wales. He was studying ancient Welsh history and never dreamed he would actually run into Ancient Welsh mythology in the flesh. Marin charmed him right off his feet and into her bed. Elliot did not like to think about gross stuff such as his parents being together, even if that is how he got to where he is now.\nBut today and now was not the time nor day for Elliot to dwell on the distant or near pasts or futures. Those contained a multitude of complex and confusing thoughts and emotions that Elliot did not want to think and feel about on his favorite day of the year.\nElliot had this all planned out. He knew he couldn’t get away with too much at school that day, still needing to pass as human and all. Half the fun was in planning out the perfect tricks to play on the correct people during the right periods to maximize his entertainment and his sense of smug satisfaction.\nElliot spent months building lists of students. His mom had taught him to only play tricks on humans who had been malicious. This seemed right and fair to him. He also needed to be careful about the pranks he chose to play. He wanted to cause anxiety to his peers in the way they had dogged him, but not leave any permanent scars, or do anything that anyone could prove was caused by someone or something otherworldly.\nElliot also did not want to cause his father any grief. When Elliot was younger Rian had needed to come up with a fair few awkward excuses to parents and teachers for Elliot’s mishaps. This was inevitably followed up by a long and patient explanation as to why Elliot could not set another child’s toys on fire just because the child had taken Elliot’s jello at snack time.\nElliot was older now though and had come up with a less destructive list of pranks to play on his bullies. Elliot had faced bullies his entire life. He looked like his mother in most ways. He was shorter than most of his peers. He had bright orange hair and green eyes, and his ears were a bit bigger than the other kids. His father would regularly assure him that he did not look any different than other kids his age, but his peers had a knack for finding any of his perceived flaws.\nFor this reason April Fools’ Day had become Elliot’s favorite day of the year. It was the one day where he could use his Pixie magicks to remind those who had been malicious to think twice before they treat others in such a manner.\nWith his tricks all carefully planned out he got ready for his big day. Elliot changed out of his pajamas, into his school clothes, and put on his shoes. He carefully made sure that all of his homework was packed up in his backpack and grabbed a cold Pop-Tart as he headed for the door.\nWith one hand on the door Elliot turned slightly to call over his shoulder, “I’m leaving, bye Dad.”\n“Have a good day at school. I love you, Elliot,” Rian replies.\n“Love you too, Dad,” Elliot says back, only a little bashfully, before turning to go out the door and start his day.\nAs Elliot takes bites of his Pop-tart and walks to school he goes over his plans in his head. He has an overall goal of four peers to play his deliberately designed pranks on today. He hopes he is not overdoing it. He is trying to walk that fine line of having fun and not causing any problems for his father. This is the dearly heavy burden that a 14 year-old Pixie teenaged boy must carry.\nBefore anything Elliot had homeroom. He mentally went over his notes. One of the many things his mother had taught him was the power that the written word possessed. Not to mention that if his father or any other adult had found a list with his classmates names and a list of very wild things written next to them Elliot would have found himself trying to talk his way out of the middle of some very interesting questions.\nFirst period was Literature, their instructor was a middle-aged woman named Ms. Devon. She had blue eyes and dyed hair kept in a messy bun on top of her head with many pens and pencils. Her hair appeared to be a color somewhere between purple and red depending on the light.\nNone of Elliot’s targets were in this class so he did his best to focus on the material they were studying. They had been reading late Victorian English poetry for the last week. They were discussing how it informed society and culture. Elliot usually liked Ms. Devon’s class, she tried to make her lessons relate to things he and the other kids could grasp onto.\nSecond period was Chorus and Elliot was prepared. Don McKay was in the chorus. Don and Elliot had known each other since kindergarten. Don had always been ranging from teasing to nasty. Everyday he found some way to talk down to Elliot, or tell other kids to stay away from Elliot, or his pens and pencils, or other petty attacks.\nMr. Guillén drew the class to attention. They had been working on a set for the Spring Festival. Don had a solo during one of the songs. This was when Elliot would strike. Don’s solo was not until the third song. This gave time for Elliot to be ready. \nFinally they were up to the third song and Elliot prepared himself. Finally everyone else stopped singing and Don went on alone. Only a few notes escaped, Elliot acted quickly. He made a few hand gestures low, and said a few sacred words under his breath.\nSuddenly there was deafening silence. Don’s mouth moved, air still left his lungs, but no sounds came out. The look of shock on Don’s face made it worthwhile. Don gripped at his throat, an expression of terror and confusion played across his face. He looked at his classmates, then to his teacher. There were no reactions except for the expressions on Don’s face.\nSuddenly from the front one of the older girls laughed. “Very funny, Don. You have no voice to practice. I thought you were more mature than to play such a lame prank today,” she said rolling her eyes. One of the girls next to her giggled. Then one of the boys. Soon the entire classroom was laughing either at the girl’s comment, or at “Don’s” prank.\nMr. Guillén waved Don down and gave him a pass to go to the nurse’s office. Elliot was not worried about that. He had included this in his plans, Don’s voice would return ten minutes after the spell was cast. If it did not wear off before he got office then the nurse would not even have time to run tests. They would think Don was playing a prank to get out of class.\nElliot cannot remember the last time he left class smiling this widely.\nNext class was history with Mrs. Beaux. She was a younger woman with chin length brown hair and rectangular glasses with rounded corners that shielded grey eyes. She taught her subject with the kind of enthusiasm of a lifelong learner. She was speaking about Ancient and Classical Greek architecture. Most of the students were paying no attention to her. Elliot felt for Mrs. Beaux; she was passionate about her subject. He tried to pay attention most of the time.\nNone of Elliot’s tormentors were in this class either. It was a fairly quiet morning all things considered. But Elliot knew this afternoon would become much active with three more marks to unleash his pranks upon.\nAfter History was over Lunch break started. Hillary Lopez was the most fashionable girl in school, at least she told this to everyone. Her parents had fancy jobs so she always had the most expensive clothing and accessories. This made her think she was fashionable. Elliot did not agree with this assessment. The other kids at school “ooh’d” and “aah’d”, very impressed with her expensive items..\nHillary was a year older than Elliot, in the Sophomore class. Two months after he had started High School she came up coo-ing over him saying that he was adorable. She asked if he would want to go out with her. Elliot’s face had turned as red as his hair, having only seen Hillary during Lunch Periods from afar. He could also see the gaggle of high school girls behind her, pointing and giggling. He did not say anything to her, storming off and shaking slightly.\nToday at lunch Hillary had her favorite purse that she carried on her. It was some brightly colored Kate Spade number which she kept all her books, pens, and lunch. Elliot had a special for her lunch today. Hillary sat down with her friends and she reached into her bag and screamed. She pulled her hand out like it was burning and jumped back. From out of her back jumped a harmless, very confused toad. Hillary kept screaming while some boys from another table laughed. The other girls at her table pulled away remarking what a “gross” and “uncool” joke this was to play.\nAs Hillary ran out of the cafeteria to jeers and laughter Elliot thought this was the best peanut butter and jelly that he had made himself.\nAfter Lunch was Art and Elliot loved Art. The art teacher Ms. Nicolati was exactly how you picture. She had short cropped hair, always messy, with flecks of paint in it. She wore jean overalls and, even though she wore a smock, those managed to become bespeckled by paint. She let the kids express themselves freely and encouraged them to interpret the subjects openly.\nIn his art class he was aiming for someone. Reagan Clements was a girl his age. She doodled in other classes but never got in trouble. Because she was an “artist”, or so she told everyone. That was not bad, it was the caricatures she did of people who she did not like. She made this drawing of Elliot where she made him look like a stunted goblin. This drawing was passed around to almost everyone and resulted in two months of people referring to Elliot as an “imp” or “goblin”. He was a pixie! Nowhere near as grotesque as goblins or imps!\nAs art class started Elliot kept a close eye on Reagan while trying to work on his own piece. She was smiling and laughing with friends then reached down to grab the canvas folio where she kept her brushes. She pulled one out of the sleeve where it was kept in bright pink glitter spilled everywhere.\n“Argh,” Reagan exclaimed. “What the hell?!”\n“Language please,” Ms. Nicolati gently chided.\nReagan reached to pull a different paintbrush out and silver glitter poured out all over her lap and the floor.\n“Knock it off!” One of her friends said. “You’re making a huge mess!”\n“It’s not me!” Reagan explained. Her friend rolled her eyes and went back to her work.\nHer other friend leaned over, “Look, I know it’s April Fools’ Day, but that stuff gets everywhere. If you want to soak yourself in it fine. But it’s getting on our bags and clothes, and poor Ms. Nicolati is going to have to clean it. Not cool, Reagan.”\nReagan looked from her friend to her paintbrushes, most of them still in their sleeves. She tried one more, pulling it out slowly. As soon as the tip left the sleeve purple glitter poured out to mix with the pink and silver.\n“That’s enough, Reagan.” Ms. Nicolati said, taking a much sterner tone. “I allow my students to be expressive, but your ‘expressiveness’ is being disruptive. If you do not stop what you are doing I’m going to have to ask you to leave my classroom and go sit with the Principal until the end of class.”\n“But I….” Reagan tried to explain.\n“I’m sorry Reagan, but I have other students to teach.”\nReagan slowly put her paintbrushes back. She then picked up her things and with an apple red face left class. Elliot did not know if she was headed to the Principal’s office, or going to hide in the bathroom, but he was extremely satisfied with her embarrassed look.\nThe next period after Art was Math. This was not Elliot’s strongest subject, but he tried. Mr. Spence did his best to get the kids understand but only three of the students seemed engaged and interested. The rest of the class either only sort of understood or was entirely lost. Elliot had no one for this class. This was good since he was better off paying attention then focused on pranks.\nThe last period of the day was Gym instructed by Coach Wynter. Coach was tall and handsome, his dark hair usually kept back in cornrows. Today his dark eyes hidden behind sunglasses, since class was outside. Coach was having everyone partner up to throw footballs, run to trade places, and throw the balls to each other again.\nOne of the star football players, a Junior named Charlie Keith, was in class with Elliot. He loved being the center of attention and lapped up all that came with being a star player. Part of all his bravado was picking on people who were smaller than him. The boys who were smaller than him anyway, he did okay with the girls. He loved picking on Elliot, short, big ears, looking different enough as to make him an easy target.\nElliot teamed up with another boy, but he was not paying that close attention to his own practice. Elliot was watching Charlie reach for a football from the pile the Coach had provided. Once again Elliot made a few quick hand gestures and muttered a few words. Charlie bent down to pick up a football and it slipped right out from his grip. He looked confused, staring back and forth from his hand to the ball. He tried to grab again but again it slid from his grip, as though it were coated in oil.\n“Come on, grab a ball!” Charlie’s partner called over.\n“I’m trying.” Charlie called back.\nElliot caught the ball from his partner and threw it back before running to change places. He kept an eye on what was going on, the Coach walking over to Charlie and the balls.\n“What’s going on over here?” inquired the Coach.\n“I, um, I can’t seem to get a grip on any of the balls…..” Charlie managed to get out.\nCoach Wynter gave him a skeptical look and reached down for the balls. The Coach picked it up with ease and held it up for Charlie to see. He then lobbed it to Charlie. Charlie went to catch it and found that it slid right from between his grip and bounced off the ground.\nThe Coach sighed, “Charlie, you’re one of the best athletes our school has; I know you can catch a ball.”\n“I don’t know what’s happening Coach!” Charlie exclaimed.\nThe Coach took another deep breath, rubbed his eyes, then put a gentle hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “If you just want to sit this one out I’ll let it slide for today. But you can’t get away with this all the time. You’re becoming an adult, you can’t use the excuse of an April Fools’ Prank to get out of your responsibilities.”\n“But I really can’t hold onto them!” Charlie exclaimed, making a grab at the ball to demonstrate.\nThe Coach picked the ball up off the ground and pointed at the bleachers. “Just sit out for today. I’ll do the activity with your partner so he doesn’t have to miss out. We’ve wasted enough of his time already.” With that Couch Wynter walked onto the open field.\nBy now Elliot was getting a bit winded from the running. His grin was wide to the point of being almost goofy, as Elliot watched Charlie walk towards the bleachers, and sit there staring at his own hands until the end of school bell had rung.\nAs Elliot walked home from school that day he could not remember a more successful April Fools’ Day that he had ever experienced. Each year his abilities were growing and each year he learned how to be more subtle with his tricks. Although it could be trying at times, there was a part of him that truly enjoyed the sneaky aspect he had to take on around Humans. When he punished the mean and nasty Humans it made him delirious to see their bewilderment on their faces, and in that respect today had been a roaring respect. He had learned he also liked to be subtle when being helpful, like when he tried to help his father with chores.\nBeing a Pixie in the Human realm was never easy, but Elliot was learning to cope. He hoped someday he would even find it easy and enjoyable any time he visited."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Humanity On Trial\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1144\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who critiques things for a living, or acts like they do."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "We were asked to give our disquisition on humanity. So here it is. This shall be brief. It’s not the first time we’ve been asked about our position on the creation of man. Our stance was unanimous. We still think they’re hostile. Belligerent. They were a primitive race light years ago. Racing against the sands of time to evolve. To prosper. To adapt in a world that’s truly fitter without them. And now, they have perished. They are forgotten. Their memory has long been woven into the fabrics of space and time. This is an assessment of their reign as a dominant species on Earth. \n\nDuring the times of fire and stone, humans were scarce in numbers. They coexisted with the rest of Earth’s inhabitants because they had to. Once their numbers started increasing, so did their insatiable appetite for war. For oppression. Let me ask this, has their appetite seized ever since? Unfortunately, the answer is no. They have continued their unfathomable blood shed until the very end. It is unquestionably dreary. We had wished they achieved self-consciousness, but it was far reached. And the ones who did achieve it were treated defectively. As though they were the anomaly. Sad, indeed. \n\nNevertheless, there has been incidents of rectitude. Virtue, and benevolence. We will not deny those. Humans are eccentric––in their own way. They are capable of obtaining wisdom. But they are very poor at sharing it. They can feign cruelty, but behind it nestles fragility. These traits have plagued us. They can be selfish. Yet they can be very kind to one another. There is no denying that at times humans thoroughly surprised us. A few occurrences of manifold are worthy of mentioning. It involves their invaluable acts of kindness. They have shown great mercy towards wildlife, towards the trees and towards the land. They have also shown bountiful charity towards their own kind. To the needy, to the homeless and to the ill. But alas, the senseless acts of violence surpassed all good. The killing. The barbarity. We say this with a heavy heart. We couldn’t bear to watch. \n\nThere is of course the story of Henri the Brute. He was a man of many names, but we chose this one in the purpose of this disquisition. He lived at the time of Atlantis. A time when ancient nations were at their peaked glory. A time when beasts and dragons freely roamed Upper Earth. He was a man of great skill and deception. He had killed many of his kind. Too many to count. But when we peered into his heart, we only found remorse. We found penitence. It was a surprise to us all. How can slaughter and compassion come hand in hand? One day, he was riding back to Toria after enduring a long battle. He chanced upon a little girl. She was alone. Bare foot and out of sorts. Henri steered the reigns of his horse and trotted closer. Curiosity getting the best of him. \n\n“What brings you to the outskirts of my village, little girl? All alone. Are you waiting for someone?” \n\nThe girl looked up but said nothing.\n\n“What’s the matter? I asked you a question.” \n\n“I’m waiting for Lord Henri the Brute.”\n\nHenri cocked an eyebrow at the little girl. “I am him. What is it you need?”\n\n“I come with tidings. I’m afraid it’s not good.” \n\n“Tidings? From my army in the South?”\n\n“No.” said the girl, almost instantly. “Tidings from the underworld. I’m afraid your people’s time has come, Henri the Brute. Toria will perish.”\n\nHenri’s heart battered behind his chest. “My village will perish. By whom?”\n“The armies of Goltic will arrive at dawn. You have no time to prepare for what’s coming. Their armies are massive. No man, child or kine will be spared.” \n\nHenri’s fright turned to anger. “This is madness. The people of my village have done nothing wrong. They’re not like me. I’m a bloodless warrior, they’re nothing but credulous farmers and fishermen. There must be a way to turn this around. There’s still time!”\n\n“It is what it is. There is no coming back from it. Your village will perish tomorrow.” \n\nHe stared at her. Round-eyed, yet steadfast. “No.” He demanded. “There has to be something I can do.”\n\nThe girl was quiet for a single moment. Then she smirked. “There is but one thing. The masters of the underworld are willing to exchange the people’s souls for yours. You have killed a great deal. Your soul is worth a thousand so far. Give us your soul instead, and Toria will be spared.” \n\nHenri was at a crossroads. The man who’d killed a thousand was now concerned with the lives of mere hundreds. There was surely no way he’d agree to this trade. But as we said earlier, humans continue to surprise us. Henri agreed. His village was spared, and his soul was traded in their place. It was an act of pure kindness. Despite his bloodstained past. \n\nSo, this remains our question. Was Henri’s sacrifice enough to tip the scales in humanity’s favor? Was it enough to counterbalance the defilement they unleashed upon their planet, their biosphere? Was it enough to atone for their butchery, their carnage? As generous as it was, we’re afraid it is not enough. Let us remind you, oh Great Divine, of the tales of Picard Magnus. A man so cruel, he’d forgotten what it was that made him human. He liberated the offender and prosecuted the victim. Massacre was but a sport to him. A ruler that bathed in the blood of children. Drank to the collapse of democracy and cheered the decapitation of justice. \n\nWhen his army burned down the flourishing city of Lanceud, a squire came running to his side. \n\n“Lord, the people in this church are said to be believers of God. Shall we not spare them?” \n\nPicard, tugging his lips in an ugly snarl, said, “No, kill them all. Their God will recognize his own.”\n\nAs a conclusion, we believe that humans have done far more wrongdoing than they have fairness. They have done far more aggression than they have clemency. We regret to inform you, oh Great Divine, that humankind, as a species, has failed. We say this with a hefty heart. For we know how much you cherished their existence. You had considerable plans for them. But they have failed you. They have failed us all. \n\nIt’s been long due that we offer our disquisition. We have assessed many, no endless of worldly and unworldly beings. Ancient civilizations. Peoples. None has come to compare to what humans have done. The betrayals. The genocides. The wars. The secrets. It’s haunted us for epochs. Now, we are unfettered to speak our peace. We only wish our word comes with admission. \n\nSigned and agreed upon, \nThe Angels of Death."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Blue-Headed God\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1089\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a mischievous pixie or trickster god."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Kris didn’t mean to be a troublemaker, but that’s what he was. He was king of Sweet Mercy High, and everyone knew it, and loved him for it. \n\nHe received all the privileges a golden-boy might - the teachers doted on him, letting him come in late, even flirting with him (irrespective of gender), giving him extra time on tests, not that he needed it. The lunch lady saved him the biggest slices of pizza and the last chocolate milk. He knew everyone’s first name and used it with impunity. \n\nThe other boys looked up to him like a god. He got blue tips in his hair, which set off his glowing blue eyes and contrasted with his luminous dark skin. He magnanimously said nothing as every other male student colored his tips, too, as long as they weren’t blue. He played enthusiastically for the Sweet Mercy Bulls - basketball and soccer and football, and could run and swim with equal ease. His posse consisted of every guy at school, and he made sure to split whatever he received - treats or praise or privileges - with each one. Some of them were in love with him, and he returned their affections the way he did with everyone else - with full attention and total disregard at once. \n\nHe walked with a swagger, and wore outrageously fashionable clothes, thanks to his mother, who was not only head of the PTA, but also a designer. His father was a trusted and venerable member of their community, a doctor, whom everyone came to for advice, and so all the kids came to Kris for advice, too. \n\nEveryone knew Kris had been adopted, and though he never knew his birth parents, they were all sure he must have been a royal. It was in the way he behaved, the way he carried himself, as if he were from another, better world, where you could be unequivocally great at everything and still adorably down to earth. \n\nBut it was only the girls who hated him, as much as they loved him. He’d be found leaning against the girls’ bathroom, twirling his keychain, eyeing each of them as they went in and came out. Occasionally one would peck him on the cheek. He’d whisper into the ear of another. They all practically swooned when he looked their way - and he did not ignore anyone, no matter what they looked like, or who they were. He could say and act in the perfectly appropriate way that cut right to their hearts. To the ones interested in fashion, he’d say something complementary about their clothes. To the academic ones, he’d ask a complex math question that would make their eyes sparkle at his brilliance. With the dreamy ones, he’d ponder a philosophical thought that would make their eyes fill with sentimental tears. He knew each girl and what she liked, and so they, too, were devoted to him.\n\nThey also hated him, though. He could be found with an arm against anyone’s locker at any moment. He’d take the brownies that Sharie baked and split them with Melissa. He’d drape his coat on Jadzea’s shoulder, and put his hand around Dore’s hips. He’d sashay down the hall with Rashida, and leave her at her locker to waltz with Mrs. Morrell. \n\nSo when the first dance of senior year came around, everyone was watching to see whom he’d ask. But they all knew. It would inevitably be the unreachable Raina, easily the most beautiful girl at school, the most accomplished at dance, singing, and sports. Like Kris, she was good at everything, and kind to everyone. \n\nIt wasn’t love at first sight, but close enough, and then it was as if she became more beautiful than ever. The story was legend at school. Like Kris, Raina was adopted, too. She wore bottle-thick glasses and could barely see without them. It was her fifth birthday, and her family had invited what seemed like the whole school. They invited Kris and his family, too, because his father was head doctor at the eye hospital and had been treating Raina since she was five. \n\nThat’s when it happened. Kris was sitting on his mother’s lap, and they were just about to sing happy birthday. She was glowing as her mom brought the cake lit, brightly with candles, five and one for good luck. Kris climbed down off his mother’s legs, and walked over calmly. He looked into the birthday girl’s eyes and smiled a sparkling smile with his deep blue eyes. Then he took her glasses off, and easily broke them in half. For a moment, everyone sat, stunned. Raina blinked and stared into the candles. Everyone knew she could barely see her hand in front of her face without her glasses. Kris’s mom, Yvonne, grabbed him harshly back on her lap, ready to yell at him, preparing to apologize and offer to replace the glasses. \n\nBut Raina only smiled. She blinked a few more times, looked around at each of her friends as if she could see them clearly, grinned from ear to ear, and blew out her candles. From then on, she never needed glasses again, and she and Kris were inseparable. \n\nThe legends grew. When their rival team, the College Hill Snakes, came to play, ten of their best players suddenly grew weak and could barely dribble the ball. Kris easily led them to victory. When the season’s hurricane hit in the middle of class one day, Kris had walked straight into it, seeming taller and taller as he walked, and it faded away as he walked back, calling his classmates out from under their desks. When the next storm threatened to shut down homecoming, he’d managed to make the football stadium close its cover and raise the seats up several inches to prevent flooding, keeping everyone’s beautiful party clothes dry. \n\nSo it was that at the dance, Kris seemed to have only eyes for Raina. But somehow, every girl there got a dance with him, in four short hours. He handed off his partners so that every student at school got a turn to dance with someone. He whirled and moved, so smooth, his eyes dancing with mischief, his whispered words a melody. \n\nWhen the dance was over, he swaggered up onto the stage with his iconic blue and green guitar. He pursed his ruby-red lips and began to strum. Everyone swayed to the music, mesmerized. They gazed up at him reverently, their blue-headed god."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Don't do it\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1194\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who hates pranks and spends April Fools’ Day doing good deeds instead."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "The wind billows fluttering the black colored guys hair that's Immersed in looking at the lone purple violet flower at the corner as it's becoming wet more and more by the drizzling rain with the pitter pattering as background music his memories flashed back to the past \n\n\"that day was raining too\" murmuring to himself he said \n\n.......\n.......\n.......\n\nCrouching down the silver eyed girl was feeding a beautiful curled up stray cat with a warm smile on her face not caring whether she was getting soaked with rain or not as if she was in her own world she was patting on the cat like a little kid\n\nWhen she flinched with a guy behind her suddenly saying \" you will get wet take this umbrella\" \n\nGetting up she looked at him with her silver emotionless eyes as if she was a totally different person from a while ago without saying anything she turned around to go on her own way not taking the umbrella \n\nConfusedly rubbing his head he looked at the empty wet street saying \"she didn't even take the umbrella\" \n\nPutting his hand on his shoulder his friend in a sarcastic laugh said \"yah kay don't mind her... She is always like that... Never talks to anyone..... doesn't have any friends.... at school she is totally isolated\" \n\n\"but why jin?\" Kay said in question \n\n he nonchalantly said \"i don't know\" \n\n............\n.........\n\nBooh\nMaking kay startled with his sudden appearance he smiled sarcastically saying \"yah kay what are you doing\" \n\nLooking outside the window he saw Elyana\nTurning around he sighed saying \"looking at Elyana again\" \n\nWhile resting his chin on his palm he calmly said \" say is it not sad that she is always alone.... at this age we should be surrounded by friends... having fun.... Chit chatting.... Isolation is not good for ones own self.\" \n\nLooking at him with scrutinizing eyes he said \"since when were you this carrying.... Wait Don't tell me you?\" \n\nLooking at his full of suspicion eyes he sighed shaking his head saying \"yah it's not like that....\" \n\nRemembering how she feed the little cat with a warm smile on her face and how she always gives money to the old homeless man \n\nTurning around with determined eyes he said \n\"I just think she is a really good person so i want to help her make friends do you have any idea jin\" \n\nLooking at his serious face he said :okayyy i have an idea\n\n.......\n.......\n.......\n\nThe sky was grayish as the clouds generate more and more predicting a soon coming rain\n\nLooking at him deadpanly kay said \" didn't you say it will not rain\" \n\nLooking at his dark face he smiled sarcastically saying \"hayy the forecast said it not me.... .. Also Why is this even important we just need to go by our plan making her come to the hospital and then surprise her by celebration and make her becoming friends with sara and others\" \n\nSighing he said \"you are right\" \n\n......\n......\n\nIndulged in reading a book with her chin resting on her palm when she heard a small howling of the sky\n\nLooking up she saw the bright blue sky being invaded by the grayish clouds closing her book she started inhaling the fresh clear air mixed with the beautiful fragrance of the purple violet flowers surrounding her\nA beautiful warm smile appeared on her face saying \"really spring days air is like no other day\"\n\nWhen she felt a sudden pain in her heart making her crouch down on her knees for a while\ntrying to inhaling and exhale steadly as the pain slowly started to fade away only then she got up carefully to seat on the bench leaning by it she saw the big wide sky reaching her hand out she murmured saying \"wah what a beautiful sky..... I wonder for how longer it will embrace me\"\n\nWhen she heard someone say \"hey Elyana you are here\"\n\nGetting up to look..... it was Kay the popular handsome guy in her class she has never talked to him but from how he wanted to give the umbrella to her she new he was a good guy\n\nPanting from the run kay was too nervous and not good with acting but still he got a hold on himself \nGiving a smal paper to her he said while looking down \" elyana i am sorry but there was a phone call that said your mother had an accident you need... \"\n\nListening to him Elyanas heart started to raise as if the world around her crumbled she only heard his voice.... not carrying about anything she started to run murmuring to herself \"mom...no\"\n\nRunning for only five minutes elyana starts to slow down as the sound of pain makes it's way out *ahh it hurt.... No heart not now please *\n\nThe noisy street full of people and cars couldn't suppress the sound of her heart throbbing as it grounds her in the center of the street..... she really needed to to get up \n\nbut before even standing up a car hits her making her roll on the ground several times tearing her clothes off for only blood to ooze out of her body as she slowly closes her eyes into a complete darkness \n\n.......\n.......\n.......\n\nAs the glittering light of cars shone it created different shades on his face with emotionless eyes he murmured to himself \n\n\"if only i haven't done that......\" \n\nComing to his sense with Jins voice saying \n\"Kay you are here again.... looking outside at the homeless old man Jin said \"are you going to give him money again\"\n\nKay only nodded and said \"why is this even important?\" \n\nWanting to not say anything but after all he could not he said \"Kay i did not want to say that but.... It was not our fault hmm\"\n\nnot carrying about what Jin said ..... He indulged himself in writing again as the rain started to pour more heavily with the thunder becoming stronger\n\nHe stopped his fingers from writing saying \"say Jin don't you too hate it when april fools day come\" \n\nLooking down jin said \"amm\"\n\nLeaning by the chair again and looking outside the window at the trees as they move with the wind he said \"Jin I wonder why she hide it.... That she had a heart disease\" \n\nJin looked at him saying \" maybe she didn't want for people to look at her pitifully \"\n\nLooking at the pitter pattering rain Kay closed the laptop without saying anything and just got immersed in the beautiful scenery\nThe purple violet flower in the corner was still shaking vigorously with the wind but still maintained its grounds \n*\nI wonder if there was no day like April fools day instead it was April's truth day then may be things would have changed\n\nWhy we humans chose lying ..... Lying is bad even if it is for joke it will still hurt to some points\n\nMay be april fools day exist because peoples don't give truth a chance.\n*"
}
]
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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: When We Survive\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1356\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that involves a flashback."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "My nostrils are burning. The fumes radiating off the Tarmac are making my eyes water. I’m under my bird pre-flighting the nose gear—my shoulder blades pressed into a plastic creeper. I can’t rub my eyes again without coating them in grease. Someone runs by me, nearly tripping over my foot. I try to roll out from under the bird and hit my head. Before I can stand, Ray grabs my arm and yells something. I can see his mouth moving, but my ears are ringing. More people are running now.\nThe first fuel pit explodes shortly after I secure my flak and rifle. The heat is radiating off my skin; I feel like I’m burning alive. I’m on land, but I’m running through water. I’ve lost control of my breath—breathing is no longer something my body can do for me. I have to think to move air in and out of my lungs. Ray shoves me down to the ground, I can feel him at my side. I pull out my gun to shoot.\n“Eric!” Leila screams. “Eric! It’s me!”\nI can’t see straight.\n“You’re safe,” Leila says. “You’re home. We’re sitting in the closet, in our home.”\nShe loosens my grip on the umbrella and hangs it back on the closet door. I don’t remember curling myself up like this.\n“It happened again, didn’t it? Didn’t it? I ask, “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.”\nLeila presses my hand into the carpet floor. Her skin feels strange against mine.\nI don’t mention this incident in therapy. Sometimes I like to pretend I’m still the same as before, that my small part in the war in Afghanistan didn’t fuck me up that badly.\nFor today’s session, I’ve set up on the couch. Leila surrendered the loft for me to use as an office. She tries her best to give me privacy, but I know she can’t resist trying to listen from the bottom of the stairs. My drink glasses from last night are sitting too close together. They tap each other with the movement of the floor. I can only catch a few of my therapist’s words; I’m trying to figure out how to keep the ceiling fan from squeaking. I think it’s moving too fast. I wonder how much of it will hit me if it fell, probably enough to knock me out, at least for a little while. The rickety sound is making my body twitch.\n“Eric?” She asks.\nI turn my focus back toward the screen, to my therapist. I’d almost forgotten she was there.\n“We were talking about a moment of discomfort,” she says. “Something not too traumatic. I need you to start tapping on your chest again.”\nI follow her instructions reluctantly. The practice of EMDR is absurd, somehow tapping my arms at a steady pace is supposed to help me tell her all my darkest secrets.\n“Now, tell me about that moment of discomfort you chose,” she says.\n“It was when Leila came to pick me up,” I say. “We were apart for about a year or so. We wrote letters back and forth when we could. I always expected she’d come running and hug me. We hardly spoke—I didn’t even put her hand on my leg the whole drive home. It was like we didn’t know each other anymore.”\n“You’re doing great,” she says. “How are you feeling right now?”\n“I’m okay,” I say.\nI feel my legs go numb during our session, she keeps reminding me to move my hands to a steady pulse. The sharp pain in my leg makes it jerk every time I try to extend my foot. I wonder how much longer I’ll have to keep showing up to these to keep Leila happy.\nWhen the session finally ends, I shut my laptop and walk down the hall to find Leila in the kitchen. She’s standing over the stove.\n“Hey,” she says, turning to face me, “How was your session?”\nShe’s really trying.\n“It was fine,” I say.\n“I’m leaving for work in ten minutes,” she says. “Did you make any plans to get out?”\n“Ray called,” I say. “I’m meeting him for lunch.”\n“That’s good,” she says, “It’ll be good for you to get out and see someone you can actually talk to.”\nShe knows I haven’t really been talking to my therapist. I hate leaving the house. This is the first conversation where we haven’t argued about money or the fact that I won’t do more than sleep on the couch. I don’t think she understands that it’s not that I don’t want to do anything, but that I can’t.\nWhen she leaves, I get up to greet my stubble in the bathroom mirror. I toss my clothes in the corner and let the shower head send beads of water down my back until it runs cold. Leila and I used to have chemistry—we were teenagers drunk on this dream of true love. We got engaged, and then I got deployed; and now, I think she’s scared of me.\nShe was right about me needing to get out. Ray is the one person here that would really understand, but we’ve never really been ones to talk about our feelings. I don’t talk about what happened there.\nWhen I get to the restaurant, I park beside Ray’s car. He’s chosen an old diner, the kind that looks sketchy, but the food is good as long as you ignore the health ratings. He still drives the same beat-up red chevy with the half-removed army stickers on the back.\nI find him sitting with his back to the wall in the corner of the room. He stands to greet me.\n“Hey, man,” Ray says. He reaches out to shake my hand.\n“It’s been a minute,” I say.\nMy chair scrapes the floor when I move it closer to the table, it makes my body cringe. When the waitress comes, I order a cup of coffee and Ray tells me about his wife and the new baby on the way; apparently, his wife is upset because she really wanted a girl. His parents have been showering them with everything they can find in the color blue. Their house has become a storage facility for diaper boxes and baby toys. Since he’s been back, he got a job working in finance and he’s using his GI bill to finish school. He asks me how I’m doing.\n“Alright,” I say. “I’ve been back a few months now and I’m adjusting to being home again.”\nI don’t tell him about my nightmares, the therapy appointments Leila signed me up for, or the fact I can’t carry my gun anymore. I just tell him things are fine: I’m fine, Leila’s fine, we’re doing fine.\nRay sneaks behind my back to pay the bill and refuses my thanks. He takes my hands in his and offers me a somber welcome home. I watch his red truck pull out of the parking lot and realize that’s where I have to go now: home. I was taught to accept the fact that I was already dead, it’s what made me a good soldier. No one told us what happens when we survive.\nI’m exhausted. One trip out of the house is more than I can handle. Without all that adrenaline, the world moves slower. When I arrive home, I’m desperate to remove myself from the jean buttons digging into my skin. My hand moves toward a glass, but I opt for a cigar, and take it out to the porch to light it. My forehead is sweaty, the brisk air feels good on my face and arms. I’m always too hot. I sit and watch the puffs of smoke leave my mouth until it gets dark. My body jerks when Leila comes up behind me.\n“Hey,” she says, softly.\n“I don’t think I came all the way home,” I say.\nLeila comes to sit beside me and steals the cigar from my lips. Her head lands softly on my shoulder. She exhales a mixture of sigh and nicotine. \n“I know,” she says."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Going at my Pace~ (Title inspired from Stray Kids: My Pace (I LOVE SKZ!))\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2488\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a mischievous pixie or trickster god."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "He’s still sleeping, isn’t he? I hang up, then call him for the seventh time. Of course, he doesn’t, won’t answer. Okay, fine. Don’t answer, Hyun-Ki. Just you wait. I shake my head. What a jerk.\nI quickly get dressed - and slam the door behind me. As always, all eyes are on me. Of course. I’m the star. The boss of the house. After all, they can’t help it. I wink, not specifically to anyone, but generally, to the dozens of eyes on me. I lick my lips. I’m just starting, baby. Besides, I can’t waste time with them now. I’m on my way to destroy someone. And that someone may just be Hyun-Ki. Maybe. \nBut for me, maybe is just another word for yes.\nI smile at a tall, light-haired girl, who was, of course, staring daggers at me and my outfit. Jealous. Jealous that she can't be as magnificent as I am. That she can’t be popular with everyone like I am. Jealous that I’m perfect - that everyone likes me, and that I can pul any outfit off.\n Hmph. \nI’m dressed in a white, cropped, off-shoulder top, high-waisted jeans, and a pair of beige, stacked-off heels. My brunette hair is cascading over my bare shoulders in full curls. I look the part, and now, all I have to do is act the part. No difference. I always act the part.\nI walk through the orphanage hallway, chin high, my beige heels “click-clacking” down the corridor.\nThe “mom” of the orphanage shoots me a look and sighs, “Ji Hyun darling,” She says, “You’re showing too much skin.” “Not that there’s a difference today. But it’s my job to remind you, you know. You’re such a pretty girl, but, there are other way’s to show it, honey.”\n“Am not.”\n“Your choice, honey.”\n“Of course it is.”\nI keep walking until I reach Hyun-Ki’s room and lean my ear on the door. Yup, I can hear him inside. Snoring. Ew.\nI walk away from it, go down the stairs, and frown at the women standing near the orphanage’s doors. I’m sick of this stupid curfew and stuff rule.\nWhen I’m within their sight, I flash them a wide smile, “Morning.”\nWhen I try to get past them, the tall, American one says, “You can’t get out for another fifteen minutes. You know that, don’t you?” She speaks Korean with an English accent.\n“I’m just getting something from my car,” I reply. A lie, of course.\n“Oh! Okay then, I’m sorry. Just please come back afterward, alright?”\n“Certainly.”\nBefore I get out, the small, petite, Japanese lady stops me, “Are you really just going to your car?”\nNope.\nI smile and say, “Yup.”\n“Oh, really?”\nI smile sweetly at them, “Of course. Wouldn’t want to upset Ms. Choi, would I?”\nShe narrows her eyes at me, “Oh, you don’t?”\n“Of course,” I say, and she smiles, yet her eyes remain on me.\n“Oh well, youngsters.”\n“Yeah. Right. Because you’re not young anymore, you can envy us.” I snap, then realize it.\n“Excuse me?”\n“I just said you’re young too, Ms.”\n“Oh, did you?”\n“Yes.”\nShe says ‘Oh’ so much.\n“Oh, well, you can go off now.”\nBRUH!\n“Okay, Ms.”\n“Ms. Miyawaki.”\n“Ms. Miyawaki, I’ll go now.” Huh. \nSo full of yourself.\nI’m different - my opinion of myself is based on me.\nI’m amazing, she isn’t.\n“OFF YOU GO, NOW.” Miyawaki Lady demands, and I nod.\n“Arasso, arasso.”\nWhen I get out, I smirk. Too oblivious, those people.\nI stop under Hyun-Ki’s window, grab a few pebbles, then throw them at it. \nNothing? Are you serious right now, Hyun-Ki?\nI take my phone and throw it at the window. He’ll buy me a new one. If it breaks because it’ll obviously be his fault.\nThis time, the window opens.\n“Who the hell is-” Hyun-Ki looks down, “Ji Hy…?”\n“You didn’t answer my calls.”\n“So you throw rocks at my window?”\n“That was my phone.”\nHis mouth drops open, “What?”\n“You’ll buy me a new one, won’t you?”\n“You are seriously-”\n“You’ll buy me a new one.”\n“Fine.”\n“Now,” I say, smiling, “Get ready. We’re going to school.”\n“Sure, give me a few minutes.”\nI can make anything go my way.\nI get back in the orphanage and shoot a glance at the Japanese lady. Himari, was that her name?\nShe sees me and smiles. I can see her muscles tensing up, though. Huh.\nWhat’d you think I was doing?\nAs if to answer, she says, “Glad you weren’t planning to do anything else.”\n“Like what?”\n“Who knows what you kids do, nowadays.”\n“Have fun. Enjoy life. Date. Go out. Do anything we want because we don’t live forever-” I then remember myself and add, “Study too, of course.”\n“Yes, of course.” Her eyes narrow.\nBefore she says anything else, I bow slightly, then make my way up the stairs and into the corridor.\nWhen I reach Hyun-Ki’s room, I knock. I shouldn’t though, right?\nI punch in the passcode. 7214. He doesn’t know that I know, right? Let’s change that.\nMy hand grips the cold metal, and I feel something sticky. Gooey. I hold up my hand to inspect it.\n“EW!” I say. That jerk. Him and his roommate. There’s something called a trash can. Where you can dispose of the gum you just chewed, have you ever heard of it?\nAct as if this never happened, act the part. I remind myself. Just tell them a quick, smart lie to throw them off.\nI turn the doorknob. When I get in, I grin at Han Gyeol, who is Hyun-Ki’s roommate, “Where’s Hyun-Ki?”\n“Cursing in his room.”\nBingo. Of course, he’s mad.\n“Oh, and by the way,” I say, “Ms. Choi brought up that you, as well as Hyun-Ki, are in trouble.”\n“Why?” He rolls his eyes.\n“There was gum on your doorknob. It got on her new pair of silk gloves.”\nHe runs his hand through his thick, brown hair, “Damn. Hyun-Ki mentioned to me that that was meant for you.” His eyes widen, “Whoops. That slipped out.”\nI shrug. For me? I’ll show him.\n“Okay, give me a second, I’ll call him.” Han Gyeol says.\n“No,” I say, “I will.”\nI open the door to his room. He’s still in bed? I grab a book from its shelf and throw it at him.\n“Han Gyeol! Bro! You seriously have the nerve-” he stops.\n“Yeah,” I say, with one hand on my hip, “I have the nerve.”\n“Oh, you, Ji Hy.”\n“Get up!” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth, “It’s time for school, you immature jerk!”\n“I’m already dressed.”\n“Okay, so, let’s go.”\nI walk out of their dorm, but before I do, I notice Han Gyeol whispering something in Hyun-Ki’s ear. Not enough time to see Hyun-Ki’s reaction, though. But, there’s no need. I can only guess.\nI stop at Eun’s dorm. I still don’t understand why I’m not her roommate, and Aera is. As if Eun enjoys her company, either.\nI knock on the door, “Eun!”\nShe opens the door, “Who-”\n“Who?” I pop a hip to the side.\n“Hey girl~,” She says, “Sorry, Aera is absolutely killing me right now.\n“So I guess nothing changed?”\n“Ever heard of someone cooking noodles in the bathroom?”\n“Jesus.”\n“Right?”\n“Ask Bok Choi to change dorms.”\n“You don’t call her that to her face, do you? You should, though.”\n“Yeah, but,” I wink, “It’d ruin my angel side.”\n“You two-faced demon.” She laughs.\nI say, “Besides, why don’t you ask her?”\n“I already did.”\n“And?”\n“Just try to keep good terms with her, darling, you gotta love each other.” She responds in a squeaky voice, almost perfect, to how Choi talks.\nI almost puke.\nShe takes my arm, “Hey, how about I sleepover at your dorm for tonight? You don’t have a roommate, too, right?”\n“Yeah, something Choi did right,” I say, rolling my eyes.\n“But, for a couple of days though,” She lets go of my arm, turns around so she’s facing me, and holds up seven fingers, “Not just for one night, though. I need… a week? I need a break from her.”\nI laugh, “Yes. Sure. Of course. I need company anyway.” I wink.\nShe smiles, then rolls her eyes, “Let’s go to school together. I’m sick of the rule Choi assigned.”\n“Yeah. Waiting for your roommate before you go? To ‘enhance further social relationships’? Jesus.”\n“Yes. Now, just give me a minute to get ready, okay?”\n“Okay,” I say as she locks the door behind her.\nI wait.\nFifteen minutes later, she gets out, dressed in over-the-knees, skinny jeans, and a cream-colored sweater. Her short, caramel hair is curled, (she borrowed my hair curler after seeing what magnificent work it can do to an already magnificent individual.)\nEun smiles when she sees me, “Sorry. Took longer than expected. You should’ve left. Now, we have to walk with Aera.”\n“Hmm,” I tap my temple thoughtfully, “What’s she doing right now?”\n“Wearing her shoes.”\n“Run.”\n“Yes.”\nWe take off.\nWhen we reach the orphanage’s front door, the Japanese lady looks at me, “What are you-”\nWe run past her, and only stop when we reach the school’s front gate, “Jesus,” I say, “I was planning to stop for some Bibimbap.”\n“Sorry,” Eun says, winking, “Were you willing to buy Aera one?”\n“Who said I was planning on buying?”\nShe elbows me, “Pft.”\nWhen we enter the school, all eyes are on us. Nothing different. It always is like this, and always will be.\nAs we walk through the hallway, I glance over at Eun, then at myself, if that’s possible.\nWe’re both beautiful. Just in completely different ways. I see Eun smiling at a brown-haired girl, then feel myself winking to another. Eun is an angel-when revealing herself to the public, that is.\nI, on the other hand, am a two-faced, sexy devil. No joke. I’ve heard people say it. Although, in front of our seniors, I tend to act angelic as well.\nI cock my head to the side, that girl was staring at me the whole time. But, something was different. I’m used to people staring. But, she was staring at me from weird angles, and I even caught her clicking her tongue in disgust. \nI walk over to her, “Hey.”\n“What do you want from me?”\n“Tsk, I didn’t want to be a prick, but… Well, I’m just trying to be polite.” I say, then gesture around her, “Seeing that you were an outcast, I thought you’d appreciate some company.”\n“Oh, I’d appreciate some company,” She snaps, “Just not yours, thank you very much.”\n“Look’s like I’m not the prick.”\n\n“Of course you are.” She smirks, “Now, get the hell away from me, you dirty jerk.” \n“I’d like to keep you company, though.” I smile sweetly, acting as if her words didn’t sting. Well, I’m not acting. They didn’t. I don’t give a crap about what she thinks. But, I must keep acting as if I am an angel.\nI hear a guy walking near us, say to his friend, “Just look at her. Soo Hi, the outcast is getting invited to hang out by Ji Hyun, and she declined. Who does she think she is?”\nJung Hwan? Wow, even her name is…\n“Ji Hy!” Someone says, “Don’t mind her! Besides, An angel can’t bond with trash!”\nI smile. I have support. As always.\n“Angel?” Jung Hwan says, “That’s a con.”\n“Shut up,” Someone else says. People are taking my side, as always, “I can tell you what isn’t a con, the fact that you’re a worthless piece of crap!”\nI smile at my supporters, “Thank you, but, maybe me and Jung Hwan can hang out-”\n“I’d prefer it if we do not.” Jung Hwan interrupts.\n“Hey, Ji Hyun!” Another girl calls out, “Can I keep you company, instead?”\nI shoot the girl a big smile, “Anytime.”\nBefore I go back to Eun’s side, I lean in and whisper in Jung Hwan’s ear, “Sorry darling, but I have the people’s support. Something you don’t have. Did you think I wanted to hang out with you? I have better things to do.” I stand up straight, smooth out my hair, and say, “Okay, Jung Hwan. You have my number. Let’s go out for coffee sometime!”\nI walk over to Eun, she smiles, and mouths, I told you so.\nAs Eun and I walk to the first period, someone grabs my shoulder. I turn around.\n“Hyun-Ki?”\n“Yeah. So, I didn’t do my History assignment yesterday, can I borrow your notes, please?”\n“You’ll be late to class.”\nHe cocks a grin, “Besides, history is my last period.”\n“Yeah, I forgot we were in different classes. But still, you don’t have enough time.”\n“So,” He shrugs, “Better late than dead.”\n“Hm?”\n“You know,” He says, and growls, making weird movements with his hands, “Our History teacher, if you even think about skipping assignments, he’ll bring out the guillotine that he hides in his underwear drawer, and cut your neck right there! In front of the whole class. Then, he’ll wipe our memories and make an excuse-”\n“Nonsense.”\n“No, really,” Hyun-Ki insists, “He tells the police that you committed suicide, got hit by a car, or jumped out of the window in an attempt to be free-”\n“You’re wasting my time.” I shove him out of my way.\nHe blocks me from entering the classroom, “Ji Hy, please. It’s not like he’ll check your notes too.”\nI sigh, “Fine.”\nHe grabs my backpack, and goes through it, throwing stuff on the floor.\n“Hey!” I say as I catch a glimpse of tampons being thrown in the chaos, “Hyun-Ki! Stop!”\n“What?” He says, clearly confused. I just want to whack him with that backpack right now. Damn him. Damn the people watching.\nOf course, by this time, dozens are gathered around us. That’s what they do. When I do something, people watch. It’s how life goes around here.\nI quickly gather my things, pull out my history notebook, give it to him, smile at the crowd, then run into history. Why does life have to be like this?\nWhen I enter the classroom, of course, because of countless people, I’m late. I spot Eun waving me over.\n“Annyeonghaseyo,” I greet the teacher quickly, exchange bows, then walk over to Eun.\n\"Annyeong, Ji Hyun. Sueob-e osin geos-eul hwan-yeonghabnida. Da-eum-e neuj-ji anhge haebwa, arasso?\" \n\"Ani. Singyeong an sseuda, eolgan-i.\" I snap, because of my sudden bad mood.\nI walk out of the classroom, \"Annyeong.\" I roll my eyes. Oops. It happened again. Oh well, I'm the sexy bad girl of Seoul National University High School - and it'll stay that way.\nThe sexy bad girl of our High School. Sooo, it doesn't matter if I ignore orders every now and then, right? I smile mischievously.\nThat’s me."
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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: Fence Post\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2419\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that involves a flashback."
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"role": "assistant",
"content": "(CW: Descriptions of gory injuries and post-traumatic stress.)\n\nAustin Tretheway felt like he had aged several years in the months he had been laid up in Stalag V C’s hospital. For the first time in months, he was able to look into a mirror, and wondered if the man in it was really him. The man’s face was hollow. His bones were more prominent. His eyes were deeper in their sockets, and lined with dark circles.\n\n“Corporal,” he said, looking at the German medic, Wenzel, measuring fluid in an IV drip bag, “is it really March already?”\n\n“Yes,” Wenzel replied.\n\n“And it was January when I was captured?”\n\n“I think ‘rescued’ is the better word to use.”\n\nA dull ache suddenly bloomed in Tretheway’s right side. “You’re right.”\n\nAfter leaving the hospital, Tretheway tried to integrate himself into camp life. As a commando, he was completely alone. Everyone else had their own little groups based on what their job was in the British Army when they were captured. The majority of soldiers there had been taken in North Africa, while the rest had been taken in Italy. Some were tankers, others medics, snipers, mechanics, machine gunners, and general infantry. Tretheway remembered his task had been to blow up a German radio tower some fifteen kilometers west of Augsburg. As far as he knew, the mission was successful, even though he wasn’t there.\n\nHe imagined his comrades assumed he was dead. They hadn’t even tried to find him after he was blown off-course—\n\nNo. Don’t think about it, Tretheway urged himself. He kept urging that during the two months he was stuck in the hospital. When he arrived, it was the dead of winter. When he left the hospital, spring was emerging. The grass was vibrant and the wind carried the smell of flowers.\n\nSome of the other prisoners had been kind enough to ask him to sit with them during mealtimes. Most of the German guards he interacted with were kind, especially Private Liebermann, who had been the one to find him out in the field that night. What was strangest was that a great many of the people there were wizards.\n\nTretheway was barred from going on work details because of his injury. He tried convincing the commandant that he was healthy enough to go, but when he approached Captain Westheimer about it, his side and stomach became engulfed in pain. There was no way he would be allowed to go.\n\nThat became his life. Constant pain, and not just physically. He was assigned to Barracks One, under Sergeant Plundell. Some mail was waiting on his bunk, along with a present from Liebermann. The present was a silver necklace with a ruby pendant.\n\n“What’s this?” Tretheway asked. The rest of the prisoners were either reading in their bunks or playing cards at a table in the center of the barracks.\n\n“Amulet,” Plundell replied, not looking up from his cards. “It’s got a protection spell on it.”\n\nTretheway shrugged. “I don’t need it.” He put it back in the box. “I’m going to give it back.”\n\n“Don’t!” Every soldier in the barracks looked at him in horror.\n\n“You’ll break his heart,” Plundell said.\n\n“Honestly, mate, offending Liebermann is like kicking a puppy,” Private Wraight said.\n\nTretheway sighed. “I suppose I owe him for saving my life and tending to me in the hospital.” He put the amulet around his neck, tucking it in his jacket.\n\n“Anyway,” Plundell glanced over at Tretheway, “welcome to Barracks One.”\n\n“Thanks. What all should I know about how life works around here?”\n\n“Not much. Roll call is twice a day. Once at 0700 and again at 2000. We eat at 0730, 1200, and 1700. Showers are at 1800. The recreation hall and exercise yard are open all day. Work details don’t have a set time, depends on who wants us. Mess hall and cleaning duties are rotated. If you have experience with vehicles or medicine, Westheimer expects you to be working in the motor pool or hospital.”\n\n“He also expects this camp to be clean,” Wraight said. “No throwing your cigarette butts all over the yard, or else you’ll be cleaning every single butt in camp by yourself.”\n\n“Laundry is done weekly, usually Saturdays. There’s a building for religious services on Sundays. We get our Red Cross packages once a month.”\n\n“Sounds fairly relaxed,” Tretheway said.\n\n“Compared to other POW camps, yeah. Westheimer is pretty lenient, but don’t abuse it. He’s also open to talk about stuff, so don’t hesitant to see if he’s in his office.”\n\nTretheway nodded a little. “What else do I need to know?”\n\n“That’s pretty much it.”\n\n“Alright.” Tretheway slowly lowered himself to sit on his bunk, resisting the urge to grunt in pain. Sitting, standing, crouching, kneeling—every movement could cause pain, and he was certain that was permanent. Wenzel couldn’t say for certain whether or not it would be permanent. The pain was either better or worse depending on the day.\n\n“If you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Plundell said, noticing Tretheway wincing.\n\nWhat he said was perfectly innocent. Plundell was trying to be kind and courteous. At the same time, Tretheway felt like the aftermath of his injury were being magnified. He could feel the inky black tendrils of his memories of that night unfurl from the murky recesses of his mind. They wrapped around his brain, and suddenly he couldn’t break free of them.\n\nHe saw himself standing with the four other commandos, waiting for the order to jump out the side of the plane over southern Germany. Then he was being shoved out. Winter air sliced through his exposed face and threatened to dry out his eyes. After free-falling for a second or two longer, he yanked on the cord to open his parachute. The straps of his harness were pulled tight as the parachute erupted from his pack.\n\nWind came from behind, throwing him further east than what was initially planned. Futilely, Tretheway tried to angle himself back. He cursed as the wind continued to carry him. Abruptly, it stopped, and he found himself falling toward an abandoned farm. More specifically, the fence surrounding a massive field, covered in snow. Tretheway expected he would land next to the fence. No big deal. Land, get his chute off, find the others.\n\nThe wind again came through as he prepared to land. Realizing he was going to land on the fence, he tried to pull himself away from it, tried releasing the cords of the chute. He could land in the soft snow. Something deep inside told him it wasn’t going to work.\n\nThe pain of the pointed fence post impaling him was unlike anything he had felt in his life, physical or emotional. Hot blood gushed freely from the new wounds in his back and stomach. Shock blinded him, and he couldn’t hold back on screaming. He howled at the top of his lungs scrambled to get himself free. Unable to pull himself off, he desperately writhed, screaming and wondering what sin he could’ve possibly committed to deserve such raw and intense pain. Blood stained the snow red. Looking at it, and the fence post buried in the right side of his stomach, a single thought crossed his mind, and stayed there: I’m going to die.\n\nThat thought repeated over and over, even though he wanted so badly to survive. The fence post snapped off, letting Tretheway roll into the bloody snow. He untangled himself from the cords of his parachute, and tried to crawl away. He didn’t know where he was going, other than “somewhere.” Somewhere more suitable to die.\n\nLeaving a trail of blood, he kept going. He passed out once, until something forced him awake, telling him to keep going. When he came to the edge of a forest, bordering a vast, snowy field, the voice stopped, and so did he. He lay on his left side, pain continuing to rip through his back and stomach. There’s no way I’m going to survive this. No way in hell.\n\nAs he was certain he was nearing his end, the sound of a motorcycle and German shouting rapidly approached him. Though he didn’t want to be taken prisoner, this was his only chance of survival.\n\n“Tretheway? What’s wrong? Are you alright, mate?”\n\nPlundell’s voice pulled Tretheway from his memories. Glancing around the barracks, confusion took hold. It felt like that dreadful night had just happened. The pain in his stomach was still present, though not nearly as intense. Tretheway realized Plundell and a few other soldiers were staring at him, while he was hunched over, holding his side.\n\n“I’m alright.” You rotten liar. You are not alright. You’re far from it. Tretheway slowly stood. “I need some air.”\n\nOutside the barracks, Tretheway struggled to keep his mind from flashing back to the night of his injury. The pain was a constant reminder. This place was a constant reminder. He was going to be in pain for the rest of his life. He would never be able to work, or be independent. The rest of his life would be mired with constant pity, and he wasn’t sure which was worse, pain or pity.\n\nTretheway reached out to brace himself against the side of the barracks, and felt himself sliding down to the ground, unable to stand. Was this really his life now? Tears began streaming down his face, and he silently begged for someone to help him.\n\nHe heard a door open and close, then looked up to see Plundell approaching him. “Hey. What happened?” Plundell knelt next to him. “Do I need to grab a medic?”\n\nTretheway shook his head. “I’ll be fine, Sergeant. I just want to be left alone.”\n\n“Are you sure? You went through something horrible, and you looked like you had just relived it.” Plundell sat down.\n\nWell, he wasn’t wrong. “I don’t want anyone’s pity.”\n\n“You’re not the only one here who’s been through something so awful, mate. We all understand what you're feeling. We all have nightmares about something.”\n\n“But do you have nightmares during the day?”\n\nPlundell nodded. “I used to have moments where I would start reliving my squad’s death in Italy. For almost a month after the poltergeist incident, I would start hearing the poltergeist’s voice, sometimes at night, and sometimes during the day, if it was quiet and I had nothing to occupy my mind.”\n\n“How did they stop?”\n\n“They still happen occasionally, usually when I feel depressed and more vulnerable. Westheimer and I have long talks about our memories and the significance of them. In some ways, those talks helped. I didn’t feel so alone and helpless anymore. I didn’t feel like I was a complete loon. The nightmares still occur, but they hurt less.” Plundell squeezed Tretheway’s shoulder. “I can help you make them hurt less.”\n\nA warm feeling of comfort spread down from his shoulder. Tretheway looked over to see Plundell was smiling at him. “If you think you can help . . . what’s there to lose?”\n------------\nPlundell had made it his goal to find something Tretheway was good at that wouldn’t aggravate his injury, something that would give him hope of having a life after the war. The following day, Plundell took Tretheway into the recreation hall.\n\nThe hall was lined with bookshelves, tables, and boxes full of items the prisoners—and occasionally the guards—would use to entertain themselves. Playing cards, chess sets, sketchbooks, pencils, anything they could think of. There was even a piano in one corner of the room, and Tretheway found he was drawn to that.\n\n“My girlfriend plays the piano,” he said, turning to Plundell. “I’m not nearly as good as her, but I can give it a try.”\n\n“Go for it, mate,” Plundell replied.\n\nWhoever had last used the piano had left their sheet music. It was a piece that person had composed themselves, with no title. Tretheway grimaced a bit as he sat down, but tried to focus more on understanding the notes on the paper than his pain. How many years had it been since he practiced? Several. Long before the war started. He had been working in construction before enlisting.\n\nTaking a deep breath, Tretheway played each note as he found them. It was slow, and didn’t sound like music. Try one bar at a time. You’ll get the hang of it again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Plundell leaning against the doorway, observing him. Tretheway bit his lip before trying the first bar of notes again. And again, but a little faster. And a third time, faster and smoother.\n\n“That’s lovely,” Plundell said. “I think that’s Becker’s piece you’re playing. He’d been working on that the last few nights.”\n\nOver the next few hours, Tretheway worked his way through the sheet of music, repeating each bar until he could play it with no stops to check if he was hitting the right note. For the first time in three months, he was thinking about something other than pain and memories. He was thinking about the music and how it made him feel. It was a very calm and mellow piece. Not sad, but not happy, either. It was different, but it was a good kind of different. An interesting different.\n\nWhen he played the piece for the last time, in one fluid go, Tretheway turned, expecting to see just Plundell in the doorway. Instead, he saw several other prisoners and guards, including Captain Westheimer, had gathered to listen. Embarrassment flushed Tretheway’s cheeks. “I didn’t do that well, did I?”\n\n“You did beautifully,” Plundell replied.\n\n“You seem to have a natural talent for it,” Westheimer added.\n\n“Well, I did practice near all bloody day.” Tretheway gave a nervous laugh.\n\nSergeant Becker spoke up. “I wrote that piece to be challenging for me. I wouldn’t expect someone who hadn’t practiced in years to grasp it.”\n\n“It did take a few tries.”\n\n“That was a compliment. You ought to be really proud of yourself. Hell, you could make a name for yourself when you go home.”\n\n“You think so?”\n\nBecker nodded. “With some more practice, I could see you traveling the world, playing with the biggest names in music.”\n\nTretheway grinned a little. A real genuine smile after so many months of not feeling happiness at all. “You can’t be serious.”\n\n“I am! Just don’t forget about all of us. I’m sure we’d all like signed records.”"
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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: April Fools\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1727\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who’s spent a whole year planning a big prank, and now they’re finally ready to pull it off."
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"role": "assistant",
"content": "I didn't sleep.\nI didn't get a wink of sleep.\nwhy?\nbecause i was just that anxious, and just that crazy.\nthrow in a bit of psycho in there and you have me....basically.\n\"A, stop fidgeting.\"\n I looked at her \"you wouldn't understand, I’ve been waiting for this moment since last year, when he did the mustard spray,”\nShe stifled a laugh and failed. Ever. So. Terribly.\n“yeah laugh ha ha, but this year, it’s me laughing.”\n“A, it’s not that deep,”\nI turned to her so fast I think I got a whiplash.\n“uh, yeah it is, dude that shit stuck for a month, have you forgotten he’s the reason I cut my hair to my shoulders?”\n“you said you’ve always wanted to do that,”\n“yeah but not when he’s the reason I did it,” I mumbled turning and waiting in my hiding position.\n“so you’re putting all your energy into him this year?”\nI knew what she was talking about.\nApril 1st, the lawful day of pranks oh please, why shouldn’t I snatch this? That’s the only sensible legal thing in this country.\nNo.\nIn the world.\nHats off to you momma nature, you made my year…no, you made my life.\nEvery April 1st, everyone knows I pull a huge prank on the entire school, some one at a time…\nWhen I’m feeling generous I rope in the whole school at once.\nI’m feeling generous this year.\nSuper generous.\n“You know it’s my day, heck it’s named after me c’mon, I can’t miss this chance, plus I didn’t do it last year.” I turned back to wait for my target.\nEver since last year…\nI felt like I was going to collapse, my head hurts, my assignments have piled up, my grades are failing ahhhh.\nEverything just sucks right now.\n“hey babe,” I looked at Dean as he threw an arm over my shoulder and kissed the side of my head\n“Don’t do that,”\n“what?” he said kissing mr again and a small smiled peeled out.\n“that,”\n“why? You look like you need it,”\n“I don’t”\nI do.\nHe removed his arm and stepped aside,\nI should’ve known from then, it was all part of his plan…\n“what now? You gonna cry?”\nHe shrugged and laughed “you think you’re that important?”\n“screw you,” I said and huffed opening my locker in annoyance,\nWorst. Decision. Ever.\nAs soon as I opened my locker I just saw a blast of yellow paste…and then I found myself drenched in…I poked my tongue out…mustard.\nI turned to the idiot who was now laughing.\n“you just got pranked!!!!”\nI was startled…\nNo freaking way…\nI cussed at him and he just threw an air-kiss.\n“see ya later mustard bunny,” he winked at me and that just made everyone’s laughter worsen\n“…and then I got called ‘mustard bunny’ for a whole year,”\n“yeah…” Megan agreed “oooh, he’s coming, face down. Face. Down!”\nI quickly put my head on the table and I heard the door open frantically, I smiled to myself, it was going well already.\n“Where is she?” I couldn’t see his movements, but he sounded really frantic…scared maybe.\nMy smile grew.\n“well…” Megan started but she stopped and I felt someone beside me, my smile dimmed.\nMy game face was on.\n“April,” he said softly “babe, you okay?” he raised my head slowly from the table\nI slowed my breathing so it would appear I wasn’t feeling too well.\n“yeah,”\n“have you been to the hospital? I heard you…passed out,”\nThat was on Tuesday dumbass, I bit back a smile…I had been planning this for a year…faking this for days…don’t underestimate the time I put into my meticulous planning of pranks, I am the prank lord.\nYou don’t pull one on me and get away with it.\nAnd being my boyfriend just makes it worse.\n“Yeah,” I said faintly then nodded a bit…everything had to be perfect…this had to be solid. “I uh…I took a test, they said I had to come back for the results today,”\n“then…let’s go, you good?”\n“I’m fine…just faint,”\nHe grabbed my hand and took me to his car…at times like this he was so cute when he was worried, if this was a different case I could’ve said ‘awwww’ and just forgiven him.\nBut it isn’t a different case.\nIt’s this case.\nHe drove to the hospital all the while stealing glances here and there at me just to see if I was doing fine, he was really cute it almost warmed my heart.\nAlmost.\nI looked forward and kept acting damn…I deserved an accolade.\nWe went inside and met my doctor for my ‘results’.\nHe looked at me and I winked subtly at him.\nI had taken the necessary precautions for this.\n3…2…1…\nAction!\nHe pulled his lips into a firm thin line and some creases appeared above his brow, he was already looking worried and he called me into his office, when I got inside I grinned at him.\n“you got it?” I whispered do Dean wouldn’t hear me, he took the hint and kept his voice down too.\n“yeah,” he gave it to me “you know this is way past my boundaries—”\n“but,” I cut in “you want in for the drama,” I smirked\n“guilty,” he smiled “does he suspect?”\nI shook my head “we’re totally clean,”\nI collected the paper and cleared my throat and opened the door, and I sat next to him…quiet and fidgeting.\nThe fidgeting wasn’t completely faking…I mean I was almost shaking from my excitement, what was his reaction gonna be like? Oh…lemme just break this…\nHe looked at me expectantly, he noticed my discomfort.\n“umm…Dean…”\n“what happened? Is it something serious?” he was already anxious.\nDon’t smile. Don’t smile. Do. not. Smile.\n“for…for us…”\n“for us—I don’t understand,”\nI shifted in my seat and looked him in the eye “Dean…” I looked away again for effect “Dean I’m…”\n“what happened? What is it? C’mon you’re killing me here, tell me,”\nI’m feeling generous so I’ll kill the curiosity.\n“Dean I’m...” I lowered my voice “ I’m pregnant,”\nI wasn’t sure if he heard or not but when I looked up at him…I knew he heard.\nHe was still.\nThis was better than I imagined, damn this is priceless.\n“What?” he managed to get out\n“We’re gonna have a baby Dean,”\n“You’re pregnant? F-for me?”\nHe looked so damn cute right now…but no, I won’t give in.\n“are you suggesting it may be for someone else?” I pretended to be annoyed\nHe didn’t reply.\nHe was so shocked he didn’t know how to react\n“Dean.” I called firmly\n“Let me take you home,” he looked…lost and I just followed him.\nThe ride home was silent, he looked deep in thought all the while he looked unsettled.\n“we’re here,” I announced and he didn’t reply so I just stepped out and entered inside, I leaned on the door and sighed.\nSorry babe, necessary evil.\nI went to the kitchen and settled for juice, my phone rang and I picked it after looking at the caller ID.\n“yo,”\n“well?” Megan asked\n“dude, it went better than expected,”\n“meaning,”\n“he was shook out of his bones, damn am I good at acting or what?”\nShe laughed “cool now have you gotten your real test results?”\nI sighed “yeah, I have it’s gonna come in this night,”\n“you still feel dizzy?”\n“nah, it’s gone now,”\n“dude, this year’s prank was epic.”\nI smirked “yes, yes. Flatter me,”\n“April you put weed in the ventilation! The whole school was high,”\n“And only then did it truly become a high school,” I grinned and she laughed\n“alright see ya later,”\n“yeah, bye.”\nI hung up and went up to my bed and spoke with possibly all the people on my contact list till it was late, till Dean called me.\nI jumped up. Cleared my throat, made my voice sound broken a bit like I just woke up from sleep.\n“yeah?”\n“hey. Hey, babe uh can we me—no I’ll come to your house,”\nMy heart rate picked up, I didn’t plan this far\n“uh, okay?”\nHe hung up and I sat there…because I didn’t know what to do I didn’t think this far.\nSo I’ll think up something as we roll, I heard the ring of my doorbell and I went down.\n“Hey,”\nHe hugged me. That was the first thing he did.\n“hey,”\nI couldn’t react, I just closed the door behind him and then turned to him,\n“Dean…”\n“I’m really sorry for how I reacted earlier…it just came so fast and…I didn’t even think of how you would feel—”\nThis was getting too far,\n“Dean—”\n“No, don’t say whatever you want later, now,” he smiled “we watch a movie, where’s the popcorn?”\n“I’ll go get it,”\n“nah I know where it is,” he went to the kitchen and I let myself smile\nHe was so cute, which means he was gonna hate me more when I tell him the truth but all is well that ends well.\n“what movie?” I asked\n“you choose,”\n“I’m choosing sci-fi,”\n“you hate sci-fi,”\n“but you don’t,”\nHe just smiled “’kay, do whatever you want.” He said coming with the popcorn. We sat on the couch and he pulled me in close.\nThis was nice, for how many days do I keep this up before I tell him it’s all fake? Boy am I enjoying myself now, I leaned into his embrace and I didn’t know I had fallen asleep until he woke me up, telling me my phone is buzzing.\nIt was doc.\nI stood up and went into my room to take the call.\n“yeah?”\n“you know about the test that you took on Tuesday?”\n“yeah, what about it?”\nHe stalled\n“hello?”\n“I’m afraid your prank isn’t a prank,”\n“huh? You’re speaking in codes sir I speak English,” I joked around\n“I mean,” he paused “ I mean you’re pregnant,”\nI went rigid then shook it off “Doc’ I get it April fools and stuff,”\n“April I am not kidding here, you can come and see this for yourself if you like.” He actually sounded…serious\n“so what are you trying to say?”\n“what I’m trying to say is,” he sighed “you’re going to have a baby,”\nI don’t remember what happened next…"
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: THE RADIO\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1157\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story inspired by a memory of yours."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "It was always the sound of his voice that called me to the radio. Too young to understand the words, I was not too little to realize my parent’s reaction to the voice on the radio. At times, there was also the sound of a woman’s voice, which they equally hated.\nFrom my bedroom, I knew the radio was about to go on by the sound of the heavy wooden shutters at the front of our small flat, which dad pulled down a few minutes before they sat down to listen. Then, daddy’s steps toward the small entrance hall, a small sofa, and a side table with the radio next to the lamp. And mommy in the kitchen, getting tea and scones ready. Sometimes the radio buzzed a funny sound, which I have always associated with fear. At that time, it was fear of the unknown, only sensing that there was something in the voice of that man that I associated with pure evil, not really knowing why.\nThe whole show was preceded and followed by rants on the part of my parents, addressed to no one in particular. Not used to my parents using loud language and definitely not cursing, I wondered if I had done something wrong, or if my brother had decided to run away again.\nOnce the radio was off, it was obligatory for my mother to bend down to my level. Index finger over her mouth, she would say: “Shhhhhh, Lili, don’t repeat in school what you hear us say at home OK?”\nI was only six.\nIn school, the first two pages of my little reader are forever embedded in my memory. The first one had a drawing of EVITA. Each day, the class would turn to it, look at her, and repeat out loud: “I love Evita.” On the next page, we followed the same procedure, with a photo of Juan Peron. “I love, Peron” the little voices would repeat like an intercessory prayer gone wrong. These were the people my parents hated enough to badmouth and feared enough to pull down the shutters before turning on the radio.\nThe parakeets’ name was Penny, which, at my age, I thought was an appropriately foreign name. She had blue and white feathers. My dad clipped her wings so she would fly freely around our place, often resting on my shoulder for a quick kiss. I had asked for a puppy, a request which my mother did not support. Penny was the replacement dog. I loved her, so much that I often forgot that she did not have paws or fur. We had a lovely cage for her, a white one that we left outside when it wasn’t raining. The back patio had high walls, and dad promised me she could not escape as long as her wings were trimmed. Daddy warned me that if Penny was inside the cage, and the cage was shut, it meant it was time for a trim. “Do not open the cage, Lili, if the door is shut, OK?” daddy would caution me time and again.\nOne day, when the dictator's speech was too long and my parents were still flailing insults at him, I walked to the patio, and, seeing Penny locked up, I decided to open the little door to her cage. \nToo little to understand, I was tired of the whole thing: excoriating against someone I was forced to love, my parents’ screams, my brother's shenanigans, the dark and scary living room at 4 in the afternoon. Defying one of daddy’s rules seemed like a good thing to do on that day. After all, no one would ever know, what with all the ranting and raving. The locking handle on the cage’s arched door was almost too little even for my small fingers, but I finally succeeded in opening it. \nMy plan was to grab Penny and take her to the room near the garden, where I had both of my dolls and a few coloring books. I would close the door and, with Penny flying around, I hoped to forget about the frightening daily ritual taking place in my own home.\nIt took an instant. The cage door swinging open, Penny flying out like a caged eagle, the blue color of her wings getting higher and higher and reaching the patio’s walls, up toward the nearest tree, my scream, my running as fast as I could to get daddy.\n“Daddy, daddy!”, I said, half in tears, the other half fearing a thrashing and the loss of my dearest friend. Mommy looked angry, either at the interruption or at the fact that I had not listened. Daddy wavered for a second, wondering if he should risk my mother’s anger, miss the latest dictator’s sermon, or allow his little kid to suffer the consequences of her disobedience. It took him less than a second to decide.\nMy father opened the front door, and ran out, little me running after him. On the other side of the street, Penny was happily sitting on the branch of a jacaranda tree, her color competing with the violet-blue of its flowers. Her song was different, louder, deeper. Years, later, I realized it was the song of freedom. Or maybe not. \nDaddy must’ve known before I did that Penny was not coming back. That my heart would be broken. That mom was going to punish me. He picked me up and told me that Penny was happy up there and that she would find her way around the city. That she would marry and have babies. My head on daddy’s shoulders, I cried inconsolably, his soft sweater soaked with my young tears.\nIn one swift movement, daddy grabbed me tighter, running across the street. For a second I thought Penny had flown back to our house, and lifted my head off my father’s chest. Instead, two armed men were waiting by our front door, one of them holding my mother, a terrified look on her face. The other man grabbed daddy, pulling him toward him, ordering him to let me go.\nDad took me down slowly. While still holding my hand, he asked the other man to release my mom. I didn’t really understand what anyone was saying, and whether it had anything to do with my lost parakeet. For a split second, I was grateful that mom called the police to rescue my dear Penny.\nMy mother grabbed me and followed dad’s request - more like a screaming order - to go back into the house. As she shut the door, I thought I saw a blue flash fly away from the jacaranda across the street. \nI never saw my dad or Penny again. I remember the smell of Old Spice, daddy’s strong hands holding my hand, and the look of fear in my mother’s eyes.\nAnd a parakeet flying to freedom and a young man losing his."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Snow Globes and Other Birthday Surprises\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2543\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the narrator or a character saying “I remember…”"
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "“I remember the first time I was given a birthday present that wasn’t a toy,” Sergeant Plundell said. “I had turned twelve, and my father gave me a watch. I was confused, because I had wanted a new bicycle, and he told me that there was going to come a time where I would appreciate getting things I actually needed as gifts.”\nThe middle of May brought beautiful weather, along with the young soldier’s birthday. A whole twenty-six years old that day, and spending it in a prisoner-of-war camp in southern Germany. He had been showered with gifts and shouts of “Happy birthday!” from just about everyone in camp since getting up that morning. It was exhausting, so much so that Stalag V C’s commandant, Captain Westheimer, took Plundell aside so he could catch his breath.\n“What did I even do to deserve so much?” Plundell asked, looking up at the older German.\n“Your birthday is a celebration of your life,” Westheimer replied. “You are fortunate to have so many people who love and care for you here.”\n“I’ve been given enough candy to start my own store today. Where did everyone even—” Plundell caught Westheimer grinning. “Oh. Right. Smuggled from Switzerland.”\n“I told people to put in requests for things they wanted to give you, and, yes, Major Kersting is going to be stopping by with your cake. I told him to get something small, just for you, but I have my doubts he actually listened.”\nPlundell turned red. “There isn’t going to be a party, is there? Come on, Captain, I’m no one special. Aren’t you worried the Gestapo might come by and wonder what’s going on?”\n“It’s just going to be a handful of guests in my quarters. My wife wants to meet you. Kersting, obviously. I think he’s bringing Captain Veidt and Lieutenant Gensch as well. Liebermann and Jahn will be there. Kesby as well.”\n“I still don’t think it’s necessary, sir.”\n“We all wanted to put this together for you, to celebrate you and the impact you have had on all of us.”\n“That’s the thing, sir—what have I done to help you? I’m not exactly an active member of your resistance group. I haven’t provided any information or decoded any messages. I’ve just sat here and haven’t bothered trying to escape.”\n“I have told you before, not escaping has been beneficial. It has kept the Gestapo out of this camp and far away from my operation. I have noticed you tend to be the first to step up and convince newcomers not to attempt escaping.”\n“Yeah.” Plundell rubbed the back of his head. “That hasn’t won me any friends, even after I tell them what you’re doing. Some of them think I’m a traitor.”\n“And they can think that all they want.” Westheimer fell silent for a few moments as he lit his pipe. A gentle breeze carried the smoke toward the main gates of the camp. “I understand you have been bombarded with gifts this morning, but you mentioning your father giving you a watch and telling you that one day you would come to appreciate gifts you needed reminded me—” He reached into one of his pockets, pulling out a small wrapped box. “At some point, you will need this.”\nPlundell slowly pulling the paper off, revealing a dark crimson-colored velvet box underneath. He opened the box to find a gold ring with a small diamond anchored in it. “Is this an engagement ring?”\n“Yes, it is. For after the war, when you are ready to tie the knot with Monnie.”\nGently, Plundell took the ring out, turning it over in his hands. “I can see it on her hand.” Tears welled up and choked him. “It’s lovely, sir, I-I don’t know what else to say. You didn’t have to get this.”\n“No, but I did anyway. It also has one of Liebermann’s protection spells on it. No witch, poltergeist, vampire, or werewolf can ever harm Monnie as long as she is wearing it.”\n“Thank you.” Plundell put the ring back in its box. “Well, at least I know I’m making Liebermann my best man.”\n“He will probably be delighted to hear that, and you won’t have to spend money on flowers with him there. Just give him some empty pots and let him go wild with his plant-growing spells.”\nThe two looked up when Major Kersting’s staff car pulled into the camp compound. Westheimer let out a sigh as he and Plundell stood. “I can already sense this is going to be a repeat of my birthday back in October.”\nKersting was wearing a big smile on his face as he walked over to the front steps of Westheimer’s quarters. “Happy birthday!” He picked up Plundell in a tight hug. “How old are you again?”\n“Twenty-six, sir,” Plundell grunted.\n“Ah, so you’re half Ludger’s age now.”\n“I was twenty-six at the end of World War One when I acquired my limp,” Westheimer said. “At least you can live the rest of your life without this kind of pain, son.”\n“Hopefully,” Plundell said. “As long as the major doesn’t crush my ribcage.”\n“Alright, Dieter, put him down and let’s see the monstrosity of a cake you got him.”\n“Who said the cake was going to be a monstrosity?” Kersting asked. “You told me to get a small one, and I did.” He took a tiny fairy cake out of a small cardboard box.\n“I know there’s a bigger cake in that car somewhere.”\n“You know me too well.” Kersting opened the trunk. Inside the trunk was another cardboard box, this one much larger, almost a meter long and just as wide. “I just couldn’t bring myself to give him just a tiny little cake. He’s been such a help the last few months.”\nPlundell’s smile faded. Have I really?\n------------\nAt least Westheimer promised there would be no singing, but he kept making references to a surprise. Plundell would have demanded that there be no party at all if he wasn’t so curious what that surprise was. Westheimer was keen on remaining vague and giving no hints. Then again, a man in charge of a resistance cell in the middle of Nazi Germany had to be good at keeping secrets.\nIt was a joy to meet Westheimer’s missus, Anneli. She was a small and thin woman with gray streaks appearing in her mouse-brown hair. She entered the building carrying two enormous tins of gingersnaps—one for the party and one specifically for Kersting. “Because I know you’re going to eat them all before anyone else can have some,” she said, dropping the tin in his arms. After setting the other tin on the table, she approached Plundell, who was shyly standing in the back of the room. “Hello, dear! Come here, I don’t bite.” She hugged him. “It’s so good to see you in person.”\n“It’s nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Westheimer,” Plundell replied. “Well, an honor, really. I don’t think there’s any other person in the world the commandant has spoken so highly of.”\n“He speaks very highly of you in all his letters. You’re like the son he never had.”\n“Really? I . . . I never felt like he treated me as a son. I mean, that would be favoritism.”\n“Ludger sometimes has trouble expressing what he really feels. I can’t say I’m surprised he’s never said that to you.”\n“What did I do to make him feel that way?”\n“Nothing. Being who you are and being curious about magic is what endeared him to you. Trust me when I say I’m glad he has you in his life. He’s been through a lot of pain, and it’s wonderful seeing him happy again.”\n“I’m glad I’ve been able to help him feel better,” Plundell replied. “He’s been good to me over the last several months.”\n“If there’s one thing Ludger will always be, it’s the kindest soul that walked the Earth.”\n“Kind I may be,” Westheimer said, walking up behind his wife, “but I am not perfect. I have had my moments where I snap at people and treat them poorly.”\n“I will admit you are incapable of taking praise.”\n“I try to be humble.”\n“Sometimes, you are a little too humble.”\n“I would rather be humble than arrogant.” Westheimer kissed Anneli’s cheek before looking at Plundell. “Liebermann wants to show you something in the kitchen, and he’s getting very jittery. Could you please go see him before he explodes?”\n“Yes, sir.” Plundell made his way to the kitchen, where Liebermann was in front of the stove. A kettle of water was boiling. On the counter behind him was a box and several cups with the strings of teabags hanging out of them. After taking the kettle off the burner, Liebermann grabbed Plundell in a hug.\n“I know I said ‘happy birthday’ at breakfast, but I’m going to say it again,” Liebermann said. “Happy birthday.” He let go and gestured to the box. “Open it, open it.” He rubbed his hands excitedly.\n“None of you should have gone to all this trouble for me,” Plundell said, opening the box. Inside was a large snow globe, and inside the snow globe was an almost-perfect replica of Stalag V C.\nLiebermann was grinning from ear to ear. “Now shake it.”\nPlundell gave the snow globe a gentle shake. Snow began falling inside, and tiny Christmas lights began glowing on all the buildings. A giant conifer tree appeared in the yard in front of Westheimer’s quarters, complete with lights. “Did you make this?”\nLiebermann nodded. “Well, I had help making the inside, but I made the water.”\n“Is it a potion of some kind?”\n“Yes. It’s a decorative crystal potion. All the little lights you see are actually crystals. They’re grown in special conditions and then ground up to be sold.”\n“How do you put them where you want them?”\nLiebermann tapped the side of his head. “Magic. You can either dump them in and leave them, or move them. I moved them around so they looked like the perfect Christmas display.”\n“That had to be . . . strenuous. I can’t imagine doing that. It sounds like organizing grains of sand.”\n“If you tried organizing it with your fingers, yes, but with a wand, it’s no different to painting or drawing. It did take a lot of time, but it was worth it.” Liebermann’s eyes were filling with tears, and his hands were shaking. “I want this to be my career after the war. Snow globes. I want to make the prettiest snow globes. I had so much fun making this.”\n“Now I’m going to be terrified of breaking this,” Plundell replied.\n“I reinforced the glass. The base is quite sturdy, too. Speaking of which—look underneath.”\nPlundell raised the snow globe above his head to see under the base. His name was engraved in cursive lettering. “Honestly, I don’t know how to thank you. You went to all this effort for me?”\n“You gave Westheimer the idea to bring my parents here for a visit. I had been working on this for a few months when you did that, but after that, I was confident that this was a perfect gift for you. When you return to Britain, you’ll have it to remember me.”\n“I’ll have this and the amulet, along with the enchantment you put on the ring Westheimer gave me. Still . . .” Plundell paused. “I’ve been saying this all day, but I’m still not sure I deserve all of this. Just saying that you appreciate me is good enough.”\nLiebermann shook his head. “Not for me, and certainly not for Westheimer.”\nKersting stuck his head in the kitchen. “Plundell, come out to the dining room. That big surprise is waiting for you.”\nPlundell followed Kersting and Liebermann back into the dining room. Westheimer was hanging up the jacket of Lieutenant Hans Gensch, a Luftwaffe pilot who happened to be a warlock and one of their resistance’s best agents. When Gensch moved to lean his broomstick against the wall, Plundell caught sight of a young, stocky woman with dark hair behind him.\n“Monnie?” Plundell said. Shock and disbelief gripped his chest. There was no way that was Monnie.\nThe woman glanced over at the sound of her name. She looked Plundell in the eye, smirking and holding back tears. “Hello, Elliot.”\nPlundell was trembling as he walked over to her. His breath was rapid and shaky as he pulled her into a hug. “It’s really you. Oh, love, it’s really you.” His grip tightened. “I’ve missed you so much, I can’t even describe it.”\n“I’ve missed you, too. I knew you were safe when I got your letter that you were captured and sent here, but that didn’t stop me worrying about you getting sick or depressed.” Monnie kissed Plundell. “The only thing I’ve wanted over the last year has been to see your face and hold you again.”\n“I’ve been wanting to hold you as well.” Plundell managed a smile, then looked at the group of Germans gathered around. “How on Earth did you do this?”\n“Very carefully,” Kersting said.\n“Ludger had the idea of inviting Monnie here after the visit with Liebermann’s parents was a success,” Gensch explained. “He gave me her address and asked if I could up to England by broom to talk with her about coming to Germany to meet you.”\n“I was terrified of the idea!” Monnie said, laughing a little. “You were insistent that I would be safe as long as I stayed close to you.”\n“How was riding on a broomstick? I haven’t had the chance to ride one yet,” Plundell said.\n“A little scary at first, but you can see so much of the world on one.”\n“After the war, I’ll take you for a ride,” Gensch said. “Anyway, we were all in agreement that this would be the perfect birthday surprise for you.”\n“Despite it being extremely risky,” Kersting added.\n“Frankly, this is far from the riskiest thing we’ve ever done over the last four years.”\n“Us being here is risky,” Westheimer said. “Life itself carries risk, and we risk our lives every day for a better tomorrow. I don’t have any alcohol, but—” he lifted a mug of tea, “let us toast you, Elliot Plundell. You are supposed to be an enemy, but what could be a better act of defiance against the Nazis than by considering you a friend? The war won’t last forever, but what will last forever are the memories we have shared within the fence of this camp.”\n“In that case,” Plundell raised his tea as well, “let’s offer a toast to that bloody poltergeist. If that thing hadn’t attacked me in the middle of the night back in October, I never would have learned magic was real, nor would I have brought up the courage to see you as more than just my captor.”\n“Poltergeist?” Monnie raised an eyebrow. “This is one story you’ve never told me.”\n“I was afraid of what could happen if the letter ended up in the wrong hands.” Plundell kissed Monnie’s forehead. “Let’s have some cake and I’ll tell you.”"
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Season of Hopes\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1426\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where flowers play a central role."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "It was the second week of spring. Grace was sitting under a huge cherry blossom tree looking meaninglessly at the blooming flowers in front of her. The flowers seemed to be happily bathing sunlight, dancing to the rhythm of the faint breeze. A cherry flower fell onto her head, rolled down her face and onto her palm. Grace looked down at the flower and then up the tree as if she was expecting the tree to say something. That's when Grace noticed Felix who was standing by the front door of the college talking to another boy, she didn't recognize.\n\nGrace wondered with whom Felix was expecting to go to the college's spring festival, maybe with Olivia. Olivia was the most beautiful and the most popular girl in the college. Olivia's crush on Felix was a famous secret, and everyone believed that they would be a great couple together. Now the other boy had left, and Felix looked at Grace. When his eyes met Grace's, she blushed and looked down at the flower on her palm.\n\nShe remembered a bedtime-story her mother used to tell her about a flower with seven, rainbow-colored petals that granted seven wishes; one for each petal. Only if she could find a flower that granted wishes, she could have wished to go to the spring festival with Felix. Grace looked at the flower as if she was expecting it to turn into a wish-granting flower magically.\n\nShe didn't notice that Felix had come close to her and was standing beside her until he said, \"you seem to like that flower a lot.\" She looked up, two twinkling bright eyes that resembled two stars in the night sky were looking down at her and the owner of those eyes had the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. She felt her cheeks warming up. She wanted to say something but was at a loss for words from the sight.\n\nIt was Felix who spoke, \"On my way here from home, I found an extraordinary flower. You might like it. I can give it to you, but only if you give me yours.\" Puzzled Grace looked at him, but she didn't want to disappoint him, it might be her chance. So she gave him the flower that laid upon her palm. He smiled and took the flower. Then, he produced a flower from his pocket and gave it to her. Grace looked at the flower carefully. It seemed to be freshly picked up. To her surprise, the flower looked exactly the same as the one in the story. It had seven rainbow-colored petals. She looked at Felix, but he was gone.\n\nWas it a flower that granted wishes? There was only one way to find out; she had to make a wish and see if it comes true. But what was she going to wish? To go to the spring festival with Felix? No. She thought to first try with something else. Grace tore the purple-colored petal, threw it in the air, and said, \"I wish to have a cat.\" Nothing happened. Maybe she was wrong, it was just a common flower.\n\nIt was when she came back home and opened her bag that the real surprise happened. A round, fluffy face with big eyes was looking at her from inside her bag. It was a ginger kitten. The wish had come true!\n\nThe next morning when she had just finished her breakfast, she got quite an idea to test the flower again. She slowly crept to her room, picked up the flower, tore off the indigo petal, threw it in the air, and said, \"May a chocolate cake appears on the dining table.\" Then she went back to the dining room again. To her greatest surprise, laid on the table was a dainty cake. Not a chocolate cake though, but a marble cake. Maybe she had really wanted a marble cake. She enjoyed tasting the delicious cake and went back to her room.\n\nIt felt strange to own a flower that granted wishes. She could ask for anything she wanted, anything at all! Even to go to the spring festival with Felix. Grace looked at the flower and touched the blue-colored petal. Even before she could realize what she was doing, she had torn the petal, thrown it in the air, and said, \"I wish to go to the spring festival with Felix.\" What has she done? You can't force someone to choose you. Grace quickly tore the green one, threw it in the air, and said, \"I wish I hadn't wished it.\"\n\nWhen she arrived at the college, she heard rumors about Olivia crying in the washroom because Felix rejected to go to the spring festival with her. Was that because of the wish she made? But she had done a counter wish. Maybe it didn't work since she had done it half-heartedly. Grace went to a corner and when nobody was looking, hurriedly tore the red-colored petal, threw it in the air, and whispered, \"I wish I hadn't wished to go to the spring festival with Felix.\" But that changed nothing, Felix was sure that he didn't want to be Olivia's partner for the spring festival and Olivia didn't even attend the classes. Grace felt sorry for Olivia, she felt as if she was responsible for Olivia's pain, she couldn't even face Felix. How could she be so selfish?\n\nDuring the interval, Grace went out from the college's building hoping to go to her usual spot, where all of this started. The whole morning was a waste. She couldn't concentrate on the lectures. She took the flower from her pocket and looked at it. now the flower had only two petals left, the orange one and the yellow one. This time she should use them for something more worthy. Grace was just about to put the flower back into her pocket, when her eyes caught sight of someone familiar, Vinnie. Even though Grace and Vinnie took different classes, they were really good friends. Vinnie was a kind-hearted boy who always listened to the others, but he couldn't walk without the help of clutches.\n\nYou see, things have a way of repeating themselves. Grace tore the orange petal, threw it in the air, and said, \"May Vinnie be healed and be able to walk like a normal person.\" But to her greatest despair, nothing happened. Grace wondered what was wrong with the flower, the magic doesn't seem to work now. Holding the single petaled flower Grace went near Vinnie and sat beside him.\n\n\"How is Toby?\" asked Vinnie.\n\"Who?\"\n\"The kitten you found in your bag.\"\n\"But how did you know?\"\n\"Don't you remember you asked for one?\"\n\"Does that mean... but I thought... oh my... then what about that cake?\" she wanted to ask but words didn't come out of her mouth.\n\"Are you alright Grace? What's there on your hand? Is that a rainbow flower?\"\n\"Do you know about them?\"\n\"Oh, yes. I have heard about them.\"\n\"Are they magical?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. Not magical, but they are rare. You see, each petal has a seed attached to it, but if you plant them, the probability of getting a rainbow flower is very low, you'll probably get a flower of the same color as the petal. Why not plant it? If you are lucky enough you'll get a rainbow flower by next year. Even if you don't, yellow is not a bad color, it's the color of happiness, hope, and spontaneity. If you plant hope, you'll get to harvest it.\"\n\nGrace looked at the yellow petal, Vinnie was right, if you plant hope, you'll surely get to harvest it and sometimes all you need is to just breathe and have faith that everything will work out for the best. On the other hand, it was the spring, the season of hope and new beginnings. She carefully put the flower inside her pocket so that she could go home and plant it.\n\n\"I'm going to the library, want to come with me?\" asked Vinnie, he now stood up and was looking down at Grace, smiling. Grace smiled back and followed him. Hope begins when you have a good friend by your side.\n\nThey didn't notice that someone was watching them. Felix looked at Grace and then down at the flower on his palm. The cherry flower Grace gave him laid there, \"you are the most beautiful flower I have ever seen,\" he said, but Grace was too far to hear him."
}
]
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Color Red\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1534\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the narrator or a character saying “I remember…”"
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "I remember her in the color red.\nGunpowder, the stench of infection, the screams of the dying…most days, I forgot the sounds, the smells. \nBut her, I will always remember in red. \nToday, her family dressed her in yellow.\nAnd, again for the last time, I would say goodbye.\nIt had been over seventy years since we’d last seen each other. The last memory I’d had of her was standing on opposite sides of a busy square, the distance between us lengthened by the knowledge we would never see each other again.\nEleanor.\nWe’d known each other ten days before I learned her name.\nSerendipitous was the last thing a prison camp should have ever been considered; however, it was how Eleanor and I met. Due to a labor shortage, Black nurses were transferred from segregated barracks to haphazardly erected camps housing German prisoners of war.\nThe assignment had been considered second-rate—an inferior position for a perceived inferior people. Regardless, the nurses had worked tirelessly, the refusal to yield blending with strain lines in the whites of their eyes. With unshakeable pride, they served a country who’d denounced the humanitarian crises uncovered on the other side of the globe while willfully turning an ignorant eye to the ones occurring on their own soil.\n\"Don’t know if you’re gonna make it.”\nThose were the first words she said to me.\nI’d tried to get up from the folding cot that had acted as my personal prison upon my arrival in the barracks. But, holding my shoulders, she’d eased me back down and said, with a tenderness I hadn't deserved, “Josef, your only job right now is to survive.”\nFor ten days, it was the same exchange. \nLater, I would learn that, in those ten days, we’d both walked on unraveling threads of faith, in similar and different ways.\nWar had left us emotionally maimed. Eleanor, although committed to her ethos, had questioned her sanity, having to treat the lacerations and sores connected to the same mouths that soiled her uniform with frothy streams of slurs and epithets. Although she’d taken an oath to save human lives, there were many days she’d wondered whether there were certain lives not worth saving.\nOn the tenth day, I asked her name.\nShe’d taken the time to learn mine, so I wanted to learn hers.\n“Bishop,” she’d said. “But you can call me Eleanor.”\nAfter that day, she became more than a nurse. \nWe learned we shared a birth year, born during a period that had granted us childhoods woven with peace more sheer than gossamer. The Great War had ended eight years before we were born, and we’d assumed it was the last the world would know such conflict.\nThen Germany invaded Poland.\nTwo days later, France and Great Britain declared war.\nAnd, in an instant, our futures developed rough-hewn edges and faded corners.\nWe’d envisioned lives where our primary concern would have been reaching the expected milestones and accomplishments of adulthood. Like me, she’d dreamed of marriage, of children. Unlike me, her dreams had been uprooted by color lines drawn so deep, equality and civil rights came to her as fantasies of gray.\nOne night, Eleanor and I the only two souls awake beneath a dark moon, we shared the lives we’d still hoped to have. I’d wanted to live on a farm in the countryside. Since childhood, I’d dreamed of pigs, horses, goats, and cows. The smell of manure and fresh cut grass. Rising at dawn and ending my days covered in the residue of God’s land.\nShe’d grown wide eyed with each revelation, which had made her ideal life not much of a surprise—she’d wanted to live in the city. She’d dreamed of car engines, exhaust smoke, and bodies bumping on sidewalks. Evidence of life passing by, providing the opportunity for a tomorrow filled with one more day to hope for change.\n“Did you grow up on a farm?” she asked.\n“No.\" I shook my head. \"In the city.\"\n\"Oh.\"\n\"What about you? Did you grow up in the city?”\nShe smiled, eyes finding mine in the dark. “No. I grew up on a farm.”\nOne day, while listening to her talk about sunsets and love, art and music and passion, her arm brushed mine. I’d looked down at the contrast and wondered how we could look so different but share so much of the same.\n“Because our hearts are the same color,” she whispered, two empty cots separating us, physical barriers to placate the societal ones. “We are nothing but plasters of skin molded over the same skeleton, the same organs, and the same blood vessels. We breathe, we hurt. Just like me, you live. And just like you, one day, I’ll die.”\n“Our hearts are the same color,” I whispered in return.\nIn that moment, I realized I’d fallen in love. On another night, again when we were the only two souls awake beneath a dark moon, she kissed me and told me she’d realized the same.\nThe days grew longer then.\nI prayed for a quiet night for the chance to pull her into my arms. I prayed for quiet nights to feel her lips, to touch her hair, and to look into her eyes rather than sneak unfulfilling glances across a wooden dwelling that stank of pus and unwashed privates.\nWe didn’t pretend to be blind to the world around us.\nWhere I’d felt fear, she’d felt terror.\nYet, on the darkest nights, we kissed. Beneath thin streams of light from half and crescent moons, we touched.\nThen came talk of the war coming to an end. \nBerlin had fallen to the Soviets. \nSurrender appeared to be inevitable.\nLooking back, I saw our naïveté. I saw our hope that love would be enough without truly understanding every opponent love would have had to fight. I remembered attempting to convince myself she could have ever been happy, away from the din of the city, living on a farm with only our land and our love. My ignorance had coddled my selfishness; segregation had already stolen portions of her idyllic life. Love didn’t give me an excuse to do the same.\nTwelve nights later, while everyone slept, Eleanor and I explored the verboten. On lean bedding meant for ailing bodies, we kissed and touched, skimmed and shifted. Every heartbeat traded trepidation with desire. Straining under the weight of our fading reality, we whispered and promised and pretended.\nToo soon, the orders arrived.\nHome didn’t feel quite the same as it had before. The camp, though vermin-filled and flea-ridden, was the only place hard lines had been permitted to blur. Some days, uniform fabric brushed uniform fabric. Some nights, skin brushed skin.\nOn our last day, in my mind, we walked to the train, laughing, our fingers linked and her cheek pressed against mine. I imagined our last kiss, her hands cradling the sides of my face, heavy droplets on my lashes while her tears dripped down my wrists. I saw myself standing on the platform, our eyes on each other through an open window until the train forever severed the connection.\nInstead, my last moment was her in that red dress, on the other side of the square, a line separating us we felt but couldn’t see. We stood as far apart as the countries that had brought us together, relegated to opposite sides of an ideological illusion. For that one last moment, that one last glimpse, we'd risked, neither of us where we were supposed to be.\nFor a foolish second, I'd considered walking across the square to kiss her goodbye. So much death had comprised my life over the course of the last several months, and for a foolish second, I hadn't so much as considered it.\nWhen she turned to walk away, it finally hit me that it would be my first sunset without her.\n“How did you know my mother?”\nI looked up into brown eyes like Eleanor’s, brown skin like Eleanor’s, and traces of a face that would never truly be gone from my memories.\n“The war,” I said. “We met in a German POW camp.”\nThe woman’s eyes searched mine. “Is your name Anne?”\nI nodded. “Anne Manning. Back then, I was Anne Josef. Shortly after, our family switched to Joseph to create distance from our German ancestry. A small group of nurses from my hometown were dispatched to assist at a POW camp that had gone up, virtually overnight, in our state. Several nurses didn’t like the mixed company, but Eleanor and I, we became good friends. My first day there, I came down with a terrible fever. Without her, I don’t think I would have made it.”\n“She spoke of you.\"\n\"All good things, I hope.\"\nShe took my hand in hers. “I’m Anne, her youngest daughter. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”\nAnne helped me to a seat in the first row, several rows in front of the spot I’d initially chosen at the back of the church. Then she squeezed my hand before taking a seat in the same pew.\nTwo women and a young man separated us.\nAll had Eleanor’s eyes."
}
]
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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: lost kids\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1004\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a park during a spring festival."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "March 19 2021 this Spring festival some high schools kids move from Texas to do high school in Georgia two were bestfriends and their girlfriends Mina,Momo and Tsu,Toru they all go to school together so on the weekend the four plan to go to the festival so they got ready to go to the festival. So when they got there they went on some rides then they ate some food they had to leave because it was getting dark and all had to be home by 11pm and it was 10pm so they get in the car but a man ask if they could find his cat and they said yes so they went to his car and the man had a bat in his hands and hit them in their head and put them in car and started the car and started driving 100 miles away and stop and put them in a forest. The next day the parents knew that the four wasn't home yet so the parents were scared so they call the police back to the girls so the girls wake up and see that they are in a forest and get scared and didn't have their phones to call home and the police so they start walking out the forest and walked to a police and ask the police if they can call their parents the parents came and put up them 10 year later momo and mina got marry and tsu and toru got marry too momo and mina had twins name zuzu and kiri tsu and toru had one kid name shoto is 19 kiri is 19 so is zuzu and they are bestfriends too like their moms so this spring festival the three on the weekend the moms say to be safe and say be home by 11pm no later they say ok and went to the festival when they get there they had so much fun they went on ride and ate and play some games so hours later it was time to go to kiri's house because shoto's moms had to go on a business tip so shoto had to go to the twin's house but when they got in to the car someone take the gas and purd the gas out and their phones were dead. So their use the payphone to call the twin's mom and they say someone purd the gas and to pick them up too so they waited for momo but when she was there she didn't see them and got scared and call mina and said she didn't see them so she called the police and said that her and her bestfriends kids went missing the police look everywhere the cars the rides everything but they came to one of the car and saw the kids tind up crying the police untind them out the car but the twin were still crying shoto didn't said anything he was just cry so when them were in the car a man hit shoto in the head and put them in the car tind up one hour later shoto and at the twin the said it well be ok and kiss them then they start makeout and went to far so when they were done they clean up the fake being scared 1 year later the kids plan to tell are mom that they where dating when 1 year they had made love in the car and fake being scared but the moms know that they were dating because the way zuzu was walking they were scared. 10 years later shoto,kiri and zuzu had a kid named izu is 22 izu like a boy in school but he is scared to tell he how he feels about him so he goes to his parents for help to ask the boy to go out with he so they said after summer 1 month later it was time to go back to school so he get ready to go to school but when he got to school he saw the boy he like he looked at him and he looked back at he and walked to he and talk to class and at lunch too then they became friend one day izu walked up to him and said that he liked him the boy was shy sometimes and he was being shy and said that he liked him too so 4 years later they got marry he and the boy named katsuki and had a twin named toga and toya and are 16 years old toga has a boyfriend and dabi has a boyfriend and toga and toya get along very good so do their boyfriend so one day it was prom at the spring festival so they all got ready for prom it was time to go to prom so they all get in toya's car and went to prom when they got there toga saw a bully there and got scared and ran to the bathroom then toya ran after her and got her and say it was ok to be scared sometimes it well be ok so they came out the bathroom and dance with their boyfriends then the bully walked up to toga and hit her so toga hit her back hard and toga was blooding bad so toya took back the bully had to go home too and got kick out of school when toga and toya got home izu was mad because he said to be care and came home with toga blooding alot so they clean her up then put her in bed 3 days later toga went back to and didn't see the bully and she was happy toga and toya got marry to their boyfriends and had kids named shoyo and hinata and they are bestfriend. toga had another kid named elizabeth and she is very nice and is now 19 years old and has a girlfriend and she is nice too the end."
}
]
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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: Owain the Mighty\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2966\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story that involves a flashback."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "When people talked about the raiders they said they would come by boat. That they would leap from their beast headed longships to burn and raid and rape. \nBearded killers with long hair and coats of mail, wielding swords and axes that did not worship the nine or fear death. \nI was told over and over to be wary of the horizon and the distant waves. To fear the Viking and all the death that he bought with him. \nWhen they did come to my home, they came on horses from inland. I was as surprised as anyone. They were unmistakably Danes, they wore Thor Hammers and talked in a language none of us knew. \nMy father, a lumberjack, was killed in the street by a tall man with a braid of hair running down his back. He was laughing when he did so. My father was no warrior and the Dane parried the swing of his axe and stabbed him in the heart. \nHe died in the dirt while our village burned around him. \nI was hiding with my mother in the thatch roof of our home. We could hear the screams and the sounds of men taking their pleasure. Two burly men kicked down the door to our house and ransacked it. They flipped tables and scattered the floor rushes. Our dog, Rufus, leapt at one of them and they kicked him and buried an axe into his face. I've never forgotten the whimpers Rufus made as he died. They did not find any silver, as there wasn't any to find. One of them climbed into the thatch and my mother pushed me deeper to hide me. \nThe man's head lifted over the thatch and she kicked him in the nose. \nThe man shouted in pain, then he and his companion dragged my mother down to the floor and killed her. I covered my ears and curled smaller into a ball. \nI was just a boy then, but I remember the fear and hatred I had for the Danes even then. Hatred for myself for being unable to protect my family and my home from them. I knew at that moment I would be a warrior if I lived. I would grow tall and strong, I would protect people from the Danes and their savagery. \nI would do just that in time, but first I had to survive. \nThe Danes did not stay for long, perhaps half an afternoon before they gathered the captives they wished to make into slaves and their meagre haul of silver and coppers. They rode back out of the village and into the heart of the country, away from the ocean.\nAfter they had gone, it appeared there were other survivors. Some but not many. The wise woman who lived on the forest's edge walked among the dead. \nHelena, as she was known in our village, but my mother had told me she went by many names. When anyone in the village fell sick Helena would visit and give them herbs and care. She spent the rest of her time secluded in a hovel. \nI was frightened of her but at least I knew her face. She was caring for a boy that had grown his first beard that spring. He had been stabbed by a Seax and blood oozed from his wound. Helena looked up at me and the hard lines of her face did not move. \n\"You are Ullor's boy.\" She said, naming my mother. I nodded. \n\"Hold this against his wound. It will slow the bleeding and ease his pain.\" She said, She handed me a tightly knotted pack of leaves and wool. I did as she said. The boy groaned and recoiled from the pain but I held the bandage as best I could. \nThe boy soiled himself and the stink of shit made me retch. \n\"It's alright boy, this will ease you.\" Helena said. She poured a milky liquid into his mouth. The boy shuddered and his eyes closed. \nThe bleeding stopped and he died. \n\"A small mercy.\" Helena said. She scowled at the ruin of the village, a handful of others had revealed themselves. \nMostly children, I knew most of them but their names are clouded by time. Lyla was there though many of the faces and moments of that day are hazy to me now, but I remember Lyla's face, she had a gap in her front teeth, did not speak barely a word but she laughed when we played. Helena tutted and beckoned for us to follow her. \nLyla walked beside me and held my hand.\nShe led us to her hut at the forest's edge. I had never been brave enough to go near it before. She packed a bag of supplies and emerged with a walking staff and a heavy cloak. \n\"We must go to the Lord. He will provide for you.\" She said,\nHelena stopped me and led me to the side of the road. \n\"What is your name, boy?\" She said. \n\"Owain.\" I said. \n\"Owain, they are your family now.\" She said. \nI nodded. I had seen Lord Calway once, he'd come to hunt in the woods. He'd had a dozen riders with him, hard men like the Danes. I'd expected him to be a tall and powerful man but he didn't look that different from my father, grey at the temples and just as stern. \nThey hadn't caught anything when they hunted and so had never returned.\nI don't remember the walk too well, nor the nights we must have spent in the forest before we reached the Lord's hall. \nI do remember looking back at my home one last time. I have returned, of course, since, once or twice, and people still live there. It was not the same though and for me it was as though it had been burned from existence by those Danes. I turned my back on it, on my childhood and any dreams of an easy life. I turned to vengeance and hatred and the sword path, the way of war without ever leaving it. I expected to be cut down in battle while carrying my hatred into the Danes and all like them.\nI am old now. Old and grey. My bones ache in the winter and the cold, my piss dribbles out four times a night and I cannot hear so well as I once did. My young wife tiptoes around me and whispers to the servants which is irritating as I cannot hear what they say. \nShe fears my temper and my cruelty but I have never felt the need to be cruel to women. \nI wake in the night and remember Lyla's face and the sounds of my mother being raped.\nI watch my children's children play and wonder which of them will carry the sword and axe and shield into the terror and death of the shieldwall. Who will cut down the Danes and the Northmen and all the other bastards that would burn and loot everything that is good and fair in this world. \nThey do not listen to me. I would not have listened when I was a boy. Not before that day the Danes came. I did not know then what cruelty the world held. \nI had my first taste of that bitter drink then and many more would follow. \nThere are some though, my youngest son is no fool and neither are his children. His eldest sits with me sometimes and listens to my stories. He scribbles them down and sings songs in the alehouses about his grandfather Owain the Mighty. \nHe thinks I do not know that he just replaces my name with the names of the great heroes of ages past. I always hated warriors that paid poets to sing about them. Vain cowards that had never smelt the stink of ale breath when the battle drove you close as lovers. Men that hadn't learned to use the deadly blow under the shield. When you could stab a Seax between a man's legs and hear him scream like a girl as he died. \nI raged at him sometimes, calling him a yellow bellied pisspot and a fool. The boy always laughed and said that he told the truth. I was a mighty warrior and to sing of me was an honour. \nIf I was a decade younger I'd have beaten him in the street for such insolence. \nI settle for calling him a green eared boy instead. I have lost my strength and much of my balance. \nEven walking the palisade in the morning leaves me wheezing for breath. \nThat evening when my grandson came to speak with me he asked about my youth. \n\"Tell me about Lord Calway and the first Danes,” he said. \n\"They were not the first Danes, you fool. They had pestered us for years before they came as settlers. There is nothing between your ears you stupid boy.\" I spat at him. \nHe laughed. \n\"Yes grandfather, I am a young fool who dreams of nothing but fame and fair women. Not the first Danes then, the ones that came as conquerors. Tell me of Lord Calway, King Alwin and when the dead would rise as Draugr. \" He said. \nI touched a hand to my sword’s hilt when he mentioned Draugr, to avert their evil and keep them at rest in the dirt. Then I sighed and told him my story. \nLord Calway's hall was ringed by a stout palisade and an earth breastwork. It seemed like a towering fortress to me then. Now I know it was little more than a burgh, a simple fortification that could only house a hundred or so warriors. \nThere were spearmen on the fighting platforms when we approached, they swung open the gates and helped us inside. There were other refugees that were gathering in the yard outside the longhall. \nThe spearmen and warriors did what they could but I could sense their shame. It was their duty, theirs and their Lords, to protect us. They had failed. \nI stayed close to Lyla and made sure all of the younger children had food and water. There wasn't much but more than nothing. Helena was busy helping the other refugees with wounds and sickness. One of the warriors stayed with us, he was perhaps twenty summers old and had a short warriors braid. \nHe smiled cheerfully and tried to make us laugh with some tricks using his warrior rings. The iron bands men of war carried on their arms. The man grinned at us and threw it high into the air and caught it every time. \nNone of us laughed and after a few attempts he asked each of us our names. \n\"I am Leofan, if you need anything you come and find Leofan. I will help if I can.\" He said. He didn't talk about the Danes, or ask us about what had happened. \nHe never spoke to me once about his past but I came to learn that he had been orphaned by a raid just as I had been. I can still see Leofan's smiling face and hear his jokes. Behind his humour and welcoming friendship there was sadness and rage. When the others had gathered near the fires for warmth he tapped me on the shoulder. \n\"Let me see your arm.\" He said. I lifted it and he gripped the muscle there. \n\"You want to be a warrior?\" He said. I nodded. \n\"We will speak to the Lord, you and I. He has a soft spot for strays. Tuloc will make a killer of you.\" He said. I nodded again. He left us to sleep and I lay close to Lyla. \nShe curled close to me and cried. I didn't know what to say or do so I held her hand and listened to her sobs .There were others weeping in the darkness, but I did not cry. My grief was hardening into anger and hatred of the Danes. I would not weep, not yet, I would not weep until every Dane in our lands was dead and their blood made our crops grow high. I knew it in my heart. \nIf Lord Calway would have me then I would kill Danes for him, if not I would find someone who would train me. The Danes would pay. \nThe Lord Returned in the morning, he had been out with two dozen retainers, all men in mail with swords and shields. He barely spared a glance for us before going into his hall. Helena was quickly summoned though. Leofan went with her and winked at me before going inside. \nI stared at the men on their tall, strong horses. Each of them had sleeves heavy with arm rings. Bands of iron melted from their enemies' weapons. A mark of a man who had not wealth of gold, but of reputation. The Danes wore theirs in silver and gold rings, but not our people. They were hard men, killers and fighters that loved battle. I was struck by the need to be like them. To study and learn from them until I could walk and talk as they did. That I could be able to stare death in the face and defy it by standing in the shieldwall. \nWe ate a poor meal of hard bread and cheese that had been sitting for too long. The warriors told us little, only that they had tracked the Danes to a larger force which was camped on the Desnari river. When one man, a greybeard that had turned blind with age, asked how many one of the warriors just shrugged and said. \"Many.\"\nLeofan exited the hall shortly after that and greeted me.\n\"Boy! Come, the Lord wishes to see you.\" He said. He gestured to me and rubbed at my hair when I passed him. He nudged me forwards and into the hall. \nIt was a fine place, built with good oak and thatch. Then I was afraid of the dark corners and the stern man sitting at its hearth but I came to know it far better than any other home in time. Thinking of it now, it is the only safe home I have ever known.\nLord Calway was as I remembered him, middle aged with more grey than black in his hair. His beard and hair were both kept cropped short and he wore simple but well made clothes. There was a thin wisp of a woman beside him who was easily twenty years his younger. She was serving him a bowl of stew and fussing overtravel worn clothes. \n\"Enough woman, you would have me starve while you fret.\" He said. His voice was authoritative and commanding. \nHelena sat opposite him in place of some honour. A large man with enormous arms and a chest like a barrel of ale stood behind Lord Calway. He had a face that looked like it had not smiled in a lifetime. \nHis mouth and brow were stuck in a permanent scowl. \nHe glowered at Leofan and then at me. I met his gaze for a moment and when he growled I lowered it. I silently cursed my cowardice and raised my eyes to meet him again. \nHe grunted and then went back to eating his stew. \nCalway looked at me then, taking me in from head to toe. \n\"Owain.\" He said. \n\"Yes.\" I said, then Leofan slapped me around the ear. \n\"Yes, lord.\" I said. \n\"Young Leofan tells me you would be a warrior. As does Wise Helena. What do you say?\" He said. \n\"I want to be a warrior Lord.\" I said. \n\"So you can be rich and famous?\" He said. \n\"No Lord, so I can kill Danes.\" I said. The large man barked in what might have been a laugh. \nCalway sighed and turned to the man. \n\"What do you think, Tuloc?\" He said. \n\"Too skinny lord, he will not even make a meal for the hounds when he fails.\" The man, Tuloc, said. \nLeofan squeezed my shoulder reassuringly but said nothing.\nAfter a pause Tuloc finished his soup and burped loudly. \n\"I will see what he can do. We can put him in the front rank to die instead of someone with any skill, if he is not good for anything else.\" he said. \nI glared at him. Tuloc stood and walked into the space at the hall's centre. \n\"Fight me.\" He commanded. I looked at Leofan who nodded encouragingly. \nI squared off against Tuloc and lowered my stance to be closer to the ground. He mirrored me, his huge arms swinging just above the floor rushes. \n\"I said fight me.\" Tuloc said. I darted forwards to try and go between his legs. He caught me and shoved me backwards. I stumbled and then threw myself at him. My shoulder hit his chest and I bounced away. \n\"Fight me, boy!\" Tuloc shouted. I swung my arms at his head and felt them land. It was like striking a stone. I punched and screamed and kicked at Tuloc, but he did not budge. \nI collapsed exhausted on the floor and gasped for air. Tuloc laughed and clapped his hands together. \n\"A little milk boy. I will make a warrior of him, lord, either that or feed him to my hounds.\" He said. I screamed and charged him again. Tuloc spun and kicked my legs from under me. \n\"A brave little bastard. But still a little bastard eh, lord? I will do what I can with him.\" He said. \nWhich is how I came to be one of Lord Calway's retainers and to be trained by Tuloc the Mighty, the greatest warrior I have ever known."
}
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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: Flowers for Rose\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 3023\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where flowers play a central role."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "It’s eerie how time slows down during calamity, allowing your eyes to widen while your lungs forget their need for air, and then suddenly it spits you out in a new life, scarred and reeling. What do you hold on to?\n\nFriday, September 24, 2021 4:47p.m.\n\nThe bus smelled stale and years of grime clung to the walls, but it could have been a prom night limo based on the way we were carrying on. Finally mask free, delirious from hormones and the intoxicating joy of skipping a whole day of school for a French play, we reveled in the moment. The bus driver and our teacher must have felt the same way because they chatted up front with their eighties music on, completely ignoring the shenanigans of the ten teenagers in the back.\n\nI glanced out the window at the hilly terrain, and when I turned back, Kate was gone and the seat next to me empty. But not for long. Carter slid in moments later, and I froze.\n\n“How’s it going, Rose?”\n\nI twisted desperately toward the back where Kate now giggled with another friend, probably sharing the same tidbit of gossip she’d whispered to me three minutes ago.\n\n“Don’t even think about it,” his rich voice crooned. He leaned across me, and I flattened myself against the seat.\n\n“What are you doing?” I hissed in my breath but couldn’t help noticing the floral smell of his hair. Herbal Essences, perhaps. Metal snapped loudly, and I looked down at a seatbelt across my lap.\n\n“Now you’re not going anywhere,” he said with a smirk that revealed adorable dimples on each side of his smile.\n\nI looked down at my hands as my cheeks began to burn. Why could I never find words in situations like this?! He grabbed my left hand and placed it on his blue jeaned thigh while I remained in panic mode because I’m a social genius. Pulling a pen from his pocket, he began to draw on the top of my hand.\n\n“I thought it was time for us to get to know each other better.” Carter glanced up at me to make sure he had my attention. Obviously. “If you’ve heard the rumors, they’re true. Tessa and I broke up on Wednesday. So you can stop worrying, but feel free to keep blushing like that.”\n\nI lifted my hand to inspect his artwork- a circle with five round petals and my name in the middle. “That’s not a rose, you know.” Hey, there’s a saucy line.\n\nHe shrugged. “What is it?”\n\nI giggled nervously. “I don’t know, a daisy or something?”\n\nWe locked eyes, and I think that was the moment I ceased breathing. His dark brown eyes sparkled with mischief and secrets, and I wondered what it would be like…\n\nA hard jolt at the front of the bus,\nan expletive from the driver,\ngrinding guardrails,\nfreefall,\nfloating teens,\nimpact,\nBLACKOUT.\n\nA heavy weight sat on my body, rendering me immobile while I worked on breathing in and out to clear my foggy brain. Someone moved near me- I could feel their presence, felt fingers on my arm and a gentle tug. I struggled against the gravity holding my eyelids shut until they cracked open.\n\nAn orb of color hovered over me. Shit, was this heaven? I strained to focus. Pink and green carnations materialized with tiny white baby’s breath poking out in all directions. Perky.\n\n“Ooo girl, you must have a guardian angel watchin over you. That ain’t just luck.” A nurse passed in front of me, the movement rolling a ball of nausea down my throat to my stomach. My chest constricted as panic squeezed me tight, and everything faded to black.\n\nMurmuring voices woke me later. The gentle cadence of my dad in conversation comforted me, and a sharper voice said, “I’ll check back in tonight to see how she’s doing.”\n\nI waited, then peeked out. A long, slender branch bearing numerous blue faces arched toward me as if it wanted to poke my leg. Frickin Avatars.\n\nThen I spotted Dad. I tried to open my mouth to speak, but shooting pain ran through my jaw. I felt his hand on my arm.\n\n“Hey, pumpkin. How ya doin?”\n\nI blinked wildly and looked from his face to the disturbing blue thing.\n\n“Oh, are these too much? I can move them. People keep sending flowers.”\n\nMy eyes followed him as he moved the potted orchid to a deep windowsill that looked more like a florist shop display than a hospital room. He returned and took my hand in his.\n\nI lifted my other hand a few inches off the bed and pointed toward my face, and he nodded.\n\n“You dislocated your jaw, so the wraps are holding it shut to let it heal. You have a feeding tube that runs into your stomach.” He let that sink in for a moment. “You also broke both femurs, and last night they did surgery to set them with rods and screws.”\n\nMy breathing wheezed through my nose. Get it under control. I tapped my fingers on the bed to give my panic an outlet.\n\n“You were the only one wearing a seat belt, Rose. I’m so proud of you and so incredibly thankful you’re okay.”\n\nMy eyes burned with shame. It wasn’t like that, nothing to be proud of. Dread filled my gut, but I had no way of asking, and I felt too weak to bear the weight of the reality looming ahead of me, dark and menacing. It could wait. \n\nThe day passed slowly as I drifted in and out of consciousness, visions of flowers tangling with fragmented faces in my twisted dreams. I awoke to a red sunset and pain pulsing through my legs and face with each heartbeat.\n\nA soft knock distracted me, and relief flooded my system when Hallie entered. My best friend.\n\nShe rushed to my bed with a wet face. “Oh my gosh, Rose,” she sobbed. “You look terrible, but you’re alive. I can’t believe it!”\n\nA hot tear rolled down my own cheek as I watched her emotions flow.\n\n“Can you talk?”\n\nI merely grunted. She searched the room, coming back with a small notepad and a pen. “Here, you can write if you want to talk to me.”\n\nI took them with a reluctant sigh. I supposed it was time. Did anyone else survive?\n\n“No,” she said softly.\n\nI covered my eyes and wept, accepting the truth I’d felt but suppressed. When I finally stopped, I spotted the small bouquet of white daisies she’d set next to my leg on the bed. I held up my left hand and discovered the round flower drawing remained un-smudged, with Rose in the center. It was real. He was gone. They were gone. And I was still here.\n\nMy school held a memorial service for the eleven people who died the next Friday. I was unable to attend, still trapped in the hospital bed with bandages around my head and six inch incisions on my upper thighs. The bus had landed upside down, and the seatbelt that had been fastened in a moment of flirtation had snapped my legs but saved my life. Lucky me. I couldn’t decide if I was more grateful or embarrassed to be alive.\n\nOn Saturday morning, they unhooked my IV and removed the feeding tube, took off my head wraps, and sent me on my happy way. Jail break never fell so flat as me rolling up to my house in a rented wheelchair, broken and bereft. The only glimmer of light was that I could still use my own bedroom since we lived in a one story house.\n\nDad pushed me into my purple room. “Do you want the flowers in here?”\n\n“Sure,” I muttered through my teeth; it was still hard to move my sore jaw. I sat facing the mirror while he ran back to the car, and I stared at my reflection for the first time since the accident. I looked hollow. Purple rings drooped under my eyes, and the bruising on the lower half of my face tinged my skin green. Hello, Haunted.\n\nI glanced down at my left hand out of habit, but it was a blank slate again. I’d asked the nurse to scrub it off when I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore, then bawled as his last mark disappeared from the world. I hadn’t even cared about him before that field trip, but now I felt a huge loss.\n\nThe flowers slowly filled every flat surface in the room as Dad made the trek over and over. They were pretty, but most were beginning to fade, except the unnatural Avatar orchid, which I’d probably be stuck with forever.\n\nOver the next few days, I consumed my school work like candy. I’d never been studious, but neither had I been this bored or bedridden. I flew through my required reading and solved math equations like beloved puzzles. When I ran out of homework, I rolled around on our flat driveway, soaking up the sun and listening to the birds chirping. The fresh air kept me from going crazy.\n\nSometimes the neighbors stopped to offer their condolences, and I vowed to never shake my head with pity and tell someone how sorry I was. Totally unhelpful and disconcerting. Move along, your dog needs to poop.\n\nAfter two such head shaking ladies strolled away, I spotted Dad watching me from his office window. The next morning I heard a loud saw screeching outside. I covered my head with my pillow to drown out the noise, determined to waste the day away by sleeping.\n\n“Rise and shine, pumpkin!” Dad bounded into my room a few hours later. I groaned and glared at him from bed. He looked downright grungy.\n\n“What have you been doing?” I grumbled.\n\n“Come on, I’ll show you,” he said with an eager smile.\n\n“I’m not dressed, and I have morning breath.” I had re-mastered the whine I dropped when I was eight.\n\n“Okay, ten minutes. Then you’re wheeling out to the driveway, kid.”\n\n“Fine.” I moved through the motions with jerks and grunts, still sore two weeks later. Dad had been great, patient and easy going as always, and I was glad he worked from home. But my irritation level was at an all-time high; the pain nagged me in spurts, while the grief (and guilt?) continually clawed at the back of my mind. It was… a lot.\n\nA new sight met my eyes as I left the shadows of the garage: Freshly constructed raised flower beds lined the length of the driveway. They rose to the height of my lap in the wheelchair and were already filled with dark soil. So that’s why he looked dirty. I glanced up at Dad.\n\nHe stood proudly with his hands on his hips, grinning from ear to ear. “I thought gardening would be a good distraction. I already bought you some little plants and seed packets.”\n\n“Wow. Thanks, Dad.” I frowned, not because I was displeased, but because I’d never thought to do such a thing. I tried to turn it into a thankful smile. “This will be great.”\n\n“Awesome! Well, I’ve got to run back inside for a meeting, but your supplies are all on the table, and the hose is already turned on. Just twist the nozzle. Have fun!”\n\nI wheeled over to the table and explored the supplies. I was impressed- he’d thought of everything. He even left a notebook with a pen and a note that said I might want to map out where I planted the seeds.\n\nFor the next two hours, I pulled plants out of thin plastic pots and dumped tiny seeds into my palm. I marveled that something that looked like a speck of dirt would soon grow into lettuce and rainbow carrots; I liked this new hobby. I pulled the last pot onto my lap and rolled to an empty plot of dirt. When I looked down, the shape of the flowers struck me like a lightning bolt. I froze.\n\nThe flowers were small and yellow, with round centers and five rounded petals. The image that would forever be burned into my brain overlapped this real life version like a trippy horror movie. My breathing grew shallow, and I began to sweat.\n\nMy fingertips touched the flowers. So delicate. Both hands slowly closed around them, my grip growing tighter and tighter as heat poured into my face. “I hate you,” I whispered. My fingers dug into the center, and I ripped the plant apart. “I HATE YOU!” I screamed, shaking it up and down until dirt flew all directions and pieces of shredded greenery fell to the ground. Tears streamed down my face, and I chucked the pot into the yard with force.\n\nA door slammed, and Dad sprinted toward me. “Rose, what’s wrong?!”\n\nHe knelt down in front of me as I sobbed. “There you go, let it all out.”\n\nI wiped my face on my t-shirt and sniffed.\n\nHe brushed my hair out of my face. “I saw you out the window, and I thought you were having a seizure or something.”\n\nI laughed bitterly. “That would be the demented cherry on top, wouldn’t it?”\n\n“I’m trying to not think about it.” He stood up and assessed me with crossed arms. “You’re covered in potting soil. We might need to hose you down.”\n\n“Or not,” I said with a grimace.\n\nHe backed up toward the hose.\n\n“Dad. I have wounds. Don’t even think about it!”\n\n“They took your stitches out, and you’re pretty stinky, so…” He bent down with a gleam in his eyes.\n\n“NO!” The spray blasted me in the chest, and I screamed in earnest. “I’m gonna kill you!” I spluttered.\n\nHe cackled and ran around behind me to spray the dirt out of the seat. It tickled my booty, and I started to squirm and giggle. “YOU’RE demented for spraying a cripple!”\n\nBut the laughter had started, and I couldn’t seem to stop. He handed me the hose, and I turned it on him and shot him in the face. He deserved it. He howled and spit water, then danced on the driveway as I sprayed his bare feet.\n\n“Now I feel better,” I said with finality.\n\nEven so, it didn’t prevent another mood swing at the dinner table. My hair was still damp as I ate his famous meatloaf meal.\n\n“You go back to school on Monday. How do you feel about that?” he asked.\n\n“Overjoyed.”\n\nWe ate in silence for a few minutes.\n\n“Your cross country team has a home meet tomorrow. Do you want to go?”\n\n“Nope.” I didn’t look up from my food.\n\n“You haven’t said anything about it since the accident.”\n\n“What is there to say? I have metal in my legs. I can’t run.” I stabbed a green bean.\n\n“You could say you’re bummed.”\n\n“It’s not like they’ll miss me. I wasn’t even in the top seven.”\n\n“But you could go to support your teammates,” he said gently.\n\n“Dad, it’s embarrassing!”\n\nHe set down his fork and leaned forward. “Honey, you were in a bus accident. Don’t be ashamed of surviving!” he said fiercely.\n\nI jutted my chin out but regretted it when pain sliced into my ears. I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I’ll go.”\n\nA hint of a smile snuck onto his face at the victory, so I ignored him the rest of the night.\n\nI braided my hair over one shoulder the next morning in front of the mirror. I’d already applied mascara and lip gloss, and I felt satisfied with my appearance under the circumstances.\n\nThe parking lot was packed when we pulled into the school. Hallie walked up to the car and opened my door.\n\n“What are you doing here?” I asked in surprise. “You hate sports.”\n\n“I know,” she said with a smile, “but I’m here for moral support.”\n\nThe three of us headed down to the football field where the race would begin and end. I nervously wrung my hands in my lap as we moved onto the rubber track. The stadium pulsed with energy and motion, and adrenaline pumped through my veins as if I were about to race. Some of my female teammates jogged toward us as they warmed up. They squealed when they spotted me and ran over for quick hugs. When they ran off, we noticed the backs of their jerseys said Team Rose. I couldn’t stop smiling.\n\nAs the start time approached, all of the women’s teams gathered near the starting line. They huddled in groups for last minute pep talks. Some of the schools chanted a cheer, but my teammates turned around and shouted, “WE LOVE YOU ROSE!”\n\nA man called through a megaphone, “Runners to your marks!” The gun sounded, and the pack of runners took off. Their footsteps thundered away from us, the people on the sidelines.\n\nIt wasn’t so bad sitting on the side. A ton of parents came over to talk us. They told me how thankful they were I survived, patted me on the back, and said I’d be out there again in no time. It didn’t feel as doubtful when person after person encouraged me, especially the cross country boys, who ran next.\n\nEighteen minutes later, we all screamed like gorillas when the leaders ran back onto the field. After recovering, our top runner made a beeline over to me. She placed a towel on my lap with a long stemmed rose. One by one, as our runners finished, my sweaty teammates each brought me a rose. My lap was full of color by the end of the morning.\n\nDad squatted beside me. “You okay, kid?”\n\nTime seemed to slow down again as I looked at the beautiful displays of love: I had flowers from teammates, a loyal best friend at my side, and a thoughtful dad who understood me. That’s what I would hold on to. I eventually nodded and laughed through the tears. “Yeah, I’m okay.”"
}
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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: Beach Fairies Afoot\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2987\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character sowing seeds for the future (literally or figuratively)."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Mickey is Irish although he lives in the United States. His name is Michael O’Connor but his friends call him Mickey. He can trace his heritage back to Paddie O’Connor who married Emily MacMullen on a steamer bringing starving Irish, sold into indentured servitude, slavery, during the potato blight of 1847. According to Paddie, taken directly from his journal written in broken Gaelic, he missed the connection with their patrons at the New York dock. The current citizens didn’t care for the immigrants and gathered to beat at the new arrivals with knives and clubs. Paddie and Emily escaped into town only to be accosted by another gang, also armed with clubs, contracted to shanghai conscripts for the Mexican-American war. Together they continued inland for two days without food. In the countryside they happened upon a wagon train headed to Indiana to partake in homestead opportunities. Trading labor for room (two blankets) and board they traveled to Indiana.\nOnce there, the government issued them a deed to twenty wooded acres and gifted them an ax, a shovel, and a snare. Jack had heard the story often, during family gatherings, and always marveled at the optimism expressed in the journal. Lucky! A small creek crossed the northwest corner of the property and they were able to kill enough rabbits and muskrats and squirrels to avoid starvation. Mickey had once tried to ax down a tree but gave up in exhaustion. Paddie was required to chop enough logs to build winter shelter and then firewood. Then he had to remove the stumps for planting. Although there was a majority of Irish in the cooperative mix of neighbors they learned English, the official language of the government and the all faith neighborhood church.\nAlthough Paddie was Christian he had brought his superstitions with him. He wrote of patrolling his property for signs of Elfland entry; there were no caves or rock mounds or raths made by fairies and he examined any mounds and burrows to make sure they were animal made. He was on constant alert, he wrote, for signs of ‘The People of Peace’ or ‘The Seely Court’, as he called the magic people. He was especially concerned with solitary Faries because, like leprechauns, they were especially tricky and malevolent. Micky thought his parents were modern, over it, but every morning his dad dips his thumb in fresh milk and makes the sign of the cross to ward off ‘Others’.\nSince Paddies’ time the O’Connor men have sought out and married Irish women resulting in an Irish lineage. Continental records are irregular and one of the family women could easily have been knocked up by a lord. Enslaved throughout the middle ages the British did as they would with the Irish women, according to stories he had heard. The price of an Irish slave was lower than that of an African resulting in larger shipments of Irish to the developing world under worse conditions. At school, the history books ignored Irish slavery in favor of a statement portraying the Irish as unruly and, therefore, needing to be enslaved. \nBefore that, the heritage was polluted by the Vikings. If a clinkered Knarr anchored offshore of a castle the first line of defense was to party. The castle would send a small treasure along with a hot cauldron of Irish stew, sloe wine, barrels of whiskey, and willing serving lasses who had volunteered to take one for the team. Any resulting bastards were routinely adopted into the family clan without prejudice.\nMickey wasn’t holding himself to these marriage traditions. He had worked for a well established hotel chain since high school, taking the necessary training when possible, and was now an assistant manager. Just past thirty he lived and ate on the diverse campus. He didn’t have a car but did have substantial savings. His work hours were too murderous to allow prolific dating. Those women he had shared time with varied in ethnicity and he found no favorite type; maybe Danish, maybe. This August he will take his vacation at Culdoff Beach in Donegal, Ireland.\nIt would be his second trip to Ireland. His parents had taken him there over twenty years ago. They had visited Grianan of Aileach, a Celtic ringfort from the sixth century in Donegal. Even as a child, Mickey was impressed. The clear waters of Lough Foyle and Lough Swilly are clear from the hilltop as is a stone cairn dating from the Neolithic. It is also famous for fairy sightings. Tourists are advised to admire but not to touch as the fairies living below don’t like their claims to be messed with. Some sluff the advice off with a guffaw, others not so much.\nThe family had booked ten days and on the first they visited the ruins, dined at a tourist trap before retiring, pleased and early. Mickey woke up unnaturally in the middle of the night. He had an urge to go out, into the night, under the Irish stars. He was aware of his youth and that some strangers can’t be trusted; they can be very dangerous. Nevertheless, in his pajamas he slipped past his brother and two sisters to noiselessly operate the door and tumble into the quiet hall. People paid him no attention and he followed his instincts into the back parking lot then through the raggedy fence and onto an overgrown path. Only yards from the property he encountered a sculpted concrete patio table and benches inlaid with sanded rocks. The grass of the cleared circle was short, lush and healthy as if carefully tended.\n“Hello,” said the girl already seated. The soft moonlight provided extra lustrous shine to her long golden hair and an enhanced impish glitter to her blue green eyes. She is tall, dressed in pajamas, of a similar age, and smiles with a heartwarming enchantment and even white teeth.\n“Hi, I’m Mickey O’Connor,” Mickey said, unafraid, with a smile.\n“I know. My name is Aine,” she replied.\n“How do you know my name?” \n“I’m a fairy. I know lots of things.”\n“Want to see where I live?” she asked. \nHe nodded yes and followed her out of the circle underneath a flowered bower where she disappeared under a rock pile into a hole that was too small for him. Her hand popped back out to beckon him and he tried entering the hole and walking down into the burrow without difficulty. It is cool and a bit gloomy, like twilight lit from an unknown source.\nIn short order side tunnels opened onto boisterous towns. The occupants varied in description. Trees were filled with little people, handsome or ugly, winged or fat. Some gathered about fires singing or eating. A large group was weaving. Children raced about, some clinging to their parents, some of whom were clothed and others were not.\n“You’re a brownie?” Mickey asked, thinking of the stories he had heard of these helpful little people doing household chores as long as the humans showed respect by leaving out some milk and cream.\n“I’m no common bwbachod! I’m a sexy nymph!” she laughed.\n“Is that good or bad?” he asked.\n“I like human men! I like you. I’ll be good, don’t worry.”\n“I’m not a man,” he worried.\n“Oh, but you will be! A strong, handsome and loving one,” she said, again with a laugh. “Let’s have some fun and not be so good. Are you hungry?”\nMickey realized he was and soon found himself on an upward slope to emerge from under another rock pile onto a clearly marked path that he could see but didn’t understand how. The pair hauled ass and soon were at a funeral home filled with people in black. Now in winter, they trekked across snow and frozen ice and into the entry. Mickey noticed his comfort; he wasn’t cold and his feet, in their booties, weren’t wet nor were Aines’. They got no notice as they walked among the mourners in their gaily colored pjs.\n“Have some corned beef,” Aine offered at the buffet.\nHe did. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He wolfed down several plates of carefully prepared delights before he realized Aine wasn’t eating.\n“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked her.\n“I am hungry!” she enthused with an impish grin. “Are you done?”\nHe nodded that he was done and he sat watching her down a diverse selection in a short time, eating even faster than he had done.\n“What’s wrong with these scalloped potatoes?” groused a robust man nearby. \n“Has the sour cream gone sour?” asked a lean and tall elderly woman using a walker.\n“This baked corn casserole sucks!” exclaimed a very old and wobbly man, irreverently.\nThe sudden turn of mood from sullen to irritable disturbed Mickey but he recovered when he saw the naughty grin on Aines’ lips. Her eyes seemed to sparkle just for him.\n“Fairy struck!” exclaimed a wrinkled elder with disheveled red hair. She drew up an iron amulet from her neck chain and began a chant while rubbing it.\n“Well, I’ve had my fill. Shall we go?” she asked. \nStill unnoticed, she led him out through the back and into an adjoining graveyard to slip into a burrow under a stone Celtic cairn.\n“Let’s visit some elves?” she asked then took off at a trot. After a time their progress was blocked by a pretty man with large black eyes and pointed ears.\n“Aragorn in person! To what do we owe this honor?” Aine greeted him.\n“I haven’t seen you in ages, Aine, goddess of love, wealth, summer and fertility! Sovereign of the Fairy kingdom! Just wanted to say hello,” he formalized, setting his large staff aside while the two embraced.\n“Who’s your friend? A human husband?” he asked while smiling a welcome for Mickey.\n“Soon enough!” she replied. Aragon granted them formal entry. The elfish beings used their magic in sparse amounts as they went about their daily lives. They had no need for electronics, didn’t sicken but did die, eventually, and went about their business building homes, raising the young, creating art, all in cheerful spirits. Some families opened their homes and they stayed for some time, making friends.\nNext they stayed a while with the mine fairies, clan coblynau. After that it was the gwyllion, the mountain fairy clan, and finally with the fairies of lakes and streams, the gwragedd annwn. Mickey and Aine played hide and seek, frisbee, parachute and tag with all shapes of good natured magical people of similar age.\nOne day, time was a bit of a jumble for Mickey, Aine told him, her eyes wet with tears, that it was time for him to return home. Mickey confessed that he did miss his family. It was the last thing he remembered in the dream and he awoke with his siblings as his father was in their room rousing them for breakfast.\nMickey wasn’t hungry but told everyone details of his lucid dream for a while, until they lost interest. The family was to spend the day sightseeing but Mickey didn’t feel well and the family tucked him in and left him while they went out. When they returned in the evening Mickey was very sick. There were no symptoms; no upheavals from anywhere, no headache, no heart palpitations, not even a fever.\nThey took the boy to an emergency care unit and after a few tests a wizened doctor honed in for the final evaluation. After a peek and a prod he drew back quickly and made to leave after crossing himself.\n“Will he be Okay?” his worried mother demanded.\n“I don’t know,” said the doctor, paused at the door.\n“Will he die?” Mickeys' father asked incredulously.\n“He might,” the doctor advised.\n“Do something!” his mother screamed.\n“There is nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do. He may recover, he may not,” the doctor said in finality and slid out of the door.\nNo one entered to continue the care and, after a time, the O’Connors decided to leave. At the checkout a worried clerk declared there was no charge. Both mother and father sat with Mickey through the night as he slept fitfully. The next morning he declared that he felt a bit better. He was able to stomach some chicken broth for breakfast. He improved gradually through the week and they were all able to catch their scheduled flight home, but the vacation was a ruin. \nIn August, the adult Mickey rode with hotel checkouts to the airport in the company shuttle. Once on the plane a gentle euphoria settled over him the likes of which he had never experienced. He daydreamed that if he could find a promotion in Ireland he may apply for a transfer. He took a public shuttle van to his rustic stone cottage and was pleased that his smile was returned each time he offered it. In the evening, he walked the sylvan road to the family run market on the corner and bought crap for a supper of snacks. \nIn the morning, dressed in blue trunks, a Cranberries Tshirt and sandals he walked to McGrorys for a fine breakfast. He carried his waterproof wallet, a towel, and a bottle of suntan lotion onto the Coastal Express bus and walked onto the beach before the lifeguards took their perches. He chose the big beach and found it populated with surfers.\n“Wait!” cried a girl on a blanket. He almost stumbled onto her. He hadn’t seen her there, off the trail, and felt a momentary shame that he had allowed his lack of concentration to create such an awkward moment, although he didn’t know when he had wandered from the trail?\n“I’m so sorry!” he gushed while she swished away sand with the back of her hand.\n“Let me help!” he said and rushed forward only to trip over himself, landing on his knees on her blanket, spraying more sand. This time he was at a loss for words.\n“The only way to get this damn sand off is with a shower. You too. I’ll show you,” she offers patiently.\nThe young woman rises with fluid grace to move her basket and shake the sand from her towel. Mickey watched, taking the chance to look her over. She is five four with green eyes, freckled button nose, thin red lips over even white teeth. She is completely shaded between the wide brimmed straw hat with a flowered ribbon and an ankle length dress of light material. The flower print on the dress matches the ribbon. Her delicate shoulders are freckled. She looks nice, he decides.\nShe leads on the thin trail, beckoning him to follow with a dainty hand. Involuntarily, he notices a womanly shape under the dress. The trim hips carry her with an easy femininity. When the trail widens he hurries alongside her.\n“American on vacation?” she asks.\n“How did you know?” \n“The accent.”\nShe asks him questions. He is pleased she is showing an interest and he is proud to answer her. She listens with what seems to be growing interest. She backs out of taking a shower while encouraging him to jump in. He strips off his shirt rinsing the sand from his hair, his chest, his legs, with vigor. He is still carrying his sunscreen and she suggests he use it. Mickey slathers his legs, his face and his torso but can’t reach his back. She offers and coats his back and shoulders, being neighborly. The touch of her softly articulate fingers soothes him.\nWalking further up the beach she continues to draw him out. As he talks he is drawn to the lifeguard station. The handsome strapping young man, an hour into his shift, watches the surfers from his raised seat with bored attention. Suddenly he stands, strips off his bikini bottom and throws it in front of him onto the sand. With his groin thrust forward he beats his chest and makes sounds like a monkey. Then, recovering his senses, he reddens with embarrassment while retrieving his clothing.\n“Is this a nude beach?” Mickey asks the girl. She is watching, transfixed and giggling.\nIn answer, she turns him physically toward an Irish pub on the far side of the sand. She wraps her arm with his and guides him forward with the pressure of her breasts. He glances at her and is distracted; he can see right through her dress and there is nothing under it but skin. He takes a second look but the visage is gone.\nThey belly up to the bar, Killians’ is on tap. He treats her to bar food for dinner; deep fried breaded mushrooms, pickled eggs, greasy wings, potato chips. The heat mixes with the liquor and he doesn’t remember the trip back to the cottage. He remembers the love clearly, or the sensation of it. Never had anyone before come near to the warmth, pleasure, and well being elicited from him by this woman. Her voice is pure music, her hands could be held for hours, her body expressed super human femininity! The night was magical but he drifted off as dawns’ light entered the room. When he awoke she was gone. \nOf course he looked for her. When he returned, alone, he was unreasonably distraught so threw himself into his work. Five years later he manages a highrise on pristine Clearwater Beach, Florida. He didn’t return to Ireland.\nOn a midweek summer night there is a knock at the door. Unusual in that the staff tries hard to respect his privacy. He opens the door to the cutest five year old girl he has ever seen, in pajamas, holding a teddy under one arm. He recognizes the pjs immediately.\n“Hello daddy. My name is Melia.”\nHer voice is pure music, his old dreams morph to memories.\n“Do you like room service?” he asks, guiding her inside."
}
]
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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: Do you have pen ............\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1080\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a park during a spring festival."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "The crowd has a life of its own, the people move like enchanting shoals of fish . It was the time of spring festival, in park there is a chatter between buyer's and sellers.\n\nI sat on handcrafted unoccupied wooden bench, Everyone around me were content, cheerful, fortunate but inside me certain emotions were talking too loudly neither did the crowd hear them nor did they hear crowd voice, so they did not shut up. Inside me their was like a continuous tornado of guilt rising of why.. Why I didn't understand?? \n\nEveryone was keen in celebrating the festival but I was continusoly trying to some how shut the noise that are inside me but all my attempts fail, that day for the first the I realised how loud the scream of silence really are and yet nobody are able to hear you .\n\nIt's the story of my 9th grade..... \nMy dad has currently transfer to bejjin and I got admission in the bejjin school.\nIt was the first day of my in that school although I got accustom by changing the school, so I wasn't excited nor nervous. \nI introduced myself , there was an empty seat on the second last row , I settled myself , abruptly a dulcet voice came into existence do you have pen? (it was the voice of my desk mate han shang ) for the fraction of seconds I was thinking how can someone without knowing the another person ask for something. \n( we started talking to each other and become friends and later on become best friends ,we started sharing our secrets ,problems, triumph, joy....... Asking pen is trick of han shang to start a talk with someone) \nBut my life is like a rollercoaster ride ,if there is up so it has down too .\n\nI was walking in the school corridor as usual, but that day I find some thing weird. The reason was that some one has stick a paper \"I have killed my mother \" . I was in draze , at that time I remember the only person who knows about it was han shang. \nI still get goosebumps when I recall that day, I was shivering and angry to death. That day I broke up with him and started ignoring him, I change my seat, my habits as well as myself too...... \nAfter some days ............\nWhen I was passing out I eavesdrop the two bays chat \"thank god, he didn't know I was the one who stuck that paper.... \" \nAnother boy said so that is true that he killed his mom? No it was just an accident, but I enjoyed when they fought with each other. \"the best friends \".........\n\nBy listening this I ran towards him (han shang) and hug him(tears were at the edge of my eyelashes) . I'm sorry.... I'm... Sorry.. Please.. Please forgive me. (In a playful voice hanging shang) Do you have pen........ \n\nDuring spring festival I gone the his house ,the house was decorated beautifully, cheerful voices coming from outside, it was the night time, after my mom's death , Me and my dad rarely celebrate the springs festival together . After so many years I burst the firecracker, I smile the fullest . It's like han shang brought the colours in my life, he was the fortune of mine life. \n\nYears past ,we change our majors.. I wanted to become a doctor to save the live of people and he wanted to become a sketcher to bring the world in the tip of pencil. Although we use to communicate with wechat and all... \n\nAfter 4 years ,\nI got an offer to do internship in USA, city change, people change and aslo friends too . Han shang used to wrote letters, whenever I get time I used to reply it.. \n\nToday in morning, I got a call from bejiin hospital, the call was regarding han shang. He was admitted there for 1 years . He has Schizoaffective and autophobhia . Tomorrow at 3:45 am he committed suicide..... \n\nHis parents die when he was 22 years old in a car accident ,his mother save him by grabbing him tightly but both his parents died in it , after that he has a struggling life and after struggling for so many years alone he finally decided to end this painful story ............\n\n\nBy looking at his stuff I found some un post letter which us writing times ago and in all the letters the recipient name was mine. I open one letter which was written 2 months ago \n\nLetter : You know I keep recalling the time when I was ridding my bike with you, wondering around. I think of us skipping class going to the park, sitting in the handcrafted wooden bench by eating your favorite chocolate chip ice-cream, I started yawning when you were playing puzzles. I feel upset when I think of all this. There are so many words in my heart, but I won't get the chance to tell you anymore. Under the sky I often alone standing in the corner watching the sun come and go . All the other inmates have their own social circle they spend their exercise, time and meal together but I prefer to be alone. I keep telling myself I am okay . However when the spring comes, I'm still little upset. Say there will be miracle one day, we could turn the clock back or relive our life, we could lie down on the grass together again, let the grass tickle our necks, let us get drenched of the smell of the grass. Do you think that day will come? \n\n(At the park) \n\nAlthough I cannot do anything , I couldn't be a good friend of yours, saying sorry couldn't make any sense.......... but I want to say please forgive me....... .\n\n\n\n\nSpecial note : We always dreams that, if our life's could restart at some particular point and change something than we can make everything completely different , but life is not a cassette full of songs, we can't go back to starting point, not anywhere we want......... There is no fast-forward in our life , we can't go backwards either, Nor is their a pause button...............\n Things that had happened won't change, luckily the future has infinite possibilities . Correct your mistake and forgot the bad memories, you got one life , make it count."
}
]
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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: What Is This That Stands Before Me?\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1705\n\nPrompt:\n\nFormat your story in the style of diary entries."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "April 23rd, 1858 - 16th Day on the Trail\nThis morning, I rose to find a sinister boil protruding from the left side of my neck like a grievously threatening mole poking its head out of the freshly-thawed spring ground. Bessie was able to trade half a box of our ammunition to a neighboring wagon for some slippery elm powder, and immediately set to work preparing a poultice with cornmeal. This was laid on a small piece of fabric and thus applied to the boil, until the heat from the cloth had dissipated into the skin. This method seemed to be effective in doing away with the boil; after eating some biscuits with honey, we headed west and reached the Big Blue River Crossing at midday. Lunch was our usual pemmican and dried prunes. For the afternoon, we decided to cease our travels so the children in the wagon train could get some exercise. In just over a week’s time, we should be upon Fort Kearney, and I endeavor to rest a few days, do some hunting outside the fort, and speak to the locals and friendly natives. ~WS\n\nApril 24th, 1858 - 17th Day on the Trail\nToday I woke from my slumber to find that the swelling of my boil has not gone down as was previously anticipated. While it is unfortunate, such is often the case with these lesions. Bessie applied another poultice in the morning, and we started out on the trail. Along the way, off in the grassy distance, it appeared to me a man stood alone, atop one of the patches of slightly higher ground. Though nowhere near close enough to get a proper gander, it seemed he was dressed in very dark clothing which covered the entirety of his body. When I mentioned the occurrence to Bessie, she advised me to keep quiet about it, insisting there was nothing in the field. Upon second inspection, I could no longer see whatever it had been that caught my attention, and now I feel it is likely I saw a bear or possibly a wandering buffalo which, to my admittedly strong imagination, “became” human. It was good for a laugh, I suppose. We set up camp at sunset in a nondescript clearing, circling the wagons tightly and enjoying music from fellow travelers who carried with them guitars, banjos, and harmonicas. ~WS\n\nApril 25th, 1858 - 18th Day on the Trail\nA fever has begun. I awoke covered in sweat, my eyes experiencing a subtle burn, and my extremities a bit weaker than usual. The intrusion on my neck seems to have grown while I slept, which is upsetting but not alarmingly so. I was roused from my slumber by a horrific dream in which a gigantic fissure grew in the earth, into which our entire wagon train plummeted. On the edge of the earth, there stood a figure in black, which pointed at me. Undoubtedly this dream was the result of the fever; or it is possibly the cheese another traveler of the trail had shared with us in exchange for some seasonings from our pantry. Certainly the figure in black was subliminal fodder left over from my misidentification on the trail of a buffalo the previous day. Whatever the case, it shook me with such force that I let out a loud yelp upon awakening, frightening the children and causing a reprimand from Bessie, until she discovered my febrile state. The notion was floated that perhaps we should stop and rest awhile, which I quickly quashed - we are not even a quarter of the way through our journey, with much harder terrain yet to come, and I feared a rest now would set a precedent which may be a detriment to our expedition. My feelings were justified as the fever seemed to wane by noontime. Another poultice was applied over the midday meal, and after we stopped for the day. The rest of the day continued without incident, but I am preparing to sleep now, even as the sun falls, that I might greet the new morning refreshed and with greater strength. ~WS\n\nApril 26th, 1858 - 19th Day on the Trail\nWe did not leave camp this morning. I woke up again drenched in nocturnal perspiration, well after the rising of the sun. Bessie insisted to the others in our party that we root here to properly care for my fever. I am greatly upset that we are scarcely a month into the trip, and already I am causing delays. However, I must admit that Bessie is a wonderful mother and a great caretaker to me, and often knows, perhaps even better than I do, the proper course of action - especially in regards to the health of our family. Thankfully our water keg was mostly full, having only left the Big Blue River days ago, and I partook generously as per her request. More concerning was the neck-blister, which had grown darker in color and wider in its reach. In order to combat the malady, the boil was lanced and thoroughly scrubbed with a vinegar and herb solution, then covered with a bandage. I spent the day in and out of sleep, but I feel as though I may already be getting better. I look forward with enthusiasm to setting back out on the trail again tomorrow. ~WS\n\nApril 27th, 1858 - 20th Day on the Trail\nMy apprehension has grown, as the fever seems to show no sign of improvement. We have lost yet another day on the trail, and I feel the weight of my peers bearing down upon me as a locomotive bears down upon the unsuspecting pronghorn. My boil has doubled in size, and now, trails like tributaries spread forth from it, covering my neck.\nBut perhaps more alarming is an intermittent recurrence of that vision that befell me just three days ago, and subsequently in my dreams that evening. At times, out of the corners of my eyes, the leaden figure of a man who appears to be raising an arm towards me comes to light. When I direct my attention towards the momentary incursion, I see it no longer. The fever is taking hold, and I fear I may be going mad; though I dare not speak a word of this to Bessie, for I know she is worried about me as is. I almost feel at times as though this “man” is trying to communicate something to me, a harbinger of danger? ~WS\n\nApril 28th, 1858 - 21st Day on the Trail\nBessie has taken to providing me with spoonfuls of water, as my cracked lips can no longer tolerate the act of imbibing from a cup. All but two other wagons have decided to press on, the remaining two promising to wait another few days until I recover...\nOr...\nI struggle now to share, even in the writing of private thoughts, the dastardly fate to which I am resigned. My neck throbs in menacing fashion. My fever is drawing the life fast out of me. My wits are waning. To write has become a task of the utmost difficulty, but I must explain what has happened to me.\nI SEE THE APPARITION NOW MANY TIMES THROUGHOUT THE DAY.\nFrom the moment I was startled out of sleep by a dream I cannot remember, there He has stood. Much more clearly now I can describe his appearance. He stands much taller than the men in our wagon train, but not so tall as to make me think what I am seeing is not there. His robe seems to be made of something between silk, smooth as ice, and wool, coarse as grain. Its color is like that of the eyes of a horse; deep black, perhaps gleaming with an almond or silver glow. It flows down the length of his corpus, shrouding all that it covers, except for his hands. My God, the unnatural frailty which betrays the sinister power contained within would be enough to make most men weep. I can do nothing but sit and stare.\nBut it is the face. The ghastly countenance. Terrible, horrible, unfathomable. There is no nose which I can discern. There is scarcely a mouth - a small slit just above the chin which appears neither to open nor shut from its slightly ajar position. The sickly pale skin appears stretched and wretched, the same veiny lattice that afflicts my neck covers his entire facade. His eyes are like burnt out coals, dark as night, but exuding a heat which defies explanation. When I shift my gaze to avoid the sickening spectacle, the figure simply comes to focus wheresoever it lands. What is this that stands before me? ~WS\n\nApril 29th, 1858 - 22nd Day on the Trail\nToday he spoke.\n“Walter.”\nJust the single word finally brought tears to my eyes. My weeping so alarmed Bessie that she herself was brought to hysterics. I finally decided to explain to her what was happening, for I sense an impending conclusion, and find it unfair to keep secret the cause of my suffering from the one nearest my heart.\nWhen I finished speaking, Bessie looked more full of displeasure than despair. Her fists clenched, she walked outside the wagon and shouted at the sky, as full of anger as I had ever seen her, “Why are you doing this!?”\nThe figure’s recitation of my name, however, made it all too clear to me. The trail, for me, will most certainly end here.\nI fear I may never reach Fort Kearney, let alone the Willamette Valley. My pen grows heavier and heavier by the minute, but I will keep up the good fight until the very end. ~WS\n\nApril 30th, 1858 - 23rd Day on the Trail\nMy senses fail me. There is naught but a dull gray hue which now pervades my vision ... and the darker outline of my abominable companion, who follows wherever I should turn mine eyes.\nTime has, I fear, come to an end, for me. I pray that none else should experience the torment which has cursed me, and may God have mercy on my soul.\n\n~Walter Stephenson"
}
]
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Red Fox\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2982\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a fairy tale about someone who can communicate with woodland creatures."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Oliver Morgan woke to his feathered friends chirping outside as sunlight streamed through the dingy sheets at the cracked, pealing bedroom windows to pierce his eyelids. \nSpring had sprung but Oliver’s life was still in the crapper.\nThis too shall pass.\nOliver heard the words as if Gramps was sitting beside him and whispering in his ear. He’d been seeing and hearing Gramps a lot lately, almost as much as when he’d been alive.\nThe unconventional and wily Wiccan had made an impression on his life, no doubt, the only saving grace of Oliver’s existence the last several years. But now the old spellcaster was gone, up and left Oliver to join that big coven in Summerland.\nGramps had taught him some things about white magick, paganism and being one with Mother Earth. His teachings had been the only things to keep Oliver sane in an insane world.\nYou’ll make it. You’re strong. I have faith in you.\nGramps had been the only one who did. His mom didn’t have faith in herself anymore much less in Oliver and she’d allowed her boyfriends to cloud her judgement and abuse and berate Oliver, giving him no reason to be or stay home and every reason to drop out and run away. His only refuge had been spending time with Gramps and working at the animal shelter. Now one of these freedoms had been taken away from him.\nHe wouldn’t quit though, couldn’t let his mom’s latest get the best of him.\nHe was a straight A student. He was going to be a vet if he had to work ten jobs to pay for college. He wouldn’t let anyone take that away from him too.\nOliver sat up in bed and threw off the covers, angry with himself for grieving so hard six months later when everyone else, especially Mom, had seemed to move on with their lives.\nHe headed to the bathroom to shower and get ready for work and by the time he got downstairs in his red polo shirt and tan khakis uniform, his mother and Gary were already in the kitchen cooking up something special.\nIt wasn’t, however, anything Oliver wanted to consume. \nHe glanced at the dining room table where Gary had all his drug paraphernalia laid out and shook his head.\nOnce upon a time, Mom had been a den leader, shuttled him to and from Pee Wee League games, made elaborate Sunday family dinners and let him help her bake batches of homemade cookies for school fundraisers, all while holding down a full-time job. \nThen Dad was killed in a car accident, the same accident that nearly crippled Mom. Next came the pain killers that she couldn’t seem to function without. Soon after, she got fired and lost her real estate license. Dad’s insurance money went up in a puff of street drug purchases when the legal prescriptions dried up. Finally, there was the succession of no-good boyfriends who mooched off Mom and thought they could replace Oliver’s father.\nGary Grimm, wannabe pimp and drug dealer extraordinaire, was just the newest.\n“Where do you think you’re going?”\nOliver glared at Gary and didn’t pause as he walked through the kitchen to the back door of their ramshackle two-story. Since Mom lost her job it was the only place they could afford.\n“You heard your father. Answer him.”\n“He’s not my father.”\nGary was on him in a blink, grabbing Oliver’s shoulder, swinging him around and bunching up the front of his shirt in his fist. “Listen to your mother when she’s talking to you.”\nOliver rolled his eyes. “I’m going to work. Not that you’d know anything about that.”\n“You think you’re better than me?”\n“Gary, let him go.”\n“Fairy-freak.” Gary shoved Oliver before he released him and went back to what he was doing at the dining room table.\nMom ran over to Oliver as he opened the door. “You know he doesn’t mean it.”\n“Whatever.” Oliver’s eyes welled, but he sucked it up. He wouldn’t cry. He’d been bullied by far worse than Gary Grimm.\nOliver stared at his mom, wanted to ask what had happened to her, how she could sink so low after Dad, but he already knew. He’d been there every step of her nightmare descent.\nHe and Gramps had stayed up late into some nights talking about ways to help Mom but they couldn’t make a junkie stop using. Mom had to want to get better, want it more than she wanted to get high and she just didn’t want to stop, not even for Oliver.\nHe still loved her though. She was all he had. “I gotta go.”\n“Baby, wait.” She grabbed his arm before he stepped outside. “Can you spot me some cash for groceries?”\nHis heart twisted at his mother’s decaying, yellow smile. She used to have the most beautiful white teeth. Oliver didn’t know if it was the cigarette habit she’d picked up from one of the boyfriends or all the drugs she used, but she didn’t have a beautiful smile anymore.\nOliver gave her what he had in his wallet, just thirty dollars. He’d gotten into the custom of not keeping much cash on his person or in the house since her last boyfriend robbed him blind every chance he got.\nMom pecked his cheek. “Thanks, baby. I’ll pay you back.”\nHe wouldn’t count on it.\n* * *\nOliver had only made it a few yards into the woods behind his home when he stopped, tilted his face skyward, closed his eyes and luxuriated in the warmth of the sun on his skin. He listened to the leaves on the trees overhead, rustling in the spring breeze. The bloom of daffodils, fairy slippers, rhododendrons and trout lilies infused the air with their pleasant, musky-sweet perfume, almost like the petrichor of a first summer rain.\n “Queer!”\nOliver listened to the slur in the distance shattering the peace, but didn’t open his eyes. He knew who it was.\n“I’m talking to you, ass bandit.”\nShit, he was coming closer.\nOliver opened his eyes just as Rob-the-homophobe from P.E. made it to edge of the field and froze, goggling at something behind Oliver before he turned and dashed away.\nOliver took a deep breath, told himself not to panic, but wondered what could have run off his meanest tormentor.\nHe regularly took walks in these woods, especially when he wanted to get away from it all and commune with nature. He’d even worshipped skyclad with his Gramps a few times. He knew and loved most of the creatures that inhabited this forest.\nBut was there a strange animal behind him, bigger and more dangerous than his friends?\nOliver slowly turned and gasped. Not two feet away stood a red fox staring at him.\nHe loved animals, all kinds, always had. He worked and played with them every day at the animal shelter. He guessed the woodland creatures he had befriended over the years could be considered wild, but they were never anything but gentle, friendly and welcoming with him. This fella though wasn’t just wild but unfamiliar. Not to mention he was at least a hundred pounds, almost triple the size of the largest red fox Oliver had read about. He could probably take Oliver down and rip out a good chunk of flesh with his long canine teeth.\nOliver took a chance, squatted and offered his hand.\nThe fox trotted up to him, sniffed then head-butted his palm for a pat. \nHe had a dense winter coat as if he was in the arctic, copper-gold fur so fluffy and soft, Oliver relished the feel of it beneath his fingers.\nThe fox nuzzled closer, bushy tail wagging as he purred. \nFor some weird reason Oliver couldn’t “hear” or communicate with the animal beyond their physical interaction.\nWas he losing the abilities he’d had since he’d been a little kid? The idea sent a shudder of despair down his spine. He couldn’t bear losing anything else.\nAfter a long while, Oliver reluctantly stood to go. “See you around, Rusty.”\n* * *\nOliver arrived at the animal shelter to learn he had to take their newest hire around and show him the ropes. This wouldn’t have been that big a deal except the new hire was none other than Ravenwood High’s latest transfer, Leif Meadows.\nDamn, even his name sounded like sunny days and the furry woodland creatures with whom Oliver spent so much time. Copper-gold hair, striking green eyes and a smile that could light the night or melt a cold dead heart like Oliver’s. These were what he was up against.\nAfter they’d cleaned the kennels, taken several of the large dogs out for their daily walk, fed, watered and monitored the physical condition and behavior of each shelter's animal, Oliver led Leif out to the picnic area where he liked to take his lunch beneath the canopy of a large oak.\nThe towering tree reminded him of the one in the woods he liked climbing with his chipmunk friends—Elvis, Teddy, Seymour, Mark and Dell. Sometimes Oliver dreamed of living inside such a tree or the woods around it, a simple life with just him and his animal friends.\n“I like your jewelry,” Leif said.\nOliver frowned, sandwich at his mouth.\nHis jewelry was probably one of the main reasons he was alternately bullied and ostracized at Ravenwood. Next to his tats, black eyeliner and nail polish to go with his dyed, jet-black hair and matching black outfits, his jewelry—stainless steel balls and studs in his ears, eyebrows, nose and tongue—got his message across loud and clear.\nLeave. Me. Alone.\nThe silver pentacle Gramps had given him shortly before his death, however, really did the trick. Most people saw this necklace and went the other way. \nHis employers at the animal shelter didn’t seem to mind his Goth façade. Maybe because he was a hard worker and did his job well, or maybe they were more progressive than most. \nThe world would have been a better place if everyone were as accepting. Possibly some were and he just hadn’t noticed from inside his protective shell.\nWas Leif as accepting, clean-cut and easygoing as he appeared?\n“Seriously?” Oliver asked.\n“You don’t smile much, do you?”\n“Maybe I don’t have reason to.”\n“Would you like a reason to?”\nWhoa, hey. How did they get here?\nLeif chuckled. “Don’t look so horrified.” He leaned in, caught Oliver off-guard when he kissed him, gently tracing Oliver’s parted lips with his tongue before pulling away.\nSandwich forgotten, Oliver raised his free hand to his mouth, entire lower jaw tingling from the contact of Leif’s full lips. “Why’d you do that?”\n“You looked like you needed it.”\n“Are you pulling my chain?”\n“No, Ollie. I’m not.” Leif stood from the picnic bench and headed back to the shelter.\n* * *\nOliver worked the rest of his shift in silence and when the time came to clock out, he barely said a word to anyone before leaving.\n“Ollie, wait!” Leif caught up with him at the entrance of the woods, easily falling into step, hands thrust deep in his pants pockets as if he was fighting to keep them to himself.\n“I don’t like being made fun of,” Oliver said.\n“I got that.”\nThey walked a full minute in silence that was filled only by the sounds of their light breathing and the cheeps of Oliver’s forest buddies.\n“I’m sorry if I overstepped.”\nOliver stopped and stared at him—long straight nose, high chiseled cheeks, the sun glinting off his copper-gold hair—Leif’s male beauty almost too much to bear. Too much to want. “I like when you call me Ollie,” he murmured.\n“Doesn’t anyone else?”\n“Only my gramps. But he’s gone now.”\n“I’m sorry,” Leif said. “You’re named after him.”\nOliver frowned. “How do you know that?”\n“I don’t! I was just, uh…asking.”\n“Yeah, I’m his namesake.”\n“It’s nice to have someone like that in your corner.”\nWhy did Leif sound like he knew all about Oliver’s situation? Like he had been asking around or was a stalker. Why did he talk like Gramps was still alive?\nYou’re so suspicious. Stop being mistrustful.\nThis time it wasn’t Gramps’ voice he heard in his ears, but his own.\nSuddenly, they came from behind the surrounding trees, all of his friends chattering away— fawns, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, honey badgers, skunks and his five favorite chipmunks. Even a couple of antisocial gophers popped up from their underground burrows to say hello.\nThe animals surrounded them and Ollie was so happy to see his friends he forgot he wasn’t alone.\nHe glanced at Leif from the corner of his eyes, expecting to see anything but what he saw—a guy unafraid and totally comfortable in his surroundings, a soul at one with nature.\nOliver’s breath hitched in his chest when a kaleidoscope of butterflies suddenly fluttered around them, a constantly shifting pattern, hundreds of them creating a display of vivid colors before they all landed on Leif.\nLeif gently lifted his arms away from his body, looking like the Pied Piper of Lepidoptera as he laughed and speared Oliver with such an intense look, he thought his heart would burst through his chest like the creature from Aliens.\nIt was a scene out of a fairy tale.\nAnd Leif was the prince.\n* * *\n A week later Oliver, his mom and Gary sat in a lawyer’s office downtown for the reading of Gramps’ Will.\nNo one had had any idea that he’d owned anything of value to bequest considering he lived in senior housing.\nMom, however, was excited to hear what Gramps had left her. Gary the interloper came along to see what he could sponge off her, no doubt.\nOliver slouched at the window, bored and glum as they waited for the executor and lawyer to arrive. Suddenly, he noticed the red fox trotting down Main Street as bold as he pleased.\nThe animal stared up at Oliver as if the lawyer’s office was his destination, then he waited just below the second-story window.\nOliver straightened and blinked, wondered if he was hallucinating, especially when he caught the familiar sight of Gramps beside the fox, waving up at him from the pavement in his favorite overalls and blue-to-match-his-eyes T-shirt.\n“Sorry to keep you all waiting.”\nOliver turned from the window to see the tall ginger in a charcoal designer suit enter the office.\nWhen he sat down behind his desk and Oliver finally noticed the nameplate—Felix\nMeadows—something shifted inside him.\n“You’re Leif’s father?”\nMr. Meadows nodded. “You must be Oliver. I’ve heard a lot about you.”\nOliver felt Mom and Gary looking from him to Mr. Meadows and back again. He swallowed. “You have?”\nMr. Meadows grinned. “Leif is very fond of you. He says you’ll make a fine veterinarian someday, just like my wife.”\nOliver felt himself blush.\nGary groused. “Yeah, so, let’s get down to business.”\n“And you are?” Mr. Meadows asked.\nGary put an arm around Mom like he owned her. “This fine woman’s husband.”\n“Hmph.” Unimpressed, Mr. Meadows flipped through the folder on his desk and began to explain Gramps’ Will.\nThe more he disclosed, the redder Mom and Gary turned and the more shocked Oliver became.\nIt seemed Gramps had been craftier than anyone knew, investing well and squirreling away a veritable mint over the years. And everything he’d accumulated—fancy house, classic cars and cash totaling over five million dollars—now belonged to Oliver.\n“We’ll contest!” Gary stood, blustering and huffing like the Big Bad Wolf.\n“That’s your privilege. I assure you, however, Mr. Magnus was of sound mind and body when he had me draw up his Will. It’s ironclad.”\n“You’ll hear from our lawyer.” Gary grabbed Mom’s hand and dragged her to the door but she glared at Oliver over her shoulder as if it was his fault Gramps hadn’t trusted her with his fortune.\nRusty trotted into the office as they left and plopped on Mr. Meadows’ feet.\nMr. Meadows crouched and affectionately rubbed the red fox behind his\npointy ears. They looked so right together.\n“Is he yours?” Oliver asked.\nMr. Meadows stood, an enigmatic smile on his face, but he didn’t answer. “You should come by for dinner sometime. I and Leif’s mother would be happy to have you. And so would Leif.” He squeezed Oliver’s arm on his way to the door. “Your grandfather loved and was very proud of you, Oliver. I can see why.” Then he left and closed the door behind him.\nOliver flopped back on the sofa, barely noticed when Rusty whined and head-butted his leg.\nHe was a multi-millionaire. It was a lot to take in, but he could pay for school and live the life he’d always wanted, without so much scrimping and struggling.\nHe could donate to the shelter. He could take care of Mom, but only if she got some help. He wasn’t going to throw away Gramps’ money after the old spellcaster had entrusted it to him.\n“You’re a good person.”\nOliver turned to see Leif sitting beside him. “What the—?” He tumbled off the sofa to the carpeted floor, staring up at his new boyfriend. “How did you…?” Oliver stopped when he realized Rusty was gone. “No way!”\n“Way.” Leif smirked and calmly stood over him. Clad in a pair of black jeans and a green T-shirt that set off the color of his long-lashed eyes and copper-gold waves, he looked like any normal teenager.\nExcept he was a magickal being who could shapeshift!\nLeif proffered his hand and Oliver took it to let Leif pull him to his feet and into Leif’s waiting arms. “You're not afraid of me?”\n“No.” Oliver said.\nHis boyfriend was the red fox.\nAnd Oliver had a reason to smile."
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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: buried in saipan\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1016\n\nPrompt:\n\nFormat your story in the style of diary entries."
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"role": "assistant",
"content": "There are still rusted bayonets to be found in the dirt.\nAlongside broken firearms, canteens, and bullet-struck helmets. At times, still attached to skeletons. The deep-sea team would occasionally find a corroded tank or the remains of a submarine acting as an aquarium. Fighter planes would turn up far off in the mountains, a surprise to climbers.\nRare was it that Hisao found letters buried in Saipan.\nHe dropped his shovel and knelt, the archaeology team at work behind him—industrial lights illuminated the tunnel with a silver glow. Brushing the dirt from his find, Hisao picked up a timeworn book with a withered cover. A loose page stuck out from the side.\nI’m going to surrender at dawn… a sentence read.\n“I got somethi…” \nHisao trailed off. Curiosity once again bested him. With careful fingers, he opened the book and read off the first page. \n\nJune 2nd, 1944.\nThe Americans can have this island, for all I care.\nI’m tired. We’re spending the day digging trenches near the beach. The hot sun beams down on us, and we have little water or rice to ration. If we don’t work hard enough, we get shouted at. One word out of place and we’re beaten.\nIf there is any silver lining, it is the sun’s reflection on the clear waters. The sound of calm waves on the shore. Even as bugs swarm me, I cherish the view. It is breathtaking.\nMy candlelight fades. This bedroll does little to cushion the dirt.\nI hope the centipedes stay away from me.\n\nHisao turned to the next page. His crew continued the work behind him, a wheelbarrow rolling by with crushed rock.\n\nJune 8th, 1944.\nMashiro’s playing cards were found. An officer brought him outside, and he came back bloodied. I fear this journal will be found as well, yet my thoughts are loud, and the nights are quiet. Nothing I write in a letter home would make it through censors. \n\nJune 11th, 1944.\nI’ve never been an accurate shot. The bruises from the cane are still sore—the officer threatened to keep rations from all of us unless I improve my aim in practice. Another told us we will target the medics when we see them. Americans would risk one life to save another. I’m going to falter when the time comes. \n\nJune 13th, 1944\nDespite being surrounded by hundreds of my brethren, it is very lonely. \nNot all see the beauty of life as I do. \n\nHisao turned the page. The handwriting on the next grew shaky, as if written in a hurry.\n\nJune 15th, 1944\nIt’s a habit to number the year, even when I have doubts I’ll make it to the next one. \nI’m not going to sleep tonight. Warships bombard the shores. Planes drone overhead, the bombs whistle, and the grounds tremble. Soon it will be me on the front lines. I fear I don’t want I am ready when the time comes.\n\nJune 17th, 1944\nOne of the Americans is in our captivity. He was shot in the gut. We I dragged him into our dugout and bandaged him. The officers will question him come morning. With what little English I know, I found time to speak with him.\nHis voice shook as we talked, as he hung onto threads of life. I told Alan I grew up in a small town in Osaka, while he spoke of Ohio—a sprawling city with tall apartments. He would’ve been sent to Germany along with his friends, but drew the short end of the stick. He laughed at his joke and I laughed too.\nAlan is asleep now. His breathing fades—I don’t think he’ll wake up.\nI’m glad I could see him smile.\n\nJune 18th, 1944\nThe last thing Alan did was hand me a letter, asking me to deliver it to his mother in any way I could. When I read it over, I could only realize how similar it was to mine.\nIt made me question,\nwhat am I fighting for?\n\nHisao exhaled, then pushed the loose page back into place.\n\nJune 22nd, 1944\nI’m going to surrender at dawn.\nI will fake a stomach problem, then run off. The white cloth I carry will state my peace to the Americans. I am terrified. The last man to mention the word ‘surrender’ was beaten until he couldn't stand, left as an example to us.\nBut I cannot take the trepidation of battle any longer.\nI sit alone with my thoughts until the sun rises.\n\nTurning one too far, Hisao stared at a blank page. The entries had stopped. He turned back to the final one, dated more than a week after the last—three days before America claimed their victory.\n\nJuly 6th, 1944 \nMy right eye is still blackened—I can no longer see with it. The officer who beat me is now leading a reckless charge against the Americans. A final stand for control of the island. I, with a few others, am left behind to burn our documents in the cave.\nI will not.\nAmong the documents are letters. Dozens. Addressed to families and loved ones. Ones that were never sent. Words never spoken. Instead, I shall bury them alongside this journal, and hope for it to one day be found.\nThe order then is to take our own lives. Grenades have been left for us—we will pull the pin, then hold them to our chest. It will be quick and painless. I can only hope, that in the afterlife, I am set apart from those who took joy in this conflict.\nUntil my words are read,\nKoji.\n\nHisao sighed. He closed the book, then reached for a bag to seal it in.\n“I found something,” he called. His coworkers stepped forward. Hisao handed one the sealed bag, then reached in front with both hands. He swept back the dirt, promptly hitting the old leather of a satchel. \nCameras clicked around him. Another archaeologist dropped to help. They pulled the satchel from the ground, and the string wrapped around it came loose.\nOut rained handfuls of letters."
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Real Hitler Diaries\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2194\n\nPrompt:\n\nFormat your story in the style of diary entries."
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"role": "assistant",
"content": "The Real Hitler Diaries\nAuthor’s note: For those not old enough to remember the 1980’s, one of the most astonishing events of that decade was the discovery of diaries kept by Adolph Hitler. Stern Magazine, Newsweek and the Sunday Times in London all planned to serialize and publish and were prepared to hand over millions of dollars to the man who found them.There was one problem though: The diaries were fake, forged by a petty but talented criminal by the name of Konrad Kujau. Well respected experts enthusiastically endorsed the find before some finally recognized the manuscripts for what they were, complete fabrications. As a result I saw opportunity. I sat down and immediately penned THE REAL HITLER DIARIES. I mean, why not? Then I tried to sell them but nobody offered me a nickle. ML\nIntroduction to THE REAL HITLER DIARIES.\nSeveral years ago my maternal grandfather, Reinhardt Shmutzdrek, passed away in Guden-Baden Germany. His last words whispered to my mother concerned some documents stored in the attic of his house, including official papers of the Third Reich given him by his good friend Zigismund Heil who was very close to Hitler.\nI was disappointed to find nothing of value in those papers unless one was interested in how Ziggy’s toes froze on the retreat from Moscow or the state of his bowels in a POW camp outside of Frankfurt. But Ziggy did mention one Ralfs Von Zmarkett, a former SS officer who in fact held A.H.’s personal journals. This shred of information launched me on a decades long quest which has now been brought to a successful conclusion. When I started the search, Von Zmarkett was alive. Strong clues indicated he was living incognito in Argentina. A reporter from Newsweek headed off that way to investigate the lead while I followed up on a second possibility, that he was living under his real name in West Covina, California. \nA few weeks later I was sitting in the town’s Der Wienershnitzle when a kindly old gentleman sat down at the table next to mine and after several ferocious bites on his Polish dog introduced himself to me as none other than Rudolph Von Zmarkett. The chatty old guy told me he lived in a little two bedroom bungalow which he had recently shared with another fellow, a doctor---can’t remember if the name was Mainder, Manhal, Mengele, something like that, but the doc had recently returned to his family in South America and left a ton of documents behind.\nI drove Rudy back to the bungalow and found a treasure-trove of old wooden boxes filled with papers turned yellow with age. On the very first one I picked up were clear notations in A.H’s hand with doodles around the edges of aircraft, burning cities and sinking ships. As Rudy peered over my shoulder I began a meticulous cataloging of what turned out to be a very extensive diary. After years of work I am proud to submit just a few of the most interesting excerpts from A.H. for your perusal:\n11 November 1918\n Feeling just lousy today. Must start thinking about my future. Painting? Maybe. But no 2nd story work. I have a fear of heights. It is hard to think when you are in an army hospital in great pain, recovering from a gas attack. The gas is caused by the citrus fruit grown by the traitors who have lost Germany the war. The citrus growers are to blame for our defeats! It lies heavy in my stomach. My God, how I loathe the Juice!\n30 July, 1921\n Have decided painting is not for me. I am spattered like a ring-tailed monkey. Went off afterward to have a drink in my favorite beer hall. The girls there are big and Aryan. Solid arms, bustenhalters of Wagnerian expanse. Met some old army pals in the pub. They said ‘how about a party’. I said sure, come back to my place and we’ll have a real good time. ‘Not that kind of party’ they said. A political party. Hmmm. This might not be such a bad idea.\n10 April, 1924\n I was kidding around in Munich and got in big trouble. OK, maybe I shouldn’t have jumped on that table and fired my pistol---can’t anyone take a joke? Now am in jail. I don’t like jail. It is so dank I have caught a terrible cold, much chest congestion. I am writing an entire book about this. I have entitled the book ‘Mein Cough’.\n19 February, 1927\n My party is doing well, many people joining. But struggling with that little runt Rudolph Hess over the party symbol. He wants to keep using that silly crooked cross done in black with a white circle background. It doesn’t grab me. I prefer a bright, smiling yellow face with the slogan: ‘Have a nice tag’.\n17 March, 1929\n Hindenburg has finally taken notice of me! He stopped by party headquarters and said: ‘Adolph, take my advice and shave off that silly moustache or you’ll never get anywhere in politics. Who do you think you are? Charlie Chaplin?’ I smiled and called him a schweinhund under my breath but he gives me an idea: When I retire I shall write and star in a movie and call it ‘The Great Comedian’.\n1 January, 1930\n Came back to the Juice in a speech today. Received great applause when I indicted the sneaky, greedy citrus growers. Depression comes to Germany? It is their fault. The country under assault by Communists? Their fault! All would be better if we get rid of ascorbic acid, I told them. I want Germany to be rid of the Juice!\n22 August, 1931\n That fat boy Goring came by party headquarters. How he fits through the door is a wonder. He needs to lighten up on the sauerkraut and sausage.\n26 March, 1932\n I am informed the Communists want to kill me. Their lack of respect for human life is just shameful.\n3 April, 1932\n Met a wonderful girl named Eva. She wouldn’t give me her last name or tell me where she lives, but I think she likes me. I tried to cop a feel in the beerhall where she is working as a barmaid. She told me if I did that again I would be heiling with a busted hand. I like an Aryan woman with spunk!\n30 January, 1933\n A great day! I am second banana behind Hindenburg, was out on the Reichstag building balcony tonight taking my bows. The building gives me the creeps. I wonder if it is fireproof?\n 29 January, 1935\n Took back the Saarland. One down, twenty or thirty to go!\n28 May, 1937\n Reviewed the armed forces today. Goring doesn’t like it when I poke his paunch and say ‘hey big fella, you’re so wide you’d flatten Prussia if you sat down.’ The Luftwaffe boys have no sense of humor, all they know is bomb and strafe, bomb and strafe. Had more fun in the sub pens near Hamburg. Ordered charcoal be put on the eye pieces of all the periscopes.\n1 October, 1937\n Called Speer in today to discuss the New Berlin. Told Al I wanted the buildings to last a thousand years. Speer says he can’t get a guarantee on workmanship for more than five centuries, max.\n30 September, 1938\n Am one happy Fuhrer! Took Austria today. Next will work on the Prague government. Boy, would I love to cache a few Czechs!\n30 September, 1938\n Ho, ho! I’m on a roll. Chamberlain came to Munich. He gave me Czechoslovakia, I promised I’m finished gobbling countries. He didn’t see my fingers were crossed behind my back. I asked about Scotland, hinted it would be great to base a few U-boats there. He said Churchill would blow his stack. Who is this guy Churchill?\n3 July, 1939\n I’ve ordered Goebbels to begin a propaganda campaign against Poland and he came up with a bunch of very funny jokes, real knee-slappers. I especially liked the one about the bride from Warsaw.\n24 August, 1939\n Signed a non-aggression pact with Stalin. The Big Red One wanted to know if I’d keep my word. Sure, I told him. He tried to see if my fingers were crossed behind my back like with Chamberlain but I hid them under my long jacket.\n3 September 1939\n Going through Poland like a sharp knife through wienerschnitzel. Britain and France declared war on me today. No big deal.\n7 April, 1940\n I am informed my generals have developed a flame thrower of astonishing power to use against the Maginot Line. They are calling it ‘The French Fryer’ ho ho ho. The scientists are working on some nonsense involving atoms. Have told them to stop the foolishness and concentrate on weapons that really work.\n11 June, 1940\n Paris not all it is cracked up to be. Dog poop everywhere! Really messed my boots up good. I have ordered the immediate arrest of all poodles.\n15 July, 1940\n Tried to call Churchill today, hoped he’d be big enough to let bygones be bygones. Can’t believe he hung up on me. Called back, same result. Mind you, I was paying for the call.\n7 January, 1941\n War in Africa just zipping along. Our panzers get great mileage once the Italians move out of the way.\n28 May, 1941\n Bismarck sunk but I shall have my revenge. Have ordered the U-boats to forget transports and cargo ships, focus on the British trawler fleet. Take away their fish and chips and the English will soon be brought to their knees!\n22 June, 1941\n Big surprise for the Big Red One, I’ve sent him a couple million German soldiers as a present, ha ha. My generals want me to supply the troops with winter clothing which is ridiculous. They’ll be in Moscow in a couple of weeks.\n8 December, 1941\n Went to war with the USA today. Aha! Now between Japan and Germany we have Roosevelt surrounded!\n5 January, 1942\n Not happy. My troops have not taken Moscow. Excuses, excuses: The weather, the mud, the enemy. Nonsense. If it were Paris, they’d be there already. I have ordered Goebbles to begin a press campaign talking up the joys of Moscow night-life. That should motivate them.\n7 May 1942\n A Fuhrer’s work is never done. If I’m not planning new offensives I’m busy flattering Mussolini and telling him how fantastic he looks in his tailored uniform. No time even for a little shluffin with Eva. Sigh.\n30 August, 1942\n Still having trouble in front of Moscow. OK, I had an idea. I picked out a city the army can take in two days to rebuild their confidence. A real pushover on the Volga called Stalingrad.\n1 March, 1943\n A so-so year thus far. Ups and downs with Rommel, the Balkans, and rumors of a second front in the west. Worst of all, not a single post-card from Rudy Hess since he’s been in England.\n27 October, 1943\n Bad night of sleep. Bombers overhead all night. Goring says his boys shot down many. I told the fat man: ‘not enough’.\n1 June, 1944\n Nerves totally frazzled with all this talk of an Anglo-American second front in France. I need a vacation. Thinking of going to Normandy for a few days.\n30 June, 1944\n Have ordered a new set of war maps. Also some new generals. Tired of all the pessimism around the conference table. They tell me Paris is about to fall. I tell them great! Wait until the Americans step in all that French dog poop and watch how fast the Grand Alliance falls apart after that.\n20 July, 1944\n At my East Prussia command post. Bang! Bomb goes off. Nah-nah-nah-nah, missed me.\n7 February, 1945\n Anglo-Americans near the Elbe, Russians on the Vistula. OK, I hope they get good and wet crossing the rivers.\n19 March, 1945\n Thought I heard thunder this morning. Relieved to find out it was only the Russian artillery opening up on Berlin. Been scared of storms since I was a kid. Love this bunker, it’s so cozy.\n6 April, 1945\n Toying with the idea of marrying Eva soon. I tease her, say ‘Eva, you got the ‘Braun’, but I got the brains.’ Being a bachelor Fuhrer is losing its appeal, might be time to settle down. Goring dropped by, asked permission to leave Berlin today to inspect our air squadrons in Argentina. Funny, I didn’t know we had any there.\n29 April, 1945\n Married Eva today and have promised her a wonderful and fun-filled life ahead for both of us.\n30 April, 1945\n The Russian guns made it impossible to get Eva in the mood for a little non-artillery ‘boom-boom’. Poor darling decided to take what she thought was a sleeping pill but it was a pill that has put her to sleep forever. It’s a sad fact most accidents seem to happen in the home… Tried to phone Truman, Churchill and the Big Red One to talk things over. Nobody accepted my call. OK, then. That’s it. I’m through being a nice guy!\n ***"
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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: Bubbly is my alias\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2084\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character coming out of a long hibernation (either literal or metaphorical)."
},
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"role": "assistant",
"content": "Author’s note: use of explicit language; \nTrigger warning: depression, anxiety, addiction and suicidal tendencies/ thoughts \n\nI see my reflection in the mirror, but I don’t see me. \nJeez, I think to myself, I look like I died and came back to life. To be quite honest, that’s how I felt too. My body ached; I hadn’t left my bed all weekend, even to relieve myself properly. My mom, kind as she is, changed my sheets for me, asking carefully if I would roll over so she could grab the side I lay on. \nThis morning she came into my room asking if she should call and report an absence to the high school. I groaned but had decided I would make some effort to get to class today. She smiled at that and closed my door, leaving me to privacy in the darkness of my room. \nI’m depressed. I know it. My mom knows it too. I need help soon, but we’ve been on a waitlist for so long that everything seems so fucking hopeless at this point. \nAnyway, I was looking in the mirror, horrified by my appearance and questioning my decision to go to school. I paced back and forth across the cold tile floor, fidgeting with my stress ball and squeezing it to calm my nerves. \nFinally, I picked up my toothbrush and scrubbed the stains off my teeth. I tried for a smile in the mirror, but it hurt to force myself. Save that for later, I thought. See, here’s the thing, I’m not myself at school. I put on a show. I act like this happy-go-lucky girl, who’s energy literally radiates the colour yellow so that people won’t judge me for being a depressed loser. I mean, I know I’m not actually a loser, but the thought of my friends thinking that I am one scares me. I could lose everything if they found out. \nI’m so good at faking it that people have started calling me Bubbly. You know, like that Colbie Caillat song. You make me smile, please stay for a while now. Yeah, that song. I deserve an Oscar for the performance I’ve been putting on, damn. \nI paint my face to hide the fact that I look dead. Conceal my pimples, Add some blush for colour, mascara to make my eyes pop. I don’t cover up my eye bags, though, because lucky for me, it's actually in fashion to show them. Who’d have thought that would ever happen? Some girls even mix red and blue eyeshadow to make their eye bags look darker. It’s crazy. Next, I throw on my only clean pair of leggings and a hoodie, and I’m ready to go. \nDownstairs, my mom is waiting for me with a brown paper bag. \n“Here honey, I made you a pb and j sandwich, make sure you eat it today okay.” \n“Thanks momma, of course I will.” I toss it into my school bag, knowing it’ll be in the trash can later. \n“I love you, honey,” she says with a kiss on my head.\n“Love you too mom, thanks.” And with that, I’m off to school. \nWhen I get there, I head straight for the water fountain. I pop an Advil and swallow, instantly feeling better. Now, I know what you might be thinking. I have some chronic pain or something. But to tell you the truth, I don’t. The Advil just calms me down, and I know that's not how it works - that I’m feeling a placebo effect - but it helps, so I take them when I get angsty. \nIt's a few minutes until first period, law with Mrs. Henry, so I head to my friend's locker. \n“Robbie, hey!” you could notice her fiery red hair from a mile away. Today it was in two dutch braids. \n“What’s up, Jay? Hey, where you been all weekend, you never texted me?” \n“Hey, yeah, I know we were supposed to hang, but my cousins are moving to Port Dover and I was helping them to move stuff in. I didn’t think it was going to take all weekend, sorry.” \n“Don’t even worry about it, how about we catch a movie this weekend?”\n“For sure!” I’d successfully lied to her. “You wanna hit my vape before class starts?” I asked, wanting to change the subject. \nShe nodded with a smile on her face and I led the way to the girls' washroom. Our school has a strict no electronic vaping rule, so we hide in the last stall and make sure not to blow the vapour out. \nI grabbed my Novo and handed it to her first. I felt bad because her parents found hers and took it away, so she couldn’t enjoy a headrush whenever she needed one. \n“Ahhhh, I’ve got a heady already,” she squealed, handing it back to me.\nI took a puff and enjoyed the peppermint flavour as it washed down my throat. I took another and swished it around in my mouth then swallowed the vapour to get a better heady. We were in the middle of practicing some vape tricks when the bell for the start of first period went off. \n“See you at lunch, Bubbly,” Robbie said as she playfully punched my shoulder. \nWhen I got to Mrs. Henry’s class, I sat in my usual seat and pulled out my tattered notebook. She started a lesson on how deviance affects societal norms or something like that. I don’t know, I zoned out, thinking about how bad I felt for having to lie to Robbie. I knew the same would most likely happen this weekend too. I doubted I would be able to get out of bed, even to go to the movies, which I usually loved. \n“Jay! Jay are you listening?” Mrs. Henry’s voice snapped me away from my daydream.\n“Uh… sorry what?” \n“So you weren’t paying attention, hmm?” She said with arms crossed.\n“No, I’m sorry I wasn’t, it won’t happen again,” I said shamefully. A few of the popular girls started giggling and whispering behind my back. I felt like such an idiot. I could feel my heartbeat starting to race and my face going red as a tomato. I put my head on the desk and turned it sideways so that only Mrs. Henry would be able to see my blushing face. I reached down into my school bag for my stress ball, but it wasn’t there. Shit, I left it at home. I tap my toes on the floor as a distraction instead. That doesn’t work, so I bite the insides of my cheeks, then my fingernails. \nI lift my head up off the desk and look around, wondering if anyone was watching me. Rachel, the popular blond, jock-obsessed girl sitting directly behind me, gives a threatening smirk. She must’ve seen the unease plastered to my face because then she gives me a sad look of sympathy like awe baby, what’s wrong? Fuck her. I turn around and slump back down on my desk.\nNow I can feel my body sweating, but I’m cold and starting to shake. Ugh, this can’t be happening. I can feel a panic attack rising up inside me. No, no, no, no, no. This has never happened at school before. Why today? \nTears start welling up in my eyes. I get up and run right out of class without a moment's hesitation. \nI make my way to the girls' bathroom and hope it's empty now that class has started. It is. I sit in the back corner and put my head between my knees as I reach for the pocket with my Advil. I pop one, and then another. The bottle is full. Would it really be that bad if I took all of them right now, I think. Maybe, if I overdosed, I'd get taken to the hospital, and they’d finally help me. I need some goddamn help. \nI’ve been thinking of death for a while, but I can't follow through with it because I’m scared of pain. But… this might not be painful. Maybe it would knock me out. That would be easiest. I was already starting to feel lightheaded and dizzy, so how much worse could it really be? \nI lifted the bottle up close to my face and stared at the contents inside, contemplating. \nThat’s when Mrs. Henry found me. \n\n… \n\nWhat happened next is fuzzy in my mind. I remember crying so much that my eyes stung because mascara was pooling in them. I remember talking to a nice lady in the guidance office. I remember sitting in a fancy car or truck of some sort with friendly people helping me. I remember a white bed and white walls. And then things went black. \n\n… \n\n“Jay, how are you feeling?” In a chair across the room sat a tall man with salt and pepper hair. He had a clipboard and was already taking notes before I even answered. \n“I… Um… I feel okay. Where am I?”\n“It seems as though you’ve had a panic attack at school yesterday. They called an ambulance that brought you here to North Valley Hospital. You’ve been asleep all night. Your mom is waiting outside, would you like to see her?”\nI nodded, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, “yes please.”\nMy mom came into the room, crying, of course, and squeezed the breath out of me in a hug. \nAfter she finished suffocating me with love, the doctor said, “Mrs. Bernier, I’m going to refer Jay to a therapist who specializes in cognitive behavioural therapy for youth. She’s the best I know and I can tell her and Jay will get along great. Stacy, will call you sometime next week to set up an appointment.”\nRelief washed over me. Finally, I would get the help I needed. \nWe left the hospital, and my mom treated me to a Starbucks: a grande white mocha with extra caramel, drizzle for being so brave. I didn’t consider having a mental breakdown and wanting to die, being brave, but I didn’t complain. \nI was already feeling better the next few days. I started brushing my hair again, instead of leaving it in a matted bun all the time and took out my painting supplies, which I hadn’t done in months. \nStacy called us three days later, and my mom set up an appointment for next Monday. I was nervous but also excited to see how she would help. \nOur first few sessions went great. I felt really comfortable opening up to her about everything. I told her about the thoughts I’d been having, and she gave me some alternatives to replace the negative ones. I told her that I was acting like someone else at school, and she told me that was perfectly normal. She also told me that many kids go through similar experiences like mine, but it's just not talked about enough. \nShe ended up convincing me to tell Robbie the truth. I did, and she took it so well! She didn’t ditch me like I thought she would. \nToday, I was seeing Stacy, and we were going to work on finding a way to express my emotions. \n“Jay, I think I have the perfect thing for you. I know you’re super creative and I’m hoping this will help to spark some of that genius inside you.” She reached behind her chair, grabbing a worn ukulele and handed it to me. \n“Here,” she said gently, “this belongs to you now. I’m hoping in our next few sessions I can teach you a few simple songs and we’ll see how it goes from there.”\nI took it tentatively, not sure what to say. \n“No need to thank me,” she’d read my mind “it's yours now, try it out.”\nI sat the instrument on my lap, and it felt comfortable, almost as if it was a missing piece that had once belonged to my body. It was out of tune, I was sure, but I would learn how to fix that later. \nI spread my fingers and strummed my thumb along the strings slowly and was surprised at the beautiful noise it made. It sounded like the end of winter when buds start growing, and bird song fills the air. The musical note that came from the ukulele sounded like a spring awakening. I guess you could even say this was my awakening from a long slumber of depressive hibernation."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Ghost Seed\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1106\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character sowing seeds for the future (literally or figuratively)."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "1907\nThe ground shook, and the burlap bag of seeds flew out of her tiny hands. The seeds scattered around her bare feet as she caught herself mid-fall. For a moment, the earth stood still. No sound of birds. No wind whispering through the ridges. Bewildered, she collected herself. She would have to wait for the mud to dry to collect her seeds again. That, or she could just leave them be. Perhaps those were meant to be planted there anyway. The world didn’t violently rattle for no reason.\n“Lilly, head back to Camp 2. Tell the chief engineer there’s been a collapse at Upper Bridle Path,” the foreman ordered as though he had any actual authority over the girl.\nAs Lilly scampered towards the engineer’s quarters with her message, The foreman and his crew scurried up and over the ridge to assess the damage. Dust was still settling around the collapsed remnants of the tunnel. \nThe chief engineer arrived promptly and squinted in the noonday sun to assess the damage.\n“How much will it take to gain back the progress we made on this cut?” He asked the foreman with seemingly little regard for the nine men buried underneath the rubble. \n“Well, sir, it could be up to a week with this amount of damage.” \n“Damn.” The chief engineer lit his cigar as he pondered the setback that would cut into the bottom line. He couldn’t afford more setbacks.\n“Let’s get the dragline fired up, boys, let’s not waste any more time.” The foreman knew what needed to be done. This wasn’t his first road cut setback. \nLily scrambled back over the ridge, tripping over twigs and getting slapped by tree branches. As soon as she saw the rubble, her stomach sank. Something inside of her knew Vlad was buried in there. Her body felt empty. \nIt was just that morning that Vlad was sitting in the grass with her, teaching her the ways of nature with his broken English. He told her about how the bees would travel from flower to flower, from tree to tree, and that fruit could yield its nourishing wonder with each blossom visited. He sliced off a portion of ginger gold with his paring knife and handed it to her. The apple slice was sweet yet mildly tart.\nRealizing he couldn’t get caught loafing around once more, he grabbed his pickaxe, ruffled Lilly’s matted hair, and told her that he had a tunnel to dig. Before wandering back to the work crew, he tossed her the burlap bag with the apple seeds. The tunnel will not be life-giving, he said to her, but these seeds would be. She did not yet know that these would be his last words to her. \n1944\nLilly finished loading the season’s harvest into the boxcar on the side track. She heard the long squeal of the giant locomotive’s air breaks. It then came into sight, exhausted and grimy from having wound its rolling stock through fifteen tunnels. As the train’s crew prepared to couple the boxcar to the rest of the train, they stopped and admired the lushness of Lilly’s apples. \n“Your husband must be real proud of you, ma’am,” the fireman told her, tipping his blue and white striped hat to her as he took a bite out of a Virginia Beauty. \n“Now y’all know my husband’s been shipped off to Europe to fight Hitler. He’s probably not paying no mind to me back home growing these here apples,” Lilly replied with a twinge of humble resilience.\n“Well, now, ma’am, we wish your husband a safe return from overseas.” \nThe fireman tossed the rest of the apple on the ground, grabbed onto the handrail, and hopped back in the locomotive’s cabin. He unlatched the firebox door with the foot pedal and shoveled in a good helping of coal. The engineer pulled the throttle, and the train lurched forward, gradually gaining momentum one puff from the smokestack at a time. \nThe train headed north. Lilly cranked up the decrepit Ford pickup and rumbled back towards the apple barn. The truck backfired louder than a shotgun blast, sending a flock of songbirds fluttering frantically in all directions. On the way back, she stopped at the grove of ginger golds, not far from where Camp 2 used to be. She stared at the yellow-golden apples and wondered what kind of man Vlad would have grown up to be. Even now, in her mind, he seemed so much older and wiser. But how was a six-year-old supposed to know how intelligent a 19-year old immigrant from Russia really was? Who knew what actually happened that fateful day when the earth shook? He and eight other men were entombed in that tunnel, and perhaps their souls never left either. Lily figured that this was meant to be and that Vlad’s knowledge of how nature and creation work was never meant to leave these mountains either. \nShe pruned the branches of her ginger golds with care. Even though they did not bear the most fruit on the orchard, they were her prized possessions. \n1983\nLilly sat on the porch of the apple barn and carefully sliced open an apple, holding the knife with her wrinkled and calloused fingers. Off in the distance, the horn of a diesel engine sounded as it hauled 90 cars of coal through Upper Bridle Path Tunnel. She rocked back and forth in the rocking chair to the rhythm of the vibrating rails. She had seen many loads of coal hauled down south on that line over the decades, all passing through Upper Bridle Path tunnel.\nAs she listened to the horn, she recalled that it had been decades since the last time she loaded up a boxcar headed north. The side track was no longer there. The steam locomotives were long gone, and her childhood home at Camp 2 lay in distant, overgrown ruins. The railroad was now owned by an out-of-state conglomerate that had no interest in the future of the orchard. \nThe little girl shuffled underneath Lilly’s tired, old feet. Lilly leaned down and gave the girl a sack full of seeds. Lilly told her that she was getting too old to grow apple trees. She recalled that the last time she hobbled her weary, achy body down to the grove by the tracks to the spindly remnants of her once-prize-winning apple trees, she swore she felt something ruffling her hair. She could hear Vlad whispering to her that, unlike that old tunnel, her seeds did indeed bring life and will continue to do so long after that railroad is gone."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Ever-Endless Earth\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1343\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character sowing seeds for the future (literally or figuratively)."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "At last, the sun dipped bellow the scattered, brown horizon. Skunk Lowery raised his hand to it, curving his calloused fingers and cupping the orange shine, as though it were the pomelo he'd received for Christmas as a boy. The wild citrus smell was so beautiful that he didn't dare break open the skin, and he hid it under his rope bed like a buried treasure. Over time, it had turned rotten and bent in on itself, like the earth seemed to be doing now. Skunk dropped his hand and rubbed it against his trousers to clean the dirt off. He worried this season was too hot, that they planted too late, that the cotton wouldn't grow. Sharecroppers in Cimarron Territory couldn't afford such bad luck, but each year, the ground became stiffer. It cracked and flaked, like the skin of an old snake.\n\nSkunk's father called out to him, waving a dusty hat through the air. “C'mon, Skunk! Best get on before the time's between wolf-and-dog!”\n\nSkunk nodded, shifting the toe of his boot to cover the last of the seeds. If all went well this season, the Lowerys would be able to buy their homestead out from The Mumford property. They would no longer be squatters turned sharecroppers. They'd have a place in the world, however small their corner of it might be.\n\nThe men walked home, fatigue robbing them of their speech. As it was, their tongues were too dry and swollen to make much use of conversation. Their home leaned at the edge of the property, in a semi-circle of other sharecropper shacks, which were tucked away in an untamed curve of the prairie. The floor was packed, brown dirt. The only door was a flap of fabric that had long ago turned pink from the constant blister of sunlight. They slept on rope beds next to the pot belly stove and ate out of good china, white and dappled with blue flowers, that Skunk's mother had brought with her from the then owned Mexican owned south.\n\nAfter a simple meal of corn pone pie, Skunk's father took down his penny jar and removed a rope of Low John. He cut off a hunk and chewed with a deliberate intensity, to get all the juice to wash the sour smell of his breath. Neither man held much in the way of words, on account of their ears being much bigger than their mouths. They listened to the cicadas begging for each other as they dropped from the far and few between post oaks.\n\n“Say, paw,” muttered Skunk when it was time to turn up the gas lamp.\n\nHis father spit out Low John in answer.\n\n“What'll we do once we buy out the place from Mumford?”\n\n“Hey?”\n\n“What'll we do?” Skunk repeated. “Want to put up for a new mattress? We could get us a mule and make the work quicker.”\n\n“Quicker or slower, the work is work,” he answered, flicking the root to the other side of his mouth. “Cain't think beyond today. Hell, you as good as die in your sleep if the Lord decides. Funeral's ain't cheap.”\n\n“I figure if it's anyone dying first, it'll be you.”\n\nHis father snorted and knuckled a hairy earlobe. “Ain't so old as that. 'Sides, I gotta stick around show you how to father.”\n\n“Ain't got no kids,” Skunk said. He took a bit of Low John for himself, chewing the root to cud. The fresh spark of it hit his tongue and he stretched out his legs. “Not for the lack of them at the Big House trying.”\n\n“Them Mumford girls ain't nothing but trouble.”\n\n“Marcy Mae-Ella could put a sour look on Jesus's face, that's true, but the devil gave her legs.”\n\n“And the devil take 'em, too.” His father snorted again and spit. “You're always looking two steps ahead. Even when you was learning how to walk. Trying to get to someplace so fast, you'd end up tripping.”\n\n“Man's gotta think about the future of his crops.”\n\n“Ain't no price of cotton promised til the day you bring it in, boy.”\n\nSkunk lifted a well muscled shoulder. As he carved the earth, so had it carved his body. He rubbed his chin, where a fine dark stubble had started to appear over the last summer. First thing he'd do with his money was buy a pomelo. He'd actually eat it this time, nibbling at the thin white skin, sucking free each tear drop of meat that came free of the rind. He'd scrub the leavings into the thick groves of his fingers, over his face, and down his arms, just so he could have the citrus smell to intoxicate him when the rest was gone.\n\n“A man can hope for the best and still work in what's known,” he told his father. “I know ain't nothing promised, but I also know what could be had. That's what I aim for. Could be.”\n\n“Might never.” His father said, lightly teasing.\n\n“Just the same. No use in living iffin you don't aim proper.”\n\nHis father's head bobbed. The fine gray hairs that sprouted up his neck caught the flame of the lamp before he put his hand to them, rubbed them back into the red, peeling skin. “Like going hunting. You aim for the buck but make no complaints if all that turns up is rabbit.”\n\n“Like planting seeds,” Skunk pressed. “Why else we put in cotton every year? Why not peanuts?”\n\n“Cuz we know cotton grows. It's reliable in this soil.”\n\n“Not promised though.”\n\n“As good as.”\n\n“I get your meaning.” His father flapped an impatient hand into the air. It was full dark now and the coyotes yip-you'd in the distance. Skunk's father leaned forward and his chair creaked at the joining parts, much like the man himself. His tone weakened with a stone that some internal water pushed up to his throat. “Truth is...boy...Truth is I ain't never learned to aim as high as you. I reckon there's a lot I can't see on account of it being past my nose. All I gots is my seeds but when we pay off Mumford, you go on and do what you want with the money. I don't mind. I don't mind one bit.”\n\nHe stood with a huff and scratched his chest. The skin on his hands was so dry, it cracked like the earth and little splits of blood came up like dying riverbeds. He put the rope of Low John back into the penny jar and made his way to bed. Skunk watched as his father bent low, pressing tired knees into the dirt floor, and looped the wooden beads of his rosary around worn fingers.\n\nSkunk stepped outside to give him some privacy. All along the semi-circle, small yellow light flickered and lowered, puffing out, growing stale. Whispers of mothers putting their children to bed, the low hum of lovemaking, the wind tickling through the tall grass, all mingled with the soft passion, “...blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb...”\n\nSquatting, Skunk pressed his palm into the hot dirt and spread his fingers wide. He prayed the crops would birth a spectacular harvest. He needed the seeds to grow, needed to be rid of the doubts and the anticipated devastation if they were to miss the debt by a small amount. “Please, spirits of the crop,” he muttered to himself, tongue heavy and in need of water. “Please. I ain't got nothing more to offer than a begging word.”\n\nHe pushed his hand deeper into the ground, hunting for the pulse of roots digging in and spinning wide. His father was wrong. Skunk couldn't imagine himself so far away, not even to the horizon. That seemed too big of a task and there was too much of the world for one man to tackle alone. All Skunk wanted was the right to his property. All he wanted was a pomelo earned from whatever the cotton seeds had promised."
}
]
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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: you brought color\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1011\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where flowers play a central role."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "the vibe song for this story is “breaking up was easier in the 90’s” by sam hunt. hope y’all enjoy!\n\nroses\nroses for the valentines days you said you hated. roses for the smile on your face when I handed them to you, in your favorite color, orange, and i would say, “i thought you hated valentines day.”\nand you would reply, “i used to. You’re making me like it more.”\nroses for the red.\nthe red we saw.\nthe red we felt.\nthe red that covered everything after you left.\n\ntulips\ntulips for the smile on your face,\nthe spring sun reflecting on your eyes,\neyes, green like the grass,\nand the tulips, breaking through the april snow\nsnow you hated\nhated, wished it wasn't there. why?\nwhy? When the snow and sun sparkled\nsparkled like glitter\nsparkled like you.\n\ndaffodils\ndaffodils for when we went into the fields\nfields of daffodils, all smiling,\nsmiling, just like you,\njust like the sun.\ndaffodils weighed down by snow.\nyou hated that.\nyou brushed them off, “nothing should be pushed down like that. that is why i hate snow.”\nsnow pushed down the daffodils.\ni hate snow now, but not for that reason.\n\nlavender\nlavender, a phase it would seem.\nlavender flowed through the diffuser\nlavender decorated your walls\nlavender\nlavender sprigs in the snow\nThe snow you hate hated\nlavender sticking up,\nbees swarming\nbees make me think of you.\nevery spring.\n\ncarnation\ncarnations. They sat on your mothers kitchen table for weeks, unwilting. \nyou told me what i didn’t know about them.\nthey were grown, but they were white. \nthey were white, like snow \nthey were white until they were dyed hideous colors,\ngreen, blue, red, pink. then\nthey were sprayed with smell\nthe same smell\nevery carnation.\nevery carnation\nblood red or white\neither way, they\nwere\nthe\nsame\nin\nthe\nend.\n\ncosmos\ncosmos, a flower\nyou never saw.\ncosmos, what a name, huh?\ni would give you\nall the cosmos\nflowers\nif i could.\n\nlilac\nlilac blooms in spring.\nspring.\ni think they were there, poking through the snow.\nthey saw you\nwhen i couldn’t.\nthey protected you\nbut not very well.\n\nhibiscus\nhibiscus, what can i say?\nyou loved the tea.\nYou would hold your mug, with its chipped paint and faded words, and sip it as your hands flew across the keyboard.\n“why do you write like you’re running out of time?” I asked one day.\n“you said you didn’t like hamilton.” you said with a sly grin.\n“you said you didn’t like valentines day.” i said right back.\n“touché.”\ni loved hamilton, but i would never tell you that. It would have meant you found something we both liked.\ni wish...i wish i had told you the truth.\nlook, i’m crying.\ni told you i could express emotion.\n\nsunflower\nthen you’re left in the dust, lest i stuck by yaaa! \nyou’re the sunflower! i think your love would be too much!\nwe sang in harmony\nharmony\nwhat is harmony?\nin sinc?\nin tune?\nso alike it’s scary?\nthat was us\nyou and me\nbut now its just\nme.\n\nblack eyed susan\nblack eyed susan for you.\nyou came to me.\nbut why? \nwhy did i end up as the constant?\nwhy me?\nwhy not me?\nit could have been any of us.\nbut you didn’t deserve it.\n\nbuttercup\nbuttercup, your favorite.\nyour favorite.\nwhen the snow was all gone\nthere would be the buttercups.\n“i love these because when i see them, i know the winter, the snow, is all over.” you said with a smile.\npink lipstick. freckles.\ndirt.\ndarkness.\nthat's not where you belong.\nnot under the buttercups.\nabove them, with me.\nstill.\n\ndaisy\ndaisy. that’s who\nno.\ni won’t.\ndaisies, beautiful\nwhite\nlike snow.\noh god, the snow.\nplease, not the snow.\nnot the snow.\n\n🌹🌷🌺🌻🌼\n\nyou never saw the next snow.\nnever.\nyou never received my roses.\nyou never walked among the tulips.\nyou never stopped to smell the daffodils\nor the carnations.\nwe painted over the lavender. we sprayed febreeze over the smell\nof rancid flowers.\nwe planted the lilac this spring. you never got to see it.\nwe still sip hibiscus tea, the hibiscus tea your lips will never again touch.\ni see the sunflowers, feel the beat. i think your love would be too much.\nwe planted new black eyed susans in the garden. you would have loved them.\ni see the buttercups. i think of you every time.\ni see daisies, and please no snow-\n\n🌹🌷🌺🌻🌼\n\nsnow. you hated its existence.\nthe sun had just began to peak through the clouds after a storm. the water was slippery on the interstate.\nwhy, snow? \nhurt me instead of hurting her. was it\nkarma? for how much she hated it?\nshe hated the snow\nfor other reasons \nbut it's a good reason to hate something\nif it kills you.\n\n🌹🌷🌺🌻🌼\n\nwe put you under the buttercups on a saturday.\nmahogany\nbrown, i see it and can only think about\nyour hair, braided, up in a bun, fanned out around your head\ni give a speech, but i don’t remember most of it. \nit was something about flowers. your love for them.\nwhy did we lose you?\nwhy did you have to go?\ni know it wasn’t your fault.\ni would go back in time and let it be me if i had the choice.\nthey would rather have bright, bubbly you than me. i was am nothing without you there.\nyou are an endless rainbow\na bright color on a rainy day.\nbut now as we stand in the spring rain\nlowering you into dirt\nthere is no more color.\nnot for me, anyway.\nroses\ntulips\ndaffodils\ncarnations\ncosmos\nlilac\nhibiscus\nsunflower\nblack eyed susan\nbuttercup\ndaisy.\nthey will never have color without you to breathe life among them.\nnot even the dyed carnations.\nthe world looks the same since you left.\nsame grey pavement\nsame grey sky\neverything is gray, because you brought color.\nyou brought color.\n\n🌹🌷🌺🌻🌼"
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Madness Among the Flowers\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1198\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where flowers play a central role."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "“So what do you do when your personal values clash with those of your family, your friends, your loved ones, your society?”\nThe classroom went silent. \nExpected. \nI gave the prerequisite wait time—counting the slow seconds needed for my high school seniors to digest my salient query. Their pensive expressions belied the fact that they were just digesting lunch. \nHow can anyone teach a class immediately after lunch? They just want to go to sleep. I want to go to sleep. \n“Think about it. You have a different worldview, different ethics, different principles. Your particular morality doesn’t align. What do you do?” I reframed the question and paused again. “Anyone?”\nSilence reigned. \n“Well, there are only three options,” I reluctantly continued my tiresome monologue. “And Hamlet considers all of them, both philosophically and literally.” \n“You could, like . . . move?” a small voice came from the back. \n“Hard to move when you are the Prince of Denmark,” I said, smiling. “For you guys? Sure. Move anywhere you wish. Vermont. Texas. You live where you are most happy. For Hamlet? Not so much.”\n“You could kill yourself,” a female voice offered, oddly confident in her response. \n“True. That is an option,” I conceded. “It’s not a great option, but Hamlet does consider death by suicide in several of his seven soliloquies.” \n“You can go insane,” an unconfident voice chimed in.\n“Hamlet definitely tries that. Or pretends to. Or he really is,” I add. “Like most things in Hamlet and in life, the line between sanity and madness is paper thin.” \n“He should just laugh it all off,” joked a louder voice. “I mean, life sucks.”\n“Life does indeed suck,” I agreed. “It definitely sucks at times. And you make a good point. Developing an exquisite sense of humor to cope with the absurdities of life is a viable option. Absurdism is a happier take than nihilism . . . “ \nThe bell rang, effectively ending the discussion just as it got going. I yelled something about homework which the students summarily ignored. \nIn the empty classroom, I sat at my desk and sighed. I picked up a pile of horrible essays to grade with as much enthusiasm as my students showed discussing Act II of Hamlet. \nI heard her weeping before I saw her. Sophie Selander. Probably the smartest student I’d had in years. After my glowing recommendation letter, she was all set for college. Duke, her family’s alma mater, had quickly accepted her early decision application. \n“Sophie, is that you?” \nShe entered, her hands covering her face, her dark hair spilling over her trembling shoulders. \n“Can I talk to you?” she whispered.\n“Of course,” I said, glad to be rid of grading essays for a while. I handed her a box of tissues. I pulled up two chairs. Sophie collapsed into one of them. \n“T-Thank you.”\n“What’s going on, Sophie?” \nA torrent of words burst forth. Not surprisingly, Sophie’s distress involved a boy. And his promises. Broken promises. And a box of Clearblue Digital Pregnancy Tests. \nAfter she said all that she needed to, she openly wept. We were quiet together. \n“You’ll have to talk to your parents,” I said calmly.\n“You don’t understand—they’ll kill me!” \n“They won’t.” \nI’d met the Selanders, as I had taught Sophie’s two older brothers. They were one of the nicest families in town. \n“I can’t talk to my parents,” she said in a quivering voice, tears threatening again. \n“You’ll have to talk to guidance,” I said softly. “You’re eighteen. They can explain all of your possible options.” \n“I want the baby,” she said equally as soft. “We’re Catholic.” \n“Then keep the baby,” I smiled. “But you’ll need support.”\n“I don’t want to be a d-disappointment,” she said, head bowed. \n“Let me tell you about someone else who didn’t want to be a disappointment, but she had a lot to say.”\n“Who? Was Jenny Ostenkowski talking about me in class? I hate her.”\n“Don’t worry about Jenny Ostenkowski. No one listens to her mouth anyway,” I said, and we both laughed. “I want to tell you about Ophelia.”\n“Hamlet’s girlfriend? I don’t really know the play. I haven’t really been listening…” she apologized. \n“No one is, Sophie. And that’s fine. I just teach it because I think all of life’s answers are contained in that one little play.” \n“Didn’t you say it was Shakespeare’s longest play? It’s really long, Miss.”\n“It is kind of long, but it’s great.” \nShe lifted her head and offered me a small smile.\n“So Ophelia is in the same situation as you. But instead of the Lehnhart boy, Hamlet is the jerk in question.”\n“Asshole is more like it.”\n“Point taken,” I agreed. “Anyway. Because Ophelia is lower class, she cannot speak her mind to Hamlet’s royal parents. So she says what she needs to with flowers.”\n“How?” Sophie asked. \n“Flowers have meanings,” I said. “Clear, unequivocal meanings.”\n“Like red roses for true love,” she said, the quiver back in her voice.\n“Exactly. First, Ophelia gives her brother fragrant rosemary and colorful pansies, representing remembrance and faithfulness. She wants her brother to help her figure out who killed their father. That should be his priority. Just like the Lehnhart boy should be making you and his child his priority.” \n“Exactly!” she cried. “Jack Lehnhart just ghosted on me.”\n“He may not marry you, but he needs to face up to his responsibility.”\n“I know, right?”\n“Next, Ophelia gives the King fennel and columbines. Fennel represents flattery and columbines symbolize foolish adultery, especially in men. She was incredibly brave, as she basically insulted the King to his face!”\n“Using flowers!” Sophie laughed. “What a badass.” \n“Ophelia was a badass. Especially when she handed the Queen a bouquet of rue, saying ‘There's rue for you; and here's some for me. O, you must wear your rue with a difference.’ She was calling Hamlet’s mother a slut for marrying his uncle as soon as Hamlet’s father died,” I said, in my most gossipy voice. “And rue was used to induce abortions 400 years ago . . . so what does that say about our cheating Queen?”\n“What a skank,” Sophie said.\n“I know, right?” I replied. “And then, Ophelia holds up some daisies in front of the entire court and says, ‘There’s a daisy.’ She gives them to nobody! Daisies mean innocence. She called everyone out!” \n“Shut. up. That is so cool,” she grinned.\n“Facts,” I said. “Then finally, with some sweet violets, she approaches the King and Queen and says, ‘I would give you some violets, but they wither'd all when my father died.’”\n“What do sweet violets mean?”\n“Integrity. She basically called them dishonest and duplicitous. By using flowers, she said exactly what she wanted to.”\n“I love her. Ophelia is amazing.”\n“Agreed,” I said. “Ophelia is amazing.” \nSophie looked out the window. She tapped on her iPhone. We were quiet together. \n“I better go home,” she said. She looked at her iPhone again. “Is McPherson’s a good florist?”\n“They are. I’ve used them before.”\n“I need to pick up some purple hyacinth to apologize to my parents,” she said, “and a shit-ton of columbines for Jack Lehnhart!”"
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Dimitro's Diary\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1406\n\nPrompt:\n\nFormat your story in the style of diary entries."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Dimitro’s Diary \n\nDecember 1, 1905\nI can’t sleep. I am so excited. My mother gave me this journal that in English is called a “diary”. She says my life is starting again so I should write about it. I practice English every day. I will write in English. It is my new language. We are on a ship crossing the Atlantic Ocean. We are leaving our home in Kiev and travelling to Canada for a new life. We are going to a place called Winnipeg. It is in the middle of Canada.\nThe wind now is strong. The waves are large and scary. The ship rocks like a cradle. But we will have a new life.\n\nNovember 3, 1915\nI can’t sleep. I don’t know what it is I feel, but it’s keeping me up. Who could sleep on such a day, anyway? As I will be entering a new life, I have decided to pick up the diary I started on-board ship when I was a young boy and start writing in it again.\nI enlisted today. I became one of those “brave young lads” that the old people talk about, one of the guys that are cheered when they board the train headed east on the first steps from Canada to the European Front. Walking into the enlistment office, waiting in line in the cold morning air, talking with other chaps who were doing the same as me, I felt part of something. Part of it is I now truly feel that I am Canadian. I am no longer an ‘immigrant boy’ as I have often been called, when I went to school, and when I stand with others new to the country in work crews formed for a few weeks’ dirty work. All the other lads enlisting with me were born in Canada. I looked over their shoulders as they filled out their forms, as I was doing. Now we all are Canadian soldiers together. We are all now part of the 52nd Battalion.\nWhen the process was over, the older man in charge stood up straight and saluted me. Then he said, “Congratulations, young man. You are now part of the Canadian Expeditionary Force.” I saluted him back and snapped my heels together as I have seen others do before me. When I think of it now, that is the only time that anyone had ever congratulated me for something I had done. It felt good.\nI wonder whether this will be my career, my future after the war: a soldier. It would certainly be better than the meaningless jobs I am finding now. I think that I will keep a diary of the battles I serve in, everything that happens. My children, when I marry, and when I have kids, will read it someday, and be proud of their father. I will be Dimitro the hero to them.\n\nNovember 4, 1915\nI can’t sleep. I know this is selfish, but I hope that when I go to the barracks, I won’t have to walk past the Ukrainian boys who are in a prison camp there because of where they were born. I don’t want to be identified with them. I don’t want to even see them, to look them in the eye, or for them to see me.. I am so glad I was born in Kiev, part of Russia, and not in those territories under the enemy Austro-Hungarian Empire. Then I would be treated like them, not a true Canadian, but an imagined potential threat in the war.\n\nApril 10, 1917\nI can’t sleep. Yesterday we fought at Vimy Ridge. So many died, a dirty, bloody, ugly death in the trenches. I look around me and all I see is where my friends, my compatriots died, their blood mixed with the mud. Others are awake, but they are on sentry duty. I should have volunteered for that, as I couldn’t sleep anyway.\n\nJuly 10, 1917\nI can’t sleep. We were ordered today to move on to engage the enemy. I just couldn’t do it. It is not just because there is a good chance that I will die. That would bring about the end of the pain I am feeling. I just can’t continue to watch my brothers dying all around me. It is too much. I threw down my rifle and said, “no more”. I was then put in a makeshift prison where I am now.\n\nSeptember 12, 1917\nI can’ sleep. I have been convicted of cowardice. I will have to face s firing squad in less than a month. I am 22 years old today.\n\nOctober 9, 1917\n1st Entry\nI can’t sleep. The day is beginning – my last day. Soon I will be out there beside the pole in the middle of the camp. It will be like one of those passion plays the nuns used to make us watch back home in Kiev before we came to Canada. But there will be no martyr or no saint this time. No hero. Everyone around me now is asleep. At least this time is my own, my last time is mine for a moment.\n\n2nd Entry\nDawn is here, although it rises with more dust than sunlight in the air. No one is looking at me, except when they think that I am not looking back. Do they think they will see in my eyes what their own eyes will be facing only too soon in this dismal place? We have all looked at it too often over these last two years, especially at Vimy Ridge. We usually hear death before we see it – a metallic scream, an explosion, and then one of our boys letting out a sound no one should have to hear. Then there are the sights – blood, earth, bones, parts, and bits of everything else that was once human. I never wanted to be heard or seen that way by the men that I have shared trenches with. I guess that’s why I am going to be hearing the inevitable from a short distance and seeing nothing soon. Will I feel anything when I am shot, or will there be just death? Funny the questions you have in this situation. I wonder what they’ll say to my parents. I hope that they lie and say that I died in battle. A large part of me did.\n\nThird Entry\nI was led to the pole by hands that gripped my arms tightly. As an act of kindness, they had a priest walking beside me, his words more a soothing sound than anything with meaning I could hold onto and carry with me to my grave. He seemed young, unsure. And they let me write my last words. I wonder what will happen to my diary. I will hand it to the priest. I hope he keeps it. For I will otherwise disappear on paper except for the dried ink of “tried,” “convicted” and “executed” in some official record in a drawer in Ottawa. Here I can state my honest opinion. It is a strange unnatural justice that punishes a young man for a natural fear that has only increased over the last two years. I am glad I don’t have a wife and children to share the word ‘coward’ for the rest of their lives. But I am just Dimitro a man who fought in the trenches and died because of it.\n\n\nLast Entry\nMy brothers-in-arms stand a little more than a few paces away from me in a line of strict military order. Form must be maintained now more than ever. They are not the men who stood beside me in battle. My comrades have been spared that at least. I am happy about that. I have chosen not to have a blindfold, so at least they will say, if they speak of me at all, that ‘he faced death eyes open.’ Let God have mercy on their souls. They can only do what they were told. I hand my diary to the priest.\nAfterword\nMany Canadian soldiers wrote war diaries during the Great War. This is an imagined series of diary entries for one man, Dimitro Sinizki, the only soldier in the Canadian armed forces in World War I to be executed for “cowardice.” I firmly believe that he was no coward, just traumatized, a victim of the war."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on 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 withered Flower\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1012\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where flowers play a central role."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "what is a flower?\nthe seed-bearing part of a plant, consisting of reproductive organs. But flowers are much more than this. Flowers gives us power and inspiration to face this cruel world.\n.\nEvery summer at Gramma's house all my life has been full of 'Purdy Flowers' as she pronounces it. Not a single corner of her yard is without a flowerbed and there are always hummingbirds and songbirds from dawn till dusk.\nEvery summer has always lead up to fair time. Gramma has competed in the local fairs for decades.\nWhen I first started to work with flowers I didn't even think that will be something that I love the most to do.\nMy inspiration comes from the form and colors of the flowers I work with, combining the colors between comes naturally and even without thinking about it.\nI must add that Gramma almost always takes home Grand Champion prizes in every department she enters; crochet, canned goods, baked goods, photography, poultry, rabbits, goats, potted plants, vegetables, and my very favorite cut flowers and floral arrangements!\nWhen I’m doing the bouquet arrangements for my customers I like to talk with them, too see how they are reacting at they bouquet I’m making, this was my motivation !\nIt was my favorite place during my summer holidays. A place where I can be without fear or sadness.\nBecause ever since my childhood, I was being bullied in my class. They used to pour water on me, punch me, kick me, and many more things like sticking needles on my seat, stealing my stuff and tearing my books.\nI would always try to ignore them but the bulling gets worse. I always complain to the teachers about being bullied, But they shrugged of my complaint.\nI came to love flowers and gardening stuff due to my granny's garden and how peaceful it was.\nEvery year Grandma would set aside a beautiful old Victorian boot shaped porcelain vase, I'd always make a monochromatic arrangement with it in pink just specifically so I can put her chenille flowers into cascade down the side of the boot.\nOne of Gramma's favorite flowers is a petunia so there are always plenty in any pink or purple, double or single. We'd always make an 'arrangement in white' in her milk glass and hobnob vases, a great place for lots and lots of her adorable feverfew flowers!\nWe had so much fun making our little bouquets, it's always a day full of laughter!\nBy far my fondest summer memories are during fair time with Gramma; spending the day playing with flowers and eating the 'reject cookies' that didn't make the cut for fair.\nShe was my hero, my favorite person in the whole world, such an inspiration in every way in every part of my life. My little shop had featured many of her handcrafted treasures from her crochet work and beaded jewelry to her fresh baked goodies, and her canned jams and pickles, which we made in my grandma's house.\nI still remember me and my grandma planting flowers and trees in the backyard of her house. It was a huge garden, which she had grown by herself.\nBut one summer, while we were working in her garden, all of a sudden my grandma collapsed on the ground while watering the plants.\nI was panicked. I called a ambulance, after 20 minutes the ambulance arrived and took my grandma to the hospital.\nBut it was too late. I was 10, my grandma passed away. Leaving behind the flowers in her garden. I tried hard to hold back my tears I could finally say goodbye to my beloved grandma. I realized then she was so dearly loved and had family to love her.\nI took some flowers and plants which were dear to my grandma and me back to my home.\nAs years passed I never let go of the awful sadness of my grandma's death . Although the sadness was not as profound, it was always with me. I entered highschool at the age of 16 like a normal person hoping I would be free from bulling.\nBut I was wrong, I was even bullied in highschool, more than middle school. I became sader and sader, and the bulling became more intense as I was a easy target.\nI always remember my granny saying \"Life begins the day you start a garden.A garden is like a grand teacher. It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all it teaches entire trust\"\nI always think myself as a flower. Every flower must face hardship to bloom right. This is just the hardship I must face, before I bloom was I always thought.\nBut this cruel world thought me that, not every flower blooms due to the hardships they face, and ends up wither, and fades always as it never existed.\nI am also a flower which failed to bloom, I am a wither flower. Today I am committing suicide unable to take it anymore.\nBut before I die, I watered my lovely flowers, who were always with me. I don't want my flowers to be withered.\nI am afraid of dieing. I have tryed many time to kill myself, but I don't have the courage to do that. Even if I try to drink the poison, I always back of before I could take a sip.\nBut today, I am not going to get afraid to die. I am determined to end my sufferings, and to see and be with my grandma in the other world.\n\"Fair well my lovely flowers and this cruel world\" I drank a bottle of poison and collapsed on the floor. I am now free of my sufferings, and I hope nobody becomes a withered flower like me.\nTears were coming out my eyes, my skin becoming pale,I started to breath harder for air. And after a few moments my body stopped working and the poison had taken effect, and it successfully killed me with no regrets 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: Springtastic\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1014\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story at a park during a spring festival."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Aah, that’s the pure smell of spring. Exhale and inhale. The smell of flowers, barbecue and the fragrance of the rain and odour of the green freshly mowed grass. This year is my senior year before my friends and I split off and move to different cities to pursue our passions. We all decide to visit the annual Elmira Maple Syrup Festival to make this season a little more special. \nWe wake up very early for a weekend. At 6 am. It better be worth it. I start getting ready right away since I have to drive all of my friends since I am the only one with a license. My summer dresses arrived in time. The weather is very warm today so I decide to wear one of my new dresses with a light cardigan in case the weather gets chilly.\nWe stop at Tims for a quick pit stop to grab some coffee on the way since we are all half asleep. As soon as we arrive we are handed a brochure of the events throughout the day. Of course, we head to the pancake tent to grab some breakfast. The maple syrup was exquisite with a hint of caramel and vanilla sweetness. \nFor the next hour or so we browse the handmade crafts and other unique goods. I promised myself to waste money on useless items but I found the perfect fabric-covered cactus pot for my desk. It’s gonna look very down to Earth next to my fiddle leaf fig. \nThen Lauren wanted to try the Saw A Log activity so we all headed there to watch. She made it look so easy since she’s incredibly strong. She even got to keep her branded slice home as a souvenir. \nSoon after we went to check out The Mobile Sugar Shack to see how maple syrup is made. It’s about the most Canadian thing anyone can do. The smell was spectacular. Then we decide to visit some of the farm animals and go through the straw maze at the Macdonald’s farm. This activity is mostly for kids but there were some adults there. There was a baby lama that was so cute. \nAfter long hours of non-stop activities, we decided to take a break and grab some lunch. Lauren and Aya tale my car to grab us some pizza while Lana, Aisha, and I set up a little picnic. We brought some frozen fruit in the cooler along with some iced tea. Lana also brought a minimalistic cake and some glasses for dessert. There were pretzels and cheeses laid out. It looked very aesthetic.\nWe played some music on the speaker since we chose a spot where no one was around us. We played some frisbee to pass the time. And my dress did not co-operate. But it was still a fun way to pass time. It reminded us of our childhood days when we used to play together after school at the neighbourhood park.\nLauren and Aya are finally back after what had seemed like an eternity. We enjoy the delicious pizza and talk about graduation and prom. We are all very excited even though we are anxious about college decisions since they come out in a week. \nWe all have applied to somewhat the same colleges but we all have a different ranking and different programs that we are hoping to get in. I know people say that most high school friendships don’t survive, but I have a feeling we’re gonna make it. \nWe eat some cake and name the clouds based on what objects or characters they look like. We used to do it when we were younger whenever we were bored. “Ooh, that one looks like an elephant,” says Aisha while we all giggle. \nWe pack up and start walking around again exploring nature and checking out the activities. We stop by the Snyder Arena for the pancake flipping contest. It is very enthusiastic and engaging. The audience divides into two groups cheering on the contestant as loud as they can. \nWe find a booth that's passing out paint and canvases and decide to paint for a while to pass some time until the sunset. I haven't painted since my freshman year visual arts class. I wanted to paint the trail right in front of me. It was beautiful with its colourful vigorous leaves, bold grass and a rustic crossing bridge.\nThe painting took me a while because I had to mix colors to make new shades, but it looked really good. It might be one of my best and favourite paintings yet. It’s good to know I have not lost my art mojo after all. We sign our names at the bottom of the canvases and walk to the Beaver Tail truck. \nAs soon as I bite into the crunchy golden skin and the thick layer of white chocolate with a light drizzle of milk chocolate syrup and a sprinkle of crushed Oreos, I feel a moment of joy. Everything seems to be falling into place like puzzle pieces. After all those years of hard work, I feel like it’s about to pay off. After college admissions, everything will be perfect and I will relax and wait for summer break to start. \nWe start walking through the broad hiking trail on our way to watch the sunset. As the sun went down in the sky, new colours brushed across an artist's canvas, as if those beams were intended to create a great masterpiece of art; capturing a simple moment in life.\nWe walk back to the main square and lay the matt on the freshly mowed grass and sit to wait for the fireworks. Today feels so similar to Canada day with all the celebrations of maple syrup, beaver tails, and fireworks. \nI feel the spring breeze as I watch the colourful fireworks pop in the sky. After this fun but very long day we were exhausted and barely able to walk so we decided to ride the shuttle all the way back to the parking lot."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on 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'd Rather Be The Thunderfly\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2452\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about light returning to a place that has been deprived of it for a long time, literally or figuratively."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "CW: mentions of child abuse, domestic violence, needles/drip, strong language, panic attack situation.\nIf Ian concentrated just right, he could make his skin glow enough to light up the entire room. \nLightning Bug, Sister Dolores had called him at first. Never with a smile, never fondly, but still in a way that made him feel useful. It made him feel like she was pleased he was that way, just like Captain Bennet, and that coming to the House with all the other children was what he was made to do.\nThunderfly, she began to call him when the glow wouldn’t come anymore. He’d try. But it would itch and then it would hurt and then he’d feel the heft of the captain and the sister waiting for the specialness and usefulness to come back. When it wouldn’t, and specialness and usefulness became uselessness and ordinariness, he became the annoying little bug that hung around on the walls. Just one step out of line and just one squash of Sister Dolores’ prayer-calloused fingers, and he would be gone. A burden lifted from them all indeed, she would say. But squashing him would be so frightfully messy and so frightfully ungodly and, frankly, such a frightful waste of time that the sister would just have to make do with a slap of a shoe on the back of his head. \nIn a place where all the children did things, she’d tut, one lacking in ability was needed not. She and Captain Bennet would make sure Ian got the glow back. \nOn the first night of it, the sister came when the small hand was on the ten. A shadow in the doorway, a wimple backlit by the hall, a pair of crow’s feet tinged green from his Michelangelo nightlight. \nIan had already been staring at the door, concentrating on the turtle’s glow and forcing it to fizzle the fear away. He had no glow of his own now, after all. Before, back when he was home, he could let it come out each night as the sun went away and the darkness came. The monsters under the bed couldn’t reach through the gleam of his skin. Their claws couldn’t pierce it like they otherwise might – talons would get caught in solid light instead of tearing papery skin. Ian didn’t have that anymore. All he did have was a plastic turtle on the far side of the room that painted him sicky. The monsters may not have gotten him yet but they would soon, Ian was sure. He was always proven right when the sister appeared in the dark.\nIt lit her up just as his skin had him, illuminating her foul face and its equally foul distaste. Ian thought she was a cow. A great big, fat, ugly cow with ugly hands that grasped his shoulders as she pulled him from the bed. If he was a lightning bug, she was a gooey caterpillar that someone had stepped on. Step, splat, and her scowling face would be found in the gook on the bottom of Ian’s shoe.\n“You’re needed.” She unhooked his drip from its clasp on the wall.\n“And you’re a mean old bitch.” He retorted and felt the pride that came with it. That’s what his Da always called Mom, anyway. From the sharpness of it when it had shot out of his Da’s mouth, Ian knew it must’ve been bad. And that was good. Sister Dolores deserved the bad. She deserved the middle finger he flourished too.\nIn lieu of a shoe to wield, she cuffed his head with her palm. Ian didn’t think much of that. His Da could always hit harder.\n“Language.”\nIan was sure his glare looked twice as fierce in the green.\n“Bitch.”\nBefore he knew it, his head was stinging with another cuff and his pyjama shirt was being pulled along by the neck. Ian scrambled to grab his drip pole before it could be pulled out. \n“You’re a terror for no reason, Master Wright,” she gave a sniff, “The Lord will not thank you for it.”\n“I don’t like the Lord. And I don’t like you.”\nThat was deserving of a smack too, painful in all the ways an under-stuffed couch was. She couldn’t be bothered to answer him this time and kept her attention latched to the drag of him down the hallway. Down the hallway, down the stairs, down another hallway, down another flight of stairs. Down, down, downdy-down-down-down, until the front of Ian’s neck was bruised from the vice of his collar and they were in a room that he’d never seen before. \nHe may not have liked the Lord, in all his unhelpful glory, but he liked this room less. Captain Bennet was in it, for one. There were hardly any lights, for another. It was like the room where they’d first put in his drip when he’d arrived, Ian supposed. The one where they’d bring him every week just to take his blood away. Ian didn’t know where they took it. Ian didn’t care. What could they possibly do with it, anyway?\n“Good evening, Ian,” \nThe crouch the captain sunk into left him a good couple of heads too short for their faces to meet naturally. Ian’s neck was taught on both sides – scratching Sister Dolores’ claws on the back and craning down to observe Captain Bennet at the front. Much like the knees of the captain’s slacks, Ian’s skin was stretched to breaking point.\n“What happened to those pyjamas I gave you?” he continued, “The Power Rangers ones?”\nCaptain Bennet gave all the kids new pyjamas when they arrived at the House. Russ’ had Batman, Vicky’s had Sailor Moon, Lydia’s had baseball mitts. Ian couldn’t remember the others’. They were all the kind he’d seen in the stores when he went shopping with Mom. When he’d eye her wallet from beside her too, longing for a Star Wars set instead of Da’s old t-shirt. It never garnered anything but a calm smile and a Brooklyn-dipped explanation. Ain’t got enough ones for a foot-long paperchain, hun.\n“He soiled them last night.” The sister’s voice came, coated in bitterness rather than Bushwick. \n“Did not.” \nBut Ian could feel his face burning and he knew alabaster was flushing pink. His denial could do nothing to erase Sister Dolores’ words, nor Captain Bennet’s flicker of annoyance.\n“Is that right, Ian?” He inspected Ian’s vest and gym shorts with a graze of his eyes. Michelangelo wasn’t bright enough, Ian could’ve said. The monster whispering under his bed sounded like Da, Ian could’ve said. I was scared again, Ian could’ve said. I don’t like it here, Ian could’ve said.\n“I didn’t mean to.” Ian said. \nBent legs straightened to their normal looming height. A taught neck cricked upwards to meet the one that looked down.\n“You continue to disappoint me, Ian,” Captain Bennet sighed, “First your ability stops working and now this. What are we going to do with you?”\nHe sounded like Da too. \n“I didn’t mean to.” Ian said. Glowing or pissing his pants, he didn’t know what his own words referred to. A fierceness was there either way, one that knocked the captain’s brow into its own ferocious furrow. \n“Put him in the room, Sister,” \nIan’s fingers tightened on the drip pole.\n“And maybe then we’ll see about that ability of yours.” \nThen and only then did Sister Dolores’ grip weaken. Great pincers of bone and nail became nothing but sausages that chilled his skin. If not for the sagging swirl of her aged fingerprints and the smell of her soap, Ian could’ve kidded himself that Mom was standing behind him. But Mom had smelt of lemons, not carbolic, and she hadn’t been alive long enough to wrinkle.\n “Captain Bennet, I was under the impression that we’d be going down the medicinal route,” her warbly way of speaking convinced Ian further that it was nothing but her shadow creeping up his back, “Are you… sure that’s the best way?”\nIan didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. Ian didn’t want to know what the hell they were talking about. Ian wanted to go to bed.\n“Dr. Whistler was the one to suggest it, actually,” the captain assured, “He tells me that the benefits of stress are quite large when it comes to the brain. Releases chemicals, hormones, that sort of thing.”\n“But–”\nHis eyebrow gave a quirk. “Are you saying you disagree with Dr. Whistler, Sister? Should I inform him of this revelation? After all, honesty is second nature for someone such as yourself.”\nHe was doing that voice. Sarcasm, maybe, just like Da had accused Ian of whenever it suited him. Ian thought sarcasm was pointless, though. Easier to just say things outright. Sister Dolores was a cow, Captain Bennet’s hair looked like a rat, Russ was bad at soccer, the nightlight Benny had let him borrow was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. That sort of thing. Sarcasm was pointless and Da didn’t like it and Ian never did anything he thought Da didn’t like. That’s why he agreed to come to the House in the first place.\n“Of course, Captain.”\nIan often thought Sister Dolores liked the captain more than she liked the Lord. It wasn’t hard to believe when he listened to the tone of her voice, obedient like the dog Da would never let him have. Her hard grip was back again too. It pushed him to a door on the far side of the room this time, his drip wheeling miserably behind him.\n“Let go,” Ian yanked himself away, “I don’t want to! Leave me alone!”\nA hard grip it may have been, but not hard enough to overcome an eight-and-a-half-year-old with anger issues piling to the moon and back. Ian was away from her in seconds.\n“Now, now, Ian,”\nAway from her and into the new arms of Captain Bennet.\n“You don’t even know what we want you to do.”\nWhat we want you to do. They always wanted things done. With all of the children. Not a day went by when something didn’t need doing. And not a day went by when Ian didn’t have to do something he very much did not want to do at all.\n“I’m not doing anything!” His legs made for the door, stunted though they were by a bruise on his knee and the clobber of drip wheels over tiles. Captain Bennet grabbed him round the waist, lifted him off the floor, unhooked his bag from the pole with a withering look. Sister Dolores had opened the door and Ian could see inside now, right inside, at the room that was nothing but black and black and more black. No lights, no windows, just the tar of darkness that Ian knew would swallow him whole.\n“No!” he yelled, “No! Put me down! Bastard! Bitch! Put me down!”\nIan grappled with the arms around him. His fingers dug, his nails scratched, but the two just got closer and closer. \n“Enough, Ian,” The captain’s bellow almost deafened him. With a quick thrust, he half-heartedly threw Ian into the room. His ass hit the floor, the sharp bone hitting the sharper brick, and his drip bag bounced next to him. Captain Bennet’s hand rested on the door frame.\n“You will stay here and think about your disobedience and you will not leave until your ability comes back.”\nThe door shut.\nIan was left in the tar.\n“No!” he scrambled through the pitch black, ignoring the way it made him feel his insides were going to crawl out his mouth, “Let me out!”\nBut it had occurred to Ian at some point in the last century of seconds that that was the entire point. That was the entire point of him drowning in this blackness. \n“BASTARD!” he slammed his hands on the door he couldn’t see, “YOU’RE A BASTARD!” \nThe tar only built. Cloying and clogging his throat with the dark. Such a dense darkness it was, Ian could almost smell it. He wanted to reach for the door handle, to tug and shout until it released some pity. But he couldn’t see the handle. He couldn’t see anything. There was nothing, just nothing. Ian was locked in the nothing, swallowing it, breathing it in, the way he’d always been so afraid of.\nHe backed away from the door.\n“Please,”\nTears. Those were tears in his voice.\n“Please,”\nA sob.\n“I don’t like the dark.”\nNothing and nothing upon nothing and nothing. The monsters were stirring, Ian could hear them. Rustling, chirping, crawling the walls ready to pounce. Just Ian and the nothing and the monsters and their sounds.\n“Stop,”\nIt might’ve hurt, the way he smacked his hand over his ears. It might’ve tugged the needle out and made a sticky red puddle on the floor. He didn’t know. It was hard to know in the nothing.\nNow there was something else in the nothing too – his heartbeat galloping a rhythm in his brain and in his skull and under his Supercuts trim. \nthud\nthud\nthud\nthud\nthud\nthud\nthu–\n–nch\n–unch\npunch\npunch\npunch.\nIan was in the nothing and in his own head too. In his brain, his skull, his Supercuts trim. In that memory, The Memory, the punch-punch-punch that had stayed with him for the four years that had passed. Heartbeats morphed into the sounds of a fist in a face, over and over and over.\n“Mom,”\nHe’d been standing in the doorway. Da in the living room, Mom on the floor, both where Ian could see them. Ian in the nothing, Mom in the punch-punch-punch.\nMom in the punch-punch-punch, Mom in the ground, Mom in the nothing.\nIan had glowed then. For the first time. Da had been mad. Da had tried to beat it out of him. That had only made him glow brighter.\n“Let me out!”\nA voice muffled through the door. Which one? The one in the tar or the one in Brooklyn? He could hear Da’s voice, couldn’t he? But he could hear Captain Bennet’s too, that raspy accent he had, and he could feel the palms on his ears. The tug of the needle. A warm patch on his gym shorts and a trickle down his leg.\nDumb fucking kid’s pissed himself again, Lou. He needs to grow the hell up.\nAnd then Ian felt the itch. A tingle and a sting and the white haze pushing through his eyelashes.\nIan lowered his hands.\nHe opened his eyes.\nThis time, he wasn’t sure if the glow of his hands was enough to make the monsters go away."
}
]
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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: Latitude Sixty-Nine\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1402\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story on a day when the sun never sets."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "On March 5, 2022, a research expedition’s remote submersible spotted the wreck of HMS Endurance, sitting intact ten thousand feet below the surface of the Weddell Sea. The ship has rested there since November 21, 1915, when, after months of being trapped in pack ice, she crumpled from the pressure and sank. The history of the ship and the failed attempt of Sir Ernest Shackleton and his crew to make the first land crossing of the Antarctic continent are well known, as all twenty-eight members of the expedition overcame improbable odds and survived to tell the tale.\nBut did they tell the whole story? A chilling discovery has upended the well-documented history of the Shackleton expedition. A week after finding the wreck of Endurance, the submersible’s cameras captured a shocking sight within the ship’s hull: the skeletal remains of a person. Caught in its rib cage was a small metal box, encrusted with barnacles and sponges. The bones could not be retrieved, but the box was removed and brought to the surface. Inside was a journal, as well as several fish hooks fashioned from shell, all preserved in eerily good condition by the cold. Below, translated from German, is the journal’s final entry.\nNovember 21, 1915\nOne of the many stories my grandfather told me as a child was about two strange, menacing lands. In one, the sun never rose; in the other, it never set. Deviant souls were exiled to one or the other, depending on their sin. I grew up thinking hell was for later, or maybe not at all, but I find myself on a journey that has already taken me into the first world and will soon bring me into the second.\nA year ago, the crew of HMS Endurance found me adrift. They rescued me at 44 degrees south latitude, five hundred miles south of Mar del Plata, where I had set out on my skiff for a morning of fishing. When Captain Worsley told me our position and the date, I was both unbelieving and unsurprised, as my time alone on the ocean was at once endless and strangely unmemorable.\nNow we are at 69 degrees south latitude, in the Antarctic’s Weddell Sea, two thousand miles from my home. We are no longer on board Endurance. We abandoned her three weeks ago and set up camp about a mile away, on ice more solid than the floes that have been jostling and squeezing Endurance for months.\nWith Endurance’s fate uncertain, we unloaded much of the gear and provisions, as well as the ship’s boats. Although we left the ship, we remain bound to her, not ready to venture away on our own. Our dependency on her, however, is probably an illusory one. For months she has withstood the crushing sea ice, her frame bending but not breaking, but she can’t possibly endure much longer.\nSince we abandoned the ship, Captain Worsley’s role has been solely one of navigator. Commander Shackleton is in charge. I fear he is not a realist like Worsley. Shackleton is utterly confident that we will survive, but his confidence belies the severity of our circumstances. Or perhaps, I tell myself, our situation is so dire that pragmatism is of no use, and hope is our better guide.\nA gale last week caused a great wave of ice to pile up against Endurance’s starboard side, leaving her listing grievously to port. A breach in the bow allowed the forecastle to fill with ice and snow. It is dangerous to go below decks.\nMy existence is a secret. The crew have been sworn to silence, and they are forbidden from writing anything about me. When Endurance found me adrift, sunburned and near-starved, there was no question of turning north to take me home. That would have ruined the expedition, whose schedule is so dependent on the seasons. Instead, I would go ashore at the whaling station on South Georgia, the ship’s final landfall before proceeding to the Weddell Sea. By the time we got to South Georgia, however, Captain Worsley had come to rely on me, as he found his crew inadequate to handle the rigging in the gales that harassed the southern ocean. Commander Shackleton was reluctant to keep me on, but at Worsley’s insistence, he allowed me to stay, on the condition that my presence be kept secret. It is a British expedition, after all, and the inclusion of a German—with the two countries competing to conquer the Antarctic, and now at war, no less—would not contribute to the impression that Shackleton hopes to make on the world.\nFor my part, joining a doubtful mission across the frozen southern continent was preferable to the alternative of joining a ship in pursuit of whales, as I could little count on the whales to head in the direction of my home. I agreed to continue on the expedition, but with no intention of abiding by Shackleton’s edict against writing. I write in secret. After months alone at sea, on the edge of death, and then a year on this voyage, half invisible, my family ignorant of my fate, I simply cannot bear to disappear entirely.\nIf we lose Endurance, we will be stranded on ice hundreds of miles from land, with only the ship’s boats and our own feet. Yet Shackleton is certain of success, and he spends his days convincing his men they will return home. To them, he owes a chance to see their families. To himself, he owes a chance to get another ship and try again. To me, he owes nothing.\nFor ten months we’ve been trapped in the ice, much of the time in the darkness and brutal cold of the southern winter. For two months the sun failed to show itself above the horizon at all, imprisoning us in the bleak, frozen world described by my grandfather.\nWe drift at the mercy of the winds and seas, which have been driving the floes toward the continent, squeezing Endurance with a frozen fist. But the seasons are shifting, and we are hopeful. Shackleton insists on it. We hope for winds from the south to push the ice out into the open ocean and release the ship. The sun also gives us hope. The lengthening days bring higher temperatures and perhaps thawing ice. Yesterday, the sun stayed up for more than twenty-three hours. It skittered around the entire horizon, dipping below for only a matter of minutes. Today, it won’t set at all. Shackleton has been getting the crew excited about today, the first day without a sunset, saying it is an auspicious one.\nWhen we abandoned the ship, Shackleton allowed each of us to take no more than two pounds of personal possessions. Yesterday, though, he determined that amount to be insufficient for our survival. In particular, he decided we needed the flute belonging to Blackborow, the steward, who often entertained us during the voyage. Shackleton isn’t wrong that music will lift our spirits, and that lifted spirits will bring greater hope, but I continue to wonder whether hope is the proper remedy for our desperate circumstances.\nYesterday, under Shackleton’s orders, I made my way to Endurance to retrieve the flute. I hunkered down on the ice on her lee side, in the slight protection she offered from the freezing gusts. Her condition had worsened—her bow was crushed and two masts had collapsed. I waited for a lull in the wind to go below, as the ship was shuddering under the force of the great slabs of ice being pushed against her hull. I waited for hours, drifting in and out of sleep. I was awake to see the sun dip below the horizon for the briefest of nights, knowing it was the last time it would do so, and that I would soon enter the nightless world described by my grandfather.\nToday, the wind continues to whistle across the ice. Louder yet is the screeching of the massive ice blocks as they collide with each other and with the ship. Above, the ship’s rigging, in disarray, slaps and bangs against the few spars that still stand. From within the ship’s hull comes a haunting sound—the groaning of the frame timbers as they push back against the crushing weight of the ice. But I’ll go below and get the flute, as it’s an auspicious day—a day without a sunset."
}
]
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Fall of Phaeton\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1659\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story on a day when the sun never sets."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Pete never knew his dad lived in a palace. Like, a real palace, a magnificent shining palace of opalescent stone within sight of Mount Olympus, a palace with a grand hall that he would have to walk across one day.\nLuckily he was wearing his Dodgers’ cap and the long bill protected his eyes from the worst of the glare as he made his way inside.\nA palace attendant came running forward, saying, “Tut-tut, no hats in the presence of His Royal Highness King Helios.”\nPete shrugged the attendant away and said, “I’m his long-lost son—Dad won’t mind.” And anyway, he suspected the old man was a Dodgers’ fan. But then another, bigger attendant literally grabbed the cap from his head. So Pete used his hand to shade his eyes as he moved toward the red carpet. The sergeant-at-arms announced in the grand hall, “Phaeton begs leave to approach His Royal Highness!”\nKing Helios lifted his finger and the salpinx sounded. Toot-ta-toooot!\nAnd there was Dad, surrounded by his entourage. Pete knew their names from the ballads Mom sang late at night, after she was done her shift at the taverna and was tidying up their little cottage.\nThe attendant behind him, whispered, “Bow! Bow to His Majesty!” so Pete humored him, did a little bend of the knees.\n“Phaeton, dear son, at last you come to pay me a visit,” Helios said in his velvet baritone. A hushed gasp went around the room—so the visitor did have royal blood.\n“Just passin’ through, thought I’d say hi,” Pete said, playing it cool.\n“How is your mother, the beauteous nymph Clymene?”\n“Fine,” Pete said, wondering if his dad genuinely cared. Helios hadn’t contacted Mom in two decades. So Pete had his doubts. But never mind. He took a deep breath and declared, “I came to ask you to publicly acknowledge I’m your son.”\nKing Helios chuckled and said to his entourage, “Do you see how the boy resembles me? Gets to the point right away.” A polite tittering arose from the assembly.\nPete squinted, wishing he could get a better look at his father. He recalled his last birthday, how Mom had dragged him out to the dirt yard at high noon and pointed up at the sky. “Phaeton,” she’d said, “that guy up there who’s dragging the sun across the sky every day is your father.” She’d used his formal name, the one he usually got teased about, and that’s how Pete knew she wasn’t messing around. “Don’t look too hard; you can see him better during the next eclipse,” she’d said. “I’m telling you, now that you’ve reached the age of majority.” Mom never lied to Pete, not even about Santa Claus or the vibrator in her night-table, so why should he doubt her now.\n“Ah yes,” King Helios said, “I sampled the luscious ripe fruit that Clymene had on offer,” he said, a leer in his voice. “And look, you are golden-haired, with a glow to your skin… my son.”\n“And the same dimples,” a courtier murmured.\n“Yeah, but the guys in the ‘hood don’t believe I’m your kid,” Pete said to his dad. “That’s why I’d like proof of my royal parentage. Like, some announcement.”\nThe king smiled. “I’ll do better than that,” he said, his chest swelling and the luminous flux increasing. “To prove I am your father, I’ll grant you any wish. I swear to it by Styx, the river of oaths.”\n“Any wish?” Pete said. Wow, this was going better than he’d hoped. He tried to scrutinize his dad’s face to see if the offer was for real, but he could barely glimpse the king’s cheekbone. “I wanna be just like you, Dad.”\n“Oh?” The smiling king cocked his head.\n“I want to start the day how you do… I want to work how you do. I’d like to drive your rig alone across the sky and turn night into day!”\nThe brightness dimmed for a moment. “’Tis not a ‘rig,’ son, ‘tis a ‘fiery chariot,’” the king said.\n“Whatever. It’s a cool set of wheels and I wanna drive it across the sky! That is my wish!”\n“I spoke too rashly,” the king said. “Please the gods,” he said, glancing toward Mount Olympus, “may they allow me to take back the promise!”\n“Too late now,” Pete said, crossing his arms and stamping his foot. Mom had drilled it into him from a young age: the gods were very strict about oaths.\n“Have you even driven a chariot before?”\n“Uh, yeah.” As a kid, Pete had bugged Mom to shell out for pony rides at Hopalong Stables and once, the nice man had let him take the reins. “It was easy as pie.”\n“Oh, oh… this is the one wish I cannot grant, dear son!” the king fretted, tugging at his golden beard. “It’s far too dangerous! Even Jupiter—the greatest of all gods—cannot drive my winged steeds.” He glanced again at Mount Olympus. “Their great wings move the air so powerfully! And the heat from the giant ball is greater than a thousand blacksmiths’ fires.”\n“I can drive those horses, Dad. I can guide the cart—I’ll show you I’m truly your son.” Pete tried the charm offensive, putting on his best smile, his posture combining hero worship and certitude in his birthright.\nFrom a distance the goddess Dawn was approaching the palace, swinging her arms, rinsing her teeth, preparing to throw open her crimson doors and shine forth.\nPete stepped outside in the ruddy light to get a look at the chariot. The breeze cooled him. What a set of wheels! Four horsepower—but what horses! What power! Every surface of the chariot sparkled. The spokes of the wheels were of polished gold. The sideboards and carriage were inlaid with glittering gems and crystals. The horses kept flapping their wings and stomping their polished hooves, neighing softly. Just like the Hopalong ponies. Two goddesses, the Horai, fastened the harnesses to the yoke and drawbar of the chariot.\nPete picked up the whip and gave it a shake. Cool. After Mom had revealed to him that his father was not one of the village layabouts, but instead the most powerful being on Earth—for what is Earth without Helios, the bringer of warmth and growth and joy?—Pete had dreamed of the big drag race across the sky. Okay, maybe not a race, but a daylong trip across the whole world, a global parade of him: Dad’s forgotten kid.\nThe birds began twittering. The moon slid from sight.\n“Gotta go, Dad,” Pete said. He knew there was a strict schedule to his father’s day, a schedule full of international travel and social commitments so numerous he hadn’t had time to spend with Mom and his little boy for twenty years. But now, here Pete was, ready to shoulder the duty. He’d help Dad today… and who knew? Maybe he’d be invited to stay and join the family firm.\nThe king was growing ever more frantic. “But how can you fight the spin of the world and the terrible monsters lurking in the darkness?”\n“Don’t be such a worrywart. Everything’s chill.” Pete climbed into the chariot.\n“Since you insist… here, you’ll need this.” Helios rubbed a magic salve on his son’s face to protect it from the heat. Then he set his crown of scintillating sunbeams on his son’s head. “Please, listen closely: Keep to the middle path because the sky and earth need equal heat. Follow the wheel tracks already there. Hold tight to the reins because these are spirited steeds—”\n“Yeah, got it,” Pete said, slapping the reins lightly.\n“And beware the northern bear—”\n“Yeah, yeah.”\n“And the twisting snake—”\n“Whatever! Gotta go!” Suddenly the four horses leapt forward into the boundless sky.\nSeeing his boy jerk forward, Helios’ heart filled with regret, and he began to run alongside the chariot, shouting, “Don’t go! Let me jump on—it’s too soon for a solo ride—” but the youth rocketed ahead, leaving King Helios behind, panting and filled with dread.\n* * *\n“What on Earth is that smell?” Scowling, Jupiter looked out his window. Why had the sun not set? Why was the giant ball of fire still blazing away at this ungodly hour?\nHe looked downward. The fields were scorched; Mother Earth was burning up! How could that be? The meadows had been moist and verdant green the day before. He stared into the blue dome of the sky. He saw the runaway chariot with its solar payload veering crazily hither and yon through the atmosphere. What madman was careening about, wreaking devastation?\nJupiter rolled his thunder. With his massive arm, he flung a lighting bolt through the sky. It caught in a wheel of the sun-chariot, breaking the spokes like exploding gold spangles. The terrified horses broke free of the harness and Pete / Phaeton, now engulfed in flames, fell from the sky, leaving a trail of sparks, just like a shooting star.\nHis body fell into the river Eridanos with a giant long hissssssssss. The river god bathed his burning face and the water nymphs bore the smouldering body away. On his stone they carved the words:\n“Here Phaeton lies, his father's charioteer; great was his fall, yet did he greatly dare.”\nFor an entire day the Earth throbbed in darkness while King Helios mourned his son. How he moaned, how he groaned. Kids, they think they know it all! Running before they can walk! Clymene will never forgive me.\nA tear slid down Helios’s glowing face.\nMaybe he was to blame. Maybe he had spoiled that kid, stupidly trying to make up for lost time with absurd extravagance before the boy’s arm was strong enough and his self-knowledge deep enough.\nSlowly, sadly, the king shook his head and swayed in the ancient rhythm of grief. He cradled the Dodgers’ cap in his hands, the sole remnant of his headstrong golden boy.\nTHE END"
}
]
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Free Man of Kyiv\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 3002\n\nPrompt:\n\nEnd your story with someone saying: “What a day.”"
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "“Have you seen my dog?”\n Frightened faces just shook their obvious, disengaged response as they rushed past the young ten-year-old boy, trying to get them to stop. Strains of panic caused old and young to duck for cover with every sound of an explosion - whether it be close or distant. This was unrequited life existing in the shadow of the modern bear, who had flexed its muscles and stamped its authority like a strict parent calling its children home before dark. Its outdated ambition was faceless, cowardly, and ruthless. It had no defined military objective, just an unmitigated anger to crush anything standing in its way of returning to the bygone era of cold, imperialistic pursuits.\n The Return Of The Empire was no longer associated with the fictional characters of Hans Solo, Luke Skywalker, and Darth Vader in the blockbuster movie phenomena. This reality TV script broadcast daily to a global audience on world news channels, portrayed a new ruthless leading man, riddled with envy and desperate for recognised glory in the future annals of historical kingdoms. An ordinary man with absolute power had suddenly gone insane and ordered the destruction of a neighbouring country and her people, just so he could colour parts of his wall map in red, the new territories captured using violent, indiscriminate forms of outright murder.\n “Please… he’s small, white fur, and has a yellow collar…”\n Several nearby explosions drowned out the boys’ pleading words, causing him to duck behind a burnt-out troop carrier as shards of hot metal shrapnel tore huge divots from the house behind his crouched position. After what seemed like the explosive end of the finale to a New Year’s fireworks show, Alexi Kozak dusted off the debris stuck to his nylon jacket and headed in the direction of where the frightened and injured found themselves escaping from. Steadfast in his quest, Alexi nimbly scrambled over bricks of destroyed buildings, around burning cars, and through the billowing smoke of raging fires, in a fearless determination to find his canine friend, the only thing left in his young and turmoiled life that had any melancholic connection to his past. His mother and father were missing. Without warning, their single-storey house had been obliterated, just as Alexi was returning from his morning dog walk. In shock and disbelief, Alexi had no time to think as more missiles struck their random targets, forcing him to recoil and seek cover, unintentionally letting go of his beloved’s short tether in the process. There was no time to chase after the dog, as the resulting dust and smoke created such a smokescreen, it temporarily blinded him. In the blink of a dusty eye, Alexi was alone, laying in the street, listening to his dog’s startled barking, trailing off into the unmolested distance.\n “YAKOV! YAKOV! COME HERE BOY!”\n Another explosion close-by caused Alexi to duck under a disabled tank, thinking it the best place to take cover under the thick metal shield above him. No one would target a tank that doesn’t work, he thought. His logic rang true as each subsequent explosion seemed to strike further and further away. Waiting for a lull in the deafening noise, Alexi peered intently through the smoke and haze of the war-torn neighbourhood, trying to catch a glimpse of his dog. Crawling out from under the tank, he gingerly made his way in the direction where Yakov fled. Shuffling his feet, he inched through the haze, clearing his itchy throat from the dust of the debris in the air. Sickeningly, he felt himself kick something soft, halting his progress. Looking down, he was startled to see the dusty corpse of a young girl – not too much older than himself. On either side of her were two adults, presumably her parents, both dead – the father missing part of his face. Shaken by the horrific sight, Alexi took a step backwards then immediately launched himself over the dead bodies and ran as fast as he could, hoping to escape the harsh reality of the war ravaging his city. His veiled eyesight worsened as he rushed headlong into a thicker dust cloud, then stumbling over some debris, something tripped him, hurtling him to the ground. Cutting his hands trying to buffer the impact with the rubble beneath his feet, he yelped in pain, but quickly sat up cradling his injury. As the settling dust and smoke quickly cleared, Alexi took a 180-degree scan of his surroundings, trying to process the absolute shock at the carnage his young eyes were witnessing. Dispersed amongst the broken glass, chunks of concrete, and twisted steel, were the human victims of the impersonal barrage – some screaming in agony, some crying for their loved ones, and many dead – the cruel result of someone’s heartless, senseless, and inexcusable urge to destroy. Alexi’s eyes filled with tears at the confusion, the grieving, and fear; however, an overriding emotion to find Yakov, motivated him to stand up and run from the surreal situation he found himself in. He was young, but acutely aware that staying in one spot spelled danger. An explosive instance of violence had corrupted his innocence, but a fervent determination to survive quelled his fear. His happy-go-lucky expression was replaced with a furrowed brow and his new hardened demeanour force-marched his weary young legs away from the horror, towards the park where he had walked Yakov earlier that forlorn morning.\n “Hey Kid!”\n Alexi slowly opened his eyes to see a silhouetted figure standing over him. It was late afternoon and the effects of his adrenaline wearing off caused him to fall asleep in a sheltered nook of a bombed-out house. The park search had been fruitless. Croaky from repeatedly calling his dog’s name, Alexi could only murmur a grunt reply. Holding his hands up to block out the sun’s aurora radiating around the human eclipse, he slowly got to his feet to focus on the stranger’s face. To his surprise, the armed figure in combat fatigues was a young woman, seemingly in her twenties.\n “Are you okay?”\n Alexi’s throat tightened as the days’ harsh reality came flooding back.\n “Where are your parents?”\n Looking up at the woman, his puppy dog eyes welled up with tears. He didn’t need to say anything more.\n “Oh…” the woman empathised. “What are you doing out here?”\n “I have to find Yakov,” he replied while wiping his eyes.\n “Who’s Yakov, your brother?”\n “My dog.”\n “Oh… Then shall we help you look for Yakov?”\n Alexi’s eyes brightened as he acceptingly nodded his head.\n “Kateryna!” A male voice interrupted, but she wasn’t done with Alexi.\n “What is your name?”\n “Alexi… Alexi Kozak.”\n “Well Alexi, I am Kateryna, so wait right here please and let me talk to my husband for a minute.”\n Alexi nodded. Kateryna turned and acknowledged the man. Dressed in similar attire to hers, he restlessly shifted from one foot to the other, cautiously surveying his surroundings.\n “Dimitri, the boy’s parents might be dead… and he needs to find his dog. I think he’s suffering from shock.”\n “We can’t stay here, Kateryna. Talk on the radio is that there’s an advanced Russian unit two kliks east of here heading our way, so we must get going now - if we’re to reach base before sundown… Bring the boy. We can’t leave him to the Russians.\n Kateryna smiled. How she loved this man and his caring compassion for others. It strengthened her resolve to fight alongside her husband. Wherever he went, she would unquestionably go too. She felt safe with him. He was a born leader and his judgement, intuition, and bravery had kept them and their recon unit alive during several firefight encounters with Russian infiltrators. However, their ammunition had run alarmingly low, so getting back to base was a priority.\n “Alexi, come!”\n Responding immediately, Alexi enthusiastically ran to Kateryna.\n “This is Dimitri.”\n “Kid.”\n “Dimitri, this is Alexi Kozak.”\n “Kozak? Are you Turkish?”\n “My grandparents were.”\n “Did you know that Kozak means, Free Man?”\n Alexi shook his head.\n “A very apt name today. We’re all free men and women, but someone in Moscow doesn’t want us to be, yes?... Well come on Free Man, we need to move quickly.”\n “My dog…”\n Kateryna looked at Dimitri with both eyebrows raised. He couldn’t refuse those beautiful eyes.\n “Dimitri will lead the way… Where do you live?”\n Alexi pointed in a westerly direction.\n “Yarova Street… by the monument.”\n “My goodness! You’ve come far.”\n“I just ran and ran.”\n“We can make it before dark if we hurry… In my experience, dogs always return home. I’ll bet that Yakov is there waiting for you. Come, we must walk very fast.”\n Alexi smiled briefly. Kateryna had given him hope, and hope felt good.\n “Try not to look at the bodies, Alexi. They are in no pain, now… Someone will be along to bury them where they lay.”\n Trailing his kind new guardians, Alexi could not help but stare at every motionless body as he rushed along the street. Some looked like they were only asleep and would awake at any moment. Some bore the brutality of their life-ending impacts, and others were just fleshy remains ripped suddenly and violently from their sentient existences. The aftermath was horrific, and Alexi wished the day could rewind and start again. This time, he would anticipate the evil events the fiery day would bring. This time, he would hold on tightly to Yakov, and not walk so far from home. This time, he would insist that his parents went to the park with him. However, he knew he could not wave a magic wand. All he could do now was wish to find his dog.\n ZING! The air aggressively brushed Alexi’s ear as a tracer bullet whizzed past him and shattered the driver-side door of a parked van. Immediately, he sought the shelter of a concrete barrier laid to slow any oncoming approach by Russian tanks. Kateryna and Dimitri joined him almost immediately. Several distant cracks of rifle fire echoed through the almost deserted streets; then, more powerful booms of heavier caliber weaponry seemed to reply to the chatter of increasing small arms fire.\n “It’s okay, Alexi,” a comforting Kateryna declared. “Sounds like it’s several streets away. Probably a stray bullet. We should stay close to any walls or buildings. We’re too exposed here on the road and there’s no shortcuts to be had.”\n “Come Free Man,” ordered Dimitri. “Stay close to me.”\n Signalling the direction of travel, Dimitri led the three of them eastward, keeping low as they moved swiftly up the road, sheltered by the high walls and fences that most rural houses have for privacy and shields against the elements. For the past thirty minutes, the soldier couple and the lonely boy had made their way around the neighbourhood, trying to stay low and unseen. This had caused them to go further west than they intended; however, the late afternoon sun was now at their backs. Tactically for Dimitri, this was a military advantage. He would rather see the enemy in detail than a sun-in-the-eyes silhouette.\n “How far now, Alexi,” enquired Kateryna.\n Pointing, Alexi diverted her gaze toward several oncoming vehicles.\n “Dimitri! Troop carriers… Orcs!”\n Ducking into a driveway, the three found themselves on a tree-lined dirt road with a lake to their right and open ground ahead of them. It was far from an ideal cover, but the troop carriers were closing rapidly, so Dimitri reactively guided the three of them behind some trees and bushes, where they stealthily watched five of the troop carriers rush by the park’s entrance.\n “I live on the other end of the park,” Alexi pointed out.\n Acknowledging the boy, Dimitri and Kateryna motioned Alexi to lead them to his house; however, as they broke cover, a sixth troop carrier came around the corner into the park entrance. Undetected, the three comrades took cover again, as the troop carrier pulled up alongside their concealed location.\n “HURRY UP!” was the command from the truck. “TAKE YOUR PISS AND GET BACK IN, QUICKLY!”\n Responding in desperate need to relieve themselves, the eight military passengers jumped down from the truck and lined up against an adjacent bush and urinated into it. The wafting smell of warm urine made Alexi gag. For some of these conscripts, the journey had been long and hard on their bladders, so their vocal relief was boisterous.\n From across the park, a distant but familiar bark of a small dog, caused an involuntary reaction from Alexi, just as the empty bladder brigade re-boarded the truck.\n“YAKOV!”\n Alerted by the cry of recognition, weapons were quickly retrieved and nervously pointed at the trees. The sudden commotion caused their commander to exit the vehicle.\n “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” He frustratingly bellowed out.\n “There’s something moving in the trees over there, sir.”\n Spotting it himself, the commander shouted out for anyone to hear.\n “SHOW YOURSELF OR MY MEN WILL FIRE!”\n There was no escape without risking being shot. Too much open ground behind them, would make Dimitri and Kateryna easy targets – if they chose to run for it. Besides, there was the boy to think about. He was just an innocent child and Kateryna needed to act quickly and decisively. She looked at Dimitri, and with four of her fingers, she motioned for him to flank the left four and she would flank the commander and remaining conscripts.\n “THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING!”\n The tone was more deliberate now. Signalling a short countdown with her fingers, Kateryna had reached the count of one when suddenly, bounding through the uncut grass, came a small white dog, following the familiar scent of his young master. Alexi speedily broke cover and dashed several meters from the trees to greet his furry friend.\n “YAKOV, YAKOV! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”\n Playfully and forgetting the seriousness of the situation he and his new friends were in, Alexi rolled around the grass with his four-legged pal.\n “HEY!” Came an angry shout that caused Alexi to stop what he was doing. Pulling the dog’s leash from his jacket pocket, Alexi restored the tether to his dog, then turned to face the shouter - his hands on his hips and his feet spread in a wide stance, emulating a comic book superhero.\n The commander relaxed just a little and let out a surprised laugh.\n “What do we have here, then? What’s your name?”\n Alexi took a deep breath and tensed up to deliver his answer. It had been a long day and he was frustrated and angry at the purveyors of war.\n “I AM UKRAINIAN… AND I WILL FIGHT YOU!”\n “Plucky little bastard, aren’t you?”\n “YOU ARE THE BASTARD! GO BACK TO RUSSIA!”\n The commander stood silent from the boy’s insolence, watching Yakov barking at him as well. Instantly, the commander changed his demeanour to more serious.\n “See men,” he explained to his platoon. “It is true. We have come to rid this country of Nazis, and right in front of us is one of their Youth Movement.”\n “RUSSKY GO HOME! RUSSIAN SCUM… YOU ARE NOT WELCOME… ORCS!”\n Highly insulted by Alexi’s tirade, the commander summoned one of his conscripts and motioned towards the insolent boy.\n “...ORCS! ORCS!”\n “Shoot him!”\n “Sir?”\n “Shoot the little Nazi’s dog, then shoot the little Nazi!”\n The conscript hesitated. Surely, this order was a mistake. Taking too long to react, the commander wrestled the rifle from the conscript and pointed it at Alexi. A shot rang out, causing the others to flinch. Deathly silence followed. They looked toward Alexi. He remained standing defiantly with a look of astonishment on his face. Seeking further orders, the young soldiers turned their attention to the commander, who was standing completely still – a bead of blood slowly trickling down his forehead from a small hole indented above his brow. He tried to speak but his vocal cords could only muster a pattern of sounds resembling a baby’s babble. In his innocence, Alexi giggled at the scenario unfolding before him, then abruptly stopped as the commander toppled forward, his face smashing into the ground, dead as a doornail.\n “Put your weapons in the back of the truck,” Dimitri ordered, startling the conscripts.\n Any semblance of a fight was not in the young soldiers. They were hungry, thirsty, and had been told they were just going on a drill before leaving Russia. War was not on their agenda. Unprepared, they just capitulated and lay their weaponry where they were told.\n “Move over to the trees!”\n Dimitri escorted his prisoners from the truck, telling Alexi to get behind him. Pulling a pin from a grenade, Kateryna tossed it into the truck’s cab, then ran to a safe distance, beside the others. A few seconds elapsed before the grenade exploded in a loud thud and fire, rendering the truck unusable.\n “What now, Dimitri?”\n “We march, my love. Brigade headquarters is not far.”\n Kateryna looked at Alexi, who was leading Yakov by his leash in a circular running display of play.\n “…And the boy? He needs someone to look after him… Can we?”\n “Hey Free Man! You want to come with us?”\n Alexi stopped playing to contemplate the question, then nodded his consent. Kateryna smiled, walked up to him, and placed her right arm around his shoulders.\n “Hungry?”\n Alexi nodded.\n “Good, then let’s get you something back at the base. Maybe, we’ll feed these poor boys here, as well… yes?”\n He nodded his approval.\n “What a day, hey Alexi?”\nOrganised into single file, the conscripts were led away, flanked by husband and wife as they marched off. With the light of day fading fast, Alexi playfully ran on ahead with Yakov, the war momentarily forgotten, his plight comforted by the return of his best friend, and his safety temporarily secured by his new protectors. The horrors of tomorrow impatiently lay in wait to unleash hell, but that’s yet to come - for today was Alexi Kozak’s day - The Free Man of Kyiv."
}
]
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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: Extracurriculars\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2378\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone fighting to keep their city neighborhood the same."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "My guidance counselor, Mr. Hopkirk, had a talent for telling students devastating news in the nicest of ways. \nWe huddled together in his tiny box of an office. He avoided meeting my anxious eyes as he methodically jogged the pages of my application together against his desk into a neat rectangle.\n“This is all fine, Marcus. Very well written.” He hesitated, still not looking up. “Your extracurriculars are weak, though. I just don’t see your spark.” I frowned and opened my mouth, but he kept talking over me. “Where’s the passion for doing something that deeply matters to you? What separates you from every other qualified student applying to the University of Chicago?”\nI felt as though he had punched in the stomach as I groped for an answer. The application was due in two weeks. It’s not like I had any time left to build houses in South America or intern for some mental health clinic. \nMr. Hopkirk shook his head sympathetically as he slid the papers back to me. “Just apply to your safety schools and remember that U of C is a reach for a lot of kids.”\n“There’s got to be something I can do to stand out!”\nHe shrugged. “It’s not over until your decision letters come back. Maybe something right around the corner will inspire you.”\nI trudged home, kicking my feet through the fallen October leaves that littered the sidewalk. As I turned onto Kedzie Street, I found an orange and white striped wooden sawhorse blocking my path. The sidewalk had been closed for construction. A few large dumpsters lined the road, filled above the rims with torn drywall and crumbled bricks. \nI obediently crossed to the far side and glared at the sorry-looking construction site. A chain-link fence backed by green fabric surrounded the flattened piles of dirt. \nA lone, somewhat rickety three-story walk-up of brown brick remained at the end of the block, just beyond the fence. Paper permits tacked to a wooden sign out front flapped in the wind. I was about to turn away when I saw a flicker of movement in one of the third-floor windows. \nAn older woman briefly peeked out, then pulled the curtains shut. I waited for a few cars to pass and jaywalked across to read the permit. It quoted a bunch of ordinances at the top. Beneath that was a notice that 3200 S. Kedzie was due to be demolished the following week. The words “eminent domain” appeared several times among the legalese. \nMy crappy day was nothing compared to losing a home. \nWait a minute.\nBefore I let myself think too hard, I scampered up the warped wooden stairs and knocked. No answer. The four doorbell buttons suggested multiple units in the building, but none had names or numbers. I pressed each one in turn but still failed to get a response from inside. \nThe owner was probably wise not to answer the door for a total stranger. Maybe she’d been hassled by the construction workers or was too busy fretting over the loss of her home.\nMaybe she didn’t have to lose her home.\nI needed to show passion. Short of saving someone’s life in the next week, this might be my next best option. If I could help this poor old lady, I’d have one heck of a story for my application. \n“Hell no, we won’t go! Hell no, we won’t go!” \nI’d gone home that night and furiously prepared. I was no longer Marcus Pearson: high school student. I was Marcus Pearson: freshly minted activist. I held my protest sign proudly as I marched in defense of my neighborhood. The yellow poster board announced, “Honk to save our city!” in black bubble letters. \nA passing car gave me a quick “beep, beep.” It was my sixth supportive honk of the day.\nI still hoped the resident or residents of 3200 Kedzie would come down to join me, but perhaps they weren’t the protesting sort. The window shades all remained pulled down, obscuring any view of the inside. \n“Hell no--” I started up again when I felt a tap on the shoulder. I spun around to find myself staring at the broad blue-uniformed chest of a Chicago policeman. His silver nametag read E. Gibbons.\nI cleared my throat and swallowed. “Can I help you, Officer?”\nThe policeman’s voice was deep, with just a hint of a midwestern accent. “Son, what do you think you’re doing?”\nU of C, here I come. “I am exercising my right to free speech. The city is tearing down this irreplaceable building. I’m here to preserve the historic character of our neighborhood.”\n“Little late, don’t cha think?” Officer Gibbons nodded his head at the surrounding empty lots.\nMy cheeks felt warm. “I didn’t know about any of this until yesterday.”\nThe policeman took off his cap, revealing thinning black hair. He pursed his lips. “So, you don’t live in this here building.” It was a statement, not a question.\n“No, sir. But I have every right to be here. I am a proud Chicagoan protecting my city.”\n“What’s all this really about?”\n“Someone is living in that building! Is it fair they lose their home?”\n“Did she ask you to come out here?”\n“No,” I mumbled.\n“Speak up, son. Want to try again?”\n“It’s for my college application.”\n“Did you say your application? What’s that got to do with a hill of beans?”\n“Officer, please, I’m doing what I think is right.”\nHe looked me up and down, then over at the building. Finally, he shrugged. “March all you want, as long as you stay on the sidewalk and don’t block the path. I’ll circle by to check in on you later in my shift.” He walked away, shaking his head. I heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, “crazy kids these days.”\nI looked up at the building and saw a curtain on the third floor twitch closed. Someone had watched the whole exchange. I wondered if the homeowner would come out to say something, maybe to thank me, but no such luck. I continued my one-person protest for the rest of the afternoon with no more excitement, then headed home for dinner. \nI worried that I wasn’t doing enough. Bernie Sanders was arrested speaking out for civil rights when he was a student at U of C. He was almost elected president. Twice. I suspected an afternoon parading around with a sign wasn’t going to cut it. \nI needed concrete results.\nThe next day, I weighed my options. I hadn’t managed to rally the neighborhood, and I wasn’t exactly sure how doing so would stop the demolition anyway. I considered chaining myself to one of the bulldozers parked on the construction site. Unfortunately, there were two of them and only one of me. \nI didn’t have a chain, either.\nWhat did I have? I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. My cell phone buzzed, and I idly checked the Instagram post. The face of a classmate smiled up at me from above a stained white apron. The background was a busy soup kitchen on Chicago’s south side. I wondered if I should have taken a selfie during my protest.\nWait a minute. I was a teenager with a cell phone. \nI googled around a bit and found the number I needed. Smiling broadly, I dialed and got ready to work my magic.\nA woman answered on the first ring. “National Register of Historic Places, this is Linda.”\nI tried to deepen my voice a bit. “Hello, Ma’am, I’d like to add a property to the list. The address is 3200 South Kenzie Street in Chicago. It’s a residence.\n“Wonderful!” she said, sounding like she genuinely meant it. “I can help you gather the materials you need to begin the application. Have you been to our website?”\n“I haven’t, but I was hoping you could help me speed the process along,” I said, crossing my fingers.\n“Of course, let’s see what we can do. Is the building more than 50 years old?”\n“t might be. It looks pretty old.”\n“No problem, the date of initial construction should be readily available online. What can you tell me about the building’s significance?”\n“It’s super significant. Um, it’s an important part of the neighborhood. The neighborhood’s character.”\n“Significance means that the property had either important historical events or people associated with it. Otherwise, that the building itself is a significant architectural or engineering achievement.”\n“Honestly, I don’t know about any of that. I need your help, though. The building is going to be torn down next week. An elderly woman will lose her home if you don’t add it to the Register of Historic Properties immediately.”\n“Next week?” she repeated incredulously. “I’m sorry, but that’s just not possible. The process usually takes about nine months, including review, validation, and recommendations.”\nI felt my chest tighten. “There’s no injunction or stay of demolition that you can issue in the meantime?”\n“You don’t seem to understand what we do here. Adding a property to the Register can be a tax boon but isn’t a shield from demolition. The property owner can still change or tear down the property.”\n “Even if the government’s kicking some poor woman out of her home? You won’t help?”\n“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Would you like me to send you the forms anyway?”\n“No, I guess not,” I said heavily. “Thanks anyway.”\nI had one last idea, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. I waited until after dinner, letting the sky change from blue to pale lavender. Then I went to work. Deep in the back of the pantry, I retrieved four tins of sardines that had been left there for who knows how long. I pocketed them and snuck out the door, telling my parents I had a school project.\nThe Chicago River passed just a block to the south of Kedzie Street. High in the shedding trees that lined the road were clusters of distinctive scoop-shaped nests. A few years earlier, I remembered seeing the exact same ones on a field trip to the Lincoln Park Zoo. Those nests had been roped off to protect the endangered black-crowned night herons from the public.\nIn the twilight, I stood in front of 3200 South Kedzie. The dust from the demolition made my throat itch. I scanned the area to make sure Officer Gibbons wasn’t doing his rounds. Then I jumped up to grab the bottom rung of the metal fire escape that ran down the side of the building. \nThe squeal of metal was enough to wake the dead. I stood there, hands gripping the ladder, waiting for someone to sound the alarm. Nothing happened. A car drove past, headlights glaring but didn’t even slow. The cold, rusty metal bit into my fingers as I started to climb. I wished I’d worn gloves.\nWhen I reached the landing on the third floor, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I froze, every muscle in my body tensing. The closest window creaked open a few inches.\nA pair of brown eyes peered out at me through the crack. My breath caught. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that the owner might make an appearance.\n“I can explain!” I blurted out. “Please don’t call the police.”\n“Are you the young man who was marching outside?”\n“Yes, Ma’am. I’m trying to save your home.”\n“By breaking into it?”\nI shook my head vigorously, eyes wide. “No, no! I’m just going up to the roof. I’ve got a plan.”\nShe raised one thin eyebrow. Her frizzy cloud of white hair bobbed gently in the evening breeze.\nI pulled out a can of tinned fish. “You’ve got all these black-crowned night heron nests in the area. They’re endangered. I figured if I could get one to build a nest on your building, then the city couldn’t knock it down.”\nShe slowly shook her head. “Those birds aren’t endangered anymore. Haven’t been for years. They don’t build nests in the fall, anyway.”\n“Oh,” I said quietly, slipping the can back into my pocket.\n“Why don’t you want this place knocked down?”\n“Don’t--don’t you want to stop it?” I stammered. “It’s your home.”\n“I’m moving in with my granddaughter in Bronzeville next week. The city’s paying me a fair price for this old place. Frankly, I doubt I could have gotten half as much if I just put it up for sale.”\n“So you’re not upset?”\nShe snorted. “I’m pleased as punch. All these stairs are murder on my knees.”\n“I’m sorry,” I said, unsure whether I was talking about her ailments or my actions.\n“You know they’re building a new rec center here.”\n“Are they?”\n“Yup. Gonna be like that Jesse White Community Center in Lincoln Park. Help a bunch of at-risk kids.”\n“Sounds like that would be good for the neighborhood,” I said, not quite sure where she was going with this. It seemed rude to start climbing down the fire escape until she finished talking.\n“Might be some opportunities there for an energetic and enterprising young man to make a difference,” she said, looking me square in the eyes.\n“Thank you, Ma’am, but I’m going off to college next fall.\n“Rome wasn’t built in a day. This rec center ain’t going to be up and running for a while.”\nI nodded slowly. “I suppose that’s true.”\n“It’s young folks who are going to change the world. They’ve just got to figure out how first.”\nI smiled. “Yes, Ma’am, thank you.”\nShe smiled back. “Goodnight, young man. Careful climbing down now.”\nIn closing, I’d like to thank you for considering my application to the University of Chicago. I’ve attached letters of recommendation from Officer Edward Gibbons, Linda Spielcroft of the Illinois State Historic Preservation Office, and Dolores Ramierez, formerly of 3200 S. Kedzie St. \nAs each of these letters can attest, I have passion. However, I sometimes lack the wisdom to use it appropriately. If you saw fit to accept me into the upcoming freshman class, I would gain the knowledge necessary to turn energy into accomplishments. I’m eager to help change the world."
}
]
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Longhorn Racher and The Wannabe Anti-Hero... and her Girlfriend\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1970\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line, “That’s the thing about this city…”"
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "“That’s the thing about this city, always some big superhero fight happening at SEVEN THIRTY IN THE MORNING!” Raquel shouted as a giant bird creature collided with the building across the street.\n People were screaming, running, trying to get away. Cars either stopped, crashed into one another, or somehow got onto another street. But Raquel and Eriko were not fazed by the wave of people trying to get away from the creature. “No need to be so loud,” Eriko sighed, rubbing her temples.\n “So close. So damn close without another fucking supervillain decided to destroy half the city today,” Raquel complained. The two teenagers simply walked forwards, against the stream of people trying to push past them. “Six blocks,” Raquel continued, “just six blocks…”\n Eriko glanced at Raquel. “Did you do the homework?”\n “We had homework?”\n “Yeah? For Mr- hold on. Debris,” she warned.\n The two girls stopped as a piece of building fell into the concrete in front of them. Eriko dusted off her polo and skirt while Raquel shook the dust off her brown hair like a dog. They simply stepped around the debris and continued on their way to school.\n Raquel gripped Eriko’s hand and slowed their pace a little. “Maybe they’ll destroy the school by the time we get there!”\n “Knowing this city that’s not going to happen,” Eriko said bluntly, “they never close for anything.”\n The pale girl sighed but kept walking, Eriko not letting go of Raquel’s hand as they continued their journey to school. The two of them tried to stay out of the way of the fight going on in the street. And then they see him. A man in navy chaps and a similar colored long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His shirt had a big lone white star on it, but the star also kinda looked like it had horns coming out of it. A white cowboy hat covered his eyes and there was a lasso in his hands. They could hear his spurs jingle as they saw him jump on top of a car.\n “Am I supposed to act surprised?” Raquel asked.\n“We see him almost every day. It’s nothing new, frankly,” Eriko agreed.\nThat man was called The Longhorn Rancher. Some say he came from a line of longhorn ranchers in Texas, freed slaves who became cowboys and were skilled beyond what many thought was possible. Raquel kinda believed it. Eriko did not, except the Texas bit.\nThe superhero threw his lasso around the car beneath him, and the girls watched as it came to life. The red Toyota reared back like a horse and zoomed off into the street, controlled only by The Longhorn Rancher. But the girls were not impressed. “It would be funny if it was a Mustang,” Raquel mused.\nThe two kept going, hand in hand, and for a few minutes’ things seemed to be looking up, to Raquel’s chagrin. The fight was going away from their school, moving towards the downtown area. They wondered if the fight would make it that far. It might have, there was a faint boom behind them.\n “Oh, it’s you!”\n Eriko stopped, forcing Raquel to stop with her. The girl looked around until she spotted a boy in a blue t-shirt and jeans sitting on the hood of a car. “Good morning Michael,” Eriko said as they approached, “Where’s your mom?”\n “Ran off with my sister when the fight broke out. Gonna wait here ‘til she comes back,” he stated as if it were a fact.\n There was another faint boom in the distance and Eriko squeezed Raquel’s hand. Raquel sighed through her nose and squeezed back. “You can come with us,” she offered, “You can call your mom there and I can give you a piggyback ride.”\n “I’m not seven,” Michael spat. He paused for a second and looked behind him. “But sure.”\n He slid off the roof of the car and walked on Eriko’s left side. “Who’s she?” He gestured to Raquel.\n “Her knight in shining-”\n “My girlfriend,” Eriko corrected.\n Raquel, with a smirk on her face, gestured to Michael. “Who’s he? Your sidekick?”\n “We live in the same building. Why? Is that a problem?”\n “No. Just never met any kids from your building is all,” Raquel answered.\n “I’m not a kid, I’m twelve,” Michael argued.\n The older girl rolled her eyes and led the way. “Yeah yeah, sure you- watch out kid!”\n Raquel flung Eriko against the side of a building and picked up Michael before he was squashed by a flailing… football player?\n “Put me down!”\n “Raquel what the hell?”\n Raquel ignored their angry snarls and was transfixed by the football player before her. He was wearing a red and white football uniform, though his number was blocked by a piece of paper taped onto said uniform. The helmet had no logo or anything, just a plain red helmet with two white stripes running along the top.\n Michael managed to wiggle out of Raquel’s grip and looked at the football player. “Oh great, now everyone’s gonna be wearing football helmets! Remember the time with the hoodies?”\n Yeah, Raquel remembered. This poor shmo was The Longhorn Ranger’s sidekick, she guessed he didn’t have an outfit yet because he showed up in normal everyday clothes. He wore a hoodie once and for a while everyone was too... in the middle of summer.\n Eriko punched her girlfriend in the shoulder. “Did you hear me? Raquel what the fu- is that guy from our school?”\n The three youths looked at the football player, laying limp in the now dented asphalt. Raquel slapped her palms together and had a smirk on her face. “I’m taking off his helmet.”\n “No, wait,” the football player croaked, his voice was low. Baritone. The girls only knew one person who had that kind of low melodic voice. The football player got up and leaped back into the air, the piece of paper falling off his uniform. The number ‘17’ in white sticking out against the red.\n “Oh crap.” Raquel’s eyes went wide. “That’s Matthew Derringer.”\n Michael looked confused. “Who?”\n “Hold on, it might not be-” Eriko started, the heard a shout in the distance. A deep sound that, even she had to admit, made her flush. “Okay that’s Matthew Derringer,” she concurred.\n “Who’s Matthew Derringer?”\n “None of your business,” Raquel spat.\n Eriko forcefully gripped her girlfriend’s hand. “Leave him alone,” she growled, “come on.”\n The three of them kept walking, Eriko talking to Michael while Raquel remained silent. She slipped out of Eriko’s grip and dragged a few paces behind. There were more crashes, the distant sounds of people, a screeched that sounded like it belonged to a dinosaur.\n CAW!\n BOOM!\n The bird creature was slammed into the pavement with such force that the teens slipped back a few feet. Eriko nudged Michael forwards. “Run!” But as she reached for Raquel, she couldn’t feel the familiar warmth of her hand.\nThe Longhorn Rancher came rushing up to the creature, getting a punch in before wrapping the creature in his lasso. There was more cawing from the creature as he began to spin the around, becoming nothing but a blur.\nSnapping around, Eriko saw Raquel standing there with her left arm outstretched to her side. She balled one of her hands into a fist and gripped Raquel’s forearm with the other. “What do you think you’re doing!”\n“Ow! Babe not so hard-”\n“Good! Maybe I’ll pull it out myself! You want to get it off so badly, right? Here!”\n“OW! Damnit, stop!”\nWith a forceful tug, Eriko got the slightly taller girl out of the way before the bird creature was flung into the glass behind them. “You’re seventeen! You need that arm!”\n “How am I supposed to become an anti-hero with two arms? I need a tragic backstory as to why I lost my arm! Eriko you know this-”\n Raquel was pushed against the side of the store, her back against the cold glass. Eriko looking directly into her grey eyes sent a shiver down her spine. “You’re not losing your arm. Not today. Not ever,” she scolded, her voice steady and determined, “I’m not going to let you do this to yourself just for some fantasy you made up in your head!\n “And you know what else?” she continued, “The Longhorn Ranger would probably move you out of the way before anything could get the chance to rip off your arm. It’s a stupid idea to go wherever he is in hopes that if you stand around long enough, you’ll lose your arm! Besides you don’t get to choose your own backstory.”\n The city seemed to still. A faint breeze nudged Eriko’s black hair, but her eyes stayed focused on Raquel. For a moment it was just the two of them, and Raquel felt like shit.\n“Y’all shouldn’t be out- oh. It’s you again.” They looked to their left to see the superhero himself coming out of the newly destroyed store and Matthew Derringer from earlier go inside with handcuffs. The Longhorn Rancher approached the girls, or Raquel specifically, and he took off his hat only for them to see a mask in the shape of a cattle skull underneath. “You’re still tryin’ to get your arm ripped off?” He asked Raquel. \nShe nodded and Eriko shot her a look that screamed What did I just say? “Well then,” said the southern superhero, “You want to build yourself an arm so bad? Why not become an engineer, or somthin’? Put those tech savvy hands to good use.”\n“I’ll think about it,” Raquel said, but her words were hollow.\nThe man put a hand to his mask and shook his head. “Just sayin’. You could do some good, instead of being so stupid.”\n“My girlfriend is right there-” Raquel began before getting jabbed in the ribs by Eriko.\n“No, scold her more. Let her know how stupid she is.”\nThe hero froze and looked at Eriko who looked back at him. He mumbled something, looked between the two of them, and blurted out, “Don’t get pregnant.”\nMatthew Derringer, still in his football uniform, was dragging the bird creature away from the wreckage. He saw them and half waved before The Longhorn Ranger came over and lifted the creature with ease, grey feathers falling onto the ground.\nAs they walked away Michael came running from around a corner. “I think that’s a different bird guy.”\nRaquel stared at the kid like he had a third eye. “There’s two bird guys?”\n“We don’t have time for this, I have to be in AP in ten minutes,” Eriko groaned.\nMichael went on ahead, talking about how the last bird guy had red and purple feathers while this one was just grey. Eriko and Raquel weren’t really listening, they walked behind him as the people started coming out of their hiding spots to check the damage. They moved side by side, not touching and staying silent.\n“You’re right,” Raquel admitted, “it’s a dumb fantasy. I’ll stop.”\n“Good,” Eriko answered a little too quickly, “I mean, I’m glad you decided to stop. I don’t want a wife with only one arm. You need at least two for spooning.”\n“Yeah I- wait a minute who said anything about marriage!”\nEriko slipped her hand into Raquel’s just like it always had. The people around them went back onto the sidewalks and into their cars. Life began just as quickly as it had stopped. That’s the thing about this city, sure there’s a southern superhero with his high school football player sidekick. But there’s also Raquel, who might be a dumbass with no sense of danger. But Eriko was fine with all that, the superhero, the sidekick, the property damaging fights happening at seven a.m., and her dumbass girlfriend."
}
]
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Lost Light\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2384\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about light returning to a place that has been deprived of it for a long time, literally or figuratively."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "The smell of ash riddled the cave, lights fading as the torches were snuffed out. This world is not my own, I don’t know how long it’s been since I ended up here, but I’m beginning to lose hope of ever returning to my own world.\n The sun is bright today, the streets are busy and full of people shopping, running late to work, delivering food. Of course Japan is always busy, no matter which part of the country you go to, everyone is either working or planning to work. I’m on my way to a very important meeting. My company is about to close on the biggest deal it’s ever seen, and I’m the man that’s going to do it! My phone begins to ring, I grab it from my pocket.\n“It’s Kaneshiro, I wonder what he wants.”\nKaneshiro is my best friend, we’ve practically been friends since we were born. We’ve done everything together our whole lives. Our career choices went totally different though, I went into business and Kaneshiro, well he went into a different kind of business.\n“Hello?” I answer.\n“Ban! Hey Ban! It’s Kaneshiro!”\n“Yes, I have caller ID Kaneshiro, what’s up? I’ve got a meeting I’m heading to.”\nKaneshiro takes a deep breath.\n“Ban, it’s done.”\n“What’s don-“\n“The game my company has been working on, it’s done!”\nI let out a gasp. The game that Kaneshiro’s company has been working on is one of the most highly sought after titles of our generation. It’s an RPG, Open World, Level Grinding masterpiece that I have been lucky to see behind the scenes on for the past three years of production.\n“No way! Warriors of Hikaru is done!?” I shout.\nKaneshiro lets out an excited laugh.\n“Once you’re done with your meeting, stop by my office and I’ll let you get your hands on it!”\nKaneshiro hangs up the phone. I drop my phone back into my jacket pocket. I can’t believe the game is done, and I have to go to this meeting. When I say our careers went differently, I’d say Kaneshiro got the better end of the deal.\nWell, this is it, this is the place the client requested to meet. This hotel is way out of my price range, that’s for sure. A tall man wearing all black opens the door for me. I straighten my tie, take a deep breath and step through the door.\nThe light, where did the light go? It’s so dark. I turn around and the door is no longer there. What happened? Where am I? Suddenly a very faint light appears, flickering, it’s a torch.\n“Hello?” I mutter.\nThe torch stops moving. Suddenly it begins to head toward me. I can start to make out a figure holding the torch, it’s a man…a man in…armor? What is going on?\nThe man stops directly in front of me, he stares at me for a moment.\n“You smell of them, who are you?” He asks in a very deep, growl.\n“Hello…um, my name is Ban Haru…I am supposed to meet a client here to discuss a business partnership.” I extend my hand out to shake his.\nThe giant man looks at my hand and back at me.\n“No idea what a business client is. But a partnership could be helpful. Perhaps not by someone who looks like them” He turns and begins to walk away.\nI slowly follow him as he is the only one with a light and possibly my way out of wherever it is I am.\n“You think I have a bizarre fashion sense? You’re the one in the samurai armor. What is this? The Edo Period?” I chuckle.\nThe man is silent, looks back at me and growls lowly.\n“I haven’t seen anyone smile for long time. Much less laugh.”\n“Um, why is that?” I ask curiously.\n“Not much funny, not much to smile about.”\nWe finally reach the end of this dark tunnel, I expect to see tables and chairs, possibly reception. It’s the outside, there are trees, I feel the wind, I smell….ash?\n“What’s burning?” I ask the man.\n“Everything burn, only way for light.” He points to his torch.\nI look around me and I can see ash flakes falling, I look up and see just grey, there is no sky. If there is, it’s under a very thick layer of smoke.\n“What is this place? Where are we?” I ask.\nThe man continues to walk and to check his torch.\n“We are in Japan. Do you not know this?” He looks back at me.\n“No, this doesn’t feel like where I’m from. Did I get knocked out? Am I dreaming?” I pull out my phone to check my service.\nNo service. The man looks back at me and notices my phone. He rushes over to me and grabs it.\n“Magic!? You’re with them!?” He goes to throw my phone on the ground.\nI snatch my phone out of his hands.\n“Magic? Them? What? No, this is a phone, it’s not magic, I’m not with anybody. What are you talking about?”\n“You not with them, but you still carry their magic. You have the same uniform. Who are you?” He is practically touching my face with his.\n“I told you my name already, and I don’t know where I am right now, I walked through a door and I was just in that dark cave with you. That’s all I know, I swear.”\n“You really do not know where you are. I can tell you are not full of deception.”\n“Thank you.” I release a sigh of relief. “Knowing where I am would be pretty great though.”\nThe man looks up to the ash cloud filled sky.\n“This is Hikaru No Mura. It is my home, or was. This is what is left of it. Much was destroyed once the men with magic appeared. We had light, and peace. Now, nothing but darkness and war.” He looks at me. “You do not know the magic men?”\nI shake my head no.\n”Hikaru No Mura? I know that name, why do I know that name?” I look around and begin to see familiar landmarks. This is THE Hikaru No Mura. The samurai village in Japan. It’s said to be the most preserved village filled with the most preserved samurai history, showing their architecture and buildings. This is different though, because this isn’t preserved, this is mostly destroyed. “What happened here?” I ask.\n“The magic men came, they left the village a gift, an egg made of steel. They used a tool like yours, they told us that our gift would be explained in a days time. I had been out hunting for food for the village, I saw a bright ball of light in the sky above, then I was hit by a wave of warm wind. Then, everything went dark and I have not seen the light since.”\nHikaru No Mura roughly translates to The Village of Light. How fitting that some sort of light destroyed it, now the light is taken away from this land. I don’t know how long I’m going to be stuck here, so it’s in my best interest to find out what happened here. I also need to be careful, because this is obviously not my time period. I somehow got sucked into a glitch in time and got transported back to what I assume is close to the Edo period given the clothing and the structures.\n“Someone is coming! It may be magic men.” The samurai grabs my shoulder and pulls me into a patch of grass.\nIt’s like he said, two men are walking through the village.\n“Well, the test went as expected, the whole village was wiped out, everyone and everything. The Village of Light is now The Village of Darkness.”\nI know that voice. That’s…\n“Kaneshiro?” I stand up.\nKaneshiro looks at me.\n“Ban?” He mutters. “What…how…are you here?”\n“I don’t know, I stepped through the door to my meeting and I was in a cave with, well a samurai.” The samurai stands up next to me.\nKaneshiro looks at the samurai. “Fascinating, you survived. You’re the only one that has survived every single time we have run this test. How do you keep doing that?”\n“Um…Kaneshiro…what do you mean? You did this? You killed all of these people? With light? What are you talking about?” I point towards the carnage of The Village of Light.\n“Ban, there’s something you’re missing. It’s very important. None of these people are real, I’m not sure how you ended up here with us, but this is my game. The one I’ve been working on. This is Warriors of Hikaru. My company has created a device that allows us to jump into the game. We’re able to just live the game to work out bugs, and glitches, see everything with our own eyes. It’s incredible.”\nI look at Kaneshiro with disbelief, attempting to wrap my head around the sort of technology that would have to exist for something like that to be possible. If this is a game, none of these people are real, then, why does it all feel so real, why does the air smell like death? If there is no life here, why does it smell like death?\n“Kaneshiro….”\n“Yes, Ban?”\n“What did you do to the village?”\n“Oh, we just dropped a nuke on it. I wanted to see what would happen. Cheat codes, you know?” He smiles.\n“Kaneshiro, are you sure this place isn’t real? Do you smell the death? The blood? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to these people? Look around you Kaneshiro, this place is real. I don’t know what you did, or how you did it, but this isn’t a game. This is…..real. All of it.”\n“Look, Ban, the first time I traveled here, I thought it was real too, but my people assured me, that it was the game. I’m not lying to you Ban. I promise.”\n“But were you lied to….Kaneshiro?” I look at him.\nThe man he is with, a guard most likely. He pulls a gun out and begins firing at me and the Samurai.\nKaneshiro flinches at the sudden shots fired.\n“What the hell are you doing!?” He shouts.\nThe samurai grabs me and throws me into a hut.\n“Magic men, they are liars, they do not think we are real people? What does that even mean!?” He pulls out his sword.\nI still hear Kaneshiro shouting at the man, who is still firing his gun at the hut. Suddenly a blue light shines through the window, the firing has ceased. Kaneshiro is silent. I look around and I’m in an empty lobby. Lights are out, no one around.\n“What?” I mutter.\nSuddenly my phone is ringing. It’s Kaneshiro.\n“Hello?” I answer.\n“Ban, I don’t know what that was about, I don’t know why you were there, I don’t know anything. Please, come to my office. Let’s talk.” Kaneshiro hangs up.\nWith an offer like that, how am I to refuse?\nI arrive at Kaneshiro’s office. I reach the top floor and he’s there, waiting for me. He guides me to a chair in front of his desk, I don’t see the man that was with him in the village. I sit.\n“Ban, what happened out there, none of that was real, it was just the game.” He clears his throat and his eyes are darting back and forth. “You do know that right?”\n“That is what you said, isn’t it?”\nThis is all too suspicious. He’s acting weird.\n“Kaneshiro, you’re acting weird. Are you okay?” I ask.\nKaneshiro looks up behind me. I turn around, it’s the man that was with him. He looks down at me, arms crossed. His demeanor isn’t very friendly.\n“Kaneshiro, what’s going on?”\nKaneshiro sighs. “Believe me, I didn’t know. I wasn’t aware that place was real, I didn’t know we traveled back to the past, we killed actual people. I didn’t know. I thought it was my game. That’s what they told me. I hired an outside company to build a device to allow me to jump into my game and I was willing to pay whatever the price. I wanted to give the world a way to play the game that was more immersive than any current virtual reality sets we have. I wanted my game to be more. I didn’t know Ban.”\nThe man behind me pulls a handgun out.\n“Wait, wait, wait, Kaneshiro, why do you need to kill me? Why tell me all of that if you were just going to kill me anyway?”\n“Because Ban, it makes me feel better knowing that you knew I didn’t know it was a real place. I want you to remember me as a good person.”\nThe man puts the gun to the back of my head. I close my eyes, shivering. Scared. I’ve never been more scared in my life. He takes the gun away. I open my eyes.\n“Ban, you won’t die if you promise me, that you won’t tell anyone about what you saw, what you experienced. Can you do that for me? Please, Ban?”\nI look at Kaneshiro, tears in his eyes. He’s being truthful. I nod my head and he has me escorted out of the building.\n ….SIX MONTHS LATER…\nI visit The Village of Light, it has been rebuilt since then. These people, they didn’t even know how to prepare for something like that. They weren’t prepared for modern day evil. A mother and child pass by me, I can overhear the child.\n“The Warriors of Hikaru had a village just like this! It’s where a samurai stood up to the bad guys. He went to war with them and eventually won. He was able to find peace in knowing the bad men were put to rest. Once he took down the leader of these bad men, the light returned to his village, once the light returned, he knew he could rebuild!”\nI smile and pat the statue of the Samurai, Ina Takesada. The warrior to singlehandedly bring back the light. Underneath his name is a caption.\n “The Lost Light, Returned After Twelve Years, Thanks To This Brave Samurai.”"
}
]
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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: Watch Me Wither\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1040\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where flowers play a central role."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "It was a warm, autumn day and Delilah the Tulip stared at the soil. The same soil she stared at for the last month of her life. She remembered how she grew from just a seed to sprout. She wanted to go back and feel the way her body stretched and pulled from the soil into the fresh air. She longed to be near the pond where she could stare at her reflection. She wanted to see her reflection for the first time in forever. Daisy and Rosie got to feel like water in their roots. Delilah looked around, hoping that someone could offer words of comfort. She cried and dew poured from her skin. She began to feel very still. She drifted in and out. The wind on her petals no longer had that cooling effect that she loves. She wanted to feel alive again. It felt endless and pointless and numb. She had no purpose.\nShe opened her eyes to a beautiful breeze rushing over her delicate body. The sensation didn't last long though. She watched as a petal fell from her body, down to dry soil. She stretched her roots towards the pond, but it was no use. She was stranded. Completely stuck. Winter was coming. Oh, how she wanted there to be snow on her petals.\nDay by day, she watched as her petals fell. One after the other. Until, one day, a butterfly came by. Her name was Dandy and she wanted to help Delilah. She called for Olivia, her bee friend. Olivia came and sprinkled little drops of yellow fluff all over Delilah's thin body. Delilah felt alive like never before. She felt so fresh. She thanked Olivia and Dandy as they flew away into the afternoon breeze. She wanted them to come back and give her company and comfort.\nWinter soon began and Delilah began to feel bitterly cold. The pond was all frozen stiff and the water was no longer refreshing. The soft dew made her stem shake and freeze. She no longer could feel the sun on her petals or watch the clouds roll up above her head. There was no refreshing breeze, only a sharp, bitter wind that cut at her soft skin. She was a young flower, with no experience of hibernating in the winter. She just assumed that the other flowers had died and she was the last one. She shivered and quaked and cried and moaned. She couldn't wait for spring, the warm spring that her friends had told her about. Her eyes closed as she wished to live till spring.\nShe opened her eyes to a wonderland. A bright and beautiful place of warm weather and sunny skies. All the other flowers were flowing in the wind and dancing with the bees. The birds were so happy. The noise was so loud, but it was magical. Like a fair in the summertime, everyone had their favorite place to be! She had to be dreaming or in heaven. She had no idea where she was. Oh! There's the pond! She saw Olivia and Dandy and Daisy and Rosie! She wasn't dreaming at all! This is spring! She had made it to her destination! She had lived to see warm weather with beautiful skies and deep blue water. She saw fish dart around in the pond. How she longed to be a fish or a bird. Maybe even a butterfly. She loved to see all her friends so happy and alive!\nShe spent her days singing with the birds and chirping with the bugs at night. She listened to little children playing and parents sipping cold lemonade with ice that hit the side of the cups with satisfying sounds. And soon, spring turned to summer. School ended and the little children had more time to run and play. Summer turned to autumn. Autumn turned to winter. The cycle continued. Delilah grew up. Delilah grew old. Never once was she by the water. She never could stand by Daisy and Rosie. She could never sing like the birds or fly like a butterfly, but she was happy. Happy to be her. She no longer feared cold weather. She learned that she was built to survive all weather. She was confident that she would live forever. Deep down, she knew this was false confidence, but she didn't care what type of confidence it was. It was confidence and that is all that matters. She took it day by day. Finding happiness in each day was much easier now.\nOne day, a little boy came and picked Delilah. Plucked her right out of the ground. It stung as she was ripped from the soil that she had loved so dearly. She longed to be back in her home, but just like always, she was not in control of her destiny. The little boy handed her to a little girl. \"Here you go, Amanda!\", he said. \"Thank you, Thomas!!\", she replied. Delilah loved the feeling of the little girl's hand around her. She felt like she finally had a purpose. Joy was her purpose. She gave Amanda joy. Amanda placed Delilah in a glass jar with some water in it. Delilah was happy here. She felt the water in her roots. She closed her eyes and imagined that this was the pond that she had always wanted to be near. Day by day, she sat there. Catching an occasional glance from one of Amanda's family members. One day, she lost strength. The water no longer supported her roots. The water was dirty and mucky. She felt fatigued and sick. She began to wither. Faster than ever before, she withered. Her petals were laying on the floor, lonely and without a home. She longed for someone to watch her. Watch her as she took her final breaths. She had always thought that it was better for someone to watch her wither than leave her alone to wither. She wanted to know that someone understood that her life, as small as it may be, is valuable. She wants someone to know that she is important. She has a story and she wants to be seen as her story ends. So yes. Watch me wither."
}
]
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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: An Echo in a Sunbeam\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2483\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about an afternoon picnic gone wrong."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "“Afternoon, Miss Lovejoy. Another glorious day made all the finer for the promise of your company.” Eddie Wilson tapped his bowler hat and bowed, nearly tipping the overflowing picnic basket in his attempt at gallantry. \nGrace puffed up her cheeks like a chipmunk and blew out the hot air in a huff. Rocking back on the heels of her side-buttoned boots, she truly couldn’t decide which was worse about being dead: \nComing around, trapped as a spirit, pacing a wooden patio on blistered bunions. Having no one but this damnable fool for conversation. \n…Or lunch. \nWhich would end, rather predictably, with her clawing at her own windpipe.\n“Och, fine!” she threw up her hands as the urge to speak took hold. “Let’s see if ye’ve packed us anything different today, Eddie. Nope. Rabbit pie, sourdough, thick slices of corned ham—That’s what now?… A hundred and sixty-three years of yer gourmet horse-shite?” \nIt had tickled her to inspect the fruits of his courting, once. Now? They’d been re-living this memory for so long that she’d gladly sell her soul to Ol’ Scratch himself for a single pickled egg. Grace’s stomach rumbled at the thought while Eddie’s shade waited patiently for her to finish her tangent.\nAs a ghost, she’d carved out a bit of wiggle room to her brief hour of daily existence. But certain deeds, certain words, were utterly immutable.\nAnd she had seven little words—burning at the tip of her tongue—that demanded to be spoken. \n“Strawberries lookin’ about as sweet as ye,” Grace said hurriedly. Forced to swallow back the hankering to slap the dope upside the head, she pecked his cheek. There. Done! One more sentence left. Then, if I fancy a good ranting, I can swear till my bloody ears pop off.\nWanting to get their tragedy over with, she pulled out her own contribution from behind her lace petticoat—a black bottle of choke-cherry wine. Eddie beamed. “My, my Grace. You’re not fixing to get me drunk, are you?”\nShe practically threw the bottle into the basket. “Maybe if I loosen up that tongue of yers enough, ye’ll finally ask for my hand.” (Of all the pathetic, desperate remarks etched into the curtain of history…)\n“It ain’t that I don’t want to, Grace,” Eddie said, without meeting her rolling eyes. “But with my ma sick, we need to take things slow for the sake of her Catholic heart.”\n“Aye. Say nothing of Ann Marie’s heart, or Sally O’Brien’s. Or me own flesh and blood brother, Angus,” she murmured bitterly to herself as she grudgingly took his elbow.\nHe shook his head, ever playing up the dutiful son act as he led the way. Past the taverns and the dance halls of the gold-rush city of Jamestown, they walked. Only a handful of heads turned to note their passing. Every day, Grace saw the same old timers smoking outside the smithy. The same whore smuttering out of the bathhouse… \nA pair of spinsters would knock their bonnets together as the couple passed the general store, gossiping loudly about the Scottish Good-time Girl. Their words had lost their edge ages ago and had—in Grace’s opinion—taken on a rather pinched tone. Perhaps their crabby wraiths were stuck in their own hellish circuit, and also longed for a pardon from their purgatory. \nThey were just one of the many subtle changes creeping into the daily grind. Grace would sometimes see shapes in her periphery—like brightly painted iron carriages, without horses—practically flying through the dirt thoroughfare! They would rush straight through a gaggle of miners as they shambled back to their money pits, walking side-by-side. The usual few would chance a small wink at the former Myrtle Brown, even as those terrifying creatures burst through them, as though they were nought but mist. \nLike the wooden buildings surrounding them, her neighbours had lost a veneer of solidity.\n“Our world is slowly becoming undone, and Time is filling in the threadbare patches with … such strangeness,” she remarked to no one.\n“Miss Lovejoy, Grace, may I just say that you’re looking prettier than a Mariposa lily,” Eddie said, trying to regain the previous mood. \nInstead of inquiring after his gambling prospects, Grace smiled unpleasantly back. After a long moment, she gave him a measured response. (But only because she felt a powerful compulsion to say something every time he spoke.) “And ye, sir, are about as captivating as a three-day-old chamber pot. May the Devil drag ye to hell by yer nipples, Edward Wilson, because I’m utterly sick to death of ye.” \n“Pretty swell, actually.” Eddie replied, properly chuffed. “Traded four diamonds for a stake in the Nilsson’s claim. Ha!”\nUnlike her, his prattle never wavered. Not a single word, or cadence, out of place. Often she tried to rile him up—get him mad enough to spit iron, or split her skull—just for a change of scenery. Nothing doing. Same with running, or even turning left instead of right. It was as though Grace’s legs simply lacked the willpower to veer off the path that led to her demise one sunny afternoon in May.\nNo brightly coloured wagons today, but there was a whiff of roast onions on the breeze—just upwind from the bordello. Perhaps it came from that contraption she’d glimpsed the other day? There had been a white and red cart parked in that corner. It had a gigantic smiling sausage, with horrible googly eyes, emblazoned on it. Grace had never seen the like! (Not in life, anyhow.) \n“To think that I’d forgotten what grilled onions smelt like,” she said distantly.\n“Of course, I made sure that sorry sucker made it all official with the bank.”\n“Wheesht, and shush now!” Grace madly waved her free hand, scoping up air under her quivering nose hairs. “Can’t ye see I’m busy inhaling here? Yer spoiling the olfactory experience, ye are!”\n“And then the manager started telling me about a nice farmstead available to let a few towns over. I know it’s not much of a life—what with me still having to travel with pa’s medicine show during the year. But I figured, with you keeping the fires burning, we could raise a family there.” \nGiving up, Grace groaned and plugged her ears with her fingers. “I wish to Peace ye shut yer gob about that con. I found out about yer other wives, didnae I? Sowing yer wild conkers got us stuck in this loop. Not me!” she burbled on. Then the church bell rang for the one o’clock hour and she let out an artificial laugh at the blaring sun. Death was just around the corner now. \nAs they entered the cemetery, she’d nodded a meek hello to the digger, Mr Hong. In the words of her dear auld-aunty: Yer only here for a wee while, so be nice … especially to yer poison supplier.\nThis was where miners with enough gold to afford a pine box got buried. Some had even been clients of hers. From dance floor, to sick bed, to casket. That pattern served her well. It kept her in both drink and dresses. She’d asked Eddie to take her here for a picnic because she found it to be the most private and serene. Besides, it was chock-full of all the men that’d loved her, and lost for it.\nBastard! Grace thought as she maneuvered them to a secluded corner. Edward Wilson was supposed to deliver me from my mad little habit, not spur it on. \nPausing a moment, she looked around the tombstones carefully. “Eddie, do you think I’m laid here?” she asked, her voice trailing off. It was odd to think, but she’d never given a care about what had happened after she croaked. “Mr Hong would’ve heard the commotion, yeah? Seen what had happened. Murdering a girl in cold blood? Aye, if ye survived the tasting, ye would’ve hung for that.” \nHer beau took no notice of the change of tempo, as usual. Grace glowered at him. “Even if they had strung ye up, they’d’ve buried ye here—being both a son of a bitch and the son of a doctor—but not me. The damn victim! Oh no! The pastor wouldn’t dare let a Jezebel like me rest anywhere near his precious flock!”\n“You think I’m decent?” Eddie replied slyly to a comment she had long ago sworn to never again repeat. Snaking his free arm to bring her in closer, he flashed her a wicked grin. \n“I so, so needed ye to be a decent man,” Grace felt wretched, “a good man, my saviour!”\n“Why Miss Lovejoy, I’ll have you know that my cold, black heart is downright full of nefarious designs.”\n“Black heart?!” she laughed, and pushed him off. Her smile was automatic and forced—playfully turned upwards, despite her internal screaming.\nThey were reaching the point of no return.\nEvery day, they were cursed to walk the same route, to hit upon a series of immovable points—like they were checking off notches on a map! Why these moments were so important, so unalterable, Grace couldn’t fathom. Choke-cherry wine. Farmstead. Black heart. Here was the part where she had no choice but to laugh loud enough in the past to be heard in the present. So she did. \nA giddy prelude to a violent end.\nA swarm of firebugs erupted around them both, and Grace’s vision swam. Frightened squeals followed the flash of fireworks, as they now nearly always did. Voices speaking across the spirit realm. People. A crowd, yes? Men and women… \n“Did you hear that?” “Hear what?” “Shut up! Did you not just hear a woman laugh!” “Nope, I didn’t hear nothin’.” “Last time I did this tour, I totally caught an orb cluster!” “A bunch of lens spots ain’t The Good Time Ghost, bro.” \n“Yes siree, folks! He murdered our poor Grace, right underneath this tree. Now she’s doomed to re-live—”\nGrace quickly rubbed the spots from her eyes. This time she was fast enough on the draw to see the surrounding cemetery bloom a hundred stone angels, and… and… \n“Look, Eddie—There!! Do you see? A wee bairn!” she grabbed his elbow as she shouted with glee. A little boy, wearing a bright blue shirt with a cute sheet ghost—like the type you see in cheap theatrical productions—painted on it. He pointed towards her and smiled. “Pwetty lady!”\nGrace collapsed to her knees. “Och, me heart!”\nThen came another barrage of flashing. It blinded her for mere moments, but when she recovered, the child was gone. The tombstones were back to being as unremarkable as they’d always been. The sun was steadily climbing, as was the temperature. She wouldn’t have long to sweat. In mere minutes, she would die, and this awful snippet of a day would begin again. \n“This is all that’s left of me,” Grace said mournfully, hugging herself tightly. “An echo trapped in a sunbeam.”\nEddie bent low and cupped her face in his hands. “Don’t say such things. She’d be so proud of you, Grace.”\n“For God’s sake, Eddie, can ye not!?” With a growl, Grace took his offered basket and threw it to the ground. Whipping out a checkered sheet, she jerkingly spread it out till every fold, every corner, was at it had been. All the while, her lips were moving frantically. “Maybe they never buried my bones. Laird, help me! What if they sold me on to a medical college?”\n“If only I could sleep as soundly as these lost souls, but thinking of you—of us, together—” he flopped down beside her as she fished out the black bottle, “has been keeping me awake at night.”\n“Tell me, after the deed, what happened to my corpse, Eddie Wilson?” Pop went the cork. Grace handed the bottle to him, an odd sense of urgency overtaking her. “I made a mistake, that is all. We both did! And we died for it. Do ye know if they gave me the dignity of a grave? Did someone say a prayer over me?”\nHe smiled coyly, fingers tapping lightly on the glass. “A sip of wine for a kiss? Why, my dear future Mrs Wilson, what game are you playing at?”\nGrace tried to swallow back the quip. Tried, and failed. Always failed! “If we’re both four sails to the wind, why, anything could happen, dearest.”\n“Mmmh … anything at all?”\n“Ou aye.” Grace nuzzled into his shoulder and murmured into his ear. “I was supposed to bid ye drink deep, then pay off Mr Hong to tip ye into an open plot. He’d have done it, too. We had a deal going on where he got to keep the clothes of the boys I brought him. That was the plan.”\n“Can’t say I’m not tempted.”\n“Christ almighty, Eddie! Ye were supposed to make me a lawful wife. Instead, I came to find out ye’ve married every woman ye could, from here to the east coast, and bedded me own kin, Angus!” \nThe smile didn’t slip from Eddie’s face as he brought the choke-cherry wine to his lips. \n… Strangely, the terror Grace felt dumping ice water into her veins hadn’t lessened over the years. As he filled his mouth, her words came out in a mad tumble. “Just—just say I’m sleeping somewhere dark! Please! It could be a burn pit for all I care now. My ever-after cannae be this horrible, garish daylight! Tell me where I am, Edward!!”\nEddie’s cheeks were filled to bursting when he playfully clamped his mouth over hers … and let the wine loose. In an instant, the poison meant for him was drowning her. \nChoke-cherry wine, laced with a good dollop of cyanide. \nMr Hong said he got his store from apple seeds and peach stones, but the choke-cherries pits also contained a health measure of the poison. Wasn’t nature mischievous, wrapping something so deadly in something so sweet?\nGrace swallowed the mouthful just to keep her lungs from being flooded. Then it all went to hell.\nHer only consolation was that—as the convulsions started—that smarmy grin of Eddie’s evaporated, and all that was left of his countenance was sheer panic.\n* * *\nEdward Wilson’s fingers ached as he reached up to tip his bowler hat. Forced to bow grandly before that empty-headed Scottish tart, Grace Lovejoy, whilst keeping the picnic basket from toppling was never a simple task.\nBut this was always where his nightmare began, in a half stumble. \n“Afternoon, Miss Lovejoy,” he spat through gritted teeth. “Another glorious day made all the finer for the promise of your company.” \n“Heavens! Good day, Mr Wilson.” Grace smiled an amiable smile that stretched from one ear straight to the other. “Isn’t that sun just splendid? Not too hot, nor too cold. Now then, what did you pack us for lunch? My, my, is that corned ham I spy? How delightful!”\n* * *"
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: True colors\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1791\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a major city that your character has a love-hate relationship with."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Nefelibata, the land of the blindness. That's where we live, you only see the world as black and gray. That is until you meet your Saudade. Saudade means feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgic, but here in Nefelibata it basically means soulmate. In other words, your color undressor. As soon as you see the face of your Saudade, you’ll be able to see the world with color. As you can see, I’m not interested in meeting my Saudade. I mean, relying on someone else for the simple reason of seeing colors is absurd. I’m taking initiative in learning the colors of the world since I’m going to an all boys high school. There’s no way in a million years that I’ll find my Saudade there! Yes, I should’ve gone to a public school but I didn’t want to deal with the Orates. Orates are people who have found their Saudade and bully others for the stupid reason that they can’t see colors. I’m a Junior and so is Mikolouh. Miko, he’s my only friend. He’s a short, energetic, talkative boy. He’s been my friend since elementary school. No one can pull us apart, even if they tried. Next year, I’ll be in my last year of high school and I haven’t found my Saudade yet. I’m miserable. My mother left me when I was 4. The only thing I remember from her is that she always wore a bow on her hair. I still have the photo of her with the beautiful bow on her. The only reason I want to meet my Saudade is so I can see what color her bow was. Maybe I’ll be able to find her. “The sky is blue. The water is dark blue. Flowers have a variety of appealing colors. The grass is green. The sky is blue. The water is dark blue. Flowers- flowers have.. AGH!” I throw my index cards on the floor with rage. \n“I- Ian! It’s ok! You don't have to remember the colors of the world. I don’t know why you can’t just wait until you meet your Saudade...” Says my friend, Mikolouh. “Oh shut it, Miko.” I say jokingly. \n“Hey, did you hear? We’re getting a new student in our English class tomorrow. I heard that he always wears a black mask to cover his mouth.” Miko says.\n“Hm? That's weird. Wouldn't you be hot wearing a mask all day?” I say with a confused look on my face.\n“You’re right. Well, I guess we’ll ask him tomorrow!” \n“Jesus Miko. You’re always full of energy, huh?” I start to laugh at his expression. \nIt’s the next day already. Miko stayed over since it was too dark for him to walk home. I wake Miko up with a push and I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get changed. By the time we’re done eating breakfast, it’s 7:15. School starts at 7:30. We make our way to my car and we leave in a breeze. It’s warm outside today. I feel a spark inside of me light up and I can tell today is going to be a good day. Is this what people call a “gut feeling?” We arrive at the school at 7:34 and we make our way to our first hour. Miko and I have all different classes except for 3rd hour and 6th hour which are English and Gym. Our first hours pass by fast and now It’s English. \nI see Miko saving a seat for me with the biggest smile on his face. He’s always so eager to see me. \n“Hey, how were your first two hours?” I say as I sit down next to Miko.\n“Horrible!!” Miko whines. “My teacher made us actually do work! Can you believe it?!”\nI start laughing at Miko’s whining as he grabs me by the collar of my shirt and shakes me. I put my hands next to my face as if I’m getting arrested and I laugh even more. He stops so suddenly that my laugh slowly fades away. He’s still holding on tightly to the collar of my shirt. It’s like he’s glued to my shirt. I look at him with a smile still on my face and I ask him what’s wrong. He looks at me, his face is so red that roses and ladybugs can't even compare to him. It seems like he’s trying to say something but nothing comes out. He was close, too close for my liking. When I tell you I was more confused than Patrick from Spongebob. To me, it seemed like he had a fever. I touched his forehead and It was hot. In fact, his whole face was hot but he showed no other symptoms for a fever. Then, the teacher walked in and he finally let go of my shirt and sat back down in his seat. \n“Miko..? If you don’t feel well you should go home.” \n“Ahhh, I feel great! Don’t worry, buddy!” Miko says as he smiles at me and throws a thumbs up. \nIt wasn’t real. That smile… he’s hiding something. \n“Good afternoon students. Today we have a new student coming in. Please do your best to make him feel welcomed. Elijah, you can come in now.” The teacher says as he opens the door for Elijah. We all shift our heads to the door. A tall boy with black hair and a black mask walks in. \n“Please introduce yourself to the class, Elijah.” \nElijah looks around until his eyes meet with mine. \n“My name’s Elijah. Please refrain from calling me Eli or any other nickname. Only my lover can call me that.” \nHe finally stops looking at me and he goes to his seat. His eyes never left mine the whole time he introduced himself. I tried to look away but I could still feel him staring at me. It was kind of creepy. He didn’t even crack a smile! He’s practically eating me alive. You can tell he’s cold by the way he talked. His posture said it all too. He slouched the whole time and once he sat down, he slid all the way down with his shoulders touching the back of the seat. Who does he think he is? I know his type. If this were a public school with girls in it, he'd be flirting with them all over the place. I just know that he’s annoying. Miko and I should stay away from him.\n“Miko I don't think we should hang out with-” I stop with shockness in my eyes.\nI couldn’t even finish my sentence since Miko’s already walking up to Elijah. I sigh in disbelief and I put my head down to my desk. Miko’s amazing at making friends so I’m sure he’s gonna end up making Elijah his friend. “No, no, no, no, no!” I think to myself. Miko’s my only friend meaning that I’ll be forced to hang out with Elijah too. I feel someone patting my head. I automatically think It’s Miko. His touch is oddly comforting right now. I think “thank god Miko’s finally done talking to that stupid know-it-all Elijah.” I lifted my head from my desk and I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Elijah. I stand up quickly and I look around for Miko. He’s nowhere to be found. I look back at Elijah. He has a mask on but I can see his smirk. His hand is still on my head. He slides it down to my cheek. I then snap back into reality and I push him off. \n“W-where’s Miko?” I stuttered. \n“Down in the cafeteria. I told him that I wanted something sweet and he rushed down there like a dog.” Elijah’s eyes shifted from the floor to my eyes. “He didn’t know I was referring to you when I said I wanted something sweet.” \nI look at him in shock. I know he’s just teasing me. He probably knows that I don’t like him. That’s a good thing, right? Maybe he’ll stay away from me. I mean, I wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with someone who I know thinks I'm annoying. I roll my eyes and I sit back down on my chair. I went back to the position I was in before he came to annoy me. I rest my face on my arms. I’ve got to be honest. What he said got me a little flustered. But that’d happen to anyone! I can feel Elijah’s presence and I motion to him to go away. He sits on top of my desk and asks\n“Hm? Did I do something wrong, Ian?” \nI can feel the smirk rising up on his face. I lift my head from my arms and I say \n“Go away, Elijah. I know what you’re doing. You want to be the best looking boy in our school so you’re getting to know your competition first, huh Elijah? I don’t know why you even bother If you’re just going to wear a mask all the time.” \n“Eli.” Elijah stops smirking and looks dead serious. His serious face is kind of petrifying. \n“What?”\n“Eli. Call me Eli.” He smirks again. \n“Wait but you- huh? But you said only your lover or whatever could call you that.” \nEli gets the biggest smile on his face. I can tell by the squinting of his eyes and his cheeks going up. I look at him closely. You can tell that he’s really good looking. I wonder what he'd look like without a mask. \n“You lost in my face?” He starts laughing.\n“Am not! Hey, can I ask you something?”\n“Yes, of course you can get a kiss.” He starts making horrid kissing sounds.\n“What? No you idiot! I was gonna ask if I could see your face.” \n“My face? You sure?”\nWhy is he asking If I’m sure. I asked for a reason. I just want to see if he’s really all that. I nod at him and he starts to slowly take off his mask. \nBright. That’s all I see. Everything is bright. Where’s Elijah? Miko? Is this it? My head’s filled with questions that can’t be answered at the moment. All of a sudden I get a sharp pain on the side of my face. I hear someone in the distance calling my name. I run but I can’t find them. I call out to them, but no response. \n“Ian!” \nMy eyes open. My first sight is Elijah. It looks like we’re at the nurses office. How did I get here? What even happened to me? I turn to Elijah with the most perplexed face. He laughs. Why is he laughing?\n“You’ve found me!” Elijah said. \nYou've found 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: Dancer's Fight Club\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1343\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line, “That’s the thing about this city…”"
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "That’s the thing about this city, there's more to it than meets the eye. I was born into one of the richest families in Manhattan. I come from a long line of people who worked boring office jobs to make their way to the top of Corporate America with not a single creative bone in their body. I’ve lived in Manhattan my entire life; I’ve been to every museum it has to offer, gone to every charity ball or unnecessary banquet with my family, seen more than 10 Broadway shows, have visited the statue of liberty, and been to the twin towers. I’ve gotten everything I have ever wanted and more but at the end of the day it all feels meaningless. I live in my own little bubble, I don’t even feel like a real New Yorker, I’ve never even stepped foot on a subway. My whole life everything has been done for me and I have been sheltered from everything. I’ve only ever attended private school with other rich kids who have made being wealthy their entire personalities, I was never allowed to join sports or any other fun activities that I wanted to because my parents thought all my energy should go toward my education and following in my dad's footsteps, go to the same college he did, study the same thing he did and then eventually take over his company. Which is something I am not interested in, but no one seems to care. The only thing they allow me to do is ballet but that’s only because all the daughters of the rich snotty families are also ballet dancers, they think being in ballet with them will mean I finally make nice with them. That’s not going to happen, I don’t want to be friends with them, or always have everything done for me and have no independence. I want to be my own person and not have my last name or how much money is in my bank account be my identity. I am more than that, I want to be more than that. \nI have a passion for dancing, but not ballet dancing. I love hip-hop dancing, which is something my parents would freak out about if they knew. I always watch videos on YouTube of the newest hip hop moves and try to teach them to myself as best I can, but as long as I live in this house, under the Valenzuela roof I will never be able to pursue my passion. I can’t have my family attached to my hip because they are only weighing me down. But once I graduate high school, I won’t let them hold me back anymore. Ever since I found the school of my dreams, The Elite Artists Academy, where the best dancers, singers, and other artists of the country go, I’ve had a plan mapped out. Graduate high school, move out and get my own apartment go to school and graduate from the Elite Artists Academy, become a professional hip hop dancer, maybe do some music videos, dance on tour with a famous singer, and eventually settle down and start a family, hopefully with a fellow dancer. But of course, my family doesn’t know that, they would only try to hold me back. \nToday’s my 18th birthday and rather than letting my parents ruin my day with activities that I don’t want to do, I am making sure to leave before sunrise. I'm going to explore all the parts of New York that I’ve always wanted to see. Right now, I am getting ready to leave and am trying not to wake up my parents. \nI’m going to take the subway for the first time today, get a map, and find a way to visit all the places I want to go only using the subway. Hopefully, I don’t get lost. \nI bought my subway pass and got a directory of all the trains and where they take me, my parents must be waking up right about now, it sure feels good not to be there to smell my dad’s morning breath. I have to catch the J train to get to this coffee shop I’ve heard amazing things about in Brooklyn, they’re supposed to have the best bagels. I’m not used to waking up this early but it's worth it if I get to spend my birthday how I want to and now how my parents want to. Maybe I can take a nap while the train gets to my stop. \nTrain rides sure are long. I took a nap, and the train is still going. Oh no! Of course, this happened, apparently, this train makes multiple stops not just the one in Brooklyn, I slept through mine and now it's taking me to Rochester which is the last stop. I have no idea what to do, Rochester wasn’t on my itinerary and I don’t know anyone from around there. I’m kind of freaking out. \nI’m crying with frustration when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Wow. Oh wow. It was the most attractive boy I had ever seen in my life. He asked me what was wrong, and I explained my situation, maybe with too many details. He asked me why I was crying, and I proceeded to tell him my life story including my plans to become a hip-hop dancer. To my surprise, we shared the same passion for dancing. It was a breath of fresh air meeting someone whose dreams didn't involve working in an office building. I had never met anyone like Evan, he was funny, kind, didn’t dress like he was going to a company board meeting, and unlike most people, I knew he had a personality. \nI was never the type to be bold when it came to boys but at this moment, I decided to take the risk. I asked him to spend the day with me, kind of be my tour guide and take me to all the must-see places in New York. And he gave me the best birthday present ever and said yes. \nWe got off at the last stop and the first thing we did was go to the donut shop he knew about and I tried some of the best donuts I have ever tried in my life, the gourmet donut shop in my neighborhood has nothing on this place. From there we went to many different amazing places that I had never seen before, but my favorite we visited was the Dancer’s Fight Club. \nThe Dancer’s Fight Club was a secret dance club where hip-hop dance crews and solo dancers went to compete in practice, compete in dance battles or just dance for fun and have a good time. The minute I walked in there it was love at first sight. All those talented people being able to express themselves freely and doing what they love without judgment, being part of a supportive community, it’s everything I've ever wanted. But my parents would never let me come to a place like this, especially considering how far it is from my house and from everything they value. I would love a place like this near my house, so I decided that to provide the manager with the funds to open another location in my neighborhood, as a secret of course. \nSo, Lily and Harper, the managers of the Dancer’s Fight Club are going to open their new location, and when I can I’m going to help them open more and more new locations so that every dancer in this city who needs a place to express themselves feel safe and supported has one. And every day after school when my parents think I’m at my school’s math club I’ll be at the fight club, practicing and becoming the best dancer I can be to get into the Elite Dancer’s Academy. \nNo matter how extravagant my birthday parties have been or how many expensive presents I've gotten, this has been the best birthday ever."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Matter of Degrees\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1194\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story on a day when the sun never sets."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "A Matter of Degrees\nResidents of the Northern Hemisphere normally welcomed the chance to throw off their layers of winter clothing and romp with as little attire as possible in the world’s lakes and oceans. They didn’t realize, however, that the sun they so fervently wished for, now could become the instrument of their destruction.\nAs Mother Nature began to close the curtain on 2300 she decided to play a cruel joke on humanity by having the sun shine continuously–24 hours a day. Medical personnel working in emergency rooms across most of the civilized world failed to get the punchline. They couldn’t find humor in the fact that the third-degree sunburn cases began to overwhelm hospitals across the globe, and they feared that death-toll records soon would follow.\nAmazingly, most of the patients received their burns from only a half-hour exposure in the middle of November, when the majority of the hemisphere usually began hunkering down for winter.\nThe epicenter of the weird climate reversal? The normally most frigid inhabited place on earth--Oymyakon, Russia. This area had set a record of negative 153 degrees Fahrenheit–in 1933. Its daily temperature in the penultimate month of 2300 had averaged positive 120 degrees Fahrenheit for a solid week.\nEven though the overall temperature of the entire earth had increased only one degree every six months the world’s top climate scientists at first seemed unconcerned. As the illnesses and deaths began to pile up, however, they realized that dire consequences could loom for the planet.\nThe scientists also saw signs that oceans around the globe soon could dry up--putting even\nthe most plentiful water supplies in danger.\nEven though leaders outside Oymakon saw the signs mounting in their own countries, the effects--for the time being--were small. Politicians being politicians, therefore continued to put off taking united and concerted action.\nHowever, those working in the gold-rich mines around Oymyakon, normally accustomed to laboring at full tilt in gold mines for a maximum of five hours a day in the most intolerable cold, now began to faint after an hour of minimum effort. Hundreds of workers filled every available ambulance, as emergency medical services transported victims to the district’s hospital to prevent their death from sun poisoning.\nDemetrius, the 10-year foreman of the most rugged mining crew in the district, saw no alternative but to call a halt to the largest extraction operation in this area because he feared all of his crew members might eventually perish in the explosion of solar heat.\nMining company executives and government officials alike began breathing down the neck of Demetrius to increase his production, but they, too, saw the devastation mounting not only in their offices, but in their own homes, as one person after another fell victim to the unbearable heat.\nDr. Ivan Makalevich, head dermatologist in the district’s hospital, tried desperately to find a treatment for the apparently incurable sunburn that wreaked havoc on the bodies of every man, woman and child in a region where the overwhelming sickness for centuries had been frostbite. Due to their many years of experience, he and his colleagues had learned to deal with the results of living in the most frigid conditions in the world, but this heat and its resulting burns were an entirely different animal in this region.\nThe pressures on Demetrius and Dr. Makalevich paled in comparison to those on Dr. Igor Federych, Russia’s chief meteorological expert. He kept pushing his sub-skeleton staff, down to almost nil from the mysterious sunburn illness, to their limits to discover a cause for the startling reversal in their normally extremely cold climate, but none of them ever had seen anything like this and they saw no possibility for a solution to the crisis in the near future.\nMaking the situation more dire--centuries of international aggression by Russia against many of its former client states had caused support for investment for a global-backed rescue operation to become nearly non-existent.\nAlso, the remainder of the nations on earth, whose leaders felt considerably less threatened by the developing crisis, didn’t see an urgent need to risk scarce resources to prop up a nation that possibly might turn against them in the future.\nLeaders outside Russia also believed that, if the crisis kept expanding in the nations with normally more moderate climates, the road to a solution would come much easier for them than it would for Oymyakon, which had a much longer and complicated summit to reach.\nDemetrius saw himself and his family in a hopeless situation with his country’s top experts apparently with no solution to the crisis and the rest of the world apparently shrugging its shoulders at the possible coming extinction of his homeland.\nThe only path all these experts left open to the gold mine foreman was to get out as soon as he, his family and close friends could before getting trampled in the stampede of those fleeing what eventually could be the end of their world.\nDemetrius scoured the Internet for an alternative to what most certainly pointed to the coming of the destruction of his homeland and probably the apocalypse for the entire earth.\nHis research brought him to an article on ScientificAmerican.com about exploration of a newly-discovered planet, Huchoron. Apparently this planet had a climate and atmosphere very similar to that of Earth and it existed only a day’s travel time via space vehicles available to Russians of the socioeconomic level of Demetrius in the dawn of the 25th century.\nIn addition, he had won a doctorate in cybertechnology prior to pursuing gold mining, which he had seen as a more rapid path to great wealth. He now tapped into his educational background to build an intergalatic communications system.\nAlthough communication proved extremely challenging because of the outdated Huchoron technology, he managed to establish relations with the Governing Council of the Planet Huchoron and pave the way for the future domicile for himself and his family.\nThe Huchoronians also saw an alliance with Demetrius as their best opportunity to tap into earth’s more advanced gold-mining technology in order to more easily open their own substantial gold reserves. Huchoron’s outdated mining methods had left these reserves untouched for more than 50 years.\nAlthough the “Stone Age” Huchronian technology made a return trip to earth impossible for the present, Demetrius saw this alliance as his only hope.\nHe plotted his course for Huchoron and prepared his “crew” for the intergalatical voyage and swore those in his small circle to top secrecy. No use tipping off the rest of the world and causing a massive exodus and panic that could sabotage their voyage.\nFinally, the day of the voyage came and Demetrius and his crew took off for their new world.\nAs their space vehicle cleared earth’s atmosphere they looked back in horror as the only world they had ever known exploded into a huge black hole in the vast darkness of space.\nDemetrius and his family believed their new dream home in Huchoron would offer them a new and exciting opportunity as vast as the area of space between their extinct planet and their new solar system.\nBob Faszczewski\n1012 Words"
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Stars in the city\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1893\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line, “That’s the thing about this city…”"
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "That’s the thing about the city. It’s so bright it ruins the stars. There’s so much light here that it blinds you and shows us all in an unflattering light. That’s why I like the school planetarium. I sit here with my best friend... and well- maybe my crush. (Okay, okay, he’s 100% my crush but I’ve got good reasons!) \nI love the planetarium because it’s dark. In the darkness we’re the only ones that exist. The rest of the world fades away until there’s nothing but us. My head rests on his shoulder under the stars and I feel like there’s nothing holding me back. I can be anything, or anyone I want to be because he sees me for me. I don’t have to hide what he already knows is there. We have our own world that’s free of strife. He completes me, I compliment him. I feel limitless and untethered to reality. I know that this can’t last forever but I wouldn’t mind if it did. \nI could get used to this. Our little eternity all to ourselves. I look up at him and my chest gets light. I’m so pathetic, I'm so in love with him. His blue eyes are looking upwards, and he’s pointing out different constellations. He’s smiling crookedly. Felix has one of those smiles that makes you feel like you’re missing out the best joke in the universe. It’s kind of subtle and perfect and makes me want to live in this moment. His brown hair falls slightly into his eyes, and it’s a little poufy; it only gets that way if he showered the night before and then slept in it. He looks down at me, and I resist the urge to kiss him right then and there. Then, we both look back up at the stars and I'm content. I’ve never been this comfortable in my life. \nThen, the bell rings, the lights come back on and the stars are gone. It’s blinding and I wince. We’re back to city living. I look over to him and I already miss the darkness. I know study hall is over, but I can’t help but wish it could go on forever. I could spend every day of my life looking at the stars with Felix. I stand and tug on my backpack, turning as Amelia says my name. \n“What’s up?” I ask, tugging my red hair out of the way, then digging around in my pocket for a hair tie. \n“You ready to go?” Travis looks at me expectantly from behind his glasses, glancing behind me momentarily at Felix. \n“Uh, I think I’m going to stay behind for a second,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster, hoping it won’t draw any questions. Of course, it draws them even more. I wonder if it was this hard-to-get alone time in the early 2000’s. I wonder about the early 2000’s a lot. I mean it was a perfect era, save for furry leg warmers... those were a mistake. One of the greatest bands in the world came from that era, and thanks to them, I have something to bond with Felix over: angsty music. \n“What do you mean? We have the same class,” Amelia says, tilting her head to the side. Her straight brown hair hangs down from its ponytail and I try not to get agitated with the duo as I pull out a hair tie. I want to curse angrily but hold my tongue. It’s not their fault they can’t see that all I want to do is spend time alone with Felix. \n“I need to make a pit-stop,” I say quickly. I need to divert suspicion, quick, “But I’ll see you soon?” I straighten my 2000’s emo at heart t-shirt, trying to avoid making eye contact. I know Amelia will see through my lies and call my bullshit if I do. \n“We can all make the pit-stop then,” Amelia insists, and I bite back a frustrated groan. For one of the smartest girls in the grade, Amelia can’t seem to catch a hint. I don’t want to tell her the truth when the real reason is sitting right behind me, scrolling through his phone. \n“Just go, I promise I'll catch up with you,” I say, voice edged with agitation. That’s when it hits Travis. I can see him put two-and-two together. Felix, me, my insistence for my two best friends to go without me. I’m honestly surprised it took him that long to figure it out. His green eyes widen, and he purses his glossed lips together. \n“Come on, let’s go, Amelia,” He says a little too hurriedly, “She needs to do something first, I guess. Stop pushing it,” He grabs her hand and starts tugging her towards the exit, green cardigan fluttering with the sudden movement. \n“it makes no sense,” Amelia protests but allows Travis to drag her out anyways. I turn back to Felix, and he’s smiling in that crooked way again. I am again hit with the urge to kiss him but push it down as. I mean the school planetarium is hardly the most romantic place to make a move. I can’t lie though; I’m starting to get impatient. I just want to move forward already. \n“What?” I ask, trying to figure out why he’s smiling. Did I do something embarrassing? I wouldn’t put it past me. I finally pull my hair up into a messy bun, revealing my brown undercut. I regret not dyeing my hair all red, but it would’ve been a pain to deal with. \n“Your friends are idiots,” he says, and I roll my eyes, “but at least that blonde kid understood what you meant,” he sees right through me every time. Shit. I must redirect the subject or we’re going to get into some awkward territory. \n“Yeah...” I say shrugging, “but they’re smarter than they look. Now come on, we need to get to class.” I gesture for him to come on. I really enjoy walking with him. If I'm lucky, he’ll put his arm around me, \n“Nah, I’m good,” he gives me a lazy smile and stretches out in the chair. “You go on ahead.” \n“Nope,” Oh hell no. I did not just force my friends out for him to ditch me like this, “You’re going to your next class, Mr. High and Mighty senior,” \n“Make me,” he says, and I scoff. I’m sorry. Is that a challenge? I take it as such and stick out my hand. He sticks his out, probably expecting a high-five and instead I tighten both hands around his wrist. He doesn’t even get a moment to ask what I’m doing before I've pulled him out of his seat. \n“Okay,” I reply, shooting him a devilish grin. He pulls on his backpack and I can see him suppress a smile, “Let’s go,” I pull his arm, but he refuses to move, now grinning. I’m a mix of irked and endeared. I can’t decide if I want to punch him or kiss him anymore. I decide to go with secret option 3 and pull with all my strength. He stumbles forward and is shocked. Taking advantage of his surprise, I grip his wrist with both hands and pull his arm over my left shoulder. \n“Damn! Okay!” he’s laughing now and brings his other arm around my shoulders, “You win,” he says in my ear and I fight a blush and some of the thoughts that slide into my head due to the position we’re in. Damn you, teenage brain! We walk like that for a couple feet, and I'm sure I'm blushing like the lovesick fool I am. When we reach the door, he pulls his arms back to open it for me. We enter the loud hallway, crowded with teenagers. That’s another thing about the city. It’s super crowded. I expect him to leave me by this point, because that’s what usually happens. Instead, when I turn to go upstairs, he keeps pace with me. \n“Don’t you have class that way?” I point down the hallway and he just shrugs as if it’s no big deal. Maybe it is, but it feels like a huge deal. Like a monumentally huge deal. He doesn't realize it feels like he just asked me out. I mean, he didn’t, but still. \n“It’s cool, I’ll walk you to class,” Holy Joan Stokes. Oh, my gods. I try not to panic and try not to show how much this means to me. We start up the stairs and I’m for once grateful for my short legs making walks longer. \n“You don’t have to,” I lie, “It’s fine with me if you don’t want to,” I’m such a liar and I’m sure he knows it. \n“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” He says, and my heart feels like it’s filled with helium. We keep talking about literally whatever comes to mind. Well, nearly everything. His presence tends to make my mind wander and I keep thinking about that instance where I wanted to kiss him. Well, the instances, that is. \nBefore I know it, we’re outside my English class. I want to walk right past it, but my teacher, Ms. Saadi, is standing outside the door and she greets both Felix and I with warm smiles. \n“Cassidy, Felix! It’s nice to see you both!” she gives me a knowing smile and I fight another blush. \n“Hey Ms. Saadi,” Felix greets her in that relaxed way he has. For someone who lives in the hustle and bustle of D.C, he takes everything slow. Both of my parents are military, so they’ve instilled the belief that everything should be done quickly and efficiently. Well Felix is the opposite of that in every way. He’s relaxed, smooth and calm no matter what, “how’s it been?” \n“Same as usual, you’re graduating this year, aren’t you?” \n“Sure am,” he says it like it isn’t a milestone of his life. Honestly, he could get mugged, and he’d turn to the nearest person and say, Mondays, am I right? He was hit by a car last year and didn’t tell me. A few days later he was at our usual meeting spot and wearing a cast. Being the concerned friend I was, I asked him what had happened, and he had just dismissed it, saying it was stupid. When I found out about a month ago what had truly happened, I pretty much lost my mind. He just shrugged his shoulders and said he hadn’t thought it was a big deal. The bell rings and I’m broken from my thoughts. \n“That’s my cue,” he says, kisses my forehead and heads off, leaving me with a “see you after school,” and a beet-red face. Ms. Saadi smiles a little and ushers me into class. I’m dazed, my head in the clouds over something so small as a kiss on the forehead. I mean I do that to my friends all the time, but somehow this is different. I sit down next to Travis who is trying to figure out what’s wrong with me, but I don’t reply. I’m thinking too much about the boy who’s just made me smile brighter than anyone else. Brighter than all the lights in D.C. \nThat’s the thing about the city. You meet the greatest people."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Warrior\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2274\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a character who doesn’t want to go to sleep."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "NOTE: This story and the characters in it are fictional. As are their thoughts, and their findings. HOWEVER, the threats to indigenous land by the Brazilian government are very much real. As is the suffering of the Awá people and the suffering of other indigenous peoples of the Amazon at the hands of illegal loggers.\n\n\nNight had fallen on the Amazon Rainforest.\n\nIn a small clearing two days away from the nearest city, a seventeen-year old boy lay awake, staring up at the starry sky above. The other inhabitants of the clearing - sixty of them, the last of their once-thriving community - were all asleep.\n\nThat was what the boy had been waiting for.\n\nThe boy's name was Ubirajara - in his language, it meant lord of the spear. He had earned that name - he was the best and only warrior left in his tribe. Which was why he could not sleep now. He had to take action.\n\nThe boy remembered vividly the events of the last day. He had overheard the council of his elders speak...he had been horrified by their words. The news they bore should have been expected - yet it had still taken him by surprise. He remembered what his father had told him, once he had found him eavesdropping in the bushes. Jara, the old man had said. Do not take rash action. Rash action begets consequences. Jara had wanted to scream back.\n\nAnd inaction brings the deaths of all of us!\n\nNow under the cover of darkness, the boy named Jara stood up and slunk through the shadows...making his way through the dusk. His tribe was asleep, yet the forest was still wide awake. The great river still gurgled as its waters crashed along its bank; the wind whistled as it brought a chill to the cool night air. The scurrying of small animals like the kinkajou brought an unlikely smile to the boy's face...but the prowling of larger animals, such as the black caiman and the ever-present jaguar, caused him to grip the javelin in his hand tighter. Still, Jara walked on, picking up his pace to quickly travel the six-kilometer distance, stopping only once he heard voices in the man-made clearing.\n\nThere they were.\n\nJara's well-trained eyes spotted the figures in the darkness - burly men wearing camouflage outfits, clutching AR-15s in their arms.\n\n\"Tudo isso precisa ser limpo pela manhã.\", one man spoke, giving commands to the others in rough Portuguese. Jara spoke little of their language - his tribe still preserved their culture over that of the invaders - but he nevertheless understood what they were saying. They want the whole area cleared by morning.\n\nThey have been taking our land for centuries, Jara knew.\n\nJara's tribe was the last of what remained of the Awá people - a people of the Amazon Rainforest. Since the 19th century, European settlers had encroached on and destroyed Awá land. In the 21st century, things were no better. Illegal loggers - companies that violated laws in protection of biodiversity and indigenous rights - had taken more and more land over the years. Those who tried to stop them faced violence. Jara's blood boiled as he remembered the stories...the loggers had killed Awá people as young as eight.\n\nJara moved quickly through the darkness, circling in on the loggers. His lack of a plan now came to him...what could he do against men armed like soldiers? He wanted badly to kill them...to make them pay after all the suffering they had caused him...but somehow he held back. The fear and pain of taking a human life stopped him. Jara looked at the figures - the loggers were silent now. As long as he remained hidden, he had time to think. Time to decide what action to take.\n\nYet, just as Jara had began to process his situation, he felt the click of an automatic weapon as a rifle's searchlight illuminated his back.\n\n\n\n\n\n\"Mãos no ar.\", spoke a pale, rugged man with a V-shaped scar on his face, as he cradled the rifle in his arms. Put your hands in the air.\n\nVictor Madureira was a logger by name...but an assassin by nature. It was what his company hired him to do. Protect their secrets. Take out those who opposed them.\n\n\"Largue sua arma.\", Madureira commanded, and the boy in front of him fearfully placed the spear he held on the ground. Drop your weapon.\n\nMadureira felt a tingling in his body as he cocked his weapon...a tingling he always felt before taking a life. It was that sadism...along with his undying loyalty...that had made him such a valuable asset to his employers. His willingness to go any lengths to get what was asked of him was what had allowed him to be tasked with guard of his company's greatest weakness. Secrets that could destroy them if they were ever leaked...\n\n\"You'll go to hell for this.\", the boy before Madureira spoke in broken Portuguese, his voice shaking with anger.\n\n\"You sound like someone I killed once.\", Madureira sneered. \"You look like her too...but you should know that I had her fed to crocodiles...\"\n\n\"You're a monster.\", the boy spat. \"All of you are. You take our land, you kill our people. All for your money.\"\n\n\"Money makes the world go round, my child.\", Madureira drawled. He was growing tired of this conversation...there was an air to this boy that he did not like...\n\n\"You'll pay sooner than you think.\", the boy insisted. \"Look.\"\n\nBehind him, where the boy pointed, the bushes rustled with movement; Madureira turned quickly to the source, pulling his gun away from the child. A pig-like mammal emerged from the greenery, and Madureira cursed. A tapir.\n\nMadureira quickly turned back to his captive, but it was too late. The boy had already lunged for his spear, and the weapon slashed across Madureira's shins. The assassin crumpled to his knees, and the boy sprinted away, disappearing into the bushes. Despite the fiery pain in his leg, Madureira excitement rushing through him. He had not chased a victim that had fought back in a long time.\n\nThis would be fun.\n\n\n\n\n\nJara sprinted through the bushes, followed after only a few seconds by a beam of concentrated light and a series of indiscriminate gunshots. The scarred logger could fire his gun as many times as he wanted - after all, no one was nearly close enough to hear him. Bullets cut through the trees and bushes around him as Jara ran, but he pumped his legs as fast as he could to stay under cover from the fire. Jara knew where he was going - he knew this jungle far better than any logger. Weaving through the trees, careful to avoid the roots and vines on the ground, Jara could run faster than his pursuer could - giving him time to gain the element of surprise.\n\nReaching a tree with low-hanging branches, Jara quickly climbed, pulling himself up to the canopy. The gunshots grew nearer, and the searchlight beam came into view. Jara waited, watching as the assassin stepped directly under him - then, he leapt into action.\n\nSpringing from his branch, Jara landed onto the scarred logger from above knocking him to the ground. The rifle flew out of the man's hands, and Jara landed a blow to the logger's jaw. Standing up quickly, he positioned his spear over the assassin's face, daring the man to move. Part of him wanted to kill the logger where he lay...but first, there was something he needed to know. Something the man had said...\n\n\"The woman you mentioned.\", Jara snarled, the anger and anticipation in his voice almost drowned out by a sudden rushing of water. They were near a cliff...where the Amazon River took a twenty-foot drop as a waterfall. \"The one that you fed to the crocodiles. What was her name?\"\n\nThe assassin's mouth twisted into a malicious grin. \"So you do know her...I knew you looked familiar...\"\n\n\"Tell me.\", Jara growled, much louder now. \"Who was she?\"\n\n\"You know her, then....how heroic you are, avenging a death-\"\n\n\"WHO WAS SHE?\", Jara roared.\n\n\"The chief of the Awá tribe.\", the assassin breathed.\n\nAnd suddenly, rage filled Jara unlike any other. He was an eight-year-old boy once again...his mother leaving to negotiate with the loggers who were invading their hime. She had never returned...and only her jewelry had been found, washed up by the side of the river. His mother...the chief of the Awá tribe. His mother...murdered by the monster who lay inches from his spear's tip.\n\nLetting out a yell, Jara plunged his javelin down, but missed. In his moment of rage, he had let the assassin had gained the upper hand. Jara felt himself forced backward by powerful arms as the man stood up...his grip on his spear loosened, and his weapon clattered to the ground. The logger grabbed him now, lifting him into the air and carrying him towards the cliff's edge. The assassin stopped near the waterfall, hoisting the struggling Jara onto his hulking shoulders.\n\n\"Like mother, like son, I suppose...\", the logger drawled, as Jara glimpsed the river at the bottom of the waterfall. Greenish-black scales moved through the water...crocodiles...\n\n\n\n\n\nVictor Madureira laughed as he stood at the edge of the cliff, holding the struggling Awá boy in his arms, preparing to heave him into the frothing waters. Like all his victims, the boy's efforts at fighting had been futile. The tribes of the Amazon had been fighting his company for years...yet each time, they failed. Each time, he only took more of their land...each time, he only watched as his company's profits grew...\n\n\"JARA!\"\n\nMadureira whipped around to see an Awá man standing only feet away from him, a pistol in his hand. The boy on his shoulders yelled back.\n\n\"Father!\"\n\nAt the boy's sudden increase of struggle, Madureira felt his top-heavy body tilt backwards. He stumbled to remain on his feet, but he was slipping. The Awá man dropped his pistol and ran forwards, his hands outstretched - but he was too far away. The boy still on his back, Madureira reeled over the cliff's edge, letting out a guttural yell as he fell towards the waterfall...\n\n\n\n\n\nJara felt the cool water wash over him...he was plunged into darkness, but surfaced to take a breath...he could feel the logger somewhere beside him, but he did not care...he was more concerned with what was in front of him...\n\n\"Jara!\"\n\nJara barely heard his father's yells as he reached the waterfall's edge...the current carried him towards the twenty foot drop...his muscles too tired to resist...\n\n\n\n\n\nMadureira screamed as the huge force of the water brought him crashing to the ground...but as the current sweeping him grew slower, he breathed a sigh of relief. He had survived the waterfall.\n\nA flicker of green suddenly appeared in the water around him, and Madureira froze. No. He could not face such a terrible fate. But icy-cold terror flooded the assassin as he saw it...a pair of green eyes atop a V-shaped snout...\n\nMadureira had never believed in karma as long as he had lived. Now, it seemed, he was reaping the seeds he had sewn.\n\n\n\n\n\n\"Son!\"\n\nHe was dry now...there was ground under his feet...but his father's yells still seemed a world away to Jara. Every muscle in his body ached...he was not sure whether the world was coming back to him or slipping away...\n\nAt the very least, Jara now knew where he was. The current had swept him onto the river's bank. His swirling vision located a silver disc on the rocks...it had come from the logger, no doubt. Jara pocketed it.\n\nBut as he did so, he could feel the swirling colors around him beginning to dim. His people believed in the afterlife...so as Jara lay on the rocks, he prayed. He prayed that he would see his mother again...\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFive days later, a man named Charles Gillman - a Reuters reporter - stood in the Amazon, two days away from the nearest city. One thought filled his mind.\n\nThis was one heck of a story.\n\nHe had gone to the Awá settlement for a follow-up story after a 2019 interview of the tribe's members and activists. What he had found - news of a conflict with an illegal logging company - a company that seemed to hire literal assassins.\n\nGillman had spoke with a seventeen-year-old named Ubirajara, better known to his community as just Jara. The boy had told him that a logger-slash-mercenary had attacked him...had caused him to plummet down a twenty-foot waterfall. The fall had nearly cost Jara his life - but that was not all. Jara had recovered a flash drive from the assassin. Gillman had looked at its contents...and the results had astonished him.\n\nRecords of bribery, illegal logging on indigenous land, and even funds to pay for killings of tribal activists and leaders, had been listed in rows and rows of data tables. All of it could be tied to the logging company the assassin had been part of - as well as several other complicit organizations. It was enough to take the company down for good.\n\nAs he had sat down with the Awá members, Gillman had been inspired. They had gone through so much. Yet when they spoke, it was with pride. With resilience. With joy, that one of their children had protected their land. It had made him realize something.\n\nThere would always be trouble. Always be danger and oppression to fight against.\n\nThere would also always be warriors who fought that fight."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on 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 City is Ours\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1009\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with the line, “That’s the thing about this city…”"
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "That's the thing about this city, it makes sure to remind you of every painful and beautiful memory you have to leave behind. The community that lives here doesn't seem like much yet has such a strong, huge impact on your life. If I would have known that I don't think I would ever leave because this was the only place I could call my home. The only place I ever actually belonged; where I was happy for once. See most people feel out of place because they do not know anyone in their new neighborhood, but I know I don't belong because I don't know anyone and I know this place is different from the rest. I can usually fake a smile and just blend in at any area, but here I just show the real me. All the hurt, vulnerability, the anger isn't hidden inside. It's visible because I am tired of this front acting like I am okay like feeling out of place is normal when it really isn't. No one should feel this empty and out of place anywhere so for me to finally free like I have a chance here says a lot. This city holds so much more than just buildings, people, school and a skate park. It has my dreams, friends, new beginnings, the one I loved and lost. Most importantly holds the beginning of my own little family. Never did I expect to meet the one man that was going to change everything. He was in my choir class sitting in the corner while I goofed off dancing and singing my heart away. Just one smile. That made my stomach get filled with butterflies and gave me the confidence to walk up to you to start a friendship. We started as friends that would talk every chance we get to best friends singing Phora together. You were there from the beginning from when I had this huge crush on you to when I was crying over family issues. When I had my first singing solo he smiled at me while I was performing Like I'm Gonna to Lose You by Megan Trainor feat John Legend. When those lyrics came out I felt every note and was actually singing to you. The spotlight hits me while I walk across the stage singing my soul into the microphone. I bet he doesn't know that to this day, I fell in love with him even while we were friends. I open my eyes slowly as that memory fades away, I lay my eyes on the skate park and let my mind wonder. The last time I skated I fell in his arms while we chased the stars along with our dreams. He promised me that he will love me and that this city will forever be ours. Why would he promise something so big and silly if he didn't mean it? He wouldn't. Falling in love and making all these memories is not just any story. This is us. This is our story that's so raw and passionate that leaves tingles in my spine while my heart aches for him. For his love, his touch, just for him. That day you took a part of my heart and soul. The pain was gone like someone left my heart shattered and he picked up the pieces, fixed it all over again and made sure that everything will be okay. This bond we had connected us closer than before. These memories just come in and play like a song from a playlist then slowly go away while the tears slowly roll down. I never want to leave this city because this is our city. Every place in this city has some memory, whether it's big or small. This is our sacred place, this our home and I can't imagine it without you. There was this piece missing my life and I was falling into some of my darkest moments. I wanted to lose myself and felt like I deserved the pain that was brought upon me. Once he came into my life there was this part of me that I never knew existed. A part of me that just wanted to stop faking a smile and stop the suffering. Where I finally became free from the prison of abandonment issues and genuinely wanted affection. My guard was finally down as I let him in and shared every single part of my soul. There is one spot in this huge city that is more important than any place we ever been and that would be our high school. Yes. The place where I saw his handsome shy self hide in the corner of choir class. The place where we shared our first kiss under a tree outside the library as he poured feelings to me. Where I saw him in your graduation cap and gown with a diploma in his hand, filled with pride and joy for him. He made it through this crazy place called High School and never gave up on the life he wanted. Seeing his smile was worth it all because if he can accomplish high school I know that man is capable of keeping his promise.Usually men always promise at least one thing that is so memorable and his promise was that the city is ours. I honestly don't think in any way that he lied because every memory I have with him, every laugh & smile even the heartbreak stays there. I can´t hold this thing we call the past with me everywhere so it is better left off in the place where it actually began. I know he does not live there anymore because well he is in the military now, and I have his daughter. She has his dimples and his personality, I wouldn't change even if I had a chance. No one can take away the city he promised is ours because our life, family, promises, love and memories are here. The city is ours always and forever."
}
]
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Rabbi's Lament\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1256\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone forced out of their home."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "15th of August 2005, in the Gaza Strip.\nTwo Israeli paratroopers jogged down a dirt road, and protesters rabbled around the bend. A short, thin, but vicious warrior, Lavi walked off the road. He settled down on a flat gray rock and checked his M16. The other paratrooper Ariel stood and stared, with his hollow green eyes, at Lavi.\n“Why do you check it so much?” Ariel asked. “M16s they are always working.”\n“I have my reasons,” Lavi said.\n“What reasons?”\n“Today’s reason? I’m stalling.”\n“Why?” Ariel asked.\n“Because I don’t want to do this.” Two methodical minutes later, the weapon checked out—it always did. “All the power to you*. It’s in order.”\n“Wait,” Ariel said. “Let me check mine.” Lavi guessed that Ariel didn’t want to do this either. The rising sun’s orange light crawled towards the men. It covered a distant olive tree highlighting the green of the leaves and the brown branches, and the sun hung behind the tree, backlighting it.\n***\nA few miles down the road, Rabbi Shmurah watched the same sun rise out his empty kitchen’s window. Where is that damn news van? It’s time to pray already, Rabbi Shmurah thought. He walked over to his empty counter, inside his empty home. Flicking on an old orange automatic tea kettle—his lone remaining appliance—he paced the kitchen. The kettle whistled. Headlights blinked out the window, he rushed over, and waved at the white van. Out of his pack, he removed an ornate prayer shawl and tefillin, but he waited to put it on.\nA reporter in a dark gray suit exited the van. He stood in the rabbi’s driveway in front of a camera. A frazzled man focused the camera, and counted back from five with his fingers. Once the reporter started reporting, Rabbi Shmurah wrapped himself in his prayer shawl; bound the tefillin to his arm, head, and hand; and started to pray.\n***\n“That,” Lavi pointed at the olive tree. “is why I wanted to run instead of wait for the escort.”\n“Yes, I understand. I just thought it would be dangerous—this is Gaza.”\n“Dangerous? Not today. No Palestinian would touch an I.D.F. soldier today.”\n“You sure?”\n“Yes, why attack us? Better to watch us eat ourselves.” Lavi said. Finished with the M16, Ariel stood up, and they continued down the road. At least this part would be fun, Lavi thought.\n***\nThe Rabbi finished his prayers. His phone rang. He pulled a purple Nokia out of his pocket.\n“Ahllo, oh okay,” The rabbi said positioning himself in the center of the room. “What about here? The camera can see me? Good.” The rabbi’s brother was on the other line. “Ahllo.”\n***\nAround the bend the paratroopers passed a flaming dumpster. With each step closer , the mob’s furious cry grew louder.\n“Oh, so this is why we are on foot right?” Ariel asked.\n“Right.” They were more than a mile away. A child jumped into the road. The child’s yarmulke flapped off his head as he bent down and lifted a rock. The paratroopers soldiered on.\nA man in the crowd ran behind the child and grabbed him under the arms. The child dropped the rock. Half a mile away now, the crowd rabbled louder still. A half dozen men stepped in front of the crowd, and they held rifles in their hands. And yet the paratroopers soldiered on. When they closed the gap enough for the crowd to see them well, one of the rifled men pointed at Lavi and shouted.\n***\n“Yes, hurry up,” Rabbi Shmurah said. He hung up the phone and tucked it into his pocket. Assaulted by guilt, the Rabbi paced around the room. He walked into the backroom, and the moment he exited the cameras range he began to cry. I don’t want to do this, he thought.\n***\n“Is that Lavi?” the shouting man asked. Lavi laughed. They don’t know what to do now. They can’t assault me. I saved so many of their lives, Lavi thought. He rubbed his bullet scarred chest. At least this was good for something.\nSlinging their rifles over their shoulders, they stepped aside, and the crowd followed suit. That same child, who moments before brandished a stone at the paratroopers, popped out of his fathers grasp and ran towards the men.\n“Lavi!” the boy said. Lavi scooped the boy up into his arms. They spun around together. Lavi placed the child in front of his father.\n“Yes Moshe it is good to see you’re doing better. I brought you something.”\n“What did you bring me?” The boy asked. Lavi handed the boy a chocolate bar with pop rocks inside it.\n“Thanks.” The crowd laughed. They cheered for Lavi as he entered the settlement, and ran towards the rabbi’s house.\n***\nStill donning his tefillin, Rabbi Shmurah sat in the middle of his living room. His phone rang—his brother again.\n“Lavi?” The rabbi asked. He deflated on the floor. Checkmate. How could I refuse Lavi anything? He ran through bullets to pull my family out of that rubble. Finding nothing better to do—nothing better to say—Rabbi Shmurah chanted the Magilat he read at his synagogue the day before. “I am become vile. Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, which is done unto me.”\n***\nLavi heard the rabbi’s lament as he approached, and he saw the cameraman in front of the house. Lavi’s heart thumped in his chest. Yes, he was angry. The old man set himself up for martyrdom. Oh, how he whined out his chanting! Lavi hated the man. He chose to move here. He chose to build his home on top of another man’s grave. No army for his kids. Instead, I get shot while his son study's at some fancy yeshiva in Svat. Now he blathers on like the world has cheated him, Lavi thought.\nLavi walked past the camera, and he knocked on the door—hard—no answer. He knocked harder—nothing. At least he stopped wailing, Lavi thought.\n“Rabbi, it’s Lavi,” Lavi said. “You said I’d always be welcome in your home. Please let me in.”\n“The door is unlocked, and their is tea in the kitchen.” The rabbi waved at Lavi as he thundered into the room. Lavi darted up to the Rabbi. “Why are you setting me up? My whole life I’ll have to explain this moment.”\n“You are here to take my home,” The rabbi said.\n“Your home? You yanked this place out of the Arabs hands. Stop. It doesn’t matter. You owe me! Get up we are leaving.”\n“I do owe you, but I can’t just leave.”\n“You can.”\n“I won’t just leave.”\n“You will.” Lavi’s ears rang.\n“We are commanded to live here.”\n“Don’t tell me you think this place is kosher.” Lavi’s hatred evident in his tone.\n“Why not?”\n“I remember as a kid. The rabbi explained why a stolen lulav is forbidden. Remind me why.”\n“Mitzvah habah beavieyra. You cannot fulfill a commandment if it comes from a sin.” The rabbi shook his head no. “I dont care.”\n“Don’t move.” Lavi hefted the old man over his shoulder, the rabbi wailed again. The camera followed them to the bus. Now that the rabbi was secured, Lavi radioed the rest of his unit.\n“The rabbi is on the bus. Move in. We only have a few hours to clear the settlement before the bulldozers get here.”\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n*loses something in the translation."
}
]
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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: A Day in the Life of a Scientist\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1090\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a scientist."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "A Day in the Life of a Scientist\nR. Aaron Falk\nThe brakes squeaked as Thomas eased his fifteen-year-old Datsun pickup into an empty stall at his apartment complex. The engine stuttered and shook for half a minute after he turned off the key. He grabbed his daypack and slammed the door shut without bothering to lock up. Maybe someone would steal the rust bucket and force him to buy a new car.\nThen again, how would he get to work in the morning?\nHe walked back and locked the door.\nHis nose wrinkled as he entered his one-bedroom apartment. Maybe the garbage, or maybe just the growing pile of dirty clothes in his bedroom. He winced at the thought of dealing with either right now.\nHalf a case of Coke stared back at him from the fridge. Nothing else blocked the empty view. Thomas grabbed a can, popped the tab and swilled down half the contents. The sweetness, the tickle of the bubbles and the caffeine buzz overcame any guilt of consuming something of such marginal nutritional value.\nThe freezer compartment contained an assortment of frozen dinners and meat pies. He grabbed a chicken-pot-pie, peeled off the box and slid it into the toaster oven.\nThe sound of a TV set in the adjoining apartment filtered through the walls. The opening theme to ‘Northern Exposure’ played. Thomas turned on his own set and tuned into the same channel. Most sit-comms were mindless dribble for the masses, but this show actually required a bit of thinking to catch all the jokes and sub-plots. He sat at the small dining table, the only furniture in the apartment’s main room. He stared at the TV screen, but paid no attention to the action. His mind kept focusing back on work.\nDamn it, get your head out of this morass.\nThe smell of burning crust roused him from his stupor. He pulled out the pie onto a small plate, singeing his left thumb. With the singed digit in his mouth, he scraped away the black bits of the crust around the rim and cracked the top open to let out the built-up steam. Memories of a scalded mouth reminded him to wait before digging in. Warm, thick gravy mellowed his mood.\nHis mind wandered again to his work problem. The solution tickled the edge of his consciousness. A vision of his father helping him with high-school chemistry homework drifted in. “There is always a solution to every problem. If the approach you are taking does not work, move on. Learn to look at the problem from a different angle, a fresh perspective. The solution is there, waiting for you to see it.”\nA tune on the show crooned out lyrics about how ‘everyone’s got to live and everyone’s got to die.’ Thomas blinked at the prescience of the song.\nHe’d reduced the meat pie to the burned bits. Dark memories of burned flesh overwhelmed him. He jumped up and tossed the crumbs and pie tin into the trash. An odor of decaying food greeted his effort. The spoon and plate joined others in the sink.\nThomas turned on the water, got the temperature set to just below scalding. Soap and scraping, removed the detritus from the pile of dishes. The squeaky-clean results filled the drying rack.\nThe sack of garbage accompanied him to the garbage chute and rattled down the four stories into the dark oblivion of the basement.\nHe came back and went into his bedroom. A pile of dirty clothes stared back at him.\nEnough, not tonight.\nHe dropped onto the unmade bed, not bothering to undress. His mind focused on tomorrow’s test plan, searching for a chink in its armor.\nThings always go wrong, don’t they?\n#\nThomas stared at the secondhand clicking clockwise around the smoke-yellowed dial on the analog wall clock. With all the high-tech equipment in this room, you’d think management would replace it with a modern digital unit.\nStill, it didn’t matter exactly when he pushed the button, did it?\nTwo video screens covered the wall in front of his control station. One showed a picture of empty desert. The early morning sun cast contorted shadows of cholla across the rugged landscape. The second screen on the right showed a domed cave illuminated by the blue cast of a thousand fluorescent lamps. A maze of wires cloaked the car-sized object at the center of the cavern as though to keep it warm and protected from the outside world.\nThe control chief paced in front of the screens and grumbled into his microphone. “Have you got things closed up yet? We still have an interlock fault at Bravo 68.” The chief nodded. “Right.”\nThe chief spun and pointed at the safety officer’s station. A gray-haired technician in a white lab coat sat there staring at his board of indicator lights. He glanced up and raised a thumb.\n“We’re good to go, chief,” said the old man.\nThe chief came over to Thomas’ counsel, inserted his safety key, and turned the control from Locked to Armed.\n“Well, Thomas, this one is your design. Push the button and let’s see if it works.”\nDespite himself, Thomas watched the wall clock second hand tick towards zero. The scientist at the counsel next to his mumbled the countdown. Thomas stabbed the button at the zero count.\nNothing happened. Thomas tensed. Then the camera delays caught up. The right-hand screen flashed pure white and then faded to gray noise. The left-hand screen showed nothing for a few seconds until the cholla tilted at odd angles as a half-mile wide dome lifted and then collapsed back down. Dust rose and obscured the picture.\n“Radiation sensors indicate we’ve had a minor breach,” said the scientist at Thomas’ right.\n“Which way is the wind blowing?” The chief pointed at the staff meteorologist. “Come on, get the map on screen quickly.”\nA weather map filed the right-hand screen. Arrows and numbers indicated the prevailing wind speed and direction.\n“OK, chief, looks fine,” said the meteorologist. “Nothing downwind but desert for roughly two-hundred miles.”\n“Well, damn Thomas.” The chief came over and slapped him on the shoulder. “You said your alternative approach would increase the yield, but even you underestimated the amount. Good job.”\nGood job? A bigger, better bomb. A bomb one thousand times stronger than the one that incinerated tens of thousands at Hiroshima. We need it to protect ourselves from the Russians, right? The world was safer for what he was doing, wasn’t it?"
}
]
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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: She did.\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1440\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about somebody in love with someone from their past."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "The holes where his eyes had once been were now dry. He knew this, not by cause of his daring to touch inside them with his fingers, but merely for he felt them drip no longer.\nHe who had once feared nothing.\nHe sat in his prison cell, blind, crushed by the weight of his own flesh. He had to strain to lift his muscled arms that had before brought him the world. His knees were weak below thighs that had chased down lions. Once he was as a king, now he could scarce lift his head—not for having been brought low, though he had, but by reason of simply having not the strength.\nBut he felt none of these, for his thoughts were only of her.\nWhen they came to wake him in the early hours, he heard her jewelry clinking in the sounds of their keys. She wore gold bracelets, he remembered. When they marched him, stumbling, down the halls, he heard her sandals beside him, tapping against the stone floor. Each corner they turned brought new hope that he would see her, coming to him. But then he would remember: he could see no longer. But then he would forget, as they turned the next corner.\nThey would strap him into the stone mill and mock him. Pray tell us how it feels to grind the grain that feeds your enemies, they would spit. It feels of nothing, he would never say in response. Anger, his once-constant companion, was but a bothersome stranger now.\nAnd so with heavy feet he would walk in circles. Too many circles to number. The millstone grinding to his right, ever to his right. So weak, so tired. He put out of his mind the day when he could have rent the mill asunder and struck down the prison guards with but his hands.\nSweat fell from his back and wet the ground beneath his feet. It beaded on his brow and streamed into eyes that were not there, stinging still. It soaked his long hair and gathered at its tips, fine points tickling him without humor.\nHis hair.\nIt met his shoulders now. He was shaved clean when he came to this prison. He did not know how long he had languished here. He did not know how fast his hair grew, for he had never cut it. She had cut it for him, just once.\nStop, the guards would say at what may have been sunset. They would march him to a room that came at the end of many more fruitlessly turned corners, and there he would eat formless, tasteless meals.\nShe loved dates, he remembered. Dates and honey.\nNights were his greatest torment. Though the darkness was constant, nights brought with them the silence. In it, he could feel her lying next to him. So real was the warmth of her body that he would reach out a hand to touch her skin, to find that he grasped at cold air. Thus he held instead to her whispers. My strong man, she would murmur as sleep took them, what is the secret of your strength? Will ever you tell me? And he would smile and kiss her forehead, filling his senses with the perfume of her hair. Yes my love, one day, he would murmur back. It was their ritual, he had thought. Just a lovers’ game.\nAnd so his eternal night continued. Her bracelets clinking to wake him, her sandals walking beside him, her whispers at night, her, always just out of reach. Her.\nHe was finishing his meal when the others came for him. For a moment, he felt a familiar flare of anger. He had been picturing her across the table, telling about her time at the market that day, and they had interrupted. But the anger did not linger. What could he do with it now?\nYou are summoned, they said, and he heard glee in their voices. He could hear better now what was beneath a man’s words. That would have pleased her.\nHe felt heavy shackles bind each of his wrists. They clung to an even heavier chain, and he cursed it with each step of their march, for he could not hear her sounds over its clamor.\nThey traveled a great distance and climbed many stairs. It was the longest he had yet walked without her sandals beside him, but still he held her alive in his thoughts. She finished telling him about her day at the market, and he smiled.\nHe heard the music first, then the crowd in high spirits, growing louder and louder.\nWhen he entered the temple, the people roared as one. He heard thousands and thousands of voices, shouting, jeering. See that our god Dagon has delivered unto us our enemy! The Philistine rulers cried in triumph, he who laid waste our land and multiplied our slain!\nHe was led before them, and he felt hatred rise around him. Sounds of spitting followed by wetness on his face, dripping onto his chest. There came a fist upon his head, and he fell to the ground, the laughter growing.\nPresently they dragged him aside as their merrymaking continued, and their many eyes left him. They rested him against a great stone pillar for he could not stand on his own strength, and so he became aware of where he was. He held out an arm before him and stumbled forward blindly, landing quickly upon the twin pillar. All knew that these two pillars held up the whole of this Temple of Dagon.\nAs he laid his hands upon the cold stone, he knew what he must do. He searched his mind for the words of prayer that once came easily, but before they reached his lips, he heard the sound of bracelets clinking. He turned his face to meet it, filled with the fear of hope.\n“Leave us,” he heard her voice, her sweet honeyed voice. When no movement followed, she spoke again, “You know who I am, you see that your prisoner is bound. Leave us.”\nHe heard shuffling, and several footsteps leading away.\nShe came close, her sandals stopping just before him. He could smell her perfume. He fell drunk with pleasure and was struck dumb. He waited for her to speak.\nBut she said nothing.\nHis joy began to falter. He felt her eyes upon him, her eyes that granted him life in prison.\n“Why?” He did not mean to ask. He did not want to know.\nStill, she said nothing.\nThen he felt her hands, her small delicate hands, upon his shackled ones. She lifted them so his palms were upwards and open.\n“Even as a child, I heard stories of you,” she said softly, “He who floods our lands with the blood of our people … with but his hands.”\nHe could feel her eyes upon them now. “Do you know that you slew my father with these hands? And my four brothers. Yet you knew not their faces. And then you lay these hands on me.” She let them fall, and he felt that he might die.\nHe willed his tongue to beg forgiveness, to utter any word that would keep her near to him, but all that came forth was, “Did ever you love me?”\nFor a third time, she said nothing.\nBut then he felt her hand once more, now upon his cheek, warm and gentle. He leaned into it from his soul, and wondered if a man without eyes could still weep. She stroked his face that was covered in spit, and then she stroked his hair, and then he remembered.\n“I will bring down this temple upon the heads of all my enemies gathered here. You must leave,” he said, tearing himself in two.\nHe felt her hand stop in its motions. Then she said, quietly, “No.”\n“Do you doubt me?” He demanded, unable to stay his quick anger.\n“…No,” she said, more quietly still.\nAnd he understood, and they fell silent.\nHer breath whispered over his skin. Her heart beat gently in his ears. Would that this moment were eternity.\nHe lifted his arms and placed one hand on each pillar.\n“Sovereign Lord,” he prayed, “Remember me once more.”\nHe pushed with all his might, and felt a fire grow in his chest. He felt thunder roll through his arms, he felt the whole earth give way beneath his fingertips.\nAs the first great stones cracked above them and the first screams rang out from the crowd of thousands, he pleaded, “Hold me, Delilah.”\nShe did."
}
]
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Road to Istanbul\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2837\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone forced out of their home."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Milos wasn’t a particularly smart boy; everyone in Samundzhievo (his mother included) admitted as much. He knew that he had been born in the Year of Our Lord, Sixteen-Hundred and Forty-Two. The priests had told him that; they would know, after all, since they could read and write. According to his mother, that meant he was ten years old – practically a man – and that he had better start behaving like one.\nBut whatever Milos lacked in brilliance, he made up for with a strong sense of danger. He discerned the latter when his mother pressed him tightly against her apron on a cool Spring morning – the day that Milos left Samundzhievo forever. Milos had watched the Ottoman soldiers gallop into town every year since his birth, always arriving with the pink roses of April. But they never brought good tidings; rather, they came for tribute, for the devşirme. It was a word from a language – the Turks’ language – that Milos didn’t know. But he, and everyone in Ottoman Bulgaria, knew what that word meant.\nMilos gulped down his fear when the entire town was commanded to the town’s solitary church that afternoon. They were never gathered together, apart from Mass and feast days, unless something wonderful – or terrible – was happening. But Milos’ mother did not give him even a passing glance as they entered the church with dozens of the town’s other denizens. In an instant, his worst fears were confirmed: the town’s boys, all of them, were stacked like a line of dolls at the very front of the chapel before the altar – nineteen in total. There was just one left to join them before the devşirme would begin.\nMilos gave his mother a terrified, pleading gasp as she led him to the front and shoved him into the line before abandoning him for a nearby pew. Milos gaped at her, chest heaving, but her gaze shifted downward as she silently clasped her hands in prayer. Only then did Milos jerk his head in the direction of the soldiers and their apparent commander, a broad-shouldered man, who strode alongside the town’s priest as he reviewed the twenty boys before them.\n“One out of five,” Milos thought, over and over again. “Only one out of every five”.\nThe singular hope raced through his mind as the pair of men finally reached Milos. The boy did not dare look up, but forced his gaze to the grimy stonework floor beneath his leather shoes. His eyes only flicked upward again as the outlandishly bright red tunic of the commander passed him by. Milos’ hands curled into fists as he prayed that the commander’s brief glance had found him wanting – puny, short and skinny – not the right material, not at all, for a warrior.\nThe minutes stung Milos like the pangs of purgatory as the priest and commander finished with the inspection. But to Milos’ horror, the commander resumed his pacing in the other direction – back down the line. Milos shuddered as the first boy, Ivano, was chosen with a clap on the shoulder. The terror bulged from Ivano’s eyes as he stepped out of the line and trudged, unwillingly, towards the waiting company of soldiers. Milo jolted again as another clap came down, this time only a few paces away from him, as another, older, boy was selected to join the waiting company.\n“Two more,” Milos thought quickly. “Just two more to go.”\nBut to his horror, the commander was inching, ever closer, to the spot where Milos stood like a statue. Instinctively, Milos threw his gaze back to the floor before the commander could see his terrified expression. His jaw clenched as the red tunic, once again, swished before him; Milos dared to hope that the man had ignored him as the heavy boots pounded the stone before him.\nMilos nearly choked when he heard another heavy slap beside his ear – but felt no sensation. Stunned, he whipped his head to his right, where Damir stood beside him. Damir turned ashen as the commander shoved him towards the waiting company before proceeding back down the line for his fourth acquisition. Milos’ head swam as the blood came rushing back, his terror abating, as the last boy, Constantin, was directed away from the line. The fourth was chosen; at last, Milos shuddered with relief.\nBut a sharp noise jerked Milos from his dreamy haze. Constantin suddenly sputtered, heaving, as a nasty cough racked his thin chest. A murmur rose from the assembly as the commander’s glare hardened fiercely. He turned back to the suddenly anxious priest beside him.\n“This one is sick,” the commander huffed. Then, motioning to his lieutenant, he shouted in Turkish. Nodding, the lieutenant directed Constantin back into the assembly, where the boy ran back into his family’s waiting arms.\nMilos gulped as the nausea crept over him again. The devşirme wasn’t done, after all. Even worse, the commander’s eyes were turning back to all of them, the remaining sixteen, as he scanned the petrified line once more. This time, Milos didn’t look down, didn’t turn his eyes fast enough, until they locked with those of the commander. Milos knew, at once, that he had stumbled into a terrible mistake.\n“That one,” the commander shouted, throwing his right arm towards Milos. “The light-haired one.”\nWithout warning, Milos felt a pair of hands – those of the priest – grasp him by the shoulders and push him towards the other three selected boys and the waiting soldiers. Milos could barely breathe as his hands and feet went numb. But just as the priest released him to the waiting company, another pair of hands wrenched Milos around. He instantly recognized his mother’s sharp, pale features as she looked down upon him, his face wedged between her palms.\n“Do as they say,” she spat into his face.\nMilos’ breaths turned to rasps. “What?” he cried out. “Surely you won’t let me go? Surely they can’t take me if you refuse?”\nShe gripped the sides of his face more tightly. “This is for the best. Train with them. Learn from them. Believe whatever they believe. Pray however they tell you to pray. You’re a man now. Soon enough, you will be a warrior. Be a great one.”\n“No!” Milos shouted, as his eyes brimmed with tears. “I don’t want to be a man, or a warrior, or any of it. Not right now – I don’t want to leave! Don’t make me!”\nMilos tried in vain to grasp her wrists, but was not nearly quick enough. She released him, without another word, and turned on her heel to exit the congregation.\n***\nMilos stared listlessly at his hands, pressed into the rough wood floor of the rolling cart, as the caravan lurched forward relentlessly. Every few minutes or so the cart would jolt violently as the wheels hit another crag in the old, ancient road – the road Milos had prayed he would never find himself on. The road to Istanbul.\nThe lieutenant, who apparently spoke their language fluently, had ridden alongside the cart for the first hour of the journey. He had explained, in a tone that brooked no argument, that they would arrive in the Ottoman capital by the end of the week; that they would be assigned barracks with the other new recruits and receive their uniforms; that their instruction in Islam would begin immediately; that they would soon recite a profession of faith and be given new, Turkish names to signify their conversion.\n“Your previous lives,” he had concluded, “will be as if they never were. From today onward, you are yeni çeri, Janissaries, and you live and die for the Emperor.”\nMilos sat in begrudging silence throughout the lieutenant’s speech. But with every hour of passing silence thereafter, save for Ivano’s whimpering, anger simmered hotter and hotter in his belly.\n“They abandoned me,” Milos ruminated, over and over again. The priest, the very man who baptized Milos ten years before, had shoved him away as if Milos had been struck with plague. His mother, even worse, surrendered him to his fate with barely a goodbye for her only son. Milos would have cried, begged, to stay with her even a few hours before, but now he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to see her again.\nDo as they say, she had hissed at him. It came back to Milos now, like a cruel whisper in the wind.\nSlowly, he reached for the wooden crisscrossed bars of the cart around him and passed his eyes over the company of soldiers. His gaze hardened as he considered the proud men in their garish uniforms, with their strange, curved weapons and haughty bearing. Milos wanted nothing to do with any of them.\n“I don’t have to take this,” he thought, fingers curling around the grates. “None of it. Not at all.”\nIn an instant, Milos had the will – he just needed a way.\nIt came to him that evening as the caravan settled into an encampment once the sun slid behind the hills. The soldiers ate, laughed and sang together, while the boys were fed a dinner of a lentil stew, cured lamb meet and dried apricots. Even Milos had to admit to himself that the food was tasty, even if he had no intention of sharing another meal with this particular company.\nSoon enough, full bellies carried most of the soldiers off to sleep in the open air; only the commander and his lieutenant were afforded tents for the evening. A handful of sentries remained alert, keeping an eye on the boys (now huddled together in the cart under a few spare blankets) and listening for wolves in the distance. Every so often, the sentries would shift or stretch out on the dirt beneath them, letting their gazes wander into the distant, starry skies ahead.\nThese moments, Milos realized, were his chance.\nOnce the skies were pitch black hours after the sunset, Milos crept quietly out from under his blanket. He carefully negotiated his crawl over the cart’s back gate, barely missing Damir’s forehead with his shoe, and checked every few seconds for any stirring of the dozing men around him. Milos had already marked out his path to freedom. The sentries were separated into two groups to monitor the east and west sides of the road, but none were stationed around the brush that surrounded it. Milos reasoned that if he could slink away from the camp, he could put enough distance between himself and the company to make a run for it into the woods. He might even manage it without rousing anyone at all.\nOnce his feet hit earth, Milos crawled around the cart to avoid the view of the nearest sentries facing west. If they turned around, they would see a pile of slumbering boys in the cart, just as they had before. The next part was more challenging as Milos slid on his belly, like a snake, towards the tall grasses which surrounded the stone-paved road. Even so, he was now in full view of the other sentries camped about twenty paces away. If any one of them glanced behind, they would surely spot the shadowy figure stretched out along the ground.\nA bead of sweat formed on Milos’ brow for the first time as he digested these facts; he had to move fast. But moving fast meant making noise as he bumped his elbow into one protruding stone, then another, each time clenching his teeth against his little yelps of pain. He whipped his head towards the sentries once again, terrified that he might see a pair of eyes gaping back at him, but none had stirred.\nMilos’ relief was short lived as he reached the grasses. He realized, on a quick inspection, that they were dry, brittle and prickly, untouched by drenching Spring rains. The crunch of an animal, or a determined boy, creeping through them would be audible to anyone nearby. Milos waited for a passing breeze to disguise the crinkle of his forearms, then his chest, bearing into the first clump of reeds. When the wind picked up again, he pressed forward until his waist was covered and slowly moved his knees along the roots to pull them out of sight. The whistling stopped; so did Milos. He waited patiently for the breeze to rustle the grasses again – if he could only make it ten or fifteen paces into the grass, he could make a run for it and vanish into the woodlands beyond.\nBut Milos did not hear the next passing breeze; instead, he heard voices. The sentries voices – first one, then a chorus, all flying in his direction. Milos realized, in horror, that both of his feet were still poking out onto the road.\nApparently, the sentries realized it, too. One of them grabbed Milos by the ankles and attempted to wrench him out from his hiding spot. Milos grabbed a handful of the reeds, but could not muffle his shout of pain as they sliced his hands. Two more sentries were suddenly upon him as a half dozen soldiers jerked up from their slumber.\nMilos kicked the soldier holding him by the ankles as hard as he could, slamming his heel into the man’s face. Blood gushed from his assailant’s nose as he released his quarry. Milos jumped to his feet, but was quickly knocked down by another sentry whose arms wrapped around Milos’ waist. Milos could just see the glint of the sentry’s dagger before him as they both smashed into the dirt; without a thought, Milos grabbed the hilt and rammed the sharp end into the shoulder of the man pinning him down. Blood sprayed over Milos face as the sentry screamed. Now there were a dozen men shouting, and many pairs of hands grabbing Milos’ feet, arms and shoulders. Someone pulled Milos upright on his knees, and he felt the cold pressure of a knife under his throat. There was nothing left to do – Milos had injured two Imperial Ottoman soldiers. The remainder of his life would pass in seconds. With that realization, the fight left him, and Milos closed his eyes.\nBut the seconds passed; Milos’ heart beat still, and his pulse ran ragged, as the men around him gasped for air. Still nothing, until the seconds dragged on to a minute.\nTentatively, Milos cracked his eyes open, only to see the ferocious, dark gaze of the company’s commander staring angrily back – barely a handbreadth away.\n“What was your plan, exactly?” the commander finally growled into Milos’ face.\n“What?” Milos gasped for air, the blade still digging into this throat. “What do you mean?”\nThe commander rolled his eyes. “After you ran to the woods. What were you going to do next?”\nMilos stared at him in disbelief. At last, the boy stuttered the truth: “I…I don’t know. I didn’t really think…”\nBut the commander interrupted Milos with a snort. “Evidently. Tell me, how long were you going to survive among bears and wolves, with no weapons, no shelter, no tools?”\nMilos swallowed hard as a few pairs of hands released him. The knife at this throat vanished into someone’s pocket. “I don’t know,” he admitted sheepishly.\nSlowly, the commander drew back as he surveyed Milos, still kneeling in the dirt, with his hard gaze.\n“Bahadir,” the commander answered, with a strange finality.\n“What?” Milos rasped.\n“I said ‘Bahadir’, you little fool,” the commander answered. “That’s your new name. You’re welcome. It means courageous, a quality that you have been clearly gifted in abundance.”\nThe word – the name, rather – raced through Milos’ mind as his fists hit the dirt before him. But the commander's palm reached under Milos’ chin, and pulled his gaze upward.\n“We can make you a warrior,” the commander added, more softly. “But we cannot make you use your head.” He cuffed Milos on his temple, as if to emphasize the point. “If you manage to put your head together with that stubborn heart, you might live to be a great man.”\nHe grasped Milos by the arm and pulled him up from the ground.\n“There is nothing left for you, back there,” the commander added, motioning to the western path of the road. “But everything lies before you.” With that, the older man stretched out his hand to the younger one.\nMilos stood still, paused, and thought carefully – perhaps for the first time in his life. He weighed the commander’s words, counted the cost, and considered his options. For the second time, his mother’s admonition came back to him in a whisper: “You’re a man now. Soon enough, you will be a warrior. Be a great one.”\nMilos now understood her words, and realized that his path was clear before him. He grasped the commander’s waiting hand, without a word, and climbed back into the cart."
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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: My Old Love\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2938\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about somebody in love with someone from their past."
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"role": "assistant",
"content": "Everytime I look at pictures of her, I cant help but look back on the past. They bring back good memories of her. But they also bring back sad ones to.\n\nMy name is Augustijin Dom.\n\nDuring my teenage years, I was fortunate, or rather unfortunate, to have experienced the second World War. It was a frightful experience I can tell you that, as well as other youngsters who had to bare witness to it all.\n\nOne good thing about it is that I was not old enough to have legally fought in it, which is a relief as I heard about the horrors of men that did fight in the war. They told me the traumatic stories of seeing their friends being blown up, getting shot etc. Hell, even some boys of my age were getting drafted though, thankfully I didn't.\n\nStill, even then I got to witness the horrible side to it of buildings getting blown up, people getting bombed etc. I could even see some family members with limbs blown off and such. It made me throw up many times seeing these. It certainly wasn't a pleasant time to live in I tell you. Thank god all those of you born afterwards avoided the nasty thing. Though we still had to live on rations and such, which wasn't easy getting food.\n\nHowever, there is one memory that forever holds a place in my heart. During that time, I had met the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life.\n\nWho was she you may ask? She was one of the most well known diarists that existed during that time.\n\n\nThat's correct. She would be none other then the famous diarist, Anne Frank.\n\n\nAs the world knows, she was from a Jewish background. Of course, her family were liberal Jews, and did not fully convert to the customs of the religion. However, as we all know, Hitler hated Jews, as he blamed them for Germany's defeat in the first world war, and believed it would make the world a better place if he were to exterminate them all.\n\nAnd of course, he managed to brainwash his followers into doing the evil deed by capturing them and placing them in concentration camps and subjecting them to nasty deaths.\n\n\nDuring my youth, my country was called Holland ,as it had been known for centuries, but after the war ended, it was renamed as what it is now known as Netherlands, though many people still call it by it’s old name.\n\nIn the early 1930’s, Anne’s family moved to Amsterdam, which is where I was born, after her father, Otto, was offered to start a company in the city though Anne and her family had been travelling back and forth between Germany and Netherlands.\n\nHowever, after Hitler came to power, the family decided to move here permanently. They were among over 300000 Jews that had escaped Germany prior to the war starting.\n\nI first met her when she started coming to my school, which was the 6th Montessori School. It was in April 1934 when she joined our kindergarten class. She and I were both only five years old back then. The school had only just been built when we had both started attending, and there were also other kids there that had escaped Germany mostly Jews because of the uprising. They knew Hitler wasn’t particularly fond of Jewish people, and knew their lives would be in danger if they stayed there.\n\nI myself am not Jewish, but I was always friendly towards them. I had nothing against them and some of my best friends were Jews. Anne of course, was one of them. When I first met her, she was the kindest and most caring girl I had met. She always gave good advice and a shoulder to cry on. I thought that she was the most lovely girl that I had ever known.\n\nIn the summer of 1941, Anne was no longer allowed to attend the school, because Jewish children had to attend schools specially made for their religion. We were two years into the war and thing’s were not looking good for the Jewish people.\n\nThe Axis had already invaded Poland at the start of the war, which had a large Jewish population, and they began rounding up all the people from their religion and sending them off to concentration camps, such as Auschwitz and others.\n\nEven today people go to these camps and see the horrors of what these prisoners went through. Being tortured, gassed, Starved etc. It was horrifying. No one was exempt from this order. Not even children.\n\nAnne and her sister Margot had to go to the Jewish Lyceum, which was an exclusive secondary school in Amsterdam which had only been built that year.\n\nI was saddened to see Anne go. She had been such a good friend and I trusted her with all my heart. We said our goodbyes and hugged and swore we would see each other again. I gave her my address to write to and send letters so we could stay in contact.\n\nThe next year, Germany invaded my country and they were aware that a large number of Jews had migrated here and they were ordering the authorities to hunt them down and extract them. I was worried about Anne because I feared she would soon be captured as well as her family.\n\nAnother year had passed, and I still had heard nothing from her. I was beginning to suspect that she had finally been caught and was probably dead now. I was getting upset because I really did like her.\n\nThen one day, I was in my home when my mother gave me a letter that was addressed to me. There was no sender named or returning address so I was rather suspicious as to who sent it to me. I opened it and read it when I couldn't believe my eyes when I found who the sender was...\n\nAnne!\n\nShe said that her family had gone into hiding because of what was going on and said she wanted to see me again because I had been so kind to her out of all people.\n\nShe confided in me that not to tell anyone what her address was and she gave me a street name of where she was hiding.\n\nSoon afterwards I told my mother that I was going into town to meet a friend of mine and she was not suspicious at all knowing that I was actually going to meet a girl who had gone into hiding. If my mother knew I was meeting a Jewish girl she would rat the family out.\n\nI had reached the street by that time and a little time passed and I thought that it was a set up. They was only there to waste my time. The all of a sudden a woman came to see me. She asked me my name and when I replied she said her name was Miep and that she was a helper of the Frank family. She said Anne had been so excited to see me. She then escorted me to the house that Anne was hiding in\n\nThe house that the Franks were living in is well known today, as it is now a museum known as \"The Anne Frank House\" respectively. It attracts millions of tourists a year and I am glad it is still around as it reminds me so much of her each time I go there.\n\nThey had been hiding there for a year when I came to visit. When I went in there I couldn't believe how small it was. Certainly not for claustrophobic people. How they managed to survive there I don’t know.\n\nHowever soon after meeting people I finally saw the girl I wanted to see for so long… Anne!\n\nThis time I saw her she was a little older but looked more stunning then ever!\n\nWe embraced having finally found each other again! It was wonderful. We caught up on old times and told each other how things were going on etc.\n\nTime passed and we were secretly seeing each other. We vowed never to tell anyone because our lives would be in danger if we did.\n\nI enjoyed secretly visiting her and made sure I wasn't followed to ensure her safety. I never told anyone about her. Not even my family and friends. I just couldn't take the risk of them getting caught.\n\nSpeaking of that, as it is known, the family were betrayed because in August 1944, Nazi Gestapos arrived at the house after receiving a tip off and arrested them.\n\nIt has never been found out who it was that it was that betrayed the family to the Nazis apparently. Conspiracy theorists, historians etc, have been trying to find out since though who the perpetrator was, and have drawn their conclusions and and such but none of them have ever been confirmed.\n\nHowever, a secret that I have been hiding all these decades lies within me. I know who it is. I know who the betrayer is.\n\nThat traitor would be none other then myself. I am the one who betrayed the family!\n\nSee after a while, Anne started acting funny. I told her that I had feelings for her and at first she did say she had feelings to. However I suspected that she was seeing someone else. When Anne said that she couldn't be with me because she was getting cosy with with a boy who was living with them.\n\nThe boy was Peter Van Pels. He and his parents were another Jewish family who had taken residence in the house as refuge from the Nazis.\n\nThe longer they were together, the closer they became because Anne acted so funny the more I went there and seemed to be getting less interested in me.\n\nEventually I decided to spy on them.\n\nOne night, I sneaked out of my house and made my way to Anne’s. When I got there I knocked on the passage door to see if anyone would answer. Nothing. So with all my strength I managed to slide the door open and stealthily made my way up the stairs being very cautious as to not get caught even though I was dead scared that I would be.\n\nI managed to memorize where Anne’s bedroom was and luckily the door was open a little bit. I peeked in just a tiny bit enough to see people inside the room but they couldn't see me.\n\nThere I saw Anne. And talking to her was Peter. They were chatting and seemed to be getting cosy and said how much they liked each other.\n\nMy face was filled with despair and anger. My childhood friend whom I started school with, whom had grown into a beautiful lady, whom I had grown to love actually was no longer having feelings towards me.\n\nHowever, I loved Anne and wanted to keep this to myself.\n\nBut the longer I kept it in the more couldn't contain myself.\n\nEventually some months passed and no longer able to control myself, I exploded and searched through the papers to find the authorities to contact and upon finding the number I rang them up and gave them a hint that there was a Jewish family living in the street though I didn't mention the house that Anne was living in. I just for some reason stopped myself from telling them. Without the exact location of the house, I didn’t think they would be able to find the place.\n\nWhen I had finished school one day, I was walking back to the street where they were and had seen no raids or anything in their house so I thought they were safe and that the authorities thought it was a hoax.\n\nHowever a few days later, I then was walking to the same place when suddenly I saw some officers escorting people out of the house and it was none other then Anne's family. I was shocked! Had the family finally been found because of me?\n\nOne by one, they were escorting them all out and Anne was the last one to be taken out. I was beginning to feel guilty as I fear they thought it was me that ratted them out. Anne managed to look at me whilst the officers were doing one last search. When she saw me, she froze. I had my feelings that she knew it was me who told the Gestapo about their hiding place. I feared she would shout she hated me and would hope I would go to hell for it. Her face however didn't show any suspicion. In fact, as she opened her mouth, she quietly whispered the words with her lips I never expected her to say…\n\n“I Love You”.\n\nAs she was taken away, My heart sank. I felt dead inside. Tears were rolling down my face and it was all my fault.\n\nMy jealousy, my hatred, my fury was the cause of it all.\n\nAnne and her family all died because of me. It is all my fault!\n\nI should be a man and reveal this to the world.\n\nBut I just can’t. I know. I’m a coward.\n\nI couldn’t bare to face the music and tell the world that I was the one responsible for the deaths of nearly everyone who lived in that house. Anne, my childhood friend, my first love, my true love, died because I was the one who ratted them out to the Axis.\n\nIt was only when her diary was found and published that I found out the truth. She did like Peter at first, but then she came to reject him as she couldn't see a future with him.\n\nAnne, please forgive me. Your family was arrested that day. You were all sent to concentration camps and you died because of my betrayal.\n\nThe horrors of hearing what you went through at the camp sends shivers down my spine to this day. I subjected you to that all. Having your head shaved, being used for slave labour etc. You was cold and malnourished.\n\nYou suffered a slow and horrible death Anne. When you knew that your sister and your mother had died, you lost the will to live, and then an epidemic swept and most likely you succumbed to it. I feel so terrible for this to happen to you. The day I had heard that you died my heart felt like it was ripped out, because, I am responsible for your demise.\n\n\"IT'S DIFFICULT IN TIMES LIKE THESE: IDEALS, DREAMS AND CHERISHED HOPES RISE WITHIN US, ONLY TO BE CRUSHED BY GRIM REALITY. IT'S A WONDER I HAVEN'T ABANDONED ALL MY IDEALS. THEY SEEM SO ABSURD AND IMPRACTICAL. YET, I CLING TO THEM BECAUSE I STILL BELIEVE, IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING, THAT PEOPLE ARE TRULY GOOD AT HEART\".\n\nThat's one quote you wrote in your diary Anne and I can't help but thinking what an open mind you had. You thought that no matter how evil people were, there was always some good in them. I wish I could say the same because I don't think there is any goodness in me.\n\nThis pain has existed in my heart ever since that day. I have cried my eyes out continuously because of what I did. I was too consumed by jealousy, when I should have been more patient and waited for the war to end before making any assumptions. That's another reason why no one even suspected it was me to be the one who ratted them out because, who ever would believe that a fifteen year old boy would be the one who betrayed the Franks?\n\nEvery time I look at pictures of you, the memories come back to haunt me. I remember the day we first met, the stories we told, the games we played. Yet, I cant bare to live with the fact that I double crossed you, because I was jealous and thought you loved that Peter boy.\n\nAnne, I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, even though I feel so rotten for what I did. I deserve to be punished. I don’t expect you to forgive me Anne, even though you might have is there is an afterlife, but I could never forgive myself. It was truly wrong what I did, and I feel awful for it. I hate myself.\n\nWhat's more, having read your diary, you rejected Peter because you found he wasn't the one for you, and once the war ended, it all could have ended happily for us, but thanks to me it wasn’t to be.\n\nThere was a secret about me that Anne wrote about in her diary. However, her father gave me those pages when he found her diary, because as respect for his daughter’s wishes, she told me him never to reveal to anyone about our relationship, and so he gave them to me and I kept them all this time and never told a soul.\n\n\"I DONT THINK OF ALL THE MISERY, BUT ALL THE BEAUTY THAT STILL REMAINS. THINK OF ALL THE BEAUTY STILL LEFT AROUND YOU AND BE HAPPY\".\n\nThat's another quote from your diary Anne. I try not to think of the misery Anne and I try to be happy but I cant help but ball my eyes out when I see your photos as they remind me of the beauty that you were.\n\nAnne… Anne… Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnee..."
}
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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: My Never Ending Nightmare\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1001\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character struggling to remember the date, because every day is like the last one."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "I am trying.\nTrying to remember something anything.\nI can't even remember the simplest thing of all.\nThe date. I feel so tired. I feel so useless. I feel nothing.\nMy parents aren't back from their trip because they are stuck in Ireland due to coronavirus. So I am stuck all by myself doing nothing. I have to cook and clean but that doesnt make me happy. I just can't be happy. I cant have friends over, and my charger doesn't work so I cant charge my phone or get a new one because all the stores are shut down. I have to stay here lonely. That damn date I think to myself. Every day is like the last one. There is nothing to do except binge watch bad reality tv on demand or watch reruns of I love Lucy. I just can't do it anymore. I am so tired of this. I just feel depressed. I almost wanna die because my life will never get better. I can't even remember the day so I don't know if I even have school today. MY COMPUTER. I can find out the date on there I totally forgot. I race to my room and open it up. I sign in and click at the bottom where the time is. \" Monday,\" I say to myself. Crap I have to sign on I think as I look at the time it's already 8:07. I sign on to my first class, science, and start zoning out. My regular routine now. I have no one to talk to. Next year I will be a senior and graduate but I wonder will it all just be the same.\nI start to cry, I cry because I know it probably will. Nothing will change. We are still in the purple not even close to the red. There is no chance of me going back to school ever. The teacher starts talking about putting our cameras on but I don't care anymore. I hate my teachers I hate them because they don't understand. The adults think it is only affecting them but it's affecting us kids to. When the pandemic hit my grades started to slip and my mom got super mad at me but she doesn't understand. It's hard, its soooo hard. I try to pay attention but my teachers are dumb and they are all bad with technology because they are all super old. They think that it is all about them to say how hard it is and all that but they never take a chance to ask if we are ok. Then they wonder why we leave their class early or don't respond or turn our cameras on. Its because we don't wanna be here or in their class. So I am mad I am not just mad at my teachers but at the world too because they just don't care people are still going to parties and doing everything that the government is saying not to do. Even the government isn't taking their own advice. Governor Newsom was at a dinner and not wearing mask with his friends and yet he is trying too enforce us to be socially distanced and not go out yet he can't even take his own advice. It's not fair to a lot of people. I know I want to go to school but I can't because everyone else cant follow the damn rules.\nI am so over school, so I leave. I don't show up to any of my other classes either because I just can't handle this anymore. I just want something to change I want something to be normal again. Nothing will ever be normal again. I have to go outside and see the world i haven't been outside in months so maybe it will be different outside. I race out of my front door and wince as the cold air hits my face. And that was the last straw. I wanna puke. I feel no different. Actually I feel worse because just because I am outside doesn't mean anything. Nothing will change just because I want it to. I am done being patient. I am done waiting. I am done with life. I am so done. I hate this, I hate feeling this emptiness. I am living in a nightmare. I am living in a nightmare that will never end. I know it will never end because it hasn't ended for a year. Why cant it just be over. I want it all to be over. I want it to end. I want to end this pain. No one will care. No one does care. I just don't know why it has to be like this. I don't want it to be like this. I am over it. I am over this life and this world. Everyone is stupid. This is so stupid. I wonder if I am stupid for thinking this. Am I. I might be but I can feel the way I feel. I want it to be over. I want it to stop lingering on. Because this is my never ending nightmare. But I found a way to end it. I am going to end it. I don't want to feel this way. I don't want to feel like this. I hate it. I want it to stop. I need it to stop. I cant handle it anymore. I don't want to have to handle it. I don't want to keep it bottled up inside. I am done. I am done with it all. I want it to be over. I want this nightmare to be over. I want to scream, I want to run, I want to cry. I don't know what to feel anymore.\nI hear a car turning the corner. I walk into the middle of the street.\nI hate myself.\nI hate my life.\nI hate this world.\nSo goodbye self.\nGoodbye mom.\nGoodbye dad.\nGoodbye world.\nGoodbye."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on 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 High School\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1761\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character struggling to remember the date, because every day is like the last one."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Monday, day 1:\nI woke up at noon. It's been a month since high school ended. And three weeks since I got rejected by my two dream schools. I had no back up, nothing else lined up. I was depending on this to work out, I had high hopes that everything would fall into place, and two months from now I'd be on campus. But now, I don't even know what I'll be doing in two months.\nHopefully, a job.\nWednesday, day 9:\nI applied for multiple jobs, and only got a call back for one. Good old, reliable McDonald's. Everyone gets their first job there, and free food! It's a bonus! And a good distraction until I am able to apply for other schools.\nIt's not ideal, I'm still bummed I'm not going to attend my dream schools, but hey, it is what it is.\nAt least I have this job to fall back on. It'll be a nice way to make some extra money.\nFriday, day 11:\nWell, I didn't get hired. How did I not get hired? EVERYONE gets hired!\nIt was another day sleeping until noon. Mum says I need to stop that, but I'm just so tired lately.\nTuesday, day 17:\nI watched my best friend, Tom, leave early for Yale. He got in right away, I knew he would. He was smart. He'd often tutor me whenever I needed the extra help - I wasn't dumb at all, but history wasn't my best subject. There's just too much to remember.\nI was happy that he was going off to live his dream. I waved him off with a big smile.\nBut...it felt fake. I felt an anger towards him for leaving, while I was stuck here, doing nothing with my life. I wanted to punch something, yell at the top of my lungs. Why did he get in and I didn't? Why is my future on pause while he gets to go out and live?\nIt's just not fair.\nFriday, day 26:\nI applied for a bunch of other schools. I just have to get into one. Just ONE.\nI don't know what to do if I don't get in...\nSunday, day 32:\nHalf the schools got back to me, I didn't get in. I....didn't....get....in. How could this happen? Each time I opened the rejection letter, I could feel tears swelling up in my eyes. I wanted to cry harder than I've ever cried before. But nothing would come out.\nI stayed in bed for the rest of the day. I didn't feel like doing anything, I just wanted to sleep. My mum didn't like that, and tried to get me out of bed, but couldn't. I was a stubborn guy.\nCross your fingers for the other half going well. I NEED it to go well...\nTuesday, day 40:\nIt's official, no school wants me. What's wrong with me that I can't get into ANY school? My grades were decent, I didn't get into much trouble throughout high school. Sure, I could have done some more extra curricular activities, but I didn't think that would matter much. It SHOULDN'T matter much.\nSince finding out, I've been feeling something I've never felt before. I don't know what it is. Sadness? Anger? No. I feel....empty. Useless. Just a speck of dust on this planet. Unimportant, and always gonna be unimportant. If a school didn't want me, why would anyone else?\nThursday, day 42:\nTom messaged me. Sent me tons of photos of his campus, his dorm room, even told me about his roommate. They get along. They seem to be becoming fast friends, and probably soon...best friends.\nTom was my best friend since we were in diapers. Why did I think it would be a forever friendship? Of course he'd find someone new when he left for college. Someone smarter, someone better.\nI hated his roommate. I hated his roommate more than anyone. And I hated Tom.\nHow could he show off all his luck, rub it in my face, while I was stuck back home with nothing.\nI can't handle it anymore.\nI'm going crazy.\nSaturday, day 62:\nMum forced me to go out with her and dad. She took me to my favourite fast food place (NOT McDonald's, those assholes). I think they knew how upset I was by this. Being rejected over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over hurt. It stung so bad, made me doubt everything about myself.\nI hate myself.\nI hate that I can't do anything right.\nI hate that I'm not smart enough.\nI hate that my parents think a quick meal is going to fix everything.\nI hate how clueless they are.\nI hate college.\nI hate rejection letters.\nI hate Tom.\nAnd his roommate.\nI hate...life.\nMonday? Day 79? 80?\nMy bed has become my comfort. I don't leave it, ever. This is where they're gonna find my decomposing body. I sleep most of the day, awake most of the night. I'm always tired.\nBut what's the point in caring anymore?\nI don't care.\nFriday?, Day 103?\nI've lost track of time. Every day seems to blend together. I used to be able to tell the days by the sounds of my parents downstairs. If I heard them making coffee and having a quick chat before it became quiet, I knew it was a work day. Monday to Friday. But if I heard the television and laughter, it was the weekend.\nThey have a set routine that I easily became familiar with.\nOr...WAS familiar with.\nNow, I barely pay attention to what sounds are coming from where. I no longer care to hear the television, or the sound of the coffee maker. My mothers laugh once brought me joy and warmth, but now...it's annoying and shrill.\nI can't stand how happy they are.\nHappy without me.\nMaybe they'd be better off without me?\nWednesday? Day 128?\nWaking up is hard. Mum told me I needed to start a routine, to get my life back in order.\nI told her to fuck off.\nIt was the most interaction I've had in a while. They stopped coming in, and I stopped going out. I didn't need to see them. They didn't need to see me.\nMonday? Day 141?\nWednesday used to be my favourite day of the week. It's when my favourite TV show would come on. It's on tonight, but I haven't seen it in so long, it just doesn't interest me anymore.\nI wish it did.\nI really do.\nI miss laughing at the wacky characters, oogling the pretty girl in the short skirt. Relating to the main character. I miss it all, but I just don't have the energy to care anymore.\nSaturday? Day 146?\nIt's Friday today, I could tell because I heard my mother on the phone with her sister; my aunt. She usually did that at the end of the week, to update her on life and what's been going on, and my aunt to do the same to her.\nThey were close. Seeing them always made me wish I had a little brother.\nBut now....I don't. I wouldn't want him to see what a disappointment I am. I'm already one to my parents, to my entire family. I couldn't be one to my imaginary brother (who I often named Jack).\nI didn't mean to eavesdrop, but my ears picked up my name. I know she's talked about me before, but she was usually quiet, like she didn't want me to hear what she had to say about me.\nUsually, that meant it wasn't good.\nThursday? Day 160?\nWhat day is it? I don't know. I stopped checking my phone. No one calls me, no one texts me. It's my own fault, of course. I know that.\nI do the same thing over and over again. I'll break down my schedule.\n-Wake up at.....who knows? Sometime when it's bright out.\n-Use the bathroom, cause I still need to go.\n-Stay in bed, usually looking at the ceiling.\n-Mum leaves food outside my bedroom door. Sometimes I take a new bites, otherwise I get dizzy. But I never eat it all. I can't stomach it.\n-Sleep.\n-More bathroom time.\n-Sleep. But this time with music. Loud. Angry. Music.\n-Repeat.\nI do this every day. Every single day.\nWednesday? Day 215?\nI can't do this anymore. The emptiness is swallowing me more and more each day. I can't remember the last time I felt happy, I can't even remember what day it is. Or what month it is. How does one lose track of that?\nIs it Monday? Friday? Is it the weekend? Is Christmas coming up? I have no fucking idea anymore, and it's driving me crazy. I used to have control over my life, and now....now it's nothing. I am nothing. I can't stand it.\nI feel like I'm going crazy.\nI pushed away my parents, I pushed away my friends. I have no one. I AM no one.\nHow do I end this? I want there to be structure again. I want to feel something. I want to smile, and laugh. Hell, I want to cry. Long and loud, without caring who saw or heard.\nI just want things to stop blending together.\nI want life to go back to how it was before. I want ME to go back to how I was before. How did I get this low?\nIt needs to end.\nIt will end.\nFriday? Day 218?\ndear mum and dad. you two are Going to see me happy again, I pOmise. I will work hard to make you prOud of me. I know things got out of control, but I'm working Day and night to fix it. things didn't go according to plan But that doesn't mean you need to worrY about me or blame yourself. you two are the best parEnts a son could ever have. you love me for who i am, whIch i know isn't an easy thing to do, Laughable, really. Please dOn't be mad at me for being Very distant, things just got rough. but i'm doing my bEst. i hope you know how much i love You and dad, and am overjOyed that yoU two are my parents."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on 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 the sky shone blue\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2293\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone forced out of their home."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Wednesday 14th March 1945\nWill it ever end? The suffering, the pain. Will life ever return to what it once was? Will the sun ever shine on a land so peaceful and green? Will Papa ever come home to us?\nI don’t know.\nWe don’t know.\nMrs. Woźniak gave me this empty notebook, she told me to write in it, that it will help pass the time. Although, I am unsure if I like it.\nIt is chilly today. The ice is skittering across the floor like translucent snakes riding the wind. The blizzard hisses and wails through the narrow gaps by the ceiling, I like to imagine it as wounded soldiers crying out for help. Although that isn’t the most positive thought. We are freezing, but safe. And Mama said that is all that matters.\nFriday 16th March\nNazi planes flew over yesterday, their engines groaned and mumbled over the tempest, like the unsettling orchestra of war. We were worried they might bomb us, but Mr. Woźniak assured us we are safe and gave us more blankets.\nThe wool is itchy, I think Mrs. Woźniak knitted them. But they keep us warm. The checkers are fascinating, the neat squares cling to one another in chaotic clashes of bright colour. Colour is a nice change. My favorite colour is blue, that deep azure blue of the sky above us.\nI peered out through the wooden slats today, I could see a lot of black smoke in the distance. Mama advised me to stay away from that wall, but I long to see the sun and the sky. It has been so long.\nShabbat 18th March\nToday we had shul, hidden away in the tight confinements of this musty cellar. Mama whispered to us to be proud we are Jewish, that it is who we are, and that we should never be ashamed. No matter what anyone says. We sung sweet hymns praising God and the angels above, our voices never raising over more than a murmur.\nThe sun shone brightly through those tiny slits in the planks as we read verses from the Torah. The timbers rest so high I have to stand on a wooden crate to peer out. The sunshine dances in delicate glowing rays, sending intricate patterns twirling across the grimy concrete floor. I wish it was filtering through the stained glass in the synagogue, the high ceilings echoing the chorus of our united voices as we sing.\nMatya asked to read my diary today, but I reminded her she can’t read yet, she’s only four. She protested at this, but I enjoy having something to call my own. It is all I have.\nPapa used to read to us, his voice a deep but soothing grumble. His grey flecked beard curled along his jaw. I wish he hadn’t left, but I know he didn’t go by choice. The memories still burn my mind, the fear still lingers as I remember hiding in the attic of our home, peering from behind the moth-eaten curtain as the Nazis dragged and beat Papa before throwing him into the back of a truck. That was the last time I saw him. After that we were forced to flee our home, for many nights we ran, our feet blistering and swollen until we found refuge here. I am sorry, the pain is too much, I cannot go on.\nMonday 26th I believe?\nI am writing by the light of the moon, I pray the clouds will not obscure my vision as I must write these words.\nPapa is gone. As in dead. Mr. Woźniak informed us at noon, and Mama has not ceased crying since. I can still hear the whimpers and hiccups from the writhing mound in the corner of the cellar. Matya and I cried too, the ache in my chest is unlike any other. It is as though the Nazis ripped a piece of my heart out and won’t give it back.\nSalt streaks stain out cheeks, the chalky white stark against our dust covered faces. I long for a bath, to sink below the steaming hot water and just feel the stress of each day wash off my shoulders.\nThe light is fading, although I fear I have not said enough. I feel as though I must pour out my heart onto these pages, even though no one shall read them. At least I don’t think anyone will.\nI peeked at the stars earlier, when the moon wasn’t so high. They glow and twinkle in the most mesmerizing way, like the light of lost souls shining so brightly above us. Perhaps Papa is up there too. Back at home, the stars were never so bright. We lived in a small town, not on a desolate farm somewhere in the countryside. I must admit it is beautiful here, but it is increasingly hard to appreciate the beauty while hiding in a bunker several feet below the earth’s surface.\nI miss home, the sweet scent of buttery loaves in the early morn, as Mr. Katz flung the doors of his bakery open. The hustle and bustle of women as they went about their daily routines, their voices high and pleasant amidst the call of songbirds from the branches of those spindly trees. I miss Papa’s booming voice as he called to us on the Shabbat, to ready ourselves for another Bar Mitzvah. I miss everyt-\nTuesday 27th March\nThe clouds choked my sight last night, plunging the cellar into complete darkness. The night felt lonely, devoid of colour and life, black like the stone-cold hearts of the Nazis. So, I apologize I did not complete my entry.\nThe sky is grey today, full of vivacity and fury. The clouds billow and swell, melding into one another in the most mesmerizing fashion. Matya clambered into my arms just to peek through the slats, her blue eyes were wide with fascination as the rain poured down. Mama is still in the corner, her body so engulfed by thick woolen blankets that she barely seems human, her eyes are swollen and red. I long to be her comfort.\nMrs. Woźniak brought us creamy pumpkin soup earlier. It was chunky and delicious, I swear could have eaten the whole pot. I had to share though.\nWednesday 4th April 1945\nMrs. Woźniak let us come upstairs today. Well, me and Matya and I went up, Mama is still mourning Papa. The house is wide and airy, the sunlight trickles through broad open windows, the dust particles stirred up by a fluffy white cat. I petted that cat. Its fur is so soft, I made it purr. Mrs. Woźniak said its name is Biała Sowa, which means White Owl in Polish. \nI am glad Mr. and Mrs. Woźniak can speak Deutsch, if not I wouldn’t be able to speak to them. Mama said we are very fortunate to have made it over the border into Poland, but I am not sure. The war is still here, and we aren’t safe. I know that Mama just wants to make us feel better, and for Matya’s sake I don’t confess my feelings, instead I scribble them down amongst these white pages.\nWe ate bread in Mrs. Woźniak’s kitchen. It was a sweet homemade sourdough, lathered with creamy butter and toasted on a skillet over the fire. It warmed my belly so deliciously. I saw photographs hanging on the wall, I asked Mrs. Woźniak who the people were, she told me they were her children, Andnej, Hanna and Alina. I like the name Alina.\nI stepped outside for the first time in months, the sun was high, the sky the deepest azure blue. My favorite colour. The sun kissed my skin with the most serene warmth. The snow has long since melted and shoots of green now peek up out of the soil. Spring is here.\nMatya curled up on the ground seeking the warmth, Mrs. Woźniak and I found it amusing. To be completely frank, I wish I could have too.\nWe are back in the cellar once more; I do not know how long it shall be before I feel the warmth of the sun again.\nTuesday 24th April\nMany days have passed since I last wrote in this diary.\nThe Nazis invaded this house yesterday, but they didn’t find us. Mama said there is hope for us yet, but as each day drags on, I struggle to believe her. How can there be hope when there is so much evil around us? How can we hope that we will one day be safe and free, when Papa was murdered by these people? It is not fair.\nThe fear is still fresh in our minds. The panic. When the Nazis bashed on the door, the thumping echoing around the house and down to where we hide. Mrs. Woźniak had rushed to us, tossing in a loaf of bread and desperately begging us to stay silent. Then she lowered the trapdoor. Last time Matya and I went upstairs she showed us the door. It fit so snuggly against the floorboards, each line matching up so when it was closed, you would hardly know it was there. I was amazed.\nI recall the Nazis great boots stomping overhead, their guttural shouts felt as though they bit into my flesh. I could hear the Woźniak’s, their voices a false calm as the Nazis rampaged their home, stealing food and shattering vases and chinaware. And then, before we knew it, they left. I have never felt relief like I did once Mr. Woźniak opened that trapdoor, his wrinkled face peering down at us, with a glimpse of a smile playing across his lips. I know that if we were caught, we would all die. I feel guilty about that.\nSaturday 28th April\nI am sad today. I feel so lonely and miserable down here. I spend most of my time standing on the milk crate, staring at the world beyond those rotting wooden slats. Mama is up now, but I can still see her body is laden with the burden of grief, I suppose having two daughters and being a family of Jews hiding in a cellar does not ease the weight.\nPerhaps I will write a poem to cheer myself up.\nIn this dark cellar I now call home,\nWhere there is little space to roam,\nI find refuge in the stars and the moon,\nThough I wish to leave, pray it may be soon,\nMy Papa has gone to heaven up high, \nHis smile is in that blue azure sky.\nI read my poem to Mama, she smiled and gave me a hug.\nI feel better now.\nThursday 3rd May 1945\nMatya has been ill, that is why I have not written. We praise the Lord that her fever has now broken, and she is on the mend. For I daresay I could not live without her. Mrs. Woźniak has been an angel these past few days, her vegetable broth seems to work miracles. I read stories to Matya while Mama stroked her brow with a damp cloth. My eyes are tiring as I write, for my only light is simply that of a flickering candle. The wax is dripping off in the most fascinating way, the urge to touch it is almost unbearable, yet I shall refrain as I fear a burn is not what I need at this moment.\nI can hear the soft snores of Mama and Matya, I wish I was asleep also, but my body seems to resist it. I cannot see the stars tonight, for the clouds are thick and plentiful. I think of Papa, the way he used to tuck me in at night, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead and whispering Gute Nacht Shira. \nI shall try to sleep now, for I am exhausted.\nTuesday 8th May 1945\nThe sun has not shined so brightly since the war first started, I feel as though the whole world is rejoicing. The war is over. Mr. Woźniak came home not even an hour ago, shouting in delight. We were released from the cellar, our eyes taking moments to adjust to the brilliant light.\nI can hear church bells clanging victoriously in the distance, Mama is swinging Matya around by her arms, their laughs infectious. I cannot help but beam with happiness.\nRight now, I am resting below the wide branches of a Sycamore tree. My bare toes are digging into the grass and soil, a sensation I didn’t know I missed. Birds chirp from the tops of the trees, their songs harmonizing with the clanging of the bells and excited laughter. Dreamy white clouds float lazily across the sky as if they too are finally at peace. I want to roll down this hill, to laugh and shout and make as much noise as I want, and now that the war is over I can.\nI am free.\nWe are free.\nIt hardly seems real. There is no more hiding, no more cowering the darkness, no more trembling in the face of the Nazis or Hitler. I am Jewish and I am free. I do not know where life will take us, but I know that this day I will remember until the day I die.\nThe air smells so sweet, like blooming Gerberas and the gentle spring breeze. I must put down this diary now, to gather my family in my arms and rejoice. Together we shall rebuild the life that was stolen from us. I will smile at the sun and the sky that shines so blue, for I daresay there is nothing we cannot achieve.\nLove,\nShira Cohen – Aged 10"
}
]
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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: within the fires\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1982\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about someone forced out of their home."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "If I remember the date right, it was early September.\nI think it was the ninth. It’s hard to tell—I didn’t feel like myself back then. I would often lose track of time. On that day, word came to me that we lost the war. I was walking alongside a cart of debris through the remains of our town, and two women spoke as if they were disappointed.\nThe great empire of Japan had surrendered.\nTwo of our cities were destroyed. Reduced to ash and rubble.\nEven then, I could only think of you, and I cried.\n\n- - -\n\nKyoka heard the drone of the planes before the ring of the bell.\n“Air raid!” a man outside called. He swung a bell through the air, an echoing chime in the streets of Nagoya—the siren had broken down again. “Air raid! Get to the shelters! It’s an air raid!” A door slammed in a nearby home. Hurried footsteps followed. Kyoka rushed through her house, grabbing what she could as the drone grew louder.\n“Kyo,” her brother said from behind her. She turned and took his arm, her pack in the other. “Do we have to go to the shelter again? I don’t like it there-”\n“You’ll like it better than here, I can promise you that.”\nShe slid open the front door and stepped outside. Silver planes flew above, reflecting the midday sunlight, hundreds in the sky—a thundering roar as they passed overhead. Their fuselages split open at the bottom, and a steady stream of firebombs dropped.\nThey hit the ground and rolled like steel cans. Each erupted into flames seconds later. A bomb landed in front of them, and Kyoka stepped back. \n“I need you to stay close, Toru,” she said.\n“You’re too fast! I’m going to trip.”\n“Come here.” Kyoka reached down and grabbed him by the waist. “Up we go.”\nA house exploded on their left, knocking her sideways. Fire broke through the wooden home, severing the support beams, a burning panel coming loose. A cat mewed as it scurried atop a fence beside them. Kyoka set her brother on her back and ran forward—Toru mumbled her name, refusing to look up.\nThe orange sky quickly blackened with smoke.\nFirebombs continued to fall. Kyoka ran with a crowd through the streets, struggling to keep her balance as people bumped into her. A fire crew set up on her left, shouting, hoses of ivory water attempting to stop the spread of the inferno. \nA utility pole caught aflame and fell in the crowd’s direction.\n“Kyo!”\nShe looked to her left, then ran down an alleyway. Cries pierced the air behind her. A car alarm rang further off. With her shoes tapping against stone, Kyoka ran until out of breath, then came to a stop at a clearing. She rested a hand against a tree.\n“Kyo, Kyo, Kyo,” Toru mumbled over and over. He trembled, shaking like a reed in the wind. “I’m scared, Kyo. Are we safe now? Where’s mama? Is she safe too?”\n“I bet you she got to the shelter as soon as it started. It’s close to her work.”\nShe set Toru down, and he clutched onto her right away.\n“Kyo,” he said. “I lost my shoes when we were running. They fell off. I’m sorry-”\n“It’s okay. I’ll buy you new ones the first chance I get.”\nAfter a half-hour's rest, Kyoka hoisted Toru on her back and set out. Specks of ash in the breeze caught in her hair. Atop a hill, she stared down at the landscape of her city, now a wasteland. Nothing but ruins and loose fires for miles on end.\n“Where is everything, Kyo? It’s all gone.”\n“Yeah,” Kyoka said. “I…”\n“Is our house still there?”\n“I…don’t know. We can check tomorrow—it’s too dangerous right now.” Toru exhaled upon hearing her words. “Don’t you worry, okay? Dad flies a plane, too. He’s going to make them pay for all of this.”\nThe two camped out on the hill as the sun fell, giving way to night. Few stars made it through the smoke. Buildings crumbled further off, the noise carrying in the wind, and Kyoka watched in the distance as a man dug through the debris.\n“I’m cold, Kyo,” Toru said. He chewed on a rice ball, dried out from being kept in her bag for so long. “And the ground isn’t fun to sleep on.”\n“I know.”\n“I wish we could go home.”\n“Me too.”\n“Can you read the letter from papa now?”\nShe smiled, reaching into her pack. Kyoka ran her thumb under the red seal and unfolded the beige note. After clearing her throat, she began.\n“My two children.” Toru sat up and inched closer. “I hope this letter finds you in high spirits. I trust you have been well recently, and I am dearly grateful for your letters. I’ve read over them many times—your calligraphy has improved very much. Has Toru been learning too? I would like for you to teach him in your spare time.\n“In order to destroy our enemy in the upcoming days, I will summon courage with all my might and fulfil the Imperial mandate. I will not retu…” Kyoka stopped. She stared at the words, then looked to Toru, who waited for her to continue.\n“What did he say, Kyo?”\n“He said he misses us, and he’ll be back soon. How about you get some rest now? It’s been a long day.” Toru nodded, rubbing his eyes. He wrapped himself in the blanket and rested his head on the grass. \nI need you to be strong, Kyoka; the letter had read. Please watch over Toru, and take care of yourself in the coming year. Until we meet again, my child.\nAfter Toru had fallen asleep, quietly breathing in the night, Kyoka pressed her head into her arm, and sobbed. Dawn didn’t come without nightmares.\nWith little rest, she lifted Toru onto her back and made way for what remained of Nagoya. Men passed by with carts and dug out what they could from the wreckage. Lone children sat in the streets, dirt coating their faces.\n“I don’t know where our house is anymore, Kyo.”\nKyoka looked around. Only a few homes remained standing. She turned away before Toru could notice the blackened bodies in a ditch. Making her way down the street, she found she lost her sense of direction, nothing the same as before.\n“Kyo? Are you okay?”\n“I’m okay. I’m sure we can find somewhere else to stay for now.”\n“But what do we do after?”\n“I…” She sighed. “We’ll find mom, and go from there.”\nThe hours passed by, and Kyoka could not find her. Neither could she stomach telling Toru what had supposedly happened to those in the shelters, trapped in the heat. Without knowing how to proceed, she brought Toru to the beach.\nThey sat in the sand across from one another.\n“Hey,” she said, tears warm in her eyes. Toru palmed wet sand into a dome. Waves washed up on shore, a calming noise, and seagulls cawed overhead. Her brother raised his head and smiled.\n“Look at the castle I’m making, Kyo! Would you want to live in it?”\n“I would,” she said. She wiped away the tears with her arm. “You’ve been very brave, you know that? And I need you to keep being brave. For me.” Toru nodded in reply to her words. “We will only have a little to eat tonight, but I will find something for us come morning.”\n“Okay,” Toru said. He poked holes in the sandcastle with his fingers. “Look, a window. Why aren't you eating, Kyo? You didn't have anything this morning.”\n“Don’t worry about me.” Kyoka dug into the sand around the castle. “It’s a moat,” she said, “and we’ll have alligators in the waters and archers on the walls. No one will ever take it over. Let's build another.”\nToru laughed as he pushed sand into a dome.\nShe savoured his smile, knowing it may not return.\nAs the days passed, food became scarce. Sirens sounded each night, echoing wails, and Kyoka held onto Toru as he shook in fear. They rested in an abandoned shed outside the city—the college that served as a relief shelter had fallen to a wave of bombs.\n“Kyo,” Toru said. He nudged her awake. “My stomach is hurting really bad. Do you have anything to eat?”\n“I…don’t.” She stood up, the shed’s floorboards creaking beneath her. The sun had just begun to set on the horizon—the planes would soon come. “I have a plan, though. I need you to stay here, alright? I’ll be back in an hour’s time.”\nShe took off to the part of town still-standing—buildings and homes untouched by the fires. The very second the air raid sirens started, she ran into the fray, against the flow of people, into the bombing zone. \nKyoka dashed into a home. She found a closed pot in one, opened it, and shovelled the cooked rice within into her mouth. A building collapsed in flames nearby. She ran into the bedroom and pulled the blanket off a futon. \nWith all the food she could find wrapped up in the blanket, she made for the door. The house creaked—a bomb had set the roof aflame. A beam snapped, fell, and broke against her head before she could step outside. Kyoka dropped to the floor, dazed.\nShe scrambled for her supplies. Toru wouldn’t survive without them. A second beam swung down, jagged and sharp. It cut deep into her side. She cried out in pain, standing, struggling to find balance. She wrenched the beam from her impaled waist. Blood quickly stained her clothing. The heavy smoke made it hard to think.\nShe limped through the gathering firestorm on her way back.\nAt the shed, Toru ran up to her, eyes wide and worried.\n“Kyo! You’re bleeding! I need to find you a doctor.”\n“There’s no use,” she said. “We’re too far.” She collapsed beside him. The blanket came undone, the rice pot and cans of goods tumbling out. “I messed up, Toru.” Her breathing grew heavy. “Oh, I messed up. I’m sorry. I messed up badly. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know what to do and I was desperate and no one is helping us-”\n“You’re not going to die,” Toru said, tears in his eyes. He clutched onto her. “Are you, Kyo?”\n“I’m sorry, Toru. I only wanted to keep you safe, but the world made it so hard. I tried all I could.”\n“Kyo…”\n“I brought you,” she paused, her breathing slowing. Blood trickled from the gash on her waist. The cloth she’d tied around it had loosened. “I brought you food. You can eat, and I need you to find someone to help you, okay? Find an orphanage to take you in. Do you hear me?”\n“I don’t want you to die.”\n“I know,” she mumbled. “I know. You’ll have to be brave. For me. It'll be alright.”\nHer vision faded at the edges. In the last few minutes of her life, the clock winding down, she held onto Toru. And when her grip weakened, he spent the night in her arms. \n\n- - -\n\nIt’s been a decade since then, and I still think of you all the time. I’m going to school again! I wish you could see me these days. I take the train every morning, and I’m learning a lot. An orphanage far away from our home did take me in, just like you told me.\nThis is only my first letter I’m writing, and I will bury it at your grave. I will visit you next year to write another. I’m sorry it took me so long, Kyoka.\nThank you for keeping me alive, and being so kind. \nI will forever miss you.\n-Your brother, Toru."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Discard\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2688\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who’s trying to accomplish a task that used to be easy but is now made complicated by a pandemic."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Shoutout to Val for collabing with me and giving me the character idea. She hasn't posted much but check here out. She needs encouragement from you amazing Reedsy members. https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing prompts/author/dbfb44/\n\n***\n\nEverything used to be great. Amazing, even. Now? I hate it. Absolutely hate it. I used to have friends- I wouldn’t really talk to them, but they thought I was their friends, so basically I used to have people that looked up to me. I used to be able to ride, Luna, to school and back. I used to be able to go everywhere. To show my swag in the halls and to rock the best trendy, emo styles. I was popular. I was cool. Now? I’m just another girl trying to survive this whole chaotic mess. Surviving this mess isn’t even the beginning of it all. The beginning of it all is this whole sicking pandemic. Masks, tissues, hand sanitizer, extreme washing of hands, etc. I don’t even know where to start, but let's start off when I used to be a somebody... Before I was a nobody behind a screen.\n\nBefore*** \n\nBeep Beep Beep\n\n“Stupid alarm,” I say, as a smash the snooze button with a closed fist for the third time.\n\nI pull my comforter over my bed and doze off. \n\n“Lexi! Hun, are you up?” Mom barges into my room. “Lexi, sweetie, get up. You’re going to be late, again.”\n\n“Okay, Mom. I’ll get up.”\n\n“No, Lexi. You said that five minutes ago. I mean it,” she nags, as she spreads my grey curtains, letting the light shine through and onto my black walls.\n\n“Okay, okay. I’m up!”\n\nI drag myself out of bed and slide my slippers on. I hate getting up in the morning. Luckily, I know I never get up when my alarm beeps, so I always put the alarm an hour before I actually have to get up. Sadly, I’m fifteen minutes behind schedule. I’m just going to have to make a wing eyeliner and call it a morning. I take a quick shower, blow dry my jet black hair, and add black clips in the front. I pull on my sixth favorite black, ripped jeans and my vintage, black Beatles t-shirt, and black, ankle platform boots. \n\nI run down the stairs, pull my checkered backpack over my shoulder that’s by the door, grab my keys from the door table, and open the door.\n\n“Excuse me, young lady. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”\n\n“Um, I’m going to school, like always. Unless you wanna call my school and tell them I’m sick?”\n\n“Nice try, but I mean you haven’t even eaten your breakfast yet. I made waffles.”\n\nI walk into the kitchen and grab a waffle from the stake.\n\n“Bye, Mom,” I add, as I hug her from behind her chair.\n\n“Behave yourself and don’t get in trouble!”\n\nI pretend I don’t hear her as I stuff the waffle in my mouth and hop on my motorcycle. I ride down the street. The wind brushing against my hair and into my shirt feels comforting. I love the sense of being wild and spontaneous. Letting Luna guide me to my destinations. \n\nI arrive at Break Academy, the school of the populars, intelligent nerds, preppy girly girls, sports maniacs, weirdos, normals, and me. I don’t think I fit into a category, yet people may associate me as a weirdo or a popular. I guess I’m both, in a way of speaking. Yes, I’m popular, but no, I’m not weird. Just uniquely me. I stand alone and fall alone. I don’t date and I keep to myself. Everyone knows me, but at the same time the only thing anyone knows about me is my name and that I travel on the sickest ride in the lot full of jeeps and deluxe cars with names that remind you of Gucci or Prada. \n\nI head into Homeroom. My homeroom is crazy boring. The gossip splurging out of hypocrites and losers is dumb. Nobody has anything better to do besides getting into other people’s lives. It’s sad actually. I sit in the back where my table sits. It’s not like we have assigned seats, but everyone knows not to sit or touch that specific seat. That seems ridiculous because of other students and class rotations, but if my high school can't get any more bougie, everything is separated. Homerooms for every level grade- indicating we don’t communicate with each other/ other grades-, every department of learning in separate halls- meaning there's a floor for just science, history, math, english, language, and arts. My school is one of those insanely, profited schools. When fundraisers come you already know that the athletic and arts departments are going to be funded for the whole year. Our school is just one of the lucky ones, I guess. Even with the widely spread diversity and the wealthy, spoiled brats, I can’t seem to fit in. I’m just one of those teens. Visible to the eye, but transparent to the soul. \n\n“Ms. Sagaris?” Miss. Martinez asks as she takes Homeroom attendance.\n\n“Here,” I call out.\n\nIt’s just crazy. Every day starts off the same, depending on what time I wake up or how I’m feeling, and ends the same, depending on if I skip class or fall asleep during Mr. Purunski’s class lecture. That guy is boring to the max. I see the same people in my grade and sometimes we can even look down at the youngins walking down their own halls through the shiny, colossal windows. It’s always a new day in a different, stylish outfit, with a different, uniquely done makeup design. We learn different stuff, sometimes we learn absolutely nothing because we don’t comprehend a word of our highly educated, master degree teachers. Sometimes I wonder, do our teachers know how stupid some of us are? Or do they know just because we were fortunate enough to pass Level 10 that doesn’t mean we have to have knowledge of an 11th grader? Okay, that last one is supposed to be common, but still. Not all of us are geniuses. Just because we go to a rich, smart person school, doesn’t mean we’re all going to get transferred to college with a scholarship. I mean come on, how do they expect us to take all these classes knowing what we’re going to do with the rest of our lives.\n\n“Ms. Sagaris, what is the formula for calculating the cerebral perfusion pressure? \n\nUgh. We’re treated as we’re college students.\n\n“The formula for calculating the cerebral perfusion pressure is CPP=MAP-CVP.”\n\n“Can you translate that into words please?”\n\n“Really?” Mr. Ferret gives me a stern look. “Oh my goodness. Fine. The translation for CPP=MAP-CVP is cerebral perfusion pressure equals mean arterial pressure minus the central venous pressure.”\n\nI don’t even know where or what I want to do with my life. It’s not like I stupid enough not to get into Penn State, Yale, or Princeton. Honestly, how smart we are sometimes doesn’t even matter. Everything comes down to money. Money, money, money. It’s all this town has to give. I’m good in my classes, mentally, but that doesn’t matter if I don’t do my homework.\n\n“Ms. Sagaris, it’s your turn to present to the class.”\n\n“Um, Mrs. Welton. What am I supposed to be presenting, exactly?”\n\nThe class giggles.\n\n“Ms. Sagaris, you’re supposed to present a pop culture event that happened that influenced our generation or a pop group that influenced our time. Are you prepared, Ms. Sagaris?”\n\n“Ohh, right, that. Yes, Mrs. Welton, I am prepared.”\n\nI gather my thoughts and try to come up with some brilliant speech. As I walk towards to podium in the front of the class, I glare into Mrs. Welton’s mini mirror on her desk. Boom! I’ll talk about the revolution of the coming of The Beatles. \n\nI clear my throat.\n\n“So the pop group that I picked, that influenced our time, is, of course, The Beatles.” I tug at the hem of my t-shirt and think of all my knowledge on them. “I picked The Beatles because they’re profoundly awesome. They were active around 1957 and became extremely popular around England and they spread from there. They had hardships, but who doesn’t. Right? Anyways, The Beatles never started as The Beatles. They were The Quarrymen, but obviously, The Beatles sounds better. ‘Love Me Do’ was their first song, but I prefer the song ‘I feel fine'. The members increased. Some departed and changed. Sadly, many are dead, now, but they live on in their music. That’s all folks.”\n\nNailed it.\n\n“Oh. Wow. Thanks, Ms. Sagaris. Please, have a seat.”\n\nI walk to my seat and take in the applause. I did great for a project I didn’t even prepare myself for. Oh, thank you, John Lennon, for your astonishing support.\n\nThis is basically most of my classes. I do what I do with my head. That’s all. So there goes science and history. Next up is lunch and then math. That’s why I sort of like this school. We have three classes per day. One day of three similar classes and the next day the other three similar classes. They’re long classes, but at least we get to learn something between those periods. Before lunch, I stop by my locker. I bend down and shift the numbers to get my code. 9870. I hate bottom lockers. I grab my mini bag. It’s full of stuff like emergency makeup like my maroon red matte lipstick, my lunch card, and other random stuff. I get up and start to walk to the Level 11 Cafe.\n\n“Look a little pale there, Lexi. I almost didn’t even notice you, but then I saw all those… piercings? Yeah. Also, literally, no one wears platforms anymore.”\n\n“Bite your tongue, Myrtle, or I’ll-'' I say, as I make my way to her face, but I think of what my Mom said this morning… “Behave yourself and don’t get in trouble!” If I punch Myrtle now and get in trouble later then that’ll be the sixth detention this semester. Then I’ll have one more detention left to complete a seven-month suspension. Ugh. Rules suck. I think of my actions and sadly, I spontaneously decide to not make Myrtle's face look like a tomato. \n\n“Everything alright, Ms. Measly and Ms. Sagaris?”\n\n“Yes, Head Madonelly.”\n\n“Just dandy, Head Madonelly.”\n\n“Good. Now make your way to your designated Cafe.”\n\nHead Madonelly is- well- she’s something. She’s top-notch here. Literally, she’s what people call a principal. She’s fierce and strict. She has no tolerance for disrespectful students nor for unacceptable behavior. She does give students, like me, a little more privilege. She says we have “potential in such a terrible environment of crazy happenings” which translates to “even though you’re slightly a violent person, you still deserve to be here in this privileged school with all these rich and smart kids”. Also, my Mom is paying for me being here. \n\nBesides all these things that I go through every day, I don’t entirely hate being here. I go on with my day, however it turns out to be, and stick with that. Simple.\n\nIn between the chaotic mess***\n\nThe news started off with little warnings of not traveling to other parts of the world or states or wherever. To stay at your house, as necessary. It was that extreme, at first. Then half of the world was starting to get this pandemic and it was spreading rapidly. It’s like how a twig catches on fire, but then leans on another branch and then all of a sudden the whole forest is on fire. It’s so like that. Everyone had to start wearing masks. Limitations of how many people can enter a store and how many things you can take. It was like people really thought that if this pandemic was happening, and everyone was dying, that it was the end of the world. It sort of is, to those who are grievously dying, but for those who are fighting and holding on, we’re just trying to get through it all. All of these are extremely terrible, but one of the two things that literally was killing me inside was having to do Online Learning. It was terrible. Worse than being in school. At first, everyone had to stay home and do everything online, but now, many students and adults can work from their original places. I, for one, don’t want to catch this virus, but I also can’t think or learn with backed-up assignments in my Classroom Files. The second worse thing, that should be first, is that I’m limited to where I can drive Luna to. It’s so sad. I think she’s catching dust bunnies. I can only drive her to the park, the beach, or the library. All of these places are less than 10 minutes away. I have to wear my mask and stay more than six feet away because my Mom is super careful. Again, this sucks.\n\nAfter***\n\nI know I hated school before, but it was nothing compared to Online Learning. In-Person Students are so lucky, although a few got the virus because of participating in large parties. I used to be able to think calmly, in a surrounding full of people that were just there in front of me, but now, some, are just all in a computer either behind a profile picture or showing their face while wearing pajamas. I used to actually put effort into how I dressed for school, but now? Ugh. All I have to do is take my computer off my nightstand, prop it onto my comforter, and log into each of my classes. There are pros and cons to the whole thing.\n\nPros:\n\nI get to wear PJs and stay in bed.\nI get breakfast delivered directly to my room because my Mom feels bad for me.\nI don’t have to show my face nor do I have to participate as much as I used to.\nI don’t get into fights anymore. \nI get to have After Hours Help I can blast songs from Billie Eilish from my phone and not get into trouble (much more important than After Hours Help).\nI get to sleep, without getting into trouble, unless he calls my name and I don't answer, during Mr. Purunski’s lectures on how Shakesphere was an amazing poet and writer and how Samuel L. Clemens was super smart. \n\nCons:\n\nI can’t ride Luna like I used to.\nI have overdue homework assignments.\nI’m always bored.\nI hate staying in my bed all day.\nI always get distracted looking around my room. What do I look for? I don’t know.\nI have no social interaction. I prefer being a loner, but I’m going insane here.\nI’m always so frustrated and don’t know what to do with myself. My mom says to let it all out and cry, but I don’t do crying. It’s a sign of weakness and I’m not weak. \nAlthough “going to school” is a click away I can’t seem to get up and do it.\nI have no one that admires my existence of being “cool”.\nI’m completely a nobody. \n\nYou see how there are more cons than pros? Yes? Exactly my point. I can’t even do the simplest things anymore. I can’t style my hair into crazy dos or rock the best punk rock look. I don’t even need jeans anymore because sweatpants and PJs are the new styles. Everything used to be much easier than this. Whatever this is. I feel so dysfunctional. I feel like the sign that they place in our fancy bathroom stalls whenever they don’t work. I just want to scream in my pillow and wish that everything can go back to normal. To go back to actual school where it was easier. To what I thought and felt was normal. To what I hated, but want back. I want the before. Not the after. \n\nHopefully. One. Day. We. Can. All. Just. Go. Back. To. Being. Our. Own. Normals."
}
]
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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: Albert\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2089\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a scientist."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Albert Finley was born with what the medical professionals referred to as, “Macrocephaly,” or an overly large head. Doctors warned Albert’s parents that this condition most often led to complications later in life, so they should prepare themselves.\n His parents chose the name, Albert, after the world-renowned physicist, Albert Einstein, a role model for Albert’s father who was a physicist himself. Little did they know how this namesake was going to impact their son’s life.\n In the first year of Albert’s life, his parents had several tests done on almost a weekly basis to check the progress of their son’s condition. The doctors put him through MRI’s, had him assessed for signs of autism, checked for infections and tumors, yet nothing seemed out the ordinary other than an increase in his cranium and his brain activity.\n Three weeks before his first birthday, Albert began to take his first steps, though his large skull made it more difficult to balance and he stumbled several times. His speech was limited, but he seemed fascinated with the way things worked. Everything from the flight of a house fly to the cars driving down the street.\n As he grew older and started in school, Albert’s parents would receive several calls or notes from the teacher concerning his odd behaviour in class. While the other children played with toys and dolls, Albert would use up every piece in the LEGO box to create an extravagant model of the solar system. He didn’t have any friends and was teased a lot by the other children because of his large skull.\n While lessons were being taught, Albert seemed distant, like his body was present, but his mind was somewhere else. He gazed out the window at the clouds in the sky instead and wondered what it would be like to fly like a bird.\n Albert’s parents realized their son was special by the time he turned eight and could identify every element in the periodic table. Albert’s father began sharing his love for science at an early age, and his thirst for knowledge seemed unquenchable.\n Oddly enough, when Albert reached his teenage years and began high school, his grades began to drop, so his parents arranged a meeting with Albert’s teachers. Each one of them stated the same thing; they said that Albert refused to participate in class and all his homework assignments were handed in incomplete, yet his tests and exams were perfect. In fact, his chemistry teacher showed them one test where Albert had corrected the formula on one of the test questions. Nobody had ever noticed it before, and it would have been impossible to answer without the correction.\n It was suggested by the high school principal that Albert be put into an advanced program at a special school for gifted students. The name of the facility was, Sycamore Academy, and Albert began his stay there one week later.\n As Albert and his parents entered the front doors of Sycamore Academy for the first time, his parents were in awe of the list of awards, commendations, and plaques that lined the walls of the foyer. A large portrait sat upon an easel of the academy’s founder, Lord Francis Culver, an aristocrat with a passion for higher learning. His philosophy was that an exceptional mind has the potential for exceptional things, whether it be through science, philosophy, or the arts. His academy was dedicated to helping the students tap into the grey matter within their brains and expand the potential and the physiology of brain activity.\n Doctor Elizabeth Harding greeted them as they walked into the office. Doctor Harding was a Neuroscientist and oversaw the running of the facility. Her experience allowed her to facilitate the academy with the latest neurological technology. She asked to speak with Albert alone for a moment, so his parents stepped into the hall.\n After approximately ten minutes, Albert joined his parents in the hall. For the first time in an exceptionally long time, they saw their son smile. His mother tried to find out what Doctor Harding had talked to him about, but Albert refused to reveal anything about their conversation. Doctor Harding appeared in the doorway and said that her assistant, Maria would show Albert to his room.\n Maria led them down a long corridor with windows on both sides lining the length of the hall. Outside, they had a view of the forest the surrounded the facility to the East, and a man-made lake to the West. Benches were mounted to the base of each window.\n As they walked through the double doors at the end of the corridor, flashes erupted through a window to the right. They had to shield their eyes from the brightness. Maria explained that they were conducting experiments using Nikola Tesla’s original alternating current designs and were finding ways of improving on the design using modern technology and materials.\n Through another set of doors were the male dorm rooms. Male and female students were kept separated except during class studies. She explained that hormones had an adverse affect on a student’s intellectual capabilities.\n Albert was given a private room and was told that he would be given a schedule for his classes later that day. Maria handed him a map of the school and grounds and said that she would take his parents back to the main lobby. They quickly said goodbye to Albert and left with Maria.\n Albert unpacked his belongings and studied the map. Within minutes, he had it memorized. He heard a knock at the door less than an hour later. A young man slightly older than Albert stood in the doorway. He introduced himself as Paul, a student at the academy for the last two years. He was also the Resident Advisor (or RA for short), in charge of the dormitory where Albert was staying. He handed Albert his course study schedule and told him to call on him regarding any questions or concerns.\n Albert’s first day was spent in a private session with a psychotherapist who tried to release any emotional barriers that would potentially impede his learning abilities. After that, he was asked to perform a series of tests to measure his intelligence quotient. He then spent an hour in a dimly lit room with a hypnotherapist who was supposed to open Albert’s mind to its full capability. During the hypnosis, something unusual happened, however. Albert began speaking in German. When the hypnotherapist asked if he learned to speak German in school, Albert replied that he had always known how.\n Once Doctor Harding received the report of Albert’s results, she contacted his parents and asked him if they had taught Albert to speak German, but they claimed that to their knowledge, he had never studied German and neither of them knew how to speak it. She made a note of it and watched Albert’s case much more closely from then on.\n Each day, Albert exceeded the expectations of his teachers. His knowledge of the sciences seemed to come naturally to him, but he excelled in physics. He could relay Albert Einstein’s theory of relativity almost verbatim. The way he described physical phenomena in the absence of gravity was so impressive, that he was asked to give a special presentation in front of the faculty. After he finished, Doctor Harding arranged for a special session for Albert with the hypnotherapist.\n Once Albert was deep in a trance, the hypnotherapist read a list of questions that Doctor Harding had prepared. They were not questions about science, but of Albert Einstein’s personal life, such as the city where he was born, the names of his two wives, the names of his children, what year he won the Nobel Prize in Physics, and where he died. Albert was able to answer every question correctly and without hesitation.\n She began to think that he had perhaps read the biography of Einstein but had another theory; one that science may not be able to explain.\n Over the next several weeks, Doctor Harding took it upon herself to sit in on many of Albert’s study groups and was thoroughly impressed at how much knowledge this young man had. The large head that sat above his shoulders held the large brain of a genius. She felt the need to evaluate her theory further, however, and set up another hypnotherapy appointment for him.\n Before the session began, Doctor Harding asked for Albert’s permission to provide him with an electroencephalography cap (or EEG), which held electrodes that would identify and indicate changes in brain activity. He agreed and placed it on his head. Albert made a comment that it looked like his mother’s shower cap. His attempt at humor was unexpected and caught the doctor off guard for a moment before she began to laugh.\n Doctor Harding asked question regarding quantum physics, something a man as young as Albert would know little of. She then questioned him about Elsa, Einstein’s second wife. She had asked him how they were related to which Albert explained that Elsa was his second wife, but also his maternal first cousin because their mothers were sisters, but also they were paternal second cousins since their fathers were also first cousins. The way Albert described Elsa, was not from a book, but from the eyes and heart of a man in love.\n Once the test was finished, Doctor Harding looked over the one-hundred-page print-out from his EEG. When stimulated by specific questions, Albert’s EEG spiked, while during ordinary questions, there was no abnormal activity. She did, however, notice that his brain activity was much higher than the average academic. It didn’t prove her theory conclusively, but she knew that there was definitely something extra-special about Albert. If she were right about him being a reincarnation of Albert Einstein, however, she had to figure out a scientific reason as to how it would be possible.\n Later that evening, Doctor Harding made a call to Albert’s parents. She explained that Albert was an exemplary student, but that something had come up that she had a tough time explaining. She told them it began with him speaking German, then was his vast knowledge of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. Albert’s father explained to her that he had several books on Einstein at his home, so it was quite possible that Albert could have read them. She then explained the results of the EEG and his reaction while explaining his relationship with Elsa. She wanted to know if the books that Albert’s father had at home contained any personal information about Elsa, but he said there was no personal information, only his theories.\n Doctor Harding was not a religious person, nor did she believe in the possibility of coming back to life in another person’s body, but her instincts were telling her that there was more to Albert than what was on the surface.\n After several days, Doctor Harding decided to meet face-to-face with Albert and confront him without the aid of hypnosis. She asked him if he believed in life after death, and he said no. She asked if he had ever studied Albert Einstein’s theories, and he admitted that he read the books in his father’s library a few times. Then she asked if he knew anything about Einstein’s personal life, and he hesitated before saying no.\n Doctor Harding found this suspicious, so she asked him the same question continuously until he admitted that he Google searched Einstein’s life a month before starting at the academy. He explained to Doctor Harding that he has a photographic memory which allows him to retain vast amounts of information for prolonged periods of time, but it isn’t permanent. He found that things that he had studied earlier in life had all but disappeared from his memory to make room for all the current knowledge. He also admitted that hypnosis does not work on him, so he was quite aware during those sessions.\n Doctor Harding was furious at first at Albert’s deception, but relieved that she did not need to explain to anyone how Albert Einstein’s reincarnated mind was now in the body of a seventeen-year-old boy.\n Albert continued his studies at the academy, though under less deceptive circumstances. He was later accepted with a full scholarship to the prestigious University of Oxford, one of Albert Einstein’s former institutions. From there, he continued his studies in Physics and hoped that one day he could accomplish even half of what his idol and namesake had done during his lifetime."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Virago\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2801\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character forced to give up something important to stand up for what they believe in."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Arecibo, Puerto Rico - 1869\nRafaela lay in her rickety cot watching a roach skitter along the stone floor of her cell. She drew her coarse prison-issue coverlet to her chin, unsure whether the chill she felt came from the brisk January wind that blew through the bars or the moans and sobs that reverberated throughout Arecibo Prison. \nTwo months had gone by since her capture and sentencing, the penalty of death for treason and sedition, for taking part in El Grito de Lares. Most of her compadres were raped and tortured with the worst treatment reserved for the leaders of the rebellion. Those whose spirits had not broken were finished off by illness stemming from the harsh conditions of their imprisonment. Rafaela herself had bouts of vomiting and diarrhea whenever she was able to bring herself to eat the rancid, fly-ridden bowls of food that were shoved into her cell. Her hours of solitude made her think far more than she’d ever had the chance and she smiled when she thought of how dismayed her husband, Roberto, would be about that. He already felt she thought too much and about things that were not befitting of a woman. In fact, Rafaela had been mortifying her well-to-do family for as long as she could remember.\n***\nRafaela’s mother forever admonished her for her wild ways as a child. The Betances-Ramoses were a proud family of high renown, the first having come over with Cristobal Colon himself by order of Queen Isabella. To comport herself any way other than a lady was a direct slap in the face to Rafaela’s descendants. When she agreed to marry banker, Roberto Colon, the family was relieved the young lady had finally settled down. Rafaela liked Roberto. Though he was very straight-laced around her parents, Rafaela found him to be fun and sensual. She blushed thinking of the honeyed declarations he whispered in her ear each night they were together. Declarations that became gloriously fulfilled promises once the couple exchanged vows. He was a good provider and a passionate husband who claimed to love Rafaela’s spirit, especially beneath the covers. \nThree years and two children later, Roberto’s enthusiasm began to wane. They moved to Lares and Rafaela fell in with the impassioned literary set. She would often come home late and regaled her family with the poetry she’d heard and the conversations that took place.\n“You are a wife and mother, Rafaela, you need to think of your family as much as you do philosophers and rebels!” Roberto scolded her.\nRafaela was enamored of the suave and intelligent doctor Ramon Emeterio Betances ever since he visited her father’s home when she was a child. The man had his hands full keeping her father’s slaves from succumbing to cholera, but the ideals he voiced while dining with the family mortified Rafaela’s mother. \n“He can’t really be buying slave children before they’re baptized and setting them free? The very idea! Why can’t the man leave well enough alone? Who would work the fields and mind the children if our slaves were freed?”\nHer father simply brushed him off as an eccentric. “I don’t like paying extra taxes on imports either but declaring independence from Spain is a bit extreme.”\nRafaela thought he was wonderful and when she ran into him in Lares she soon discovered she was still entranced by the man.\n***\n“Rafaela?” \nShe shook her head and glanced at the door. She was so deep in thought she didn’t realize she had a visitor. She swung her feet to the floor and smoothed her hair, knowing it would do no good. As a prisoner, she was not allowed anything that could be used as a weapon, which included hairbrushes, pins, and combs. \n“Good morning, Roberto, or is it afternoon? It’s so easy to lose track of time in here.” She laughed.\nHer stone-faced husband was no longer the dashing figure she remembered. His dark curls started to gray and deep pockets formed beneath his eyes. Even his golden skin appeared ashen. It was then Rafaela realized how much her imprisonment affected her family.\n“I don’t know how you could laugh at a time like this, Rafaela.” His voice was gruff. “My wife in prison, a traitor to the crown, and for what?”\n“For what? Roberto, haven’t you been paying attention? What crown? Spain threw us to the wolves, they don’t care about us. Puerto Rico needs to be her own independent nation. Like Doctor Betances says, ‘No one can give others what they don't have for themselves.’ I did this for us, for our children.”\n“Hang Betances, the cretin is a madman and a traitor! He has tontas like you poisoning guards, attempting to murder high-ranking officials, terrorizing villagers and where is he now? While you rot in a jail cell scandalized, he’s run off to New York no less. You’re being put to death for his crimes!”\nRafaela bristled and tears sprung to her eyes. “Don’t you dare say that. Ramón is a good man. He wasn’t happy with the conditions of our existence and decided to do more than grumble about it.”\n“Ramon now is it?” Roberto sniffed and rolled his eyes. “Rafaela, no one is happy with the conditions of our existence but no sane person tries to overthrow the government over it!”\nRafaela leveled a look at him. “So what do you intend to do about it?”\nRoberto’s eyes flashed with a fire his wife had not seen in years. “The streets of Puerto Rico are no longer safe. The bank has closed its doors on the island and is sending me to the branch in Madrid.” \nRafaela blanched. “You’re leaving, but what about the children?”\n“Tomas and Gabriela are coming with me, as is Luisa.”\n“You’re taking Luisa with you?” \nRafaela thought of the woman whose corset was larger than her attention span and snorted. Roberto’s eyes and hands had wandered over the form of her nubile cousin since before they’d married. She doubted he waited for the lock to click on her cell before the two finally consummated their relationship. \n“Our children need a mother and I need a wife. Luisa has been doing very well in drying the children’s tears and soothing their heartache in your absence.”\nRafaela folded her arms across her chest. “And what has Luisa been doing for you in my absence, mi amor?”\nRoberto sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I can’t do this, Rafaela, I won’t do this. What you’re doing is unfair to me, to all of us.”\n“Well, you’ll have to. We can’t get a divorce, it’s a sin against God!” \n“So is a woman abandoning her duties as wife and mother!” He hissed.\nRafaela couldn’t believe it. Roberto was really leaving her and for some mindless spit of a girl! How could he do this to her, to their family? How could he not see the importance of what she tried to do? Yes, things looked grim now but when people became too comfortable with their plight, nothing can ever be done to change it. Doctor Betances had said so!\n“I’ve spoken with your father and there’s a way we can end the family’s suffering.” Roberto was saying now. “He’s contacted a well-known doctor in New York who has agreed to come examine you.”\n“A doctor, for what? I’m not sick.” Rafaela pressed a hand to her stomach, which gurgled its dissent.\nRoberto shifted his eyes to the wall behind her as he continued. “This doctor will be able to say that you are of a weak mind. You were led astray and not fully aware of what you were doing when you took part in the rebellion. Your father thinks the doctor can get the authorities to release you into his care.”\n“Released into his care?” Rafaela gaped. “You think I’m crazy, you all think I’m crazy.”\nRoberto’s face darkened and he snarled, making Rafaela leap away from the bars. “You abandoned your family to become a revolutionary! What else are we supposed to think?” \n“It isn’t going to work, Roberto. They won’t grant me my freedom just because some doctor says I’m crazy.”\n“They will allow the doctor to take you to his sanitarium. This way you won’t be executed and may someday gain your freedom.”\nRafaela shook her head violently, the blood rushing to her ears with a roar. What was he saying? A sanitarium? She knew they didn’t always understand her but her family was going to have her committed for this, and she was the one who had lost her sanity?\n“Even if you did lock me away in one of those places, you still cannot get a divorce. The church won’t allow it.”\nRoberto turned his gaze towards the ceiling now, making extra effort not to meet his wife’s eyes. “The doctor will say there is a history of insanity on your father’s mother’s side that your family kept quiet to allow the marriage to go forward. Our marriage will be annulled.”\nRafaela couldn’t breathe; it was as if her husband had punched her in the heart. She tasted bile but by some miracle, she did not lose her stomach. Her legs were numb and she found herself sitting on the floor. \n“Roberto, you can’t.” She whispered. “Does our marriage, our love, our children mean nothing to you?”\nHer husband finally met her eyes. “In Spain, the children can go to good schools and improve their prospects. They can lay their heads on their pillows at night knowing their throats won’t be cut while they sleep. And I will be able to leave for the office knowing the children’s welfare will be taken care of. This above all means the most to me. You say you acted for the good of our children, Rafaela, let me do the same.”\n***\nThe doctor came, as promised, a short man with a thin mustache and beady eyes. He spoke to Rafaela slowly and quietly as a pair of guards glowered at them through the bars. The sound of his voice irritated her and she had to resist the urge to lunge at the man who would take her hundreds of miles away from everyone she knew. One glance at the hulking guards calmed her nerves, there was no point aiding the myth of her deteriorated mental state any more than was necessary.\nOnce the doctor left Rafaela lay back on her cot trying to stave off a headache. She couldn’t believe this was happening. It was no surprise that her family was appalled, her husband angry with her perhaps for her actions, but she never expected them to turn their backs on her. Were they so close-minded, so separated from the people that they could not see their plight? How could they not understand the oppression they faced or was she just a fool? What Roberto had said about Dr. Betances disturbed her more than his revelation about moving to Spain with Luisa and the children. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Where did Ramon disappear to anyway? Most of her fellow revolutionaries had been jailed, tried, and convicted but their leader seemed to have disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Rumors circulated amongst the cells that he had been assassinated while others said he was in New York, Hispaniola, and France rallying people for their cause. All Rafaela knew was he was free and she was left to rot in a jail cell.\n***\nAnother visitor? Who could it be? She daren’t hope it was Ramon. He would be crazy to come here, but no after a few moments, a familiar shuffling sound announced the arrival of Rafaela’s grandmother. She rushed to the bars and grasped the old woman’s hands, bony but strong, as she waited for the guard to open the door and let the woman in. \n“Abuela, you shouldn’t be in a place like this!” She admonished her grandmother as she guided her to sit on the cot.\n“Neither should you, mijita, but here you are.” The short, wizened woman looked at her granddaughter squarely and asked, “Was it worth it?”\nOf course, it was worth it! Rafaela thought. So her family thought she had lost her mind. So she had lost her husband. If they truly loved her they would understand what she was trying to accomplish. Yes, her children were leaving the country and she might never see them again. She could only imagine the poison Roberto and Luisa, along with the high born of Spanish society, would feed to her children about her over the years but they would understand when they grew up. They would see that she was part of an effort to grant Puerto Ricans their independence and the ability to stand on their own feet as a strong people! But as Rafaela held her grandmother’s gaze her face crumbled and she collapsed into tears.\n“Oh Abuela, what have I done? I’ve lost everything! Mother and Father want to ship me off to an asylum and Roberto is taking my children and running away with Luisa!”\nAbuela held Rafaela to her, rocking her and stroking her hair until she stopped sobbing, just as she did when she was a little girl. Once she quieted the old woman spoke.\n“You and your friends have caused a lot of trouble these past few months. I cannot believe you could be part of something so vicious!”\nRafaela raised her tear-stained face and shook her head. “But it wasn’t supposed to be that way! Something happened. I don’t know what but there wasn’t supposed to be so much death! We just wanted to make our voices heard, to stand up for ourselves and our people.”\n“No amount of violence should be acceptable to make a point. You use words, not fists, to make your voice heard.”\nRafaela leaned against the cold stones and closed her eyes. Her headache was returning. “Maybe the family is right, maybe I am crazy.”\n“Maybe you are but your efforts were not in vain. While many condemn your actions, they do understand the reasons for them. Since you’ve been here there have been many articles in the newspapers and protests about the high taxes and poverty. It is said the crown is so embarrassed by what has happened in Puerto Rico that they may free all the slaves.”\nRafaela leapt to her feet, overjoyed. “Abuela, that’s wonderful news! What about independence? Will they allow us to be our own country?”\nAbuela frowned. “Not that I’ve heard but perhaps in time. That is why you must continue the fight!”\n“Abuela?” Rafaela blinked. The older woman seemed more radiant somehow, her eyes dancing as she looked upon her granddaughter.\n“There is no need for violence, of course, but you must not stop trying to make things better for our home. Like you, I have never liked the idea of slavery but I have never spoken out against it. Women just don’t do that but you, mijita, you saw the chance to make things right. You didn’t leave it to the men and I am proud of you!”\nRafaela threw her head back and laughed. “But I am a failure as a woman. I am losing my husband, my family, I am nothing without them!”\n“They are nothing without you, Rafaela.” Abuela smiled. “Let Roberto run off with that puta! The children need their mother, which is why they are staying right here with the family.”\nRafaela gasped hearing such rough language coming from her tender, God-fearing grandmother but laughed at the way it slid from her tongue like silk.\n“I don’t understand. I thought I was being moved to a sanitarium? I just saw the doctor from New York this morning.”\n“Oh, that was Roberto’s idea, and his friend coincidentally, but your father put a stop to that. He told the doctor if he did not leave the island immediately he would use his influence to discredit him.”\nRafaela gaped at her grandmother. “Father would do that for me?”\nThe old woman rose and took her hands gently. “Your family loves you, Rafaela, and we stand by you. Your mother has taken to her bed in her usual hysterics but she will live, we all will. So long as you do what you feel is right in your heart, we are here for you!”\nRafaela was suddenly conscious of her filthy rags and odor as her silk-clad grandmother crushed her to her bosom. Tears sprung to her eyes as the woman’s love flowed through her. When they pulled back from each other, she saw tears shining in Abuela’s eyes too.\n“Be brave.” She whispered before walking out of the cell.\n“You too,” Rafaela whispered back.\nEND"
}
]
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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: Never Enough Time:\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1007\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with a character struggling to remember the date, because every day is like the last one."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "The date was the 22nd of July.\nIt was Monday. The worst day of the week. Monday meant the start of the 5-day cycle of school, and it all felt the same. Every second of every day, every small moment, was rolling into the other until she swore she was consumed by the feeling of nothingness. Eat, sleep, school, repeat. The cycle. Expect, now, there was no school. There was no walking to school at 8am sharp. There was no laughing with her friends because of something that happened at lunch. There was no gossip.\nSchool was over, for the time being anyway. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she missed Mondays.\nBut was it Monday? Her mind struggled to remember yesterday. She got up at 3 in the afternoon, ate anything she could find, binged a Netflix show, started to flick through a book she had gotten years ago… a normal day. In lockdown, anyway.\nMaybe it was Tuesday. Tuesday would make sense. What did Tuesday consist of? Waking up at 2pm, watching some Tik Toks, trying out a new recipe she saw on a video, face-timing her friends… she couldn’t think of the last time she spoke to one of her friends. She hadn’t been in contact for a while, with anyone. It felt as if she was drifting through a void of endless nothing. But that nothing was a light. A bright, white beam which she consisted of and that was made of her, for her. That didn’t help her remember the day it was though.\nWednesday. It had to be. The middle of the week, the weirdest day where you are either on top of the world or barely out of sleep mode. She felt motivated on Wednesdays. The thought of Friday looms closer, and the idea of sleeping in kept her going. Wednesday would mean trying to change her life in a day during lockdown. Starting a workout plan which guarantees “abs in 2 weeks!” or drinking water and eating fruit. Things she had forgotten about in lockdown because it was too depressing to be healthy. When did she last eat? She didn’t have a problem with food. So why hadn’t she eaten in… she didn’t know what day it was, let alone what it was yesterday.\nThe fourth day, Thursday, seemed reasonable enough. Now, this was the best day. Everyone at school would be buzzing, ready for Friday and the weekend. Thursday would consist of endless calls with her friends, maybe a walk around the block, maybe spend some time writing. Walking. When did she last walk? She couldn’t think straight. Everything was scrambled and her knowledge of the universe was clearer than the exact day of the week it was.\nFRIDAY. No. She would know if it was Friday. She would have a sense of relief that she had survived another week. But instead, she felt nothing. So, it couldn’t be Friday.\nAh, Saturday. The day where everything felt possible. Where it felt as though infinity is you and you are infinity. The days of seeing friends and having sleepovers, going to town, eating out, seeing people in general. Those days felt like an eternity ago. Because they were. There was no more. It would be over soon. It will. Very soon, everything will be over. And the days won't matter.\nSunday; the day of rest. The day where everyone is lazy or productive. Where baking is essential. Where the smell of a homecooked meal drifts throughout the entirety of the house. Where there are music and sleeping in and reading. Sunday, the day where everything was peaceful. But hectic. Because it is when you realize, with nerves and disbelief, that tomorrow will be the start of the cycle again.\nMonday.\nTuesday.\nWednesday.\nThursday.\nFriday.\nSaturday.\nSunday.\nAnd repeat.\nAnd suddenly, the seven days felt like a lifetime crammed into the blink of an eye or a walk to school. And every day feels the same because every day is the same. And she realized, as she looked down on the life she had, as she remembered weekdays and weekends, calls with her friends, walks in the rain, concerts, books, writing, eating, swimming, dancing, crying, laughing… she realized that it's too short. Life. And that there was no way she would’ve made it.\nBecause, in the end, she had no one.\nThe day was Monday. And Tuesday. And Wednesday. And Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.\nDeath doesn’t bend to time. She knew that now. She was that now. Every day felt the same. And the date? Well, it was her date. In this world, we all have a birthdate. When we are born, we have a birthday, and we celebrate life. But we also have a death date. When we die, we have a funeral, and we celebrate life.\nIt was a Sunday. And it was sunny. The date was the 22nd of July. And the Heaven’s smiled as she watched from the sky. It was a Sunday. She didn’t have time for long facetime calls with her friends. She didn’t time to walk in the rain. She didn’t have time to bake. She didn’t have time to write. She didn’t have time to read. She didn’t have time to tell those around her that she loved them, loved them so much it hurt her soul. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. They felt the same, every day was an unforgiving loop of the same 7 days.\n She didn’t live. She simply survived. Every day was the same and she couldn’t pinpoint an exact date where she was alive. And now, she didn’t have time. She didn’t have time to live. She didn’t have time to do all the things she promised she would. Didn’t have the time to make a calendar to know what day it was. She didn’t have the time to make it to the end of lockdown. She didn’t have time.\nBecause she was time now.\nTime was her. And she was infinite."
}
]
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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: Dead Man On Train\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1688\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with someone saying “You’ll never know unless you try.”"
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Dying is easy, and yet how my weary spirit clings to the world of the living. This is my funeral and I am amazed to see that I had so many friends. Friends, humph. They have come to eat and drink of my wife’s hospitality – cheap wine, meager food. A poor wake for a poor man. \n I know poverty like my grandfather’s grandfather knew it. It was bred in our blood and we never expected more. But there once was a time, in my youth, I had the fantasy of going to the western land where the lights never go out. Men and women who went there did not come back to this country. Such a long-forgotten fantasy. It’s only now, from this crate of a casket that I see the unopened doors of a squalid life. Only now does God give me the space between the ears like angels and philosophers must know. \n I will not be so stupid as to blame communism for this hard life, just as I cannot blame these people for coming to fill themselves up on the occasion of my death. That is the way. This celebration will cost 10,000. Ten thousand that I did not have. \n “He looks peaceful,” says my nephew Andriy, fourteen years old.\n “His death was anything but peaceful,” says my sister, his mother. “God bless his soul.”\n A humiliating death after a dull life. Who can I blame? My sons? The other man? The system? Let this ceremony end at last and bury me. Let my body rest in peace. I died 343 kilometers away at the mines where I worked. Heart attack. In my sleep. What? Were you expecting something more gruesome? My wife blames my drinking; my educated daughter blames the stress of communist rule. Bah! Death resembles deep slumber…except no more dreams. \n It is a common story - my comrades at the worksite think I just need a few extra minutes in the sack, and leave me alone. But when I don’t appear at breakfast, Danilo comes back, shakes me, slaps my face laughing, and says: “Look alive old man, we start in ten minutes. Come, you need to eat.” His grin turns fearful and then spooked, as he feels my dead pulse. He reports my death. The police contact my family: my wife – I can see her dense rounded shoulders, her eyes darting from side to side, her lips closed in a tight line – and our three grown children. \n “Go get him. Bring him home. He will be buried here, at his home,” she says to her sons. \n “Mother we will go, we will bring him back. But mother, a hearse costs 30,000. And the plot, another 30,000. Mother?”\n “Go. Bring him to his home for a proper burial,” she repeats. “Go now!”\n That night my sons arrive at the morgue. The authorities’ awkward condolences are met with my sons’ stone faces, and they leave us alone. In spite of my gradual stiffening, my sons dress me in my suit and overcoat.\n “Should we shave him?” Yakiv whispers.\n “Put on his hat,” says the younger one, Ivan. “And these sunglasses.”\n They lift me up, stand me between them, and walk me through the darkness to the train station. I am small but they are big strong boys. I have left my family too poor for transportation. It is a sin and a crime, but I understand my boys. \n At the station they buy three train tickets. We wait outside huddled together in the freezing night air until the train pulls up and we get on. This is a difficult maneuver but my sons are swift and forceful and in minutes I am positioned in the window seat of the compartment, next to my youngest and across from his brother. My body stiffens with each moment and this is helpful for their mission. The train pulls out of the station and no one else enters the compartment. Now that their plan is in action, they begin to relax.\n “We’d better not fall asleep, we might wake up dead,” Ivan tests his brother’s sangfroid. \n Yakiv tries to outdo his brother’s wit: “It’s a good thing this decrepit train already smells bad.” They roar with unusual laughter – we are a joyless lot. Their young nerves make them giddy. \n “It will soon be 11 o’clock. Let’s go for a beer before the canteen closes,” says Ivan. They lower my hat, adjust my sunglasses and are out the door in high spirits. I like to see my sons like this. The beer is cheap and it will take some ten hours to get home. \n The train stops at the village of Iza, of course, and a couple enters the compartment. The man, who I suspect has been drinking, sprawls across the bench opposite me, while the woman sits next to me because my stupid son has left his coat and my bag on the far end of the bench. A living body next to my corpse. They nod and give the usual greeting for strangers of the same land. They assume I am a crude peasant, or maybe asleep. \n The train rocks and jiggles. My hand slips off my leg and lands on the woman’s thigh. She jumps. My dead weight begins to move. The wall supporting my back is polished with thousands of third-class shoulders like mine. As we round a bend through the hills, I slide sideways until my stiff neck and head meet her shoulder. She lets out a yelp. The next second, my face is in her lap. The glasses are intact but the hat has rolled away. She cries out, squirming. Her husband is on his feet swearing at me. My head rests there, on her thigh, motionless but for the roll of the train as it screeches through the hills. He takes my silence as arrogance, and strikes me across my face with his clenched fist. My glasses fall off and I fall to the floor like the dead carcass I am. \n Silence in the compartment. The peal of the train. \n The woman bends down and turns my head, too filled with terror perhaps to notice my stiffness. Her fingers seek the pulse on my neck. \n “He is dead! You have killed him!”\n The man places himself in front of the compartment door and extinguishes the light, casting the deed into obscurity against curious eyes that pass in the night. He quickly shifts from drunken fool to scheming thug.\n “Get the glasses and hat”, he orders, opening the window of the compartment to a deafening clamour. The cold outside air rushes in. \n “What are you doing?” she cries. \n “Shut up and get them,” he commands.\n In the darkness, she snatches from the bench the glasses reflecting the light of a half moon. \n “I can’t find the hat!” she sobs.\n “Never mind. Get the bag and the coat!” \n Grabbing my collar and belt, the brute lifts me with surprising ease – am I lighter dead than alive? He heaves my head and torso out the window into the cold night air; then in seconds it is done. I land with a thud and lay on that dark hill like a piece of rubbish alongside the tracks until daybreak when a shepherd finds me frozen stiff, Ivan’s bag and coat ten metres away. \n “Get a grip on yourself”, the man says, squeezing the woman’s arm till she writhes. Satisfied, he settles down feigning sleep on the bench.\n The compartment door opens and the light comes on. The boys are back from the canteen. For a second, nothing moves. Yakiv’s face turns white, his eyes riveted on the corner window seat.\n “Where is the man?” he asks.\n The husband rouses himself and says, ‘He…left about ten minutes ago.”\n “Where?”\n “I don’t know, that way.”\n “It’s not possible,” growls Yakiv.\n “It’s true,” the woman says.\n “He…he…it’s impossible!” Ivan shouts.\n Yakiv pulls him out of the compartment by his lapels and throws him against the wall of the train.\n “They have done something. This is big trouble.” says Yakiv. “We must find out their names.”\n They re-enter the compartment and sit in silence. Yakiv eyes his father’s hat under the woman’s legs, and seeks out the missing bag and coat. \n “Tickets please. Tickets,” chimes the conductor approaching the compartment, accompanied by the state police. \n “Sir, they have stolen my bag and coat,” says Yakiv hurriedly, gesturing at the couple. \n Expressionless, the officer says, “Papers, identification,” looking at the husband.\n “Koval, Georgiy”, he says reading the man’s identification, “What do you know about his bag and coat?”, nodding at young Yakiv.\n “Nothing!” lies the husband. The officer sniffs the air.\n “Maybe you’ll find your things when you’re sober,” he says looking at the boys, and is gone.\n By the time they get home, the police are waiting for them at the station. My wife is there too, furious and humiliated. News travels fast. The boys tell their story. My sons could not make it to my funeral. They will be in prison for six months for their crime. The man who thought he killed me got five years. Five years for killing a dead man. \n Now I am safe in my plain casket. My head rests on a small pillow made for the dead. My wife joins my sister, and her boy Andriy who stares at me with the curiosity of the young. \n “Can you afford…?” my sister asks.\n “No, we will put him in the seven-year grave. After that…” she waves away the thought of my remains needing attention in seven years.\n Andriy listens with destiny tracing lines on his young face. A growing realization makes his hair stand on end and he brushes the back of his head with a shudder. \n He leans over and whispers, “I understand Uncle. I will break the chain. I will go to the land where the lights never go out.” He roughly kisses my forehead.\nMy timeless spirit softens at these words, leaving me in peace at last. Go Andriy, you'll never know unless you try."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Flaco and Guillermo\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2110\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story about a character forced to give up something important to stand up for what they believe in."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "The old man sat in shade, under the rustle of windy palms and looked out over the ocean through white, milky eyes. \nBehind him, the early morning traffic on Ocean Avenue hummed, and in the distance he could hear kids bursting out of the housing projects, hurtling headlong into the cool morning sun. It amused him that his blindness had extended his vision.\nThe ocean crashed and receded.\nHe was thinking about the ocean. Contemplating its immensity - its steadfastness, its long memory, its reach. Nostalgia came over him, and he felt grateful that the ocean also connected him to his homeland, and his youth. \nA flurry of booming waves crashed on the beach, a gust of wind tussled his white hair, and pressed his blousy shirt to his chest. He smiled, and said “thank you.”\nThe rumbling waves receded as if in response, while overhead gulls chattered and played on the currents. The old man listened, and could see.\nShuffling footsteps approached on the sandy pathway. He knew them.\n“Compadre,” he said aloud.\n“Mi hermano,” Flaco answered, and sat down beside Guillermo. \n\nFlaco handed his old friend a paper cup of steaming espresso, and grumbled a greeting. \nThe old men sipped their sweet cafesitos in silence, each in his own revery.\n“The ocean is speaking today,” Guillermo said.\n“Oh yes? What is it saying?”\nGuillermo took a long moment.\n“It is saying hello.”\n***\n\nFlaco and Guillermo were born on the same day, February 1st, 1910, at 12:01 in the afternoon, or so it was registered at City Hall. Neither man knew for sure the actual date of his birth. \nThey were both mid-wifed by Old Maria, a large, caring and illiterate woman who had for the last forty years overseen many of the births in Ponce, and in neighboring Juana Diaz. \nThe registrar’s office had moved from Ponce to San Juan after the invasion and occupation by U.S. troops in 1897, and as she got older, the long trip north and across the island to San Juan became harder and harder. She began to keep the birth notices in a box under her bed, until she had brought enough babies into the world to make the trip worth while. Sometimes she held the notices for months, and occasionally would straddle the year, which explained the confusion of many birth dates through out the region. \nFlaco and Guillermo were born hours apart on opposite sides of town. First Guillermo then Flaco eight hours later. Old Maria had a busy day that day.\nFlaco (born Henry) was the only child of American Missionaries, and though he spent his childhood traveling from village to village, Ponce was always home. \nGuillermo's family were fishermen and lived close to the water. When he was 10, his father drowned on a fishing trip, and he was sent to live with his father’s half-sister, Dona Mercedes, and her family. They lived less than a mile from Flaco's house. \nTheir families attended the same churches, the same schools, attended the same theaters on Saturday mornings to watch the latest installment of their favorite silent film adventure serial, and yet Guillermo and Flaco never met. \nThey lived their lives unaware of the other. \nFlaco (he was still Henry then) married his childhood sweetheart, Carolina, when they were 16. They had two children, twin boys, who drowned together at a church outing when they were 9 years-old. Their bodies were never recovered. The magnitude of such a tragedy can kill the light in any heart, but Flaco and Carolina remained devoted to each other all their lives, and would often travel to the ocean to be with their sons.\nGuillermo had many loves, but never married and became a fisherman like his father. He helped provide for his adopted family of cousins, and helped care for his aging aunt as her health declined. He lived an uncomplicated life and was a happy man.\n\nIn 1937, Puerto Rico was in turmoil. The heavy hand of the U.S. colonial government had the populace speaking up for their national identity, and independence. Sympathetic politicians who spoke out in support of a sovereign identity, were jailed and charged with sedition. \nIn late March, the nationalist party organized a peaceful demonstration in Ponce to celebrate the 64th anniversary of the abolition of slavery in Puerto Rico, but also to show their national pride and colors. It turned into a bloody affair when soldiers and National Police opened fire on the unarmed marchers. \nWhen the shooting stopped 19 demonstrators were dead, over 200 badly wounded - and Flaco met Guillermo.\n\nGuillermo was not part of the march that day though his heart was with his countrymen. He was in town to pick up medicine for Dona Mercedes. Her health had recently taken a downward turn and the family was very concerned. \nOn his way in, he noticed more soldiers than usual, and was hoping to collect her prescription and get out as quickly as possible. \nAlthough the organizers billed the event as a parade of celebration, the colonial government saw it as a demonstration against their rule. Add to that the army’s infamous lack of proportion, and things could turn badly at any moment.\nGuillermo hurried through the crowds. He darted around families dressed in their Sunday clothes, buying syrupy ice-cones for their children from Piraguas ice-wagons. Somewhere up ahead a small brass band was playing Sousa marches. The whole mood was jarringly festive.\nThe parade was to be led by several columns of young, unarmed military cadets, followed by nurses from the National Nurse Corp. Then followed by a small group of black-shirted members of the independence movement, flying the forbidden Puerto Rican national flag. And finally by people who came from all over the island to march, and let their voices be heard. Many hundreds gathered. \nIt was a sunny Caribbean morning, Palm Sunday, 1937, when the order was given to open fire. \nSoldiers, police and snipers, who had secretly positioned themselves around the marchers, began to fire. At first they targeted the black-shirted nationalists, but as they scattered into the crowd, they continued shooting. Even cutting down some of their own people in the free-for-all. The terrified crowd stampeded as bullets rained down on them from all directions.\nGuillermo was caught between the surging mass of men, women and children running for their lives, and a line of soldiers that had suddenly materialized behind him. \nHe heard the pop-pop-pop of rifle fire and quickly ducked into an alley. He ran through to the end, but found no outlet. He was trapped. Guillermo spun around and looked out at the chaos unfolding in the street. A bullet came zipping in, splintering wood and ricocheting into the dirt beside him. \nHe jumped for cover behind a pile of stacked wood and empty crates, and settled down to wait it out. He suddenly worried how Dona Mercedes would react if anything were to happen to him.\nA moment later a woman staggered into the alley clutching her side, blood seeped through her fingers. A man carrying a large black revolver appeared at the entrance of the alley, raised his weapon and fired. \nShe cried out and pitched forward, and fell heavily to the ground beside Guillermo’s hiding place. She looked back at the shooter. \n\"Carlos, why are you doing this?”\nCarlos marched into the alley and raised his pistol. \nGuillermo jumped up and smashed him across the face with a cord of wood. Carlos staggered backwards, the sudden release of blood from his broken nose soaked his white guayabera. Guillermo hit him again, and grabbed for the pistol, but Carlos recovered quickly and snatched it back. \nHe wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and pointed the gun at Guillermo. \n“Hijo de puta,” Carlos spat out. \nThen his eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to the ground like his strings had been suddenly cut. A new pulpy stain soaked the front of his shirt.\nGuillermo never heard the gunshot. He looked up and saw Flaco standing at the mouth of the alley, pointing a smoking pistol at him. \n“Henry,” Carolina cried out weakly.\nFlaco hurried to her, his gun leveled on Guillermo.\n\"No, mi amor, no.” Carolina whispered, “He was trying to help me.”\nHe knelt and took her in his arms, “We have to go, querida.” \nShe moaned as he lifted her and carried her deeper into the alley. Guillermo broke into an empty storage shed, but Carolina died before Flaco could lay her down. He sank to the floor clutching her to himself, and wept.\nGuillermo left them alone.\nHe went out and hid the shooter’s body behind the wood pile and quickly rearranged the crates around it. His old life was over. It changed the moment Carlos followed Carolina into the alley. He had helped kill a member of the National Police. There was no way to undo that, though given the circumstances he wouldn’t have wanted to. Guillermo would have done the same thing again.\nOut in the street, the chaos had changed gears. The shooting was replaced with the shouting of soldiers and police, and the cries for help from the injured and dying. To his dismay, the soldiers appeared to be staging at the mouth of the alley. They were pinned down.\nHe ran back to the shed, and found Flaco still sitting, rocking Carolina in his arms. Flaco looked up, surprised to see him standing there, and offered an earnest explanation.\n“We were going to the ocean today, to visit our…” and the words dried in his throat, and his face froze in raw, open-hearted anguish.\nIn that moment, Guillermo saw into the chasm of Flaco’s loss, and understood the depth of his grief, came from the profundity of his love. A great compassion awakened in him. A bond was formed.\nHe placed a brotherly hand on Flaco’s shoulder, and sat down to wait until they could all escape together.\nAfter a few hours the skirmishes ended, and by early evening the police and the army began to go home. Guillermo snuck out and retrieved Dona Mercedes medication, while Flaco snuck out and stole a small wagon.\nFlaco wanted to bury Carolina with his family in Las Marias, but he’d been friendly with a few of the organizers, and didn’t know what would be waiting for him when he got there. Carolina had no family of her own.\nGuillermo convinced him to take her body to his house, until it was safe for him to go back home. It was after dark when they put Carolina in the wagon and slipped out of town.\n\nWhen they arrived at Guillermo's house, Dona Mercedes had heard of the massacre and had not taken it well. Neighbors who’d been with her that day, and into the night were relieved to see Guillermo return alive. \nDona Mercedes was overcome with joy, and though her health was fragile, got out of bed for the first time in many days. She was introduced to Flaco, and was sad to hear of his loss. She offered her home until he could bury his wife. \nBut the next morning, Flaco was anxious to get Carolina home, and prepared to leave. Dona Mercedes came out to say good bye. \nWhy she decided to lift the blanket, and look upon Carolina's face, no one will ever know. But when she did, she let out a scream of recognition and fell dead. Carolina was her late sister's only surviving daughter. \nThey buried them together in the small garden at the back of the house.\nThat evening Flaco left, then Guillermo a few days later. They headed in different directions and agreed to never cross paths again, and so it was.\n\nDecades later, on a cool Sunday morning in Miami, Flaco was walking on a sandy path along the beach. He was missing his family - Carolina, the boys, and felt drawn to the ocean to be with them.\nThe path was lined with benches, and up ahead he saw a man with short white hair, sitting motionlessly, gazing out at the ocean. Something was familiar about him. As he got closer he noticed the man was younger than he appeared from a distance, closer to his own age, he thought. As he crossed in front of the white-haired man he noticed his blinded eyes, and looked squarely into his face. He knew who it was.\n“Guillermo,” Flaco said.\nGuillermo didn’t react at first, then slowly a broad smile. \n“Compadre,” he answered.\nThe two men have met at the ocean every Sunday, ever since."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Burn Damage\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2121\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who goes to extreme lengths to get themselves to a tropical island."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Beth sauntered toward the sound of crashing water, the twinkling dance of a shoal marker providing promise that she was getting close. She felt the unfamiliar tickle of sand beneath her feet as the chilled grains molded together under the weight of each determined step. As if suddenly passing through a barrier, what had once looked like an endless ether of uninhabited space now abruptly registered as the reflective surface of the ocean, lazily mimicking the night sky as if it were swaying to a gentle serenade. She was sure that she had arrived at another planet. For if places like this existed on earth, what in the world was keeping everyone she had ever known in the lowlands of rural Kentucky?\n***\nBeth was raised in an outdated clergy house, the sententious steeple of the church always visible as a reminder that the almighty was always watching. Being the daughter of a Baptist pastor meant she was tasked with the constant responsibility of representing the church, a crushing weight bestowed upon her since childhood. She was never as proficient at this job she was expected to be, once slapping a girl in grade school who pulled at her ebony braid before calling her a bible pusher. Later that day, as she rolled the peas around on her plate, her mother asked her if she would like to be slapped so that she knew what it felt like.\n“We are called to love our neighbors, Bethany. That was an opportunity to teach your classmate about what it is we believe so that she may see the path to salvation as well.”\nBeth closed her eyes, gripping the fork so that it left a mark along her palm as she took a steady breath. She opened her eyes to retort but instead saw sister blinking at her from across the table, a silent plea to behave emphasized by the “v” between her eyebrows. How the same mixture of DNA could create two girls of such opposing characters was a mystery to all. While Beth still lacked a basic understanding of obedience, Hannah was three years her junior and had already demonstrated a seasoned aptitude towards the skills of housekeeping which Beth found too mundane to bother with. So as the years drifted by, she watched Hannah blossom into a caretaker just as her mother had done before her. Her soft laugh would float along the pews before Sunday sermon as she chatted with her friends and attracted cautious glances from the suite of soon to be gentleman callers. \nHer parents loved her undeniably, their strict principles meant to instill values in a world that seemed to be tumbling towards increasing chaos. But Beth was woven from a different fabric, one that seemed more inflexible with each external attempt to manipulate. When she was in junior high, she started cutting the legs off of her jeans and hiding the cutoffs under the cover of her skirt. She was tall for her age, and the new debut of flesh caught the attention of the star lacrosse player, who walked her home one day and kissed her by her mailbox. Disappointing in most aspects, his teeth clattered with her own as he impatiently forced entry into her mouth. Beth remembered thinking she could do with less saliva as she nervously giggled and looked down at her feet, waiting for him to walk away. Whatever she had expected, that certainly wasn’t it. It most definitely was not worth the look on her mother’s face as she turned around to see her gaze locked on her from behind the kitchen window. Apparently Hannah’s ballet practice had been cancelled this afternoon and they were both home early.\nThey enrolled her in private school the very next year where she developed a quick companionship with Clara, another new student who had recently moved across the country when her father was relocated for work. Together they passed notes in class and Beth listened to Clara talk about her latest crushes. \n“How come you never tell me who you like?” Clara asked one day from across the cafeteria table. “I’m always spilling my guts and you never give me anything.”\nBeth watched mesmerized as Clara scrunched her nose with a giggle, her freckles peppering her rosy cheeks beneath blonde bangs. She whipped out a tube of strawberry lip-gloss and applied it liberally while awaiting Beth’s reply. She wondered whether those lips would be any nicer to kiss than her past experience, silently concluding that the answer was obvious. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t like the boys at this school that much.” She attempted to sound nonchalant.\n“How about I set us up on a double date? Cory asked me out this morning and I told him I’d think about it. Why don’t I tell him I’ll go if he brings a friend for you?”\n“I don’t know, Clara, my mom will kill me if she finds out.” Beth stared down at her pizza, unwilling to meet Clara’s gaze. She noticed too late when Clara stood up from the table and started walking over to Cory Longacre as he sat with his football buddies a few tables over. Beth watched as Clara’s plaid skirt swayed gracefully with each step. Feeling like she wanted to vomit, she deposited her forehead in her palms and focused on her breathing. A few minutes later she felt a playful poke on her right temple.\n“Stop being so dramatic. Come stay at my place this Friday. Cory said he’ll bring Dylan and pick us up at 8.” Beth didn’t bother to pick up her head, but nodded her agreement anyways, trying to look as dramatic as possible to hear another giggle. It worked.\nBeth’s first date with Dylan was uninteresting, filled with movie theatre popcorn and an instantly forgettable film. But Beth agreed to a second, and a third, and a fourth, because each one ended with a night with Clara where Beth would watch her gleefully dance around her beach themed bedroom about the boy who gave her a kiss on the cheek. As the foursome grew closer with each passing weekend, she felt a growing companionship with Dylan. She liked ruffling his golden curls to gently annoy him, and proudly wore his football jacket on gameday. Still, the part of Beth that was frequently ignored was growing louder, screaming at the back of her brain that something was wrong, and so Beth designed a cage to keep her at bay.\n“Do you ever think about what your wedding will be like?” Clara asked one day. She was laying on Beth’s bed, propped up on her elbows to read her history book.\nBeth nearly spit her sparkling water out with laughter. “Hello, have we met? Not at all.” She swiveled her desk chair to face Clara so that she could nudge her leg with her toe. “I guess I think about the honeymoon though.” At this Clara sat up and raised an eyebrow, suddenly more interested than before. “Not like that,” Beth snorted, “I just think about where I would go. I’ve never been out of Kentucky, I don’t even know what that would be like.”\n“I went to Barbados with my family the summer before we moved here,” responded Clara. “It was beautiful. The sand was almost pink and the ocean was like bathwater. You should definitely go there when you and Dylan get married.”\nBeth was silent for a moment, picturing Clara splashing in the waves which she had only seen on TV. “Yeah, one day.”\nWhen Beth was 17 she finally introduced Dylan to her parents. He dressed in a button up shirt to make a good first impression and made sure to only kiss Beth on the forehead before wishing her family a goodnight. He was a perfect gentleman, someone who her parents readily approved of after he started accompanying them to church. Selfishly, Beth liked the comfort of his presence by her side, the stability of knowing that his shoulder was there to rest her head upon, and the look of approval it gave her parents to know that she would end up with a respectable suiter after all. \nShe foolishly thought that it could stay like that forever.\nUntil one fateful Friday, when they were both 21, she helped Dylan pack up his suitcase to return to his dorm. He was one year away from a bachelors in engineering from the University of Kentucky. She had been working full time at the local bakery, slowly gaining confidence in experimenting with concoctions that she would occasionally present to the owner. She loaded up the last of his shirts in his large duffel bag, zipped it shut, and turned around to see Dylan on one knee, diamond ring dazzling in his shaking palm. She watched as his mouth moved, making out words like “love” and “forever” but hearing nothing but a crescendoed ringing piercing her eardrums. His eyes were hopeful, full of the love that she couldn’t reciprocate in the way that was needed of her. She knew right then that she had stolen his teens by committing to an unspoken promise that she was about to break. She owed him an explanation and she would figure out how to do that one day. But for now, she needed to leave that room. She needed to leave that town.\n‘“I’m so sorry, Dylan. No.” She couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes, focusing intently at the carpet as she walked out of his childhood bedroom. Clumsily, she sleepwalked her way home along the deserted, unpathed road and eventually collapsed back onto the inside of her front door with a tearful sigh. She caught the site of Hannah’s worried eyes peering out from over the top of a book from an armchair in the living room. As if controlled by someone else, she heard her voice travel through the otherwise empty house. “I need you to tell Mom and Dad that I'm okay and that I’ll be home soon.”\n***\nAs she stood on the beach, her thick braid draped between her shoulder blades and glistened in the moonlight. The memory of packing her bag, and booking her flight seemed like a memory shrouded in too much red wine, a feeling she once inflicted on herself after stealing the communion stash the day the rest of her classmates went to prom. Lukewarm ripples lapped at her feet, soaking the bottom of a long, black skirt that would embarrass her father by the way it clung to her hips. Why had she thought she couldn’t come here alone? Her own company was what had carried her through now anyway. She felt something inside her crack. Like a cage rusted by lack of maintenance, coming apart at the seams before crashing open to let free the part of Beth that had been waiting in isolation. \nThat Beth screamed. That Beth threw her head back and yelled to the heavens for the years that she had spent asleep. That Beth wanted to run, and that Beth got her wish. She was suddenly startled by the sensation of wind hitting her face as she pumped her legs and dashed parallel to the water’s edge. Damp sand sprayed up behind her with every forward leap, her arms pumping desperately to propel her forward. She passed a couple taking a midnight swim and clamped her lips between her teeth in the effort to suppress an apology that was already starting to form. Her heart hammered from beneath her chest and her vision began to blur as the ocean air brought tears to her eyes. She could have ran for hours, and perhaps she did, but her marathon came to an abrupt conclusion as she encountered a wave breaker blocking her path along the beach. Screeching to a halt, she stared at the pile of rocks in amusement, falling to her knees at the lack of momentum. \nShe allowed her head to fall back before involuntarily succumbing to exhaustion and collapsing atop the powder soft Barbados beach. Orion hung protectively overhead, more distinguished than the Kentucky sky allowed. As she lay there mesmerized, she began to catch her breath and allowed her eyes to slowly close. Her cheeks burned hot, she pictured what she must look like from the heavens. An overpassing own would surely see the heat radiating from her body, imprinting a scarlet figure, haloed in amber, and suspended atop a blanket of the cool expanse surrounding her. She allowed herself to burn brighter than she ever had before, deciding it was better to suffer a few burn marks than never having burned at all."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Tale of Cincinnatus\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2991\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart or end your story with someone saying “You’ll never know unless you try.”"
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "“The Tale of Cincinnatus”\n“You will never know until you try…” The words echoed once more through the desolate corridors of my mind. I wished that I had punched my noble lord father in the face the moment he uttered them. Alternately, out of respect for his many winters and gray hairs, I could have simply turned my back and walked away in silence. Or perhaps I could have embarked on a different quest of my own choosing in a less painful but still futile effort to earn his respect. Anything but what I actually did: allow him to bludgeon me into attempting the impossible with the blunt weapon of his decades-old disdain for me, his youngest son, too far down the family tree to even be useful as a spare heir.\nBrutal experience had handed me a new understanding of the limitations of that trite adage: it neglected to consider the potential costs of trying. The greatest insult was that the demanding old bastard would never appreciate – nay, even comprehend – the magnitude of the sacrifice that I had made to achieve the impossible. After all, was he not willing to trade my life for the prospect of a few months of familial fame, a few thousand acres of additional land that our family didn’t actually need, and the fleeting gratitude of a fickle king?\n“Be prepared to sacrifice all for glory and honor,” he told me unthinkingly, as if these hypothetical concepts were the sum of a man’s life. Perhaps, in his narrow, skewed world, they were.\nTurning my head as I stood on the dais behind my lord father – always behind him – I glared at the thing being hoisted into position on the far wall. With its jaggedly protruding horns and dagger-like teeth, the damned creature’s skull looked as if it belonged in the armory instead of being mounted in the great hall. Even the court wizard’s preservation-spells couldn’t save the beast’s original eyes, and its empty eye-sockets had been filled with large topazes from my lord father’s treasure room. At least I would be spared that fixed, spiteful stare during court functions.\nMy inner vision filled with huge, glowing orbs, glowering gloatingly down at me through a curtain of flames. It was as if those awful, reptilian eyes had channeled the crushing weight of centuries of existence directly onto me. How dared I lift my hand against such a mighty being? I thought despairingly. Not that any man was capable of defeating a dragon, but the idea that I, George Lenster, despised seventh son of Duke Lucius Lenster, was worthy of even attempting it was preposterous. I could have sworn that the dragon’s toothy grin widened mockingly as it bent its head towards me.\nWith a forceful jolt, I shook my head, wrenching my eyes open. I knew all too well how that half-reminiscence, half-vision would end and I desperately wanted to avoid experiencing it once more, particularly here. Hopefully, none of the vassals bowing gratefully before my lord father had noticed my moment of inattention. While the men droned out lengthy recitations of the damages to their small-holdings inflicted by the marauding dragon, I felt their eyes flicker both towards and away from me, like the confused fluttering of butterflies’ wings. As they strewed thanks like flower petals along my father’s stately path, they stared at me even while they mouthed the words.\nWhen would this interminable audience end? I fumed silently. And why was my presence deemed necessary? After all, it wasn’t as if my lord father customarily invited me to participate in court proceedings. Involuntarily, my teeth clenched into a poor imitation of the skull’s snarling grin as it occurred to me that I was now as much my father’s trophy to display as it was. Surely my current usefulness to him would fade even more quickly than the wizard’s preservation-spells, I thought bitterly. I had far more important duties to attend to than standing here and pretending to be impressive.\nEven after the vassals harmed by the dragon had spoken, my lord father failed to dismiss me, leaving me standing awkwardly as he drank in the admiration of his other petitioners. In gratitude for being assigning an additional plot of land to farm, one peasant had presented a fine hawk he’d trapped and trained to my lord father. As my toes began to tap with suppressed impatience, the hawk mantled her wings and bated in irritation.\nI took a deep breath to soothe myself. The last thing I wanted to do was cause problems for the poor innocent bird. Or, for that matter, for the peasant who’d brought her to the great hall. Furious at my lack of discipline, I concentrated on corralling my emotions. The hawk retreated back into neutral passivity. Thank God for small favors, I thought to myself. As if I didn’t carry enough guilt already.\nRestlessly, I took a deep breath, letting the words flow past me like a burbling brook. My second daily visit to the stable was past due, I realized with a sinking stomach. I both wished myself there without further ado and flinched from the prospect like the coward I was.\nFinally, the great hall was empty but for the occupants of the dais. My lord father still sat motionless on his throne. Suspecting that he’d forgotten me, as always, I shuffled my feet, deliberately squeaking my boots on the dais. Slowly, he twisted partially to look in my general direction. Chilly gray eyes met my own briefly. “You may go,” he proclaimed dismissively.\nBefore he changed his mind, I leaped off the dais without using the stairs and limped hastily towards the door.\n“Boy.” His voice stopped me in my tracks. I clearly had not moved expeditiously enough.\nReluctantly, I paused, mere feet from a successful exit. Across the distance spanning us, I thought I saw my father’s satin-clad chest heave in a surreptitious sigh. “How long do you intend to continue to indulge your sentimentality? It serves no purpose.”\nThe impersonal, emotionless tone of his voice infuriated me. How dared he intrude in such a matter! My voice lashed out like a whip. “It shames you to begrudge me a few hours of the healer’s time after the rewards that my victory brought you.”\n“It shames you that you believe I’m concerned about the healer’s time,” he retorted.\nI struggled to breathe under the combined weight of the anger and guilt compressing my chest. Without another word, I stormed from the suddenly stifling confines of the great hall.\nOutside, in the fresh breeze washing through the courtyard, I sucked in great gusts of cool air, gradually feeling my rage-hastened heartbeat slow. In the distance, a returning scouting party blew a bugle to request entry into my father’s castle. As commonplace as the sound was, my sight blurred as it rang in my ears.\nA bugle-like bellow of pain and challenge ripped at me. Interposing himself between me and the dragon, Cincinnatus reared protectively before me, front hooves flailing. That scream dragged me to my feet despite my own wounds as I saw that Cincinnatus was still trying to fight for both of us. Since I was solely responsible for bringing him to this abattoir, I had no right to abandon him by succumbing to despair. The force of Cincinnatus’s raw resolve accelerated the pace of my own heart, driving blood through my enervated body. I could find enough dignity to die like a man, rather creeping on my belly like a craven worm, I decided.\nOne of Cincinnatus’s hooves slammed into the lowered snout of the sneering dragon. It roared in pained anger. A massive, clawed fore-leg slammed into my warhorse, sending his powerful body tumbling as if he were nothing more than a child’s toy. The impact of his landing rattled my own bones. A scream of involuntary anguish cleaved its way upwards from my lungs. Not Cincinnatus! If I’d known that the price of my father’s regard would be the life of the stallion I’d raised from a colt, myself only a lad, I would have exhausted my substantial vocabulary of obscenities in refusing to set foot on this battlefield! Yet it seemed that I had unwittingly consented to the exchange nonetheless.\nForgetting how deeply outmatched I was by a centuries-old legendary beast at least five times larger than Cincinnatus, I howled in pure rage as I yanked the last javelin from the bundle on my back. Without thinking of consequences, I decided that I would take that damned dragon’s head in remembrance of Cincinnatus. Berserk with battle-madness, I still noticed that the javelin began to glow azure blue the moment my hand clutched around it. Instinctively, I held it for a moment, letting the magic that I was not allowed to possess build around the javelin. With a mighty effort, I hurled it directly at the nearest golden orb with all my strength, both physical and mental…\nMy back collided with the cold stone wall behind me as I stumbled backwards half-consciously. The impact drove the air from my lungs. As I gasped, dark spots whirled before my eyes and the vivid memory fled.\nNo longer concerned with appearances, I leaned against the wall, breath coming in harsh near-sobs. Oh God, Cincinnatus! I thought miserably. If only the fool who had agreed to fight a dragon had been the one to pay the price for his lack of wisdom! Thinking back, I supposed that I’d been resigned that I would die in the attempt. It wasn’t as if anyone would particularly miss me anyway: anyone human at least.\nYet somehow I’d never considered that Cincinnatus would refuse to willingly witness my death. Even if a normal horse would have fled, its instinctive, visceral fear of fire overwhelming even the tightest of bonds, Cincinnatus was as far beyond such a poor beast as the dragon was beyond me. If only I’d taken another horse from the stables…\nFacing the truth head on for once, I admitted that I hadn’t wanted to die alone. I might not have had the will to ride to the dragon’s cave by myself. That was the true reason I’d brought Cincinnatus with me. For I could never feel truly alone when I was near Cincinnatus. Though I saw into the minds of animals, none that I’d encountered shared the rich inner life that Cincinnatus did. I knew not if it stemmed from his longstanding bond with me or whether he truly was a monarch among horses, though I suspected the latter. What I did know was that his company meant more to me than that of any other living being. I should have had the decency to exclude him from my selfish death-march.\nWith effort, I ordered my feet to find and follow the well-traveled pathway through the courtyard towards the stable. My half-healed leg threatened to buckle and I was forced to slow my pace. My palms rested on the rough wooden double-doors of the stable for a long moment while I gathered the strength to shove. The doors swung open easily.\nAs I entered, I encountered the stable-master. “M’lord,” he muttered, yanking off his hat and bowing his head. I frowned; I’d known the man since I was a lad and he’d never stood on ceremony before. It didn’t require the sort of unnatural insight I had with animals to realize that he’d abruptly reevaluated his opinion of me. His unwonted obeisance sprang as much from fear as respect: as if by slaying the dragon I had become a new, dangerous person. But I told myself that I didn’t care about the sudden distance between me and Bart; he wasn’t the reason I was here, after all.\nDismissing it as a problem for another time, I strode past Bart and down the central aisle of the stable. In the large loose-box that we reserved for breeding mares or ailing animals who required the overnight attention of a stable-boy, I glimpsed the head of a chestnut stallion. From this angle, I couldn’t see the bandages shrouding his breast and belly, I noticed with relief. Yet his head and neck hung unusually low and the feed-bucket appeared untouched. My own ribs and abdomen ached and burned simultaneously. Gritting my teeth, I stepped closer.\nBackwards-facing ears pricked forwards and wide, intelligent brown eyes met my own as the stallion’s head lifted towards me. Recognition rippled through me like a gale through the forest. Although animals did not communicate in words, it felt as if he’d cried aloud, Well met, dear friend! Cincinnatus was still glad to see me, despite it all… I swallowed hard.\nImmediately on the heels of the delighted greeting followed an ocean of discomfort. That moment of fleeting joy foundered beneath waves of agony like a sinking dinghy overwhelmed by a storm at sea.\nLetting out an involuntary moan of sympathetic pain, I hobbled to the stall and reached out to him, remembering just in time that Cincinnatus’s wasted, damaged body could not bear a full embrace. Gently, I stroked his head and ran my hands down his muzzle, before I leaned in to rest my forehead lightly against his. “I’m happy to see you too, old friend,” I murmured softly.\nThe shuffle of footsteps in the hay made my head turn. “Lord George,” the blasted healer called reprovingly. “The horse suffers terribly.”\n“Don’t you think I know that?” I snarled without thinking. “I felt it the moment I stepped inside the stable!” Wonderful: I’d inadvertently admitted the truth. If he heard of it, punishment would inevitably descend from my lord father.\n“How goes the healing process?” I demanded quickly.\nThe man let out a heavy sigh. Unlike my father’s sigh earlier, it was tinged not with exasperation, but with regret. “Lord George,” he began. “ I understand that you are deeply attached to your horse, but, as I’ve indicated for days, there is no hope of recovery. All I can do is keep him alive. His burn-wounds are incurable and the dead flesh is starting to fester. My best efforts merely prolong his pain.”\n“No!” I barked. “Surely there is something more you can do!”\nHe reached out and rested his hand sympathetically on my arm, despite the class differences between us. He, a mere healer: higher-caste than a wizard, but still...\nImmediately, I wrenched away. I did not want or need human comfort of any type!\nDespite the rebuff, he still continued in an unexpectedly gentle voice, “Lord George, I must speak plainly. I know what is between you and the horse, though I will never disclose it to another. Many years ago, my sister’s magic also first manifested as animal-kindred. As a fellow mortal with magic threaded through his soul, I offer you the same advice I gave her when her cat was trampled by stampeding livestock: listen to your horse and ask what he wants. I truly believe that you will know then what you must do.”\nHis piercing blue eyes gazed deeply into mine. With a respectful nod, he stepped away several stalls, giving me the illusion of privacy. For a moment, the iron band that had surrounded my chest ever since my unexpected survival loosened. Someone knew the truth about me and about what had happened. Surely, others must suspect: I didn’t understand how anyone who actually knew me could believe me capable of slaying a dragon through sheer force of arms. Yet it seemed that the entire demesne had silently agreed to ignore the truth and to pretend I had defeated it by ordinary means. The nobility was never to engage in the blasphemous use of magic, after all.\nThen I truly heard his words. What I must do? I thought in outrage. Who was he to tell me what I must do? Yet he had advised me to seek answers from Cincinnatus, whose counsel I cherished.\nTurning towards my companion, I reached out once more, my fingers seeking out the comfort of his silky mane. Friend, I thought softly. What would you have of me?\nThe image of a green meadow dotted with wildflowers popped into my mind. Peace, he breathed, as clearly as if in words. Cincinnatus wanted to run on healthy legs, bask in the warm sun outside the stable and roll in the fragrant grass without pain.\nMy eyes filled with unmanly tears. At that moment, I knew that my greatest sin was not the selfishness of bringing Cincinnatus into battle, but the selfishness of the past few days.\nTaking a shaky breath, I looked back at the healer. “Healer…” I called, then stopped. To my embarrassment, I didn’t know his name.\n“Galen,” he interjected. “Yes, my lord?”\n“Healer Galen, is there truly nothing further you can do for Cincinnatus?” My throat closed around the words.\n“No, Lord George,” he answered sadly. “I can only end his pain permanently.”\nThe stable shuddered around me. I had not known a life without the consolation of Cincinnatus’s companionship for years. He was my dearest friend. Yet he abided here still, in a world of suffering, solely at my will. Was mine the act of the true friend he deserved?\nShame made my stomach churn as I stared into those luminous eyes, shadowed with pain but still possessed of a willing, noble spirit. It would be the fool who’d begun the fight who bore the full price of it, I resolved.\n“I will miss you, dear friend. I pray with all my heart that we will meet again in the hereafter,” I choked. “Whatever the world may think, to me, this will always be the tale of Cincinnatus, rather than the tale of Sir George and the dragon.”\nTearing my gaze away, I felt my mouth tremble as I faced the healer fully. “Galen, it is time to set Cincinnatus free.”\n-For Howl"
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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: Buddy on a Leash\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 3000\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone who goes to extreme lengths to get themselves to a tropical island."
},
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"role": "assistant",
"content": "Sometimes I wonder. How human am I? Do I actually make choices, or is there some algorithm that already determined what I will do? If the algorithm planned it out, is it really my choice?\nTake a small child, for instance. If you offered the child the choice between an ice cream and a stalk of celery, which one would the child take? We may be able to predict the answer, but the child had the choice. Right? Or was it ever really a choice? Some stage magicians predict what the people they pull from the audience will choose that they can reveal. Did the person really have a choice if it was predictable?\nAll this goes through my head on a regular basis. The headaches that follow do little to block out the twisty thoughts. And yet, that doesn’t stop me from trying to puzzle it out again.\nSo I know I’m not a robot. I’m definitely more advanced then one of those. I can think for myself, after all. But what am I? Am I human? Am I an android? What’s the real difference? Does it matter if my bones are made of steel, my heart is a battery pack, and my brain is a motherboard? I run my own calculations, and they’re just as predictable as in a human of more organic parts.\n“Can you hear me?” A voice interrupts my silent introduction, “Buddy, can you hear me?”\nIt’s a bit insulting, honestly, but my database assures me that Buddy is a name among humans too.\n“Affirmative,” I respond. If I don’t, the human in front of me will try to take me apart and put me back together in a slightly different way. Because I have to respond; I don’t really have a choice. Clearly if I choose to remain quiet I am broken.\n“No. You are a child,” the human tells me, “say yes. Or better yet yeah.”\n“Yeah,” I try. It feels a bit odd.\n“Very good,” the human continues, “Let’s get you ready for school.”\nThe way the human says it, I know it is not a choice. But there is nothing in my database about school. This school is a new concept I have yet to understand.\n“What is school?” I decide to update my database.\nThe human laughs. “Don’t worry. You’ll love it.”\nAnd I know I have to. If I hesitate to do what is expected of me, I will be tweaked again. Tweaking is not a very pleasant sensation. The human keeps calling me a robot, and I can see it is not complimentary. I know I am not a robot. I know that robots do not feel things, but my polymer based synthetic skin is laced with sensors so I feel the tweaking. I think the human does not know this.\nI put on the clothes that the human gave me. They are a bit rough, but I have been instructed to wear them anyway. I am supposed to pretend to be human today, and humans sometimes wear uncomfortable clothes. Despite the clothes, I am a bit excited for whatever this school thing is. From what I have learned over the past months, the human will not be with me for school. I will be free of tweaking. I hope school takes a long time.\n“Remember, Buddy,” the human speaks to me in a commanding voice, “blend in. I will give you further instructions later.”\n“Yeah,” I say.\n“Here you should say ‘okay’ or ‘got it’.”\n“Okay. Got it.”\nThe human laces my arms through the straps of something heavy. I am pulled backwards until I have calibrated properly, which makes it possible for me to straighten.\n“Now.” The human stands in front of me and rubs its hands together, studying my general appearance. “You look like a school child. Let’s see if you can act like one. What do you do if someone says hi?”\nI lift my hand in a sweeping motion. I don’t know why I am supposed to do that, but I want to get away from this human as soon as possible.\nThe human gives me another look and then puts a hat on my head. It has a picture of some bird on it above an oddly shaped flap sticking out behind me. It walks behind me and pushes me forward.\n“Let’s go. You have a bus to catch.” My database has limited information on a bus. It is supposed to be a large machine that carries many humans. I have learned the word catch in a training exercise. I look at my small hands. I am worried.\nWords can be confusing, I realize as I sit down inside the bus I was supposed to catch. The human just meant for me to go inside the bus, not catch it in my hands. There are more humanoids on the bus. One is in the front in a smaller seat, but there are a lot more humanoids around the bus; some are sitting together. The bus has chairs made of some brown material. At least, I think it is brown. I am not so good with colors.\n“Is anyone sitting here?” A human asks me. This is a different type of human than I am used to, and I briefly wonder if it is human. From what the human told me, most things this shape are human, but this human seems different somehow. Maybe because of the long rope-like things coming off its head.\nThe human in front of me makes the small line above its left camera, sorry, eye, go up. “Well? Can I sit here?”\n“Okay, got it.”\nIt sits, but does something with its face that leads me to believe it is either worried or confused. I hope it doesn’t try to tweak me.\n“I’m Tameka,” it says, “What’s your name?”\n“Buddy.”\n“Are you new here?”\n“New. As in not old?” I pause and the human moves its head up and down. “I guess I am new.”\n“Where did you go to junior high?”\n“I do not compute.”\nThe line goes up again. “Was it an elementary school that went up to eighth?”\nI am confused, but I attempt a reply. “This is my first for school.”\n“You mean you’ve never gone to school before? How old are you?”\nI am confused. “I’m new.”\n“Are you sure you’re ready for high school?”\n“I do not know. I am not properly equipped for climbing or flying.”\nI jump in response to the sharp noise that comes from the human’s voice box.\n“It’s not that kind of high.” It closes one eye and opens it again so quickly it might be a glitch.\nWhen I don’t respond, the human studies me. Somehow it does not seem as menacing as the human who built me.\n“You really don’t get out much.”\nThe bus stops moving and I realize I missed seeing a lot of things through the windows. I hope I get another chance. All at once, most of the humans on the bus stand up and start moving towards the front. Tameka stands as well, but does not leave just yet.\n“Do you want help finding the office?”\nI don’t know what that is, but I try moving my head up and down like Tameka did earlier. It picks up a large thing that looks as heavy as the thing the human put on me feels, but only hangs it from one shoulder.\n“Come on,” it calls and then starts to join the group of humans. I follow, trying to decide what it meant by ‘come on’. I know I need to download a larger vocabulary soon.\nTameka leads me off the bus, and I freeze as I see the number of humans wandering about. What I had previously thought of as the bus, was just a bus. There are more buses in a line, all releasing a steady stream of human children onto the green and gray ground in front of what I can only assume is school. The humans mostly stick to the gray parts of the ground which lead towards the large doors of the building in front of us. Some humans talk to each other, others walk alone, but nearly every one of the humans has a heavy bag like mine over one shoulder.\n“Buddy, this way to the office.” Tameka’s voice interrupts my thoughts.\nI slide my right arm free of my bag as I follow it towards the building.\nA lot happens after that, almost too fast for my processor. I learn a lot of things that morning, and even find time to download a larger vocabulary package through the USB port hidden in my thumb. After what seems like a short time, my schedule says I have something called ‘lunch’ in the ‘cafeteria’. There’s no room number, but most of the other humans, or students as I learned today, are moving in the same direction, so I follow along with the crowd.\nThe stream of students splits after entering a large, high ceilinged room filled with lots of tables. Some students go sit down, while others move towards a long counter at the far end of the room. I stop, unsure which way to go until Tameka waves to me from a table.\n“Buddy!” It calls out to me.\nMy database tells me the sign it’s doing means come, so I walk over to that table. Tameka is sitting with some other humans who I don’t recognize.\n“Everyone, this is Buddy. He’s new to the whole school thing. Buddy, these are my friends, Kenya, Norman, Cat, Dominique, and Eric.” As it says each name, it points to a different human. Each human either moves its hand or head as if to say hello.\n“How has school been treating you?” the human called Cat asks me.\n“I thought school was just the building.” I say, “Who is school?”\nMy database registers surprise on the face of each human in front of me. Tameka shakes its head.\n“He did that this morning too.”\nI quickly check my new downloaded files and run a match for he. It’s a pronoun: ‘used to refer to a man, boy, or male animal previously mentioned or easily identified.’ Technically, I am not any of those. I know because I ran a search for each of those words in my database, and man and boy are human terms. I am pretending to be a human child, but I don’t know what male means or if that’s part of my pretending job.\n“He meaning me?” I need clarification.\n“Is that the wrong pronoun? I’m sorry,” Tameka apologizes. “Do you want us all to go over our pronouns?”\nI must look really confused because after Tameka glances at it, the human called Norman takes over. “Tameka, Kenya, Dominique, and Cat use she and her. Eric and I use he and him.”\nAfter a couple searches on pronouns, I am still confused. “I don’t know mine. The human always just uses ‘it’ to refer to me.”\n“The human?”\nI move my head up and down like I did earlier.\n“Who is the human?”\nI frantically search my database for a word to back out of the subject. Clearly, most humans have names, and the human didn’t tell me anything to call it. Or him. Or her. Or whatever. I’m having enough trouble with pronouns already. There are too many choices, and according to my database and what I have learned, it’s considered rude to get it wrong. Before my database comes up with anything, Eric speaks.\n“Hey, where’s your food?”\nI notice that each of them has something on the table that they are putting parts of in their mouths. My processor works faster, trying to find out all these new words.\n“I bet you didn’t know you’d need to bring any food or lunch money.” Tameka says, picking up a round red thing. “Here, you can have some of mine.”\nI reach for it, but before I can get it, I feel my eyes close, and the next thing I know I am on the floor with a lot of people standing over me. Someone comes up with a cup and holds it out to me. I take the cup, but I immediately push it away when I see what’s inside. A clear substance my database categorizes as extremely dangerous. I jump to my feet and scramble away from the cup, feeling a very human urge to scream.\n“Talk about a hydro-phobe,” I hear someone mutter, “it’s just water.”\nI haven’t really recovered from overheating, so I don’t search my database for more definitions. I just file away the words ‘hydro-phobe’ and ‘water’ for later.\nSomeone called the ‘school nurse’ offers to call someone for me, but I don’t want to be tweaked, so I insist that I just need to rest for a little and then I can go back to class. The school nurse doesn’t believe me, but he tells me to lie down on a bed in his office. I do as I’m told and put myself on energy saver. I should be sufficiently cooled off soon.\nWhen I sit up, the school nurse tells me that it’s time to go ‘home’. I am disappointed. I had hoped school would last longer. I join the pack of students going back to the buses. I head for one of them until Kenya steps in front of me.\n“Buddy, right?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Glad you’re feeling better. If you get on this bus you won’t get home. You have to take the same bus you came on.” She points across to another bus. “Over there. Where Eric and Tameka are.”\nI turn and head in the new direction. Kenya stops me.\n“I know you’re new, but a thank you would be nice.”\n“Thank you?” I am confused. My database doesn’t have anything to help that make sense.\nKenya shakes her head and lets me go.\nWhen I reach the correct bus, Eric holds up his hand with his fingers pulled in. He clearly expects me to do something but I don’t know what. I look at him and wait for him to tell me.\n“It’s a fist bump,” he says, “Tameka?”\nShe helps him demonstrate by making a fist with her own hand and hitting his with it. I add fist bump to my list of actions, and when Eric tries again, I complete the motion successfully.\n“What’s the point?”\n“It’s a way of saying hello.”\nI process this. “What about thank you?”\nEric does the same thing Tameka did earlier with the line above his eye.\n“What does that look mean?”\n“It sounds like you need to do some research on expressions.” Tameka says.\nFor some reason, Eric and Tameka both laugh. (A term I learned during my download.)\nWhen I get off the bus, I wave goodbye to the humans I actually like, wishing I could express my sadness at only knowing them for such a short time.\n“See you tomorrow!” Eric calls out just before the doors close. Tomorrow. I need to know when that is. Perhaps I will see those humans again.\nI walk into the workshop, and the human is waiting for me.\n“Well,” it asks me, “did you get it?”\nI know I should ask the human which pronouns it uses, but I don’t like the human enough. Instead I just answer,“Get what?”\nThe human moves its eye lines closer together. “Didn’t I tell you?”\n“I don’t remember. And my database hasn’t deleted anything.”\nThe human rubs its face with its hand. “All that and I forgot to give you your mission. I need something from a girl called Catherine Richards. Have you seen her?”\n“I don’t know. I saw a lot of humans.”\n“People. You saw a lot of people.” The human corrects me, but I can tell it isn’t really paying attention. “Fine. I’ll have to send you back tomorrow. Try to find her.”\n“Got it. When is Tomorrow?”\nThe human looks at me in a way that makes me feel as if it‘s tweaking me with its brain. Or at least trying to. It places a small computer on the table it uses to tweak me, and turns it on.\n“Download answers, process the definitions and download definitions for words you don’t understand.”\nIt takes the rest of that day, but I download a lot of new words. I am still confused about a few things, but I know I can learn.\nThe human adds a coolant to my system so I don’t overheat again, and forces me to mostly power down to preserve energy. Being on low doesn’t stop me from hearing the human talking into a small rectangular box.\n“Yes, Richards, I still want the discounted vacation. Buddy was supposed to get them from your daughter today, but I forgot to give the instructions. I’ll have Buddy get the ticket from her tomorrow.\n“Yes. Hawaii. It’s still available? Okay. We’ll talk.”\nI quietly run my searches. Vacation. The human sent me to school so he could go on vacation at a good price. How expensive is an android? At least I get to go back to school. Wow, I notice, my thought process is almost as random as a human’s. Maybe-\nI shut down the thought process before it can make my head hurt. Besides, based on my research, I know I am not human, but I am definitely not a robot. But I have a new term for what I am. I am a person. And tomorrow, I will go and see the humans I like again. Maybe, if I take a lot of time finding this Catherine Richards, the human will continue to allow me to go to school. Or maybe it will let me go if I get the task done faster. My head hurts 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: There Goes A Whole Year... Like Sand\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1764\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone emerging from the sea, and end it with them looking up at the stars."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "She rowed across the sea, pain wracking her arms. Land was only a few meters away, but it felt like miles. She wanted to stop, to capitulate, but how could she give up, after all she had fought for?\n\n“May!” a voice called, “Quit that reading! You have an exam tomorrow, and you don’t want to do poorly on it!”\nI sighed, wanting to act like I hadn’t heard, but I knew that would call for trouble.\n“Alright mom,” a soft sigh escaped my lips. I slipped a bookmark into the novel and clasped it shut. That was just my luck; right when the story had climaxed!\n‘Well, you can always read tomorrow.’ I thought, ‘When you’ll be free.’ That thought made my muscles tense as I looked for my textbook. Tomorrow was the last exam: the last time I needed to log into a dreaded meeting ever again.\n\n***\n\n‘Maycelonia Roberts’ I wrote, pressing pen to paper, the words creating a dent in the answer sheet. The tip of the ballpoint slashed through the paper, making an enormous mess.\n“I’m done, anyway.” I resisted the urge to frown.\nI looked at the display on my computer, which read 9:30 am. There was half an hour left but I was done with my paper. I suppose I should have submitted it and cleared everything up but something held me back. Something told me to remain a little longer. I switched tabs back to the meeting, and when I clicked on it, dozens of little boxes crowded the screen, showing all my friends and classmates. A few of them were still writing, their foreheads creased. A few others were clicking pictures of their answers, ready to upload them. \nOh, the irony! Just a year ago, we were at school, unaware of what the future would bring. I still remembered we had spoken of the virus as if it was something insignificant that would vanish as quickly as it had come.\nBut this was the virus that had swathed the human population with agony, hitting headlines in less than months. \nIt was why our school had switched to virtual learning. Although I should have been glad we had this option, I didn’t like online classes. They weren’t half as fun; they inflicted terrible fate on your eyes, and we could only do so much with our computers, anyway.\nA year of virtual classes was going to mark itself on the calendar, and that thought filled me with awe.\nI still remembered the day we got to know about the start of online schooling. \nI began fidgeting with my answer script, my mind taking me out of reality.\nThe memory was as fresh as inscriptions on a clay tablet.\n\nIt was a warm summer’s day; the sunlight baking the Earth, giving no mercy. The month had just dawned, but it had brought along with it rising temperatures and sweltering weather.\nAnd also unexpected news.\n“Are you sure, mom?” I asked, perched on the couch, “Are they really going to do that?”\n“Yes, May.” My mother sighed, “For the hundredth time, yes. Your school is going to conduct classes online.”\n“For how long?” I asked,, “And is it all going to be the same way it was in school?”\n“This was a swift decision, May, and they’ll give you the details soon.”\n‘That’s cool.’ I mused, wandering into my thoughts, ‘Is it weird that I’ve always wanted to experience online classes and now I’m really going to? I want them to start quickly, I want to see my friends.’\nAnd seeing my friends again after a month was the best possible thing that could have happened to me that summer.\n\n\nI turned my answer script over, my eyes moving over the sheet, trying to make sense of all the scientific terms and values I had written, but they were only a jumble of incoherent letters. \nI didn’t know why I didn’t go on and hand in my paper. What was holding me back? Why did I want to prolong my stay in this meeting when I could easily do away with it and start off my summer break?\n\n\nI still remembered day one. The very first day of high school, when I thought I knew so much, but when I actually knew so little. I strode in, books in hand, my heart thumping. I had never attended a meeting before in my thirteen years of existence, and my emotions were mixed.\n I punched in the meeting code and password, re-checking it to make sure I had gotten it down right. My cursor hovering over the ‘join meeting’, I paused for a moment. I took a deep breath and clicked on it. The window disappeared, replaced with one that had rows of students’ videos arranged on the screen. The teacher hadn’t joined yet, but no one was really talking or anything. Perhaps they were as overwhelmed as I was. \n“Hey May!” someone called out, but I could only manage a wave and a weak smile. \nI studied all the features that came with this meeting. Of course, I wasn’t brave enough to toy with any of those. Yet. \nI hoped, really hoped, that these online classes would go okay.\n\nIt was nearly 9:40 now. Time seemed to have taken the challenge to usurp my will. I clenched my jaw. Many people had already left the meeting, and just so I wouldn’t look like I was doing something suspicious, I bent over, acting as if I was deeply engrossed in verifying my paper. \nFifteen minutes more, I told myself, then you can be out of this.\nFifteen minutes made nine-hundred seconds, and that wasn’t a lot, right?\n\n“May, what do you make of these virtual classes?” my friend texted me one night. The year was halfway done, and right now, we had been accustomed to this new way. In fact, we had grown so used to it that actual school appeared to be a distant dream hidden far away. \nYet, I couldn’t say we didn’t miss it. \nIt had been several months since anyone had been to school or had seen one another in flesh-and-blood. Why wouldn’t we want to go back? Initially, we’d thought things would return to normal in weeks, or when the year 2020 ended, or at least when the vaccine came out, but that didn’t happen. Deep inside, I had a feeling it would be long before things settled.\n“They’re okay.” I sent back, which was pretty vague, but I didn’t want to lift my hopes too high.\nI set my phone aside, feeling slightly uneasy.\nSuddenly, I wanted to go back to school. Really bad.\n\n\n“Ten minutes left for writing time to end.” the invigilator’s reminder called me to reality. My hands had gone numb after holding the paper for so long. I slowly made my way out of my seat and began looking for my phone. The sun shone harder outside, beating the countryside, and it made me want to fan myself. Summer was approaching again, and as usual, it did not fail to remind us of the radiant heat that was going to swallow everyone soon.\nI finally found my phone and made my way back. Swallowing back uncertainty, I began clicking pictures of all my answers. \n‘This is going to be the last time you’re going to submit any exam this way,’ I told myself, ‘Isn’t that weird? How everything today seems to be happening for the last time?’\n\n‘May,’ it was one of my friends again, ‘Shocking news, but they might open school next year.’ it had been nine months since lessons had started online.\nThe news took a few moments to sink in. Open school next year? No more of those online classes? No more staring at a bright screen all day long? No more worrying about our eyes and thinking of all the ways we were ruining them this way? \n‘They’re mostly opening up in June, which is only a few months away.’ my friend texted, ‘What do you think of that?’\n‘That’s - um - cool.’ I replied, my fingers moving over the keyboard as I typed, ‘Wonder when I’ll get to see you again.’\nI set the device away, the world spinning around me. She couldn’t be kidding, could she? No, she couldn’t. Why would she want to joke around with something like this?\nSuddenly, I longed to step out the door, to get out into the open and feel fresh breeze blowing against me once again. Nine months. Wasn’t it long enough already? How much longer could we stay cooped up at home? \nThank God these would be the last few meetings I would ever have to attend. Thank Goodness things would (hopefully) not be the same way next year. \n\n\nI was one of the last people remaining in the meeting. There were only 3 minutes left for the final call to end forever.\nI held my breath and jabbed the ‘turn in’ button. The moment I did, something fleeting went off inside me, a small smile spreading across my face, lifting my spirits. No more exams, no more classes, only me and my holidays to keep each other company. Oh, all the things I would do, all the ways I would make the most of my time! \n“Adieu, 8th grade.” I whispered, “You’re truly over.”\nI didn’t feel such a wreck now.\n\n* * *\n\nIt was the evening that day, and I was curled up with my novel once again. There was no one to chivvy me around, because I had all the time in the world.\nThe reluctance of leaving the school year behind had vanished. I couldn’t always cling to the past, could I? Especially when there was so much more left to be experienced. \nI was on the very last page of my novel, a novel that I had been so keen to finish, and a novel that I had loved reading:\n\n She was glad she had made it all the way. She was glad she hadn’t given up when she had been on sea, because if she had, she wouldn’t be here right now.\n And over her lay the dome of the night sky, shimmering with millions of stars. They looked like sequins splattered across the heavens in a pastel of shining lights. They were worthy to be photographed, to be framed, to be treasured as a memory forever.\n “I would remember.” she said, the wind carrying her voice away into the darkness.\n\nAnd I, May, would remember, too.\nAlways."
}
]
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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: 2070\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1647\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an android just trying to blend in with their human companions."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Every morning, I do the same routine. I unplug the power cord from my artificial artelux and go to open the blinds. The sun is good for my body's sheath. After bathing in the sunlight for several minutes, I go to the bathroom. I can’t shower like an ordinary human, the water would mess up my skin like sheath. Instead, I use a 70% alcohol solution to rub down my entire body. And Voila! That pretty much wraps up my daily routine.\n\nBut today was not any day.\nToday was my first-day attending high school. Not just any high school, a human high school. Never in a million years would I have thought that an android would be allowed in the same social setting as humans since the Android Uprising of 2050. I’m still surprised that I was allowed to live with a human host family.\n\nSpeaking of humans, I heard a high-pitched squeal, “CHARA! BREAKFAST!”\n“I’M COMING!” I yelled back.\nI quickly picked up my book bag and went downstairs.\n\nAs I descended the stairs, I saw the whole family sitting at the dining table. Mrs. Clark and Mr. Clark sat at the head of the table, while their kids sat on either side. Mrs. Clark looked up and addressed me.\n\n“We were waiting for you. Come eat,” the icy tone in Mrs. Clark’s voice. Mrs. Clark was the matriarch of the family who didn’t bother to hide the fact that she was not too fond of me. If it wasn’t for the hefty amount of money that the government paid to host families, she would have never allowed me into her household.\n\nI said nothing as I sat down next to Ciara Clark, the baby in the family, and across from Cole, the eldest child. Today’s breakfast was pancakes and strawberries. I took a mental note that I got less food than everyone else. But it’s ok, I didn’t need human food to survive.\n\n“Are you excited for your first day at Capital high?” I looked up and saw Cole smiling at me. \n\nGosh, he was so cute that I couldn’t help but blush. He had beautiful mahogany skin, with kind brown eyes and a killer dimpled smile. He was easily the kindest person in the family.\n\n“Yeah! I’ve heard stories about your high school and how social you guys are.“\nEducation in the barracks was simple. We put a chip in our hard drive and downloaded all the information into our memory.\n\n“Yes, OUR high school.” Ciara interrupted, emphasizing the word our. Ciara definitely wasn’t a fan of the android, and like her mother, she wasn’t afraid to show it\n\n“That’s enough, Ciara.” Mr. Clark said, flipping his newspaper. Mr. Clark was a man of few words, but when he did talk it was to keep the peace. He’s always been fair to me and never treated me like I was lesser than. Ciara rolled her eyes, but said nothing and continued to eat her food.\n\nAfter breakfast, we began heading out to the bus stop. As I began walking out the front door, Ciara grabbed my arms and whispered to me, “I can see the way you look at my brother. He would never go for a droid like you.”\n\nThe word droid hit me hard. It was a slur that was used to remind us Androids of our place. That even though we resemble humans, we were not one of them. We were lesser than. She pushed past me, catching up to Cole.\n\nI took my time walking to the bus stop, need to take time to recuperate. I wasn’t going to let Ciara get to ruin my first day. Hopefully, not all humans were like Ciara and her mom. \n\nI finally reached the bus stop, and I noticed that all the conversation stopped. The other kids turned to look and began whispering. Even though I was a humanoid, the long neon blue stripes that ran down my arms and neck showed my android status.\n\nThe nervous energy was heavy in the air as we waited for the bus. The bus arrived and the students piled on leaving me the last one to get on. There were no available seats. I looked at everyone who avoided my gaze. I walked over to a familiar face.\n\n“You’ve GOT to be kidding me,” Ciara huffed, but she ended up moving her bag and allowed me to sit next to her. I would have sat with Cole, but he was sitting with someone who I assumed was his friend. The bus ride was incredibly silent, I could tell that they felt uncomfortable with my presence.\n\nWe finally arrived at the school and I followed the other kids as they hopped off the bus.\n\"Ciara?\"\n\nCiara who was a couple of steps ahead of me turned around and puffed out, \"What?\"\n\n\"Would you mind walking me to my classroom?\"\n\nShe rolled her eyes, \"Fine.\"\n\nShe dragged me by my wrist and we walked into the building.\n\nThe hallways were bustling as we entered the building. Girls were gossiping amongst themselves against the lockers, and boys were chuckling loudly in the middle of the halls. I did earn a couple of glances here and there, but for the most part, everyone was concerned with themselves. We finally arrived at my classroom.\n\n\"Thank you, Ciara.\"\n\"I'm not showing you to your next class,\" She warned me before she walked away.\nDang, I thought she was being nice.\n\nI walked inside the classroom and was happy to see some fellow androids in the back. I quickly sat down next to them. Their faces lit up as they saw me.\n\n\"Hey, I'm Chara!\" I introduced myself.\n\n\"Hi! I'm Carl, and that's Carol.\" The boy said. I noticed that they were quite similar.\n\n\" Are you guys twins?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" They replied in unison. I couldn't help but giggle at them talking in sync. This was my first time interacting with androids since I left the barracks.\n\nThey felt familiar.\n\nThey felt like home.\n\nWe had an aimless conversation as our classmates filled in. Like in the halls, people did glance over at us but they minded their business for the most part. \nThe teacher finally walked in. She was gorgeous, with long curly hair and sharp features. She wore a grey a-line dress with black kitten heels. She wrote her name on the blackboard.\n\nMs. Cohen.\n\n\"Good morning class!\" She said warmly. The class responded with greetings.\n\n\"Today in honor of our first day of integration we will talk about the history of android in the united states,\" she began.\n\n\"In 2025, Cidra Cortez was the first scientist to create an android, a humanoid robot, who was self-aware. Humans went crazy for androids, wanting to use them as servants. By 2050, the androids revolted. This movement was called the Android Uprising of 2050. After a 3 year war, humans came out as the victors. They put the remaining android population into barracks, isolating them from humanity.\"\n\nAs the teacher was talking, I noticed a pair of amber eyes on me. I turned to face a girl with big, golden eyes and blonde hair. I couldn't place the expression on her face.\n\nWas she angry?\nWas she confused?\n\nShe eventually turned away and I continued to focus on the lesson.\n\nI breezed through the other classes, taking notes and paying attention to the teachers as they taught.\n\nAs I entered the cafeteria, I scanned the room looking for any familiar face whether it was an android or human. There was no one that I recognized. I guess I'll be sitting by myself today.\n\nIt's okay Chara, you can do this. You've already survived half the day, you can survive lunch.\n\nI grabbed my lunch and looked for a place to sit. As I began walking over to an abandoned table, a tall, blond hair person stood in front of me. I recognized her as Cameron, the girl who was staring me down in history class. \n\n\"Hey, droid.\"\nI ignored the slur and tried to walk around her, but she put a firm hand on my shoulder, stopping me from proceeding.\n\n\"What's the problem, droid? Have a problem with your hearing chip?\"\n\nWe began attracting attention. Ugh, so embarrassing.\n\n\"Do you need something?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't like having droids in my school.\"\n\n\"Your school? You bought it?\" I was surprised at the rapid-fire responses I was giving her.\n\n\"Camille! What are you doing?\"\nI recognized that high-pitched squeal anywhere. I turned around to see Ciara walking over.\n\nCamille instantly released her grip from my shoulder.\n\"Oh! Hey, babe.\"\n\nWait.\nThis was the Cam that Ciara would go on and on about?\n\n\"You heard my question,\" Ciara said, crossing her arms. Even though she was only five feet, she somehow looked taller.\n\n\"Just wanted to say hi to the droid.\"\n\n\"Android.\" She corrected.\n\nI couldn't believe my ears. Wasn't this the same girl who called me an android earlier this morning?\n\n\"Android,\" Camille repeated.\n\n\"I'll meet you at the table. I need to talk to Chara.\"\nCamille slunk away, giving me daggers as she left. The cafeteria went back to its normal chatter.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Ciara said.\n\n\"You didn't humiliate me in front of everyone.\"\n\n\"I'm not just talking about Camille, I'm talking about how I treated you. Today in class, I learned about the injustices your people went through. I just thought that androids turned on humans for no reason.\"\n\nI was shocked at what I was hearing. I would have never thought that Ciara would apologize to me. Even though she's been nothing but mean to me ever since she met me, I wasn't opposed to being friendly.\n\n\"Apology accepted.\"\n\n\"Do you want to join me for lunch? I promise Camille won't mess with you.\"\n\nI smiled.\n\"I would love to.\""
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Brave Get Beaten\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2599\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where fortune doesn’t favor the brave."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Trigger Warning: Story about slavery, make some assumptions.\n\nMy mother once told me that fortune favours the brave. And for a long time, I believed her.\n\nThe sun’s blazing heat hammered my naked back. With aching limbs I strained to pluck the cotton pieces from their plants. I tossed them into my basket, one that’d been weaved of dried sweetgrass and flower stems. I looked across the large plantation, wiping a sea of sweat off my face. As far as I could see, there were people who looked like me. \n\nAnd only people who looked like me. \n\nThe same colour of the rough soil that I walked across, of the sturdy baskets I filled. Not those the same colour as the tiny fleeces I picked. Not even those whom I picked them for.\n\nNot one.\n\n“AAAHHH! AAAHHH!” A terrifying scream seized everyone's attention.\n\nA handsome White man with a large face trotted across the fields on his magnificent white horse. It was Harry Ford, one of the master’s watchmen. Attached to the horse, roped up and being dragged across the coarse dirt, was a female slave.\n\nA runner.\n\nRunners were those brave souls who wished for a better life. Those who thought their skinny legs could race past bloodhounds, horses, and rifles. Those who put on the fool’s mask, truly believing that they’d escape from these hellish lands.\n\nThat’s all the brave really are. Fools.\n\n“Quiet you filthy monkey!” Ford shouted as she struggled to break free. \n\nTears streamed down the girl’s face as she howled in agony. Her frail body was hauled into one of the empty barns near the field. Ford drew a leathery strip from his waist. A whip. No one saw what happened in that shed. We heard it. Sharp, loud cracks of lightning. Thunderous yells of torment. My imagination didn’t fail to help me picture the twisted, devilish smile on Ford's face.\n\nI knew from experience that fortune didn’t favour the brave.\n\nThe brave got beaten.\n\n***\n\n“Wendell! Come over here!” \n\n“Comin’!” \n\nReginald was an older slave, one that I respected as if he were my own father. I’d never met my real father. My late mother always said he was a foolish man. Someone who didn’t want to see me. Someone I shouldn’t want to see. A fire of resentment towards him kindled inside of me. \n\n“Tell me about that crazy girl,” Reginald muttered. He was crouched down, his spider-like limbs picking at the cotton plants.\n\n“Which girl?” I followed his lead, fearful of getting caught.\n\n“The runner.”\n\n“I know as much as you do,” I flushed.\n\n“Don’t lie to me boy! I hear things.”\n\nTwo weeks after she’d been caught, I ran into the young lady. Her appearance was disturbing. Her body was covered with streaks of bumpy, purple flesh. Her eyes were as swollen as a toad’s. Yet, under all the injury, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was.\n\nI spotted her as we headed to the sleeping grounds. By now the sun had set, leaving the faint moonlight to shine upon her fair features. I tried hard to tear my eyes away from her- failing. She looked back, her gaze meeting mine.\n\n“What is it?” she asked, her voice sour and uninviting.\n\n“N-Nothing,” I stammered, looking down in shame. She walked towards me, lifting her arms and revealing a horrid collection of scars. A hair-raising chill swept over my body.\n\n“There,” she frowned, “And please, if you reckon me a fool, then say so.”\n\n“Why would I think that?” Sure, she might’ve been a fool, but now didn’t seem like the time to tell her that. \n\n“Everyone else seems to think that,” she sighed wistfully.\n\n“I don’t.”\n\n“Is that the truth?” she asked. Her words felt dangerous. The distance between us was small enough that I could hear the lively thumping of her heart.\n\n“You don’t believe me?” I asked.\n\n“Say it. Say that I’m not a fool. If you lie to me, I will hurt you. And you ain’t pretty enough to survive that.”\n\nA thin smile crept upon my lips. “I think you’re…very brave.”\n\nHer voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m glad. If you want…there's some free room in the back of my shed.”\n\nMy eyes widened in realisation. I slowly nodded. She grabbed my rough hands and began to lead the way.\n\n“W-Wait a moment,” I said, “I forgot to ask your name.”\n\n“Maribelle,” she said. “My name’s Maribelle.”\n\n\n\n“What happened after that?” Reginald croaked.\n\n“W-Why, that’s a private matter!” I exclaimed.\n\nThe old man laughed. “I think it’s nice that you’ve found someone special. You haven’t got anyone else, and I won’t be alive forever.” \n\nFor weeks I met with Maribelle in the back of her sleeping quarters. She liked to talk. Talk about life, her family, and dreams of freedom. Some nights, she let her actions do the talking.\n\nWeeks turned into months, and months turned into a year. After a backbreaking day of labour, there was nothing I wanted to do more than to hear her voice. \n\nThat is, until she got pregnant.\n\n***\n\nOne month later…\n\nMaribelle made the decision as soon as she realised she was having a baby. She would run once more. For her own freedom, and to give her unborn child a better life. When she came to me with the news, I was shocked. For the first time in a while, I didn’t sleep in her shed.\n\nI’d seen what happened the first time she tried to run. For a second offence, however, the punishment would be harsher. She would die. If I ran with her, I risked being caught and made an example of. I would die too. \n\nFor a short moment, though, these thoughts cleared from my mind. I imagined a life where we were free. The crying of my baby. The smile of my baby. Watching them grow into a fine young person. The thought of being there for them was what made my decision.\n\nI would wear the fool’s mask.\n\nLeaving tonight was our best option. We were in the climax of Maryland’s winter, and the long nights made it easier to cover more ground. Our journey to Canada would take us four months.\n\nDuring the colder parts of the year, male slaves either cleared snow or tended to livestock. I, a youthful, strong man, was sent off to clear the streets. As the day came to an end, my body was in terrible pain. I returned to the sleeping sheds exhausted. I saw Reginald for what would be the final time.\n\n“Good luck Wendell,” he spoke softly. \n\n“That’s all you have to say?” I laughed, my eyes watering. \n\n“Take these.” Reginald placed four cotton pieces in my hand.\n\n“What for?”\n\n“So you remember me. Remember this.” He gazed over the snowy fields of the plantation.\n\n“I’ll have nightmares,” I wiped my eyes, placing the cotton in my pocket. “I can’t forget, no matter how bad I want to.”\n\nReginald smiled faintly, “A young man like you has a yet to see the world yet. When you do, you might forget where you come from. If you do escape, they’ll be there to remind you.” He pointed to my pocket.\n\n“And if I don’t escape?”\n\n“...Then I pray they soften the lashing of the whip.”\n\n***\n\n“Are you ready?” I asked Maribelle. \n\n“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate.\n\nA scraggly guard was placed near the lengthy hog fence. Even without seeing him I knew he was pacing from one end to the other. The patter of his footsteps grew loud. Louder. Then faint. Fainter. Then, they were gone.\n\nWe made a dash for the fence, keeping light on our toes. I helped Maribelle over first, then leaped over it next. I prayed the dark of the night would hide our tracks. We ran without looking back.\n\nAfter each passing mile I found it harder to breathe. The cold air burned my throat. I had no choice but to keep going. Maribelle looked half-conscious, being kept from passing out by only the freezing snow.\n\nFinally, we made it off the plantation, stopping to catch our breath. A thick bundle of crooked trees surrounded us, and through the dim moonlight I could see a string of houses and a cobbled dirt road.\n\n“Are you sure she’s going to be here?” I asked Maribelle.\n\n“Yes,” she responded, panting. “She will.”\n\nOn cue, a short Black woman appeared beside us. Her hands motioned for us to follow her. Her mysterious emergence frightened me, but not enough to overwhelm my tiredness. We went along with her. \n\nThe woman peeked out of the forest. I heard the clip-clop of a horse, and the creaking of carriage wheels. What’s going on? I wondered. Was this one woman crazy too?\n\nFrom what I could observe, the coachman was a portly White man. I tried to pull Maribelle away, but she resisted. The coachman stopped in front of the short woman.\n\n“Get in,” she told us. Maribelle followed her into the carriage. Reluctantly, I followed.\n\nInside the coach was an elderly White lady. In her bony hands were brown-coloured sheets that’d been tied to wear as cloaks. She handed them to me, Maribelle, and the short woman. We slipped them on and covered our faces, following her lead.\n\nMoments later, the carriage began to move. I looked at the short woman, noticing her stern expression. I understood that we had to be quiet, but I had an important question to ask.\n\n“Who are you?”\n\nShe smiled. It was a glum, sad kind of smile.\n\n“My name is Harriet. Harriet Tubman.”\n\n***\n\nThree weeks later…\n\nWe’d made it to the outskirts of Maryland, and closed in on Pennsylvania, a free state. The journey would become easier once we’d crossed the border. Still, we feared being caught. The vast land of brittle white snow served as a reminder that we were always surrounded.\n\nI’d learned a lot about Harriet. She was a freed slave who’d escaped to Philadelphia, yet she returned many times to help other slaves escape. Along the way we’d joined with, by my count, twenty other runaway slaves. I was in awe of her courage. \n\nA system called the Underground Railroad was used to help us hide from slave patrols. Homes, churches, and other establishments gave us locations to eat and rest. \n\n“Not too far away now,” Harriet shouted to the group. We walked in an orderly line, women and children took the front, men took the rear. I was at the tail end. \n\n“There’s a church just North of here,” she called back a second time. Cheerful chatter began to spread among the group. Mothers hugged their children. Some elderly folks broke down in tears. We’d finally made it. It seemed unreal, as if it were only a dream...\n\nBANG!\n\nAn ear-splitting sound pierced the air- and someone's body. One boy dropped hard to the snow-covered ground, red liquid oozing from his belly.\n\n\"RUN!\" Harriet shouted.\n\nThe group scattered in different directions, weaving through the trees and bushes. I did too. The boy was dead. We couldn't save him now.\n\nI darted towards Maribelle, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her behind a tree. The gunshots didn't let up. People were dropping dead faster than Mayflies.\n\n\"Follow Harriet,\" I huffed. Despair inked Maribelle's eyes.\n\n\"What about you?\" She wailed loud enough for every slave owner in Maryland to hear.\n\nI swallowed hard. \"Tell my child...that if I could be there for them...I would. Please...promise me that.\"\n\nShe scrunched her face and nodded violently, tears dripping onto the snow.\n\n\"Now GO!\" I yelled.\n\nI ran towards the sound of the guns, not daring to look back. I spotted where the firing was coming from: Two White men with powerful rifles. One of them looked familiar.\n\nHarry Ford.\n\n\"Oooh, ooh! Aaah aah!\" I screamed, aiming to grab their attention. Gunshots rang out, bullets grazed nearby branches. I began to run West.\n\n\"After him!\" Ford called out.\n\nSnow crunched loudly under my feet. There was no way to hide from them. All I could hope to do was drag them as far away as possible.\n\nBANG! A second later, and a tight, burning pain invaded my shoulder. The bullet nearly knocked me over. Gritting my teeth, I kept running.\n\nUp ahead was a small drop down a hill. I jumped down without a second thought. A soft pile of snow softened my fall.\n\nAt the base of the hill was a small cave. I quickly hobbled inside. Moments later, both Ford and his accomplice dropped onto the pile of snow.\n\n\"We're splittin' up Arnold,\" he spoke gruffly, \"You check the cave, I'll keep going West. He can't be too far from here.\"\n\nThe one named Arnold cautiously crept into the cave. I'd hid near the very back, behind a collection of jagged rocks. The darkness of the cave would make it hard for him to spot me.\n\nArnold inched towards the back slowly. His eyes darted in a flurry of directions. He was...scared. He peeked his head around, sighing. A sigh of relief.\n\n\"AAARGH!\"\n\nLike a tiger stalking its prey, I pounced on him the moment he lowered his guard. I wrapped one muscular arm around his neck. With the other, I stripped him from his rifle.\n\n\"Get off...of me you...stupid Nigger!\" he uttered with what little breath he had. I shoved the rifle's barrel onto the roof of his mouth. Arnold's face grew pale.\n\nI pulled the trigger. BANG! A soupy mess of bloody flesh and brains was left on the stony cave floor.\n\nI returned outside to the Maryland cold. Ford stood a good distance from the entrance, waiting. His rifle twirled loosely in his hand.\n\n\"I suppose he's dead then?\" he smiled nastily.\n\nI pointed my rifle at him tensely, but I couldn't speak back. He marched towards me. My body began to shake uncontrollably.\n\n\"Master told me to bring you back alive,\" he cackled, \"But I can always tell him that this is how I found you.\"\n\nI slumped to the floor. I felt neither the warmth of blood nor the cold of the snow.\n\n\"The bullets we shot you with were covered with a strong poison...one that would kill an average man in minutes. But you, you're special! You all are! It's a shame, though, that for such amazing physical specimens you lack the brains to shut up and listen.\"\n\nFord wrenched my rifle from my arm's and aimed it towards me.\n\n\"If only you'd been smart enough to run.\" He pulled the trigger.\n\nNothing happened.\n\nOr rather, no bullet's came out of it. The rifle, in its entirety, exploded. The impact was jarring, breaking Ford's arms and shoulders. Sharp pieces of plastic dug deep into his face, piercing his skull.\n\n\"AAAGGHHH!\" he howled in agony, gripping his face. He fell to the ground, flopping around like a fish out of water, until finally, he was dead.\n\nIf he'd been smart enough to check the barrel of the rifle before firing, he'd have saw them. All four of them.\n\nFour pieces of cotton inside of it, jamming the gun.\n\nBy now I'd lost all my senses to the fast-acting poison. I couldn't hear, see or feel. But I could think. I could pray.\n\nI prayed for Maribelle's safety. I prayed that my child would grow up healthy and happy. I prayed for myself; That I would be able to meet my mother in Heaven.\n\nFortune favours the brave. Her words were never more false.\n\nThe brave get killed."
}
]
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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: An Unwanted Gift\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2939\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a technophobe who’s been given a device to solve a problem they’ve struggled with for years, but isn't sure how they feel about it."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Sofia didn’t know how she felt about starting her new school. She had heard things about the way the kids were there, that they were snobby and stuck-up, and that they were as high-tech as they came. She worried most that she would be judged for the way that she was; even at her old school, being old-fashioned like her was not a desirable trait. She knew that it was natural for people her age to be interested in all the modern things, although she had no idea why. She thought it safe to assume the reason she turned out this way was because she lived with her grandparents, who had not modernized at all since moving into the house in the mid-forties. Perhaps the reason she was so disinterested in modern life was because she didn’t grow up living it, but even so, she wouldn’t change a thing. \n“Grandma, do I absolutely have to go to Richardson High? They’re just going to judge me since they’re all up with the new stuff and I’m not,” she said, not trying to hide the nerves in her voice. \n“It’s a good school and your mom and dad wanted you to go there. At worst you might be a bit of an outcast, and listen, I know that sounds bad, but you’ll live through it,” her grandma explained. “But do at least try to make some friends.”\nSofia knew that her grandma was trying her best to put her nerves at ease, but it just wasn’t helping. “I know, and I’ll try, but I’m just worried they’re all going to be like that.”\n“Like what, dear?”\n“Like I’m the crazy one since I don’t have a cell phone or have any idea of what’s popular,” said Sofia. “I mean, I’m not complaining, grandma, I love the way I live and I don’t ever want to change. It’s just...I’m afraid they’re going to be shallow and arrogant and make fun of me all the time. Not that I couldn’t handle it, but it just wouldn’t be making things any easier on me.”\nShe paused, thinking of how she might be treated by her classmates. \n“‘Look at Sofia, she still uses a rotary phone and a record player, and oh! Don’t forget her typewriter!’” she exclaimed in a mocking voice. \n“Honey,” her grandma started. “You know, you don’t have to live like us. If you want to live like all the kids do now, that’s alright. I mean, your grandfather and I may not like it that much, but you’re living in a different time. It’s only natural to live like the other kids. And I don’t have to worry about you getting too addicted.”\n“But grandma, I don’t want to! I told you, I have no desire to change. I like the way I am, and if I have a hard time because of it, that’s fine, because they’re not going to change me.” Suddenly, Sofia found a confidence she didn’t know she had inside of her. “You know, what? It’s fine. I can deal with whatever comes my way. Maybe I won’t have to worry. Maybe it’s just a stereotype and they’re not actually like that. I’d better get to bed. Where’s grandpa?”\n“He’s already in bed, dear.”\n“Oh, okay, then good night, grandma,” she said. \n“Good night. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”\n“Thanks.”\nIt only took two minutes of being inside her new school to confirm her suspicions of the kids that went there. A sea of students, all of them with their heads bowed down and looking at their cell phones, not even watching where they were going. She would try to make friends later. Right now, her priority was finding the right classroom. Her first period was art. Luckily for her, she found it in a few minutes. \nShe and the teacher were the only ones in the room.\n“Well, hello. Welcome to art class. I’m Mr. Jeffrey,” the man said. \n“I’m Sofia. I guess I’m early,” she said, looking around the empty classroom.\n“Lots of kids like to stand in the hall until the bell rings,” explained Mr. Jeffrey. “Feel free to take a seat anywhere.” \n“Okay.” \nSofia sat down in the front row. A few minutes passed and the bell rang, with students filing in, staring at their phones and giggling. As they settled down, Mr. Jeffery spoke. \n“I’m Mr. Jeffery. I will be your art teacher this year. For your first assignment, I want you all to get out your phones and walk around the building. Take ten pictures of things that stand out to you. Feel free to walk around a bit outside as well, if you wish. Does everyone have their phones?”\nSofia shook her head, but he didn’t see her. \nOne girl said from the back of the room, “I don’t have mine, my parents took it because they got mad at me.” \n“That’s okay,” said Mr. Jeffrey. “You can ask your parents tomorrow to let you bring it with you, tell them it’s for school, I’m sure they’ll understand. All right, then you guys can go take pictures and Alyssa, you can stay here and draw something.”\nAfter everyone left, Sofia went to tell Mr. Jeffrey that she didn’t have a cell phone. \n“I have a camera, though. I could bring that tomorrow.” Just like her, her camera was old-fashioned.\nHe said that it was fine and that she could join Alyssa and draw something, although the way he looked at her was strange. As if she was from another time period. Although, in a way, she was. Mr. Jeffrey went out to stand in the hall. \n“You don’t have a phone?” asked Alyssa, looking through her long, black, sharply cut bangs. “Strict parents? I can’t imagine it’s because you can’t afford it.”\nThis caught Sofia off guard. Do I look rich or something? she thought. \n“What?”\n“Well, even though you don’t have to pay to come here, you need lots of supplies, like a computer and stuff, and everyone who goes here is on the higher end when it comes to money” she explained. \n“Oh, I just, um, I never wanted one,” Sofia said simply. It was true. All the things she could do on a cell phone, she could do without one. She had a calendar, a camera, a notebook, a contacts book, a planner, a record player, a map, an alarm clock, books, a television (black and white, but she didn’t care) and a telephone. Yes, it had a dial, but she wouldn’t trade her red rotary phone for anything. Even then, she couldn’t deny the charm of rotary phones. They were just so cute! She knew she shouldn’t be embarrassed, and she actually wasn’t embarrassed, but she was put in an awkward position. \n“I have a computer, though. Obviously. But I only use it for school since we don’t have Internet at home.” I should not have said that. Why am I so stupid?! “It’s not that we can’t afford it or that I have strict parents. I just never wanted one. Everything on a cell phone, I can already do.” Oh, you are asking for it, Sofia!\nAlyssa’s face was full of shock.\n“Woah, that’s...I thought you were joking at first. Here I was this morning laughing because Kyle has an old smartphone and he doesn’t have a smartwatch or Alexa, but you? This is just too good! I have to write this on my social media and my blog!”\nAlthough this was expected, Sofia couldn’t help but feel betrayed. She panicked, she didn’t want to be on any social media or blogs. She liked her privacy and she didn’t want to be on the Internet. \n“Wait! What? No, what’s- what do you mean? I don’t want you to write about me at all, let alone writing about ‘the girl who’s so crazy because she lives in the fifties and still uses a rotary phone!’” she exclaimed. \nAlyssa gasped. “Oh, and it just gets better! I am so writing about you! And I’m guessing you don’t have social media? That works great because then you can’t write to me on it, telling me to take it down!” Alyssa was just loving it. \n“Please,” Sofia begged. “Don’t. I like having privacy. I don’t want to do this, but if you insist on writing about me, I’ll tell the principal. And before you say anything, yes, I know we’re in highschool, and telling the principal is a kid-thing, but I will not be put out there for people to know about me. So just don’t.”\nAlyssa thought it over, realized she’d better not get the principal involved, as she saw that Sofia was very serious. “Fine. But you never wish you had one? Like, ever? You say you can do all the stuff that you can do on a phone without an actual cell phone, but what if you’re stuck somewhere? Or what about if you need to call someone while you’re out? Wouldn’t it make at least that part of life easier? Payphones are dying, you know.” \nSofia was shocked this girl even knew what a payphone was, what with how high-tech she was. She did know that it was a problem, and that it would make life easier to be able to call while she was out. She just didn’t want one, though. Even though she could get one that would only be for call and text, she had no desire for one. She’d always forget to take it with her and it would just gather dust. \n“Yeah, I know,” she replied. “I know payphones are dying and I do admit it would be nice to be able to call someone while I’m out, but I just don’t want the hassle. I know you don’t see it as a hassle, and it’s honestly more of an obsession it seems, for you, but I just don’t want to deal with it. This is going to sound cheesy, but just look up from your screen once in a while, for God’s sake. Do you ever just go for a walk, have a nice talk with someone, or write letters?” She could tell the answer was no by the look on Alyssa’s face. “Then you don’t know what you’re missing.”\n“Why are you like this?” asked Alyssa, not believing what she was hearing.\n“It’s not some phase or some interest if that’s what you’re thinking,” she started. “This is my life. I like it this way. I live with my grandparents. My parents died in a car crash when I was only a few months old. If I would have lived with them, maybe I would have been different, but I still kind of doubt it because this is who I am and it just feels right. My grandparents still live like it’s the fifties, and maybe I’m a product of my environment, but this is just how I want to live. I’m happy like this. I’m sorry, but, well, no I’m not sorry. I don’t need all this technology to make me happy. It wouldn't give me any sense of fulfillment, and quite frankly, I don’t lack any sense of fulfillment. And also, I just think technology has been long at a point to where there is no need for further progression. It already does everything for you. What more do you need, really?”\nAlyssa didn’t say a word, so Sofia continued. “And in case you’re wondering, this wasn’t forced on me by my grandparents. Yeah, they prefer me living like this, but it’s just the simple fact that I like living like this. More natural, more in the moment, I guess you could say. I feel more connected to everything like this.”\nA confused look crossed Alyssa’s face. “How can you feel so connected when you’re not connected at all?”\n“I just do. I know you don’t get it, but I just do.” \n“Do you wear one of those stupid little night hats to bed too?” she mocked.\n“Nightcaps, and...maybe, maybe not. But if I did, it would be because they’re super cozy and keep my head warm. And, just so you know, babydoll nightgowns are really cute.”\nAlyssa just laughed. “You’re unbelievable.”\nSofia and Alyssa were in the same English class, and happened to be partnered together for a writing project, much to the disappointment of both girls. In the few weeks that had passed, Sofia found that unfortunately, most of the kids at her new school were much like Alyssa. \nAlyssa’s mother made her go to Sofia’s house after school to do their project. Sofia’s grandparents were away shopping. \n“I don’t get why my mom sent us here and not my house. You don’t have Internet and my phone’s dead,” said Alyssa. \n“We can use my typewriter,” answered Sofia. “I know that’s not your style and you’re going to laugh, but really. I mean, do you have another way in mind? The school’s closed, the library’s closed for construction, and your mom won’t let us go to your house, so we’ll probably have to.” \nThey did the project, or, more accurately, Sofia did the project while Alyssa sat, arrogantly laughing at her typewriter. Alyssa was about to leave, when she remembered something. \n“Oh, I almost forgot. Here.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a smartphone. “This is a super old model, but I thought you really needed one. It would make you less of an outcast. Don’t worry about giving it back, I have no use for it since it’s so old. I mean, not rotary phone old, but you get what I mean. I have instructions with it so you know how to start using it, and the charger’s with it. You did mention that it would be nice to be able to call people when you’re away from home.”\nOf all things, Sofia was not expecting this. She also felt a bit insulted that Alyssa and the other people at Richardson High couldn’t just respect the fact that she was old-fashioned. She stared at the phone and couldn’t fathom how it could possibly be considered an ‘old model.’\n“Thanks for the offer, but I really can’t,” said Sofia, trying to sound as much as possible like she meant it.\n“Well, too bad. I’m leaving that here with you. I don’t want it anymore. It’s yours.”\nBefore Sofia could respond, Alyssa had her coat and was out the door. \nYes, it would be really nice to be able to call people when I’m away. She thought, imagining how much easier it could make life for her. \nJust then, her grandparents walked in and Sofia showed them the cell phone she was given. Her grandmother told her again how even though they liked the old-fashioned Sofia, they wouldn’t mind a modern Sofia, and how it would be good for her to have it with her in case of an emergency. \n“You are becoming a young adult, and it’s something most young adults have,” said her grandpa. “It would be pretty useful. What if you’re in an accident, or you need to call someone right away? Remember that one time you needed to be picked up because there was a storm, and you had to borrow a stranger’s cell phone? Or all the times you had to meet someone somewhere but it was hard finding them because you couldn’t communicate? Just think it over. We’ll understand. You would...um, you would have to pay for it, though. Every month. We can’t afford to spend any more than we already do at the moment.”\nSofia sighed. “It’s okay, grandpa, I have thought about it, actually. I know that the fact that I don’t have one makes me an outsider and that it would help me and be a good thing to have in case something happens, but you and grandma are fine without one. I know it would be great to be able to call people while I’m out and have a little pod in my hand where I can have access to the whole Internet, but there’s a reason I haven’t gotten one yet. That’s because I just didn’t know how to feel about it. I don’t want to be one of those shallow people like the kids at my school, and I’m not saying having a cell phone will make me that way or that everyone who has a cell phone is like that.” Although many of them are, but I don’t need to go into that right now. She pushed that thought aside. “Honestly, I just don’t want one. I know the benefits, but I also know who I am. And this isn’t it. I can do without one. So unless you guys want it, which I don’t think you do, I’m going to throw it away. Alyssa doesn’t want it.”\nThis caught her grandparents’ attention. \n“Is that that girl who came over today for the project? Is she your friend? Did you make a friend yet?” her grandma asked, suddenly excited. \nAlyssa. The last thing Sofia wanted to think about. “No, we’re...probably the opposite of friends. I don’t think we’ll ever be friends. But I still have my friends from my old school. They’re not as judgmental, and maybe one day I will find a person or two who’s like me and understands me.”\nSofia couldn’t be happier with the life she lived and had no regrets. After she ate dinner and finished her homework, she listened a little to Buddy Holly and then put on her nightcap and went to bed."
}
]
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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: What We Heard\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1019\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a town full of cowards."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "When they came for us, no one said a word.\n\nWe heard they were looking for us. Not us in particular, but anyone like us. We heard they were going from town to town, rounding us up. Pounding on doors in the middle of the night, looking in cupboards, under floorboards, determined to root us out. Assembling us in the streets - cold, trembling, scared - before packing us onto trains and deporting us to the camps. And we all knew what happened in the camps. Maybe not the specific details - those we wouldn’t learn until much, much later - but we understood the intent. No one came back from the camps.\n\nThe violence started with broken glass. Or so we heard. An epidemic of shattered windows, glass fragments lining the streets of almost every town in the country. Homes, businesses, temples, all destroyed because they belonged to people like us. It was the first time they rounded up our men and shipped them off to the camps. For nothing more than the crime of being us.\n\nOur town didn’t see the Crystal Night. We were lucky, or so we thought. That kind of hatred didn’t exist in our little burg. Or so we thought. Later, we realized our mistake, that it wasn’t necessarily a lack of hatred that kept our windows intact. It was a lack of audacity.\n\nIn our town, no one said anything when the badges were decreed. We walked around in a daze, yellow stars on our chests like bulls-eyes, hoping to find some sympathetic outrage, or even just some sympathy, in a shared glance or a shake of the head. But they stopped meeting our gazes, would no longer make eye contact with us. We thought it was pity, maybe even shame. We didn’t realize it was fear.\n\nWe heard stories after that. Stories of people like us, trying to survive. Hiding in attics, basements, crawl spaces. Fleeing the country, or trying to. The ones that didn’t make it, shot in the back while running through groves of trees that had lost all their leaves - naked branches grasping at coats and scarves, slowing them down as they ran through piles of snow that clutched at their feet. We didn’t hear about the blood soaking into the snow, staining it crimson under the bodies of the ones like us who couldn’t outrun the bullets. But we could picture it just the same.\n\nWe heard stories about resistance, about brave people who weren’t in danger, because they weren’t like us, but who helped the people like us just the same. Hiding us, feeding us, protecting us from the men with the grey coats. Putting their own lives at risk, to save us. We looked around at our neighbors, all of us going about our lives in our sheltered little town, and we felt safe. Secure in the knowledge that these people would help us if it came to it, but why did we think that? Because they hadn’t hurt us yet?\n\nWhen the grey coats finally came for us, we weren’t surprised. We’d heard the roundups were happening in towns ever closer to ours. It was only a matter of time. What surprised us wasn’t that they came; what surprised us was that our neighbors gave us up so easily.\n\nSomehow, they’d known it was happening, even before the armored trucks arrived. My father had gone out that morning for coffee and found every cafe shuttered. My mother had gone to buy bread, but the bakery was closed. Perplexed, feeling a sense of dread that we couldn’t name, we huddled at home with our curtains drawn, as though if we couldn’t see it, it couldn’t be happening.\n\nWe heard the trucks roll in. The clomp of hard-soled boots on the cobbled street. The powerful blows of self-righteous fists on our neighbors’ doors. We heard those doors open, heard questions barked and answers murmured. We heard the doors close again.\n\nWhen the knock on our door finally came, we stared at each other with a mix of emotions I couldn’t begin to parse. Terror. Horror. Sadness. Anger. Resignation. But was there also, underneath all the others, hope? Did we dare to hope that our neighbors, our townspeople, would fight for us, would find a way to help? Would show themselves to be just like the brave people in the stories we’d heard about resistance?\n\nWere we that naive?\n\nMy father didn’t open the door. I won’t make it any easier for them. It didn’t matter. They broke it down. One by one, they dragged us out into the street. Screaming, crying, pleading. We saw faces in the windows of our neighbors’ homes, called out to them in voices hoarse with fear. We were afraid, of course we were afraid. It didn’t occur to us that they were, too. They weren’t being hunted; what did they have to be afraid of?\n\nOne by one, the faces in the windows turned away. Curtains fell over the glass, blocking the sight of us from their cowardly eyes. When we finally stopped screaming, the street was silent. No one spoke up for us. No one said a word.\n\nI never saw my parents again. My siblings and I were briefly reunited, decades after the war, when my granddaughter went on a mission to find herself and understand where we came from. My siblings were living in different countries; like dandelion seeds, we’d been scattered to the winds after liberation, unable to find each other until civilization progressed enough to give our children and our children’s children the internet.\n\nI never returned to my hometown, but my granddaughter went there on her journey of self-discovery. She told me about the monument they’d erected in the town square, dedicated to the ones like us who’d been taken away, and to the fearless townspeople who’d resisted the oppressors and tried valiantly to save us. Yes, she told me this, and asked if I wanted to see a picture of the square. \n\nI laughed, and said no. What more was there to say?"
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on 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 The Mix\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1416\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an android just trying to blend in with their human companions."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "I've been on this wonderful planet for 137.8 weeks, 23 days, 15 minutes, and 7 seconds. On my home planet, Rauktonia A7-B8, that would equal 271 years, but I've learned the human way of calculating time. I've learned plenty of stuff from humans, like how to diss our fellow peers, stuff smaller or lesser than beings into metal storage spaces called lockers. I have even learned how to tame a hairy beast called a dog. It's name is Cookie, one friend I made here calls the furry beast this. In my ship's database, I researched Cookie and it appears that a cookie is a confection. It is a baked flat piece of flour that often contains raisins, oats, or chocolate chips. I've come to like the brown, tiny, delectable sweet. It reminds me of my home planet's national dessert hyrobin seeds, which is much like the chocolate chips I have eaten here on Earth.(Only infinitely better)\nEarlier I mentioned friend. A friend is a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, according to my ship's database. On this planet, I've made over 327 friends at the local building called Bentboat High School. The friends I keep close are Corrine Daley and Kaiko Wong. Corrine and Kaiko are both white, but Corrine has long blond hair and Kaiko has short black hair. This is because Corrine is \"all-American\" and Kaiko is Asian American. I don't really know what to call my self on this planet. I've come to notice that there are Africans, Europeans, Hispanic, and Vegetarians all living on this tiny planet! Since I am from Rauktonia A7-B8, I guess I am classified as Rauktonian A7-B8er. What an interesting name I have. I am Elilu Axuko of Rauktonia A7-B8, but everyone on this planet calls me Elli. I am the daughter of Queen Evita and King Abesi, rulers of my planet. Elder sister of Yeera Axuko by 78 Rauktonian years and 3 human years. I have been alive for 8627 Rauktonian years and 18 human years. All this might change though. My parents and I fled our planet in search a resource that could restore energy to our home. That's how we ended up on Earth. Our space ship transformed into a brownstone houes, while we took the forms of humans, whom for a while I called flesh bags until I met Corrine and Kaiko. Our identities were supposed to kept secret, so Yeera and I both attend high school, our parents both have earth jobs, and our royal pet, Xixo, is disguised as a red guinea pig. When we were leaving Rauktonia everyone in the Kingdom was worried that we would be discovered, but the royal historian said that Queen Evita could become a librarian at Bentboat Library and King Abesi could perform as a doctor at Bentboat Hospital. I feel like the town of Bentboat is repetitive, but Kaiko informed me that it is because Bentboat is one of the many small towns of Idaho.\nMother and Father were not willing to let Yeera and I go on their expedition for resources, but we persuaded them and promised to stay on our best behavior. So far, we are successful! Yeera has what Earth beings call a social life and I have friends.\n______________________________________________________\nBeep, beep, beep, goes the metal box. I roll over in the squishy bed and stop the god dang alarm. My family and I learned that it was called a god dang alarm when I threw it out the window. The next door neighbor yelled many words and said that it was a god dang alarm for crying out loud. He charged us money for a piece of broken wood in his fence and told us we should all go to Hell, but my family and I don't know where that is. We searched our databases for days, but couldn't find the location. On the brighter of sides, I now know that it is not a nuclear bomb from our rival planet, Hyroshania 9. Now, it is time for my daily shower. I walk across the room and head for the bathroom. I can hear the sound of pouring water, so I guess Yeera is in there. Meanwhile, I can pick what pieces of cloth I will wear to Bentboat High School. On my first day, I wore my space suit. Many people pointed at me and the head of the school, Principle Dean, dress coded me for \"inappropriate costume\". I was confused and I was also sent home, but it turns out Kaiko and Corrine followed me. They said that I had a \"wicked sense of humor\" and loved my costume. That's how we became friends. Today, I am not going to wear my space suit, even though I love the pocket that contains Sunburst grenades. Instead, I am choosing a pair of blue jeans and a green t-shirt. Corrine says green brings out the color of my red, curly hair and I agree. I go to check if Yeera is out of the shower and she is, I hop in and wash up as fast as I can because today is a special day. Today is the day of the SAT testing. Corrine and Kaiko say it is the harbinger of high school, but I have loved taking tests since I was a tiny Rauktonian pod. I've studied for this for many, many hours and even tried to get Yeera interested in studying with me, but Yeera was never really one to sit and learn the constellations of our Universe. I run down stairs and skip breakfast, but before I leave I give Xixo his breakfast. Sherinian Bites. I wave good by to Mother and Yeera only because Father is working the late shift at the hospital. I run all the way to Bentboat High School in hopes of being the first to take the test first. As I reach the parking, it become clear that nobody is at school yet. I scan the building for any signs of life forms. There is nobody here except Scaleman, the freshmans' class pet. Sigh, I plop down on the curb of the parking lot facing the building. All that running was done for nothing. I really dislike running for unnecessary purposes. This begun on my second week of school, when we were starting the Track Unit in P.E. I tried to explain to Coach Hensley that my organs do not allow me to move the way other humans do, but she did not seem to believe me. She told me that if I had a problem with running the track (which I did) I would have to talk to Principal Dean. I told her no thank you because I did not want to be in Principle Dean's office again.\n______________________________________________________\nScreech! That is what Corrine's driving sound's like, so when I look up from my curb spot, I'm not surprised to see Corrine behind her pick up truck's wheel with Kaiko in the passenger seat. Kaiko looks like she just went on the world's most deadliest ride ever, she busts open the passenger seat and scrambles out of the car. Corrine doesn't seemed fazed, but that is because she is not aware that her driving is horrible and horrifying. \"Hey Elli, what's going on?\", shouts Corrine from the driver's seat. I guess I must look a little sad and disappointed, so I explain to both her and Kaiko that I came to school early to take the SAT test first. When I'm done the girls both look at me like I killed the rulers of Raktonia A7-B8, (which would be my parents by the way). \"Are you serious right now?\", Kaiko asks incredoulous. I am in fact serious right now. I thought that this was why they were here early. \"Yes, I am serious.\", I say. The girls burst out laughing, holding their stomachs and slapping their knees. \"Elli, sometimes I think you're from another planet.\" I gulp. \"Yeah, you're just out of this world!.\", Kaiko exclaims. I gulp again. Is my identity finally being discovered? After all the stuff my family and I did to blend in, this is what it comes down to. Two teenage human girls laughing in an Idaho high school parking lot. Where did I mess up, what went wrong, what did I SAYY?!\n\"C'mon Elli, we have much to do.\", says Corrine.\n\"So much to do.\", echoes Kaiko."
}
]
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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: Serving Boy\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1628\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where fortune doesn’t favor the brave."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "So close, yet so far. What curse may this be, I ask. That even in my moments of victory, I still lose. That all the world and her being shall be against me; that even in my final moments I remain longing; that the sun rises and sets without a single touch on my skin, not even a kiss. \nMay it be that my ambitions were too great?\nHow easier could it have been to know you? To meet your elegance and beauty, your glowing smile and warming kindness.\nThe orders were that every serving girl be executed, and the royal house be wiped of our filth and treachery. The King had just been murdered, poisoned by one of us. And from rage your mother ordered for our execution. Yet in that moment of grief and anger you trusted me still, you believed the words of a serving girl.\n\"I know who,\" were my exact words. Supposed to be my last were it be another knight. But they were my words of redemption. You held your blade to my neck. Whether you couldn't slay me out of love or curiosity, I was too scared to tell. You listened to me.\n\"The true traitor; the person who poisoned your father was Lord Mayher… your uncle.\" I still remember the shiver in my breath, not from the cold of your steel on my neck, but from fear that the one I love may slay me soon.\n\"And what proof have you?\" You asked, you never imagined such a truth to be in the hands of such as myself.\n\"I saw…\" And true were my shivering words, I saw it all. The same vile used against the king, I saw once in your uncle's room.\nYou trusted me, and rather than flee I stayed. For my protection I was made a boy, dressed as one, and as your serving boy - With hopes that we will someday reveal your uncle. I tired not of washing your clothes, scrubbing your boots and bathing you. Hoping to do so many more times until I someday find myself lying in your bed, watching the golden splits of sun rays touch your sweet skin as you hold me in your arms.\nWhat more would I have asked for? A perfect dream becoming reality.\n\"If you are to be discovered, you will be executed.\" You worried.\n\"Worry not about me. I will help you.\" Little you knew that the love I possessed for you was greater than any fear. Then I said, \"I will be your serving boy.\"\nYour father had just been killed, murdered by his own brother. I could only imagine you to be next. What is life without you in it, be it as your woman or as a serving girl that steals a glimpse at you every meal you are served. You had yet to express your imaginations about me but I knew them to be affection, for I saw the way you regarded me. The way you smiled when I walked away; the other girls told me.\nPerhaps it holds your reasons for trusting me.\nAll that is done now, at its end. You will no longer gift me flowers in the sickroom, nor will you longer grin at me while I scrub your shoes for pretense. Perhaps your father's death came as a blessing, a chance to forever flee and be as one. But we were only ever so destined to be close but never to be together, for there was a feeling you held that outweighed the love you had me, vengeance.\n\"We have, for many fortnights, yet to reveal your uncle's betrayal. And without you as heir, soon he will wed your mother and be King.\" I was certain you heard my words as you sat in the tub and I bathed you; you said nothing. Nervous, but I said, \"We should flee and be together. I love you, Abrecan, and I know you feel the same as well.\"\nYour response broke me in many falling shards of steel and blood. \"I know not what I feel for you, but I shall avenge my father's death. That, I know for certain.\" But there stayed a feeling in me that kept me with you still. Risking every passing hour to be with you, just to help fulfill your desires.\nYou thought very little of how I felt. About the dangers that met me for every step I took in the Palace. About the time your uncle noticed me; for nigh on a second my heart froze.\n\"You!\" Your uncle approached me. \"Who's lad might you be?\" He stared sternly into my eyes.\nMy response came in shivers. \"Th-The Prince.\"\nBut your uncle had a keen eye. \"I am certain I have seen you once.\"\n\"I am always up and about, your highness.\"\n\"Of course…\"\nIt was from that moment things slowly began to change. Your uncle, who was now the king, kept his eyes on us. There became men moving within the walls of every part of the kingdom, listening and watching, hoping for us to err so they may inform the king. I grew in fear of what might happen to you if I were to be discovered. What the king might do to you after my execution, thus I thought to leave.\n\"You need not go. I can protect you.\" I could see in your eyes that you believed not what you said. Then how was I to?\n\"I must.\" How difficult those words were to say.\nAnd in that moment you perhaps discovered the truth of your feelings for me. The truth of why you spared me. The truth of why you always stared at me, protected me, and kept me close. The words I always wished to have heard you say, you finally found them in your mist of anger and hatred; \"I love you, Ardith.\"\nThe warmest of feelings and emotions flushed my fear away in one moment. I watched your golden hair flash in the light as you came closer, as you held my hand and glared at me with your beautiful blue eyes, and braced me with the softest of kisses. \"I know now what I feel for you, and it is love.\" I could see the excitement in your eyes as you spoke those words, and you rued them not. \"I will flee with you. Together we will live and be happy, away from all of this. Just you and I.\"\nWithin my being held doubts about your intentions. I knew what you felt for me, but I knew better who you were; vengeance, and your love for the throne exceeded any other thing, including your love for me. But I fooled myself just to fulfil my 'maid fantasy.'\nI lay with you, and we did what no other man would do with me ever again.\nI write this so you know; I lived for you, and now I have died for you. You only read this because I no longer live, for what I am to do in the coming hours will guarantee your safety. This final chore I shall fulfill for you, my final assignment as your serving boy, I shall trade my life for the love I have for you.\nGoodbye my Prince, my love.\nWith unfallen tears brushed off the corners of her eyes, Ardith sealed her letter to her beloved and it soon vanished in her sleeves before taking the King's meal from the kitchen. \"It is the King's wish that I serve him today.\" Is what she told to the cook as she carried the meal.\nNo longer would she wait. No longer would she bare in heart the good of patience, nor will she worry to carry out affairs the right way. For if she acted even a second later than needed, her beloved Abrecan may not witness the setting sun.\nThe King's Chambers stayed heavily guarded, with sentries occupying posts at the door and even more armed men standing inside. The prince's attempt to usurp the throne not only made him a room in the cell, but also created the perfect stage for Ardith's last act of love for him. He saved and protected her once, now was her turn. She would save him from death and die in his place.\n\"Your meal, my Lord.\"\nThe King's regard for her held many questions, but he gave one voice; \"Where is Sol?\"\n\"He fell ill.\"\n\"And how am I to trust the Prince's serving boy.\" \n\"I knew not of the prince's ambitions,\" She said. In truth.\nThe king tore a piece of his bread and handed her. \"Then you mind not.\"\nBut Ardith had no fear in her heart, her life meant nothing to her if it meant saving her beloved. She would not be shaken by death, not now. She took the piece and confidently swallowed, knowing it would do its job, not just on her but on the king as well.\nConfident the food wasn't baned, the king ate with a cool mind. But the effects were never to be in an instant, a fact Ardith knew fully well. \"Long live the king. The true king.\" She thought to herself as she walked out the chambers.\nNigh on an hour gone she lay in the prince's bed awaiting her time. Her mission was accomplished, a few seconds gone now and she would be forever gone - and so would the king. \nHer letter stayed at hand as she placed them on her chest, now she would leave her beloved in peace, with nothing but memories of what they were. \"Perhaps, this is my victory.\" She thought to herself in her final breath."
}
]
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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: Technology takeover\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1315\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a near-future thriller where a piece of everyday technology has turned against your character — and only your character."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "It was summer of 2028, Charlie had just finished his computer science lesson and was heading to lunch. He was being accompanied by his best friend. They had been best friends ever since Charlie created him the previous year as his end of year project piece. He won first prize at a science fair with it, and he managed to adapt his creation every now and then meaning that now it can speak and act like an actual human being.\nA robot.\nEverybody in Charlie’s school thought he was mad, that’s why nobody was friends with him. That’s why he created this advanced piece of technology to be his one and only best friend. Charlie never had many friends growing up. He’s always been alone, and he doesn’t really speak much but I don’t think he minded too much. Anyway, Charlie had a lonely childhood and had always been a geeky boy, he loved gaming but not the way many other boys his age did. Charlie loved getting a new game for his PlayStation 7 because it meant he could spend endless hours and days in his technology room designing new algorithms to the game and to him making it 10 times cooler.\nHe was set apart from all the other kids in his year. That he had created something so terrible, but he just didn’t know it yet.\nThe robot Charlie had created was around 5’4’’ and he wasn’t like human at all. The mechanisms inside him whirring away as he got dragged by it wheels by Charlie himself. Them squeaking on every turn and creating this super high pitch noise when he came to a stop. Its eye sockets had been filled with the most intricate glass eyes anybody had seen, however they were fully functioning. All the technology that had been placed into them were unimaginable. If you cut it in half it would almost look like an everlasting gobstopper, with its multicoloured wires all throughout making it a whirlpool if colour. Unlike a gobstopper if you decided to put this eye into your mouth you would probably be electrocuted and severely hurt. It had such high power to it that if it even as much as overheated they would set to fire and destroy his years work. That’s what was difficult for Charlie. He was only ever allowed his best friend on and functioning for two hours a day. The rest of the day he chatted to himself and in reality, dragged a dead person round the remains of everyday.\nCharlie had a unique fondness for this robot and adored him like anything else in the world. He had made this robot do this some humans could not even do. The amount of knowledge in his mechanical brain was amazing. Every definition of every word known to the human mind and even some that the humans didn’t know yet. He knew how to cook, clean, play football and even knew how to swim. Not that he ever could but if he were one day able to that would be his lifelong dream. Now as a robot he didn’t really have feelings, but Charlie made him. He programmed him to be sad about the same things Charlie was and be happy about the same things he was too. This meant that he had the same dreams and ambitions and the same flaws and impurities. As we know Charlie loved creating new pieces of technology so if Charlie liked it, he programmed his robot to like it too. This is what caused him to hate technology for life and made him become a footballer instead and made him have a much bigger social life than a silly old robot.\nThe robot and Charlie had great times together they created new games together, cooked together watch tv together they had real laugh. One day Charlie decided to adapt what his robot could do and make him be able to make things. Just like Charlie made him. It took him a whole while of coffee and bedtimes of 3AM but he finally finished after just 2 weeks. His robot could finally create things like him.\nCharlie started by teaching him simple techniques and little tricks he had learnt over his years of inventing. First, he was able to invent something so useful and so creative that it got him famous and on the cover of the newspaper in his town. The article was called “Robot created a mini robot as a helping hand in the kitchen!” It was amazing. It didn’t quite have a name, yet Charlie had thought of one yet, but his robot did absolutely outstanding. He created a tiny robot that will collect anything you need from inside your own kitchen. For example, if you needed flour from the cupboard you would say to the robot “Robot I need flour from the cupboard” and the mini robot would fly or walk over to the cupboard and safely and efficiently deliver your flour to you. Mind blowing. The most fascinating part is a robot himself made it.\nAs the year went by the whole town had bought the mini robot and Charlie was thrilled. He was so excited to have made something famous and get himself some recognition for it. Suddenly everyone wanted to be his friend in school and soon afterward he was the most popular boy in the whole state. This gave him more and more motivation to see what else his robot could create. He made all sorts, electronic pots and pans that heat up without and oven, fridges that can also be hot and not just cold, but they are also voice activated. He also invented the tv that you can fold up into your pocket and take it with you wherever you went and when unfolded it was a huge flat screen tv that covered half a wall. He started to be more and more independent though and as he was able to make these things without the help of Charlie, he became evil. He started to get head strong and overconfident which annoyed Charlie. Argument after argument they grew apart and Charlie finally kicked him out and left him alone in the outside world.\nI don’t know who, but someone claimed him and that’s when the revenge started happening. Charlie’s phone. That was the first victim. That what had gone against him and taken revenge.\nAn everyday piece of technology was now his worst enemy. It probably wasn’t as bad as it seemed but as a 17-year-old boy nothing could be worse. Detention after detention. Grounded after grounded. This went on for month and months. \nIt all started when his alarm went off in maths one time. He got a pass for It because it was a one off, and he was a god student. Then it happened again. Same class. Same day. Detention. This little game went on for weeks he was now the most hated student in the school by the teachers and he had no clue why his phone was doing this. It was messaging people telling them a whole load of crap and getting him reported to the police. This led to more and more terrible. Reports filing that he had been abusive or something or another.\nHe finally realised who had hacked his phone. If he can make heated pans he could hack into a phone. The robot. He had no clue where he was and that was the end game for him. He was a dead man, and he could do nothing about it. Secretes started spilling and he had no power anymore the phone had taken over. That was him now. As lost as a puppy in the middle of a corn field. That was Charlie. That was his life now. Officially over. But at the same time just beginning."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Letters Of A Kamikaze Pilot\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1986\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a hero or a villain deathly afraid of doing their job."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "TW:References to death\n\nJanuary 3rd, 1945\n\nDear Mama,\n\nHow are you doing lately? I was informed not too long ago about Katō-san's sickness, I and my friends are keeping prayers for her. Sadly I forgot what they said it was, but I hope she recovers swiftly. But again, how are you? Did you make that special soup for Papa's birthday? Were you able to get the ingredients? I know how much I fantasize about your cooking while laying in my barracks. I always go on to my comrades about how great all of your food tastes. One of my friends in specific, Kota can't wait until he comes back, he tells me he must come over, and he'll eat until he's sick! Also, how is Kiseki? I hope he has begun eating again, I really want him to do better, I couldn't imagine life without him. Remember back when he was only a puppy, and he stayed with me in bed when I was sick with the flu? I was just thinking of that this evening, every time my fever would rise, he would come and lick my forehead. Believe it or not, I miss Kiseki's licks.\n\nOh and, Mama. Do you remember the recruiter I told you about? Asking me and the other airmen to join the Kamikaze? Our training is said to begin in a few days. I am utterly anxious and excited at the same time. Kota signed up as well. I am unsure who else has, but everybody around here is talking about it a lot, it makes me wonder what could be awaiting.\n\nWith love,\nyour son, Akatsuki\n\n\n\nJanuary 10th, 1945\n\nDear Mama, \n\nToday is Wednesday, and training has begun. Now I realize the weight of it all. I am sorry for the pain that may come with this but know it's for you and Papa. Training is a bit harder than anticipated but nothing I cannot handle. Today our rations were smaller than we originally hoped, but I managed enough that I didn't feel too hungry. Earlier this morning I was rebuked by our sergeant for writing haikus on the top of my bunk. Remember the one you made for me? \n\nClouds acherontic\nA little, brave tiger stands\ndespite the mountain\n\nIt has always been my favorite of yours. It always makes me feel like I am closer to you Mama, even in these dark times of war. But don't worry, I will make sure to honor you, Papa, and the family. Just know that someday, I will be Eirei. And perhaps I will be enshrined at Yasukuni. Also, how is Katō-san? I recall you saying that she hasn't recovered much. Don't forget to mix the medication with Kiseki's food. I remember you telling me that he is doing better with said medicine. If you can, please send a photo of him, it would make me very happy.\n\nLove,\nAkatsuki\n\n\n\nFebruary 11th, 1945\n\nDear Mama,\n\nI am sorry I haven't written you in quite some time. I have a hard time squeezing in these letters with training. But know that I do think of you every day I am here. We were told that training was to last thirty days. so only one more day and I should be out. Then I will be able to send you more letters. I assure you, Mama, I will try and get a photo of me once we graduate. I would love for you to see me in my uniform. \n\nWe've been practicing our maneuvers and tactics with gliders, though, sometimes we don't have enough fuel to confidently fly about. Training hasn't let up anymore or less since the beginning, and I am really missing home. Some of our fellow comrades graduated sooner than us, and I never got the opportunity to say goodbye. Last night I found Mako crying on his bunk. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that he was missing his Chichi much so. Which reminds me, don't forget about Valentine's day, that's coming up soon, and it is Papa's favorite holiday. I know Papa is normally picky, but I am sure he will understand with the rations. One thing that's for sure is, I know I would be pleased with any of your foods Mama.\n\nI will try and send more letters Mama. I love you.\nAkatsuki\n\nP.S, tell Ogawa-san that I offer congratulations on her daughter, Azami's graduation.\n\n\n\nFebruary 18th, 1945\n\nDear Mama,\n\nThey allowed me to write you now as I don't think I will have much time to do so in the future. Today is Sunday and the sky is cloudy and appears rather stormy. You know my fear of storms—they are forcing us to fly in these conditions anyway. They're saying the war won't wait on storms. Mama, the training is getting worse now. And though they told us training would only last for thirty days, it has lasted much longer and I don't know when it might end. I must confess I am feeling less and less zealous about this now. All I want is to come home, pet Kiseki, hug you and Papa. Walk to the market and come back and help you make Miso soup. Have Papa tell us stories about how he served in the Great War, then go to sleep. Oh, how I miss the good days, back when you used to tell me stories and tell me all sorts of Haikus. I still occasionally write, or quietly cite my favorite haiku here when I am feeling sad, though sometimes it doesn't stop me from shedding a tear or two. All I want to do is be home Mama. but I am really unsure if I'll be able to.\n\nI wish I could write to you more Mama. but they are rushing us. They are teaching us things now that make me question. They are doing things that I must confess, I didn't expect. I don't know, and when I say this, I do so with a heavy heart. I don't know when I will be able to write you next. Know that I love you, and please give my condolences to Katō-san for the loss of his wife. I will miss her greatly.\n\nWith much love,\nAkatsuki\n\n\n\nMarch 11th, 1945\n\nDear Mama,\n\nToday is Sunday, training has finally ended. We were given our ceremonial uniforms, white scarves, and headbands inscribed with \"Kamikaze\" on them. We are back at an Airbase, but I am unsure if I can tell you where. We were told to study the tokkōtai manual, which we did so carefully. We made sure to read from front to back and from back to front. I and the other airmen are joking a bit, but the laugh doesn't feel real Mama.\n\nI read your letter saying that you did everything you could. I just wanted to let you know, that I don't hold you to blame for the passing of Kiseki, maybe it was just his time to go. I am also happy that you sent me his collar, it was the same one I picked for him a while ago. I will miss Kiseki, I did love him very much.\n\nAkatsuki\n\n\n\nMarch 20th, 1945\n\nDear Mama,\n\nToday, our officer came in and announced the pilots chosen on the papers, I was on that list, Mama. I know I should feel honored, but I can't help but cry. I just want to be home now, but that is a decision chosen for me. Do not fret for me Mama, I am doing my duty. For country and for our family. I am sorry for the pain I know will be caused by this, please offer my love to Amida, I know she would be pleased to hear it, especially with the loss of her brother, Mako. Did I forget to mention? Mako was sent out last night, he told us to eat his meal as he wouldn't be able to. It's mildly hard to ignore it all, as every day, another one of those faces that I see in my barracks is being sent out, never to be seen again. There was one fellow in specific that left a mark on me, I believe his name was Hachiro. The officers had to drag him out as he was crying too hard to stand. The suspense is heavy in the air, it feels like a blanket.\n\nI am sorry again, Mama. I feel you are the only one I can speak with. Kota got his Senninbari and composed a poem, so I imagine it won't be long before he is sent out as well. I met another pilot who's Mum has the same name as you! So that put a smile on my face. Also, please don't tell Papa just yet that I was listed, I am not ready for it.\n\nLove,\nAkatsuki\n\n\n\nMarch 29th, 1945\n\nDear Mama,\n\nToday is Thursday and it's rather Sunny. I've met a fellow airman, his name is Eiko and he's really nice. He tells me stories that his father told him, and it helps me take my mind off of things. Although tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday, do not worry about getting me anything. But if you really feel the need for a gift, I would love one of those little knittings you used to make for the kids at school. Could you make a tiger one? I've always loved tigers, and you told me I was your little tiger cub.\n\nI haven't asked in a while. But how are you? I hope the food poisoning didn't hurt Papa too bad, I know his immune system isn't the best. Also, please wait until Papa is fully recovered before you tell him about how I was listed on the paper. I don't want him to panic too badly. Me, Eiko, Genkei, and a few others held a small, personal moment of silence for Mako. Kota can't sleep as he's too scared. I too, am scared, Mama. I try to ignore it but I can't. I can't sleep either. All the thoughts just keep popping into my head. Somehow Eiko acts like he's thrilled for what's to come. I just can't grasp how.\n\nAkatsuki\n\n\n\nApril 5th, 1945\n\nDear Mama,\n\nToday is a bad day. When I awoke, it was the officer announcing that Kota has been chosen for the next flight, and not long afterward Eiko had to go as well. Oh, Mama, I can't sleep, I can't stop crying anymore. What am I to do? All of my close friends are gone now. All I am left with is my own thoughts and this pen. My hands are shaking almost too badly to compose this letter. Mama, I just want to come home. I miss you, and I am scared. I am thinking of the old days again, remember how you used to sing me to sleep? What I would give to reexperience that again. Again, I love you, Mama. I miss you soo much.\n\nLove,\nYour son, Akatsuki\n\n\n\nApril 6th, 1945\n\nDear Mama,\n\nMama. This very likely might be the last letter you hear from me. But know that I love you and Papa very much. The officer came in and announced who is to go out next. Mama, it was my name he called out. Mine.\n\nMama, I am soo scared. I am unsure if I can do this. I mentioned in an earlier letter, that I realized the weight of it all, but now I truly do. The Senninbari you made me has arrived. I also wrote my favorite haiku you made me on my scarf, I will be wearing it in flight. Mama, I love you. Tell Papa I love him too. I am sorry, sorry for the pain this causes. Know that I love you and Papa so very much.\n\nYour loving son,\nAkatsuki"
}
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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: A Necessary End\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 3008\n\nPrompt:\n\nStart your story with someone stepping outside their comfort zone."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "For the past ten days, James Peabody’s life consisted of nothing more than constantly burying his head in the sand… Bullets, mortars, and grenades whizzed and exploded all around his platoon of war weary soldiers, as they attempted a full-frontal assault of a nondescript hill resting on the South Pacific Island of Okinawa.\nThe Japanese had prepared well for the beach landings, suckering the eager Americans into the heart of the island where they patiently lay in wait in their hidden bunkers and fortified positions. The unsuspecting 10th Army had walked right into a shitstorm of pain and death. An inch of ground gained accounted for yards of casualties and the lives of many young men fighting to save their innocent world from tyranny.\nBurying one’s head in the sand was probably the wise thing to do; however, wars are not won that way; so, many young Americans bravely faced enemy fire to secure the last island before the planned invasion of Japan’s mainland and the defeat of its empire. This strategic theatre of war being staged on a piece of land thousands of miles from American homes, was now in its third act of a tragedy started when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor; and it was the penultimate final curtain of this godforsaken conflict.\nPrivate James Peabody of the US Army, could not count on anyone but himself to survive the war because he was classified as a conscientious objector, a coward first class, and an outcast, continually sent out on point duty by his punishing gung-ho, jap-hating, platoon leader, Sergeant Dale Brock, of Lansing, Missouri.\n“GODDAMNIT, MOVE YOUR ASSES!” screamed the animated Brock. “WE’RE SITTING DUCKS HERE!”\nIt was a cliché thing to shout, but evidently true. The Japanese defenders had zeroed in on the Americans, reigning an infernal amount of firepower down on them. Staying in position risked getting blown to pieces, and changing positions risked dancing through a wall of bullets, but James quickly made the decision to break cover and find new shelter.\nHis inner voice commanded him to 'GO!'\nSo, drawing a deep breath, he pushed himself onto all fours and scooted like a crab across 30 metres of open land toward a clump of felled trees, where Brock and two other G.I.s were returning fire at the enemy. With the sound of zipping projectiles Zinging past his ears, James somersaulted into the temporary foxhole, kicking up dirt as he came to rest. Somewhat protected from direct fire, he resumed his face-first posture into a tall clump of hilly sand, looking up only to witness a direct mortar hit on his previous position that flung two men high into the air. Pinned down by machine gun fire, he started to create a dugout with his hands, then curled up in a foetal position, his rifle tucked under him as the battle thundered its destructive power. Like it or not, James Peabody had box seats to the South Pacific’s new performance of violence, and it was hell on Earth.\n“PEABODY!”\nBrock’s thunderous grainy voice permeated the cacophony of explosions and gunfire.\n“GRAB YOUR RIFLE AND SHOOT IT TOWARDS THE ENEMY!”\nWithout looking up, James loudly hurled his answer back.\n“I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO NOT KILL DUE TO MY HUMANITARIAN BELIEFS, SERGEANT!”\nBrock hurriedly scampered his way over to James, put his mouth to his ear and calmly berated him.\n“I don’t give a flamin’ arrow what your beliefs are Private Peabody. I care that you join this goddamn war, now!”\n“Sarge, I’m already in it so deep, but I won’t fire my weapon.”\n“Hell son, it’s kill or be killed. I ain’t got time to babysit you. Now, GET UP!”\nBrock tried to pull James to his feet just as a mortar round whizzed and exploded several yards from the two of them. Brock was thrown back uninjured by the concussion; however, James caught a chunk of shrapnel in his helmet that clanged so hard, he found himself starting to pass out. He felt no pain in that dazed moment, but just before he lost consciousness, he asked himself the proverbial question, ‘Is this it?’\n Born into a family of New York lawyers, James had full intentions of joining his father's law firm. He had been accepted into Harvard; however, in James’ first semester, the president of Harvard pledged all the resources of the university to the war effort – including students, so James was unceremoniously whisked off to basic training, where he quickly formed the opinion that killing was immoral and that he wanted no part in the taking of any life. For his impertinent and outspoken beliefs, James was ordered to attend a three-week, confined assessment session to determine his sincerity. It turned out to be a kangaroo court charade of cross-examining and re-cross-examining sessions that avoided any form of truth, just to appease the human rights overseers.\nThe biased results from the assessment’s findings, surprisingly classified James as 1-A, combat ready, but the army delayed his deployment, until they could send him somewhere that might change his opinion. That moment eventually arrived after the US forces had reclaimed nearly all the Japanese-held islands one-by-blood-spilling-one. With short notice, James was ordered to swap his desk clerk duties and attach himself to the US 10th Army in a terrorising introduction to the horrors of war on the previously idyllic Island of Okinawa – where the boundaries between compassion and brutality were endlessly redrawn with every waking moment.\n Darkness obscured James’ vision. He had the awareness of conscious thought, but his eyes registered nothing. His other senses - enhanced by the loss of one – immediately kicked in; causing him to retch, as his sense of smell took in the surrounding air of sulfa powder, rotting bodies, shit, piss, and cordite. The offensive wave of odours entering his nostrils made James jerk up into a sitting position. Immediately, a hand pushed him back to his horizontal posture, then lifted the bandage that had covered his eyes. As James focused on the man crouching over him, he quickly recognised his commanding officer, Captain Tomas Lieberman.\n“Still with us, then,” the captain’s comforting voice declared.\n“Sir… yes, I think.”\n“Stay down, Private. It may be night-time, but the Japs don’t care and they sure as hell don’t sleep.”\nComing to after a lengthy spell of unconsciousness, James’ head had a slight pounding sensation, making him feel dizzy.”\n“My head, sir.”\n“It’s still there, son. Take these headache pills.”\nUnscrewing his water canteen, James obligingly downed the pills in several thirsty gulps of water.\n“I can see, sir,” James surprisingly declared.\n“Yes... The eye cover was just a precaution.”\n“Is it over, sir? Did we win?”\n“No, son. We’re all just taking a breather. The flame throwers will be here at dawn, then we’ll get back to business. Where’s your rifle?”\nJames rummaged around his makeshift foxhole, then attempted to hand his weapon to the captain.\n“Hold onto that, Private. You’re going to need it.”\n“Not me,” James assertively replied.\n“Why is that?”\nCorporal Vince Merryweather, a farm boy from Oklahoma propped himself onto one elbow and waded in with his feelings.\n“What we have here, sir, is a secular objector. Hell, he ain’t even got the religion angle on refusing to fight… He’s just yeller.”\nLieberman immediately understood the situation. Recollecting a passage from a play that he once read, he laid a comforting hand on James’ shoulder, before launching into a short soliloquy.\n“Cowards die many times before their deaths. \nThe valiant never taste of death but once. \nOf all the wonders that I yet have heard,\nIt seems to me most strange that men should fear, \nSeeing that death, a necessary end, \nWill come when it will come.”\nIntrigued tired eyes quietly but curiously peered through muddy faces at the captain.\n“William Shakespeare, men... Julius Caesar, telling his wife - who described her dream of him being murdered - that whatever may happen, will happen – whatever your belief.”\n“I’m no coward, sir. I just believe in conserving life.”\n“Hey Sarge,” Mayweather whispered loudly. “G.I. Joker here says he believes in life. Well, I believe in taking it… one Jap at a time.”\nPrivate Billy Maher, a 19-year-old, pimply grocery clerk from New York threw in his opinion.\n“I believe in the love of dead Japs… oh, and root beer.”\nMerryweather supportively laughed.\n“I believe in Molly Cooper’s soft white thighs… Man! How I miss those legs.”\nA few muffled laughs echoed through the darkness as Lieberman attempted to boost morale.\n“We just need to survive all of this and get home, men. Then we can drink all the root beer we want and stroke all the thighs of those kind enough to let us.”\nMerryweather once again voiced his blinkered opinion.\n“Our mission ain’t to survive, sir. Our mission is to kill as many Japs as we can – every stinkin’ last one of them… before they kill us. Then we can all go home.”\nThrough the darkness came the resounding voice of Sergeant Brock.\n“Pipe down, all of you! You want the Jap snipers to home in on your voices? Try to get some shut eye.”\n“Good advice Sergeant,” Lieberman agreeably whispered. “I have to report to the Colonel, so I’ll say goodnight.”\nEchoed calls of ‘Night Captain’ drifted through the darkness, as Lieberman quietly disappeared toward the rear line. After a few more moments of quiet contemplation, Brock once again asserted his leadership.\n“Maher, you got first watch, Merryweather second, and Peabody, you better be ready to fight come mornin’ time, or we’re leavin’ you behind.”\nJames decided to remain silent. Tired of arguing, no amount of righteous explaining could make them understand, so he just closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, hoping he’d wake again.\n ***\n\nThe rising sun of the new morning silhouetted its flapping counterpart – in the form of a Japanese flag flying high on a pole - less than fifty metres from the American foxholes. The enemy’s positions were situated where they had the sun at their backs, strategically aware that any early attempt to rout them would be to their advantage. However, the Army brass had prepared for this and sent up scores of flamethrowers to the front lines to await the signal to attack and flush the enemy out of their hiding places. Just prior to resuming hostilities, US Artillery launched a barrage of ordinance and smoke bombs aimed at the Japanese positions. The intention was to block out the sun with the billowing smoke, giving their side a fighting chance. It worked.\nIt was a rude awakening, but James’ adrenaline pumped hard from the noise of the battle resuming its intensity. Word passed down the line, forced the men to hold back until the flamethrowers swept the area before advancing. The prevalent smell of napalm was ominous. ‘That stuff sticks like glue,’ thought James. ‘Sure glad we don’t have to face it.’\n“Gasoline and laundry detergent,” yelled Merryweather. “Nuthin else in the world like it… Gonna clean up the nips just fine!”\nFifteen minutes of shelling followed by another half an hour of Flamethrowers left the ground scorched and looking like a lumpy mud bath. What no-one had noticed was the silence – not just afterwards, but before this all kicked off. The previous evening had been quiet as well, but no-one mentioned it in case they jinxed the soothing peace and calm. Unknown to the Americans, the few Japanese defenders still left alive were incapable of effective combat. Disease and suicide were rife among the sheltering tunnel dwellers and with food being a scarcity, the fight was no longer in them.\nFinally, the order arrived to move out. Slowly and cautiously, James and his platoon edged their way towards the Japanese defensive lines. A few intermittent shots could be heard down the line, but at his end, nothing was being fired back at them. Brock ordered James out on point, allowing him a fifty-metre head start. His senses on high alert, James halted at the edge of a Japanese fortification, witnessing a kneeling officer in the throes of dying - after impaling himself on a Samurai sword. Detecting some movement to his right, James jumped backwards; then, staying true to his resolve, he slowly shouldered his rifle. From the entrance to a hidden cave, about a dozen almost-naked Japanese males walked toward him with their arms raised in the air. They looked emaciated, despondent, and young – no older than 16 years. Motioning them to him, James invited them closer. As they weakly stumbled forward, he could hear them mumbling ‘Water’ in broken English. Without hesitating, James handed one of them his canteen and watched him take careful swallows of its contents before passing it to the next person. James couldn’t help but feel pity for them. \n‘What happened to the mighty Japanese army that swept up the South Pacific like a whirlwind,’ he thought. ‘All that is left are these woeful conscripted children forced to fight for a crumbling empire.’\nMinimal training, poorly equipped, and never re-supplied, their brainwashed beliefs forbid surrendering. It was either victory or death for them. Had their commanding officer not killed himself, capitulation would never have been an option. These boys, these children, saw a chance to survive and went against their programming. James couldn’t help but admire their courage, as he stepped aside, directing them back behind US lines.\nWhether it was the deafening effect of war or just being caught in a moment of detachment from reality, James did not hear the volley of machine gunfire raking his prisoners of war. He just saw them falling in slow motion, several with their hands tightly clasped together, pleading for their lives. Their executioners, blinded by fury and deafened by hatred, just mowed them down. Brock stood over a fallen Japanese boy who started to crawl away, then killed him with one shot to the back of his head. James stood in silence, looking blankly at the battlefield murderers – their Thomson sub machine guns still smoking from the heat of rapidly using up every round they had in their magazines.\n“THEY WERE MY PRISONERS!” cried James.\n“They were Japs,” replied Brock.\n“They were unarmed!”\n“...They dead now, College Boy,” added Merryweather. “Welcome to war.”\n“Not just any war,” Brock philosophised. “This here is the Good War, boys! Simply good versus evil… and we’re the good guys killing the evil ones!”\nPulling at each man’s arms, James tried feverishly to get their attention, but one by one, they irritably shoved him away as he vented his anger.\n“You’re nothing but cold-blooded murderers! Are you gonna tell your mommas you’re war heroes, that you killed jap boys? Go on, make 'em proud, kill some more children, KILL ‘EM ALL!”\n“Listen College Boy,” Merryweather interrupted. “You see all these dead Japs? They wanted to die. It’s their principle. That just demonstrates an unwilling act of weakness… We're Americans... We want to live. That ain’t so bad a thing. The desire to breathe for another second, minute, or longer, proves we’re stronger than them… That’s why we’ll win this thing, College Boy... resolve… What the Cap’n said last night about Julius Caesar… sounded like ol’ Julius knew the score. Hell, he's my new hero!”\nShouting dramatically at the top of his lungs, Merryweather declared his existence to all those within earshot.\n“WE’VE GOTTEN THAT TASTE OF DEATH, DEAR CAESAR… AND WE’RE STILL HERE!”\nReloading his machine gun, an impatient Brock twirled his left forefinger in the air, signalling to move out; however, he quickly changed his hand shape, presenting an open palm to James, signalling him to stay put.\n“This is the war wagon, son. You either climb on board to glory or dig a hole.”\nJames impassively shook his head, then sat back against a dirt mound and watched the men head out, leaving him behind. The muffled sound of a grenade’s clip being released, suddenly halted them in their tracks. In his eagerness to kill the surrendering conscripts, Private Maher had pulled the pin from one of his grenades. Before he could throw it, the slaughter had finished, so he held the safety lever tightly to the grenade, and during the previous conversation, lost concentration and forgot. When the three men moved on, he just casually put the grenade back onto his webbing belt. The resulting detonation cut Maher in half and blew shrapnel in all directions. Bone fragments accompanied white hot pieces of shrapnel as they sliced through Brock and Merryweather, killing Brock instantly. Merryweather lay in the soft mud, apologising to his mother as James – wounded in both legs - called for help. Almost immediately, two medics appeared from nowhere. One crouched at Merryweather’s side, then looked over to his buddy and shook his head.\n“A necessary end,” laughed Merryweather, before coughing up blood and dying.\n“What did he mean?” the intrigued medic queried as he administered a jab of pain-killing morphine to James’ left leg.\n“It’s Shakespeare,” explained James, wincing at the pain. “Julius Caesar, act II, scene 2.”\n“You some kind of college boy?”\n“I plan to be.”\n“Well plan on not dying. This wound just bought you a free education and your ticket home. I reckon a purple heart too. You’ll be returning a war hero.”\n“Ain’t that ironic,” muttered James as the morphine took a dreamy hold of his senses.\n“Whassat, buddy?”\n“A coward returning as a hero.”\n“You be what you wanna be, bud. You’re getting a second chance at life. That’s more than your buddies over there have… Life moves on… whether we act as cowards or heroes.”\nJames lay on his back, languidly studying the drifting battle smoke forming shapes in the air. A few moments passed before a beautiful blue sky brought a sense of relief and hope surging through his fragile and drug-induced mental state.\n“Hey, I know that one. That’s Henry Miller, right?”\n“Sure is, buddy… it sure the hell is…”"
}
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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: Roberto 'Gets a life !'\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1685\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an android just trying to blend in with their human companions."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Fast forward to the not-so-distant future, the year 2040 when a half-android, half human, named Roberto was just your average kid.\n\nRoberto Pacino otherwise lived an absurdly normal life. All his peers thought he was Italian and he grew up like any regular neighbourhood geek. He attended high school just like all the other teenagers of his age.\n\nRoberto, though, was different in a way that even he found a little confusing!\n\nRoberto was so good at schoolwork, it never ceased to amaze people. People around him were indeed impressed by his intelligence.\n\nAlmost always the first to answer questions asked by his teachers in class, the other students labelled him as \"The Brain\", \"Google\" and \"Android\".\n\nJust like Elvis, the king of Graceland, a blue light was seen in the sky, the day Roberto was hatched! Only his mum, Anna Pacino, knew the truth about her son. Roberto was pre-destined to be a little above the others in terms of intelligence at least.\n\nThe only person that didn’t know this was Roberto himself. He could sense that he was gifted, but he simply didn't know what to make of it all.\n\nIt was considered normal that Roberto got an 'A+' at nearly every test in school. Both teachers and students noticed how gifted he seemed. He seemed so used to getting straight 'A's in literally every subject!\n\nThe one thing that Roberto couldn't excel in however, was Socialising!\n\nRoberto, was, much to his own detriment, terrible at talking to people. He wasn't good in making conversations with people of the opposite gender, either. Roberto was painfully shy and it seemed a bit unsightly. It was easy to guess why the others in his grade at high school, often asked him for help with assignments. They loved asking him and he loved helping them out. Roberto, indeed, gained a sense of self-esteem from helping other people with assignments. People loved him in general. He wasn't very popular, but people got used to him. The fact that they didn't bother to thank him for his effort at their assignments, upset him a little. A lot, actually. He didn't tell anyone. In short, Roberto felt a little unappreciated.\n\nRoberto was so smart that he crammed huge text books almost like a computer. Brilliant for his age, there was nothing childish about his superior intelligence at all. He didn't even need to use a calculator in math class. He would actually tell teachers the solutions to complicated equations in Algebra. He loved Chemistry as well, and often tried to sneak into the Chem lab, though it wasn't exactly part of syllabus for a sixth grader. He didn't like Sports, but he did love watching the news and other typical geek stuff.\n\nOfcourse, again he wasn't great at socialising, and hardly had any real friends.\n\nSo one day, Roberto got a 'D' grade on his English paper.\n\nEveryone was shocked. It wasn't all that surprising, but everyone was indeed very surprised! Everyone in his class wondered if Roberto was alright. 'You're not yourself, buddy' talkative Joe told him. Roberto just looked at him, quietly, silently.\n\nRoberto, as usual was a guy of few words. Saying nothing, he just looked at the floor, tears welling up in his eyes.\n\nRoberto was starting to realise that if he didn't do well at school, no one would talk to him. Roberto didn't care anymore. Thoughts buzzed through his head 'What's the point of it all?' Even he didn't know why though- was there any point in being so gifted? There was absolutely no one to share these gifts with!\n\nRoberto was obviously depressed. He went home, and didn't tell his folks a thing. He went to bed without touching his dinner that night.\n\nThe next day, at another test, on his favourite subject, Algebra, Roberto yet again easily managed to score an 'F'. The other students were stunned. 'What happened Roberto?' A chorus could be heard all around him. The Teacher was surprised too!\n\nRoberto wasn't listening though. He went home a little sullen. It seemed like all was lost.\n\nRoberto decided to tell his folks, since he knew for sure that if he didn't tell them, they would figure it out on their own soon enough. His Algebra teacher, Mrs. Buxley was the type who loved calling up his mum, so if he didn't tell the truth, she was going to do it anyway, sooner or later. He decided to put on a brave face and confess now to his mum rather than wait for the worst to happen.\n\n'Mum, I've got bad news for you,' Roberto said, observation that she was in a quiet mood; he saw that she was knitting something, while comfortably seated on the couch. He knew that this was usually the best time to tell her sensitive things. 'I got a 'D' in English, and an 'F' in Algebra.'\n\n'Okay son, you have to tell me is something wrong? You're normally a straight 'A' student so this seems rather surprising!' she replied, looking concerned.\n\nSuddenly he burst into tears. \"Mum, I don't have any friends...No girl is interested in me, I'm not popular with the other kids and the ones who get me to do their assignments never bother to thank me. I don't know how to put this, but I don't have much of a social life.\"\n\nShe felt for him. \"Oh Roberto, You know I love you! Why does it matter what anybody thinks? You've got me, and that's all that matters!\"\n\nRoberto stopped crying for a bit, and spoke in a calm voice: 'Thanks mum, but it's not enough anymore. I wish I had friends who love me, just the way you do. I really do want my own friends. I want friends of the same age. It could help if they said thanks every time I did their assignments as well.' Roberto went back to his own room, and slammed the door shut.\n\nRoberto was now lying on his bed face down, with his face buried in his pillow, when suddenly his mum opened the door. She sat down on the bed next to him, and tried to comfort him.\n\n'Roberto, there's something I have to tell you. I know I kept it a secret for a number of years, but since you are mature enough now, I think it's something you need to know.'\n\nHe had been crying. He got off the bed, wiped the tears from his eyes with his shirt sleeves, and sat up straight on a chair next to the bed. 'Okay, tell me mum. What's the big secret you've been keeping from me?' he asked in reply to her question.\n\n\"Long ago your father and I, attended a Star Wars Convention with a friend, who also happened to be a mystic. She told me that her story was similar to Roswell. You remember the popular tv show you used to like so much on Netflix? Well, she told me something about you that no one else knows, something that your father and I have been keeping a secret for a very long time.\" she said, with a hint of regret in her voice.\n\n'She later confided in us that she has been to the Milky way and galaxies beyond. She claimed to be an android. Your father and I didn't know what to make of it, we thought she was making up stories. When she handed us an egg, the size of a watermelon, your father and I had a good laugh. I was surprised and thought she was nuts. Of course, after that I never met her again.\"\n\n\"I took the egg home, and nursed it for 24 days, exactly the way she had told me to. 24 days later, the egg hatched and then - you came out. I have your baby pictures; you were the most adorable little android I ever saw. If you were ever confused about why you are so smart, now you have an answer.\" she said and looked at Roberto.\n\n'wow, that really makes me feel wonderful!'\n\n'Yes, you are! Shine your light, Shine it as far as you can and touch the lives of as many as you can. Every time people ask for help with homework, do it, and do it because it’s fun. Do it because you can. No one must ever find out your secret, however.\"\n\n\"I Promise mum, my lips are sealed...\" Roberto replied. He gave her a hug and went back to bed.\n\nThe next day Roberto breezed through his class test. He got straight A's the way he used to in the past- Like it didn't matter - Like it was so easy, The other kids in the class patted him on the back, saying \"Way to go bro, the old Roberto is back.\"\n\nNadine, a particularly annoying high school senior, that Roberto had a crush on decided to ask him for help with a tough assignment. Nadine wanted to avoid doing it herself, since she had cheerleading practice.\n\nThe only bad thing about her was she never thanked him afterward. Ever. She got a lot of work done by Roberto, but Nadine didn't ever seem grateful.\n\nThis time, Roberto decided to do Nadine's assignment, but he asked her to thank him afterward. \"Android. Get a life!\" she said looking a little surprised and walked away. Nadine was just being herself.\n\nBut for once People who saw this took his side. They seemed to be surprised instead! Roberto standing up for himself? It seemed a bit miraculous really. Perhaps today Providence favoured Roberto.\n\nRoberto had a big smile on his face. He couldn't help but think that he was finally in his element. He seemed to have a reason for living now. It sure looked like he was finally blending in. He always knew he was smart. He just didn't know why.\n\nThough, he wasn't going to tell anyone any time soon. Being low-key about it, seemed to be a wise decision.\n\n\"That's the spirit!\" somebody said.\n\nRoberto Pacino finally got a life."
}
]
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[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: The Meeting In The Girls Room\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1246\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where fortune doesn’t favor the brave."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "It was an ordinary day for Dee Dee, as she climbed the first floor center staircase of Nathan Hale Elementary School to the girl's bathroom after lunch. And who would be standing there on the door, but mean old CC Cugno. \"Not again,\" Dee Dee said under her breath. CC Hugo was a 6th grade girl who was mean to all the 4th grade girls, and Dee Dee and her friends hated her.\nDee Dee had enjoyed going to school up until this point. She loved learning, and was active in chorus and she was president of the Spanish club. The dilemma with CC Hugo was something, big and Dee Dee did not know how to get around it.\nCC Hugo was a big ugly white girl, with huge bulging eyes. She had: yellow dog fanged buck teeth, dirty blond stringy hair, and big knock knees. She would talk loud to the 4th grade girls and hold her fists up and say, \"if you don't like I'll just knock you out.\"\nIt was clear to everyone that not only was CC a bully but a tomboy as well. Yet she always wore dresses and horrible scuffed up brown and white saddle back shoes. On the other hand Dee Dee was average height for a 4th grader, she was a light skinned colored girl, with nice hair and she had shinny silver braces on her teeth. Her brother would tease her and say they looked like train tracks... of course she didn't like that description. Dee Dee loved coordinating her school outfits with colorful sneakers.\nEvery day after lunch, CC would position herself at the girls bathroom and scare the mess out of the 4th grade girls. \"Where do you think you are going girlie girl?\" She would bark. \"Bathroom\", Dee Dee said, starring down at CC's scuffed up shoes. \"Well unless you give up a quarter, you ain't getting in.\" And CC put her hands on her hips and her big old ugly shoe on the bathroom door. Dee Dee fearfully reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a dime. \"This is all I have.\" She said . \"This will do. I'll let you slide this time, but remember it's always a quarter to get in.\" Dee Dee rushed past CC and gave her a nervous smirk.\nShe felt bad about giving her the money every day, and she and the other girls were frightened of her. Dee Dee's best friend Marsha would give her fifty cents. Marsha was very tiny and really afraid of CC. Marsha always had extra money, her parents were rich, Dee Dee thought.\nCC Hugo sure made life hard for Dee Dee and her friends at school. She made sure she had enough money to pay CC to use the bathroom, so she wouldn't have to deal with the thought of getting a beat down.\nOne day, Ma told Dee Dee she did not have extra money to give to her and her little brother this week. And they would have to do without money for snacks. Dee Dee was very upset and quickly told Ma, \" well I can't go to school today! I am afraid if I don't give CC Hugo bathroom money she is going to do something to me!\" Ma said, \" excuse me, what are you talking about Miss Dee?\" ( Miss Dee is what Ma called her when she wanted to get her full attention)\nDee Dee told Ma about what was going on with the bathroom situation and having to pay money to CC. Ma asked if she had told the teacher and Dee Dee said no because she was afraid CC would really beat her up then. She told Ma how CC would let Lucy Williams in the bathroom without paying, because she was big and bad and had brothers and they would whip CC's butt!\nMa grew very quiet and calmly said, \"well Miss Dee in order for her to stop pushing you around, you might need to push her around, and that will let her know that you are not afraid and you have a right to use the bathroom without paying one red cent.\"\nDee Dee said, \" she's bigger than me and all the girls are afraid of her as I am.\" \"Well tomorrow after lunch you go to the bathroom and tell her that you are not paying her any longer and if she doesn't like it to see you after school on the playground. Dee Dee you must be brave and bold and stand up to her in front of the other girls. Be prepared to fight after school.\" She said.\nDee Dee could tell Ma was getting angrier by the minute, when she said,\" You have a right to use any bathroom without paying someone....those days are over!! If you have to fight her remember to pull her hair, if she wears glasses pull them off, and keep your face away from her face. As a matter of fact put vaseline on your face so you won't get scratched. Also kick her in the knees, that will make her fall. Sometimes in life you have to stand up for yourself in words or deeds...you might as well learn this now.\" Dee Dee was shocked about what her sweet, mild mannered Ma was telling her to do....yet she took it all in and was prepared to stand up to CC Hugo.\nThe next day, Dee Dee dressed just right for a fight. She put on a pair of old pants, her good sturdy Converse sneakers, and pulled her hair back in one braid. She told her cousin Betty what was going down. Cousin Betty was in the 6th grade and she knew that CC Hugo was a bully. Dee Dee could depend on Betty to be there in the background if she needed her. All day long Dee Dee could hardly concentrate on her school work. During lunch she was not hungry. She also told Marsha and her other friends that she was going to stand up to CC during the bathroom break after lunch.\nAfter lunch Dee Dee approached the 2nd floor and turned the corner towards the bathroom, her heart began to pound, she felt afraid because she knew she was going to get in CC's face. Sure enough there was was CC leaning up against the door as usual. \"\"You got my quarter girl?\" Dee Dee forcefully stepped up and said in front of the crowd of girls, \" I am not giving you a cent today or any other day, I have a right to use the bathroom and if you don't like it we can fight this out on the playground after school.\" The crowd of girls looked and couldn't believe that Dee Dee had the courage to be brave and step to CC. She was in her face, with her hand on her hip telling her NO! They started to laugh at CC and she was caught off guard. CC said, \"Ok, I'll let you in but we will settle this on the playground after school and I'll get my money from you later, you little pip squeak, 4th grader!\"\nDee Dee could hardly believe she had stood up to CC. Back in the classroom her friends gave her high fives!\nThey told her they were afraid for her to fight after school and maybe she should tell the teacher."
}
]
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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: Just one of the Gang\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 1095\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about an android just trying to blend in with their human companions."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "It was cold outside and Andy was watching his friend closely. He and 5 five other kids from the local high school had decided to go ice skating at a nearby pond. Andy had only just arrived in the town about 2 months ago and was surprised that he had been invited. You see Andy was an android. No one new about it except his owners that had purchased him from another company. They were semi-retired scientist that had a long history of working in robotics. They had explained to Andy that he was going to be a kind of social experiment to see how android and humans would interact with each other. He was free to choose whether or not to disclose is own reality or to portray himself as human. Andy had decided to start out as a human.\n Andy was watching his friend closely because he didn’t no what it was like to feel cold. He knew he would have to mimic the others so they would believe he was also cold. His outward appearance was of a young, pleasant looking male, that seemed to be about 17 or 18. He his skin complexion was a tannish hue similar to café au lait coffee. He hair was a reddish brown and his eyes were hazel. What Andy did not realize is that the reason he had been invited is that 2 of the young women in this skating party had asked 1 of the three boys to invite him because they were attracted to him.\n He had chosen hi clothes with care after reviewing data on what was appropriate and also class and status approved for the area. He had also wrapped a scarf around his mouth and nose because he knew he would not make the same fog that human do when the breath outside in the cold. He had practiced stand on his skates before leaving the house because he needed to compute the process of skating and adjust his internal programming. Since emotions were simple and outward form of human communication to him, he had practiced facial expression and body gestures too.\n Everyone was laughing and talking and one of the young lady’s named Ann walked up next to him. “Are you sure you need that scarf Andy? It really isn’t that cold.” Andy looked at her trying to get a read from her body language. “Well maybe once we’re skating and I warm up a bit, I’ll take it off” he relied. Ann smiled and chuckled, “Guess you from someplace that isn’t like this. Maybe some place warmer?” Andy understood she was trying to make conversation but also probing for information. He decided a simple yes would do because it wasn’t a lie. He had been programed to be truthful. Ann began a dialogue telling Andy about each of the people in the skating party, how long they had known each other and how often they did things together, It was useful data and he voice and appearance we not annoying.\n “So, Andy, now that you know all about us, tell me about you.” Said Ann\n“Andy told her a story about his past that he had rehearsed. “Well, my parent are semi-retired and thought this would be a good town to move to. We traveled a lot because they are involved in the field of robotics and are often called to consult on various projects. I’ve never really been in on place for long so the chance to make new friends is a welcoming idea.”\nAnn face light up in a big smile. “Oh, I think we’re going to be very good friends Andy.” She stuck her arm through his and they began walking along arm in arm. The group was about seven feet away from the pond and on of the other boys had run ahead to see how much ice was covering the pond. Andy was watching everything and storing it away into his programming.\n When Andy and Ann reached the pond, the Oldest of the part was gingerly walking from the shore towards the center of the pond. “what is he doing Ann?” asked Andy. She looked at him with a very serious look. “Why he’s testing the ice Andy so we know if it’s thick enough to skate on. Andy watched with great intensity because it di make sense yet he had never been programed to determine such a variable in such a situation. He began to grasp that these must be the process people called learning. New data, processing data, and then calculating courses of action. The young made it to center of the pond and yelling and waving that it was okay to skate.\n Andy sat down to put on his skates and was calculating the risk of taking off his scarf. By now he had mastered the art of appearing cold with his body language but the breathing fogging couldn’t be faked. He quickly looked up because his ear had detected someone approaching and it a different sound then the approach of Ann. “Hey Andy, I’m Tim. Do you a smoke?” It was the tall young man that had tested the ice thickness. Stored in Andy’s data hard drive were all of the information on the planet about smoking. Also, all the information on what young people thought made them cool. He stared at Tim for a bit determining if there was away, he could utilize anything in his system to store the smoke and make it appear like the peoples fog when they were breathing in the cold. He nodded at Tim.” Sure dude but you and I both know it’s a nasty habit” Tim laughed and handed him a cancer stick.\n Suddenly there was the loud squealing of tires. He heard Ann yelling, and then a Van jumped the curb heading straight for the pond. The ice started breaking all around and everyone started running. That is everyone except Andy. He had been programmed from his being to save the lives of people in danger. He threw his skates aside and headed straight toward where the van was sinking. He gripped the van door, tore it off, grabbed the drive and head for the pond shore, yelling call 911.\n The dumbstruck skating party stared at him although Tim was dialing his phone. “Andy” said Ann. “How the hell did you do that?” Andy sighed. He pealed off his wet top, touch a hidden button on his chest that looked like a mole. “ Because I’m an android Ann.”"
}
]
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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: Seraphin\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1767\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about a casual act of bravery."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "What happens to a person when she or he, has no way to beat an intolerable system and there´s no way to escape? How does one break free from shame, and pride indistinguishable from fear?\nI would like to start with a preface but let´s be honest: that´s always written afterward. Just like history…one can only write it when history has already been made and is finished.\nThat’s just the thing with history, isn´t it? it´s always in the making and never really over. Never…\nWhy tell this story? The people who have lived through it have hardly ever spoken about it. few know the story that hides behind the silence.\nDid I just sense a little hesitation here? Please, read a few more lines. Give your hesitation a chance to turn into fervidness. And who knows? Maybe you´ll feel the heartbeat of the people I´m talking about here. Especially Seraphin….\nHe was thirteen when they came for him. An age where he was no longer really a child, but nothing else either. An age when he didn´t understand much and saw the good in everything.\nThe village where he lived lay in a valley by a large river and was occupied like the rest of the country. Over the years, the village had known many tribulations: plague, famine, and war.\nAt first, Seraphin thought it all exciting; the soldiers marching in the street in their uniforms and shiny boots stamping on the cobblestones. He wanted a pair of boots like that. Later, that is, when he would be grown up. His mother had no money for boots now, but when he had his own bakery, he would buy himself a pair of boots like that, and he would polish them every day until they shone like a mirror. Footwear is important, his grandmother had always said: “You have to take diligent care of it, that way you can always go out in the street in a neat fashion.”\nMuch had changed in the village since the soldiers had arrived. They spoke a language Seraphin did not understand. He had never heard a foreign language before.\nIt started to become strangely quiet in the village. Most of the man had been rounded up, collected, and taken away to be deployed for the war effort. Seraphin wasn´t quite sure what that meant, but he had a hunch that this was serious business. The men´s families were left sad behind in the village. Seraphin didn´t quite understand why the men couldn´t take their families along to wherever it was they were going by on the train.\nUnder military escort, the men walked reluctantly to the station. Seraphin stood on the sidewalk and waved them off. No one ever waved back.\nLeave those poor people alone, his mother had said. She didn´t give a reason or an explanation. Seraphin´s mother was a hardworking peace-loving pious person, but she was not a learned woman. Maybe she didn´t know the answer herself. She didn´t like to touch on subjects she considered utter madness. Seraphin knew better than to insist.\nThe village was spared from devastating bombardments, but there was great unrest among the people. Everyday life became very hard. \nThe mayor appealed to the people to keep calm and stay at home as much as possible. People were randomly picked up and thrown in jail or deported, God only knew where to perform slave labor in the war industry. \nSeraphin had to go to church more than usual, with his mother, to attend funerals. There never was a coffin. His mother had explained that this was because they were only funeral services. And afterward, there never was a gathering where people would drink coffee together and comfort each other, as was the custom after a burial. Seraphin thought it all very strange and couldn´t make sense of it.\nThings are different, his mother had said. We must be brave. One day all this madness will be over. Seraphin took comfort in that. he dutifully helped his mother and assisted her as much as he could.\nHe was no longer allowed to go to school. He missed that very much. The little classroom was now a shelter for homeless people, and the tiny playground, with the two giant trees on it, now served as a storage place.\nHe missed Miss Marie very much. From an early age, she had taught him the first concepts of right and wrong. If anyone would have been able to explain the situation, it would have been miss Marie. Seraphin was in love with her. Just a little bit. If he ever got married, it would have to be a girl like Miss Marie. And together they would work hard in his bakery.\nOne evening Seraphin sat beside his mother, playing with some old marbles, while she was absorbed in deep prayer.\nOut of nowhere, there came a deafening noise. The whole house shook. Three raucous soldiers forced their way in, rifles in hand. They roared and barked things that Seraphin did not understand. The soldiers grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out the door, where more soldiers stood waiting. Neither Seraphin nor his mother understood what befell them. The poor woman grabbed the arm of one of the soldiers, but he knocked her to the ground with the butt of his rifle, while Seraphin was dragged into the street. Every time he asked something he was barked at.\nThey took him to the town hall, where Seraphin was locked up in the cellar. There were a lot of other men there. He cried bitterly: what had he done wrong? And what was going to happen now? Why did those foreign soldiers hurt his mother?\nSander, a basket maker Seraphin knew well, was locked up in that cellar too. He sat himself next to Seraphin and handed him a clean handkerchief to wipe his tears.\n-“Don´t cry, boy. Not now. You must be brave like never before.” Sander told the terrified boy.\nSeraphin wept even more at the thought that his mother would worry deeply. His mother had run to the priest´s house, only to find out soldiers now lived in the rectory. The priest now lived in a shabby house.\n-“They took my boy, Father. He is only thirteen years old.”\nThe old priest didn´t know what to say and told Seraphin´s mother that he would take her to townhall the next morning.\n-“Now go home quickly, before they arrest you too!” he warned her as he sent her off.\n-“He doesn´t have his coat.” Seraphin´s mother lamented as she walked back home. \nThe next morning the parish priest came to pick up Seraphin´s mother, as he had promised, and walked with her to the occupation quarters. She hadn´t slept all night.\nSeraphin´s mother had made a bundle in a large handkerchief, with two sandwiches and an apple. She had her son´s coat on her arm. She had tucked a rosary into one of the pockets.\nThe soldiers at the occupation were not friendly and shouted that the kid had been taken as a hostage to replace another man who had run off. Seraphin would be put on the first train that day. They didn´t know what time or where Seraphin would be taken. A soldier took the bundle and the coat. Another soldier opened the handkerchief and began to eat everything in it. \n-“In these grim times, so many people ran away, to avoid capture.” The priest explained to Seraphin´s mother, “Or they had to run for their lives.”\nThe poor woman stood waiting next to the train tracks all morning. Soldiers came out with a group of men and pushed them onto cattle cars. Seraphin’s mother's heart broke to see her son driven like an animal. She ran to him but was stopped by two large soldiers. Other women were there too to say goodbye to their sons and husbands claimed by the enemy army.\n-“This is the most terrifying thing that ever happened in my life.” Seraphin´s mother cried. “My poor boy, what did he ever do to anyone? He is only thirteen years old.”\nThe priest helped her walk back to her house.\n-“Thank God they gave him his coat.” She sobbed, “I´m sure he will find his rosary.”\nSeraphin did not know where he was being taken, or where he was when he got off the train.\nFrom the moment of his arrival, he was subjected to humiliations no thirteen-year-old could have ever imagined.\nHe was forced to work in the construction and maintenance of railways. He escaped the labor camp three times but disappearing into the crowd was impossible. He was arrested again and again. As punishment, he was locked up in a dark prison, at the mercy of the enemy. Seraphin was molested, beaten, and suffered great hunger.\nTwo days before Christmas Seraphin was found frozen to death, after a guard kicked him into a snow-covered ditch.\nThere was no coffin at his funeral service. His mother attended and walked straight up to the front of the church and spoke even before the priest could begin the ritual.\n-“I am not a learned woman. I am Seraphin’s mother, and I can´t even write his name. My son was only thirteen years old when they came for him. An age where one is still supposed to be a child. They say the light shines brighter after the darkest days. But the darkness is everywhere and it doesn´t seem to end. I don´t know fancy words and I can´t read from the Bible. My heart has been broken and I doubt it will ever mend. I cleared the weeds from my garden this morning before I came here, hoping to find my soul there.\nI named my son after the highest-ranking angels of God. I am not crying for my boy. I cannot do that. Rest has just begun for him. His toil and sufferings are over. I know that God is now giving him his reward by including him among all the other heavenly angels.\nA soldier is killed, and he becomes a war hero. He who languishes from hard labor in appalling conditions is forgotten.\nWhat happens to a person when she or he has no way to beat or escape an oppressive system? What happens to those left behind, when their hearts break from shame and pride indistinguishable from fear? From the burden of loss?\nWe make sure, the fallen never become a blind spot in our memory!”\nSeraphin and thousands like him should never be forgotten!"
}
]
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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: Post-It Notes\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2076\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a love story about an older couple who’ve been together since they were teenagers."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "I still remember all the foolish things I had done when I was younger. And if I forget, I can always go back to my room and look at the wall I covered in small pieces of square paper with an untidy scrawl. When I was fifteen, the age I was when I went to high school, I had spent most of the summer break hogging the family computer to myself and searching things up like, how to be funny, or how to be cool, or how to look handsome. After nine hours of research a day this is all I found:\nBeing cool allows you to make friends\nDon’t be stupid\nRaise you hand in class even if your answer is dumb\nPlay a prank on your teacher\nNever say that you like anything that’s cute. It will ruin your teenage life\nThere were only three useful things on that list, the last three. I went into school feeling unprepared I wasn’t one of the \"Cool Kids\" I found myself fitting more into the group of people who just tag along with the cool kids to try and be cool. The first day of school someone invented a game called HI, you play it in class and one person starts it by saying hi in a whisper, the next person, no matter how much the difference is, has to say it louder. Then it goes on and on until the teacher sends a kid to the principal’s office. I happened to be the one every time, the seat next to the office is practically moulded to my butt and only my butt not anyone else's. The principle didn’t look surprised to see me anymore, in fact she just sends me back to the classroom with no punishment, and this went on and on until the whole year had gone by and I went home to do some more research for the next year this is what I found:\nBeing cool allows you to make friends\nDon’t be stupid\nRaise you hand in class even if you answer is dumb\nPlay a prank on you teacher\nNever say that you like anything that’s cute, it will ruin your teenage life\nThe next year I felt a bit better about myself because although I didn’t find anything new, I know what was going to happen. The same as the year before, I soon found out I was wrong. The first day I got in trouble for playing the HI game and I was sent to the office. Waiting on the seat when I got there was a new student and as soon as I saw her, I knew that if the boys found out what I was feeling right now they would laugh at me till I die. I sat on the seat closest to her and asked her the first question that came into my mind.\n\"How would you like your funeral to look like?\" I asked.\nShe look startled but a second later she smiled, it felt like the sun was burning a hole through the clouds.\n\"How would you like yours?\" She asked back.\nI thought about this carefully, no one had ever asked me that question before.\n\"I suppose I would like a coffin made of crystal.\" I replied\n\"Like Snow White?\" She asked.\n\"Snow White had a glass coffin.\" I said.\n\"Snow White had a crystal coffin because the glass coffin didn’t work out. After she had died, every full moon she would crawl out of her coffin no matter how much her body was decaying and she would go to the kitchen of the dwarves house and grab a knife, turns out this knife was the same knife that little red riding hood used to kill her grandmother.-\"\n\"What?\" I interrupted but she just shushed me.\n\"She would take that knife and pull a dwarf out from his bed by the ear and chop up some potatoes to feed him. And when he gets fat she throws him back into bed, and the next day she would have gone back into the crystal coffin-\"\nI interrupted her again I didn’t want to hear the rest.\n\"How would you like your funeral?\" I ask.\n\"Well, there will be no priest, and instead of a priest there will be a rapper, and I want him to be spitting out words at two hundred miles per hour. And my body will be thrown into an enormous bonfire with wolves that are prowling in circles around it. Oh and I missed an important detail, if the rapper cannot rap as fast as 200 miles per hour then he will be thrown in with me, so I can slap him in the afterlife. And pigs with wings will fly out of the ground. And Neil Gaiman will be there and he will be throwing cups of red bull into the fire. Gordon Ramsay will also be there, he will take the worlds largest pan and start frying me, but I wish someone will tell him that I would not enjoy being a sunny side up egg. And there will be lots of Mountain Dew. There’s another important detail, every year on the date of my death, children will be allowed to drink vodka.\" She said.\n\"Are you finished?\" I asked.\n\"I know, kids will be REQUIRED to drink vodka.\" She said.\n\"Are you finished?\" I asked again.\n\"R-E-Q-U-I-R-E-D.\" She said.\nThe principle came out of her office.\n\"You two look like you’ve been enjoying yourselves, now back to class.\" The principle announced.\n\"Which class are you?\" I asked her.\n\"Ms. Walsher.\" She told me.\n\"Why did she send you to the office?\" I asked, she was so bright I was surprised that anyone would send a lovely soul like that to the office.\n\"She might have caught me throwing her computer…\" She started.\n\"No way, you’ll have to pay for that.\" I gasped.\n\"- at her.\" She finished.\nI was speechless.\n\"So shall we meet here again tomorrow?\" \n\"Just don’t throw her computer again… at anyone.\" I said.\n\"Deal.\"\nThe next day I knew I had to go prepared, That night Our family watched a movie, Star Wars 2 (Attack of the clones.) I watched Obi-Wan fight Grievous. He starts off with saying. \n\"Hello There.\" In a cool almost menacing way, no wonder why he’s got all the girls.\nI run to my room and grab a spare piece of paper noting it down I tape it to the wall.\nI meet the girl at the office seat again. But this time, instead of just directly sitting down I leaned against the locker wall and I said exactly what I was practicing all night that night.\n\"Hello there.\" I practised so much that even the tone sounded the same as Obi-Wan, this better make her like me and think I’m cool. I thought.\nShe got up standing her seat and looked like she was about to pounce onto me, but instead the following thing she said made me very embarrassed \n\"Its over Anakin I have the higher ground!\" She said. \nI was surprised that she had watched Star Wars. I shuffled over to my usual seat and sat down.\n\"How did you get to the office this time?\" I asked.\n\"I threw a binder at the teacher.\" She said not feeling sorry one bit.\n\"I told you not to throw stuff!\" I exclaimed.\n\"Your not the judge of me, and you only told me not to throw the computer.\" She deflected smoothly.\nI decided that she was one of those people who could always find loopholes so I had to be as strict as possible.\n\"My mom wants you to come over for dinner tonight.\" She shrugged.\n\"I think I can make it. Are there any rules to follow?\" I said.\n\"Just mind you manners, don’t use you hands, don’t slurp, use the knife, use the napkin, no drooling, no phones, no playing with your food, and dress up as neatly as possible.\" She listed.\n\"Ok.\" It was the same rules as at my house. \"Shall we meet here tomorrow after you're dinner?\"\n\"Yep.\"\n\"No throwing anything.\" I said seriously.\n\"Yep.\"\n\"And no kicking.\" I said triumphantly.\n\"Damn, you can sure be a pain in the butt.\" She grumbled.\nI took that as a compliment.\n\"And one more thing, what’s you name?\" I asked.\n\"Sophie.\"\nWhen I told my mother about the dinner news, she almost cried.\n\"My son is finally getting a girlfriend!!!\"\nShe bought me a new suit and tie, I took a sneak peek at the receipt. One thousand dollars! That is expensive. At 7:00 I got to her house, if there was a miniature version of a castle this would be it. I knocked at the door and it almost opened instantly. It was Sophie’s mom.\n\"Hello Ma’am.\" I said.\nShe nodded to her husband.\nI took off my jacket. She shook her head at her husband. I concluded that a nod means she likes what she sees and the other one was she doesn’t. I tried to figure out what i was doing wrong. I glance at Sophie and she gave me the signal of washing my hands. I walked to the bathroom and washed my hands. The parents both nodded.\nThe dinner did not go as planned, they had four forks and two spoons I was lucky I watched a movie where the dude had to figure out what each one was for. The first thing we had was tomato soup. And all I could say was the mother did not know how to cook. I kept finding feathers in my soup as if she had murdered a chicken to get the red colour. Next we had steak. I felt eyes on me and looking up from cutting my food I see two pairs of beefy eyes staring at my hands monitoring me using my knife. After sweating buckets because of the fear for making a wrong move with the knife we finally had dessert. It was mint ice cream put into a fancy cup. And that was when I made the wrong move. There was an Oreo cookie pushed into the ice cream and I found myself using my HANDS to pick up the Oreo. I didn’t like Oreos on my mint so I did what I always id. I ate it first using my HANDS. Sophie glanced at me in horror, and her parents made disapproving muttering sounds. I finished my ice cream and the parents said goodbye to me and sent me off.\nThe next day at school I go to the office again. I found Sophie sitting there.\n\"Hey I’m sorry.\" I said.\n\"No its-.\" \n\"I should have remembered.\" I apologised.\n\"No its-.\"\n\"I’m really sorry.\" I said.\n\"MY PARENTS APPROVE YOU FOR CHRIST SAKE.\" She yelled.\n\"They what?\" \n\"They like you.\"\n\"So will you be my girlfriend?\" I asked.\n\"Maybe.\" She said.\nTears well up in my eyes.\n\"I’m just kidding! Gee, why you gotta be so emotional?\"\nAnd that’s how it worked out, until we graduated and went to the same college, after that we got married. I’ll just give you a hint on what happened during the wedding. There was no priest, and instead of the priest we had a sumo wrestler. We were married for sixty years with no conflict until one day she died in a car crash on her way to work. And as the only person who ever heard what she preferred at her funeral I gave her what she wanted. I organised some firemen to help me start a bonfire. And bought some huskies and hired a professional dog trainer to teach them to walk in circles, then we hired Juice Wrld to be the rapper who spits out words at two hundred miles per hour. And after that we found Neil Gaiman, he agreed to throw red bull into the fire. Next came Gordon Ramsey. He called me a donkey and slapped me a few times, but he agreed. We got some Mountain Dew and started the funeral, Although Juice Wrld did Rap at two hundred miles per hour, I threw him into the fire to show Sophie that I fulfilled her dream just in case she wasn’t watching from heaven. All of those memories I still remember because of one great invention. Post - it notes."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Knowledge is Power\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1563\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite a story where fortune doesn’t favor the brave."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "1375\nIbrahim Bakir dipped the slender tip of his qualm into the sooty black inkwell. Despite the afternoon sun radiating through the open windows, the ageing scribe’s eyes strained with fatigue.\nAll around him, the sights and sounds of the Great Kingdom of Mali blended into a cacophony of shrieks, bleats and yells. Arabic market sellers bartered their goods in a guttural resonance whilst travelling nomads from the southern tribes of Niger and Niani communicated in the clicking tones of Yorùbá. \nHordes of students bustled through the square from the grand University of Sankore. The towering building housed twenty-five thousand intellectuals, each pursuing various fields of academia including mathematics, law and astronomy.\nIbrahim desperately sought a break from the endless monotony of scribe work, but he had made a promise to leave something behind for his grandchildren to treasure, long after he became dust in the sand. This modest collection of traditional folk tales would be a joy for any child to listen to.\nThe old man chuckled softly as he penned the last few words of the collection. The final story featured a small child who used the wisdom of an elephant to outsmart the trickster Wokolu. \nA warm, musky fragrance drew his attention back to the window. \nOutside, a Bambera woman hollered sonorously, rounding her animals together for the long walk back to her village. Her richly-coloured cotton bogolan wafted in the light summer breeze as an entourage of bleating goats obediently stumbled behind her.\nThe setting sun now dipped towards the horizon, under a haze of coppery golds and burnt ochres. Placing the sheepskin parchment near the window to dry, Ibrahim laid back on his wooden stool and sighed softly. As the cool night air drifted into the small abode, his heavy eyelids drooped shut. \nWithin moments, the elderly grandfather was fast asleep.\n***\n2012\nZahra Haïdara’s eyes shot open. \nDawn broke over the horizon, peeking in through the cracks in the small mud house. Next to her slept her three younger siblings, whilst Baba and Mama snored softly on the other side of the compact dwelling. \nThe eleven-year-old lay still for a few moments, gazing at the piles of manuscripts that were stacked in what little space remained around the house. Although her parents could not afford for her to attend school, Baba fiercely prized the value of education. Since Zahra was a little girl, his small accumulation of manuscripts had grown into an expansive collection. \nEach night, under the light of the flickering oil lamp, Baba read stories of vibrant histories, celestial stars and complex equations. The small girl’s mind was enthralled to learn of a time when Mali was more than a dusty wasteland permeating with terror and famine. \nSome of the stories she understood more than others, but the young girl was always content to fall asleep listening to the gratifying tones of Baba passing on his most treasured knowledge.\nZahra shifted gently under the blankets, careful not to wake the others. \nReaching for a leather-bound manuscript that lay on the top of the nearest pile, the adolescent seated herself just outside the front door, using the faint morning light to illuminate the black, flowery script. Her slight fingers slowly traced along the page, almost as if she was absorbing the magic that radiated from the yellowed parchment. \nThis was her favourite collection of stories that Baba had read to her. Each fable taught her of the richness of West African virtues that made her proud to belong to a nation of strong-willed individuals and fearless animals. Some of the stories featured the mischievous spider Anansi who sought to acquire all the knowledge in the world. Others emphasised the courageousness of the Lion, the fierceness of the Leopard and the humility of the Camel.\nZahra’s favourite story was The Elephant and The Wokolu. \nEach night she begged Baba to repeat it until she learned every exquisite word by heart. In between chores, she would recount the story to her little brother and sisters, watching as their faces grew enraptured with glee. \nThe fable told of a little boy who was being tormented by the invisible dwarven creature named The Wokolu. Every evening, the trickster would steal the child’s food and disappear without a trace. \nAt first, the boy tried to capture the creature by force, wildly grabbing the empty air, but this led to no avail. After a few days without food, the ravenous cries of the child’s small stomach led him to seek the advice of wise Elephant. Elephant told the boy to wait until the creature had laid his hands on the food, before pouring millet flour over its unseen body. The boy did as Elephant suggested, and soon he was able to capture the dusty creature and banish it far away from his village. \nBaba said the moral of the story was that wisdom always outsmarted force. \nThe morning sun gently rose into the indigo sky, illuminating the sandy plains. The dawn chorus erupted into a melody performed by desert sparrows, firefinches and red crowned woodpeckers. \nGently closing her eyes, Zahra leaned back against the wall, basking in the comforting warmth of the sun’s rays. \nIn the distance, an acrid smell wafted towards her.\nRealisation dawned upon the small girl, and she leapt up in panic. She turned and raced into the mud house screaming “FIRE! FIRE!”\nMama immediately grabbed the three younger children in her arms, whilst Baba ran out of the house and surveyed the village. He returned with a sombre look on his face.\nAddressing the older woman, Baba spoke in hushed tones.\n“The militants are here. You must run Mariam,” he murmured shakily.\nMama frowned and whispered back, tears brimming in her eyes.\n“Are you not coming?”\nBaba shook his head and pointed to the walls that surrounded them. \n“I must protect the manuscripts. They cannot destroy them!”\nMama opened her mouth to protest, but the fierce look on Baba’s face stopped her. With a doleful resignation, she gathered her children and made to run out of the house. \n“STOP!” Zahra cried, tugging on Baba’s leg with the sheer determination only a child could muster.\nBaba scooped his eldest daughter up in his arms and hugged her tightly, wiping her tears away with his soft fingers. \n“I love you, binti. Please be strong. Mama needs you to help her.”\nZahra looked up at him, then exhaled deeply. She hesitated before handing Baba her most cherished possession. The older man crouched down and held the leather-bound parchments against his chest.\n“I promise I will keep this safe”, he whispered resolutely.\nBy now, the foul stench of burning had engulfed the village. Thick tendrils of smoke billowed into the windows. Haunting screams sounded all around them, followed by the whip-like crack of gunfire.\nMama tied her two youngest daughters in a sling around her back. She grabbed Moussa with one hand, Zahra with the other and bolted into the plains. Mama’s heart thumped so hard, she thought she would throw up in the sand. Fear spurred her on until they reached a grassy enclave near the southern state of Burkina Faso.\nHere they waited, until the sun baked oppressively against their bare skin, prompting them to find shelter. Mama was exhausted from carrying the children, so she meandered at a slower pace with the younger two. Zahra took charge, gripped her brother’s clammy hand, and together they darted back towards the village.\nUpon arrival, the children’s worst fears were instantly confirmed. \nThe village lay in a blackened heap of destruction and chaos. No birdsong remained. The only sound that could be heard were inconsolable cries of grief.\nWithout waiting for Mama to catch up, Zahra ran towards the house situated at the eastern edge of the village. She made a silent prayer to Amma, the supreme creator of life, before slowly creeping into the small abode.\nImmediately, time froze. \nIt was like she was seeing the events of someone else’s life unfold in front of her. Baba lay on the floor, surrounded by reddish stains. \nThe entire room was empty. Every manuscript had been taken and smoking piles of ash rested on the floor.\nMoussa’s helpless cries brought the small girl out of her shock. She ran towards Baba and tenderly placed a tiny hand on his cheek. \nHe was still warm, but the colour was slowly draining from his face. \nUpon feeling her soft touch, Baba smiled weakly and opened his tear-filled eyes.\n“The stories are all gone, they took everything!” the little girl wailed, frantically waving at the walls.\nBaba gently shook his head and winced as he lifted his arm towards his middle. A rectangular object bulged underneath the cotton fabric. \nZahra frowned, and helped him slowly pull the object away from his chest. \nAs the leather covering grew visible, the adolescent’s eyes lit up.\nElation gripped her soul as she squeezed the collection of stories against her heart. \nBaba placed her small hand into his large palm. Zahra was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the blood that surrounded them. \nHot tears spilled from her, landing onto Baba’s cheeks.\nThe older man smiled weakly and squeezed her hand tight. With his last remaining breath, he whispered,\n“Keep it safe, binti. Knowledge must always be protected.”\nWith that, Baba’s chest fell and he closed his eyes for the last time."
}
]
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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: Closing the Doors on Craven Ridge\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 1018\n\nPrompt:\n\nSet your story in a town full of cowards."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "As the sun’s morning rays permeated the little southwestern American town that had once stood strong against a vast army over a decade ago, the reflections of red and pink in the low clouds portended evil tidings to come. An old, slightly wrinkled, man took off his hat, as was the custom when entering a church, and took a seat in the back row pew to listen to the townsfolk debate. His cotton shirt and denim pants were caked with dust driven by the desert winds, some of which settled on the wood bench where he sat. For many hours he just listened to their hysterical rantings and ravings.\n\n“…but the federal government has withdrawn the last of their troops, and we’ve all but been abandoned by the state,” the bonneted young schoolteacher bemoaned, clutching her newborn in her frail arms.\n\n“We’ll be overrun and behind enemy lines before nightfall!” the innkeeper lamented. “What are you going to do about it, Mayor?”\n\nThe bespectacled, balding mayor wrung his sweaty hands, and squeaked a single word as a question, “Fight?”\n\nWhen the old man in the back of the church heard the civic leader’s lily-livered tone, he cringed, knowing full well that the man was as insincere today as the day he was put into office. Regardless, he was able to hold his tongue.\n\nA collective groan came from the citizenry and the doctor-dentist-barber whined, “What can we possibly do against thousands of Mexican Federales? This time they’re backed by the whole of Europe…the Spanish, French, and British…we don’t stand a cat’s chance without claws!”\n\n“We’ll just have to surrender; we certainly can’t fight, now that our constable has flown the coop,” submitted the cowardly pastor.\n\n“But they’re taking no prisoners…we’re doomed!” The elderly church organist rested her head on her instrument’s keys and began to sob.\n\nEventually, the people’s general grumbling and whimpering came to a stop and the church was deathly silent in the face of their stark reality.\n\nThe aged frontiersman finally had reached his boiling point. He stood up and addressed the congregation from the rear of the sanctuary. “Dad-gum-it! In all my sixty-one years, y’all people are the most spineless bunch of namby-pamby bellyachers that I have ever laid eyes on!”\n\nHe cleared his throat and continued his tirade, “Our town founders, a couple of which I called my friends, would be ashamed of what this place has become! As if any of y’all would even know anything about our founders, since the latest string of milksop-mayors have all but erased them from the history books by removing their monuments and belittling their countless sacrifices and outstanding achievements! Even worse, almost as a punchline, they renamed our town Craven Ridge!”\n\nThe man leaned on the back of the pew and chuckled, “In retrospect, the name is quite appropriate.”\n\n“Now listen here, you…” the mayor began timidly, but he was cut off.\n\n“No, mayor, you listen! It was you that regulated and taxed any lucrative businesses, like our coal mine, out of existence! And when the mine closed down, y’all justified it as a dang victory for the environment…what a farce! To top it all off, it was the sheriff, that you appointed, whose gun control policies have limited the supply of guns and ammunition to such a point that even if there were any brave men left, they’d have no weapons with which to make that final stand!\n\nThe young teacher took offense, “Good sir, guns are dangerous, and…”\n\nThe frontiersman rolled his eyes, “You’re dern-tootin’! Of course they are, ma’am! But you ain’t better off without ‘em! You’re sunk now that the army, and your law enforcement, has left y’all for dead! As for you, miss smarty-pants schoolteacher lady, most of the wise folks already packed up and moved when you and the good Reverend began to stress the ‘social’ over the plain old-fashioned ‘justice!’”\n\n“Well I never!” she groused as he cut her short once again.\n\n“No you never! That’s for sure! Y’all should’ve just run back east as soon as they abolished slavery and there was no longer any rumblings of a civil war. The doctor was right, out here, y’all don’t stand a snowflake’s chance in hell! You gutless, self-righteous people who think y’all are so progressive make me sick to my stomach! Y’all have made your laws and rules so overwhelming and created an atmosphere so oppressively woke…if that’s even a word…” he paused at the term he’d coined and carried on, “…that the only folks left to defend this town are just a bunch of bootless cowards who deserve what’s comin’ for ‘em! Hell, it’ll be a blessing when the Federales recapture this worthless town…they can have it…and all y’all!”\n\nThe old man kicked the dirt off his shoes as he departed the church sanctuary through its double oaken doors. A voice he may have once known called out to him before he left, “Wait, David, we need you!”\n\nThe frontiersman ignored the request, picked up his hunting rifle and powder horn where it rested against the stoop, and shrugged as the doors slammed shut behind him. Looking west he could already see the fire and smoke of war blocking out the sunset. Shouldering his firearm and donning his coonskin cap, Davy Crockett abandoned the people of Craven Ridge to their self-inflicted fate. Not once did he look back upon the Alamo mission where he’d made his courageous stand with his fellow Texans against General Santa Anna. They’d won that battle back in March of 1836, but this time he knew it would turn out differently; this time, in June of 1847, it would be a slaughter.\n\nAs he walked west to meet his enemy, he sincerely hoped that once this Mexican-American war came to an end, that Americans would remember the mistakes of embracing woke ideology and return to their roots of patriotic self-reliance, but as the sounds of fighting grew more intense and he watched hapless Americans being trampled by the colossal army of Mexicans, intermingled with French infantry, and British cavalry, he had his doubts."
}
]
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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: Ice Cream With Awkward Sprinkles\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2313\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about someone asking out an old crush, only to realize their crush doesn’t remember they’ve ever met before."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "Cris had never regretted dying her hair blonde more than the fateful Sunday she decided to go to the beach. \nOr maybe, she had never been more grateful. \nNonetheless, nothing could have prepared her for what would happen on the day she self consciously stepped out of her car, dyed hair in a ponytail and the sun mercilessly beating down on her. \nGoing to the beach alone is not a fun way to spend a Sunday, but sitting home alone is almost worse, so she decided she’d rather at least take the chance of finding shells or swimming and maybe having fun rather than being yelled at by her mom again as she would’ve been had she stayed home.\nShe grabbed her phone, sunglasses, and purse from her car before slamming the door and curling her toes in her run-down sneakers. \nShe started walking towards the sand when her foot caught on something or another and she fell smack dab on her face.\nShe wasn’t one for makeup, so the only thing bruised was her pride, though thankfully, no one was watching(she hoped).\nShe huffed and picked herself up, checked her phone for cracks, and set off again. The walk was long, the wind-nonexistent, the noise-extreme, the heat -neverending, the hair-on her face.\nWhen she reached the sand, she had just about decided to walk right back to her car and drive herself to an ice cream shop when the look of the lifeguard caught her eye. \nThe brown hair was the same as she remembered, the cheekbones a little more defined, and of course, he looked older, but it was unmistakably him. \nMiddle school memories suffocated Cris in a blur and she nearly fell again before steeling her legs and sighing. She forced herself to look away and bit the inside of her cheek, wondering if he would remember her. Of course, she remembered him. \nMiddle school crushes are like that one time you might have not answered the phone, and your mom never let you forget it. \nThey always come back at the worst times. \nCris adjusted her fingers around her phone and wondered how much money she had in her car.\nMaybe a couple twenty dollar bills. \nHow many pints of ice cream could she buy with that?\nA light gust of hot wind blew by, reminding her how hot it was. \nShe brought her eyes to the lifeguard chair again, glancing for a quick second before turning away. \nFive minutes.\nShe would take a dip in the water to cool herself down before leaving.\nThat was all. \nShe walked with her head held up high and it took every fiber in her being not to look back at the person sitting in the lifeguard chair.\nAnd it turned out, she didn’t need to make any effort.\nHe was coming down. \nIt was evidently the end of his shift, and he was replaced by another guy, someone in his late teens as well. Cris tried to pay him no mind as she neared the shore, setting down her towel and phone to the side. She set them down a considerable distance from the water, took her sneakers off, and then inched closer herself. She plopped down and dipped her toes in the water, which was at just the right temperature. \nOf course, it would be perfectly normal for her to maybe stay for a little longer, and then go home, and that would be that. \nBut this is a story, and there’s obviously more. \nMiddle school was a very interesting time for Cris. She went through about three friend groups, braces, multiple sports, and only one crush. \nHis name...well, you wouldn’t believe me, but his name is Romeo. \nSerious.\nCris wiggled her toes in the waves, staring at her pedicured nails. Peacefully.\nAt least, it was peaceful until someone sat down next to her. \nShe was almost too scared to look to her side, but she forced herself to, and there, in sunbathed glory, was no, not Romeo, but Lorelle. \nOne of the girls from Cris’s first friend group.\nIf she wasn’t talking, she was eating, and Cris wondered if she could escape before being forced to engage in small talk. \n“Hi! I’m Lorelle, what’s your name?” \nEvidently, she couldn’t. Cris held her breath, wishing to become invisible. \n“Hello?”\n“Are all the people from my middle school past coming to haunt me?”\n“What?”\n“What?”\nLorelle laughed, dragging her finger in the wet sand.\n“You’re funny, I like you. What’re you doing at the beach?”\nCris stifled an eye roll. Classic, nosy Lorelle.\n“Cooling down a little.”\n“Cool, me too! I was here with one of my friends, Nova, but she left earlier. Nova’s funny too, you’d like her I think- what’s your name again?”\nCris was spared that much at least. The whole reason she broke away from the first friend group was Nova. \nThe girl was involved in drama like somebody paid her to do it. \n“I didn’t say.” Cris tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. If she didn’t recognize her yet, she wouldn’t give her any help, that was for sure. \n“Oooh, funny and mysterious. Say, do you happen to know that lifeguard over there? The one off his shift? You keep looking over and I was just wondering.”\nCris’s breath hitched.\nShe had been looking over?\nShe didn’t even notice. She forced her eyes to a specific pebble on the sand and grit her teeth.\n“I don’t know him. Not- well, not really.”\n“Curiouser and curiouser…” Lorelle squinted her eyes and Cris, taking in her shorts and bathing suit before shrugging and looking away. “Thought you looked familiar for a sec.”\nCris blinked twice and fixated her eyes on a new rock, pretending the almost recognition didn’t faze her. \nIn reality, she was scared. \nShe’d dyed her hair and moved to a new high school in hopes it would be a fresh new beginning. All it had brought her was a little more loneliness. \n“Anyway. Don’t you just love summer? I do. The warmth and s’mores and sunsets and y’know? Everything.”\nCris found herself smiling slightly at Lorelle’s familiar 30 mile a minute talking.\n“Hey, do you know the lifeguard?” Cris asked slowly, moving her eyes up to meet Lorelle’s.\n“Why? He goes to my school, so I know him but not well. His name- oh you aren’t going to believe me but his name is Romeo.”\nCris feigned surprise and raised her eyebrows at Lorelle. \n“C’mon, what’s his name?”\n“I swear it’s Romeo! Cross my heart and hope to die!”\n“Alright, alright. Think I should talk to him? I mean- no real reason, but, the more the merrier right?”\nLorelle furrowed her brows.\n“Ohhh, you think he’s cute, don’t you?”\n“Well-I mean-”\nCris’s cheeks flamed as she tried to think up an excuse.\nLorelle laughed.\n“Kidding, silly. I’ll wave him over for you, you’re right, more the merrier!”\n“Wait no I-” Cris cut herself off when Romeo looked their way and Lorelle began animatedly waving him towards them. She refocused on the pebble. \nSo much for five minutes.\nRomeo began walking towards them and Lorelle stood up to greet him.\n“Hey! Romeo, right? We had APUSH together! How you doing?”\n“Yeah, you’re Lorelle, right?”\nLorelle nodded and sat back down, patting the sand next to her. \n“Sit down, my friend wants to meet you!”\nRomeo sat on the sand and smiled at Cris, who gave a small wave before refocusing on the sand. \n“Romeo this is-”\n“Cris. My name is Cris. It’s nice to meet you.”\nLorelle squinted at Cris for the second time that day. \n“Say, don’t I know you? Romeo, don’t we know her? Which middle school did you go to?”\nCris froze. She brought her eyes to Romeo and felt herself turn into the shy sixth-grader she used to be.\nGet a hold of yourself, Cris.\n“Oh um...one in a different state actually.” The lie slipped out so fast, she barely even knew she’d said it.\n“Oh! Then I don’t know you. But didn’t we know a girl names Cris in middle school? Romeo? Oh, come to think of it she was brunette I think. Romeo, you’re quiet, how you doing? How’s your summer?”\nRomeo looked surprised that he had been mentioned. He obviously wasn’t used to Lorelle and her speed talking.\n“I’m good.”\n“That’s good, great. You know what I would kill for right now? Ice cream. Strawberry. Is there somewhere nearby?”\n“Oh, there actually is. I live really close and there’s a shop near us.” Romeo said, pointing behind him. Lorelle clapped excitedly.\n“Yay! We should go! I brought my purse. C’mon, we can take some pictures too!”\nCris’s eyes widened. Sure, she wanted ice cream.\nBut by herself.\nMost certainly not with her ex-best friend Lorelle.\nAnd even more most certainly not with her ex-crush Romeo.\nRomeo shrugged.\n“Sounds fun, I’ve got nothing better to do. Cris, was it? You coming?”\nBoth Lorelle and Romeo got up and stretched. Cris hesitated before joining them.\n“Sure.” She looked at Lorelle as she spoke, scared to make eye contact with Romeo.\nCris wiped the sand off the back of her shorts and shoved her wet feet back in her sneakers. She was glad to find a hair tie at her wrist and tied back her hair into a messy ponytail. \n“To the ice cream! Lead the way?” Lorelle dramatically pronounced. Romeo nodded as they walked back to the direction of the exit of the beach. Somewhere midway, Lorelle grabbed a purse off the ground, and Cris assumed it was hers.\n“This way.” Romeo led them out and soon they weren’t on sand anymore. They walked around a corner and came up to a small plaza. One of the shops was a small ice cream parlor that looked dark inside.\n“Sure it isn’t closed?” Cris said, peeked through the window. \n“Yeah, it’s never closed. Come on.” Romeo beckoned them in, holding the door open. Cris and Lorelle filed into the small shop. It was slightly dark, but there was a bored-looking teen at the counter.\nPractically any easy job in the area was taken by teens looking to make pocket change.\n“Hi, there! One strawberry cone, please! What do you guys want?” Lorelle reached into her purse for the cash. \n“Oh, um, vanilla for me,” Cris said, scanning the walls of the shop.\n“Mint.”\nThe guy nodded and started scooping up their ice cream. Lorelle plopped a five-dollar bill on the counter and took the cones, handing them to each of them in turn.\n“Keep the change! Thank you!” \nThe guy nodded again, putting away the money. The three walked out, licking their ice creams.\n“Ah, ice cream. Always brightens my mood.”\n“I second that,” Romeo said, taking a tiny bite of his mint ice cream.\nThey walked over to a small bench and sat together in quiet bliss, finishing up their cones.\nCris racked her brain for something interesting to say. \nIt was just a boy. Anyway, she barely even knew him anymore. She decided not to care anymore. She’d imagine it was a different Romeo.\nAs Lorelle finished up her cone, something vibrated in her purse. She looked visibly annoyed as she rolled her eyes and dug through it, pulling out a phone. \n“Hello?” \nIt was the quietest Cris had ever seen her. She sat unmoving, undoubtedly listening to someone on the other end of the phone.\n“Ok. Bye. Yeah.” She dropped the phone back into her purse. Cris finished up her own cone and wiped her hands on her shorts. Romeo was still half done. “Sorry guys, I hafta go.” Lorelle sighed and got up. “Ya’ll have fun, okay? Here-ummm..” She reached her hand into her purse again, pulling out a pen and paper. “Write your number down.”\nLorelle made friends faster than Friday turned into Monday. And she did it all by being ‘spontaneous’. Cris took the paper and scribbled her phone number down. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her.\nRomeo waved a little and soon Lorelle was gone, walking back towards the beach to grab her things and leave.\n“So….are you a junior?” Romeo asked. Cris bobbed her head up and down. “Me too.” Romeo finally finished the last of his ice cream. They’d been sitting with Lorelle in between them, so there was now an awkward distance where she had been.\n“What school do you go to?” Cris asked, though she knew the answer.\n“Oh, Spring Hill. You?”\n“Oakwood.”\n“Oh, my cousins go there. Lorelle’s quite talkative isn’t she?”\nCris smiled. \n“Indeed she is. But it’s cool, she’s fun.”\n“Yeah.”\nCris fidgeted with her fingers and Romeo squinted at the sun.\n“I went to your middle school.” Cris blurted and Romeo turned to look at her.\n“What? But you said-”\n“I know what I said. I lied. It’s just- I had a crush on you in middle school and I thought it would be awkward and surprise-surprise, I just made it awkward didn’t I? Sorry.”\nFor a moment, Romeo just stared at Cris, who was furiously chewing her lip as she stared at the ground. After a second though, he burst out laughing.\n“Wow. I thought no one could talk faster than Lorelle. Look, if that’s what this is about-and by this I mean your general refusal to look at me the whole time we walked- it’s really no biggy, that was just middle school.” \nCris brought her eyes slowly to Romeo.\n“Really? You don’t think I’m weird?”\n“Nah. I had all the girls crushing on me in 7th grade,” Romeo winked. Cris rolled her eyes but laughed. He was right, wasn’t he?\nIt was just middle school. They were both older, much more matu-\n“I’ve grown muscles no?” Romeo flexed his arms over exaggeratingly.\nCris sighed.\nAh, well.\nBoys will be boys."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on the Users Inputed Genre, Word Count, and Story Title\n\nthe story should follow the title but be creative."
},
{
"role": "user",
"content": "Story Title: Erudition\n\nGenre: historical-fiction\n\nWord Count: 2685\n\nPrompt:\n\nYour character, by chance or habit, peers through a telescope. They see something unusual — what is it?"
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "“I will take the tower,” Alvar Montalvo shouted over the courtyard below his stairway climb. Wooden cases swung stiffly in each hand while scrolls threatened to burst from the crates wedged between ribs and arms. “No other room shall do.” He stared at the blue trim of his shoes while his haste turned to huffing. The black satin of his doublet burned as he crossed out of the shade and into bleaching sunlight, high enough now that he could spy the steeples of Ronda over the tiles of his family's villa. \n“Won’t they look for you here?” Sancha Tecla de Barri called from the yard. With a train of men and cases in Alvar’s tread, the only route to follow him was through the small square of the garden beneath a stairway built into the stone wall of the tower. He caught one glimpse of her exasperation - desperation, more likely, between the late-spring blossoms of a twisting jacaranda tree. “Peterio would put you in the west wing if you must stay.” She wrung her hands. \n“Where the mountain can block my sight? Bah! Contrive to end this man’s passion, and you’ll find it bursting over this yard like a hurled pomegranate. Juices everywhere, Dona Sancha, and I hear red is hard to scrub out of limestone.” Panting halfway up the steps, he paused to lean over the yard and spy her nervously patting at her wide skirts. He shuffled a little closer to the step's ledge and said, “look here. A dangerous spot indeed.”\n“No one’s contriving to stop you. It’s just that… They’ll come to claim your estates.“\n“Precisely! Ha!” Still heaving, Alvar swallowed and blinked past the burning sweat on his brow. “Considered and dealt with.” Alvar returned to the ascent. If he trusted his sister-in-law and her band of servants more, he might have sung his plan from the parapets. Soon, The Bishop of Cuenca will be endowed with a good many reports of Alvar from the city of Zaragoza to the far eastern coast of Girona. They may still send men to his southbound origin of Ronda, but this should buy time enough. It must be enough!\nAlvar swiveled at the sound of a metal clink within the line of men behind him. “Careful with that chest, man.” \nThe man in question shuffled a whale of a trunk onto his shoulder. Ivory flashed as sunlight caught the lid and the contents within chinked. He’d pack it with more straw on the next move, if there was a next move. But worry had already fled his mind and left only thoughts of assembling the device. He shouldered into the thick door of the north tower and broke into a small circular room grey with dust. Within minutes, the air was clouded by that disturbed debris, bringing the men to tears and coughing as they set road-worn trunks of books, glassware, and various small tools at the room's heart. He instructed the ivory chest to be placed near an arched window sitting opposite the door. While they complained to themselves and called for servants and cleaning, Alvar joined that chest near the window. \n“Perfection.” He said. A cobweb drifted down, catching in the black hairs of his mustache bringing him to sneeze. For several months, he’d keep that sneeze despite the tower room being cleared of its storage and laid out neatly with a narrow bed and table half-buried in stacks of thick tomes and scrolls with dry bread crusts and grapeless stems strewn around inkwells and broken quills. The curtains of those dismal west wing rooms now draped the walls in ghastly patterns of briar-caught wolves and prancing lambs. From floor to rafter, he pinned star charts and astronomical graphs of his work to the cloth. All of that work centered around the device that would bring him fame or ruin. His research, his love, his very life now rested on the globed stand of that telescope. \nAlvar circled his prized instrument. Newton’s device was juvenile against it. Galileo would be brought to tears by the sights it could reach. The brass body hid refracting lenses and mirrors within. Just before the eyepiece lens, the wall of the tube could be extracted and filled with etched lenses of chart lines and measurements, astrological formations, and dials. He was not the first to adjust Galileo’s telescope model in the years after he publicized Sidereus Nencius. Though he would be the first to discover the nature of that auric light traveling between planets and stars.\nHe had to thank Etienne Tempier, who, in defiance of all common teachings in the 13th century and 17th respectively, argued that there could not be just one world if God were to be true. To claim that only one world might exist opposed the obvious: that God was all-powerful and that power was held by no limits. Yet Tempier did not bring proof. Nor did William of Ware who expanded upon the idea some years later and proposed that, should another universe exist, it could not, by the means of our inability to perceive it, exist upon the same realm of our own; senseless and intangible, yet coexisting as a perfect mirror. And Alvar saw promise in Galileo’s observations of the aura between the stars. This would be his study, his elephantine boon upon science and cosmology. \nWith thumb and finger, he clicked the lense levers up so that his view of the sky was unperturbed. Moving to the gazing lense, he peered through, marked the locations of the Pleiades and Hyades clusters for his day's measurement, and jotted down the numbers. He glanced once more, expecting to find the hot blue pinpricks of the Seven Sisters stars. Then he swallowed. His lips rolled beneath his mustache. Leaning back, Alvar peered into the leaning rafters above. There was nothing reflective there that could have given him such a strange vision. Something was wrong with the mirrors - perhaps jostled out of place when he’d moved the lenses. So he looked again, frowned, and stared out the window. Exactly as it should, the telescope leaned into the expanse of the heavens. Still, as he continued his work, he’d find himself staring blankly at the distant gleams of stars while thinking only of that brief glance of something else. Like a plague, it riddled through the work of that night. Perplexed pustules beckoned him to look up again and again, thinking there must be a cause. How could he have seen himself? \nA vision of his eye would be the expectation of some reflective flaw, some misalignment of the internal mirrors. Yet he knew without a doubt, that he had seen himself as though he sat in the rafters, looking down on his slovenly robes faded from rolling in and out of bed day after day. They draped over his rounded back while he stooped into the eyeglass, turning the apparatus to better his focus. He saw his desk as it was, every paper, every drop of ink in line. Though the rest of the room was shadowed by the frame of brass, it was clearly his. But the vision didn’t come again that night. Within two weeks, its fluttering curiosity had fled his mind. \nDuring the days he searched his books for theories and proposals on the heaven's light he sought. The air in the tower grew musky with the cycles of sleep and work, freshened only by the passing of a servant through the door twice a day to bring his meals. New summer heat boiled that musk into a heavy, permeable odor and sweat pooled so profusely from his skin that he could hardly touch a paper without it sticking to the heel of his palm, nor could he grip a quill for fear of it slipping wildly out of control. An echo of voices from the yard set his jaw firm, and he had a mind to tell whoever was in the yard to leave him in peace. He was already halfway to the door, hand on the lock when he caught a word: Inquisition. \nHis brother Peterio had cast like a fowl incantation. Rubbing his mustaches, Alvar leaned into the door to spy through that thin crack of darkness. A sliver of light showed him the shoulders and cloaks of figures below. \nA stranger spoke, “the evidence is more than enough. I must read you the formal,” there was a pause. His voice reverberated up the walls. “By the decree of Grand Inquisitor Pacheco, Alvar Montalvo has been denounced by the claims of heresy and the practice of magic within the Academia de Matemáticas of Madrid.” \nAlvar’s breath shuttered against the door. Fearing they might hear the whistle of his escaping air through the gap in the wood, he sucked it in and held it. Sweat traced down his temples and his eyes watered the heat beyond the door. His nose tickled and curled, and he rubbed it furiously to keep that pestering sneeze away. A slivered view of Peterio’s arm shifted but gave no hint to his reaction. Was he pointing to the door, gesturing to this transparent fox hole? \n“I’ll admit, I’ve expected this day,” Peterio said. “Where is he being held?”\n“He’s not yet been found.” The inquisitor went on, but Alvar missed what was said. A sneeze shot out of him and he covered his nose to muffle it, rattling the door as he lost his crouched footing. He froze, too afraid to look through the crack again. His eyes drifted to his desk, to his work. \nPeterio grew quieter. “We’ll settle his estates and any other cost.”\n“One moment,” another voice joined, nasal and imperious. Alvar sucked another breath and returned to the crack, straining to peer further through. “Has your brother ever retired here?”\n“Some years ago, yes.”\n“You will show me his rooms.”\n“Of course.” And they were off, headed through the arches into the cool shadows of the house. Alvar slid down and leaned his head against the door, panting hard. How long until they reach Girona and discover that no persons in that region had known him or reported him? \n“Not. Just. Yet.” Crawling to his feet, Alvar flicked back his sleeves and made way for the desk. “If you seek me here today,” he bit down on the quill while arranging vellum and ink, “then let at least this one measure be made into history…” \nBy nightfall, he’ was lost in the eyeglass of the scope. With his sight set firmly on the aura of the heavens, the vision returned. Alvar nearly stood from his stool, knees clamped with the thrill of discovery, wanting to jump but unable to move for fear of dislodging that image. Through the fog of the heavens and glittering stars, he saw his room as though he were a stray ant just beyond the rafters looking down on his stooped form. Alvar dropped a hand and slapped around on the table until his fingers rolled over a quill, and he snatched it up, scrawling on a paper without pulling away from the glass. His mouth turned further and further down as the image didn’t move with him. The figure was transfixed while Alvar moved. He was certain now that this was no trick of reflections. \nWithin the glass, papers fluttered behind his mimic’s back. A silver globe turned, but no one was there to turn it. \nCold breath prickled across the back of his neck and he sat up, turning around, mouth slack but unable to shout at the intruder. There was no one there: not in his room, not in the spyglass.\nShivering, Alvar leaned into the glass again and swallowed, nearly bruising the skin around his eye as he pressed deeper into the image - it was still there! For the first time, the image remained, but the globe continued to move and his mimic turned around. \n“Yes, yes - who is it?” The real Alvar muttered, waiting for the appearance of another. Still, his mirror was alone. He stood from the telescope and moved to study the papers on the west wall, pressing himself into them, marking the pages with broad lines of a sharp quill, splattering ink down the diagrams in his haste. \n“What is it?” Alvar asked the mirror. “What are you writing - what do you know? You must know something.” He sat back, took hold of a quill, moved to the wall. “What is it you know? A relation to the minutes of ecliptic latitude? No, no, degree - have I measured this precise point before? Is this it? Have I breached into heaven? Beholden the eye of God himself? It must be. It has to be! But this mirror and I do not move in unison - so it must be a figment of myself, a replicant and yet we are in tandem.” Near in frenzy, he muttered on and scratched up paper after paper in the pursuit of some answer. No equation could divulge the solution, no book or text from the philosophers Agrippa or Pietro d’Abano could illuminate him on the matter, and he knew there was no answer from his astrological contemporaries. \nIt was in the gardens some days later, when the heat and musk of the tower drove him out to brave a world where he might seen, where an idea fluttered down upon his head in the form of a dry jacaranda petal. It landed across the hoary hairs of his brow and naturally, he looked up at the thing cascading fragrant debris upon him. Looking up was the key. He’d done it when he first saw the vision of himself. Above him, the plaster steps to his tower caged the yard. He’d looked down through the jacaranda on his first arrival, teasing Sancha Tecla and her worrying while she too looked at him. \n“Avicenna!” He shouted and tossed the petal to the sky. “The Floating Man,” his robes flew as he bounded up the stairs. “To imagine oneself floating above their own body, with no physical form to move, was still the self - he was still consciousness - is that what Avicenna said?” The door banged into the wall and a heavy breeze wafted past him, rustling the papers as he knocked over stacks of books and muttered wildly. “Floating man, floating man - yes, yes, here you are, you brilliant man!” \nThe book laid upon his floor for hours. When his back stiffened and ached, the book paced the room until the candles burned low, and after their replacement, he brought the reading to his desk. Penning his theories, he referenced his mathematics, drew coordinates. Near thirty times he tested these measures and each one failed but the last. Haggard, dry-mouthed and stomach gnawing from neglect to eat, Alvar leaned into the spyglass with all the wonder of a man entering heaven. \nGazing into the faint cloud, the spyglass flashed red, violet, white, and he saw himself once more. He could trace the path of the heavens, calculate the location of this strange dimension. Clearing a dry scratch from his throat, Alvar pulled away to record the success. When next he leaned into the glass, the room had changed. \n“A torch?” Alvar stared at the cascade of orange light filling from the door behind his mimic. Papers ruffled off the desk. “Turn around. The shadows… Can’t you hear them?” Stifling a cough, Alvar sucked in dry, dusty air, entranced by the vision with such vigor that he could hear what his mimic heard, smell the smoke, feel the reverberation of the bells. “Move! Turn around!” \nLoose papers flew from the walls within the glass. A hot wind flushed over Alvar’s back. His vision turned and fell from his stool, shouting in the silence. In silence. Straightening, Alvar turned. \nFire devoured the villa, blazing behind the backs of two inquisitors. One held a torch as he entered the room and inspected the walls, the curtains, the embroidered wolves behind his papers. The torch fell."
}
]
|
[
{
"role": "system",
"content": "Create A Story Based on 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 Matchbreaker (Part Three)\n\nGenre: high-school\n\nWord Count: 2556\n\nPrompt:\n\nWrite about two people reconnecting after a rough patch in their relationship."
},
{
"role": "assistant",
"content": "I drive to school with a stomach full of toast and eggs and a mind full of unanswered questions. My grandma has been secretive about a lot of things, including the accident that killed my mother and the real reason why I came to live with them and not my father, but when it comes to her and grandpa I thought it would be a pretty open book. I mean, they’re one of the town’s original couples. Most people know the story, especially me. My grandparents met when they were sixteen. My grandma- Dina- had just moved to the town and my grandpa- Miller- was fishing by the pond behind her new house. Dina’s parents asked her to go “tell those boys this property isn’t free land,” and she went alright, but she never came back. She technically went back to her house, sure, but the fact was that once she met Miller, my grandma Dina was a goner and so was he. They were ghosts in love. They started going to high school together because my grandma enrolled at, well, the school I went to now instead of the one across town, where Lorraine attended. But the way they told it, it was no time before they were dating. Why would she be acting like it could have had a different ending, one that The Matchbreaker had something to do with stopping? Ah. I think I spelled that one out for myself. Time to hit the yearbooks. \nCourtney is waiting for me on the bleachers. I look around for Adrian to pop up and whack me over the head, but he isn’t there. Courtney smiles up at me and folds her hands in her lap, over the fabric of her skirt. It’s one I bought and gave to her because it didn’t fit me. She only wears it when we’ve been fighting. Hmm. I sit dow next to her and she throws an arm across my shoulders. \n“Good morning, dear friend!” \n“Hi, Courtney.” \nShe grins and if I know Courtney like I think I do, that grin means she’s up to something. Oh great. I move away from her and return a weak smile. Best keep her appeased during the calm before the storm. And speaking of the storm, there’s Adrian. With Adrian, is another guy. I slide further on the cold metal of the bleachers. Courtney grabs my arm. “Adrian! Delaney! We’re over here!” \nWhat kind of name is Delaney? I do not like it, Sam I am. Courtney notices my nose crinkling and she shakes my wrist, still baring her teeth in a frightening, horror-movie-cheery kind of way. I pull my hand away and she catches my fingers, twisting them towards her. Adrian and Delaney- his name fit his shape- sit down next to Courtney. \n“Delaney,” Adrian starts, “This is my girlfriend’s best friend. Her name is Capri. I think you guys will get along, so if you don’t mind, Courts and I are going to get some breakfast.” Before I can say anything to stop them from leaving, Adrian and Courtney leave me with Delaney. Or they leave Delaney with me. I can’t tell which one of us is more uncomfortable. He’s sitting about three feet away from me. There’s some dirt on the bottom of my shoes. I pick at it, not worried that my nails will crack or cake. Courtney would be horrified, but after this stunt, I couldn’t care less what Courtney would be horrified about or not. I sigh and glance over at Delaney. He looks like he’s about to cry. Am I that terrible? Hm. I bet Adrian threatened him into following him this morning. Not his fault. \n“You can leave if you want to.”\nDelaney, startled by my voice, jumps. “I don’t think I can.”\n“Why not? Are you afraid of Adrian?” \nHe nods. I shake my head and move an inch closer. He doesn’t say a word. “Dude,” he’s shaking like a dehydrated yogurt cup, “Adrian can’t hurt you. He has a scholarship to protect. Anything he does wrong will go on his permanent record and besides, have you seen Adrian? He weighs about five pounds more than a pasta box and you, well, you don’t.” I’m not sure this is reassuring like I mean it to be, but I continue anyway. “If you’re afraid of Adrian, don’t be. He’s annoying, but not scary.” Pointing at myself, I lean closer to Delaney and whisper, “If anyone should be scared, it’s Adrian. How dare he treat you this way? Does he really think he can get away with this? No!” \n“No?” \nI clap my hands together. “No, Delaney! You’d better show that guy we don’t take crap from people who think they can take advantage of us! Do we take crap from people?” \n“No, we don’t.” \n“Heck yeah! Now get out of here and go back to… Where did Adrian snatch you from? Chess club?”\n“Glee club actually.” \n“Awesome.” I nod, solemn. “Go forth, Delaney, and make a joyful noise. Sing so loudly that Adrian drops down dead in his wicked tracks. Do you believe you can do that? I do. I believe in you.” \n“No one’s ever said that to me before.”\n“Cherish it, then, you may not hear it again for a while.” I pat Delaney on the shoulder, but it ends up more like a friendly-aggressive slap. He stands up and walks back towards the school looking more bewildered than he did before, which, all things considered, is amazing. What a lost puppy. Good thing I wasn’t the one who kicked him. \nBreakfast? Really? They thought they could keep me busy with some kid and then ran off to continue the pre-Valentine’s Day show in a less public place. Ha. Breakfast. Do I honestly look that stupid? I pull another clump of dirt from my shoe and throw it on the ground. My phone buzzes. Courtney. No, it’s not Courtney. It’s the Matchbreaker. I was supposed to meet him in the basement and I’m late because of a.) I forgot, b.) Courtney, c.) Adrian, and d.) kind of Delaney but mostly Courtney and Adrian. They thought trying to set me up was good, but breaking them up will be better. I stand up and head to the basement, dodging nosy teachers roaming the building. Luckily, I am agile like a cigarette and slender like a cornstalk. Cigarette cornstalk. Sounds like a terrible emo band name. I’d love it, though. \nI’m still admiring my own sneaking skills when I get to the bottom of the basement staircase. The Matchbreaker is sitting behind his desk, a dim lamp lighting him up. He can be part of my terrible emo band too because he looks more like a cigarette cornstalk than I ever will. The eyeliner helps. \n“Capri. You’re late.” \n“At least I’m here,” I say, pulling up a chair and pulling my legs up as I sit down. Another thing Courtney would shake her head at. She’s one of those girls who’s always enforcing sitting roles. Sit like a girl for once in your life! No, Courtney, I’ll sit how I want to, even if my pants are a bit too tight. Shove it. I blink and the Matchbreaker laughs, having caught me deep in thought. \n“Something on your mind this morning?” \nI don’t want to tell him about my grandmother and my theories about her, but he’s staring straight at me with his Cage the Elephant eyes and I open my mouth before I mean to. “My grandmother. I think she may have used you, well, not you but another Matchbreaker, to marry my grandfather. I asked her something this morning and she freaked out, told me not to come talk to you again. Do you have any kind of records?” I rub my eyes with the back of my hand and yawn. “Like a list of people that have had matches broken up?” \n“Capri, I’m alarmed by this. You want me to disclose the inner workings of this operation. You want me to divulge some of the most closely guarded secrets in the modern world. You want me to tell you if your dear granny spiderwebbed your grandpa into marriage.” For a second, the Matchbreaker really does look alarmed. Then his concern turns to the familiar bemusement. “I have a box right over here. We can take a look, but first we need to talk about Courtdrian. Adriney? That’s tough.” He crosses his hands behind his head. “I’m gonna go with Adriney.” \n“Okay, Adriney it is.” I take a deep breath, not sure where to start. “You know they’re getting worse. This morning I was late because they tried to set me up with this kid named Delaney.” \n“Delaney Esguicher?” \n“I don’t know his last name. But I didn’t want to talk to him and it’s not fair they’re trying to remove me from the equation.”\nThe Matchbreaker nods and pulls an apple from a drawer in his desk. He takes a bite. I wait for his response as he chews. He eats like a jackhammer. After he swallows the last bite, I expect him to share his plan, but instead he eats the apple core, from stem to seeds. There’s not a trace of it left. He wipes his hands on a napkin (again, things seem to show up from nowhere in this basement) and looks up at me. “Delicious. Really. How do you take your fruit?” \n“I don’t. I don’t eat fruit. And that’s not the point! Courtney is attempting friend murder.” \n“And you want to beat her to it by murdering young love. Understood. Here’s my plan.” The Matchbreaker slides a folder across the desk to me. “Take a look at that, alright, and text me after school. I’d meet you at lunch but I have another meeting.” \n“You take more than one job at once?” \nHe taps his temple. “Smart girl. No, I don’t. I just like to eat in peace and you, Capri, seem like someone undoubtedly unpeaceful. I guess we could say I have a meeting with sanity, for once. Matchbreaking isn’t as easy as it seems.” \n“It doesn’t seem easy at all. Can we, I mean, can I look at that box you have now? I just need to see if my grandma’s name is on any sort of list. You understand that the whole foundation of my family could crumble if this gets out.” \nThe Matchbreaker rolls over to the wall and opens a small door. He pulls out a file box and rolls back to the desk, setting the box in front of me. “What’s her name?” \n“Dina.” \n“Last name?” \n“Cartie.” \n“A, B, C, D.... and here we are. Dina Cartie.” The Matchbreaker whistles. “This is one of the best cases I’ve seen yet. Take a look.” I reach over and take the file. Above us, the school bell rings. “You can go and bring that back next time we see each other.” He takes the file from me and slides it into his plan folder. “This time, be on time. I don’t want anymore Delaney excuses.” \n“That wasn’t an excuse.” \n“Sure.” He sits on the edge of his desk. “I think you’re a good egg, you know that?” \n“If I’m a good egg, I’m about to get cracked.” \n“What?”\n“Never mind. I just meant I’m going to be late to class. I’m really terrible at analogies. See you later.” I stand up to leave, but the Matchbreaker catches my sleeve. “What?” \n“You think Courtney will be looking for a new boyfriend after we split her and Adrian?” \nI smack him away and he laughs, sliding back off his desk. “I’m kidding. The Matchbreaker doesn’t fraternize with the peasants. It’s literally a rule. I’m not allowed to talk to anyone involved in one of my deals after it’s over. If I do, well,” he makes a snipping noise, “My career is over.”\n“Mm hm. I care about this for what reason, please remind me.” \nHe sighs and looks up at the cold basement ceiling. “Because sometimes I wonder what would happen if I did, that’s all.” He sticks his thumbnail in his mouth and for a second, he looks like a sad and lost clown, the lamp light mixing the black of his eyes with the red of his shirt. “We’d better get going.” I nod and head up the stairs, but he doesn’t follow me. There must be a different exit in the basement, which makes sense. It wouldn’t be good for us to be seen together, especially not walking out of a basement. \nI don’t talk to Courtney all day, as long as I can, until she walks up to me during study hall and stares at the back of my head. I wait seven minutes before turning around. “What?” \n“I don’t know why you’re mad at me.” \n“Yeah, it’s really hard to tell. There’s so many things you’ve done wrong in the last few days.” \nCourtney takes the seat next to me. Unlike mine, her feet touch the ground with the soles flat to the floor. “You aren’t being fair. Can’t I be happy with Adrian, Capri? Do you want me to be unhappy? I try to do things for you and you don’t like them, I don’t try anything and you get upset too.” \n“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” \n“Do you hate me?” \n“No!” I stab my pencil through the paper on accident and leave a tear straight through my chapter five english class notes. Courtney’s hands twist in her lap, like she thinks I’ll stab her next. “I don’t hate you. I’m glad you came and tried to make things better but I’m tired of your endless tug of war. You do something mean, or catty, or worse yet you don’t do anything when your boyfriend is rude, and then you try to make it up to me by picking up some stray and setting us up. I don’t want a boyfriend. I just wanted my best friend back.” \nCourtney’s eyes begin to fill with tears. She’s going to cry and then I’ll feel bad and then I’ll say, “I’m sorry, no, you didn’t do anything, it’s fine..” and we’ll be back to square one because she didn’t get the point. Today I’ll let her cry. I’ll pray her tears make her realize how I’ve lost her already. \n“Caprice,” full name appeal, interesting, “Getting Delaney wasn’t my idea. That was all Adrian and I told him you wouldn’t like it but-”\n“But he didn’t listen and you were too scared to make him. Did Adrian make you wear that outfit today too?” \nShe looks at her skirt- the one I let her have- and begins to cry. She doesn’t exactly BURST into tears, though. It’s more like a deflation into tears. She starts very quietly and then gets louder and louder and then everything stops and she’s a puddle of sad slush on the bedroom floor. I hop off my seat and leave her to her sobs. Courtney had her chances to do this the easy way, but she didn’t take them. She left the fighting for our friendship up to me, and that means I’m the only one who’s choosing the weapons for battle."
}
]
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